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“How do you know if somebody likes you?” Shu Nakajima asked.
He was standing in the cramped bathroom at the Central Street diner. He’d wedged himself between the sink and the hand dryer (which kept loudly turning itself on) so as not to block the swinging door. Any second now, he was sure, said door would burst open to reveal Kaoru’s dad, come to stuff Shu’s head down the toilet for embarrassing his son.
“What?” said Ren Amamiya in Shu's ear.
“How,” Shu said, wincing when the hand dryer went off again, “do you know. If somebody. Likes you.”
There was a pause. Shu, staring at the nearest toilet stall, could imagine Ren lounging on the couch in his big, airy apartment in Port Island. (Ren’s apartment was neither big nor airy, but Shu didn’t know that.) Probably Morgana was curled up in Ren’s lap; probably Goro Akechi was puttering around the kitchen, baking or cooking or writing Ren’s name in melted chocolate. A snapshot of domestic bliss befitting their star-crossed love story.
Meanwhile Shu’s sweaty palm slipped on his phone; a glance into the mirror revealed his damp, moonlike face and rumpled hair. Not to mention his shirt, a magenta sweater that was way too casual for what this night had turned out to be, and a pair of dark green corduroys that—oh, god, was that a stain?
“Well,” Ren said, “you could always try kissing them in the woods. See how that goes.”
Shu watched his own cheeks blaze scarlet. “Okay, first of all, we agreed never to speak of that again. Second of all, not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.” Shu could hear him grinning.
“I’m freaking out here, Amamiya! You’d better talk me down or I’m climbing into the sewers and never coming out!”
“Okay, okay.” Ren grunted, apparently shifting position. “What’s going on?”
Kaoru was going on.
After two years at the local college in Yasoinaba, Shu had transferred to a university in Tokyo. The first day of lit class, he’d sat down in the front row, taken out his laptop, and turned to stare at the boy beside him.
The boy was about Shu’s height and weight, but with a heart-shaped face instead of a square one, rounded in the cheeks and tapering to a fine point at the chin. His dark eyes were small, narrow, and all but hidden behind the glare of his rectangular blue glasses. He was bent over a notebook, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, silky black hair falling in a curtain around his forehead. And he wore a brown sleeveless cardigan over a high-collared dress shirt and pressed pants. Objectively average. Subjectively hypnotizing.
Shu was very, very aware of his presence during that first lecture, and the one after it, and the one after that. The guy was a pillar of warmth inches from Shu’s shoulder; a magnetic pull at the corner of his eye. When Shu could, he stole glances: at the boy’s pen flying across the page; at the close-bitten ends of his nails on surprisingly fine, nimble fingers; at that little flash of tongue, so cute it made Shu’s heart hurt. Sometimes Shu actually got angry at sight of him, with his knitted vests and primly-buttoned cuffs. Shu wanted to stuff him in a locker. He’d never wanted to do that to anybody before.
Shu made a point to sit next to him even when there was space elsewhere in the row, and eventually started saying hello every morning. But the boy always jumped, blinked owlishly, and squeaked, “Hi,” before diving back into his notes. Even if the professor hadn’t started talking yet.
Shu didn’t know what to do. Obviously this kid was afraid of him, or afraid of everybody, or so focused on his work that he didn’t have time to say things like “How are you?” or “My name is—” Should Shu push the point? Wasn’t that rude? If the guy didn’t want to talk, who was Shu to make him? It wasn't his fault Shu spent so much time imagining squishing his cheeks like marshmallows.
Like so many of Shu’s friendships, theirs happened by accident. That day, Shu greeted the boy as usual, suppressed a sigh at his visible discomfort, and took the latest volume of Hero Academy Go! out of his bag. He flipped to his bookmark and settled in to wait for the lecture to start.
He’d only read a few pages before the kid said, “Um—”
Shu lifted his head. The boy was staring at him, eyes bright and direct, knuckles white on his pencil.
“You like Hero Academy Go?” he asked.
It was the most Shu had ever heard him say. His voice, low and strong but wobbling at the edges out of nerves or excitement or both, seemed to throb between Shu’s ribs.
“Yeah,” Shu blurted, caught his breath, lowered the book. “Yeah, I do. I really like it. Who’s your favorite character?”
The boy smiled. It seemed to unfurl across his face, cheek to cheek, like flame traveling up a candlewick.
Oh shit, Shu thought. I’m in trouble.
He wasn’t wrong.
Kaoru quickly became Shu’s closest friend in Tokyo. They talked before and after class every day, sometimes lingering outside the literature building for so long that Shu’s toes went numb. They messaged each other constantly, sending GIFs and videos and speculation about the newest chapters and episodes of all their favorite series.
Kaoru had seen every show and read every manga, but he wasn’t a dick about it like some guys. He suggested a few titles to Shu, but never made Shu feel like he had to try them out. He did, however, immediately watch the two movies Shu recommended, complete with running commentaries delivered by text. He was funny, and smart; he guessed the ending of one and the twist of the other thirty minutes in. He gushed about the acting, the cinematography, the music. All the things Shu had liked about them too.
Shu was in so much trouble.
At first, Shu ignored the klaxon that sounded in his skull every time Kaoru’s icon appeared on his phone or Kaoru’s face split open in a stunning beam. It didn’t matter that Shu scrambled to answer Kaoru’s messages the second they came in; or that Shu wanted to sit on Kaoru’s chest, or tickle him, or sling his arm around Kaoru’s neck and ruffle his hair. Didn’t all guys do stuff like that? Wasn’t it a normal masculine thing, roughhousing with your friends?
(Maybe it would have been, if Shu didn’t also want to tighten his grip, tilt Kaoru’s chin up, lean in—)
But one day, after lecture, Kaoru said, “Hey, you’ve got a couple hours before your next class, right? You want to get some coffee?”
And Shu’s mouth said “Sure” before his brain could consider the implications, and then they were sharing a tiramisu, and the klaxon was wailing. Is this a date? Is this a date? Is this a date?
He didn’t ask that day. Or when they went to Akihabara and oohed and aahed at the new figurines on display. Or when they spent a frigid day in Dome Town, riding every coaster three times in a row. Or when Shu invited Kaoru to see an action movie and they both decided they hated it and bailed in favor of the romcom playing next door.
Is this a date? Shu wondered when Kaoru grabbed his hand to keep track of him in a busy shop or made him laugh so hard that soda sprayed out his nose or paid for his popcorn and candy out of the blue. Are we dating?
Shu didn’t ask. He didn’t dare. He’d been burned before, spurned before, and he’d lived, but he had no desire to repeat the experience. And Tokyo was a pretty progressive place, but Kaoru had said his dad could be kind of old-fashioned. So...what if Kaoru wasn’t a progressive person? What if Shu said, “Hey, I think I’d like to kiss you someday, what are your thoughts,” and Kaoru looked at him like a cockroach?
Worse, what if Shu broke open his own ribcage and Kaoru looked sorry?
Shu could stand it. He could bear it. But he didn’t want to.
“So, okay,” said Ren, in the here and now. “You’ve been on four dates with this person—”
“I don’t know if they were dates,” Shu said.
Ren made a noise like uh-huh. “Four dates, and you’re still afraid he doesn’t like you?”
“If they were dates,” Shu said, “this would be the fifth one.”
Tonight was supposed to be the night that Shu finally asked the question. Kaoru had invited him to the diner in Shibuya, which might've been no big deal for some people but really, really wasn't for Kaoru.
“My dad and I go there all the time,” Kaoru had said, staring at his feet. “It’s kind of our place. And, um. I’d kind of like. To show it to you.”
Which was totally not something you’d do with a friend, right? You wouldn’t take a friend to your family’s place. Even a best friend. Right? That was a date thing. This was a date. Maybe. Probably.
Shu had agreed instantly, and spent the next few days agonizing.
He was being dumb. If Kaoru didn’t like him like that, he wouldn’t be a dick about it. Shu knew that in his bones even though his brain spun into overdrive imagining otherwise. At worst, Kaoru would shake his head and apologize, and Shu would be hurt but he’d get over it. It was better to know. Shoot his shot and move on, so he could stop fantasizing about the guy and have a normal, kiss-free friendship.
Or so he could stop fantasizing about the guy and actually kiss him.
Shu didn’t usually let himself entertain that possibility.
When Shu left his dorm that night, he was determined. He dressed nice (or as nice as he could, considering most of his fancy clothes were back in Inaba) and practiced his speech under his breath. Hi, Kaoru. Listen, I need to tell you something. I’m gay and I’m pretty sure I have a crush on you. I don’t want to be gross about it, so I just wanted to ask: are we dating? If not, that’s totally cool, forget I said anything.
If we are...
His mind always whited out at that point.
Kaoru still lived at home with his dad, closer to Shibuya than to campus, so they’d agreed to meet at the diner. Shu walked in and fired off a text: I’m here!
Hey! came the reply. We’re sitting down already, in the booth by the motorcycle. You can’t miss it.
We?
Mouth dry, Shu stumbled across the restaurant.
He saw Kaoru first. He’d foregone his trademark cardigan-shirtsleeve combo in favor of a stormy gray sweater that highlighted the gray flecks in his eyes. It also bared his neck, soft and smooth and pudgy around his jaw; and the gecko-shaped scar that stretched across his skin. Kaoru had told Shu about it, but never shown it to him before.
Seeing it now, Shu wanted to kiss it.
Which was probably a weird reaction.
Then Kaoru met Shu’s gaze, and beamed, and Shu’s feet left the ground.
“Hey,” said a gruff voice. “Nice to meetcha.”
Shu turned, and looked up, and kept looking up. The man unfolding from the booth was a skyscraper, twice as tall (not really) as Shu and thrice as wide (maybe really). He wore a pinstriped button-up shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and his hair was grey and cropped short, gelled in the front so that it bristled outward. His silver eyes pierced like needles as he extended a gigantic, callused hand toward Shu.
Shu gawped at him, and his hand, and understood. A shoulder like jelly and an elbow like custard combined forces to slap his palm into the man’s grasp.
“Hello,” Shu rasped. “I’m Shu Nakajima.”
“I’m Iwai,” said Iwai, grinding Shu’s knuckles together. He had a toothpick between his teeth and stubble dusting his chin. “Kaoru’s dad.”
“Cool,” Shu said. He’d known Kaoru was adopted, but he hadn’t realized his dad was so different from him. “Uh. Nice to meet you too.”
Iwai released Shu’s hand. Shu dropped it to his side and nearly dropped his body to the floor too. His knees were shaking.
What did this mean?
Was it a sign? Were they definitely dating? Was Shu meeting the parents right now? Or—or did Iwai’s presence mean that this was completely casual, no big deal, just two guys being dudes? Hey, might as well bring my dad to our totally chill diner hangout! This is our place, after all.
Kaoru had definitely not told Shu this was happening. In fact Kaoru was biting his lip, glancing between Iwai and Shu with his chin tipped down and his hands fisted in his lap. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. This was a surprise. Kaoru was trying to surprise him. Why? To see how he’d react? To catch him off his guard? When had he ever been on his guard with Kaoru?
“You wanna sit down?” said Iwai.
Shu blinked. Iwai was back in the booth, arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at Shu.
“Yes,” Shu said. “Definitely. Uh. I need to use the bathroom first. Sorry. Order a water for me?”
And he ran away. Burst through the swinging door, set off the hand dryer, leaned against it for a second with his face in his clammy hands. Swallowed around the nausea writhing in his throat.
Eventually, fumbled out his phone and called Ren.
Who now started laughing.
“Still not funny,” Shu snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Ren wheezed, and actually leaned away from the mic so that his cackles went distant and muffled. “I’m sorry,” he repeated after a minute. “God. Okay. I can fix this. You want me to fix it?”
Shu blinked. “Wh—fix it? What do you mean?”
“I know them,” Ren said. Shu’s jaw dropped so fast that it hurt. “Both of them. Man, wait’ll I tell Yu...”
“Wh—” Shu flapped his mouth helplessly. “I...what’re you gonna do?”
“Just go back to the table. Trust me.”
And Ren hung up. Shu stared at his phone, shook himself, and did as he was told.
As Shu approached, Iwai fixed him with a gimlet eye, and Kaoru with a grimace.
“Feelin’ better?” Iwai asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Shu said, slipping into the seat across from them. He seized his water and downed half of it, trying to soothe his splintered throat. “Much.”
“Great,” Kaoru said. “That’s great. So—”
A pinging noise suddenly erupted from Iwai’s pocket. Grunting, he took out his phone.
“Sorry about that,” he said, toggling the screen on. “I’d better—”
He stopped, frowning.
“What?” said Shu. “What is it?”
The phone started to ring. Iwai sucked his bottom lip against his teeth.
“Sorry, guys,” he said, while Kaoru glowered. “Gotta take this. Be right back.” He got up and answered the call. “Iwai here…”
“Sorry about that,” Kaoru said, rubbing the back of his neck. “His work is—”
“Kaoru,” Shu hissed, lurching forward, gripping the edge of the table. “Why is your dad here?”
A blush flooded into Kaoru’s cheeks. It was adorable. Shu wanted to bite him.
“Um,” Kaoru said. He looked down, plucked at his napkin. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. It’s just—I really like you, and my dad’s a good judge of character, so I wanted to make sure he liked you too before—”
Behind Shu, there was suddenly a sound like a mastiff barking. Kaoru and Shu both startled, and Shu whipped around to see Iwai with his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. He was laughing.
Shu blinked at Kaoru, who blinked back, bewildered.
“Whew,” Iwai said at last, wiping his eyes. “Whoo-hoo-hoo. Damn. Thanks for the heads-up,” he said into his phone. His smile widened. “Yeah, you too, kid. See ya.”
Iwai stuffed his phone into his pocket and strode back to the booth.
“Sorry, guys, but duty calls,” he drawled, snagging his coat from the back of the seat. “It was nice to meetcha, Shu. You seem like a great guy. An' Kaoru?” Iwai clapped Kaoru on the shoulder, so hard that Kaoru winced. “Next time, tell your boyfriend he’s your boyfriend before you invite him to meet the ‘rents.”
Kaoru went red so fast that he was probably in danger of fainting, but Shu hardly noticed. He had, in the space of a second, become aware of the Earth hurtling beneath his feet.
Kaoru’s boyfriend.
His boyfriend.
Still chuckling, Iwai swaggered off, leaving Kaoru staring at his lap and Shu staring over his left shoulder. He was trying to piece his brain back together.
“So,” Kaoru said.
Shu looked at him, looked at his own hands, suddenly large and awkward as dinner plates.
Shu was Kaoru’s boyfriend. He was Kaoru’s boyfriend.
He wanted—
“I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Kaoru said. “I just—”
Shu couldn’t feel his legs, but somehow he got up, rounded the table, slid onto the bench beside Kaoru. Scooted close so their thighs touched, so their shoulders touched, so Kaoru was a scorching brand all along Shu’s side.
Kaoru goggled at him, actually bobbled his head; and Shu put his numb fingers under Kaoru’s chin and snapped his mouth shut and kissed him.
He misjudged the angle, so he caught more of Kaoru’s upper lip than his lower one. It felt plush and soft and a little greasy, like he was wearing lip balm. For a heart-stopping moment, Kaoru sat still and shocked, his spine ramrod-straight.
But then Kaoru kissed Shu back, tilting his head to slot their mouths more neatly together, and Shu was a pulsing ball of heat, a lake of pitch set alight. He fumbled at Kaoru’s body, at his lanky arms looping around Shu’s torso and his bony shoulders curving inward, and fisted one hand in Kaoru’s shirt and cupped the other against his jaw. Broke off, withdrew a fraction to shift closer and press his chest flush against Kaoru’s; and then Kaoru was kissing him, leaning in with a hunger that flared hot in the pit of Shu’s stomach. Kaoru’s skin scalded Shu’s fingers and Kaoru’s lips parted to emit the lightest, gentlest flick of tongue, a tantalizing slide along the seam of Shu’s mouth.
Shu yielded long enough to taste the rich, honeysuckle sweetness beyond. Then he drew back again, peeling himself away. His hands shook; his breath came short and quick, hitching behind his sternum.
Kaoru gazed at him through half-lidded eyes, his lips still parted, his tongue thick and swollen. Shiny.
“We should,” Shu rasped. “We should get outta here.”
Kaoru blinked like he was waking up. “And go where?”
Shu thought about it, and brightened. “To the movies?”
He’d never been the sort of guy to make out in public, much less in a movie theater. But right now a dark, warm, secluded room, no Iwai or roommates to interrupt, sounded just about right.
Kaoru’s smile lanced bright into Shu’s chest. “Lead the way.”