Archive of Our Own

The thing is, Joe is—

Joe.

Joe is nothing quite like him. For all intents and purposes he comes across as a regular high school student, friendly but not outstanding, carrying himself as if he's still somewhat unsure of his height or his limbs. Where Cherry fights to stand out, Joe is content — not by staying in the sidelines, but with accompanying him.

He’s also an enigma where there isn’t one. Adam doesn’t quite think he’ll ever figure him out. He gives himself generously, freely, compassionate to the point of suspiciousness, at least in his own eyes. Even Cherry conducts himself in a manner that's somewhat guarded, but Joe's eyes have a clarity to them that Adam doesn't see quite often in the people he's met.

In Ainosuke’s life, love comes in the form of pain, expectations too high to fulfil, icy distance from the relatives who care most about him. Joe, on the other hand, is warm. Almost like the sun, perhaps, his earnestness almost burning Adam when they’d first met. He laughs joyously, like he’d never had anyone tell him it was undignified to open his mouth for so long, the corners of his eyes crinkling without a care in the world.  He offers his hand, outstretched, as if he’d never been bitten by whatever stood at the other side of it. When he greets other skateboarders, there's never any trace of animosity in his expression, just the occasional teasing glint that, ultimately, is well-meaning. After a bad fall to the ground, whether an accident or caused by someone else, Joe gets up, brushes it off cheerfully, never chalks it up to bad intentions on anyone's part.

See: Adam knows he himself is magnetic. He's only still a high schooler, sure, but years of training and loving and learning means that he knows just exactly how to get someone to look in his direction, to get them to become enthralled with him. It’s important to know how to command a room, his aunts had said, to get people to turn their heads because of you. That is true power.

It’s never worked on Joe.

He’s tried every trick in the book. Dangerous skating stunts, the mysterious persona, anything. For a while he’s sure that Joe is in love with Cherry, and while that might still be true, getting into his head that way doesn’t seem to quite work. When he saves Cherry from a particularly rough bail while fleeing the police, he curls an arm around Cherry’s waist, half-possessive, fully waiting for Joe to explode at him, or at least be somewhat impressed. Cherry's attention is fun, and there's always an allure to being able to capture the attention of someone beautiful. But all he gets, staring into Cherry’s eyes, is Cherry’s adoration — he smirks back — nice, but not what he really wants.

(He wants Joe to look at him. He wants to push Joe’s buttons, figure out the extent of his limits. Every person must have one, even if that person is Joe. But somehow without even glancing over, he knows that it doesn’t work. Because Joe, even if he were aware of his own crush on Cherry, is not someone who would be baited into jealousy so easily. He’s too good for that. For him.

Adam knows.

He's acutely aware of it.)

3 am, their usual haunt. It’s almost summer, but it’s always damp in the Okinawan heat. Kaoru’s head is in Kojiro’s lap, tired out after a full night of skateboarding, somewhere between sleep and dreamland as Kojiro starts to put tiny braids into his hair, fully knowing the exasperation he would face later. Adam, meanwhile, sits perpendicular to him, watching as his fingers work diligently away.

Gingerly, he rests his head on Joe's shoulder.

To Joe’s credit, he doesn’t flinch or move away. It comes as a bit of a surprise; Adam has never really presented himself as someone who really enjoyed touch, so this change in behaviour should have shocked Joe, repulsed him. (It doesn’t.) For a moment, he wants to take advantage of it and put his arm around Kojiro’s shoulder, maybe around his waist.

He does neither of these. Kaoru stirs, murmurs something low under his breath; Kojiro laughs, even as Kaoru swats half-heartedly at him.

Unperturbed by the scene in front of him, Adam begins to trace his name — his real name — on Joe’s back. He's not sure what drives him to do it — exhaustion, perhaps, a moment of vulnerability, maybe, something that he thought he'd never be capable of ever again. Knowing it's uncharacteristic of him to do so doesn't stay his hand, though. He doesn’t have to look where his fingers are to be able to do it, each character perfectly proportioned from the strict handwriting sessions he'd received as a child. Shin-do.

Kaoru falls back into slumber, and Kojiro stills.

“Hmm?” He lets out a questioning hum, but it comes across as more a gentle open offer for Adam to share his thoughts rather than a prod or demand for real answers. That’s always been how Kojiro is, even when Adam refused to pull down his hoodie, even when he declined to share his true identity after Cherry and Joe had shared theirs with him. So he takes that and runs with it, continuing to trace the rest of his name. Ai-no-suke.

Ainosuke doesn’t know if Kojiro knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t even know if Kojiro knows what he’s writing, or if Joe knows he’s writing at all. For all he knows, he might just be tracing random patterns on his back.

(But he wants to believe that Kojiro knows the weight of the secret he’s been shared.)

Whatever it is, though, Kojiro isn’t saying anything if he realises. It’s politeness, Adam thinks, but at the same time it’s agonising, knowing that this is Joe’s kindness. He doesn’t know how to handle it at all. Kindness and love is supposed to hurt, but Kojiro is —

Kojiro's kindness and love has no boundaries. Kojiro's kindness and love does not come with set conditions to be fulfilled, does not have Ainosuke waking up the next day, aching where his aunts last hit him in the name of love. Kojiro's kindness and love lets him breathe, unlike the family mansion, stifling him in the name of growth. Kojiro's kindness and love is unfamiliar, and it terrifies Ainosuke, how much he yearns for it. How much he wants to fall into its embrace. But he knows if he falls, gets accustomed to this softness, the Shindou household will become hell on earth.

In the haze of it all, Ainosuke's finger finally draws to a pause. Kaoru stirs, turns a little, but makes no sign of waking. The night air suddenly becomes so much heavier, and Ainosuke cannot stop himself. "Kojiro."

This time Kojiro turns to look at him properly, and their eyes meet. There it is, that clarity that Ainosuke always sees in him, the unguarded expression of a boy who has only known and shown sincerity in his life. And by the gods, it's mesmerising, the way his charisma is so effortless, nothing like the way Adam's pull is always calculated, strategic.

"You two are special," he finally whispers, a repeat of what he'd said before, and it's possibly the most truthful thing he's ever said in his life. It means a million different things — what you two have for each other is special. You are each special to me, individually. Kojiro, you are special.

And as his heart — attention — is drawn in by Kojiro, he subconsciously draws closer. Kojiro's eyelashes flutter once, twice, gaze still direct; Ainosuke leans in so close that their lips almost brush.

"You braided my fucking hair!"

Cherry erupts and it breaks the spell Adam put himself under. "Take it out!" he hisses, somehow still sounding plaintive as he whacks Joe's stomach with a fist. Joe falls away in surprise, and with that, the moment shatters into nothing. Joe retaliates with a yank of Cherry's hair, and they soon settle into their regular routine of fighting, grumbling, hurling insults at each other.

Ainosuke's heart beats so hard it hurts.

Then he returns home, his father sets his skateboard on fire, and Adam meets Cherry and Joe just once more to burn whatever relationship they'd ever had to the ground.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ainosuke used to think he might have been in love with Kojiro.

But maybe it had just been envy, instead.