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If he's being honest, Touma doesn't remember much about what Maki was like in elementary school. The images that come to mind when he thinks about it are dreamy and ephemeral; washed out and tinted sepia like an old photograph. Often, they aren't very happy. When he pictures Maki's six-year-old face, it's always with a fat pillow of gauze at his hairline or a split bottom lip. But even with the crusted blood and blooming bruises, Touma remembers - more clearly than their class field trip to the zoo or the night Ryouma took them stargazing - consistently thinking Maki was beautiful. As much as a first grader can think another first grader is beautiful, anyway.
Until Maki transferred back into his class this year, Touma had forgotten. Seeing him again for the first time since elementary school was like being struck in the chest by a well-aimed serve and Touma could almost hear the elastic smack of a soft tennis ball echo in his suddenly empty head.
It's been stuck between his ribs ever since, like a piece of shrapnel he couldn't dig out in time left to fester.
"Penny for your thoughts," he hears Maki say. Touma blinks back into the present.
He tries to look at Maki, but a quick sideways glance tells him they're no longer walking side by side. Touma slows his pace, looking over his shoulder. He watches Maki slowly draw his foot back a few feet behind him, clever eyes fixed on a loose chunk of pavement on the ground.
The trill of cicadas fills the silence while he thinks about how to answer. If there's a non-incriminating way to tell your childhood friend you think he's pretty, Touma hasn't found it.
Maki's foot snaps forward and sends the clump of asphalt flying.
Touma readjusts the strap of his bag, gaze drifting to the river at the bottom of the hill flanking their path. The water is orange and glittering in the late afternoon light, and before he knows it, he's descending the steps leading down to it. He can hear Maki's feet follow him.
"Kind of weird that it's just us today," he says finally, sitting down on one of the old concrete steps. He slips his arms out of the straps of his bag and sets it down in front of him.
"Mm, yeah," Maki answers, flopping down at his side. "I hope Yuu feels well enough to come to school again tomorrow. But Kanako said she didn't feel like sticking around to watch us practice 'cause she's got her period. Might not be joining us at all this week."
Touma whirls his head around to give Maki a look. "Were you supposed to tell me that?"
Maki takes off his bag, too, setting it down next to Touma's. "I don't get what the big deal is," he says. "It's just a period." He pauses, an amused little smile sprouting on his lips. "And it's just you."
"Thanks," Touma says dryly, crossing his arms over his knees. He glances at Maki out of the corner of his eye, accidentally meeting his gaze again. He wants to look away, but he has the strangest feeling like that would be admitting to something; something he's not even sure he understands yet.
"It's a compliment," Maki assures him, eyes catching the sunset. And the odd thing is, Touma believes him. He stares at Maki for a little longer than necessary; a little longer than he should, probably. If Maki minds, he doesn't say. Just keeps smiling that easy smile, comfortable in his sincerity in a way Touma can't help but admire. It makes him feel a little nauseous.
"Um," he says, before he can think better of it; before he can think about it at all, "You and Mitsue are pretty close."
Maki leans back against the steps, threading his fingers behind his head as a cushion as he gazes up at the clouds. "Mm, guess so."
Touma looks at him and, without knowing exactly why, his hand curls into a sweaty fist out of Maki's sight. "Do you like her?"
Maki makes a face like he's just been asked about his latest bowel movement. " Why? " he asks.
Touma frowns. "Why what? "
"Why d'you wanna know?" Touma's heart sinks, cheeks flaring red. After a moment, Maki's smile is back, crooked and clever, and that just makes it worse. "Didn't think you were into gossip."
"It's not gossip," Touma huffs, a little affronted. "Friends talk about this stuff." He's sure of it.
Maki's eyes drift back up to the sky. "They do, huh," he muses.
They lapse into silence, as they often do, and once Touma feels a little less feverish, he decides he's content to drop the subject altogether, watching the shadows of clouds pass over Maki's face and trying to make sense of the uncomfortable feeling simmering in his gut.
Then Maki looks back up at him, holding Touma's gaze for a long moment before finally speaking again.
"I don't like -like her," he says slowly. Touma lets out a breath without meaning to. Maki blinks at him then, and Touma can almost see a lightbulb flicker on behind his eyes. "Do you like-like her?"
Touma gives a curt shake of his head. "No." That's one thing he is sure of.
Maki goes, "Oh," and the world is quiet again but for the rushing river and humming cicadas. Except it's not comfortable the way most of their silences are. It feels like an empty space demanding to be filled.
"Actually," Maki adds suddenly, "I don't think I've ever liked a girl."
Touma feels his heart pound with the force of a swift right hook. "Oh?"
Maki smiles wryly, scratching the back of his head for a moment before swinging upright, his shoulder brushing Touma's and leaving sparks in its wake. Maki looks down at his shoes, rubbing at a scuff mark with his thumb, and Touma gets the impression that Maki must be nervous. Touma stares at him in disbelief, never having known Maki to be awkward about anything.
"Yeah, I dunno." Maki shifts, gaze flitting from place to place, looking for somewhere to stick. "Sometimes I think I can't."
Touma tries to swallow, but his mouth is dry, and suddenly his whole body itches. "Oh."
"I know it's okay if I can't," Maki soldiers on, brow creasing in thought, "but I don't like not being sure. Even if I know I don't have to be." He takes a breath. When he speaks again, his voice wavers. "And it's the same with, like, gender. It's complicated."
Touma's mouth presses into a line fine enough to be sewn shut. Somewhere overhead, an airplane leaves a streak of white against the orange sky, the engine letting out a distant roar.
"How can you say that?" Touma blurts.
Maki's head whips around to face him, disbelief etched into the creases in his brow and the downward curve of his mouth.
Touma's ears burn. "I - I mean, how can you say that?" He can feel his face twist in frustration. "How can you just…"
Maki stares at him for a moment like he's trying to wring an answer out of Touma via telepathy, but then something must click, because his quizzical expression clears and a smile graces his lips again.
"I told you," he says, "it's just you, Touma." He looks out over the river. Touma's eyes can't help but follow the slope of Maki's nose and the soft jut of his lips, each delicate feature backlit by the setting sun. "And it's just me."
And it is. It's just Maki. Maki, who used to draw constellations in the sandbox during recess. Maki, who used to hold Touma's hand while crossing the street. Maki, who has eyes like the moon. Maki, who Touma feels comfortable around - really, he does - but one of these days, that comfort is going to make him say something stupid.
"Sometimes I think I like boys."
Like that.
Touma is about to scramble down the rest of the steps and dive head-first into the river to scream until his lungs fill with water when he feels Maki's hand on his ankle, calloused and warm.
"Yeah," Maki says, quiet under the humming cicadas. "Me, too."
Touma feels his eyes sting. He squares his jaw, tries to muscle through it. All me manages to say is, "It feels pretty bad."
Maki laughs quietly, patting Touma's ankle. Touma lets out a tired chuckle of his own.
"I think I got lucky," Maki says, still not moving his hand. "I think my mom is pretty open about this stuff, so I don't have as much to worry about as other people." His smile twists into an uncomfortable knot. "It's just - I even told Yuu it's okay not to have everything figured out, but when it comes to me , I can't, like...take my own advice, I guess."
"Me, too," Touma says, putting his hand over Maki's. It feels as natural as a Western grip, even if it makes his skin buzz. "It's hard, not being sure."
Maki sighs. "Yeah," he says, and, after a moment of hesitation, carefully rests his head on Touma's bony shoulder, moving slow enough that Touma has time to pull away. He doesn't. He freezes, but his cheeks go pleasantly warm, and he smiles as he feels Maki's bangs brush his jaw. He tilts his head, feels the soft strands against his chin, his nose, the curve of his mouth. Maki smells good. A little sweaty from practice, maybe, but whatever generic shampoo he uses still clings to his hair, fragrantly clean.
"You're a good partner," Maki says, and something about his voice lets Touma imagine he isn't just talking about tennis.
"You, too," he answers, sounding softer than he meant to, and he realizes when he speaks that his lips brush the top of Maki's head, and, even worse - he realizes he'd like for it to happen again.
Feeling bold and hoping his palm isn't too sweaty, he gently pries Maki's hand away from his ankle so he can hold it properly. Maki responds by lacing their fingers like they did after running laps on his first day on the team, and it's apparently the last push Touma needs before placing a soft kiss to the part in Maki's hair without a second thought.
He doesn't quite realize what he's done until Maki asks, "Are you kissing me?"
Touma jerks his head back, biting the insides of his lips. "Sorry," he nearly squeaks, feeling himself start to sweat. "Uh, is that okay?" The river looks more and more inviting by the second.
Maki lifts his head to look at Touma, smirking through the rosy flush on his cheeks. "You're supposed to ask that before you do it, you know," he points out, giving Touma's hand a playful squeeze.
"You're right," Touma says, voice cracking. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I haven't…I'm sorry."
Maki's expression softens. "It's okay," he says, and, in the same breath, "Do you want to kiss me for real?"
He says it so easily that for a moment, Touma is sure he's misheard him. "What?"
"Do you want to kiss me for real," Maki repeats, this time with the slightest waver in his voice.
Touma shivers in the summer heat. He thinks carefully about his answer. Feels a fire licking at the lining of his stomach, needing to be doused before it burns him from the inside out. He wants to take action; to decide. He wants to be sure.
He lets out a shuddering breath.
"Yes," he says, and Maki leans in.
It's not like the movies. It becomes apparent fairly quickly that neither of them know what they're doing, lips connected but unmoving. But it's nice, Touma thinks, being close like this, especially with Maki. He's not a soft tennis machine. He thinks about kisses and crushes as much as any other middle schooler; more than he could ever admit to out loud. When he lies awake at night, it's not images of a perfect serve or a trophy on his shelf that keep him up.
The knowledge that they're kissing is more overwhelming than the physical sensation of it, but it's still so much more than Touma thought it would be. He tilts his head, sweeps his mouth over Maki's more firmly. Maki's free hand - the one that's not clasped in Touma's - comes to rest on the side of his neck, thumb finding the point of his hammering pulse. Summer swells around them in a crescendo of cicadas and river-water, hot and dizzying.
Maki finally pulls away, but it takes Touma a few seconds to open his eyes. When he does, Maki is staring at him.
"That was weird," Maki says, voice even as ever. Still, Touma doesn't miss the glimmer in his eyes, or the way his hands tremble.
"Yeah." Touma bites the inside of his cheek, lips still buzzing with warmth as he looks down at their laced fingers. He wants to say thank you, but that doesn't seem quite right.
"My hand is really sweaty," he says instead, which definitely isn't right, but it's far from the most embarrassing thing to come out of his mouth today. Still, his ears burn.
"Oh." Maki looks down, too, rolling his fingers against Touma's knuckles. His brows draw together when he raises his head to meet Touma's eyes. "Do you want to let go?"
Touma swallows. He probably should, but… "No."
Maki smiles wide enough for his eyes to crinkle at the edges, warm and bright. "Me neither," he says and, after pausing to bite his bottom lip, leans in to peck Touma's cheek, quick and chaste.
Touma's free hand reaches up to cup it in reverence as soon as Maki leans away. The look on his face must be pretty goofy, because Maki snorts when he sees it. The sound shouldn't be charming, but here Touma is, charmed by it anyway.
"Do you want to come over for dinner?" Maki asks.
Something dislodges from Touma's chest, the relief of self-disclosure settling in its place.
"Always," he says, and the bright, happy face Maki makes in response is something he won't let himself forget.