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For once, it wasn’t Banri who started it.
No, when the Autumn Troupe was taking a fifteen-minute water break, and Taichi roped Banri and Juza and Azami into a movie-character-impressions contest, and Banri proudly performed his prizewinning Gollum impression, to which Juza responded, “The hell’re you supposed to be?”, the one who whipped around and spat “JUZA HYODO, WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY” was Sakyo Furuichi.
And as the Autumn Troupe all knew, hell hath no fury like a Sakyo scorned.
When at last Omi managed to talk Sakyo down from a boiling rage to a simmering ire, the story came out. Indeed, it was true: Juza had never seen any of the Lord of the Rings movies. “There’s a ring,” he said hesitantly. “And… some lords, probably. S’all I know.”
Reactions ranged from gentle sympathy (Taichi) to bewilderment (Azami) to open disdain (Banri and Sakyo). But the moment Juza’s mumbled confession reached Omi’s ears, inspiration struck him like a Balrog’s whip.
“Well, if that’s the case, Juza,” he said, “why don’t we all watch the movies together sometime?”
He didn’t really expect them to agree. Their next show was right around the corner, and midterm season at Yosei was coming up, not to mention Amabi’s quarterly student showcase, and Taichi was busy with driving lessons and Azami with his guest makeup artist spot at another troupe, and Sakyo was always occupied with some financial project or another.
And yet, Sakyo immediately nodded in approval, saying the films would be excellent for improving their action scenes. The extended editions, of course, because what fool would ever want to watch the regular editions, where they’d cut out Saruman’s death scene, a moment so integral to the larger narrative?
The rest of the troupe wasn’t far behind. Taichi practically jumped for joy at the prospect of an Autumn Troupe movie night, and Azami tried to pretend he wasn’t just as excited by murmuring something plausible about wanting to study the films' makeup and prosthetics. Juza, too, nodded enthusiastically and said he was looking forward to the death scene of Sour Man, or whatever his name was. And when everyone else had voiced their support, Banri did his very best eyeroll and said that if everybody else was so gung-ho about the idea, then he supposed as Autumn Troupe leader he could allow them to take a break, just this once.
He was still as shy as ever when it came to admitting he liked hanging out with everyone, Omi thought with a smile.
And so the marathon was set into stone. After a bit of arguing, of course, because that was par for the course for the Autumn Troupe. Banri and Taichi wanted to start at 9 PM and stay up all night; Sakyo and Azami wanted to start at 9 AM and be finished in time for supper and skincare. (Juza was not involved in this argument, for his full attention was focused on Omi’s post-practice blueberry muffins.) Eventually, Omi managed to get them to agree on a compromise: starting at 4 PM and watching until midnight. As most compromises do, this left everyone at the same level of irritation and unhappiness.
But everyone’s unhappiness dissipated when they arrived at the lounge at 3:45 PM to see a dazzling array of movie snacks on the coffee table. Bottles of everyone’s favorite soft drinks, with screw-on tops so nobody would spill them on the carpet and invoke Izumi’s wrath; a platter of sushi, including plenty of California rolls; an extra-large pepperoni pizza; a couple bowls of nureokaki and black licorice candy; and of course, several massive bowls of popcorn, the most massive of which was caramel-flavoured.
"How the hell’d you get this all ready in a few hours?” said Banri, awestruck. Omi wasn’t sure why he was so surprised; it really hadn’t been that much work at all. He’d made caramel popcorn for his little brothers so many times he could do it in his sleep, and most of the other food had only been one convenience store trip away. Besides, seeing the others’ smiling faces was more than worth the couple hours he had spent plating everything.
With their spirits high, the Autumn Troupe began their Lord of the Rings marathon at 4 PM sharp. There was some chatter in the first few minutes, mostly between Banri and Juza. First they both declared they would stay awake longer than the other, and then Banri fussed over Juza munching on his caramel popcorn too loudly, and then Juza fussed over Banri jostling his bowl of said caramel popcorn. And then Sakyo threw several pieces of nureokaki at them and told them to smarten up.
But within half an hour, they too were drawn into the world of The Fellowship of the Ring, watching the film in reverential silence – except for Banri pointing at the occasional orc and whispering “that’s you” to Juza. As always, the two rivals took their competitions incredibly seriously.
However, despite their declaration of war, neither Banri nor Juza made it to The Two Towers. When Omi got up to change the disks, they were snoring in unison – Banri’s head firmly pressed against Juza’s shoulder, Juza contentedly drooling into Banri’s hair.
The movie marathon paused as the remaining Autumn Troupe members thoroughly photographed the scene. For posterity – or blackmail material, but mostly posterity.
“Amateurs,” Sakyo muttered under his breath as the second film began, and Omi was inclined to agree. But it was clear all of them were tired from their busy weeks at practice and school and work, and now that exhaustion was catching up to them. Indeed, when the last notes of Howard Shore’s haunting soundtrack faded away, Omi heard a thunk as the TV remote slipped out of Sakyo’s lap and hit the floor. Even asleep, he looked as stern as ever – arms folded, legs crossed, brow furrowed. The only difference was his glasses, which had slid most of the way down the bridge of his nose and were now dangling askew.
With the ease of someone who had spent their whole childhood stealing Sakyo’s glasses, Azami slid them off his face, folded them neatly, and placed them on the coffee table. His eyes darted over to Omi as if daring him to say something.
Omi said nothing. But he did smile as he pressed PLAY on Return of the King.
The third film was Omi’s personal favorite, and his eyes didn’t flicker from the TV screen for the next four hours. Thus, he wasn’t sure whether Taichi or Azami stayed awake the longest. But when the credits were rolling, and his vision was no longer blurry – that last scene of Frodo sailing into the west always got him misty-eyed – he glanced over to see both of them fast asleep. Azami was curled up in a remarkably cat-like manner with his head resting on Sakyo’s lap, and Taichi had faceplanted onto the armrest, softly snoring into his elbow.
He was the last conscious member in the troupe. And judging by how late it was, the last conscious member in the dorm, except for maybe Itaru.
It was definitely time for bed. But there was something he needed to take care of first.
He stood, and after a quick stretch of his aching muscles, padded over to Azami’s end of the couch. Moving slowly, so as not to wake him, he looped one arm under Azami’s back and the other around his legs. He lifted him, almost effortlessly. Azami was deceptively light, despite his long legs and baggy clothes. A growing boy – as Sakyo often bemoaned, he went up a shoe size seemingly every month – but a boy nonetheless.
With Azami safely cradled in his arms, Omi maneuvered around the couch and made his way towards the hallway. It was dark, almost pitch-black, but he knew the way to Room 106 like the back of his hand. He only stepped on two creaky floorboards, and both times Azami didn’t stir. He was out like a light, Omi thought with fondness.
He silently pushed open the door to Room 106 with his hip. Approaching Azami’s bunk bed, he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, finding his balance. Then he lifted Azami over the guardrail and set him down in his bed, as gently as possible. As he pulled up the blanket and tucked it around Azami’s shoulders, he saw Azami’s fingers twitch, curling, as if he was doing somebody’s makeup in his sleep.
Omi brushed the hair out of Azami’s eyes, safely tucking it behind his ear. His face was shiny with moisturizer, and Omi thought it best to leave it undisturbed.
Thus, he planted a goodnight kiss on the crown of Azami’s head.
One down, four to go.
It was Banri’s turn next. He’d slid down Juza’s side and was now slumped by his elbow in what looked like a deeply uncomfortable sleeping position. Just like he did with Azami, Omi tucked his arm under Banri’s legs and picked him up, princess-style.
Banri stirred, and Omi froze, wondering if he was awake. But he simply murmured something that sounded like “go away Hyodo” and burrowed his face into Omi’s chest. Omi smiled as he drew him close.
He never would’ve pegged Banri as the kind of guy who enjoyed hugs. Banri probably wasn’t aware of it himself. But it hadn’t escaped Omi’s notice that whenever it was time for their pre-show huddles, Banri was always the first one to loop his arms around his friends’ shoulders. And it hadn’t escaped Omi’s notice that whenever he pulled Banri into a bear hug, no matter how much Banri grumbled and complained, he was always the last one to let go.
Tonight was no exception. When Omi placed Banri down on his bed, Banri mumbled something incomprehensible but grumpy and curled up into a ball, as if trying to retain Omi’s warmth. It was only when Omi pulled the blankets over him that he relaxed again, peacefully sinking into the pillow.
The top of his head was still damp from Juza’s drool, so Omi kissed him on the forehead.
Speaking of Juza…
Unlike Banri, he was motionless, dead to the world. The only clue that he was still alive was the sound of his snoring, which was somewhere between a large lawnmower and a small barge. He was the heaviest of the five, and Omi had to pause a few times to readjust his grip as he carted him down the hallway.
When it came time to carry him up the ladder, Omi changed tactics and carefully slung Juza over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Or more accurately, a sack of caramel popcorn. He really was a bottomless pit, Omi thought with admiration, resolving to make twice as much popcorn for him next time.
Juza’s head lolled to the side when it touched the pillow, and Omi got a good look at the bruise lurking below his left eye. It was purple – fresh – but not too swollen. Omi hoped it was just from one of their practices. It wasn’t unheard of for the Autumn Troupe to bang each other up a little when stage fighting, but Juza tended to bruise the most easily, and for the longest amount of time. Nobody else in the troupe seemed to worry about it much, so Omi tried not to, either. He knew he’d only get called a softie and a helicopter mom if he brought it up.
But…
As gently as he possibly could, he kissed the bruise. It probably wouldn’t help that much, but it couldn’t hurt, either.
Next was Sakyo. Just like Azami, he was deceptively light. Nonetheless, Omi moved even more slowly and carefully than he had for the previous three boys. He’d feel a little embarrassed having to explain himself to Azami or Banri or Juza, but he couldn’t begin to imagine how Sakyo might react to finding himself being cradled in Omi’s arms.
That, and Sakyo looked the most deeply asleep out of anyone. Maybe it was because, for once, he wasn’t carrying the weight of the Mankai Company on his shoulders. Would it kill him to ask other people for help sometimes?
…Omi supposed he wasn’t one to talk.
As Omi lifted him into his bed, he couldn’t help but feel stunned at how much younger Sakyo looked when he was asleep. He was older than Omi, sure, but he wasn’t that much older, in the grand scheme of things. Before long, Omi would be thirty, and Sakyo would be – holy cow, Sakyo would be forty. Was forty even a real number?
It was strange to think about one day turning thirty. But then again, it hadn’t been that long ago that Omi thought he’d never live to see his twenties.
Or rather, that he didn’t deserve to live to see his twenties.
…He decided not to follow that train of thought any further.
He pecked Sakyo on the cheek, then scurried down the ladder before he could get caught.
Last but certainly not least, there was Taichi. Omi had saved him until last because he was by far the easiest to carry. As he adjusted his grip on his sleeping cargo for the fifth and final time, he felt his own eyelids growing heavy. Maybe it was because they were roommates, but seeing Taichi asleep was making him feel sleepy, too.
Room 105 was admittedly a bit of a mess. Omi had been needle-felting some triangles as a present for Misumi, and Taichi had been repairing some costumes for Yuki. As a result, the floor was littered with scraps of fabric and pieces of wool. He prayed there were no sharp needles on the floor as he tiptoed over to Taichi’s bed.
Just like the others, he laid Taichi onto the bed, hunted for the blankets, and drew them up to his chin without making a sound. But when he moved in to kiss him on the cheek, Taichi’s sea-blue eyes abruptly fluttered open.
“Omi?”
Omi drew back, alarmed. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“S’okay.” Taichi gave him a drowsy smile. “Thanks for carrying me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“You gonna kiss the homies goodnight?”
Omi smiled. “Of course I am.” He kissed Taichi on the cheek, and sleepily, Taichi kissed him on the cheek in return.
“You coming to bed?” Taichi mumbled as Omi descended the ladder.
“Soon.”
“Real soon?”
“Yep. I promise.”
“’Kay” Taichi yawned, snuggling into the blankets. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Omi stepped into the hallway and closed the door silently behind him.
He stood there for a moment, alone in the dark, his hand on the doorknob. Then, turning, he once again made the trek back to the lounge.
The faint glow of the TV screen illuminated the empty popcorn bowls and plastic bottles that littered the floor. Omi spotted crumbs of popcorn all over the couch, the coffee table, and the floor. There was plenty of cleanup to be done before Omi, too, could go to sleep. Yet as his gaze fell on the couch, pillows askew and blankets rumpled, he felt the exhaustion seeping into his bones more acutely than ever.
Just for a moment, he decided.
He would just sit down for a moment, and then he would get back to work.
***
At approximately 5:30 AM, Tetsuro unlocked the front door and pushed it open without a sound.
The tote bag of materials was massive enough to crush most grown men, but Tetsuro carried it effortlessly. He set it in the front entranceway, to the side, and turned to leave again. His shift at the construction yard started at 6 AM, and it wouldn’t do to keep his pigeon friends waiting.
But out the corner of his eye, he spotted the giant pizza box on the coffee table, and a second later, the rest of the mess in the lounge.
Empty bowls stacked haphazardly around the room. Plastic bottles rolling under the couch. Popcorn dust on every surface. And in the center of it all, fast asleep on the couch and snoring heartily, was Omi Fushimi.
Tetsuro stood for a moment, watching the scene.
Then, after looking both ways to make sure no one was watching, he crept into the lounge as silently as a six-foot-five man can. He approached the sleeping Omi as if he was a zookeeper approaching a sleeping elephant. Up close, he saw how dark the circles under the man’s eyes were. How much he clearly needed this nap.
He always looked so tired, Tetsuro thought.
He crouched down and picked up the sleeping man, princess-style. As soon as he did, Omi shifted, settling into Tetsuro’s arms.
Tetsuro smiled to no one but himself.
With his cargo secure, he shuffled down the hall towards Room 105, leaving the silent lounge behind.