Work Text:
It happens very slowly — in fragments, glances, passing fractions of thought — before it happens all at once.
Kojiro is by the beach; salt wind rustling his hair, bare feet buried decidedly into the sand, warmed by the sun. He's sitting beside a cluster of rocks large enough to lean against when he feels the need, situated somewhere towards the back of the beach itself, close to the tree line. It's an infrequent — but not uncommon — free day, where he's not supposed to meet up with Kaoru for another hour or so and it's just too nice to stay inside.
He's always been a creature of the sun, longing for it like lizards on rocks, like flowers, following its arch through the sky and relishing in the sharp sensation of UV on his skin. The heat doesn't bother him with Okinawa's tropical climate, and against the sun's warmth Kojiro finds himself loose, relaxed, comfortable. When the sun sets, and the ocean air becomes laced with a weight heavier than salt; when the tide goes out under the pull of the moon, that's when a tense energy settles into the spaces between his bones, a restless, irritating momentum that has him with too many thoughts to process and far too much energy.
But, he's got quite a few hours until then. So, he watches.
Ever since he can remember, Kojiro has enjoyed this: keeping to the edge of a scene, a crowd, an action, resting in the wings to gaze out at the stage and the theatre with sharp, clear attention until his time to step out arrives. The moments before inserting himself into a conversation, announcing his presence in a room, where he's able to soak up the details of people's moods and actions and feelings without anything being focused on him. A quiet observation, before the spotlight finds him in some way or form, consent or otherwise.
Social magnetism, he understands. He's not stupid, as much as he may feign it from time to time. He knows how to speak to people, how to talk to his classmates to draw their eye, make them feel comfortable. Words and expressions flow from him easily, and like birds to nectar, he finds they draw others in.
He doesn't hate it, exactly. But it's nice like this too. Salt on his eyelashes, grains of sand under his fingernails, just out of view. Watching.
A crab darts out of hiding, skittering along the sand and disappearing into the crest of a wave. A dog barks just in the distance, muffled sound carried across the beach. There's a group of kids splashing in the shallows, their parents watching attentively, chatting amongst themselves under an umbrella. A larger wave crests into a couple and sends them laughing into the brine, soaked and all-smiles. The chime of seabirds is a muffled constant, hovering anxiously next to anyone with food.
It's nice.
The girl in the couple Kojiro's noticed stands, extending her hand to her boyfriend with a minxish sort of air. He knows a toss into the waves is coming before it happens, and the boy yelps as he’s brought up to a stand only to be playfully shoved again.
This is when it happens.
By all accounts, Kojiro thinks, it should be the girl he has his eyes on; long hair to her waist, dark skin shining against the ocean's blue. Her swimsuit cuts her figure well, and as she laughs again a melody fills the air. She's definitely his type on paper: confident, expressive, playful.
But it's the boy his eyes keep wandering to.
Her partner raises himself out of the water with a comedic shake of his head, spitting out salt almost good-naturedly. He's skinny, shy, and his hair is pulled back in a tight, short ponytail at the nape of his neck. They look to both be high-schoolers like himself, the boy still growing into parts of his frame in a way Kojiro understands too well. The boy mutters something Kojiro can't hear, and his gaze relaxes, looking over to his girlfriend with something impossibly fond.
The expression is so soft it takes Kojiro by surprise, so much so that the twinge in his chest doesn't register until it's accompanied by a fluttering heat, heart beating against his ribs in a staccato he’s very much learnt to recognize.
Oh, He thinks, as his brain catches up.
Oh.
In the days that pass this realization, Kojiro thinks.
He's not sure how he hadn't noticed before. Countless flashes of memory, once useless, begin to pop into his mind recontextualized. Glances that linger a breath too long. Skips of the heart and spasms of muscle. Things he once tallied up to admiration, idolization, even, morph into a third, new option, one that surprisingly feels almost right in his innards. Comfortable.
He isn't exactly a stranger to what he thinks this means. Not averse. It's simply new, not something he noticed before, but once discovered makes a lot more about himself apparent. There's always been a sense of duality to him, one hand gently nudging a hatchling turtle to the sea, the other scraping relentlessly over boulders on his board. A chef's knife, sharp enough to cut paper, with a gentle, dulled spine.
Pretty boys and handsome girls.
Kaoru flips a page of his workbook from the other end of his bed, and Kojiro blinks, present. The sheets feel slightly scratchy where his fingers rest, his dark eyes wandering from them to soft, pink hair, then back again. Dimming light hits the silver in Kaoru's ear. Kojiro swallows.
He doesn't mind himself. Never has. Whatever comes to the surface of his mind has always belonged to him and him alone, he knows that, understands it, and with an ease as certain as the slide of salt onto sand, he accepts. He simply likes himself. Whatever he may be.
Other people. Well. The spotlight follows him across the stage, audience enthralled, and his mouth dries.
Kojiro has his own anxieties, after all. It's only natural. He's 17, an adamant student, aspiring cook. He gets nervous and unsure. He doubts, sometimes. In all matters of his own persona he feels solid and sure; a foundation of wood and rope adrift on a rocking sea, but hey! At least he can float.
The metaphorical waves crest up to his ankles, his self-made raft tilting before righting again in his head.
It's not himself he’s worried about. He's fine with his new discovery, at peace with what it means. But...
Gold eyes catch him staring, an eyebrow raised.
"What," Kaoru says, a tense sort of sound betraying the thoughts he's not entertaining. "Is there something on my face?"
He can feel, through the scoff, the tip of something anxious peeking above water-level, a familiar beast of Kaoru's they both know.
"Yeah. Your dorky glasses." Kojiro says, hand on the feeling, pushing it down.
Kaoru snorts, rolls his eyes in a familiar motion, though his shoulders relax.
"These 'dorky glasses'," He says, tapping the new, dark frames, "and I are at least two questions ahead of you in the workbook right now. You're slow today."
Kaoru's expression tilts downward, the slight of concern.
“Is something wrong?"
Kojiro wants to try and explain himself. Why he's feeling nervous, what's got him so distracted, but to his own truth he just doesn't know. There's no problem here, or, there shouldn't be. Kaoru is a close friend. Someone who understands a part of him he doesn't think anyone else does. They may not always see eye to eye but there's an understanding that he feels whenever he's around him, patching up bail-scrapes at the park, gripping hands across the piercer's chair, hunched over bathtub faucets, box dye in each other’s hair, the pull out to sea a feeling of exhilaration rather than restlessness.
So why does he feel so afraid?
Kojiro has never been one to lie, especially to Kaoru, whose nerves are easy to spark into overdrive. Honesty, a gentle kind, is a gift he's aware he's been given. But when he tries to articulate himself he finds his throat closed, inhale sharp and burning.
"Nah." He manages, pushing. "Just. I think I need to skate. These problems aren't making any sense right now."
Kaoru blinks at him, scouring every detail of his expression. He absently worries his lip, clinking his teeth against the metal there, and slides his gaze over to his own board, propped against the wall of his room. Weighing options, calculating. Kojiro can see the gears working so clearly: tense, exact, logical.
"We can finish up when we get back," Kaoru mumbles, bringing a shoulder up in his processing. "as long as it's not for too long. I'll help you."
Kojiro wants to smile in relief, the room starting to feel too cramped, too close. The knot in his throat stays where it is, and instead he gives what he hopes is an appreciative nod, setting his books aside on Kaoru's bed. Kaoru does the same, running a hand through his hair, removing pink locks from the messy, quick ponytail he'd had it in to study. He places the elastic around his wrist, and absently Kojiro wonders what it would feel like on his instead.
They grab their boards and head for the street, exiting the house with a practiced silence. The less Kaoru's parents knew about what they get up to outside of school, the better, though he's sure they had to have some idea by this point. There are some things Kaoru simply can't hide.
The evening is humid, collected heat from the day escaping the asphalt and concrete, the slightest updraft. Kojiro's grateful for the breeze their motion makes; though it's warm, it's better than standing still.
His brain buzzes with the cicadas as they pass by, a hand on his chest. He feels like he's able to breathe, finally, but the knot in his throat seems to have moved downward, heart stuttering every other beat as he tries to think of what to say. Kaoru deserves an explanation, or, at least, reassurance that this weird mood has nothing to do with him, and Kojiro is just... over-reacting. Thinking too much.
He goes over the potential conversation in his head; Hey, Kaoru, you'll never guess, I just realized I might like guys and I know we've never talked about this sort of thing but I hope that doesn't change anything about our friendship! Oh god. There has to be some sort of way to not sound like he's hysterical.
They turn a corner, and a familiar, empty plaza comes into view. Slated for construction in the vague future, the area had slowly lost public attention once the businesses closed or moved to better kept areas. Nearly a ghost town now, the grouping of old, empty storefronts is littered with cracks in the concrete, weeds clawing their way through the gaps, windows boarded or broken or dark.
It's an uneasy, dangerous place to most, but to Kaoru and Kojiro, its like home. No one bothers them here, really gives them a second glance, and with the absence of foot traffic anything they leave always seems to remain for their next return. They've been coming here since they both started getting into skateboarding, a lucky wrong direction pointing them to an entirely different place.
Kaoru hasn't spoken the entire ride there, peeking glances once or twice rounding corners. Kojiro feels bad to the pit of his stomach for making his best friend worry for no reason, but he's still not sure he can find the right words, right now. What if Kaoru does have a problem with it? Sure he's been pretty opposed to his parents' more traditional views thus-far, but what if this draws the line? What if he's weirded out, or disgusted, or thinks their whole friendship has been some big, long con to get into his pants? Kojiro hasn't even started thinking about his preferences in that aspect yet, he's really only just come to the realization, and he shouldn't have asked to go out. It's far too soon.
Willing the knot of apprehensive energy to leave him, he pushes off with more force than is needed, careening to one side before he’s able to stabilize himself again. He needs to burn this off. He can feel Kaoru's eyes boring into him, locked sights. Heading to a frankensteined quarter-pipe, he vaults over an empty oil drum, the slam of wheels back down to pavement grounding him a little. This he knows. This is constant. Maybe he can't talk with words right now, but he's sure this language he can still understand.
He hears, before he sees, Kaoru catch up beside him, the scrape of wheels like music as he rides up the incline, kicking his board back into a gentle ollie before his feet touch base again. Kojiro follows with one of his own, and they roll off and around, facing the slope again. This time Kaoru pushes off first, travelling up the ramp to slide across it at its apex before letting gravity pull him back down. The moisture in the air has his hair already sticking to parts of his skin, but there's a shine to his eyes that reflects the dim lights so beautifully it takes Kojiro's breath away. Kaoru still glances at him with a hint of underlying unease, but he looks far more relaxed, more himself, that Kojiro can't help the zing that lights his whole body up, electric.
He goes next, charging up the pipe with enough momentum to spin an enthusiastic 180 before hitting back down, lips twitching. In the brief moment of weightless air his mind had almost felt clear, blood rushing through his limbs and forcing his muscles apart. The tension hits him the moment he makes eye contact with Kaoru's soft smile, however, and he almost slips off his board when he steps off.
There's only a dry snort from the other party, as Kaoru's quick to take his turn, gaining speed before the ramp up by pushing several times. The air he gets at the top is palpable, and he meets Kojiro's eyes on his rotation, a silent, but definitive challenge.
Kojiro thinks his hair - loose and wild - frames his face ever so slightly like a halo, and if his throat is dry when Kaoru rolls back to him, Kojiro doesn't mention it.
He pauses a moment before his turn, enough for Kaoru's fingers to find each other, lacing and unlacing themselves. The buzzing in his head spreads to his stomach and before Kaoru can open his mouth to ask if he's okay, Kojiro's pushed off with all the energy he can muster. He wants the feeling out, the crawling in his brain gone, and vaulting up the quarter pipe isn't enough just yet. He slams back down the ramp, and instead of stopping uses the momentum to turn and push back, Kaoru's surprised protest barely registered. He gets more significant air than before but its still just not enough, the blood-rush losing out to scrambled thoughts of what if he doesn't like me what if it's weird by such a narrow margin he's sure he can get it with just one more try.
He's just looking for a moment of silence. A little clarity. Fuck, he just wants to be able to think.
He hears Kaoru's protest this time but chooses to ignore it, whatever warning was voiced brushing off his shoulder as he spins around for another go. Willing all the tension out of his body he plants his foot on the pavement and goes, his wheels aggressive over the uneven foundation before hitting smoothed wood and flying upward. The wind claws through his hair as he leaves the ramp by a long-shot, twisting enough to 360 with ease. The sky above is a deep, dark blue, stars peeking out from the edges of clouds as if bearing witness. As if seeing him leave everything behind, for just a moment, willing to reach out and grasp Kojiro in all his raw, untangled truth.
His eyes flick around, time seeming to slow at this height, the street lamps painted in his peripherals. He's aware of the scratch of his board beneath his hand, the weight of the heat in the air, the smell of salty brine, a shy laugh.
A crab sprinting to the safety of the sea, and soft, pink hair.
He bails hard.
Kojiro's vision is blurry when he manages to open his eyes, and with a hushed curse he brings a hand up to rub them, groaning as bones and muscles protest the action. Shit, he's definitely going to have bruises at the very least. Experimentally, he wiggles his toes, tenses his knees, checking for anything sprained or broken or pulled. A muffled voice carries over to him, soft footsteps growing louder, and brown eyes blink his vision clear as Kaoru enters his field of view.
"-jiro! Kojiro!" He's saying, his eyes wide to the whites, brows creased. "You fucking idiot, you gained too much air! Where does it hurt worst; legs, head -"
His fingers flutter nervously above Kojiro's body as he talks, kneeling on the ground beside him to give a frantic once-over. It's as if he's afraid to touch him too hard, body pulled completely taught, leaking panicked words that get less coherent as he rambles on.
It's nonsensical to Kojiro, because, he’s fine, really. Well. Maybe a little worse for wear, but they've both had their fair share of ugly falls and awkward bails and it hurts like hell but it's not Kaoru's fault, he should have listened and not gone out and finished his stupid math homework and told Kaoru what was wrong when he first asked.
Kojiro brings his arm up again, ignoring the twinge of pain, cupping the side of Kaoru's face in his hand.
" 'S not you." He manages, voice catching as he attempts to give his friend a firm, comforting look. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Kaoru freezes, staring at him, a bewildered sort of stunned, before simply replying, "What. The fuck."
The laugh that escapes him shouldn't sound as delirious as it is, but okay, maybe he did hit something important on his way down. He should probably get that checked tomorrow, once every ache in his body can be identified and the adrenaline in his veins has worn off.
For now, though, Kojiro brushes his fingers across his best friend's cheek and laughs and laughs until his lungs burn and Kaoru gapes at him hopelessly until the smallest of huffs escapes him, too.
Kaoru pulls Kojiro's board over from where it'd stopped, planting himself down on it in a more comfortable position. Kojiro is still on the ground, on his back, and he watches him sit, grinning at him bright as the sun.
"Moron." Kaoru mutters, fingers drawing circles into the ground. And then, after a pause. "Don't scare me like that again."
"Okay." He replies, blinking up at him. The sticky breeze rustles the collar of Kaoru's shirt. The little raft in Kojiro's head might have just weathered some incredibly towering waves, but it's still in one piece, he thinks.
"Kaoru?"
Kaoru stops his idling movements, noticing the tonal shift.
"Hm?"
"Would you still like me if... I was different? If I wasn't, maybe... normal."
Kaoru blinks.
"You're hardly normal as it stands, stupid."
Kojiro lets out a snort, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.
"I don't think either of us are 'normal' either way." Kaoru continues; a slow, cautious pace.
"Mmm."
"What's this about?"
Kojiro sighs, thinking, this time, of what to say. The words come to him, slowly, but resolute, and he tilts his head towards Kaoru, watching.
"You're my best friend, you know that, right?"
Golden eyes meet brown almost quizzically.
"Kojiro..."
"I think, maybe, you're the only person who really knows me as myself. Knows stuff i've never told anyone else. I don't know if it’s the same for you but you're important, what we have is so important."
Kaoru's face begins to match the colour of his hair, and Kojiro marvels in it, in the way Kaoru never seems used to compliments like this. He swallows, wanting to trust in whatever friendship they've formed over the years, fear still wriggling inside of him, small and wormlike.
"I think I like guys." He says quickly, before the words can dig themselves deep within his chest again. "I'm pretty sure I like guys. And girls. And I didn't want... I didn't know if you, if you'd be..."
He finds himself quiet without finishing, the excess lost once he'd said it. Kaoru's eyes are wide with slight surprise (only slight? he'll wonder, much later), but he doesn't look upset, or disgusted, or scared. He looks like Kaoru, thinking.
"How long?" He asks, voice easing into a slow sort of gentle. "How long have you known?"
"A week, maybe." Kojiro can see him doing the mental math in his head, piecing every odd behaviour of his into context from then to now. "But I wasn't sure. I mean, I didn't really know what to do or, how to think about it. Still don't, completely. I'm still... figuring it out."
There's a beat where they lock eyes, quiet, and Kojiro can see something intensely open cross Kaoru's expression. He swallows. Then, barely a whisper.
"You're the only person I've told."
The shine in Kaoru's eyes is rapidly blinked away, an idle hand tugging at the ends of his hair. He inhales like he's been holding his breath, a deep gasp, trying to convince himself of something he's not quite sure is true.
"I am?"
Kojiro rolls his eyes.
"Well, yeah. You're my best friend. Unless, you don't want to know? I didn't want to fuck this up, I swear, Kaoru — "
"No, no. It's not — you couldn't possibly fuck this up. Anything up." Kaoru's eyes dart to the side, avoiding him as he bites his lip again. Kojiro scrunches his eyebrows, momentarily confused, before a tiny light flickers on. He slowly grabs one of Kaoru's pant legs, tugging until their eyes are back to meeting.
"This is really big for you, isn't it." Kaoru says.
He nods.
"I. Thank you." He stops worrying his lip to give Kojiro a small, genuine smile. "For telling me. For trusting me."
Kojiro makes sure to look Kaoru right in the eyes. "Of course I trust you." Impossibly so, he wants to say. Maybe more than anyone else on this entire planet. He hopes Kaoru knows. With the way Kaoru's shoulders relax, any excess tension ebbing out with those small, weighted words, he thinks he does.
Kaoru smiles with teeth, a rare sight that makes Kojiro's stomach flip. His face then flashes between surprise and embarrassment, settling on sheepish. He gives his hair another tug.
"Sorry. Shit. You were telling me that and I." He looks to the side. "You don't have to worry, or be afraid of what I'll think."
He looks almost pained, like something's caught in his throat, before managing more.
"I... like you just as you are. No matter what that is."
It's Kojiro's turn to look surprised, sitting up so suddenly it makes his head swim. Kaoru jumps, his face burning.
"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
He sputters.
"Stupid Idiot."
Kojiro smiles, feeling a pressure ease out of him, body lighter, looser.
"You like me."
"Oh my god."
"I didn't know you were such a softie, four-eyes."
"Fuck you."
Kojiro gets to his feet as Kaoru starts, rubbing his limbs and bringing his board towards him with his foot. The cicadas have quieted down with the plunge into night, and Kojiro, now an intense measure of elated, feels nothing but comfort in the humidity. He rolls over to where Kaoru's gotten his own board, still spurting insults, and at an easy pace they both start to head back home, the talk flowing between them liquid as the sea.
Something simple, shapeless, settles between them, and Kojiro pulls another smile from Kaoru easily, the wind in his hair making for an image he desperately wants to remember, always.
For once, when they get back to Kaoru's house, Kojiro feels comfortable instead of restless. The moment they step inside, they'll have to switch gears, go back to studying and homework and worrying about grades and universities and the future, the rest of their lives. But for now the air is humid and calm, and the little raft in his head is shifting slowly into something more secure; a boat built for two, and Kojiro thinks, if this night lasted forever, well, that's something he wouldn't mind.
Before they both step inside, he turns out, looking past the streetlights, past the road, far into the dark in the direction he knows the beach lies.
He thinks he sees a crab in the distance, scuttling off towards the safety of the sea.