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If Youichi is to be honest with himself, it’s not exactly a surprise. It is a disappointment, and he honestly thought that if he were to get broken up with right after getting home for the holidays, it would be face-to-face and maybe not while he was waiting for his now-ex-boyfriend for a date at the skating ribbon in Millennium Park. It sucks.
As usual, when shitty things happen to him in his life, Youichi texts Kazuya, just to have him call back because he “hates typing.”
“I’m surprised you even lasted six months, given your personality,” Kazuya says, in lieu of a greeting. The bitter sting of disappointment fades ever-so-slightly, even though his best friend did just roast him. Kazuya used the softer tone, the one that says affection rather than anything else, because this man wouldn’t know how to be verbally kind to the people he’s close to any more than he would know how to skate.
“First of all, you’re a dick, and second of all, at least I’m tryin’,” Youichi replies. Dating and being a D1 athlete isn’t easy, but Youichi does give it the good old college try. He’s 24, and in his last year of eligibility, so romance does tend to take a backseat. It’s not his personality, not in the slightest.
“First of all, I’m very charming, and second of all, which one of us is standing out in the cold like a sadsack? Trying leads to being abandoned in the Loop with your stupid knife shoes on.”
“Yeah, super charmin’. Ugh, but I have two tickets for this time slot and it’s stupid doin’ this by myself, man.”
“I thought you, and I quote, ‘love the feel of your blades on the ice,”” Kazuya parrots.
“Of course I fuckin’ do, but if I’m gonna go skate for the sake of skating, it’s not gonna be on the Ribbon. I’m gonna go skate on some actual ice and grab a stick and—“
There is typing on the other end, so Youichi pauses.
“Out of the goodness of my extremely generous heart, I’ll come suffer through an hour of— ugh— skating with you.”
“You just hate it because you’re bad at it.”
“I hate it because, in winter, we tell people to watch out for ice, not to go on it with knives on our feet ,” Kazuya hisses, repeating the same argument he’s been using for years. It’s ineffective, especially in a hockey town like Chicago.
“Thank you for your sacrifice in advance,” Youichi says, solemnly, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. What is the point of dating when nobody will ever live up to his idiot best friend?
“I have to clear off my car, and then find parking , so don’t—“
“Just take the El, then, you lazy shit.”
“I have to clear off my car— “
“Wear gloves this time.”
“No. Byeeeee,” Kazuya warbles, and then he hangs up, leaving Youichi laughing. At least the tickets won’t go to waste.
Kazuya shows up, looking like a parent had dressed him to go outside. He’s wearing so many layers that it’s evident, even from outside of his jacket, and, as always, the colour combinations of his winter gear are unholy. Youichi grins, something settling in him.
“Let’s get this over with,” Kazuya mutters.
“Nice to see you too,” Youichi says. “How, uh, how were you plannin’ on movin’, exactly? You’ve got that toddler starfish vibe there, bud.”
Kazuya levels him with a look that has never, in the history of their lifelong friendship, worked on Youichi. It’s even less effective when his eyes are framed by layers of fabric in colours that should not be found in nature.
“I live in California for most of the year for a reason, Youichi. Not my fault I picked a better sport to play,” Kazuya says haughtily, toddling along towards the skate rental booth.
“That reason is that UCLA offered you a full ride.”
“And it’s warm there, all the time.”
“What if you end up playin’ someplace further north?”
“I just won’t,” Kazuya states, a shitty little smirk on his face, all the confidence of an exceptional athlete with choices. It’s warranted, is the thing. He is an exceptional catcher with a lot of choices.
“God, you’re so far up your own ass,” Youichi says, out of habit.
“Because I do it best,” Kazuya replies, and they burst into laughter, startling a family nearby.
Youichi, as a man who has seen every single side of Kazuya, still finds it one: hysterical, and two: endearing, how bad he is at skating. It’s like watching a fawn with an extremely generous butt try to balance on the ice.
“You have to move, man,” Youichi says.
“I know,” Kazuya huffs.
“Those little kid frames are a bit short for you, unfortunately, otherwise I’d get you one,” Youichi says. Kazuya lifts his gaze for a moment, just to glare at Youichi, then resumes focusing on his skates.
“Look up.”
“I’ll fall!”
“Look up, Kazuya, and give me your damn hands. I won’t let you fall.”
Kazuya looks up, one leg wobbling, and thrusts out his long arms. “I don’t trust you at all,” he lies.
Youichi cackles, taking each one of Kazuya’s horrible green mittens in his hands. He does a single push backwards, and watches the horror bloom in Kazuya’s eyes.
“You’re going too fast,” Kazuya says.
A five-year-old comes sailing by, more running than skating.
Youichi grips Kazuya’s hands tighter, and pushes off again. “Bend your knees and push off with one foot.”
“You could’ve picked a less public place for this lesson.”
“Not that I’m gonna, like, argue this, but weren’t you the one that—“
That makes Kazuya actually look up again. His hazel eyes threaten violence, though his posture screams panic. It’s a pretty ineffective combination.
“See if I ever come skating with you again,” Kazuya threatens.
“I keep tellin’ you to come practice with me on the ODR, but—“
Sighing so dramatically that it distracts him from Youichi picking up speed, Kazuya says, “Just call it an outdoor rink, you hockey jock.”
“I did. You know what it means.”
Kazuya repeats “ODR” mockingly, making two whole attempts to move his own feet. He remains upright, so he keeps going, enjoying his success.
It gets easier once Kazuya finds some confidence, though Youichi endures Kazuya’s vice-like grip on his hands the entire time.
After a full loop, Youichi brings Kazuya to a stop and pries his hands out of the Kazuya claw.
“Man, skating is easy,” Kazuya says. “No wonder you picked hockey instead of baseball—it’s so much easier.”
Youichi shoves Kazuya before immediately catching him, cackling wildly at the way Kazuya paws at him to find purchase to prevent his fall.
“That was unnecessary,” Kazuya says, still clinging to Youichi’s jacket.
“Mm, nah, I think it was necessary. Wanna get some food now, Mr. Expert?” Youichi arches an eyebrow, fighting down a grin.
For a moment, they stare at each other, until Kazuya clears his throat and turns towards the exit. He takes his hands off of Youichi’s biceps, reaching for the boards like a little kid.
“Point taken,” Kazuya says, more confidently now that he’s halfway to solid ground, and Youichi puts a hand on his lower back to stabilize him as he steps onto the rubber mat.
“You’re payin’ for food.”
“That’s not fair.” Kazuya, in all of his fluorescent patterned glory, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, puts his hands on his waist. Laughing, Youichi tugs him along towards the skate rental booth so this poor fool can get back to walking normally.
“I think it’s fair,” Youichi points out, with very little evidence.
“I came all this way for you, to save what little dignity you have left—“
Youichi, snorting, shoves his gloved hand into Kazuya’s face.
“Dumbass.”
He pays for dinner, because Kazuya is right, but Youichi can’t let him know as much.
“Youichi?” Youichi’s mom, Kanami, says. It’s nearly 10 am, which is way too early to be up during Christmas break, so Youichi croaks back some sort of a response before accidentally knocking his phone off the bedside table.
“That wasn’t any language that I understand,” she calls back.
“Hi ma,” Youichi tries again, pleased that actual coherent syllables come out of his mouth.
“When did you say your partner was coming over?”
Youichi stares up at the popcorn ceiling, frowning. Who? His ex? Why would he be coming ov—fuck. After being needled by his mother for months , in a moment of weakness, Youichi had agreed to bring a partner home for dinner.
Unfortunately, Youichi is once again single, and he’s going to have to deal with the, ‘what was wrong with this one?’ speech. Which, while well-meaning, is very annoying. His grandpa is also going to start trying to ask around his old man chess club for eligible grandchildren for Youichi to date, which is less than ideal. Youichi rolls over and groans into the pillow. How the hell is he going to explain this one?
“It’s early, ma!” he says, vaguely.
“Fine, fine! Just let me know which day so that I can finally figure out when to schedule that dinner with Reiko!”
The sound Youichi makes is somewhere between a groan and acquiescence.
“Great, thank you, sweetheart!” she calls, closer to his closed door this time.
He rolls over, falling out of his bed and landing on the floor with a thump. It seems very fitting for how he feels.
Later that day, after he’s successfully dodged his ma and his grandpa and sought refuge at the local rink, Kazuya comes to meet him.
“Get those skates off, I’m hungry,” Kazuya says, breath coming in white clouds.
“Hi to you, too,” Youichi replies. “Let me live for a fuckin’ second.”
“Ooh, touchy, are we?”
“Shut up. Sorry.” With a sigh, Youichi plops into the snowbank just outside of the rink and starts unlacing his skates in a series of deeply inefficient yanks. He’s stressed about this stupid dinner he promised his mother, his fingers are getting cold, the kids playing shinny on the ice are loud, and soft white flakes are starting to tumble down from the mottled grey sky.
“Wasn’t supposed to snow until later,” Kazuya says.
“The weather people don’t know shit.”
“Amen to that.”
They lapse into comfortable silence, walking towards their favourite diner. Despite the fact that Youichi knows that he doesn’t need to filter himself around Kazuya ever, it seems hard to bring the dinner up. Maybe because it’s finally hit him that he’s been broken up with— again— and saying it out loud would make it all the more real. There is also the fact that he’s promised his mom to bring a partner over for dinner for three years in a row now, and each time, he has to come up with a different excuse.
“Ugh,” Youichi begins, once he is staring down a plate of home fries.
“Same,” Kazuya replies, trying to pick up a quarter of a club sandwich with the toothpick that’s holding it together. As he moves it towards his mouth, the pieces slide off one by one, leaving a trail of carnage across his plate. He is left holding a triangle of bread, mouth open. His eyes dart up to make sure that nobody’s seen him, but Youichi is staring back, grinning widely. Even when they’re doing dumb shit together, Youichi just always feels so at ease with Kazuya, perpetually his most authentic self.
“Before you say anything to me, you have ketchup on your chin. And your arm somehow, you weirdo.” Kazuya points at his forearm with the toothpick.
So Kazuya is right, and then they’re both laughing while Youichi makes an attempt to understand how he got ketchup down to his elbow.
“Sooo, what are we ugh-ing about? General why-are-we-even-alive vibes, or more specific misery?” Kazuya looks like he’s focused on his meal, but Youichi knows that he’s listening. He always is.
“Ma asked when Brandon is coming over for Christmas dinner, because I thought I wouldn’t get broken up via a text the day after I got back from Ann Arbor.”
“It’s his fault for being from Michigan.”
“He’s a Chicagoan.”
“Whatever. He’s a dick.” Kazuya chews thoughtfully on a fry. “Isn’t this the third year you promised to bring someone home for Christmas, or something?”
“Yeaaaah.” Youichi would smack his forehead down on the table, but his burger is in the way. He doesn’t need a different sauce on his forehead, too.
“Yikes. Kinda glad my dad doesn’t really give a shit about that.”
“You also don’t date because, and I quote, ‘I don’t wanna introduce anyone to my family, ever’.”
“That’s the fifth thing on that list! I don’t want to experience my dad being super awkward at my boyfriend, being super awkward, all while I sit there and pray for death.”
“You’re projectin’.”
“Imagine the kind of insane person who would date me, Youichi. Imagine that. Then imagine him sitting down with my dad.”
“Mm, yeah, you have a point.”
“See?”
“What are the other four things?”
With a long-suffering sigh, Kazuya puts down his half-eaten fry and counts on his fingers.
“One, I would have to talk to people,” he says.
“You talk to your teammates!”
“Because all we talk about is baseball.”
“Okay, fair point. Go on,” Youichi gestures for him to continue.
“Two, I would have to go outside to talk to a person that I don’t know.”
“Alright, can’t relate, but go off.”
“That’s because you’re disgusting and like talking to new people,” Kazuya says. “I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”
“You and me both, man. What’s number three?”
“I have to find a person who is more interesting than sitting at home, watching baseball.”
“I’ll give you that one, that’s fair.”
“Four, between baseball, school, and your needy ass, I don’t have any time.”
“What about when you got injured in sophomore year and spent seven hours of every fuckin’ day sending me Tiktoks?”
Kazuya waves the statement off. “I was resting . I can’t rest while talking to people! I was just trying to get back into shape so I could get back to playing.”
“The only things of yours that got in shape were your right hand and your thumb.”
“ Youichi . I’m a gentleman, and we’re in public.”
Youichi barks a laugh, chucking a home fry at Kazuya’s face, and succeeding in getting it down the neck of his hoodie.
“Awful,” Kazuya says, wriggling a hand up the fabric to find the greasy little morsel.
“You deserve it.”
“Not my fault I’m a D1 athlete,” Kazuya laments, voice wavering on the cusp of a laugh.
“So am I, you piece of shit!”
“Then use that as an excuse with your mom. ‘Sorry, I’m too busy to keep a long-distance relationship going!’”
“Maybe if it wasn’t the third year in a row.”
“You should hire someone to be your boyfriend just for that, and then pretend you broke up after,” Kazuya suggests, and it’s an insane idea, but just maybe—
“That’s batshit, Kazuya, and I’m not gonna go on a dating app to be like—“
“No, Craigslist. So much creepier.”
“I am not bringin’ a murderer to dinner.”
“It could just be a convicted felon! There’s such a variety.”
“Can I filter by crime?” Youichi asks.
“Mmm, not sure. Maybe that’s a new feature. ‘Petty crimes only’ should be a box you can tick,” Kazuya replies, miming ticking a box.
“Okay, but in all seriousness, the hell am I gonna do?”
“Tell her the truth?”
“And see her disappointed face?!”
“Yeah, she gave me that one once. I’ve never recovered.”
They chew for a few minutes, taking advantage of the still-warm food.
Youichi, mid-bite, is hit with the most insane possible idea, crazier than inviting a felon into his mother’s home. He barely keeps the tomato in his mouth.
“Wanna come home with me?” he asks Kazuya, feeling strangely out of breath. His heart rate takes a wild leap, and Youichi resists the urge to put a hand over his heart to calm it.
Kazuya blinks at him, face relaxed and boyish. He points to himself.
“Me?”
“No, the other person I’m eatin’ with.” Is the nausea normal?
“Oh. I mean, does it count if I come for dinner every year?” Kazuya’s eyes are round, but curious in a way that might not indicate an immediate no.
“That’s what I’m sayin’! You like my mom, she likes you, and it’s a guaranteed good time.”
“What you’re telling me is you want me to also lie to your mother. Who I have spent a lifetime convincing that I’m a better son than you are?”
“Nobody believes that.”
“Says the least favourite son.”
“Fuck off. So, wanna bend the truth for dinner? That’s it. Just dinner. We can say we tried datin’, and it didn’t work out, so we’ll fake break up and continue on with our lives.”
“You know how bad I am at lying.”
“It’s not like datin’ is any different from what we do now! We just have to like, I don’t know, be affectionate?”
“Youichi, your mom isn’t gonna think you kicking my ass is romance.”
“But you would?”
Kazuya wiggles his eyebrows, mouth full of sandwich. “Don’t kinkshame.”
“I’ll do whatever I want! Listen, ma knows we’re weird. Not like she can tell us what our relationship should look like,” Youichi says, not sure who he’s trying to convince.
“Wouldn’t she expect us to maybe cuddle or kiss or—“
“In front of her?!” Youichi chokes on his food, hacking a few coughs loud enough to attract the attention of other patrons. Kazuya reaches over the table to pat his head condescendingly.
“I know that holding hands is third base for you, but I think your mom wouldn’t die if she saw us kissing once.”
“What you want is for us to have a first kiss in front of my mother.”
“Which one of us suggested this idea? I’m just trying to make sure that I don’t disappoint your mom like you disappoint her every day,” Kazuya says solemnly. He pats Youichi’s head again, but Youichi smacks his stupid long arm away.
“Finish your damn sandwich and we’ll talk about it.”
Kazuya snorts and dunks a fry into Youichi’s milkshake.
“Once you recover from the scandal of two people kissing,” Kazuya says.
“Fuc—wait, so you’ll do it?”
Kazuya shrugs, looking away. “I need a little bit of drama in my life now that I have no freshmen to eavesdrop on.”
“You’d have plenty of drama if you did anything but baseball.”
“No, no, I don’t want to be part of the drama.”
“You’re literally—“ Youichi pauses. “Okay, you know what, never mind.”
The front door of the diner dings and brings with it a rush of cold air. They both shiver, and return to their meals. Youichi takes all the tiny, crispy fries that Kazuya has left for him on his plate, turning his own so that Kazuya can steal some of the mayonnaise that he insists he hates and refuses to eat.
By the time they’re done eating, things have returned to normal, and they’re back to shoving each other into snow banks when they walk back to Kazuya’s car.
Kazuya’s leaning on his beater, a Toyota Corolla that saw the birth of the universe and somehow continues to survive Chicago winters, and says, “You can back out, you know.” While he isn’t a fan of eye contact at the best of times, Kazuya looks down at his boots instead of at Youichi.
“Ah, fuck it, but we better make it convincin’, or else my ma will be twice as disappointed.”
Kazuya puts a hand over his heart and says solemnly, “I will never disappoint your mother.” It’s said like a joke, but Youichi knows better. God, what have they gotten themselves into?
“I’m freezing my balls off out here, bye,” Kazuya says, and his car immediately protests having an occupant.
“This thing is gonna kill you, one day.”
“A man can only hope,” Kazuya says longingly.
“Shut up, dipshit, and get outta here.”
Youichi shakes his head, hands frozen where they still hold his skates, and returns home.
“This game is so stupid,” Kazuya mutters, tossing the controller to the side. It bounces off the couch cushion and hits the floor. Kazuya cringes.
“Good work,” Youichi says through a yawn, stretching himself out as long as he can, enough to poke Kazuya in the thigh with his toes.
“Don’t touch me with your gross feet.”
“I’m wearin’ socks!”
“Those don’t count, man. Your heel is a hole,” Kazuya says, grabbing Youichi’s heel and pushing it towards him until the stretch starts to hurt.
“Fuckin’ ow.”
“You need to stretch more.”
“Which one do I need? New socks, or to stretch?”
“Both. Maybe a shower, too?”
Youichi showered before he came over. “Fuck you.”
Kazuya laughs brightly. “You don’t smell as bad as usual. I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks.”
“High praise coming from me, you know. I can only give one compliment a day, and you got today’s.” Kazuya nods matter-of-factly, and then he unfolds the curled cuff of Youichi’s sweatpants. The gentle graze of Kazuya’s fingers against his ankle makes goosebumps erupt along his skin and Youichi fights down a shiver. He doesn’t examine that too closely.
“When you start datin’, are you just gonna chirp me all the time, then? Save all the sweet words for your boyfriend, huh?”
“If I like him, yeah.”
Youichi bark-laughs. “Why would you date someone you don’t like?”
“Sex, mostly.”
“That’s what fuckbuddies are for, buddy. No dating, and you don’t have to hate ‘em.”
“Maybe that’s my kink, Youichi. Maybe I like—“
Youichi propels himself forward to shove a hand into Kazuya’s face, and they end up wrestling in the corner of the sectional, giggling like idiots. Their undignified match ends when Kazuya hits the ground, luckily landing on a pillow. Youichi peers over the couch, concerned.
“You good?”
After fixing his glasses, Kazuya replies, “No thanks to you. We don’t even play the same sport and you’re trying to sabotage me. I cannot believe that you would…” Kazuya cuts himself off when he realizes that Youichi is ignoring him.
“Done?” Youichi asks, and they make eye contact, chuckling fondly.
The basement is chilly at this point in the evening, and Youichi tosses one half of a blanket down to Kazuya, who has apparently resigned himself to his fate.
The song in the matching lobby of CoD plays on the screen as background noise to Youichi’s thoughts.
“I was thinkin’,” Youichi says.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shut up.”
Kazuya mimes zipping his mouth shut.
“ So ,” Youichi starts again, “About you comin’ over for dinner.”
“Did you tell your mom?”
“Yeah, pretty much after I got home the other day.”
“Mmkay,” Kazuya says.
“I was thinkin’ about what you said,” Youichi says vaguely, hoping that Kazuya can fill in the blanks without him having to say the words out loud.
“I say a lot of things, and a lot of them are stupid. What thing in particular?” he asks, his laugh just short of sincere.
“The whole, you know,” Youichi says, waving his hand around, unable to summon the thought. He’s never been afraid of being direct, and never been too afraid of rejection to be outright, but for some reason, this is beyond anything he has ever done. Why?
“I’m usually pretty good at playing this game with you, but you gotta give me more than that.”
Youichi sighs, and pulls on his big boy pants. “You said it would be a good idea to practice beforehand?” Close enough.
“Oh!” Kazuya says. “Yeah, that. We should, just to make sure it’s not completely embarrassing.”
“You’re right,” Youichi says, suddenly feeling way too warm.
“Now?” Kazuya asks.
Prior to this moment, Youichi had no familiarity with the feeling of his stomach evacuating his body.
“No time like the present,” he replies awkwardly. He has never said that expression in his life. Kazuya knows this. Kazuya laughs anyway.
The tension hangs heavy in the air and Youichi is acutely aware of the distance between the two of them.
“I’m not moving,” Kazuya says. “I’m the one doing you a favour.”
“You’re such a dick,” Youichi replies, but the tension breaks, and he takes his first deep breath in a few minutes.
Tossing his half of the blanket onto Kazuya, Youichi gets down to Kazuya’s level, pointedly avoiding his gaze. If Youichi didn’t know any better, Kazuya looks like he’s just woken from a nap, comfortable and unbothered. Youichi sits at his side.
“Sit up, at least,” Youichi tells him, because he is not climbing onto Kazuya for a practice kiss. Or ever. The thought makes him swallow thickly.
“So demanding,” Kazuya grumbles, sitting up in an easy show of strength, while Youichi’s heart beats overtime in his throat.
They have spent a lifetime in each other’s pockets, as physically and emotionally close as two people could be, but Youichi has never been as aware of every part of Kazuya’s person as in this moment.
The horrible overhead light catches in Kazuya’s eyes, lightening them, and Youichi has forgotten how to breathe.
“Are we just going to hang out, sharing garlic breath, or?” Kazuya asks, but Youichi catches a tremor in his voice.
“Stupid,” Youichi says, a bit more brave when faced with Kazuya’s smile, and reaches out for his face before he chickens out again.
In a very in-character moment, Kazuya opens his mouth to say something—probably really stupid, if previous experience serves—but Youichi cuts him off.
It feels like a roller coaster drop, like no other kiss that Youichi remembers sharing with anyone before. Kazuya’s lips are surprisingly soft, and yielding, and Youichi finds himself thinking about Kazuya’s obsessive lip balm use, instead of the fact that he is currently kissing his best friend . He pulls back in shock when the thought makes it into his skull and the two of them separate with a soft sound.
Youichi’s winded, but when he dares look back at Kazuya, his expression is mirrored on Kazuya’s face.
“Maybe less shock next time,” Kazuya says, feigning a casual tone. “I know I just blew your little mind, but I’m pretty sure that your mom’s going to assume that we’ve, you know.” He makes a gesture that Youichi can’t quite figure out.
“Did you just mime fisting?”
“Yeah, fisting, or second base, for those of us who aren’t virgins.”
There is no way Youichi can keep a straight face. The laugh bursts out of him and he cackles, slumping back against the couch while Kazuya grins smugly.
“I gotta wonder—what’s first base, then?” Youichi asks, afraid of the answer.
“Anal.”
Youichi couldn’t possibly be more fond of Kazuya, and he succumbs to laughter once again. He’s so distracted by the joke that he doesn’t even realize Kazuya is getting closer until their lips are pressed together again, more confidently this time. Not a single thought makes it into Youichi’s brain, and he reaches for Kazuya instinctively, forgetting himself in the moment, overwhelmed by the gravity of it.
“Are we even on the field now?” Youichi says against Kazuya’s lips, laughing a touch hysterically.
“In the outfield, yeah,” Kazuya replies, introducing more air between them before laughing himself.
“That makes no sense.”
“Fine, we’re in the dugout.”
They laugh until they forget how nervous they were, though Youichi can’t quite keep his eyes off of Kazuya’s mouth for the rest of the night.
“Is your fancy man here, yet?” Kanami coos, poking her head out from behind the fridge door. Having just escaped dish duty, Youichi wanted a moment to go and scream into his pillow upstairs before dinner. If he can eat anything, he’ll be lucky; his stomach has been in knots since last night, and he is hoping that it won’t be as bad as his anxiety dreams were predicting.
This is such a stupid idea. Why had Youichi agreed to it? What possessed him to think that this would work?
Why had they kissed the other day?
Youichi’s head is a fucking mess, and all of his wires are so crossed that the though of seeing Kazuya is making him nervous. Kazuya. The man who he has seen in every possible state, and vice versa. They haven’t hung out since the kissing debacle, and now Kazuya is going to be pretending to be his boyfriend in front of his mother. Luckily, his grandpa went off to do some of his old man activities, so he’ll be around to witness only part of the trainwreck rather than the whole thing, start to finish. Yep. Small blessings.
The wall clock ticks ominously closer to seven p.m. and Youichi continues wanting to sink into the couch cushions and die.
Or the floor. Any surface that would consume him.
“Youichi?” Kanami calls.
“Not here yet,” Youichi yells from the couch, draped over the cushions and not particularly concerned about his polo getting wrinkled.
“Don’t wrinkle your shirt!”
“It’s just dinner, ma!”
“You need to look nice!”
“He’s seen me lookin’ worse!”
“Does not mean you get to look like a mess for dinner!”
Their yelling-based conversation ends when the doorbell rings. Youichi’s eyes dart to the clock. Since when is Kazuya ever early to anything?
Trying not to sweat and look like he’s about to be sick, Youichi almost falls off the couch in his attempt to stand, and then oh-so-casually heads to the door.
Within moments, his mom is right behind him, and he can feel the giddiness radiating from her. This is such a bad idea.
“Open it!” she whisper-yells, “I want to meet him already!”
And then Youichi does.
Kazuya waves awkwardly, like he’s never seen two humans before and isn’t quite sure what to do. Unfortunately, Youichi knows he’s not doing much better because he’s standing there like a 2x4.
“Kazuya?” Kanami asks. “What are you doing h—oh. Oh. Boys. No. You better not be joking. Really?! After all these years, finally!” She surges forward and throws her arms around Kazuya, who makes eye contact with Youichi as he returns the gesture, looking confused.
Youichi shrugs, equally unsure of what’s happening.
“Um?” he asks.
”Oh my goodness, come in, it’s cold,” Kanami says, letting Kazuya go so he can enter the house.
When Youichi takes a moment to actually look at him, he finds Kazuya dressed nicely. Like, not Kazuya-nice, which is a flamingo Hawaiian shirt and clashing slacks, but…real clothes. That match. There’s even a pea coat over the whole outfit and Youichi finds himself with a dry mouth and zero words to say.
“Oh, you look so nice! You didn’t have to dress up for dinner with us,” Kanami keeps talking, oblivious to Youichi’s crisis and Kazuya’s sudden inability to speak.
“ I had to dress up,” Youichi points out, in an attempt to resume normal functioning.
“I think she just wanted to see you out of sweats, for once,” Kazuya says with a cheeky smile, and the air starts to feel less tense once again.
“You’re one to talk,” Youichi starts, but is cut off by his mom.
“Shh, boys. Flirt later. Okay, well, since we don’t have to do any of the awkward small talk—oooh, this is so wonderful!—Kazuya, dear, can you help me out in the kitchen? Youichi is useless at chopping things evenly and I just have one more side dish to make.”
Youichi blinks.
“He really is,” Kazuya agrees easily, unlacing nice leather boots that Youichi has only seen in the box after he bought them.
“Who dressed you?” Youichi hisses.
“I have my talents,” Kazuya calls back, walking into the kitchen behind Kanami, who is all but skipping.
“CLOTHES ARE NOT A TALENT THAT YOU HAVE!” Youichi yells.
“Ooh, this looks good,” Kazuya tells Kanami, blatantly ignoring Youichi.
“Ugh,” he says to nobody in particular, trying—and failing—to keep his eyes off of Kazuya’s shoulders in that navy shirt. What the fuck is happening? In his head, his mother’s “ finally! ” reverberates, as though Kazuya being his boyfriend was inevitable.
“Don’t offer help or anything, Youichi,” Kazuya says in a bratty tone, smirking like the smug bastard that he is, Kanami’s favourite knife poised in his hand.
“You just told me that—“
Kazuya shushes him, and Youichi has half a mind to fling a tasseled pillow at his stupid head.
“Would you like a drink or anything?” Kanami asks Kazuya, who immediately turns to Youichi.
“A coffee, pleeeease.”
“No,” Youichi says, already on his way to the coffee maker. He had set out Kazuya’s favourite mug already, because the man is nothing if not predictable.
Kazuya gets his mug of coffee and gets distracted talking to Kanami as they prepare some dish, while Youichi sits on the counter like he always does, folding napkins like they’re preparing the table for visiting dignitaries and not a man who used to run around these halls in diapers.
It’s nice to see Kazuya relaxed, though, Youichi thinks, watching the ease with which he interacts with Kanami. It’s a Kazuya that few people see, one who has his guard down, and smiles so easily and naturally. His eyes brighten instead of glazing over and if Youichi’s to be honest, it’s when he’s at his most handsome. He’s glad that he’s one of the few people that gets to see Kazuya like this, as horribly selfish as it may be. He just wants to see Kazuya happy, more than anything.
As Youichi continues to observe the playful conversation between his mom and Kazuya, something settles deep within him, the shape of which he has always known, but has never been able to name before.
Well, fuck, Youichi thinks, looking away when Kazuya makes eye contact, face bright with laughter, a completely gorgeous fool in a patterned apron. Youichi’s cheeks heat.
When he looks back up, Kazuya’s eyes are still on him. To reassure him, Youichi smiles softly, and Kazuya returns the gesture, the curve of his smile hooking into Youichi’s heart and tugging.
Fuck .
“Are you getting vertigo from being up so high?” Kazuya asks.
“Yeah, all the fresh air is makin’ me stupid. Now I know how you feel all the time,” Youichi replies.
“Boys,” Kanami chastises perfunctorily. She’s long since given up on reprimanding them for anything, though it has nothing to do with how old they are.
“Alright, well, I think we’re almost ready to eat!”
As if on cue, Kazuya’s stomach growls. He shrugs. “Oops.”
“Great timing!” Kanami says, and fills Youichi’s arms with things that need to be served, barking orders like a tiny drill sergeant.
Dinner is more awkward than Youichi imagined, but in a different way than he had anticipated. He didn’t imagine himself being the source of the awkwardness, but he can’t make eye contact with Kazuya for love nor money, afraid of what Kazuya will find written all over his face.
It’s stupid because he’s at a table with the two people who know him best on this Earth, but he doesn’t know how to behave. Youichi knows he’s not imagining the awkwardness, because Kazuya taps his ankle under the table and pointedly looks at him when Kanami’s grabbing something in the kitchen.
“Hey,” Kazuya says quietly.
“Hm?” Youichi answers, looking up after a moment, acting like he is really into his salad. Not bothering to say anything out loud, Kazuya raises an eyebrow that speaks volumes.
“I’m fine,” Youichi says.
“Okay,” Kazuya says, not at all convinced. They can talk later, Youichi reasons, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth.
Kanami flicks Youichi on the back of the head when she returns to the table and Youichi makes a noise of complaint.
“Ma!”
She harrumphs at him, then takes her seat, observing Youichi with a critical eye. He is uncomfortably warm under the combined attention of Kazuya and Kanami and prays for it to be over.
He regrets all of his decisions, especially the one where he thought pretending to date Kazuya would be totally fine and normal and not at all lead to him realizing he might be in love with him.
Pulling himself up by his bootstraps, Youichi decides to stop being a fucking weirdo and participate in this dinner and this horrible charade.
The arrival of Youichi’s grandpa is enough distraction from Youichi’s crisis that things settle for—
“Oh, is Kazuya your secret boyfriend?” Yamato asks, hanging up his hat.
“Am I your secret boyfriend, Youichi?” Kazuya coos, putting his chin in his hand.
“He was never a secret!” Youichi says.
“Then why didn’t you just tell us you two finally started datin’?” Yamato takes a seat at the table to Youichi’s left and reaches for a serving spoon like he hasn’t just upended Youichi’s world again.
“Because you’re both bein’ all weird about it,” Youichi says huffily.
“So, it’s been a while?” Kanami confirms.
Kazuya and Youichi look at each other.
“Uhh,” they say in unison. They should have planned out a more detailed story than they did. They really should have.
“Not officially,” Youichi explains, “It just happened around Thanksgiving?”
“Is that why neither of you came home for the holiday?” Kanami coos, leaning in. “Did you visit each other and not tell me?”
“You’re bein’ nosy,” Yamato tells his daughter, though he seems more invested in his food.
“No, ma, we didn’t, but, y’know, we just got to talkin’,” Youichi says, looking up at Kazuya, because it’s somehow easier to look at him than his mother. At least Kazuya’s in on the lie.
“That’s very detailed, thank you, son.”
“I dunno what you want me to say, ma! We grew up together, yanno, and I didn’t really think of him as someone to date,” Youichi finishes, surprised at his own honesty. It’s true, though. They’ve been YouichiandKazuya for their entire lives, and it was a given that they’d always be together, though the thought of it potentially becoming romantic had never occurred to Youichi.
Sure, he’s more than aware that Kazuya is really handsome and built; he has eyes . It has never been more than that. Two separate concepts that had never met each other.
“And I saw Kazuya go through puberty, so you get it,” Youichi continues, when Kazuya keeps watching him, his expression worryingly unreadable.
“Which one of us found the bleach, though?” Kazuya asks, after a pause. He looks past Youichi now, shifting in his seat.
“Okay, asshole—“
“Youichi—“ Kanami warns.
“—you said you’d do it with me, but then you chickened out!”
“You both had bad hair then,” Yamato says, without missing a beat. “And you have bad hair now.”
“Wow, gramps,” Youichi says.
“You need a haircut.”
“My hair is fine .”
“You could run for that Minnesota hockey flow championship thing,” Kazuya says, unhelpfully.
“You have a baseball mullet,” Youichi points out, then remembers this is his supposed boyfriend. “You’re lucky that doesn’t stop me from dating you.”
“I’m not sure what I expected,” Kanami says. “I am glad that you stopped dancing around each other, though. The tension—” She rolls her eyes while Youichi buries his face in his hands, narrowly missing the plate with his elbow. Kazuya sucks in a breath.
“Well, dinner was great,” he says. There is tension in Kazuya’s body language now, and Youichi wants to pull him away for a second because he has never looked like that in this house.
“Thank you,” Kanami says. “I’ll stop prying, though, boys. I’m just so happy. Dad, stop reaching over the table, I’ll pass you the bowl.”
Youichi taps Kazuya’s foot under the table and draws his attention, offering a small smile in hopes of shaking him out of this strange funk. It prompts Kazuya to mouth ‘footsie’ and Youichi rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt. It does achieve the desired effect, and Kazuya’s shoulders relax.
The rest of dinner goes by without any major probing questions or stress, and Youichi inhales two servings of dessert while Kazuya laughs at him.
As good, responsible boys, in Kanami’s words, Kazuya and Youichi start clearing the table after dinner, trying their best to jostle each other while holding a lot of very breakable dishes.
“Oh my god, I’m holdin’ the good dish,” Youichi says, swerving out of Kazuya’s way into the kitchen.
“Hold it harder, then,” Kazuya says, sliding ahead of Youichi, laughing.
“Stupid.”
After they’ve loaded up the dishwasher, Youichi takes the opportunity to pull Kazuya aside into a corner of the kitchen out of visible range of the dining room.
Kazuya looks at him quizzically. With a hand on Kazuya’s forearm, Youichi asks, “You good?”
“Yeah, why?”
He grips Kazuya’s arm, though not hard enough to stop Kazuya if he wants to leave. “Come on, man, you can’t hide from me.”
Kazuya looks to the dining room and then back at Youichi. “It’s fine, seriously.”
“We can just call it off if it’s botherin’ you, you know?”
“I’m in it to win it, baby,” Kazuya jokes.
“Dumbass.”
“Charming enough for you to date me, right?” It’s a hollow joke, and Youichi can see that much, especially because Kazuya avoids eye contact.
Youichi doesn’t know what he can say now, but they can talk later. He decides on saying, “Unfortunately,” and that draws an actual laugh.
As Kazuya walks away, Youichi guides him out with a hand on the small of his back, frowning at the sudden tension in his muscles.
“You’re staying tonight, right?” Kanami asks Kazuya as he reenters.
Taken aback, Kazuya replies, “I was going to head back.”
“Oh, come on, I’ll make omurice tomorrow,” Kanami tries.
“Right in the weak spot,” Kazuya replies with a laugh. “Alright, I guess I’ll bless Youichi with my company for a little longer.”
“Great! Let’s go watch a movie,” Kanami says. “Dad! Are you—“
“No!” Yamato replies.
“I don’t know why he cares about what we watch when he falls asleep five minutes into it anyway,” Kanami says, shaking her head. “Old man.”
“Like his taste is any better,” Youichi notes.
“My dad still only watches CSI reruns, so I can relate.”
“Still?” Youichi asks.
“Still. It got worse now that he can watch it on demand.”
Youichi barks a laugh, dropping down into his corner of the couch. “It’s your fault for teaching him how to use the smart TV.”
“I regret it every day,” Kazuya says, taking a seat on his half.
Kanami curls into her ancient lounge chair and begins her usual shutdown sequence, but she pauses to say, “You don’t have to act like you don’t know each other.”
The look that passes between Youichi and Kazuya, and the empty space between can be described as panicked, though they recover quickly enough.
Youichi gestures for Kazuya to come to him, since his royal highness will never admit that he likes to be the little spoon, or the person being cuddled, least of all in front of Youichi’s mom. With a cursory eye roll, he shifts over and smushes himself into Youichi’s side. There is zero reason for Youichi’s heart to be hammering as hard as it is when he puts an arm around Kazuya’s shoulders, since this is something they’ve done before. Quite a few times.
It shouldn’t make Youichi nervous to feel the warm weight of Kazuya, and smell his all-too-familiar deodorant, but it does. Despite this, Youichi makes his best effort to act normal and play his role.
Presumably, things happen during the course of the movie, but Youichi does not register any of it, too aware of every minute shift in Kazuya’s muscles, and his deep, even breaths. When the credits start to roll, he snaps back to reality. Kazuya looks up at him, gesturing to a sleeping Kanami with his head.
“One day, she’ll finish a movie,” Youichi says.
“Maybe,” Kazuya says fondly.
“Bed?” Youichi manages to ask through a huge yawn. He helps Kazuya sit up, and the motion wakes Kanami.
“Oh, is the movie over?” she asks.
“Yeah, ma.” Youichi shakes his head. “Go to bed.”
“It’s not my fault it’s not interesting enough to keep me awake!”
“We should watch it before dinner next time—maybe that’ll help,” Youichi says.
“I don’t want to watch a movie hungry!” Kanami says. “And we’re out of tostitos.”
“We can buy more for next time?” Youichi says, laughing.”I think you need to go sleep.”
“Shut up, you terrible son,” Kanami says, laughing. “I meant, I didn’t have anything to snack on to keep me awake!”
“Suuuuuuure,” Youichi says.
“I’ll bring the tostitos, then, and we’ll watch something loud and terrible,” Kazuya says. “I have some suggestions.”
“You’re banned from pickin’ movies, man, no. Vetoed.”
“Don’t be mean, Youichi,” Kanami says. She folds the big, fuzzy blanket and throws it over the back of the chair. “Kazuya, you can pick next time.”
“Yessssssssss,” Kazuya says, making a mocking face at Youichi, like the asshole that he is.
“You’ll regret it, ma.”
“I’m sure I won’t. Oh, by the way, Youichi, did you put clean sheets on your bed for your guest?” Kanami asks.
“Uh?”
“I’ll take the guest room,” Kazuya replies quickly. “It’s okay.”
“You’re not a guest here, don’t be silly. It’s not like I think you boys don’t share a bed otherwise,” Kanami says, waving them off.
Youichi wants to die at the implication. “OKAY, yep, I don’t wanna hear what you’re gonna say. We’re goin’ to bed,” Youichi says, covering his ears. He can feel them burning as he starts to walk over to the stairs.
“We’ll be good,” Kazuya says, and Youichi whips his head around to glare at him.
Kanami just laughs. “I trust you,” she says, and Youichi wants to erase her wink from his memories. He wants to set himself on fire, actually, and he takes the stairs two at a time to escape that feeling.
When he and Kazuya are in his room with the door shut, Youichi falls back on his bed and covers his eyes. He groans loudly, then drops his arms to his sides.
Kazuya is still standing by the door, looking awkward.
“I don’t mind taking the guest room,” he says quietly.
“Seriously? Just get in your pyjamas, dumbass, and get over here. I wanna lie down,” Youichi says.
“Okay,” Kazuya says. He goes to Youichi’s chest of drawers and pulls out his favourite shirt and shorts, threadbare after years of wash cycles.
“Toss me another shirt,” Youichi says, yelping when Kazuya chucks a balled-up shirt at his face. “You’re an ass!”
Cackling like the insane person that he is, Kazuya starts undoing his shirt buttons, using the closet door to protect himself from retaliation. Youichi balls up his socks and waits for Kazuya to step out. When he finally does, his shirt is completely undone, exposing his chest and stomach, and Youichi temporarily forgets how to throw. He has seen Kazuya shirtless before, and knows what he looks like. He knows this, and yet it hits him like a punch in the gut.
“Ew, don’t throw your nasty-ass socks at me,” Kazuya says, shrugging out of the button-down before throwing on the old grey shirt. It hangs off of his broad shoulders, and Youichi turns away to change his own shirt lest he go insane. His stupidass brain just had to pick this night to realize that he’s in love with the guy he’s spent his entire life with, and now has to somehow make it through a night sleeping next to him while acting like he’s not losing his marbles.
The conversation stays easy while they get ready for bed, laughing and jostling each other as they always do, but it slows when it comes time to get in bed. Kazuya flicks the light off, and then the only light in the room is a night light in the corner.
As always, Youichi slides in closest to the wall, and tries to keep Kazuya from lying down on his phone.
“How does your ass always swallow it?!” Youichi asks, shoving Kazuya when he still manages to sit on his cell, despite his best efforts.
“One, my ass is hungry, and I can’t help it, and two, why do you put your damn phone on the sheets?” Kazuya asks. He tugs the blanket over, and that triggers a slap fight over who gets to be warm in the middle of the night. Because he is a cheating cheater, Kazuya rolls on top of the sheet and the blanket and pins it down, cackling with delight.
Youichi rolls onto his front, now on top of the blanket as well, and tells Kazuya to fuck off. “Cheatin’ bastard,” he points out.
“You’re such a sore loser,” Kazuya says smugly. He puts his hands behind his head, sighing, a man victorious. Getting up on his elbows, Youichi levels as dirty a look at him as he can muster. It’s good that Kazuya still has his glasses on, so he can recognize Youichi’s rage, even in the dim light
“You’re a cheater, Kazuya. I’m not a sore loser.”
“Uh huh. But you still wanted to fake date me,” he says, still grinning.
Youichi rolls his eyes, watching the smugness fade from Kazuya’s face. The light catches the bow of his lips as he relaxes, and Youichi traces it with his eyes, drawn like a moth to flame.
“I did, even if you’re way outta my league in real life,” Youichi says with a laugh. It’s the damn truth, after all.
“What?” Kazuya asks, disbelief in his voice.
Youichi huffs a laugh. “Oh, come on. Stop fishin’ for compliments. You know you’re like, a 10 and I’m average as hell.”
After a brief pause, Kazuya says, “Listen, I think you need glasses, buddy. And what’s average? A two?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Youichi says, laughing.
“All kidding aside,” Kazuya starts, and Youichi’s heart rate ratchets up a notch. “There is no way you’re average.”
“You already dragged me, I get it, I’m ugly,” Youichi parrots, nudging an elbow into Kazuya’s side.
Instead of cackling and a schoolyard-level insult, however, Kazuya lifts a hand and gently tugs on the long ends of hair at Youichi’s nape.
“Maybe if you got rid of this mess, it’d help,” he says, dazed. The faint light in the room doesn’t allow Youichi to see where Kazuya’s looking, but the seriousness in his voice makes the tension rise.
“Nope, not touchin’ the flow,” Youichi says. It’s meant to come out playful, but he himself recognizes the shift in the room, and in his own voice.
“The flow,” Kazuya repeats, laughing softly, the hand threading its way into Youichi’s hair with unmistakable tenderness. A shiver travels down Youichi’s spine, and despite the darkness, he knows Kazuya’s looking at him. Kazuya uses the hand in Youichi’s hair to gently coax him in, and while the first few beats of them getting closer are slow and tentative, they close the final few inches in a heartbeat.
The kiss is wholly unlike their first, no hesitation or nervousness, more like they’re slaking thirst that they’re just now discovering. Youichi places a hand on the other side of Kazuya, letting himself be reeled in. He takes a moment to breathe, to brush the hair off of Kazuya’s forehead, before he presses his lips to Kazuya’s once more.
Before Youichi realizes it, he’s on top of Kazuya, his hips bracketed by Kazuya’s strong thighs. Youichi slips a hand beneath Kazuya’s sleep shirt, and the way he arches up into Youichi makes him shiver.
He thought he knew everything there was to know about Kazuya, but each sigh and quiet moan proves him wrong. It feels like a new world opening before him, and Youichi falls apart when Kazuya whispers his name desperately, knowing he will never forget the sound of it.
They start touching feverishly, overwhelmed by the possibilities and the heat rising between them. Distantly, Youichi wonders what this means and where they stand, but he can’t let it get in his way now. Not with the way Kazuya is kissing him like he can’t get enough, fingers dug into the skin of Youichi’s back to keep him close.
Youichi tugs at the hem of Kazuya’s shirt in question, and Kazuya pulls back to nod. Youichi hopes to hell that Kazuya doesn’t see the way his hands shake when he sits back on his heels to help wriggle him out of the tee. The fabric is rucked up enough to reveal the trail of hair leading down from Kazuya’s belly button and Youichi swallows thickly. He has never been so turned on in his life, and when he looks up, he sees Kazuya watching him with his lips parted, chest heaving.
“Fuck,” Youichi breathes, gently pressing his palms to Kazuya’s stomach and feeling his muscles flutter beneath his skin.
“Yeah,” Kazuya says, sounding as fucked up as Youichi feels.
“Boys, do you want a snack before bed?” Kanami’s voice comes from outside the room and Youichi feels like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on him.
“No, we’re good,” Kazuya and Youichi say in unison.
“Okay, good night!”
“Night!”
The tension breaks.
Youichi pulls his hands back and puts them on his own thighs, sobering up with each passing breath. What the hell has he done? They shouldn’t have—this was such a bad idea but—
“I’m sorry,” Kazuya says, not looking at Youichi.
“For what?” Youichi asks.
“Everything.”
“Kazuya, there’s nothin’ to be sorry for.”
“‘Kay. Aye aye, captain!” Kazuya says, unconvincingly. “We should go to sleep.”
“Yeah.” What the hell just happened?
Curling away from Youichi, Kazuya says, “Night.”
“Night.”
Youichi turns to the wall, and stares at it, feeling sick, wondering if he’s just managed to lose his best friend in 10 minutes flat.
The next morning is more awkward than any one night stand that Youichi has ever had, and it’s with Kazuya . Kazuya all but runs out after they wake up, saying a cursory goodbye to Kanami and avoiding Youichi’s eye contact when he waves.
“Youichi, did something happen?” Kanami asks, once the dust has settled.
“Yeah,” Youichi replies honestly, sends a text, then buries his face in his hands.
To: The Worst
a re we okay
u got outta here p fast
Kazuya doesn’t reply.
Over the next couple of days, Youichi spends every waking hour staring at the unanswered text, even while he’s out with other Chicago friends or out for a skate. He has no appetite, and his stomach won’t stop turning. This is the longest that they’ve gone without talking, and Youichi is six hours away from showing up at Kazuya’s door to apologize. Never in his life has Youichi had to think about messaging Kazuya, or just showing up at his door demanding his company, but now he’s worried that he’ll drive him further away.
They are heading back to their respective schools in four days, and there is no way that Youichi is going to leave Chicago without making this right.
Before he heads to bed that night, he sends one more text to Kazuya, pleading for the opportunity to talk. He waits an hour for a response, watches some tiktoks, and falls asleep holding his phone.
Youichi sits at the breakfast table, morosely poking at what’s left of his eggs.
“Youichi?” Yamato calls as he comes downstairs.
“Yeah?”
“You done sulkin’?”
“I’m not sulkin’,” Youichi counters, even though that’s a massive lie.
“Liar. Now come fix the internet on my computer. It’s not workin’ and your mother is.”
Youichi sighs, but the distraction is more than welcome. “Yeah, okay.”
It takes almost forty-five minutes to figure out what is wrong with the internet, because the issue is not with the internet, but with Youichi’s grandpa, but they get there.
By the time he finishes the mental torture and leaves his grandpa to his online chess, Youichi is hungry and craving the rest of his breakfast.
Halfway down the stairs, Youichi looks up and nearly eats shit.
“Hi,” Kazuya says, a vision in patterns and horrible colours. Youichi nearly cries with relief.
“Hey,” Youichi says. After a moment, he remembers to come down the stairs. “Puttin’ the key to good use?”
Kazuya nods, patting his pocket “Yeah.”
“Wanna come in instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ weirdo?”
They both laugh softly.
“Yeah.”
“Were you gonna stand there til I showed up?”
“I didn’t have time to go hide behind the couch to scare you,” Kazuya says.
“You woulda glowed from behind there with that fuckin’ jacket.”
“Isn’t it great?”
“Don’t bright colours mean poison out in nature?”
Kazuya looks down. “That’s accurate. I’m not meant for consumption.” When he looks back up, it looks like he actually means it.
“Nah. You’re just for the animals stupid enough not to care. Or ones that are colourblind.”
“Which one are you?” Kazuya asks, and there’s a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth.
“The stupid one,” Youichi replies, grinning.
“I don’t know why I asked.”
They sit at the kitchen island with coffee, Netflix running in the background for ambient noise. Kazuya curls his long fingers around his mug, staring down at it instead of saying anything.
Upstairs, Yamato curses at his computer.
Kazuya chuckles. “So, how are we going to do the whole breakup thing?” he asks.
It’s not what Youichi expected to talk about, but at least it’s something.
“Hi Kazuya, it’s nice to know that you’re alive,” Youichi says.
Kazuya has the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“What happened, man? You scared the shit outta me.”
“I was thinking.”
“Did you hurt yourself?” Youichi asks.
“Ha ha. A little.” Kazuya takes a sip. “I suggested this mess, and then Tuesday happened, and I—“ Kazuya stops. The silence and Kazuya’s pleading look seems to suggest that Kazuya wants Youichi to finish the thought.
“Yeah, and you…?” Youichi prompts.
Kazuya sighs. “I took advantage of you.”
Youichi cocks his head, blinking. “What? How?”
“I kissed you?”
“I mean, yeah, but I kissed you back. I think I was pretty into it, too.”
“But basically, we should do the fake breakup thing.”
“Back the fuck up,” Youichi says, and he can all but see sweat break out on Kazuya’s forehead. “How the hell did you take advantage of me?”
“Can we just do the—“
“No,” Youichi says.
“Why are you so mean to me?”
“Says the guy who ignored me for three days and then showed up at my house.” Youichi raises an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” Kazuya says quietly, pushing his mug so it touches Youichi’s. He has said the phrase more often in the past fifteen minutes than he has in his entire life. It’s unsettling.
“You’re lucky I know you. You better not do that shit ever again. Not to me. Not to anyone , but I don’t deserve that,” Youichi says, stabbing his finger into the counter, voice breaking.
“You don’t.” His fingers tighten around the mug. “I couldn’t think of the right thing to say and I kept writing and rewriting and then I was so scared.”
“Of what? Me?”
Kazuya presses his lips together. He looks up at Youichi, and then back down to the counter.
“Of losing you.”
“Because you ran outta my house like your ass was on fire? Gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me, buddy.”
Kazuya offers a watery smile. “No, because I took advantage of you.”
“Okay, so tell me how you did that, because you know I’d call you out for that, man.”
“Would you really, Youichi?”
“Yeah!”
“You have a pretty big blind spot for me.”
Youichi sighs heavily. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. “Okay, stop changin’ the subject.”
“I thought the whole fake dating thing would just be funny and I’d help you out and make your life easier for a bit.”
“‘Kaaaay, yeah.”
“And I didn’t think anything of it. And then we kissed.”
“The first time?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay?”
“I sort of…” Kazuya trails off, knuckles growing white. If he’s heading where Youichi thinks he might be, Youichi might not survive this conversation. His heart is thundering in his ears and he can’t keep his eyes off Kazuya.
“You sort of?” Youichi squeezes out.
“I think I might, sort of, feel something for you that I wasn’t expecting.”
Youichi barks a laugh. “You had a feeling and got upset about it?”
“Fuck you, Youichi, this is a shitty time to laugh at me!” Kazuya says, looking hurt.
“No, sorry, just how does that mean you took advantage of me?” Youichi asks, wanting to at least wrap up one conversation before opening the other can of worms.
“I kissed you again and I knew I liked you, but you didn’t.”
“I’m gonna tell you somethin’ here, one more time. I kissed you back .”
“Still.”
Youichi takes a deep breath. “I kissed you back even though I thought you didn’t want me like that.”
“What?”
“You weren’t the only one to figure shit out a little late, is all I’m sayin’.”
“No, what?” Kazuya asks. His brow is furrowed, and he’s squinting at Youichi.
“I think I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what that meant, dumbass.”
They regard each other in silence for a moment. Youichi might throw up if Kazuya doesn’t say something soon.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. So, I thought I hurt you,” Youichi explains.
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
“So, your exes were right?”
“Why the fuck would you bring my exes into this conversation?” Youichi asks.
“I’m really uncomfortable!”
“You had an emotion out loud, I know. It’s a lot.” Youichi laughs loudly, reaching across the island to take Kazuya’s hand.
“I like being dead inside better.”
“Too bad. You admitted you have a feelin’ for me.”
“Hatred is a feeling,” Kazuya points out, but he squeezes Youichi’s hand gently. “I guess we’re not fake breaking up.”
“I don’t wanna if you don’t.”
“What do we do instead?” Kazuya asks.
“Are you askin’ me out? You have no game.”
“Youichi Kuramochi, would you like to monogamously rail me on the regular?”
Youichi bark-laughs. He’s made a great choice. “Jesus fucking christ, Kazuya.”
“Is that a yes?”
Sighing dramatically, Youichi says, “Yes.” He slides off the stool and comes around the island. “You’re so stupid,” he adds before cradling Kazuya’s face and kissing him to within an inch of his life.
“Youichi, the internet is broken again.”
Youichi rounds on Yamato’s voice. “GRANDPA, ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?”
True to form, Kazuya laughs and laughs and laughs, like he’s not also being cockblocked by every senior member of the Kuramochi clan.
Youichi has some serious regrets, but he doesn’t think Kazuya is going to be one of them.
OMAKE
To: The Worst <3
why does everyone think we were dating
just told my team
no reaction
From: The Worst <3
Yeah, my team thought we were together, too
Huh.
Did everyone know but us?
To: The Worst <3
ma just asked me when we were getting married
my family sucks
From: The Worst <3
Tell her I want a spring wedding after we both get drafted
Lilies only
To: The Worst <3
no argument about the wedding i see
or the draft
From: The Worst <3
There are four sure things in life
Death
Taxes
And those two