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It happened over lunch one day, in that short interim before Watanuki arrived, and stole their attention from each other, to him, like moons orbiting a sun. Doumeki said, “You don’t touch people, do you?”
Himawari pet Tanpopo for a moment, the little bird peeking between her fingers at her with bright, adoring eyes. “No,” she smiled, “not usually.”
Doumeki’s eyes were very steady things, and Himawari liked looking at them, liked discerning the slight difference in color, between the eye that was mostly blind and the one that had perfect vision. Watanuki was stomping through the grounds in the distance, coming closer, and Himawari sat up straighter, seeing how Doumeki leaned further back, in an almost insolent pose.
It almost made her laugh. But then Doumeki asked: “Would you like to?”
It was only the bento boxes being dropped down beside her that shook Himawari from her wide eyed shock; the entire time, Doumeki had held her eyes, steady and patient and quietly honest.
*
She found him outside of Watanuki’s homeroom class after school. Inside, she could hear Watanuki complaining loudly about having to clean other people’s trash more than he ever had to clean his own. “Good afternoon,” she said, but could tell by the slight quirk of Doumeki’s eyebrow that he could see her well enough to know when she was using a façade and when she wasn’t.
He didn’t ask, and Himawari wasn’t going to answer. But when she settled herself to wait beside the taller boy, he took a step closer – just a step, very casual, very nonchalant. It didn’t have to mean anything, but it could, and that was what made all the difference.
“Yes,” Himawari found herself saying. She turned her face so that her cheek pressed against Tanpopo’s warm yellow feathers. “Yes, I would.”
“Touch me then.” Himawari jerked her head around, not smiling any more, eyes serious. Doumeki’s gaze met her, locked with hers. He seemed confident enough, and willing enough, standing there, waiting for her next move. Himawari swallowed – she’d gone through her life ducking from touch, but she had been touched before; she couldn’t have avoided it. But touching someone else?
It…was a strangely terrifying prospect.
“I thought you only bled for Watanuki-kun.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
Doumeki shook his head. “I don’t need two idiots,” he sighed. “I won’t be bleeding. I wouldn’t have offered if this was a burden.”
“Hm,” Himawari said, and found that her smile had returned, just along the edges of her mouth. She looked up at Doumeki, and then she swallowed down her fear and habitual instinct, and reached up on her tip toes, to smooth Doumeki’s hair from his forehead. He didn’t move, just let her, watching her.
“See?” Doumeki murmured in his deep voice. “No blood.”
*
Watanuki didn’t need to know. That is, in fact, the last thing that either Doumeki or Himawari want. Watanuki’s not ready for even one of them, let alone the two separately – together? Watanuki would probably die of a heart attack. The two of them were very careful about when and where they touched each other, not willing to give him any clues.
Besides, what Doumeki and Himawari gave each other wasn’t something that Watanuki could have.
*
“You’re oddly…pliant,” Himawari said one evening, lying on the grass of her lawn. Watanuki doesn’t go there, and that’s why Doumeki does, instead.
“Hn,” was Doumeki’s response, with just a hint of consternation to it. But he didn’t shift away from her, or spoil her fun. His body was entirely at Himawari’s whim. She could play with his hands, run her fingers over his jaw line, tilt his head this way or that way. She could mold her body to his, and synchronize her breathing to his, press her beating heart up against Doumeki’s and know what it was like to have a shoulder to lean against.
It sent a thrill through her, every time. But she had to ask.
“Do you mind? This doesn’t seem like-“
“Its fine,” Doumeki cut in, a pleasant rumble that echoed through his chest into Himawari’s. She was lying sprawled over him, and stared into his face with her head cocked, her fingers stroking the short strands of hair at the nape of Doumeki’s neck. Touch, she was realizing, could get addictive.
Which wasn’t really a good enough answer – not enough to be certain that Himawari wasn’t taking advantage of something only reluctantly given. It was odd, this relationship. They didn’t belong together, they weren’t exactly happy together – but it was good. It was what they needed, in a strange way.
Or, at least, Himawari assumed Doumeki got something from this. Maybe he liked not having to be in control, for once. He was always so tightly contained; perhaps this role reversal suited him. Himawari was just selfish enough not to delve deeper, ask further – she just accepted.
She said, “Let’s go inside.”
Doumeki shrugged, and let her grip his hand, and pull him up after her.