[brighton] cut me out; fall in love to rinse your mouth

Kai knocked on the door thrice with the butt of his fist, making sure not to be too hurried or too loud about it. Naturally, the visit was a spontaneous one and he had not had the time to write ahead. He wouldn’t do that, anyway; it’d probably feel like too much pressure, setting a date and time, and then he’d end up not wanting to come in the end. It was better this way, for him, if (unfortunately) probably not for Tony. He wasn’t really thinking about that. Kai leaned against the wall beside casually, waiting for someone to answer (half praying it wasn’t the roommate).

It was a bit fucked up of him to be here, really. His ex had said next time the last time they’d seen each other, but between then and now — or, between then and ten minutes after that, more accurately — he’d convinced himself that Tony didn’t really mean it. Because why would he? It wasn’t like they’d talked about anything big or important that night, and he didn’t really think that they could do any kind of ongoing casual thing; he didn’t think that Tony could sustainably handle keeping everything in. Kai had tried to imagine what kind of next time Tony could have possibly envisioned and come to the conclusion that he’d probably just said it because he was caught off guard. Which, ironically, was what was just about to happen again.

Kai frowned a little, putting his cigarette out between a thumb and forefinger with one hand. The smell of smoke lingered, but he’d already knocked so he left it rather than attempting to vanish it away. He felt impatient to see Tony, wondered what was keeping him. He’d come here on a whim, but the adrenaline of making an impulsive, probably terrible, decision, was fading now that he was actually here. It was like armour, but only temporary.

The door opened and Kai resisted the urge to straighten up immediately, resisted the urge to search Tony’s expression with too much intensity. The second one wasn’t entirely successful. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and mellow. “I wanna show you something.”

Friday evening. Time for shul.

It was rare that Tony had time for Kabbalat Shabbat, or at least for the service at the synagogue. He managed, most of the year, to rush home and light the candles within some reasonable semblance of sundown, pour some wine, eat some challah Mum had brought round. But to have the energy to come home and change from robes into his Sabbath best, to grab his well worn prayer book and Floo to the basement of West London Egalitarian? That was rare. Tonight, though, he had managed to find a stopping point right at four o'clock, joined the throng of witches and wizards rushing for the exits. Came home with forty minutes to spare to do what he wanted; to touch the mezuzah he forgot about on his doorframe and kiss it, to splash cold water on his face, to say yes, it does seem like a lovely evening to head north, isn't it?

Anthony was getting dressed in the washroom when he heard three solid thuds against the door. Tony frowned, the bobby pins in his mouth threatening to fall from his lips. He wasn't expecting anyone. When he went to synagogue, he usually met his parents there. Michael and Terry usually wrote ahead, Michael usually during work on work memos, and Zach certainly didn't need to knock. Tony took the pins from his mouth and slipped them into his hair, pinning his dark-blue-and-bronze yarmulke into place over the crown of his head, patting some upset curls into place.

He should get some sort of surveillance item, Tony thought, making his way to the door. A Sneakoscope or something. He had all sorts of protective charms up, far too many, probably, but one never knew when they would come in handy. Better prepared than surprised, right?

Tony opened the door. Hey, said Kai. I wanna show you something, said Kai. Tony closed the door.

The calm that had been in his head before was gone, shattered into a hundred pieces. Jesus Christ, he thought, invoking a god he didn't care to think of so close to sundown on Friday. Was this his life now? Every four months, surprise, it's Kai Kimura, the ex that keeps on haunting you! Thought you were ready to move on? Thought you had moved on? Think again! This is your life now!

Tony leaned his head against the door for a moment, letting the imaginary Michael's and Zach's and Terry's chew him out for what he was about to do.

The door opened again after about five seconds, Tony standing there in a navy jacket-and-trousers number with old-man type brogues, trying not to look as flustered as he felt. "Thought I told you to write," he managed, expression steely but not angry.

The door closed in his face; he probably shouldn’t have expected anything more. Seven months ago, he’d snuck out of this very doorway, his shirt only mostly-buttoned and his socks rolled up in his pocket, Tony fast asleep in his bed. Three months after that, he’d shown up unannounced and Tony had looked like he was going to faint. Was that a yarmulke, he thought belatedly? Tony was busy then? Kai frowned at the closed door. He decided to give him a count to five to check if Tony was just pulling himself together, then he’d leave.

The door opened again on beat six.

Tony didn’t look pleased to see him. He didn’t look very happy at all. Kai nodded. “Sorry,” he said, the word not remotely apologetic and not carrying a fraction of the weight it had last time he’d said it, here on Tony’s steps. “Couldn’t wait.” He shouldn’t feel amused or dismissive of Tony's irritation or anger or whatever was going on in there, but he was in a good mood — excited, almost — and felt a little impatient for Tony to catch up.

Quietly, he urged Tony to try not to overthink it too much. This was admittedly rather large request. But Kai had been walking through the lanes, had seen the restaurant’s sign, in Japanese, with english underneath, and he’d recognised it immediately. He’d smiled. There had only been a moment of internal debate — just a flash feeling, really — before he made the impulsive decision to apparate to London then and there, cigarette between his lips and all. He wanted to share it.

But Kai supposed that Tony hadn’t had the luxury of the twenty cushioning seconds Kai had had before he’d appeared here. Tony hadn’t seen the restaurant (yet), Tony wasn’t necessarily having a day of focused clarity that could only come, for him anyway, after Britain had swapped to summer time. Seasonal depression was a bitch, depression in general was a bitch, but today was weirdly good, and Kai wasn’t wasting it. He shifted his weight back a touch, gave Tony some space in case he wanted to step outside of his comfort zone.

“Will you come with me?” he asked, trying not to sound too impatient, a half smile tugging at one side of his lips even as he tried not to let it.

Now that the door was open, actually open, Tony let himself look over Kai with a critical eye. He didn't look like he was cruising, or he was drunk, or he was high, or he was here to enact some sort of psychosexual retribution upon Tony's person. That left, well, forgotten items, and they had sorted that out in November, hadn't they? There were no other priors available. Tony's eyebrows clenched together, confused.

He was smoking, though. That was typical behaviour. Had been smoking. The smell lingered but the cigarette in his hand was out. Hm. "Couldn't wait?" Anthony repeated, one eyebrow doing the classic Goldstein Quirk upwards. His eyes slid back to the cigarette -- "Not even to throw that out?"

Tony was aware he was being completely uncharitable. It was on purpose -- it masked the curiosity bubbling up in Tony's chest. Kai was here sober, with a bouncing sort of enthusiasm Tony remembered all too well. It had been charming, once. Still was, try as he might to deny it.

Will you come with me?

Oy va voy, the lads were going to Kill Him.

Tony sighed, turned around and summoned his prayer book to his hand. If this was a trap -- well, Kai wasn't going to trap him with magic or a lack of anywhere better to be. "Right, as long as it's quick." He shut the door, locked it, took Kai's arm in hand for side-along. Belatedly, he wondered if he should take off his yarmulke, in case of hate crimes, but they were already going --

CRKT

-- somewhere else. Tony looked up at the store front, jaw dropping in surprise. "No," he breathed, voice full of disbelief.

Kai glanced down at the cigarette butt in his fingers. “No,” he replied simply, pocketing it.

Tony sighed and Kai’s almost-smile turned into a proper one. He knew that look. He couldn’t help but feel satisfied to see it; even with the other man telling him it had to be quick (Kai disregarded this), and even with the haughty ever-suffering sort of air that his ex clung to eighty percent of the time (also disregarded in this moment), it felt good to have him say yes. More or less.

“C’mon, then,” he said, trying to tone his expression down just a touch. Just a comfortable half-smile, then. He moved to take Tony’s hand, then thought better of it in the last moment and offered his arm instead. That would do.

——

And they were here. The restaurant was small and unassuming; it certainly didn’t look like much from the outside. The bricks around the large front window were a faded sort of red, and there was a lone seagull looking down at them from where it was perched on the sign hanging above.

“I know,” Kai said, eyes sparkling and fixed on Tony, watching his reaction.

Food had been more than food, to them. Kai thought that that was probably true for most people; food, the way it was made and the way it was eaten, was important socially, culturally, all over the world. He’d liked that the food they ate together had been so informed by their cultural backgrounds, liked that Jewish people seemed to have hundreds of different food-based traditions, liked the way they’d grown closer over something so simple and necessary as eating.

Kai had always enjoyed cooking, especially for other people. Especially for Tony, even.

He laughed a little, glancing at the restaurant. All Kosher Japanese food, run by a Jewish Japanese family that barely spoke any English — it had been a big deal for them when they’d stumbled across it in North London back when they’d been together. As far as Kai knew, the place had shut down in May of two-thousand-and-two. “They must have only just reopened here,” he said, “just in time for Passover, right?” After a beat, he looked back at Tony, checking without words that he’d gotten his dates right. He half-smiled again, his mind spinning up all kinds of memories.

“You wanna get something to eat?” he asked. “We could sit on the beach?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, down the street in the general direction of the pier.

I know, said Kai, that smarmy absolute manipulative git. Of course he knew. Of course Kai knew that Tony wouldn't leave and go to shul on a Friday night if there was an option to eat here. Of course Kai would manage to make this place reappear after three years, just to fuck with Tony's head.

Because this was their place, wasn't it? It was translocated to -- Tony glanced around for a moment, frowning as he heard the seagulls -- the coast, somewhere, out of London, but their signage had hardly changed, the Kosher certification still hanging proudly on the left side of the door, the distinctive aroma of matzo balls boiling in miso soup wafting out from the open kitchen door in the alley. It might as well be right where Tony had left it, in North London, in May of oh-one.

At least he didn't need to doff his yarmulke, then. It didn't seem like a Jewish neighbourhood, this one, but if this little place was able to make it out here, it must be fine.

Just in time for Passover, right? Tony nodded, looking to Kai with what he hoped was a more neutral expression. Kai was looking right back at him, though. Bastard probably saw his jaw drop already, so why bother pretending? "Just about," he managed to say, rubbing his jaw. He hadn't thought Kai would remember when Pesach was even on the Gregorian calendar, let alone the prohibition that kept Tony away from any decent carbs for a week. "Couple weeks still to go, but, yes."

G-d damn him, Tony was going to get dinner with Kai Kimura instead of going to Kabbalat Shabbat, wasn't he? It wasn't quite a forgone conclusion yet, so Tony attempted to plead off. "Thanks for showing me but--" he started, cutting across Kai's offer. G-d damn it! Tony tried again, curling his fingers around the spine of the prayer book and muttering "I'm expected for a blessing." But that was another rubbish excuse, neither the Goldsteins nor the Rabinowitzes were kohanim nor was he actually expected tonight. He looked to Kai's face, lips pressed together, selfishly hoping for some flash of disappointment.

He let the moment linger before, with another put-upon sigh, continuing -- "But it would be a waste of a trip to not eat, I suppose." Another sidelong glance at Kai, the corner of the mouth twitching into a smile. "And it is cool enough for soup, I believe."

Couple weeks to go, right. Better get something with rice, then.

Kai’s expression didn’t shift at Tony’s surprise, but he did notice it. He felt a mixture of cool satisfaction, heated smugness and a rather domestic flavour of contentment at the fact. There was some disparity there, but he didn’t linger on it;  Somewhere, he was sure that he should probably all feel a lot messier than it did right now, to Kai, but he was in such a clean mental space at the moment that none of that overthinking bullshit was going to cut into the high of it all. Naturally, Tony would do enough of that for the both of them.

Today, Kai felt good. Let himself feel good. Wanted to share it.

“But?” he prompted. A cool, salty breeze blew and it occurred to Kai once more that he hadn’t told Tony where they were going, or that they were leaving London at all. His ex had stepped off of the ledge with very minimal prompting, and Kai felt energised by that fact, too.

I’m expected for a blessing. Kai’s eyebrows slid upwards on his forehead just a fraction; he felt surprised, though he really shouldn’t have been. He glanced at the restaurant again, once, then back at Tony, half ready to just ignore the other man’s words completely. Kai could be a very convincing person when he wanted to be; he was charismatic, had a good instinctive understanding of conversational flow, and a habit of making other people want the same things he did just by being excited for them.

And Tony didn’t hate being pushed out of his comfort zone and routine nearly as much as he seemed to want people to think.

Kai felt impatient, like he was waiting for him to catch up to where he was, rather than listening to him politely decline the offer. There was a beat, and Kai parted his lips to speak, to convince him, but Tony got there first. He shut his mouth and smiled, distinctly unreserved about expressing his feelings today.

“Even cooler by the water," he said, playing along. "Matzo ball ramen," he added. It was part guess, part suggestion, part assertion. Okonomiyaki for him, maybe, or sushi if their non-fish options were any good these days. They’d have to check the seasonal specials. “C’mon,” he said, touching Tony’s back lightly before letting his hand drop as he went to open the door.

Kai barely reacted to his excuse, just a small hitch of the eyebrow and a glance away. It wasn't exactly what Tony had hoped for, wanted to see in the other man's face, but it was something. He caved anyway.

Matzo ball ramen, Kai said. Tony's heartstrings twisted. He remembered Tony's order. Well, he had given his ex a hint, remarking on the weather, but it felt like something more to hear the other man actually say it.  Did he remember every time they had come here? Tony promising to try something new next time, every time, nibbling off of Kai's plate instead of ordering his own pancakes or sushi or tempura? The location was wrong, the time was wrong, but it was Tony and Kai in front of the Japanese-Jewish fusion place again, and it felt so nostalgically right.

Tony nodded. Kai's hand came to rest, lightly, on the small of his back. Tony let him, caught himself feeling a pang of loss when the touch was removed.

He should leave. He should just twist on the spot and go back to London and let Kai string someone else along for a change. Stop himself before it all went sideways (again). Before Michael or Zach could ask what the hell was wrong with him (again). Before he could be hurt by Kai (again). It would be so easy. His wand was so close to his left hand.

Tony stepped through the open door.

They did takeaway, since Kai had mentioned the beach. Didn't have to wait long –– the owner-chef in the back remembered them, it seemed, and pushed their orders ahead. Tony didn't know whether to feel grateful (that the owners remembered them) or embarrassed (that they threw in a dessert neither Kai nor Tony had ordered into their plastic bags).

Kai pointed out a suitable spot on the beach. Tony sat as he was directed to, pulling his tall styrofoam cup of soup from the mess of it along with some wooden disposable chopsticks. Cracked open the lid and just breathed in the steam for a moment, rich with shiitakes and dill and miso. It tasted almost as good as he remembered it. Tony wondered if the packaging changed the flavour, or if Kai had soured the memory of it by bringing him here.

It was still good, though.

Tony had chewed through several mouthfuls of delicious, leaven noodles before speaking again. "So," he said. "Brighton." It was just a word, a name, but there were a hundred questions buried beneath it. Why was he here? He must live here now, to just run into their old favourite out of the blue. So, when had he moved here? Why had he moved? To get away from Tony? To be surrounded by other gay men? And if he lived in Brighton, why had he been in London all those months ago?

Kai ordered for Tony, with just a belated glance at the other man to make sure he was ordering the right thing, or maybe that ordering for him was okay. It was just a check in; Kai wasn’t really in a space where he was second guessing himself.

Afterwards, he led them down the road towards the pier. It was only a couple of streets away and all downhill, so the sea was visible as soon as they rounded the corner towards it. When they crossed the last road and actually got to the beach, Kai led them left of the large pier, down to a short concrete wall, and placed the plastic bag full of food atop it. He flicked a couple of large, rounded pebbles off of the top of the wall and took a seat, motioning for Tony to do the same. He arranged the condiment containers between them and took his first bites.

So. Brighton.

Kai swallowed his mouthful, nodding. “Yeah,” he said, brushing some tempura crumbs from his lips with the back of his chopsticks-holding hand. He couldn’t quite remember if he’d talked about wanting to move here back when they’d been together. He’d probably talked about wanting to move to a lot of places. “Moved down here a while ago,” he told him, meeting his eye. Tony and Kai had come to Brighton together, hadn’t they? Once or twice? It wasn’t the same in winter, he’d told him then. He’d wanted to bring him to Brighton pride, but they hadn’t made it to August.

“Just a few streets — that way,” Kai added, glancing over his shoulder, down the beach and up the hill. He gestured with his thumb, glancing back at Tony, his mind drifting... Too soon, he thought, looking back down at his food. He should eat his food. He took another bite, swallowed it. “It’s a good city,” he said. More left than London. More gay. “It’s the smallest place I’ve ever lived,” he added. More peaceful, too — not that peace was something he’d remotely considered the worth of until he’d gotten a taste of it.

Brighton, Tony said. Yeah, Kai said. A terse conversation already. The tension that had been softened with the steam from his soup was coming back into Tony's body, twisting down his right arm to the mangled mess of scar tissue around his wrist. He lifted another twist of noodles up to his mouth. When he was chewing, he didn't have to talk. Kai could fill the March air however he'd like.

He moved here a while ago. Tony chewed instead of asking how long a while ago was. He had still been in London -- what, last year? The year before? Adulthood made the passage of time muddle together in a way Tony didn't care for. Was 'a while' six months? Four months? Had that been before or after he left his keys at Tony's? Tony speared a matzo ball with his chopsticks, shoved it into his mouth instead of talking.

Kai kept filling the space -- Tony turned to look where Kai pointed, giving the hill and the few streets a survey. It looked nice enough. When he looked back, Kai was glancing away from him.

Don't even think it, a chorus of internal voices shouted out. Tony tried not to think it.

It's a good city, Kai said, but it was small. "Do you ever get bored?" Tony asked, inanely. "It seems -- quaint." Not as quaint as some places wizards lived, but so much smaller than London. The wizarding world was small, sure, but there was something amazing about living in the city, the way the millions of streets made everyone anonymous. "Quiet, even." Tony wasn't really giving the place a chance -- didn't want to. Giving Brighton a chance would be opening the floodgates to worse decisions.

“Yeah, it… Yeah,” Kai said, nodding with an easy smile. Quiet fit better than quaint. “I can hear the ocean from my place late at night, when there aren’t any cars around. Didn’t I say? I just turned sixty years old,” he added, a small smirk playing on his lips as he ate a little more, eyes on his food. It was understandable that Tony might be surprised; Kai wasn’t really a quiet-house-by-the-sea kind of person. Or hadn’t been. Or something.

“It’s quieter here, yeah, but London’s not far away, you know,” he said. Just an hour by train, he wanted to add. “I work in Diagon,” he said instead. Kai could feel some kind of pull to remind Tony of his own personal little quirks. Things Tony had liked, or would remember. He wanted to allude to things they’d done together in the past. The food in his hands, on his tongue, was urging him along, too. It smelled exactly like it always had. And Tony looked exactly like he always did, expressed things just like he always did — Kai wondered which one of them was more in the past. He found himself hoping, again, that Tony hadn’t really changed at all.

The salty sea air made his arms feel tingly. Or maybe that was just because he’d just brushed Tony’s hand reaching for the soy sauce. “Try some of this,” he said gently, picking a small piece of tempura from his plastic container and leaning forward a bit, holding it out for Tony to take a bite. "How about you?" he asked, meeting the other man's eye with curiosity anf familiarity. "Still happy in that flat?" Roommate, he'd said. Kai didn't linger on it.