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There are times Kotarou thinks that Akashi is an annoying little drama queen and that Reo-nee would be a better and nicer captain, but then there are times like this, the five of them in Akashi’s limo en route to Tokyo for a day full of adventure and fun. Reo-nee can’t afford such a sweet ride. True, Akashi made them get ready at the crack of dawn for this trip, and it’s a bit cramped inside the limo (Akashi is squeezed into the space between the right windows and a very pleased Reo-nee’s lap, and Mayuzumi-san keeps accidentally-on-purpose digging his sharp elbow into Kotarou's ribs every time the limo makes a turn, and Ei-chan is emptying the contents of the mini-refrigerator into his mouth and passing gas from both ends), but this is Kotarou’s first time sitting on such fancy leather seats. He doesn’t mind that he is on the rear-facing seat either.
“Stop bouncing on the seat, Kotarou,” Akashi says, rubbing his temples.
“Got it,” Kotarou replies, saluting.
It really was nice of Akashi to bring them all along to Tokyo, even though they disappointed him by failing to win the Winter Cup. The trip wasn’t his idea, and he has made it very clear that he won’t be spending the day with them, only dropping them off to the places they want to visit and then picking them up at the end of the day, but this beats being stuck in Kyoto for the entirety of the weekend. And, also, this is their second-to-last ride with Mayuzumi-san, who is graduating in two months. Kotarou really does like him, sharp elbows and grumpiness and all.
They drop Mayuzumi-san off first. He makes a beeline for the bookstore that is towering over the street. “Seven o’clock!” Akashi calls after him.
Ei-chan is next, in front of the house that bears a plaque with the words “Kiyoshi Residence.” “Are you sure he’ll let you in, Ei-chan,” Kotarou says.
“When has that ever stopped you, Kotarou?” Reo-nee says.
“I’ve worked all last week for these babies,” Ei-chan informs them, rolling up his sleeves. He flexes his arms. “Kiyoshi has to see my muscles today. He and I are going to have a game.”
“He might not be able to play, with his bum knees and all,” Kotarou says.
“We can have another kind of game.” Ei-chan gets out the limo. “Anything involving muscles. Arm-wrestling, here I come!”
“What an innocent,” Kotarou says, sighing, after they are back on the road. “I remember when I was like that. My plans for Miyaji-san are a little different. They’re more along the lines of taking Miyaji to a special hi-I’m-a-visitor-in-Tokyo lunch followed by a very special nap at a not too sketchy love hotel. I’ve been saving up for it, you know, ever since I played against Miyaji at the Winter Cup. What a guy!”
“Kotarou,” Reo-nee chides, covering Akashi’s ears with his hands, “you must mind your tongue around our Sei-chan. He’s just too young for this kind of talk.”
“Hiro-san,” Akashi says into the intercom. “Please drive faster.”
Within minutes, they are in front of Kimura Groceries. Kotarou tries not to squeal. He grabs his bag and pushes the door open before the chauffeur can get out his seat.
Reo-nee says, sounding worried, “Maybe I should go with him. But then I won’t get to see Kazu-chan. I am sure poor Kazu-chan misses me. He will be so disappointed when he hears that I was in Tokyo but didn’t go to see him.”
“Stop deluding yourself, Reo-nee,” Kotarou says. He steps onto the sidewalk and stretches. “He only likes grumpy meganes. And we can’t both like people from Shutoku. That would be confusing, like when two sisters marry two brothers.”
Reo-nee replies, tone careful, “Well, Kotarou, not to make you feel bad about yourself, darling, but you do tend to get confused easily.”
“Akashi agrees with me though, don’t you, Akashi? Takao already has someone.”
Akashi says, “Behave yourself, Kotarou. I am not coming to pick you up before 6:30.”
“Are you really going to drop Reo-nee off at Takao’s house?”
“How silly,” Reo-nee sniffs. “Today is for shopping, not for pretty boys. I am going to Ginza, of course.”
Kotarou looks at the small grocery shop in front of him, experiences a moment of indecision. Reo-nee may not be wealthy enough to own a limo, but he has loads of pocket money. He is also pretty generous and won’t mind buying Kotarou at least one gift. Kotarou really wants a new pair of wrist weights. But then again, Miyaji Kiyoshi.
“Have a good time!” Kotarou says. “You too, Akashi, whatever you’re doing.”
“This poor child has an appointment with his Papa Dearest,” Reo-nee says. “So don’t cause him any trouble, Kotarou, alright? Bye bye.”
Kotarou closes the door and stands on the curb, waving, until the limo rounds the corner and disappears from sight. Then he takes a deep breath, slaps his cheeks once, says “here I go!” and then starts towards Kimura Groceries. Today is the day Miyaji is going to realize how amazing Hayama Kotarou is, how Kotarou is totally worth having as a boyfriend, how they shouldn’t forget each other just because Miyaji is going to university this year.
“Good afternoon!” Kotarou shouts as he enters the grocery store. “How are you? Kimura-san, isn’t it? You played a good game at the semi-finals!”
Kimura is standing behind the cash register, eyebrows raised. The magazine he was reading lays forgotten on the counter. Kotarou grabs a pack of gum and approaches him.
“What do you want?” Kimura asks, tone unnecessarily wary.
“Well, first of all, this gum. I haven’t tried it before. Milkshake-flavored, huh?” Kotarou leans closer to the counter, winks. “And second. To see Miyaji. You can arrange that one, right?”
Kimura takes the pack of gum from him with great caution, avoiding Kotarou’s fingers. He says, while ringing it up as fast as he can, “Miyaji isn’t here. And he’s not going to be coming today, so. Have a nice day.” He looks pointedly at the doors.
Kotarou knew that this was going to be difficult. He sighs, takes a deep breath, and starts. “Please please please please-”
***
Miyaji arrives ten minutes later, looking lovably annoyed. He picks up a pineapple from the large pineapple stand near the doors and throws it at Kotarou’s head, but Kotarou catches the fruit before it can knock him out. His fingers sting a bit from the spiny skin, but no one said love was easy and painless. The best love, according to all the popular songs, is all-consuming and hurts like heck.
“What the hell are you doing here, asshole?” Miyaji demands, advancing in a cutely threatening manner.
“To see you, of course, Miyaji!” Kotarou replies.
He sets the pineapple down on a bed of watermelons and leaps at Miyaji, arms outstretched. Miyaji dodges in a way that isn’t cute at all.
“Stop messing around in here!” Miyaji hisses, waving a hand to indicate the other customers.
The customers do not look especially disturbed, more rushed than anything, jamming items into their little carts and consulting their lists. It is the weekend after all; they probably have plans. But relocating elsewhere is a great idea. It would be easier to speak to Miyaji in a more private place, where they aren’t under Kimura’s watchful eye and separated by yards of fresh fruits and vegetables.
“Come with me!” Kotarou says, grabbing Miyaji by the arm.
Miyaji has a nice, strong forearm, and great biceps too. As expected of a Small Forward. Kotarou manages to squeeze them once before Miyaji pushes him out onto the sidewalk.
Kotarou is certain for a moment that Miyaji is going to close the doors on him, his hands are positioned that way, but then Miyaji sighs, rolls his eyes, and steps out.
“Well?” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Take a good long look and then leave. Don’t come back here again, or I’ll really run you over with Kimura’s truck next time. See that truck over there? Yeah, with that one.”
“Aw, don’t be like that!” Kotarou reaches into his bag and produces the Miyu-Miyu fan he bought yesterday. “Look at what I have here! It’s a gift for you! It’s the newest fan from Miyu-Miyu. To my most favorite Small Forward ever.”
“Stop fucking around.” Miyaji takes his hands out of his pockets and then folds his arms. He glances at the fan and then looks away. “Are you here to gloat about being better than me in that one game? One game means jackshit.”
“Let’s have another one! Here, hold onto the fan.” Kotarou shoves it into Miyaji’s pant pocket. “You can give it back to me if you win.”
***
Kotarou wins the game, of course, but he is breathing harder than he expected at the end of it. Probably because he was allowed to yell and cheer with reckless abandon and dribble as hard as he wanted. He does love his teammates, but they aren’t too fond of his vocal chords. Or it could be because he really likes the sight of the sweat rolling down Miyaji’s face: it is attractive against the backdrop of that metal fence, the fence Kotarou would very much like to use when it’s time to kiss. Or maybe he is out of breath because of those biceps, at the sight of them flexing. Or of that hot six-pack exposed when Miyaji mops his face with the hem of his shirt.
Kotarou extends a hand, says, “Good game! We have to play again sometime.”
“That win didn’t count,” Miyaji says. “You’ve been practicing all week. You know what I’ve been doing? Taking my entrance exams.”
“Oh, good, you want to play again! When should we meet up? I don’t think Akashi will want to bring the whole team again, but maybe he can let me use his limo-”
“And take this back.” Miyaji reaches for the fan, which he had placed carefully on a bench before the start of the game.
Kotarou says, “You keep it. You lost, remember?”
“You think I want to keep a memento of me losing?”
“Fine.”
As soon as Miyaji hands him the fan, Kotarou sticks it back into Miyaji’s pocket.
“There!” Kotarou says. “I’ve re-gifted it to you, this time without any preconditions, though, if you remember, there weren’t any preconditions when I first gave it to you either.”
“Who told you I like Miyu-Miyu anyway?” Miyaji pulls his jacket on and zips it up, the fan enclosed within.
“Akashi, who asked Midorima.”
“All three of you are gonna get run over,” Miyaji says. “Wait for it.”
Kotarou checks his cell phone. It is almost four. They really spent a long time playing. It only seemed like a few minutes.
“Hey,” Miyaji says, frowning, “what’s up all of this anyway?” He waves a hand. “You trying to bribe me into becoming your friend or something? That’s not happening.”
“Of course not,” Kotarou replies. “I had something different in mind, though I wouldn’t mind becoming friends somewhere down the line.”
“You’re a real asshole.”
“Like, a kiss. Yeah, a kiss is a good way to continue our relationship. It all started with our one-on-one in that intense game, remember? You were amazed by me, and I was amazed by you.” He can still remember that game in vivid detail. He has thought about it at least once per day since the event. His favorite part, when Miyaji first dribbled past him.
Miyaji studies him for a minute, sighs, grabs him by the collar, jerks him close, and kisses him on the mouth. Kotarou automatically presses a smile to Miyaji’s chapped, wonderful lips and then open his mouth a little. Miyaji touches the snaggle tooth with the tip of his tongue. How bizarre. But he keeps breathing loudly into Kotarou’s mouth, still winded from their game, and that’s super hot.
Kotarou was right: Miyaji is a really smart guy! A guy who knows how to read the situation. And so nice too! Kissing the person who intruded on his Saturday.
The kiss is over before it can become really amazing, but that’s okay. Small steps. Next, lunch.
“No,” Miyaji says as soon as Kotarou voices the thought out loud. “I’m going home. You get your own lunch.” His cheeks are red.
“Alright, alright, but can I at least have your phone number? I promise to only text once a day. Really.”
Miyaji pinches Kotarou’s nose, says, “What’s up with your eyes? Always glittering. Weird.”
“Is that a yes?” Kotarou waves his phone in Miyaji’s face.
Miyaji grabs the hand, squeezes Kotarou’s fingers, runs a long finger over the knuckles almost experimentally. Then he drops the hand, flushes some more from either embarrassment or anger or both, says as he gets his phone out, “That’s a maybe. Give me your number, and I’ll think about it.”
Kotarou rattles off his number, makes sure Miyaji has entered his first name along with the last, and adds, “I promise it’ll be worth it, Miyaji. I mean, Miyaji-san. I’m a pretty good kisser when the kiss lasts more than one second. And we can practice dribbling together. I can show you how I got good at dribbling with three fingers and you can impress your college team next year.”
“Later,” Miyaji says.
Kotarou watches Miyaji walking away. The easy gait. The dark blond hair curling over the collar over his jacket. Kotarou can still feel it, Miyaji’s firm lips against his own, the finger feeling up the knuckle of the left hand, right there. It is still tingling.
***
Mayuzumi-san allows the chauffeur to cram the bags of books in the space not occupied by Reo-nee’s shopping bags in the trunk, except for one that he insists on bringing in with him. He then proceeds to spread the contents of the bag all over Kotarou’s lap. “Are you going to read all of these novels at once?” Kotarou says, trying not to look at the covers. He gets carsick even if he reads a title and doesn’t want to risk throwing up on Akashi or Reo-nee’s leather loafers and then getting tossed out of the car.
“It’s a long ride,” Mayuzumi-san sniffs, “and I have the worst seat in the car.”
Ei-chan is still describing his afternoon with the Kiyoshi family, while clutching the containers of food the grandmother sent with him. The smell of soy sauce is strong in his corner. Reo-nee’s corner is a perfumery. Very heavy, niche perfume marinating on his skin, giving everyone a headache. Akashi is sitting on Kotarou’s right now, after making Kotarou change out of the shirt he was wearing when he played basketball with Miyaji.
Halfway to Kyoto, Kotarou says, “So. How many of us got some today?”
This was perhaps not the best thing to say. Perhaps the smell in the limo has addled his brain. Reo-nee and Ei-chan both stop their one-sided conversations to glare at him, Mayuzumi-san tries to accidentally-on-purpose stomp on his foot, and Akashi says, slowly and clearly, “You are going to get some, Kotarou, very soon. Eikichi, hand me those chopsticks.”
“I’m so sorry, Akashi,” Kotarou says, sliding closer to Mayuzumi-san, who turns a page and then elbows him in the ribs.
Kotarou pulls out his cell phone, puts it in on his knee because his lap is still being used as a shelf for Mayuzumi-san’s light novels, and makes himself as small as possible. He hopes that Miyaji will text him. He won’t be able to read the message until he is standing on solid ground again, but the buzz of the text will be comforting.
He begins to feel sleep and then spends the rest of the ride sleeping on both Mayuzumi-san and Akashi. Thankfully, he ends up drooling on Mayuzumi-san and not Akashi. They reach Kyoto. Miyaji hasn’t texted.
He doesn’t text until the next morning, when Kotarou is about to start his weekend homework. The message is a blunt, remember one text per day, but that is more than enough. Success! Beaming, Kotarou starts typing his reply.