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Chapter Text

Minamoto is trapped with a fervent yet facetious reader who believes the world will definitely be BL.

He cannot believe that he willingly followed a stranger into a family-friendly restaurant—talking about not-family-friendly trash—all because he expressed a healthy skepticism over his sanity—only one moron would think that men are after him, and he's right here, right now—trying to recruit him to his nutcase village, population: one.

In his opinion—not that it seems to matter to that noisy fucker, who didn't even have the common decency to be noisy on the outside—prolonging Minamoto's wild goose chase, where he had to run laps around the college campus with a fine-toothed comb—snagging on extroverts, happily adopting him into their skirt-chasing schemes, chattering in his ears, not that he could hear—how could he, with this man walking in and out of his telepathic range, in and out, taunting him with his rants, radio channels tenfold, twenty, thirty going on fifty—

And this shifty-eyed bastard is still blathering about B's that will fall in L like—like a used cell phone salesman who really couldn't care less about his products exploding into shrapnel in his customers' homes—

《 You're taking this really well, ◼️◼️◼️◼️, 》 says the bane of Minamoto's college life, swirling his chopsticks in his ramen broth, as if he didn't spend an hour talking about men taking cock up their ass.

Minamoto doesn't choke, because that would be undignified, damn this man and his—sexual innuendo—is his craziness contagious—

《 It's convenient to talk to you through my thoughts, since I have a younger brother at home. 》

《 I haven't forgotten that you threatened to kill me. By the way, thanks for calming down. I don't want to have any enemies. Because of my nondescript face, I was once ◼️◼️◼️◼️ mistaken as a scumbag who stole somebody's ex-girlfriend. Isn't it ◼️◼️◼️◼️ unbelievable? This BL world. 》

《 A public place can demonstrate BL events unfolding in real-time. Congratulations, you don't need to read ◼️◼️◼️◼️ reference materials. 》

The voices of his heart crackle like a stereo, static blurring out his speech like the so-called censorship blurring out the women.

Minamoto can clearly see everyone, but he can't.

He can clearly hear everyone, but Minamoto can't.

Earlier, when they ordered their ramen, he expressed a simple delight over his freedom to choose spicy noodles. Scorched garlic oil ramen with smoked pork, scallions, shiitake mushrooms, and chili peppers. Take-out ramen has a different taste. Deliverymen are red flags illuminated by taillights. He doesn't get the chance to eat it often.

The reason behind this is because he met a pervert at a hot pot party, who initiated a newlywed husband-wife roleplay scene by cooking for him while wearing a cross-back apron, saliva intermingling in the soup in a sloppy imitation of a kiss, seeing him sweat in a sultry light. 

Since then, he doesn't eat his favorite snacks in public, but Minamoto is safe because he's self-aware of BL, so misunderstandings are far less likely.

《 I'll show you how men fall in love. 》

It's not that his thoughts are that suggestive, but his tone, listless and languid, is somehow—provocative—when paired with those slightly arched eyebrows, amused at his surroundings—

Minamoto is having a sexual identity crisis against his will.

In the first place, how did he, a telepath, never notice the excess of same-sex couples? True, he minds his business the best he can, trying not to intrude on other people's privacy, but there has to be a limit. 

Now that he knows, he can see them everywhere. This alien attraction is the coercion of the BL universe. This guy—this guy—has no psychic powers—only psychological warfare for the weirdest scenarios that happen whenever he's nearby.

"Can you stop?" Minamoto asks, more desperate than demanding, as he intended. 

Stop—stop thinking—stop breathing—

《 Another handsome man with hearing problems. Hey, can you keep it down? I'm pale because ◼️◼️◼️◼️ blushing is a one-way ticket to raising flags. My stable genetics protect me from the ◼️◼️◼️◼️ plot. Unlike you. I pity you for being born with so many ◼️◼️◼️◼️ flags. Pretty, psychic, and perpetually pissed off. 》

《 Anyway, I'm relieved that there's no secret society of ESP users. It's only you, right? 》

"I've never met anybody like—" He severs a noodle with his chopsticks. Any more strength, he'll snap the cheap bamboo. "No. There isn't. To my knowledge." His present knowledge is altered by the person who thinks in parallel.

To the side, he goes on a tangent. 《 He must've had a ◼️◼️◼️◼️ lonely childhood. Trauma is a prop for pants to drop. In a way, the BL tropes prey on tragedy for love to bloom... Sorry, you heard that? Try not to leave any weaknesses. You have plot armor, but should a ◼️◼️◼️◼️ scientist take interest in your brain or your body... You should prepare for that possible eventuality. 》

《 I've taken self-defense seminars in case of ◼️◼️◼️◼️ yandere stalkers. Taser gun, tear gas, voice recorders... These are the essentials. We may live in a relatively peaceful district, but there are pure-hearted delinquents who tumble into BL from touching shoulders. 》

《 Well, I'll try to be quieter in the ◼️◼️◼️◼️ lecture hall. How many voices? Are they no longer as disorienting? 》

"Ten."

《 80 percent of humanity is average, 80 percent of my family's facial features are copy-pasted, and I've lowered my volume by 80 percent. I sense a ◼️◼️◼️◼️ theme. Should I buy a lottery ticket? No, I'll buy more BL manga. Ayanokyouji Maya is fond of fighting couples... kenkappuru... I have a feeling that Mayama is the author... Some of the ◼️◼️◼️◼️ backgrounds faintly resemble our college campus... 》

Unconsciously, he taps his porcelain spoon against his lips like a karaoke microphone. 

《 Check, one, two, three, four. 》

"Five."

《 Is 90 percent fine with you? I don't know if I can stop thinking about flags. Let me remind you that murder is off the table. 》

"Fine."

Without a warning, without a thought, he slips away with the receipt, scanning his phone at the electronic register.

His smooth motions speak of years of experience.

《 What are you staring at? You need to buy an audio recorder for the professor's ◼️◼️◼️◼️ lectures. With your telepathy, job interviews should be a breeze. You won't be tricked like Mr. Bunny Boy Hayami. Save money and stop involving a mob character in your business. 》

《 Hmm, it's difficult to be friendly when you can read my thoughts. 》

《 Every anxiety is out there for you to see. Anybody would be a little disturbed. Is it any wonder that I want to leave quickly, ◼️◼️◼️◼️? 》

《 Yashiro's flag is the flavor of the week. There he is. 》

Remembering his grandmother's pearls of wisdom, passed from mother to son, he says stiffly, "Your body is a temple."

《 Are you calling me a place of worship, Minamoto? Is this a pick-up line? 》

《 Of course not. He's trying to comfort me, a fellow heterosexual man, to not be paranoid about my anal virginity. What he doesn't understand that it's not about ◼️◼️◼️◼️ sex. Sex comes with strings. It never ends at one round. "Shall we fuck all night long?" In the noble name of love, anything goes, and I want to love somebody sanely, moderately, mundanely. I like women. An all-consuming relationship ◼️◼️◼️◼️ sounds like a living hell. 》

《 This one-sided conversation seems odd from an outside perspective. 》

"Your mind is a fortress." In his hand is his phone, open to a page containing these two lines, word-for-word. "Quoting that movie out of nowhere—you're a true fan, aren't you, Minamoto? I almost didn't catch your reference. The animators did great with the action scenes."

《 Ah, Ayato's ringtone. At times like these, he has good timing. 》

"Duty calls." 

He smiles, a balance between amiable and approachable, abruptly disappearing around the corner. 

《 Minamoto's been bludgeoned by the ◼️◼️◼️◼️ BL filters. I was the same in high school. The sudden bomb of BL made me reexamine my friendships. ◼️◼️◼️◼️, I had to learn how to put myself out there... To be more social, less awkward like my brother... 》

As soon as he leaves, the spell is broken. 

Even Minamoto is not immune to the method in his madness.

"Sheesh, not again... Yashiro-kun has no chance if he continues like this..." A crouching shadow in another corner. Incomprehensible barrage of thoughts, not in volume, but in content. "If only this was a BL manga world!"

This is, regrettably, a BL manga world.

The next day, that asshole sat next to Minamoto, mentally singing the national anthem in a monotone—as soon as class was over.

"You're doing this on purpose."

"Hmm?"

《 These are the basic fundamentals for breaking flags. I learned my lesson from the time I let it sit for two weeks. Miyoshi had a lover outside of school. This time, I won't procrastinate. 》

"Apply that motivation to your actual education!"

《 Mission accomplished. 》

Just like that, he leaves at his own pace; the source of Minamoto's headache that comes and goes.

Chapter Text

In an ordinary house in Tokyo, there is no mother, no father, no younger brother. Only the mellow older brother, Miiko, and Minamoto. 

The two of them are drinking coffee, black, freshly ground by a reasonably fancy machine, not recklessly luxurious.

《 Hey, Minamoto. 》

《 I'm comfortable without you. With you. Whenever, wherever, you make no difference whether you're there or not. Your appearance is a high-maintenance main character, but your presence is a low-energy mob character. 》

《 We sit here, doing nothing, and there's no spark, no story, nothing. 》

《 I like it. 》

《 Initially, I was a little nervous about introducing you and Mayama to my drinking group, but I'm glad. You guys get along with Youji, Takimoto, Ryouta, Touma, Akihito, and Masaya. It's a good balance of calm and lively, lulls in-between, and it's really comfortable. 》

《 After all, the chance of flags is greatly reduced in large groups. Kikuchi has the attribute of an unfortunate good guy, a shallow stereotype who lacks self-actualization, therefore having many emotional weaknesses. Generously interpreting someone's indifference as kindness, he falls in love. 》

《 Which is why it's important for me to cultivate a variety of connections. Acquaintances, coworkers, classmates, casual friends, confidants, distant family, close family. Co-dependent couples, who prioritize their perspective of love over common sense, are unhealthy. They cause unnecessary drama and worse, spin-offs. Stable couples are safer. 》

《 I have to pay attention to the relationships of people around me. To not leave any weaknesses for somebody to climb through. Revolving my routine on "dodging BL" is not sustainable in the long-term. I have to maintain a life of my own. 》

《 Narrative complexity is a tool against simple-minded BL, which lazily recycles plotlines, over and over. 》

《 Now Mayama won't blackmail people into becoming friends with him. He's mostly harmless. It just so happens that I'm tired of spicing up their sex lives, playing peacemaker, so I might as well leave it to him. Isn't it great? Everyone's happier this way. Ayanokyouji Maya is a closet fudanshi, I can trust him to be careful about our friends' personal information, even though he merrily invades their privacy every day. As long as it's only inspiration, then everything will be alright. Probably. Not my problem. 》

《 Your paler hair color is compatible with Mayama's darker hair color. 》

《 Hahahaha, sorry, it's entertaining to see others suffer. In a twisted way, this BL world is fun from a third-party perspective. Light-hearted, silly, sweet, seeing love in unlikely circumstances. Contrived. Convenient. Comes with modern amenities. Can't go without a phone in this society, but hey, there are worse genres we could be living in. I'd probably die offscreen in the first chapter of a post-apocalyptic manga. Woohoo. 》

《 What I'm trying to say is—I think you're genuinely a good guy. Sorry. You're also somebody who breaks flags. 》

《 I don't need to worry about you. It was only my paranoia, however justified by my unlucky flag encounter rate. I know better now. 》

《 Hmm, I don't think that all of us will be friends forever. Out of my high school friends, there's only Takimoto. I think it's far more likely that everyone will naturally part ways, forgetting most of the "memories" that Mayama touts as a shameless method to drag men into BL settings. That's the way life is. I guess I'm feeling a little melancholy. Should probably cut back on the alcohol, since my liver isn't getting any younger. 》

《 No need to send myself to the hospital, where BL can come from the doctors, surgeons, nurses, paramedics, receptionists, first-aid teachers, janitors, security guards, patients, family members of the patients, and even the children. Especially the children. 》

《 I digress. 》

《 Thanks for being friends with this mob character. That's all. I don't have to explain myself, do I? Since you can read my mind. No romance, no miscommunication, no motives. Neither of us are special. We're just people minding our own business. Quietly living our lives in a loud world. Alone without any feeling of loneliness. 》

《 You haven't changed me, and I, you. 》

《 You don't want to learn anything about me, and I, you. 》

《 Okay, I've gotten the sappiness out of my system. Enough of that. Guys aren't socialized to discuss deep emotions like girls. I can only do it because you've seen everything from everyone, even strangers on the street. Being embarrassed would only be a waste of energy. 》

《 13:31. About time for lunch. Do you wanna go get ramen or udon? 》

Smartphone on, the screen showing their online check, evenly split, shoes off, safely ensconced in his empty apartment. 

Minamoto is the antithesis of comfortable. Without him. With him. Whenever, wherever, he makes no sense whether he's there or not. Within nothing, company. Within company, serenity. Within serenity, chaos.

"That two-faced bastard... always half-truths with him, never lying in a straightforward manner... The only thing more distorted than him is..."

The one-track mind who's thinking about nothing.