Work Text:
One.
Tasuku steps out of the washroom and walks to the lounge, patting his face dry with the towel draped around his shoulders. A yawn escapes him as he enters and turns off the light.
Seems like he’s the first one up today. Should he go for a run now?
A quick glance at the clock tells him that Tsumugi also needs to be up soon. Didn’t he say he needs to go somewhere early this morning? Run later, then.
He heads to the counter and takes the coffee maker out of the cabinet. He has seen Tsumugi prepare their coffees often enough to at least be familiar with the process. He’s not sure if he used the right amount of beans, but it should still be coffee.
He fills one mug first, gives it a sip, and after deciding it’s not that bad, he fills another mug. Leaning back on the counter, he looks at the clock again as he stretches his arms.
After five minutes with no Tsumugi on sight, Tasuku picks up the mugs. He’ll just have to bring it to him.
The sun is already out when he goes to the courtyard, and Tasuku raises a brow at the table.
“You two are early,” Tasuku says.
Juza and Muku straighten up, swinging their heads at him.
“Tasuku-san!” Muku says with a smile. “Good morning!”
Juza nods in greeting.
“Morning.” Frankly a little awkward with his new, younger troupe mates, he clears his throat. “Uh, you want coffee?”
“Thank you, but we’re good! We already have something to drink…” Muku ends his sentence with a self-conscious laugh, and that’s when Tasuku finally notices what’s on their table.
A big box of gummies, cartons of banana milk, several packets of other things Tasuku is unfamiliar with but are definitely sweets.
Tasuku keeps the grimace off his face. They’re up this early on a weekend just to eat snacks? “That’s not healthy.”
When Juza looks at him, Tasuku logically knows that the guy doesn’t mean any harm; his eyes are just usually like that. Still, it makes Tasuku’s high school memories flash in front of his eyes, and he briefly wonders how good Juza’s fighting skills are.
The coffee’s getting cold.
He’s only half apologetic for interrupting Muku in his mumbling. “I’m not your parent. You don’t have to listen to me.” He nods. “I’m going to my room.”
He has just taken a step to the stairs when—
“Eeek! Tasuku-san, watch out!”
An eyebrow raised, he looks at Muku first before following his line of sight, gaze landing on the branch of a tree near him. A snake? How did it get in here? Not a venomous type, fortunately.
Well, his hands are full. The other person not panicking and fumbling about has his hands full with food, too.
Juza furrows his brows before placing his bottle of whatever-sweet-drink back to the table, looking like he would rather do anything but part with it.
Taking pity on him, Tasuku sighs and approaches their table, putting the mugs down. “I’ll handle it.”
Instead of calming down, Muku seems even more terrified…? He’s frozen, unblinking, mouth opening and closing. Juza’s eyes narrow.
Tasuku checks to see what just warranted this reaction.
Ah.
Eyelids heavy with sleep, Tsumugi holds the snake’s head with one hand, supporting its body on the other. He walks to the wall and releases it, lets it slither and go back to the outside world where… it will probably terrify even more people. That might’ve not been the best idea.
Tsumugi rubs his eyes before letting out a wide yawn.
“You’re up,” Tasuku says.
Tsumugi turns to him and yawns again, the corner of his eyes tearing up. “Good morning, Tasuku.”
“Morning.” He wraps his fingers around the mug instead of the handle, pleased that it’s still warm in his hand. Leaving the still stricken teens, he approaches Tsumugi and hands him his coffee.
“Thank you,” Tsumugi says with a smile.
Tasuku might have given him his coffee, but Tasuku doesn’t trust Tsumugi to not fall over, at least not until the caffeine hits. He has never been good with mornings, especially this early.
…Or maybe Tsumugi should change clothes first. His pajamas are probably what shocked the two.
Tasuku takes the already half-empty mug from Tsumugi’s hands, making Tsumugi blink sluggishly. “You might want to change clothes first.”
Tsumugi looks down and flushes, awake in an instant. “Ooops. I’ll be right back,” he says before rushing to the stairs.
“I’ll be in the lounge,” Tasuku says after him.
“Damn.” Itaru whistles. “That’s a pretty neat passive skill.”
Itaru and Banri, who have their heads poking out of the door, share a look. Unlike the cousins, these two are probably not already up but still awake, playing whatever game they were mentioning before.
“You think it only works when he’s half-asleep?” Banri asks.
“Mhmm. He’ll be too OP otherwise.”
“At least he gets nerfed with coffee.”
“Company’s average stats just keep getting higher. And here I thought adding the Autumn Troupe is already overkill.”
Tasuku doesn’t bother listening to the rest of the conversation and heads to the lounge.
.
.
.
Two.
The new album’s pretty good, Masumi thinks as he adjusts his headphone before putting his hands in his pockets, eyes on the road as he makes his way back to the dorm.
Back to Izumi.
I wonder if she’ll like this song?
The lead singer belts out a high note as the drums slowly come to a halt, and Masumi applauds the good resolution, so raw that he can almost physically feel the passion poured into it.
In the short moment of silence when the song changes to the next one, a familiar voice invades his ears.
“Perhaps be pareidolia, the mind’s ability, mere mortals and beautiful art, spinach lasagna!”
On one of the tables outside a quaint café, underneath a vintage parasol, sat a man holding a pen in one hand and a cup in another. Homare. There’s no one else with that ridiculous hairstyle and that ability to spew out stupid poems unasked.
As the second verse of the song starts, Masumi averts his gaze and continues walking, speed matching the beat of the song.
He hasn’t completely passed by the café when a girl bumps into him. Masumi scowls, ready to push her off if she turns out to be one of those annoying people from school.
But instead of blushing and stammering, the girl gives him a scathing glare—
Not a girl.
Masumi hears nothing but the layered guitar riffs, but Yuki continues to speak. He can just ignore him, but since it’s Yuki…
With a sigh, he touches his headphone, turning the music off, and brings it down his neck.
“—the theme of your next play?”
Masumi gives him a flat stare. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me?”
A few feet away, a bell chimes, a door opens, and then, “Oh, It’s Masumi-kun and Yuki-kun.”
Looking over his shoulder, Masumi watches as Tsumugi gently closes the café’s door, a mug in his hand.
“Just coming back from school? Oh, but don’t you two walk with—”
“I had Muku go first since I had to check something,” Yuki interjects.
Noticing that Tsumugi’s looking at him expectantly, Masumi lifts his shoulders. “Club.”
“I see. Are you two hungry? Do you want any drinks?” Tsumugi places the mug on the table and smiles. “It’s my treat, then we can go back together.”
Masumi scoffs. As if he wants to stay away from Izumi any longer.
“I’m not—”
“Izumi-kun has been here before, yes? They have interesting, diverse options in their menu.”
Masumi pauses.
“I won’t say no,” Yuki says, already walking to their table. “I’m interested in their interior, too. Do they really display antique collections inside?”
Tsumugi nods. “There’s a dedicated booth, and it’s very elegant. You should take a look at it. And how about you, Masumi-kun?”
“What Izumi ordered.”
“I’ll get you sugarcane juice, then.”
Tsumugi and Yuki enter the café, and Masumi takes a seat across Homare, dropping his bag on the free chair beside him.
Homare beams. “Why, the opportunity to talk with me right now, as I am overflowing with poems, is something that a lot of people hope to achieve in their lifetime! Now, Masumi-kun, free yourself of your shackles and ask my lovely guidance that you seek!”
Masumi has already stood up, a hand on his bag and about to leave, when Izumi’s beautiful face enters his mind, even though it never left in the first place.
He wants to know her likes, wants to taste the same drink she did. Izumi also won’t like it if she finds that Masumi left even though Tsumugi has paid for it.
Taking a deep breath, he sits down and tunes Homare out.
Tsumugi and Yuki come out of the café a few moments later. Rolling his eyes, Masumi picks his bag from the other chair when Yuki stands in front of it, an eyebrow raised.
As Yuki sits beside him, Masumi focuses on the glass placed in front of him. After mixing it with his straw, he gives the yellow-colored juice a sip.
Sweet, but not too much. Syrupy.
Since Izumi likes it, it’s perfect.
They start talking about the antique displays, if one can call anything with Homare an actual conversation. Masumi ignores them and focuses on the couple sharing a parfait a table away from them instead.
Masumi plays with his straw. He’ll be like that with Izumi someday, too. They’ll go to different restaurants, share food…
“Love is truly wonderful, but a shroud of doubt can be a catalyst of change.”
Tsumugi hums. “They might break up soon.”
Huh.
That came out of nowhere. Ridiculous and surely not the case.
Except the woman stands up, saying something incomprehensible but undoubtedly angry based on her tone. Instead of holding her hands and appeasing her like he should, the man just lazily waves a hand. The woman scoffs and spins on her heels, mumbling a sorry, excuse me, as she bumps their table on her way.
Masumi blinks and whips his head to Tsumugi, who takes a sip from his mug. “You. How did you know?” Is he a mind reader?
Tsumugi takes a moment before he hurriedly puts his mug down, raising his hands and shaking his head. “I’m not a mind reader, Masumi-kun,” he says. Masumi doubts him even more. “You just… notice some things, sometimes.”
Homare nods. “Truly, the power of observation is noteworthy. There is much one can do just by using their own experiences and senses, the so-called sixth sense included.”
“But even those can’t be trusted,” Tsumugi says, leaning back on the chair and crossing his arms, looking at nothing in particular. “Our senses lie. We can say that we didn’t see something despite actually seeing it; our brain just ignored or discarded the information. We also make fake memories. Since we can’t remember everything, our memory fills in the gaps, and those fills might be untrue.”
Tsumugi uncrosses his arms and drums his fingers on the table. “You can’t trust yourself.”
Masumi has stopped drinking, but he can still feel the ice-cold sugarcane juice going down his throat for some reason.
“That’s too depressing,” Yuki says, breaking the silence.
Tsumugi sits up and lets out a soft chuckle. “Sorry. This is not really a conversation for today.”
“Questions that can make one question the meaning of existence can stay in our troupe, yes?” Homare says, amusement lacing his voice. “Let them relish their juvenescence.”
The weird feeling in his throat gone, Masumi resumes drinking and ignores them again.
.
.
.
Three.
Izumi takes a seat on the bench, watching Hisoka and Misumi play with a cat in the courtyard. Should the cat be in the dorm in the first place? Maybe not, but frankly, she can’t bring herself to care. The boys look happy conversing(?) with the cat, and Izumi is happy watching them.
And she really needs happy right now.
“Good afternoon, Izumi!”
Citron plops down beside her, and Izumi lifts the corners of her mouth, hoping to mirror the pleasant expression on his face.
“Good afternoon, Citron-kun.”
Izumi makes a physical effort to stay still as Citron continues to stare. “Yes?”
“You don’t look well,” Citron says with a slight tilt of his head. “Are you okay?”
Izumi sighs and rubs the back of her neck. “I’m fine. I just… don’t feel like it today?”
“Did you get up on the crust side of bread?”
“Uh, it’s ‘get up on the wrong side of the bed,’ but yeah, I guess.”
Citron nods sympathetically before placing his pointer fingers on the corners of his mouth, pushing the skin up and squinting his eyes. “Copy me!”
“Eh?”
“You can smile to make yourself feel happier!” It’s a bit weird to watch Citron speak while his mouth forms a wide, unnatural smile. “It will be a good start!”
Izumi kinda doubts that, but what’s the harm in trying?
She raises her hands, extending her pointer fingers—
“Actually, that’s a myth.”
—only to stretch her arms with a yelp, ten fingers pointing at the sky.
She turns around to see Tsumugi standing them, sheepishly scratching his cheek and offering an apology.
“It’s okay, Tsumugi-san,” Izumi says, waving a hand. “I was the one not paying attention to my surroundings. You were saying something about a myth?”
“I know Citron-kun means well”—Tsumugi smiles at Citron, who gives a confused smile in return, hands now placed on his lap—“but it’s important to establish that it isn’t a fact.”
Izumi must more out of it than she thought. “Uh, what is?”
With the patience of a saint, bless him, Tsumugi replies, “The idea of smiling to make yourself happier.”
Citron lets out an intrigued oh! before scooting to the far end of the bench and eagerly patting the free space in the middle. “Tell us about it!”
Tsumugi hesitates at first, but who can say no to Citron’s great imitation of the pleading face emoji? He takes a seat in between them and cups his chin, staring at the sky.
And then, he explains, “That idea was from a study by Strack and colleagues back in 1988. Their results showed that people who forced themselves to smile, like what Citron-kun did, while looking at a cartoon supposedly found the cartoon funnier.”
“Huh.”
“But the same study was replicated just recently, in 2016, and the meta-analysis revealed a rating difference of 0.03 units with a 95% confidence interval ranging from −0.11 to 0.16.”
“Uh… Huh?”
Tsumugi nods at her like they actually understand each other. “17 labs. There were similar effects in 9 labs but in a lower magnitude, and the rest found no effect at all. Do you know the reported rating difference of the original study?”
Izumi opens her mouth to say no, but Tsumugi isn’t really asking, it seems. “It’s 0.82 units on a 10-point Likert scale!”
“Can you repeat that again,” Izumi says, hoping her smile doesn’t look more like a grimace, “but with… uh, basic language?”
“I am unable to follow as well,” Citron says.
Tsumugi straightens up and looks at them, again scratching his cheek. “Oops, sorry. To summarize, the original study was totally overblown, and it just has spread as a fact. But it’s been a year since the replicated studies, so that myth should be corrected by now.”
Mumbling, he adds, “I think people shouldn’t easily believe any ‘Psychology Says’ post they see.”
“Yes, yes, I understand!” Citron drops a fist into an open palm. “Like those videos in T*kT*k!”
Izumi blinks at him. “You have a T*kT*k?”
Tsumugi lets out a sigh, and Citron closes his mouth. Izumi prepares herself, too, instinctively knowing that Tsumugi’s next words will carry the same weight as his sigh.
“A student I’m tutoring has told me about the misinformation spread there, and it’s really quite alarming, especially since the younger population often checks these sites. I was baffled when she told me that ‘dreaming of someone means they’re in love with you.’ Don’t you think it’s ridiculous?”
It is ridiculous, because how would that even work? But something about Tsumugi’s too calm tone makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “Y-yeah?”
“There are people who studied for years and have gotten their licenses, yet others claim they know better because they took one psychology class.” Another heavy sigh. “Yes, I majored in psychology, but that doesn’t mean that I—”
“Mou!” Misumi interrupts, suddenly standing in front of Tsumugi. He crosses his arms and pouts. “You scared the cat away!”
Izumi does see Hisoka walking to the stairs—
Oh, wait, right, there was an actual cat with them earlier, but it’s gone now.
Tsumugi blinks, and the tension on his shoulders disappears. “Oh, I’m sorry. It seems that I went on for too long.”
Izumi smiles. “No problem, Tsumugi-kun. It’s interesting.”
It’s a rare occasion to see Tsumugi be this passionate about something aside from theater. He has stayed still and kept his voice level, but Izumi’s sure that if he was any other person, he would’ve been standing and flailing his arms around.
Citron nods in agreement. Misumi hmphs and heads to the kitchen.
“I’m just not fond of people saying that something is according to science when it’s not, saying something that it’s according to studies when there are no studies—”
There is fire in Tsumugi’s eyes. Izumi clears his throat.
“Do they understand how hard it is to conduct actual research? When I was in college, I had so much trouble with APA and…”
Izumi and Citron share a look. It seems like Tsumugi’s on a trip down the memory line, and she’s not sure if she should stop him. He’s right, after all.
.
.
.
Four.
Sakuya mentally ticks off items on their grocery list as they walk. The potatoes, carrots, and celery are in his bag. Tsuzuru has the beef, and Tenma has the tomato paste along with the seasonings. They shouldn’t have forgotten anything, right?
Hmm…
“We got everything, didn’t we?” Sakuya asks aloud. Better safe than sorry.
Tsuzuru nods before mumbling an apology to the man he accidentally bumps into. He’s walking on the outer side of the pavement, both of them trying to cover Tenma with their bodies as much as they can. Tenma says he’s not getting mobbed in Veludo Way now, but, again, Sakuya thinks that it’s better to be safe than sorry.
As they turn around a corner, Sakuya perks up at the familiar white, long hair of the man a few feet in front of them, grinning when he recognizes the blue hair of the man beside him as well.
“Azuma-san! Tsumugi-san!”
Tsumugi looks back and smiles as they approach. “Hello, Sakuya-kun, Tsuzuru-kun, Tenma-kun.” He eyes the grocery bags they’re carrying. “What are we going to have for dinner?”
“Fushimi-san’s planning to cook beef stew,” Tsuzuru answers.
“I see. It’s perfect for this weather.”
“You are about to head back, too, right?” Sakuya says. “Let’s go home together.”
“Come on, then,” Azuma says with a small smile, and they start walking through the streets again.
Sakuya watches their backs of the Winter Troupe members, the layers of clothing they’re wearing unable to hide how… steadfast they are.
How long will it take for me to be like them? To be independent, to be reliable…
Tsumugi looks over his shoulder, breaking Sakuya’s out of his trance. “By the way, Tenma-kun, I saw the trailer for your new movie. Your role is a bully this time, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Tenma as a bully…” Azuma chuckles. “Considering his interactions with the Summer Troupe, that’s quite hard to imagine.”
“Wha—”
Tenma stumbles, but before Sakuya can even reach out his hand, Tenma recovers, back straight and arms crossed with a furious expression. Oh no, was he offended—
“‘Hah, are you this much of a wuss that you’re crawlin’ and beggin’ others for help’”? Tenma says, staring straight into Sakuya’s eyes.
Instantly, Sakuya knows that Tenma is acting, saying a line that is not really from him, but the gaze still has him frozen on the spot.
He opens his mouth, willing his body to move, willing his brain to go faster and come up with a reply—
“‘So you’re the one that has been harassing my brother.’”
Tsumugi delivers his line smoothly, like a person casually complimenting the weather, yet every syllable drips with malice. Even without seeing his face, it’s easy to imagine what his expression must be like with his tone alone.
Calm, but deadly.
Tenma takes a step back before recovering, raising his nose in the air, acting exactly like one of the guys at school that often asks (threatens) someone else to buy their lunch.
“‘A-and who the hell are you?’” Tenma cranes his neck, darting his eyes like he’s scared but professionally checking their surroundings in truth, which makes Sakuya check, too.
Like he expected, they are slowly gaining attention from the others, and Tsuzuru and Azuma stand at the side near the bystanders. Tsumugi doesn’t spare any of them a glance, not breaking character and focusing only on Tenma.
Something tells Sakuya to simply observe this one rather than participate, so he slowly makes his way to the side as well.
And he’s glad he did.
Tenma and Tsumugi continue their etude, and Sakuya is captivated by the world they have made in a few measly seconds. Tenma’s character is a dime-a-dozen bully whose luck has run out after a careless mistake, not realizing that the brother of his victim (who was Sakuya before he exited the stage) is someone so… powerful.
To be honest, Sakuya doesn’t know who exactly Tsumugi’s character is supposed to be. An influential underground figure, a member of a syndicate. Maybe his character is not even human.
But the specifics don’t matter, not at all. Even with the ambiguity, there is one thing certain: Tsumugi’s character is someone terrifying.
A mere high school bully stands no chance.
“Hey, hey, isn’t that Tenma Sumeragi?”
Sakuya tears his eyes away from the compelling scene in front of them and… oh. There is quite a crowd around them now.
Quickly, Tenma crouches down, hands over his head, tactfully hiding his face as his character finally understands the severity of the situation he is in.
Tsumugi takes a heavy step forward, and another, and another, until he’s right in front of the cowering bully. He circles him, like a predator marking its prey, before stopping at Tenma’s side.
Fingers cupping his chin, Tsumugi lazily looks at the sky, tilting his head slightly to the side, as if mulling something over. And then, his pupils move down, gaze back to Tenma, and Sakuya swears he can imagine his eyes flashing red.
Tsumugi-san won’t actually eat Tenma-kun. That’s silly. Sakuya transfers the grocery bag from his left hand to his right, the one not shaking. He’s just really so good at acting.
“The veterans are really something else, aren’t they?” Azuma says beside him, and Sakuya startles, only able to give a hesitant nod. On Sakuya’s other side, Tsuzuru mumbles something about future plays and hard-to-imagine characters.
While Sakuya isn’t paying attention, they have wrapped up their impromptu play, the people around them clapping and cheering.
After a quick thanks to the crowd, they make their way back to the dorm again, this time with more speed and with the more experienced actors walking in front.
Sakuya looks at Tsumugi’s back again. No matter if it’s just about daily lives or acting, that back is a symbol. A goal.
If anyone can do the most challenging, almost impossible and even unimaginable roles, it will be Tsumugi. Of course, Tenma surely can do those roles, too. Banri will also probably be able to pull them off.
Someday, Sakuya will, too. He has amazing people to catch up to.
.
.
.
Five.
Sakyo enters the dorm, pausing when he sees the light coming from the washroom.
Again.
Someone is always in the washroom every time he passes through the hallway, and it’s shouldn’t be completely unusual considering the fact that the dorm is occupied by more than twenty people, but it happens often enough to raise his suspicion. He had once thought to call a meeting and remind everyone to turn off the lights when not in use, but he always hears a hushed voice, so it doesn’t seem to be the case.
Sakyo is this close to just barging in, but something tells him not to. He has learned to always listen to his instincts the hard way years before.
Omi is cooking dinner when he enters the kitchen. Tsumugi and Kazunari are huddled on the couch, with Kazunari showing the Winter Troupe leader something on his phone.
“What are you thinking of, Sakyo-san?” Omi asks, pouring some dark liquid on the pan.
Sakyo pulls himself a chair, the foot scratching against the floor not making his mood any better. “Someone’s always in the washroom recently.”
“Ah,” Omi says, tone knowing. “Sorry, give me a second.”
He grabs a spoon to taste the food and nods to himself. After turning off the stove, he leans back on the counter. That duck-patterned apron is new. “Anyway, uh, it’s Taichi. He’s always on calls nowadays, chatting with his friends.”
That age, huh, Sakyo thinks, remembering another kid who’s always on his phone. Nonetheless, “He can do that in his own room, can’t he?”
Omi lifts his shoulders before turning around, transferring the food—pasta tonight, it seems—to the plates. “He’s shy. It’s not like I can’t hear what he’s saying, even if he tries to keep it down.”
“Tell him to do it in the courtyard. If our electricity bill exceeds the budget…”
“I think I have an idea. Can you leave it to me?” Tsumugi suddenly says from the couch, and Sakyo raises a brow when the Winter Troupe leader catches his eye. Was he listening in? Not that Sakyo and Omi were quiet and that their conversation was a secret, but he wasn’t expecting Tsumugi to chime in, especially since he seemed engrossed in his own conversation with Kazunari.
“What is it?” Sakyo asks, but instead of directly answering him, Tsumugi hums and turns to Kazunari. “You can control the, umm, Wi-Fi here, right?”
It only takes Kazunari a second to compose himself. “Yeah, sure! What’cha planning to do, Tsumu-Tsumu?”
Omi sets the table, and the others start piling in for dinner. Sakyo narrows his eyes when Taichi enters, pocketing his phone before greeting the others.
Tsumugi sits on the chair across from him. “Can you leave it to me? It might take a few months, but…” He trails off, tilting his head with a small smile.
Sakyo huffs. Fine. He’ll leave it to him for now.
Maybe he has something in mind as his usual tutor, something more effective than what Sakyo would do—Taichi will just be acting like a wet puppy for weeks when he scolds him.
Sakyo arrives in the dorm with the intent of just quickly grabbing something he forgot in his room. He pauses when he hears a hushed voice, but when he glances at the washroom, the lights are off.
When he steps foot in the courtyard, he raises an eyebrow at Taichi, who is seated on the bench, a hand covering his mouth as he says something to his phone.
Taichi grins and waves at Sakyo when he sees him before his hand returns to his mouth, continuing his conversation about… stan and OTP? Whatever these words mean.
So it’s not a one-time thing, Sakyo thinks, remembering the last time he saw him in the courtyard.
It has been about a month now. Taichi will sometimes be on the bench, on one of the chairs, sometimes leaning on the tree, but he’s always in the courtyard, not anymore in the washroom.
Taichi can be planning whatever he is planning with the other person on the line, and Sakyo doesn’t really care; he’s actually a good kid at the end of the day.
What Sakyo does want to know is…
Sakyo catches Tsumugi alone in the lounge the next morning, sipping a mug of what seems to be green tea based on the smell.
Unable to rein in his curiosity, he asks, “What did you do?”
“Huh?”
Sakyo grunts. “Nanao.”
Tsumugi’s eyes flash in understanding. He puts his mug on the table and crosses his legs. “Sakyo-san, are you familiar with operant conditioning?”
“A theory in psychology?”
“Yes. It is used in increasing or decreasing behavior,” Tsumugi says with a nod, an aura surrounding him that Sakyo has seen before, when he is tutoring the youngsters. “Since we don’t want Taichi-kun to spend so much time in the washroom, I asked Kazunari-kun’s help, turning off the internet when he’s there. Oh, Itaru-kun helped, too, since he was also affected. They… hacked something, I think? I’m not really sure, but…”
Tsumugi explains that by now, Taichi must’ve thought that there’s a problem with his phone since he’s unable to access the internet when he’s in the washroom.
It is a good plan, Sakyo admits, albeit too arduous when he can just scold him and get the same result in a day.
However, it’s quite… unnerving to hear it from Tsumugi, especially since the man casually says it all with a pleasant expression on his face. Sakyo has seen a similar expression before, on men that like to brag about their crimes…
“…and fortunately, we’re successful in just a month… Sakyo-san? What’s wrong?”
Waking from his stupor, Sakyo shakes his head. Did he just compare Tsumugi to those people?
Ridiculous.
“It’s nothing. Good work, Tsukioka.”
.
.
.
.
.
+ One.
Tsumugi places his chopsticks down and nods at Omi, who is seated in front of him. “Thank you again for cooking dinner tonight, Omi-kun. The honey garlic shrimp is delicious.”
Juza on Omi’s left hums in agreement, and on his right, Taichi nods enthusiastically, bowl empty. “Yeah! And now, time for the desserts!” He stands up, hands on the table, and looks at Tsumugi. “Do you want ice cream, too, Tsumugi-san? Tasuku-san?”
Beside Tsumugi, Tasuku places his chopsticks down as well. “Ice cream in this weather?”
“Eh, it’s no biggie!” Taichi shrugs. “It’s pretty warm here in the dorm anyway. So?”
“I’ll have to pass, Taichi-kun,” Tsumugi says. “But thank you for the offer.”
“I’m good,” Tasuku says.
“Ok!” Taichi goes to the fridge and comes back in a flash, handing Juza and Omi ice pops. Spring has just started and the cold still bites at his skin, but this is the power of youth, Tsumugi guesses.
Tsumugi stands up grabs Tasuku’s bowl, placing it on top of his. Tasuku nods his silent thanks before he stands up and leaves the room, heading to the sudden part-time job he was just informed of a few minutes earlier.
Tsumugi brings their bowls to the sink and almost bumps into Itaru on his way.
Itaru mumbles an oops, sorry, before making a beeline to the fridge. He opens it and checks the contents, looking for something to munch on while he takes a break from gaming, perhaps.
“Oi, Taichi,” Itaru says over his shoulder. “These ice pops yours?”
“Yep!” Taichi says, turning around, an arm thrown over the chair’s backrest. “Feel free to grab one if you want to, Itaru-san!”
“Thx.”
Tsumugi goes back to the table to pick up the glasses and brings them to the kitchen. Itaru leans back on the counter, opening the packet before bringing out the ice pop and taking a bite.
Fortunately, Tsumugi catches the glasses before they land on the floor.
After carefully setting the glasses on the sink, Tsumugi turns to Itaru to double-check, because maybe he saw it wrong. Our own senses can fool us, after all.
But the view doesn’t change. Itaru is still eating his ice cream—biting his ice cream, showing off his pearly white teeth.
“Itaru-kun, doesn’t that hurt?”
Tsumugi can’t suppress a wince as Itaru bites his ice cream, as if he’s listening to his elementary teacher scratch her nails on the blackboard again. And Itaru does it one more time, biting the last bit, dragging his teeth across the stick before throwing it to the trash can. “What does?”
Tsumugi composes himself. “Um, biting ice cream.”
Itaru hums in understanding. “Some people don’t have sensitive teeth. I mean… Exhibit A: Juza Hyodo. Look at— Nah, you can’t see it from here.”
They can’t see it from the kitchen since Juza has his back on them, but it is easy to imagine. All the sweets he eats on a daily basis already say a lot. Tsumugi nods. “I see. That makes sense. I have sensitive teeth, so just thinking of biting it…”
“Mood. Sensitive teeth here, too.”
“Eh?”
Itaru stretches his arms before opening the fridge again, this time bringing out a bottle of soda. “Pain is temporary.”
“You should grab a bottle of water, too,” is what Tsumugi says instead of directly responding to… that.
Itaru arches a brow before giving a casual shrug, but he follows Tsumugi and opens the fridge again, saying, “Physical pain numbs the mental DMG for a moment. But people like Juza, who actually doesn’t feel the pain…” Itaru narrows his gaze as he stands up, the fridge closing with a soft thud. “Watch out. I’m pretty sure they can beat god.”
The stare Itaru gives him would perhaps be quite intimidating if his hair isn’t tied up, crumbs of chips around his chin, as he holds the bottles in his right and balances a box of pizza on his left.
In a mumble, Itaru adds, “Seriously, Juza has pretty insane stats, too.”
Then, louder, “Anyway. Gonna go back now. Thanks for the water reminder.”
Tsumugi… nods? “Uh, no problem.”
As Itaru exits the kitchen, the others on the table stand up, bringing their dishes to the sink. Taichi flails when he sees him, mentioning his pale complexion, and Tsumugi is touched to be the recipient of Juza’s concerned frown.
He tells them that he’s fine, because he really is—and even though he knows they won’t judge him, it’s embarrassing to say that he was just shocked enough by someone biting their ice cream, willingly going through it, that the color has drained from his face.
Omi insists to do the dishes, but Tsumugi stands his ground, and they finally relent. Taichi reminds him that he can grab an ice pop from the fridge whenever he wants to, Omi tells him that they’ll have omelets for breakfast, and Juza gives him a curt nod.
It is fascinating to see how everyone shows kindness in their own way, and he’ll see a lot more of them in the unforeseeable future, he's sure—just like how there will surely be a lot more things to be surprised at as he stays in this theater company, from simple to absurd to possibly life-changing ones.
Hafen found in his 2011 study that there is a longer predicted duration for a relationship if the people involved are similar, and as they are all linked by their passion for theater…
Tsumugi smiles and turns on the faucet.