Work Text:
The text message would be fine if it was from any other sender.
05:31 Mei-sama ✩°｡⋆⸜(ू◕◡◕)ノ♡
meet me at the cafe
Youichi’s eye twitches as he scans all of the stars in Mei’s contact name, choosing to ignore the sama for once. He doesn’t know where Mei found the stars, and that’s why he hasn’t fixed it. That’s all. It’d be more trouble to change it, have Mei complain when he next steals his phone, and then wait the fifteen minutes for him to add even more to his name, for extra security or whatever he calls it. It almost makes Youichi feel sympathetic for all the times he’s stolen Eijun’s phone.
Almost.
Youichi sighs, looking at the text again. The lack of address wasn’t the issue. They usually meet at the cafe two streets down from university, so Youichi would be more surprised if Mei put down the name of the cafe. Mei used to be more meticulous about dating, giving out exact addresses, times, instructions, demands, and complaints, but he’s been better about it recently. It’s not about a lack of trust; it’s about the instinct of a younger sibling and someone who flaunted the title of Prince for three of his formative years. Mei’s more of a competent leader than not now, but he took melodrama from a list of negative traits and turned it into one of his strengths. Strength is a very subjective way to describe Mei’s melodrama though, so maybe Youichi needs to check his bias.
He tugs arm through the left sleeve of his jacket and shoves his phone into the pocket on the right side. It’s a short walk from his dorm to the cafe, but he’s already feeling restless.
Bias comes from familiarity, and Kazuya and Youichi have become very familiar with Mei over the years. They’ve learned how to ignore the initial irritation that happens out of habit more than anything, and they’ve both gotten better at sifting through the things-to-be-ignored. It’s a slow learning curve, moreso for Youichi than Kazuya, but they have time and the willingness to learn. Youichi knows all too well how people don’t learn, content with assuming things and forgetting details and overlooking hints before they begin to see you as a person. That pattern defined most of his childhood after all, and it never really went away.
Youichi isn’t usually a hypocrite, but hypocrisy is a language that everyone speaks eventually. Kazuya yelled at the underclassmen not to overwork and risk injuring themselves, and what did he do during a desperate final, when they weren’t third years yet but were expected to be even better, floundering in the middle ground of upperclassmen responsibilities and the realization that maybe they were a little younger than they thought they were?
Kazuya overworked and injured himself.
Alright, so Youichi might not be as over that as he thought he was. Or maybe the text that Kazuya sent two weeks ago admitting that he was in a little more pain than he should be is still lingering in the back of his mind. Youichi won’t actually try to deny that, because he’s a victim in the crossfire of Mei’s response to that text. He somehow managed to make the screenshot of that text the background of their groupchat, a “subtle” message only he could think of. It’s probably more effective than Youichi’s strategy of sending threatening messages every morning because Kazuya still refuses to follow up on it, but what does he know. Kazuya will find understand both of their concern written in bold subtext, because even if he’s the worst at showing he’s good enough at reading.
That description is also applicable to Youichi, and he’d confidently say that he’s better than Kazuya at interpretation. And he also does shit with it, which is more than Kazuya or even Mei can say at times.
Doing shit hasn’t been as successful with Mei as it has been with Kazuya, but that’s not either of their faults. Mei’s more complex than anyone gives him credit for, but Youichi isn’t easy either. Sometimes they don’t fit together like puzzle pieces, edges and issues and affection grinding up against each other like a too-small glove against his fingers.
Youichi has been learning and trying on different gloves, and he’s getting closer ever time. He also has the best study guide: dating Narumiya Mei. Youichi’s really only ever been able to know people from being with them, from evenings spent listening to his grandpa’s stories or grocery trips with his mom or late night practices with Ryou-san or countless hours alone with Kazuya in their shared dorm after their last summer that would ever mean sweat sticking to his skin even in the baths and heartbeat never slowing down except for the seconds in between catching a baseball and throwing it to its target, lock on and three steps ahead. He hasn’t had as much opportunity with Mei as he has with those things, but that’s because of the disadvantage of time. Neither of them dare to fight against that.
They’ve had to adapt instead, and they’re lucky to be living in an age of instant long-distance communication. Theoretically at least, as Youichi has to remind his grandpa whenever he complains about how in his time, they had to walk to their neighborhood sweetheart’s door and knock politely, risking the rightful suspicion of parents and interference of siblings. Youichi would honestly prefer an overprotective mother over deciphering star-riddled emoticons, but that’s what they call generational differences.
Mei isn’t actually the biggest texter. He complains about the value of face-to-face conversations and how the youth of nowadays don’t see it, glued to their screens and refusing to look up. Youichi has no fucking idea what he means by that, and he thinks it’s a little hypocritical when he was the main force behind the “Get Kazuya a Smartphone” plan two years ago and has the most Instagram followers out of the three of them, but what does he know. Nothing about texting etiquette according to Mei, who complains that he never uses emojis, or spellcheck, making it impossible to tell what he’s saying. Youichi knows that Mei can figure it out, so he’s very content with ignoring that specific point.
He checks his phone again, out of habit rather than expecting a new message. The only clue in the groupchat is still Mei’s original message, and Youichi briefly stops to read it again. Nothing had changed, the same timestamp of 05:31 blinking at him mockingly.
The timestamp wasn’t worrying. Youichi doesn’t monitor Mei’s sleep schedule during the off season because he doesn’t need to. Mei’s one of those people that somehow falls asleep instantly when he, or one of them, pulls the blankets up to his pout and leaves him with a kiss on his sleeping mask. Maybe that habit is to make up for when Mei can’t fall asleep, when he can’t let himself indulge in the luxury of not thinking for seven hours. Youichi never knows what to do in those cases. He’s not one to be a hypocrite, and Kazuya’s not one to be a comfort. But they’re all getting better, and sometimes Mei will call them instead of sitting on top of his bed for three hours straight. Youichi will gladly take that, and it hasn’t happened too recently.
It’s the off season, Youichi isn’t more stressed than normal levels of “shit!” about college, and all of them are getting enough sleep to not worry about passing out in the middle of the day. That’s more decent than most other young adults.
All three of them are used to waking up and being fully conscious early in the morning anyways, habits ingrained into their hearts and shoes. Youichi doesn’t think he’ll ever escape the urge to wake up before his alarm, racing the restlessness he gets when he’s asleep for too long.
Youichi doesn’t know if the restlessness is from something inside of him that’s been there since he took his first step, walking before crawling, or from when he caught a baseball for the first time, the smack into leather barely audible over his heartbeat, louder than it had ever been before. That restlessness sometimes feels present in every breath he takes, in and out with oxygen but never truly leaving him.
Maybe it’s love.
Youichi’s steps stutter in their steady rhythm of what Mei would tease as a “powerwalk” and what Kazuya would just laugh at. It’s not a surprising turn of thoughts. Youichi has been thinking about love a lot these days. There’s this English saying that some of the upperclassmen at Seidou kept saying for a month, about how absence makes love more fond.
The saying, not helped by Youichi’s tenuous grasp on English as a functioning language, doesn’t make complete sense. It doesn’t even say what love is, and Youichi thinks that’s a bigger issue than how strong it is. Is love in bias? In his preference for Kazuya and Mei over most other people in the world? Is it from familiarity, from the time spent thinking about and thinking with both of them?
Is it how he knows Mei always tastes like strawberry chapstick and Miyuki tastes like the cheapest brand? Is it how he knows that Mei complains about it all the time, but still buys it in bulk every other month as a gift? Mei keeps track of all of their cosmetic supplies, and Youichi honestly doesn’t know why he bothers acting outraged when the only thing Youichi ever has in stock is his hair gel. That’s not changing anytime soon despite Mei’s lectures about skincare or complaints about how Youichi’s skin is “miraculously” good. Youichi doesn’t know why he bothers with that either, but that can be an indulgence just like how Youichi chooses a new flavor of chapstick every month.
He never knows what he tastes like, but he supposes it can’t be that bad if they both return for seconds and thirds and tenths. Is that love? Dedication and persistence?
Youichi’s loved a lot of people. His mom, his grandpa, Ryou-san, Masuko-senpai, Eijun, Haruichi, Kazuya, Mei, and he’d even put Coach Kataoka on the list because he doesn’t have a definition yet.
Whatever it means or doesn’t, that saying was definitely poetic bullshit, and Youichi had found it extremely funny back then.
He is not feeling the same humor when he keeps staying awake at night wondering what his two boyfriends are doing and if they’re thinking about him too. That thought makes him speed up, and he’s nearly in front of the cafe anyways. Kazuya and Mei definitely won’t be waiting for him outside, and Kazuya will be there, so Youichi doesn’t bother looking around before he shoulders the door open and is hit with a wave of warm air and the smell of coffee that he still hasn’t decided if he likes.
The cafe turned out to be a distraction, so Youichi’s gut instinct is proven right yet again. He had barely taken one step in before Kazuya and Mei whisked him away, grabbing his arms and marching him back in the direction he came from.
“What the hell are you guys doing?” Youichi had sputtered, feeling a blush rising to his cheeks, but they only laughed in response. It was more of a snicker from Kazuya and giggle for Mei, but Youichi felt, and still feels, disgruntled enough to not give them the privilege of separate description. He’s the victim in this situation, but nobody was paying that any mind.
They didn’t drag him too far, ending up in front of a suspiciously plain apartment block. Youichi doesn’t bother to ask what’s going on. They definitely want him to figure it out with all the smirking they’ve been exchanging. He thinks he knows, but they deserve to wait after all they put him through.
The walk up the stairs is anticlimactic at this point. They end up in front of a innocuous plain grey door, and Youichi feels his heart threatening to burst out of his chest even though nothing’s happened yet. Mei unhooks his arm from Youichi’s and pulls his hand into his jacket pockets, grumbling something about stubborn boyfriends. Youichi hears the undercurrent of worry though, and he reaches up to squeeze Mei’s shoulder, feeling him relax with the touch immediately.
The keys fit in the door, and Kazuya reaches up warm hands to cover Youichi’s eyes before he can even think to blink. Colder hands, Mei’s, shove him in but Youichi doesn’t even stumble over the doorstep. Kazuya’s snarking at Mei behind him, but Youichi can’t think to look behind him when there’s this in front of him.
This is an apartment, and Youichi could slap himself for that very excellent observation. It’s an almost empty apartment, kitchen visible to the right with one stove and an old refrigerator and an open door where the corner of a bed peeks out. Cardboard boxes litter the floor in varying states of open. Youichi takes a hesitant step forward, almost tripping over a roll of tape. Kazuya and Mei follow him in, footsteps loud if their mouths aren’t for once.
“Do you,” Mei says, “like it?” Kazuya rolls his eyes, but his shoulders are tense.
Youichi can’t reply. He can only stand in the center of this, their, tiny apartment and stare at both his boyfriends with his mouth slack and wide open.
Mei’s eyes are locked on his, more curious than worried now, blue pools the color of the sky at dawn. Kazuya’s looking away from him, but his glasses can’t hide the warmth in his brown eyes, amber in the shitty lighting from a lamp on top of the largest cardboard box.
Youichi would be annoyed if it wasn’t their shitty lighting and their cardboard boxes they were too lazy to unpack. He looks past the lamp to where a couch stands flush against the wall. A coffee table rests in front of it, and a pile of jackets is already taking up space on top of it.
Youichi can already hear their bickering while he’s sitting on the floor next to the table. Kazuya wouldn't bother to turn around from the stove, and Mei would yell from the couch, refusing to get up. He can feel the smile painting his face even though they’re distracting him from whatever useless psychology assignment he has due in eight hours. He can hear Kazuya grumbling about his laugh and Mei chirping about how “you don’t care at all about our pain, do you Youichi? You think this all a joke don’t you! I bet you wouldn’t find this so funny if you were in my situation, being oppressed by both of my boyfriends at the same time, not that I can’t take you of course, but it’s a matter of principle—“ while he still refuses to move from the couch. Kazuya would turn on the kitchen fan, a silent but clearly delivered message of his refusal to listen, and whatever Mei would respond would be drowned out by Youichi’s cackle. Youichi can hear it so strongly that he’s surprised it hasn’t happened already.
“Of course he likes it,” Kazuya finally says, giving up on a coherent response from Youichi. Mei scoffs, but his smile has softened in the way that makes it smaller and brighter at the same time.
Youichi knows in that moment that he’s full of something that’s running through his veins and threatening to erupt in a curse of “I love you” directed at his two boyfriends who think a shared apartment is a suitable early birthday present. They know what he’s feeling, and isn’t that the answer?
Youichi doesn’t know what love is outside of home-cooked meals and too-long hair ruffles and the sing of a baseball in and out of his mitt.
But he thinks this comes close.