A/N: I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Daisuke and Miyako. Not as lovers, but as friends. The kind of friends that give each other untold amounts of shit, but also the kind of friends who would ultimately do anything for the other (especially if it meant a lifetime’s worth of blackmail material).
Disclaimer: Come at me Bandai. Come at me.
Chapter 3: If Turnips Were Swords
Daisuke hated when these moods came over him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think of things he could be doing. On the contrary, there was a hamper full of clothes that he could be putting into the laundry. There was also the not too distant supper that he could be shopping for or Ken’s plants that could do with watering or the living room carpet that could stand to be vacuumed. Failing anything productive, Daisuke could at least be out enjoying the beautiful weather.
But Daisuke wasn’t doing any of these things, and, if he was being honest with himself, the chances that he would be any time soon were slim at best. Instead, Daisuke had spent the better part of his day off moping about the apartment, rising late from bed before slouching into the guestroom to pointlessly wander about the internet then finally coming to rest on the couch, where he remained even now, too lazy to bother with even getting up to turn on the television.
It wasn’t that he was sad or depressed, or even just bored. Not hardly. No, if Daisuke had to pick a word, the closest he could even think to come was tired, though that didn’t really seem to do his mood justice. He stood slowly, stretching as he rose and began to wander aimlessly about the apartment for what felt like the umpteenth time that day, grinding his teeth when the flash of bright red and gold caught his eye yet again.
It was a pile of New Year’s cards, almost hidden, under a stack of old mail. Daisuke wasn’t sure what it was about the cards that bothered him so much. Granted, it was well past New Year’s at this point, and it would hardly make any sense to still be working on New Year’s cards, but then, Daisuke had never been a stickler for the details. Why the hell shouldn’t there be New Year’s cards still sitting on his table?
But then it struck him. Because Ken was a detail man and it was Ken who had purchased the cards months ago. Ken, who insisted on stopping by the bank to get a little cash for the kids. It was Ken who had sat down at this very table to write out New Year’s cards so many months ago, and Ken who, apparently, never bothered to finish. And something about that did not sit right with Daisuke. No matter how many times he told himself to ignore it, his mind just kept coming back around to the damned cards left lying in the middle of the table and why that couldn’t possibly be right.
Enough! He had had enough! Daisuke snatched the cards from the tabletop with a growl. If Ken wanted to send out New Year’s cards, he would just have to wait until they started selling them again next fall. These were going in the trash. ASAP.
And so they would have, if someone hadn’t started beating on his front door with determined insistence.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Daisuke complained, swinging the door wide, taking in the would-be interloper of his thoughts with vague, if mostly false, annoyance. “Miyako,” he intoned.
“Daisuke,” she answered back with her own snark, shooting Daisuke a glare of distaste even as she pushed her way inside without invitation. She offered the entryway only the most perfunctory of looks before announcing, “I hate this apartment.”
Daisuke shook his head. Why did everyone have to rag on this place? He happened to like it, thank you very much. Never mind, Daisuke was fairly sure what Miyako was hinting at and felt it was better to just go ahead and nip the conversation in the bud. “I’m not selling it,” he said it with as firm a tone as he could muster.
Miyako glanced back at him over her shoulder, her face a study of vague indifference. “I never said you should,” she answered, shrugging her shoulders even as she kicked off her heels. “If you like your crap apartment in the crap part of town, who am I to say you should get rid of it? Who do you think I am, Yamato?” she asked, walking into his living room as if she owned the place before collapsing on the couch in a decidedly unladylike pose. “New Year’s cards?” she asked, noting the bright red paper still clinched in his fist, “Really, Daisuke, in April?” The judgmental, “Hmmmmm?” was unspoken, but not unheard.
“Love you too, Miyako,” Daisuke answered, glancing at the now ruined cards in question before tossing them on the coffee table with a grunt.
“I know you do,” Miyako deadpanned before breaking character with a giggle and a wink.
“Ugh!” she groaned a moment later, stretching out so that she now took up the entirety of the couch, leaving Daisuke nowhere to sit but on the ottoman, “God, I’m so glad you were home. I needed to see a friendly face. You’ll never guess who I had lunch with yesterday.”
“Who?” Daisuke asked, ignoring Miyako’s disgruntled look at his refusal to play along. Not that she paused for long.
“The Ice Queen.” She complained. Daisuke just rolled his eyes.
“If you don’t like Hikari, don’t see her,” he shrugged, “You’re both adults. It’s not like you have to hang out with anyone you don’t want to anymore.”
“Oh Daisuke, Daisuke, Daisuke,” Miyako clucked, “You really don’t get girls, do you?” she sighed, “And here I’d always thought the gay thing was just some act you put on to keep me from getting Ken.”
Daisuke rolled his eyes again. He tended to do that a lot around Miyako.
“Whatever, bitch,” Miyako grumbled, “She called me. It’s like, when I don’t see her, I kind of forget that I don’t like her. But then I do see her and it’s like, Boom! I hate this woman.”
“So write yourself a note,” Daisuke suggested, unimpressed by Miyako’s complaining, “Might help you remember.”
“Whatever,” Miyako was annoyed. “I should have known you wouldn’t take my side. I forgot she was your first loooooove.” This time, it was Miyako who rolled her eyes. “And, you know, maybe I was a little late.” Miyako paused, “Okay, maybe I was waaaay late.” Daisuke had a pretty good idea which was closer to the truth. “But little Ms. Perfect with her little perfect family and her little perfect life really doesn’t have to be such a little perfect bitch about it. Every. Fucking. Time.”
“I don’t know, Miya,” Daisuke hedged, bracing for the smack he was certain he would get, “I’m sure Hikari wasn’t trying to be annoying.”
But, strangely, Miyako let that pass. Perhaps she was too comfortable, stretched out as she was, on his couch. Regardless, instead of getting angry, her mood seemed to mellow, even sadden.
“It’s just not fair, you know?” she asked Daisuke. “It’s like, she got everything I wanted, and I don’t even think she likes it.” Miyako frowned, “The kids, the husband, the whole shebang.” Miyako sat up suddenly, elbows on knees even as she glowered at Daisuke. “I was going to have five kids,” she told him, “Five! And they were going to be beautiful like me and smart like Ken and we were going to be happy. Perfectly happy.” Miyako smiled softly for a moment before throwing herself back across the sofa with a groan, “But then you had to go and seduce him away from me, you little slut,” she complained.
“I’m sorry,” Daisuke apologized. Miyako shot him her best knowing look.
“No you’re not,” she groused.
“No,” Daisuke couldn’t help the little ripple of humor bubbling out from under his words, “I’m not.”
“Fucking whore.” Miyako cursed before demanding, “Make me something to eat. I’m hungry.”
Daisuke smirked. Miyako couldn’t be too upset if her thoughts were already turning to her stomach. “I can’t,” he told her, “I don’t have anything to fix."
“Then take me out to eat.” Miyako sounded as if she were trying to explain what should have been a very simple concept to a very dull child. Not that Daisuke was bothered. He was used to it by now.
“Why should I take you out to eat?” He asked, “You make twice as much as me. You should take me out to eat.”
“Ugh! Whatever!” Miyako complained, “As long as it means I get food, I don’t care. Let’s go!”
“As you wish, my dear,” Daisuke stood, offering Miyako a hand to pull her to her feet and toward the apartment door.
But as he was bending to slip on his shoes, the red cards caught his eye yet again and he couldn’t help wondering why Ken had never bothered to finish. Daisuke shrugged his unease away. It didn’t really matter anyway, did it? Not right now.
New Year’s had long since come and gone and what mattered now was getting Miyako fed and away so that when Ken came home from work later tonight, their apartment would once again be the calm, quite sanctuary he loved. Maybe, if Daisuke got back from going out with Miyako in time, he could even clean up a bit.
Ken would love that.
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