Work Text:
(1)
He finds Midori in the crowd of students going home with ease, his eyes attracted to the boy the same way the sunflower looks up to the sun.
Midori walks hunched up, so Chiaki can’t say he’s noticed him because of his height. He’s also not the only student with light brown hair. However, Chiaki wants to believe he’s developed something like a sixth sense, allowing him to find Midori whenever he needs—he knows Midori will just leave without even saying goodbye, as if they aren’t comrades who defeated evil together.
“Hey, Takamine, there you are!” Chiaki shouts, and his voice is so loud everyone turns to him. Midori can’t pretend he hasn’t heard him, though, so it’s not like Chiaki minds being stared at. The younger boy glares at Chiaki, displeased, as he watches his unit leader dash towards him.
And he doesn’t bother whispering when he complains, “Ugh, this is the worst.” Nor does he say hello, even though they haven’t seen each other all day.
Chiaki doesn’t let it get on his nerves. He’s used to this behaviour, at this point. “What do you mean, the worst?! I’m so happy to see you, Takamine! My day got brighter now that I talked to you!”
Midori makes faces and Chiaki ignores them. “Have you been waiting for a long time, senpai?”
“Nope! I just arrived.”
Midori sighs. “I knew I should’ve just rushed home… Well, now, you saw me, so you’re happy, right? Then I’ll take my leave. Goodbye, senpai!”
Before Midori can take a step, Chiaki grabs his arm. “Wait, Takamine!” He reads the slight panic in Midori’s eyes, chooses to ignore it again. “Let’s go home together!”
Midori’s face twists. However, he doesn’t try to get his arm free. He never physically struggles when Chiaki catches him, so Chiaki sometimes hopes Midori is just playing hard to get. After all, he complains and complains and complains, but in the end, he does go along with his elder’s whims. Wouldn’t he be more violent, if Chiaki was truly a bother?
No one pays attention to them anymore. They’re friends, right? Friends with a completely normal relationship.
“Why should we go home together?” Midori asks, sounding extremely annoyed. “It’s not even dark yet? I don’t need your help to find my way home?”
Chiaki smiles. “Why, I just want to spend time with you!”
He feels Midori’s twitch under his fingers and, for a split second, Chiaki wonders if, all things considered, Midori might not punch him after all. It isn’t really Midori’s type, but who knows how one might react when they feel cornered.
“Ugh, fine, I’m too tired to fight you now," Midori says after a few seconds. “Let go of my arm and I’ll allow you to walk next to me.”
“Haha! Sure, it’s not easy to walk if I’m holding your arm! I’m freeing you, Takamine, I’m freeing you!” And, because he was asked to, he releases Midori from his grip.
Still, it doesn’t seem to fully satisfy Midori, who takes a step back and stares at him with caution. “Keep a normal distance between us. I need to breathe, you know? You always say you don’t want me to die, but I swear I will if you stick too close to me.”
“Oh, come on, Takamine, it’s not like me standing next to you is going to suffocate you!”
“No, you’re more like poison, actually, senpai. Stay away.”
Well, Chiaki doesn’t mind staying away, but he also doesn’t know what a normal distance is. They’re not touching, and Midori doesn’t seem to protest anymore when they start walking, so he believes it has to be a proper distance.
Walking home with Midori makes him unexpectedly happy. They don’t talk at first; Chiaki tries to make small talk, but Midori ignores him. He must be too tired to chat, Chiaki decides, and since Chiaki is a considerate guy he just leaves him alone. It’s already pleasant enough for him to just be with Midori, even in complete silence.
As if Midori was able to read his thoughts, he finally opens his mouth to ask: “Why do you want to stay with me so hard? I’m not even nice to you.”
True, Midori isn’t nice, but it’s not like Chiaki can control what he feels. He doesn’t like it when Midori is needlessly harsh with it, but he accepts it. That’s just how their relationship is, at this point: Chiaki might be a role model, or something like that, so perhaps Midori is a little shy and needs to be aggressive for him to feel like an equal.
On Chiaki’s end, too, the truth is uglier than what he lets out.
Perhaps people see him as a good guy who gives his everything to someone else, without asking for anything in return—in short, a true hero. And he’d be honoured if this is how they perceive him—but he wouldn’t do it for anyone.
The truth is so ugly.
He likes the way he’s shaping Midori, an unmotivated new student who didn’t want to become an idol, let alone a hero idol. Likes the way he’s discovered his own value by taking care of someone who needed help. Midori is one of the reasons Chiaki wakes up early in the morning when he could stay in bed and oversleep.
Chiaki values all of his underclassmen, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something special in his bond with Midori.
And the more he thinks about it, the less he knows what he’s supposed to reply.
Chiaki takes his head into his hands. “Argh, my brain’s going to explode if I think too hard about a reply!”
Midori looks at him with disgust in the eye. “You’re an idiot, senpai.”
“I’m sorry if I’m dumb! But I’m pretty sure it’s because I love you!”
‘Love’ might sound like a strong word, but Chiaki believes it’s the right one.
After all, why else would he support Midori’s growth if he didn’t like him? Sure, at first Chiaki only wanted new members of his unit and Midori was a handsome first-year who seemed like a nice enough guy to accept. He lacked the confidence to pursue dreams of his own; Chiaki knew, because it was the same kind of expression Chiaki used to have before he became Ryusei Red. They were both lost boys, too afraid to fight.
(And his name literally means green, so it had to be a sign. They were meant to be with each other, not that Chiaki would ever tell him such a thing.)
Midori winces when he hears Chiaki’s confession. “If that was really the case, you would’ve told me right away. Well, I think you just like to torture me.”
“How do you see me, Takamine?! I’m not that awful!” Chiaki knows he’s not as kind as a hero should be, but he tries his best to be a positive company. He would never try to torture Midori!
Midori sighs and looks away. “Actually, knowing you, you probably think you like me.”
“I do! I really do! You’re a true hero, deep down, Takamine, I just love who you are!”
“But this is still one of your hero things, right?” Midori asks his question in a calm voice. “You want to be a hero. You even convinced yourself I could be one. You’re an airhead who likes heroes, so of course you love me. You love the person I’ll become if I follow your lead. You don’t love me, senpai. You know nothing about me.”
Chiaki opens his mouth to deny it—and says nothing. Because Midori isn’t wrong.
He can’t deny that this is one of his hero things. Still, he knows there’s more to his feelings than the desire to have another comrade or to feel good about himself. He’s not looking for Midori’s gratitude either.
Despite his hero complex, he believes he understands a few things about the real Midori. He knows of his love for mascot characters; of his secret wish to, perhaps, go back to the life of an unknown greengrocer; of the softness of Midori’s voice when he’s feeling safe and happy.
What he feels is different; he’s not just seeing Midori’s potential as a hero.
“No,” Chiaki retorts, “I think I love the real you.”
Midori’s eyes widen. He doesn’t reply, though. He just goes on walking.
And Chiaki follows along—too intimidated by the sudden heaviness of the evening to initiate the conversation again.
The younger only look at him again once they arrive at Midori’s house. He sighs, again, as if what he was going to say really cost him. “You can come in, by the way. If my parents learned you were accompanying me and I let you go like that, they’d kill me.”
Chiaki feels relieved. “Then I’m coming! It’s been a while since I’ve been here, I’m sure your parents have lots of things to say!”
Midori adverts his eyes. “Good, then you’ll just leave me alone. They like you a lot, not that I understand why.”
Chiaki laughs. Not because he finds Midori funny, though. He just finds it easier to ignore the weird feeling in his chest that way.
In the end, Chiaki even stays for dinner. He really loves the Takamine household; they remind him a bit of his own family, made of people who love each other and aren’t afraid of showing it. They always make him feel welcome, included. They care about Chiaki too, after all, and he loves them.
He loves them, but he loves Midori even more—and he wonders if Midori is even aware of that.
(2)
As time passes, it becomes easier to put a word on his feelings.
Love can take many forms. Chiaki likes Midori as a kouhai, as a unitmate. But these aren’t the words he’d use to describe the dizziness he feels when he thinks about Midori. His feelings are romantic love, the kind of feelings which, inevitably, engrave this desire in your heart to have them close to you (every day, every second of your life if it’s possible).
Dating as an idol is dangerous, especially if your lover is a member of your unit, and Chiaki has always said it’s best to avoid that kind of relationship. Up to now, it’s always been easy for him: his true love is for heroes, and they don’t exist in real life, so it’s a safe kind of love. You can love them as much as you want, you won’t get anything out of them but you also won’t lose anything. Loving heroes won’t endanger your career, at worst you’ll get some weird looks from people who find you childish. Chiaki believes he can live with it.
These new feelings, though, could very well destroy him.
It dawns on him one day at the end of a rehearsal, as Midori gathers his belongings and announces, in his most depressed voice:
“I’m going home.”
The distress Chiaki hears in Midori’s voice overwhelms him. Suddenly, he finds it hard to breathe. He has to make something, anything, but he doesn’t know what and his words are stuck in his throat.
When Chiaki finally finds the courage to say something, Midori is long gone.
The incident should’ve been insignificant, but Chiaki takes it as a failure. For days he lives in a daze, and Kanata even asks him if he caught a cold, because Chiaki always warns him about colds and he’s so abnormally out of it he has to be sick. And maybe Chiaki is. He doesn’t know.
No, Chiaki must be sick, because the first thing he tells Midori when he finally manages to talk to him has to be the worst thing he can say to his unitmate. “Say, Takamine, would you like to go out with me?”
The timing is probably wrong; the words themselves are probably wrong too. They’re alone in Midori’s classroom, after class; Chiaki initially came there to ask Midori if he wants to play basketball since they’re free, but for some reason this isn’t what he’s just asked.
And Midori stares at him, as if it was the first time Chiaki has ever talked to him.
Chiaki blinks. Then decides to elaborate: “Takamine? I said, do you wanna go out with me? I love you, I want to spend more time with you!”
There, he said it. That he loves Midori. Even though he’s said it so many times before, even though Midori has always refused to listen until now.
But the lost look on Midori’s face tells him that Midori understands now. This is a confession and they’re both aware of it.
So Chiaki waits. Waits until Midori breathes in, carefully choosing his words.
“Morisawa-senpai.” His name in Midori’s mouth sounds too sharp, too unloving. “Even I am not mean enough to tell you that nobody would ever want to date you. I know there are plenty of people who would. I’m just… not one of them.”
Chiaki feels his throat tighten.
This is why romantic love is scary and dangerous. It’s nothing but a safe kind of love; if they say yes, you could find yourself involved in a scandal. If they say no, however, you’re doomed to experience a kind of pain that hurts too much you may never recover from. Like your heart is imploding, shattering, damaged beyond the point of no return.
He doesn’t know how, but he manages to stutter: “O-of course! If you don’t like me back, there’s no reason to go out!”
There’s an unreadable look on Midori’s face as he says: “I’m sorry.”
Midori rarely apologises, but when he does it’s always sincere. It barely reassures Chiaki, to know at least Midori isn’t judging him—he’s trying to be delicate, even though he’s clearly fed up with his overbearing senpai. It makes Chiaki’s heart throb, makes him fall in love even harder with this boy who keeps rejecting him.
Chiaki chuckles. “It’s fine! You can’t choose who you love, after all.”
He didn’t choose Midori, after all.
He doesn’t think he can stay in the same room as his crush, now. He tries his best to keep his mask on, to plaster a wide smile on his face and pretend he’ll be okay—but his emotions are all over the place, and his voice breaks when he says: “Well, then, I think I should go!”
Chiaki grabs his bag with shaky hands and rushes to the door. He’s almost out of the classroom when he hears:
“Wait, senpai!”
And he stops right in his tracks. Please, don’t give me false hopes, he wants to say; but he’ll listen, because Midori isn’t satisfied with the end of their conversation right now, and Chiaki is too much in love with him not to listen.
For a moment, Midori says nothing and Chiaki doesn’t dare to breathe too loudly.
“Maybe we could… do it.”
Chiaki’s breath catches. “Do what?”
“... You’re terrible, senpai. Don’t make me say it.” Chiaki doesn’t like how doubtful Midori sounds, right now. They both sound broken, as if they were both shaken to the core—like two celestial objects that have just collided with each other and are trying to find their orbit again.
But when Chiaki wants to tell him that okay, he understands (even though he understands nothing), Midori adds: “No, wait, you’ve been brave enough to tell me about your feelings, so I’ll be upfront too. Maybe we could... date.”
The pain dissipates as fast as it appeared. “Are you… serious?”
Midori nods. “I mean. It’s not like I like you back, but we could. Try. For a while. If you promise you won’t be insufferable about it.”
Whatever Midori wants. If it means he still has a chance with Midori, then Chiaki will do anything for his sake. “Yes. Yes, Takamine, I promise.” He doesn’t know if it counts as insufferable or not, but he adds: “I love you, Takamine!”
Midori doesn’t reply anymore. Well, it’s fine. Chiaki has already received more than he could ever wish for.
(3)
It takes Midori two months of dating before he accepts to visit Chiaki’s house.
Every time he’s been invited, Midori’s always said no. He hasn’t tried to find an excuse or anything, and it’s not like Chiaki minds going to Midori’s house instead. He loves Midori’s family, and it’s not really suspicious if he spends even more time at the shop.
One day, though, Midori actually says yes—Chiaki has no idea why he’s suddenly okay with the idea, but it might be a sign of closeness. Maybe their relationship is evolving.
Of course, his boyfriend makes him promise that he won’t try anything weird or won’t try to touch him too much; a hard promise, really, considering how tactile Chiaki is, but he promises nonetheless. He understands that hugging Midori would be different; every gesture has a new meaning now. (Perhaps Chiaki himself is wary of that hidden meaning, of the way their boundaries have changed now that they’re dating).
That morning, Chiaki wakes up feeling more nervous than he’s ever felt. He’s always imagined how it’d feel to let out a girlfriend in his room, wondering if she would judge him for all the figures lined up alongside his bed; but Midori probably expects that kind of thing of him, and Chiaki knows Midori’s own bed is full of plushies (many made by Anzu) of his favourite mascot characters, so it’s not like he does better himself.
His boyfriend won’t come until 11; for some reason, Midori absolutely refuses to wake up too early on a Saturday. But Chiaki is unable to stay in bed, and he tries to distract himself by catching up with some of the shows he hasn’t found the time to watch lately. He’s less interested than usual, though, finds it harder to focus on his favourite shows even though the big confrontation with the villain is finally happening; and he quickly jumps on his feet and turns off his TV when he hears his father knocking on his door and saying: “Your friend’s here”.
When he sees Midori, he reminds himself not to take him in his arms. He made a promise, after all. Besides, he can tell Midori is a little uncomfortable right now; his eyes are a little too wide, and he seems almost relieved when Chiaki shouts: “Good morning, Takamine!! Come in, come in.”
Midori mumbles something that sounds like hello Morisawa-senpai, but his voice is so low it’s hard to make out the syllables.
“My room’s up there, let’s go!” Doesn’t Chiaki’s voice sound a little too high, too? Well, he is excited. He offers his hand to Midori, who doesn’t take it but still follows him up the stairs.
When Midori enters the room, he quickly looks around. He then says: “Yeah, looks exactly like I thought your room would look like.”
Chiaki can’t help but laugh. One of his walls is red; he wanted four of them, actually, but his parents were against it, saying it was an aggressive colour, unfit for a room where he was supposed to sleep, so he settled for the window wall. The space is filled with hero goodies, they’re everywhere on the wall and the shelves; and Midori doesn’t know that there’s more stuff hidden in his closet, including a box full of old toys he used to play with as a kid, most of them broken, all kept in a box like a secret treasure. And, of course, Ryuseitai goodies take up another good portion of the space.
(If Midori were to count all the Ryuseitai stuff, he’d realise that a too high amount of them are green.)
“You know me so well, Takamine, thank you!”
“It’s not that hard, Morisawa-senpai,” retorts Midori. “Anyone could guess what your room looks like as long as they stay around you what? for ten minutes? Well, you’re even more obsessed with that colour than I thought. You have zero personality, senpai.”
Chiaki ignores the insult—if he truly had zero personality, he’s pretty sure Midori wouldn’t have given him a chance in the first place. “It’s not just a colour, Takamine, it’s my lifelong dream!" Cringe, for sure, he can’t deny that, but that’s how he sees things.
Chiaki sits down on his bed and Midori does the same—keeping a safe distance between the two of them, though.
“Well, you do you, senpai.”
Coming from Midori, it almost sounds like a compliment, and Chiaki can’t help but say: “Thank you! I love you, Takamine! You’re such a supportive boyfriend!”
He says the word aloud, not really caring if his parents hear him or not; they’re already aware he’s in love with Midori, it was apparently quite obvious.
Midori’s face heats up. “Idiot,” he replies, dropping his head so he won’t have to face Chiaki. “I’m nothing like that.”
But you’re here, with me, in my room, because you know I wanted you there. Because it makes me feel like we’re closer that way. Doesn’t it count as supportive, then?
(4)
Their first real date isn’t even supposed to be a date.
At this point, they see each other every day, they often eat together, they go home together when they leave school around the same time, and now Midori even goes to his house from time to time.
They never had a real date, though, and every time Chiaki brings up the topic, Midori just tells him he’s annoying. Shut up, senpai, has become his favourite reply to Chiaki’s question. So he no longer asks.
Ryuseitai receives another job at the amusement park. They’re supposed to perform a hero show in the afternoon, and save for the rehearsal they’re mostly free to spend the rest of the day as they want. So Chiaki didn’t call it a date, and Midori agreed to come earlier in the morning.
Still, when they meet, Midori looks at the surroundings. “Wait a minute, senpai. Where are the others?”
Chiaki didn’t expect Midori to think they were supposed to spend time with their unitmates. “I didn’t invite them! I wanted to spend time with you alone, Takamine!”
Panic flashes in Midori’s eyes for a second, and Chiaki almost regrets not calling it a date, after all. Then Midori sighs. “Fine. Then what do you want to do, senpai?”
“Well, let’s see…” Chiaki tries to think about something Midori would enjoy. He has no idea what Midori would like, though.
Unsurprisingly, Midori isn’t a thrill seeker and prefers tamer rides, like the Ferris wheel. Which is fine with Chiaki, even if they spend the whole ride on opposite sides, not looking at each other, let alone holding hands or whatever you’re supposed to do as a couple in a big wheel. Midori seems to be fascinated by the view, and Chiaki is fascinated by the look on Midori’s face. Midori seems more relaxed when he forgets Chiaki’s presence (not that Chiaki likes to be ignored; but he likes this Midori too, so he doesn’t mind keeping his mouth shut). They take a break to buy a crepe, and then Midori asks him to please go to his favourite attraction.
Chiaki feels a chill go up his spine when he realises they’re standing in front of said favourite attraction—the haunted house.
“Hm, Takamine? Are you sure you want to go there?”
Midori’s expression earlier was easy to decipher: he was at ease and comfortable. Now, though, he seems guarded, and it becomes harder for Chiaki to understand his true intentions.
“Of course, it’s my favourite attraction. Please don’t tell me you’re scared?”
Chiaki is , but he can’t tell him. “O-of course not! I love haunted houses!”
“Then that’s good. It’s just a fictional setting, anyway. People inside are not dead or anything, they’re just actors paid to give us a fright.”
Chiaki knows. He truly does. But it does nothing to reassure him when they leave the safety of the sun and dive into the darkness.
The scenery looks false. The spider webs look more like clouds of cotton than actual webs, the “tallow candles” are actually just lamps designed to look like candles, and the thunderstorm sound effects used as background noise are so low they can barely be heard. It shouldn’t be scary, but Chiaki can’t shake off the possibility that something really frightening might happen.
Something as simple as a skull falling down the opening of the door (its green eyes glowing in the dark) is enough to make him jump, although he manages to restrain his scream before he makes a fool of himself.
Midori barely notices his reaction. “Not a bad trick,” he comments, and Chiaki forces himself to laugh.
Chiaki is at his wits’ end, but Midori seems to enjoy himself. He doesn’t really like hiding behind someone who’s younger than him, but what else is he supposed to do when there’s a body that seems to have suffered from a gruesome death? What if their vengeful spirit decides to attack whoever dares enter their territory? This house is too scary, and if not for Midori Chiaki would have run away already.
“Senpai,” Midori says, “do you think someone is watching us right now?”
“Someone is what?!”
Midori stares at him. “Watching? I was thinking we’re probably being monitored right now. That must be a fun job.”
Ah, right. Midori is talking about the staff. There must be cameras all around them. They’re safe . Unfortunately, for Chiaki, things are anything but fun right now.
He more or less manages to stay “calm” in the first half of the attraction (which means he doesn’t cry). However, as soon as they enter another part of the attraction and Chiaki meets the eyes of a creature that looks like a ghost, with his pale face and its long, dishevelled black hair, he can’t stop the long scream from leaving his mouth.
“Senpai,” he hears, and he turns to see Midori watching him with concern. “Could it be you’re…”
He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence; Chiaki cuts him off by saying: “N-no! I’m not s-scared!”
He doesn’t want to admit his fear. It’s lame. It’s unworthy of a hero to feel terrified of things that aren’t even real. Deep down, Chiaki knows none of these ghosts are real, and nothing can hurt him.
And then Midori, takes him by surprise, putting his hands before Chiaki’s eyes. “The ghost’s not real, senpai. Calm down. When I’ll remove my hands, the ghost will be gone.”
It feels warm, comforting—Chiaki nods, relieved, and when Midori takes his hands off his eyes, Chiaki only sees the plain pattern of some tapestry used as an ornament.
The ghost has indeed disappeared.
“Please don’t pretend you’re fine, senpai,” Midori whispers. “I can tell your legs are shaking.”
Chiaki tries to hide his embarrassment: “It’s just excitement, you know? I can’t wait to see what's in store for us!”
Midori looks at him in disbelief. “You know, senpai, that part of you that wants to look unfazed is uncool.”
“I’m not—”
“No, let me finish. The truth is, I chose this attraction because I knew it’d scare the shit out of you. You’re so annoying, senpai, so I wanted to pay you back for everything you did.”
Chiaki takes a deep breath. “That was mean of you.”
“Yes, I know. But we can leave now if you want. I’m pretty sure you’re going to pass out if we meet another ghost anyway.”
Chiaki tries to laugh. But he knows Midori isn’t wrong, so he just nods.
Even when they make it outside, Chiaki still feels slightly restless. His fear isn’t totally gone, and he remembers how comforting Midori’s touch was in the house. He opens his arms and hugs Midori.
His boyfriend wasn’t expecting this reaction, and he protests: “Wait, you’re strangling me! What are you doing, senpai?”
“I want to thank you, Takamine! You know, that wasn’t nice of you to try to scare me, but it’s okay, I really love you!”
“We’re in public,” Midori grumbles, but Chiaki believes it’ll be fine even if someone listens to them. Right now, he feels vulnerable—but Midori’s presence is so soothing, and Chiaki is so happy he’s going out with such an incredible boy, even if he’s still not sure Midori likes him back.
(5)
Love is the most powerful feeling in the world.
Heroes, Chiaki believes, are people who love too much. What other emotion but love would motivate one to risk their life in order to save a complete stranger? Peace, justice, these are important concepts they need to protect, but in the end, love is what matters the most. And Chiaki has always found it easy to love the people around him, including the acquaintances who barely have anything in common with him. He loves, and loves, forgives everything that is done to him out of love, tries to look strong and cool out of love.
Lately, though, he’s starting to wonder if he truly loves Takamine Midori.
There’s no doubt he has romantic feelings for Midori and Chiaki wouldn’t want anyone else in his life, not even the girlfriend of his dreams. He loves Midori more than he’s ever loved someone.
However, his love might be a love that hurts rather than a love that heals. Chiaki can’t tell if Midori is happy with him. The younger one sometimes acts like he wants something other than this relationship, something that Chiaki can’t offer.
Otherwise, why else would Midori complain about the fact that they basically spent the night together?
“You’ve spent the night at home because you were too busy speaking with my parents to notice the hour. Then you talked my ear off about today’s job even though I told you I wanted to go to bed, and we had to get up extra early to grab your stuff from home.” Midori sighs. “I still don’t understand why I had to wake up with you when it was your problem.”
“Sorry, Takamine! Next time, I promise I’ll let you sleep!”
“You’re the loudest person on earth, senpai, I’ll hear you even if you try to keep quiet. Next time, I won’t let you sleep in my room.”
Chiaki is lucky Midori’s parents wouldn’t let that happen, otherwise he doesn’t doubt Midori would kick him out regardless of the hour. “Then I’ll leave spare clothes in your room!”
Now Midori looks ready to hit him. “What? No, I’m not lending you one of my drawers as if we were a proper couple.”
Chiaki feels his blood run cold.
See, this is why Chiaki wonders if he properly loves Midori. Because Midori keeps saying contradictory things: admitting they’re an item, then refusing to call Chiaki his boyfriend (even if they are alone and nobody can listen to them).
And Chiaki isn’t really good at reading signs, so he usually assumes things are going fine—even when they don’t.
“Well, aren’t we a proper couple?” he asks, a little uncertain.
Midori looks away. “That’s not what I wanted to say, just—you’re a burden, senpai. Seriously, I’m on my wit’s end with all the attention you’re demanding from me. It’s so tiring.”
Chiaki doesn’t know what to reply. Of course he wants Midori’s attention. But now that they’re boyfriends, aren’t they supposed to give each other tons of attention? Why is Midori still behaving like he wants nothing to do with Chiaki, at times?
Well, Chiaki has to be in the wrong anyway. So he just says, “I’ll be careful, then!”
For a few minutes, they both say nothing. It feels awkward, but Chiaki is scared.
Midori is the one breaking the silence. “Senpai.”
“Takamine?”
Midori doesn’t reply right away. Then, after what feels like an eternity: “You can stay the night again if you want. I won’t mind.”
“Really?” He tries his best not to sound too excited, but he’s pretty sure Midori can feel it in his tone anyway.
“Yeah, maybe once in a while. It makes my parents happy, you know. They’re happy because I finally made a friend. Even though you’re more my senpai than a friend.”
Contradictory things again. Are you even supposed to have your senpai sleep in your room from time to time? Chiaki has no idea, and honestly he doesn’t want to think about it.
“Thank you. I love you, Takamine!”
Once again, Midori doesn’t say it back.
(+1)
Chiaki and Midori have to share a hotel room because of a filming job. Once the night falls, if they turn off the lights and sit at the foot of the bed, a large window offers them a nice view of the stars. It’s clearly a romantic setting, so Chiaki didn’t expect Midori to sit right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and to watch the night sky with him.
He must be tired after a long day of work, Chiaki decides; he’s always like that after work, too exhausted to put up a front like he already does. Midori tends to let his guard down in the evenings, even if he’s still as sharp-tongued as ever.
Chiaki has a book on his lap, and as interesting as its story is, he’s completely lost the will to read once Midori joined him on the floor.
“What’s your book about?” Midori asks.
“It’s an essay about hero shows and how much they’ve changed over the decades. Did you know that antiheroes archetypes and villains have become really popular lately?
“I don’t even know what an antihero is,” Midori retorts.
He might be lying as a way to get Chiaki to drop the topic, but of course, Chiaki isn’t one to be deterred that easily. “Well, it’s a specific kind of protagonist that doesn’t have the traditional features of a hero. Like, you know, they have a dark past, or they’re not a very nice kind of person, but! They do value justice!”
“Well, aren’t you one, in that case?” Midori points out. “After all, you spent your time at school bullying me.”
Chiaki gasps. “What? Of course not! I was just trying to motivate you!”
“No, no, I’m serious, that’s definitely a part of your dark past.” Then, after a beat, Midori adds: “But I guess that’s kind of endearing about you.”
Chiaki feels his heart skip a beat. “I love you, Takamine,” he whispers, even though he no longer expects Midori to say it back at this point. He now knows he’s in love with Midori for things that have nothing to do with heroes; he sees the man as he truly is, and he knows Midori isn’t someone Chiaki has to save. Chiaki doesn’t have to be a hero, or a mentor, or anything like that. He just has to be honest with his feelings. He loves Midori, and he’ll take whatever Midori wants to give him.
“I love you too, senpai.”
Chiaki blinks.
He stares at Midori, trying to determine whether what he’s just heard is a piece of his imagination or something real. “You what?”
Midori casts him a disgusted glance. “Don’t make me repeat something so embarrassing. I’m gonna die if you force me to say it again.”
So it wasn’t a hallucination, after all.
His eyes blur, and he hides his face in the crook of Midori’s neck, no longer able to look at his boyfriend. So this is what it takes to defeat Morisawa Chiaki. Just five words he never thought he’d ever hear.
“Huh? Senpai, are you crying?”
“Nope! I’m absolutely not crying!”
“Liar,” Midori retorts, “my shoulder is all wet already. Ugh, it’s gross.” But he doesn’t sound pissed off at all, and when he starts talking again, Chiaki can tell he’s definitely not angry. “I’m so lame… making my boyfriend cry just because I was a little nice to him.”
“You’re not lame, Takamine! These are just tears of joy! I’m the happiest man on earth!”
He’s not lying. It feels special to finally hear the words he’s longed to hear, as if the universe had finally granted him the last wish he hadn’t fulfilled yet. And, to his own surprise, it’s not having a girlfriend preparing him lunch.
Midori sighs. “And you’re once again pretending you’re okay. So uncool, senpai.”
Chiaki tries to reply—but his voice no longer wants to work, and he just keeps sobbing and sobbing.
“... Do you want me to say it again, then?”
Chiaki slowly nods, and waits. Heartbeat after heartbeat. Tear after tear.
It feels like an eternity but, in truth, the wait only lasts for a few seconds. Then Midori drops a soft kiss on the top of Chiaki’s head.
“I’m in love with you, Morisawa-senpai.”