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Shota would never admit it to his friends, but Wednesday was his favorite day of the week.
Wednesdays meant Yamada would stay behind after class to record his weekly radio show.
Wednesdays meant reprieve from his and Kayama’s loud and rowdy antics. Shota was almost always their target. It seemed like the more deadpan he made himself, the more prodding and laughter he would invoke from them. He knew it was all in good fun, but he hated being at the center of attention like that.
Wednesdays meant it was going to be just him and Shirakumo. No Yamada here to rile Shirakumo up, feeding off each other into a whirlwind of cackling and roughhousing. With Shota, he was more tempered, like a balmy breeze in his hair, gently pulling him along. It never felt fair to do much on these days without their third, but it’s just as good that there was less pressure to accomplish anything. It was easy to just be with Shirakumo, feet and thoughts meandering in the space left by Yamada.
Wednesdays meant he had Shirakumo all to himself. He found himself looking forward to being the sole focus of the other boy, even if it meant indulging the silly ideas that came out of that stupid lopsided grin of his. He’s seen that smile hundreds of times but somehow when it’s aimed right at him, he feels his chest swell and mouth mirroring Shirakumo’s uncontrollably.
Sometimes he wonders if Shirakumo had a hidden quirk they didn’t know about. A dumb thought. He knows what it really means. But Shota also knows that just as he is like this with nobody else, Shirakumo is like this with everyone. All he has for now is Wednesdays.
School jackets in hand, the two of them make their way up that familiar road to the top of the hill, past the convenience store and just beyond these fields of long grass. There was nothing special about it. It was just where they always ended up on Wednesdays, regardless of the path they chose.
By this time of the year, most of the dandelions have already bloomed and scattered into the wind. The rest are picked by Shirakumo as soon as he spots them, exhaling silent wishes to be carried away with tufts of white fluff.
Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands shoved in his pockets, Shota had been hunched, like usual, in some invisible bubble around him. But something about the sun on his face, wind at his back and Shirakumo by his side makes him want to stretch out. He follows the wind with his hand as it rustles through the tall grass, soft blades dancing between his fingers.
“Feels good, huh?” Shirakumo does the same on his side. He keeps pace with Shota at first, loosening his tie and the top few buttons of his dress shirt with his other hand. He runs ahead, a parted sea of green behind him, springing back together as quickly as he had cleaved it. He runs back down on Shota’s side, stopping a little too close and brushing his hand as he sweeps over the grass near him.
“More wishes on the way up, c’mon.” Shirakumo continues towards the top of the hill, only stopping to pluck fuzzy blooms that swayed at the edge of the dirt path. He looks back at Shota as he counts the final total out loud and blows hard at the bunch in his hand. Pale clusters ride the breeze back towards Shirakumo’s face, blending in with his hair and then disappear over the crest of the hill behind him.
There’s one last dandelion waiting for Shirakumo at the base of their tree when they arrive.
“Aren’t you being greedy, making so many wishes?” Shota teases as he sits, watching the last of the white filaments float away.
Shirakumo laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, Shota, you’re right.” He sits down beside him and puts his hand up between them. “Here, I’ll make you a dandelion.” He squints, and with a sharp exhale, a little cloud appears. A perfect sphere seated on the tip of his finger. “Make a wish.”
He scoffs. “I don’t believe in that stuff.”
“Isn’t it nice to dream a little though?” Shirakumo nudges him.
“Dreams, wishes... They’re no good if you don’t make it happen yourself.” Shota looks away, but a tap on his shoulder brings him back.
“C’mon Shota, just do it. Humor me a little,” he flashes that stupid grin that Shota can’t resist.
Fine.
He watches the puff break and swirl, transforming into a little cat. It leaps off Shirakumo’s finger towards him and dissipates into a cool vapor that spreads across his face.
“Really? That’s what you did with the rest of your summer vacation?” Shota asks, lips pressing together.
“A hero should make people smile too! Don’t try to hide it, Shota, I can see your smile.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Shota punches his arm lightly, and lets his face break. It feels good to not bury it away.
“I’m glad. I’ve been practicing cats and nothing else, so if it doesn’t work on you, I don’t know what I did it for.”
His heart swells at the thought of Shirakumo doing something just for him, but quickly quells it, afraid to presume it meant anything more.
“So, did I get your wish right?”
“Sure, you did.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows how unconvincing his answer sounds.
“That sounds like a no.”
“It— it’s a close second.”
“What did you wish for? I wanna know.”
“If I tell you, it won’t come true, right?” Desperate, he tries to deflect.
“Sooo, you’re saying I have to guess then.” He grins. Just as Shota knew he would. Just as he knew it was useless to hope that Shirakumo would just drop a challenge like this. The more he shut himself in, the more the other boy would press in after him, as if he knew there was something more to unearth.
“No, I’m saying—” Shota stops as Shirakumo leans in.
“What could Shota possibly wish for?” He muses out loud. “The thing he wants the most.”
He follows Shirakumo’s eyes. It’s unavoidable as his face looms close and fills his vision. Blue eyes focus on his, and then bounce from feature to feature, studying each closely as if a twitch of his lips or a flicker of his eyes would clue him in. They land on his lips, pale lashes dropping against tan skin, flushed from the afternoon sun. Shota’s afraid to speak, to breathe even, imagining that under Shirakumo’s gaze it would transform like the dandelion and betray him.
He catches himself wishing for an escape. But why would he want to escape this moment, with that stupid grin he loved just a short leap away?
Why wish when you can make it happen yourself?
So he presses his lips to Shirakumo’s, wishing for real now, that the other boy would be on the other side of this moment with a soft cloud to catch him.
If anything else, he knew he was at least worth a consolatory cloud cat. Wednesdays were good while they lasted.
He searches Shirakumo’s face for a reaction as he pulls back. Anything.
“Shota…” He says, voice barely a whisper, as a smile creeps onto his face.
“Shooo—ta.” The corners of his eyes follow his upturned lips, crinkling as he presses his lips together.
“Shota-a-a!” he says again, the end of his name catching onto a chuckle, lifting his hand to cover his eyes and shakes his head as he fully breaks into a laugh.
Shota swallows thickly, and manages a shaky answer. “Y-yes — what?” He stutters, unable to keep up with his racing thoughts now, “Was that — was it — maybe I shouldn’t — sorry, just forget it.” He’s normally much better at reading Shirakumo but he feels the adrenaline fading and anxiety creeping back in. Shirakumo’s laughing but shaking his head . What if —
“Shota—” Shirakumo interrupts with his name again, tongue sharply enunciating the second syllable, popping it out almost urgently as his hand came down to smack the other boy’s knee at the same time.
Shota stays silent, waiting for him to continue. Shimakuro’s hand lingers on his knee, palming the curve of his lower thigh, grip tightening as he leaned in.
“That was your wish, Shota? Even more than the cat? Really? Shota, you wanna know what I wished for? All those daisies?”
Dandelions, he thinks, reflexively correcting Shirakumo. He holds his tongue; the words keep spilling out at him, leaving no room for any response.
“Want me to tell you, Shota?” The hand on his thigh shakes him a little bit, his voice gleeful and grin impossibly wide. “What I wished for? Let me tell you. Shota, I’ll tell you.”
Shota nods, but he knows Shirakumo would keep going anyways even if he didn’t.
His excitement is familiar — the way he jumped from thought to incomplete thought, the way he mixed up his names for things, the way he rambled on without missing a beat.
It’s Shirakumo after winning a battle exercise in class, replaying the fight with wild gestures and sound effects. It’s Shirakumo cheering him on, punctuating each exclamation with his name, like an incantation that held some secret power. It’s Shirakumo tapping his arm incessantly when Sushi is playing with whatever little knick-knack they’ve co-opted into a toy, asking with every pounce whether you saw it, even if you answer every time, yes, Shirakumo, I saw that, I’m right here .
Shirakumo, having stopped to take a breath, takes Shota’s hand into his. “You know the first dandelion I picked? The lights at the corner, after you beat me to the button?” Where we bumped hands. He laces his fingers between Shota’s, thumb tracing over his. “I wished for this.” A light squeeze.
Shota lets his fingers follow and curl around Shirakumo’s hand.
“And then we went down Felucia to the store. You lost your hair tie somewhere —”
“But I found you another dandelion,” Shota finishes his sentence. Tucked behind the foot of a bench. He remembers, leaning over the back of it, hair falling in front of his face and calling out to the other boy. Got another wish for you, Shirakumo. He shook the hair out of his face as he handed it over.
Shirakumo lifts his other hand to Shota’s face and brushes over his hair, heat rushing up his face and following the fingers tucking inky strands behind his ear. “My second wish.”
Shota understands. He’s understood for a good moment now, since all those “Shotas” spilled from Shirakumo’s mouth. He remains silent though, savoring all the ways that Shirakumo has apparently been looking at him. Wednesdays have made him dumb . He’s never been so happy to be wrong about something.
“Then we jumped the fence, walked along the fields up here. I counted five wishes on the way up.” Shirakumo lifts the hand holding Shota’s, kisses his knuckles as he counts, “One, two, three, four... and five.” His lips linger a beat longer on the last kiss.
“And then we got here, sat down. You teased me about taking that last one,” he points to the base of the tree they were sitting under. “Even though you don’t believe in wishes ,” he parrots back as he lifts his free hand to Shota’s cheek and pokes it.
He taps softly. “My last wish,” and moves in quickly to kiss his cheek.
“That’s what I spent my last wish on. I spent all my wishes on you, Shota ,” he beams as he leans back.
“Like I said, you’re so greedy, Oboro .”
“ You're the greedy one, Shota. Stealing a kiss from my lips. ”
“Well —,” he tries to rebut, embarrassed, but changes his mind. “I guess you’re right. But I recently learned not to overthink and hesitate so much from some guy, you know. So I’m trying my best here, with his influence.”
“Well, it sounds like you learned from the best.” Oboro chuckles, pleased at the compliment. “Can I offer you another dandelion?” He forms another little cloud on his finger, face following his finger in anticipation as he leans in.
“I wish... for a cat.”
The puff simply disperses between them this time as Oboro laughs, no time to react with a transformation. He takes Shota’s face in his hands. “I’m all out of cats, best I got is a kiss.”
Shota nods and grins. “It’ll have to do.”
Wednesdays were the best.