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“Maki-chan’s like a tree.”
Said Maki-chan grunts in response, turning their head to look back at him. That wasn’t very tree-like, but Toudou Jinpachi is not one to be deterred. It wasn’t a rejection. Jinpachi has artistic freedom to interpret it as encouragement. He continues.
“If trees were spindly, had bad taste in magazines, and had weird red streaks in their otherwise gorgeous hair, you would be a tree.” Makishima rolls their eyes and shakes their head. Jinpachi feels rightfully offended by need for two disapproving actions. It was a strong argument!
He would protest that out loud if he wasn’t too busy watching their gorgeous hair fall down in a mesmerizing cascade of green and red. Like a flowering tree. Jinpachi hasn’t seen one of those in a long time, but it has also been a while since Makishima and him have had time to themselves. He was determined to take full advantage of this sunny weekend, and those plans had involved racing, of course. He hadn’t factored in losing, but Jinpachi’s grown old enough to recognize that they still have time. Until next year, echoes in his mind, but he brushes it away. That thought has no place here, at the top of a mountain where the only people that exist are Toudou Jinpachi and Makishima Yusuke and a forest of trees around them.
Makishima reaches up a hand to run five long fingers through their hair, ending with an elegant sweep of half of it over their chest. Jinpachi mirrors the action, running his fingers over his headband instead. Both of their helmets had already been thrown to the ground. It’s too hot for anything else. Jinpachi elegantly tosses his own hair back. His bangs fly through the air in a striking display of beauty, in his esteemed opinion of course. His hair is at the perfect length for running his, or someone else’s, fingers through it; curling the bangs lazily in class; or simply watching the shining strands shimmer in the—
“What were you saying?” Makishima asks. They’re sitting down now, shoes kicked off to the side and gloves halfway off. One eyebrow is raised above an easy smirk with something more than the summer sun reflected in their teeth. At least Jinpachi wasn’t the only one distracted. He clears his throat.
“Trees are green. You are green. It’s the transitive property of equality. Aren’t you good at math, Maki-chan?” Makishima snorts. Jinpachi huffs.
“I’m not bad at math,” they dismiss as Jinpachi knew they would, “but that has nothing to do with trees. You’ve never talked about trees before. It’s natural that I’d be suspicious.” That admittedly, though Jinpachi hates to concede even to Makishima, is a good point. Thinking about trees would be strange if any thoughts about Maki-chan were strange, which they aren’t. It’s perfectly normal, as normal an occurrence as the trees around them being green is, for Jinpachi to be thinking about Maki-chan. Makishima should know that, so they must have a different agenda than continuing their normal banter this time.
Jinpachi blinks, eyelashes damp from sweat. Gross . The summer sun is yelling at them, almost as if it’s offended that they got so close to it. It’s not our fault that you’re here on this mountain too, Jinpachi wants to shout, but Makishima is already focused on this one of their tangents and Jinpachi has a lot more to say. It wouldn’t do to stray from this topic without a victor being decided. There’s always a victor between them, always a race to somewhere. This time the goalline is a little more metaphorical. They’ll adapt.
“It’s not that unusual,” Jinpachi decides on saying because he has to keep going in order to adapt. You can never stop in a race. They’ve already gone through that lesson, and Jinpachi hopes they’ve learned it. “I’m the Sleeping Beauty,” he graciously ignores Makishima’s eyeroll, “but it’s not like I’m not sleeping during races. You can definitely be a tree without being a tree.” Makishima elects to not respond immediately, and they rearrange their legs to sit more comfortably on the grass. Their gloves are completely off, folded in half and to the side. Jinpachi stays standing. Something about summer makes him restless, less eager to spread out himself and his worries on the warm grass. Maybe it’s the reminder that after summer comes fall, and with it the promise of another year. Another year closer to their last.
Jinpachi stretches out his arms and winces at the pop of his elbow. The few minutes after a race is fine, but after the adrenaline wears off his body is just sweat and lactic acid and bitter disappointment after losing. It’s not as pungent as it could be because it was Maki-chan who won. The sweetness of Jinpachi’s grudging respect for them tempers the bad taste in his mouth. Not enough to turn it into joy, but enough to make it bittersweet instead of biting.
Bittersweet like the only chocolates he doesn't keep from his many admirers during Valentine’s Day. He doesn’t throw them away; he couldn’t even imagine doing such an offensive crime to love! Love is something precious, and Jinpachi will always appreciate it from wherever it comes. He will always have the utmost report for his fans and their excellent taste because they’re part of his fan club. Jinpachi’s part of his fan club, and that’s enough proof of good taste. That can excuse the occasional lapse in judgment that comes with buying bittersweet chocolate. He always gives the bittersweet chocolate to Makishima, mailing it to their house the day after.
Even if Makishima didn’t like bittersweet chocolate, there isn’t anyone else Jinpachi would think to give it to. Love is something he wants to share with Makishima, for reasons he can’t say yet, in the summer of their second year. To tell them directly about love before they’ve settled the score, the one score that truly matters, wouldn’t be fitting. Jinpachi has to do it after he wins for the last time, when the sweet satisfaction of victory will push the words off his tongue into the summer air with the hint of autumn’s cool breeze. The chill won’t even bother him with the warmth of his confession, which will be more of an affirmation. It’s not exactly secret, just unsaid. He has to do it at the end of it all. That’s when it counts, the race decided by the first one there and the last one surviving.
There’s probably something deep about that thought, but Jinpachi just thinks it sounds nice. Even before he entered high school he knew he wanted to end it with somebody. There isn’t anything special about that thought. It’s just a wish that turned into a goal that turned into a future. Jinpachi isn’t some literature nerd. His appreciation for beauty is in the physical, not the metaphorical. He thinks Makishima would agree, even if they’ll never agree on his assessment of physical fashion, which Jinpachi is absolutely correct in. He has no idea why anybody would ever think to match that shade of green with that shade of yellow.
That doesn’t stop him from buying the biggest and brightest green bow and shiniest yellow ribbon he can find on Valentine's Day. He always grumbles while wrapping it around a box from home that Maki-chan has terrible taste in decor and sweets and fashion. The thank you text he gets in reply is one of the few that Makishima initiates, and he treasures them all in a special holiday photo folder on his phone.
It is not a “weakness,” or whatever Arakita was cackling about when he saw Jinpachi organizing his folders. Love would never be a weakness for someone such as Jinpachi! Arakita can go pine in his own little corner of the clubroom by himself, where he is not nearly as successful at hiding as he thinks he is. It’s a wonder that the redheaded, bunny-loving target of his very-obvious affections is still oblivious, but maybe it’s fitting because Arakita is also unaware of the not-so-hidden reciprocation. Really, Jinpachi doesn’t know what this club would do without him. Not that he is helping them, because this is even better entertainment than Arakita constantly growling at Fukutomi was. He wasn’t ignoring Fukutomi’s furrowed eyebrows when texting rival captains either. The way his eyebrows flew up his forehead when Jinpachi confronted him about it was another priceless moment captured in photographic memory. It joined many others in a separate album related to love that Arakita hasn’t seen yet, where Jinpachi’s own face has never made an appearance because he is very in control of his own romantic escapades thank you very—
“I am,” Makishima interrupts, “a climber. Not a tree.”
“You’re still thinking about that?” Perhaps Jinpachi had decided a premature victory. He doesn’t mind; it would be a waste to end any of their competitions without thorough consideration. Makishima is a person of thorough consideration, to Jinpachi at least. He’s not shy to admit that.
“You’re the one who brought it up in the first place!” Makishima sighs. Jinpachi shrugs. Another fair point. He starts taking off his own gloves, very aware of the way Makishima’s still looking at him. Their eyes are tracking the curve of Jinpachi’s fingers as they slide out of the glove. Jinpachi folds them each in half and shoves them into his back pocket. Makishima doesn’t look away.
“Yes, Maki-chan, you are not a tree,” Jinpachi replies, “that’s why I said like. You’re like a tree. Not a tree.” They do not look convinced.
"You said I was a tree earlier.”
“Scientific theories are always evolving,” Jinpachi says. Makishima’s eyes are closed, like they don’t think Jinpachi’s argument even deserves a deadpan look in response. “And it doesn’t change my main point, which is still similarities between you and a tree.”
“Was that really your main point?”
“What else would it be?” Makishima shrugs.
Jinpachi walks his bike over to a tree, not Maki-chan this time, and leans it against it. He reaches out his bare hand to the bark. He imagines it would be soft if he touched it the right way. He can’t stop himself from pulling his hand down a little harder. He has to earn it. Makishima watches him with raised eyebrows and no snarky comment, yet.
“It’s still weird,” they sniff. Jinpachi raises both his eyebrows this time. “Don’t you usually go for the spider metaphor?”
“Yeah, but everybody goes for the spider metaphor,” Jinpachi groans. “and I’m not just anybody. I’m Toudou Jinpachi!” He drops his hand and starts walking over to Makishima. It’s been enough time for the ache in his legs to be soothed by warm grass instead of penance from still standing. They need to rest before the ride downhill, still a race but not as important as before. Neither of them will ever be aces.
Makishima laughs, and Jinpachi’s momentarily distracted by the glint of his teeth in the sun. Momentarily, because Jinpachi is not distracted for too long by rival climbers, even if their face lighting up is one of the best sights in the world. “Sure you are,” they chuckle. Jinpachi hopes they keep laughing. He wants to call it fond. “Toudou Jinpachi, lover of trees.” There’s something different in that phrase, something even more affectionate than teasing. Jinpachi knows what it is, but he still has patience and the ability to move around obstacles. “Trees” was alongside “lover.”
“There’s nothing bad about trees,” he argues, “there are always trees around us! They provide us shade, they’re pretty, they’re green, people like to draw them, they’re the source of inspiration for a lot of different things… they’re necessary for the environment too!” He might be losing his point now, but that doesn’t mean anything for the race. He’s definitely lost the race metaphor, now that he thinks about it. That doesn’t matter. There’s only ever one path to bike on. There’s only ever one destination, and one person that’ll always meet him there. Jinpachi thinks he’ll never lose his direction when he’s alongside Maki-chan. He hopes it’s the same from the opposite direction.
He’s looking at that direction right now, and he’s not quite sure how he got from the tree with his bike safely next to it to this tree with his heart trying to cross the scant centimeters of distance between them. Sometimes memories of Makishima blend together in Jinpachi’s brain connected by spindly fingers and the smell of wind whipping past his nose. He never forgets a single second, but the minutes between pushing his legs through each rotation of two rubber wheels and stretching his arms to reach the clouds at the top of the world and reaching out a hand to brush through long green hair all feel the same. Maki-chan in those moments is always a little forward, a little behind, right by his side eventually or always. Trees are always bordering them on both sides of the road to the only dream that matters, an old green blur that’s as comforting as red streaks dancing through his vision on his left.
Jinpachi’s looking at his left. Makishima’s mouth is open. “Do you think I’m pretty?” they ask. Jinpachi’s tongue is stuck in his mouth. There’s so much he could do, so much he wants to do in this exact moment. The silence is waiting for him to do anything. Jinpachi could tell them that he thinks they’re more than pretty, more important than trees blocking out the summer sun, more than any weird metaphor Jinpachi could write essays about.
But this is only in the middle of their story, the climax still one summer away.
“Of course,” Jinpachi says, “I think you’re very pretty.”
Makishima hums in response. They’re looking at Jinpachi, slate blue eyes versus gleaming navy. The moment doesn’t pass. Jinpachi knows they won’t ever end. A bird whistles behind them. Jinpachi blinks, and Makishima’s eyes close into a grin.
It was not tree-like at all for that to make Jinpachi’s heart stutter. He tilts his head back to face the sky. It’s not running away. He's making a tactical retreat to prepare for a future attack of his own. They sit in silence for a few breaths more. Jinpachi thinks for a fleeting second that this summer could last forever, but he knows it can’t.
He still has to win in the end. His next breath out is steady with conviction.
Makishima laughs suddenly, and Jinpachi whips his head to them. Their eyes are still closed. “If I’m a tree, then you’re a bird,” they say in explanation, like that would help Jinpachi’s heartbeat.
“A bird?” he squawks, very aware of the irony. Makishima’s raised eyebrows don’t need to rub it in. “Why am I a bird?”
“Loud when you want to be, always moving everywhere, also pretty,” Makishima continues. “Isn’t a bird better than a ninja anyways?”
“We’re not talking about ninjas right now,” Jinpachi replies desperately, brain repeating the way pretty sounds coming out of Makishima’s mouth in reference to him. “I’d much rather be a…” Makishima’s still laughing. Jinpachi doesn’t even care about winning this metaphorical race anymore. He feels like he’s floating, but the grass is still tickling his legs. “A flower.”
“Flowers aren’t as cool as birds,” Makishima replies, and Jinpachi doesn’t even register how nonsensical that is because his brain decides to latch onto cool this time. He’s starting to feel hot again, and it has nothing to do with racing. Makishima tip their head to the side, away from Jinpachi. He traces the curve of their jaw. “And I like birds better.”
“That means you like me, Maki-chan?” Jinpachi blurts before he can think to hold himself back. It doesn’t have to mean everything yet , he reminds himself. What type of climax would it be without foreshadowing? He doesn't try to hide the smile blooming onto his face. There are victories along the way to the finish line. A tree branches before it reaches its peak, and birds learn to fly in steps.
“Why wouldn’t I, Jinpachi?” Makishima sounds like they’ve reached the end. The first one to get there, Jinpachi reminds himself, and the last one standing. This might be what flying feels like.
“I like you too, Maki-chan!” he yells back. What else is there to say? Makishima laughs harder than they ever have before. Jinpachi joins them. Two hands meet in the middle.
Yusuke is a tree and Jinpachi is a bird, Jinpachi decides, and he’ll accept this tie only between them.