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“Hmmm, yeah, I noticed it too, Zhao-san was acting a little weird," Eri-chan said thoughtfully, "Are you sure he didn't hurt his head?”
“Nah, I asked," Ichiban replied.
He was sitting with the girls in the booth in Survive - they were, as usual, drinking after another scuffle.
“You two are just imagining things," Saeko grunted and grimaced as she pressed an ice pack to her knee, "He's the same as always.”
It seemed to Ichiban that Zhao kept staring at him after the fight. He just stood still in a daze and didn't take his gaze off Ichi. Ichiban didn't know how to feel about that. Maybe it seemed so because of the shades obscuring his eyes? Ichiban was afraid to make too big of a deal out of it, so he decided to check with the girls.
Now Zhao was sitting in the corner, staring sullenly into his whiskey-filled glass and taking an occasional drink. He was clearly lost in his gloomy thoughts.
Ichiban frowned and scolded himself. He should stop making things up and think everything revolves around him. Zhao had been through so much recently, he was probably just going through some stuff of his own. Somebody should cheer him up.
Ichiban stood up and walked up to him. Zhao noticed this, perked up and took a sip from his glass.
"What's up, Cho-san?" Kasuga asked, trying to sound extra cheerful, and sat down next to him on the couch, "You seem a bit down."
"What's there to be happy about? It's even worse than I thought," Zhao muttered.
Ichiban couldn't argue with that - the situation in Ijincho was getting more complicated by the day and now absolutely everyone was pulled into it.
"Yeah... I don't like it either. I can't shake off the feeling that everything is connected. These murders, Omi, Bleach Japan and..." Kasuga hesitated.
There he goes again, talking about himself. He basically dragged Zhao into it, and Zhao had to give up almost everything because of it.
"And what do you think?" Ichiban asked, trying to get him to talk a bit more.
"I have my thoughts, but I can't say anything for certain now. We'll see," Zhao mumbled.
Zhao frowned and took a sip. He looked intent and pensive, probably was already making his own plans regarding the Omi and this whole mess. He was a smart guy, all those years as the head of the Liumang didn't go to waste, Ichiban was sure.
"I guess..." Ichiban looked away.
Zhao acted aloof sometimes, but Ichiban suspected he was just processing the loss of Mabuchi and the collapse of his former life. Ichiban could only hope that Zhao felt a little better in his company.
"Well, I'm just glad that you're with us. We couldn't have done it without you,” Ichiban said with absolute sincerity, “I couldn't have done it. Thank you, Cho-san."
Ichiban couldn't hold it in him any longer and put one arm around Zhao, patting him on the back compassionately. The gesture came to him so naturally, as if Ichiban had been doing it all his life. But he realized that this was probably the first time he'd ever touched Zhao like that.
Zhao didn't react, just knocked back his drink in one go and exhaled.
"Kasuga-kun, I gotta go. Have fun with the guys."
Zhao abruptly got up. Ichiban tried to take a look at his face to see if he maybe annoyed Zhao or something, but all he saw were Zhao's cheeks turning red. Probably from all the booze.
Ichiban didn't know back then that this was the last of such quiet nights. After that his life was turned upside down, everything around him seemed more and more complicated and fickle. Event after event. Loss after loss. But each time his friends were there for him. Zhao was there for him.
It took Ichiban a long time to figure him out. Sometimes they quipped and flirted while drinking at the bar, then suddenly Zhao avoided him. Whenever Ichiban touched him or said something too blunt, Zhao would laugh it off. But if Ichiban didn't do anything, Zhao would take him out to dinner or a game of darts. After Ichiban took him to the Seagull Cinema once, Zhao often invited him to see some weird old movie.
Ichiban soon realized who Zhao reminded him of. An old cat who lived in the soapland. She came and went whenever she wanted. She wouldn't let anybody touch her and would twist out of your hold, leaving scratches and bite marks. She swiftly dodged if someone tried to pet her. But when Ichiban was just sitting by his console playing video games, or doing homework, or lying sick in his bed, she would come and lay down on his lap.
Ichiban didn't get why Zhao was acting this way. They are friends, right? They have no reason to be embarrassed. They can flirt a little as a joke or share a hug after karaoke. Ichiban loved all his friends with all his heart and treated them all the same.
Well, almost the same. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want to be more than friends with Zhao. But it was impossible to force this kind of thing. Ichiban was giving obvious hints, but Zhao kept hesitating, swaying back and forth, pulling away one second and leaning closer the next. Ichiban decided to go with the flow and just accept Zhao as he was, with all his contradictions.
Maybe Ichi didn't need to get involved with anybody right now, especially after the fiascos with several girls and one painful conversation with Saeko. Ichiban had already scolded himself a hundred times for reading too much into her words and deluding himself into thinking she’s into him like that . He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Zhao. If Zhao wanted him, Ichiban would be right by his side at the snap of a finger. And if things remained as they were, he wouldn't complain. Ichiban cherished their friendship.
But Ichiban couldn't help but let his gaze dwell on Zhao's face when he chuckled at another one of Saeko's sarcastic remarks, or when he couldn't hold back a grin after winning at darts.
It was the same this time - Ichiban didn't take his eyes off him while Zhao sang his karaoke song, banging his head and making faces. He came back with a red flushed face and his hair in a mess instead of a neat top knot.
Ichiban laughed at the sight - who would’ve thought, Zhao with his hair all disheveled, an unprecedented sight.
Ichiban patted him on the back and said with a delighted laugh, “Wow, what a show! Very energetic!”
His hand lingered a little - Ichiban could feel the body heat even through the layers of clothing.
“I decided to sing a little something from my youth too,” Zhao shrugged and started greedily gulping from a bottle of water, clearly pleasantly exhausted by the performance.
Ichiban watched his Adam's apple go up and down with each sip. For some reason, this made something inside Ichiban twist, agonizing and sweet, so he shifted his gaze up. The moment seemed endless - Zhao threw his head back and squinted contentedly, sweat glistening on his forehead, a stray strand of hair sticking to his temple. Ichiban's hand reached for Zhao's face against his will.
Zhao's eyes snapped open and he glanced sideways at Ichiban.
Ichiban hastily tried to come up with something to say to make it less awkward and blurted out the obvious, "Your hair is messy.”
Ichiban backed up the gesture with a smile and tucked the strand behind Zhao's ear. The earring in his lobe bobbed and flashed brightly in the lamplight, and Ichiban could’ve sworn that burst of light blinded him for a second - Ichiban couldn't take his eyes off Zhao, his chest flared up inside and a wave of heat swept over him. Ichiban took his hand away reluctantly.
Zhao perked up, worried, and set the bottle aside. “Is it?”
Zhao began anxiously feeling his hair, trying to assess the damage, and muttered under his breath, “Oh, right. Well, no wonder. I was headbanging too much.”
Zhao gave up on fixing his hairdo and just let it loose.
Ichiban felt his ears starting to burn. Why did he suddenly feel so hot?
Zhao took off the hairband, and the strands fell down heavily. Then Zhao ran his fingers through his hair with the swiftness and casualness of an old habit and combed it to the side. Now nothing prevented Ichiban from seeing the short stubble on his temple and the exposed spot of delicate skin behind his ear.
A silly thought ran through Ichiban's mind - if he stroked Zhao behind the ear, would he laugh? Ichiban noticed that Zhao was very ticklish - sometimes Ichiban would hug him too tight and Zhao would start giggling and squirming, trying to get free.
Ichiban felt an overpowering urge to stroke him, to brush his fingers lightly from the earlobe to the helix, and then run his hand through his hair. It must feel very smooth and soft.
It didn't get any easier when Zhao exaggeratedly fanned the cardboard menu at his face and took off his cardigan. He rolled up his sleeves and undid the two top buttons of his gaudy shirt. His hands now looked even more graceful, adorned with bracelets and rings, and his signature chain with a pendant glittered under the collar. Ichiban stopped staring only when Zhao met his eyes. Ichiban quickly turned his gaze to the stage, where Saeko was performing a cute pop song.
Zhao usually considered himself too cool to be embarrassed at karaoke more than once, but this time he came up to the stage a lot. Ichiban was immensely happy to see Zhao just having fun. He might’ve had a lot on his plate, but now he could let go of all his worries at least for one night.
They sipped beer together, discussing old games they both knew and new ones that Ichiban couldn't understand for the life of him. Ichiban praised Zhao and put his arm around him in a half-attempted hug after each round of karaoke and melted from the feeling of Zhao leaning into his arms, clinging to the hug a little every time.
Thoughts kept running through Ichban’s head - how it would feel if they hugged properly, with all their strength, face to face. Somehow Ichiban was so certain that because Zhao was a little shorter, it would feel very comfortable and cozy. Ichiban could put his arms around Zhao’s neck, and Zhao could wrap his arms around his torso and bury his face in the crook of Ichiban’s neck. Ichiban could imagine his hot breath on his own skin so clearly.
Ichiban shook his head, pushing away pleasant but distracting thoughts. He came here to have fun with his friends, not to fantasize about god knows what.
Ichiban and Zhao hollered and cheered the guys, singing along and shouting. Zhao seemed more and more relaxed. He pulled his skirt up to his knees and crossed his legs. Ichiban's stare slid down to his shapely, unshaven calves, with a faint bruise on his shin. Ichiban remembered that a week ago, during one of the brawls, Zhao got hit with a bamboo stick. Ichiban got so furious then and punched the lights out of the scumbag who had dared to do it. Not that Zhao needed his help, but Ichiban couldn't just stand there and watch.
Looking at Zhao, Ichiban realized how deceiving his look was. There was no way to tell right away that he knew how to knock a man out in a hundred ways or more, with a saber or his bare hands. Sitting there, drinking expensive beer, singing along to the tearful ballad Nanba and Adachi were howling on the stage, wearing a flashy shirt and huge ridiculous sneakers, he looked 25, max. Only his sly eyes, with fine wrinkles under the lower eyelid, gave him away, with all his experience and threatening presence, concealed by the affected carelessness.
Zhao was now mindlessly fiddling with his shades on the counter, his elegant fingers running along the frame. Ichiban looked at his chipped black nails and his extravagant rings and wondered what it would be like to hold his hand. His palms must be soft. Or on the contrary, rough from constant training. Would the rings get in the way if their fingers were intertwined? What if Ichiban's hand got sweaty from the excitement?
Ichiban shivered. Since when did the thought of trivial hand-holding make his knees tremble?
But Zhao's eyes gleamed mischievously with a drunk sheen and a smile that never disappeared from the corners of his lips. Ichiban was ready to stare at him as long as he could to remember this rare moment - along with the few others - when Zhao finally lifted the veil that hid the real him.
It warmed Ichiban's heart to know that he was part of the reason Zhao was having so much fun right now. At least a little bit.
The people were slowly breaking off and leaving, and Zhao was about to do the same.
“I better get going too,” he said with a sigh. “Take care, guys.”
Zhao took his things, waved his hand and went out into the night.
Ichiban didn't know whether he was just too reluctant to end such a nice night or it was something else. He simply ran outside after Zhao and called out to him.
Ichiban caught up with him, maneuvering through the crowd, and asked, “You walking home?”
Zhao answered with a careless shrug, “Yeah. Wanna walk it off, sober up a little.”
His voice sounded lazy and calm as usual, but something in his gaze made Ichiban's heart skip a beat. It seemed that for a fleeting moment he saw in Zhao's eyes a reflection of what Ichiban had been trying to resist all night. He looked at Ichiban with a surprised delight, admiration and something else. Ichiban didn't know what it was. Maybe Ichiban will find out tonight. Maybe he never will. Whatever the case, he walked beside Zhao with a light heart and a light gait.
Wasn't it enough to just breathe in the cool night air and walk side by side, his hand slightly brushing Zhao’s hand? Ichiban thought it was, and smiled.