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There are stories that float around Miyuki’s school. Stories about love and hatred. Emotions, is what he’s told they’re called. Emotions – he thinks, images flickering in his mind to the page in his textbook he read a while ago – a strong feeling deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others. His parents and grandparents have told him stories, stories about anger, happiness, amusement and annoyance.
He’s told of wars, heroism and love stories. He’s told of what emotions did, how they shaped and created the old society that the world no longer lives in; the outdated era.
Things have changed since then.
Tokyo is a quiet city now. There’s no sounds of mindless chatter, no cars honking their horns or market stall owners yelling out to try and get people to buy their products. He’s heard tales from his older relatives about how the city used to be; noisy, bustling and full of people going all different directions. Miyuki glances out the window and sees nothing move.
Miyuki focuses back on the teacher stood at the front of the classroom, he’s stood perfectly still – rigid, even – and is talking in a blank and monotonous voice. They’re learning about the most commonly known emotion called ‘love’, and how it equally destroyed and brought the world together. The teacher talks about the science of the emotion, and how it biologically effected human beings; but never how it really felt. To the world, in this new era, emotions are merely chemical reactions the body naturally created. Nowadays, they’re taught about emotions in history classes. Nowadays, there is no such thing. Nowadays, people don’t feel a thing.
The people born in the old era, who used to know what emotions were and how they felt, have all forgotten. Their brains are as numb as their hearts as they slip into the functionalist society; everyone has a job to do to keep the wheels of a well-oiled society turning. Despite experiencing it themselves, and passing down the stories of the old era, they no gave it all up. Miyuki wonders if they had the chance to feel again, would they? Would they remember the ghosting rush of emotions enough to bring them back? Would they desire – a strong feeling of wanting to have something or wishing for something to happen – anything at all?
Desire, Miyuki thinks about this emotion a lot; if Miyuki was to feel, would he desire anything? Would he want something so much to wish for it to happen? It’s all so contradictory. Miyuki can’t feel a thing, his heart rate stays average and his mind keeps calm, but there’s… something. Something at the back of his mind, behind his heart and something in his fingertips that aches.
Maybe it’s a medical issue, Miyuki thinks as the teacher’s voice echoes around the classroom, blank and vacant. He thinks about booking a doctor’s appointment when he gets home.
“I want everyone to complete a three thousand word essay debating the question of whether love is a good or bad thing. I expect them in by next week. Dismissed.”
Just like that, the whole class stands at the same time, bowing in unison as the teacher leaves the room. Just like that, the whole class sits down again. Just like that, the whole class remains silent, no one turning around to whisper and giggle or pass comments.
Love, Miyuki thinks, came in many different forms. Platonic, familial and romantic, to name a few. It was written in his textbook, just like every other emotion.
Emotions. The word triggers something in Miyuki’s mind, and Miyuki remembers a boy with fierce golden eyes and a beautiful smile.
--
The doctor gestures for Miyuki to button his shirt back up as he removes the stethoscope from his chest.
“You’re in perfect health,” the doctor scribbles something down in his notes, “But maybe we should up your dosage, just in case.”
Not again, Miyuki thinks as he finishes buttoning up his shirt. He sits there silently as the doctor processes his prescription.
“Are you sure you’re taking them twice a day?” the doctor questions, signing his name at the bottom of the prescription and hands it over to Miyuki.
“Yes, sir,” Miyuki replies without hesitation. He hears this question a lot, his parents ask him all the time, and his teacher does too. He grasps the green tinted paper in his fingers, staring down at the new dosage amount. Another 20 mg, by the looks of it. The highest dosage available.
The doctor nods, transferring his notes onto the computer, “You need to be careful. Forgetting to take one pill a day can lead to complications.”
Complications, Miyuki thinks, complications of his emotions coming back and making him different.
“Of course, this isn’t mandatory, only encouraged. But if you wish to come off the pills, I’m afraid the consequences might not be worth it.”
Miyuki nods, and remembers a boy with fierce golden eyes and a beautiful smile.
--
Miyuki sits at home at the kitchen table, reading over another history book about war. He slowly flicks through the pages, eyes scanning the tiny font as he stores the information. There are a few photos, some in black and white and some in colour that all show the same things. Weapons, men in uniform, pain and destruction. He supposes if he wasn’t empty, wasn’t another member of this conformist society, that he might feel something seeing the numbers of deaths and casualties and photos of men missing limbs. He’d been told that these photos were sad, but he doesn’t know what sad feels like.
War, nowadays, doesn’t happen. There’s no use for it, it’s illogical and what is there to fight for? No one feels any sudden anger, possessiveness or spite towards another human or another country. It’s a neutral agreement suspended in the air that will never stop.
--
The people who don’t conform, who refused and rejected the pills, are called drifters. He had asked his mother about it when he was younger, having seen a boy his age running past him on the pavement; screaming and laughing. It was a foreign thing for Miyuki to see, as he gripped his mother’s hand tighter. He had no idea what the boy was doing. Why was he running? Why was he making loud noises? Was there any need for this?
His mother had tugged Miyuki’s hand and pulled him far away from the boy, yet her face stayed as neutral as ever.
“He was a drifter,” his mum tells him that night as she perches on the edge of his bed; back ramrod straight and her small hands in her lap. “They’re people who chose to have emotions. They’re outsiders, Kazuya, and not people to interact with. They’re messy, unpredictable and do nothing for this world we live in.”
Miyuki nods his head in understanding, “They sound inconvenient.”
His mother looks at him, straight in the eyes, “They are. That is why we need to stay away from them. They disrupt and cause disorderly behaviour.”
Miyuki feels a tugging at his chest, but he ignores it. He doesn’t understand these drifters that cause a hassle when there needn’t be one. Everything must stay orderly, there mustn’t be any distractions or disturbances. They waste time when there are things to be done.
--
Miyuki turns another page and looks up at the person sat in front of him. Miyuki wonders, even after the warnings from his mother and father, how a drifter came to be a person who frequented their house. His name is Sawamura Eijun, and he has emotions.
Miyuki calls him research, Sawamura calls him a friend.
Sawamura is loud, disruptive, and inquisitive and it makes that familiar tug at his heart ache.
“What are you reading?” Sawamura questions, chewing obnoxiously loud on a crisp.
Miyuki looks back down at the page he was reading and immediately carries on, “a history book.”
Sawamura laughs, stuffing another few crisps into his mouth, “Boring.”
Boring – Miyuki thinks, images and words flickering before he remembers - not interesting, tedious.
Miyuki sighs, “Without a written record or knowledge of the past, how will we be educated in anything? We need to know our history to be able to evaluate our present and our future.”
The kitchen falls silent as Sawamura stops chewing, but only briefly before he starts talking again, “If you keep reading about the past, you’ll never move forward. Even though I don’t see that happening any time soon, Mr. Robot.”
The nickname makes the ache worse, and he knows it’s true. A robot, a machine capable of carrying out a complex series of actions automatically. Robots don’t have emotions either.
“As long as this world keeps taking those little pills twice a day, nothing new will ever happen.” Sawamura’s voice sounds a little strange, his tone a little deeper than usual, “and it would be awfully inconvenient for human beings to have emotions again.”
Miyuki’s head tilts a little to the side, his mind buzzing, and he closes the history book.
“Do you think so?” Miyuki asks, hands placed on top of the book’s cover.
Sawamura looks at him, eyebrows raised and mouth open slightly, and Miyuki’s mind buzzes even louder because – because Sawamura is so expressive and it’s something so different from the blank faces he sees all the time and the one he sees in the mirror.
“No. I-, I was being sarcastic, Miyuki.”
“Oh.” Is all Miyuki says. Sarcasm - the use of irony to mock or convey contempt – as he knows, is a common thing Sawamura refers to using in his speech. Miyuki doesn’t fully understand it yet, even though he’s read about it many times. He just knows that Sawamura uses it a lot when he’s speaking to him.
Shoving more crisps into his mouth, Sawamura’s words come out a little muffled, “I don’t know how I’d live without emotions, if I’m honest.”
Miyuki stares at Sawamura, seeing his fierce golden eyes and messy long brown hair that falls into his eyes and he replies, “No, I don’t suppose you would.”
--
Miyuki lies in bed, wide awake as he stares up at the ceiling. The way he met Sawamura was very unusual by the new era’s standards, but for some reason, Miyuki knows he wouldn’t have it any other way. That same ache is back again, but his fingertips tingle in a way that doesn’t make him think to book another doctor’s appointment.
--
Miyuki is walking home from school, his backpack high on his back and the straps pulled tight against his shoulders. His foot knocks against something, and when he looks down he sees a baseball. He swallows, but his throat feels tight.
Bending down to pick it up, he inspects it. It looks old and worn, plenty of scuffs and dirt mar the surface. He looks around, trying to find out where in came from as it’d be inconvenient to leave it in the middle of the pavement. His eyes catch on a figure to his right, where a grassy field is. The figure is running, approaching faster and faster until Miyuki can make out that it’s a boy.
The boy yells, arms waving around frantically. Miyuki’s heart beat stays the same, but he can feel his eyes widen ever so slightly. It doesn’t take much time to know that his boy – who is finally slowing down to a stop in front of him – is a drifter. Alarm bells ring in his head, and his mother’s word from those years ago are crisp and clear in his mind.
“They’re people who chose to have emotions. They’re outsiders, Kazuya, and not people to interact with.”
Yet Miyuki’s body moves with intention, holding out the baseball to the boy. The boy smiles, ever so wide that Miyuki’s breath catches. He’s so full of colour, so full of something that Miyuki can’t place. His golden eyes are as bright as the sun, and Miyuki has to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth.
The boy bows, loudly thanking him and Miyuki does nothing but nod in acknowledgement and begins to walk again. He has places to go, he wouldn’t be out walking if he didn’t. There is no reason to stay, no reason to talk to his boy anymore and he’s already wasted enough time by stopping.
And yet, and yet, he stops to listen to the boy’s words as they’re yelled out behind him.
“My name’s Sawamura Eijun! I’m 18 years old, and I’ll teach you baseball one day!”
Miyuki turns around to face the boy – Sawamura Eijun – head on.
“Why did you tell me your name?” he asks, because he has no use for it. He doesn’t expect to ever see this person again, and he doesn’t need to know information that isn’t important.
Sawamura laughs, the noise is loud and disruptive and Miyuki now understands his mother’s words completely.
“Because,” Sawamura begins, stepping forward and holds out his hand without the baseball in, “I want to be your friend.”
Miyuki stares down at the out stretched hand in front of him, contemplating it. He thinks back to something his teacher once told him, about how shaking hands is a way of greeting and is a polite formality. People nowadays rarely touch each other, they don’t hug or kiss or shake hands, because there is no need to be polite. No one gets in the way, everyone has a purpose and there is no need for formalities.
Sawamura smiles, a little less widely and grabs Miyuki’s hand that’s by his side and firmly shakes it himself.
“What’s your name?” Sawamura asks, dropping Miyuki’s hand and shifting his weight to his other leg as he passes the baseball between both of his hands. His posture is so… different. His back is curved forward slightly, his shoulders are drooped and his knees are bent. He never seems to stop moving.
Miyuki knows he should be turning around again, he should be leaving and walking back home and forgetting that this ever happened.
Instead, “Miyuki Kazuya.” He says.
Sawamura beams, his posture straightening out as he puts his hands on his hips and puffs his chest out a little.
“Well, Miyuki Kazuya, do you want to learn about baseball?”
Baseball, Miyuki thinks, vaguely remembering seeing a documentary on team sports. Baseball had been in the list, a team sport. Two teams compete against each other to try and win.
“No,” Miyuki replies quickly, because no one plays baseball anymore.
Sawamura chooses to ignore Miyuki’s answer.
“Come on! It’ll be fun! All you stiffs are so boring. Don’t you want to try something new?”
There are so many words – stiffs, fun, boring, something new – that swirl around Miyuki’s head.
“Stiffs?” is all he manages to say, the sour taste is back and his throat is tighter than before, making it almost hard to breathe.
“Yeah,” Sawamura shrugs, his body moving like water, “You guys gave us a nickname, so we gave you one too. It’s only fair, right?”
“I,” Miyuki begins, his tongue darting out to wet his lips a little, “Okay.”
Sawamura’s eyes widen, his mouth dropping opening and oh, does Miyuki’s heart ache.
“Okay?” Sawamura repeats, his voice sounding breathless.
“It’ll be good research,” Miyuki decides on the spot, ignoring the ache, “For my education.”
Something flashes in Sawamura’s eyes just then, and his lips curl downward slightly, “Right. Of course.”
Miyuki feels the ache reach his toes.
--
Miyuki’s eyes blink open, squinting slightly at the harsh sunlight coming through his window. He doesn’t remember not closing the curtains last night, but as he turns over in his bed he spots Sawamura sat at his desk, staring blankly at the ceiling and spinning around in his chair.
That look – the look that is so familiar, so part of his everyday life and the same look that he sees in the mirror every morning – is not meant to be on Sawamura’s face.
He sits up, joints stiff and feet cold after being uncovered for the night, “Sawamura?” he manages, his voice is deep and slightly slurred due to still being half asleep.
Sawamura jolts, his eyes wide and his eyes burning, burning, burning, and Miyuki realises he was clenching his teeth.
“You’re awake! Finally, geez. I’ve been here for like an hour already and I know your mum hates me, well, if she could, then she definitely would, but you’ve been asleep all this time! It’s already almost 11AM, Miyuki, and -,”
“Shut up,” Miyuki cuts him off, shifting to lean against his headboard.
When Sawamura stays silent for a little longer than usual, he glances up and sees Sawamura looking at him strangely.
“What?” Miyuki asks, meeting Sawamura’s gaze. He watches as Sawamura swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his stomach churns; he’s just hungry, Miyuki thinks, but he knows he isn’t.
“I, uh,” Sawamura blinks rapidly, mouth opening and closing until he speaks again, “Did you take your pills yesterday?”
That question. It’s always the same. Everyone asks him the same thing, “Have you taken your pills today?” “Are you sticking to your pills, Miyuki?” “Did you forget your pill this morning?”
Miyuki feels his eyebrow twitch, and he sighs. “Yes. I did. I always do. Why do people keep asking me that?”
“Um,” Sawamura stutters, licking his lips and pressing them together. His eyebrows crease together, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “Never mind. C’mon, let’s go! I need you to catch for me today.”
Just like that, Sawamura is bouncing up from his chair and already half way out the door.
“Get dressed quickly or I’ll leave you behind!”
Something in Miyuki’s cheek twitches, but he ignores it in favour of getting out of bed.
--
Every weekend he plays baseball with Sawamura. Sawamura calls it catch, rather than baseball, because there are no teams. No one plays baseball nowadays, so it’s not a surprise.
Today is no different, they’re throwing the ball to each other in silence. There’s a slight tilt of Sawamura’s lips, and the sun reflects off his hair. The soft breeze messes it up even more, tousling the top layers.
Miyuki misses the ball.
“Oh,” he mutters, turning around to walk after it as it continues to roll further away.
“Hurry up!” Sawamura hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself even louder.
There’s something in the way Sawamura talks, something that’s light and carefree and emotional that makes Miyuki’s legs tremble and he begins to speed up. He’s never done this before. There’s no need to rush, everyone always plans out their journeys accordingly and arrives right on time. He’s not running, not yet, but he can feel his heart beat.
Bending down to scoop up the baseball, a sense of déjà vu washes over him. He picks it up, feeling the worn leather under his fingertips – a feeling that has become so familiar, just like seeing Sawamura’s smiling face and everyone else’s blank faces surrounding him. Just like seeing that same blank expression on his own face in the mirror.
He grips the baseball a little tighter than he should, and throws it as hard as he can back over to Sawamura. Sawamura catches it with ease, body moving fluidly like water.
“You,” Sawamura begins when Miyuki heads back towards him – walking this time, at his usual orderly pace. “I’ve… you, you’ve never done that before.”
“Done what?” Miyuki asks, his voice strained as he’s trying to catch his breath.
Sawamura shakes his head, staring down at the baseball in his hand, “Run. Throw the ball so far. Are you sure you took your pill this morning, Miyuki Kazuya?”
“Is… is that a problem?” Miyuki’s voice is quiet, avoiding the question as he watches as Sawamura’s lips turn downwards. He knows he took his pill this morning, he mother always places it next to his glass of orange juice so he doesn’t forget.
“Nope,” Sawamura replies after a moment, his face brightening up again, “not at all! Let’s keep going, I’m nowhere near done with you yet!”
--
Sawamura decides during dinner that he’s going to stay over tonight, and everyone sat at the table focuses their gaze on him.
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” Miyuki’s mother asks, placing her cutlery down right at the centre of her plate to signal that she’s finished with her meal.
“I do, but no one’s waiting for me.” Sawamura replies easily, shooting a smile at Miyuki’s mother.
Miyuki’s mother’s face stays the same, her eyebrows don’t pinch together, her eyes don’t widen and her mouth stays perfectly still. Her hands don’t tremble as she nods and picks up her empty plate and heads towards the kitchen.
Miyuki glances over to his father, who is still staring at Sawamura, face unmoving as if in a freeze frame.
Suddenly Miyuki finds it hard to swallow his mouthful of vegetables.
Later on, after dinner is all finished and their final pill of the day has been taken, Miyuki and Sawamura trudge upstairs into Miyuki’s bedroom. They sit on Miyuki’s bed, legs crossed while facing each other.
Sawamura is talking about something, his mouth moving impossibly fast and his voice changes tones, but nothing registers as Miyuki watches Sawamura gesture wildly with his hands.
“How do you do that,” Miyuki feels his stomach churn, “How do you smile?”
Sawamura stops midsentence, blinking owlishly at Miyuki before he bursts into laughter.
“I just,” Sawamura breathes, clutching his stomach with one hand and wipes at the corner of his eye with the other, “You look so serious right now! What kinda question even is that?”
Miyuki swallows, and wonders why his face feels hot. He hopes it’s not a fever, as being ill a day before school will prevent from attending tomorrow’s lectures.
He waits until Sawamura calms down, his booming laughter toning down into a soft chuckle, but his eyes remain wet.
“You really want to know?” he asks, meeting Miyuki’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“Well,” Sawamura sits up straighter as he places his palms on his knees, “I dunno, really? I’ve never really thought about it. It’s just, y’know, something that comes naturally. Ah, wait, you wouldn’t understand that-”
Miyuki’s stomach churns more, and he feels like there’s a lump in his throat.
“It’s just… a reaction, I guess? Babies know how to do it, before they’re given the pills crushed up in their food. It’s human nature.” Sawamura shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but the words are tumbling out of Miyuki’s mouth before he can stop himself.
“Teach me.”
“W-what?” Sawamura stutters, and Miyuki thinks this is what confusion looks like - the state of being bewildered.
“How to smile. Teach me.”
Sawamura frowns, “Why? Is this just another thing for research? For your education? For some essay due in tomorrow? I’m not – dammit, Miyuki, I’m not your fucking lab rat.”
Sawamura is explosive. His emotions come easily to him, changing so fast that Miyuki can barely keep up. Before Miyuki can do anything, Sawamura is moving off his bed and standing up, walking towards his bedroom door.
He’s leaving, Miyuki thinks, and he shoots his hand out and grabs Sawamura’s wrist before he can go any further.
“No. Don’t leave,” he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, “I want to know. For myself.”
Something changes on Sawamura’s face at that, and he slowly pulls his hand away from Miyuki’s hold and sits back down on the bed in his original position. There’s a slight flush on his cheeks, and Miyuki wants to recommend he go book an appointment at the doctor, but the last time he’d said that, Sawamura had narrowed his eyes at him and said he had to go home. He hadn’t understood what he said that was wrong, but Sawamura told him the day after that he was angry at Miyuki. Angry, Miyuki thinks, feeling or showing strong annoyance, displeasure, or hostility, doesn’t sound like something that Sawamura should feel.
“Try and copy me, okay?” Sawamura encourages before his lips widen into an effortless smile.
Miyuki breathes out deeply and feels his cheeks twitch as he stretches his lips over his teeth. The action is foreign, and his cheeks are already starting to ache and he feels his eyes squint involuntarily.
The silence doesn’t last for long, as Sawamura bursts into another round of obnoxiously loud laughter. Miyuki stops smiling, his facial features falling back into their usual place.
“Be quiet, my parents are sleeping.” Miyuki says, voice monotonous.
“Wh-what the hell was that?! That wasn’t a smile! You looked like you were in pain, oh my god!”
“Shut up,” Miyuki feels his face get hot again and he decides that even if this is a fever, he’s still going to school tomorrow, “I’ve never done this before.”
“I know you haven’t, b-but it doesn’t make it any less funny.” Sawamura gasps amongst his laughter.
Funny, Miyuki thinks, causing laughter or amusement; humorous. Am I funny? Miyuki wonders. He doesn’t know how to be funny, he’s never needed to. He watches Sawamura laugh for a little longer, trying to memorise the way his eyes scrunch up and his mouth widens. His heart leaps, and Miyuki feels his face go lax, and his lips twitch slightly as Sawamura tries to regain some sense of calm.
“Geez, Miyuki,” Sawamura chuckles, eyes opening as he stops laughing, “You-, holy shit,”
There’s a pause, and Miyuki isn’t sure why Sawamura suddenly stopped talking.
“Miyuki, you’re…” Sawamura swallows, but then his lips tilt up again, “Of course, why am I not surprised? You don’t smile, you smirk.”
But there’s something different in Sawamura’s voice, something that’s shaky and uncertain and Sawamura’s face is so, so red.
Smirk, Miyuki thinks, he doesn’t know that word. He pushes up his glasses so they perch more firmly on the bridge of his nose.
“Is that not what I was meant to do?” he asks instead, filing away the word to look it up later on.
“No, it’s fine, it’s just… another type of smile, y’know? Has a different meaning.” Sawamura replies, and then he’s talking about something else.
--
Miyuki can’t stop thinking about it. Smirk, he found out, is to smile in an irritatingly smug, conceited, or silly way. He wonders that if he could feel, if he didn’t take those two pills every day, would he be any of those things? What would he be smug or conceited about? Would he behave in such a manner to be labelled silly?
There are a lot of questions, but not a lot of answers.
--
One night that Sawamura sleeps over, is a school night. Miyuki’s mind is buzzing with new information he learned that day, and his head is still swimming when he’s settled down in bed. He’s sharing his bed with Sawamura, both facing each other and they can barely make out each other’s faces in the darkness. The moonlight doesn’t filter through the curtains tonight, instead the dim yellowish outside lamps flicker every so often to illuminate Miyuki’s room.
Sawamura’s breath is warm on his face, and he’s quiet. Miyuki’s not sure if he’s asleep yet as he feels his eyes droop. He feels… warm. Another body next to his and his thick quilt cancel out the bitter coldness of winter, but something’s missing. He thinks he’s missing out on something, and he shouldn’t be just warm purely because of actual heat, but warm in another way.
Miyuki pushes that to the back of his mind, and thinks about taking his pill tomorrow morning.
--
After he had smiled (smirked, he reminded himself, the voice in his head sounding like Sawamura’s) for the first time, he had found it hard to keep it off his face. It was something new, something he could write about in his essays and it added to his academic knowledge.
At dinner one night his mother placed a glass of orange juice next to his plate, and he had smiled at her. Her face remained stoic, but once she sat down and began to talk her voice had been hard, harsh and empty.
“Kazuya,” she began, voice level and a gaping void, the way she said his name wasn’t anything like how Sawamura says it, “Don’t do that again. People might think you’ve stopped taking your pills, and that would be troublesome.”
“Okay.” He agreed easily.
“I think you should see the doctor again.” She suggested, cutting into the chicken on her plate, “Maybe you need a higher dosage. I won’t tell your father about this, so sort this out tomorrow.”
Miyuki looks at his mother, her hair is perfectly shaped into a bun on the top of her head, not a hair out of place. Her shirt is tucked formally into her skirt, not a crease to be seen.
He remembers Sawamura, with his creased shirts and jeans with mud and grass stains across the knees. He remembers Sawamura’s messy hair, too long to be practical and yet he never cuts it.
“I’ll speak to the doctor tomorrow.” Miyuki says, gripping his knife and fork to begin eating his dinner. He glances at his glass of orange juice and the white pill placed next to it.
He doesn’t tell his mother he’s already on the highest dosage available, and the doctor won’t be able to help him.
--
“Miyuki,” Sawamura whispers, voice quiet and hushed.
“What?” Miyuki replies, voice at the same sound level.
“Have you ever thought about stopping the pills?”
Miyuki’s breath leaves him a rush, “No.”
It’s the truth, because he’s never seen it as an option.
“Oh,” Sawamura swallows, and Miyuki can hear it, “M-maybe you should? For, uh, research?”
“Research,” he repeats, the word sounding heavy on his tongue, “I suppose coming off the pills would contribute greatly to any further questions I have, and it would definitely benefit me in the future.”
“It was just an idea. I don’t want you to get into trouble.” Sawamura mutters, and Miyuki can see his fingers curl into a tight fist against the bed sheets.
“No, it’s fine. It’ll be a good reference.” Miyuki decides.
Sawamura doesn’t say anything after that, so Miyuki just assumes he’s fallen asleep.
--
Four days after he stops taking the pills, he doesn’t notice a difference. Four days, and nothing changes. He doesn’t notice anything, doesn’t feel anything, and his face looks as blank as usual when he looks in the mirror.
On the fifth day, he and Sawamura are playing catch again when he throws the ball a little too high, and it hits Sawamura right in the face. He falls backwards with the impact, landing on his butt on the grass.
Before it even registers with him, a loud noise is coming out of his mouth. He can feel his cheeks ache, and his eyes prickle and his chest heaves but he can’t stop.
He can hear Sawamura squawk and yell, and he feels - oh god, he feels. His head is light and he knees tremble and he can hear Sawamura joining in with his laughter.
I’m laughing, he thinks, and he wonders why his stomach feels bottomless and like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He thinks of Sawamura doing this every day, and he wonders how he can deal with something so strong that it leaves him dizzy.
It’s okay, though, because Sawamura is there laughing with him and everything else can wait until later.
--
Sawamura is lying in his bed next to him, the curtains wide open despite it being night time, and for once the moonlight is bright enough to stream in through the windows. It bathes them in a silvery glow, illuminating and casting shadows over everything.
“Can I ask you something?” Sawamura asks. This time they’re not facing each other, but lying on their backs staring at the ceiling.
“Sure.”
“Do you know what love is?”
The question catches him off guard, and he turns his head to look at the boy next to him. Sawamura is still staring at the ceiling though, and Miyuki’s eyes trail over Sawamura’s face. There’s this feeling – where his heart feels like it’s being squeezed in his chest and his fingertips tingle and his stomach flips whenever he looks at Sawamura – and he’s not sure what it is. It’s hard, sometimes, to have feelings for the first time and not know what they are. He could list off so many emotions, so many words and so many definitions, but he doesn’t know what each one feels like. Everything is so much, each gust of emotion swirls around him like a hurricane, it twists around him and carries him with it until it goes eerily still, up until it happens again and again.
Sawamura tells him it’ll get it easier, that after a while he’ll get better at identifying things and be able to deal with them.
He realises he still hasn’t answered Sawamura’s question.
“Of course I do,” he replies, “I learnt about it ages ago.”
“Do you…” there’s a pause, “Do you know what it feels like?”
Sawamura turns his head then, their eyes meeting in the shadows.
Miyuki feels his breath catch and his mouth feels dry, and no matter how many times he swallows the lump in his throat remains.
“I don’t know,” He answers truthfully, “Not yet, anyway.”
He sees Sawamura’s eyes widen slightly before he looks back up the ceiling.
Miyuki knows he could recount word for word the dictionary definition of love, and he could write a hundred essays on the subject. He could debate pros and cons of it, whether it helped or destroyed people, places, countries and religions. He could create conclusions in his essays, wrapping up the topic of ‘love’ into 200 measly words, but somehow he gets the feeling that love, real love – that isn’t on paper – is a lot harder to explain than 200 words in an essay.
--
Going to school without taking his pills turns out to be somewhat of a struggle. He finds it hard to keep focused on the teacher’s monotonous voice, to be able to keep a straight face and resist spending the whole lecture staring outside. Bored, is what Sawamura tells him he’s feeling. He’s sitting in class, and he’s bored. He understands how Sawamura feels when he talks about history to him.
He tries his best, but something must’ve shown through when his teacher calls out his name.
“Miyuki Kazuya,” the way the teacher says his name, it makes something cold and heavy settle in his stomach. It makes his eyebrow tick, and his chest twinges, but he’s not sure what it is. “Do you have anything to add?”
Miyuki looks at his teacher, the same way he looked at his mother, and is reminded of a cardboard cut-out.
“No, I wasn’t listening.”
A flurry of voices erupt across the class, like ripples in water. He feels thirty different eyes settle on him, and he avoids every single one of them.
The teacher seemingly doesn’t know how to deal with this, and it’s a moment before he opens his mouth to say anything else, “I realise you’ve come off the pills, but that’s no excuse to not listen. I’ll be contacting your parents after class.”
“Okay,” Miyuki retorts, and the teacher continues on talking as if the interruption never happened.
He turns his head to look out the window, but to also hide the grin on his face.
--
Later that day, Miyuki describes the feeling to Sawamura.
Sawamura laughs, “Annoyed! You were annoyed at him, because you thought what he said was stupid.”
Annoyance, Miyuki thinks; irritation, a nuisance, isn’t a pleasant thing to feel. He hopes he doesn’t feel annoyed often.
--
The first time he feels anger is during dinner time.
“Kazuya,” his father says, “I had a phone call from your teacher today.”
Miyuki braces himself and pauses mid chew.
“This has gone on long enough. Tomorrow you’ll start the pills again, and you’ll book a doctor’s appointment. It's clear that your dosage wasn’t high enough before, or this would never have happened.”
Miyuki grinds his teeth together, his hands clenching hard against the cutlery in his hands that it’ll leave dents in his palms. Something hot and dangerous bubbles up in his stomach, spreading like fire throughout his veins.
“No.” he says, his voice is almost unrecognisable to himself. He knows exactly what he is – he’s angry, what his father said to him with such ease had angered him and suddenly he wants to throw something at a wall. He hasn’t come this far, he hasn’t been thrown into the deep end to give it all up now.
“This isn’t up for discussion, it’s effecting you and-,”
Miyuki cuts his father off by standing up, his chair scraping back across the laminated floor. He drops his cutlery noisily on the plate and doesn’t even look back as his father calls after him when he makes his way up the stairs.
He supposes he should be more surprised; surprise, an unusual feeling that mostly happens when he’s around Sawamura, that he can identify anger, frustration and sadness so quickly. He guesses it’s because they’re most known for being destructive emotions, that tore apart people and countries, and he feels like destroying everything on his desk. He slams the door shut behind him, and his knees are trembling and his whole body shakes and his eyes are watering so much that he can barely see.
Miyuki hates this, he knows he does because he never wants to feel like this again. He instinctively grabs a book off his shelf and hurtles it across his room, and before he knows it he’s throwing another, and another, until the shelf is empty and all his books are spread across his floor.
He wants this to stop, he wants his father to stay out of it and he doesn’t want to be asked ever again if he’s taken his pills, and he hates the way his teacher and classmates look at him. He’s so tired, and he doesn’t know what to do and he just wishes Sawamura was here.
--
He’s woken up by being shaken, he slowly blinks himself awake and his eyes are sore and his head is pounding. He glances up and sees Sawamura standing above him, eyebrows knitted and a frown in place.
“Sawamura,” he gasps, and his vision blurs over and he knows he’s crying, and he doesn’t really know why anymore because he doesn’t feel angry like he did last night, but he clutches at Sawamura and pulls him down on top of him anyway.
Sawamura lets out a quiet oof as he lands on Miyuki’s chest, and it’s awkward positioning at first until he manages to properly manoeuvre himself onto the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress. He pulls Miyuki to sit up, and Miyuki buries his head in the crook of his neck and desperate hands grasp and grapple at the material of his jumper.
Miyuki doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he can’t stop the tears coming out, and his eyes sting and his chest feels so tight and he can’t stop weird noises coming out of his mouth that make his body shudder.
He feels Sawamura circle arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer before stroking the back of his head comfortingly, running his long fingers through Miyuki’s hair. They stay like that for a while until Miyuki’s calmed down.
“How do you deal with this,” Miyuki asks, but he’s not sure he wants an answer. His voice is shaky and breaks midsentence but he doesn’t care anymore.
“It’ll get easier, I promise.” Sawamura continues running his fingers through Miyuki’s hair, and he feels himself sag against Sawamura’s chest.
“I don’t,” Miyuki begins, sniffing and finding that his nose is completely blocked, “I don’t know how it’ll get easier.”
Sawamura nuzzles the top of Miyuki’s head, breathing in and out calmingly, and Miyuki doesn’t even realise he’s drifting back asleep.
--
“What does love feel like?” the words tumble out of Miyuki’s mouth before he can stop them, and Sawamura looks up at him before he’s even finished the sentence.
“Hmm,” Sawamura folds one arm across his chest, using his other hand to tap his bottom lip.
“I think out of all emotions, this one is the most complicated to explain. It’s like a big ball of stuff, y’know? Everything’s jumbled up and it’s messy and weird and it’s different for everyone.”
Miyuki nods, taking in Sawamura’s words, “What does love feel for you?”
Sawamura flushes, sputtering loudly, “I! No! I’ve never, love is- just. I don’t, what? Why are you asking me?”
Miyuki shrugs, an action he picked up from Sawamura after seeing it so many times. His shoulders feel stiff, and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to do it as naturally as Sawamura does it.
“Have you never felt love?”
Sawamura quietens down and bites his bottom lip, his eyes shining and something in Miyuki’s stomach flips and he knows he’s blushing. He asked Sawamura about it one time, and he had laughed in response before explained that he’s blushing because he’s embarrassed. Miyuki didn’t know why he was embarrassed, and he’d only ever considered blushing to be a body’s reaction to emotional stress. He thinks about his blood vessels opening, flooding his cheeks with blood, and he wonders why.
“I feel it all the time, Miyuki. It… sometimes it can be a big thing, and sometimes it’s fleeting. Sometimes I see something, like a bird flying back to its nest in a tree to bring food for its babies, and I remember how much I love this planet, despite its flaws. I see flowers blooming and seasons pass and I love this world and I love being alive. But sometimes I… look at someone, and, I feel my heart burst. They… they make me happy. They make my heart beat faster and I just want to make them as happy as they’ve made me. It’s hard, b-because I know they probably don’t feel the same as I do but… it’s difficult to pull myself away.” Sawamura breathes out harshly, and his hands ball into fists on top of his thighs, “Despite the fact that I’m annoying, loud, and I do what I want because I can, they didn’t push me away. They treated me like I’m not an outcast in this world, and they made me feel like I was worth something and that I was important. That’s… the love I feel, Miyuki.”
Miyuki feels his blood surge through his veins, and he knows his hands are shaking.
“Do you make them feel happy too, Sawamura?”
Sawamura looks at him – his golden eyes just as fierce and beautiful as the first time they’d met, and Miyuki suddenly understands.
“I don’t know. Do I make you happy, Miyuki?” Sawamura questions, voice wavering.
“Yes,” Miyuki replies, because there is one emotion he knows – he knows what happiness feels like. It’s when he laughs, it’s when he eats something that tastes nice and it’s when he sleeps under freshly washed bed covers. It’s the small things that make him smile, that make something in his chest swell and even though he’s been angry before – he’s raised his voice and felt like smashing plates and punching a wall – but it’s those tiny things that make him happy that make it worth it. Happiness, he thinks, is what Sawamura is to him. When they play catch every weekend, when Sawamura smiles at him, when sleep in the same bed facing each other and talk about everything in hushed tones. It’s all those things and more, and Miyuki finds happiness something easy to feel and easy to point out within the mess of neurons and signals and emotions and feelings. Happiness can come hand in hand with love, he thinks, and he knows that Sawamura can be happiness and love at the same time.
When Sawamura leans forward, Miyuki knows what this is. He knows it’s not like a handshake, not like a hug, and it’s not a formality in this context. He knows that when his lips touch Sawamura’s, when he feels his heart soar and his fingers tremble that this isn’t the same as the first time their palms touched, not like their lips are.
There’s meaning and feelings behind this, and he thinks that what he’s doing, he’s kissing someone, he’s kissing Sawamura, and he remembers the definition he read in a textbook a while ago: touch or caress with the lips as a sign of love, sexual desire, or greeting.
Love, he thinks, as he feels Sawamura cup his face and pull them closer, is a beautiful feeling that he wouldn’t give up for the world.
--
“Kazuya,” his mother begins, placing a cup of orange juice next to his dinner along with his pill, “Isn’t it about time you start taking them again?”
Miyuki shakes his head, and remembers a boy with fierce golden eyes and a beautiful smile. A boy who makes him feel and holds his hand and kisses him and makes him feel safe and warm and loved.
Miyuki is okay with being called a drifter, he’s okay with being avoided everywhere he goes, because he knows Sawamura is right beside him, smiling and holding his hand and they are happy, which is more than anyone else in this world is.