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The first time Haibara touched Suguru, the world accelerated.
It was an odd sensation: a creepy feeling building up in his chest as his whole world crumbles into tiny specks of blurring memories. It was new and inconceivable, almost disgusting in a sense that he felt physically his heart shifting with heightened speed in his chest. When he slammed his palms against his ribs repeatedly, he found that the beating organ was still in place, still intact.
Suguru thinks, at first, that it must be because he did not understand it.
It’s regrettably humane to despise things that you cannot wrap your head around. Satoru, for example, constantly mocks and ridicules non-shamans, not grasping the concept of someone being weaker than he and Suguru. Utahime also doesn’t comprehend Satoru’s devilry when teasing her, she convinces herself multiple times that he is specifically out to get her.
And Suguru?
Well, he thinks that he is quite the smart guy. He is quick witted and also somewhat knowledgeable; but no knowledge in the world could have prepared him for the way Haibara’s lips felt against his own. It was not written in the books he had read, and it was not something he could understand through years of experience. It was a novel gnawing in the pits of his stomach, an ache that he isn't sure why is looking for more.
As he combs through his memories, he recalls the concept of love at first sight lingering in the recess of his mind, then decides that it must not be it. Suguru wasn’t in love, after all, and it wasn’t the first time that he saw the younger boy.
So, he tries looking for another answer.
After racking his mind for anything else other than love at first sight and love and first sight, the only thing he can compare the sensation to is the romantic novel that Utahime was reading the other day. Suguru overheard her speaking to Shoko, her hands clasped on to each other as she placed clear emphasis on how the world slowed down when the main characters first kissed, how it felt like it belonged to just them both.
And though it wasn’t love at first sight, Suguru was not satisfied with the conclusion that came into his mind.
Because the first kiss that he went through was not dreamy. It didn't leave him wanting more—or maybe it did, or not, he can't think properly every time he imagines Haibara's face—and it wasn't all flowers and romantic background music.
For Suguru, personally, it was more apocalyptic than Disney.
People around them were not put on half speed, and it didn’t feel like they were the only ones inhabiting the earth.
Instead, it felt like everything came to life.
Vigor staggered into Suguru’s vision, and the world was suddenly vibrant in colors, he was suddenly very aware of the chaotic surroundings around that West Tokyo street. He could hear the birds chirping and footsteps stomping the pavement beneath them, filling his ears to the brim; the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, one he isn’t so familiar with, and the clouds steered away from where they were standing, as if placing an intense spotlight on their two forms.
Suguru could not close his eyes.
Haibara was flushed under the summer heat; his twinkling gaze danced from Suguru’s, and when their lips finally parted, he left without providing a version.
September marks a month full of hide and seek.
It’s like clockwork: Suguru walks in the room, Haibara leaves; he slides next to Nanami, Haibara is suddenly busy talking to Shoko; he spots them from afar, and Haibara bolts off as if knowing that he was there.
Normally, Suguru wouldn’t pay him any mind, wouldn’t spare him any of his precious attention—some kids just want to toy around the lion’s den and leave when the beast bites back, after all. Haibara steering clear from his grasp does not bother him in the slightest.
If he wants Suguru to come to him, he will have not gone out of his way to avoid him.
It really is as simple as that.
Yeah, maybe.
Shit.
Maybe Suguru has been thinking too much about him.
Only after the day of the… incident… did Suguru starts to notice the scent of cherry that’s constantly dawdling in the air whenever Haibara is around. Cherry and banana, actually, also fresh mint. Like a cup of gelato, or some kind of weird drink from an eccentric cafe.
When Suguru realizes that he has been worrying too much about what Haibara smells like, he leaves the conversation that Shoko and Satoru is having—he isn’t listening to her vague explanation of the reversed cursed technique, anyway—and takes a cold shower.
“The first year…” Satoru one night trails off, as Suguru is hanging upside down from Shoko’s bed.
These days, Satoru and himself found easy peace in hanging around Shoko—maybe it’s the understanding that she could heal even the symptoms of death in their souls, or maybe it’s the fact that she listens to everything that they can think of saying (reprimanding them is an entirely different matter, of course).
The small girl is sitting on the frame of her window, a piece of cigarette hanging loosely between her lips, as moonlight filters the room, creating an outline of her body on the floor. Suguru traces it in his mind, the way she exhales smoke and breathes in her demise.
He can see her shadows lifting its hand to take the stick from her mouth, turning to look at Satoru when Suguru does not respond.
“Nanami, or Haibara?”
Suguru pretends to not be interested.
He closes his eyes and raises his upper body so that he is sitting on Shoko’s bed. His fingers tugs the strands of hair that fall on his face behind his ear, his back presses against the window frame and he immediately feels the cold night air harshly slamming against his body.
“Haibara,” Satoru answers, and Suguru tries his best not to look at him. “The one always following Suguru around like a lost puppy.”
His eyes twitch.
At the mention of his name, Suguru feels like he has the right to look. And so, he does, only to find Satoru already staring at him.
“What are you saying?”
Satoru blinks—Suguru wonders if it’s some kind of morse code, the berating look that he is giving him is enough to conclude that he wants to say something—before shrugging his shoulders and turning away.
“I haven’t seen him around, just wondering if he’s dead yet.”
Flame goes up in Suguru's chest, but he doesn't know why.
“You’re such a dick,” Shoko beats Suguru in calling him out.
The boy raises his arms, his aviator barely hanging the bridge of his nose, “I’m just curious.”
“Yeah,” Suguru doesn’t expect himself to speak up, but he does. “You sure are.”
Shoko turns to him, eyebrow cocked as she takes in the bitterness and contempt in his gaze.
“You usually have better comebacks,” the amusement in Satoru's voice does not entertain him.
Something twists in his belly, oil is poured into the raging flame inside of him as his frown deepens. Suguru pushes himself off the bed and briskly walks past his best friend towards the door. The chilly atmosphere only becomes frigid when he twists the door knob.
What the hell is he doing?
He is acting like a stranger, even to himself. Who walks away from a night over at your friend's room for a reason so stupid?
Fuck Satoru.
The childlike voice in his mind screams over and over again, trying to block out the image of Haibara being dead as Satoru's voice echoes in his mind, "Just wondering if he's dead yet."
He grits his teeth, stepping out into the lonely hallway.
Suguru is definitely overreacting, but either way, fuck Satoru.
"Ah, Satoru…" Suguru can hear Shoko's tired voice calling out as he closes the door behind him. "...you've really done it."
How do you get brave enough to kiss someone?
From afar, when Haibara doesn’t notice, Suguru often gets lost in his face, trying to make sense of how the sunshine boy was able to gather the courage to grab his uniform and press their lips against each other.
Surely, it’s not easy.
If it is, Suguru had the premonition that Haibara would be kissing him over and over and over again (not that he wants him to, of course).
But no, Suguru can still recall his quivering breath and agitated clutch around the material of his uniform; the way Haibara clumsily stumbled back with both his eyebrows raised to offer a look as surprised as Suguru was.
The bowing was what caught Suguru off the most—each movement of his joints were broken up with inhibitions as Haibara muttered small apologies before eventually turning around to leave him in the crowded street.
Why did he kiss him?
Why then?
His reverie had always been interrupted—Haibara figures it out rather quickly when he's around—with the younger boy scurrying away to hide from his stalking eyes.
When you think about someone enough, they say, you are guaranteed to either fall in love with them or hate them with your entire life.
Suguru does not hate Haibara, he thinks, so he must love him.
When you think about someone hard enough, and end up falling in love with them, you will become submerged in knowledge that only you would know—like theories and hypotheses of how their fingers would dance in your lap, or how it would feel to know that their reserved smiles are reserved just for you.
The thought of loving someone, for some unknown reason, scares Suguru more than the actual act of loving someone. The thought of them not being able to return the love you give them is terrifying—though love is a selfless act, it is still frightening to imagine a world where your love is profusely refused.
Accordingly, Suguru thinks about it, long and hard.
He thinks of how he is in love, if he is in love, and if he wants to be in love.
He thinks of what it must mean to love someone, how this feeling differs from those towards Satoru and Shoko, but as he delves more and more into the trench, Suguru is confronted with a never ending film reel of Haibara’s tinted face in the back of his mind.
It’s a place that he always comes back to—he tries to straighten his back against the wall and let the usual rhythm and logic float in his mind, but as he thinks of it more, the weaker his knees get.
The more he thinks of it, the dizzier he gets and instead of contemplating over his mortal sentiment, he ends up thinking of Haibara, long and hard, and wonders whether his lips were as soft as he remembered them to be.
Suguru doesn’t know what had gotten into him.
By then, he had memorized Haibara’s daily routine—the arbitrary places he would have his lunch in, the echo on the sky that tells him to pack up and leave the training grounds, the time of day when he would stop by the vending machines to get some drinks for Nanami and himself.
He did it unintentionally, but eventually found himself to be looking forward to seeing if his guesses are right.
And that day, the week right after Shoko’s birthday in a chilly November evening, Suguru convinces himself that the weather was far too cold for a can of cool soda. He convinces himself that Haibara will not show his round face anywhere near the machines, that he will probably make some hot tea to accompany his training.
But Suguru knows better than his own convictions.
Of course he does. By then, he had memorized Haibara’s daily routine, and there was not a single day that the boy had missed the vending machine.
Suguru stands wordlessly by the soft glow of the vending machine, eyes darting back and forth between a couple of options when he finally hears the haste and light steps that Haibara would usually make.
He inhales a painful breath of air.
Confrontation has always been Satoru’s thing—Suguru prefers letting his problems simmer down into nothingness on their own. But today, he is going to face Haibara headfirst. Fearless.
Or so he hopes.
His index finger trembles as he raises his hand to silently slip a coin in the rusty slot—Haibara’s steps are getting awfully close, and it seems that today is one of those days when Nanami isn’t with him—and Suguru can feel his lips fluttering at the haphazard air that are leaking out.
It took him a month, one tedious month, to prepare for today, and yet he is still frightened at what the outcome might be.
As Suguru presses on a button, the loud clang of a soda can that falls onto the pit of the vending machine vibrates through the air, and Haibara’s steps halt as the boy freezes right on the corner of Suguru’s eyes.
“Ah,” he wonders why his voice hasn’t faltered yet, “it’s you, Haibara.”
Haibara is acting so obviously gauche—he stumbles back as Suguru bends down to slip his hand in the vending machine and grab his goods.
“Getou… Getou-san.”
His voice is tiny, void of the blithe he would often exhibit.
Suguru stands properly, fingers still slightly shaking as he fiddles with the top of the can before pressing it down. The sizzling sound breaks their silence, and he steps aside to let Haibara use the machine.
“It’s been a while since I last saw you,” he casually comments as he leans against the side of the vending machine, eyes still fixated on Haibara’s stumbling attempts in trying to order for himself.
“I’m sorry,” Suguru doesn’t know what he is apologizing for, but he lets him do it anyway. Haibara lets his finger linger on the button before pressing on his usual order. “I… I’m sorry.”
Suguru hums, raising the can to his lips as the prickly water attacks his throat. Haibara still refuses to look at him, his doe eyes remaining on the can that he is fiddling with on his chest. He notices too, just then, how small Haibara is when he is not boisterous. How someone so vivid can look so brittle under the right pressure.
“It’s been too long,” Suguru finally says, placing his half empty can on the top of the machine. He shifts, and lets his heart race against his ribs as he turns to face Haibara. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
Haibara won’t move—or rather, he can’t—from his spot. Suguru crosses his arm over his loose shirt, trying his best so that he doesn’t seem to be the one cracking under his own intimidation.
“I’m sorry,” he grits his teeth as Haibara yet again apologizes. “I— I really am—“
“What I need,” he sharply interjects as he brings the falling strands of his hair back against his scalp, “is not your apologies.”
It’s his first glimpse into Haibara’s usual personality: the younger boy glares up at him with a charming pout and tightens the grip around his can before looking back down on his feet.
“It won’t happen again.”
Suguru scoffs at the fact that they both know what Haibara was talking about. He scoffs, and chuckles, before throwing his head back.
“Yeah?” He closes his eyes before reopening them, peering down at him. “Was it a mistake, then?”
Haibara jolts, as if he had just been awakened, before looking up at him with a look that almost says betrayed.
There is comfort in the way he accepts Suguru’s words as treacherous, there is comfort in the way his immediate reaction is to shake his head before stopping himself.
“No!” Haibara’s courage comes in the blink of an eye. “Never— I never thought it was a m-mistake—“
“You’ve been avoiding me.” The edges of his eyes are a funny thing, they quiver as Suguru feels his vision staggering into monochrome.
“But it wasn’t!” He insists, “I— I mean… I know I’ve been ir-irresponsible and— and that I haven’t been very re-responsive, but—“
Suguru wonders if he looks as stupid as Haibara right now, with his cheeks full of a crimson tint and tears threatening to spill out of his glimmering gaze.
Talking about responsibilities… What is this? A parents-teacher conference?
“You left me without saying anything.”
“I’m sorry—“
Suguru has had enough of Haibara and his damned apologies.
He takes a fistful of Haibara’s uniform, scrunching them under the weight of his own embarrassment, and feels all the tension leave his shoulder as their lips meet for the second time.
Haibara doesn’t react at first, and truth be told? Suguru doesn’t know how to either. Their second kiss was no better than their first—in fact, it was worse. Their lips are dry against each other, and there is no delicacy in the way his arms find themselves wrapping around Haibara’s torso.
Suguru contemplates on pulling away from their mess of a kiss, their awkward body language, and hesitant initiatives.
But Haibara then melts into the kiss, dropping his can on the hard ground while his fingers dig into the fabric of Suguru’s shirt, and Suguru then notes how perfect he is under his grip.
It’s alright, he thinks as he feels the muscles on Haibara’s face contort into a smile, they’re alright.