Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~~

The thing is, the Little Mermaid? Nobody asked her to go and save the Prince or whatever. She was just selfishly doing what she wanted all along. She didn’t even love him at first- just wanted a soul, a little human recognition. She doesn’t own him, he isn’t obligated to love her back. Village girls, foreign princesses- he can marry anybody he wants.

And when she turned into seafoam?

She did that to herself.

~~

“I’m staying a little longer today, I think.” Hiyori says before he even knows he’s going to. “I want to swim.”

He lets go of Ikuya's hand and sinks back down into the water.

It's been the kind of swim practice where no one sets a personal record, no one really flags behind. It goes off like a grandfather clock- slow, steady, mechanical. And it isn't new- it's been like this ever since the All-Japan meet. Everyone's just tired, Hiyori figures, watching Ikuya at breakfast, head titled at a slight angle, like a bird, staring into nothing. The click of his chopsticks against the rice bowl. Tick. Tock.

Hiyori swims hard because he wants to swim hard, not because of Haru and his stupid magic swimming powers or anything. Hiyori finishes this set, pulling off his goggles and swim cap at the end like they’re choking him, gasping in the way that only happens after he’s really given his all. Still, when he glances at the timer on his waterproof watch, his time is nothing special.

Ikuya watches him, leaning over the side of the pool. He'd never say, but his eyebrows show that he's concerned and surprised. Hiyori is too, honestly. Him, staying longer than Ikuya? What would have been the point?

(Hiyori's thinking on that a little too often lately)

He had reached up to take that hand because of course he reached up to that hand and was taking that smile to wrap up too, to keep tight like he'd had to before Ikuya smiled so much but it felt-

Wrong?

So now Hiyori's still in the pool even though the rest of the team has been steadily filtering out and pretty soon Hoshikawa's going to come over and give him a lecture on wasting time dawdling but Hiyori doesn't- he doesn't want to get out of the pool just yet. He just doesn't. If he gets out of the pool right now he's going to walk back to the dorms with Ikuya to change and then grab food at the cafeteria before last call and swing by the library for research materials and the whole time he's going to be smiling and talking and there's something so off-

The shout is an alarm clock ringing, a sudden blaring call to life.

“Oi! Ikuya!” Hiyori doesn’t even have to turn his head to see who it is- he can tell by the light that goes on behind Ikuya’s eyes and the way his gentle smile turns up properly, fully, into a grin.

(Ah, he thinks, there it is)

Asahi waves, leaning down from the stands, Makoto and Haru only a few feet back.

“What are you guys doing here?” Ikuya asks in that small breathless way, like he still can’t believe that this is really happening. From this angle, Ikuya seems very soft and very young.

“We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d ask you to come out for dinner.” Makoto inclines his head gently. “Ah- you’re invited too, of course, Tono.” He turns that same fake-gentle smile on Hiyori that Hiyori always turns on them and Haru's got a face on him so perfectly flat that Hiyori almost- almost- accepts anyway, out of spite.

But he gets knocked back to the present- to the off step beat that's thrown his stroke out of synch, whatever's keeping his steps out of perfect time with Ikuya walking down the street and it's absurd because it happens when Asahi makes that face. It’s out of place, so openly dismayed that it’s nearly funny except that it’s not because while Asahi looks like someone has dumped garbage on his shoes, Ikuya is looking at Hiyori again like of course too because when has he ever passed up a chance to spend more time together? Day after day, minute after minute. Makoto's smile-lying and Haru couldn't care less and Hiyori can go and it will be fine and everyone will tolerate him for Ikuya’s sake- even Ikuya, oddly enough.

It’s like pressing against a bruise he didn’t know was even there. He is unable to speak for a moment, at the sting of it.

Asahi notices him looking and tries to recover, mouth going thin but eyebrows raising in a silent challenge. You are an asshole, he seems to say.

Well.

It’s not like he’s wrong.

And Hiyori… lets go. Of the side of the pool, of everything. It’s shockingly anti-climatic. He shakes his head, tapping his goggles before pulling them into place, adjusting his cap so the angry wetness welling up behind his eyes is harder to notice. Asahi relaxes into an expression of deep relief and Hiyori thinks rather cynically that that’s what that slowpoke loudmouth is good for, anyway, being the face of the group, showing exactly what they’re thinking without all that pesky politeness. Maybe Hiyori should be fucking grateful. They head back toward the street, trying to decide on where to go, but Ikuya lingers.

“You’re sure?” Ikuya asks.

Hiyori smiles and it’s probably his worst one yet, lopsided and sad. "Next time," he lies.

“...Alright then. I’ll talk to you later,” Ikuya says, turning away with a wave.

It’s such a relief to reach up and rub the last traces of that smile away when he's gone.

“Did you mean it?” Hoshikawa asks casually. Hiyori starts. How long had he been standing there? "Or were you lying when you said you want to swim.” the captain clarifies, arms crossed.

Hiyori looks around at the empty pool.

“Well,” Hoshikawa says after a beat, “I’ve got data from this week’s time trial to input, so I’ll be in the office for a while longer.” He leaves Hiyori alone.

Hiyori could just leave. He could just walk out the door, but he has to pass the office on the way to the lockers and he thinks he might have used up the last of his apologetic smiles for the day.

Swim, he thinks.

But swimming is Ikuya and Ikuya is swimming. Just standing in the water makes him think of Ikuya, the same way he goes into new cafes to try drinks to see if it’s worth coming back with Ikuya, the way most things he reads reminds him of Ikuya, something he’s said or done or looked like. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. Every piece of his life is wrapped up in Ikuya and it isn’t even as if the other guy likes it. He didn’t ask for this. This is Hiyori, deciding things on his own.

It’s so frustrating.

Hiyori doesn’t have a single thing left for himself.

Did you lie?

Hoshikawa is a good captain. Hiyori’s moved around a bit, so he can tell. Some Captains are bossy, they take the position because they like throwing their weight around. Hoshikawa, though, he really cares about the team, cares about Ikuya. Hiyori should probably try not to let him down.

So Hiyori swims.

It’s clunky at first- he’s waited too long and his muscles have cooled down a bit too much. He alternates pool lengths between crawl and backstroke. Front. Turn. Back. Front. Turn. Back.

It’s so quiet. When he pulls through the water, a little slower than usual because of the stiffness, the only sounds are the ones he makes. His soft breathing. His limbs moving through water. His mind wanders. There’s something he’s missing, a lot of things he’s missing, probably, but this seems like something he should know. If he swims just a little more, in this quiet place, maybe he can find it.

Just a little more.

Front. Turn. Back. Front-

The lights above flicker.

Hiyori slows then stops at the end of the lane. Hoshikawa stands by the lightswitch, face impassive. “You’ll overtrain,” he warns, but he doesn’t sound mad. Hiyori gets out of the pool. When the captain finishes locking up and the two step outside, Hiyori is surprised to notice that it has gone dark.

“What is it?” Hoshikawa asks, watching him closely.

“I was in there a long time. Sorry for the trouble.” Hiyori smiles his gentlest smile.

Hoshikawa rolls his eyes. A little shocked, Hiyori’s smile drops.

“That’s a better face,” Hoshikawa says casually, continuing down the path. “It’s more honest.”

Hiyori blinks.

“I’m tired of cafeteria food. I want ramen.” Hoshikawa’s piercing gray eyes sweep over Hiyori thoughtfully. “You should treat me.”

“Why would I do that?” Hiyori asks, taken aback.

“Because you feel sorry for me. Poor Captain Hoshikawa, stuck late after practice every day this week. Maybe next week, too.”

Hiyori blinks again. There’s a slyness to Hoshikawa’s mouth, his dark hair long over one eye. It’s an invitation to stay late this week, next week- for a while. Why would Hiyori even want that? He puts his all into practice, no one can say otherwise. He isn’t going anywhere with this except saving himself from the costs of grad school with a sports scholarship.

“Unless you have plans with Kirishima,” Hoshikawa amends. “I accept I.O.U.s.”

Hiyori stops in the middle of the sidewalk and plays it off by dropping to retie his shoelace, hiding his face for a moment. Glances at his watch.

He hasn’t thought about Ikuya for nearly two hours.

What does that even mean?

Hiyori clears his throat when he rises. “Ramen,” he says, voice a little rusty. “It’s the least I can do, Captain.”

~~

Hiyori doesn’t realize this is a thing until they get there and there’s already seats saved at the counter, Sagae waving them down while Terashima texts furiously, expression grim.

“You’re late,” he mopes. “Tera’s in a snit cause Misae’s mad at him, so I was starting to get bored.” Catching sight of Hiyori, he brightens. “Oh, you managed to talk him into coming out! How rare.”

Hiyori smiles back, his polite easy smile more sincere than he intends when someone seems genuinely happy to see him. Kind of sad, actually. “It’s my fault,” he says apologetically, sliding into one of the empty spots. “I had to stay a little late.”

“Working on something?” Sagae asks, handing him a menu.

Hiyori hesitates, eyes fixed on the menu. “Just swimming through some things right now,” he settles on and Sagae nods like it’s supposed to make sense. That’s the nice thing about Sagae, he’s the kind who goes with the flow on most things. Explains how he can be so close with a hothead like Terashima. As if to prove Hiyori’s point, Terashima slams his phone down on the counter so hard that they all jump.

“That bad, huh?” Sagae asks sympathetically around a mouthful of steaming hot miso broth. Terashima glares before breaking down with a dramatic sigh and picking up his chopsticks. Hoshikawa casually steals a piece of rare beef from Terashima’s bowl, slurping it down still half raw.

“I just said that I didn’t see what the big deal was with Magical Nobellia Girl,” he sighs. “Its exactly the same as Puni Puni Dash My Heart. She totally flipped. Now nothing’s gonna fix this except-”

“No way,” Sagae interrupts pleasantly.

“Hah?! Some best friend you are!” Terashima glares daggers. Hoshikawa fishes a second piece of beef from his bowl. When he goes for a third, Terashima blocks him with his chopsticks, scowling. Then, his expression lightens. He grins and leans over-

“Forget it,” Hoshikawa says flatly. “I have one day off from your idiocy, I’m not letting you and your otaku girlfriend drag me around Akihabara all night to play some dusty cabinet games from before we were born.”

“That sounds like a nice date,” Hiyori says absently, motioning the waitress for a second helping. Sagae groans as Terashima whirls around, expression fierce.

“It does, doesn’t it? Too bad when I’m in the doghouse, Misae won’t go with me anywhere by ourselves. I gotta go on a stupid group date or whatever and try to make it up to her- and right now it’s that Pinky kid. I hate his guts.” Terashima seems to be pouting now, swirling his chopsticks in his noodles sullenly.

“What’s not to like about a guy named Pinky?” Hiyori asks the ceiling as his second bowl arrives. After thanking the waitress, he dives in.

“Terashima likes to give nicknames to people he doesn’t like,” Hoshikawa explains. “Like that redheaded kid, the Marlin.”

“I didn’t give him that, he gave it to himself,” Terashima mutters darkly. “That damn brat. The point is, Misae’s gonna hang all over him while I have to beg for forgiveness the whole time. A man can only take so much!”

Hoshikawa and Sagae exchange a look. “What?” Terashima snaps when he notices.

“Well, the fact that she only ever asks you to invite one of us means that you probably don’t have anything to worry about,” Hoshikawa says dryly. “Anyway, why don’t you take Tono?”

“Hm?” Hiyori asks, mouth full. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” Terashima demands. “Misae not good enough company for you or something?”

“You said it sounded like fun,” Sagae points out helpfully. “And I’m sure Tera’d be willing to pay your way to run interference so he can kiss and make up with his girl.” He’s the last to push aside his final bowl. When the checks come, Terashima snatches Hiyori’s off the table before he can react.

“I got this, I’m paying.” He eyes Hiyori shrewdly. “It’s a bribe.”

“Thanks, Terashima.” Hoshikawa says cheerfully, clapping him on the back. Terashima opens the checkbook and squawks at the number.

“I didn’t agree,” Hiyori points out, but a smile tugs at one side of his mouth anyway.

“C’mon, Tono,” Sagae grins as Terashima sulkily stuffs money into the booklet. “What else are you going to do this weekend?”

Hiyori hesitates. Weekends are for cross training with Ikuya. Sometimes they lift weights or go running. A couple of times he’s even tricked Ikuya into some pretty strange places- like the cat cafe that offered yoga. It had been so cute to watch him struggle to take each pose seriously while a small orange kitten gamboled underneath his downward dog.

Lately, since Haru and the others, anyway, Ikuya hadn’t always felt up to cross training- and definitely not up to it with Hiyori, who has taken to wandering used bookstores and trying out cafes farther and farther from campus, like it might be important. Like Ikuya might want to go sometime, even if he turns his nose up at that kind of thing and its unnecessary sugar.

The books are piling up, unread, on his bedside table.

“Nothing,” he says, holding the door open on his way out and “okay,” he agrees before they part ways.

He doesn’t text Ikuya goodnight.

~~

Chapter Text

~~

So The Little Mermaid, she comes out of the sea. She buys these legs and she just drops everything, a whole new world or some jazz, just cause of some dude who sucks at swimming. But whatever, that’s what she wanted to do- follow some guy around until he paid her some attention. And he did, right, I mean it’s not like she was ugly or anything. But that’s all she had- this one person. Even when her sisters try saving her, she throws it back in their faces. What a waste.

Maybe she should have tried to make some damn friends.

~~

“Thanks,” Terashima says quietly outside the station. The nights are starting to get chilly, so he’s wearing a real jacket instead of just the warm up suit. The collar of his button up shirt peeks over the top and Hiyori thinks it makes him look a little older, like an actual upperclassman for once.

“Don’t mention it,” Hiyori responds automatically.

Terashima shoves his hands into his pockets. “Really, though. I mean it. Misae’s, ah. She’s my first real girlfriend.”

“How long have you been dating?” Hiyori asks, to be polite.

Terashima shrugs. “Right before the semester started. Not long, but… you know how swimming gets. Sometimes it’s like you’ve got no life outside the pool.” He hesitates, eyes sliding to look at Hiyori secretively. Whatever he sees must meet approval. “We met here, coming off the Chuo line. She had this huge bag of doujin coming back from a convention and it split right at the top of the stairs. I’m talking like a stupid huge amount and some of it was really racey, too. It was the worst mess and she looked ready to start bawling. So I got a trash bag from the railway attendant and helped her get everything together and carried it to a cab for her.”

“Then you started dating?” Hiyori prompts.

Terashima laughs. “No way. I don’t think I even got her name, I was so bad talking to girls. Sagae about kicked my ass for being such an idiot. Then like a week later, I see her standing outside the same station. This stop is huge, what are the odds? I wasn’t going to pass it up a second time, you know? She said she was waiting for a friend and I bought her a coffee and then it just kinda happened.” His somewhat dreamy expression shifts and he shifts nervously as the train rolls into the station.

“You fight a lot?”

Terashima shakes his head, scanning the crowd. “Not really, and when we do it’s dumb, but… I think that’s what you do when you’re serious about something. Make an effort, I mean.”

Before Hiyori can respond, Terashima’s eyes light up. Hiyori turns. Misae is cute- cuter than he’d expected, honestly. She’s tiny with big dark eyes and medium length hair dyed a light carmel brown and swept into a side braid. Her arm is linked with Kisame. It had never occurred to Hiyori that he might already know ‘Pinky,’ but somehow he’s not surprised in the moment. Both of them wear obnoxious matching pink t-shirts for something called Magical Nobellia Girl.

“You’re gonna freeze,” Terashima mutters, slipping off his jacket and draping it over her shoulders. Misae smiles up at him before blinking rapidly, scowling and looking away.

“I’m still mad at you,” she declares. Her glare lands on Hiyori and her expression shifts immediately. “Hello! You’re new. You must be-”

“Hiyori,” Kisumi interrupts smoothly, arching his eyebrows. Hiyori smothers a sigh. “When Terashima said he was bringing a new friend I didn’t think it would be you.”

Hiyori shrugs. “He had to call on the reserves.”

Misae glances between them curiously. “You’ve met?”

“Once or twice,” Kisumi smirks.

“I told you, Tono’s on the swim team with me.” Terashima explains patiently. “If they’re already friends, that’s a good thing, right?” He pleads. Misae pretends to ignore him but sneaks glances out of the corner of her eye. Her hands come together loosely, twisting her fingers in the folds of her long fluffy skirt nervously. Kisumi slips his arm beneath hers, hooking her forward.

“The night is young and so are we- let’s get shaking.” He glances backwards, throwing an exaggerated wink at Terashima, who clenches his jaw rather fiercely.

Misae and Kisumi have a plan, a list and a map.

“Arcade bars are all the rage,” Misae explains, business-like, at the first stop. Her fingers twitch at the side of her face for a moment in a strange aborted gesture- Hiyori recognizes it immediately.

“No glasses tonight?” he asks her kindly and she blushes self-consciously, stammering a response.

“Don’t go flirting with my date,” Kisumi chides him. Terashima, coming back with a round of Mana Potion themed drinks, bites back a retort with obvious difficulty. The drink is foamy and blue and sweet enough to mask the alcohol flavor. Neither he nor Kisumi are of age, but they’re tall enough to pass here and at the next barcade as well. Two more drinks and Hiyori is feeling soft. He watches, bemused, as Kisumi goads Terashima into pouring an unreasonable amount of yen into a claw machine. The goal is a large canary-yellow rabbit creature with wings- the same one on the front of their t-shirts. Hiyori makes a stop at the bathroom and on his way back catches sight of a familiar sequence of green and blue lights. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia. He digs in his pockets for a few spare yen.

“Pinball? That’s your poison?” Kisumi asks over his shoulder some time later. Hiyori doesn’t answer, too busy trapping the ball with the flippers and then shooting it at a hard right angle, triggering a bonus. Three more balls drop into play. Kisumi whistles.

“Super Space Sequence had a limited run of only 800 machines,” Hiyori explains, netting a triple score. “Licensing issues and the Capcom Pinball bust. Most of them ended up In America, and now most of those are collector’s pieces. I’ve only seen it one other place.”

“So you’re a gaming nerd.” Kisumi hangs on his shoulder. Hiyori ignores him, jostling the system just enough to push two of the balls into scoops on either side- the tiny model rocket ship in the center of the playfield lights up red. The score climbs.

“Not really.” Kisumi waits patiently. “I moved to America when I was six,” Hiyori adds. The buzz of the alcohol leaves him feeling loose and talkative. “I had school, the library and the swim club, but sometimes during holidays those were closed. That’s when my parents dropped me at the mall arcade. Ten bucks in quarters can last all day, if you get good enough.”

“Your parents?”

“Worked,” Hiyori answers shortly. He’s down to his second ball.

“Friends?” Kisumi prompts.

The score rolls over. A thin siren blares. He loses the final ball.

“Ikuya didn’t move there till eighth grade,” he says absently. Kisumi stills and Hiyori feels sick with it. He gets it, he’s a boring loser. He’s a college student and he hasn’t gotten past his middle school hang ups. Hiyori steps back from the machine.

“New high score,” someone from the next machine over says, sounding impressed. "Not leaving your name?”

Hiyori shakes his head. Kisumi grabs his sleeve, pulling him away from the machine and back toward the others but stops halfway, ducking behind a large flashing Taiko no Tatsujin game and puling Hiyori down with him. Kisumi peers over the side of the machine with a satisfied expression. It is impossible to hear the conversation taking place over the blaring noise and beating electronic drumline but Misae looks up at Terashima with a soft smile and he tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ears. In her lap is the stuffed flying rabbit.

“Well, our job here is done.” Kisumi straightens up cheerfully.

“I thought your job was to get in the way,” Hiyori snarks. The noise is starting to get to him. A thin steady throbbing starts up along his temple.. He takes off his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Something like that, anyway.” Kisumi turns his thoughtful gaze on the taller boy. “Time to go, I think.”

Hiyori follows Kisumi through the winding aisles to the front door. A cold blast of wind greets them outside. Hiyori shivers and turns toward the train station. Kisumi slips under his arm, guiding him as easily as he had done to Misae and leading him in the opposite direction.

“Wha-” Hiyori begins.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re my date now, so don’t abandon me on a street corner or I’ll have to tell Ikuya all about it.” Kisumi’s voice is light but Hiyori stiffens up all the same. Kisumi’s grip tightens and he chatters as they walk. “Terashima is fun to mess with, but I come to help Misae. She’s a huge nerd. I met her through the Visual Media Club at school. She wanted a big makeover to get the attention of some good looking athlete who helped her on the train. Well, it worked- he took one look at her and they’ve been dating ever since. She tries to tone it down and look like a cool girl in front of him, but sometimes she slips and gets worried he won’t like her anymore if he figures out how big of an otaku she really is.”

“She has nothing to worry about,” Hiyori replies. “Where are we going?”

“If you go to sleep now you’ll have a wicked hangover. Get some grease in your system.” Kisumi stops in front of a late night diner. Hiyori mulls this over a moment before nodding and reaching for the door.

~~

“So. You think about joining the basketball circle?” Kisumi asks over cheese fries. Hiyori mulls over the question as he finishes his second water. The headache has receded to a distant thrum and he takes a fry.

“I don’t even play basketball.”

“You know how to play, though. From school?” Hiyori shrugs.

“It’s only once a week. All my clubs are,” Kisumi amends.

“All?”

Kisumi lists them on the tips of his fingers. “Sunday is basketball, Monday is the Visual Media Club, Tuesday is waseneko, Wednesday is shogi, Thursday is photography, Friday is astronomy, and Saturday is running circle.”

Hiyori blinks. “Do you sleep?” he asks.

Kisumi laughs. “Occasionally. They don’t always meet every week.”

“Not always? That means sometimes.”

“Mostly,” Kisumi amends. “It’s the college experience, Hiyori. Making connections, trying new things.”

“That still seems like overkill.” Hiyori pushes his empty glass away.

Kisumi props his chin on his palm, elbow against the table. He studies Hiyori shrewdly before looking deliberately away. “Four years of high school, four years of university. That’s all we get. Then it’s life for real. I made friends and I played sports and I studied for tests like everyone else, and I graduated like everyone else. I want to see what makes me not like everyone else now. The more people I talk to, the more things that I try, the more… me I think I’ll end up.”

“Pushing to be happy with yourself,” Hiyori muses. “It’s admirable,” he adds unthinking and smiles to cover up his embarrassment. He blames the lingering alcohol. Kisumi just smiles back, though, rather kindly.

“I thinks so. I think that about anyone trying to be better.” The implication hangs heavy around the booth.

“I don’t even go to your school,” Hiyori says finally and it’s not giving in exactly, but Kisumi lights up anyway, leaning a little across the booth.

“It’s not the official club, none of us were good enough to get on the team. We just meet up and play streetball. Sunday is your rest day anyway, right? Come tomorrow. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

It’s such a small and stupid thing. He barely even knows Kisumi except that based on his friend group he’s got a pretty good reason to hate Hiyori’s guts. Somehow he doesn’t, thought- and it doesn’t feel like pity, either. More like… understanding. Hiyori doesn’t know how the flashy, friendly, popular kid can have anything in common with him, but he feels it nonetheless.

“Okay,” Hiyori agrees, to something new for the second time that week. He wonders if it keeps getting easier.

~~

The basketball circle is small- seven people, besides himself. Hiyori is greeted warmly which he thinks may have more to do with the fact that he’s the tallest one there than any real personal feeling, but that suits him fine. His hyperpoliteness fades away soon because this is sports and he can do sports, even if they have to give him a quick refresher on the rules. They play half-court three on three with two resting, first to twenty and switch. Kisumi plays dirty but it seems a point of honor not to call the foul here so Hiyori sets his jaw and turns out his shoulder, his bulkier frame shutting Kisumi out effectively when they clash on the court. Kisumi curses good-naturedly when he ends up flat on the ground. Hiyori gives him a hand up and then they’re switching over onto the same team.

“Unfair,” one of Kisumi’s upperclassmen complains, nearly doubled over and breathing hard. They reach twenty points in the shortest time yet.

When they’re wrapping up a few hours later, Hiyori is a mess. He’s dusty and dirty where he’d fallen twice, on his left knee and along his back. It’s not like he’s out of shape, but these are different muscles, different movements altogether. Kisumi hangs over his shoulder, just as sweaty and gross, grinning in his face.

“Same time next week?” Kisumi asks.

Hiyori can’t think of a good reason to say no.

Hiyori drifts through the next day on a kind of autopilot, still a little tired from the unexpected workout. He takes a later bus than usual to get an extra half hour of sleep. Kisumi sends him a short video message of Misae at their 8am lecture, waving hello. She’s out of date mode and wearing chunky glasses, hair messy and clothes frumpy. Hiyori decides that she’s still probably too cute for Terashima. He tells him so when they run into each other at the cafeteria later and spends the lunch break giving his upperclassman a hard time. At the end, he forwards the message to Terashima, though, for being a good sport. Terashima's face is soft when he plays it and Hiyori doesn’t hate it. He has a test in World Literature but the first time he’d read Dostoevsky was in middle school so it’s a breeze and leaves him in a good mood walking into swim practice. He changes quickly and heads in to warm up, eyes skimming over the early birds in the water twice before he realizes one of them is Ikuya.

He holds the stretch for so long that one of the other first years- Takeda? Taniguchi?- actually leans over to tap him on the bicep and remind him to switch sides. Hiyori smiles a polite thanks and finishes the routine. Is that what it’s like for people normally? To think about other things and other people sometimes. It’s not as though he’d forgotten Ikuya- he’s the foundation on which Hiyori has built himself, after all, the bricks of his personality all neatly arranged in the most supportive conglomeration. It’s just that his urge to act on it has faded somewhat, like a muscle sore from overuse. His overwhelming feelings for Ikuya are resting, recovering.

Practice begins and he drifts, as is his wont, to Ikuya’s side. They say hello. Ikuya does look at him from time to time as though he is doing something very odd, but since this is usually the face that Ikuya makes when he looks at Hiyori, he decides not to read into it too much. Ikuya doesn’t look particularly annoyed as he would if he had been late and missed classes and his energy doesn’t flag in the last three laps the way it would if he were hungry and so Hiyori can conclude that without his unsolicited wake up call, escort and mothering that Ikuya has somehow managed to survive the day. And isn’t that nice. He’s always known Ikuya doesn’t like the smothering blanket of Hiyori’s concern, but had figured it was necessary, like putting mittens on a stubborn child before he goes out into the snow. Now it isn’t.

His times are on the low side of average but Ikuya is flying. Hoshikawa, two lanes over, congratulates him.

“Doing something different?” He asks.

Ikuya hesitates. “I had someone take a look at my form,” he says, voice a little too flat.

Hoshikawa frowns. “Sunday is a rest day,” he chides. “Don’t overtrain.”

“It wasn’t training like this. Haru-” Ikuya bites off, glancing behind him but Hiyori ducks back beneath the water and heads to the other side like it doesn’t matter. He swims rather clumsily until he looks up and there’s no one really left, just a handful of swimmers finishing their cool down stretches.

“He was going to wait for you but I said I needed to talk to you so he should go ahead and eat.” Hoshikawa tidies the kickboard shelf nonchalantly, jacket slung over his bare chest. “Did I do the right thing?”

Hiyori traces a finger over his goggles. “Do you need to talk to me?” he asks instead of answering.

Hoshikawa turns to face him, expression inscrutable. “You’re tired,” he observes. “You’re listing to the left.”

“I did a different kind of cross-training this weekend,” Hiyori says.

“What kind?”

“Basketball.”

Hoshikawa raises his eyebrows. “That can be rough, if you’re playing streetball.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“So you plan to do this regularly.” Hoshikawa says perceptively.

Hiyori looks away. He feels restless and caught out. Had he meant to think that way? A good captain was observant. Sometimes annoyingly so.

“Unless you think I shouldn’t,” Hiyori says carefully.

“Heads up.” Hiyori looks back in time to reach out and catch something small in his palm. Hoshikawa stares down at him. “You’re a big boy, Tono. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I’m sure you also know that new crosstraining takes a lot out of a swimmer at first, so stick to cooldown sets for today. I suggest playlist 5.” Hoshikawa turns on his heel and heads back toward the office. Hiyori looks down. It’s a small waterproof mp3 player, an inexpensive brand. It’s clearly been well used, the logo is half faded by chlorine. He’s heard of other swimmers using music to time their strokes using BPM, but it never seemed like something he needed to do.

The pool has completely cleared out at this point so Hiyori tucks the waterproof earbuds in carefully beneath his cap and scrolls to playlist 5. He’s surprised that it isn’t the regular rhythmic drum beat he is expecting- instead it’s a calm mix of strings: guitar, cello, violin. He doesn’t swim hard; he hardly feels like he’s swimming at all, and only the occasional need to turn at each end tells him otherwise. When the lights flicker this time, Hiyori drags himself away from the water reluctantly, the last tinny echoes of the song playing from around his neck as he pulls himself up the ladder. His knees are a little stiff from all the basketball jumpshots and he doesn’t trust himself to get out the regular way. He goes to drop the mp3 player into Hoshikawa’s hand but Hoshikawa doesn’t reach for it.

“You can borrow it.”

Hiyori mulls this over a minute before he says- hesitantly- “I could get dinner- as thanks?”

“You got me ramen,” Hoshikawa reminds him, walking back toward the door.

“Terashima got us both ramen,” Hiyori corrects him, feeling rather pleased.

“He did, didn’t he?” Hoshikawa snickers. They head down to the cafeteria together.

Hiyori has a group project on Tuesday, but he stays late twice more that week and eats with Hoshikawa after and the captain doesn’t even make him pay those times. Hoshikawa’s adviser turns out to be Hiyori’s physics teacher and he’s not even really sure he needs the class for whatever his major is going to be but he thinks it’s better to keep his options open at this point. They spend a lot of the time talking about that and Hiyori's grade jumps six points.

Kisumi sends him a couple of texts over the course of the week, friendly nothings and picture messages that might be going out to a bunch of people but Hiyori is less annoyed at being included than he thought he’d be. It feels almost flattering, that two hangouts later and he’s somehow on Kisumi’s list of friendly contacts. Which is probably why he lets his guard down enough to end up at the Visual Media monthly konpa, nursing an iced oolong tea on Saturday night. It had been hard enough to say no when Terashima had tossed him a towel and friendly reminder at Friday practice but when Ikuya had quietly invited him to get dinner at Asahi’s sister’s restaurant it had been impossible not to use the convenient excuse.

It’s a smallish group but Hiyori still struggles with matching names to faces, feeling awkward and out of place but frustratingly not even allowed to brood over it. Kisumi leans over to refill his tea and to bring up his love of gaming with great exaggeration to a couple of seniors sitting to his left. Immediately they brighten and start a conversation about a visual novel game concept they’re working on with integrated puzzle features and Hiyori gets caught up in their enthusiasm despite himself. He has a good time there and on Sunday when the circle makes a unanimous ruling that Kisumi and Hiyori are no longer allowed to play on the same side, like, ever. It makes for a better game but both of them end up more bruised than before.

It’s not like he’s avoiding Ikuya or anything- they still have lunch together sometimes, when they end up in the cafeteria at the same time, they still chat a bit before practice and all... it’s just that he isn’t trying so hard anymore. He’d always known, despite Makoto’s well meaning advice, that if he dialed it down, reeled it in, that they weren’t going to fit together anymore. They never really had, but he’d been holding it together with super glue and sheer tenacity and now the pieces were properly spaced, as it should be. He deals with it.

A week later and Kisumi sends him a picture message of a stack of homework and a crying emoji. Hiyori almost wants to say that’s what he gets for being such a social butterfly but changes his mind. He takes a picture of his own desk and sends it back, in commiseration. He gets several exclamation points in return.

so many books!!!!!

Hiyori blinks. He does have two textbooks stacked neatly in front, assignments in progress in Physics and PoliSci, but that hardly seems excessive. Kisumi sends another picture- a screenshot close up of his desk picture, zoomed in and circled on the pile of books in back. Which had been piling up even before his newfound hobbies and has now grown to a somewhat unreasonable level. Hiyori makes a note to himself to start bringing one to lunch, at least.

He explains that those are for fun and the bubbles for typing come up for a long while before Kisumi finally responds.

thats awesome sux i dont like to read enough to talk abt it w/ u

That should be the end of it except that the next day when he’s walking through the quad he sees the flyer. Without thinking too much, he sends a picture of it off to Kisumi. He gets exclamation points back and rolls his eyes.

Ikuya slides into the seat across from him in the cafeteria, both hands on his tray. His eyes have a certain determined glint to them. “I need help with my paper for English Short Stories. Can we meet up tonight?”

Hiyori blinks a few times, breaking away from his book. He marks his place carefully and closes the cover. “Of course,” he answers, distracted, before the words sink in. “Oh, but I have something to do tonight. Just email me the file and I’ll put notes on it later today.” Ikuya’s mouth twists unhappily- an expression Hiyori isn’t used to seeing, not since the Iwatobi Reunion Special. Ikuya must really need that grade. “I have time before my last class,” Hiyori reassures him but he doesn’t look particularly reassured.

“You’re busy lately,” Ikuya says accusingly.

“Well. Yeah. Aren’t you?” Hiyori asks, finishing his iced coffee.

“That’s-” Ikuya starts heatedly but sits back in his chair firmly, clamping his mouth shut. They stare at each other for a long moment. Hiyori wants to stay and be patient and ready but it’s ten minutes before World Lit and it’s on the other side of campus. Anyway, Ikuya’s doing that thing where he won’t look Hiyori in the eye, which is as good as saying that the conversation is over.

“I’ll take a look at that paper,” Hiyori promises, getting up to throw his tray away. And he does, even though he should be taking notes on Chinua Achebe instead. Hiyori cleans up the grammar and leaves corrections in the margins, detailed and clear. At the end of class, he has to borrow that section of notes from a girl three seats back who blushes the whole time he’s bent over her desk, scribbling a copy for himself and feeling only a little guilty about the exchange. Afterward, he pulls up the picture of the flyer to double, triple, quadruple check as he walks across campus. His phone buzzes and it’s Kasumi.

to being better!!!

Hiyori tucks the phone away and takes a deep breath. He slides open the door to a sea of friendly faces.

“Excuse me, is this the meeting for the Literary Circle?”

Chapter Text

~~

I mean, you're telling me that the little mermaid loved that prince the whole time without saying anything? Not one word. Not in writing, not in her face, not in her eyes. She's by his side and nobody none the wiser. Can anybody really hide it that well? I don't think so.

Probably he just didn't want to know.

~~

Hiyori pushes up his goggles with a barely suppressed frown. It isn’t as though he’s ever thought he was something special in the water, but he’s an athlete in his prime. Between the diet and the practice routine and the cross training- shouldn’t there be some kind of improvement? It’s been months.

He’s stalled out before and it had never really bothered him, not when there was Ikuya. Which is stupid, Ikuya’s still there, not like he died or something, but Hiyori finds himself drawn to his own times, his own standings, frustration mounting even as Ikuya climbs higher and higher on the board. He drowns it out as best he can, waterproof mp3 player warbling in his ears. This playlist is all Kpop and the upbeat rhythm grates, but it’s still better than listening to his own messy, circular thoughts. The time clock on the wall mocks him.

Hiyori starts to pull his goggles back down but a sudden wave of water smacks him in the side. Surprised, he turns to see Sagae, grinning over from the next lane. He wags a finger.

“No solo practice today. It’s forbidden.”

“Is that so?” Hiyori hedges, fingers still poised.

“Yeah, it’s Tera’s birthday so we’re all going out to karaoke. Hoshikawa says it’s a mandatory team building exercise- no getting out of it.”

Reluctantly, Hiyori sets the cap and goggles at the side of the pool before lifting himself up. He spares a last longing look over the emptying pool when he bends to grab his swimgear and Sagae, still leaning against the lip, grins up at him over his crossed arms.

“You really love swimming, huh?”

“Do I?” Hiyori muses.

“Well, sure. Or it seems that way, I guess.”

“I get frustrated,” Hiyori admits, reaching for a towel. He tosses one over to Sagae when he finishes climbing out himself.

“That’s natural. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t get frustrated.”

“True,” Hiyori smiles weakly, heading to the locker room. After a quick shower and a change of fresh clothes, he’s meeting the team out front to catch the afternoon bus downtown. About a half dozen or so of them show up, milling about and waiting for the rest. He notices most are a dressed a bit nicer than he’d bothered with, in a simple long sleeved sweater and jeans.

Terashima loops a friendly arm around Hiyori from behind. “Toning it down tonight, Tono? Giving the other guys a go?”

“What?” Hiyori manages, extricating himself politely from his senpai’s grasp.

“The girls, man, the girls.” Terashima punches him lightly on the arm, full of nervous energy. “I talked Misae into getting some girls from Hidaka to meet us for karaoke. It’ll be a proper mixer.” He laughs at Hiyori’s expression. “C’mon! I told you. I told everybody. Not that you need it, probably.” Tera squeezes his bicep consideringly and Hiyori suffers through it with a sigh.

“I must have forgot,” Hiyori lies through his teeth. Honestly, he’d just never imagined he’d be strong-armed into coming. That is, in hindsight, a stupid assumption- getting looped into new things seems to be his entire college experience.

“I’m glad you came either way. You’re harder to get a hold of than Kirishima.” The name is like a charm. The crowd parts and the fading sunset hits Ikuya like a spotlight. He’s even more casual than Hiyori, still wearing his swim jacket over a plain t-shirt, but in the gold-red light, he shines. Ikuya stops short when he sees the two of them. Tera leans heavily on Hiyori’s shoulder and gives a wave. Ikuya looks resolutely at the ground, mouth drawn down, bad mood sudden and apparent. Probably this, too, is Hiyori’s fault. He tries for a smile. Ikuya glares at his shoes.

“The bus!” Hoshikawa calls, moving up and down the line to form some kind of order. Ikuya sits with Sagae in the back. Hiyori sits next to Terashima at the front. He is not quite convinced that this is a coincidence.

They take the main room at karaoke, the only one big enough to fit the whole club. Hiyori pays the entry free, looking around with interest. The decor is clean and bright, neon lights running along the walls to each section. American movie posters line the entry. He studies one as he waits for the crowd to shuffle in.

“Big fan?” the guy behind the counter asks. He’s probably a college student too, or around that age, anyway. He has piercings along the side of his left ear and the long shock of hair he wears over one eye is bleached blond.

“I saw it when it came out. It was pretty good,” Hiyori explains, tapping his knuckle against the poster with affection.

Karaoke guy sits up, eyes bright with sudden interest. “Oh yeah? You lived overseas?”

“For a couple of years.” Hiyori admits, walking back toward the desk. The two of them fall into an easy conversation, and Karaoke guy is leaning across the counter saying “Well, I hope this isn’t too forward, but if you’d like-” when Ikuya calls his name sharply from the open doorway. Hiyori looks up.

“They’re waiting on you,” Ikuya snaps, crossing his arms and glaring.

Hiyori excuses himself with a smile for Karaoke guy before joining the others, Ikuya waiting until he steps through before coming in himself and shutting the door firmly behind them. Hiyori’s smile feels soft and plastic-y. How is it that Ikuya is in an even worse mood than before?

Ikuya pushes past with a little huff, settling into an empty chair on the left side of the room. There’s a seat directly next to him, but from the way Ikuya was glaring earlier, Hiyori is sure that’s the last place he ought to be. He scans the room. Most of the room is taken up by swim team members with a few pretty girls peppered in here and there. He recognizes a few from the konpa a few months ago and greets them by name. Several of the girls turn to giggle together. The swim team members sitting by them make faces at Hiyori and spread their things out on the benches a bit wider, to keep him from joining them. The only clearly open seat is on the other side of the room. It is no choice at all.

“Misae,” Hiyori greets, sliding into the spot beside Misae, who throws her arms around him in a friendly hug.

“Hey now,” Tera warns.

“It’s Hiyori, he’s safe,” Misae assures him. Hiyori, bemused, pats her shoulder in response.

“No Kisumi?” He asks, picking up a menu.

“Not today. He said not coming was Kotarou’s present.” Misae giggles into her cocktail. “I’ll tell him you asked, though.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“That’s right. The two of you are spending a lot of time together, right? You’re so close.”

“Well he’s easy to be with,” Hiyori smiles.

A thud sounds from the other side of the room. Several of the girls scramble for napkins and paper towels as the overturned water spreads across the tabletop. Ikuya, standing over the mess, sends a searing look in Hiyori’s direction- the kind of look he’s only seen once before, on a playground far too late at night- before fairly dashing out of the room.

“Is he okay?” One of the girls asks, cleaning up the spilled ice.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Miyazaki, another first year, chimes in. “Should someone…?”

“I’ll go,” Hiyori says, recovering enough to rise to his feet.

“Hiyori…” Misae looks up at him, concerned.

“It’s okay,” Hiyori smiles down at her. “It’s my fault, after all.”

~~

Hiyori finds him in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, head bowed. When their eyes meet in the mirror, Hiyori clicks the door lock into place. They need to talk, they need not to be interrupted, and anyway there’s another restroom near the front.

“Should I not have come?” Hiyori asks kindly.

“What are you talking about,” Ikuya says flatly. It hardly feel like a question.

“I’m clearly upsetting you. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“I didn’t know you were even coming,” Ikuya sulks.

“I’m… sorry?” Hiyori tries.

“I don’t care. You don’t tell me anything.”

“Do you want me to tell you things?” Hiyori asks, bewildered.

“You used to.” Ikuya bites off.

“I’ve been busy,” Hiyori says, but he drops his eyes and Ikuya, still watching him in the mirror, seizes on it.

“With literary circle? Miyazaki said he saw you going in.”

“That’s some of it.”

“And Kisumi, right? You’re making time for him.”

“I don’t understand.” Hiyori says slowly.

“Are you avoiding me?” Ikuya asks quietly, turning to face Hiyori. His eyes are soft, vulnerable.

“...Yes.”

Ikuya’s breath stutters and he brings a hand up to his chest as though Hiyori’s words are a physical thing. “Why?”

Why.

Hiyori doesn’t smile.

“Because we’re not good for each other.” Ikuya looks stricken, but Hiyori presses on. The dam has burst. All the polite pretending- all the insincere assurances, they’re swept away. All Hiyori has left is the truth. He wonders if he’s ever really said it before. “I hurt you. I hurt your friends.”

“Haru and the others, they don’t-” Ikuya tries, but Hiyori cuts him off.

“It doesn’t matter. If I cared about you- really cared about you, I would never have treated your friends that way.”

“I don’t care-”

“You should. You should never let anyone treat you like I have. You should take better care of yourself.” Hiyori wants to be gentle but he can’t. He’s not sure if he’s ever been gentle, or if he’s only ever been mostly afraid.

“I don’t like who I am around you,” Hiyori says and the words fall heavy in between them. Ikuya’s eyes well up with tears.

“Fine,” he spits. “That’s- yeah, just-” he pushes past Hiyori, fumbling with the lock at the door. He pushes out past Karaoke guy, checking the halls.

“Whoa.” He puts his hands up. “That guy okay?”

Hiyori blinks and nods, not trusting himself to speak.

~~

Hiyori goes back to the karaoke room. He tells everyone that Ikuya was ill, that he’s gone home, that he will be fine. He cheers Terashima on through three songs, each progressively more sloppy and vague. He calls a cab when Sagae has a little too much to drink. He sends a text on his way back to the station.

Ikuya and I broke up

He figures Kisumi will get it. A few seconds later his phone beeps.

want to come over?!

Kisumi’s dorm room is a small one room affair, decorated in bright posters. He lays flat on his stomach on the bed, flipping idly through a magazine and eating candy. Hiyori sits with his back against the side of the bed, legs stretched out.

“So,” Kisumi says, after a time.

Hiyori sighs.

“It’s a shame for you two to call it quits after going through all that.” Kisumi’s tone is light. “You’ve been friends- what, six years?”

“Something like that,” Hiyori agrees. He reaches up to swipe at his eyes under his glasses, fingertips wet. “It really does feel like a break up,” he admits, chuckling darkly.

“Well you know why that is.” Kisumi crunches through another konepito.

“I do?” Hiyori asks. He gives up, pulling off his glasses and wiping another tear. God, he’s lame.

“Hiyori, you ever wonder why we’re friends?”

“Constantly.” Hiyori says with feeling.

“Hey now.” Kisumi admonishes.

“I just mean that I don’t know why you bothered. I’m sort of a work in progress. You’re a really good friend, Kisumi. Probably my best friend, actually.” Hiyori tilts his head slightly. “Is that weird?”

Kisumi hums thoughtfully. “I’ve never been a best friend before.” Hiyori scoffs. “I have lots of friends, don’t get me wrong, but. Best friend. That’s like a secret sharing, close bonding, looking out for each other kind of thing. I’m more of a shallow good time guy, you know? But I’m honored.”

“You’re welcome,” Hiyori mocks.

“That ties in, probably. Why you’re so comfortable with me, I mean. And the Ikuya thing.”

“I don’t get it,” Hiyori says, his head down, focused on cleaning his glasses on the inside of his shirt. He looks up and Kisumi has shifted over, leaning off the side of the bed. Deliberately, Kisumi reaches out, cupping Hiyori’s jaw and kissing him.

After a moment, Kisumi pulls back.

Oh.

“It feels like a break up because it was a break up. But you can’t one-sidedly date someone, Hiyori. That’s when it gets warped and weird and stalker-y. So you had to give it up. It’s time to nurse your broken heart. Try ice cream or a rebound- Hey, wanna give it a go?” Kisumi asks, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. Hiyori shoves him lightly so that he flops back onto the bed. Unperturbed, Kisumi wiggles back into his original spot, picking back up the magazine.

“You can just… tell like that?” Hiyori asks, a little impressed.

“Not usually, but you’re not very subtle. Our kind needs to stick together, I figured. Plus you’re totally my type. It’s a bummer you’re so pure.”

“Your type?” Hiyori asks, replacing his glasses on his face firmly.

“Sure. Tall nice guy with a good build, killer smile, totally hung up on some apathetic swimmer from his childhood.”

Hiyori makes a doubtful noise in the back of his throat. “You sure?” he asks. “I always thought you’d be more into loudmouth redheads.”

Kisumi stills on the bed. After a moment, a magazine thwaps into the back of Hiyori’s head.

“I changed my mind,” Kisumi announces airily. “You’re not nice at all, definitely not my type.”

Hiyori smiles.

~~

It’s as though the last few months have been leading up to this. Ikuya hadn’t seemed bothered the first time he’d decided he didn’t need Hiyori, and he seems perfectly fine now. Ikuya bonds well with the rest of the team without Hiyori hanging around. The other first years look up to him- Miyazaki trails after him like a shadow. Hiyori smothers whatever he is feeling when Ikuya gives the kid a hand up out of the pool and concentrates on his own swimming.

“You’re holding yourself back,” Hoshikawa notes, conscripting Hiyori to help pick up the kickboards from the team’s specialized training.

“It’s not like I’m doing it on purpose,” Hiyori says, tense.

“We both know that. Look, you’re going through all the right motions and you’re in peak condition. You’re just too in-your-head.”

“I would love to fix it, but as it is…” Hiyori shrugs.

“Two things, okay? First of all, it’s different for everybody. I can tell you what I think it is that’s holding you back, but it’s honestly a shot in the dark so I’m not going to. Secondly-” Hoshikawa elbows him gently on the way to the showers. “-you’ll get there. You’ll figure it out. Not everybody does, but you’re not the type to lay down and die.”

“Thanks,” Hiyori says softly to his feet.

~~

Hiyori’s phone rings at two in the morning on a Tuesday and his first thought is Ikuya.

He’s been good about it, mostly, not thinking about Ikuya like that, but late night phone calls were usually Natsuya checking in about his baby brother, too careless and carefree to bother doing the math to see what ungodly hour it was in Japan. It doesn’t even occur to him that it might be someone else about something else until Kisumi hiccups into the receiver.

“Come and get me?” Kisumi begs.

“Yeah.” Hiyori sits up, rubs his eyes, reaches for his glasses. “Yeah, of course. Where are you?”

Nichome is busy, crowded, bright. The lights wash the streets in neon colors, blue and red, faces blending together. Hiyori is surprisingly alert and not as nervous as he’d thought he might be, first heading out. It helps that he’s got a mission. He checks his phone and swings into a small, dingy bar to see Kisumi, head pillowed on his arms and face down on the bar.

“Your friend, I presume?” The owner snarks behind the bar, clearly unimpressed.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. I will take him now.” Hiyori bows with an apologetic smile. He lifts Kisumi, winding his arm along the smaller boy’s back. Kisumi, struggling to awareness, slides his arm around Hiyori’s waist.

“Mama-san.” Kisumi’s eyes flutter open. “Sorry for the trouble. You’re really nice, Mama-san.”

“Tell your friend not to come back till he’s of age.” The owner says, softening. Hiyori turns toward the door. “Hey.” Hiyori glances back. The owner looks him up and down consideringly. The owner’s not good looking, exactly- older and flamboyantly dressed, but with a sharp jaw and rather nice dark hair worn long. “You come back too,” the owner says and Hiyori feels his face heating up.

“What happened?” Hiyori asks quietly when they step outside, waiting for their cab.

“I thought I could do it but I can’t.” Kisumi admits miserably. “The whole hook up thing. Anyway. I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do everything right this minute,” Hiyori tells him. “It’s okay to slow down.”

“So wise,” Kisumi closes his eyes, head against Hiyori’s shoulder. “I wanted to be the big gay senpai.”

“We can take turns,” Hiyori laughs.

“I love you, man.” Kisumi gives him a sudden sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Gay best friend.”

Hiyori gives him an affectionate squeeze and then their cab pulls up.

~~

On Wednesday, Hiyori doesn’t realize something is off until he’s in the locker room. There’s a few awkward stares, hesitation in the way they respond to his hellos. Stares. He walks slower and slower until he finally stops, just a few feet away from his locker. It’s surprisingly crowded for how late it is- Hiyori had been moving slowly all day, tired from his late night adventure. Everyone should be poolside by now, but most of the first years and some of the second years are crowded around Miyzaki, looking at something on his cellphone. He notices the serious swimmers- Sagae, Terashima, Ikuya- aren’t around.

As if sensing his presence, the group looks up, almost as one.

“Hey, Tono,” Miyazaki says, fake casual. “Are you gay?”

Hiyori freezes to the spot.

Behind him, the door leading to the pool opens, but he ignores it.

“My sister, she’s a waitress in Nichome for some drag show on weekends. I was walking her home when I saw something good.” Miyazaki waves his phone in the air and Hiyori sees himself, holding Kisumi up, Kisumi pressing a kiss to the side of his face. “That your boyfriend?”

More movement behind him, but Hiyori speaks first.

“Kisumi and I are just friends,” he says quietly. Several of the first years seem relieved and it irritates him. Miyazaki opens his mouth, a sly little grin on his face, ready to needle, to push.

“But I am gay,” he says clearly.

Miyazaki drops the hand holding the phone back to his side, surprised. The others watch him, their eyes flat, distrusting. Hiyori smiles, disarmingly. He steps forward, pulling off his shirt.

“Don’t look so scared,” he admonishes gently, leaning down into Miyazaki’s space. He slides off his glasses, looking down his nose at the smaller boy. “Just because I like men doesn’t mean I’m going to eat you up. You’re all perfectly safe.” He turns his eyes on the rest of the group, tense at his proximity.

“I only like good-looking men.” Hiyori turns back to his locker.

“Hey-!” Miyazaki’s protest is cut off when Hoshikawa claps his hands together.

“Pool. Now.” He holds the door open and the group files through, avoiding his judgemental gaze. He stops Miyazaki with a hand to the center of his chest. Whatever he leans in to whisper makes Miyazaki flush and look away, chastened. Hiyori finishes changing out slowly.

“Well?” Hoshikawa demands.

“Well what?” Hiyori asks, pulling on his swim cap.

“Aren’t you going to offer to quit the team or change in the bathroom from now on to make things easier?” Hoshikawa asks.

Hiyori mulls this over. “No,” he says finally.

“No?”

“No.” Hiyori repeats firmly.

Hoshikawa grins. “Good. Otherwise I would have to kick Miyazaki’s ass for real, you know. Outing you like that was uncalled for. As it is, he’ll be doing drills till his arms fall off.”

“How chivalrous.” Hiyori reaches for his goggles, fighting a smile.

“Don’t fall for me, now,” Hoshikawa warns. “I made a promise to a childhood friend a long time ago. Very anime, I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”

“Please don’t,” Hiyori says pleasantly. “I’m only interested in cute types.”

Behind them, a locker slams shut. Ikuya, shaking, pushes past them to the pool door without looking up. He disappears.

“Is that going to be okay?” Hoshikawa asks.

“It’s going to have to be,” Hiyori says and means it.

~~

During practice, Hiyori breaks his personal record. He wonders why it felt so hard before.

Chapter Text

~~

The Little Mermaid, she's supposed to be young, right? She goes chasing after this prince guy and nobody even bats an eye. Nobody even misses her. It's a damn shame, letting a kid go off on her own like that. Of course she was gonna make a mistake like that, they were setting her up for failure! I mean who was keeping an eye on her? Don't fish swim in schools?

Where were her parents?

~~

Hiyori gets the phone call after practice- like, right after practice. So right after practice that everyone is still streaming on either side of him, but he doesn’t hesitate before he hits the button to accept the call- when was the last time his father had called him? It has to be important. Maybe someone was dead.

“Dad?” He says into the phone and behind him, vaguely, he sees Ikuya slow.

“Hiyori, son. It’s good to hear from you.” His father says smoothly, like Hiyori is a client he’d needed to touch base with.

“What do you want, Dad? Is everything okay?” He asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Hiyori’s father gives a short, stilted laugh. “Well,” he says. “That depends.”

“What does that mean?” Hiyori asks, stopping in the middle of the staircase. Miyazaki glares at him but says nothing. He doesn’t say much anymore anyway, not since his attempt at harassment backfired, leaving him the pariah.

“It’s, well. It’s about your school fees.”

Hiyori goes cold.

“The economy just isn’t what it used to be, you know. The dollar doesn’t stretch quite as far.”

“I don’t understand,” he manages. “We talked about this before I even applied. Back when I was coming over here for high school.”

“We did,” his father says indulgently. “But things change-”

“What changed?” Hiyori asks, voice rising. “Did you get fired or something?” Behind him, Ikuya pulls out his own phone, sending a quick text. With a last long look in Hiyori’s direction, he turns the corner and disappears. Hiyori is alone.

“No, it’s, there are- recent expenses-” his father flounders. In the background, he hears a door opening and small excited footsteps.

“Daddy!” a little voice cries, right in Hiyori’s ear.

“Daddy’s busy, sweetheart, just wait a little bit and he’ll play with you,” a woman’s voice purrs.

Hiyori’s fingers tighten on the phone.

It isn’t the baby girl, well into the toddler stage by now. It isn’t the woman, his father’s mistress from years and years back. It isn’t even the money, really. It’s the knowledge that when he hangs up, his father really is going to play with little Monica. He’s going to put work and duty and Hiyori aside, and he’s going to make time for her.

“Got it,” Hiyori says flatly, hanging up the phone.

It’s fine. This is fine. He has enough in his account to make it through the semester’s end. He just needs to cut back a little, that’s all. He’s on a partial scholarship and that will help, and the money his father already deposited will-

Hiyori brings up his phone. He logs into the banking app. He is calm and measured as he scrolls to My Account.

Zero.

Zero dollars. Zero cents.

Zero.

His phone rings. He lets it ring through. They call back. Hiyori rouses from his stupor, hits accept. He cannot bring himself to say hello. The silence stretches.

“Where are you?” Kisumi asks finally. “Are you still at practice? At the gym?”

Hiyori makes a noise that probably sounds like agreement.

“Stay there,” Kisumi orders. Hiyori sits as though his strings have been cut, in a heap. It seems only a few minutes before Kisumi walks up briskly, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“C’mon,” he says, pulling Hiyori to his feet and guiding him down the street to the station. “How bad is it?”

Hiyori shakes his head. “How did you know?” He asks, as an afterthought.

“I have a veritable network of spies. I see all,” Kisumi quips lightly. “This is our stop, come on.”

Hiyori doesn’t realize where they’re heading until Kisumi is pushing open the door to the Kurimiya Tavern and ushering him inside.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling. “This late hardy anyone’ll be here.”

Akane-san is marking inventory behind the bar with one hand, cradling the baby in the other. When she sees Kisumi, she brightens.

“Oh good, I needed to run to the back and swap out the soap for the last dish run. Can you take him? I assume you want the usual.” Her eyes land on Hiyori and her smile widens. “Welcome back! Omurice, right?”

“Yes, please.” Kisumi accepts firmly for them both, taking the baby. Akane-san heads to the back and Kisumi expertly lifts the infant to curl against his shoulder. Tsukushi nuzzles his shirt once and yawns, settling with eyes half-lidded. Kisumi leads them to a back booth.

“Talk,” he directs.

Hiyori talks. He talks about the long lonely times, about the cycle of work and neglect that left him stilted, stiffy smiling, totally unsuited for human company. He talks about his courage, gathering around his first friend (he does not say Ikuya, he never says it’s Ikuya) and how he applied for a school back home in Japan, under the kikukoshijo admissions policy. It was a total scholarship that would cover all his living expenses for all of high school, meant to be competition with American educational opportunities that lured so many promising youths out of Japan. That money, his father promised, would be saved for his college. The only news he’d gotten from his parents since was a call when he was accepted to Shimogami almost eight months ago, to figure out the first set of payments and to let him know the date of deposit to his account. His father had mentioned, in passing, that his mother had moved out. That she had been gone nearly three years- from the moment he had boarded his flight for Japan. Even now he was not sure if the wide eyed American woman he’d glimpsed from time to time was just his girlfriend or if she was his new wife. It wasn’t the kind of information anyone felt Hiyori needed to know.

He didn’t know where his mother was.

His father thought she might be in Yokohama.

Hiyori hasn’t spoken to her in almost four years.

“How bad is this money thing?” Kisumi asks calmly when Hiyori stops talking. Hiyori slides his phone across the table. Kisumi whistles at the zeroes.

“You need a new account, first of all,” he says firmly. “One they can’t touch. We’ll go set you one up tomorrow when the banks open. You’re going to have to take out a loan to cover what your scholarship won’t for next year, too.”

“I want to borrow as little as possible,” Hiyori says quietly. “The debt will be a lot on my own as it is.”

Kisumi nods. “Maybe we can find something part time for you, at least to cover your daily expenses and food.”

Akane-san quietly fills up the pitchers. Hiyori, noticing her for the first time and the barely-touched omurice in front of him, stares hard at the floor. He hadn’t realized there had been more than one person to witness his shameful story until just this moment.

“Kisumi,” she says, setting the pitcher aside. “Can you give me a hand with something? Leave Tsukushi with your friend.” Hiyori starts and Kisumi does too, a little, before his eyes light with understanding. Ignoring Hiyori’s pointed stare of distress, Kisumi loads the infant into Hiyori’s long, clumsy arms before darting off to the back with Akane-san.

Hiyori freezes. Tsukushi, too used to the hustle and bustle of restaurant life and being passed to and fro during various tasks, rolls over, mouths twice at Hiyori’s sleeve, and sleeps. Gradually, Hiyori relaxes back into his seat.

It’s actually kind of nice, holding a baby. Tsukushi is warm and soft and moves slightly now and then. Hiyori adjusts his grip, slightly more confident.

Maybe, if things had been different, it could have been like this. Hiyori could have held Monica like this years ago, her little eyes closed and trusting. It wasn’t that kid’s fault that Hiyori’s dad was trash. It wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own. Hiyori would manage, and if it meant Monica wouldn’t grow up in a sterile, suffocating home, well, maybe that was all for the best then.

Something makes Hiyori look up. Akane-san and Kisumi watch him from the doorway, expressions warm.

“I knew he’d be a natural,” Akane-san smiles. “Hey Hiyori, I hear you’re looking for a job?”

~~

Hiyori neatly snaps the laptop closed after he hits save.

“Not gonna make it to the circle this week either?” The TA, Saonji, calls from across the room. Hiyori shakes his head regretfully.

“Well, don’t work too hard,” Saonji grins, and Hiyori throws him a wave out the door. He gets to the gym in record time, changing in the empty locker room and rinsing off while he mentally checks off his assignments in his head. He’s got that group project due in Econ. Thank god for Google Docs. He can finish typing up his portion on the bus probably and share it once he gets in range of wi-fi. Hiyori dives into the pool, beginning his warm up. After a few laps, he approaches the wall for a turn only to see that it’s occupied. Two legs hang in the water from the ledge above. Hiyori pops up, pulling his goggles and cap free. He hits pause on the music player.

“You’re early,” Hoshikawa says frowning, legs dangling in the water. Hiyori smiles. “Oh no you don’t. That means you’re leaving early, doesn’t it? You know your scholarship stipulations are that you attend joint practices.”

“I am,” Hiyori says convincingly. “I’m practicing and soon the group will come in. There’s overlap.”

Hoshikawa shakes his head. “You shouldn’t even be working with this kind of scholarship,” he warns.

“I know,” Hiyori says more seriously. “I’m sorry. Today is a special events banquet at the restaurant, but after that I’m only working there three times a week. I won’t miss any more practice.”

Hoshikawa’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Hiyori’s gaze slides a little left. “I just found something with better hours, is all.”

“Better- you mean later?” A pause. “Tono.”

“You remember that karaoke place we went to for Terashima’s birthday?”

“That place is open until two in the morning! The trains aren’t even running that late.”

“The guy at the counter, the one who hired me, Yoshimi. He’s got a car and he’ll give me a ride.”

“That is not the point.” The main door opens, other swimmers starting to filter in. Hoshikawa’s expression turns thoughtful. “Looks like there’s nothing for it,” he says suddenly, withdrawing from the water. “I’ll leave you to your business, then. You can handle it, right?”

“Yes,” Hiyori says firmly, shoving down any feeling of misgiving.

“Make sure you keep off the 24th, that’s the next tournament,” Hoshikawa warns. “Late night job or no.”

Hiyori’s agreement is cut off when Ikuya splashes into the lane beside him so he just gives a thumbs up and pulls his goggles back down into place.

~~

Tsukushi sees Hiyori step inside the restaurant and gives a delighted burble. Hiyori smiles in spite of himself.

“You’re early," Akane-san observes, smiling. “Your hair’s still wet.”

“A little, sorry.” Hiyori admits, pushing it back from his face. “Can I use the wi-fi to send something? It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, of course.” Tsukushi, not quite following the exchange, reaches both arms out toward Hiyori and squirms. “Not yet, he’s got homework,” Akane-san scolds gently. Tsukishi pouts.

Hiyori hangs his coat and bag up, smoothing down his uniform of dark dress slacks and white t-shirt before tying on his apron. He sets up the laptop on the countertop and reaches for the baby.

“I can mange,” he assures Akane-san. Adroitly, he bounces the baby in one arm while typing with the other.

“And to think you were so scared of dropping him your first few weeks," Akane smiles fondly.

“I’m a fast learner.” The upload finishes with a ‘ding.’

“Alright, Nee-san, what d’ya need me to do with these trays-?” The door to the back opens, Asahi pushing it open with his back. He stops short when he sees Hiyori with the baby. He opens his mouth as though to shout. Hiyori blinks. Tsukishi burrows into his shirt.

“Traitor,” he mutters to the baby instead, leaning in. His arms are full of metal trays so he presses a quick kiss to the top of Tsukishi’s head. He glances up into Hiyori’s face when he pulls back.

“I work here,” Hiyori says finally.

“Yeah, I know.” Asahi says, voice flat but not snide.

“Put them on the bar for now. We need to move the tables around to form one long section.” Akane-san gestures with her hands. “The furniture is heavy oak. You need to be careful, which is why I needed both of you. You-” she addresses Tsukushi firmly, “-stay with me tonight.” Tsukushi allows himself to be given back to his mother after one more swipe of a drool-covered hand against Hiyori’s bare neck. Asahi snickers quietly to himself, but otherwise is subdued.

Asahi and Hiyori become quickly engrossed in arranging the room; as soon as that task is complete, the starters begin to come up. By the time the first round of the buffet is arranged, the guests begin to arrive. By the time they are settled, the main course is up. It’s a whir of activity and hours pass by in no time at all. Asahi is bright and friendly with customers, but he’s also a hard worker, loading up on dirty dishes and stepping quickly from the bar to the table with refills.

After the last guest steps out the door and Akane-san flicks the sign from open to closed, she gestures at the remaining food, kept safe heaped on a couple of plates in the back. “Go to,” she says, “And lock up on your way out. Good job, both of you.” She ruffles each of their heads in turn affectionately and, cradling Tsukushi, heads upstairs to the apartment where the family stays. Hiyori sits gingerly. His feet ache.

Asahi goes into the back, coming juggling with plates of food and two cold drinks. He sets down a melon soda in front of Hiyori.

“Nice work,” he echoes and Hiyori blinks up at him. Instantly, the expression morphs into a scowl. “What?” He snaps, throwing himself into the chair across from him.

“Nothing.” Hiyori realizes that it sounds a bit harsh, put like that. He should try to be cordial. Working relationship and all.“You’re a lot like your sister.”

Asahi glares at him suspiciously over his bowl of karaage. “Trying to say I’m girly or something?”

“You smile the same way. You’re both nice people.” Hiyori clarifies, cracking open the soda. “And you’re both good at this kind of thing.” He indicates the restaurant vaguely.

“Hey. Don’t go falling for my sister,” Asahi warns, jabbing his chopsticks toward Hiyori rudely.

“Impossible,” Hiyori assures him. It isn’t supposed to be a revelation but from the way Asahi freezes, it’s a reminder and Hiyori wonders who exactly took the time to catch this idiot up to speed. Well, whatever.

“Kisumi is a really great guy,” Asahi says. Now it’s Hiyori’s turn to stare suspiciously. “He acts really flashy, but he’s smart and he gets people.”

“Uh-huh.” Hiyori sounds skeptical as he claims the cold chawanmushi with chestnuts, drizzling it with a little extra soy sauce.

“I moved a lot as a kid. Like a lot. And I have a ton of friends.”

“Good for you,” Hiyori murmurs around a spring roll.

“Can you quit being an asshole for like three seconds?” Asahi bursts out. Hiyori sits up straighter. “I’m trying to give you my blessing or whatever!”

Hiyori blinks. “…what?”

“Cause you’re dating Kisumi now, right?” He stabs a piece of bok choy rather emphatically.

“No.” Hiyori corrects.

“So you’re just playing with him?” Asahi frowns.

“No,” Hiyori says again. “We’re not seeing each other like that. We are just good friends.” He says it as plainly as possible, wondering if it’ll sink into Asahi’s thick skull this time. Asahi’s expression becomes contemplative. It’s a strong maybe.

“Here, eat half of this.” Asahi divides up the remaining sweet potato tempura between their plates, sharing out the sauce. “Every time I moved, everyone always said the same thing. Like write me and we’ll keep in touch, and we’ll come visit. And they probably meant it a little when they said it but they don’t really. We’re kids, who does that kind of thing? So I’m not ever mad about it, and we’re friends on Facebook or whatever and it’s fine.”

He leans back in his chair and Hiyori takes another sip of the soda. It’s disgustingly sweet, but cool and kind of refreshing after such hot work. He decides it was a good pick on Asahi’s part. He nods, looking up, letting Asahi know he’s listening properly this time.

“Kisumi’s not like that, though. He really did write and we really did message and keep in touch the whole time. He never forgot me. He’s really really important to me.” Asahi looks down suddenly.

“I’m not the person who is going to take Kisumi away,” Hiyori says gently.

Asahi starts, blushing. “You can’t say it like- like that!” he sputters. “That makes it sound-”

“Gay?” Hiyori guesses, some slyness coming back into his voice. He leans back in his chair. He’ll have to go soon to catch the bus back to campus, but for now he is comfortable and full and amused. Asahi’s blush deepens.

“I’m not…. not…”

“Gay.”

“Sure!” Asahi yelps. “I’m not sure.” He covers his face with his hands. “Why am I even talking about this with you! Out of anyone!”

“Like calls to like,” Hiyori says diplomatically, taking pity on him. He stands, collecting their empty dirty plates. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that kind of thing matters so much as what you decide to do about it.”

“Do?” Asahi echoes stupidly.

“You thought Kisumi and I were together. We are not. How does that make you feel?”

“Pretty fucking jazzed,” Asahi answers immediately.

Hiyori rolls his eyes. He runs the last of the dishes before scooping up the plastic bag, heavy with leftovers that Akane-san always leaves for him in back. “Maybe think about that for a bit, then,” he advises on his way out the door.

~~

The standings on the board light up but Hiyori doesn’t even look up. He rips off his goggles and swim cap fiercely, practically shaking. His time had been so bad - so so bad and he can’t even look Hoshikawa in the eye as he climbs out of the pool, passing his teammates. Most look at him sympathetically; Sagae claps him on the shoulder kindly and Terashima hands him a towel.

Two jobs and school- it's too much. It's only been about three weeks and he's falling apart. He hasn’t been getting home until 3, first classes at 8. He had known his times had been stalling out, but here, in the meet, he was last. Dead last. He’s never been last in his life. He’s always gotten by. His hands twist the towel unhappily. He goes ahead to rinse off, in too poor a temper to watch the last match and knowing Hoshikawa would want him to go cool his head anyway. He rinses off and changes into his warm up suit before heading out to the front to wait for the team.

There’s a woman, there. His glance goes past her the first time, just another spectator waiting for someone. Something makes him look again. She’s staring at him. He’s not totally oblivious. Hiyori knows he’s not bad looking, and he is unusually tall. Girls look, for all the good it does them. This one is a little weird, though, especially because she’s so much older. She’s old enough to be his-

“Hiyori,” she says shakily, holding out both her hands.

It’s his mother.

Chapter Text

~~

The Little Mermaid… wasn’t her mom dead?

I wonder what would have happened if she were around to see what a mess her child had made…

~~

Hiyori laughs.

It’s not probably the most normal- the most stable reaction, but it’s the one he’s inclined to do, so he rolls with it. She flinches back from him as though he’s struck her.

“What do you want?” He asks. He can’t make the words sound nice or mean, they just exist in the air around them, dropping, rolling inexorably toward their target. What other choice does he have?

“I wanted to talk to you.” Her fingers twist together nervously, a habit that he’d broken in middle school because it was too feminine, too cagey. It makes him inexplicably angry to see, so much so that he averts his eyes to the cracks in the sidewalk to keep his smile up.

“Why?” He asks, and maybe this time it does sound mean? Usually when Hiyori is being sharp and clever, it’s deliberate and scalpel careful, but this is all brute force and bludgeoning. They’re already getting a few glances from strangers nearby. Her face is beautiful, but maybe that’s narcissism. It’s his face, mostly. He hasn’t seen it for years and years and years and yet the tears welling up in her eyes hurt him as much as if they were his own and it’s just not fair.

He’s so tired.

“I want to help,” she says quickly. “I just want to help. I heard what your father-”

“Stop.” Hiyori holds one hand up, the other covers his own eyes. He can’t stand to look at her or he’ll start crying too, so he just smiles around that hand, strained and stretched to cracking. “Just… stop.”

“Tono?” Hoshikawa’s voice breaks in and he turns toward that voice, sees the bus beyond. He leaves, maybe he pushes past her, maybe she springs out of the way, as afraid of this strange angry smiling creature as he is of this soft delicate bird of prey who left him out for the predators.

This is your fault, he wants to say. I’m fucked up because of you and Dad. But it’s not really true and he knows it. Other people have it worse, all over. This is him. All him.

Hiyori sits in the very back row, turned to look out at the road, curled around his bag like he’s afraid someone will steal it from him. It takes a while for the bus to pull off, for Hoshikawa to get back on. He looks back at Hiyori a lot during the ride back, but they don’t talk.

Not talking is the best thing that’s happened to him all damn week.

~~

“How did she know where I’d be?” Hiyori demands. Kisumi, on the other end of line, is silent for a long time.

“You got me,” he says lightly. “It was all me.”

“How-?!”

“There aren’t that many Tono’s in real estate in Yokohama, you know? It only took like two phone calls.”

“How could you?” Hiyori breathes. “This wasn’t- I didn’t want you to-”

“You don’t always get what you want, Hiyori. And everyone isn’t always going to act the way you want them to, even if they’re your friend. Sometimes especially when they’re really your friend.”

Hiyori hangs up angry and confused. He’s still chlorine scented, furious, lonely, frustrated. He wants to put a fist through the wall. He wants to drink half a bottle of Suntori. He hasn’t even decided to leave the house before he’s halfway down the stairs outside. He doesn’t have money, he doesn’t have anything but himself and his own fury, choking hot all the way down to the pit of him.

He runs. He runs until he can’t run anymore and then he breathes and then he runs again. He runs until he throws up, a pathetic little bit of water and bile, by the side of the road, on a small sapling that never deserved such treatment. This late, he just looks like another drunk, even if he’s still in his warm up suit, sticking to his skin with unpleasant stickiness, sweat, pool water, sadness leaking through his pores, exposed to the outside.

He dozes on a bench until a policeman comes by, ushers him away. He starts the walk back and then it’s hardly even worth going home. Morning practice. Might as well go get his face chewed off for being such a failure while it’s fresh. Give him something to be really angry about.

It’s early, so early still, that Hiyori takes a second to recognize that there are already other people there, in the locker room. Scuffling sounds. Whispers. Second years, ones who used to pal around with Miyazaki till he got on the captain’s shit list. They’re fussing over his locker, sniggering like snot nosed kids, and even the sound of it irritates Hiyori almost past endurance. They’re taping something up, maybe it’s Miyazaki’s birthday or something, except they’re having just a little too much fun, aren’t they? The kind of fun you have when you’re hurting somebody.

They drop one of whatever it is and it catches the air, floats over to Hiyori’s feet. He bends down to scoop it up.

It’s Miyazaki, at a drag cafe. His arms around his sister.

Hiyori dimly hears the thud before he feels it travel up his arm to the elbow and shoulder, a little numb. The locker dents a little under his fist and he vaguely hopes he’s not going to have to pay for that too.

The two stop and turn.

“Ah, we were just- he was such a dick about you, so we thought we’d just give him a little payback, you know?”

“It’s only fair.”

Fair.

“Get out.” Hiyori says coolly. “Or I’ll hurt you.”

“You’ll get kicked off the team-” the shorter one protests, but the taller one grabs him by the arm, shaking his head. Whatever he recognizes in Hiyori’s face, he doesn’t say, pulling back and leading his friend out toward the pool. Hiyori lashes out, finger catching and tearing at the photos, ripping them down in one broad swipe. Little photo bits and masking tape hang, remnants of cruelty. He’s breathing hard. Maybe he’s going to have a panic attack. Won’t that be something fun and new.

The door opens.

Miyazaki looks at the scene- at the crumpled leftover bits of photos, at the trash on the floor and the benches. He picks up one of the bigger pieces. Considers it. His face stays resigned and calm when he raises his eyes to meet Hiyori’s.

“Are you gonna tell?” He asks eventually.

“No,” Hiyori growls.

“Why not?” Miyazaki picks up the next largest piece. Studies it. Stacks them neatly. Moves to the next.

“Because it’s not your fucking secret,” Hiyori snarls.

Miyazaki stops. He opens his mouth, eyes haughty and contemptuous. Hiyori stares him down. His face crumples, all at once, like a tissue in rain. He looks away, even as his shoulders shake with the repressed sobs. Hiyori starts picking up the photo scraps and Miyazaki sits heavily on the bench. There isn’t much time now before the others will come, but neither of them seem to care.

“Yuuto,” Miyazaki starts, voice still thick, “was a total pussy. He was three years older than me and I must have got into a fight a week over him. Somebody called him gay or a fag or a tranny or whatever, I knocked their fucking lights out. Almost got kicked off the swim team a couple times.” Hiyori hands him the rest of the pictures. Miyazaki flips through them casually.

“My junior year, Yuuto drops out of college. Comes home wearing lipstick. Says he wants to be Yuki now. My Dad… beat him worse than I ever got, fighting for him all those years. And I let it happen, you know? I just kinda sat there. My Dad kicks him out, disowns him, says we aren’t allowed to even say his name again. Piece of shit.”

Miyazaki’s hands come up, still clutching the pictures, holding them over his head. “I didn’t talk to Yuki for a year.”

“I get the stones to go see her at work- just show up out of nowhere. What’s she do? Tell everyone about her great baby brother. Proud as hell. Not mad at me at all. And I’m leaving, and I see you and that friend of yours and I’m so- so pissed and guilty and shitty, I just-” He takes in a ragged breath, looks up with wet eyes. “So what do you think about that? Huh?”

“I think she’s really lucky to have somebody in her corner.” Hiyori says quietly. “I bet she loves you a lot.”

Miyazaki’s mouth wobbles and he gives a little wounded cry. Hiyori hugs him and it’s awkward, but that little last bit of angry, at Miyazaki, at his mom, at Kisumi, at himself, just sort of sinks down to his shoes, draining into the floor.

“She’s got all the looks in the family, huh?” Hiyori asks and Miyazaki lets out a wet little laugh.

Over his shoulder, Hiyori sees the door swing open. Ikuya’s eyes meet his, go wide for a moment. Hiyori wills him to understand. Ikyua glances around, at the little flapping trash bits, at the small hitching snotty laughs coming from Miyazaki, Hiyori’s pleading eyes, asking him for something-

Ikyua turns around, parks himself in front of the door outside for the ten minutes it takes Hiyori to finish cleaning up and to get Miyazaki calm enough for practice. When he comes out to give the all clear, he tugs on the Ikuya’s sleeve, right above the elbow.

“I think he’s a good guy, deep down. Cut him a little slack, will you?” Hiyori asks quietly. Ikuya just looks at him for a long moment.

“Sure,” he says finally.

Later, during break, Hoshikawa tosses him a sports drink. “Your eyebags have eye bags,” he says, frowning.

“Is this where you tell me what an idiot I’ve been?” Hiyori asks pleasantly.

“Have you been an idiot?”

“We both know I have.”

“Then what’s the point in repeating it? You going to drop that night gig now that you have proof it’s screwing up your times?” Hiyori nods. “Good boy.” Hoshikawa grins. Hiyori rolls his eyes and takes a swig of the drink.

Ikuya laughs, softly. He turns his face a little away when Hiyori glances his way- sure fire proof that he’s been laughing at Hiyori.

“What?” Hiyori blames his fatigue for the way the smile pulls at his face against his will.

“Nothing.” Ikuya blinks slow amusement. “Just… you’re the type who never takes his own advice. Right, Miyazaki?”

The first year starts, looking between them as though there is some trick. Slowly, his shoulders relax. Ikuya laughs again, behind his hand, disguised as a cough.

“Yeah,” Miyazaki says cautiously. “I, uh. I could see that.”

~~

“I’m an asshole,” Hiyori says when Kisumi picks up.

“Sometimes,” Kisumi agrees.

“It’s a work in progress,” Hiyori grins. “You were just helping. Thanks.”

“Probably don’t thank me,” Kisumi says, almost to himself.

“Hm?”

“Zen, right, Hiyori? Cat yoga and stuff.” Kisumi says breezily. “Anyway, consider this payback for whatever the fuck you said to Asahi so that he’s being a total weirdo lately.”

“Don’t know how you can even tell the difference. And anyway, he’s the one who brought it up.”

“Brought up what?”

“Hm. I don’t think I’ll tell, no fun in that. Why don’t you try asking him if he’s sure, the next time you two hang out. I bet he combusts.”

“Hey, Hiyori?” Kisumi trails off. “... check your bank account.”

“What?”

“Zen!” Kisumi trills, hanging up.

Hiyori logs into his new account through his phone app, feet still carrying him back to his dorm automatically. He’s hungry, but he’s broke and there’s still two packs of pork instant ramen, which is the best instant ramen so it’s not all bad-

Hiyori stops mid-stride. There’s money in his account. More money than there should be. More money than his Dad put in, even, when he was still pretending to care about Hiyori. His fingers tighten on the phone, thoughts whirling. He’s just outside his building.

“Hiyori.”

He looks up.

She looks softer, sadder, and even a little smaller, here in the dark.

“What is this?” He waves his phone around and somehow she understands, even if the gesture is vague and he thinks that he probably looks like a crazy person.

“For college, I heard that-”

“I don’t need your pity or your charity now-”

“Please, Hiyori, let me, I want to-”

“I’m gay.” Hiyori looks at her straight on. “That’s how I ended up. I’m a friendless asshole and I like men. You want your money back now? This isn’t what you paid for, right? Money back guarentee?” He turns his back on her wide, shocked eyes.

“Hiyori!” Her voice cracks. “I’m your- I’m your mother. I love you.” She’s crying. Hiyori stares at her. Shit. Well...

“Look, all I got is ramen. But you want to maybe…?” He gestures upstairs vaguely.

“Didn’t you just come from swim practice?” She sniffles into her sleeve.

“Well, yeah.”

“And you’re just going to eat ramen?” Her eyes, though ringed in red, still look at him sharply.

“...I guess not?” Hiyori answers, bewildered.

Which is how he finds himself seated at a family restaurant, two orders of omurice coming up with green salad. He sips at his lemonade, bemused, looking at the diminutive woman across from him.

“You look so much like me,” she marvels. “Up close.”

“You act like you’ve never seen me before,” Hiyori gripes. “Though I guess it’s been four years.” She averts her eyes, mouth higher on one side than the other. What an insincere smile. “It has been four years,” Hiyori states.

“Since we talked,” she agrees.

“But not since you saw me.” Hiyori guesses. She flinches.

“That wasn’t the first swim meet I’ve gone to,” she confesses.

“I see.”

“Listen. When you were little and your father took that overseas transfer… I knew about that American girl. He wouldn’t admit it, though, no matter what I said. So I told him we were coming too, and-” she trails off. “Does it even matter?” She asks the window, shoulders slumped.

“Apologies always matter,” Hiyori says firmly. “As long as you mean them.”

“So grown up.” She smiles and means it this time. “Regardless, I neglected you. And then you were gone and I realized that I missed you and I missed Japan, so… I left. I had enough.”

“Why didn’t you just say...?”

“I tried. I told myself every time that it would be the time I was going to go down and talk to you. I guess a part of me was hoping you would look up in the stands and see me and just… know. How unfair, to wait around to be loved like that. It’s the coward’s way.” Hiyori blinks very hard at his plate.

“I have money. You know all I do is work, and it’s for you. It’s always been for you. Please let me help you.”

“What can I do? I don’t want guilt money.” Hiyori pushes his food around his plate sullenly.

“It isn’t like that. I thought maybe… but no, that’s too much.” She shakes her head.

“Maybe?” Hiyori echoes.

“Maybe you could come for a bit during Golden Week. To Yokohama.” She twists her hands together in her lap. “...you’re so hard to read sometimes, when you smile like that. I wish you’d tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I should take my own advice,” He says quietly.

“What?” She blinks at him, confused.

“Yokohama sounds nice.” Hiyori picks up his fork.

~~

On the walk back to the train station, she stops him.

“I don’t want any more secrets or lies between us, Hiyori- not if we’re going to be okay. And I’d like us to be okay. Your little friend is the one who told me about the swim meets and everything. Please don't be angry with him. I don’t know where he got the information for your bank account, but maybe you two are… ah… closer than I thought. Which is wonderful! He’s a cutie. So.” She trails off.

“I still wonder how Kisumi got a hold of you.” Hiyori shakes his head.

“Kisumi? Is he…? But no. No, your little friend from America. Ikuya? I gave him my contact information ages ago, in case of emergency.”

Chapter Text

~~

If the Little Mermaid really wanted to make things better, she ought to just have cleared the air. Like if she just came clean from the beginning, maybe her prince would have liked her a little bit better. If the prince had just said I’m never going to love you, sorry, that all would have been okay, right?

They got along. They coulda been pretty okay friends.

~~

“It’s my birthday, Hiyori,” Kisumi reminds him as they head to the basketball court. “You have to.”

“I already said I would,” Hiyori says, confused. “Besides the fact that I’ve been a flake with all the work stuff. I kind of owe you.”

“Right.” Kisumi nods like that settles things and they round the corner of the administrative building, coming face-to-face with the court. Hiyori stops dead.

“Did all of the regulars die, Kisumi?” Hiyori asks pleasantly.

“It’s my birthday,” Kisumi reminds him, passing him the ball. “So I call Makoto.”

“You would.”

Makoto, Haru, Asahi and Ikuya stand around the court in mismatched work out sweats. Haru’s wearing running shoes. They’ll have absolutely no traction whatsoever. Haru notices him looking and deliberately scuffs his shoes against the ground, making eye contact aggressively.

Fun.

“It’ll be like high school,” Ikuya says with false bravado. “I call Hiyori. And Haru.”

“You’re going down, four eyes!” Asahi grins at him, giving Hiyori a casual high-five before jogging over to meet up with Makoto and Kisumi on the other side of the court. It cheers him a little before he turns back to look at Ikuya and Haru- the shortest of them all. He valiantly resists a sigh. It must not telegraph well because both Haru and Ikuya are giving him a look.

He hasn’t talked about it, the conversation with his mother and what she’d revealed. He’d just noticed that sometimes Ikuya would say hello, if their practice lanes happened to be close. If they saw each other on campus. If they were at the cafeteria at the same time. Nothing but a quick wave, most of the time but it was- nice. Genuine. He’d started going back to the Literary Circle. His swim times were picking back up.

Makes sense something like this was necessary to balance it out.

“First to ten,” Hiyori says, taking off his jacket and getting into position.

~~

“If I didn’t know Kisumi better,” Ikuya says, quirking an eyebrow as he watches Makoto and Kisumi do yet another one-two punch combo, “-I’d say he actually rigged the game so he’d win.”

“It’s my birthday!” Kisumi answers him, grinning. He drapes himself over Makoto victoriously. It looks extremely sweaty and unpleasant. Asahi looks torn between disgust and envy, squeezing his sports drink until blue fountains up over his fingers.

“It’s anyone’s game,” Hiyori says gamely. (It’s not.) “Nanase surely has some amazing athletic skill to pull out last minute, right?”

“Swimming is not basketball,” Haru says, voice dripping ice.

Super. Fun.

“Right.” Hiyori smiles till it’s thin in the middle. “Well. I’m going to try a drive. Can you two stay on the sides, right by the basket? I’ll pass to whoever seems open. It’ll be fast,” he warns. Haru is staring daggers over at Kisumi. Hiyori feels his eyebrow twitch.

“We’ve got it,” Ikuya says firmly. Hiyori gives him a real smile then. Ikuya, inexplicably, goes red. He should really take his jacket off, in this heat.

“Alright, let’s goooo!” Kisumi goads, finally letting go of Makoto who looks around with his usual pleasantly apologetic expression. Asahi tosses Hiyori the ball and he holds it in a one-handed grip, pointing with the other at Makoto. Makoto’s expression narrows into a challenging smirk. Much better.

Hiyori fakes right, charging left so violently that poor Asahi pinwheels the air to keep from falling flat on his face. He spins behind Kisumi, hip checking him so that he stumbles into Makoto, leaving the path clear. Hiyori glances right- Kisumi and Makoto are that way, so it’s risky to pass to Ikuya. He looks left-

Haru isn’t left. Haru is in the middle of the court, standing dumbly in the direct path to the basket. Their eyes meet. Momentum. Hiyori tries to turn his body and feels his ankle give. He rolls into Haru, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

“Jesus- Fu- Augh!”

Hiyori leans into the roll, letting it carry him a little further than Haru. He rolls over from the hip, wincing and sitting up immediately.

“Haru-chan!” Makoto lopes over, all big limbed and puppy eyed. Ikuya hovers between the two of them.

“You okay?” Hiyori asks Haru who blinks at him contemptuously. He’s fine. Awesome. So awesome.

“Haru-chan, you can’t just stop in the middle of a drive, you-” Makoto scolds gently and Haru ignores it the way a sunflower ignores the sun, silently soaking in the attention. Makoto pulls Haru up until he gingerly stretches out his limbs and slinks into his characteristic slouch. Kisumi and Asahi are cracking up, bent over double and tears in their eyes. When Kisumi claps Asahi on the back, Asahi leans into it and forgets to keep laughing.

“Hiyori?” Ikuya looks down at him.

“Tachibana,” Hiyori says but no one can hear him. Ikuya looks like he wants to put out a hand, but that won’t do.

“-and with swimming, what if you broke something-”

“Tachibana,” Hiyori tries again.

“-and you could have really hurt Tono-san-” Haru harrumphs at that, just exactly like an old man.

“Makoto!” Hiyori calls across the court.

Everything stops.

Hiyori feels himself getting flustered. “Ah, sorry- just, that’s what Kisumi and Ikuya call you, and so I-”

“Hiyori,” Makoto says suddenly. He smiles. It’s a nice moment. It means something. Hiyori ruins it immediately.

“Yeah. Makoto. Can you give me a hand up? And maybe walk me to the bus stop? I’m pretty sure I broke something.” Hiyori smiles politely.

His ankle throbs.

The court erupts into chaos.

~~

In the end, they make him take a cab.

“It’s an unnecessary expense,” Hiyori protests.

“Stop being cheap,” Kisumi snaps. “Or I’ll call your mother.”

“Will you.”Hiyori’s eyes slide over Kisumi’s shoulder to meet Ikuya’s. Ikuya bites his lip and looks at the ground, guilt warring with concern. Kisumi notices and his expression softens, eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Well. Well, well.”

“Well what?” Makoto asks worriedly.

“Well someone has to go with him,” Kisumi starts to wheedle, inching toward Ikuya but Hiyori just smiles. It’s a little raw. His ankle is really starting to hurt.

“Sorry, Makoto. It’s you or bust. No one else will be able to hold me up, I don’t think.”

“I-” Kisumi starts to protest.

“You’re not an athlete, Kisumi. And anyway-” Hiyori’s voice turns mocking- “-it’s your birthday.”

Kisumi sticks out his tongue and Hiyori rolls up the window. Makoto gets in the other side of the cab and they’re off.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Hiyori says after a while.

“It’s no trouble!” Makoto protests. “Haru doesn’t- he didn’t mean to-”

“I know.” Hiyori closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the seat. “I’m the one that plays every week. I can’t expect him to know what to do during a drive. It was just an accident.” A pause. He opens his eyes and Makoto is watching him closely.

“...what?”

“Nothing,” Makoto answers, settling back into his seat and looking rather content for someone escorting a frenemy to the nearest medical center. But whatever. It’s not like Hiyori was ever going to understand a guy like Makoto. The guy probably had Disney mice make him breakfast toast every morning.

Makoto helps Hiyori up and into the hospital. He runs the paperwork that Hiyori fills out up to the desk and comes back with a set of crutches.

“Thanks for coming,” Hiyori says and smiles very very politely. It’s his polite goodbye smile. It’s extremely effective, even on door-to-door salesmen. Makoto smiles back.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” he says, clearly not leaving.

“Thanks.” Hiyori wilts.

~~

“So,” Makoto says when they both have a soda.

“So,” Hiyori repeats flatly. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, his patience is wire thin. It will be such a shame to disappoint Kisumi on his birthday by snapping Makoto’s head off, but Hiyori supposes needs must. It’s Makoto’s own fault for not taking the hint in the first place and leaving Hiyori to stew miserably in the reception room and wait to die alone like anybody with dignity would.

Makoto hides a quiet laugh behind his hand.

“What?” Hiyori says in a totally pleasant and reasonable voice. Makoto laughs a bit more.

“Nothing, really. It’s just- you remind me a little of my sister Ran.”

“Your sister.”

“She had a terrible toothache the last time I went home for a visit. When I took her to the dentist, she was so prickly and short tempered. It was very cute.”

Hiyori tries to muster up the energy for a glare. Then he sighs and slumps back into his seat, wincing when his leg jars a bit more than expected. “Fine, fine.” He waves a hand lazily in the air. “Have at it.”

“Mm?”

“Get your revenge, then. I tormented all of you for ages. I’m at your mercy so do your worst.”

“This isn’t revenge, Hiyori.” Makoto says almost reproachfully. “I’m teasing you. Because we’re friends.”

Hiyori blinks. “We’re friends.” He’s starting to wonder if there is some pressure point connecting his ankle to his voice box so that he can only parrot back whatever Makoto says like an idiot.

“I’d like to be,” Makoto says with utmost sincerity. And then Hiyori gets called to the back, so he has to think about that all by himself after all.

~~

“Navicular stress fracture,” Hiyori tells Makoto on the way to hail another cab and go home. He’s wobbly on his crutches. “No weight at all for two weeks, then only light swimming for two more. No running for six.”

Makoto makes a polite gesture requesting the paperwork and Hiyori complies, handing over his file and getting into the car. Most of the ride is quiet, with Makoto making softing, interested noises from time to time.

“You haven’t had many injuries,” Makoto notes. “Lucky?”

“I don’t train hard enough,” Hiyori admits. The pain meds are leaving him a little soft and slurry. “Or I didn’t, anyway.”

“Haru never had many injuries either,” Makoto says smiling.

“Nanase is a natural. Doesn’t count,” Hiyori blinks sleepily. “Captain’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s hope not.”

“You and Nanase-” Hiyori starts to say but stops, shutting his mouth with an audible click. The drugs must be throwing him off further than he thought.

“Mm.” Makoto finishes going over the last few pages and closes the folder. “Me and Haru.” He says it like a statement, like it answers all of Hiyori’s questions. Maybe it does.

“Doesn’t it take everything?” Hiyori asks finally, trying to put it into words. “Isn’t it… like…” he gestures outward, like a small explosion.

“It did, for a while,” Makoto admits as though this is a normal conversation. “But people can’t live like that. Even Haru knew that, deep down, I think. And now we’re both, you know? More together a little apart, if that makes sense.”

“I don’t know how,” Hiyori says sourly. Makoto fluffs his hair, just exactly as he would a younger sister.

“I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “Ikuya and Kisumi seem to think you’re doing alright. Why don’t you just keep doing your best? That’s always going to be good enough.”

Hiyori blames the drugs when he lets his head fall to the side, dozing gently in the wake of Makoto’s firm head pats.

~~

Makoto hasn’t been gone ten minutes when there’s a brisk knock at the door. Hiyori frowns but before he can reach for his crutches, the door knob turns. Kisumi has his spare key, but it isn’t Kisumi who walks through the door.

“Are you lost?” Hiyori squints at Haru in the doorway. Haru shuts the door. He’s holding two shopping bags. He just sort of stands by the entryway, staring. Hiyori is way too tired for this. He reaches up, scrubs a hand across his face, and looks back. Still there. Still staring.

“What do you want, Nanase?” Hiyori says, just to have something to say. Haru lifts the bags like that’s an answer. It definitely isn’t. Why did Kisumi give him the spare key? Birthday or not, he’s really pushing it. “It was an accident and I’m fine, thanks for stopping by, you can leave the key.” Hiyori doesn’t have the energy for a fake smile so he just lets his head drop back down on the couch arm.

Haru doesn’t move.

Ugh.

“You said,” Haru says finally, “that everyone who swims with me ends up hurting.”

Hiyori snorts. “Yeah, I fractured my ankle because I swam against you one time in a meet.” He rolls his eyes.

“Because of me,” Haru says. He continues looking at Hiyori but he doesn’t look accusing. He looks sort of open. Maybe a little... sad?

Hiyori blinks. He sits up, wincing. “I ran into you,” He says. No reaction. Okay. “I-” Hiyori shuts his eyes tightly for a moment and breathes. This is Haru. He’ll keep a second. Hiyori just needs to think. What does he want to say?

“I think swimming with you changes people,” he decides. “Change can… hurt.” Haru’s expression clouds. “But it’s better,” he adds. “Change is always better than being stuck the same way. I bet anybody who swam against you would agree.”

Haru mulls this over. “Do you like mackerel?” He asks abruptly. “Because I brought mackerel.” Bizarre, the way he puts such emphasis on the question. Hiyori shrugs.

“Yeah, Nanase, I like mackerel fine. If it’s grilled Japanese style, anyway.”

“Just Haru is fine.” Haru goes to the kitchen to make him dinner and Hiyori, quite overwhelmed, takes a nap in the meantime.

~~

In the morning, Hiyori is still trying to get ready when he answers yet another knock at his door. He assumes this will be someone confusing the rooms again- between Makoto and Haru, he’s already had more visitors this week than the norm. It isn’t as though Ikuya ever came to visit him and Kisumi has the bigger dorm. Since most of his concentration is on balancing on one leg, it takes him a moment to register what he sees when the door swings open.

“What?” Ikuya snaps, in the way he does when he’s feeling self-conscious.

Hiyori slowly takes the toothbrush out of his mouth. “Uh,” he says.

“Hurry up.” Ikuya glances away nervously. “And put a shirt on.”

Hiyori turns around a little too quickly and almost falls.

“Seriously-” Ikuya bustles in, going to the couch and picking up Hiyori’s crutches, shoving them at the taller boy. “They gave you these for a reason-”

“Okay, okay.” Hiyori clumsily works his way back to the bedroom, pausing at the bathroom long enough to rinse his mouth out and run a brush through his bedhead. As he pulls on a clean shirt, he sees Ikuya through the open doorway, picking up Hiyori’s backpack and slinging it over his own shoulder. “Did we… have plans?” He asks.

Ikuya flushes. “Someone’s got to help you get around while you’re like this.”

“You don’t need to go to any special trouble-”

“You’re going to be late to Southern Lit,” Ikuya interrupts him. Hiyori looks at him closely. It’s been almost two full semesters since the two of them have spoken properly. How does Ikuya even know his class schedule? Ikuya’s flush spreads, coloring up to his ears.

“Thanks,” Hiyori settles on saying. He locks the door on the way out.

~~

The judgmental silence stretches. Hoshikawa just looks at him. Looks down at his boot. Looks back up at him. Hiyori’s smile is becoming more and more like a cringe.

“Please don’t kill me,” Hiyori says, only half kidding.

“You’re going to wish I had,” Hoshikawa says with a sudden smirk. “Terashima!” He calls off to the side. The other upperclassman comes running.

“Do you remember that arm workout Coach used on Yamagawa last year?”

“When he got caught sneaking around the girl’s dorms? Yeah, I kept a copy for laughs. What did he call it- Akuma Arms?”

“Yeah. The Devil’s Arms.” Hoshikawa leans in. “Give it to Tono.”

Terashima lets out a low whistle. Ikuya coughs suspiciously as he gets into his lane. Hiyori hobbles off toward the gym with a heavy heart.

~~

Hiyori is not sure whose life he is living. Surely this is some kind of alternate universe and the proper Hiyori is going to come back and kill him any day now. Makoto calls to suggest rehabilitation exercises. Asahi swings by every once in a while to bring him leftovers from the store and catch him up on Tsukushi’s progress- he’s walking now, and fascinated by stairs and people with glasses. Akane-san blames him. He should come by the store when he gets the walking boot off. Kisumi drags him out weekly to a cafe or event around campus, injury or no. Even Haru inexplicable texts him recipes for mackerel from time to time.

Hiyori still has Literature Circle. He still meets the upperclassmen for ramen sometimes. He still goes to swim practice, though he spends most of the first few weeks in the gym, following the torturous workout routine.

“You know why he’s punishing you, right?” Sagae asks him in the locker room one day.

“Because I keep messing up. First I was overworking and now I’m injured.”

“No way. If Captain didn’t think anything of you, he’d just rip you a new one and tell you to get your shit together. He thinks you’ve got potential. Just between you and me, he’s thinking about making Teru Captain next year- and he’s tapping you for Vice.”

Hiyori’s eyebrows shoot up incredulously. “Me? Why not Ikuya?”

“Ikuya’s an ace. He’s got to concentrate on his own form and qualifying for pro. You’re observant and you’re good at that kind of thing. Plus you’re a little scary sometimes, ha.” Sagae claps him on the shoulder. “Just keep that in mind.”

When Hiyori leaves the locker room, Ikuya waits for him.

This cannot be his life.

It has to be because they feel sorry for him, getting injured like this. Only- only it isn’t really that bad of an injury. Not really. And he’s starting to think that maybe they’re not that kind of people. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten something wrong.

A few weeks after the accident, Hiyori sits in the air conditioned library, finally catching up on one of the books from his horde. He’s not sure how long he reads- it’s a good book and he’s lost in it properly. He decides that he’s getting hungry and carefully marks his page before closing the book. Across the table, Ikuya sits. He has a textbook open but he’s just watching Hiyori openly.

How long has he been there? How long has he been watching? How long has he been smiling at Hiyori like that? Like- like he might…

“Are you feeling up to a trip?” Ikuya asks. “The others want to meet at the restaurant before midterms really kick in. Kisumi can actually make it this time- he said he texted you, but I bet you didn’t even notice.” Hiyori glances at his phone and five missed texts. “You’re always like that, when you’re reading something you like.” Ikuya says, voice fond as he packs his own books away.

Hiyori can’t speak. His mouth is too dry.

When?

Dinner is fine. It isn’t that Hiyori doesn’t needle- he does, and Asahi sputters and says something dumb and Kisumi is flashy and Haru is quiet and detached and it’s just-

When?

When did things change? When will it end?

Hiyori gets permission to get back in the pool. He still wears the boot, uses the crutches for another week or two just in case. Comes in second in the Spring Meet for his age group, a new personal record. Hoshikawa threatens to make all of them do the Akuma Arms.

He stops using the crutches. He starts running in the mornings again.

When he gets back to his apartment, Ikuya still waits for him anyway.

~~

Chapter Text

So what about after? Happily ever after or whatever. The Little Mermaid, she’s a puddle of seafoam and the prince just goes on about his life- but does he really? Are you ever really, you know, yourself without the people who got you there along the way?

Did he miss her?

What the fuck did he even want?

And if he could do it all over…

...what kind of ending would it be?

I want to see that ending.

Don’t you?

~~

“Is that your career counseling sheet?” Sagae looks over Hiyori’s shoulder and Hiyori’s smile goes stiff as he quickly presses the paper against his chest, obscuring the front. Sagae backs off, hands raised in surrender, wincing.

“Sorry, sorry!” And before Hiyori can reassure him, he disappears into the locker room. That was stupid of him. Sagae has never been anything but nice to basically everyone.

“You’re a pretty smart kid,” Hoshikawa says casually from behind, “so you probably don’t need the reminder, but- that’s what upperclassmen are for. There’s nothing immature about asking for advice.” He breezes by.

When he is alone, Hiyori looks down at his completely blank sheet and sighs.

Ikuya is waiting outside with two bottles of Pocari Sweat. He hands Hiyori the mango one without asking and that makes Hiyori smile a little for real, though it doesn’t stay long.

“What’s up?” Ikuya asks, eyes narrowing.

Hiyori considers shrugging it off, but something makes him hesitate. This thing they are doing- spending time together, it’s different than it was before. Better, maybe. Giving Ikuya that fake easy smile seems too much like backsliding. He could try being a little more honest, maybe.

He hands Ikuya his blank sheet.

Ikuya looks it over while they walk to the cafeteria without saying anything. The two seperate when they’re going through the lines- Ikuya wants Western Style and Hiyori would kill for an egg sandwich. By the time Hiyori finds him at the usual spot, the sheet is nowhere in sight. Ah well. It isn’t as though Hiyori can’t grab another one from the student center tomorrow.

They eat and talk about inconsequential things and part way and it’s all very normal. Hiyori finds it a little easier to sleep without the burden of the empty paper and wakes up in a cheery mood that lasts all three days that he puts off picking up a new one. When Ikuya knocks at his door the morning of day three, Hiyori is greeted by an envelope unceremoniously shoved into his face.

“Read it later,” Ikuya mutters, faintly pink.

“Sure.” Hiyori obediently tucks the note away. He doesn’t think to take it out again until after first period when he’s settled at the library in a window seat, book on Multimedia and Literary Theory open in his lap. He shifts in his chair and hears the crinkle of paper; he opens the note to find it isn’t a note at all. It’s his career counseling sheet, and it’s covered in writing. Some he recognizes right away- others take a few minutes of careful study.

Excellent leadership and personal responsibility traits, Hoshikawa writes. Tono would do well in Project Management.

Knowledgeable about Literature, recommend for work in publication, writes Saonji the TA.

Good at faking it for customers, Asahi scrawls, would be pretty ok in Hospitality.

As an expert swimmer, would be a very motivational fitness coach, Makoto suggests.

Teaching would be good, because he reads a lot and is just as mature as the kids, Haru snarks. It’s half crossed out with Makoto scribbling in the corner be nice!

Is loyal and hot, so Hiyori’s a perfect house husband~! Kasumi’s is signed with a winky face and a heart mark.

Need a production and marketing agent for a small time gaming developer- so give us a call! There’s a phone number and a few names Hiyori recognizes from the Visual Media Club, Misae drawing little shaded hearts around the border.

Whatever you do, you’re going to be amazing, Ikuya had scribbled at the bottom without signing his name.

Hiyori stares out the window a long time before he can stop blinking back the tears.

~~

Hiyori spends the next two days a flustered mess. Ikuya doesn’t bring it up- doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, actually. He wants to give his thanks- to explain in lurid detail what it had meant, reading those words and knowing that Ikuya had…

When it comes down to it, Hiyori is afraid. He’s afraid of what all will come tumbling out: thank you, again, how can I repay you, every time that I’m in trouble you’re there and I keep falling more and more in love-

Well. Maybe Hiyori will make a card or something.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, straightening up the kickboards, that it isn’t until he hears the distant splash and the angry muttered cursing that he realizes someone is still in the pool. Hoshikawa and the other senpai are in the office, going over the Golden Week independent exercises for the underclassmen. Without the captain’s stern and watchful eye, nearly everyone else had already left. Hiyori was waiting for Ikuya to finish rinsing off, which was the only reason he was even still around.

Miyazaki stands at the end of the lane, looking down at where he grips his goggles so tightly that it looks as though they might crack, knuckles white. His times have been abysmal all week. His sister is supposed to come and watch the next meet, Hiyori knows. The pressure is slowly crushing him.

Hiyori reaches into his pocket, looks at what he finds there for a long moment.

“Hey,” He calls.

Miyazaki looks up, just in time to catch the waterproof mp3 player.

“Try playlist five,” Hiyori suggests.

When he turns back around, Ikuya is there, just coming back in from the locker room. He has an odd expression that makes Hiyori swallow hard.

“Okay?” Hiyori asks hesitantly, falling into step beside him,

“Are you busy for Golden Week?” Ikuya asks abruptly.

“I’m visiting my Mom, but only for a few days. I’ll be back by the weekend. Oh, but I’m seeing a movie with Kisumi Friday. Do you want to come?”

Ikuya shakes his head. “Saturday?”

“Nothing planned.”

“Keep it free, then.”

“Okay. What for?”

Ikuya looks at him again with that same expression. “Just keep it free.” Something about the way he says it has Hiyori fighting a blush.

~~

Hiyori meets Ikuya at the station because it’s convenient, but something about seeing him there, dressed nicely in something that isn’t a track suit thrown over chlorine-damp hair is different. Date-like, maybe. Maybe Hiyori dressed nicer than usual too.

“Did you eat?” Ikuya asks, walking alongside him into the station proper. Hiyori shakes his head. Ikuya brightens.

Their first step is a plain looking cafe. Inside, the walls are painted a warm orange-yellow and a cheerful looking hostess leads them to a booth. The menu is colorful, the food presented into interesting animal shapes. Hiyori gets a peach jelly soda and a parfait, vanilla ice cream made to look like a polar bear. He’s just taken his first bite when he feels something warm and furry press against the back of his neck. He jerks in his seat, looking up at Ikuya who snickers at him openly. Hiyori turns his face, coming nose-to-nose with a meerkat lounging on his shoulder.

“Wha-”

On second glance, Hiyori can see that the girls at the table next to them are cooing at a large fat rabbit. By the door, an elementary aged boy lets a chameleon perch on the top of his head while his older sister snaps pictures.

The sound of a camera shutter. Ikuya is holding up his phone and smiling at the screen.

“Hey,” Hiyori protests weakly. Ikuya picks up his own modest grilled cheese sandwich. The meerkat fluffs through Hiyori’s hair gently. It tickles a little.

“Your ice cream is melting,” Ikuya warns. He looks amused and pleased with himself. It’s a good look for him, soft and relaxed.

Hiyori’s fingers curl around the meerkat’s tail. In his other hand, he picks up his spoon. “Yeah,” he agrees, not taking his eyes off Ikuya.
~~

“Jimbocho?” Hiyori asks when they make their next stop via train. “What did you want to do out here?”

The station is crowded- it’s Golden Week and everyone’s out and about. Hiyori isn’t so bad off, being so tall and broad, but Ikuya gets swept to the side more than once. Hiyori drops a friendly hand on his shoulders, steering Ikuya ahead. When they separate to scan their individual passes, Ikuya looks up at Hiyori for a moment with wide pretty eyes, like he just wants to make sure Hiyori is still there. It does something to him, and before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea, Hiyori lets his left hand slip down Ikuya’s shoulder and along his arm. It’s just to keep from getting separated, he tells himself. He’ll stop if Ikuya minds it.

Outside the station, Ikuya pulls up Maps on his phone, heading down the street. They take three quick turns and then the alley opens up into a wide street blocked off from vehicle traffic on both sides. Tents line both sides of the path, and each tent is stacked with books.

“The largest antique book fair this quarter,” Ikuya says. “This weekend only.” Ikuya squeezes once, where they’re still holding hands. He lets go.

“Well?” Ikuya grins. “Have at it.”

~~

It doesn’t feel long at all, but it’s probably hours before Ikuya tugs on his sleeve. Hiyori closes the book he’s been looking at, running an affectionate fingertip along the spine. It’s out of his price range, but three slim volumes he’s set aside are within his budget. Ikuya follows him to check out and watches him pay. While Hiyori is packing his new purchases away into his bag, Ikuya hands him another slim package wrapped in brown paper.

“Go on,” he says. “Open it.” His voice is gruff, but he won’t meet Hiyori’s eyes. Hiyori carefully pulls apart the wrapping along the taped edges. It’s an illustrated copy of The Little Mermaid.

“I know you said you didn’t like it,” Ikuya says shyly. “But it made me think of you.”

“Me?” Hiyori echoes, lost. He thumbs the pages, thick, illustrated vellum, smooth to the touch and smelling like old ink.

“If you don’t want it-”

“I want it.” Hiyori interrupts, cradling the book to his chest. “Of course I want it.”

“I wasn’t sure.” Ikuya murmurs.

“I’m a sure thing,” Hiyori tries to joke, but it falls flat. Ikuya flushes. He opens his mouth to speak but his watch gives a little beep, distracting him.

“Okay?” Hiyori asks, putting his newest book with the rest of his things.

“Yeah- yes. We just, um. It’s time to move on.” Ikuya smooths his hands down the front of his coat nervously.

“Move on?”

“To the. The next thing. Back to the station.” Ikuya reaches out blindly and Hiyori takes the hand.

“Lead the way,” Hiyori says, fascinated by Ikuya’s red-tipped ears.

~~

“A bar?” Hiyori raises an eyebrow. “Trying to take advantage of me?” He doesn’t mean to say it the way it comes out- or maybe he does. They’re still holding hands.

Ikuya hesitates. “I need every advantage I can get, with you,” he says finally.

It’s Hiyori’s turn to blush. Ikuya steps up to the door and raps on it three times, ignoring the closed sign on display. After a moment, the door cracks open. A short, squat man with a no-nonsense face squints out into the light.

“Ah,” he says, seeing the two of them. “You two. Okay.” He waves them inside, click the lock closed behind them. Hiyori looks around nervously. It’s dim and dusty and dark, but otherwise unremarkable. The man jerks his thumb over his shoulder toward the back.

“Just till we open,” he warns, heading back to the kitchen. Ikuya doesn’t wait on ceremony, pulling Hiyori back into the back room.

There’s a single pinball machine, lit and waiting. But it’s not just any pinball machine. It’s-

“Pinball Circus,” Hiyori breathes. “There’s only two-”

“Officially, yeah. This is a prototype though, made by the same company in ‘93. Virtually identical but off the books.” Ikuya explains, digging in his bag. He comes back up with a roll of quarters.

“Are you-” Hiyori shakes his head. “How did you even-”

“I can answer the questions or you can play pinball. It’s pretty strict members only 21 and up here, you know. I had to pull some strings. So. Your choice.” Ikuya is looking away again so Hiyori takes the quarters.

~~

Hiyori and Ikuya step out of the bar and into the night, the neon open sign flickering to life behind them. Hiyori is talking a mile a minute, about pinball history, about the trickshot angle, about the unique pully system from Bally Manufacturing in their machines. Ikuya listens, a little half-smile on his face, nodding and asking all the right questions. Ikuya guides them back to the subway, back toward campus, but Hiyori notices distantly that they don’t head back to the dorms right away. Instead, they stop at a little playground and for the first time since they’ve left the bar, Hiyori’s word stutter to a halt.

He knows this playground.

“Hungry?” Ikuya asks, digging in his pack. He pulls out a bento, loaded with egg sandwiches and a thermos of cool tea. They settle in the swings, passing the tea back and forth between them. He tries not to think about Ikuya’s lips on the rim.

“Ikuya?” Hiyori asks, once he’s finished with his sandwich. His fingers cling tightly to the swing’s chains and he digs his long legs into the sand to keep grounded. “What is this?”

“Hm?” Ikuya puts everything back into his bag and slings it over his shoulders.

“This. Today. Um.” Hiyori scuffs his shoe into the sand. “...us.”

“I thought a lot about what you said,” Ikuya explains. “About how we were treating each other. And it was pretty one-sided. Not a good situation at all, I guess. I knew it, I think, but I didn’t want to know it. Because… I liked you.” He stands over Hiyori, still sitting in the swing. Ikuya’s hands catch either side of the swing and hold him still, looking down. They’re so close, now.

“I liked that Hiyori, the one who was messing up, so I pretended like it didn’t matter. And then- and then I liked the Hiyori who was trying to be better, even though it hurt that you did it without me. And I really- I really like the Hiyori now. So I’m hoping the Hiyori now, he might like the Ikuya now, and-”

“And.” Hiyori echoes, voice husky. His hands come up to wrap around Ikuya’s where they rest on the chain.

“And,” Ikuya says faintly, leaning down.

A loud BANG sounds and the area lights up, brief and bright. Ikuya pulls back, frowning.

“Asahi!” A voice scolds from the bushes nearby. “You’re ruining it!”

“Sorry, sorry, Makoto, it slipped-”

“Do you think they heard-”

“Those idiots,” Ikuya seethes. “I told them not to-”

Another crackle and Hiyori realizes that they are setting off fireworks in the middle of a city park and how stupid could they possibly be-

“Shit! My bad, sorry!”

Kisumi, Asahi, Makoto and Haru rise from the bushes, twigs and leaves in their hair, looking sheepish and apologetic.

“Don’t look at us like that,” Asahi pleads. “It’s- we’re helping! Atmosphere, you know?”

A warning siren bleep as a police car pulls up.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Ikuya says flatly.

“Officer-” Makoto greets, voice a little manic.

“You know,” Hiyori says conversationally. “This really seems like a you problem.”

“Hold it right there,” the officer warns, turning to get out of the car. For a split second his back is turned.

“Run,” Hiyori whispers, grabbing Ikuya by the hand. Together, they dash away into the dark, stopping behind a cluster of unlit trees, leaving the others sputtering behind them. Ikuya is laughing and it’s going to give them away, so Hiyori shuts him up the best way he can- with a kiss. They kiss, smothering their laughter and holding each other still and close while Haru and Friends get the lecture of a lifetime and Hiyori can’t think of a single more perfect moment in his life.

“Go out with me,” Ikuya whispers against his mouth among the flashing lights and Hiyori kisses him again.