Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Sakurayashiki Kaoru’s first memories involve hours spent at his mother’s calligraphy studio, memorizing the elegant strokes of her brush, long afternoons filled with the rambunctious laughter next door (as a young Kaoru watches on, overflowing with envy and thinking, over and over, that it isn’t fair he doesn’t have any siblings to play with), and brief vignettes of a father too absent and too preoccupied to offer much in lieu of parenting.

It’s still a decent childhood, as far as they go, but it’s also a lonely one.

His mother tries, as much as she can, but between her demanding clientele and the frequent events she attends to support his father’s budding political career, there is hardly time to indulge Kaoru with more than kisses on the forehead and a quick bedtime story at the end of the day.

Kaoru doesn’t want to burden her, so he never complains. He needs to be good, so Mama continues to smile at him and doesn’t start frowning like his father.

Once Kaoru is old enough to fend for himself, or so to speak, his own schedule starts to resemble that of his parents, and any need for attention becomes a footnote.

Halfway through the age of three, Kaoru is assigned a piano teacher and enrolled in horseback riding classes — for twice and thrice a week, respectively — to teach him routine, discipline. When not at kindergarten or his lessons, he’s encouraged to regularly practice his Kanji as well.

Being well-rounded is important, his father tells him, it builds character; a person is only worth as much as their competence.

By the age of five, Kaoru trades piano for violin and horseback for Kendo classes. His Kanji is at least three levels ahead of his peers, and while a bit on the quiet side, his vocabulary is extensive.

His father, now running for a seat in the House of Representatives, is pleased. You’re upholding the family name, he tells Kaoru, always keep that in mind. 

Kaoru does not care, though, because he starts to realize how sick of it he is — of the routine and the expectations and his father, who still refuses to consider throwing him a birthday party.

A proper one. With balloons and games and his classmates from school — that’s what Kaoru wants.

His father says it’s unrealistic, that he’s acting childish, being a brat. His mother, tight-lipped, pulls him close that night and promises to make it up to him.

Kaoru believes her, is the thing, so he simply nods and hugs her tight.

When his father is elected into the National Diet and assumes office, he temporarily relocates to Tokyo while the Diet is in session. Kaoru and his mother don’t join him. Despite his absence, Kaoru’s schedule is still filled to the brim, much too planned for a child his age, but he feels more... free — less nervous, less on edge, now that it’s only he and his mother.

By the time Kaoru’s sixth birthday comes around, his father has been gone for three months. Kaoru does get a party, of sorts, as promised.

He gets a cake and balloons and his mother enthusiastically sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to him. He’s given his very own calligraphy set — with his name engraved on it, Sakura-ya-shiki Kaoru. It may not be the level of extravagance he’s seen on TV, and he doesn’t get to invite his entire kindergarten class, but Kaoru is so happy — it’s the best day of his life to date, a memory he’ll cherish for life.

The first six years of Kaoru’s existence may be solitary, centred around the wants and needs and expectations of his father, but things change.

And soon, Kaoru will choose not to remember what his life was like, before skateboarding and Kojiro.

❀

Nanjo Kojiro is in Kaoru’s first grade class. He’s older than Kaoru ^[1] — who is extremely disappointed to discover he is the youngest in the class — but surprisingly much shorter.

He cries — a lot. He cries on the first day of school and he cries every morning for a week after that and he cries almost every time the teacher asks them to come back into the classroom after breaktime.

Kaoru doesn’t ever make fun of Kojiro for his never-ending tears, the way some of the older boys at their school have started to do. It’s mean, he thinks, to ridicule a person for something they can’t control.

One day, as Kaoru waits for his mother after school, standing near the gate, he spots two of the usual suspects in the distance, looming on either side of Kojiro and undeniably up to no good.

Kojiro looks like he’s on the verge of crying now, too, with his face scrunched up and bottom lip wobbling.

Kaoru frowns. He doesn’t see any teachers around, but he also really doesn’t want to talk to any grownups he doesn’t know. That only leaves… He chews on his bottom lip in thought. He needs to help, somehow. Kaoru thinks of Yuko-chan from his favourite bedtime story — she was strong and brave and never gave up, and in the end, saved her entire village. He, too, can follow her example and be just as brave.

Coming to a decision, Kaoru runs towards the three boys, the look on his face too serious for a boy of barely six. As he approaches them, he notices Kojiro shaking like a leaf, clearly scared out of his mind, while the other two cackle at his distress. They call him a crybaby, over and over. Even at his age, Kaoru knows it’s mean-spirited and hurtful and wrong. He hates it, decides he hates them.

“Hey!” Kaoru shouts as he approaches them. He puts his hands on his hips as if to say he means business, that he’s standing his ground. “Leave him alone.”

The boy on the left turns to him, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. ”Is this your friend, Ko-chan?”

Tears finally spill down Kojiro’s cheeks. “No,” he says, quietly, hesitantly. He sniffs. “I don’t got any friends.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a crybaby,” the other boy snickers.

“Hey,” Kaoru repeats, scowling, as he moves to stand between Kojiro and the two boys. He pushes the shorter boy behind him. “Why are you so mean? Stop it.” 

“None of your business,” says the first boy. Kaoru wonders if he’s the leader of the two. “He’s not complaining. Right, Ko-chan?”

Kaoru doesn’t like the way the boy calls him Ko-chan — it’s not affectionate, like when his mother whispers Kaoru-chan before kissing his forehead, it sounds like an insult, like another way to taunt Kojiro.

Kojiro cowers under the boy’s gaze, but keeps silent, and Kaoru clenches his fists. “You’re scaring him,” he says darkly. “That’s not nice. My Kendo sensei says that a person’s strength shouldn’t be used to scare others.”

The boy blinks. “ Kendo? Like… with swords an’ stuff?”

It takes a moment for Kaoru to realize he sounds… scared, almost. He grins sharply, canines peeking out. “Yup — I even have my own sword at home.” He doesn’t tell them it’s made of bamboo and doesn’t pose much of a threat. “I’m already 5th kyu with all the bigger kids.” Kaoru knows he’s bragging, rubbing it in their faces, which his mom says not to do, but he thinks it’s probably fine when dealing with bullies.

“Um,” both boys take a step back, as if rehearsed. Kaoru bites his lip to hold in a laugh. The leader of the two opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. “That’s… Really cool.” A long pause. “I think I see our moms at the gate, though, so… Bye!”

They run off, tail between their legs, and Kaoru bursts into quiet giggles.

“Oh,” Kojiro says from behind him. When Kaoru turns around, he has an awed look on his face. He rubs at his cheeks, wiping away any leftover tear tracks. “Kaoru is so cool! Be my friend! Please!”

Kaoru doesn’t know how to respond to that. His friendship has never been asked for — most either assume they already are friends, or don’t even bother because Kaoru is too quiet.

“Why do they always bother you?”  He finally asks.

Kojito blinks. “‘Dunno. They said it’s ‘cause I cry all the time, but...” He pouts. “I can’t help it!”

“It’s okay to cry,” Kaoru says, and Kojiro beams at him, like he was just told dinosaurs still exist. “But you should stick up for yourself, too.” 

His lip wobbles again. “But they’re so much bigger,” Kojiro whines. “It’s scary!”

Kaoru purses his lip. “That’s because you’re too small.” At Kojiro’s indignant hey!, he giggles. Kojiro is fun and easy to tease. “Do you drink your milk? My mom says that’s how you grow taller.” His explanation is matter of fact, like the solution to more height is simple.

“Oh,” Kojiro says again, this time in a dejected voice. “I don't like milk, but I really want to get taller...”

Someone calls Kojiro’s name, then, and when Kaoru looks up, he sees a girl much older and taller than the two boys walking towards them.

“Makiko!” Kojiro exclaims, waving at her.

Pretty, Kaoru thinks, when she’s close enough. Her hair is a similar shade of green to Kojiro’s, but so much longer, down her shoulders in twin braids.

She looks between them suspiciously. “Is this your friend, Ko-chan?” The way she says it is definitely different to the mocking way the two bullies had.

“Um,” Kojiro side-eyes him. Kaoru shrugs, and he smiles, wide enough to show teeth. It’s the brightest Kaoru has ever seen him look. He decides that smiling suits Kojiro much more than crying does.

“Yeah! We’re friends! This is Kaoru! He does Kendo and has his own sword — cool, right?!” He says it all in a rush, like a whirlwind that cannot be contained, and it makes Kaoru laugh.

“Hello,” Kaoru says, and bows, slightly, like his mother taught him. “I’m Sakurayashiki Kaoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Wow, Ko-chan, maybe he’ll teach you some manners!” Makiko teases, and then she adds: “Nanjo Makiko. I’m Kojiro’s older sister.”

“My manners aren’t that bad!” Kojiro whines. He sticks out his tongue. “You’re just mean.”

“Suuure,” she sing-songs, grabbing Kojiro’s backpack and throwing it over one shoulder. “Say bye to Kaoru, already, we need to get home. Mom’s making onigiri.”

Kojiro frowns, but does as he’s told and waves. “Bye, Kaoru! We can play together during breaktime tomorrow!”

Kaoru nods, and then smiles at him, waving back. “See you tomorrow.”

Kojiro is fun to be around, is what Kaoru thinks to himself, as he’s walking home with his mom a little while later. 

He decides to tell her all about his new friend, too.

❀

Kaoru becomes attached to Kojiro — fairly quickly, at that.

He finds himself scanning the classroom every day, without fail, to assure himself that Kojiro came to school that day, that he wouldn’t return to playing alone at breaktime again.

Kojiro’s mere presence is a comfort he doesn’t understand. He makes Kaoru feel calm, settled; similar to his favorite blanket — the one he keeps stuffed under his pillow, away from his father’s eyes, because Kaoru apparently outgrew it the moment he turned five.

While it’ll be years before Kaoru fully understands the concept of trust, he all but trusts Kojiro. He trusts him with his toys, and he trusts him with his favorite color pencils, and he quickly comes to trust him with his tears, as well.

They’re at Kojiro’s house, in the living room, and the end credits of Kiki’s Delivery Service are playing on the television. They were watching it with Kojiro’s sisters, but Makiko^[2] just left the room to put Yuuka — the baby of the family, at three years old — down for a nap. Kaoru doesn’t know when he starts crying. 

Kojiro notices right away, because of course he does. He crawls towards Kaoru on the sofa, until their faces are millimeters apart. “Kaoru… You’re crying,” he stage-whispers, concerned and to the point. “I’m not crying, why are you crying?”

“Not telling,” Kaoru says, stubborn and petulant. He tries to blink the tears away, but they keep coming.

“It’s okay to cry,” Kojiro reassures him, reminiscent of what Kaoru told him once-upon-a-time. “Bambi always makes me cry, ‘cause his momma has to go away.”

Kaoru wipes his cheeks. “That’s sad.”

“Really sad,” he agrees. “Did Kiki make you sad? Was it, uhm.. Was it when she lost her powers?” When Kaoru shakes his head, he scrunches up his face in thought. “Do you wanna hug?”

Kaoru’s nod is immediate, which brings a smile to Kojiro’s face. “Yay! I love hugs,” he says, and before Kaoru knows it, Kojiro’s shorter arms are wrapped around his shoulders. He’s leaning his entire weight on Kaoru, pushing him into the cushions, and the hug is almost too tight, but it feels nice — to be so wholly engulfed.

Kaoru is startled by how warm he feels, how comforted. He can’t help but squeeze Kojiro back, as good as he gets, and any defenses he has left are shattered as his heartbeat syncs to Kojiro’s.

A few moments later, when the answer to Kojiro’s initial question slips out, it seems like a natural progression. “She can’t talk to Jiji anymore,” he mumbles into Kojiro’s neck, blubbering like a baby — his father would be disappointed — and then he sniffs. “Kiki got her powers back, but she still can’t talk to Jiji. S’not fair.”

Kaoru feels a drop of wetness on his cheek. He looks up to see tears clinging to Kojiro’s lower lashes, his lips trembling. “Why’re you crying?”

“Because it’s sad,” Kojiro tells him, and he squeezes Kaoru even tighter, pressing their wet cheeks together. “And you’re sad. I can’t help it.”

“Oho, what do we have here?” Makiko pokes her head over the top of the couch. “Cuddle time?”

“Kaoru is sad ‘cause Kiki can’t talk to Jiji anymore,'' Kojiro explains, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “And I’m helping. Hugs always help.”

“Hugs do always help,” Makiko agrees. “You feel any better yet, Kaoru?”

Kaoru hadn’t realized he had stopped crying, at some point, like magic; his tears willed into nonexistence by the power of Kojiro’s warmth.

“Kojiro’s got magic powers,” Kaoru says earnestly, a smile blossoming under her gaze, “he always makes me feel better.”

❀

“Kaoru,” Kojiro says urgently, months later, after they’ve swiftly settled into frequent sleepovers, exchanging friendship bracelets and officially being best friends forever. “We needa get married.”

Kaoru, whose only knowledge of marriage begins and ends with his parents, pauses. “Married?”

“Yeah!” Kojiro nods seriously. He passes another sand-filled bucket to Kaoru, who’s in charge of engineering today’s sandcastle. “My momma said you have'ta marry your favorite person in the entire world. So we gotta get married — you’re my favorite person!”

“Oh,” Kaoru widens his eyes. He doesn’t know if he likes the idea of his father being his mom's favorite. He thinks Kojiro might be his favorite person in the world, too, though, so he doesn’t think he can complain. “Okay.”

“Really?!”

“But we have to be grown ups! When we’re bigger…” Kaoru pauses in thought. “Bigger than Makiko, we can get married.”

Kojiro grins. “If we’re married, we can be together forever,” he says, in a conspiratorial whisper, like they’ve tricked the system. “Like a very, very long sleepover!”

And that — forever, with Kojiro by his side — is an idea Kaoru likes the thought of. Even at the age of six, he can’t imagine spending an eternity with anyone else.

❀

The two boys have been inseparable since the very day they’ve met. One day, Kaoru will try to look back on the first few years of his life — what it was like, without Kojiro by his side — but it will all blur together, fuzzy and whirring like white noise. 

It’s the kind of friendship that may not be paired together by the outside eye, but to Kaoru and Kojiro, it just… makes sense. Of course, Kaoru’s first real friend would be loud and emotional and bursting with affection. Of course, he’d be someone that never hesitated, never had a single second-thought, never concerned himself with the possible consequences — very touch first, think later. Of course, he'd have spent the first few years of his life being nothing but a kid; carefree and naive and without a single worry.

Differences aside, they still fit, is the thing; slot together in a way that simply works. When it’s reading time and the book Kaoru is interested in is still in the hands of the classmate who’s had it for the past week, Kojiro walks right up to her desk and comes back with a grin, book in his grasp. When Kojiro finds a worm in the sandbox and is insistent on taking it home, on befriending it and teaching it tricks, Kaoru wordlessly lends him a small container from his bento and helps him smuggle it into the classroom. Kaoru is all intense, silent stares and courteous, polished behaviour, inept at hiding the bouts of anxiety and unease underneath, and Kojiro is genuine, in every sense of the word, with his heart on his sleeve and an endearing, bountiful supply of energy.

Kojiro is the blinding sun, generous with the light he shares, and Kaoru is the moon, shining bright because he reflects the sun’s brilliance, soaks in it.

Kaoru’s mother seems to quickly notice the difference in his demeanor, the contrast between Kaoru pre-Kojiro and post-Kojiro, but she only comments on it once, offhand.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Nanjo boy,” she remarks lightly, eyes trained on the project in front of her.

Kaoru looks up from his homework. He’s started spending weekend afternoons at his mother’s studio again, reminiscent of his toddler years, working side by side as she deals with her clientele. “Kojiro is my best friend,” he says, a bit confused, “I like spending time with him.”

His mother smiles softly, then, the way she does when she’s pleased. “That’s wonderful. What is your Kojiro like?”

The words your Kojiro ring in Kaoru’s ears. He’s really good at sharing, especially for an only child, and his teachers will attest to that, but he finds himself not wanting to share Kojiro, always wanting his best friend all to himself.

“Loud,” is the first thing to come out of Kaoru’s mouth, almost on auto-pilot, and he wrinkles his nose. “And small, smaller than me, but.. Kojiro’s really nice.” Kaoru hums thoughtfully. “He always wants to play with me, and that makes me happy. Even said he wants to be with me forever, like a super long sleepover.”

“Wow,” she says, setting her brush down, and shifts her gaze to Kaoru, giving him her full attention. “Forever is a long time.”

Kaoru nods. “That’s why we’re getting married.”

His mother blinks, once, twice, and her brows furrow. “Married?”

“Like you and father,” Kaoru says, “but not now,” he continues, as if to assure her. “That’s silly, we’re kids — kids can’t get married.” He pauses, and there’s a short beat of silence. “When we grow up, ‘cause Kojiro’s mom said that everyone marries their favorite person. Kojiro’s my favorite person and I’m his favorite person.”

“Ah...” His mother visibly hesitates, and Kaoru frowns, confused. “Well, that’s nice, Kaoru,” she says, with a strained smile. “I’m glad you’re so close.”

Kaoru fiddles with his pencil, trying and failing to twirl it around his thumb the way Makiko had taught him the previous week. “Mom... Why did you marry Father?”

She purses her lips, similar to the way Kaoru usually does. “Why do you ask?”

A shrug. “Do you love him?”

“I…” His mother looks contemplative, and she pauses to take a long drink from the glass of water in front of her, patting her lips dry with the embroidered handkerchief she always keeps on hand. “I do love your father. I’ve loved him for a long time. He might be busy often, but he’s a hard worker and has done a lot for this family…” She looks up at Kaoru, her gaze resolute. “He’s serving his people now, too, serving his country. Your father is honorable — that’s why I married him.”

Much of his mother’s spiel goes over his head, but Kaoru nods all the same. Had he been older, wiser, he’d think his mother was trying to convince herself.

Instead, Kaoru smiles shyly and says, simply, innocently: “I love Kojiro, so one day, I’ll marry him, too.”

❀

Not much changes as they approach their junior high school years.

Kaoru and Kojiro are still very much attached at the hip, best friends in all respects, together through Kojiro’s first growth spurt and the unfortunate beginnings of puberty and Kaoru running through any and all extracurricular activities his parents can think of.

He still plays violin, still does Kendo (and is quickly approaching his 1-kyu exam), but those remain the only constants.

Through Soroban^[3] School, as suggested by his father, Kaoru quickly learns that he is not naturally arithmetically-inclined. In truth, he barely lasts two months. It frustrates Kaoru; not being able to immediately visualize and grasp mathematical concepts and thus, his inability to rank high after his first evaluation. Unlike with Kendo, he doesn’t aspire to reach a higher kyu or dan, instead Kaoru finds the entire practice useless.

There is no merit in mental calculation, Kaoru thinks, when calculators, in all their glory, exist.

Not all attempts instantly crash and burn, though. During fourth grade, Kaoru surprisingly develops a knack for studying tea ceremony. He starts attending classes soon after his mother works on a calligraphy commission for the local tea school, and finds immense beauty in not only the patterned kimono and tea equipment, but also in the many traditional disciplines involved in the ritual. Kaoru still treasures the cherry blossom-adorned chawan the sensei gifts him after his two-year anniversary of traineeship.

The next year, Kaoru joins Kojiro’s swimming club for a short-but-sweet couple of months. He doesn’t grow tired of swimming as an activity as much as he comes to dislike the smell of chlorine on his skin, how perpetually dry it leaves his hair.

(For once, he quickly comes to regret quitting, though, because swimming club meant more time spent with Kojiro outside of school and their bi-weekly weekend sleepovers.)

It’s not until a third of the way through seventh grade, during summer break, that Kaoru is introduced to what will undeniably become his first love.

Kojiro is right by his side, as Kaoru will soon come to realize he will be for the vast majority of important moments in Kaoru’s life.

It is a typical early August morning, the calm before typhoon season; humid and sticky and not at all pleasant. When Kaoru arrives, drenched in his own sweat and contemplating shaving off his hair, he’s quickly ushered to the back of the house by Kojiro’s mother — you’ll find Kojiro out there, she tells him. This is surprising, to say the least, because Kojiro usually hates being outside in the stuffy weather.

Distracted by his humidity-addled thoughts, Kaoru pulls the sliding door with the intention of calling Kojiro back into the air-conditioned home, pushing his now-damp bangs out of his face. “Kojiro—” He cuts himself off.

He’s only ever seen a skateboard on television, in the kind of cartoons where stunts don’t ever cause major injury. The one Kojiro is using is longer than he expected and shaped differently, less circular at the ends, its red colour a shade darker than Kojiro’s eyes.

Kaoru watches him silently for a while. Kojiro’s left foot pushes off slightly, and once he gains a bit of momentum, it moves to join the other foot on the board. It’s clearly his first time, Kaoru thinks, because his foot misses its target and he nearly plummets on his face. Kojiro catches himself in time, though, and tries again, this time standing with both feet angled sideways on the board, rocking back and forth with his arms out in an attempt to keep balance.

“Where did you get that?”

Kojiro startles and struggles to keep himself upright, promptly falling on his ass.

“You made me fall,” Kojiro grumbles, pointing an accusatory finger at Kaoru, and then stands, dusting off his jeans. 

“Not my fault you suck,” Kaoru retorts, with no real heat, his nose scrunching up. “The skateboard,” he says, his chin gestured towards it. “Where’s it from?” 

His face immediately brightens. “Cool, right? ‘S from my cousin in America.” Kojiro carries it to where Kaoru is standing, under the shade of the overhang, and shoves it in his face. He shows it off like one would a newborn. “It’s called a longboard.”

Kaoru reaches out to run a hand along it. It is really cool. He wants to learn how to ride one, too, wonders how long it’d take to be really good. “Teach me.”

“Um,” Kojiro blinks. “In case you didn’t notice me falling, I’m not that good yet.”

An eye roll. “Fine, whatever,” Kaoru huffs, and he taps two fingers against the longboard as he comes to a decision. “We can learn together, then.”

“Yeah!” Kojiro agrees easily. He urgently pulls Kaoru towards the concrete he’d been practicing on, sets the longboard back on the ground, and then stares at him to say go ahead.

Kaoru purses his lips, bracing himself for something as he puts both hands on Kojiro’s shoulders for stability and places one foot, and then the other, on the board. “Now what?” He asks, his fingers digging into the material of Kojiro’s t-shirt.

“Hey,” he says, eyebrows furrowing, and he loosely holds onto Kaoru’s elbows in return. “You don’t gotta be scared.”

“I’m not,” Kaoru denies, and his grip tightens. “It’s just… My father’s back. I’ll get in trouble if I come home with a scraped knee.”

“My knees aren’t scraped,” Kojiro says, matter of fact.

“Not yet, you mean.”

“Sure,” Kojiro shrugs. “You still won’t, ‘cause I’ll be here to catch you.”

“I don’t need —” Kaoru starts. It’s just Kojiro, so he doesn’t know why he feels so combative, but he blames it on his lack of tolerance to being in his father’s presence.

“But you want?” Kojiro tries, his tone teasing.

Kaoru frowns, and wishes he wasn’t balancing on a piece of wood, if only to knock their foreheads together in the way that really hurts Kojiro. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Kaoru, c’mon,” Kojiro laughs, giving him a look that’s less exasperated and more like he’s in on some inside joke. “Just try the damn thing, okay? You’ll be fine. Promise.”

Kaoru lets out a long breath. “If I fall and you don’t catch me, you’re dead.”

“Whatever you say,” Kojiro sing-songs. “When we both get really good and can skateboard anywhere we want, you’ll thank me.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes again, but starts to rock back and forth like he saw Kojiro doing. He keeps supporting himself with his hold on Kojiro’s shoulders, and tries to get comfortable with how much sway the board has. “This isn’t so bad,” he eventually says, after a minute or so of back-and-forth, and he relaxes his grip, letting his hands fall back at his sides. Kaoru attempts to keep his balance without propping himself on Kojiro, this time, and almost can’t believe it when he stays upright.

A laugh is surprised out of Kaoru, bubbling around the heavy stone of anxiety lodged in his throat, and he throws his head back with it.

Kojiro grins, all teeth and dimples. “Kaoru, we’re gonna get so good.”

❀

It takes them about a month to fully settle into the basics of skateboarding, and after four months, they can both ollie consistently and each have about five other tricks under their belt. 

Kaoru ends up opting to buy himself a traditional skateboard, rather than a longboard like Kojiro’s, custom-designed to feature cherry blossom branches along the board’s white base.

He hides it in the back of his closet, tucked behind his clothes, where he knows his father would never come across it in a million years. Kaoru can practically hear the lecture about how undignified and improper skateboarding is, how it's completely beneath a Sakurayashiki — and he’d much rather not deal with that, thanks. Above all, though, part of him really wants to keep it a secret; something for him and Kojiro and no one else, for only them to know.

That obviously doesn’t work, since Kojiro is a blabber mouth and tells his family everything over dinner, but Kaoru thinks protecting his new interest from his own parents is enough.

And he’s rather successful — until they have a close call, one Friday night, after deciding to sneak out to the local skate park. They’ve been hearing whispers of informal skateboarding competitions for a while now; impromptu, sporadic tournaments being held after dark, with only the best of the best competing. Okinawa’s skating scene is pretty tight-knit, with most at least knowing of each other, but there’s no chance of meeting everyone until you attend.

If Kaoru is going to be the best (and he will, if he has anything to say about it), sneaking out to these tournaments is a no brainer. It’s for research; he needs to scout the competition in order to improve, to beat them at their own game.

Kojiro, however, isn’t as easily convinced. Kaoru has to bug him for weeks before he finally agrees to join him. 

They decide to meet up at the park between their houses and go from there. Kaoru arrives first, five minutes before their meeting time, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself, rocking back and forth between his heels and the balls of his feet. Kaoru has his phone on him, so he thinks it’ll be pretty obvious if, by some chance, his parents notice he’s gone, but that doesn’t do much to curb the churning of his stomach.

He’s buzzing with the kind of panic that might seem minimal, but as much as he tries to convince himself otherwise, could really turn into a full-fledged attack at the flip of a coin.

Before Kaoru’s thoughts work him into a frenzy, a distinctly Kojiro-like silhouette starts walking towards where he’s standing, near the park’s entrance.

The way “Kaoru!” is yelled out — too loud for ten p.m. — is unquestionably his best friend, and once Kojiro is close enough for the streetlight to illuminate his cartoonishly animated face, crooked grin stretched wide, the anxious hum under Kaoru’s skin instantly quiets.

“Let’s go,” he says, with a broad smile of his own, and so they do.

The underground tournament is called 50-50 ^[4], as per one of the friendly spectators they meet, and legend has it, it’s been occurring on a weekly basis since the late 70s. According to her, the events of 50-50 are usually predictable — it runs on an unofficial official schedule, where skaters compete in order of street clout until the night ends with the best skater of 50-50 defending their title.

“It never gets old, though,” she says, with a flip of her hair, and smacks her gum. “I’ve been coming for…” A pause. “Maybe, like, two years now? Yeah. Something like that. I don’t even skate myself, but the people here are just crazy, man, it’s great. And the adrenaline?” She whistles. “Talk about addicting.”

Kaoru expects this night, like all the others before it, to follow suit. He expects to have the time of his life at 50-50, but to simultaneously be riddled with envy, stick to his stomach with jealousy, because he’s watching other people instead of getting to skate himself.

His expectations are mostly correct…. up until an unseen person with a microphone announces that tonight would be different, that they’re looking for fresh meat to challenge their best; someone completely new to 50-50.

He turns to Kojiro, fast enough to give himself whiplash, and doesn’t even get a word out before: “Kaoru, no. Don’t even think about it.”

Kaoru frowns. “You don’t think I’m good enough?”

“You’re good,” Kojiro reassures him, bunching his eyebrows together. “Doesn’t mean you won’t get your ass handed to you.”

Kaoru flushes with irritation. “That’s not going to happen, asshole.”

“Says who?” Kojiro counters, his stare suddenly serious. “Can you even land your heelflip yet?”

“Says me,” Kaoru spits, digging his nails into his board. “And I can land it just fine. I’m just competing against one person, it doesn’t have to be consistent. I’ll still win.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

“What,” Kaoru says, a stubborn tilt to his chin. He can’t help but feel a bit hurt. “You have that little confidence in me?”

Kojiro sighs, his breath visible, and rakes a hand through his hair. “M’just looking out for you.”

“Oh,” Kaoru blinks, and he pauses for a beat, a bit guilty now. “I’ll be careful, then, but…” He purses his lips in thought. “If no one thinks I can do it, I’ll just have to prove otherwise.”

“Kaoru—” He says again, in protest, a downward curl to his lips, but Kaoru cuts him off.

“Wish me luck, okay?”

Kaoru doesn’t wait for a response. He drops his skateboard onto the ground, then, and immediately pushes off, speeding up to increase his momentum. There’s a bit of a crowd forming by the central ramp, forming around a single person — the title-holder, Kaoru thinks — and there’s a telltale buzz of adrenaline in the air.

As soon as Kaoru halts in front of them, his face the mask of indifference, careful not to betray the nerves fluttering in his gut, they all seem to turn to him at once. Their expressions show a mixture of confusion and unmistakable amusement, silently assessing Kaoru (and a few clearly trying to hold in their laughter), and Kaoru tries not to feel too intimidated, like he’s a bug under a microscope.

“Look what we have here,” one of them finally says, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “You’re just a kid. No match for Inazuma.”

“That’s irrelevant, old man,” Kaoru scoffs, all false bravado. “You wanted fresh meat — here I am.”

“This kid has balls,” someone else in the background, where Kaoru can’t see, stage-whispers. 

Kaoru smirks, his posture relaxing into calculated nonchalance. A few people look taken aback by his forwardness, even, so maybe this’ll be much easier than he thinks. “Well?” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back. “I don’t have all night.”

“You got a bedtime or something?” The first guy taunts, letting out an ugly, mocking laugh.

Kaoru’s mouth curls into a snarl, retort on the tip of his tongue, but black-Converse clad feet step forward before he can say anything back. He drags his eyes upwards until he’s face-to-face with a person much older than he’s expecting, closer to his parents’ age than his own, with an eyebrow piercing and a bit of grey streaked into her long hair.

Kaoru is instantly struck speechless by how cool she looks, and then he’s swiftly hit by the realization that he’s surprisingly envious, that he’d like piercings of his own, preferably soon.

“You ready, kid?”

She doesn’t wait for Kaoru to stutter an answer, turning her back and walking towards the nearest halfpipe.

They take their places on both sides of the halfpipe. It’s on the smaller side, Kaoru realizes, so the path downwards isn’t as daunting. Regardless, his pulse does not listen to logic and is pounding in his ears. He takes a deep breath to settle himself, relaxes his shoulders, and takes a moment to plan out the tricks he’ll do — an ollie, then a pop shove-it, then a frontside 180, kickflip and heelflip.^[5]

Kaoru straightens his back, getting into position on his board with his knees bent, and looks straight ahead. He signals that he’s ready. 

While they’re counting down, Kaoru first thinks of nothing, then briefly of winning, and finally, of Kojiro, cheering for him from the audience.

He takes the plunge.

The harsh sting of the wind against his cheeks is a welcome one; it brings an adrenaline-happy grin to Kaoru’s lips. As he approaches the other side of the wall, he keeps his board at a slight angle, and starts to ollie right before he reaches the top of his turn.

He lands the ollie — and very well, at that.

With the first trick out of the way, Kaoru feels at ease. Maybe I can do this, he thinks. Inazuma has the advantage of experience, but even if he doesn’t win, he’ll come out of this with clout. If this continues to go well, the audience and skaters of 50-50 will respect him, and respect goes a lot way in the skating scene.

And it does continue going well, with Kaoru landing the next three tricks as well. 

Up until it no longer does. Until Kaoru miscalculates where his skateboard is, misses the landing on his heelflip, and slams his left arm onto the edge of the wall. Until his fall lands harshly on that same arm, with the entire weight of his body pressing down on it. Until he fails miserably, colossally, and it leaves him sick to his stomach with disappointment and grief and pain. So much pain.

The loud screams of the audience quiet at once. All Kaoru hears is white noise.

❀

Kaoru quickly decides that having a broken limb is very, very miserable.

He’s been confined to his room for the past two days, ordered by his father to stay in bed despite an arm fracture not affecting his general health nor mobility. He gets the longest lecture of his life,too, though that’s neither here nor there, as Kaoru is much too dejected about the incident at 50-50 to overthink his father’s words.

He’s probably replayed the moments before his failed heelflip at least a hundred times since he was discharged from the hospital. Each revisit pulls him further into this state of misery.

Sighing, Kaoru starfishes on his bedroom floor and wills himself to think the way Kojiro would — positively, always looking on the bright side.

His parents still don’t know the real reason behind his broken arm, for one.

After helping move Kaoru from the half-pipe, Kojiro had ended up calling his older sister for a ride to the hospital — because Makiko, now eighteen, drove her own car. He told her that the situation was urgent, that he couldn’t explain until she arrived, and it really is a testimony of their close bond because she met them at the skatepark’s entrance within ten minutes.

They didn’t call Kaoru’s parents, however, until they were in the emergency waiting room and the nurse asked for his guardian. Kaoru’s mother picked up, groggy and disoriented, and when Kaoru told her he was at the hospital, the line went a bit too quiet, before she suddenly burst into tears. The heartbreaking sounds of her sniffling still ring in Kaoru’s ears. He’s truly never felt so guilty about something, wonders if he’ll ever be able to make it up to her.

Half an hour later, she showed up alone, eyes red-rimmed, but warned Kaoru that his father would be waiting to speak to him once they returned home. This distressed Kaoru more than the prospect of multiple fractures in his dominant arm. Even if everything else has gone to shit, his father could not, by any means, know about the skateboarding.

When she headed into the bathroom, Kaoru made Kojiro swear to take his skateboard — left in Makiko’s trunk — back home with him, to keep it with him until further notice. They decided, then and there, to come up with a fake explanation for Kaoru’s arm.

As far as Kaoru’s parents are concerned, he fell out of a tree he was climbing. As far as they know, he and Kaoru snuck out to the neighbourhood park for the hell of it.

If his parents stay none-the-wiser, he will get to skate again. 

Laying on his bedroom floor, slowly losing his mind out of boredom, Kaoru repeats this to himself, over and over, like a mantra. His arm might take a month or two to heal, but he’ll get through this. As long as the future brings him skateboarding, as long as he gets to feel the bite of the wind on his face again, with Kojiro by his side, he’ll be okay.

He’ll try living in the present, for now, especially since a broken arm is the perfect excuse to get out of violin and Kendo for a while, both of which he’s starting to get tired of. Unfortunately for Kaoru, though, an out-of-commission arm does not also exempt him from school work.

Later that afternoon, Kojiro brings him a large packet of catch-up material.

Kaoru would be lying if he said he isn’t happy to see him. He hates feeling so disconnected from the world, trapped in a tower like Rapunzel. Opening his bedroom door to Kojiro’s crooked grin, backpack on one shoulder and homework in hand, is a welcome sight.

“Feel any better?” Kojiro asks, dropping his bag on the floor. He sets the packet of work on Kaoru’s desk, and then looks up, wincing. “You don’t look any better.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kaoru says, sarcastically. “That’s what anyone on bedrest wants to hear.”

“It’s just…” Kojiro laughs, moving closer to Kaoru, and pats his bedhead. Kaoru’s hair, to his shoulders now, has been untouched since his mother helped him wash it after the hospital. Kojiro curls a limp strand of hair around his finger. “When’s the last time you brushed your hair?”

Kaoru’s bottom lip juts out. “My arm is a bit tied up,” he says, matter of fact, digging his in-cast elbow into Kojiro’s stomach. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

“I can help, if you want,” he offers lightly. At Kaoru’s stare, he blinks. “What?”

“You’re serious,” Kaoru says, peering into Kojiro’s face for his usual tells. He looks sincere, but maybe he’d become a better liar in the last two days.

Kojiro rolls his eyes. “Grab your brush, or whatever. Some hair ties, too. I’ll wait on the bed.”

When Kaoru is back with his hairbrush and two scrunchies, Kojiro is right where he said he’d be, sitting on the edge of Kaoru’s bed, phone in hand and a visible wrinkle between his brows — the way it usually is when Kojiro is trying to beat his high score in Snake.^[6]

Kaoru slowly approaches from behind, careful not to rouse his attention. Once he’s close enough to Kojiro’s ear, he says, loudly: “Stop playing that stupid game, already.”

‘Game over!’ flashes on the screen.

“Nooooo,” Kojiro whines. “What the hell, Kaoru, I was so close to a new highscore.”

Kaoru flashes him a sharp grin and does a victory sign with his right hand, tossing the supplies into Kojiro’s lap. He moves to sit between Kojiro’s legs and flips his hair back. “Do your worst.”

With a hand pressing against Kaoru’s jaw, Kojiro angles his head backwards and gets to work. He slowly parts Kaoru’s hair, his hands meticulous and gentle in a way that always surprises others — but not Kaoru, who has been on the receiving end of Kojiro’s motherly instincts for years.

It’s unbelievably soothing. Kaoru comes to the conclusion that he must enjoy having his hair played with and idly wonders if he can get Kojiro to do it more often.

Kaoru’s hair quickly becomes knot-and-tangle-free under Kojiro’s dexterous fingers, but instead of stopping there and sending Kaoru on his way, Kojiro divides each section of hair into three sub-parts. That he’s going to braid Kaoru’s hair is unquestionable.

“You can braid,” Kaoru says, but it comes out lilting, like a question, his tone betraying how surprised he is.

“Yeah?” Kojiro sounds confused. “I do Yuuka’s hair sometimes.”

“Oh,” he breathes. Kojiro’s such a good older brother. “You’re really good.”

Kojiro laughs, and Kaoru can feel the huff of Kojiro’s breath on the back of his neck. “M’not even done yet. It’s gonna come out ugly now, just watch.”

Kaoru just hums, distracted, as he relaxes into the feeling of Kojiro’s fingers in his hair, sinking into the soothing ministrations.

He thinks, distantly, of the silly promise they made to each other as children — to marry each other, one day — and feels his ears prickle with heat. Despite the naive, childish execution, Kaoru realizes, all at once, that the sentiment still applies. If he’s ever given the chance to be with Kojiro, his best friend of six years, forever … He’ll take it in a flash. In a heartbeat. Without question, hesitation, or conditions.

❀

It’s the week before Valentine’s Day. Kaoru doesn’t understand why this superficial holiday, with no real significance, has become of such importance in junior high. There’s an expectant hum of energy in the school hallways, excited whispers in every corner. The anticipation is beyond Kaoru’s comprehension. 

He misses how simple it was in elementary school; candies and cards are passed around the entire class, with no specific classmate in mind, and that’s it. No confessions or love letters or awkward staring from across the classroom.

“I just don’t get it,” he tells Kojiro over lunch, his nose wrinkling. “What’s the point?”

“Love,” Kojiro jokes, shoving a spoonful of curry into his mouth. When he swallows, he adds, more seriously, “Don’t you want to get confessed to?”

Kaoru pretends to gag. “I can’t think of anything I’d want less.”

“Come to think of it,” Kojiro ventures thoughtfully. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone?”

They lapse into comfortable silence, as Kaoru racks his memories for any girls he’s ever been interested in — in the crush sense, at least. His thoughts turn to Hana, from their third grade class, but after a moment of consideration, he might’ve been more interested in getting her to share her 120-piece colouring pencil set.

Kaoru raises his chopsticks to his mouth, slowly chewing on a slice of cucumber. “Not really, no,” he replies after a while. He wonders if that’s strange, to be so unbothered by something that would probably phase anyone else. “Crushes seem like an inconvenience.”

Kojiro shifts his gaze away from his lunch, toward Kaoru, and frowns around his spoon. “Not really,” he disagrees. It catches Kaoru off guard. “It kinda feels nice: to be liked that much an’ all.” 

“Hmm,” Kaoru appraises him, keeping his face neutral. “Are you speaking from experience, then?”

“Huh?”

“It sounds like you’ve been confessed to,” he says, and takes another bite of cucumber to give himself something to do with his hands. “Who’s the lucky girl?" He doesn’t add, and why did you keep it from me?

Kojiro winces, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. He swallows and asks: “Do you remember Juri? From last year? She was in 6-B, though, not our class.”

There is something familiar about the name, pulling at the edge of his memory, but still, Kaoru can’t say that he does. He nods all the same.

“She, ah,” Kojiro clears his throat. “She confessed right after graduation. Pulled me aside while you were talking to Sensei with your parents. She wanted to tell me before she moved to Osaka with her family.”

“And you liked the feeling,” Kaoru deduces.

“And I liked the feeling,” he agrees with a shrug. “Even if you don’t feel the same — it’s still an ego boost, y'know? Who isn’t into that?

Me, for one, Kaoru muses.

“But it’s uncomfortable,” Kaoru protests weakly, squinting, hand propping up the side of his face. “How can you like someone you don’t know?”

Kojiro snorts, and it sounds half-exasperated, half-fond. “It’s not like that,” he explains to Kaoru, like he’s five. “It’s about wanting the chance to get to know someone. I think it’s admirable and brave for them to go out on a limb to confess.”

“Would you ever?” Kaoru asks, then, less a question, more a challenge.

There’s a pause as Kojiro tilts his head back to consider the sky. “Yeah,” he eventually says, and an earnest smile blooms wide across his face. “Yeah, I think I would.”

“Gross,” Kaoru replies, with exaggerated disgust. He doesn’t dwell on the possible scenario of Kojiro confessing to someone, or why it makes his stomach hurt.

❀

This is uncomfortable, Kaoru confirms the next week, as he’s cornered by an upperclassman in the hallway before class. It’s unsettling, to be considered familiar enough to be approached by someone Kaoru only remotely recognizes.

She’s very pretty, pretty in a similar, subtle way to how Makiko is pretty; big, bright eyes behind stylish glasses, sleek, chin-length black hair and a blunt fringe. Tall, too, shorter than Kaoru but taller than most girls at their school. Kaoru can acknowledge her beauty, but his thoughts are from an objective distance, as if he’s making impersonal observations for biology class, rather than being evoked by emotion.

He wonders if he should find her pretty enough to want to date, or maybe at least enough to consider it for a brief moment.

“Sakurayashiki-san,” she says with an unsure smile, clearly holding something behind her back. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

Kaoru freezes, as if struck, standing outside his classroom, with Kojiro and a few of their peers. The look Kojiro, in particular, gives him is unmistakable smug, his lips pressed together to keep laughter at bay. While the others simply look on in silence, there’s a sort of pressure that comes from approaching someone so publicly. Especially on Valentine’s Day.

And well, Kaoru really has no choice but to comply, does he.

He forces his lips into a semblance of a smile. “Sure, senpai. Lead the way.”

She leads him to the alcove under the nearest stairway. Still in public, but a slight distance away from their gossip-prone classmates, mostly hidden from their hawk eyes.

Turning around to face Kaoru, her gaze is abruptly steady, intense in ways it hadn’t been minutes prior. She takes a deep inhale through her nose, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Sakurayashiki-san, I know we’re not familiar to each other, so I apologize for the forwardness.” In another universe, one where Kaoru found her pretty enough to date, he thinks the apologetic smile she gives him would be disarming. “My name is Higa Misaki, from class 2-C.”^[7]

Kaoru bows to her, deeply, trying to communicate his apology in advance. “It’s nice to meet you, senpai.”

Misaki mirrors him, and when she straightens, a small, gift-wrapped package materializes from behind her back. “Please accept this token of my affection,” is said in a rush. She takes in another long breath and continues, “I don’t expect anything in return, nor for my feelings to be reciprocated, but please receive this gift positively.”

Much too afraid of embarrassing her, Kaoru hesitantly accepts the package, bowing again. “I… Thank you,” he swallows, his gaze cast down on the floor. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve this, but… Thank you, senpai.”

With a nod and a bittersweet smile, Misaki takes her leave. Kaoru shakily releases a breath he was unknowingly holding.

Getting through the rest of the day is exceedingly difficult.

Word travels fast — with Misaki arriving to her homeroom in an uncharacteristically dejected mood, her friends put two and two together, and Kaoru is suddenly known around the school for breaking an upperclassman’s heart.

It doesn’t help that Kojiro finds the entire ordeal absolutely hilarious.

“Let me get this straight,” he says for the tenth time since it happened. “A pretty senpai confesses to you, first-year Sakurayashiki Kaoru, on Valentine’s Day of all days, and you reject her without any hesitation.”

“Yes, yes, for the millionth time, yes.” Kaoru groans, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. “Stop making me sound like a huge jerk.”

Kojiro guffaws so hard he doubles over.

“It’s just…” Another loud cackle. “Seriously, what are the odds, Kaoru. And as your first ever confession. It’s just too funny.”

Might be funnier, Kaoru thinks, if it wasn’t pushing me into an early existential crisis.

Kojiro, of all people, clearly means well, though, so Kaoru lets the jokes bounce off of him — it’s not his fault that Kaoru is internalizing the entire situation. It’s not his fault that Kaoru is evidently wired differently than Kojiro and the rest of the boys they know, who would all jump at the chance of dating a pretty senpai. Who feel excitement at the prospect of being confessed to by a girl, rather than discomfort and apprehension and horror.

It’s daunting, to come to the realization that this is a first, for them — an aspect of Kojiro he doesn’t understand; somewhere he and Kojiro don’t align, somewhere he’ll never be able to follow.

❀

Kaoru does his best, in the next few days, not to dwell on it.

He comes up with a plan, of sorts, to get himself some answers, though it doesn’t come to fruition until Saturday evening, when his mother is out at a client’s gallery opening.

Here's the thing: he needs to do research. For extensive research, he needs the internet. With all computer usage in his house heavily monitored, and with the family PC located in his father’s locked study, he needs to tread lightly.

Finding the key to the study would prove itself difficult, but after carefully scouring through his parent’s room for an hour, Kaoru fortuitously opens his father’s sock drawer to find it nestled in between two identical black pairs.

Fifteen minutes later, Kaoru is staring into the ‘Yahoo!’ homepage, fingers itching.

why don’t I like girls?, he types, backspaces, types, backspaces again.

After a moment of deliberation, he writes, what does it mean if I don’t like girls? instead.

It takes Kaoru a while to muster the courage to do more than just that, hesitating over the ‘search’ button. He eventually closes his eyes, counts to ten, and takes in a deep breath before finally clicking the enter key.

He does not feel so alienated, afterwards.