Chapter Text
“Now seems like a bad time to ask what movie we’re watching.”
“Didn’t I say before?” Semi settled into his seat, leaning on the armrests. “It’s Not Worth Keeping.”
Shirabu blinked. “That horror movie about the ghost dog who keeps following its former family?”
He nodded. He tossed a handful of popcorn into his mouth, then he turned to Shirabu. “Why?”
He sank into his seat. “Oh, nothing…”
When the dog first appeared on the silver screen, Shirabu gripped the armrests; when the dog was left behind after the family moved houses, a deep frown was etched into Shirabu’s face. When the family finally saw the dog again, uncertain if that was their once beloved pet, Shirabu flinched.
Semi reached out and patted his hand, though his gaze remained resolutely on the moving picture. Over an hour later, though, he dragged a fatigued, haggard Shirabu out of the cinema.
“You didn’t tell me you were bad with horror movies.”
He scowled. “Slipped my mind.”
“We could have left.”
He shrugged, and Semi’s hand fell from his back. “You seemed excited.”
He hummed. “It wasn’t too scary, was it? I thought this was less silly than other horror movies, but it wasn’t bad.”
Shirabu’s eye twitched. “You watch horror movies because they’re silly?”
“Yeah. The stuff that the characters do—isn’t it always really stupid and illogical? It ends up being funny to witness.”
He rolled his eyes and exhaled. “You’re unnatural, Eita-san.”
“What about you? What do you dislike about horror movies?” Semi inquired.
He inhaled the chilly air. “Horror movies themselves are fine. I just…” He frowned. “Back at university, there were always people talking about horror stories and ghost sightings, right?”
Semi nodded. “Lots of people, old campuses, abandoned buildings…”
“Mhm. I didn’t believe it, of course, but one day an acquaintance invited me to a professional mixer. He told me that it was a relaxed kind of event—people drank, chatted, left whenever they wanted. It was supposed to take place in a main building, but ended up happening in a restored building wing.
“It was a strange place. Despite it being refreshed, the lights flickered occasionally, and the air con ran along the baseboards, so your feet were always cold. At some point, the power went out. Apparently, someone had gotten drunk and short-circuited the fuse box, but the lights came back on a few minutes later. I needed a break, so my friend and I went to the bathroom. The door shut behind us and locked from the outside. When we finally got out—because the door miraculously unlocked—we swore it was just a jammed door. Then, we saw a shadow running down the hall, giggling. My friend told some acquaintances, and they said they didn’t know which bathroom we’d gone to. They swore we’d stepped across the room to grab more drinks.”
Semi blinked. “And this is why you dislike horror movies?”
“You make me sound insane. Who watches horror movies on New Year's Day?” Shirabu countered.
“You said you didn’t want to do the typical New Year's things, and you accepted when I suggested we see a movie. Plus, you told me to choose whatever movie I wanted. I even double-checked with you that you really meant whatever movie I chose!”
“Fine,” he acquiesced.
Semi harrumphed. “That’s what I thought!”
The corners of Shirabu’s mouth twitched. Then, his expression went completely still as they walked.
“So, how would you rate the movie? Bias and all.”
“Three out of ten. The effects were decent, the story was ridiculous, the characters were idiotic, and you enjoyed it too much.”
“So it automatically gets fewer points because I liked it? Where’s the logic, Kenjirō?”
“You said bias and all.”
“I feel like you’re extra mean today. Was the movie that bad?”
Shirabu shut his mouth. He watched his feet up until they stopped before a vending machine. He got two hot teas and put one into Semi’s hand.
“Oh, thanks,” he murmured, cracking open the bottle.
Shirabu stared off at the families milling around the snowy streets. As he sat on a bench, he sipped his tea. “When’s the last time you were on a date?” He turned slightly to see Semi standing bug-eyed.
“Uh, not for a long time. Not since I was in a relationship.”
He looked around again. “This is like a date. Isn’t it?”
Semi coughed. “Do you want this to be a date?”
“I’m asking the questions here.”
He frowned. “If you’re being genuine, I need to remind you I’m really unreliable in that sense. I don’t seriously want to see you suffer. Seeing you annoyed and riled up is cute, but anything more than that isn’t what I want.”
He rested his chin in his hand. “Is that so…? No, I do know all that. I only— Never mind.” He waved his hand. “I’m thinking.”
“I do like you, Kenjirō. I just can’t guarantee it’s in the way you’re thinking. But I do want you to know that I like you. I wouldn’t spend time with you or listen to you rant and cry about that Naruto character who died.”
“First off, don’t speak of that, you sadist. Secondly, don’t talk; I’m thinking.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Shh.” His brow furrowed, and his hand covered his mouth. He stared at the ground, then at Semi—who flinched—then he glanced at the sky. “I see.”
“What?”
“You like me for more than my mind.”
“I like you for your mouth too.” He slapped a hand over his mouth.
Shirabu scowled. “Eita-san…”
He waved. “I mean, your words! Our conversations!”
He sighed. “Yes, I do know that. Even if your mouth works faster than your brain.”
“Ouch, but continue.”
“In a way, it’s refreshing for someone to like me for something more than my capabilities or accomplishments. It makes being around you…” Shirabu inhaled, clicking the soles of his shoes together, “—easy, I guess.”
“Really? I still figured you hated me. I know you said you didn’t but…”
“Why would you think that? I told you I didn’t.”
“I know! But can you blame me? You’re not exactly a straightforward guy! You have no expression on your face 90% of the time, and the other 10%, you’re frowning or emitting this super intense aura! I’m not saying you should change—I prefer the Kenjirō that’s genuinely Kenjirō—but, damn, is it hard to tell where I stand!”
“Do you seriously not know where you stand with me?”
“You like me, I get that.”
“This is news to me.”
“What is?”
“That I like you.”
Semi’s eye twitched. “You just told me—!“
“I mean that it’s new for me.” Shirabu shifted his feet along the pavers, picking up snow and slush as he moved. “I told you before that I’d been on a lot of first dates, but hardly any second or third dates. Those were my own choice, though.” He dislodged a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “I’m hardly a sensation-seeker, but I knew every guy I dated would be boring after that first date. I’d always have to wait for them to catch up or match my speed. It never felt like that with you.”
“Really? Even though you’re infinitely more impressive than me?”
“Impressive?” Shirabu blinked.
“Among other things…”
He looked back at the ground. “No. If I’m thinking objectively, it was probably the same in high school. We kept pace with one another.”
“In volleyball.”
“In… everything? In us?” he flailed. “I really don’t know. I’m confused.”
Semi smiled slightly. “Take your time. I don’t know about this either.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m sure I know what this is. It just seems like I’ve been blindsided. By myself!" He threw his hands up. “I didn’t intend to like you like this, believe me, Eita-san.” Shirabu frowned.
“Are you—Are you pouting?” Semi inquired, bending to see Shirabu’s dipped face.
“I’m frustrated. Why did it have to be you? Couldn’t we have just remained friends? Why did it have to turn out this way? Nothing ever goes as I plan…” he grumbled.
Semi laughed. “What a dire train of thought you’re having in the New Year!” he remarked. “Nothing needs to change, you know? We’re still friends.”
Shirabu’s neck jerked to the side. “Right…”
“What?”
Still looking away, he lowered his head and raised a trembling fist. Then, he sighed, dropped his hand, and stood. “Feelings are awful. And I hate my mind.”
Once again, Semi laughed. He threw his arm around Shirabu’s shoulder. “You get used to it.” He reached out and smoothed Shirabu’s disheveled hair. When Shirabu finally lifted his gaze, Semi beamed.
He swallowed. “You’re very troublesome.”
“You’re not exactly a walk in the park either.” He squeezed his shoulder, then pulled his arm away. “Come on. I’ll walk you home so you can stew over your dumb feelings and stupid thoughts alone.”
Very quietly, Shirabu watched the snow fall and mumbled, “Yes, please…”
Standing outside Shirabu’s front door, Semi remarked, “I figured you were going to keep that to yourself until you exploded. What gives?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve become so inordinately accustomed to telling you things and hearing your thoughts that I figured it was just another thing. That’s my mistake.”
“No, no. I like that. Listen, I’ll be busy for the rest of the month. I have some performances during the rest of this vacation, and the start of every year is hectic at work. Still, call. Or I’ll call when I get the chance.”
“Can I come to your performance?”
“Uh, yeah, you can, but it’s not the kind of music you listen to.”
“That’s fine.”
“And people spend a lot of time drinking and shouting all night.”
“I can always leave early if I need to.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll message the info. Tell your family happy new year for me.”
He nodded. “You too.”
“Oh!” Semi turned as he walked away. “Please take care of me this year, too, Kenjirō.”
“That’s my line, Eita-san.” Shirabu frowned.
On the walk home, after pulling off his gloves and in between dusting away snow, Semi messaged Shirabu. A response came in shortly—just a thumbs up.
A day and a half later, he walked out of a dim, crowded room. He walked down the hall and opened the bathroom door. On the way out, someone called out to him. He walked farther down the hall, and, when copper-brown hair filtered through the gathering crowd, Semi’s head jerked sideways. He apologized to the person speaking to him. Semi began pushing past them when someone behind him called for him.
He sighed. “Coming!” he yelled. He apologized once more and returned to that dim room, certainly less crowded now.
“Where were you?”
“Restroom.” Semi crouched and rifled through a bag. His hands moved rapidly over the phone. He watched the phone light up the second after he turned it off. His eyes widened.
“What is it?” A hand slammed onto his shoulder.
He slipped his phone back in his bag. “Oh, uh, a friend’s here.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Don’t your friends always come?”
“Is this a special friend?” someone sang.
“I don’t know.” Semi slung his guitar over his shoulder. “Let’s focus, alright?”
“Is she cute?”
“He’s adorable. Now, can we leave this alone? We’ll perform, then I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay…”
Past the heavy curtains and onto the stage with bright lights, Semi overlooked the extensive crowd. Eyes glazing over all the eager eyes and bouncing heads, he stopped when he saw one pair of brown eyes and an extremely sedentary head of hair. Still, Semi smiled. He tossed his gaze sideways as he watched his band frontrunner finish introducing them.
For twenty minutes, Semi sweated under the burning lights, his pick scratching against the metal strings as they thudded along to the beating drum and soaring vocals. When he saw his keyboardist simultaneously providing backing vocals, they gestured to the crowd and winked. In the crowd, through the haze, drinks, and colorful lights, Shirabu was smiling.
Semi grinned. He strode a few steps toward the middle, meeting their bassist to shred together. The crowd wailed.
From head to toe, he was flushed. His calloused hands never left his strings, nor did he ever stop bouncing on the balls of his feet. When their set concluded, he smiled at the crowd and waved to one lone audience member. He received a wave back; as he exited the stage, Semi patted another band’s shoulders and told them to have a lot of fun up there.
He moved quickly as he cleaned up, wiping the perspiration from his forehead, rehydrating, and fixing his clothes. He hastily but meticulously put his guitar back in its case.
By the time he’d told his bandmates that he needed to go and slid out of the green room past several congratulatory staff and musicians, Semi arrived on the fringes of the crowd and, head turning side to side, couldn’t land on a single, recognizable figure. He waited, the following band’s second song starting, then he patted his pants. He returned to the green room.
“How’d it go?” one of his bandmates asked.
“What’d he say?”
“He wasn’t there.” Semi dug through his bag.
“What? I thought you saw him! During the performance.”
He nodded, pulling out his phone. Eyes flickering over the screen, his shoulders slumped. “He left after our performance. He was tired.”
“Damn, Eita!”
He grimaced. “He’s not used to concert venues and these kinds of performances. It’s fine. I’m glad he came to at least one. And he stayed for our whole set!” He smiled, shedding his jacket. Semi reached for his water and rummaged around his bag again.
“Huh.”
He blinked. “What is it?”
“Oh, I thought it was strange.”
“What was?”
“Usually, you don’t like when your dates show up to our performances. What is it? They get these expectations in their heads?”
Another bandmate snorted. “You can just call them delusional, Semi.”
He set a notebook on his lap and clicked his pen. “No, it’s not like that. Not this time, I guess. He knows exactly who I am, and it seems like that’s enough for him.” He crouched over the notebook and began writing. He wrote quickly, decisively, scratching off words and replacing them with entire phrases.
Someone whistled. “Congrats, Semi.”
“Huh?” he asked, eyes remaining where the pen met the paper.
For the rest of the night, his concentration only ebbed when it was replaced by a great smile. He flicked through his notebook deftly, all the way up until he bathed and his head hit his pillow. Watching him as he slept, the notebook waited on his bedside table.
In the morning, he read through the scrawl in his notebook as he ate breakfast and brushed his teeth. He narrowed his eyes, bending over to get a closer look at the words he’d written.
Semi’s hands froze on his tie. He remarked, “Huh…!”
He tucked the notebook into his bag and dismissed himself from the empty house. He kept his hand on his bag as he walked to the station. Once there and settled into a seat, he lightly gnawed on his nail and reread his words. His brow would twitch, as would the corners of his mouth, as his eyes moved forward and backwards; the words never changed, yet his eyes returned to words and phrases innumerable times.
At work, in between forms and calls, he’d glance at the notebook. Though it was closed and untouched, he brought it into a meeting alongside relevant documents and materials.
He hummed a melody as he left the meeting.
“What’s that?” a coworker asked him.
He jerked his head up. “The notebook, Ebitsuka-san?”
Ebitsuka nodded. “You’ve been holding that all day, Semi-kun.”
Semi waved. “Just a composition I’ve been working on.”
“Not for work,” he clarified.
“No, music. It’s nothing.”
He cleaned his glasses. “I’m not sure it is.”
“It’s my first composition, that’s all. I got a burst of inspiration last night.”
“Oh?” Ebitsuka stopped walking.
“You remember Kenjirō, right? Shirabu.”
“Ah, Shirabu-kun! How is he?”
“He’s great. He came to my performance last night.” He nodded to himself.
“Fascinating… Can I see what you’ve been working on?” He gestured to the notebook.
Semi blinked. “Oh, alright. It’s not done, though.” He splayed open the book and handed it off.
“Then, I’m grateful you’re letting me get a glimpse.” Ebitsuka’s eyes ran over the page. “You must have put a lot of thought into this.”
“It’s my first time,” he repeated.
“It’s romantic, isn’t it?” he remarked.
Semi scratched his jaw. “It is, isn’t it…?”
“Oh, I don’t mean strictly in the sense of another person,” Ebitsuka amended. “I suppose it might be related, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“The romance of a beautiful world—blue skies, tasty food, good music. When I met my wife, all of that became more obvious. The bad things, too, became more romantic somehow, like crying and suffering wasn’t so awful.” He handed the notebook back. “I don’t know if that’s what you intended. That’s only what you’ve made this old man recall.”
Semi shook his head. “No, thank you for telling me. I didn’t intend anything with this. I didn’t have a plan, just some inspiration.”
Ebitsuka hummed. “Well, lucky you, Semi-kun, for finding something so inspirational.”
He laughed. “Thank you, Ebitsuka-san. Oh, relatedly, may I ask you a favor?”
“Of course! I love when my kōhai remember me.” He smiled.
“I’m hoping I don’t work any overtime today.”
He grinned and flashed a thumbs up. “It might be difficult, but you can count on me, Semi-kun!”
At 6 PM, Semi was shoving everything off his desk and into his bag while tapping away on his phone. Someone asked if he was quitting. He responded that he’d see them tomorrow. He rushed out the door and tapped his feet as he stood at the bus stop. He pulled his jacket farther up his neck. He shook and bounced on the balls of his feet as the bus arrived.
He shimmied, settling into his seat, and drummed his fingers against his thigh throughout the ride. He smiled and stood when a pregnant woman needed to sit, and he offered a hand and helped an older gentleman traveling alone up using a walker. Semi held the handlebar as he observed the rippling cityscape beyond the glass.
Surrounded by single-family houses, Semi disembarked. He wandered through the streets, stopping occasionally at intersections and glancing behind himself. Though, once he took a few cursory steps forward, his feet took to the concrete with great ease.
At one house, he lingered. He inhaled and strode right up to the door. He knocked.
Shirabu opened the door wearing sweatpants and socks.
“I wrote a song about you,” Semi said. “Not actually about you, but with you in mind. Like, I thought of you a lot while I was writing it. It’s not a love song; it’s just a song with a lot of you in it, I guess.”
Shirabu blinked. “Okay.”
Semi wrinkled his brow. “Okay, let me start over. I know I messaged to check if you’re here, but I didn’t plan out what I was going to say.”
“Alright. Should I wait?” His shoulders were flat, and his back was straight as he stood.
“I don’t want you to wait. I want to say I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I have been. Always, I mean. I’m just starting to think in different ways. You being there yesterday gave me a lot of inspiration.”
Shirabu hummed. “You looked good.”
Semi looked down. “Ah, I should have changed before I came here.”
“You look good now, too. You look good when you’re not afraid to give it your all.”
He smiled. “That’s an awfully romantic sentiment, Kenjirō.”
“Is it?”
“Me shivering in your doorway might be romantic too.”
He tilted his head. “Not if you get frostbite.”
“I won’t. I’m warm right now. But you did mean it, right?”
“What did I mean?”
“About me looking good, about liking me…”
Shirabu reached out and tapped the button on his crisp, white collar. “Mhm. With a tie or with a guitar—I like both of those Eita-sans.”
“What did you think of the music?”
He sighed. “You were right. It wasn’t my preference. You played well, though. I only left because it was too noisy, and I was already tired.”
Semi nodded. “Good. Great. Thanks for coming. I’m glad you came.”
“You seemed surprised I was there.”
“Truthfully? I wasn’t sure if I wanted you to come.”
“Because I’d embarrass you?”
“Because I’d embarrass you. Like you’d finally see this part of me that you’d never seen before and just find it so dull and useless.”
“I wouldn’t think that way.”
“I know. When you were actually there, I knew that wasn’t what you thought. I had a lot of fun playing yesterday, knowing you were watching me. Just knowing you were there made everything brighter, sound better and clearer. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “I suppose so.”
“I know I haven’t planned this out, and you’ll probably think I’m being impulsive and idiotic.”
“But…?”
“But I want to go on a date. With me—you. Will you go on a date with me?”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Really. I know myself, and I know what I think of you. You’ve told me how you feel about me, so I'm curious. I want to see how this might go.” Semi’s hand drifted out. “Are you willing?”
“Right now?”
He pulled his hand back. “Is now a bad time? We can reschedule.”
“One moment, please.” Shirabu hid behind the door. He said something, then came back to the other side of the door with a jacket and shoes on. He closed the door. “Where are we going?”
“Uh…”
Shirabu smiled. “Haven’t thought that far, Eita-san?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I don’t have much experience initiating dates.”
“I don’t have much experience saying yes to dates,” he countered. “It should be fine, shouldn’t it? It’s not as though anything needs to change just because we’re going on a date. We’re still just Kenjirō and Eita-san.” He cocked his head. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?”
“No—“ he smoothed out Shirabu’s jacket, “—I just thought Kenjirō’s great.”
He nudged his shoulder. “I thought we agreed that nothing needed to change.”
“I thought you always complained that I’m a relentless flirt.” He smiled, pushing his face only centimeters closer. “Can’t handle the heat, Kenjirō?”
Shirabu rolled his eyes, bumping into Semi as they walked. “Fine.” Their hands grazed. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“Nope, came here right after work. What about you?” A few of their fingers interlocked.
“You’re buying.”
Semi grinned. “Whatever you want, Kenjirō.”
In silence, they walked.
Waiting shoulder-to-shoulder at a crosswalk, Shirabu finally spoke up. “Oh, and next time you’re going to proposition me, please wear a scarf, Eita-san.”