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1. An unbelievable amount of shoes.
Karube had known that Niragi was somewhat of a fashionista, but he certainly wasn't prepared for the sheer amount of shoes that his partner would have in his collection.
“Care to tell me how and why you manage to have this many shoes?” He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he surveyed the mountain of footwear. The other man, who was currently sprawling lazily on the couch with his laptop open in front of him, didn’t even glance up at his question.
“Because, unlike you, I have taste,” Niragi said, his usual smirk lingering in the way he spoke. “And also, unlike you, I don't think ‘wearing shoes until they fall apart’ is a personality trait.”
Karube kicked at a particularly gaudy pair of what looked like designer combat boots. “These probably cost more than my rent.”
“They cost more than your dignity, which isn't saying much.” The younger man finally looked up then, dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Besides, some of us care about making a good impression.”
“On who? The pigeons outside Lucid?” He shot back, gesturing toward the window. “Because I hate to break it to you, but they're not exactly discerning customers.”
Niragi's cane was propped against the arm of the couch, within easy reach as always. The man had definitely gotten better at not being self-conscious about his situation, but Karube still noticed the way his jaw tightened sometimes when he looked at it. Today wasn't one of those days, though — today his partner was just in his sardonic, full-of-bullshits form.
“At least I don't look like I got dressed in the dark by someone with a grudge against fashion,” the black-haired man closed his laptop then, stretching his legs on the sofa with a shit-eating grin. “Seriously, that shirt is older than our relationship.”
“My shirt has character, thank you very much.” Karube defended, tugging at the faded fabric. “It's been through things before.”
“Yeah, tragic ones.” Niragi shifted, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position — because, of course, even when the worst of his injury had long passed, his leg still gave him hell at times. “And speaking of tragic, when was the last time you actually threw anything away? Because I'm pretty sure some of these shoes predate the invention of velcro.”
“Says the man who refuses to get rid of his leather jacket that has more holes than leather at this point.”
“That jacket is vintage. There's a difference between vintage and ‘should've been put out of its misery long ago.’” The younger man gestured lazily at the chaos around them. “Besides, at least my collection serves a purpose. These shoes go with different outfits, different occasions—”
“And different personalities as well?” Karube huffed. “If so, enlighten me, because I'm struggling to find the occasion where you'd need all of these.”
Niragi paused at that, giving his remark exactly three seconds of thought before grinning with a positively wicked expression. “Oh, wouldn't you like to know.”
The bartender nearly had a heart attack right there. “Jesus Christ, Niragi.”
“What? I'm just saying, a man needs options.” He was enjoying this far too much, the bastard. “Flexibility. Adaptability.”
“I'm going to pretend you didn't just—” Karube started, but was interrupted by a soft thud from the bedroom, followed by an indignant yowl.
“Kuro's stuck in the shoe avalanche again,” Niragi observed with the kind of detached interest he usually reserved for watching trashy reality TV.
“Your shoe avalanche, I might add.” The blond corrected, already heading toward their shared bedroom to rescue their cat from her untimely demise at the hands of his partner's ever-growing collection. “And we're having a serious conversation about storage solutions when I get back.”
“Can't wait,” his partner called after him, already reopening his laptop. “I'll just be here, admiring my tasteful collection and definitely not ordering more shoes online.”
The sound of frantic typing filled their apartment once again, and Karube couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
He definitely needed to clear out some extra space in Lucid for all of these shoes later on.
2. Competitiveness (and an obsession at being right all the time)
Living with Niragi meant that every single conversation had the potential to turn into a full-blown debate about absolutely nothing, and Karube was starting to think his partner treated their daily interactions like some kind of intellectual sparring match that he was determined to win.
“I'm telling you, the coffee machine is broken,” the blond reiterated his point for the third time that morning, gesturing at the machine that was currently making sounds like it was dying a slow, painful death. “And even when it's not broken, the noises should be concerning enough for you to buy a new machine at this point.”
“It's not broken,” Niragi replied from his spot at the kitchen table, flipping through another page of the book in his hands. “You're just using it wrong.”
“I've been making coffee longer than you've been vertical without assistance,” Karube shot back, then he immediately regretted it as soon as those words left his mouth, because he was very certain — from the way his partner looked at him, all smug and full of sharp teeth — that he was about to get verbally eviscerated on the spot.
“Oh, so we're going there now, are we?” Niragi hummed, grabbing his cane and pushing himself up from his chair. “Because last I checked, my mobility issue doesn't affect my ability to operate basic kitchen appliances.”
“That's not what I—”
Karube started, but his partner just shouldered past him with a bit more force than necessary, and he made a mental note to apologize later. Even though they were used to each other’s crass words and mean exchanges, there were lines that were never meant to cross, and this was one of those things.
“Move,” Niragi ordered, snapping him out of his thought. “Watch and learn, old man.”
He stepped aside with crossed arms, watching as the younger man limped over to the counter and proceeded to do exactly the same thing he'd just done — add water, add coffee, press the button. The machine made the same dying whale noise it had been making for the past ten minutes, and he had to bite back the urge of saying “I told you so” or, worse, reading him the riot act.
“There,” Niragi announced. “Perfect.”
“… Suguru, it still sounds like it's in agony.”
“All good coffee machines sound like that. It's called character.”
“More like time to buy a new one before this one sets the whole apartment on fire.” Karube muttered, somewhat annoyed. “Ever heard of safety measures for kitchen appliances?”
The black-haired man turned to face him then, leaning heavily on his cane with that shit-eating grin that he'd come to both love and hate in equal measure. “Sounds like it's a you problem to begin with.”
“Pretty sure it's a us problem since you were the one putting it here when you first moved in with me.” The bartender gestured at their dying coffee machine, which had now started making a noise that could only be described as mechanical sobbing. “It's literally crying for help.”
“It's expressing itself.”
“It's broken, you stubborn ass.”
They stared at each other for a long while afterward, the coffee machine still groaning in the background and making this off-beat soundtrack to their standoff. Before Niragi could smirk in victory, though, the poor thing made one final, spectacular grinding noise before falling completely dead to the world around it.
“Huh.” The black-haired man's expression remained neutral as he shrugged nonchalantly. “That's definitely not supposed to happen.”
Karube was fully prepared to get annoyed, because not only had Niragi's inability to admit he was wrong cost them their morning coffee, but the machine's eventual breakdown might have compromised both of their safety as well. A whole lecture had been bubbling in the back of his mind then, but upon noticing how the dark-haired man's shoulders tensed up despite the nonchalance in his voice, he didn't have the heart to follow through with it anymore.
So he let out a reluctant sigh and pulled his partner into a hug, rubbing his back gently to try and comfort him.
“You know,” Karube murmured, “most people would just admit they were wrong and apologize by now."
Niragi leaned back against him then, loosely returned his embrace and was visibly relieved to know he wasn't very upset about this whole ordeal. “Most people don't have to live with your insufferable need to be validated.”
“And most people don't have partners who'd rather die than admit they're wrong about a coffee machine either, but here we are.”
“Fair point.” The younger man sighed, tilting his head slightly backward so that they could look at each other, and Karube loved how those dark eyes seemed to sparkle with an ocean of stars. “Want to go get coffee from that place down the street instead?”
“The one you said was nothing more than overpriced swill for people with no taste?”
“That exact place, yes.”
Karube pressed a kiss to Niragi's hair then, exhaling contently. “Sounds perfect.”
3. The blatant disregard of personal space.
When Niragi moved in with him a year ago, Karube didn't expect his personal space to be used as a sacrificial lamb and the universe's emotional punching bag.
Growing up mostly by himself had taught him to be self-reliant and sufficient with his own things. He liked his space, his routines, and the general ability to exist in his own apartment without having to navigate around another human being every five minutes, but all of those things were immediately gone once they started living together.
“… Su, can't you just, I don't know, make some space?” Karube asked, trying to squeeze past his partner in the narrow hallway for the third time that morning. Niragi was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with the kind of casual indifference that suggested he had absolutely no intention of moving.
“Why?” The younger man didn't look up from the screen, but he could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward in that insufferable way — his usual setting when he knew exactly what he was doing and how inconvenient it was. “Don't you already have enough space to move around?”
“Do I have to remind you that you just commit the crime of blocking our entire hallway with your lanky ass?”
“Excuse you, bastard, that's hardly a crime.” Niragi huffed, gesturing at the space in front of him. “You do have this whole area here to move around, and I'm just standing in my own home to read some news. What part of it looks like a crime to you, huh?”
“The part where you choose this—” Karube pointed out, jerking a thumb at the entirely empty living room behind them. “—instead of literally anywhere else to stand that doesn't involve the idea of creating a human roadblock.”
“Well, too bad, this spot has the best lighting for me to read with my deteriorating eyesight.” His partner retorted with the kind of logic that could only make snese when you were determined to be difficult. “Besides, if you have that enough space behind you, why don't you use them then?”
Before the bartender could respond with something appropriately sarcastic, Kuro had chose that exact moment to weave between their legs and meowed indignantly, surprising Niragi and nearly sending him stumbling forward. The black-haired man managed to quickly catch himself with his cane and some mumbled curses, but not before accidentally stepping on Karube's foot in the process.
“Shit—” His partner started, his usual smugness faltering as he tried to regain his balance.
Without thinking, the blond reached out to catch him, gripping him tight by his waist and pulling him closer to his chest. For a moment, they just stood there in the hallway, with little to no space between the two of them, and Karube found himself studying the way Niragi's hair fell across his forehead, the slight flush creeping up his neck, and how those lovely lips were pressed together in that particular way he did when the man was trying not to look flustered.
“You know, for someone who insists on being a pain in my ass, you're surprisingly quiet in my arms right now.” He murmured quietly, his voice dropping to something dangerously close to fondness as he brushed the stray hair away from his partner's face, “Enjoying the view, perhaps?”
Niragi's eyes snapped up to meet his then, and there it was — that barely concealed vulnerability that only showed up in moments like these, when his walls of sarcasm temporarily crumbled to dust. “Don't be weird, asshole. I just lost my balance.”
“Uh-huh?” Karube's thumbs traced small circles against the younger man's hips, noting how his partner didn't pull away despite his protests. “And here I thought you were finally making a move to get closer to me. My mistake.”
“In your dreams, bartender.” Niragi huffed and weakly brushed his hand away, seemingly breathless at how close they were.
“Oh, you're definitely in my dreams,” the older man said with a grin. “Usually without the cane, though. And significantly less clothing.”
“Karube.” His partner hissed, face flushed with this pretty shade of pink. “You fucking ass—”
“What? I'm just saying, if you wanted my attention, you could've asked nicely instead of playing hallway troll.” Karube chuckled, leaving a soft kiss on the warm cheek and relishing in the way Niragi melted into him. “Though I have to admit, this method is pretty effective too.”
Kuro meowed again from somewhere around their ankles, apparently displeased with being ignored.
“Your cat is judging us,” the dark-haired man sighed pointedly, but he still hadn't moved away.
“Our cat, silly.” He corrected. “And she's probably wondering why her parents are being idiots in the hallway instead of feeding her breakfast.”
“We're not—” Niragi started, then seemed to realize protesting would only dig him deeper, so he cleared his throat and relented, staying still begrudgingly. “Fine. You win this round. But I'm keeping this spot tomorrow.”
Karube hummed in agreement, pressing another kiss to the wave of black hair in front of him before letting go and attending to their cat.
4. Arguments where you accidently hurt the person you love.
Karube honestly couldn't remember how this whole thing started anymore.
One minute he'd been making coffee in the kitchen, minding his own business and trying to pretend it was a normal Thursday morning, and the next minute they were going at each other's throats throughout the day over something that probably didn't even matter in the grand scheme of things. Was it about the dishes? The way Niragi had rearranged his bookshelf? The fact that his partner had used up the last of his good whiskey without asking?
He genuinely had no fucking clue at this point, but whatever it was, it had snowballed into this — the two of them standing on opposite sides of their living room like they were preparing for some kind of domestic cold war, with Kuro wisely retreating to her hiding spot under the couch.
“—and another thing,” Niragi added, his voice sharp with that particular brand of irritation that meant he was gearing up for a real fight, “you have this annoying habit of acting like you're doing me some kind of favor by letting me live here. Newsflash, asshole: I also pay half of the fucking rent too, using my own adult money. You're not the only person here that has a job!”
“That's not what I—” Karube started, but the younger man just cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“No, no, let me finish. You get this look on your face, like you're some kind of saint for putting up with my inconveniences,” his partner hissed, tapping the cane angrily against the floor as he shifted his weight, “when most of the time it's you who leaves your bartending shit all over the place.”
“My bartending shit?” The blond clenched his jaw so hard he felt like it might fracture. “You mean the job that pays for this place and has kept us both fed while you were busy having your little recovery period?”
Niragi's face went completely still at those words, the angry flush draining from his cheeks as if someone had just dumped ice water over his head.
“My little recovery period,” he repeated slowly, his voice became dangerously quiet. “Right. Because getting my leg crushed by debris and learning to walk again was just me being dramatic now, isn't it?”
“That's not—fuck, that's not what I meant and you know it.” Karube ran a hand through his hair, already regretting the words the moment they'd left his mouth. But the damage was done, and Niragi was already winding up for his counterattack.
“Well, I think that's exactly what you meant,” the dark-haired man retorted, his grip tightening on the cane until his knuckles went white. “Poor little Niragi, can't even walk properly anymore, what a burden on your oh-so-generous hospitality. Maybe I should just be grateful that the great Karube Daikichi even bothers to put up with a cripple like me, right?”
“Don't put words in my mouth—”
“Then what the hell are you saying?” Niragi's voice cracked slightly, and Karube caught a glimpse of something raw and hurt hidden underneath, but they were gone just as fast as when they first appeared, leaving space for anger to return. “Because it sure as shit sounds like you're saying I'm some kind of charity case.”
The fight went on like that, spiraling into increasingly petty territory until they were arguing about everything and nothing at all. Dirty dishes became personal attacks, forgotten anniversary dinners turned into accusations about not caring enough, and somehow they'd managed to drag up every minor grievance from the past six months.
“You know what your fucking problem is?” Niragi finally snapped, his face flushed with fury and exhaustion. "You think that just because you survived the Borderland and then managed to open your precious little bar afterward, it would automatically make you some kind of hero. But you're still the same self-centered asshole you always were, just with better marketing.”
Something snapped inside Karube's chest like a rubber band pulled too tight.
“Self-centered? I'm self-centered?” He took a step forward, his hands clenching into fists. “I'm the one who—” He stopped himself, took a breath that did nothing to calm the storm building in his mind, then said the words that would haunt him for the rest of the day. “You know what? Fuck this. I'd rather go back and fight the King of Spades than deal with your passive-aggressive bullshit for another minute. At least he was honest about wanting me dead.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Niragi stared at him, and Karube watched this cold emptiness settle over his partner's features like ice forming on a window. When the man finally spoke up, his voice was perfectly, terrifyingly calm.
“Right.” He moved toward the door with careful, measured steps, each tap of his cane against the floor echoing in the suffocating silence of their living room. “Well, at least now I know exactly where I stand.”
Before Karube could say anything further, Niragi just closed the door behind him with a soft click and walked straight into the raging storm.
5. Apologies do hurt your ego, but it's better than to never talk to your partner for the rest of your life.
The apartment felt like a tomb after Niragi left.
Karube stood there for a solid ten minutes, staring at the door and replaying his own words over and over again until they started to sound like someone else's voice entirely.
“I'd rather go back and fight the King of Spades than deal with your passive-aggressive bullshit for another minute. At least he was honest about wanting me dead.”
What the actual fuck was wrong with him?
Kuro poked her head out from under the couch, gave him a look that clearly said humans are idiots before promptly disappearing back into her hiding spot. Even the cat was disappointed in him — which, in all honesty, was fair, because he had truly fucked up this time.
The rain was still coming down in sheets when he finally worked up the nerve to grab his jacket and head out into the storm. He had a pretty good idea where Niragi would go when he needed to think — there was a 24-hour convenience store about six blocks away that the man had developed an odd attachment to during the worst parts of his recovery. Something about the fluorescent lights and the mindless background noise of late-night shoppers that helped him sort through his head.
Sure enough, Karube found his partner there, sitting on the bench right under the narrow overhang, getting steadily soaked despite his best efforts to stay dry. His cane was propped against his good leg, and the man was currently smoking a cigarette, eyes distant like he was trying very hard not to think about anything at all.
“You're gonna catch pneumonia sitting out here like this,” he sighed and walked over, because apparently his brain had decided that starting with concern was the way to go.
Niragi didn't look up. “Yeah, well, maybe that would solve both our problems.”
“Don't—” Karube stopped himself before he could fall into that trap. “Can I sit?”
“It's a public bench. Do whatever the hell you want.”
The bench was soaking wet and cold from the wind that blew nonstop next to his ears, but Karube sat down anyway, leaving enough space between them that they weren't touching but close enough that he could feel the tension radiating off his partner like heat from a furnace.
They sat in silence for a while, watching the occasional car splash through puddles and listening to the steady drumming of rain on the store's metal awning. Niragi finished his cigarette and immediately lit another one, his hands shaking slightly — whether from cold or emotion, Karube couldn't tell.
“I fucked up,” he finally said, because someone had to start somewhere.
“Yeah, you did.” His partner's voice was hoarse, and he still wasn't looking at him. “But congratulations, you managed to say exactly what I've been waiting for you to say for months now.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means—” Niragi took a long drag, held it, then exhaled smoke into the rain-soaked air. “It means I've been waiting for you to get tired of dealing with all my shits and decide this relationship wasn't worth the effort anymore.”
Karube felt the horrible guilt in his guts twisted even more than before at those words. “That's not—”
“Isn't it?” The black-haired man finally turned to look at him, eyes red-rimmed with the cigarette smoke and something else entirely. “Face it, Karube, now I'm nothing more than a piece of shit with a busted leg who needs help walking around and can't even get to the corner store without planning the route around stairs.” He then flicked ash into a puddle, watching it dissolve. “At least I was useful for something before the Borderland happened, even if it was nothing more than being the asshole everyone loved to hate.”
“Jesus Christ.” Karube ran his hands through his wet hair, feeling water drip down the back of his neck. “You really think that's what I meant?”
“C'mon, don't insult my intelligence like that." Niragi's laugh was bitter, sharp around the edges. “I know what I am.”
“Gosh, I never thought you can be this much of an idiot.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but fuck it — maybe harsh was what they needed right now. “You think I've been playing house with you for the last couple months because I felt sorry for you?”
The black-haired man just shrugged. “Wouldn't be the first time someone stuck around out of guilt.”
“Right, because I'm just known for my overwhelming sense of civic duty.” Karube shifted on the bench, turning to face his partner properly. “I ran a bar, Niragi. You know how many sob stories I heard every night? How many people tried to guilt me into free drinks or a place to crash? I have absolutely zero tolerance for that bullshit, and you know it.”
“That's different—”
“How is it different?” He sighed, cutting Niragi off. “Explain to me how it's different, because from where I'm sitting, you're doing the exact same thing those assholes used to do, playing the victim card like it's gonna get you something.”
The younger man snapped up at him then, eyes flashing with the first real fire ever since the argument started. “Fuck you.”
“There we go.” Karube felt something loosen in his chest. “That's the asshole I fell for.”
“I'm not—” Niragi stopped, cigarette halfway to his lips. “What?”
“You heard me.” The bartender leaned back against the bench, ignoring the cold metal digging into his back. “You think I let you live with me because you were some broken bird that needed fixing? Newsflash: I don't have a savior complex. Never did.”
The rain kept falling, but Niragi had gone very still beside him.
“I let you do that,” Karube continued, “because you're the only person I've ever met who could drink me under the table and still have enough energy to argue about whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie until three in the morning.”
“That's not—”
“I let you live with me because you make the best coffee I've ever tasted, even with Kuro bothering you nonstop for food. I agree to share the same bed with you because you actually listen when I talk about Lucid and its dramas instead of just nodding and changing the subject.” Karube turned to look at him properly. “And yes, even when you're being a complete pain in the ass for the majority of our relationship, you're still my pain in the ass.”
Niragi was staring at him now, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. “Karube...”
“What I said back there was fucked up, and I'm sorry. I was pissed off and tired and I wanted to hurt you, which makes me a piece of shit.” Karube sighed, reaching over and brushing a wet strand of dark hair away from his partner's lovely face. “But don't you dare sit here and tell me that the reason I'm with you is because I pity you. That's insulting to both of us.”
Niragi dropped his cigarette then, not bothering to stub it out as it hit the wet pavement with a quiet hiss. His hands were trembling visibly more than before, and it definitely wasn't from the cold.
“You're such an asshole,” he said, but there was no heat in it. If anything, he sounded relieved, like he'd been holding his breath for months and could finally breathe.
“Well, it's fair game then.” Karube's thumb traced along Niragi's cheekbone, wiping away droplets of rain or tears — probably both. “But I still don't think Die Hard is a suitable choice for Christmas movies.”
“Not only are you an asshole, you're also an absolute moron as well.” The dark-haired man huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly. “Oh well, I guess I'll just keep hogging the Christmas movie section at Lucid until you change your mind then.”
“See? This is exactly the kind of shit I'm talking about.” Karube felt himself grinning despite everything. “You're completely wrong, but you'll argue about it anyway.”
“I'm not wrong, you just have terrible taste in—”
Before Niragi could say anything further, Karube just leaned in and kissed him, cutting off whatever smartass comment was about to come out of his partner's mouth. The younger man made a surprised sound against his lips but didn't pull away. Instead, he relaxed and kissed him back like he'd been waiting for this exact moment for months.
It wasn't romantic, not really — they were both soaking wet and shivering, sitting on a bench outside a convenience store at two in the morning while rain pounded on the metal awning above their heads. Niragi tasted like cigarettes and regret, and water was seeping through the fabric of Karube's jacket, but when they finally broke apart, his partner's eyes were shining with an ocean of stars, and the blond decided that maybe romance was overrated anyway.
“You realize we're both going to get sick from this, right?” Niragi murmured against his lips, but made no move to pull away.
“Worth it.” Karube sighed, thumb tracing the sharp line of his partner's cheekbone. “Besides, someone's gotta take care of your dramatic ass when you inevitably come down with a cold.”
“My dramatic ass?” The younger man retorted. “I'm not the one who chased down my partner in the storm like some romance novel protagonist.”
“No, you're the one who decided to sit outside in said storm like a stray cat.” He stood up, water cascading off his jacket. “C'mon, let's go home before we both die of hypothermia and Kuro has to explain to the neighbors why there are two corpses in the apartment.”
Niragi grabbed his cane and hauled himself up, wincing slightly as his bad leg took his weight. “She'd probably just eat the evidence and find new humans to manipulate into feeding her.”
“Probably.” Karube wrapped an arm around his partner, keeping his pace slow as they started heading back home. “You know, for the record, I still think you need better storage for your shoes collection.”
“And I still think your taste in literally everything is questionable at best." Niragi fell into step beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Good thing I have low standards.”
“Asshole.”
“Takes one to know one.”
The rain was still coming down hard, but somehow it didn't feel quite as cold anymore.