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In Shirabu’s defense, he hadn’t exactly planned to start his shift at Shiratorizawa Coffee with swear-laced insults written all up his arms in sharpie. It’s why he’s currently wearing long sleeves in the middle of fucking July, opening the front door to the shop while he ties his apron behind his back.
Tendou takes one look at him when he walks in and grins. “Another fight with your soulmate, huh?”
“It’s not my fault she’s stupid,” he mutters, like Tendou doesn’t know he’s gay as hell. Like the whole staff at this stupid shop isn’t gay as hell. But they’re supposedly getting a new employee today, and Shirabu hasn’t gotten a chance to determine if they’re trustworthy yet.
Speaking of new employees, there’s a crash from the back. Tendou’s grin only increases in size. “Oh, Goshiki! You didn’t drop the cold brew, did you?”
“I, uh, well-” comes a voice from the back. Young. Probably one of the incoming freshmen at Shirabu’s college, or one of the other schools around the area.
Tendou and Shirabu make eye contact over the counter.
Shirabu sighs and pulls his hat on. “I’ll deal with it, sir,” he says, walking into the back.
Sure enough, there’s a black haired boy on the floor, and cold brew everywhere. “Ma’am- sir?” he looks at him, clearly not knowing what fucking gender Shirabu is supposed to be.
Shirabu debates kicking the kid’s head in. Yeah, okay, so the testosterone still hasn’t done anything about the shape of his jaw, and his hips are a little more curved than he’d like, but his haircut and his name (which is on his very obvious nametag) are both blatantly male. “It’s sir.”
“Sir! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to- I’ll do better-”
“Get the mop, moron,” Shirabu says.
“Um.”
“You don’t know where it is, do you?” God, he hates new hires. “Follow me.”
“Okay!” He jumps to his feet, nearly slipping in the coffee, and follows Shirabu further into the back.
Shirabu clocks in, then picks up the mop from where it’s hooked onto the wall. Shoves it into the new hire’s hands. “Here. Soak it in this bucket and mop up the mess you just made.”
“I will! Thank you!”
Shirabu walks back onto the shop floor. “Why did we hire him, exactly?” he asks, grabbing a headset off the hook and shoving a battery in it.
“He’s fast at making drinks,” Tendou says. “Also Kawanishi apparently thinks they might be a match. Name matches.”
Shirabu makes a face, cursing himself for forgetting his only real friend’s soulmate’s name. “Really? Him?”
Tendou laughs. “Just take the orders. We’re going to have a rush soon.”
“Whatever you say,” Shirabu says, because Tendou is usually right. It’s freaky. “Is Ushijima coming in today?”
“Nope! I’m in charge.”
Great. Shirabu pauses as the headset rings, signaling someone just pulled up to the drive thru. He presses the button on the side of the headset and forces himself to sound chipper. “Hi! Welcome to Shiratorizawa Coffee, can I take your order?”
“Daisies in chains // Syrup on lips // I know you darling // Like a bite and a kiss,” appears on Shiarbu’s shin sometime during his shift, and he notices it when he gets home. He scowls and grabs a marker, writing out a reply.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to flirt or writing song lyrics, but either way that’s fucking terrible.”
A few moments of silence, before a reply appears on his skin. “I’d like to see you do better, you self centered prick.”
There’s a faint pang in Shirabu’s heart. He ignores it.
When Shirabu was a kid, the soulmate he supposedly had, the person whose writing on their skin appeared on Shirabu’s own, had been his friend. When Shirabu was young, he didn’t care about so many things. Didn’t care, and what a stupid, ugly phrase that is. He didn’t care that his soulmate said he was a boy (which hadn’t mattered until Shirabu realized that he, surprise, is also a boy), he didn’t care that his soulmate wanted to go into music, all he cared about was that he had a friend who wrote on his skin and made him feel a little less alone.
Well now he’s twenty, premed, and he’s learned to care. He honestly can’t remember the last time his soulmate said a nice thing to him, but to be frank, Shirabu usually starts it.
“We’re going to have some live music tomorrow night,” Ushijima says one afternoon. “An old employee.”
“Really?” Shirabu raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is, quite simply, are they any good or is Tendou just trying to torture customers again?
He doesn’t really give a shit about live music, besides the fact he’s going to have to listen to it if he’s bad, and because he’s usually the one talking to customers it becomes his problem when they bitch. So in a roundabout way, he kind of cares a lot.
“What’s their name?” he asks instead.
“Semi Eita,” Ushijima says, and something about the name is familiar.
“Does he go to the same school as us?” Most of the coffee shop staff go to the school that’s only a five minute drive away. Maybe Shirabu’s shared a class with this mystery musician.
“Not anymore,” Ushijima says. “He dropped out.”
Shirabu’s nose wrinkles up. “Oh.”
“Aw, don’t look like that!” Tendou appears from the back with a tray of dishes. “Semi’s great! He just didn’t like school. Or his major.”
“So now he plays music in coffee shops? Really living the high life,” Shirabu says, walking over to Tendou and grabbing the blender cup they use for frappuccinos. He grabs it and attaches it to the base of the blender and slams the lid on top.
“He’s only playing as a favor for us,” Ushijima says. He pours the steamed milk into an already espresso-laced cup and puts a lid on it.
“Yep! Our little Semi’s got fangirls now,” Tendou says, setting the rest of the dishes on one of the counters.
“Good for him,” Shirabu says, and hopes he sounds at least mildly interested.
But it’s Tendou, so of course he sees right through him. “Aw, the premed’s not impressed.”
“I just think it’s not a great move. What’s he gonna do when he has a wife or a husband to support?”
“He’s not planning to get married!” Tendou says.
“Really?” Shirabu raises an eyebrow and holds up one of his arms. It’s blessedly bare today. His soulmate hasn’t spoken to him in over a week, but even a bare arm gets the point across. Soulmates. “I’m sure that’s gonna go over great.”
“He’s good at pushing people away. Kinda like you, Shirabu!”
Shirabu grinds his teeth together and doesn’t validate that statement with a response.
His shift the next day doesn’t start until the evening, after most of the big crowds have passed. So when he shows up to an overstuffed parking lot, he’s more than a little confused.
He parks in the employee zone and walks in the back to avoid the crowds. “What the hell is going on?” he asks the first employee he sees when he walks in.
It’s the new hire. G-something. Whatever. “Semi’s here!” He says, perking up.
“Oh. Right, the musician.” He should have guessed live music would just make his job that much fucking harder. He pulls his apron and hat on, and walks into the chaos.
It’s so crowded he can’t even see the oh so illustrious Semi, though he can tell the crowd’s congregated near the back corner of the cafe. Whatever. He must be taking a break, because there’s not any music playing. Just faint chatter.
“I’ll take over,” he mutters to Kawanishi, shooing him away from the register. He plasters his customer service smile on and greets the first person to walk up.
It moves like that, smooth enough, for several minutes. He takes orders, grabs straws, passes out drinks. Heats up a couple pastries. After maybe five minutes, someone strums a guitar. A murmur runs through the crowd, and Shirabu thinks great, he has an instrument.
The singing starts right as Shirabu moves to pass someone a cappuccino. He nearly drops it. The voice is a soft croon. Slightly husky, turning the low notes of the song into an almost purr.
“Well, when you go
So never think I'll make you try to stay
And maybe when you get back
I'll be off to find another way.”
It’s not what he expected. It’s...good. Really good. It seems to sink into Shirabu’s ears and down his throat, coating his ribs and heart in something sticky and warm.
Shirabu hastily passes the drink off to the woman, suppressing a shiver, and goes back to taking orders. Tries to tune it out. He really does try. Tendou can tell he’s shaking slightly, and that’s definitely going to cause him problems eventually, but there’s a crowd. He can’t focus on that right now.
When the music ends probably thirty minutes later, he finally lets himself breathe. This lasts all of three seconds, at which point the crowd splits, and he finally gets a look at Semi.
Goddammit, he just had to be gorgeous too, didn’t he? Tall with silvery hair, guitar in one hand. His eyes, piercing and beautiful, roam over the back area of the cafe. They lock with Shirabu’s.
Something in Shirabu, something in the part of him he thought was dead, that he thought he’d starved to death, wakes up.
Semi walks up the register, and Shirabu forces himself to put on his best customer service smile. “Hi! Thanks for joining us tonight, can I get you something?”
Semi raises an eyebrow and looks him over. “You’re Shirabu, right?” he asks. His speaking voice is nearly as hypnotizing as his singing one.
“That’s me!” Why the fuck does this dude know his name? He wants him to say it again. Ignores that thought.
“Tendou says you put on a smile for customers, but you’re really a little shit,” Semi says. “People can tell, you know. When you’re lying.”
And all of Semi’s charm promptly goes flying out the window.
Shirabu forces his smile to stay in place and does not throw a straw at his senior’s friend. “Sorry you feel that way.”
“Whatever, just get me a black coffee. Hot, no cream, two pumps of vanilla.”
Boring order, but at least not a stupidly fussy one. Shirabu punches it in. “It’ll be at the end of the bar!”
“Great.” He turns and walks back into the crowd. Shirabu realizes he’s wearing a torn up jacket that shows off his very nice biceps. Like an asshole.
Shirabu decides he hates Semi, and no amount of pretty singing is going to make him any less annoying.
“Ooooo, did Semi tell you off?” Tendou asks, walking over to him. “He does that to everyone.”
“He’s annoying,” Shirabu mutters. “Who’s he to tell me how to do my job?”
“Your senior!” Tendou chirps.
“Please. I’m the best customer service face this cafe has, have you seen my tips?”
Tendou shrugs and walks off. He gave up too easily. Never a good sign.
Shirabu tries to tune out Semi’s singing for the rest of the evening with minimal success.
“What was with Semi’s song choice, anyways?” Shirabu asks once they’ve closed for the evening. Semi left about an hour ago.
“He’s angsty,” Tendou says, immediately knowing what Shirabu means. Because of course he does.
“Does he seriously only sing breakup songs?”
“That and songs about hating your ex, yes! Which is funny because he’s never had an ex.”
“Don’t musicians date around a lot?”
“They’re people, you know,” the new hire mutters. Gosh...Goshiki. That’s it. “I liked his singing.”
“He doesn’t date,” Tendou says. “But I could set you two up if you want.”
Shirabu nearly drops the thing of heavy cream he’s carrying. “I- no!”
“Yeah, that’s probably good. Semi’s out of your league, anyways.”
“What?”
Tendou grins. “I said out of your league.”
“I’m a premed! And he’s a dropout!”
“Make more whipped cream,” Tendou says. He vanishes into the back of the cafe, unceremoniously cutting off the conversation.
“What the fuck?” Shirabu mutters.
It’s possible to break a soulmate connection. All it takes is hatred. If one half truly hates the other, the connection breaks, and no more marks appear.
Shirabu really thought his marks would be gone by now. He remembers being thirteen, two months after his mother screamed at him when she found his binder, wiping away tears as he smeared insults on his skin. Surely his soulmate hates him. Surely he hates his soulmate.
So why, why, why do the marks still appear?
He goes home that night to see music notes doodles on his skin, dancing around the curve of his inner wrist. A few words here and there, pieces of possible lyrics. It makes him think about Semi. His voice.
He grabs a sharpie off his desk and scrubbles at the marks until they vanish under the black.
A minute later, a note appears along his forearm. “Fuck you, too.”
Why aren’t the marks gone? Why doesn’t he want them to go away?
He makes himself a cup of tea and holds the warmth close to his chest. It always makes him feel a little better.
Finals week comes, and Shirabu takes the entire week off work. He still ends up camped out at the cafe though, taking advantage of the employee discount to drink cup after cup of coffee as he studies.
“How many cups have you drunk by now?” A voice says from somewhere outside the zone that is his laptop and stack of biology textbooks.
Shirabu looks up, and registers that Semi is standing next to his table. Looking down at him. Again, that part of him that’s supposed to be dead hums happily.
“Not enough,” Shirabu says, looking back at his notes. “I’m not on shift, go talk to Ushijima.”
“I know.” He picks up an empty paper cup. “You’re going to give yourself heart palpitations.”
“I don’t remember asking you.”
Semi raises an eyebrow. “So that’s your real personality, huh? Guess Tendou was right.”
“Can you go away? I’m trying to study.”
He sits down in the other chair at the table. “Whatever you’re studying for, it can’t be more important than your health.”
No wonder he dropped out. Shirabu raises an eyebrow. “I’m a premed. You want your doctor to have not studied?”
“I’d assume my doctor would know why drinking a fuck ton of coffee is a bad idea.” Semi crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Go take a nap in the back or something.”
“What part of I’m busy did you not understand?” Shirabu looks back down at his laptop, purposefully tuning Semi out.
Semi groans. “Don’t make me cut you off.”
“I barely know you, and you’re not my mother.”
“And thank God for that.” He leans back in his chair. Shirabu can’t help but notice his arms move, the calluses on his fingers. He’s wearing long sleeves today, but a tiny bit of black peeks out from under the sleeves.
Soulmate marks. He wonders what kind of soulmate someone like Semi would have. Shoves the thought down. It’s not like soulmates matter, anyways. Soulmates don’t guarantee a good career, or financial stability, or anything.
“If you don’t leave me alone I’m going back to my apartment,” Shirabu says.
“Why are you so stubborn about this?” Semi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Parents too strict?”
“No,” he says. Shirabu can’t remember the last time his parents even noticed he existed. “I just...want this, okay?” Because he has to achieve something. Has to be acknowledge, has to be known, and wanted, and praised-
So why, why, why? Why are all the A+s and 100/100s and the dean’s list and the recommendations from teachers, why are they never enough?
Because he’s a black hole. He’s known it since high school. He takes, and he takes, and he takes, and none of it even makes him feel less empty, and so he can’t give anything back.
“Shirabu?” Semi mutters, eyebrows lowered with concern. It’s enough to force him back into reality.
“I need to go,” he mutters, closing his laptop. He starts shoving books in his backpack.
Semi stands, leaning across the table and grabbing him by the wrist. “Shirabu!”
He gasps sharply, warmth and something almost like an electric shock surging through his body from the point of contact.
“Let go,” he yanks. Semi hastily lets go of him, watching as Shirabu shoves the last of his books into his backpack and borderline runs out of the cafe.
Shirabu ends up hiding under his bedsheets instead of doing more work, which is all for the best considering his phone dings within five minutes of getting home. He pulls it out, wincing as the light shines in his eyes.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: its semi. tendou gave me your number
He frowns and changes the name in his contacts.
SHIRABU: why
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: because even your coworkers are worried about you at this point
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: goshiki says you drank six cups of black coffee, its finals week, and youre so blatantly touch starved its almost funny
SHIRABU: thats none of your business
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: probably not
SHIRABU: then why
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: because im a decent fucking person i guess
SHIRABU: dont flatter yourself
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: fuck you too. whens the last person you hugged someone
Shirabu raises an eyebrow and debates lying for a minute before giving up and telling the truth.
SHIRABU: dont remember
Silence for a solid minute.
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: can i come over and hug you
Shirabu pauses and makes a face. He ignores the part of his brain that goes, “please, yes please, absolutely.”
SHIRABU: thats fucking weird stay away from my house
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: fine
He glares at his phone for a minute before opening up another text conversation.
SHIRABU: is there any particular reason you gave semi my number
TENDOU: because he has this weird need to make sure everyone is okay. and youre not okay!
SHIRABU: im fine. please dont give my number to strangers again
TENDOU: okay!
He knows Tendou’s learned nothing and will continue to give his number to whoever he wants. Shirabu’s surrounded by jerks, but he supposes that’s what he gets for being a jerk.
His wrist still burns with the echo of Semi’s touch.
Three exams, two lab finals, four final essays, all at least ten pages long. Shirabu’s head hurts, his hands are shaking, and he’s not sure of the last time he slept. It’s getting to the stage he knows would concern other people, so he’s taken to locking himself in his room when not in class.
Organic chemistry is killing him slowly. He’s barely making an A, and it’s not enough, it’s not enough-
His head hits the desk. He jerks up, looking around at the other students in the class, but none of them seem to have noticed. They’re all equally exhausted. He grabs his coffee and chugs the dregs.
Something...something about the mitochondria being the powerhouse of the cell? He’s been tuned out for too long. He pinches himself hard on the arm, twisting it slightly, and the sting is enough to keep him awake.
At the end of class, the professor passes out their last exams. Shirabu’s stomach drops when he sees the “78” written on the top of his page. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Not enough, not enough, not enough.
He rushes out of the classroom as quickly as he can, shoving the paper in his bag. He needs to review it. See what subjects he didn’t understand. Nearly runs into three different people while walking home.
He has to ace the final exam in this class tomorrow. His head is pounding, his hands trembling, and he’s so tired. He lays down in bed, but after a half hour he’s still not asleep. Too much coffee.
Shirabu thinks he might be dying. And what a pathetic fucking life he would have lived, only for it to end like this.
He pulls down the sleeve of his shirt. No marks. After a few moments he grabs a marker and draws a line down his inner forearm. A quick, angry motion. Because God help him, the messages from the soulmate he’s supposed to hate always make him feel better.
A few minutes later, a question mark appears on the flesh of his palm. Shiraabu runs his thumb over the mark. It’s not much. It’s hardly anything, really. But it makes him feel a little better.
He ends up laying there, staring at his palm and feeling increasingly like he’s going to throw up, for God knows how long.
At some point, and he doesn’t know why, he picks up his phone and finds himself staring at his message history with Semi. Maybe because that empty part of him feels like it’s going to eat the rest of him up. Maybe because Semi’s the only person he can remember giving a damn about if Shirabu works himself into the ground.
Maybe it’s because he still remembers his hand curled around Shirabu’s wrist. Burning, burning.
He types out a few test messages, but deletes them all instead of sending.
SHIRABU: i think i need help
SHIRABU: i can still feel where you touched my wrist and its pissing me off
SHIRABU: fuck off and never speak to me again
Finally, he sends a message, hastily pressing the button before he can think anymore. His hands are still shaking, and something in him, something in what he’s always assumed is a black hole, a vast emptiness, feels like it’s breaking.
SHIRABU: do you still want to hug me you fucking weirdo
Silence. The reply comes surprisingly quickly.
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: geez you must be in a pretty bad state, huh? told you not to drink all that coffee
SHIRABU: piss off
ANNOYING ASSHOLE: whats your address
Shirabu looks down at the message for a minute, trying to process what just happened.
His brain is rattling around in his skull, and he feels like he’s breaking open at the seams. Fuck it. He sends Semi his address.
SHIRABU: if any of my neighbors ask youre here to study for a group project
SEMI: what part of me looks like a proper lil student like you
SHIRABU: figure it out
He slams his phone down on the bed, hardly believing he just did that. What the fuck? What the fuck? He should text Semi right now, tell him to forget it. Tell him not to come over. But he doesn’t. He just lays there until someone bangs on the door.
He gets up and opens it, not even bothering to check. Sure enough, it’s Semi. He’s wearing fingerless gloves today, like a jackass. “Come in,” Shirabu says, opening the door all the way for him and fighting a blush. This is stupid. He’s stupid. What is he even getting himself into?
“Thanks,” Semi walks in and Shirabu shuts the door. He turns around to find Semi leaning against the wall, looking at him.
“What?” Shirabu asks, bristling.
“You look like you’re about to keel over,” Semi says. Shirabu opens his mouth to snap back at him, but he keeps talking. “Also, when you said you couldn’t remember the last time someone touched you, did you mean you just don’t have a clear memory, or has it really been that long?”
Shirabu hesitates, looking down at the floor. Crosses his arms over his chest. “The last time I remember touching someone was junior high.”
“Junior high- christ.” Semi moves, walking towards Shirabu. “No wonder you’re desperate enough to text me just to come hug you.”
Shirabu tenses, but he doesn’t move. Letting Semi move closer, and closer. “I’m not desperate.”
“Yes, you are. Give me your hand.” He holds his own hand out, palm facing the sky.
Shirabu looks at it, and suddenly remembers there’s a big question mark on his palm. He makes a decision to keep his hand flipped over, and the embarrassing mark out of Semi’s view. He remembers the way his skin burned the first time, hot and electric and needing more. If he got that just from a touch on the wrist, he’s not sure what a hug will do to him. But something in him wants it, some part of his trembling heart.
He slowly reaches a hand out, palm down, and sets it on Semi’s open hand. Fire shoots up through his palm, running along the bones of his forearm. He gasps, then hastily bites his lip to stop any more noises. This is ridiculous. All Semi’s doing is touching his hand.
“Relax,” Semi mutters, slowly setting his other hand on Shirabu’s wrist. He runs it up his arm, gentle, slow. Shirabu feels like he’s on fire, feels like his knees are made of jelly.
Semi takes another step closer, slowly running the tip of his finger along Shirabu’s shoulders, then laying his arm lazily over it. Another step closer.
Is Shirabu blushing? He thinks he might be blushing. He’s staring, and he knows he’s probably being weird, but Semi just steps closer.
And slowly, slowly, he wraps his arms around Shirabu and pulls him against his chest. All the air slips out of Shirabu’s lungs. His body lights up, like a thousand warm needles are pressing into his skin, and he simultaneously wants to run and needs more more more-
Semi’s taller than him. Taller than him, and warm, and- dear God he’s petting his hair.
Shirabu’s knees were already feeling weak, but now he nearly collapses. “Can we-” he says, and his face flushes at how it trembles. “Can we sit down?”
“Sure,” Semi pulls away just a little- no, no, no don’t leave him- and sits down on the couch, pulling Shirabu into his lap. Again he wraps his arms around Shirabu, a little lower this time, and a tiny squeak escapes Shirabu’s lips before he presses them shut.
He’s sitting in Semi’s lap. He’s sitting in his apartment, in the lap of a borderline stranger. A gorgeous stranger. What the fuck is his life?
Despite himself, he slowly loops his arms around Semi’s neck.
“Hey,” Semi says, sounding more amused than he has any right to be.
“Hi,” Shirabu mutters, avoiding eye contact.
“Now I don’t want to say I told you so…”
“Then don’t.”
“I told you so.”
“Piss off.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. I’m your senior, technically.” He pokes Shirabu’s cheek.
Shirabu’s nose scrunches up. “You don’t even go to my school or work at the cafe anymore.”
“Yeah, but Tendou said you’re just twenty. I’m twenty one.”
“That’s hardly any difference!”
“Plus I’m guessing I have a lot more life experience than you,” he keeps poking his face, his cheeks and nose and forehead. “Do you even leave this apartment to go somewhere besides school and work? Ever?”
“I’m busy,” Shirabu mutters, the closest thing he can come up with to a defense. “Don’t have time to fuck around.”
“You’re not even getting a real college experience.”
“Well I have actual goals that I need to achieve.”
“You can take a day off every once in a while.” He taps Shirabu’s nose. “Tell ya what. I’m performing at a bar on the other side of town tomorrow. You should come.”
Shirabu frowns. “Hell no.”
Semi’s smile falls for half a second before it reappears on his face. “And why the fuck not?”
“I have finals tomorrow.”
“Yeah, in the morning. I know tomorrow is the last day of finals week, don’t bullshit me.”
Of course he does. Shirabu’s an idiot. He looks away. “...where is it?” What the hell is he doing? Maybe Semi’s touch is still making him weak.
Semi grins. “It’s the Karasuno Bar, the one downtown that has bartenders who are definitely too young to be drinking?”
“Yeah, I know the one,” Shirabu grumbles, looking away. This is an awful idea. But why does Semi’s smile make him feel so weak?
Semi squeezes gently at the soft flesh a little above Shirabu’s hips, and he never wants Semi to let go.
“Are you like this with every random college student who works at that stupid cafe?” Shirabu mutters, looking at the ceiling instead of Semi. This proves to be a mistake, because Semi takes the opportunity to nuzzle into Shirabu’s neck. Shirabu’s not sure how to describe the noise he nearly makes beyond “humiliating.”
“Only the stupid ones who don’t take care of themselves,” Semi says.
“I’m not stupid!”
“Yeah, you kinda are.”
Shirabu glares at the ceiling. He should get out of Semi’s lap and go lock himself in his room. He really should. But he doesn’t.
As time passes, the sharp feeing of needles fades away, the panic fades, and all Shirabu feels is warmth. Comfort. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, laying his head on Semi’s shoulder.
“Little bit,” Semi says. “Feeling better?”
“...yeah.”
“Good.” He nudges Shirabu off his lap, and Shirabu fights the urge to latch on like a koala. “It starts at seven pm tomorrow, okay?”
“I’m not going,” Shirabu says, leaning back on the couch.
“Sure.” Semi stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, he walks out the door.
Shirabu actually sleeps that night, and if he dreams of warm touches and an annoying grin, that’s no one’s business but his. He also focuses better during his exams the next day, which is just fucking annoying because it means Semi was probably right.
So, okay, maybe he kind of owes Semi at this point. That’s why he’s walking to the Karasuno Bar at six forty five, and not because he wants to see Semi play.
There’s a line out the door, because of course there is. When he sees Ushijima and Tendou in the line, he nearly turns around and goes home. Unfortunately, they spot him first.
“Shirabu!” Tendou shouts, waving at him from the line. “Are you here to see Semi, too? Come join us?”
At this point it’s just going to be awkward at work if he doesn’t, so he slips into line next to the two older me. “I didn’t expect you two to be here,” Shirabu mutters.
“We like to support Semi!” Tendou says. Ushijima nods in agreement. “But I didn’t think you two got along.”
“We don’t,” Shirabu says. “I’m just here to drink.”
Tendou grins, clearly not believing him for a second. The line moves forward, and within a few minutes they’re inside the bar.
It’s a fairly open floor plan, with a stage in the back, a massive bar along the opposite wall, and orange lighting. Little too Halloween for Shiarbu, but whatever. “I’m getting a drink,” he says, because he’s going to need it if he’s spending the evening with Tendou, and slips away from the group.
“Hi!” The orange haired bartender shouts over the noise of the bar. Definitely one of Karasuno’s employees that are too young to be drinking.
“Are you a highschooler?” Shirabu mutters, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.
“No I’m not!” he snaps. “Do you want a drink or not?”
“Yeah,” Shirabu says. “Give me...something. I don’t care, just make it strong.”
“Gotcha!” The bartender vanishes, grabbing what looks like vodka and juice. Good, that’ll do. A minute later he reappears and passes Shirabu a tell drink.
Shirabu pays him, grabs the drink, and takes a massive sip. Barely tastes like alcohol. That’s not good.
The music from the speakers shuts off, and a few cheers go up as Semi walks onto the stage. He’s wearing that torn up jacket again, and Shirabu remembers how his hands felt, those warm arms wrapped around him-
He chugs the rest of his drink, sets the empty glass on a table for someone else to deal with, and walks closer to the stage.
Semi’s voice fills the bar, the deep croon that seems to drill its way into Shirabu’s bones.
“I was so high, I did not recognize
The fire burning in his eyes
The chaos that controlled my mind…”
“Shit,” Shirabu mutters, because Semi’s voice is only doing worse things to him now that he knows what it’s like to touch him. How warm he feels, the calluses on his fingers.
“Shirabu!” Tendou appears from fucking nowhere, and Shirabu nearly screams. “Enjoying the performance?”
“Don’t do that!” Shirabu says.
“Do what?”
“Jump at me.”
“I was plenty loud.” Tendou grins. “Distracted?”
“No I’m not,” Shirabu hisses. “Shut up.”
“So you can listen to Semi play?”
“No.”
“It’s okay. His voice does funny things to most of the repressed twinks.”
Shirabu nearly kills Tendou in the middle of the bar. Murder is only stopped by Shirabu noticing that Semi is swaying his hips as he croons into the mic. He makes a not-entirely-elegant noise, and Tendou laughs.
A couple songs go by, Shirabu standing there, entranced, and by some miracle Tendou is still alive and not dead on the floor. Semi’s eyes roam over the crowd, and lock with Shirabu’s.
Semi blinks, then grins. He reaches a hand out and gestures Shirabu closer.
“Oh hell no,” Shirabu mutters, moving to back up.
“Oh hell yes,” Tendou says, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him through the crowd to the edge of the stage.
Semi sits down on the stage floor, mic still in his hand, voice almost purring the lyrics.
“Pull a breath like another cigarette,
Pawn shop heart trading up, said no.”
He’s looking directly at Shirabu, lips curled up at the edges in something between a smirk and a grin.
There’s a warmth coiling in his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s Semi’s look or the alcohol. He doesn’t drink often, and is slowly realizing he might be a lightweight. Fuck.
“Free love on the streets, but
In the alley it ain't that cheap now.” Semi stands, cocking his hip, and continues to sing. As if he isn’t doing weird things to Shirabu’s heart.
Shirabu doesn’t move, just staring up at him as the song goes on. His face is flushing, he knows that much, and he idly thinks he might be able to listen to Semi’s singing forever.
Eventually the music ends, Semi walks off with a final wave, and people start clearing out of the bar.
“C’mon drunk Shirabu,” Tendou says, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him away from the now empty stage.
“Is it over?” Shirabu mutters, looking at where Semi was just standing.
“Yeah. It’s nearly one am,” Tendou says. “Wakatoshi is probably waiting on us.”
“I can walk home from here.”
“Yeah, no you can’t,” Semi’s voice says.
Shirabu jerks, and turns to see him walking up to them. When did he get off the stage, again? “Hi!” His voice is a little more eager than usual, but he can’t bring it in himself to care.
“Hey,” Semi walks up and slings an arm over Tendou’s shoulder. “Want me to deal with him?”
Tendou gasps. “You think I’d let you ruin my dear employee’s innocence?”
Semi makes a face. “Not like that, jackass. I don’t like him like that, but I’m the one who told him to come here. So he’s kind of my responsibility.”
Something in Shirabu’s stomach drops. Oh. Semi doesn’t like him. Tendou and Semi start bickering, and Shirabu uses the opportunity to slip away. He stumbles out into the cold and the dark, and wow it’s really cold and dark now, huh?
Which way is it to his apartment again?
“Hey, uh,” a voice says.
Shirabu looks up, and for a second he thinks he’s looking at Semi. But...no. The eyes are wider, the hair isn’t dyed at the tips. “Who are you?” he mutters.
“My name’s Sugawara Koushi,” the stranger says, walking up to him. “I’m one of the managers here. Are...you okay? I saw you run out.”
“I’m fine,” Shirabu says, hoping his words aren’t slurring together. They probably are.
“You’re drunk,” Sugawara says. He sighs. “Do you have someone to walk you home? Or a designated driver?”
“I only live ten minutes from here.”
“Yeah, no. You’re not walking by yourself.” He thinks for a moment. “Would it be okay if I walked with you?”
Shirabu looks at him. “...fine,” he mutters. Better to get this over quickly. He tromps down the street, hopefully towards his apartment.
Sugawara rushes to catch up. “So, what’s your name? I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Shirabu,” he says. “I was….here to watch Semi.” Who doesn’t like him. Which shouldn’t fucking matter, by the way, and why does Shirabu care? He’s met the guy like, three times. But his voice is hypnotizing, and he’s so warm, and he cares. He tried to lure Shirabu out- asked if he was okay, held him-
When’s the last time someone gave that much of a shit? He honestly can’t remember.
“Oh!” Suga says. “That’s nice. It’s always fun when he performs.” Silence for a minute. “He’s my cousin, you know.”
Shirabu whirls around to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Your cousin?” He can see the similarities now that he’s looking at him.
“Yep. He mentioned he was inviting someone with, and I quote, the stupidest fucking bangs he’d ever had the displeasure of witnessing.”
Shirabu kind of wants to cry. He looks away and keeps walking. “Wow, thanks.”
Sugawara is silent for a minute. “He’s a romantic, you know. Been gone on his soulmate his whole life.”
Soulmates. The word leaves a bad taste in the back of Shirabu’s mouth. “Good,” he says. It’s better this way. Better if Semi can’t return whatever kind of stupid half-crush Shirabu has apparently developed.
“Awful, actually. His soulmate’s a dick.”
Shirabu pauses. Turns around just enough to raise an eyebrow at Sugawara. “Then why is he still with them if they’re a dick?” Some part of his brain wonders if this is some abusive significant other, and that same part of his brain helpfully supplies a list of murder weapons and dump sites.
“They’re not together,” Sugawara says. And his eyes look like they’re piercing right into Shirabu, like they can see every part of him. “They’ve never even met.”
“So he’s not in love with them.”
Sugawara is quiet for a minute. “He was when they were young. Something...happened. I don’t know, he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
This sounds familiar in a weird, echoey way, in a way that makes Shirabu’s head start to throb. He should recognize this. But he doesn’t. “Does he even know their name?”
“Kind of.”
“What do you fucking mean kind of?”
“Well…” Sugawara goes quiet, and when Shirabu looks at him, he seems to be deep in thought. “He knows a girl’s name. But I don’t think that’s their real name.”
That’s enough to make Shirabu pause. “Stop being vague, stupid.”
“I mean they’re probably trans. Semi noticed a while back they don’t like feminine nicknames.”
Trans. Semi has a trans soulmate. It makes him relax a little, even if he’s not sure why. “Why are you telling me all this anyways?” He turns back to the road, sticking his hands in his pockets.
“Because you’ve got a half faded question mark on your hand.”
Shirabu pauses. He pulls his hand out of his pocket, looking at the remains of the mark on his palm. “So?”
“So Eita doesn’t wear gloves around me,” Sugawara says, like that makes any sense to Shirabu’s sloshed brain. He slips around Shirabu and keeps walking. “Come on, if you get hypothermia he’s gonna kill me.”
Shirabu follows, and they walk in silence the rest of the way back.
He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache, bits and pieces of the conversation with Sugawara stuck in his head. Semi’s in love with his soulmate. Semi’s soulmate’s an ass to him.
Shirabu looks down at the mark on his hand. What if his soulmate’s in the same position? What if it’s not too late to fix what he fucked up in a rage?
“You have a male soulmate, doesn’t that just prove you’re a girl? He’ll talk you out of this stupid phase.” Shirabu’s protests had been cut off by his mother talking over him. “He’s going to want kids, Shirabu! And I want grandkids!”
And Shirabu had decided, in that moment with his mother in his face, that he wasn’t going to give his soulmate a chance to break his heart, to send him back to what he dubbed his feminine misery.
He’s never regretted it. Because of course his mother is right, of course his soulmate will want kids and a housewife, and Shirabu can’t give him either of those things. He can’t be the girl everyone seems to expect him to be.
But Sugawara hadn’t once called Semi’s soulmate “she.” Semi had been attentive enough to notice his soulmate isn’t a girl. And he cares about him anyways. Maybe...maybe, maybe.
He picks up a marker and holds it over the skin of his wrist. Hesitates. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “He’s not going to forgive you.”
He pokes the skin with the marker, leaving a dot like a mole. Eventually he gives up and just writes, “I told you I was a girl when we were little.”
Which is stupid. Why the fuck would he start with that?
But the reply comes a minute later. “Yeah, I remember.”
He hesitates. It’s surprisingly calm from his soulmate, but then again Shirabu starts most of their arguments. “I’m not,” he finally writes in reply. Holds his breath and waits for the reply.
“Okay. Recent realization?”
Okay? That’s all his soulmate can say is okay? Shirabu’s life is fucking mess and all he gets is okay?
“No. Do you hate me?” Why the fuck did he write that-
“No. I like boys more than girls anyways.”
“I can’t give you kids.”
“I don’t like kids.”
Shirabu just looks down at his arm, at the writing that now coats it. This is the most civil conversation he’s had with his soulmate in a long time. His soulmate doesn’t like kids. His soulmate doesn’t care that he’s a boy.
Has he been lashing out this entire time for no good reason?
Shirabu’s aware, faintly, that he’s crying. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Are you fucking kidding me what the hell?”
Another message appears. “What’s your real name?”
And he debates answering it. He debates leaving the conversation there, he’s already being more vulnerable than he had any intention of being with anyone. But he’s already come this far.
Maybe, maybe, maybe-
He slowly writes it out, one letter at a time. “Kenjirou.”
Silence. It’s longer than usual, at least five minutes. Shirabu starts to pace.
His phone rings. He jerks, but picks it up. Semi’s calling.
Okay, now what the fuck is going on? He picks it up, because he needs the distraction. “What?”
“Shirabu Kenjirou.”
“Yes?”
“Your name’s Shirabu Kenjirou.”
“Yes, genius, I fucking noticed. What do you want?” Something is swirling in his gut, but his hangover is making it difficult to put the pieces together. He’s missing something, he can tell that much.
“Piss off. What’s your soulmate’s name?”
Shirabu raises an eyebrow, and realizes he doesn’t remember. It’s been years and he’s tried to put it out of his mind. “Uh.”
Semi laughs, and Shirabu’s never heard him do that before. It’s as beautiful as every other noise that comes out of his mouth. “Hold on. I think…” there’s the sound of a marker being uncapped. “I think you know now.”
Shirabu notices a new word appearing on his wrist. He looks down.
There, in clear, familiar script, are four letters:
“Semi Eita.”
Shirabu drops the phone.
“Shirabu?” Semi asks after a few seconds of silence. “You see it, don’t you?”
Shirabu scrambles for a phone and hastily presses end call.
He ignores every attempt Semi makes to call him for the rest of the day, ignores the concerned scribblings covering his arms and legs.
What the fuck has he done?
He thought he’d slowly get to know his soulmate, and if he fucks up again, he could just dodge him. But this is Semi. This is someone he knows, and someone who, dear God, knows where he works and is friends with his managers.
He is so, unbelievably screwed.
Shirabu walks into work the next day in long sleeves again, bordering on panic. He fully expects Tendou to say that Semi’s looking for him, and that he knows about the whole mess.
But Tendou doesn’t look up, just keeps making drinks as Shirabu clocks in. “Hey!” he says. “Still hungover?”
“I’m fine,” Shirabu says.
“Sorry we lost you.”
“I wanted to walk home by myself.” He puts on a headset and pours a frappuccino out of the blender.
“Semi’s coming over around three.”
Shirabu nearly drops the cup. “Okay. Why are you telling me this?”
“He said to warn you. He knows it’ll be during your lunch break, so if you want to not be here while he’s here, you can leave.”
“Again, why?” He knows why, but he’s hoping against hope that Tendou doesn’t.
“Because you have a really obvious crush on him.”
“I do not!”
“Yes you do.”
This is worse than Shirabu thought it was. He needs to do...something. Confront Semi. Convince him this isn’t going anywhere, that just because their marks appear on each other’s skin doesn’t mean Shirabu owes him anything.
And he doesn’t care anymore that Semi’s a dropout. Doesn’t care, doesn’t care. All he can make himself care about is how he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he’s going to fuck this up, and what if Semi wants something Shirabu can’t give? He doesn’t know how to be gentle, or caring, or any of the things his mother said his soulmate would expect.
“Whatever,” Shirabu says. “I’ll talk to him.”
Hours later he goes on lunch break. He makes himself a cup of tea, and Semi a cup a coffee, and sits in the dining area. Waits.
Sure enough, Semi walks in. He’s just as gorgeous as usual, dressed in a tank top that blatantly shows off his arms- and the marks that cover them. Shirabu can see his own name where he wrote it yesterday. There’s no denying it now.
His eyes instantly lock onto Shirabu. Shirabu leans back in his seat, and gestures to the opposite chair where he’s set Semi’s cup of coffee, doing his damndest not to panic.
Semi sits down opposite him, body language open, but a little worried. “Hey shithead.”
“Dick,” Shirabu mutters on instinct, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So,” he says. “I’m guessing you’re not thrilled about this whole situation.”
“I’m not,” Shirabu says, avoiding eye contact. He knows this should be ideal. His crush is his soulmate. It’s that easy. But of course it’s not.
“You’ve been an asshole to me for years,” Semi says. “If anyone should be pissed off, it’s me.”
“Then yell at me.”
“No.”
Shirabu turns to glare at him. “Do it. Get mad.”
“Fuck off, I’m plenty mad.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “You still haven’t explained yourself.”
“I’m not going to.” Good, here’s an out. Put the wall up, and leave Semi locked out. Cut this infection out before it can sprout roots.
Semi glares at him. “Fine. Then I’ll do it for you.”
“What?”
“I talked to Koushi last night. Here’s what I think, Mr. Never-feels-emotions,” Semi says, pointing at Shirabu over the table. “I think you don’t know how to deal with caring about other people, or relationships you can fuck up, so you hide and you lash out.”
Shirabu stares at him. “What?”
“Not done. That’s your go to solution, but then Koushi told you about my soulmate, and you felt guilty for how you treated yours. And you failed to make the connection between the two situations because you’re a lightweight who was drunk off his ass after one drink.”
“Fuck off.”
“Shut up. You didn’t think it would lead to anything, so when you realized it was me, you panicked. So here you are, lashing out. Again.”
Shirabu looks at Semi in silence for a few seconds. The older boy takes another sip of coffee. “You can’t honestly want to deal with me,” he says finally. “Not after all of this.”
“I thought about telling you to go fuck yourself and never talking to you again,” Semi says. “Not for the first time, either.”
“Then do it!” Shirabu slams his hand down the table.
Semi looks at him. “No.”
“Goddammit- why not?”
“Because you keep reaching back out.” Semi proceeds to chug the rest of the cup. “Pick up your fucking phone next time, jackass.” He grabs the empty cup, stands, and dumps it in the trash can.
Shirabu watches him as he walks out. “Dammit,” he mutters.
“I knew it!” Tendou shouts from behind the counter. Shirabu debates walking out of the cafe and never coming back.
When Shirabu gets home and takes his shirt off, all the messages Semi left on it overnight have been washed away. There’s just one sentence along his forearm. “How did finals go?”
Shirabu hesitates, then grabs a pen and writes his reply. “All As.”
“Why are you such a good student? It’s annoying.”
“Piss off.”
“Make me.”
He realizes he’s smiling.
It’s months before he sees Semi in person again. Months of bickering written along his arms and legs, but it’s kinder now. Aiming to tease instead of wound. And it takes them that long to figure out a pattern, it takes them that long for Shirabu to slowly, slowly, learn how he was supposed to treat his soulmate in the first place.
Semi doesn’t call him, doesn’t invite him places, doesn’t show up at the coffee shop. But then Shirabu explains what happened with his mother. Explains why he pushed Semi away in the first place.
He’s only barely finished writing out the whole explanation when his phone rings. He freezes, then slowly reaches for it and accepts the call.
Semi doesn’t wait for him to say hello. “I’m going to kill her.”
“Semi-”
“I’m going to fucking kill her and hang her skin off a pole like a flag.”
Shirabu makes a choked noise that’s almost a sob.
For a few moments, Semi’s quiet. “Shirabu?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“I’m fine,” Shirabu says, even though he’s really not.
“Bullshit,” Semi says. “Can I come over?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Be there soon.” Semi ends the call. Before long, there’s knocking on Shirabu’s door.
He breathes in, and slowly opens it. Semi nearly tackles him, pulling him into a tight hug as he kicks the door shut. “I’ve got you,” he mutters, petting Shirabu’s hair. “It’s okay.”
Something in Shirabu breaks. He buries his face in Semi’s chest and sobs.
Semi pulls him into his arms and lays them both down on the couch, letting Shirabu hold onto him. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let her hurt you again.”
And Shirabu, despite himself, believes him.
Semi starts coming over regularly after that, bringing takeout or quizzing Shirabu for his exams on the night he doesn’t have performances. When Semi gets signed with a record label, Shirabu’s right there celebrating with everyone else. And maybe they’re not more than friends, maybe it’s selfish to imagine they could ever be anything more after what Shirabu’s done, but he’ll take this. He’ll take the warm eyes and the gentle touch, the laugh hidden behind the insults, Semi berating him until he stops pulling all nighters.
Shirabu graduates with honors. Top of his class, everything he wanted, but something feels like it’s missing.
Semi’s supposed to be moving soon, closer to his studio. A few towns over.
“There’s a good medical school in that town,” Shirabu mutters one afternoon, poking at his food in its takeout box.
Semi pauses. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve heard of it.”
“Thought I might send them an application.”
“Didn’t you have another school in mind?”
Shirabu shrugs. “I’m going to be a doctor regardless, right?”
“Well, yeah,” Semi mutters, looking back down at his food. “Assuming you don’t kill yourself by overstudying.”
“Piss off.”
“One of these days I’m going to have to put you into a chokehold to make you sleep.”
“Dick. Try it and I break your nose.” He kicks Semi in the thigh.
Semi rolls his eyes, but his focus is still on his food. “You’re seriously debating going to that school to be closer to me?”
“No!” Shirabu says, even though that’s exactly it. “It’s just a good school.”
Semi puts his food down. “Do you just want to be platonic soulmates?”
Shirabu pauses and looks at him. “Does it matter?” he says, hastily looking back at his food.
“Obviously? How stupid are you?”
“I’m not the dropout.”
Semi flips him off and goes back to eating.
“Well you don’t want to date me, right?” Shirabu says after a minute. “So it doesn’t matter.”
Semi takes another bite of food and swallows it before replying. “I didn’t want to date you when we first met,” he says. “But you’ve grown.”
Shirabu pauses. Looks up at him. “What?”
He rolls his eyes. “If you want to date, we could try it.”
Shirabu wants it. He wants it desperately. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s try it.”
“Put your food down.”
Shirabu raises an eyebrow, but he sets his food on the table. Semi sets his down as well, then crawls over to him.
Shirabu freezes, but doesn’t protest when Semi pulls him into his lap. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.
“I’m going to suck at it,” Shirabu says, fighting back the part of him that really, really wants it. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“...yes.”
Semi grins, and kisses him. His lips are warm, and perfect, and Shirabu loses himself in it surprisingly quickly.
“We should get an apartment together,” Semi says when he pulls away, like Shirabu can somehow think coherently after Semi stuck his tongue in his mouth.
“What?” Shirabu says helpfully.
“I said we should live together. We’re both moving to the same city, and it’ll cut down costs.”
Shirabu wrinkles his nose. “That’s an awful idea.”
“I know.” Semi says, grinning.
Shirabu gets into medical school. They sign the lease on their new apartment two weeks later, and Shirabu gets into his third year of medical school before Semi’s fans realize he’s both dating and living with their precious musician.
“Just make a twitter account,” Semi says. “Then people ask you questions there instead of standing outside your school building.
“Fuck off I’m not making a twitter account.”
Shirabu makes a twitter account.
Shirabu @ImAHealerBut
Medical Student | He/Him | Gay and trans | Dating @ItsSemiEita | I’m not opening DMs for you, jackass
Semi Eita @ItsSemiEita
@I’mAHealerBut Hey babe what do you want for dinner
Shirabu @ImAHealerBut
You literally have my phone number
Semi Eita @ItsSemiEita
Yeah but this way I get to announce to all of my followers that you have a twitter
Shirabu @ImAHealerBut
I’m breaking up with you
Semi Eita @ItsSemiEita
Try me bastard
Shirabu @ImAHealerBut
Bitch
Goshiki @XtremeLad
I’m so confused