So many other stories to work on, I know. But this little thing came into my mind lately and wouldn't leave, so here it is. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica or Sekai ichi Hatsukoi or any of its characters.

Cleaning House

The building's façade was a muted, gray concrete but at its base the grounds seethed with color as dozens of children scampered about in bright play-clothes and assorted school uniforms. Hiroki watched them in their complex choreography of play, the air raucous with laughter and small squabbles.

Everything about this place made him nervous.

Simultaneously, he straightened his tie and his shoulders. His fingers clenched the handle of his workcase tighter. His grasp, however, was not nearly as tense as the unseen hand squeezing his low belly.

Sac up, Kamijou! You can do this.

Despite his internal pep-talk, Hiroki's step faltered when a harried but pleasant looking middle-aged woman stepped out of the building with a tiny child balanced on one hip.

You have to do this. Otherwise you're going to go crazy.

Hiroki held his pause though, heart pounding in his chest. He was unable to move forward until the annoying voice in his head abandoned appealing to his strained emotions and tried another route.

And it's affecting your work. You think you'll ever make associate professor with all the mistakes you've been making lately?

With this prompt and a flush of shame at his recently less than stellar professional performance, his feet at last stumbled forward again and didn't stop until he reached the stoop of the Kusama orphanage.

The woman holding the child watched his approach with mild curiosity. As she stepped down to meet him, she gave soft "shushes" and head ruffles to the children that immediately flocked to her. She passed toddler she'd been carrying off to one of her older wards so that she greeted Hiroki with free hands.

She tipped her head to the side slightly, assessing him as he drew closer. It was a mannerism Hiroki was well familiar with, and now he knew where Nowaki had acquired it. Blinking hard, he dared his eyes to tear. His throat tightened around the words he wanted to shout.

Where is he? What happened to Nowaki?

Instead, he cleared his throat, bowed and politely introduced himself to Nowaki's mother as her son's former tutor. Hiroki's insides trembled as they exchanged all the proper pleasantries, waiting for the right moment to ask the question.

"It's been a time since I have seen your son."

Two months, nine days and thirteen hours precisely, since his five-year stray suddenly disappeared. Not that he was counting or anything.

Part of Hiroki had expected this inevitable end, while another part considered such abandonment an impossibility. The two factions had warred within him until his need to know simply if Nowaki was alive, if he was safe, had called an uneasy truce and driven him here.

"His phone hasn't seemed to be working."

The phone I bought him, to keep track of him and cut down on our never-ending miscommunications.

"Since I was in the neighborhood…" An hour out of my way from anywhere I should be… "I thought I might stop by to see if you'd heard from him recently. I was curious as to how he was doing."

Hiroki was embarrassed to sound as if he hadn't been listening when Nowaki's mother answered, but in truth he simply needed to hear the words repeated.

"I'm sorry… would you please say that again?" His mind struggled to process what she'd said.

"Yes, a two-year program in America, the top pre-med institution in New York City." There was no denying the pride that gleamed in the Lady Kusama's bright eyes. "As his tutor, you must be pleased Nowaki was awarded such a prestigious scholarship…

"I'm sorry my husband isn't here, Professor Kamijou. I know the director would want to thank you, as I do, for taking our son on as a student. Nowaki has always been a bright boy, but his behavior has been… erratic at times.

"When I last spoke with him, he was working very hard. I think he benefited greatly from your example. It's so wonderful to see him have such a strong focus."

Hiroki dipped his head as if in humble consideration of the praise couched in the Lady Kusama's words.

New York City? He is/was my lover, how could he not tell me about this?!

"Your son was a pleasure to work with." Despite how the words caught in his throat, they sounded easy off of his tongue. "I wish all my students were so diligent."

The rest of their conversation was a blur. Hiroki passed the trip home in a similar fugue, barely registering the way he was shoved about by the milling crowds on the subway. He remained in this dazed state until the door of his lonely apartment closed behind him.

As soon as the latch caught, the strength left his legs. He sank down to the floor of the entry, back pressed against the door. His forehead furrowed as though this would somehow stop the tears he'd been holding back from filling his eyes.

Did I say something? Is that why?

Of course, he knew he said all sorts of things. Unkind things. He yelled and fussed and was too silent as well. But he'd thought Nowaki had learned to translate all his expressions, read beyond them to know the truth they contained.

Was I too harsh?

Surely Nowaki had to know that if he pushed him, was demanding, it was only because he knew how truly capable the younger man was.

Was he unhappy with me? Did I leave him unsatisfied?

A blush filled his cheeks at the thought. Akihiko was the only lover he'd had who'd ever expressed disappointment. And that was hardly his fault. Hiroki supposed he could have been more tender: Nowaki would have likely enjoyed that. It was hard enough, however, to have relegated himself to being the bottom.

Still, should I have let him fuck me more? Or maybe I should have fucked him more often?

Slamming his fist down on the floor, Hiroki growled. This line of questioning was getting him nowhere. And in the end it didn't really matter, did it? Nowaki had left him.

Without a word. Not even a damn note.

Two months plus in America now, and nothing since he'd left.

That means it must really be over.

The ringing silence of his apartment answered him and it was more than he could bear. Pushing himself up off the floor, Hiroki darted out the door hoping he could shut his heartbreak in behind him.

"You look a little young to be drinking…"

Hiroki lifted his head to meet the brown-eyed gaze of a guy who looked even younger than he did. He looked back down to his drink and snorted. "No doubt I am older than you."

The guy slid into the booth beside him. "Don't be so sure. Looks can be deceiving."

Aware his new booth-mate was assessing him quite openly, harsh words of rebuff sat on the tip of Hiroki's tongue. He swallowed them: it was that kind of bar after all. He raised his head at last and made a secondary sweep of his own.

What he saw was disheveled, dark hair and a waify face, although the eyes held nothing that matched the innocence of the guy's appearance. His mind went instantly to a thousand saved memories of a particular pair of blue eyes, open and earnest.

"You're not my type."

"Then you're here looking for a 'Daddy'?"

"What? No!"

Brown eyes widened in surprise and maybe just a little bit amusement at the ferocity of Hiroki's response. Then understanding flickered across the boyish face.

"Ah… a break up."

Hiroki took another swallow of his drink to steel his glare. "My personal life is none of your business."

"I see… A bad one. How long were you together?"

He wanted to tell this stranger to piss off, but what came out and with far less vitriol than he intended was, "Five years…"

This news was received with a grunt that could have read as either admiration or disgust.

"That's quite an accomplishment."

"Was…"

"Excuse me?"

"Past tense… 'was' an accomplishment."

The side of the other man's mouth quirked up at the correction.

"You always so literal?"

Hiroki's brow furrowed. "Erm… I suppose."

"Well then, Literal … you want to fuck me?"

The question caught Hiroki off guard and his eyes widened. They grew even larger when he realized the fellow was serious.

"You always so forward?"

A dark head tipped to the side. "No… Usually I let my conquests think they're seducing me, but I kind of like the look of you and you don't seem that type."

Hiroki's booth-mate rose and turned as if to leave. Before he moved away, however, he glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm Kisa and my apartment's about a block away."

Seeing Hiroki hesitate, he smirked. "I'm not looking for strings, just a good hard cock. You up for that?"

Hiroki studied the young-looking face before him. Three words came to mind: New York City. He tipped back the last of his drink, rose and silently followed Kisa out.

An hour later found them collapsed, breathing heavily, as they lay side by side on Kisa's futon.

"Wow… If you always fuck like that, Kamijou, your boyfriend was an idiot to leave you."

Hiroki's already heated skin suddenly burned hotter. "Well… uh… generally speaking…"

A dark brow rose. Understanding dawned on Kisa's face and he barked out a laugh. "Well, if you bottom as well as you top, he's still an idiot."

It bothered Hiroki to hear someone besides himself call Nowaki an "idiot." But he was in a stranger's bed, his limbs still too sex-heavy to really want to move yet, so rather than react the way he normally would, he simply sighed instead.

"A gone idiot."

"Miss him that much, do you?"

Hiroki frowned and rolled over onto his back. He stripped the condom off his softening dick and tossed it into the bedside bin. This done, arms bent and hands tucked behind his damp head, he settled into the pillow behind him.

"I'll give you a piece of advice, Kamijou." Kisa shifted from his side, mimicking his bedmate's posture. "Best way to get over him… When you get home, get rid of anything that reminds you of him.

"Out of sight, out of mind."

The way Kisa said this caused Hiroki to glance over. The expression on the young-looking face was both determined and slightly sad.

"I never keep anything from a guy I've been with. No matter the duration. Once he's gone he's gone. No souvenirs: No memories. Whether it's five years or fifteen minutes."

Kisa closed his eyes and breathed out a sleepy huff. "Trust me. I know about these things."

Hiroki tipped his head and gazed at the ceiling, considering the advice. He began to make a mental inventory of all the things that Nowaki had left at his apartment. It wasn't much.

I've been meaning to give the place a deep cleaning anyways.

By the time his mind pulled back to the present, Kisa was softly snoring beside him. Hiroki slipped out of bed and dressed quietly. He didn't bother to wake Kisa.

When he left he made sure that he left absolutely nothing behind.

After spending the next day unable to think about much more than how much he missed Nowaki, Kisa's admonition had increased in merit. Enough so, that Hiroki returned home from work, soul steeled and several newly-purchased collapsed storage boxes under his arm.

He honestly hadn't thought he'd need more than one, but figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

To start, he moved in to the room that had been technically "Nowaki's." He'd never spent much time in here, since they usually slept in his bed. Nowaki generally retreated to this space only when he had serious studying to do.

Or when I was in a mood and he didn't want to disturb me. Always so careful and considerate.

Jerk.

Hiroki couldn't decide which of them he intended this last word for. Rather than spending time trying to decipher it, he sat on the floor and assembled the first box. Once finished, looking around, his chest suddenly ached with how thoroughly Nowaki had packed.

How did I miss this?

That he'd been so caught up in the new classes he was teaching and finishing his thesis for publication was hardly an adequate excuse. Rising, he moved over to the closet and opened the door. Nowaki's rolled futon and empty hangers were the only things inside.

Moving through the silent room Hiroki's focus shifted from removing anything Nowaki left behind to looking for clues. Nightstand empty, not even a spare condom left behind in a drawer. The low dresser was the same; barren as the day it was purchased.

The shelf above the desk was the only place holding any evidence that someone spent time there, but the few books that lay on their sides were all his: ones Nowaki had borrowed.

Always so damn responsible too… Dark eyes made one more sweep over the room.

Yeah, except for when it comes to telling his lover he's leaving him.

Hiroki snorted, demanding his ire keep any tears at bay. The stomp of his footsteps echoed off the bare walls as he stormed out, shutting the door hard behind him.

Out in the main room, he carefully went over all the shelves that lined his walls. The first item he picked up was a seashell.

I remember the day he found this.

They had gone to the beach two summer's ago on an impulse… Well actually Nowaki had been longing for a day trip for ages and he'd finally succumbed to those puppy-dog eyes.

Hiroki could still remember the smell of the sea, the feel of the sand getting between the soles of his feet and the cheap flip-flops he'd bought at a stand so he wouldn't wreck his shoes.

Despite the crowds, it had seemed so peaceful. The tension of the city left him and the roar of the surf had stirred something primal and aching in its place. Looking out at the vastness of the water, that endless expanse, he'd been glad he had someone standing beside him to dispel how incredibly small he'd felt.

Not alone.

As the sun set, Nowaki had stolen a kiss under the deepening shade of their rented umbrella and, on their way back to the boardwalk, he had found the shell; offered it with those remarkably long and sensitive fingers of his.

Hiroki set the shell in the box reverently. One corner of his mouth quirked slightly upwards as he recalled that though they'd showered before catching the train back, they'd ended up finding sand in their sheets for weeks after.

He sighed and moved to another shelf. Each one held at least one token, something of his disappeared lover.

There was the "lucky" coin Nowaki found, traversing on his own the first street they'd held hands in. The goofy little alligator knick-knack Nowaki won at a school festival he'd attended for of one of his favorite sisters and dragged him to as well. Three origami cranes the younger man had made out of the foil that wrapped the first chocolates he'd given him.

Looking down into the box as items began to slowly accumulate, its contents began to blur.

I thought this was supposed to make me feel better!

The impulse to just sweep everything off the shelves and into the box struck Hiroki, but despite the appeal of this, he just couldn't do it. Everything Nowaki had given him, no matter how small or seemingly simple was still precious. He wiped the tears from his eyes

Shit.

You got through Akihiko, you can get through this.

Only this time, Hiroki realized, there was no Nowaki standing behind him in the doorway. The strength at his back that had seen him through his last heartbreak was his heartbreak now.

Behind, beside, before… all these spaces empty.

Despite the fact it took him three times as long as he expected to fill Nowaki's box, somehow he'd managed it. The cardboard crate sat, lid closed, on the low coffee table. Inside was an eclectic array of items: Nowaki's little treasures, a few thin cases holding some of the video games and action movies the younger man favored, and his own secret stash of all the post it notes Nowaki had left him over the years they'd lived together.

Kamijou perseverance for the win, Hiroki thought glumly as he settled on the couch with a cold beer to celebrate his accomplishment. Sipping on his beer he eyed the box as though it held a nest of vipers and not a random assortment of items that incited once sweet and now painful memories.

"I really should just throw the whole damn box in the trash." He could envision himself doing just this as he muttered the words. The collection bin for his level was just down the hall and around the corner. It would be so easy to just toss it and never think about it again.

Setting his beer on the low table, Hiroki dipped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Damn you…" A huffed sigh, just short of a sob, cut off his words. I can't even get rid of you when I want to.

Hiroki stood and retrieved the packing tape from a drawer in the kitchen. He wrapped the box up tight, wrote "STORAGE" on the top and the side of the box in furious calligraphy with one of his red grading pens. Then, he carried the box containing Nowaki to his hall closet and shoved it to the back of the highest shelf he could reach.

He returned to the couch afterwards to finish his beer- one of many that night.

Nine months, twenty-two days, and fourteen hours had passed since Hiroki realized Nowaki had left him.

Not like he was counting or anything.

Struck with the rare urge to cook, he rummaged through his kitchen drawers looking for a whisk. He supposed there were other things he could have used, but the recipe he'd found online specifically called for one and when it came to culinary instructions, he always followed them to the letter.

Brushing through the items at the back of the drawer, his fingertips grazed a familiar handle. They closed on it unconsciously before he realized what they'd done. Pulling the item out, Hiroki recognized the rice paddled he'd given Nowaki their first Christmas together. It was part of a rather fancy set of cooking utensils he'd bought him, after Nowaki had expressed an interest in a much cheaper set on one of their rare shopping trips together.

How did I miss this piece?

A furrow formed on Hiroki's brow remembering that the other tools from the set were in the box in his closet with the rest of Nowaki's things. He returned the spatula to the drawer, pressing it to the back, before he shut it. He shut down his computer next, suddenly no longer in the mood to cook. Besides, even if he had kept the recipe up and actually made anything, his appetite was gone.

Dark eyes swept over the flat. Hiroki sighed remembering the night he'd packed all Nowaki's things away. It really hadn't helped any.

He'd found Nowaki's ghost wasn't to be contained in just his things; it haunted the apartment, artifacts visible or not. Every time he looked out on the balcony he still saw Nowaki hanging up clothes. There was a stain on the counter from a spilled cup of tea that never quite faded. The entry always seemed to be missing a familiar pair of shoes.

He'd thought so often about moving, but realized months ago, it wouldn't matter. Nowaki had been seared into his skin, his mind branded with his memory. Couch, bed, bath, anytime he sank into one of these, his flesh recalled the press of a lean body against his own. Nowaki was held in the pages of his books, the darkness around a visible moon, in the scent of city rain, in almost everything he touched or heard or saw or tasted, actually. Somehow the idiot had saturated all his senses.

His mind drifted back to the box in the closet, to the advice he'd been given months ago. Maybe it was that Kisa guy with his worthless words who was really the idiot. Or maybe Kisa had just never really been in a certain type of love.

"How did we get so much crap?" Hiroki surveyed the stacks of boxes that filled the front room of their new apartment with a scowl. This wasn't the first time he'd made this observation in the last two weeks since they'd packed up and made their move.

"I tell you what, Hiro-san," Nowaki sidled up behind him and wrapped long arms around in a back hug. "You take care of your books and I'll take care of the rest of our… 'crap.' Okay?"

Feeling his giant's happy smile as the back of his head was nuzzled, Hiroki allowed himself to be placated. Just this once.

"Alright."

He told himself he didn't miss it when Nowaki released him to move across the room to open the boxes labeled "Kitchen." He watched his returned lover unpack until Nowaki caught him. Only then did he turn his pink-cheeked attention to re-organizing his library.

Hours later, lost in trying to determine if his last book case, devoted to contemporary literature, should be arranged by publishing house or genre, Hiroki almost missed Nowaki's soft exclamation.

"Oh!"

Turning he saw Nowaki holding a familiar rice paddle. Blues eyes met his and Hiroki was surprised to see Nowaki's cheeks pink, just before his lover's inky head dipped down. His feet took him to the kitchen area before he could stop himself.

"I didn't think we had any of that set left." Nowaki's voice was low and remarkably tender as his long fingers traced the handle. "That was the first Christmas present you gave me. I always loved cooking with them. Using them made me happy."

Now it was Hiroki's turn to blush. Dark eyes darted across the room to his wall of bookshelves where the only adornment presently was the Uncle Sam panda Nowaki had brought back for him from America.

"Stupid to be sentimental about a spatula, Nowaki."

Seeing the flash of hurt in his lover's eyes, he tried not to wince.

You're one to talk about sentiment, Kamijou. And don't forget, you promised to do better this time. So get with the program.

"Besides, I'm sure the rest of it is around here somewhere."

Hiroki scanned the rest of the boxes in the room and his gaze fell on the culprit. Nowaki remained in the kitchen, watching as he made his way over to the box, opened it, and after a little rattling around pulled out the rest of the utensils.

"See. They just got separated. We still have them."

Stepping back to the kitchen he handed them over. Nowaki took them gently, brushing his hands in the exchange. The sweet smile on his face almost broke Hiroki's heart.

"Now they're reunited. How wonderful; the set is complete again, Hiro-san." Nowaki set the pieces on the counter, long fingers trailed over the utensils.

"Yeah… Well…"

Hiroki noted how Nowaki's eyes drifted back over to his storage box. His heartbeat suddenly accelerated.

"Why don't you wash those and get them put away. I'll take care of the rest of that box. I need a break from my books anyways. Then we can go to Pandasan, if you like."

He didn't wait for Nowaki to answer before he darted over to the box and disappeared with it into the bedroom to hide it in the bottom of his side of their closet.

It was a rare night that found both Hiroki and Nowaki ensconced in the white couch they'd purchased for their new apartment.

Three months, eighteen days, and sixteen hours had passed since they'd moved. Not that Hiroki was keeping track or anything.

The week had been long and they were both exhausted. "I'm too tired to play Dramatical Murder tonight." Hiroki huffed out a sigh. "Besides, addicting as it is, it's a really fucked up game."Where did you get it again?"

"One of my patients, Hiro-san. She said it's really popular with the girls right now."

Hiroki pulled his feet out of his house slippers and up onto the couch. "Well that explains a lot, little perverts." He blinked at Nowaki's curious expression. "Seriously, you should see some of the trash I catch them reading on their phones."

"How about a movie, Hiro-san." Nowaki shifted the subject before Hiroki wasted what was left of his energy getting caught up in a rant about his students.

Seeing Hiroki nod at last, he moved over to the cupboard that held their video collection. He leaned over and opened a drawer, his eyes widened slightly when he saw a title that he knew hadn't been there the last time he'd checked.

He pulled out the case and flashed it towards the couch. "What about Die Hard, Hiro-san?"

"Sure." Hiroki pretended it had been there all along, not that he'd taken it from the box in his closet and stuck it in the drawer two days ago. "We haven't seen that in a long time. I kind of forgot we had it."

It was the same with all the other things that he'd silently pulled out and put up. Outside his "post it" collection which was now secreted away with all the rest of Nowaki's letters, gradually, piece by piece his shelves were becoming repopulated: every previously stowed item finding a place.

Nowaki never mentioned it either, but each time he noticed a new thing set out again he would beam for days.

Once Nowaki returned to the couch and sat down, Hiroki allowed himself to collapse. He rolled over and curled up, head nestling into the lean thigh seated next to him.

"I still have never understood your fascination with Bruce Willis, Nowaki."

Warm fingers drifted down and began to rub through his hair. As Nowaki started the movie, Hiroki closed his eyes and listened to the opening score.

"He has good forehead wrinkles and I have always found them kind of sexy." A light chuckle escaped Nowaki as his fingers shifted to rub at the furrows that had suddenly formed on Hiroki's brow at his words. "Nowhere near as sexy as the ones you'll have someday, though Hiro-san, I'm sure."

For a moment Hiroki remained silent at this, but after he pushed up lightly into the soothing touch. "Whatever. You just better make sure your giant ass is here with me so you can admire them properly."

The fingers in Hiroki's hair stuttered just barely before resuming their soft petting. He bit his bottom lip, trying not to tense, wondering if he'd revealed too much too early. Rolling over he looked up, hoping his anxiety wasn't anywhere near as visible as it felt. His eyes closed a moment later when Nowaki dipped his head down and kissed him.

"Where else would I be, Hiro-san?"

"Exactly," Hiroki huffed before rolling back over onto his side. "Now be quiet so we can watch the movie."

I know this scenario is a little canon divergent... Hiroki actually learned Nowaki had gone to America on the phone talking to the principal of the Kusama School... But I liked the thought of him going to the orphanage better.

Also, I have little omake with Kisa, already written I'll put up shortly.

Hope you enjoyed my little jaunt into angst and fluff.