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In February of the year the curse would break, there was a snowstorm.
“Well, you can’t go home in that ,” Kakeru said.
Yuki looked up from his textbook, vaguely insulted until he realized that Kakeru didn’t mean his slightly rumpled school uniform, or blue winter coat, but rather the snow that was coming down in thick sheets. Kakeru had pulled back the curtains in his room and was looking out at the mess of it.
“Fuck, I can barely see the sunset,” Kakeru said, squinting and leaning so close to the window that his nose touched the glass. “Not very romantic, Yun Yun, I apologize,” he said. He shot a look over his shoulder at Yuki, expression playful and challenging. Yuki expected to be used to this particular expression, given its frequency and his resolution not to overthink every movement Kakeru made, but he still grit his teeth and looked away before Manabe could cast some sort of spell on him.
“I’ve got to go home,” Yuki said, closing the textbook. “It’s not that bad. I’ll walk.” He’d only intended to stay a few hours. Kakeru had practically begged him to come study, though it was a Friday and they’d just finished a round of exams.
“C’mon,” he’d whined, arm flung familiarly across Yuki’s shoulders. “Come home with me.”
Yuki had been waiting for Tohru and Kyo to finish packing their bags. They’d been lingering, flirting, as usual, though neither seemed to be completely aware of what they were doing. He’d been feeling like a third wheel for a while now.
“What are we even going to study?” Yuki said, shrugging him off. He glanced back at Tohru and Kyo. They hadn’t looked up. She was smiling at him and he was blushing.
Kakeru shrugged. “You’re studious. You’ll find something. Besides, it’s your duty to keep me company.” He grinned like they were conspiring and Yuki felt his face getting hot.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kakeru tilted his head to one side. “I thought Machi would tell you,” he said, looking suddenly embarrassed. “Aren’t you two best friends now?”
They’d made leaps and bounds in their friendship, sure, but so far that meant he could get full sentences out of her when he worked at it and he’d stopped flinching when she looked at him like she could read his mind.
“Can’t you just tell me?” Yuki said.
Kakeru frowned. “Komaki and I broke up,” he said.
“Oh,” Yuki said. “I’m sorry. I—“
Kakeru shook his head. He was moving now, swaying from side to side like all his pent up energy was seeping out of him.
“It was a long time coming,” he said suddenly. “The point is you have to cheer me up, Prez.”
Kakeru was still staring out the window.
“I can’t let you walk home,” he said. “It’s freezing. And it’s dark out.”
“I’ll be fine,” Yuki said. Kakeru grinned and opened his bedroom window. Before Yuki could ask him what he was doing, Kakeru stuck his head out into the snow. He ducked back inside a few seconds later, dark hair completely coated in snowflakes.
He laughed. “Honda-san will kill me if I let you freeze to death out there. Come on; it’s Friday. My mom’s not coming home from her conference until tomorrow. You can borrow pajamas. It’ll be great. It’s council bonding,” he said.
“Honda-san won’t kill you,” Yuki said, but his position was already softening. Kakeru shook his head like a dog, spraying clumps of snow. Yuki weighed the pros and cons of trekking the twenty minutes back home in what was quickly becoming a full blown storm. He’d never been a fan of the cold.
Yuki sighed. “Alright, I’ll call home and let them know I’m staying here,” he said.
Tohru agreed with Kakeru. She said she’d been watching the snow accumulate while she made dinner. She was just beginning to worry when he called. Now, Kyo was pulling the old space heater out of the closet for Tohru’s room and she was making tea.
“You should wait until it stops snowing at least, Yuki-kun,” Tohru said, seriously. “Visibility is bad. The news is telling people not to drive, but you never know...” She trailed off.
Yuki felt something in his chest seize up. “I’ll sleep over here,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Stay safe,” she said.
When Yuki came back into Kakeru’s room, he was gone. Yuki padded cautiously down the hallway. The apartment was small. Yuki had only been here a few times, and they spent most of their time in Kakeru’s room. He hadn’t done more than pass through the kitchen, but he got a good look at it now. Kakeru was frying eggs. He had two bowls of ramen on the counter, and paused to fill each with water from the kettle.
“Do you want tea?” Kakeru said, turning to look at him. His face was flushed and he’d changed out of his uniform into a long sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants. “Sorry, I’m not much of a cook.”
Yuki gaped at him. Kakeru flipped one of the eggs.
“You’re making dinner?” Yuki said.
Kakeru frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Yuki folded his arms over his chest self-consciously. “I can barely boil water,” he admitted. “I’m just surprised.”
Kakeru rolled his eyes. “Oh right, I forgot. You’re royalty.”
“Shut up,” Yuki said.
“You can handle adding the seasoning packets to these, right?”
Yuki nodded and slid in beside him.
“It’s really coming down out there,” Kakeru said, glancing out of the kitchen window. Yuki stirred the ramen and Kakeru shifted his weight from foot to foot. He often did this when he was impatient. Yuki had noticed. He’d fidget at his locker and during breaks. At council meetings he’d always volunteer to get drinks from the vending machine. Yuki suspected that this was so he could sprint up and down the hallway, full force, and get out some of his restlessness. He usually came back breathless, with an armful of drinks that were all shaken up. Once, Naohito’s soda had exploded on him. He’d been so angry they’d nearly postponed the meeting. It was like Kakeru couldn’t keep still.
“You spacing out?” Kakeru leaned into Yuki’s side. That was another thing he did. Kakeru filled in the space beside Yuki like it was his job. Yuki’s first instinct was always to draw back, to fold in on himself before daring to brush up against someone. Even if the person in question was a boy, even if it was Kakeru. Suddenly, Kakeru’s hand was on his shoulder and a shiver was running up Yuki’s spine.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Kakeru was depositing an egg in each ramen bowl. He eyed Yuki suspiciously and then shrugged. Yuki picked up one of the bowls.
“Don’t say I never made you anything,” Kakeru said, grinning.
Yuki had been noticing a change lately. It wasn’t something he could quite put into words, but it felt like a loosening of a grip he’d never realized was bruising. He was feeling more daring and less trapped. And with that feeling came others.
“We’ve got a whole night ahead of us,” Kakeru said. He’d switched the TV on while they ate. Yuki was busy watching the snow. He thought about Machi, and how she’d feel when the storm settled and everything was blanketed in perfect white.
Kakeru had stretched out on the floor and was propping his head up with one hand. “Kimi got me a bottle of whiskey,” he said, with a raised eyebrow.
“Absolutely not,” Yuki said.
“Come on,” Kakeru said, dragging out the syllables. “We can play a drinking game.”
“Don’t you need more people for that?” Yuki said. Kakeru was sitting up now. “Don’t people usually play drinking games at parties?”
Kakeru frowned. “I guess,” he said. “What’s wrong with a party of two?”
Kakeru got up and disappeared down the hallway. He returned with the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. “I keep it under my bed,” he said.
“Where’d Kimi even get whiskey?”
“One of her college boys,” Kakeru said, grinning. “I bribed her for a cut. College boys never buy me drinks,” he said.
He was already pouring shots. He handed one to Yuki. “It’s a warm up,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“Fine,” Yuki said.
It burned, but Yuki kept himself from coughing. He remembered New Year's at the main house when he was a kid. When Shigure, Hatori, and Ayame were still in college they’d drink beer outside after Akito went to bed. Yuki’s world was small back then, hardly bigger than the walls of Akito’s room, and New Year’s was the only time he saw anyone else in the zodiac. He remembered crouching by the door, peeking through to catch glimpses of them.They always started out hushed and ended up loud and boisterous, flushed from the drinks or the cold and telling stories of which Yuki could only catch pieces. His brother would sling his arms around his friends and gossip, and back then Yuki reveled in watching his brother.
Yuki lacked so much control in his life already, that getting drunk had never interested him. And when you lived with secrets, you didn’t look for ways to make them easier to spill.
Kakeru got up and made them drinks. Yuki didn’t see him pour, but he had a feeling they were strong.
“What’s the game?” Yuki asked.
Kakeru sat cross-legged beside the table, face transformed with a look of deep concentration. Yuki laughed.
“What, you didn’t have a game?” he said.
“I have a game, just hold on,” he said, smacking the table with his palm. The drinks jostled precariously and Yuki thought again of New Year’s. This time he thought of Akito’s yelling, of cups shaking and toppling, and broken dishes. He felt his shoulders tighten involuntarily.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Kakeru said. He poured two more shots and set them at the center of the table. “I’ll ask you a question and you can either answer or take a shot.” he said. He had a wild look on his face already. “And we’ll take turns, obviously.”
“What kind of questions? What happens if I get them wrong?”
“Not trivia, you dunce. Personal questions,” Kakeru said.
“Oh,” Yuki said. He eyed the shots on the table. “Okay.”
Kakeru leaned his elbows on the table and blinked lazily. His eyelashes were long, Yuki noticed, though not for the first time.
“Are you afraid?” Kakeru said.
“Is that your first question?” Yuki said.
“Fine,” Kakeru whined. “You got me.”
“No,” Yuki said. “I’m perfectly comfortable answering questions about myself.”
He wasn’t sure if it was whiskey already getting to him or if it was the snow piled up around them, but Yuki felt a surge of nervousness.
“It’s your turn, then,” Kakeru said. And then Yuki was at a loss again.
“Um...” he ran his fingers around the edge of his glass, picking up droplets of condensation.
“C’mon man, I’m an open book,” Kakeru said. Yuki recalled a slew of Kakeru’s unsolicited personal stories. It seemed like no matter where Yuki was, Kakeru would find him on breaks, sliding into classrooms and breathlessly recounting an argument he’d had with Kimi or a strange customer he’d had at the 7-11 or how he’d aced a quiz purely on luck. These stories were loud and rushed and captured the attention of everyone Yuki was sitting near (usually Tohru, Kyo, Uotani, and Hanajima).
“It’s like he comes in here and reads you some snippet of his goddamn diary,” Kyo said. Kakeru had just come in to pass along some gossip from his friends on the soccer team, and gone on to tell Yuki everything he’d eaten for lunch.
Yuki had flushed, embarrassed at how natural these interruptions had become. He watched the door for him now. Kakeru would sit backward on the seat in front of him, leaning his elbows on Yuki’s desk and sitting close enough for Yuki to smell his cheap cologne.
“I think it’s nice,” Tohru said. “He wants to keep you updated.”
Kyo shrugged, but didn’t push the point further now that Tohru had weighed in.
“He’s certainly gone in a flash,” Hana said, evenly. “His waves are...enthusiastic.”
Uo laughed. “That’s one word for it.”
Yuki took another sip of his drink.
And yet some things were a mystery. He kept his mouth shut about family matters most of the time, and sometimes stories came out short-sighted and hard to follow. He’d slow, taking a moment to catch his breath.
“I did it again didn’t I, Yun?” He’d say. “I assumed something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t listen.”
Perhaps he was an open book, but it was an edited book, a draft still in revision.
Every question that sprung to mind seemed to give something about himself away. Yuki wondered, for instance, how Kakeru could walk around for so long without noticing that his shoes were untied. He wondered how he’d figured out Yuki’s coffee order without asking and why he fell into step with Machi in the halls when he sped ahead of everyone else. He wondered why he only got texts from him past 3 a.m. and why he’d joined the student council in the first place, when it seemed like he only wanted to stir up chaos. But if Yuki asked any of these questions they’d prompt the inevitable. Why are you paying so much attention?
“You can ask me anything,” Kakeru said. “ Anything. ”
“Do you like the snow?” Yuki asked.
Kakeru seemed to consider the question carefully (which was not an outcome Yuki had expected.)
“When I was a kid my mom didn’t let me do a lot of things,” he said. “But she did let me play in the snow.” He sipped his drink. “I’d go to school and after school I had piano lessons because she wanted me to be well-rounded and shit. And after that it was private tutoring. But anyways, when it snowed and I was done with everything else she’d let me run around and throw snowballs or whatever. I remember how cold my face would get. I felt like my smile was frozen on.”
Kakeru smoothed the hair from his forehead. It looked even messier that way, and Yuki imagined what he’d look like in the snow as a kid, with his unlimited supply of energy.
“So yeah, I like the snow,” he said. “But quit asking easy questions, Yun. I want something juicy.”
“You want to get drunk,” Yuki said.
“It’s my turn,” Kakeru said. “Tell me about your first kiss.”
Yuki reached for the shot and downed it quickly. This one burned more, and he coughed, pitifully, as he reached for his glass.
Kakeru was laughing. “God, that bad then? Did they bite you? Komaki bit my lip too hard once when we were making out and it bled,” he said. “Shit and once I accidentally head-butted her. Don’t ask me to explain that one. I honestly don’t understand it myself.”
Yuki could feel his shoulders tightening. He tended to shrink when he was embarrassed.
“There’s not really anything to tell,” he said, sounding more defensive than he’d meant.
Of course he hadn’t kissed anyone. There were too many reasons why to count, but he didn’t want to get into it when Kakeru was looking at him the way he was, with wide, insistent eyes. It seemed unwise, when he was starting to feel the vague haziness he imagined preceded being properly drunk.
Yuki couldn’t really imagine what it would be like, anyway. He’d never been close enough to a girl (besides Tohru) to work out the precise movements required. There was some mysterious configuration of bodies—he’d seen it in between Kyo and Tohru—that led up to a kiss. Those two had come close. He’d seen Tohru rock gently on her feet, leaning up to look Kyo in the eye, caught in some magnetism he inspired. Sometimes he’d been certain they were about to kiss, Kyo moving closer to achieve a balance Yuki figured was key. He was always off balance. If someone ever wanted to kiss him, Yuki figured they’d sense this imbalance and give up before anything began.
“Oh,” Kakeru said. Yuki felt every second of his pause. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to make a big deal out of—“
“You don’t have to be a downer, Yun,” Kakeru said.
“You asked the question,” Yuki said. “Give me that.”
Yuki gestured to the whiskey bottle. Kakeru handed it over and Yuki poured another shot.
“You’ve got a whole army of girls fawning over you, I just thought—“
“Well you thought wrong,” Yuki said, tightly.
Kakeru’s expression softened, and somehow that was more embarrassing.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “It’s not like I’ve got a breadth of experience. Komaki was my first kiss and she’s the only person I’ve dated.”
“I know it’s not a big deal,” Yuki said.
Kakeru’s eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. “Are you going to kiss Machi?”
“You already asked your question.”
Kakeru scoffed. “I don’t get a single follow up? Just tell me,” he said.
Yuki imagined kissing Machi. He imagined copying the motions he’d seen between people who loved each other, or seemed like they did.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” Yuki said.
“Why not?” Kakeru said, shoulders relaxing.
“That’s two follow up questions,” Yuki said.
“Fine, your turn.”
Yuki looked him up and down. “How’d you break up?”
“That’s your question?”
“What else would it be?”
Kakeru took a shot.
“I thought you wanted something juicy,” Yuki said, leaning his elbows on the table. He sipped his drink again. It was disappearing more quickly than he’d intended.
Kakeru poured another shot and shook his head. “Fine, you’re right. Just ask me again later,” he said.
Kakeru directed his eyes to the table for a second too long before looking back up at him. Yuki noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t seen them before.
“Your turn,” Yuki said, before the silence swallowed them up.
“Tell me what you were like as a kid.”
Yuki rolled his eyes. All Kakeru’s questions were like commands.
“I’ll answer but I’m taking a shot first,” he said.
Kakeru laughed. “You’re cheating,” he said. He was rebounding, expression lifting to its usual heights of enthusiasm.
“What exactly is the point of this game, then?” Yuki said. He felt drunk now, in the way that drunkenness stretched his mouth wide when he spoke and made his tongue feel too thick. It was of this opening that he’d been afraid. It was too easy to speak. Words were warm.
“Wasting my booze and getting no stories, apparently,” Kakeru said. He leapt up from the table. “Hold on, before you start.”
He swayed slightly and then righted himself. “I’m going to get snacks,” he said.
Yuki thought briefly that they should conserve food in case the storm got worse and they were stuck for a while. It sounded a bit like a rat spirit idea, though, so he didn’t voice it. Kakeru came back with a package of mochi and a bag of honey butter potato chips.
“Alright, on with it,” Kakeru said, opening the chip bag and sliding toward Yuki so casually that he was momentarily caught off guard. Not much was shared at the Sohma estate. Yuki took a chip.
“Let me think,” Yuki said. He wanted to pick a story he wouldn’t have to censor too much. He remembered afternoons in the dojo, practicing in a corner away from the others. He thought about peeking out of the curtains in Akito’s room at Kyo and Kagura and Haru playing tag in the yard. He spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling in that room, because looking outside made him feel small.
“I used to play hide and seek with myself,” Yuki said.
“I think that’s just called hiding,” Kakeru said.
“I know. I know,” Yuki said. He reached for the mochi and popped one in his mouth. “But it was a game, really. I’d hide, and then when someone found me I’d hide again. Only it was usually someone who worked in the house, or sometimes Shigure back when he was in the main house all the time. Once my mother found me and...” He trailed off.
It was a linen closet. He was 7. He liked this spot because there was a corner he fit in perfectly, and he wasn’t yet afraid of being trapped. Akito had a disappearing act: sick or sick of him or throwing a tantrum. Yuki could sneak off without being noticed. There was a broken hinge on the closet’s door, so it wouldn’t shut all the way and the light would filter in. He’d sit there and listen to footsteps and snippets of conversation and the creaking sounds the house made when the wind blew.
When his mother opened the door he was startled, but he didn’t move. She got something from a shelf high above him and he watched her stern expression and sharp jaw. He thought she hadn’t seen him until she reached down and dragged him out by the collar.
“If you act like an object people will treat you like one,” she said.
“Yun? You okay?” Kakeru had moved to sit next to him. He put his hand on Yuki’s shoulder and Yuki tensed.
“Yeah, I...sorry,” Yuki said. “It’s a bad story. Most of them are bad stories, the stories about me as a kid I mean.”
Kakeru’s eyebrows furrowed together.
“So you were a lonely kid? And kind of weird and precocious. I could’ve guessed that. You’ve got to tell me more, Yun,” Kakeru said.
“Precocious?” Yuki, voice leaping up an octave.
“Well, you made up your own game, didn’t you? And I bet you were one of those kids who talked to himself too,” Kakeru said.
“I didn’t talk much,” Yuki said, perhaps too quickly. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“Why do I care about what?” Kakeru said. He tilted his head to one side in the infuriating, endearing way he always did.
“About what I was like as a kid,” Yuki said. He took a sip of his drink. He blinked, lazily. He was finding it harder to concentrate on what Kakeru was saying. He kept getting distracted by his face. Yuki hunched over and put his elbows on the table.
“Just turning a few question marks into periods,” he said. “What’s the harm in that?”
Yuki thought of Tohru, of the gentle way she’d urged him to open up. It was slow, and he’d hardly realized what was happening. They’d be doing dishes together, her washing and him drying, and she’d ask him about his day and he’d want to tell her. He’d forget his impulse to lie. His face would lose its practiced expressions and he’d speak honestly. Yuki was not terribly good at being honest.
She’d done similar things with Kyo, he knew, but the way they interacted was different. He’d caught bits of their conversations, in moments where he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. The difference was that where Yuki struggled to give Tohru even a fraction of what she’d give him, Kyo was her equal. For all their banter and awkwardness, he could coax her out of the accommodating politeness she wore like a mask.
Kakeru wore few masks, and there was nothing slow about the way he pushed Yuki. He was insistent and tactless and loud. Sometimes that made Yuki want to push back.
“No harm,” he deadpanned. “I just don’t think I was all that interesting as a kid. You wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend.”
Kakeru groaned. “You say that like we’re not still kids,” he said. He fell back onto the floor dramatically.
“I’m not a kid,” Yuki said, then immediately felt childish. His voice was too loud and too high and his whole body felt liquid and tingly. “I’m drunk,” he said.
Kakeru laughed. “We’re kids,” he said. “Or at least not adults.”
They were in a weird in-between stage. Yuki felt like everyone looked at him like he was a kid and yet Sensei would be asking him to write down his post-graduation plans.
“When I was a kid I played in the dirt,” Yuki said.
Kakeru lifted his head from the floor, but remained sprawled.
“Dirt or mud?” he said.
“Both. There are gardens all over the property and I’d just dig holes,” he said. “It was before I started getting sick a lot and my mother wanted to keep me inside. I had this…”
He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, fingers wiggling, trying to find the right word. Kakeru was grinning.
“It was a soup ladle, I think, but the handle was bent so they were going to throw it out and I found it...somewhere. I don’t remember. I hid it under a loose floorboard outside of Akito’s room so no one would find it and take it away,” Yuki said.
The absurdity of it all was hitting him now, and because he was drunk it was hilarious. Every time he talked about the main house it sounded like a prison, or more accurately a cage for vermin, for rats who liked to dig holes to other places and get dirt under their fingernails.
“That was before things got bad,” he said.
Kakeru sat up. Yuki’s face felt hot.
“Let’s go outside,” Kakeru said.
Kakeru gave him a sweatshirt and pair of sweatpants to change into. They were a little too big on him and soft.
“I’ll get you a hat and some gloves, too,” he said.
Now that they were standing, Yuki realized how drunk they both were. Kakeru swayed and wrapped a scarf around Yuki’s neck before ducking back into the closet and digging around for a hat.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Yuki said. He was already sweating under the layers.
“You worry too much,” Kakeru said. “It’s just snow.”
“It’s two feet of snow and you’re wasted. That’s how people freeze to death.”
“So morbid,” Kakeru said. He retrieved the extra hat and pulled it over Yuki’s ears. Yuki watched him, the clumsy way his hands moved, the winter coat he’d buttoned up wrong, the look of thorough concentration as he did up Yuki’s coat buttons too. “And I’m not wasted, you are.”
“ No ,” Yuki said, drawing out the syllable. “You’re a liar.”
Kakeru rolled his eyes. “I’m many things, but I’m not a liar. In fact I think I’m too honest.”
Yuki couldn’t see the street. He squinted in the moonlight. The snow was a bright expanse and it was dizzying to squint at. He was up to his ankles in it and Kakeru was kicking his way through it along the balcony. He laughed and Yuki could see his breath.
“This is gonna be a pain in the ass in the morning,” Kakeru said. “I don’t think we even have a shovel.” He looked up at the sky. He looked paler in the light, washed out and tired with his eyebags. His hands were sunk deep in his pockets and he bounced from foot to foot.
It was cold. Yuki couldn’t feel his feet and the whiskey was making his stomach churn. They stayed in place: Kakeru shifting, Yuki stone still, Kakeru looking up at the sky, Yuki looking at Kakeru.
“I haven’t seen this much snow in a long time,” Kakeru said. They were only a few paces apart. Kakeru took his hand out of his coat pocket and stuck it in Yuki’s. Their gloved fingers brushed together.
“Yeah,” Yuki said, dumbly. His breath caught in his throat. Kakeru moved closer with such ease.
Yuki thought again of Tohru, of what she’d say if he explained how Kakeru opened him up every time he came near, of how he’d been cataloguing each of his movements and looking for a place where he fit. He wondered if she’d feel like the eavesdropper if she saw them like this, standing so close and getting closer. He wondered if she had been holding her breath like he had, as to not upset the precipice where the past would fall away and the present would come into focus.
“I’m sorry I made you play that game,” Kakeru said.
“You didn’t make me do anything,” Yuki said. Kakeru’s hand was warm through his glove.
“I come on too strong,” Kakeru said. “You’ve gotta tell me when it’s too much because I can never tell.”
“Okay,” Yuki said. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Whiskey’s inside,” Kakeru said.
“I’m serious,” Yuki said.
“I can’t take you seriously with that dopey look on your face. And you’re standing like you’re going to fall over,” Kakeru said. He brushed the hair and snow out of his eyes with the hand that wasn’t in Yuki’s pocket, which only served to draw attention to the fact that Kakeru’s hand was still in Yuki’s pocket.
“How did you and Nakao-san break up?”
Kakeru groaned. “That again? It’s not a big deal. We drifted apart.”
He took his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I thought you were going to be honest,” Yuki said. He couldn’t feel his face. He didn’t know why they were still out in the cold, but going inside now felt wrong.
Kakeru looked over at him. Yuki tried to school his face into an expression that didn’t reveal too much.
“She started catching feelings for someone else,” he said.
“Oh.”
“She wasn’t going to act on them or anything. She wouldn’t do that to me. She just told me and I told her that I…” He stopped.
“That you what?”
Kakeru sighed. “You were right. We’re going to freeze to death out here.”
“Tell me,” Yuki said. He reached out and grabbed his coat sleeve.
The snow made everything quiet. It was late. There would be a slew of problems to deal with in the morning: how to get home when the sidewalks weren’t shoveled, the hangover he was sure to have, the pile of homework he’d be plowing through for the rest of the weekend. Kakeru tilted his head. He hesitated.
“I told her that I had feelings for you,” he muttered.
“Oh,” Yuki repeated.
“It’s stupid, I know. But I do,” Kakeru said. He looked at the ground. “I’m a better person when I’m with you, I think.”
Yuki stepped closer. There were snowflakes in Kakeru’s eyelashes. Yuki put his hand on Kakeru’s waist. Kakeru looked up. Yuki leaned in, and for once he stopped thinking.
“Can I ask a follow up question?”
Kakeru’s face was bright red. “Sure,” he said.
“Can I kiss you?”
Kakeru grinned. “You can,” he said.
Yuki put his hand on the other side of Kakeru’s waist to steady himself. His teeth were chattering, but he leaned in anyway. And then he was warm, and giddy, and Kakeru’s hands were in his pockets again. He was close enough to smell his whiskey and feel the static electricity between them. He was close enough to let out the breath he’d been holding.
“How was that?” Kakeru said. His lips were chapped and his pupils were blown.
Yuki laughed. “It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had,” he said.
Kakeru’s brow furrowed. “But it’s the only...oh, you little shit I’m going to tell everyone you’re bullying your VP.”
Yuki rolled his eyes. He took Kakeru’s hand and pulled him to the door, nearly tripping on a mound of packed snow. Tomorrow he’d have to call Machi, and see if she wanted to wade through the untouched sheets of it with him.
“Tell them whatever you want,” he said.
In February of the year the curse would break, something new began.