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Often, Juro Kurabe dreams he’s falling. Somehow, this makes sense. There’s all sorts of literature to be found dissecting dreams and their meanings. And apparently, to dream of falling reflects a feeling of having lost control in one’s daily life.
Juro thinks this sounds perfectly reasonable as he slips the book back onto the library shelf. (He has no further questions and so no further need to check the book out.) After all, the car accident that led to his moving in with his grandmother was not so long ago. His entire life has been uprooted recently. It makes sense for that instability to be reflected in his dreams.
What’s not so easily explained are the ‘falling’ moments when he’s awake.
Juro doesn’t remember any talk of trauma-induced amnesia during his doctor’s visits. But then, he doesn’t remember attending any doctor’s visits. He doesn’t remember the car crash or the recovery period or moving his things into his grandmother’s house. His memories of being shown around Sakura High are hazy. He doesn’t remember his dead parents.
But it’s not really the amnesia that worries him. What worries him is his inability to worry.
Those brief moments when it occurs to him that perhaps he should be grieving, perhaps there could be something actually, seriously wrong with him… They fade too quickly for him to linger on.
He’ll try to focus in and encounter a sensation like he’s just jumped into the deep end of a pool. Cold, a little disorienting, and like he’s sinking slowly to some unknown depth. The memories and attached insecurities remain on the surface, slipping out of reach until he’s too far away to even see what’s being left behind. And then, at some point, he reaches the bottom and it spits him back out into his present life, his mind wiped clean of the concerns that started the process.
(And what a curious process it was. He tried briefly to focus on it instead—the sinking, falling, gone… But the curiosity soon faded along with the concern.)
But Juro Kurabe is an easygoing soul. Not particularly perseverant, to be honest. After a while, the stress just doesn’t seem worth it—not when his mind is apparently so naturally resistant to it. So he stops stressing.
He doesn’t remember meeting Kyuta Shiba, but who is he to complain about making a new friend so effortlessly? By the time Juro feels settled at Sakura High, the other boy is always around. Shiba-kun doesn’t seem to have any other friends, so it fills Juro’s mind with a pleasant sort of warmth to think he might have been lonely before Juro’s arrival. It’s like their friendship was meant to be.
Shiba-kun may not be a social butterfly, but he introduces Juro to a new hobby. Old movies about giant robots fighting giant monsters… Juro takes to the genre with the passion he couldn’t manage to muster for his real-life problems. But that’s fine. Daily life is comfortable. It’s good.
…………
It’s different, somehow, with Shu.
Shu Amiguchi is a social butterfly. The athletic, popular, rich kid. He’s easygoing too, but with a natural suaveness that Juro can’t even begin to fathom. Shu seems to be on good terms with everyone.
Juro and Shiba are no exception to that, though the rules of the high school social sphere would normally dictate otherwise. And even Shiba-kun—who generally shows little interest in their other classmates—isn’t immune to Shu’s charms. Or the promise of his home consoles and a free meal. (Juro’s always after him to be a more gracious guest, but Amiguchi-kun doesn’t really seem to mind, so…)
But things are different with Shu. When they spend time together, he’s struck by another vague sensation of familiarity, but this one never quite fades. It never clarifies either, but something about it is still comforting—like it’s confirmation he’s in the right place. And even better than that, Shu actually listens when he rambles about the kaiju movies he loves—watches the ones Juro recommends, even. It’s a great feeling. And Shiba-kun’s tendency to lose himself in the latest additions to Shu’s game collection often makes it feel like it’s just the two of them.
It doesn’t take long at all before it stops feeling like a casual acquaintanceship with an extremely giving classmate. Pretty soon, they’re just… friends.
…………
It didn’t start because of the misunderstanding with Iori Fuyusaka.
He doesn’t think it started with Iori’s mistake…
…Okay. There was a possibility this was all because of Iori.
He’d run after her to correct her that day, and it was fine. He’d felt a little awkward, and Fuyusaka-san had been rather… blushy. But Amiguchi-kun had laughed it off with ease, and in hindsight, that’s really the best reaction. Because the idea that the two of them could be dating is laughable… Right?
Juro isn’t so sure anymore.
And between those thoughts, the unexpected houseguests, and the disturbing dreams they’d originally been meeting to talk about… Juro is starting to miss the void that had once sucked away even the things he’d wanted to give more thought.
Because… The thing is… Iori’s thought has been planted. And Juro’s isn’t a mind that’s accustomed to things taking root.
Juro’s thoughts either slip away or become obsessions. And what originally drew him to Shu was the unusual stability the other boy brought to his mind, even if their connection was cloaked in questions.
(And it’s not like Juro had ever struggled to understand what made so many girls blush and giggle when Shu walked past. There was just something… soft about his features. Smooth about his movements. Inviting about his voice… He wonders if it should worry him that he hasn’t run out of things to find attractive about his… friend? It’s starting to feel disingenuous to think of him that way.)
Juro makes an effort to clear his mind, but it doesn’t help much as he’s currently standing in Amiguchi-kun’s apartment. He turns away from the shelf of CDs and spots the boy he was actually pondering standing at the windows across the room. It’s that eerie dusk time of day—the last bit of sunlight just barely visible on the horizon. What’s illuminating Shu’s face now is the neon lights from all the stores in the area.
And the TV behind him, of course. Whatever video game Shiba-kun’s lost in tonight is bathing the room in a soft glow. It’s got the soothing sort of ambience that Juro isn’t usually one to take note of. But tonight, it calms him, unsticking the muscles that his overactive mind had glued together. He keeps one eye on Shiba as he joins Shu at the window, though he’s not sure why—it’s not like he’s planning anything devious. (In any case, Shiba never so much as glances away from the screen.)
Shu doesn’t seem to notice at first that Juro’s come closer. The reflection of red neon on his cheek is harsh, almost like a target, foretelling a wound that hasn’t been inflicted yet.
It’s a grim thought that makes him shudder. It’s too reminiscent of his recent dreams, which have taken a turn for the worse lately. (And they were violent from the start.) He doesn’t really think about it before bringing a hand up to block the sight. For the briefest moment, his knuckles rest against the soft skin of Shu’s cheek, the other side of his hand lit up in red neon like he’s cupping the danger in his palm.
But this finally gets Shu’s attention. He jumps a little, focusing in on his friend standing beside him, and Juro notes that they have matching bags under their eyes. He hasn’t mentioned anything too disturbing, but perhaps Shu also has dreams too troubling to share.
“Oh! Sorry, man. I was kinda out of it… Haven’t been getting much sleep. Were you saying something?” Shu runs a hand through his already-tousled hair, smoothly laughing off the awkward moment with a grace most teenagers can only dream of.
“No.” Juro is far too stiff by comparison. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah? What?” Shu doesn’t quite manage to stifle a yawn, and he slumps a little against the windowsill. Juro mirrors this stance, trying to get comfortable and fighting his own haze of exhaustion, to be honest.
He opens his mouth then shuts it again when the words don’t miraculously appear. He struggles for a second, trying to figure out how to approach the topic… But he can see Shu’s eyelids drooping, that focus slipping away again.
He kisses him.
It’s not a conscious decision. More like a kneejerk thing. (That was definitely something he’d have to think about later.)
Shu doesn’t seem to have any kneejerk reactions of his own. He doesn’t jump. Or jump away. His eyes have drifted closed entirely, and Juro would almost believe he’s truly fallen asleep.
It’s a soft sensation, a soft experience, and Juro hopes it brings Shu soft dreams.
Juro himself feels more awake than he has in weeks. He feels grounded. He feels present. He’s certain this is one memory he won’t have to struggle and claw his way back to.
But then he pulls away for air, and Shu’s eyes slide back open.
They spend the next moment staring at each other. Juro still hasn’t taken that breath, but there are no wide eyes or panicked expressions. It’s not terribly dramatic like it feels like it maybe should be. That’s worrying in itself.
“Oh,” is all Shu says at last, with hardly any inflection. It’s a tone that could mean literally anything.
“Sorry,” Juro responds in a similarly flat tone, not sounding particularly sorry.
They fall silent again. The sounds of the video game fill in the background, and Juro glances over. Shiba is still turned away from them. There’s no indication that he has any idea what just took place on this side of the room. Except his movements are a bit slower. He isn’t mashing buttons with his usual ferocity.
The observation stirs up the first smidge of unease, and Juro takes a step back. Shu takes the opportunity to stretch his arms over his head, attempting to wake himself up.
The rest of the daylight is properly gone now, making all the store lighting look even harsher. But when Shu speaks, his words sound totally natural. “It’s getting late. What do you think? Wanna grab dinner before you head home?”
“Uh, yeah… Sure.” Juro wants to say more, but again, the words don’t come. Amiguchi-kun has always been so much smoother than he is, but this is just too normal. Did the kiss really happen? Is he even more out of it than he thought?
But then he sees Shu glancing back at him as they head for the door. In that glance, he finds the curiosity missing from his words. Is he also wondering if he’s so overtired that he’s begun hallucinating?
(The mysterious Yuki Takamiya that Shu’s been raving about recently suddenly smacks him across the face. He’s not sure why he didn’t remember her before. The lack of dramatics seems like a gift in this light.)
But Amiguchi-kun’s posture is still easygoing, and Juro takes some comfort in that. He tries to relax his own shoulders a bit. He sees Amiguchi-kun bring a hand up to his lips, his eyes far away. Juro would give an awful lot to be able to listen in on his thoughts right now.
He’s struck by a sudden panic that he may have just irreparably fucked up their budding friendship. He wishes all these possible angles could have hit him prior to the act. There’s no question. He just feels different when he spends time with Shu. His mind is clearer. And this is just one of the many reasons he doesn’t want to lose whatever they have.
His face must be an open book. Because Amiguchi-kun looks back with a reassuring smile. And his voice is a bit softer when he says, “Food or sleep.”
Juro blinks himself out of his swirling thoughts. “Huh?”
Shu flashes him a grin that’s closer to his usual attitude. “I need one of the two before I can start to process… anything, and I don’t have to explain to you why sleep’s probably not gonna solve anything. So what do you think? Ramen again?”
Juro’s smile is more genuine too. Some of his worries float away, and he almost wants to grab them back, knowing his mind is getting clouded in another way now. But they’re already out of reach. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
It occurs to Juro that Shu’s effect on him is almost like gravity, keeping him attached to something solid even when his mind wants to drift away. It certainly feels like Shu’s the center of his orbit as he’s pulled after him out the door. Forgetting entirely that they’ve left Kyuta Shiba behind.