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It’s the first recess of the year when Tokiya comes into his classroom, a sheaf of papers in his hands and a despairing look on his face that Masato quickly adopts.
“Already?” Masato asks, standing up.
“Sorry, Hijirikawa,” Tokiya says. “I think all of the teachers already know to ask you to do it.”
Masato grimaces, but takes the papers from Tokiya. “How was your spring break?” he asks as they leave the second-year classrooms and head upstairs.
“Unexciting,” Tokiya tells him. “Yours?”
“The same,” Masato says.
Tokiya stops at the door that says No Entry To Students on it, and winces as Masato tries it and finds it unlocked.
“Good luck,” he says.
Masato almost rolls his eyes. “You don’t need luck to deal with Jinguji. You just need to ignore most of what he says.”
“Rather you than me.” Tokiya shudders. “He’s kind of scary.”
Masato fights very hard not to roll his eyes. “See you after school,” he says.
“See you,” Tokiya replies, and Masato leaves him to climb the stairs to the roof. The door at the top of the stairs is unlocked too, and Masato sighs and contemplates kicking it open.
He doesn’t, and blinks at the bright sunlight after being inside for so long. The roof appears to be deserted.
“Jinguji,” he says. “Hyuuga wants to see you.”
“You shouldn’t be up here, student council president,” a voice drawls from above him. “Don’t you know this area is off-limits to students?”
Masato turns around to see Ren sitting on the edge of the raised section of the roof. The sheer walls are easily two metres tall, and Masato hasn’t a clue how he keeps getting up there, but there he is.
“Get down from there, idiot,” he says, and waves the papers Tokiya had given him. “Ichinose collected the handouts for you.”
Ren leaps down and lands more lightly than he should be able to. “How kind of him,” he says. “And you get delivery duties again this year?”
Masato sniffs. “Apparently so,” he says, and reaches out to snag Ren’s bag so he can stuff the pages in. “I have better things to be doing, so if you could kindly refrain from skipping classes, I would appreciate it.”
Ren laughs and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “But then you wouldn’t come visit me at recess!” he says.
“The bell is about to go,” Masato sighs. “I am going to class.”
Ren leans more heavily on him, and Masato catches his wrist and begins dragging him towards the open door leading back down into the school. Ren laughs as he goes, and doesn’t let up from where he’s draped over Masato.
“I thought they confiscated your copy of the key,” Masato says, locking the door behind him. “They still don’t know where you got a copy in the first place.”
Ren winks. “I’ll never tell,” he says happily.
Masato pushes him through the door at the bottom of the stairs first and locks that one behind him too. There are other students in the corridor, and all of them give Ren a wide berth.
Almost all of them.
“Ah, Ren!” Natsuki says. “Your uniform! Honestly, are you going to make me write you up on the first day?”
Masato hadn’t got around to telling Ren off about his unbuttoned jacket and his earrings and his hair, but it had been somewhere on the list. Natsuki had got there first.
“Sorry, Shinomi,” Ren laughs, and makes no move to fix any of it. “Hijirikawa says the bell’s about to go, catch you later!”
Masato sighs as Ren vanishes into the crowd, and a moment later the bell does ring. It’s only when he’s back in his own seat that he realises he’s still carrying Ren’s bag, and all of his third-year books as well.
Bastard.
Masato stubbornly refuses to go to Ren at lunch, which in hindsight was a stupid idea, because it meant that Ren had to come to him if he wanted his wallet.
(Masato might have gone through his bag. Maybe.)
Ren kicks open the classroom door and scans the room, paying absolutely no mind to the somewhat terrified looks his appearance garners. He eventually locks his eyes on Masato and grins, brightly, with teeth.
“Hijirikawa,” he sings, and he doesn’t have to shoulder his way past anyone to get to Masato’s desk because everyone moves to the side of their own accord. “You took my bag.”
“You left it with me on purpose,” Hijirikawa says, looking back down to his homework. Ren sits on the desk beside his and props his feet on Masato’s chair.
“You wound me,” Ren says, leaning down to pick up his bag from under the desk. “I’ll have you know there was no point in me going to classes without my bag.”
“So you simply had no choice but to sleep through them, I presume,” Masato deadpans. “It’s a good thing you knew where to look. Now you can make the most of afternoon classes.”
“So concerned, Hijirikawa, it’s touching,” Ren says. “Give me my wallet back.”
Masato smiles lightly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. Ren’s wallet has been zipped into one of the more obscure pouches in the side of his bag. He’ll find it eventually. “Get out of my classroom.”
Ren scowls at him. “You’re so uncute,” he says. Masato ignores him and Ren jumps off the desk next to him and saunters out of the classroom, bag slung over his shoulder.
Masato does his best to ignore the hushed whispers of his classmates.
Masato meets Tokiya in the student council room a few minutes after class ends. Tokiya pulls a face at him.
“I’m in Jinguji’s class again,” he sighs. “This is the third year in a row.”
“I don’t know why you are choosing to tell me,” Masato says mildly. “I didn’t pick the classes.”
Tokiya shudders. “Because you’re his only friend, and the only person he listens to,” he says. “I don’t know how you do it. Every time he talks to me I feel like he’s going to start a fight.”
“No, he likes you,” Masato tells him.
Tokiya possibly looks worse than before. “I don’t want him to like me!” he hisses. “I don’t want him to think about me at all!”
“And he’s not my friend,” Masato says. “We knew each other as children. We weren’t friends then, and we aren’t now.”
“Tell that to him,” Tokiya grumbles, and then the last few stragglers who had cleaning duty finally show up and it’s time to start their first meeting of the year.
They make it two more weeks into term before Tokiya is sent to fetch Masato again, to collect Ren from the roof. He comes halfway through second period with a note from their teacher, to give to Masato’s own.
“He’s such a pest,” Masato mutters, finding the door unlocked again. “Go back to class, Ichinose. I will make sure he returns.”
“I’ll wait here,” Tokiya says, face slightly paler than it should be. “I doubt I’ll be welcome back without him.”
“Right,” Masato says, and leaves him at the bottom of the stairs, the right side of the no-access sign. He opens the door to the roof to find Ren sprawled on the far side, head pillowed on his rolled-up jacket.
He crosses the roof, and it’s a windy day which might be why he gets close enough to Ren to see the cuts on his face before Ren hears him.
“Jinguji,” he sighs. “I suppose you did not go to the nurse.”
Ren rolls over to look at him. “Hijirikawa,” he whines. “You woke me up.”
“It is far too cold for you to be sleeping here,” Masato lectures. “Come on. We are going to the nurse, you child.”
Ren whines some more, but Masato grabs him by the collar and drags him upright, and he comes up easily enough.
“Come on. Ichinose is waiting.” Masato collects his rolled-up jacket and shoves it at Ren. “Your behaviour is negatively impacting both of our educations.”
“Sure, sure,” Ren sighs.
Masato locks the doors behind him and turns to Tokiya, who doesn’t really seem to know what to do with Ren.
“Go back to class, Icchi,” Ren grins, which pulls at the cut on his cheek. It’s kind of grotesque. “Hijirikawa’s kidnapping me.”
“We are going to the nurse,” Masato says. “I will make sure he gets a permission slip. Please apologise on my behalf.”
“Right,” Tokiya says, and gets out of there as quickly as he can. Ren pouts.
“I don’t think Icchi likes me,” he says.
Masato definitely rolls his eyes at that. “You intimidate him,” he says. “Stop talking. You are making the cut on your lip worse.”
“You could kiss it better,” Ren purrs, and Masato pushes him through the open door to the nurse’s office with maybe more force than strictly necessary.
“Behave,” he says. “Sit down.”
The school does not actually employ a nurse, they employ three receptionists with second-level medical certificates. Masato finds the disinfectant and wipes Ren’s cuts clean, his cheeks and knuckles, before sticking a plaster over the largest of the three scrapes on his face.
“Thanks, Hijirikawa,” Ren says brightly.
“Be more careful,” Masato says, less brightly, and digs the pad of his finger into the plaster. “You’ll ruin your face.”
Ren winces, but doesn’t drop the smile. “But I have you to bandage me up,” he says. “Aren’t you going to get me a permission slip?”
“No,” Masato says. “I only said I would to make Ichinose go back to class.”
The bell rings.
“You’re so mean,” Ren whines. “I’m gonna get marked absent if you don’t.”
Masato raises his eyebrows. “You were absent. You were asleep on the roof. I’m going to class now. Please do not cause any more problems for me.”
He hears Ren laughing at him as he leaves the nurse’s office, and doesn’t look back to see when Ren falls into step beside him.
“You’re so cold to me, Hijirikawa,” Ren mourns. Masato resolutely ignores him, and turns away when they get to the second floor.
“Jinguji,” he says, cordially, and leaves Ren on the stairs.
A few days later, Masato and Tokiya are in the council room when the door falls open and a boy tumbles in. “Tokiya!” he cries out, and then freezes when he sees Masato. “Um. Mister President.”
“Otoya,” Tokiya sighs. “Do you have the correct paperwork this time?”
Otoya brightens. “I do! Everyone’s signed it, here you are!” he says, and bounds over to Tokiya’s desk. Masato recognises him vaguely, but doesn’t think they’ve been introduced.
“What is it?” Masato wonders.
“Paperwork for the soccer club!” Otoya says.
“He had the wrong papers a few days ago,” Tokiya says. “I helped him.”
“Oh, thanks,” Masato says. “Nice to meet you. I’m Hijirikawa Masato.”
“I’m Ittoki Otoya!” Otoya says. “I’ll be going now, I have to get back!”
He bounds out, all clumsy energy, and shuts the door behind him with a bang. Masato blinks. Tokiya laughs at him.
“He’s very energetic,” Tokiya says. “I reacted rather similarly.”
Masato glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Otoya?” he asks, neutrally.
Tokiya blushes.
Masato grins. “Aha! I thought so!” he says. “Already, Ichinose? That was fast.”
“You – it’s nothing like that,” Tokiya insists. “He just started calling me Tokiya, it felt odd not to reciprocate.”
Masato’s smile doesn’t drop. “He seems nice,” he says. “Has he been in often?”
Tokiya nods. “Every year the soccer club gets worse at filling out paperwork, honestly,” he sighs. “I thought I could collect some of the forms and look them over, even if you have to sign off on them.”
“No, thank you for doing so,” Hijirikawa says, and looks down at his own stack of forms. He’s currently working through the music club’s member list, and it makes his heart hurt. “I appreciate you trying to make things a little easier.”
There hadn’t been much competition for student council president, not in such a small school. Masato had run largely unopposed. Tokiya had been pretty happy to step down from the role and take the position of vice-president in his third year.
“Don’t mention it,” Tokiya says. “Are you almost done?”
Masato signs off on the last sheet he has to. “I am finished,” he says. “You?”
“Done,” Tokiya says. “I think we can leave now.”
Masato glances at his watch – it’s a few minutes before they’re supposed to finish, but they lock the club room and head down to the lockers anyway. Masato’s locker is opposite Tokiya’s, and Masato walks with him most of the way to the train station before they have to part ways.
“I didn’t know you lived around here,” Tokiya says. “It’s a nice area.”
Masato fights back a grimace. “It is,” he says. “Well then, see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Hijirikawa,” Tokiya says, and they split up to head home.
Masato comes to slowly, aware first that his neck aches and then that his eyes are sandy and then that he’s asleep somewhere he shouldn’t be. He sits up, rubbing his eyes.
“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Ren murmurs from where he’s sat on the desk. “You shouldn’t sleep here, you know.”
“I know,” Masato says. His voice is scratchy. He looks around the room to see the clock reads six and the sun is setting. “Oh, no.”
Ren glances around. “It’s hardly that late,” he scoffs. “You’ll be home by half past.”
“I know,” Masato says. “I wanted to finish my homework before I went home.”
Ren rolls his eyes. “You came in so far above everyone else in the last test I’m surprised they didn’t bump you up a year,” he says. “You can leave off on the homework for one day.”
“Perhaps,” Masato says, non-committal. A thought occurs to him. “Have – where is Ichinose?” he asks.
Ren laughs then. “Icchi came in about half an hour ago, and left pretty sharpish. Can’t think why.”
Masato groans. “He already has some strange ideas about you,” he says. “You don’t need to make him think you like watching me sleep as well.”
“Aw, but Hijirikawa, you were so cute,” Ren protests.
Masato scowls. “Don’t you want to go home?” he asks, and pushes himself to his feet. His spine clicks.
Ren’s smile grows an edge. “Why would I go home,” he says carelessly, “When my bastard old man’s there?”
Masato hums instead of replying, and begins gathering up the sheets of paper that Ren isn’t sitting on. “No improvement, then?” he asks, as neutrally as he can force his voice to go.
“Nope,” Ren says cheerfully. “Anyway, you’re hardly one to lecture me about staying late at school. Don’t you want to go home?”
“Why would I go home,” Masato says, carefully mimicking Ren’s carefree cadence. “When my bastard old man’s there?”
Ren stares at him for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear,” he says, a grin breaking onto his face. “Do it again.”
“No,” Masato says. “I don’t want to.”
“Spoilsport,” Ren pouts. “It didn’t really suit you though.”
Masato is perfectly aware he’s playing into Ren’s hands. “Fuck you,” he says through his teeth, and Ren claps.
“No, still weird!” he says happily. “But really, you shouldn’t sleep here. Imagine if someone less magnanimous than me had seen you. They might have woken you up!”
“The horror,” Masato mutters, and files away the budget forms for the cultural festival. “You should have done so. I could get sick sleeping here.”
“Nah, you’ll be fine,” Ren says. “Walk home with me?”
“Fine,” Masato sighs, so they do.
He’s walking home from cram school when he runs into Ren. He’s not surprised to see him, though he wishes he was.
“Jinguji,” he says. “There are rules against wearing the school uniform outside of school for a reason. You’ll draw attention.”
Ren makes an unimpressed sound. “You’re still wearing the uniform,” he says. “Do you want me to go home and change?”
Masato obviously doesn’t want that. “I want you to behave,” he mutters. Ren has a new scratch on his cheek but it’s shallow, a blow that missed. “It’s late. Have you eaten?”
Ren nods. “Have you?” he asks, and Masato shakes his head.
“I was going to buy something on the way home,” he says.
Ren falls into step beside him, and Masato glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “What?” Ren asks. “You said to behave.”
Masato doesn’t actually object to Ren’s company so he doesn’t protest, and they walk to the store together. The night air is warm and humid, but not nearly as uncomfortable as the day’s heat had been. The store is air conditioned.
Ren wanders off the moment they step into the store so Masato leaves him be and buys himself a boxed lunch. He will have to eat it before he gets home, but if he sits in the park for a few minutes he won’t be noticeably late.
He pays and waits for Ren, and they leave the store to find that it’s raining hard. Masato swaps the lunch in his hand for the umbrella in his bag, and isn’t even a little surprised when Ren huddles in close underneath too.
“Ren, it’s September,” Masato scolds. “You should know to check the forecasts.”
Ren shrugs. “Don’t care that much. Are you gonna eat that at home?”
Masato hesitates. “I might be able to sneak it upstairs,” he says, and Ren sighs.
“What a pair we make,” he says, rueful. “Come on. We can sit under the slide.”
Masato shakes his head with disbelief and lets Ren lead him there. If it weren’t so late, if it weren’t dark and deserted, he’d scoff at the idea. But because it’s so late there is nowhere else inside he can eat, and he was planning on sitting on a park bench anyway.
The rain is not all that cold, and the alcove under the slide is damp but not wet when they reach it, so they huddle there together and Masato digs his lunch out.
“I’ll eat now,” he says, quiet, and Ren huffs a laugh.
“You’re the only one who bothers being polite in front of me anymore,” he says. “Everyone else has given up.”
Masato sniffs. “That’s a reflection on them, rather than you,” he says. “But then, that you’re never polite is a reflection on you,” he adds, rather less stiffly.
Ren just laughs. “Never did me any good,” he says, and Masato supposes that’s true.
The lunch is cold from sitting in the fridge all day, but Mai and his mother will have been asleep for hours now and if he tries cooking and wakes them, his father will have his head. They give him money for dinner and he’s supposed to get something before cram school, but there had been no time. The cultural festival is soon and he’s got to make sure it’s perfect, and he can’t possibly ask Tokiya to do any more than he already is. The whole reason he stepped down was so that he could focus on entrance exams, and Masato has to respect that.
He finishes his lunch and tucks the packaging away, to be thrown into the nearest bin. They sit staring at the rain for a few silent moments before Ren snorts.
“I’m sure there must be somewhere open this late,” he says.
“I highly doubt it,” Masato says. “Nowhere that I would go.”
Ren bumps him with his shoulder, and they’re pressed so close that they rock sideways together. “Are you judging my choice of hangout location?” he asks.
“Yes,” Masato says. “Especially when you go in the school uniform.”
Ren does laugh there. “Still stuck on that, huh?” he says.
Masato draws himself as upright as he can in the cramped space “There are rules, Jinguji,” he says. “And I am in charge of enforcing them.”
Ren snickers at him. “You’re such a stick in the mud,” he says, and Masato lets it drop before one of them says something they don’t mean.
“I’ll walk you home,” Masato says. “You’re not far from me, and I don’t want you getting sick.”
“You don’t need to,” Ren says.
“I know,” Masato says. “But I will.”
They wriggle out from under the slide, and Masato glances back at the space, and sighs.
“It used to be much bigger,” he says.
“No,” Ren says. “We used to be smaller.”
Ren clutches onto every second that’s already passed and has never, not once, been nostalgic for anything. Masato puts up his umbrella and holds it high enough for Ren to stand under, and they leave the park to head home.
Masato hadn’t been looking for Ren exactly, but he had been wandering the school with no intention of sitting down to eat when he’d seen him sat outside in the cold winter wind. He walks over to him and folds himself to the ground beside Ren. “It is too cold to be eating outdoors,” he scolds.
“Then go inside,” Ren says, apparently unbothered. His jacket still isn’t done up – it’s a miracle they haven’t expelled him on uniform infractions alone yet.
Masato pulls his lunch out of his bag instead, and starts eating it. Ren watches him with lazy eyes.
“Are you going to go to college?” he asks, though of course he knows the answer. Ren rolls his eyes.
“You sound like a teacher,” he complains.
“I was just making conversation.” Masato picks at his rice. “Are you?”
“No,” Ren says. “I think I’m going to go abroad.”
Masato had sort of expected that, really, he had. “I see,” he manages. “Europe?”
“Yeah,” Ren says. “I like it there.”
Ren speaks Italian and English fluently, and his Spanish is passable. Masato’s not sure if that’s it, if he’s got any other languages up his sleeves.
It’s nothing like a rejection, of Masato or of their long, long acquaintanceship, but something bitter sinks in beneath his sternum anyway, burning hot there.
“I’m glad you have some idea of what you want,” Masato says.
“Oi, you don’t even know what I want to do there yet,” Ren teases. “I could tell you I’m just going to mess around.”
Masato considers it for a moment, but. Ren would get bored so fast doing nothing but going to parties and sleeping around and drinking.
“So what will you be doing?” he asks. Ren smiles.
“I think I’ll try journalism,” he says. “Freelance, you know?”
“You can be very eloquent, when you need to be,” Masato tells him distantly. “I think journalism is a good choice for you.”
“A compliment!” Ren says, grinning. “Now I know something’s up.”
Masato flinches, drops his rice. Ren sits up to look at him properly, concern etching its way onto his features.
“Don’t be absurd, Jinguji,” he tries. “Stating a fact about you in no way means I am unwell.”
“I know you’re not sick,” Ren says impatiently. “Could it be – are you going to miss me?” he asks, delighted. “You are!”
Masato can feel his face burning, damn his pale skin to hell. “I might,” he admits. “There is a risk I’ll forget how insufferable you are, and start to wish you were here.”
Ren drops back to the grass, beaming delightedly. “This is the best day of my life,” he declares.
“I am going inside,” Masato says. Ren grabs his arm.
“Nooooo,” he whines. “I won’t say anything else, I swear,” he says. “Stop being silly, Hijirikawa, I’m going to miss you too.”
“Oh,” Masato says, and pulls his arm free. Gently. “I see.”
Masato doesn’t even remember it’s Valentine’s Day until he gets to school and Nanami Haruka, the vice-president of the music society, trips over herself up to him and holds out a box of chocolates.
“Um, thank you for always being so helpful!” she says, words tumbling over themselves. “They’re not romantic, I know you’re not available, but I’m really grateful!”
“Thank you,” Masato says, and takes the box. There are six small, plain chocolates nestled in a small, plain box, and he smiles at her. “I appreciate the thought.”
She squeaks and smiles and blushes, and then excuses herself. Only then do her words sink in, and he tucks the chocolate into his bag and takes a moment to be embarrassed at the state of his reputation.
He makes his way to the lockers and pulls off his shoes, and turns to put his bag on the bench only to see Otoya dithering in front of Tokiya’s locker.
Masato smiles at him. Otoya turns the same colour as his hair, and they both turn when they hear Tokiya’s voice from around the corner.
“Shhh,” Otoya motions, desperately, and bolts. Masato laughs aloud, delighted for them both. He can’t help but watch as Tokiya approaches his locker.
“Hijirikawa,” Tokiya says. “You look happy.”
“I guess I do,” he says, and turns away. He hears the sound of Tokiya opening his own locker, and the slight intake of breath at the sight.
He turns to see – a white box is sat in Tokiya’s locker, on top of his indoor shoes, with a letter on top of that. Tokiya’s face is amazingly, alarmingly red.
Tokiya turns to look at him. Masato manages a full second before he bursts out laughing.
“Shhh,” Tokiya hisses. “Hijirikawa, be quiet!”
Masato bites his lip. “Sorry, sorry. I’m very happy for you, honestly.”
Tokiya grumbles something and pulls the box out. It’s very small, but then anyone who knows anything about Tokiya would know he doesn’t like to eat chocolate.
“They’re really well made,” Tokiya whispers, opening the lid. “Oh no, Hijirikawa, what do I do? He’s so cute.”
Masato leans over his shoulder to peer at the chocolate. Two of them are heart shaped. “He likes you,” he says. “He likes you a lot.”
Tokiya shoves at him. “Shut up,” he groans. “Go away.”
He switches his shoes and puts the box back in with his outdoor ones.
“I don’t want them to get damaged,” he says.
“And the letter?” Masato asks.
“I’m not reading it at school!” Tokiya squawks. “I’ll read it later. At home.”
Masato grins and claps his shoulder. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Ichinose,” he says happily, and goes to open his own locker.
Of course, he is greeted by the sight of his locker almost exploding with red roses. A single, solitary petal drifts to the floor as he stares at the bouquet in shock.
Tokiya sidles up beside him. “He likes you,” he says cheerfully. “He likes you a lot.”
Masato hits him with his bag.
Masato panics for a moment, and then decides he’s going to abuse his authority just this once and leave the roses in the student council room. It won’t get used until the evening, and hopefully no one there will mention them.
He pulls them out of his locker, careful with the flowers at the edges, to find an obscenely large heart-shaped box has also been stuffed in there.
“He doesn’t even like chocolate,” he hisses, and sets the bouquet carefully on top of the lockers. “What’s he thinking?”
“They’re not for him, Hijirikawa, they’re for you.” Tokiya has the nerve to drawl. “You like chocolate, don’t you?”
“That’s not the point,” Masato grumbles. “Go away. You’re embarrassing me.”
“I’m not missing this for the world,” Tokiya says. Masato changes his shoes, shoves the heart-shaped box into his bag, and picks up the bouquet. He can’t bring himself to be rough with it – it was so clearly hideously expensive, and it really is beautiful.
He nestles the flowers in his arms and marches out of the locker room, staring straight ahead. He has no doubt Ren is somewhere between here and his classroom, but he’s not going to the second year classrooms yet. He unlocks the student council room, and carefully wets the ends of the roses’ stems before rewrapping them and putting them carefully on his desk.
Tokiya trails in after him. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had,” he announces. “I think someone fainted. Everyone knows you’re taken now.”
“We are not a couple,” Masato says through his teeth. “Go away, Ichinose.”
“You should date,” Tokiya wheedles. “We’re only here for another month, then we never have to see any of these people again.”
“I,” Masato says, with great dignity. “Am a second year. I will be here for another year. I don’t need to deal with that.”
Tokiya sighs. “You’re no fun.”
“Go and kiss Ittoki in the hallways, and then you can lecture me on my love life,” Masato says. “I am going to class. You are not welcome to walk with me.”
“Cool,” Tokiya says, and follows him anyway.
Ren is lounging opposite the door to his classroom. Masato considers ignoring him, but figures it’ll be more rewarding to yell instead.
“And to think I got you a birthday present,” he hisses, jabbing a finger into Ren’s chest. “One you are not getting now.”
Ren looks incredibly pleased with himself. “You remembered my birthday!” he says.
“I am going to murder you,” Masato promises.
“You say the sweetest things,” Ren sighs. He looks as though his day has been made. He looks as though his entire month has been made. Masato sighs.
“Go to class, Jinguji,” he says.
“Give me my present first,” Ren answers. Masato ignores him and goes to class.
Ren does not come to bother him at lunch, which Masato is upset about and hates himself for. He doesn’t show up after school either, not until Masato has finished with his council duties and is stood staring at the roses, wondering how his father will react if he brings them home.
“Hijirikawa,” Ren greets. “I’ll take them home.”
Masato scowls at the bouquet. “I want to keep them,” he admits. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Ren lights up. “You do?” he asks. Masato sighs.
“You are hopeless,” he grumbles. “You act so cool and suave, but you’re really easy to please.”
Ren laughs and picks up the roses. They suit him, the dark red of the petals warm against his golden skin and hair. When Masato holds them, the colour washes him out. Ren’s cheeks are pink.
“Perhaps,” he admits. “Walk home with me.”
Usually, they don’t walk together, because Masato’s father doesn’t like Ren. Most adults don’t. The sun has mostly set by the time they leave the school, with only the last lingering remnants of light scattered through the clouds.
“I’ve booked a plane ticket,” Ren says, out of the blue. “To Italy. For the day after I graduate.”
“Oh,” says Masato. “You will be gone soon.”
The road is deserted. Neither of them look at each other.
“Yeah,” Ren says, and kicks a stone on the pavement. “I’ll call you.”
“You won’t,” Masato starts. “You won’t forget to?”
He’s not sure why he asked that but the words had been out of his mouth before he’d been able to stop them. He stares at the ground, cheeks heating.
Ren stops too, a pace ahead of him. “I don’t know how to tell you I’m serious,” he says. He runs his hand through his hair, balancing the bouquet in one arm.
“You’re leaving,” Masato says.
“I can’t stay,” Ren tells him. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
Masato agrees.
“I’ll miss you,” Masato says. There’s a lump in his throat that he can just about speak through, but he’s sure he doesn’t sound right. “I don’t want you to go.”
Ren turns to him. The flowers in his arms are an indistinct mass in the dark. “You could,” he tries. “What are you going to do after high school?”
“I will go to university,” Masato tells him. “I have been studying for entrance exams for several months already.”
Ren shifts. “Yeah,” he says, eventually. “You have, haven’t you.”
Masato stares resolutely at the floor. “There are lots of good universities in Europe,” he says. “My English is not bad.”
Ren snorts, quietly. “Your English is terrible,” he says. “You speak like a grammar textbook.”
“I do not,” Masato says.
“I’d like that,” Ren tells him. “I’d like it if you visited.”
“Won’t I embarrass you in front of your new friends with my terrible English?” Masato says. He digs his nails into his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Masa,” Ren says quietly. “I’ll miss you.”
“I know,” Masato says. He thinks he’s going to cry. “You said you would.”
Ren pulls a single rose from the bunch and holds it out to him, and Masato takes it.
“I’ll come back,” Ren says. “I’ll come back when I can.”
When my father’s dead, he doesn’t say, but Masato hears it. He wonders if the gods will curse him if he prays for an old man’s death. He thinks he’s going to anyway.
“Come on,” Ren says. “It’s freezing, and we’re late.”
Masato clutches his rose. The chocolates in his bag are heavy. He has a year and a month left in high school, and his childhood friend is leaving him.
Ren cocks his head. Masato swallows the lump in his throat.
“I’m telling my father a girl gave me this,” he says. “He has been talking about my fiancée recently. It might make him stop.”
He’s going to keep the rose. He’s going to press it and keep it. He’s careful with the stem, holding it around the thorns.
“That’s a good idea,” Ren says.
Masato pulls an envelope from his bag and holds it out to Ren, who takes it.
“Happy birthday,” Masato says, and flees.
Graduation day brings rain. Masato has been asked to give the farewell speech and he wrote a perfectly neutral one with Tokiya’s help, and he delivers it with enough passion to be moving, but not so much it’s weird. It’s quite the performance, if he says so himself.
He doesn’t see any of Ren’s family in the crowd of relatives. He supposes he’s not surprised when no one claps when Ren crosses the stage.
He congratulates Tokiya and Natsuki, and chats politely with them for as long as he can bring himself to, but both of them shoo him away after a few minutes.
“Go find him,” Natsuki says, and “Get out of here,” Tokiya tells him. “You’ve got somewhere to be.”
Masato finds Ren sitting in the drizzle outside, under the far too convenient cherry trees. Masato supposes they were planted for this exact moment, but they’re not blooming yet, and even if they were, the petals would be soggy and dull.
“I’m surprised you haven’t left yet,” Masato says. Ren cracks open his eyes to look at him. “It’s cold out here.”
“Nah,” says Ren. “You’re just always cold.”
Masato shakes his head. “Congratulations on graduating,” he says.
Ren flicks something to him, and Masato catches it reflexively, then starts laughing when he sees what it is.
“Really, Jinguji?” he says. “You are determined to make this as clichéd as possible, aren’t you?”
It’s Ren’s second button. Masato smiles at him, knowing the rain won’t hide his red eyes.
“Of course,” Ren says, waving a hand lazily. “It’s a shame the cherry blossoms aren’t out.”
“You’ve been reading manga again, haven’t you?” Masato says, and sits down beside him. The wooden bench is damp through his uniform. “The sappy stuff Kurosaki likes.”
“It’s high literature,” Ren informs him archly. “You’ll have to send the new volumes to me while I’m in Italy.”
Masato shivers in the rain. “Yeah,” he says. “I will.”
Then he takes Ren’s unbuttoned blazer in his hands and leans in, presses their foreheads together, touches their noses, and finally kisses him.
Ren kisses back softly. His mouth is warm. The charm Masato made him for his birthday hangs from the chain at his waist.
“I’ll visit,” Masato promises. “Maybe not until next year. But I will.”
“Okay,” says Ren. “I’ll keep a room made up for you.”
“You don’t want me to stay in your room?” Masato asks, and then feels himself turn bright red. “Please forget I said that.”
Ren is already howling with laughter, pulling away from Masato’s hands. “Oh, you have to visit now,” Ren gasps, shaking. “You just agreed to have sex with me. You just propositioned me.”
There are two ways Masato can take this. His first instinct is to deny it. But. “Yes. I did.”
Ren’s shudders subside immediately. “You’re something else,” he says, and presses their foreheads back together. “Okay. When you come visit me.”
Masato kisses him again. “Come on,” he says, and stands up. “Don’t you have to pack?”
He holds his hand out and Ren takes it, and they walk home together one last time.