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It was a Friday night and Matsukawa was stuck in his dorm room while a new club opened near his university campus. And he’d really rather be there than here.
It wasn’t really because Matsukawa was into club hopping or drinking in general. He does appreciate throwing one back down his gullet after a stressful week, but it was more of being with friends and the overall vibe of a club that gets him going. For most of his friend groups, both from high school and college, he was usually the more responsible one.
As he was unwittingly stuck reviewing for an oral exam the next day for that particular evening, his friend groups would have to find someone else to hold their heads over the toilets or drive them all home.
He must have fallen asleep in between his readings because when he next came to, it was two in the morning and his phone was ringing off the hook. The caller ID was labelled Kindaichi Yuutarou.
“Hello?”
“Senpai!”
The poor kid sounded distressed, sending concern racing through Matsukawa’s senses. His voice was surrounded by booming music and loud conversations.
“You alright, Kindaichi? What’s going on?”
Before his kouhai could reply, a very familiar – very slurred as well, Matsukawa noticed – voice floated into the speaker.
“Issei? Is that you?”
“Hanamaki-san! Please— oh shit—”
Oh god. Matsukawa immediately got up from the floor and grabbed a jacket and his keys. Kindaichi’s voice came back, and it sounded even more panicked.
“Senpai, please send help. Watari-san and Yahaba-san are barely holding him up. I think we’re going to get kicked out.”
“I’m on my way. You’re at the new club, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Drag him to the toilets or something, and don’t lose him till I get there.”
It was lucky that he was dorming inside campus, and it really was just the matter of driving two blocks. It didn’t take him ten minutes to roll in front of the club, only to grow flustered with worry at what he saw on the curb.
Hanamaki was bent over the sidewalk, throwing up what looked like most of his dinner (and then some) out on the gutter. Yahaba was stroking his back, while Watari was digging his heels on the ground trying to hold the taller man up. Kindaichi was pacing, clutching his phone as if it were a lifeline. When he saw Matsukawa get off the car, his face flooded with relief.
“Senpai! Oh thank god!”
Matsukawa briefly acknowledged them before tilting Hanamaki’s face up to his. His breath was terrible, his cheeks were flushed as bright as his hair, and he could barely keep his eyes open. As it were, he smiled lazily at Matsukawa, sending a quick thud in the latter’s heart.
“Issei… Glad you could make it…”
And effectively slumped forward into his arms, unconscious.
All three of his juniors rushed in to help, but Matsukawa waved them off as he single-handedly hoisted Hanamaki over his shoulder. It was a challenge, as the latter was only a few inches shorter than he was, but he managed. It was an unfortunate skill mastered from repeated practice.
Here’s to hoping he’s too knocked out to throw up all over my shirt and the leather seats.
Matsukawa turned back to the other three. “Do you guys need a ride too?”
“We’re riding with some other friends,” explained Watari, looking a lot more relaxed. “We just needed to make sure Hanamaki-san was okay.”
“He won’t be in the morning,” joked Matsukawa. “Look out for Kindaichi, alright? You can’t leave the freshman out of sight, even if he is legal.”
With that, Yahabi slung an arm around the younger boy’s shoulder, a sleazy smile gracing his face. “Oi, Kindaichi! Come on, you still have to get your money’s worth!”
“Yahaba!”
The boy grinned apologetically, but Matsukawa knew he was joking. Watari waved the two others off and bowed to his senpai. “I’ll take care of them, Matsukawa-san. Thank you again for coming to our rescue.”
With that, Matsukawa loaded Hanamaki to the back of his car and drove back to his dorm room. It would have taken a lot longer to drive Hanamaki home, where he was still staying with his parents. That, and Matsukawa didn’t think they would appreciate seeing their son hammered and out cold at two in the morning.
He lugged Hanamaki on his back up to his floor, struggled to open the door, and almost dropped him along the hallway when he bent down to remove both their shoes. Finally, he was able to kick his bedroom door open and unceremoniously dumped his deadweight on the bed.
Hanamaki whined, forehead creasing as he rolled over and curled into a more comfortable position. Sighing, Matsukawa sank down on the floor beside the bed, resting his chin on his arm on the mattress.
And looked at the wonder in front of him in a way that he wouldn’t dare had Hanamaki been awake.
The last time he saw Hanamaki this hammered was in their senior year. Matsukawa grinned at the memory, although he sure wasn’t laughing then.
It was Oikawa’s idea, which was rich because he had volunteered Iwaizumi’s house as the scene of the crime instead of his own. And it was really only possible because Oikawa has been particularly sweet on Iwaizumi’s mom since the two were kids. After a five-day business transaction, he was able to convince Iwaizumi’s parents to enjoy a weekend in Tokyo, leaving the house to four graduating boys and booze.
(Until now, Matsukawa wondered if that was a wise move on their part.)
They were in the middle of playing a drinking game when they all noticed that Hanamaki had gone quiet. He was slumped against the wall, eyes heavy-lidded and head lolling around.
The most fascinating thing about the scene was his skin: he was as pink as his hair from his face all the way down to his torso as he tugged his shirt off his back. The other three jolted in their seats.
“Makki! Put your shirt back on, damn it. This isn’t a strip show.”
Iwaizumi squinted. “You sure he’s not allergic to alcohol? He’s red.”
“To be fair, he’s drunk more than we have. Maybe he’s just lightweight.”
Oikawa chortled. “Well he kept losing the game. And he’s usually pretty sharp too.”
Hanamaki looked up and seemed like he wanted to say something, but his face contorted all of a sudden and he lurched forward, a gag trapped in his throat.
It was chaotic.
Matsukawa all but dragged Hanamaki to the bathroom as he yelled for him to hold it in. Iwaizumi moved things around on the floor to give them room to walk and keep all the bottles upright. Hanamaki was groaning at the sudden harsh movements and got close to hurling multiple times before they got to the bathroom.
Almost ironically, Oikawa was the calmest in the situation. He stroked Hanamaki’s back as the latter emptied his stomach out in the toilet, then he helped Matsukawa heave the poor boy onto Iwaizumi’s bed.
Then, he gave Matsukawa a damp towel and told him to change Hanamaki out of his old clothes.
Matsukawa still felt the embarrassment of that day like it was only yesterday. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had both carted the bottles out of the room and “moved the party” to the living room, telling Matsukawa that he wasn’t allowed out until he had taken care of Hanamaki.
When the door closed behind the two idiots, Matsukawa looked down at his friend.
Hanamaki was curled on his side, face and torso still flushed pink. His lips were parted as he snored softly, his forehead was now crease-free. He was out cold.
Matsukawa noticed the splotch of vomit on Hanamaki’s pants and groaned. He really did have to change him out of his clothes. He considered calling either Oikawa or Iwaizumi to do it instead, when a tiny voice in his head said,
Okay but when else will you see your crush this bare?
“WHAT THE HELL MATSUKAWA ISSEI!”
Hanamaki jumped in his sleep at the sudden outburst, then cracked his eyes open. Matsukawa stood in the middle of the room, hands on his quickly reddening face as if he had slapped himself. Hanamaki’s vision still swirled and the fluorescent was starting to give him a migraine, but he was sane enough to see that their two other friends were gone from the room.
“Is the party over?” he slurred. “Can I sleep? Can you turn the lights off?”
Matsukawa turned to his friend slowly, gripping the damp towel for dear life. “Hanamaki. Wait, wait no—don’t sleep yet,” he panicked, just as Hanamaki closed his eyes again.
Hanamaki frowned at him. “What? I’m sleepy.”
“You… You need to change your clothes.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You have vomit on your jeans. It’s going to cling onto Iwaizumi’s sheets.”
“Then fucking change me out of them, whatever. I’m too sleepy.”
Matsukawa froze. He felt cold from the tips of his fingers and toes. “You…” Ah, shit. “Oi. I need your permission to change you, damn it. What the hell are you even asking…”
“Do it, Matsukawa, because I sure as hell won’t do it myself.” And he was gone.
Heavens above, thought Matsukawa as he crossed the room to Hanamaki’s bag. He had a pair of sweats and a clean shirt in there. Matsukawa held onto the fresh clothes like they were his sword and shield as he walked back to the bed.
Calm down, Issei. This is your friend, your teammate. Whom you’ve had a crush on for three years. Which is irrelevant right now.
It helped a lot that Hanamaki already discarded his shirt, leaving one less thing to remove. He quickly wiped down Hanamaki’s face and torso until his skin no longer smelled of vomit, and started to lessen the heat and flush of it.
The bigger problem now were his jeans.
Matsukawa gritted his teeth as he set about unbuttoning his teammate’s jeans, then slowly peeling it off while trying not to feel like a complete pervert. All the curses known to mankind went off in his head as he pulled the fabric from Hanamaki’s waist, until he began to see the band of the latter’s boxers.
“Ah whatever.”
In one fell motion, he pulled the jeans off Hanamaki’s long legs and fell on the floor with the motion. He thought he was imagining it then, but looking back, he was sure now: he had heard Oikawa laughing at him from outside the room when he fell.
Hanamaki rolled over and lay on his back, and Matsukawa realized at that moment that Hanamaki was a full-body blusher; even his legs were a little tinged. That wasn’t really something you just find out about your friend on a normal night in.
Taking shallow breaths, Matsukawa got back up and made to slide Hanamaki’s legs into his sweats.
Only to be pulled down on the bed.
“Hanamaki!”
Oh god oh god oh god.
Hanamaki had his reddish arms around Matsukawa’s neck, his breath warm in Matsukawa’s ear. It didn’t smell at all good, but the sensation still sent shudders down Matsukawa’s spine.
“Hmm… Issei…”
Fucking hell. Why aren’t the gods answering me?!
Hanamaki nuzzled his cheek, then moved his lips to trail down Matsukawa’s neck. His butterfly kisses did nothing at all for Matsukawa’s self-control. He braced himself on his elbows to pull away, curling his fists tight on the sheets.
But he forgot that Hanamaki had strength in those limbs. It would have been impossible to get those service aces otherwise. What was impressive was that none of that strength ebbed with alcohol.
He was stuck.
“Hanamaki I swear to god, you’ll regret this.”
“I like you, Issei.”
His heart thudded against his chest so hard he was sure Hanamaki felt it too, and the breath was stolen from his lungs. His skin felt hot where it touched Hanamaki’s, and the air around them seemed to grow thin. He pulled back far enough to look at the other’s boy’s face.
His eyes were still closed, and Matsukawa was sure he was just… dreaming?
Didn’t they say drunk words are sober thoughts?
He shook his head and forcefully pulled himself away from Hanamaki’s grasp, but the latter only curled back on his side and kept on snoring. Matsukawa set about dressing him up in a whirlwind off motion, keeping all other thoughts at bay by focusing on his rising frustration of just getting the job done. When he finally managed to put Hanamaki in his shirt, he hurried out of the room and turned the lights off.
And almost tripped over Oikawa and Iwaizumi listening in through the door on his way out.
“Damn you both to hell.”
“Oh come on, Mattsun,” said Oikawa with a suggestive wiggle of his brows. “This was a rare opportunity for you to do something about that crush. You’ll thank me later.”
Matsukawa shifted his glare at Iwaizumi, who shrugged. “For once I agree with the dumbass.”
“Hey!”
The curly-haired boy snapped. “And what if I ended up as some perverted asshole who molested your friend, huh?”
Matsukawa was shaking from all sorts of emotions: arousal, confusion, disbelief, anger. Iwaizumi was wise to take a half step back as he raised his hands in surrender.
“That’s why we were listening in. And we know you’re not like that,” he reasoned.
“We’ve known each other since middle school, Mattsun,” added Oikawa. “You’re the farthest from an asshole out of the four of us.”
Matsukawa blinked. “Did I just hear you include yourself in the narrative?”
“Shut up, it’s just this once. Don’t get used to it.”
Matsukawa was pulled back into the present when the boy on his bed groaned and rolled over, turning to face him. Moonlight spilled in from the open window, and it gave Hanamaki’s fair skin a silver glow. His lips were parted, as they usually were when he slept, and his long limbs were all tucked in the corners of his body.
Despite himself, Matsukawa smiled. For someone that tall, you sure sleep like I could put you in my pocket.
After a moment, his eyes slowly blinked open, and Matsukawa was pleased to see them clear.
“You’re alive.”
Hanamaki frowned, squinted in the dark. “Issei?”
“Your knight in shining track jacket? Yeah.”
Hanamaki groaned and rolled onto his back, his arm coming to rest over his eyes. “I made a mess of things again, didn’t I?”
“Just the gutter outside the club. And you traumatized your juniors.”
“Shut up, god. I was ready to float in blissful ignorance.”
Matsukawa snorted. “Not when you see how Kindaichi will look at you the next time he sees you. Poor kid was pale as a ghost when you threw up your dinner right at his shoes.”
Hanamaki lashed out blindly and caught Matsukawa’s shoulder with a punch. Matsukawa just chuckled and got up from the floor.
“I’ll get you water and aspirin. Change out of your clothes.”
In the darkness of his room, Matsukawa didn’t see Hanamaki’s eyes flash. “Change me yourself.”
The moment the words left his lips, Hanamaki knew he had said something wrong. Matsukawa froze as he stood over the bed, face all blank except for his eyes – they burned with warning.
After a tense second, Matsukawa said, “Don’t joke with that.”
“Hey.”
Hanamaki pulled himself up on the bed and sat back on the headboard. He patted the bed in front of him, and after a moment’s hesitation, Matsukawa came to sit down. Well out of Hanamaki’s reach.
“About that night…”
Matsukawa immediately knew what he was talking about. The four of them never mentioned it after, only laughed about how lightweight Hanamaki was and how he should always have one of them close by when he goes out to drink.
As far as Matsukawa knew, only he remembered or even knew what Hanamaki said to him that night in Iwaizumi’s room.
“Which one? The one at Iwaizumi’s?” he asked regardless, giving the other boy the benefit of the doubt.
Hanamaki nodded. “I… That was a mess, wasn’t it?”
“Not as much as it would have been if you’d thrown up on Iwaizumi’s floor.”
Hanamaki’s laugh was weak. “No, not that… I meant what I told you, when you were changing me.”
“Stop, Takahiro.”
The addressed looked up, surprised. “What?”
“You’re drunk. You’re going to regret this again. I’ll get you water, and you can sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”
“Listen to me, damn it,” snapped Hanamaki, rubbing an impatient hand over his face. “I’ve thrown up and slept off most of the alcohol. I’m not slurring, am I? And I remember what I said that night too.”
Matsukawa paused, gripped the sheets under his fingers. “You do?”
Hanamaki nodded. “Crystal clear. Throwing up really does wonders for you.” Matsukawa snickered at that, which only encouraged Hanamaki further. “I remember what I said, and I meant it then.”
His heart boomed in his chest like taiko drums. “Why didn’t you mention a word of it?”
“Would you have? It wasn’t my finest moment, and it was a lot easier pretending I don’t remember it. It’s not like I just said the words.” His face grew even redder, cuing Matsukawa in that he remembered what he did before he said what he said.
“So why bring it up now? Liquid courage pushing you again?”
This time, Hanamaki glared right at Matsukawa. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to come clean here.”
“It can wait when you’re sober.”
“I am sober, you jackass! Do you want me to get my own aspirin from the convenience store in the next block?”
Matsukawa kept his mouth shut. This should feel like his dream finally coming true; no one knew just how long he’s waited for this moment, and now Hanamaki was doing all the work.
But if he ever did mention word of his pining to their other friends, they would call him a coward for not making a move in the first place.
And they would be right.
“Can you listen to me first?”
Hanamaki pursed his lips, still glaring. “Not sure how long this ‘liquid courage’ is going to last, but sure. Whatever.”
Matsukawa flinched. “I’m sorry, I just… Look, that night? For those few seconds, you made me really happy. Like, really. Even if those were just drunk words.”
The other boy blinked. “I did?”
Matsukawa sighed. Here goes nothing. “I’ve liked you since we were freshmen, Takahiro.”
“College?”
“High school, dumbass.”
Hanamaki felt the air squeezed out of his lungs. His limbs felt weightless. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Your own words: it was embarrassing. We were such good friends and I didn’t know if—”
But Hanamaki never found out what “if” was as he leaned forward and placed a kiss on Matsukawa’s lips. The latter tried to move away, but Hanamaki gripped the back of his neck and kept him still. After a moment, Hanamaki began to move against him.
Matsukawa could taste the booze on Hanamaki’s lips, but it was drowned out by how soft they were, how they moved against his lips, all tender and just a touch of desperate. The way Hanamaki nipped at his bottom lip sent shudders down his back.
When he finally let go, Hanamaki’s eyes were clouded over, but not from the alcohol.
“Okay, you win this one. I only started liking you right before we graduated high school.”
There was hardly any doubt about it: that kiss was too steady, too sure to be influenced with alcohol. Matsukawa opened his mouth, but could think of no words to say. His mind was overtaken by
Takahiro, Takahiro, Takahiro.
“Oi. Get back to reality. You look like a fish.”
“I… Well, uhm.”
“Perfect, he’s broken.”
“Your breath stinks.”
Hanamaki gaped, then surrendered to peals of laughter. The sound was a lot more familiar than the new heat in the room, and Matsukawa welcomed it with open arms.
“Shut up, it’s true.”
“For someone so smart, you can be so dumb sometimes,” said Hanamaki in between gasps and chuckles, clutching his stomach as he lost it again.
“You caught me off guard! I was just confessing and you just—”
“Say one more word of it and I’ll have to kiss you again.”
Matsukawa leaned away for good measure. “Wash your mouth out first, gross.”
“Wow, thanks.”
Silence fell around them, but it now felt more like a welcome friend. They’ve always been comfortable with each other, and they could spend hours on end in silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. Maybe it was easier back then, when most of the noise allowance was taken by Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s bickering. But ever since both of those boys moved away, Matsukawa and Hanamaki have grown closer, getting used to being just the two of them, and enjoying it.
They were each other’s familiar face when the world changed around them.
Matsukawa looked at his friend, who was avoiding his eyes by looking out of the window. Hanamaki has always been his constant. They’ve known each other since middle school, and playing on the same team twice in a row only made them closer.
More than a teammate, Hanamaki was a friend, a partner-in-crime. If Iwaizumi has always had Oikawa, in a sense, Matsukawa had Hanamaki. It just made the analogy weird when the two started dating some time in their second year. Despite himself, Matsukawa dared to hope back then, but never had the courage to act on it.
“So, what are we now?” Hanamaki was back against the headboard, legs crossed under him. He was pink across his nose, but he was looking at Matsukawa.
“Well, I’ve been imagining this moment for years, so if it were me, I would have first found the courage to confess in a less embarrassing situation.”
“I’ll take it. I’ll take it whenever, however.”
Matsukawa gritted his teeth. Gods you can’t keep saying things that make me want to kiss you.
He cleared his throat. “And then, I’d want to court you, maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.”
The mischievous smile on Hanamaki’s face was back. “You’re so vanilla. Why am I even surprised?”
“What the hell!”
Hanamaki guffawed properly. “Just kidding.” He paused, the blush returning. “I’m serious, I’ll take whatever you give me. You may have liked me for longer, but I like you too and I think that counts for something.”
Matsukawa felt warmth grow in his chest. There he was, his long-time fever dream, sitting in his bed in the moonlight. Confessing that the feeling was mutual.
“Takahiro.”
Hanamaki looked up. “Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you?”