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Title: Followers
Author:
jedishampoo
Fandom: Wild Adapter
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: The pet joke was getting old; Tokito wants Kubota to know this.
There are some things Tokito wants to know for himself, too. Sorta
Tokito/Kubota.
Notes: Written for the
yuletide
exchange. I just realized that I never did post this story in my journal!
Probably because I found it really, really hard to write-- I had such mixed
feelings about this story and WA6 and beyond and I was never sure that I felt
the characters. I do want to thank
inksheddings,
my resident WA expert, for her beta and lots of encouragement.
(And thanks to
moshesque and
athena8 for
assistance and putting up with wibbling, hee!) Concrit
would be most welcome.
Here's the link
on yuletide.
Followers
The pet joke was getting old, old, old. It had been old before Shouta had left
to go to Hokkaido or wherever. It had gotten old the first time Tokito had heard
people refer to him as “kitten,” “stray,” or whatever, when they thought he
couldn’t hear them. For a while Tokito had even wondered if the whole animal
thing was a reference to his deformed hand; then he’d realized that it was just
another thing to do with Kubota’s past. The one he never talked about.
Still, old joke or not, Tokito was starting to feel like a dog, leading his
master only as far as the master would allow, and master was going to rein him
in, any second, with one of his offhand remarks like there’s food at home
or something just as annoying. That was, if Tokito didn’t find something
quickly--
He stood on the street corner, Kubo-chan standing silently behind, and looked,
and looked, willing a restaurant to pop into view and say ‘I’m here, I’m just
what you wanted!’ He willed the double-beep of the don’t walk sign to
keep double-beeping, so he could pretend just a little longer that he knew what
he was doing. Sakuragi-Cho was a huge station; surely, he thought, something had
to be close by. Still, the side-streets mocked him with silence. It was nearly
noon but still too early for anything to be open; everything interesting in
these few blocks of Yokohama came to life at night. The ramen stand was covered,
closed, silent. A Seven-Eleven reminded Tokito that it had great food, but there
was nowhere to sit inside, it was grab-and-go-home like everything they did,
every night.
This trip was about doing something different. Tokito had chosen to get off the
train at Sakuragi-Cho because he’d never been there before. He could have turned
left out of the station, led Kubota to the giant mall, there was plenty of food
there-- but noooo, he’d had to go right. Just to show that he could
handle the world, could find food.
He would show that he could take care of himself. Take care of Kubota, outside
of their apartment, their space that was still sort of Kubota’s space. Show he
was someone who could, and deserved to, know things.
Beep-beep, don’t walk, beep-beep, still don’t walk. Oh, hey, there was a man
carrying out a food-price board-- no, it was the Breezbay hotel, one of
those overpriced places for foreigners. Beep-beep, don’t walk yet, shit, he
was going to look stupid-- wait, tucked away on that corner?
“There it is,” Tokito pointed, and glanced back at Kubota. Bong, bong, bong,
walk, walk, walk-- he stepped off the curb like he’d only been waiting for
the signal. “Coco Curry.”
Kubota pretended to glance at the store front, but Tokito knew he was weighing
it. What was he weighing it for? It was a cheap curry joint. They didn’t
have one near where they lived. Was it off-limits? There were so many
things Tokito didn’t know but he was going to learn them, dammit.
“Mmmm, curry,” Kubo-chan said around his cigarette.
It was a tiny place with bright lights. It wasn’t very busy. They took an
enclosed booth in the back so Kubota could smoke. Kubota slid into the booth
first, with his back to the wall, with a view of the door through the narrow
aisle between the row of booths, and Tokito noticed that. When Tokito slid in he
bumped Kubo-chan’s leg with his knee, and he noticed that, too. It seemed that
no matter how he tried to shift himself in the booth, they were bumping feet or
legs. Kubota was the kind of person who, without even expending any visible
effort, just sort of took over. Places and people.
Tokito had come too far, learned too much in the last year or so, to be taken
over. It was undignified. He knew too much. Not enough.
“So, whose territory is this?” Tokito asked. He hoped he sounded as nonchalant
as he’d wanted.
“Hmm,” Kubota said, and lit another smoke. “Izumo.”
A straight answer, without any extra information. Kubo-chan must be in a good
mood.
Were there people from Izumo here? Would they recognize Kubota? Why
hadn’t Tokito chosen to go left, to the mall? Tokito yanked a menu out of the
wall-clip and flipped it open. He didn’t even pay attention to which page, or
whether or not it was right-side-up. He wanted to think of another question to
ask. He wanted--
“Holy shit,” he said, when his eyes finally focused on the plastic pages. “I’ve
never seen so many kinds of curry!”
“The mushroom beef is good.”
Of course Kubota would have been here before. Tokito marveled at the multitude
of choices. The waitress brought them some tea. She smiled at Kubo-chan. She
smiled a huge smile. Girls did that to Kubo-chan all the time. Still, her smile
was a lot huger than was necessary for any two regular old anonymous customers.
Maybe she knows him, Tokito thought. If they were in Izumo territory.
This girl was a lot prettier than most curry-hut waitresses. Maybe she’d known
him before--
“Mushroom beef, for him. With rice. Chicken pepper for me. I want potato salad,”
Tokito told the smiling waitress. He snapped his menu shut and was happy to
notice Kubo-chan doing the same. She pouted but bowed and said “yes, thank you,”
and turned away to saunter off to give their order to the cooks. Tokito nudged
Kubota’s leg with his shoe. It wasn’t a friendly nudge; it was a nudge that
clearly said, move it. Tokito glared.
“Thanks,” Kubo-chan said from behind a veil of smoke. He might have been
smiling. In fact, he really was. Tokito was one of the few people who could
tell.
Tokito shifted his foot, ending the brief war of placement. “Yeah. Have you been
here before?”
“Probably,” Kubota said, glancing around. “Or I had take-out from here. I can’t
remember.”
“Liar,” Tokito said. He wondered if Kou-san would come across with any
information, if Tokito asked. If Tokito showed Kou-san his hand, like Kou-san
wanted. Trade for trade.
Nah, it wouldn’t be necessary. Tokito could work it out on his own. Kubo-chan
lit another cigarette. Tokito played with the condiments. He was Mr. Cool.
“Let’s go all the way up to Ikebukuro,” he said, tapping a chopstick against the
glass jar of gomashio. “I wanna see the manga stores up there. I wanna see if
there’s anything new out.”
“We probably shouldn’t,” Kubota said.
“Why?”
“It’s too far. There’s something good on TV tonight.”
“Liar,” Tokito said again. “Whose territory is that?”
Kubota blew out a cloud of smoke. The waitress reappeared just then, with her
grin and their food. Two plates of brown curry and rice, one tiny little bowl
with a tiny, perfectly round scoop of pale orange something on it. Kubota said
thanks, and Tokito glared at her again. When she finally took herself
off, Tokito turned his glare on Kubota.
“Well?” Mr. Cool wasn’t so cool but he would not be denied!
“You like that stuff?” Kubota said, stubbing out his cigarette and pointing at
Tokito’s potato salad.
“Maybe,” Tokito said.
Let Kubota wonder about something for once. Tokito dug in with his
chopsticks, dragging a bite of the orange stuff to his mouth. It was tangy.
Mayonnaise-y. He thought he liked it. He did, in fact. He couldn’t have
said why he’d ordered it in the first place. It had sounded good.
“So whose is it?” he said again.
“Ahh, I don’t remember,” Kubota said, leaning back and stretching his legs,
putting the goddamned things full-length on Tokito’s thigh.
“Bullshit!” Tokito broke. Shit, he totally broke. But he was totally over
it. People were staring; but then, people were always staring. He kicked
Kubota’s warm, pressing leg under the table. “I learn everything I know
about you from other people!”
“Everything?”
“Yeah! Shit.” Kubota had that look, the one that said tons of shit that was
meaningless on a surface level but did something to Tokito, so quiet and so
intent, like that time he’d broken Kubo-chan’s arm, like it’d done when Kubo-chan
had gotten out of jail. It said, yeah, you don’t learn everything about me
from other people, because I’m different with everyone else and why does it
matter? “Shit,” Tokito said again.
“What do you want to know?” Kubo-chan said, in a very quiet voice.
Tokito looked at his food. His heart did some weird nervous jumpy thing into his
throat and he swallowed it back down. He could ask about Anna. He could ask
about Izumo. He could find out exactly whose territory Ikebukuro was and why
they couldn’t go there. He could ask about other people Kubota had liked.
But it was too late: Mr. Cool’s cover had been blown. Tokito realized that,
unless he truly wanted to look like the stupidest person in the world, all he
could do was what he’d always done-- wait. If he wanted the information,
really wanted it, then he could get it in bits and pieces like always, from
the source or elsewhere. And Kubo-chan understood Tokito’s predicament; Tokito
could hear it in his voice, at that moment, the same way he’d seen it in his
eyes just a few seconds ago. What else was there that he needed to know? If it
was important, really important, then he should ask it.
Tokito took another bite of the yummy orange stuff. “What’s your favorite flavor
of curry?”
“Hm,” Kubota said, maybe a laugh. “Right now I think it’s mushroom beef.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Tokito told him. “Fine.”
“Don’t you want to know what’s going to be on TV tonight?” Kubo-chan asked.
“It’s an animal special. On that animal channel.”
“Y’know, that pet joke is getting really, really old,” Tokito said from around a
mouthful of chicken-pepper curry.
“What are you talking about?” Kubo-chan asked, and Tokito thought that maybe
there was another thing or two that Tokito knew that Kubo-chan didn’t. There was
too much Tokito didn’t know about himself, even, but sometimes, keeping secrets
felt good.
“Never mind.”
Kubo-chan shrugged and ate his mushroom beef curry. “This place was a good
pick.”
“I know,” Tokito said. He’d proven something. He knew he’d won, somehow. And he
also felt bad, in a way. One thing Tokito knew was that Kubo-chan wondered if
Tokito would stay, or would go, would leave him. He wouldn’t. He should probably
tell Kubo-chan that at some point.
It was fun to do something different now and then. Still, comfortable was good.
Kubo-chan’s calf pressed against his was comfortable, like they were playing
video games at home. Tokito supposed there was plenty of time for everything
else; neither of them was going anywhere alone. Someone would always be
following, no matter who was leading.
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