Chapter Text
worship (wor•ship) (v.) 1. to honor or show reverence for as a divine being or supernatural power 2. to regard with great or extravagant respect, honor, or devotion¹
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When Niibashi was younger, his grandma used to braid his hair for him whenever his family came to visit her in the summer. It was no secret that Niibashi was her favorite grandchild, and she would sit him in front of her vanity on a high stool that lifted his feet off the floor while her fingers skillfully weaved his locks.
"Someday," he remembers her telling him fondly, "you'll be a great person, Juuya-kun. You'll have all the love you could ever ask for."
Since then, Niibashi has been living by those words. He knows them by heart.
I'm a great person.
I won't ask to be loved.
Yet, he did exactly what he's been promising himself all these years not to do... and he did it at a fast food restaurant, no less.
And then there's Shirahama.
On a better day, Niibashi wouldn't spare him a thought, let alone ask him to worship him. Shirahama is a friend of a friend and still virtually a stranger to Niibashi. He's both somebody and nobody. But he was there with Niibashi; it was either coincidence or providence, and despite introducing Niibashi to a concept as silly and juvenile as dipping a fry in a chocolate milkshake, he looked tired. Not tired in the way someone who’d just come back from competing in a sports tournament would be—tired like a ship lost at sea, like the world has worn him down and now he’s simply drifting along at the mercy of the currents after days of going against them in futility. Niibashi could see it in his eyes; it was almost as if he was looking at a mirror.
It’s been two days since then. The weather that morning is pleasant and warm; gentle sunlight pours down on the concrete path, and the skies are bright and clear with no traces of clouds. Niibashi walks among the crowd of students making their way to the school, the buzz of conversation and laughter permeating the air. Without a reason, he abruptly stays in place, lifting his head up to the sky and finding the pale moon greeting him. Niibashi knows that celestial bodies are inanimate objects, and hence they don't have feelings, but he wonders if the moon has ever felt lonely when it comes out during the day, surrounded by a vast sea of blue without the stars to keep it company.
"I'll think about it."
It's been two days. He's waited long enough.
"Morning, Niibashi," he hears someone next to him say. Niibashi is so deep in thought that he doesn't notice a fellow third-year art club member walking beside him until they call his name.
"Hm?" He meets the other person's curious stare; once he registers the round wire-rimmed glasses and the sea-green hair, it's obvious to Niibashi who it is that just greeted him. "Oh. Morning, Manabe."
"You're not gonna go inside?" Manabe asks with a smile.
"Yeah, no, I was just—" Niibashi shakes his head. "—nevermind."
He continues walking, with Manabe by his side.
"I like what you did to your hair, by the way," Manabe remarks. "It suits you."
It's not intentional. Niibashi tried braiding his hair this morning, but at some point he gave up and decided to just tie his hair back with a scrunchie. Niibashi also tried doing his usual 8-step morning skincare routine (he needs it more than ever, what with the dark circles under his eyes. They can easily land him a job as an extra at a haunted house because of how ghastly they make him look) and gave up on that, too; he skipped putting on serum after toner and went straight to moisturizer. The only thing he succeeded in trying was putting on his contacts, because nobody at school knows that he wears glasses, and he'd very much like to keep it that way.
"So, spring's about to end, huh?" Manabe goes on. "What are you doing this summer? Anything fun planned?"
Niibashi gives him a look. "Fun?"
"Yeah." Manabe's short response sounds carefree bordering on flippant. "We're exempt from the summer menu now that we're third-years. And college applications start rolling around in September. This summer's our last chance to have fun, no?"
"I guess." Since he knows he'll be slaving away at his cram school this summer, Niibashi doesn't have anything planned. Besides, he's never thought of summer break as a time to have fun, what with the amount of summer homework the school never fails to assign, among other things.
"So? What're your plans?" Manabe presses, but before Niibashi can think of an answer, he asks again, "Oh! Are you gonna check out Geisai this year?"
"Which Geisai? TUA's or Murakami Takashi's?"
"Both are great art festivals, but I was talking about TUA's. I don't have anything planned for summer, so if you're looking for someone to go there with you…"
Manabe gestures at himself, and Niibashi wants to roll his eyeballs.
God, he really is obvious.
Niibashi is aware that Manabe has had a crush on him since they were first years, and he's not the least bit discreet about it. Although he's never outright confessed to Niibashi, Manabe has made plenty of bold moves on him (like asking him to play the Pocky game in front of the other art club first-years), and has asked him out. Multiple times.
Niibashi always finds ways to turn him down. Manabe isn't ugly by a long shot—in fact, he's one of the few good-looking ones hailing from the neighboring class—and Niibashi has to give it to him for being as persistent as a cockroach, but he's just not Niibashi's type.
Besides, Niibashi doesn't have time for frivolous high school romances. He has no room in his head for it. Everything is taxing enough, and he wants nothing more than to lie down on the ground until moss can make a home out of him, but life doesn't stop even if he does that. There will always be things he has to do, places he needs to be, and problems he has to solve.
And the last time he put his feelings in someone else, it didn't end well.
He'll never make that mistake again.
"I've already checked out all the art school festivals last year," Niibashi replies. He steers the conversation somewhere else. "You're not going to hit the books over the break? I heard you want to go to Kyushu University."
"I can still study and have a bit of fun in the summer." Manabe shrugs. "The common test is a piece of cake, anyway. Once you figure out the patterns, at least."
"So you've figured it out, then?"
"Eh…" Manabe holds his hand out facedown and rocks it slightly. "More or less. Definitely leagues easier than the entrance exam for TUA." A smile flashes over his face. "You're going there next year, right?"
Niibashi's muscles suddenly tense. "I plan to."
"I bet it'll be easy for you."
Now he's stopped in his tracks again. "Easy?"
"Well…yeah." Manabe follows suit. "You're an elite and you're family's full of famous people who went there, so—"
"Manabe." What started out as a steady stream of irritation has become a tidal surge. Boiling hot and washing over him, splashing around inside of him, threatening to escape from his mouth.
Manabe looks at him questioningly. "Yes?"
"I don't know what you're trying to do, but can you please shut the fuck up?"
Niibashi has never once felt good after getting angry, but this time, he can't help it.
I bet it'll be easy for you.
His entire body feels like it's shaking. His fist is clenched so tight that his fingernails dig into the skin of his palm, and he might as well leave a hole where he stands with the way his feet plant themselves on the ground.
Manabe doesn't look at all taken aback by what he just said. Instead, he simply asks, "Did I touch a nerve?"
Niibashi resists the urge to click his tongue. He storms towards the school's gates. "You touched a lot of nerves."
"Which ones?" Manabe tails behind him.
"Drop dead, Manabe."
"Geez, that's harsh. I'm just trying to cheer you up."
Niibashi whips around so hard that he almost loses his balance. "Did I ask you to cheer me up?!"
His voice comes out louder than he means to. A couple of students even stop to crowd around them, probably thinking that a fight is about to break out.
This time, Manabe isn't so unfazed, though to his credit, he doesn't attempt to hide his face or avert his gaze.
"Did I ask you to cheer me up?" Niibashi asks again.
"No," Manabe says. Despite his towering height, he somehow looks small, as if he has shrunk in Niibashi's presence. "But you look pretty down lately, so I figured I should offer some, uh, encouraging words."
"If I want encouraging words, I'll ask for them," he spits out. His mouth tastes like bile. "If I want help, I'll ask for it. If I don't ask for anything, then just stay put and mind your own business."
He lifts his chin and turns his back to Manabe, pushing through the crowd of students and snapping at them to get out of his way. He knows he's making a scene, but he doesn't care. He just wants to get the hell away from people's prying eyes and stupid assumptions.
I bet it'll be easy for you.
Niibashi quickly exchanges his outdoor shoes for his indoor ones, nearly slamming his locker shut once he stuffs his sneakers in it. He crosses the entrance, marches down the hallway full of students of all moods readying themselves for the school day, and hikes up the stairs to the third-years' floor, but instead of going to his own classroom, he goes to the one right next to it.
"Where's Shirahama?" he bluntly asks a boy with black hair and big eyes that just stepped out of Class B. He's carrying a stack of papers and folders in one arm.
"Shirahama?" The boy asks in return. "Oh, he's—"
Niibashi doesn't wait for him to finish. He steps past him and into the classroom. Sure enough, Shirahama is there; in fact, he's right in front of Niibashi, both of them inches away from colliding into each other.
"Whoa," Shirahama says. "That was close."
Niibashi's eyes are at the same level as Shirahama's mouth. His heart decides that it's the perfect time to go faster without warning him first.
"I thought I heard someone say my name," Shirahama looks down at him. "What's— WHOA—"
Niibashi grabs his arm and drags him out of there. To where, he doesn't know yet. Right now, he's acting purely on impulse.
"Wh-where are you taking me?" Shirahama asks, understandably worried. "And holy shit, how is your grip so strong?"
"We need to talk," Niibashi answers tersely.
"Talk about what?"
"What we talked about on Saturday."
Shirahama pulls himself free from Niibashi's grasp, prompting Niibashi to stop in his tracks to turn and face him.
"I already told you I'll think about it," Shirahama says. His expression is rather guarded, and it nips at Niibashi.
"It's been two days." Niibashi crosses his arms over his chest. "That's plenty of time already. I want an answer."
"Well, I don't have one yet, so you're gonna have to give me more time."
"No," Niibashi bites, adamant. Now that they're in the middle of a hallway, some looks in their direction are warranted. Niibashi hardly gives a damn. "You answer me right here. Now."
"What the hell is your problem, man?"
That's a response Niibashi didn't see coming. He didn't expect any resistance, especially coming from Shirahama. If he was irritated earlier, now he's about ready to detonate. Ire simmers steadily just under his hair follicles. "Excuse me?"
"I don't owe you anything," Shirahama says. "You said you want me to worship you, that you're only gonna ask me, but that's just because you think I don't have anything else to do, right? If I told you I was busy, would you still have asked me to do it?"
Niibashi clenches his jaw. "You don't understand—"
"No, you don't understand," Shirahama interrupts him firmly. "You want someone else to make you feel whole, but have you ever made anyone else feel that way? Have you ever worshiped anyone?"
Niibashi stares at Shirahama, who stares back, but strangely enough, he's not as angry as he thought he'll be (he felt hotter under the collar when Manabe implied that Niibashi's family name will guarantee him a spot in the country's only national arts university), nor does he explode with fury at Shirahama's defiance. If anything, Niibashi is only annoyed at how spot-on Shirahama is; he might be more insightful than Niibashi gives him credit for.
Great, Niibashi thinks. So he's not actually dumb.
Finally, Niibashi closes his eyes and lets out a sigh, though not one that signals defeat. "How about I worship you instead?"
Shirahama's glare morphs into a look of confusion. "Huh?"
"You said you've never felt whole before, didn't you?" Niibashi asks again, trying to keep his tone even. "That means nobody has ever worshiped you. Let me know if you want me to do that."
"I—" Poor Shirahama looks like he's struggling to follow the conversation. "What—?"
"Oh, and I think we should greet each other in the halls from now on," Nibashi adds. "I've seen you get your arm stuck in a vending machine, and you've seen me eat at a fast food joint. We shouldn't be strangers."
Niibashi then coolly books it out of there, not waiting for Shirahama to respond, or feeling any remorse for leaving Shirahama in the middle of the hallway.
He repeats those words in his head:
I'm a great person.
I won't ask to be loved.
***
After what happened this morning, Kagiura won't leave him alone.
"Why won't you tell me what happened?" Kagiura asks in the middle of home ec. They're making cherry pies today, and Niibashi can't believe his (bad) luck that they're paired together. For now, however, he's more perturbed with the way Kagiura is handling the cold butter. "Honestly, I'm worried. You're suddenly picking fights and I have to hear it from other people."
Word spreads fast among the students. Then again, Niibashi isn't surprised, and he doesn't want to complain; mostly because he thinks he has no right to. His rather heated exchange with Shirahama happened in the hallway of the third-years' floor, where it's no closed space by any means and everyone can see.
Nevertheless, Niibashi has been trying to ignore people whispering all day. His favorite bit of overheard gossip came from a first-year outside the bathrooms: "I heard they were fighting in the hallway because he stole the other senpai's girlfriend."
Unacceptable. If Niibashi was in the mood to ruin relationships, he wouldn't settle for one partner; he'd snatch both parties.
"For the last time, we didn't fight," Niibashi corrects Kagiura as he cuts the cherries for the filling, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Kagiura's hands, "we had a talk."
"Yeah? What did you two talk about, then?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Oh, for the love of—" Kagiura puts—or rather, almost drops—the butter on the table and puts his hands on his hips. "—you're doing it again."
"Don't— the butter's gonna melt like that, you idiot!" Niibashi swiftly grabs the mixing bowl containing the dry ingredients and chucks the chunks of butter in. "We have to keep everything as cold as possible."
Kagiura shakes his head. "You're definitely doing it again."
"Doing what?" Niibashi looks up at him incredulously.
"You're Niibashi-ing."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Kagiura sighs. "Every time I try to get you to talk to me about your problems, you never do! You either always tell me it's none of my business, or you just change the topic."
Niibashi regards Kagiura for a while, before going back to cutting the cherries. "You should grab a fork and get started on the crust."
"Seriously? You're worried about the pie crust right now?"
"Well, yeah," Niibashi says matter-of-factly. "I want us to not fail home ec."
And as if I'd ever tell you anything.
Ever since they started their third year, Niibashi has witnessed just how busy Kagiura has become: he's the captain of the basketball team, he's studying for entrance exams so he could be in the same university as his boyfriend (Niibashi looked up Hirano's school. Kagiura would be lucky if he could so much as be admitted there by the skin of his teeth), and he's juggling time between school, sports, and his relationship. Niibashi isn't going to add more to his plate. He won't do that to Kagiura.
Kagiura opens his mouth like he's about to say something, only to close it a second later. He fetches a fork to mix the butter with the dry ingredients. "I wish you'd lean on me more, Niibashi."
Niibashi's doesn’t take his eyes off of the cutting board. "Why would you want me to do that?"
"Because I'm your friend, and friends are supposed to tell each other stuff."
"Friends also respect each others' boundaries, so if I don't want to talk to you, that means— ouch!"
Niibashi hastily sets down his knife and sucks on his pointer finger, where blood is seeping out from a cut. Thankfully, it's not too deep.
"What's wrong?" Kagiura checks on him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Just a small cut." Niibashi cradles his hand. "I'll go get a band aid from the infirmary and come back."
"I'll go with you."
"Absolutely not. You stay here. One of us has to man the desk."
Niibashi goes up to his teacher, tells him what happened, and obtains permission to leave the class. Since classes are in session, the hallways are silent and empty. Niibashi can hear his own steps as he makes his way to the infirmary on the first floor.
Through the large window panes, Niibashi can see students in their P.E. uniforms hitting volleyballs back and forth in pairs in the courtyard below. He recognizes Manabe, diving to dig the ball but sending it flying instead, and concludes that they're from Class B.
Without conscious thought, his eyes try to pinpoint a head of dyed grayish-silver hair among the crowd.
If I told you I was busy, would you still have asked me to do it?
Maybe, Niibashi would've answered him. Maybe I still would.
Because you're the one who came to my table.
***
No wonder Niibashi couldn't find him in the courtyard.
"Hey," Shirahama greets Niibashi when he steps inside the infirmary. He’s in his P.E. uniform, sitting on the sofa, but he’s covering the bottom half of his face with a small towel. Niibashi catches what looks like drops of blood on his shirt, and his eyes widen.
"Oh, c’mon, don’t look at me like that," Shirahama protests, his words somewhat muffled against the cloth. "You’re the one who said we should greet each other from now on."
"You’re bleeding," Niibashi points out.
"What? Oh, yeah. I am." Shirahama removes the towel from his face to reveal an alarmingly red nose, crimson lines trailing down from his nostrils to his chin. A part of the towel is soaked red, and some of the color is even smeared on his hands and between his fingers.
Niibashi’s stomach drops. "What happened to you?"
"A volleyball hit me in the face." Shirahama presses his towel over his nose and mouth, hiding the damage from view. "Smacked me right in the nose."
"Are you okay? Like, truly?"
"Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just waiting for the nurse to come back."
Niibashi furrows his brows. He walks towards Shirahama and bends his knee in front of him. "Let me see."
He lays a hand on Shirahama’s—the one that’s holding the towel in place—and gently pries it away. Shirahama doesn’t stop him or make sudden movements like recoiling away, and Niibashi takes that as a sign that Shirahama doesn’t mind him stepping into his space.
"Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?" Niibashi asks. "Because if you do, you might have a concussion."
"No, I'm not dizzy, my nose just kinda feels like it's throbbing," Shirahama divulges. "Do you think it's broken?"
"I'm not sure." Niibashi isn't very fond of blood, but he observes Shirahama’s red and bloody nose, looking for more signs of damage.
Then, he hears Shirahama chuckle.
Chuckle. While his nose is bleeding.
Something inside Niibashi’s chest does a backflip.
"That’s one hell of a frown." Shirahama tells him. "Does it look that bad?"
"Not really." Thank god his face isn't ruined. "The blood’s still going, but I think it’s just swollen. Can you breathe?"
"Through my mouth."
"Good. You should do that." As Niibashi straightens himself, he says, "You need an ice pack, but I don't know if the infirmary has one. Let’s just stop the bleeding for now."
He scans the room for tissues, spotting a whole box of them on the nurse’s desk. He grabs it and walks back over to the sofa, before kneeling at Shirahama’s feet. After pulling out a few sheets of tissues, he holds them on his palm, just below Shirahama’s nose.
Shirahama’s brows arch. "You know first aid?"
"No, but my brother used to have a lot of nosebleeds when he was a kid, and I watched how my mother dealt with them." Niibashi draws Shirahama’s hand away from his face once more. "Can you lean forward a bit, and bend your head down?"
Shirahama obliges, squeezing his eyes shut as he does. Niibashi asks again, "Can I touch your nose?"
"Sure." Shirahama shrugs. He sounds about ready to put his fate in Niibashi's hands. "Do what you gotta do."
Some blood-stained tissues, wet wipes, and a dose of Tylenol later, Shirahama looks less like he just got out of a fistfight and more like a well-adjusted citizen, though his nose is still very much as red as one of Santa's reindeer, and his uniform still has a bit of blood on it. After taking care of Shirahama's nosebleed, Niibashi gets himself a bandage and wraps it around his cut. He also fills out the usage form since he forgot to do that when he first came in. When the nurse returns, he only observes Shirahama for a quick minute before giving him an ice pack and sending him, along with Niibashi, back.
"I forgot to ask you," Shirahama says when they're in the hallway, walking side by side, "what did you come to the infirmary for?"
Niibashi shows him his finger. "I accidentally cut myself during home ec. I'm usually good with a knife, but I don't know. Maybe today's just not my day."
"Wait. So you did all of that, with a cut finger?"
"It's no big deal. The cut's not that deep, so it doesn't hurt much."
"Huh." Shirahama looks off somewhere into the distance and shakes his head. "You know, you're really something, Niibashi."
Niibashi's gaze flit down to Shirahama's hand. "Define something."
"Well, I never thought that you'd take care of me the way you did just now. I mean, you could've just done what you needed to do and left me be, but you didn't." When their eyes meet, Shirahama smiles at him—ice pack pressed against his nose and all. "Nobody's ever done that for me. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you."
Niibashi probably should've kept staring at Shirahama's hand, because the sight of his smile and his words of gratitude make Niibashi's heart unravel into a pile of ribbons.
"I told you I'd worship you." Niibashi looks ahead. "So I did."
"I still don't get that, by the way. How do you worship someone?"
Niibashi turns that question over in his head. A few moments later, he looks at the ground and says, "Well…you believe in them. You put your faith in them. You cheer them on, you praise them, and tell them that they can do whatever it is that they set out to do, be whatever they want to be. It's just like how we honor deities. The more you believe in them, the stronger they get and the more immortal they become. People are like that, too. By worshiping them, you give them power."
"Ah…So it's like that."
Silence then spreads between them, palpable, once neither of them says a word to each other. Niibashi, although he refuses to see Shirahama's face, steadily returns his gaze to the other boy's hand. Niibashi trails it up to his arm, along his visible veins, and stops when he arrives at his shoulder.
Right at that moment, Shirahama asks him, "Do you still want me to worship you?"
¹Merriam-Webster. (n.d.). Worship definition & meaning. Merriam-Webster. Retrieved February 27, 2023, from https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/worship