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Takumi definitely doesn’t think about Souma that way. He’s definitely not thinking about him that way, right now. This is just a fluke.

He’s tipsy, running on no water but Satoshi’s rice juice, and Souma is being touchy. Too touchy. Takumi definitely doesn’t know what to make of the fingers that keep prodding at his sides, trying to make him laugh. Of the arm that keeps slinging around his shoulders, pulling him into side hugs or forwards so Souma can run knuckles through his hair, ruining it. Of the knee that keeps pressing up against his on the couch, bare in a pair of shorts that Souma wears for bed. 

He is definitely not even thinking about it, high on a feeling of ease that always wraps around him whenever he’s here, at Polar Star for their weekly Friday night parties. There was a shokugeki in the afternoon, a big one that could have gone a different way. But Ryoko and Yuki managed to team up and avoid expulsion, and the night is to celebrate their continued schooling at Totsuki. 

He’s definitely thinking about how he’s happy for them. He’s definitely not thinking about how it was the both of them that eventually clued him in on what was going on. How they slid their eyes over to the two of them on the couch. How they giggled at the sight, waggling their brows when they met his gaze, going back to whispering in the corner and making Takumi wonder if maybe—

Satoshi’s bare bottom blocks his view and Takumi jolts back into some sort of consciousness. The third year is on a tangent, spewing a speech about how grateful he is that Ryoko and Yuki are here and here to stay. It’s a heartwarming speech, if Takumi ignores the slurring and the way his senior’s ass jiggles with enthusiasm at each point—

It’s been a whole year, and he still isn’t used to the sight. Takumi’s face burns and he turns away, trying to find something else, anything else to look at. His heart stutters when he comes face to face, breath to breath with Souma. 

Souma stares at him. Correction, Souma is staring at him. Souma has been staring at him for… quite a bit.

The look in Souma’s eyes isn’t necessarily a new look. It’s been there all night. But Takumi doesn’t know it, what it means. He isn’t used to it. He doesn’t know if he wants it to be familiar enough to get used to it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Souma slurs.

Takumi wrinkles his nose as sake filters in the air between them.

Souma is also gone. 

It only takes what, two glasses to get him jittery and loud all night. Three to get him in a state of uncontrollable laughter or dancing or just generally making a fool of himself. Five, and he’s too competitive, too ambitious, and he’s wagering his knife, anything and everything that he can get his hands on for a shokugeki. 

He’s drunk more than five cups, Takumi knows, but he doesn’t know the number of drinks that get Souma like this. That make Souma’s eyes get like that.

Quiet. Pondering. Conflicted about something. 

Unsure.

He sees it in Souma’s gaze and it’s not like him to be so hesitant and uncertain that Takumi moves without thinking. He licks a thumb, and uses that to try and straighten the furrow in Souma’s brows.

The air seems to still between them, and Takumi’s heart definitely does not stop beating. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

For a moment, a flame of something licks into Souma’s eyes but then he looks away. “I’m drunk.”

He stands up and staggers to the stairs. His movements are as slow and slurred as his words, but Takumi finds his clumsy gait a little bewitching and entrancing. He’s already following, when Souma fails to climb up. Takumi helps him up to his room, leading Souma up with his back to the stairs, and their hands folded around each other. Souma keeps his head down the entire time, shaking his head and mumbling to himself all the way.

When they reach his room, it never crosses Takumi’s mind to switch on the light. He uses the light of the moon pouring in to guide them to Souma’s bed. 

Souma’s knee wavers on the bed, and without hearing him, Takumi knows he’s thinking again. The entire moment gets his heart racing, his mouth dry, but he moves forward and gently pushes Souma in. 

Souma slides inside his blankets, and doesn’t turn when he’s inside. His red hair spreads across his pillow, like a fiery flame on a blank white canvas, and he stares at the wall. Takumi watches him, tracking the slow movement of his breathing until it evens out.

Then he somehow pushes himself away from the bed, swivelling on his heels. He’s almost out when he hears his name, mumbled in the cool night.

“Yes?”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get you some water,” he says firmly.

“Are you… are you going to stay afterwards?”

Takumi hesitates. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You are drunk,” he says, softly. In the quiet room, it feels so loud and impermissible, but it has to be said. 

“Oh.”

Souma turns around, and his hair bunches up around him. The shadows fall on his face, but his gold eyes glitter in the dark in half-circles. “They almost didn’t win, today.”

The sound of cheering and laughter travels from all downstairs and fills the room for a second. “But they did anyway.”

“It’s going to be you, next Friday.”

Takumi swallows. “I’m not worried.”

He can’t see him but there’s a smile in Souma’s voice. “I was going to miss them. A lot. If they hadn’t won, and if they had gone home.”

Takumi’s heart twinges. Souma sounds so earnest like this, so soft and so honest, it doesn’t feel right to hear him out. 

“But they did win. And they didn’t go home,” Takumi says finally. He leaves the room and goes back downstairs. 

When he rematerialises at the door, he catches Ryoko’s eye. Her smile is still on her face, but it’s lost the tease. It’s sad, and apologetic. She only nods approvingly as he grabs two bottles of water, and he wants to scream at her for seeing right through him. He avoids her gaze and turns back to hurry up the stairs.

When he returns to Souma’s room, Souma’s breathing has slowed down to small snores, and they fill the room in short sporadic bursts.

Takumi carefully puts down the bottles on the side floor, then looks around the room for his own bag. He fishes out some painkillers and places them on the side.

When he’s done, he stares down at Souma’s form and hates himself for what he does next. He moves closer, and runs his hand through Souma’s hair. It’s soft to the touch, it falls through his fingers like snow. Something hot and angry flashes in his heart, and he almost grips it hard enough to yank.

Instead, he pulls away and grabs his bag instead. Shoves the shoes he’d taken out, his books still strewn all around Souma’s desk, and a few other things he isn’t sure he can live without. Then he hitches his bag over his shoulder and leaves the room.

The rest of the room is just as drunk and tipsy as he is, so he can easily slink to the door that leads to the corridor. But Ryoko catches up to him first, and grabs his arm before he can make his escape.

“Don’t leave.”

Takumi shakes her arm off. “I have to go.”

“You are tipsy. There’s nothing that you’ll be able to do anyway. Stay.”

Takumi glares at her. He doesn’t know her that much, and the fact is that he’s only ever around here because he’s friends with Souma and not her. She doesn’t have to act like she knows him. “I’m tired and I’m going to sleep.”

“So sleep here.” 

Takumi hesitates.

“Unless of course, that’s not what you wanted to do.” Her eyes glint. “You can always prepare tomorrow. The shokugeki’s on Friday. You have time.”

Takumi riles back from this and he bristles. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Addios.”

He storms out of the dormitory. When he gets to his apartment, sleep winks at him and wiggles a finger to his bedroom. Takumi turns down the offer for a second time, and heads to the kitchen for a drink.

He pulls out a pan two minutes after.

**

The shokugeki is a close one, too close for comfort. 

His heart is in his throat as the third judge mulls over her decision, fingers wavering over the placards in front of her. He feels dizzy. Life flashes before his eyes, in pictures of red and gold. He sees the world end. It feels like aeons, like the whole world comes to an end in a violent apocalypse, the universe explodes and the whole system of life restarts all over again until everything that has ever happened finally catches up to the moment she makes her choice. She lifts up the card with Takumi’s name on it.

Takumi wins. He’s not going home.

He looks around.

The seats around the stage the shokugeki took place on are empty. In the middle of the day, no one’s ditching class to see yet another expulsion shokugeki between a member of the Council of Ten and an ambitious contender. He feels grateful for it, grateful that a majority of the school still sees him as undefeated. Still considers him worthy enough to hold his own, that they won’t turn up to witness an obvious match. 

Terushima is too good with his hands, and can judge the quality of steak just by one simple touch alone, but in the end he’s the one going home. Takumi is sad to see him leave, shakes his hand and promises himself to do all he can to find a way to help him continue his career once he’s out. But as he watches Terushima leave the floor with his shoulders slumped, he can’t help but thank him for the opportunity to prove the absent school right.

Ryoko and Yuki are there to egg him on, both here to reciprocate the support he gave last week. His brother is there, as expected, but leaves right after Takumi wins to go back to class. Even Satoshi managed to break away from his own duties. 

Takumi hugs them all, and declines the Polar Star dorm-mates on their offer of making the weekly party his to celebrate. Exhaustion is fast sinking into his joints, now that all the adrenaline is gone, and a week of poor sleeping habits and research slam into him all at once. All he wants is to sleep until Monday morning.

Takumi tells himself it’s sleep that makes him say no. He tells himself it’s fatigue that makes him look around the empty room again, for someone he knows is not going to be there.

Ryoko answers it for him anyway. “Souma wanted to come.”

Takumi glares at her, even if she’s not the only one who stares back at him with an all knowing smile. Even Satoshi, the traitor, pats his arm to soothe him.

“One of the teachers called in sick,” Satoshi says. “Souma was available to lead the class.”

“He said he knew you wouldn’t go home,” Yuki speaks up too. Her voice is sugary sweet and menacing. “So you can stop being so angry with him now. You can stop avoiding him.”

“Come tonight,” Satoshi presses. “We’ll still have the party even if you don’t show, but everyone will want to see you.”

Takumi glares at them all, like they are all stupid. “He said he was available?”

They all look uncomfortable at this and look away. Eventually Yuki sighs, and walks away in defeat. Takumi watches her go with a low thrum of satisfaction. Ryoko lingers for a second and then congratulates him for his triumph. She hopes that he’ll make it to the party.

Satoshi stays and helps him pack up his stuff. As they leave the auditorium, he puts Takumi’s mezzaluna on the ground and stops him.

“The beauty of youth is its limit. Life is too short to take it that seriously, Takumi,” he says, but he looks away as he does. Even he sounds unconvinced.

Takumi shifts the basket of leftover ingredients in his arms. “All I want is to enjoy everything life has to offer at its fullest. I don’t want just the little bits I can get, when I can have everything.” 

I don’t want to just hook up.

“You just made it to the seventh seat,” Satoshi says. “Terushima almost won by a small margin. Don’t you get it? You are not irreplaceable.”

He knows that, but right now that stings in a way it never has before. “I won though.”

“But you still almost lost,” Satoshi says. His tone is cruel. “Souma hasn’t lost in a long time. He’s been First Seat for a whole year now.”

“I. Won. Though.”

Satoshi looks at him sideways. “There’s a reason why he doesn’t date. What makes you think you’ll be different?”

“Because I’m a friend?”

“He’s dated a friend before.”

Takumi doesn’t know why it’s him that they think is acting weird. He didn’t ask for this. He wasn’t the one who started it. Souma was the first one to start looking at him differently, but why is everyone acting like Takumi’s going to just subscribe to what he wants to see and take it?

 He leans down and grabs the mezzaluna, hefting the basket to balance it in his other hand. “In that case, nothing has to change. If he’s not looking for more, he’s not getting anything else. We can just be friends and stay exactly as we are. Gli amici. That’s my precaution.”

*

He’s definitely not expecting Souma to be waiting for him at his dorm, so he’s definitely not hurt when he arrives and there’s no one leaning against his door. Takumi lets himself in. He throws his bag to the floor and then himself on the couch, face down on the leather as he takes deep breaths in. In a moment, he’s breathing evenly and deep and seven days of non-stop prepping and little sleep creep into him.

Someone grabs him from above, someone as tall as Isami, but too lean for the cool climate. Takumi’s too tired to ask when Isami started losing weight again, and blames himself for being an absent big brother. He should pay attention more. He lets Isami guide him up the stairs, and into his room.

Isami takes off his blazer and tie, and then guides him to a seat on the bed. Takumi closes his half-shut eyes and waits for Isami to grab him something to sleep in. But all Isami does is dip down to his shoes and slide them off. The air wraps around his sock-clad toes, and Takumi curls them to hide away from the cold. He hears Isami packing stuff away, but then nothing else.

Isami leads him to lie down, to go to sleep. Takumi frowns, half-struggling. “Aren’t you going to take my uniform off?”

Isami chokes. But it’s Souma’s voice that says, “Now you are the drunk one.”

Takumi’s eyes shoot open. Golden ones stare back at him. 

 Takumi wants to hide again from that look in them. He’s been running away from it for seven days, darting his eyes to the side whenever their eyes met and hiding in his room so he can not come across it. 

Doesn’t Souma know that he’s not leaving anymore? That he won. That he’s not going home. He’s not going anywhere so why does Souma look at him like he’s still afraid of losing him?

Takumi stiffens. “You should leave.”

“Ryoko texted me and told me you were upset.”

“Ryoko needs to mind the business that pays her.”

“I did. I told her I owed her a favour.” Souma takes a seat beside him, and Takumi’s knee burns from where both of theirs touch. “I thought you didn’t want me to come.”

The decision he made before felt right, in the sense that he was the one who made it, and therefore he had some control of things. Now the thought of staying friends sits heavy in his chest, and he definitely doesn’t know why. “If you had a class to teach, you had a class to teach. I’m not mad about it.”

“You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

Takumi thinks about Souma’s availability. “It’s really easy to avoid someone who’s hiding too.”

Souma rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to run around and bother someone who doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“Right, because this is Souma’s world and we all have to deal with it.”

“I don’t know what that means. And I’m not going to pretend to be a mind reader.”

“Neither am I.”

Takumi stands up and walks over to his closet. He rifles through it for some pyjamas, taking the time to breathe and recollect and articulate his words. He turns around. “What do you want?”

“The party won’t be the same without you, Takumi. You shouldn’t miss it because you are avoiding me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I think we both know you are angry with me.”

“I think that you need to sit down—”

“—I am sitting?—”

“—and humble yourself. I’m tired and I want to sleep, and me skipping the party’s got nothing to do with you. Anyway, that’s not what I meant.” Takumi crosses his arms. “What makes you say that the party won’t be the same without me? To who, exactly? You?”

Souma’s knuckles turn to white where he’s placed them on his knees. In broad daylight, the red flame of his hair is dimmed, but his eyes make up for the fire lost in it. Takumi’s expecting a furious denial or something of the sort, so it takes the wind out of his sails when Souma says, “Yes. I want you there.”

Souma stands up and stalks towards him, and Takumi involuntarily takes a step back. “Wait.”

Souma decidedly does not wait and in a moment, Takumi’s crowded against the closet door, staring into Souma’s eyes. His arms come to close him in, their bodies trap the heat between them and Takumi feels like he’s stuck in a burning furnace. 

Friends, he reminds himself. Friends is easier. 

It’s hard to translate his thoughts to his whole body. He’s shifting inside Souma’s cage, leaning into it before he knows it. He stares up at Souma, who’s unfairly tall enough already, but with this distance makes him tilt his head up. Their eyes hold and Takumi knows he’s getting lost. In the end all that comes out is a whisper. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I didn’t think you were going to lose, Takumi,” Souma says. He draws himself closer and brings his mouth against Takumi’s throat. Takumi’s heart hammers in his chest. “I knew you were going to win. I knew you were going to stay. I wanted you to stay. I was just scared.” He hovers above Takumi’s neck, brushing it with his lips, not touching him just yet. “I’m still scared.”

Anger fizzles out of Takumi no matter how long he tries to hold onto it. But how can he when Souma is in his room, saying everything he’d wanted to hear all day, everything he’d wanted to hear all week? When Souma finally kisses his throat, the tension in his muscles relax, and he breathes into it. His hands grab for Souma’s shirt, clutching at the lapels.

But the momentum is ruined when Souma stops kissing up his neck, and starts gliding his lips down his jaw. Takumi’s breaths start to thin in anticipation as he licks his lips. He can’t help but keep his eyes open as Souma slowly travels to his mouth, not wanting to miss a thing.

That’s how he sees that Souma’s eyes are open too, half-lidded but still open. Takumi recognises the look in his eyes from the night before. Doubt clouds Souma’s golden suns, and Takumi knows before it even happens that this is going to be a more than five drinks kiss. Quiet, hesitant and conflicted.

It hurts. 

It already hurt a lot when he thought that Souma wanted him for one thing, and one thing only. It hurt too much finding out that Takumi was only worth wanting when Souma thought he almost lost him. But it hurts a little that Souma isn’t even sure if that’s the right way to go.

The little things always count.

Takumi’s hand rises to Souma’s hair. He thinks he can understand Souma on one thing, knowing how it feels to never know you wanted something so badly until you just did. He’d always kind of thought that Souma’s hair was unkempt at best, but he’d never realised how soft it could feel in his hands. How it piles up so beautifully in Takumi’s fingers, and gives so easily when he runs them through it. There’s shame in his part for blaming Souma for never liking him before. He could never have controlled when Souma opened his eyes and saw him too. He’d definitely never even realised that he saw Souma that way either too. Forgiveness is instant, and then webs away in shame, because there’s nothing to forgive.

But this hesitation, this uncertainty? He just won’t do it. He can’t. Why is Souma not sure about him? What has he got to doubt?

He sinks his fingers into Souma’s hair and yanks it. 

Souma groans, exposing his throat. His eyes flicker with desire and Takumi’s getting distracted. He hates himself for it. 

This isn’t normal, this thing that they are doing, this dance. A typical world would mean Souma asks him out like a normal person. But the thing about First Seat Souma is that he thinks this is his world, and Takumi’s just living in it, so whatever Souma sees as normal is what goes.

Last time Takumi checked, they were in his room. Takumi’s world, if you will. So maybe Souma should start learning to adjust.

He pulls away and pushes Souma into the closet door then stomps into his bathroom. He returns ten minutes later with his pyjamas on, and slides into his bed.

Souma watches him with narrowed eyes from where he stands leaning against the closet. He’s still rubbing his jaw from where it kissed the closet door. His eyes are dark and stormy and angry.

Takumi lifts himself up on an elbow. “If you want us to still be friends after this, then I suggest you leave.” He smiles a smile that he doesn’t feel and slumps on his pillow. “A domani. Talk tomorrow?”

He turns in the bed, to look at the wall. It’s a poetic rendition of the night that started it all, and the only thing missing is Souma going down to get him a bottle of water. Sleep calls to him like a siren, and he can’t help but—

Footsteps glide up to his bed. Any thought of sleep vanishes when Takumi feels a weight land on his blankets. Souma’s presence steals the air around him, making everything hard to breathe. Takumi tenses, his muscles locking when he feels Souma’s hand dip into his quilt, and slide up his arm.

Warm breath fans his neck, telling him how close Souma’s mouth is. This is dangerous information because that’s all he can think about now. About Souma’s lips back on his neck, on his skin, travelling up in small kisses all the way to his ear. Heat coils in his belly, and Takumi can’t breathe.

He struggles to speak, keeping his voice low. “I still want us to be friends, Souma. Really.”

“You are so arrogant,” Souma says, voice low. “And a liar.”

Takumi clenches his fist. He must stay strong. “I’m not.”

Souma kisses the back of his ear. “I know you want me too.”

“I definitely do not.”

The hand over his arm slides to his shoulder and pulls him until he’s on his back. Souma’s eyes are liquid gold, and there’s no trace of the hesitancy from before. Takumi should be glad for it. Wasn’t that why he was angry? That Souma wasn’t confident in pursuing him, conflicted. That Souma didn’t know what he wanted.

But now that he has it, he’s the one doubting. He’s the one on more than five drinks. Because even now that Souma looks at him ready to have him, he also still looks like Takumi’s the one who’s going to hurt him more.

Takumi lifts his fist to his chest, and holds it to his heart, willing to slow down its stampede. Souma smirks when he sees it, though his eyes study Takumi’s, no doubt seeing his own wariness reflected back. 

“It’s not about me, huh?”

Takumi grits his teeth. “Why are you still here?”

Souma stands up and raises his hands. The loss of him hits Takumi like a sword in his chest. “Fine, fine. I’m going to go. But if it’s really not about me, then take a nap and come to the party.”

Takumi lifts his chin up as far as he can. “And if I don’t.”

“Then I’ll just come to you,” Souma shrugs walking backwards to the door. He tilts his head, considering when he reaches the doorway. “Or go to someone else.”

*

Souma’s low for that. And Takumi’s even lower for falling for it. Yet here he is, dressed the nicest he’s ever been in ages, ruining his best shoes by scuffing them on the ground. He loiters around Polar Star’s door, kicking at dust and wondering what’s wrong with him.

He definitely does not like Souma that way. There’s no chance. And he’s definitely not jealous and possessive and stinging from—

He’s not.

He’s Takumi Aldini. He has a fan club dedicated to writing poetry about him. He’s been the seventh seat for a whole year. The school doesn’t show up to see his shokugekis anymore. Not when they know how it always goes down.

He does not need validation, and he definitely does not need to be in a relationship with his best friend to get it.

And yet three hours have passed since the party should have started, and Souma didn’t show up.

He sighs and knocks the door.

Satoshi opens it, and smiles at him. Half his hand is hidden in a bag of crisps, and he takes it out to wipe at his apron. It’s the only thing that he’s wearing now, and his twinkling eyes tell Takumi that not only has the party begun hours ago, it’s nearing its very peak.

“We thought you weren’t coming!”

“It’s my party, isn’t it?” Takumi smiles a smile he isn’t feeling. He hesitates. But he’s weak, he’s a fraud and he needs to know. A friendship depends upon it. “Is Souma still here?”

“He tried to leave once,” Satoshi says, and then a crumb-freckled hand darts out and handcuffs itself to Takumi’s wrist. “But the others didn’t let him.”

Takumi finds himself yanked inside and pulled into the dormitory. He wants to scream that he’s here of his own accord, that he’s here to stay, he’s not trying to go anywhere dannazione!, but the cry dies in his throat when they reach the doorway of the party room.

Souma is the first one he notices, because of course Takumi’s definitely not looking for him. He’s seated on a beanbag, in the middle of a circle of beanbags, sinking into it like he’s trying to hide. His eyes dart up when Takumi appears, and he throws Takumi an apologetic look. 

“You look nice,” he says as a greeting. To the others surrounding him, he raises his hands and says, “See! I told you so!”

Takumi looks around the room. “Uh, what’s happening?”

The whole of Polar Star are seated in beanbags around Souma, looking like angry advisors putting their King on trial. Well, only two really. The others are either too drunk or minding their own business. Isami and Megumi are in the corner, sharing headphones and listening to music. Shoji and Daigo are passed out, on top of each other. Shun and Zenji are making out in public, void of shame. 

Only Ryoko and Yuki are making some sort of a stand. Although Yuki seems to be taking a slightly less sober stand.

 Ryoko falters where she’s stuttering through some sort of accusation, and blinks at him. “Oh. He said you were expecting him, but I thought he was kidding and trying to run away from—”

Yuki stands up. “We are having an intervention!”

“Completely unnecessary.” Souma insists. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

Yuki stomps her right foot. “Souma should stop sleeping around!”

Souma raises his hands. “Done. Got it.”

Yuki stomps her left foot. “Takumi’s right. Souma shouldn’t expect to just hookup with him and it mean nothing.”

Souma sits up and turns his entire body towards Takumi and gives him a serious nod. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Yuki stomps both feet. “Souma should get over his ex-girlfriend!”

The room freezes. Everyone stills.

Takumi watches Souma the entire time. He sees Souma’s flinch, the way his eyes widen as they stare in panic at Takumi, and the slump in his shoulders when the truth is out there. It takes a second for all this to happen, but with the way everything just makes sense, Takumi feels like this clue has been in his face for years.

Oh. Oh. 

Satoshi’s bags of crisps crinkle. “This is… entertaining.”

Ryoko grabs for Yuki’s hand and yanks her to a seat. Her face is apologetic and she looks like she’s about to stutter through a wide range of explanation and apologies. But Souma stops her with a wave of his hand. He’s smiling, and the smile grows into a laugh. He laughs a painful and awkward thing, and Takumi wants it to end.

When it finally does, the air is stiff with tension. Souma stands up and dusts his knees with his hands. He looks around. “Are we done here?”

“We are done here,” Ryoko whispers. Yuki snores in her lap.

“Good.” Souma moves to leave. Takumi steps aside to allow him to leave through the door, and his finger itch to reach out. But the look on Souma’s face has him still and frozen. 

Just as Souma’s about to turn in the corridor, Ryoko calls out. “Um… you can forget about that favour you owe me.”

Souma doesn’t reply and seconds later the door leading to outside slams shut. 

Takumi narrows his eyes at Ryoko and Satoshi, and Satoshi looks at him unimpressed. “She already feels guilty. Are you seriously doing this?”

“Yeah. I’m the one who’s going out to fix this, so if I want to stare judgementally at y’all, I—”

Ryoko brightens up at that—“Finally!”—whilst a look of youth bursts on Satoshi’s face—“Can I watch?”

Takumi looks at his senpai, weirded out. “Why are you saying that like you want to see something naughty?”

“How else are you going to fix it?”

Takumi walked right into that one. His neck grows red, and he opens and closes his mouth, trying to find something to refute that. Finally he gives up, and leaves, sounds of chortling following after him all the way to the door.

*

How does one comfort someone? Takumi’s a competitor, born to challenge and win against those who accept. What he knows best is how to fight, how to throw the first punch, step on someone’s shoes. He can do that just fine. He’s not really the… peace type.

He scrambles with words as he opens the door, and a list of all the possible things he could have started off with go poof when he sees Souma. Souma’s standing on the verandah, leaning on the railings of the porch. He’s dressed in his pyjamas, which means shorts so small they should have been tennis shorts, and a loose top. In the moonlight, his hair burns and Takumi’s definitely not thinking about how Souma had looked so serious when he said he wasn’t planning on it.

Souma turns to acknowledge Takumi when he steps out, but then goes back to playing with the rails. The night is silent, and the silence awkward. 

Takumi racks his head for anything. He snaps his fingers. 

“ Mal comune, mezzo gaudio.”

It takes a second for the words and their language to register, but when they do, things predictably flip around.

Souma swirls around, beyond excited. Takumi smiles. It’s rare that he speaks Italian, but whenever he does, Souma always acts like its the best thing his ears have ever heard. He’s staring at Takumi now, mouth wide open in a grin, strife forgotten and Takumi’s heart hurts.

He clears his throat. “Wanna know what it means?”

“Wait!” Souma raises his hands. “Let me try to figure it out!”

“Yeah, no. That’s going to take ag—”

“Mezzo means half. Like mezzaluna.”

Takumi draws closer to stand by Souma, and together they lean against the railings. “Easy.”

“Mal means something bad. Something sick. Something ill.”

Takumi blinks at him, surprised. He narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”

The grin on Souma’s face tells him everything he needs to know and Takumi can’t believe it. He’s never felt so shocked and so touched in his life. 

“You are learning Italian?”

Souma shrugs in that coy way of his that means he’s feeling pretty smug with himself. “I did it for fun during the holidays and kinda had a streak going. It was nothing.”

“It was noth—” Takumi slaps his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“This way just seemed more fun.” Souma grins, rubbing his arm. “Jokes aside though, what did that mean? What you said earlier?”

Takumi’s still reeling with this new information, trying to understand what this means. He doesn’t want to ask, not wanting to ruin the buzz of warmth now that the tension’s gone. But he can’t stop the questions coming. Why would Souma learn Italian? Why would he even feel the need to do that, fun or not?

Shit, maybe Souma might be into him. More than into him. 

He looks away and swallows the lump in his throat. “Translated, it means a trouble shared is a trouble halved. Which obviously means you shouldn’t keep things from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Someone was avoiding me,” Souma counters.

“Didn’t I apologise for—No? No? Okay, well, then I’m sorry you couldn’t live without me for a we—No?” 

Souma shakes his head.

Takumi sighs. He stares at the front of the dorm, at the window reflecting their images back to them. The curtains move a little, and he swears he can see Ryoko’s eyes peeking from the corners. She’s counting on him.

He stares at the mirrored version of Souma, and mumbles to the ground as fast as he can. “I’m sorry for avoiding you and not talking to you earlier like the proper adult I am, and the one you aspire to be.”

In the window, he sees Souma hide his face with his hand, grinning into it. “You are seventeen.”

“Emotionally twenty five.”

“Emotionally unable to apologise.”

“I can!” Takumi stands to his full height. “I actually came here to—”

Souma waves his hand, to dismiss him. “That’s not your apology to make.”

“Oh, I know. That was them, that wasn’t me.” Takumi waves his own hand back. “I’m not talking about that. I thought you and Erina were cool.” 

At the sound of her name, they both freeze and stare at each other, and Takumi tries to hurry on to something else. But it’s almost as if just by saying her name out loud, the spell of playfulness is broken, and the awkward tension from before dumps back in. Whatever he’d been meaning to apologise for goes poof, and disappears just as a blank mask slides over Souma’s face.

He looks away and makes as if to leave, but Takumi’s not going to let him. He grabs for his arm. 

Souma doesn’t struggle, so much as glancing at Takumi’s hands around his bicep and tugging at it perfunctorily. He easily slips out of his grasp. Takumi however refuses to see this for the humiliating reminder of whose stronger between the two of them, and instead, takes this as a learning opportunity on Souma’s part. 

It’s as if he’s morphing into someone else. This is the new Takumi Aldini, not the one who locks himself in his room and avoids people when things get scary. The more Souma tries to push new Takumi away, the more new Takumi will cling on. Life lesson to consider at all times, the practical taught now. 

Takumi darts forward, and wraps his arms around Souma’s shoulders, jumping on his retreating back. He piggy backs Souma, clinging as hard as he can bracing for the inevitable shaking Souma’s going to try to get him off. “You are going to talk about it!”

Souma doesn’t shake him off surprisingly. His arms lift to shift and hold Takumi properly and steadily, and he grins. Takumi tucks his head on Souma’s shoulder to frown at this. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m going to walk all the way to the pool—”

Okay, bad idea, bad idea. These are his best clothes. Takumi wriggles trying to get away, but Souma holds him fast. It is a struggle to get off, a literal catfight. Souma won’t let go, his hold is tight against Takumi’s thighs. But Takumi’s a born fighter. He gives as good as he gets, kicking and sliding and eventually manages to win. Inevitable.

When he lands on the ground, Takumi’s arms are still wrapped around Souma’s shoulders, but this time from the front. Souma’s hands are on his waist. At first they are both grinning, but as they register their new pose, their smiles fall off their faces.

It’s another mood changer.

It’s a cool night, yet Takumi’s never felt as heated as he is in Souma’s arms. He feels like he went for a week without eating enough meat, his iron is depleted and like he stood up too fast. It’s dizzying, and his knees are going too soft and mushy and only Souma can hold him up from falling. Although now, he’s starting to think that he’s already fallen and he definitely knows he’s not trying to get up. 

Is he ready for this? Is this what he wants? It’s a yes on all counts on his part. Souma isn’t just his friend, he isn’t just anybody. Souma is Takumi’s everything. But how is he meant to know if Souma feels the exact same way?

He pulls away from Souma, and the muscles locked with fear loosen as he takes a step back.

Souma follows after him. In a minute, Takumi finds them back in another poetic rendition of the scene in his bedroom, his back against the door of the dormitory, and Souma surrounding, overwhelming him in every sense.

“Doubting, are you?” Souma says. His voice is angry and this is what Takumi knows best. How to fight, how to hit back. “And you don’t even have a reason.”

“Seriously?” Takumi spits. “I thought you just wanted to hit.”

“And you think I was just going to let you go along with it?” Souma scowls. “Because “it’s Souma’s world, and everyone has to deal with it.””

“You are the First Seat Souma. Not only are you an asset to the school, you are irreplaceable.”

Souma pushes harder into him. “Anyone can be First Seat and you know it. I just don’t let them.”

“You can skip classes to teach,” Takumi insists. “You can tell people you’re available when you can and when you are. You can basically run the whole fucking school, if you want.”

“Anyone can earn those perks if they try hard enough. Next.”

Takumi’s not going to let this go. “Point is, you can do whatever you want.”

“I’m still a student, I’m not the director of the school!”

“And anyone would jump at the chance to have you. It’s not like anyone else would say no!”

“You see how that’s ironic, right? You are literally disproving your point.”

“Not for lack of wanting.” Takumi shakes his head. “You can have anything you want. This is fact.”

“That’s where you are wrong.”

“As if!”

“Why can’t you ever admit that you’re wrong?!”

“Because I’m right and you know it!”

Souma’s eyes glint, infuriated. “You want to know the real facts, Takumi?”

“Entertain me, per favore.”

Souma gets up in his face, and pushes up against him. Takumi feels his whole body up against him, the flame of his skin. “I can’t keep you.”

And then it finally happens. Souma kisses him. It’s a rough and wild one, full of teeth and spit, and everything Takumi definitely didn’t know he wanted. It’s passionate, filled with the restraint of a week, unreleased. But most of all, it’s unflinching and relentless, erased of all the hesitation and indecision of before. Takumi answers with his whole soul, as hard as he can give back, not wavering or doubtful in the face of any challenge. He’s in it to win, in it to defeat, in it to succeed no matter how much the stakes are up against him. He’s going to win. He’s going to stay right here, where he belongs.

It’s aeons before they pull back, panting. Souma stares down at him, and then breaks into a smile. He dips in for another quick kiss. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Takumi’s mind is still reeling from what Souma just said, but his body thrums with the thrill of everything that had just happened. And also because Souma’s bare thigh is now between his legs, a fact that he cannot ignore, a fact that makes his throat constrict. He squeaks. “A week?”

“I learnt Italian for you!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Souma huffs and places his hand under Takumi’s chin. He draws them both into another kiss as if he can’t help it, as if now that he’s gotten a taste he can’t stop himself from more. “Do I have to say it? I like you, Takumi. I want this.” 

“So why are you still looking at me like that?” Takumi’s mouth wobbles. With rage. Yeah. Rage. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to leave! Why do you think I will?” His voice breaks. “Why don’t you want to keep me?”

Souma grins at him like he just doesn’t get it. “Because mthjghgykcunxk.”

Takumi knows Souma’s just repeated the phrase he said earlier to him, but Souma’s linguistic accent and attempt is so atrocious, that’s what he hears. “Because I’m too much trouble? Or you don’t want share your troubles with me?”

“No.” Souma shakes his head. “Because you are Italian.”

Takumi blinks. He’s been told by many people why they don’t want him as more than just his body before, countless times. He’s too much. He shuts people out. He never knows how to admit when he’s wrong, which is ironic, because that’s where people get him wrong. He can change his mind, he’s willing to do it right now, isn’t he? Just show him what he’s missing, and with the right information, he has more than enough room in his head to evolve. 

But what can he do with this? The audacity makes him bark out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t see what me being a latin lover’s got to do with anything.”

Souma uses the hand on his chin to caress his cheek. “It’s got everything to do with it. You weren’t going to leave today, I know that. But it’s going to happen one day. You are going to go back to Italy, to do your own thing and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle that.” He takes a deep breath. “Not again.”

It finally hits him, and the information warps Takumi’s mind and eyes. He can finally see what’s going on so clearly, it’s a wonder how he’s missed it. He’s talking about Erina. Underneath the sheen of desire and happiness in Souma’s eyes, there’s a storm brewing filled with the recollection of a past unveiled. Takumi moves, unable to stop himself from reaching out. He hugs Souma close. “I thought the breakup was mutual. You were happy for her.”

Souma shrugs. “Of course I am. She loves her job and I want her to be happy.”

“But?”

“Maybe you are right that the First Seat makes me an asset of the school or whatever, but Erina’s literally the one that runs the school. She’s director, she’s in charge. And the best part about it, is that she wants to be.” He looks down. “I just wish that she didn’t have to throw me away to do it.”

Takumi licks his lips. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, maybe not now…”

“No. I won’t.” The truth releases so easily from his tongue. “I definitely won’t.”

Souma studies his eyes and his face is a mask of vulnerabilty. “You don’t know that.”

The urge to grip his hair and pull hits Takumi like a turnpike, but for once, he doesn’t entertain it. Not when all the doubt and uncertainty from before instantly begins to make sense in his head. And now that he knows what’s fuelling it, it’s so easy to discard away. He pushes into another kiss, closing the space between them, and powers it with the last shred of patience he has. This is the only time he’ll speak on this, and this kiss has to make the last point of an argument gone too long. 

When he pulls away, he grabs Souma by the collar of his shirt. “Listen closely, because this is the only time I’ll say it.” He waits until Souma nods and then he bursts it all out, before he can think about taking it back. “When I realised you thought of me that way, I was angry because I thought you just wanted to hit. And then when I realised you were acting like this because you thought I was going home, I was furious—”

“—I knew you were going to wi—” 

“Hush.” Takumi mushes his lips with a finger. “I avoided you because of it, and didn’t want to talk to you, and I just wanted to hide. But during the shokugeki this afternoon, all I could think about was how stupid and petty I was all week when that could have been the last time I saw you. And I… I got scared.”

Souma stills. He looks as if he wants to say something to that, but Takumi pushes the finger hard. “This is the only time I’m going to admit it, so can you just let me?”

For a moment, conflict brews between them. Then Souma nods. Takumi takes a deep breath and continues. “Two judges voted for me to stay at Totsuki, but it was still close. The last judge hesitated, and I saw my whole world ending in those three seconds that she did. But for the first time, it wasn’t because I wanted to stay at Totsuki. It was because I wanted to stay here, with you. In moments like that, life kind of flashes before your eyes and you see everything that matters. I saw you, but it was all in my head. It wasn’t the same thing as seeing you physically, so when I won, I turned around to look for you, to really know I still had you, but you weren’t there. That’s when I really got scared.”

“I wanted to come.”

“But you didn’t. And I know it’s partly my fault, but the fact is, you weren’t there. I thought it was because you didn’t think I was important enough, that a class lesson mattered more than I did. And it hurt after just realising how you meant everything to me. It hurt to know how easily replaceable I was.” 

He’s spewing now, everything he’d been concealing from even himself coming out in word vomit. Takumi pulls his hands from Souma and uses them to hide his face, pressing them against his mouth, but he can’t stop talking.

“So I thought, maybe we should stay friends. Because that’s something that we’ve always been, it’s built in concrete and that wouldn’t change. But then you came to my room and told me you wanted me too, and I hoped. I hoped that you saw me the same way as I saw you. But then you hesitated. You weren’t sure. I was afraid, and hurt. And if you weren’t as sure as I was, when I was sure about you, I didn’t want any part of it. I wanted everything, and it scared me that you weren’t willing to give that. Fear makes me irrational and angry, and all I wanted to do was protect myself. So I told you to leave, and I— I regretted every bit of it.”

A hand pulls one of his away and wraps around it. Takumi stares at the floor but squeezes it. “I sat waiting for you to come back, beating myself up about it. Three hours passed and I wanted to cry about it. I thought I had really lost you and all I wanted was to apologise for letting you go. I thought about tracking you down to whoever else you’d visited tonight and I wanted to grovel and ask you to give me one more chance. I didn’t want you with anyone else. I wanted to keep you for myself. I want to keep you, forever.”

“I don’t know yet what the future holds, or what it’s got waiting for me. If the Trattoria’s really my dream, or if that lies here in Japan, but I know neither is going to happen without you in it. If you allow me to have you in it.” Takumi takes a deep breath, and summons the last flicker of his courage. “I’ve already learnt what it feels like to throw you away, so now I’d like to know what it’s like to keep you.”

Souma pulls him into his arms, without hesitation. “You already have me.”

Takumi flushes. “So anyway, what I mean to say is, I definitely love you and I definitely won’t leave.”

The confession’s brewing for too long and feels like it’s a long time coming, so when it comes out, it takes all the last fight out of him. It’s a load of his back, and he feels lightheaded just from finally saying it. He relaxes and smiles, and keeps smiling even when Souma grabs his face again and plants the kiss to end all kisses. He smiles as Souma presses a thousand more tiny pecks to his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his throat.

He smiles when Souma finally feels like its enough, when they’ve kissed out all the heavy emotion that was in the air, leaving only the anticipation and tension of something new. 

“I’m sorry,” Souma says. “I didn’t know I affected you that much.”

Suddenly, Takumi feels tired of this. This talking. They’ve done too much of it, and they can always talk later. They’ve already hit the main points, and Takumi’s not going anyway. They have nothing but time.

He rolls his hips, reminding Souma of the very precarious position his thigh is in. “No? I thought it was obvious.”

Souma huffs out a laugh and looks down. “Okay, that’s distracting. Maybe I should have thrown you into a pool.”

“Or maybe you should just tell me how much you’ve drunk tonight.”

Souma tilts his head as he thinks. “Five…”

Takumi’s heart sinks. “Seriously?”

“…cups of water.” Souma grins, wickedly. He pulls and grabs Takumi’s hand, opening the door.

Satoshi hurries to stand up, when the door swings open. His hand is in a bag of popcorn. Takumi wants to die of mortification, but Souma sidesteps their senior easily, as if expected. He herds Takumi up the stairs to his room.

“Congratulations, you guys!” Satoshi winks. “Have fun.”

Souma waves back. “We are closing the vents, senpai.”

“Awww, come on!”

*

Much, much later, when they are pent out and lying with their legs entangled in the sheets, Takumi checks to see if Souma’s awake. He stares at Souma’s long lashes, checking for any movement that will betray him. Souma’s eyelids are as still as death.

Satisfied, Takumi slides out of the bed, careful to not rouse him. After making sure to tuck Souma in, he rummages around the room for anything to wear, preferably his, in case he doesn’t want to come back. Sufficiently dressed back in his jeans, and a shirt he can always return if need be, he walks out of the room with his essentials.

Guilt about breaking his promise so early into the relationship has him returning to the room, and swapping his jeans with a pair of Souma’s shorts. Then for extra measure, he places his phone on Souma’s desk, in case his planned freakout brings any other ideas about leaving without saying goodbye.

When he goes downstairs, all he wants is something to calm his nerves. Something to decrease his panic. The kitchen is shrouded in shadows, typical of the dead of the night. Switching on the light feels like alerting the household of his sneaking about, so he fumbles in the darkness, making for the refrigerator. He opens the fridge door, heart sinking when he sees the milk gone.

“Pssst.”

Takumi jumps. He doesn’t know how he missed her or what else he expected, but Ryoko smiles at him from the other side of the kitchen island. In front of her is a plate of cookies, the milk carton and two glasses of milk.

“I didn’t know if you liked it heated,” she whispers apologetically. “So I didn’t.”

“So there is something you don’t know,” Takumi bites back, but comes over and takes a seat across from her. He dunks a cookie in the milk, and takes a soggy bite. It does nothing to help the swelling ball of anxiety steadily increasing in his chest. He directs his irritation towards lying to her. “I love it warm actually.”

Ryoko reaches out a hand and pats his. “It’s okay, Takumi.”

He sighs, and slumps his shoulders. “I’m guessing you’ve already guessed why I came down here.”

She smiles. “It’s all over your face. And it’s perfectly fine to feel insecure.”

He feels a flush roll up his neck. “I’m not.”

She only gives him a sad smile, but doesn’t say anything. Takumi doesn’t really know when this dynamic came about, and he can’t help but ask. 

“Why do you make it your business to know everything about me?”

She toys around with her half full cup of milk, and then takes a sip. The other hand patting him takes his in hers. “I know you don’t see me like that, yet. But I consider you my friend, Takumi. And not just because Souma likes you. But because you genuinely feel like part of the family already.”

He feels guilty for that, and looks down at his hands. And then feeling that she deserves more than that, he hurries to add his own. “I do consider you a friend. But now I see that you aren’t just a friend of a friend. I’ve grown to feel like I can trust you.”

She squeezes his hand. “Thanks.”

A comfortable silence descends between them, but still laced with an awkwardness that demands talking. Takumi knows what Ryoko wants him to talk about, and can feel the roses of her eyes burning into the side of his face, daring him to prove that he does trust her.

He crushes a soggy cookie in his mouth and stares ahead. “She’s so much better than me.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“She’s God Tongue. Director of the school. People can’t say her name without her last name.” He gives a dramatic flourish with his hand. “Erina Nakiri.”

“You can. And you are Takumi Aldini.”

“Psssh.”

“Don’t sell yourself short!” Ryoko insists. “You know the number of ways you are awesome and just as amazing as her, so I don’t need to list it down for you.”

“…It would help…”

Ryoko smiles gently. “Souma loves you. That’s enough.”

Takumi sniffs. “He’s still not exactly over her.”

“But he’s trying. He just needed a push to start moving on, and he got it. He’s got something to believe in now.”

Takumi looks up, hesitating. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

“How?”

Ryoko sighs, and sits back, contemplating. “Think of it, this way. If he really wanted to get back with her, he could have just asked her for a job. It would be nothing. He’s the First Seat, he’s extremely capable, he could be assistant director if he so chose.”

Takumi shakes his head. “Souma would never do that. He doesn’t want to be tied down. He’s a free spirit, he wouldn’t do that for anyone unless he wanted it for himself individually first.”

“I don’t know about that.” They share a look, but no, Takumi doesn’t know what she’s getting at. He tells her so, with his brows. “He could have spent the holidays working with Erina. But instead he taught himself Italian. What’s Italian going to help him, in Japan?”

A coil of tension he didn’t know he was carrying loosens in his spine. Takumi sits up and cups his milk. He breaks into a smile. “Oh.”

“Exactly.” She glances at the watch on her wrist, “I think you should go now. Souma’s a light sleeper.”

Takumi hisses and stands up. He backs away from the counter. “You couldn’t have said that sooner?”

“I wanted to talk to you first. Why are you coming over here? The bedrooms are the other sid—”

By then Takumi’s rounded the counter, and reached her side. He pulls her into a hug. “Thanks, Ryoko.”

Takumi can’t see her face too well in the shadows, but he knows from the way she holds him back, she’s smiling too. “I’m happy for you guys. Now, good night and go. Yuki’s coming soon to cry about the intervention in around three minutes.”

Takumi doesn’t want to know how she even knows that, down to the time, but gives her an extra squeeze. Then he runs up to Souma’s room, pounding up the stairs. He pauses when he comes to the door, and opens it cautiously.

Souma’s sitting up, fiddling with Takumi’s phone. He looks up.

Takumi scoffs. He walks over and pushes Souma back into the blankets, joining him after. “Go back to sleep, idiot.”

Souma relaxes once they are both under the blankets again, but his hold is still strong when he turns Takumi over so he can spoon him. Takumi grins helplessly, warmth spreading. He can’t believe he’s not going to be the clingy one of the two.

“Where were you?”

“Downstairs. Freaking out.”

“About me?”

Takumi sighs. “It was nothing. I was worried about nothing.”

“Mmm,” Souma says in a way that warns Takumi he’s going to let it go for now, but he’s going to bring it up when Takumi least expects it, in a situation that Takumi won’t be able to do anything but talk about it, so Takumi’s better off spilling everything now when its just the two of them, awake and not fighting, in the middle of the night.

“Fine.” He braces himself. “If it’s extra time that you need, I can give you that. But I’m not going to share, okay.”

“Just give me one day.”

“You don’t know that. It could take weeks!”

“Mmm, nah. One day,” Souma says, pressing forward to trail kisses down his neck. “Maybe a few hours.”

“What makes you so sure?” Takumi grumbles. He asks again, because he needs to hear him say it. Not from Ryoko. “How do you know?”

“Wow, you are really working for it.”

Takumi grits his teeth and makes to leave, because one thing he’s not going to do is beg two times in one night. But Souma’s arms clamp around his hips, laughter huffing into his neck. 

“Okay, okay.” Souma laughs. “I love her as a friend but I don’t love her that way anymore. Do I miss the relationship we had? A little. But it’s no longer what I want. I want to be with someone I see as equal, and not constantly trying to close a gap to be with them. Erina’s great, but she’s not for me.”

Takumi bites his lip. “And?”

Souma kisses the top of his head. “I love you.”

Takumi knew, and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it feels nice to hear it out loud. He relaxes and smiles. “Obviously.”

“Okay, Takumi. Okay.”

“I never had a doubt.”

“He says. He says.”

“Really. I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Souma squeezes him closer. “Me too.”