Chapter Text
Torrential rain poured down on what Takemichi had thought would be the best day of his life. He was finally here at Stetton Academy after years of hard work, countless dollars and a four day journey that consisted of trains, buses and sore feet, and yet it felt like nothing was going according to plan.
The silhouette of the main building still looked a million miles away from the iron gates he was standing under, his surroundings coloured grey by the dark clouds. Thunder crashed in the heavens above, a rolling drum that threatened more misery. He was wet everywhere, so completely and utterly drenched by the unyielding rain that he felt nearly aquatic.
A gust of wind rushed through and Takemichi shivered violently, the chill traveling up his spine to the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought it was possible to feel even colder but nature seemed to want to prove him wrong that day. The road ahead of him was long and symmetrical, lined with evenly spaced trees on each side that must look gorgeous on a nicer day.
Stetton was an elite school, filled with politicians’ kids and celebrity children. His friends back home had showered him with horror stories about the spoiled creatures that inhabited the place, top one percent-ers who treat people of a lower “pedigree” like absolute shit and assume everything is their birthright. Takemichi was a little more optimistic than his friends but now that he was here, it started to feel like he wasn’t welcome at all, a buried instinct that just knew he was in the wrong place.
The handles of his worn trunks were slick with water and there was no damn way anything in them was dry by now. Even though he had cursed them for being wheel-less, the cobblestone road here promised cracked plastic so it may not have been the worst decision to skimp on new luggage. Small blessings.
Takemichi trudged along the road, every step swollen and heavy. He’ll get there soon, the thought of not being far from warm, dry shelter powering him through the dismal weather.
At about a third of his journey on the way in, he heard the low purr of a car turning into the cobblestone road. Takemichi looked back to see headlights cutting through the heavy rain and hurtling directly towards him. He leapt to the side to avoid the car as it zoomed past him, its tyres throwing up the puddles into miniature waves that crashed over Takemichi’s boots.
To his surprise, the car slowed to a halt ahead of him and the backseat window rolled down. Takemichi took it as a sign to approach and jogged up to it. Reclining in the backseat was a boy with dark brown hair around his age wearing the school’s blazer.
“Hey, do you need a lift?” The boy asked cheerily despite the storm happening outside the car.
Takemichi blinked the water out of his eyes and nodded fervently before running over to the other side of the car and climbing in. The dry warmth of the vehicle was comforting and he let out a sigh of relief as he put the trunks down. He also became acutely aware of how sopping wet he was, water from his clothes already pooling on the carpet.
“Thank you for giving me a lift,” Takemichi said sheepishly. He winced as he perched as forward on the seat as possible, praying that his dripping self wouldn’t damage the very expensive-looking leather seats in this undoubtedly luxurious car.
“It’s no biggie.” The boy stretched out a hand. “The name’s Matsuno Chifuyu.”
Takemichi tried to wipe his palms dry on himself to no avail, so he gave up and grasped Matsuno’s hand. “ Hanagaki Takemichi. I’m new here. It’s my first day, actually.”
“Welcome to Stetton, pal. How old are you? We might be in the same year,” Matsuno grinned like he was actually excited to meet him, chattering away familiarly. His tie was loose around his neck and he’s got one too many shirt buttons open. Takemichi hoped they were in the same year; that would make at least one friendly person he’ll know in school.
“Year 11.”
Matsuno’s delighted expression confirmed it. He fist-pumped, “Yes! I’ll show you around and everything. The golf courses are really nice to hang out at when the weather’s good and you’ll get to meet Baji-san and—”
“Matsuno-san, shall I drop your guest off at the main lobby?” The chauffeur interrupted, crisp accent cutting through the muffled thunder. The car had already made it to the end of the tree-lined street, the regal stone exterior of the school looking even more imposing when they drew closer. The sheltered porch for cars to drop passengers off muted the sound of raindrops falling on the roof and Takemichi could hear the tires rolling over the crunching gravel that had transitioned from cobblestone road when the chauffeur pulled in.
“I’ve got to go straight to my hall but I’ll see you around, Takemichi!” Matsuno waved cheerily at him through the windows as he bowed in gratitude, watching the car pull away.
Once it was out of sight, Takemichi looked at the two trunks on the ground and fought the urge to sigh. The initial comfort of encountering someone so friendly was wearing off and the thought of actually being there and having to meet all sorts of new people, people whose lives were on a completely different track than his, brought back all the nervousness he had been trying to block out.
Ascending the stone steps of the foyer, Takemichi found himself dripping across the marbled floor of the lobby. It was mostly empty, save for the lounge chairs, pamphlets and a single student who sprinted past him, undoubtedly late for something.
He still had no idea where the main office was, but the large central staircase looked promising. Taking a few steps towards it, he winced at the hideously loud squelching noises his shoes made that he swore echoed through the halls. Great first impression he was making; scholarship student with squeaky shoes who looked like he just had a near-drowning experience. He wouldn’t be surprised if they took one look at him and just threw him out.
Takemichi’s attempt at taking small, fast steps made him unaware of the two figures approaching him from behind.
“Hey, you,” a voice called out to him. Takemichi turned to see two students, both immaculately dressed in the uniform but had hair dyed interesting colours that Takemichi would have thought were against the dress code. The taller one wore his in twin braids. If Takemichi wasn’t physically becoming an ice cube, he would have snickered.
“You okay?” The taller one continued, eyes wide in faux-concern.
“Huh? Uh, yeah, I’m good.” Takemichi nodded with finality and hoped they caught the drift. The feeling of aversion was immediate and it felt like a mistake to ask them for directions—or any favour, for that matter.
“But you’re all wet. We wouldn’t want you to get sick, would we?” Braids pouted and the other one shook his head in the most nauseatingly condescending way possible.
They both had the name Haitani embroidered on the breast of their blazer. Brothers. Figures.
“Here, take this. Dry yourself off.” Braids fished a handkerchief out of the inner pocket of his blazer and held it between two fingers. He didn’t bother going the extra mile to extend his arm. Before Takemichi could take it, Braids released his grasp and they watched the handkerchief float to the floor.
Takemichi wasn’t stupid. He could see that they were toying with him like he was a dumb cat and they had a flashlight; toeing the line between cruelty and harmless mockery. And he couldn’t do shit about it.
His face burned hot as he crouched down to pick up the square of fabric, hating how easily his own skin betrays his thoughts. He could hear his jaw click when Braids cooed, “Oops, sorry, my bad.”
Not-Braids piped up. “Are you the gardener’s kid?”
“No, I’m—”
“You look lost. Let us bring you to the garden shed, I’m sure your poor old dad is looking for you,” Not-Braids continued while his brother bit his lip, face contorted from trying to hide his smile.
“No—,” Takemichi burst out, humiliation eating him from the inside out. “—thank you.” He thrusted the handkerchief toward them. “I’ll manage.”
Braids ignored the fabric in his hand, staring straight at him with a bemused expression. “Keep it.” He let his eyes drift down Takemichi’s soaked clothes, a smirk dancing on his lips. His derision was obvious and it made Takemichi itch under his collar.
“Let’s go, Rin-chan,” he said, without tearing his gaze away from him. And then they left.
Takemichi was still standing there, damned handkerchief in his hands, minutes away from cracking a tooth from how tight his jaw was. Usually, it would have taken quite a bit to aggravate him so much; Takemichi was mellow to a fault, but those brothers somehow knew every single one of his buttons to push.
He had planned to fly under the radar and just focus on studying and getting his grades, because he knew scholarship students don’t fare too well in schools like these; his mother’s annual income would probably only make up a fraction of these kids’ daily allowances. However, it seemed like he was already standing out from the get-go. With any luck he would never encounter either of the brothers again, but right now luck looked like it was betting against him.
Takemichi was cold and wet and feeling like shit, all on his own across the country, with no one in his corner. He didn’t have Italian leather shoes or thousand thread count shirts…but he also didn’t have time to stand around, feeling sorry for himself.
Haitani Ran , it said in elegant cursive embroidery on the edge of the cloth. Fuck you. Takemichi rubbed the handkerchief through his hair and blew his nose into it, stuffing the stupid thing into his pocket.
The rain had stopped by the time he left for his boarding house, the clouds finally parting to show patches of sunlight and he was surrounded by the earthy post-rain smell. It was an infinitely more pleasant walk when the sky wasn’t continuously trying to give him a bath. His clothes have dried down to dampness, which meant that he was not leaving a trail of water droplets anymore, but the slightest breeze still made him shiver.
In the end, he did manage to find the main office and according to the rather judgy front desk lady, Takemichi was assigned to Absadah’s hall, pretentious name noted. After much wrangling with the luggage and campus map, he found his way there. It was located a nice distance from the classrooms and lecture theatres; enough space from other buildings to give it a sense of privacy but not too far away to make it inconvenient.
The boarding house itself was made of a gorgeous red brick with creeping ivy that stood solidly at three stories, and it sprawled . From what Takemichi had observed from the campus grounds, Absadah’s was twice as large as the other boarding houses. Several steps led up to the arched wooden door with a gleaming brass knocker. Everything about this house (or more closely, mansion) screamed old money, and it would be a lie to say it didn’t intimidate him.
Putting the map between his teeth, he dug around his pockets for the set of keys the lady passed him. The door was silent on its hinges when Takemichi opened it, and his first look inside took his breath away.
Lush carpets lined the floor and the chandelier overhead cast out a dim light that illuminated dark wood furniture and a lavish lounge that extended to either side. There were ornate fireplaces and doors that most likely opened out to other similarly furnished rooms. Takemichi had never been anywhere as remotely opulent as this.
He opened the door fully and tried his best to scrape the muck off the bottom of his shoes. The people here didn’t take off their shoes indoors, did they? He shivered at the thought of tracking mud across the carpet. Takemichi had brought his own house slippers out of habit but they served their purpose now. They were damp but at least they were clean. He placed his dirty shoes where he thought a shoe rack would be and carried on upstairs.
All the bedrooms were on the second and third floors, and class must be in session for everyone because it seemed like the house was empty. It was a relief to not have to talk to anyone else at the moment, Takemichi had engaged with enough snobs for the day and his quota was quite full.
His own room was in the East Wing, which would have made more sense if it was simply on right side of the house but whoever constructed it must have had it out for Takemichi because it was only after many trips up and down the hallways did he realise the house was facing the south, and the East Wing was on the left side.
Jesus.
The East Wing was somehow even more elaborate than the rest of the house. Here, there were plaques on each door inscribed with a different family name.
Sano. Akashi. Haitani. Haitani again—shit , he thought he had managed to evade them, but Murphy’s Law proved itself right again—and finally, an unmarked door.
That should be his room so Takemichi entered and nearly fell to his knees. He had the corner room which meant not one but two huge bay windows whose magnificent views weren’t blocked by the window grills he was familiar with. The king-sized bed in the corner was dressed in pure white sheets and had pillows that looked so soft, his eyes felt cushioned. Takemichi dropped his trunks and laid spreadeagle on the carpet, body melting into the plushness.
He could totally forgive Fate for putting him next to the Haitanis because Fate also gave him this glorious, glorious room. If it was possible, he would give Fate a big smooch on its forehead.
Takemichi stared up at the ceiling and breathed in the room. It was a little musty from a lack of air circulation but it also smelt like mothballs and warmth, and he suddenly felt his eyelids droop.
He yawned. It’s fine. A short nap would be good for him. Classes for him only start tomorrow, so he could…just…relax…
The room was darker when he next opened his eyes. Takemichi lifted himself off the floor and groaned at the ache in his neck. Still, that was the best sleep he has had in days.
The clock on the bedside table showed that it was nearly seven and he hadn’t washed up or prepared anything for tomorrow. And by the way his stomach grumbled, he also hadn’t eaten anything since morning.
The house was significantly noisier and after cracking the door open, Takemichi could hear the loud banter and guffawing coming from below. He looked down at his own rumpled shirt and knew it would be no way to make a first impression in his current state, an experimental sniff at himself confirming his hesitation.
Bathrooms were surprisingly not en-suite. He would have thought it would be below the boys to actually use shared bathrooms, but he guessed it would be physically impossible to fit individual ones into the house.
Takemichi gathered the least crumpled items of clothing from his trunks and crept out into the hallway to locate the toilet. He could hear the clinking of cutlery from downstairs as the other boys ate what he could only assume was dinner, the smell of food wafting up making his stomach gurgle sadly.
Later, he promised his belly, but first a bath.
The third floor bathroom was behind yet another elegant wooden door. It did not contain the circular wooden tub Takemichi was used to back home and he knew he was not exactly living the high life on the outskirts of town but surely this was a bit much for even Tokyo folk. For one, it was big enough to comfortably house an entire elephant. Secondly, there was a couch in there. Why was a couch in a bathroom?
Rich people really knew how to do ambience, though, this he had to applaud them for. Soaking in the warm water that never seemed to go cold, Takemichi heaved a sigh of relief and let all his limbs go loose. The magical soap made all the grime melt off of him and by the time he decided to step out of the porcelain tub, he felt like a brand new man.
As he patted himself dry with the thickest towel he has ever touched, he heard the door knob turn and before he could even react, someone stepped in.
Takemichi froze with only a towel covering his body and the intruder went stock-still, his hand still on the door knob. It was a boy with long blond hair, so blonde it looked nearly white, and some kind of birthmark around his mouth. Takemichi didn’t stare at his face long enough to make out the details, averting his eyes immediately because he would die of mortification if he made eye contact. Neither of them moved for several seconds, the silence between them growing ever more uncomfortable. Given the fact that his circle of friends back home were a bunch of guys he had known since childhood, Takemichi wasn’t all too self-conscious of his body—hell, they have seen each others’ naked bodies one too many times in the way of public baths and splashing about in rivers—but why was this stranger just standing there?!
Takemichi adjusted his grip on the towel. “Um, occupied? Sorry?”
God, even the way his words echoed against the bathroom tile was embarrassing. He felt the heat of an intense flush rising up his neck which only calmed when the door slammed shut.
He buried his face in the towel. Good going, Takemichi. Nice first impression, Takemichi.
By the time he shook off the entirely bizarre experience and made it downstairs, the plates were already cleared from the dining table and the other students had split up to do their own things. Some of them lounged around the fire, reading books and writing essays, while the others disappeared back into their rooms. Takemichi crept into the kitchen, hoping to find some food for his growling stomach. There were two housekeepers washing up the remnants of dinner and he nodded to them in greeting, only to be met with silence and avoidant gazes. Nevermind, then.
He opened the fridge and rifled through the cupboards but there was only fresh produce and exotic fruit. What his body needed was a steaming bowl of instant ramen filled to the brim with sodium and MSG, but to his dismay, there were no plastic packages of ecstasy stashed anywhere in this kitchen.
Disappointing, but did he really expect the people in this place to know about the glories of instant food?
Takemichi found a loaf of bread and started buttering a slice for himself. The cheese were in chunks unlike the squares he was used to, and some even had holes in it. It felt slightly illegal to put such fancy cheese on a sandwich.
His contemplation on the least offensive way to make a sandwich was interrupted by a rough voice calling out to him. “Hey, who are you?”
That was the moment Takemichi found himself acquainted with Sano Manjiro, or as he ardently titled himself, the Invincible Mikey. He gave Takemichi a bit of a fright at first, all furrowed brows and furious energy, but quickly turned friendly when he learned that Takemichi was the new scholarship kid. The change in attitude was whiplash worthy and the sudden familiarity jarring, but he was nice enough, barring the barely hidden intensities in his wide eyes. Between the Haitani brothers, the bathroom incident and now Mikey, Stetton was shaping up to be a place filled with the most unexpected experiences.
“I have some scholarship friends you can meet tomorrow,” Mikey chattered away, hopping up to take a seat on the counter and ignoring the housekeepers completely. “Where are you from? Is it really far away?”
“Eh? I’m from Kurobe.”
Mikey’s expression remained quizzical.
“It’s in the Toyama prefecture,” Takemichi clarified. It was a fairly small coastal city and easy to miss on the map. “Don’t worry about it, it’s tiny.”
Mikey shrugged and snagged the sandwich on Takemichi’s plate, taking bites out of it.
“Hey! That was mine,” Takemichi complained uselessly as he watched Mikey devour the sandwich.
“Sorry, I was hungry,” Mikey said with his mouth full, without an ounce of apology in him.
“I made the sandwich for a reason too.” Takemichi’s own stomach rumbled in response. Mikey had the cheek to chuckle.
“I’ll make it up to you.” Mikey made placating hand gestures and side-eyed the housekeepers. “Give it a bit of time.”
As the housekeepers left the kitchen, duties completed, he waved Takemichi over to a small cupboard in the corner. There was a stack of cereal boxes inside, that on second look, were completely empty. Mikey moved them to one side and revealed the unassuming brown cardboard box they were hiding. He opened it and Takemichi gasped. It was a treasure trove of processed food wrapped in plastic with an astounding variety; taiyaki, corn chips, rice crackers and… instant noodles .
Takemichi grabbed a pack, incredulous. “Where did you manage to get these?”
Mikey tore open the individually wrapped taiyaki. “My brother sends them to me every few months.” He bit the head off, licking up the red bean filling. “The fresh ones are so much better but I’ve got to settle for these. I’m so jealous, you probably get to eat this kind of food all the time.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Takemichi pointed to the noodles. “Can I, um, have this?
Mikey gestured for him to go ahead. “You can have those. I don’t really like them, they’re too crunchy for me.”
Confused, Takemichi squinted at him. “Crunchy? You don’t cook them?”
“What do you mean ‘cook them’?”
Mikey watched Takemichi do the most unremarkable task of cooking instant noodles with utmost concentration , following him like a hawk as he boiled water in the kettle and poured it over the blocks of dried noodles and powdered seasoning (“—oh, I always threw the little packets away—”) and clicking his teeth when Takemichi slapped his hand away from the scalding bowls.
Takemichi sighed. “You gotta let it cook, Mikey.”
“Okay, okay…is it done yet?”
“Nope, four more minutes.”
“…What about now?”
Takemichi shook his head. “ Not yet.”
Mikey flopped belly-down across the counter, huffing impatiently. “This isn’t instant at all.” Takemichi snorted. Typical rich kid. This was the kind of food he survived on the moment he was old enough to cook for himself. Lonely dinners when Mom didn’t come home from work early enough, lunches when the food Grandma cooked and delivered to his house every week ran out. He hoped they wouldn’t miss him too much when he was here, hundreds of miles away from anywhere familiar.
They lapsed into silence. Mikey scuffed his bare feet against the kitchen tile. Takemichi bit the nail on his pinkie. It was due for a cut soon but he didn’t pack his nail clipper. Ugh.
Mikey turned his head to the side, resting it on his arm and considered Takemichi through a curtain of blond hair for a moment. “Hey. Why did you come to Stetton?”
The quiet question caught Takemichi off-guard, Mikey’s loud, boisterous personality evaporating away in an instant. “Oh, um. I applied for a scholarship and I just got it last week. I didn’t really expect myself to receive it.” He fiddled with his now-uneven fingernail. “I mean, Stetton is such a good school. Anyone would kill to be here. It would be stupid if I didn’t accept the scholarship.”
Mikey didn’t say anything in response and he started to regret oversharing. They just met for God’s sake, why did he open his gigantic mouth and blabber his entire history to him? He could feel his skin turn warm from where Mikey was staring at him. Was it really that bad of a story?
Takemichi coughed awkwardly and remembered the noodles. “Oh! They should be done.” He lifted the plates he used as make-shift lids off the bowls and he could feel himself salivate as the hearty smell of the soup and the spice wafted towards him. Steam curled off the hot surface as Takemichi pushed one of the bowls towards Mikey, who clambered off the counter and sniffed the proffered dish.
Takemichi lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips and blew on it to cool it down before tipping it back. He sighed in contentment as he felt the warmth travel down his throat and into his stomach. It felt like a hug from the inside out, a heat pack in the dead of winter, even if it did burn his tongue a little.
Mikey imitated him and exploded in delight. He whipped his head towards Takemichi, eyes wide. “Takemitchy, you’re a genius!” He slurped up the steaming noodles and Takemichi winced; if Mikey did indeed have iron-plated insides, he wouldn’t be surprised one bit.
He went back to his own bowl, eating his noodles like a normal person. They were alright, he had made better ramen before, finessed with an onsen egg and spring onions, but the salty broth was familiar enough, the smell and the texture…it reminded him of hot summers and freezing winter nights, of the kitchen stool he used to reach the plates, of matching house slippers and the special door knock pattern that signaled Takuya’s visits.
It was getting harder to swallow, a thick lump building up in his throat. Takemichi recognised it immediately as a warning before the tears started and he stopped eating and pushed the blockage back. Don’t cry, Takemichi, don’t you dare cry. He had thought the crybaby-ness was a phase he would leave behind in Kurobe, convinced that he was a new man now that he’s in Stetton-fucking-Academy.
Mikey was still chattering away but his voice sounded far away and insignificant, washing over him without consequence. Takemichi nodded absently at whatever Mikey was saying, stirring the soup round and round, the aftertaste in his mouth souring. He blinked back the burning in the sockets of his eyes and he hunched the soup with some hope that the steam from the bowl would hide the embarrassing evidence of his childishness.
Takemichi tried a bite and then another, jaw working mechanically. Dots of saltiness blossomed on his tongue and the fact that he was crying only hit him when he realised Mikey stopped talking.
Hastily wiping the wet tracks from his face, Takemichi sniffed and tried to give a reassuring smile but it felt weak. “Sorry, don’t mind me, ha, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
A hesitant hand snaked onto his shoulder. “Uh, there, there.” The hand started patting erratically. “It’s gonna be okay…?”
Mikey looked out of his depth and his fingers twitched like he was uncertain if he should withdraw his hand. Takemichi felt a pinch of guilt on top of his already overwhelming torrent of emotions. Mikey shouldn’t have to deal with his exhausting pile of issues, what more on their first meeting. Even his Mizo Mid buddies have only seen him breakdown and cry a handful of times, most of which were when they were seven and broken bones on the playground felt a lot worse than expected. Valid reasons only. Homesickness at fifteen was not one of them.
Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, Takemichi tried his best to stop the rivulets in their paths. It was getting ridiculous, the tears refused to stop flowing no matter how hard he tried to rein it in. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. Just ignore me.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got a little sister at home. She cries like you,” Mikey said. Takemichi couldn’t help but feel a little offended and lifted his head to glare at him through tears. His indignation was met with a snort, which he couldn’t even fault Mikey for. Petulance coupled with baby fat that refuses to melt away aged him down by a decade.
“Hey, hey, being a crybaby isn’t a bad thing.” Mikey grinned, palms up in surrender. “Emma gets away with it. ‘Sides, it’s cute.”
“—cute? What?—”
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys.” Mikey pulled him to his feet and led him to the parlour.
Takemichi was halfway there when he realised that he’d stopped crying.
“This is Nahoya and Souya, but we call them Smiley and Angry,” Mikey gestured to two boys, identical except for their brightly dyed hair and facial expressions. “This, here, is Takemitchy.”
“Nice to meet you.” Takemichi waved. “Also it’s actually Takemichi.” It was terribly obvious who was who. The one with blue hair and a perpetual scowl on his face waved back.
“The one you gotta watch out for is the other one,” Mikey stage-whispered. “Shocking, right?”
The other twin flipped him off, his wide grin anything but friendly. “We can hear you, asshole.”
Mikey took a seat next to the twins on the carpet by the unlit fireplace and Takemichi followed suit. There were a couple other boys lounging around the large room, too engrossed in their own things to properly notice him and Mikey.
Mikey pointed at two guys hunched around a coffee table who were engaged in a heated conversation about what looked like homework. “That’s Pah-chin and that’s Peh-yan. Inseparable and they share a singular brain cell.”
“It’s A. It’s definitely A.” The scrawnier one jabbed at the paper in front of him.
“No, it’s not, dumbass. B is the only one that makes sense!”
“I’ll make you make sense!”
Thwack!
“OW!”
Their study session devolved into an impromptu wrestling match. Takemichi sighed in amusement.
“They end up like this everyday.” Mikey laid down on the carpet, arms cushioning his head and one leg propped up on a bent knee. His elevated foot gestured in a general direction. “The guy in the corner is Mucho.” The boy with cropped blond hair in the armchair looked up briefly from his book at the sound of his name to make eye contact with Takemichi before looking back down.
He’s tall, nearly scarily so, and broad in a way teenagers just shouldn’t be. He also definitely didn’t fit the mental image Takemichi had of Stetton students: posh and pale, weak like they never had to lift a finger in their life. (Except for golf. Or tennis.) He made a mental note to steer clear from him.
“Who else stays here?” Takemichi turned his attention back to Mikey.
Mikey’s eyes were closed, feet tapping to an inaudible beat. “There are twelve guys in each house. The Haitani brothers, the Kawatas, Dumb and Dumber over there, Mucho, Sanzu, me and you. Baji’s most likely hiding out at Constantine right now because Matsuno has a secret cat—,” Takemichi’s ears pricked up at the name of his first buddy. “—he’s a big softie on the inside, really. Don’t get intimidated by his big bad wolf appearance.”
Takemichi mentally recited the names. “Who’s the last one?”
“Huh?”
“You said twelve guys in each house but you only listed eleven.”
Mikey didn’t respond immediately. He stared into the empty hearth for a moment before replying, “Kazutora’s not really around anymore. He got into a bit of trouble, you see.” And then he rolled himself into a sitting position, previously stoic expression brightening up in an instant. “It’s not anything serious, though! C’mon, let’s play some cards!”
Night had fallen fully by the time Takemichi decided to retire to his room, the outside of the house nearly pitch black if not for the lights emanating from the other halls and the occasional street lamp. It was quiet too, like the land had already entered a deep slumber, completely unlike nights in the countryside where crickets screamed their presence from every shrub.
Takemichi had left Mikey and the twins in the parlour after beating them in card games fourteen times in a row.
They only knew poker and bridge, games Takuya’s dad insisted he and Takuya had to learn to “be men” but Takemichi nodded off when he started explaining the rules so that was the end of that. Instead, Mikey begged Takemichi to teach them the silly card games he played back home; In-between, Bluff, Golf and Dance Blackjack, an amalgamation of regular blackjack and dance moves corresponding to different conditions of the game. It was stupid and fun, leaving all of them laughing-crying on the ground. Takemichi ended up on his back, breathless from the dancing and hysterical cackling.
Maybe Stetton wouldn’t be so different from Mizo. It was a deeply comforting thought Takemichi didn’t want to indulge in for too long. He couldn’t afford to be overly optimistic so early in his time here.
He wandered through the long dim hallways of the house alone, soft carpet muffling every step he took. Heavy doors lined the hallway, some of them opening into piano rooms and billiard rooms and even more sitting rooms. They were decorated with paintings and wallpaper, the air inside still, dense and faintly musty from disuse. Takemichi promised himself only ten more minutes of exploration before turning in; there was a full day ahead of him tomorrow after all.
He was about to push into another room, door knob already turned part way, when he heard faint music coming from inside. A crooning trumpet and slow shimmering drums seeped out through the gap between the door and the floor .
Before he passed, Takemichi’s father used to play jazz records on his shitty turntable with no regard to what time it was. Takemichi often fell asleep to the faint sound of the same trumpet on school nights when his dad was still up reading the paper or folding the laundry.
Takemichi turned the knob a smidge more, just to open a slim crack in the door and peered in. It was a relatively small room with wooden panelled walls and a dark green carpet. A turntable sat a few feet away, spinning lazily as stuttering notes played from small speakers. There was a figure at the only desk with his back toward him writing furiously. A study. Takemichi realised he should go before he disturbed the very studious person when his hand slipped from the knob and it made a hideously loud creak.
The figure at the desk inhaled sharply and whirled around to see who intruded into his private space. Embarrassed, Takemichi bit down hard on his bottom lip and slowly pushed the door wider. There was no escaping this now. He should just apologise and hope for the best.
“I’m so sorry for disturbing you, I was just trying to figure out what rooms these were,” Takemichi said softly, ready to retreat back into his warm, comfortable bed where he would be safe from further embarrassment.
The boy at the desk was the one who barged into the bathroom earlier. The birthmarks around his mouth weren’t actually birthmarks, but strange diamond-shaped scars in the corners of his lips on a closer look. He was as silent as when he first encountered him, icy blue eyes impervious to the thoughts behind them.
“Ha, I guess it’s my turn to walk in on you…?” Takemichi winced at the bad joke. Really, only he could dig himself into a deeper hole. “Um, anyway, my name is Hanagaki Takemichi. You must be Sanzu? I think that’s what Mikey said your name was.”
The blond nodded slowly like Takemichi was stupid. Takemichi gulped. Sanzu was very intimidating when he stared. The blue eyes and the absurd paleness of his hair made him look nearly otherworldly, and when paired with his piercing gaze…it felt like he was being turned inside out. His scars were interesting too. Takemichi had never seen scars that symmetrical or geometrical.
Sanzu noticed him looking at his mouth and he scowled, impassive face twisting maliciously. Takemichi felt his mouth go dry. He fucked up, didn’t he?
Sanzu turned back to his work and said, coldly, “Please excuse yourself now.” He clicked his tongue. “Manners are obviously not common wherever you crawled out of.”
Takemichi fumbled for the handle and slipped out. His heart was pounding hard and it felt like his entire body was trembling in time with his breath.
Yikes.