Work Text:
★
“I’m quitting volleyball.”
The words float through Kenjirō’s ears and echo, bouncing off the walls of his mind like the screensaver of an old DVD player.
It’s late, hours past curfew, and the two are sitting in the breakout space of the dormitory, surrounded by nothing but pitch black. The kotatsu they’re in isn’t even on, but they huddle under it all the same, seeking warmth in the heavy blankets.
“Shirabu-san, are you asleep?” Goshiki prods, a finger reaching out in his general direction and pushing him in the shoulder.
“No, idiot. Don’t touch me,” he spits, jerking away.
He doesn’t want to be in the presence of a traitor, much less be touched by one. Quitting volleyball. Who does this kid think he is? In a delayed reaction, Kenjirō’s blood begins to boil. After everything he’s done for this kid; this- this insolent child, ready to throw away countless hours of practice, of hardships, all of his raw talent that Kenjirō did everything to draw out of him, and for what: to give up?
The Goshiki that Kenjirō knows doesn’t even have that term in his dictionary. There should be an empty space on the page where it belongs. And yet.
“You’ll be expelled,” he says. Even to himself, he can hear that his voice struggles to be even. “You’re here on a sports scholarship. You’re nothing to this school without volleyball.”
An incentive. Or rather, a bind. Either way, something for Goshiki to bite onto and stay, but Kenjirō doesn’t feel Goshiki’s teeth sink into his bait. Rather, he recoils from it, dragging his legs out of the comfort of the kotatsu to stand up. Even in the darkness of the night, Kenjirō can see how the other boy wavers, his legs struggling to carry him away.
He knows he didn’t manage to say the words Goshiki wanted to hear, but to his credit, he almost never does. Goshiki should know this by now. He should stop expecting Kenjirō to get it right. All the words in the world would never allow for Kenjirō to get it right: this should be a mutual understanding — he thought it was.
“Goshiki-“
“Goodnight, Shirabu-san.”
Of all the people in Kenjirō’s team to leave him behind, he never expected it to be Goshiki.
･☆･
When Kenjirō awakes, he presumes last night to have been a fever dream. First and foremost, the Goshiki he had witnessed is nothing like the boy he’d come to know. Not to mention, although it’s difficult for Kenjirō to admit, Goshiki visits him in his dreams quite often, so it’s not so out of line that Kenjirō’s mind would conjure up something like this. And with Wednesdays being their day of no morning practice, he has nothing to prove this theory wrong.
He struggles to concentrate in class. It doesn’t help that his first subject of the morning is maths. Every time the number five appears in his textbook his mind floats to Goshiki. His little canines bared as he grins, ready for Kenjirō to set to him; his sparkling eyes seeking approval mid-match; his tired but satisfied smile after completing the gym circuit; his quick hands picking up Kenjirō’s water bottle along with his own, holding it out for him; the face he makes when his stupid bowl cut fringe is getting too long and he’s trying to peer-
“Shirabu-kun, I’d like that answer some time today, if you don’t mind," his teacher tuts, pushing his lips out in a pout. “Am I too boring for you right now? Is that what this is? Is poor Mr. Higuchi not to your taste anymore?”
On any other day, Kenjirō would have no patience for his teacher's jaunty demeanour, but right now he leans on the side of appreciation; if he’d picked the wrong subject to space out in, he’d have been reprimanded in front of the whole class before being shunned out of the room. Kenjirō’s crooked smile is apologetic before he stands up to deliver the answer. Thank goodness he’d studied ahead last week.
At around lunch time, it hits Kenjirō that last night wasn’t a fever dream. He’s about to stand up as the bell rings when he loses his footing for a moment, almost falling to the ground before he catches himself on his desk. A definite lack of sleep. An indication that he really was sitting in that kotatsu with Goshiki before the crack of dawn.
Kenjirō snarls to himself, snatching his water bottle and throwing it to the ground in a fleeting fit of anger.
The metal clangs against the floor, the impact leaving a deep indent that will no longer have his water bottle sitting squarely on his desk anymore. Now every time it wobbles against the surface, he’ll be reminded of Goshiki. Great. Just what he didn’t need. Amongst the clamour of his classmates asking if he’s alright, he sinks to the ground, knees slowly giving out beneath him.
Kenjirō doesn’t know if Goshiki skips practice that afternoon, too busy being ushered off to the nurse’s office by the girl who sits behind him. In the comfort of the bed and with the curtains drawn tightly closed, he drifts to sleep.
･☆･
In an alternate universe, Kenjirō forgets all about that midnight conversation. He rocks up to Thursday morning practice, towel and water bottle in hand, and he doesn’t even realise that one of his regulars has been replaced by some blabbering first year that’s a second-rate Goshiki with a bigger mouth but less than half of the skills to back it up.
Instead, his roommate is standing over him first thing in the morning with an eyebrow raised, his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.
“Funny coincidence how the one practice Goshiki comes in to plead out of the volleyball team is the same one that you’re sick and missing from, Captain. How’d you manage that?”
“Plead out?”
“He handed in a formal letter of resignation and got smacked up the head by Washijō. He was a slobbering mess, dude, you should’ve seen it. Said his dad threatened to take volleyball away from him if he couldn’t get his grades up and he’d rather be the one to give it up himself than have it stripped from him.”
Kenjirō’s eyebrows knit together before he speaks.
“That’s not possible. His grades are fine.”
“Yeah, you would know, lover boy. Always sitting next to him while he does his homework and nagging in his ear,” Taichi snickers.
Kenjirō chooses to ignore the comment to instead say, "but he's here on a sports scholarship.”
“Which is why we got left with Coach Saitō while Washijō took your little Tsutomu to the principal. I don’t know what he said, but he’s out.”
Wordlessly, Kenjirō leaves his bed and prepares for practice. Taichi doesn’t say anything else, but he thinks maybe he wouldn’t have been able to so much as stand without the guy’s presence a constant beside him all morning. He’s still a little weak, accuracy thrown to the wind, but he can do enough that the coaches can brush his mistakes off as residual sickness from yesterday.
It’s pathetic, really. How much this affects him. He’s the captain for crying out loud, and here he is, barely holding his team together because one measly member quit the club. Day by day his playing worsens and Washijō is onto him, words whipping out of his mouth a mile a minute, dissatisfaction sitting plainly on his face.
Kenjirō grits his teeth. He’s not this weak. He is not this weak.
He breathes deeply, regaining his focus. They’re playing against Shibasaki University, for Christ’s sake. There’s no time to be disgusted by the sloppy receive of their new regular. Aramaki. Arakawa. Aratama. Ara-whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is.
Yunohama’s serve hits the ground, a blessing to the team’s ears. Kenjirō smirks. Just what he needed to bring himself back to the game. Their next serve is picked up, but Kenjirō watches it travel back across the net towards them, an easy point written across the blue and yellow of the ball. It approaches his awaiting hands.
“Goshiki!”
And falls.
The silence that follows is deafening, the heat that claws up his neck and to his cheeks unbearable. His jaw hurts from how tightly he has it clenched. Lest he open his mouth and say something so foolish again. There’s no surprise in the next words that greet him. His feet simply comply, as if this was what his body had wanted all along. Kenjirō doesn’t even feel ashamed, though he should.
He’s a pitiful sight: team captain being benched and replaced by a first year. But he’s too busy holding his jaw closed, too busy trying not to call for Goshiki again. He hears none of Coach Washijō’s criticisms. Just his own voice from before.
When practice is over, Kenjirō does all of the packing up by himself, a punishment Washijō places on his shoulders that he’s more than happy to fulfil. The routine of it is comforting, almost fun, as he carefully rolls the nets into perfect cylinders and places them in the store room for tomorrow morning.
With the volleyball gymnasium spotless he turns for the door, pulling his keys out of his bag to lock up when he sees a pair of shoes in his peripheral, scuffed but familiar. It’s the first time he’s seen them around here in two weeks, although it feels like longer.
“Thought you quit,” he says, turning to face the boy.
Kenjirō only receives a nod in return, and he swallows. It’s hard to converse like this. It’s always Goshiki that starts their conversations, carries them elsewhere, fills the quiet with words. For God’s sake, he’s not even capable of looking Kenjirō in the eyes.
The fact that Goshiki is standing before him today of all days is an obvious indication that he bore witness to the most embarrassing moment of Kenjirō’s life. Funnily enough, it doesn’t surprise him. He regards the boy before finally bringing his hand up to lock the gymnasium, using the brief moment to collect himself. It doesn’t work.
In a moment of weakness, he says it.
“I miss you.”
Goshiki looks up for the first time, though his eyes flit elsewhere immediately.
“We see each other every day at the dorms.”
A sigh. “I miss you.”
“I-I’m not coming back to volleyball.”
“You’re not listening to me, you moron!” Kenjirō snaps. "I miss you. You're not here and I miss you.”
“Shirabu-san, I don’t understand.”
It takes everything and more in Kenjirō not to grab Goshiki by the shirt, which is how he finds himself fisting the worn out fabric, the cloth twisting and stretching under his fingers. He’s breathing through clenched teeth, lips curled up in a snarl, but something in him breaks as their eyes meet.
He lets go, stumbling back, but he doesn’t have enough control to stop his mouth from running; wasted that concentration while the practice match carried on around him earlier.
“What have you done to him?” he says, voice breaking over the words.
The wide eyes he’s met with are not an answer, but he takes it as one anyway.
･☆･
Goshiki doesn’t speak to him for four weeks. Which is not anything surprising, all things considered, but eventually Kenjirō stops seeing the boy around the campus, then in the dorms, until it’s almost as if he doesn’t even exist. He doesn’t know which part of what he said did this; doesn’t even remember what he had said. But obviously, yet again, they weren’t the words Goshiki was looking for.
It always comes to this, in the end. That’s what the two years they’ve known each other has been all about. And maybe Kenjirō should have done something about his sharp tongue; should have let it run its course on someone else until its edges became dull and coated it in sugar, but it’s months too late for that now.
It’s a gloomy Saturday, and practice has been called off for what’s probably the first time in Shiratorizawa history. The recent rain has caused more damage than expected, and repairs to buildings are in process all across the campus.
Although his usual routine is to be in the commons working on his assignments, Taichi had insisted yesterday that they “smash it all out” for a relaxing weekend of doing nothing but nothing, and Kenjirō found it hard to say no to an offer so enticing. Now, huddled up in bed with a stuffed Babo-chan between his arms and laughing away at some stupid YouTube video, Kenjirō thinks this is quite possibly the best Saturday he’s had in years.
But the thought doesn’t last for long when there’s a knock at the door, followed by an all-too-familiar voice.
“I’m here, Kawanishi-san!”
Kenjirō’s eyes flick over to his roommate’s bed but just as he already knew, there’s no one in the room but him.
He debates his options. He could say something, alert Goshiki to the fact that Taichi is out, but obviously if the boy has come knocking he doesn’t expect Kenjirō to be here, which can only lead to disaster. He could stay silent, have Goshiki undoubtedly barge in, and then be faced with dealing the boy all the same. Or, he could stay silent, and on the off chance Goshiki won’t barge in, he can continue watching his YouTube video that he’s not even in the mood for anymore considering the presence outside of his door.
The choice is stripped from him when the door opens without his response, and he scrambles to put his phone away and feign sleep as Goshiki grumbles to himself about his tardy senpai not even being in his room when he said he would be.
There’s an audible flinch when Goshiki notices who is in the room that's slowly followed by shuffling footsteps and the unmistakable feeling of eyes watching him. Kenjirō sinks into his mattress, trying to move himself away from Goshiki’s gaze in the most inconspicuous way he can manage, but it proves unnecessary when Taichi fumbles the door open, taking Goshiki’s attention to him.
“Ah, you’re already here. I wasn’t expecting that. I just went out to buy some snacks.”
Kenjirō hears his roommate take a seat, and he feels his lips instinctively curl up. That scumbag. Anyone with eyes can clearly tell that there’s a body occupying one of the beds, and he knows that Taichi is well aware of the fact that he’s not asleep, because he’s on his stomach and Kenjirō never sleeps on his stomach.
There’s some incoherent mumbling from across the room, and he hears Goshiki stutter out a “but Shirabu-san-” which is promptly cut off with more words that he can’t decipher.
Eventually, Goshiki sighs and by the sound of things, takes a seat on the floor, hands reaching out for some of the potato chips Taichi just came home with.
“I don’t think I invited you just to leech off of all my snacks. Start talking.”
There are more protests from Goshiki, but they fall on deaf ears.
“He’s asleep, Goshiki. He’s not going to hear a thing. You asked for my help, and my only condition was that I get to do it in the comfort of my own room. If you don’t like that, you’re welcome to go and find another senpai.”
He doesn’t appreciate the teasing lilt of his roommate's voice. The bastard is onto something and Kenjirō is late — far too late to do something about it. He could, if he so wanted, pretend to just wake up and excuse himself to the bathroom. Be freed of whatever nonsense Taichi is trying to pull, and avoid hearing any personal matters that he obviously shouldn’t be privy to. But the curiosity that grips him like a vice leaves him in his bed, and just as he’s about to close his eyes, Goshiki’s dam breaks, washes over Kenjirō in waves, and drowns him.
･☆･
“Why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied?”
It’s blunt, he knows it, but in his mind there’s no other way to broach the topic. Not without questions about the weather and academics and five hours worth of skirting around.
Goshiki startles, already beginning to retreat, but Kenjirō catches him by the sleeve and pulls him back, sitting him down on the closest bench without letting go.
Eventually, the boy manages to mutter out that he didn't want to seem weak, and he grips his own thighs as he says it, the action doing nothing to conceal the trembling of his hands.
“But you didn’t mind being weak in front of Taichi.”
Kenjirō should be accustomed to the silence that he’s met with by now, but he still hates it. Six-seven weeks of living like this and nothing could make him get used to it. Feebly, he sets the sleeve of Goshiki’s blazer free to fiddle with his own fingers instead.
“Am I that scary?”
The way Goshiki scrambles to deny it is laughable, but it's barely of comfort to him. Always so eager to please, Kenjirō can only imagine it’s for his sake, not because it’s the truth. And that hurts, really, though he wishes it wasn’t the case. What kind of captain was he if his own members couldn’t even come to him with their problems? How could he consider himself a good leader when he wasn’t capable of supporting his team?
“So, um,” Goshiki starts, dragging Kenjirō out of the depths of his mind, "you weren’t awake the whole time, were you?”
The boy beside him is restless after he asks the question, leg bouncing as he fidgets with the buttons of his blazer. He’s buzzing, enough that Kenjirō almost feels like he can hear the boy’s heartbeat, and he has half a mind to sit on him just to get him to stop.
He tells Goshiki that he had fallen asleep — again, he has to reiterate the “again” so that the boy doesn’t know he’d been awake from the very start — somewhere along the way, and only really remembers up until the part where he’d name dropped one of the guys in his class that Kenjirō is now determined to beat to a pulp. That part is not a lie, but the strange look of half-relief and half-disappointment on Goshiki’s face makes him wish it was.
“Next time, I want you to come to me,” he says. “And after that, there won't be a next time. I promise.”
Goshiki soaks up every word, and the twinkle in his eye as he gives his enthusiastic reply almost makes Kenjirō smile.
So when another week passes and the boy is still avoiding him, Kenjirō thinks he’s allowed to be taken aback, and maybe a little angry. His concentration in class slips again, almost landing him in detention, and while he manages to keep it together on the court, the lack of Goshiki’s presence burns in his side.
It’s not like he was expecting him to suddenly return to volleyball just like that; obviously there were things that needed to be worked through, maybe a visit to a therapist, or at least have the teaching staff on the case, but after their talk — the good one, not the kotatsu one — he had expected to be able to at least see Goshiki sometimes, and not just in his mind.
There’s a voice inside his head that tells him to give Goshiki time. Space. Things he probably needs. But Kenjirō is restless, unable to comply with his own thoughts. It’s like there’s a hole in his head where his brain should be, and instead, it’s filled to the brim with nothing but Goshiki.
When the lunch bell rings, Kenjirō bursts out of his seat and rushes down the stairs to the second years, barely suppressing his panting as he approaches the door.
Kenjirō has overheard before the impression that his junior makes on his classmates, but never did he expect to see it so plainly with his own eyes. He wouldn’t go as far as to call it sullen, but he understands now how that girl had managed to think of Goshiki as reserved and collected. They probably assumed his on-court presence was due to a rush of adrenaline; a persona for the spotlight.
It makes his skin crawl, the jolt followed by the polite smile that Goshiki gives the guy who bumps into his table. If that had been anyone on the volleyball team, he would’ve yelped in surprise before jokingly reprimanding them for docking five years off of his lifespan.
And yes, it’s true that a person’s personality can change depending on the crowd they’re surrounded by, but it’s so jarring to see it before him; harrowing, if he may be so dramatic.
When Goshiki notices Kenjirō at the door, his entire face lights up in a blinding grin before he bounds over, yelling his name over the ruckus of the classroom. He’s just like an adorable puppy that’s been waiting patiently for his owner to come home after a long-
Kenjirō shuts down that thought as quickly as he can before it takes over his facial muscles, schooling his thoughts as they make their way through the hallways.
“You’re still avoiding me,” he says, nudging at Goshiki's shoulder.
It’s an attempt to be light hearted, although he’s not sure it's successful. Nonetheless, if he fails, they’re in a secluded spot of the campus where no one will know.
Dejected, the answer that spills out of Goshiki’s mouth is a small "yes", before it divulges into a messy story that involves Taichi, and somehow Semi-san and Ushijima-san, although he’s not quite sure he follows. Goshiki’s story-telling technique has the trajectory of a game of squash, and he doesn’t register anything past “I like you” and-
“Wait.” Goshiki freezes, almost as if Kenjirō is holding him at gunpoint. “Say that again.”
“Ushijima-san knows that I like you?”
He grabs Goshiki’s shoulder in a death grip before giving the boy a cold glare.
“And say, why does Ushijima-san know that before me?”
The look he receives in return is so comical that he can't help but laugh, the feeling bubbling up from his stomach until he’s doubled over and wheezing. Goshiki looks mildly offended, which to his credit Kenjirō will admit he’s allowed to be, but his cheeks hurt so badly and he just can’t stop smiling.
“You are so stupid, Goshiki,” he sighs, ruffling the boy's hair like he's always wanted to, ever since they first met.
It feels good to let go of his inhibitions, and he silently wonders why he's never done it before. This sudden burst of confidence is freeing, and it makes him feel invincible. All this time feeling like an idiot with his mind occupied by Goshiki, Goshiki, Goshiki, suffocating him until he thought he couldn’t breathe and then this: this release that he’s been granted — it’s everything to him.
“Shirabu-san,” Goshiki whines, and he can’t help but place a finger to his lips, shaking his head.
“Kenjirō.”
The resulting burst of colour that blooms across Goshiki’s cheeks is enough to push him from absurd laughing maniac to giddy schoolgirl. Upon finding a bench he drags the boy towards it and sits down, before pulling his face into something more levelled.
“K-Kenjirō… san.”
“Come back to volleyball,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth before he knows what he’s doing. He expects embarrassment to hit him but it doesn’t, the weight of his words long overdue grounding him. “Promise me you’ll come back before I graduate. Whenever you’re ready is fine, but I need you there.”
“Oh no, Captain! Can you not function without your reliable ace?"
Oh how quickly he changes from blushing boy to smug teenager. Goshiki has some nerve to tease his senior — his Captain like that, but somehow, Kenjirō doesn’t mind it. He replies with a quiet “barely”, which is unfortunately the truth. It shuts the boy right up.
“So,” Goshiki starts, before he hesitates, opening and closing his mouth like some dumb fish before finally deciding to continue. “You like me too, right?”
And it hits him square in the chest, a clean K.O as his face reddens up to his ears.
“You’re all I think about all the time,” is his answer, stilted and muffled through his clenched teeth.
Goshiki reddens too at that, but he pushes on.
“You think about me all the time. And you need me on the court with you. And you’re mad that Ushijima-san found out I liked you before you did. And you didn’t like that I chose to consult Kawanishi-san with my problems instead of you. And you’re ready to kill the,” Goshiki stumbles momentarily, “the people who bully me. But does that mean you like me?”
“Do you have to hear me say it?” Kenjirō asks, because he'd really rather not, despite the fact that moments before he said he felt invincible.
“Well how will I know if you don’t tell me?”
“You cocky bastard. I know you already know.”
But the big toothy grin he’s rewarded with melts his resolve in seconds.
With a clench of his fists he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, before letting the words out of his chest in a shout. It startles Goshiki, if the angle he’s leaning away from Kenjirō is any indication, but it feels good to finally say it out loud. He almost wants to do it again.
“Tsutomu,” he says, without facing the boy, the name sliding off his tongue with surprising ease, “you wanna go out or something?”
･☆･
It’s another two months before Tsutomu comes back to the volleyball team, fringe freshly cut above his eyebrows and Coach Washijō on his arse for not keeping up his training during the time he was gone. The bullying has stopped, that much Kenjirō has made sure of himself, and while he shouldn’t, he takes pride in the way some of Tsutomu’s classmates tremble when he comes to visit.
It’s pathetic of them, really. Putting down a fellow student who's miles above them just to make themselves feel better. Tsutomu finds it embarrassing every time Kenjirō says so, but it’s nothing but the truth. They have no talents, unless being pathetic can be considered one, their grades teeter on the edge between abysmal and mediocre, and they aren’t even cute, let alone remotely attractive.
Since they’ve started this whole thing, Tsutomu enjoys sticking to him like some gigantic breed of leech. Kenjirō wants to call it annoying, but he can’t without lying through his teeth, save for when Tsutomu decides to sit in his lap when they’re watching TV. The idiot likes to say that if he hates it so much they could swap positions, but Kenjirō has a reputation to uphold, and he’s found enjoyment in blowing hot air on the other’s neck when he starts to feel pins and needles in his legs.
He loathes how obvious it is that they’re dating. It’s almost as if the whole world knows. Even worse is how his roommate likes to dangle over his head his matchmaking expertise. But if Kenjirō recalls, the proclamations are baseless, because he’d fallen asleep by the time crushes had become the topic of the afternoon, meaning there’s nothing to thank Taichi for in that department at all.
“Hello, boyfriend,” Tsutomu calls, swinging open the door to Kenjirō's bedroom with absolutely no regard for what’s on the other side. It earns him a Babo-chan to the face.
“Shut up or I’ll break up with you,” he threatens back, but it’s no use now. Much to his dismay, almost all of his words have lost their bite unless they’re on the court. He supposes he can call it a fair trade if he gets to have Tsutomu by his side, but… well, he can’t help that he enjoys being scary.
Taichi whistles as he clambers out of his bed and to the breakout space, but Kenjirō doesn’t have the time to flip him the bird as his boyfriend leaps into his arms, knocking him over. Out of pure laziness, they decide not to move from the spot for the rest of the afternoon, nestled in each other’s arms as they watch V League replays on Kenjirō’s laptop.
They’ve just finished the 2010 women’s semi-finals when Tsutomu yawns, and it draws Kenjirō’s attention to the boy’s mouth. Or more specifically, his lips. He stares at them, almost in a trance, and it takes Tsutomu coughing to rip him out of his stupor, cheeks slowly heating up.
“We could? If you wanted?” he says, scratching at the back of his neck.
“We’re not having our first kiss on the floor of my dorm room, idiot," Kenjirō snaps back.
When Tsutomu flutters his eyelashes at him in a form of protest, he almost smacks the boy upside the head, ready to chide him. He always gets what he wants just by doing this, and Kenjirō is sick of it. He hasn’t had a full meal in weeks because he keeps giving away bites to Tsutomu, his crane game skills have advanced exponentially in the span of five days, his phone won’t shut up about storage space because of all the photos it’s filled with, and all of his pens keep miraculously finding themselves in Tsutomu’s pencil case.
Kenjirō turns to roll away, body stiff from having laid on the floor for hours only to find himself encased in long limbs that pull him back into place.
“I know you want to,” Tsutomu whispers, struggling to untangle his arms so that he can do whatever embarrassing thing he learnt watching Thursday night’s romance drama that Kenjirō forgoes for study.
With his right hand finally free, Tsutomu reaches for Kenjirō's chin, tilting it up towards him, eyes never breaking contact. Everything feels slow, like it’s covered in honey and oozing off the hands of the clock, but Kenjirō keeps looking at Tsutomu’s eyes, eyes, eyes, closer, closer, closer, until everything is a blur.
They bump noses, a noise of surprise escaping between them, and realign themselves like it’s second nature before the gap that defined them as two separate beings disappears. Kenjirō feels himself sink into his boyfriend’s skin, liquefying under Tsutomu’s touch until he’s nothing but a melted pile of “I love you”, heavy and light at the same time.
It’s so warm, the kind of heat where you know you should move to the shade but you can’t — don’t want to, and Kenjirō thinks he could burn here and he wouldn’t mind.
They part, a string of saliva connecting them, and in any other situation he would flinch, throw a box of tissues in the other’s face and douse himself in antibacterial sanitiser; vow to never come into contact with another human being again. But all he does is stare at it until it breaks naturally, before he swoops in to kiss Tsutomu as if the boy will disappear from his arms if he isn’t fast enough.
Tsutomu pummels at his chest, soft thumps that gradually become harder, and Kenjirō is already laughing before he even lets go. When he opens his eyes, he sees that the poor boy is red-faced, panting as if he’d just played five straight matches of volleyball without a single break.
“Looks like you’re not training hard enough, ace,” Kenjirō whispers.
He maintains that it’s in the name of practice that Tsutomu reattaches their lips again.
★