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I
There were less than four minutes left for the final whistle.
The score remained the same from the first half, a 2-2 draw in which neither side conceded enough to change. It proved to be a game of pure skill, the hissatsus barely having room to run.
Fudou has his attention across the field, his mind sketching, erasing and tracing possibilities as he moves across the lawn. Exhaustion looms as the clock ticks down to the end, just three more minutes, 180 seconds to go for a winning result.
The Teikoku team finally manages to connect the passes after recovering the ball, all moving to attack. Fudou is up close to the penalty area as the path is being millimetrically made, grass flying through the air as the opposing defense's powerful kicks and violent tackles are given.
Sakuma and Sakiyama try to line up to make a hissatsu. Twin Boost. Fudou notices and if it doesn't work out now, the chances of a tie being the final score increase considerably. Just a well-executed pass, a well-placed assist and this match would have only one winner.
In a second, Sakuma is blocked, the ball at Sakiyama's feet stops and he looks for an opening, someone who has the shortest and most advantageous path. Their eyes meet in the penalty area and he shoots hard, the ball gaining strength along with the speed and Fudou understands that he needs to connect that direct to the goal.
It's a clean, powerful side volley. The ball hits his right foot hard as he spins his body, the added power sending him on a linear path towards the goal.
Silence. His heart is pounding and in a blink the crowd explodes in celebration. The final whistle blows and the noise seems to triple, the score finally changing to indicate victory.
They are classified, victorious.
Sakiyama gives him a nod, the satisfied posture lasting until the other colleagues approach, jumping on top of him and congratulating the assistance. Fudou also doesn't escape the scandalous and messy celebration of his classmates.
Amid the noise of the crowd, the joy of victory, he is lifted off the ground with an ease that would be frightening if it weren't already familiar.
Genda holds him and laughs, the purple gloves still warm and his whole body radiates heat like a ray of sunlight, the smell of grass, sweat, happiness are pungent in the air that he breathes with satisfaction. Fudou gives him a crooked smile, short and knowing, ruffling his colleague's hair in a playful gesture, his fingertips pushing his head back to let him go.
It is at the same time that Genda loosens his grip that someone pushes Fudou's back to congratulate him, his torso leaning forward as gravity does the work of pulling him down. Genda grabs him again when he notices the imbalance but that only seems to make it worse.
It seems to get worse because Fudou's mouth rests against Genda's, noses pressed against each other, the already unbearable heat building harder in the face. Genda releases him stunned, looking at him with a mixture of shock and panic because that should not have happened. Definitely not.
"Sorry," he mutters and the syllables come out choked, stuttered, the flush of embarrassment joins the effort and he takes a step back.
Fudou looks around. Nobody seems to have noticed thanks to some kind of divine miracle.
"This never happened."
"Never."
***
II
In the middle of practice the corner kick is taken after a dispute for the ball.
The shot that Jimon takes is powerful and high, the rest of the team moving in the area in order to connect or intercept the pass.
Someone heads in, the ball going high once more, very close to the goal, close to where Fudou was standing, the opportunity coming as a straight segment, clean and dIrect.
He jumps in to grab and master as he needs to, his brain working a mile per second to execute the strategy he quickly devises. In his peripheral vision, he notices the intense marking around him and confirms what he already knew: to the goal.
Next to him, he notices Genda also jumping to catch, the penalty area being his domain. Something seems miscalculated and both realize it too late to be able to correct the axis.
It's an ugly collision.
Fudou clashes hard against Genda, hard enough to the sound of shock reverberating in his ears. The impact hurts, one of his elbows scrapes as it hits the ground, but he doesn't register immediately.
What he registers first is that Genda has collapsed on top of him and, again, their mouths are pressed together. Or rather, crushed.
Isn't smooth as the first time. It's a hard pressure and their teeth clash with a rude clatter. Genda's incisors slice into his lower lip, a trickle of blood oozes where the skin breaks and this hurts like the damn hell.
It lasts a second or two before they flinch and recoil from the pain and embarrassment, Fudou rolling onto his side and touching his injured lip.
"Wow, what a shocking kiss" Narukami whistles with a shitty smile on his face.
"Fuck you" Fudou squeaks in the middle of a grunt, getting up despite being a little dizzy.
"Are you okay?" Genda asks as he sits down, expression indicating pain. He takes off one of his gloves to rub his mouth.
Fudou grunts. The iron taste floods his palate as he licks the cut, the sting making his mouth twist into a grimace.
“Seriously, you guys should go out to dinner first or something.” Henmi joins the provocation while helping Genda to get up, checking if he wasn't hurt.
Fudou doesn't know if Genda's face is reddened from exertion or if it's of embarrassment or something. But god, he really wants to kick Henmi and Narukami until they forget how to walk.
“You two are too childish.” Sakuma intervenes and maybe it's the first time that Fudou is relieved to hear his voice. “Genda, Fudou. Can you two continue?”
Genda nods once and Fudou confirms, his elbow burns a little now while his blood is still churning, but it doesn't disable him from playing.
Practice continues without further problems.
***
III
It's not exactly a kiss.
Fudou happens to steal some of Genda's juice during lunch. It was one of those hyper-sweet red fruits, full of preservatives and smelling as artificial as everything else. It wasn't uncommon for him to do that, stealing a sip or two just to tease him about how bad it tasted.
The instant he puts the straw in his mouth, the juice already half consumed by Genda, Doumen - the little bastard - points at him with the most falsely innocent expression possible and hums.
“How cute, an indirect kiss!”
Attention turns to Fudou at once, curious glances and teasing giggles growing as they begin to understand what's going on.
Genda at his side just shakes his head, an incredulous snort escaping.
"So funny" he mutters, unaffected by the comment.
Fudou rolls his eyes and gives everyone at the table a middle finger. The worst thing that could have happened was that damn fall happened in the middle of everyone.
Doumen mutters something to Henmi beside him, not being discreet about looking directly at Fudou as he does so. This elicits yet another wave of giggles.Irritating.
He kicks Henmi's shin under the table and just doesn't do the same with Doumen because he doesn't reach. The tearful grunt he gets in return and the mean smirk by Genda are incredibly satisfying.
***
IV
Genda's mouth is warm and soft against Fudou.
His hands are firm on his hips, quiet breath hitting the cheek, and his movements are gentle.
Fudou had to stand on his toes, the slight difference in height seeming more pronounced now, even with Genda leaning forward, docile and supple. He smells good and his hair feels soft between his fingers.
It's all well and good until a loud noise coming from the street wakes him up.
His face burns. Embarrassment ignites, cheeks tingle and stomach bubbles with anxiety, butterflies, fireworks, all condensed into a subcutaneous fever that leaves him dizzy, stunned.
The loneliness of his dark, small room is heightened when he realizes this, when it is known that he might want to kiss Genda in a very different way than the little incidents that happened.
He buries his face in the cool surface of the pillow, the noisy street continuing to emit its annoying sounds, but Fudou can only hear the crazed pounding of his heart, feel the steady pulse on ears.
Kiss Genda.
Fuck, this is stupid.
***
V
During the week, Fudou avoids Genda.
It's silly and childish, but he can't forget the damn dream. Every time he looks at him, shame creeps through his body and leaves a pale pink trail across his face. His heart races and he feels every systole and diastole against his ribs, becomes hyper-aware of his own - stupid, worthless, frivolous - desires.
It's even more humiliating to see, with furtive glances, how unflappable Genda seemed about all these accidents and taunts. He takes everything with a naturalness that Fudou knows he should have too, being nonchalant because that's his way of dealing with Teikoku's stupidity.
Who seems to notice the distance is Sakuma. Fudou hates his analytical nature, how good he is at reading people despite a short temper. That's why he tackles him at the end of a practice, near the exit.
"We need to talk."
"We don't." Fudou says bluntly, not stopping his walk.
Sakuma is pushy, another personality trait that eats away at Fudou's patience. He steps forward and stands in front of him, interposing himself in the way he needed to go.
"Why are you ignoring Genda?"
Fuck .Fudou thinks as he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the dull, disinterested click echoing in the partially empty hall. It's none of your damn business.
Fudou doesn't answer, more busy dodging Sakuma and following his course. And Sakuma follows his steps as if it were a marker in the middle of a match, blocking his path no matter where he tries.
It really pisses him off. Fucking annoying.
"What the fuck do you want?"
"He's upset, Fudou."
This information hits him in a way he can't describe. Annoying, hits the temples like cold water. Fudou doesn't like the feeling at all, his nose wrinkles in irritation and he honestly doesn't know if he's angry with himself or with Genda. When did everything get so complicated again, too ambiguous for discernment?
"Bad for him." He grunts and tries to pass one more time.
Sakuma rolls his visible eye impatiently. A hand slams against Fudou's shoulder, firm and unyielding. Fingers grip the thick fabric of the gakuran, holding him in place by pure mechanical force.
Sakuma himself looks very uninterested in the whole matter, a tired expression indicating that he isn't doing this for Fudou or himself either. The idea of Sakuma liking Genda in a way that goes beyond the well-marked border of friendship gives him a sense of forlornness, that maybe he wouldn't have a chance if this was a race or competition or some shit like that.
Disgusting. I wanna go home.
"Is it because of that?"
"That what?" He tries to pull his shoulder out of the grip, only to have Sakuma squeeze harder.
And Sakuma makes a disgusted expression, corners of lips curling down.
"The 'kiss', dumbass."
The memory of the dream, the first time their lips touched in that unfortunate accident, the second time that he still carry a healing wound, even the stupid indirect kiss they invented to provoke they, all come together in an unhappy amalgamation of shyness and shame, the heat creeps up his neck like fat, heavy maggots, leaving an ugly trail of red that spreads across his face to the tips of his ears.
And to make it even more humiliating, Sakuma sees all the inner conflict, the maggots, the bright, crisp red. He releases him with the slightest push, his eyes soft in unspoken understanding.
Fudou wants to say something but the words die on the tip of his tongue. He just lets out an irritated grunt and heads off, his shoulder slamming into Sakuma.
"Talk to him." It's not advice. It is a captain's imperative, an order given in a soft tone.
"Take care of your own life." Is what he mutters before leaving.
***
VI
Fudou doesn't talk to Genda.
He doesn't hate Genda and doesn't dislike his presence either. Of all the spoiled rich brats at Teikoku, he is easily the most tolerable, one of the few who he didn't feel some kind of latent animosity to the point of being unbearable. In fact, his feelings for Genda are complicated, always have been, and this whole — absurd, fucked-up — kiss thing just brought the badly polished parts to light again.
It was easier to deal with Sakuma and Kidou because at some point, they showed resentment, a barely contained anger for everything he did, for the meteorite, for the acidic words, for what happened before and after that announced and encouraged tragedy that they called a match. But Genda? Genda is very strange to deal with because he didn't show any kind of grudge even though Fudou almost had destroyed his life in the most physical and literal sense he can think of.
The big unknown, the crux of the matter, is that Fudou is used to hate. He's used to not being a welcome presence, to being the prowling scavenger animal, the catalyst for an explosive, corrosive reaction, toxic. And maybe that's why Sakuma and Kidou's rancor is easier to tolerate than Genda's measured kindness - because it's much easier to deal with someone hating you for everything bad that you are than someone who seems to pretend not to notice.
The kisses were accidents, he doesn't even know if he can call them kisses but Fudou feels disturbed by it all. Why doesn't he just seem to react to teasing? Why doesn't he look at him with disgust, with the thick, stinging rage he's always deserved?
Time seemed to dampen this annoyance, making it fall asleep deep in his chest, suffocated by other issues he had to resolve first. Unconscious, forgotten, the strangeness barely present in the interactions but now that it's awake, it's like a small invisible snake that wants to strike, inoculate the venom in a painful bite.
In the midst of it all, Fudou finds himself using his cards to skip some classes. He doesn't have the patience to sit still for fifty minutes, not while his head spins in a spiral unrelated to the subjects in the books.
He wanders the halls of the institute like some kind of wraith, his steps accentuated by the metal plates on his shoes, the dark, polished porcelain floor showing his gaunt and distorted reflection. He is tired. Genuinely tired of the way he just can't ignore, kick all intrusive thoughts to the sidelines and leave them there, festering, rotting.
The dream keeps coming, fragments of it, a tingling sensation against his mouth. His head aches with the conflict, wanting to be hated and loved at the same time, wanting to keep Genda far away and so close so he can adore and be adored.
Ignoring is not the best option, Fudou knows this because he is no layman when it comes to conflict resolutions. The streets have taught him that well, the gang fights, angry fists and sharps objects too. There are coalition rules, norms to follow even when nerves are frayed. And of course, Fudou isn't following any.
The feeling of cowardice has a bitter taste on his tongue. He wants a cigarette now and that goes back to Shin Teikoku, another piece of the past he'd like to shove under a rug and forget there. Fudou hasn't smoked since the last time he set foot in that submarine, when he locked himself in a tiny bathroom and filled the uncirculated air with gray, stinky smoke.
Sometimes Genda would join him. Only sometimes, maybe three or four. He just sat huddled in front of the door, didn't look at him, didn't speak and didn't respond to the acid provocations that Fudou took sadistic pleasure in making. Genda didn't smoke either, he just followed him into the bathroom and stayed there, for the company or whatever the fuck it was. He didn't understand Genda back then, and still doesn't.
Fudou reaches the end of the corridor, a dark corner with no windows, artificial lighting everywhere. He's zigzagged all over the floor, past rooms he's never entered and won't ever enter, administrative blocks, internal club spaces.
Fucking Mausoleum. He thinks while turning to return and go through the same path. The bathroom in the submarine comes back to mind, the desire for a cigarette, the desire for Genda's presence. Even that seems to have slipped between his fingers, sand he tried to grab but only accelerated the process of loss.
Who knew that an unfortunate accident, an accidental kiss, would bring a hurricane of disturbance?
He honestly feels like leaving the institute. Walk down the street and get distracted by urban noises. And that's what he does, moving towards the exit, firmer steps with a fixed destination.
The sky is dark gray as he leaves the institute building. Loaded and heavy, ready to cry in an abrupt torrent. Fudou doesn't have an umbrella with him and he curses himself for it, because if his damn uniform gets wet, he won't be able to enter again.
“Fudou?”
The voice that calls to him paralyzes him, makes him curse his shitty karma with the same force as the thunder that echoes in the sky.
Fudou turns to the voice, to the goalkeeper - the king of them but who now seems without the usual brightness - he looks at Genda Koujirou with the flattest expression he can manage amid so much internal chaos.
"What are you doing out here?" Genda asks, leaning against a wall.
"As far as I know, the street is public."
Genda laughs softly.
"Of course, but you should be in class."
"You too."
A raindrop lands next to his shoe. Thick, heavy, the beginnings of something torrential.
"Yeah, but I'm not in the mood, I confess" Genda shrugs.
Fudou ponders whether to go back inside or move on. It's only a matter of time before the real rain starts, maybe he'll be able to take shelter in a store. Also, having Genda, the object of his positive and negative affections so close gives him a kind of unease that gradually grows.
"The pride of Teikoku skipping classes." He teases but it's empty, hollow, doesn't give him any satisfaction or anything.
More drops fall. Frequent, loud, wet his shoulders and shoes at random points. He sees Genda open an umbrella, large and dark in color. Black silk. Almost everyone at the institute had one like that, some kind of weird, bourgeois pattern.
Genda approaches him, an umbrella covering him from the onset of rain. Fudou doesn't like the closeness, the act coming so spontaneously.
"Where are you going?"
"What do I get if I tell you?" he grumbles and wants to get out of there, but the rain tightens, the smell of it, petrichor, suffocates the air.
"A possible company with an umbrella."
It would be fair if Fudou wanted his company. He wants to be alone, even if now is perhaps the opportunity to get the whole story out in the open, settle it all at once.
“I'm just going to walk or some shit like that, I don't want your company."
Genda's expression falters to something unreadable. The conversation with Sakuma comes bright as lightning, the fact that he's upset at the sudden detachment is proven by his dejection at being repelled.
Fudou feels bad for Genda's inability to hate him. It would be better for both of them if they stopped pretending that past wounds have healed and aren't open, rotting at the edges.
Genda sighs. Heavy, tired, air charged with the kind of emotional exhaustion that Fudou recognizes.
"Did I do something wrong?" He asks with noticeable exasperation. "You seem to have been avoiding me for days."
You did. And continues to do. Fudou thinks but knows that this will only serve to lengthen the debate, worsen something that is already bad, terrible.
"Your paranoia." He mutters, his eyes unable to meet him eye to eye.
Since when did he become such a coward?
"It's not 'paranoia', everyone noticed." Genda retorts and takes a step forward, shortening the distance between them. "Fudou, if I did something wrong, I need to know."
Genda is nearby, hot compared to the surroundings that gradually cools down with rain. So close that his heart seems to skip a beat and the feeling that his mouth is sensitized, tingling with the urge to take the initiative and repeat the act that started this whole disgusting, melodramatic mess, comes back with a force.
It is a mistake to look into Genda's eyes. That bluish gray that looks so much like the clouds outside, such a cold and desaturated color that still makes Fudou's body burn. At this point, the attraction is undeniable, the small taut thread ready to break under the applied tension.
In fact it's the most inconvenient time to realize this, to notice that the affection he has for him is much more mixed and deeper than any other he has for Kidou and even Sakuma. With Genda he feels that damn stupid and childish lack of wanting to be close, to be loved - Fudou hates that word and its variants, hates the implications and distortions that it carries intrinsic to its own morphology - and he knows he has already carried all this confusion for a while, time that he thought he had diluted everything in a typical school collegiality.
It didn't dilute. Of course not.
His steps are strong as he turns and steps out of the shelter of the umbrella, stepping onto the sodden concrete and splashing water from the puddles that are beginning to form. He moves fast, the coolness of the water seems to reorient him. Fuck it if he can't enter in later.
The umbrella covers his head again, Genda joins him at the hectic pace, but doesn't say a word, doesn't force him to answer. It's like he's just there to make sure Fudou doesn't get too wet, a kind of keeper. How metalinguistic.
He stops abruptly and Genda slams against his back. Fudou's patience is less than anything he can imagine right now.
"What the fuck is your problem?!" Fudou snaps as he turns to face him, fists rigid at his sides.
"My problem?"
He asks in a low hiss, the first hint of irritation Fudou has seen in a long, long time. It goes back to the first time they met, Genda's heart inflamed with the humiliation of defeat, with the raw, bubbling rage of betrayal, abandonment. It's that rage that Fudou wants, that he thinks he deserves after all the countless mistakes he has committed.
"Yes, your. Why do you keep acting like none of this shit never happened?"
Fudou needs to raise his voice because the rain turns into a copious storm. He can no longer see the institute on the horizon, the umbrella seems fragile under the destructive harmony of the drops, a torrent that soaks and washes the earth.
His eyes are drawn across the street, where the awning of a closed shop stretches like a shield. He's not staying with Genda under that shroud-like umbrella, not with adrenaline making his fingers tremble.
Fudou crosses the street and barely registers Genda calling him. In a matter of seconds, he's soaked, wet to the bone, the thick fabric of the gakuran heavy on his arms. The awning protects him well from the rain, giving an ample space, more distance than necessary.
Takes time for Genda to follow him. It's noticeable how he hesitates, even with the rain clouding his silhouette. He stops beside him, too far away for a pair that already knows each other. From the looks of it, they look like strangers to each other in the same school's uniform, the only thing that makes a brief connection between them.
"What is your problem with me?" Genda says, the closed umbrella gaining a place against the wall. "Is it because of the kiss?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Fudou sees the beginnings of a blush on his face, something very subtle that he manages to catch. It sounds stupid when it's put that way, a silly disagreement between two teenagers.
"Forget that shit."
"It's not very fair of you to throw all this in the air and ask me to just forget it." Genda mutters upset, arms crossing in front of his chest. "I'm... sorry. It was an accident, I didn't mean to upset you."
Shit. Fuck, shit, fuck, It's not that. Fudou thinks and that only makes everything worse, hands rub his face, wiping the water droplets that run from his hair.
“That's the fucking problem." He hisses, tired and now that he has spoken, he feels that he will not stop, the words wanting to flow at the same speed and intensity as the water in the gutters. "You always act with this disgusting passivity, like you're a mediator or some shit."
Genda looks shocked. Fudou turns to him because honestly, if Genda wants all the cards on the table, he'll have them. It's remarkable how his jaw tightens with tension, his pupils narrowed, listening.
“Ever since everything happened on that submarine, you've been the only one who pretended it never happened." Fudou spits, rancor, confusion, accentuated in each syllable. "Kidou, Sakuma… Everyone who was affected treated me accordingly, but you just don't seem to care."
"And what difference would it make if I treated you badly?" Genda finally speaks, his voice powerful as the crack of a whip. "If they treated you like a dog this isn't my problem."
There is a heavy moment of stillness. Lightning illuminates the atmosphere, thunder roars above them.
Fudou feels his blood hot, scalding. Genda doesn't understand and this doesn't surprise him even though it frustrates. Genda having shown some kind of negative emotion would have absolutely changed all and they wouldn't be in this miserable situation, with many knots to be untied - knots that are firm due to the action of time, piled up one on top of the other in a shapeless thing.
“You shouldn't have forgiven me that easily."
Genda's mouth becomes a thin, tense line.
"And what makes you think I forgave you?" the voice drops to a low murmur that is almost lost in the rain. "I never forgot what happened and just like you, I won't forget. Never."
Fudou listens, brows furrowed, skin jumping between them. A trickle of water trickles down his back from his head, the chill stirring his pores, uncomfortable, freezing.
"I really hated you." Genda continues, a confession in an empty church. "Not for what you did but for what you failed to do."
He feels Genda's eyes on him. Grey, stormy, melancholy blue. It looks, once again, like the sky outside, about to burst into a torrent of water - this one is hot instead of cold, salty instead of sweet.
"What did I fail to do?"
"When Sakuma collapsed."
And Fudou understands.
Genda hated him for the omission, for turning his back when the physical pain ripped Sakuma from the inside out, the companionship that he claimed to exist between them proving, in a snap of a finger, false as the power of the meteorite. Fudou was the instigator, the person who deliberately raised the temperature and when the pressure made everything explode, he wasn't (or rather, didn't want to stay) there to help, collect the bone fragments, clean up the blood. The aftermath of the mess landed in Genda's lap.
It's a good reason to hate.
“I was pissed at you at the time."
Genda speaks, eyelashes flutter and when they come together, a lone tear falls. It doesn't trace a dramatic path through the planes of the face, it goes straight to the ground, crystalline, unique, angry. He wipes the corner of his eye with a fingertip in a deft gesture, a swing that would be graceful in a less complicated situation.
“It was fucking hard to accept that it wasn't your fault, that you were just as fucked up as everyone else." he snorts, letting the days of frustration run free. "The way I treat you is how I see our relationship now. That part of the past is not decisive, at least not for me."
Fudou doesn't know how to feel. Truly. The inevitability of this conversation grew as time passed, inversely proportional, the waiting paradox. Now that it's here and the cards are laid out on the table, the axons that make all the neural activity happen seem sluggish, can't connect with a sarcastic response, think it's a litany of false benevolence.
It is understandable that the story, the twists and turns that reached a firm and irrevocable conclusion is long, ugly and stony, a story that Fudou wants to know and although he wants to, he recognizes that maybe he doesn't deserve it because it's something intrinsically personal to Genda.
Fudou has thousands of whys. Not everything is answered in this dialogue - or discussion, because everything escalated too quickly, too explosive for a conversation between colleagues -, there are pieces and questions too scattered to be rearranged and explained, which will die in the memory without being formulated, the pieces, shards; quartered, will be buried in the deepest drawers of the subconscious until something, a situation, shakes them again.
It's a sense of truce, not peace. For now, he is satisfied, one less worry.
Fudou doesn't say anything and if his silence disturbs Genda, he doesn't say it. The noise of the rain is a constant that does not allow the oppressive silence to perpetrate, the awning emitting noises with the violence of the drops. He leans his side against the cool wall of the shop and allows himself the vulnerability of a relaxed posture, eyes downcast.
Something touches his hair, the wet strands that stick to his forehead and the bridge of his nose, forming a trail where the water runs until it drips. Fudou looks at Genda and sees his arm extended towards him, he feels something soft and dry against his skin, soaking up the water, the stubborn droplets.
Fucked how even after all this arguing, this scruffy mess, something still sways through Genda, so soft it tickles. It's less oppressive for now, a delicate plume sweeping across the face whose flexible tip paints the skin in reddish hues.
"What are you doing?" Fudou grumbles and is surprised at how calm he is. He tries to pull his hand away, but Genda is insistent.
"You're soaked." He answers in a concentrated murmur, the towel goes down the side of his face and dries there. Fudou feels that if he closes his eyes, he can feel the heat radiating from his fingers and feel the brief breath. "We have to go back, you might catch a cold."
"Bullshit."
Genda rolls his eyes but there's a sardonic smirk with it. A bit of animosity left in his expression, remnants of a stressful conversation. He's close again, taken a step or two closer and at that shortened distance he can see the little furrow between his eyebrows, the two jagged, pale scars that run from the edge of the cheekbone to the brow bone, the constant reminder and painful experience of what he has done, the latent reason why he will not forget. Fudou wants to kiss him. The mouth, the space between the eyebrows, the scars, all with a sense of urgency, the care that he hasn't been taken before blooms like a flower in the middle of a dry and barren land.
“I'm serious,” Genda says as he continues to dry his face, the fabric already partially wet. "The swim club has a dryer in the locker room, I think we can–"
"Genda."
Fudou interrupts, his heart is pounding because he can't stop staring. It's clear in his mind that something needs to be said and although he hates the concept of apologizing - because it won't reverse the damage, won't bring any real comfort other than inflate the ego, won't kill once and for all the savage and incandescent remorse -, with Genda at least he wants to show that it won't happen again, that though the memory will be engraved on a tombstone too big to ignore, the history won't repeat itself because he'll do things right this time. Fudou doesn't exactly know if he regrets everything, every little decision and single step, but knowing that he wouldn't do it again gives him some degree of comfort, self-indulgence.
The attention in Genda's eyes is beautiful and unnerving. Blue, not gray. That little realization floats around in his head, adding to the pile of information he keeps with kind
Fudou likes Genda. Much more than he wants to admit.
He approaches, one step, two. Genda doesn't flinch but the hand that was on his face does, the towel crumples as the tension builds and the goalkeeper's fists clench, unsure of what will happen next. Fudou pulls him by the collar of the gakuran, forces him to bend down and level their faces, the surprised noise that comes from the back of Genda's throat makes him blush hard.
Usually he would take the initiative without a care, kiss him and just stop it all, but here, under that stupid awning and with the storm raging across the land in all its untamed fury, he waits. He waits for an approval, a hint that yes, Genda wants him as much as he does, just a trickle of reciprocity.
"Fuck" Genda curses in a soft whisper, breaths together, mixed. His lids flutter shut, lashes resting against his cheekbones. "What are you–"
The words die in the air as Fudou tilts his head, lips brushing for an instant. It's simple and fast, ephemeral but that at the moment means the world. If Genda won't give him the hatred, the rage that would dissolve the fragile, translucent membrane of friendship they've somehow built, then please, may he give you affection.
There's hesitation and Fudou thinks he's going to be repulsed, pushed away. It's fair, he thinks, fair as hell.
Genda finally leans in, his mouth pressing in a purposeful act, not motivated by an unfortunate accident. It seems right, better than the previous ones for the simple fact of being voluntary.
Fudou takes a deep breath, heart hammering in his chest, in his ears, carotid artery bouncing against his neck. He pulls him closer, increasing the pressure and contact because after all this time dreaming, wishing so hard, he needs to feel that he's real, tangible, concrete and physical as possible.
The sound of the kiss seems very loud even with all the rain and thunder, embarrassingly clear. It's enough for Genda to push him away, a firm hand against his shoulder.
"What?" Fudou asks and tries not to let the fear of having done something stupid, of having crossed some limit, show.
Genda's whole face is a deep shade of red, it's almost cartoonish, and Fudou has to stop himself from commenting about his state - and also because he's pretty sure he's not that different, the burning at the tips of his ears being the empirical proof.
"Nothing! I just... I didn't know it was so noisy" he grumbles the last part, looking at the floor with the shame of admission.
The amused snort that escapes from Fudou is totally unintentional and once it comes out, he doesn't do much to stifle his laughter.
"Are you really going to make fun of me for this?"
"Yes."
Fudou says with a teasing smile and before Genda can have a chance to retort, he cups his face and kisses him again, feeling the shiver that makes him shiver, the surprised gasp against his cheek - if that's due to the difference of temperature or the contact itself, Fudou doesn't know but he likes to imagine that it's due to a balanced mixture of both.
The sound doesn't make Genda flinch this time, he wraps his arms around Fudou and pulls him closer, an awkward hug that gets his uniform wet in spots.
"I thought you were mad at me." It's a breath against Fudou's mouth, a murmur between the kiss.
Fudou knows he did, because he was. That kiss was an impulse, something he didn't plan with the same coolness he has on the football field. He doesn't respond verbally, not knowing how to admit the confusion, the newfound crush, just rubs his thumb against his cheek, the happy noise he earns in response melts all the rest of solid reasoning, vaporizes in a heating that lasts a few seconds.
A sound comes from Genda's pocket, the standard phone alarm. It's enough to make them jerk away, as if pulling them back to reality. He mumbles something about having to get back soon, the classes they asked permission to skip probably already over.
Fudou doesn't want to go. Not now when things start to feel right. Unfortunately it's not a negotiable wish because they really need to come back or will take warnings. It's a risk to stay, a risk that Fudou is willing to take, to persuade Genda to stay there until the rain stops, until their mouths are numb and their bodies feverish.
He kisses Genda again just as he turns off the alarm. It's strong, the clash of their mouths reminds him of the second incident, but this one is undoubtedly more measured and pleasant. Fudou wonders if Genda's teeth pressing into his lip would feel good, the protruding canines close to breaking the fragile skin. The thought is dangerous, it ignites a greedy spark that wants to know how far he will go, how much Genda is willing to offer - like in a gambling where they can lose everything.
"Just a little bit more" Fudou asks and hates how in his voice have a noticeable lack, the beginning of something desperate.
Genda is sweet. Sweet in everything he proposes to be, a docility that continues to surprise in the face of the bitterness Fudou is used to. He relents with a gentle nod, his mouth seeking him again, hands wrapping around his waist with a lightness that didn't exist in the dream.
Fudou actually stands on his toes now, compensating for the height difference and holding him tighter, the tip of his tongue finding the corner of Genda's lips, tracing a path across his upper lip, waiting for him to open his mouth. Beneath his touch, Genda squirms, muscles rippling, tensing with surprise, a shaky grunt escaping as he hands over and opens his mouth.
The inside of Genda's mouth is hot, much hotter than his lips, a delirious heat that Fudou feels does an excellent job of melting his bones, leaves his legs shaking, the calcified matrix of bone tissue seems to evaporate. Good. Terribly good, addictive. Genda's teeth scrape against his tongue, sharp edges against soft flesh, a little and well applied force and it could tear, bleed, a potential danger that unnerves, adrenaline spikes straight through his veins encouraging him to go further, play with the risks.
Fudou senses his anticipation in the way his breathing is uneven, hands coming out of his waist to grip his shoulders, firm, tight. Genda lets Fudou take the reins, blindly trusting in his judgment , offers him to take whatever he wants and god, Fudou really does, his tongue touches Genda's and it's like turning a key, ignition he didn't know he needed until then, something that enraptured his senses - touch, smell, taste, all flooded with Genda's presence, with his perfume, his flavor, his textures.
Genda gently pushes him away, the sound of separation, this one, is truly loud and embarrassing. Fudou feels his chest rise and fall with uneven breathing - or is it Genda? Both, maybe, but Fudou doesn't want to admit that he lost his breath, sense of time and judgment in that small ellipse.
"We have to go. Genda murmurs" face downcast and flushed as if he's just runned a marathon.
"Yes…"
There is a slight awkwardness hovering. The rain eases to something far from the same storm as before and as they walk away from each other they don't talk, busy in straightening clothes, hands awkwardly rubbing the back of their necks, hiding deep in pockets. Fudou wonders what they are from the moment they leave that awning, what degree of intimacy they would have and that's part of why he doesn't want to go back. Down there, the stretched tarpaulin protects him from a rainy sky and a world of uncertainties.
Clearing his throat, Genda calls their attention to get out of there. The umbrella opens again, deep black against the pale gray of a rainy day. Fudou accompanies him side by side, like friends.
Were they friends? It felt wrong to put his relationship with Genda into that box. Before, maybe they were friends, the kind with a lot of unfinished business, a thin layer of friendship that is like fresh ice on a river. The title of boyfriend makes his cheeks hurt, embarrasses him, feels wrong, a step too big for his own legs. Perhaps they are nothing, acquaintances who kissed when the heat of suppressed emotions leaked out, scalding the skin of the lips, cooking the nerves.
As they walk, Genda's shoulder brushes against his, fingertips brushing each other on the swing of the walk, a closeness that feels more intimate than anything they've shared a few minutes ago.
Fudou wants to kiss him again, because now that he's tasted it, knowing he won't back down, he doesn't know if he can or wants to stay away.
"So…" Genda starts "… You like me, hm?"
Even though he wasn't looking directly at him, Fudou knew he was smiling in that way that can only be described as arrogant - the same arrogance he has when defending a difficult shoot, the one he exudes every time his title of king is reinforced.
"Shut the fuck up" He mutters instead of answering, knowing it's a provocation and also because it's embarrassing as fuck to admit it out loud. "You're too emotional."
Genda laughs. It's a beautiful sound, cuts through the monotony of raindrops hitting everything - asphalt, roofs, umbrella - with the low, melodic timbre. Fudou likes the sound.
"Of course". He hums, the pinky encircling Fudou's finger tightly. "You know, I was the one who freaked out over an accident."
Little shit. Sometimes Fudou forgets how cynical and arrogant Genda can be when he is allowed to be intimate.
"You think you are too much for someone who just had their first kiss." Fudou teases, smiling when realizing the embarrassment slaughtering the other.
"Oh well…" He mutters looking away, shoulders hunching as if he could imitate a damn turtle and hide."It wasn't that bad… was it?"
“Hm, maybe you need more practice."
"And will you teach me?"
Fudou tries to control the blush that starts to deepen again, even though he knows it's useless. The realization that they're flirting after all the emotional chaos he's endured is strange in a way he can't define, the sensations Genda provoked still fresh on his nerves.
He finally laces his fingers with Genda's, all of them, squeezes and feels him squeeze back, firm, real. It's rare that he's felt his hands like this, not covered in a thick layer of worn leather, a roughness that's comforting, fresh and old scars that give it a jagged look. It's unique, it's Genda.
"And who else could it be?"
The institute is visible, a few meters until they get there. The walk is slower, a smooth march of footsteps that let metallic sounds echoing against the sodden concrete.
Genda gives an amused snort and tightens his grip on his, palm to palm.
The silence that falls is comfortable now and step by step, they arrive at Teikoku. When they enter, Fudou knows they'll have to separate, they'll have to go back to acting with the theatricality he hates, pretending that the conversation, the kisses - true, given of their own accord -, the little moment in a heavy, metallic-smelling rain, never happened. They'll revert back to the same awkward relationship, which Fudou instigates but never gets more than a glance or two that doesn't mean much. Their relationship has changed a lot from the moment when he takes Genda's hand to feel the beat of his heart rotted by avarice, until this moment, when he holds his hand to he feels the warmth, the mute appreciation he feels for his presence.
Fudou still doesn't know what they are, but he doesn't exactly know what they were. Doesn't seem to exist a correct definition in dictionaries or in any other language. Unique, only theirs, something that no one would fully understand. It makes him tense with uncertainty but he tries not to think about it too much, doesn't want to rush anything because he likes to think they'll have time, all the time in the world, without an expiration date. An eternity, if need be - eternal while it lasts.
Now he has other things to think about. About how he's going to walk into the institute with his uniform wet, about picking up the lesson he missed, about when he'll be able to kiss Genda again.
It's a truce he'll accept, and he hopes Genda accepts too.