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Title: A(r)mour

Warnings: Rated M, contains yaoi and occasional swearing, if you don’t like these things please don’t read.

Summary: Hiroki just keeps getting his heart broken, again and again and again, like a fool who doesn’t know when to quit.

This is Hiroki-centric, primarily his point of view, and honestly probably everyone else gets the short end of the characterisation stick, so consider that fair warning if you don't want to see some characters in a bad light. Standard romantica, egoist, and terrorist couplings, plus Nowaki/Misaki, Akihiko/Hiroki, Miyagi/Hiroki.

Author's Note: I have no idea why I was so compelled to write a Junjou Romantica fanfic. Well, more accurately it’s Junjou Egoist, because Hiroki's far and away my favourite character and honestly a lot of rest of it frustrates me. But then maybe that’s why. There was just enough to like in Junjou Romantica that I can’t quite leave it alone even though I probably wouldn’t recommend it to anyone else. So here we are. It’s not my best work, but maybe someone out there will enjoy it and I can get it out of my head.

In this fic, I use sans and senseis where appropriate (since sensei has more or less passed cleanly into the common English vernacular and I can’t get away from Nowaki using anything but ‘Hiro-san’), for everything else I try to use an English equivalent or leave it off.

The story starts around episode eight in terms of timeline. I should confess I’ve only seen the first season of the anime and I’m not completely up to date with the manga, so please consider any timeline inconsistencies as artistic license.

…It’s probably a bad time for me to start posting stuff, since my life is going to lose all sense of routine very soon, but I’ll endeavour to post once a week. Fic will probably be about 15 chapters all up.


Chapter 1


The train brakes squealed. Misaki Takahashi, college student at Mitsuhashi University, economics major, brown hair, green eyes and at surface glance an entirely ordinary guy, stumbled into the door. The train lurched again as it jolted to a stop, sending him staggering the other way. His shopping bags dropped to the ground, and his shoulder hit something warm.

“Are you okay?” A stranger had caught him before he could tumble head-over-heels down the aisle. Misaki’s face burned in embarrassment.

“I’m fine! Sorry! What I get for day-dreaming.” He gave a nervous laugh, and stooped to pick up his scattered shopping, cursing under his breath.

“It’s no problem.” The man crouched with him, fetching a can of creamed corn rolling away and stuffing it back into one of the bags. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks!” Misaki said, all but beaming. There were still genuinely nice people in this world!

The guy was huge – taller even than Akihiko – but he had kind blue eyes and a gentle smile. Their hands touched as he offered over the bags, and their gazes locked. Misaki felt a peculiar kind of nervous excitement rush through him, like the first warm breeze of spring.

“I’m Nowaki Kusama,” the man suddenly blurted. “Nice to meet you.”

That was where Hiroki’s misfortunes all started.


Hiroki Kamijou, Associate Professor of Literature at Mitsuhashi University, was frowning. This was not an unusual state of affairs, but the dark cloud of anger and depression building over the brunet's head had grown so thick that tiny little thunderheads might as well have been condensing into a miniature typhoon, liable to wreck all in its path.

“Oh! My sweet honey! Were you lonely?” Professor Yoh Miyagi, on the other hand, was the very picture of sunshine and joviality as he traipsed into the room, arms laden with yellowed scrolls and weathered tomes. He didn’t wait for an answer – dumping the whole lot on the already-messy coffee table with a heavy thump. “This will cheer you up! A first-rate haul at the second-hand bookstore!”

“Hn.” Hiroki barely heard, glaring at the criteria sheet he’d been working on for the past hour as though it were personally responsible for every grievance in his life at that moment.

His attempts to set the piece of paper on fire through the power of sight alone were rudely interrupted by an arm forcefully hooking under his elbow and hauling him out of his seat. “Kamijou~!” The words warbled in a throaty singsong. “Come help an old man shelve and organise all these books!”

“You’re thirty-five, that’s hardly old!” he grumbled, out of reflex more than anything. Nonetheless, the mess on the table got him moving. “Professor! Don’t just dump these things everywhere - I only just finished organising this mess! Honestly…” He continued muttering to himself as he sorted through the latest haul, cataloguing by author and genre.

Miyagi just hummed a cheerful tune as he started unfurling and examining the scrolls. “You’re unusually cranky today. Something bothering you?”

Hiroki tensed. “Nothing.” He kept his attention on the hardcover in his hands, finding a home for it on the pre-war era shelves.

The professor, of course, never took the hint to leave a topic well alone. “Problems in paradise, then.” He nodded sagely, as though impressed with his own wisdom.

“It’s not!” Hiroki snapped, and then visibly reined himself in, taking a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help.

“Right, right.” The professor in question didn’t even glance up from his work. “You’re just frowning all the time and staring into space and terrifying all the students worse than normal because everything’s fine.”

“That’s unusually sarcastic, even for you, Professor.”

Miyagi just slanted him a cheesy grin.

Hiroki didn't normally speak to people about his problems. Hell, he hardly even spoke to Nowaki about his problems, so when that problem was Nowaki…

"It really is nothing," he said. "He just hasn't been home much."

Miyagi glanced over at that, cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn’t even need to ask who ‘he’ was. "Well, he's an intern, right? Medical types-"

"I know!" Hiroki interrupted irritably. "It's just less than usual. It's no big deal." His voice faltered on the last note. Less than usual meant he hadn't seen him for over a week, and when he had seen him Nowaki acted strangely distant. Even the usual notes and phone calls accompanying such absences had been dropping off. It brought back bad memories of a time when every note was met with sickening dread, wondering how long he'd be left in limbo this time.

Miyagi looked pensive. Hiroki waited for the typical joking remark, hackles raised, but none came. "…Is that so?" He turned his attention back to his scrolls.

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the shuffle of papers and slap of hardcovers on shelving. The room grew orange in the setting sun – the constant muted chatter from beyond the door diminished into reverent silence as the halls emptied with the end of afternoon classes.

It didn’t last, of course. “You know what they say,” Miyagi eventually remarked. “Relationships where you don’t really talk to each other don’t tend to last.”

It wasn’t the first time the professor spat out that platitude – though this time, he wasn’t referring to his own failed marriage.

Hiroki quietly kept shelving the books, and didn’t acknowledge the comment.

When the last of the books had been catalogued and shelved for the day, the professor shooed him out the door. “It’s late. Go home already! You practically live here sometimes!”

Ignoring the utter hypocrisy of that statement, Hiroki gathered his things and left. He had been staying back late more than usual lately – there simply hadn’t been any point to coming home on time.

The walk home did little to improve his outlook. Clouds gathered overhead to match his mood, and by the time he reached his building fat raindrops were beginning to dot the path.

The door was locked - the apartment dark and empty. He flicked on the light, and moved into the kitchen. Taped on the fridge was, as always, a note, the characters printed in a familiar scrawl.

‘I won’t be home tonight. –Nowaki’

His head thumped against the cool fridge door. “When will you be home?”


Miyagi wondered if he should say anything.

The signs were all there. He’d lived through them himself. Knew what they looked like.

The difference was, he’d never really been that invested in the relationship. His wife had been tolerable, a good friend, and he was male with a perfectly healthy sex drive, and at the age people expected him to settle down. But there hadn’t been much genuine feeling there, and some days, pretending could be tiring. Once he started to suspect, a mere two years into their marriage, he’d been almost relieved. It let him off the hook, so to speak.

Kamijou, on the other hand…

Well, they’d been having problems long before this. For at least a year, his associate professor had been a constant storm of misery. Then there’d been that incident outside the office, and that night he’d come wandering in from the rain, crying

It took a hell of a damn lot to make ‘the Devil Kamijou’ cry.

Which brought him back to his dilemma.

Was Kamijou happier not knowing?

The door knob turned, and the cranky brunet in question all but stomped in.

“Oh, my sweet honey!” Miyagi greeted with his customary smile and hug. “I’ve been waiting for your special brand of sunshine all morning!”

The shoulders were stiff, and seemed to sag for just one moment before, predictably, the arms came up and Miyagi was pushed away. “Professor…

Right. The warning levels in that voice were unusually dire. “Ah, so busy, so busy,” he continued cheerfully, returning to his desk and opening the newspaper.

It really wasn’t his business. But he was genuinely fond of his associate professor. So much like… well, that was a dangerous path of thought. But it bothered him, just a little, to think of how poorly he’d been treated. He’d never managed to wrangle the full story out of his deeply private colleague, but what little he had managed to piece together…

Who disappeared for a year without once calling their lover? That had to be an exaggeration, surely? Or one of those ‘accident-at-the-post-office’ scenarios?

The hell with it. “You know, Kamijou…”

“What?” he snapped, quick as a snake snatching a mouse.

His nerve faltered. He could see where the ‘Devil’ nickname came from sometimes.

“How’re things at home? You’re unusually cranky today. Ahhh, it’s putting me off my coffee,” he lamented good-naturedly. Maybe the roundabout route was best after all.

Only silence greeted his question. When he chanced a glance, Kamijou was staring into stony nothingness. “Hey, Kamijou?”

In a flurry of movement, he gathered his papers and stuffed them in his bag, making his way to the door. “They’re fine,” he said shortly. “Not that it’s any of your business. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class.”

Miyagi shrugged at the rude brush off and lit another cigarette.

Classes, after all, didn’t start for another hour.

Oh well… he’d hoped to plant the seeds of doubt. A bit of forewarning might’ve let the guy down a little more gently.

Nothing more he could do, though. As Kamijou said, it really wasn’t his business.

Next chapter


( 7 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 15th, 2013 11:37 pm (UTC)
*squeals* This is really good! Even though I wasn't very fond of the anime, I know you'll do it justice!

Sep. 16th, 2013 07:25 am (UTC)
Thanks! I kind of feel the same about the series so we're in the same boat.
Sep. 16th, 2013 03:28 am (UTC)
Well, I've never heard of Jonjou Romantica or Junjou Egotist, but I'm definitely willing to give this story a chance. Your writing is good enough to draw me in despite knowing nothing so congrats!
Sep. 16th, 2013 07:23 am (UTC)
Ah, thank you for taking a chance on it, though I really wouldn't recommend either the canon or the story to you, heh. :)
Sep. 18th, 2013 12:54 am (UTC)
Its cute, and I'm highly amused to find this just now because I *just* finished watching this last week. Cute story.
Sep. 18th, 2013 02:39 am (UTC)
Heh, lucky timing!
Sep. 29th, 2013 12:18 pm (UTC)
Lovely start to what looks like a very interesting story.
( 7 comments — Leave a comment )