Say It

Disclaimer: Don't own. Also, I don't know anything about the Japanese legal system. This is all according to my (limited) knowledge of American court cases.

His first day back in classes, Miyaji Kiyoshi hits the ground running. He's discombobulated, tired even though he wakes up before his alarm goes off, and the work is just coming in waves—no, that's not accurate, tsunamis. He's got a cup of tea and a sandwich and not even enough time to register he's eating and drinking because he's got so much work. These ancient texts are boring; these court documents and cases are even worse—they're totally redundant but he knows if he starts skimming he's going to miss something important, goddamn it and anyway if he's serious about this he's going to have to read every word, know every case inside out and upside down (and, for that matter, right side out and right side up).

He left his reading glasses at home, realizing this and remembering exactly where he put them as he was already on the train to Kyoto, and so he e-mailed his mom and asked her to send them to him (she replied back angrily, of course, because what kind of idiot son did she raise to forget his glasses? Packages are expensive to send, too) but for now reading is tough and even more arduous than usual.

He squints at the computer screen (why do they have to use these goddamn digital copies? Damn it; he wants to run this entire law department over because trees or no trees, it's hard to write notes on a computer screen and it's hard to keep track of where he is on the page (it even happens when he's wearing his glasses!) and it fucking sucks, okay? Why did Kimura have to stay in Tokyo and go to business school there so he could prepare to take over the grocery store?) and sighs, clicking and dragging and highlighting text.

His phone buzzes. Miyaji tries very hard to ignore it, but then it buzzes again, and again. It's ringing. And the caller is Takao. He picks up.

"Shouldn't you be asleep? I'll run you over if you're out partying." He probably isn't, though; the background is quiet and Takao's not shouting.

"Love you, too." His worn-out brain can still picture Takao on the other end, sitting with his legs stretched out on an uncomfortable bed in some generic American college dorm room that looks like the ones he's seen in TV shows and movies. He can picture the grin that's plastered to Takao's face, that teasing one he wears whenever he's about to put his hand in Miyaji's back pocket or squeeze his arm or kiss along his jawline and he's half-hallucinating now from the lack of sleep and sudden overload of classwork that he just didn't expect and had somehow forgotten all about and almost feels the pull of Takao's fingers on his hair.

"Anyway," Takao says, speaking softly (his roommate must be asleep; he must have a normal schedule. Takao sleeps like a cat, anywhere and at any time, usually when and where it's least convenient, draping himself over Miyaji in the morning after Miyaji's gotten up and gone out to get the paper or when they're sitting on the couch and he stretches out so that the sunbeam hits him in just the right place), "Anyway I'm about to go to bed. How were your classes?"

"Eh," says Miyaji. He doesn't want to whine about them because whining is for sissies and he knew what he was signing up for when he started prelaw. The work will be nothing compared to law school, after all. "Okay so far, I guess. Ask me again in a few weeks."

"So they're hard, then?" From the slight static and hushed tone, Miyaji can't quite tell but he thinks Takao is laughing.

"I'll throw a fucking pineapple across the Pacific Ocean and hit your head," Miyaji says. "It's only been one day, anyway."

"Mm." Takao yawns.

"Go to sleep," Miyaji says. "Seriously, take care of yourself."

"But it's nice hearing Kiyoshi-san's voice," Takao says. "I miss you."

He says that so matter-of-factly, and he just sounds so...happy. Miyaji runs a hand through his hair. Shit. How are they going to make this work across an ocean? Two years of Miyaji at university in Kyoto and Takao still in Tokyo was hard enough. And right now he wants to touch him so badly, to hold him as he falls asleep even as he complains about how heavy Takao is and how he drools when he's asleep, he wants Takao's strong presence beside him that actually helps him study, calms him down a little bit.

"Hey, are you working?"

"Yeah. I have to read thirty more pages of this court case and then I'm going to dinner." Miyaji considers making a snide remark about Takao calling him and interrupting, but he really needed the break. He feels a bit more alert now (or maybe it's just Takao. No, he definitely shouldn't say that part aloud, although the thought of a smug, giggly Takao is not unpleasant. Actually, it is if Miyaji's not there to see it.), like he can actually finish reading the case without falling asleep or smashing his computer repeatedly against the desk.

"Read it to me," Takao says. "I want to fall asleep listening to you."

How the fuck is he so adorable? How the fuck does he just say this, unabashedly and cutely and without Miyaji's chest to snuggle into?

"Please, please, Kiyoshi-san," Takao says.

"Alright, alright. Stop being so impatient." It's actually at a semi-interesting part, a description of events leading to a subpoena and an appeal. Every few sentences Miyaji stops, listens to Takao's breathing on the other end. It's still pretty shallow and soft. He keeps reading, finally reaching the concurrence, reciting each judge's statement (the decision was unanimous). As he pauses after reading the fifth justice's words, he notices that Takao's breathing has gotten deeper and steadier. Miyaji stops speaking. Takao doesn't tell him to continue.

"Hey, Kazunari?" Miyaji whispers. Nothing. He pictures Takao lying in a sort of awkward position on the bed, phone loosely pressed between his relaxed hand and his ear, ,eyes closed, smile on its brightest setting.

"I love you."