He does not know how to talk to Keigo.

He knows codes and cues; he knows, for instance, that if he scowls and kicks his way through an argument, he would most likely win. He knows that Keigo appeases him too much, that he sometimes act all the more a brat because of it. He knows that what they speak are veiled sentiments that people would shake their heads over, he understands that his relationship with the older boy is fragile because they must read between the lines.

He picks up a packaged noodle and makes a face.

In the end, his cart circles the aisles over and over again until even the shoppers sneak a disapproving glance at him. Most of them are women; it is in the afternoon, and the golden hour of chitchat and gossip amongst housewives.

He scowls; in the next aisle, he piles up whatever comes to his fancy and heads to the register. Strawberries, even though it is not the season for strawberries, Keigo likes them, and he can't go wrong with washing strawberries.

How much do they have left? He erases the thought; they will survive, until Keigo gets out of this predicament and then Keigo will owe him several dinner courses.

/

Keigo is in the flat as he left him to be: hunched over a piece of paper, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes narrowing. He does not seem to be making any progress in the legal system. Ryoma shuts the door behind him, but Keigo does not acknowledge his presence. Merely a short wiggle of his toes signifies any movement.

He puts everything in the fridge, takes some coffee out and boils the water. He spoons out the sugar and mixes it well with the milk and makes two cups, one that he takes to the other boy.

"Here," he says, and places the coffee down. Keigo takes his eyes off the writing to direct a suspicious gaze at the coffee. He looks at Ryoma.

"Is it poisoned?" he asks.

Ryoma scowls. "Funny," he says, "Not everyone is out to get you, you know."

Keigo doesn't answer to that, but he looks down at his coffee in mild distaste. "I take mine black," is all he offers.

Ryoma rolls his eyes. "Fine," he says, and take the cup back, and pours out another batch. This time, he hears footsteps along his wake, and when he does turn to take the new coffee to Keigo, he sees him across the door of the kitchen.

"You shouldn't be nice," Keigo says, his frown intact, "It really doesn't become you."

"I'm giving you a cup of coffee," Ryoma points out.

"You never do anything."

"Yeah, well, I decided you might need some coffee and I needed some, so." Ryoma stops and sighs. He fixes his scowl back on. "Do you want the cup or not?" Keigo pauses for a good while before answering again.

"I would, thank you." He doesn't walk up and take it though; he merely apprises Ryoma with those unreadable grey eyes.

"'Kay, then." He pauses, unsure if he should venture out anything else. "I'm going to go to the gym. Er, anything you want for dinner?"

"Nothing, no." Again, the same stiffness of tone, and Keigo finally takes the cup of coffee away from him. "Thank you, though."

They are like strange roommates living under strange circumstances. He wishes he had his cat.

/

The few days pass by like that: complete silence, with Keigo reading document after document, his eyes tight and red, while Ryoma haggles and shoves plates of food on the coffee table, where it is ignored. Keigo sleeps on the sofa, but Ryoma rarely sees that sight; he enters the bedroom late at night when Keigo is still awake; when it is morning, he only finds the room flooded with the smell of coffee and a bleary-eye Keigo.

(He wonders if Keigo understands any of the legal shit that has been going on. He erases the thought-thinks, shouldn't he help? Shouldn't he do something? Bulldoze all the camped-out journalists? Take drugs and act high? He doesn't know anything nowadays except to train for the next match. His trainer shouts at him. His muscles are dropping. He is not eating and his weights show. His trainer screams at him and he wishes that Keigo would yell instead of reading all day.)

The strawberries are ignored, but that is the least of his worries.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he says one day, after more days than he cares to admit has passed between them, "but you need to eat and sleep like a normal human being."

"Considerate of you," Keigo mutters, his voice barely audible, "seeing how well you take care of your own self."

"We should go out to eat," he says.

Keigo finally lets out a small sneer, but doesn't look up at Ryoma. "As you so dearly pointed out, there is the media and the paparazzi to consider. No thank you."

"Like a hotel. With exclusive rooms where they do all the fancy shit." Ryoma plops down on the sofa opposite of Keigo and kicks his foot. "Can you be at least a bit cooperative on your wellbeing?"

Keigo snorts. "I didn't realize that my wellbeing is any of your concern."

"Stop saying the same lines over and over again. It is, if you're going to die in my house."

"I wouldn't dream of being such an inconvenience." With that, Keigo offers him a very tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He feels cold, looking into strange eyes into a face he thought he knew well. He shifts his foot.

"You do realize," he says, wondering how to phrase everything that he could possibly put into words, "That I do care about you?" Then, exasperated, he kicks Keigo again, a bit harder. "Don't make me say some sentimental crap, Keigo."

"I'm not making you do anything. I'm not asking much, am I?" Keigo lets out an irritated puff. "Leave me alone."

"You're making me worry!" Ryoma snaps back. He stands up, abrupt. Keigo does not look at him, merely waves his hand towards his direction.

"I didn't ask you to. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, save for the fact that I have nowhere to go, thanks to the courtesy of my dearest uncle. And that nowhere happens to be here. Don't trouble yourself with more."

He feels drained by this proclamation. He understands the meaning behind the dismissal,that this is not his life and he is not part of that life, and the twist inside his guts makes him understand that he wants to be.

It is not his fight, but he did not need to hear that. He did not need Keigo to shout those lines at him.

"Fine," he says now. He cannot say anything more and the rest of the night is gone in silence.

/