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Something falls with a loud clang, followed by, “OH SHIT –”
–and Hokuto startles awake, eyes blinking open rapidly to take in the sight of the top bunk above him. Then he tilts his head left, and sleepily watches as Subaru fumbles with his phone, checking the screen and all the corners of the little device.
“Akehoshi?” he says, sleep-riddled and confused. “Did you drop your phone?”
“Hokke!” Subaru beams at him and waves his phone at Hokuto. The sheer number of cracks across the screen from repeated occurrences of dropping it (and one horrifying instance of dropping it in a sink full of murky water and dishes) makes it nearly impossible to read the weather report on it. “Yep yep, but it’s fine! It still works!”
Hokuto squints. “You… are utterly terrible.”
Subaru gasps, loud and offended, and Hokuto just wants to go back to bed. “Wha- hey, that was mean, Hokke–”
“Akehoshi-kun!” Makoto slams their bedroom door open, the door stopper barely sparing the wall from getting mauled by the doorknob. “We’re already five minutes late, we’ve gotta go!”
“Eh? Ah, um, hang on a sec–” Subaru yanks his varsity jacket off the bedpost of his bunk and snatches up his backpack from beside his desk in record time. Before he runs off after Makoto, he turns back to Hokuto and waves with his barely functional phone. “Bye-bye, Hokke! See you after class!”
Hokuto doesn’t see them sprint out of the apartment, but he does hear the front door thud against its frame as Mao walks by the bedroom doorway with a whole pot of coffee in his hand.
“Looks like someone’s in a hurry,” Mao says, quirking an eyebrow at the front door.
“That’s a whole pot of coffee, Isara,” Hokuto points out.
Mao sticks out his tongue at him. “Good morning to you too, mom, ” he snarks playfully. Hokuto pinches the bridge of his nose and resigns himself to a long, long day.
And so, it is in this manner that college sophomore Hidaka Hokuto wakes up at the ungodly hour of 8:00 A.M.: his own roommate causing a ruckus and not having the self-awareness to realize, and his suitemates following up with poor life decisions.
He’s really starting to regret not choosing a studio.
Yumenosaki University is widely known for two things: being one of the most prestigious schools to attend in Japan, especially for performing arts majors like Hokuto, and their apartment-style dormitories that make living on-campus significantly more tolerable.
Well. The second part is a little less known, but Hokuto became very aware of it the year before, when he’d been crammed in a one-room triple with two other people that he hadn’t even liked. It wasn’t ideal, but it was tolerable, and the free laundry room in the basement balanced it out.
But this time, he swears it’ll be different. New school year, new start and all that. He applies for a two-bedroom dorm this time, complete with a mini-kitchen and full bathroom. He fills out the roommate match-up survey and prays to all the gods out there that whoever he rooms with will be tolerable, and, well…
He gets Yuuki Makoto, Akehoshi Subaru, and Isara Mao. Aerospace engineering, aerospace engineering again, photography. Video games, glow-in-the-dark stars, and hair clips. Yuuki Makoto and Isara Mao are rooming together in one of the doubles, while Hokuto has been assigned to share the other with Akehoshi Subaru.
They aren’t bad suitemates by any means, of course. They’re all respectful of each other’s spaces, and Subaru and Makoto can cook amazing breakfast omelets. They are just… nothing like what he expected.
See, Hokuto is, for all intents and purposes, a grandpa.
He’ll deny it, of course, if only to preserve his dignity, but what Oogami called him in the middle of a lecture is not necessarily wrong. By all means, his daily routine very much follows what Koga defines as a “grandpa”; he rarely uses electronic devices outside of homework and communication, he enjoys crossword puzzles and drinking tea, and he’s usually asleep in bed by 10:00 p.m.
That’s why it’s so jarring to even be awake after that time, but on this particular weeknight, he really has no one to blame but himself. Two energy drinks back-to-back at 7:00 p.m. was not a wise decision, even if it was for the sake of keeping him awake through his rehearsal.
It does give him insight into what the rest of his suitemates are doing after he goes to bed, though; he’s well-aware of the fact that all three of them stay awake late into the night, sometimes not heading to bed at all (though that’s usually only Mao, who spends far too much time on his homework assignments and future projects).
The four of them have taken up temporary residence in Hokuto and Subaru’s double, with Subaru and Makoto slouching over the desks as they cram for upcoming exams. Hokuto doesn’t normally let people near his personal spaces like his desk, but Makoto looked so frazzled that he couldn’t find it in himself to not let the other use it.
As for Mao and Hokuto, they’re tucked comfortably into Hokuto’s bunk, Hokuto reclined against his own pillows with a book in hand and Mao curled up next to him against the wall, computer perched on his lap and notebook resting precariously on one knee.
Mao frowns at his computer, the blue light reflecting sharply against the whites of his eyes. It’s a sharp change of light compared to Subaru’s soft fairy lights illuminating the room in a warm golden glow.
“Hokuto,” Mao says, rotating his computer on his lap so that Hokuto can see the screen clearly, “as someone who has absolutely no familiarity with photography, what are your thoughts on this picture?”
Hokuto sets his book down to view the glaringly white screen. The picture in question is one of Mao himself, curled up at the foot of a tree shed of all its cherry blossoms, the flower petals spread all around him. He nearly blends in with them with the way he’s wearing his staple pastel pink cardigan, not including the rosy hair clips pinning his loose bangs out of his eyes and the bubblegum pink ear piercings. The silver chain bracelets circling his wrists add a little sparkle to the image with how they reflect in the light.
You’re as beautiful as the cherry blossoms, Hokuto wants to say, but he shoves the words deep down into his ribcage in hopes he’ll never find them again, because what the hell was that– “It’s… very pink,” is what he musters up instead.
“Ah- yeah…” Mao laughs nervously. “I desaturated the grass and my eyes so that the green doesn’t contrast too much, but do you think that makes it too uniform?”
I want to dance with you among all those flowers . “No, I don’t think so,” Hokuto answers instead. “The bracelets and the tree in the background bring out different colors that help balance it out. But that’s just my opinion. You’re the expert here, Isara–you do you.”
Mao smiles, gentle and sleepy, and Hokuto barely bites back the urge to reach out and comb his bangs out of his face. He is not quite sure how to feel about all these thoughts and impulses that have been seizing him lately.
“Ugh,” Subaru groans, face-planting on his desk so violently that both Hokuto and Mao startle. “I hate exams.”
Makoto scoots his chair closer to Subaru to ask, “Erm, Akehoshi-kun, are you… okay?”
“I want milkshakes,” Subaru complains, barely audible beneath all the crumpled notes he’s buried in. Oh.
Hokuto checks the time on his phone. “It’s 2:14 A.M.,” he states.
“Ah!” Subaru bolts up from his depressed pre-physics-exam study pile. “Perfect! I know a 24/7 fast food joint nearby!”
“What is happening,” Mao says.
“Milkshakes!” Subaru cheers, standing up and knocking his chair back in his excitement. It topples to the ground, the noise so loud Mao visibly jumps and smacks his head against the underside of Subaru’s bunk.
“Ow–”
“Isara!” Hokuto exclaims.
“I-Isara-kun, are you okay?” Makoto stumbles out of his seat to reach Hokuto’s bunk, where Mao cradles the top of his head with both hands.
“Eh–ah! Sorry Sari!” Subaru claps both his hands together and dips forward in a bow. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”
“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m fine!” Mao reassures. At his words, the other suitemates collectively relax, all tired exhales and sagging shoulders.
Subaru pumps his fist in the air. “I can get you a milkshake to make up for this!” he declares.
Mao stares. “What? Subaru, you don’t have to–”
He doesn’t get to finish, because Subaru gets up and rushes out of the room, leaving behind three bewildered suitemates and a spray of physics notes falling all over the floor.
“... I would just let him be,” Hokuto finally says, and Makoto and Mao both nod slowly in agreement. “Come on, I don’t like the idea of him being out by himself so late at night. We can all head over together.”
The three of them follow after Subaru in a much slower fashion, organizing their things and setting them on a surface that isn’t the floor before leaving the room to fetch their coats and shoes.
The sky outside is dark but it’s warm enough that Hokuto is perfectly comfortable in his loose jacket and sweatpants; however, it’s… rather noisy. It’s not surprising, if Hokuto thinks about it, though. They’re in college, after all. There are bound to be people partying all through the night.
“Um, Akehoshi-kun,” Makoto pipes up, awkwardly tugging on the collar of his sweater, “where are we going?”
“To get milkshakes!” Subaru answers back, though it’s hardly one. “Hmmm, what flavor should I get…”
Makoto sighs and Mao pats his back consolingly. Hokuto wants to go to bed.
The fast food joint Subaru mentioned is everything Hokuto expected; obnoxiously bright fluorescent lights, not a soul in sight except for the likely overworked cashier at the register, and way too much sodium in all the food items to be considered healthy. But none of the others seem to care, so Hokuto drops his concerns for one night and follows the others up to the register.
“Four milkshakes please!” Subaru announces. “One strawberry–”
“Uhhhh, one caramel,” Makoto adds after a few long moments of squinting at the menu board.
“One chocolate,” Mao says.
Hokuto would like to minimize his sugar intake, so– “And have the last milkshake be vanilla, thank you,” Hokuto concludes, and the cashier nods along and rings them up.
The four of them squish into one of the booths near the counter, Mao leaning up against the window with Hokuto while Makoto and Subaru mirror them on the other side of the table. Mao shifts to tuck his legs up against his chest, and in doing so his hand brushes against Hokuto’s, their pinkies overlapping.
Hokuto tenses at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away. Mao looks down at their hands for a moment before gazing up at Hokuto, huffing a laugh under his breath, and reaching over to twine their hands together.
Hokuto stares hard at the fluorescent lights, deciding the burn of their brightness behind his eyelids is better than remembering all the affection that showed in Mao’s expression.
“I have never felt so stressed and so calm at the same time,” Makoto says, staring down at his hands in clear bewilderment. “We have exams, and I’m here getting a milkshake at… such an ungodly hour of the morning.”
“It’s almost three a.m. now!” Subaru cackles, swaying back and forth in his seat in excitement rather than exhaustion. How he can still have any energy at all when he’s pulled two all-nighters so far, Hokuto has no idea, but he decides not to question it for the sake of his sanity.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mao assures, rubbing slow circles into the base of Hokuto’s hand. “I don’t really have exams anymore, so I can’t talk much about what you two are dealing with, but it’s good to take breaks every once in a while. Even if those breaks are for milkshakes in the middle of the night, haha.”
“Isara’s right, you two,” Hokuto backs Mao’s words. “If you study so much you’re going to burn yourself out and forget everything. It’ll backfire terribly.” The wording is a little harsh, so Hokuto makes sure to add, “Just–take care of yourselves, alright?”
Whatever was in those words must’ve done the trick, because Mao hides a smile in the crook of his elbow as Makoto and Subaru nearly burst into tears. Which is a shock, to say the least, but it… makes more sense when one considers just how long those two have gone without sleep.
“Aww, Hokke!” Subaru exclaims, loud enough to echo through the restaurant and have the cashier raising an eyebrow at their booth. “So you do care!”
“Wha–of course I care, why wouldn’t I? Do you take me for some heartless buffoon?”
Mao snorts. Their hands are still woven together.
The conversation devolves into the usual banter that’s taken hold since the four of them first met, and everything feels so utterly okay that Hokuto can forgive his past self for drinking so many energy drinks earlier that night.
(The milkshakes are delicious. Hokuto makes a mental note to come back and visit after classes in the future.)
Hokuto squints. “What is this?”
Subaru grins, all bright eyes and bright teeth. Sometimes Hokuto wonders if the gods above made a mistake in making him a human and not a star. “It’s a bucket hat!”
“I know that,” Hokuto hisses, eyeing the baby blue headwear with suspicion. “What I’m wondering is, what exactly is that… creature on it?”
Mao, hanging off Subaru’s side, gasps in fake offense. “That creature is Cinnamoroll, how did you not know that?”
“Maybe because I don’t waste my time with unnecessary facets of popular culture, ” Hokuto remarks sharply, relishing in Subaru and Mao’s shared looks of shock. Behind him, at the dining table, Makoto holds back a snicker.
“Dear god, I can see why nobody else in your classes wants to talk to you,” Mao says, and what’s that supposed to mean?
“Sariiiii,” Subaru whines, draping himself over Mao. He’s either unaware of or deliberately ignoring the way Mao stumbles under his weight. “I’m not sure we can give this to him anymoreeee! How does somebody not know who Cinnamoroll is?”
Hokuto is painstakingly close to grabbing his keys and leaving the room.
“Akehoshi-kun, you might wanna explain what you’re trying to do before Hidaka-kun makes a break for it,” Makoto says, apparently reading Hokuto’s intentions. Damn it.
“Oh, right!” Subaru extracts himself from Mao and shoves the bucket hat in Hokuto’s face. Up close, Hokuto can see that the stitching of the Cinnamoroll patch is coming undone on one side. “Here!”
Hokuto stares. “Huh?”
“Subaru and I went to check out a thrift store together earlier today once we got out of class since we didn’t want to be around when the RA came to do room inspections,” Mao fills in, and oh yeah, that makes sense. While Wataru is by no means a terrible RA, he’s intimidating in his own right. Mostly because of his birds. “Turns out, someone had dumped a bunch of Sanrio bucket hats there, so we snatched those up before anyone else could get them, haha.”
“They all match us too!” Subaru says excitedly. He fishes another hat out of the plastic bag on the table, this one a pastel yellow. “I got Pompompurin! There’s a green Keroppi one in here for Ukki too!”
“And naturally, I got My Melody,” Mao reveals, sheepish as he lifts a hand and shows the blush-pink hat he must’ve kept hidden behind his back the whole time.
A chair scrapes against the floor behind Hokuto, and when he turns to look he sees Makoto has come up beside him. “You guys didn’t have to,” Makoto says. His emerald eyes swirl with a sentiment that Hokuto can’t name.
“It’s okay!” Subaru says. He plops his Pompompurin hat onto his head before taking the Keroppi one out of the bag and offering it to Makoto. His other hand still holds out the Cinnamoroll hat for Hokuto to take, and Hokuto reluctantly finds himself doing so. “We–we wanted to…”
Subaru’s voice grows quiet as he says it, warm and lovely in a way that Hokuto can only ascribe to something like a summer sunrise. His smile softens, too, no longer bright and bubbly but hazy and almost out-of-focus in a way, like the dimming of stage lights in the midst of a solemn monologue.
And Mao, at Subaru’s side–he’s blooming, if that could make sense, a flower coming to life after the snow melts. The rosy tinge in his cheeks, the upward tug at the corner of his lip, the sparkle in those rich jade eyes–he’s all of the four seasons at once, but now more than ever he shimmers with the coming warmth of spring.
Hokuto’s heart thuds painfully in his ribcage.
“Thanks, Ake–... thanks, Subaru, Mao,” he stutters out, and watches as Subaru and Mao’s faces go slack with shock. From the corner of his eye, he sees Makoto smile wide.
“Hokuto,” Mao breathes.
“Subaru,” Subaru repeats. “You called me–”
“I have to go to rehearsal,” Hokuto cuts them off loudly.
“You definitely don’t,” Makoto comments.
“Yes I do, Makoto ,” Hokuto emphasizes, and definitely does not notice the way Makoto’s breath hitches. “I’m leaving now, and I will see you all again in two hours.” Part of him wants to put the hat on, but he isn’t sure if it’s been washed yet, so he settles for yanking his bag off the wall and stuffing it in there.
“Your rehearsals usually go for six hours, don’t they?” Mao asks.
“You called me Subaru,” Subaru says again, looking absolutely bewildered.
“Two hours!” Hokuto snaps up his keys and pivots on his heel. He hears Makoto start cackling behind him as he opens the door, and– no, his cheeks are not flushing red, he’s called a prince for a reason.
Hokuto slams the door behind him and stomps off, praying to whatever deities out there that they don’t try to follow him.
He’s only nineteen, for the gods’ sake. Let him be a little immature and incapable of processing his emotions sometimes.
It starts with Mao.
“Hey, Hokuto, do you think you’ll be using the bathroom at all for the next few hours?”
Hokuto stares at Mao blankly from his desk. “I… do not believe so,” he says slowly. “Why exactly are you asking me this?”
Mao gestures to his loose hair, devoid of all its usual hair clips and accessories. “I, uh… I’m gonna be dyeing my hair, and it’ll probably take awhile since I need to wash out all the old dye.”
“Old dye?” As far as Hokuto knows, Mao doesn’t have dyed hair. Somehow, all that vibrant magenta is completely natural, though it took him a while to believe it until he saw photos of Mao’s younger sister and parents.
Mao’s lips quirk up at the corners in that crooked little smile of his, the one he rarely shares but is still lovely nonetheless. “What, did you really think the indigo under-dye here was natural?” he asks teasingly, pulling on a strand of said indigo hair.
Hokuto’s face burns. Mao just chuckles, and Hokuto finds that his embarrassment is almost worth it for the soft chime of Mao’s laughter. The other should laugh more often, Hokuto thinks.
“It’s about time for me to wash it out,” Mao explains, “so I thought I could try out a new color this time around. Maybe something that fits my closet’s color scheme a little better, haha.” He holds up a bottle of purple hair dye, and–yeah, that would fit his style well. While Mao does sometimes wear more neutral colors, like faded navy and grayish white, he sticks to his pastel pink-purple-yellow scheme a lot more.
Hokuto hums in understanding. “Feel free to use the bathroom then. If you need help with anything, I’ll be here.” There really isn’t anywhere else he could be, really, since today’s his only off-day. Makoto and Subaru are going to be out for a few more hours still, taking care of one last exam before heading off with their study group to celebrate completing the aforementioned exam.
“Cool, thanks!” Mao waves at him one more time before heading off to the bathroom, and for a while, Hokuto thinks that’s that.
Well, until some forty-five minutes later, when he hears Mao yelp and something tumble to the floor with a loud clack.
Hokuto rushes to his feet and bolts to the bathroom, slamming the door open perhaps a little too harshly for the rusty hinges. “Isara, are you–... okay?”
The bathroom is certainly a sight, with old towels lining the floor and counter and bottles of conditioner, hair-dye and bleach lining the sink. A hand mirror sits on the floor close to Hokuto’s foot.
Mao himself is perched in front of it, crouched awkwardly as he tries to tie the upper half of his wet hair into a bun so it doesn’t touch the bleached lower half. The blonde hair is… certainly jarring.
“I’m… fine,” Mao says, bewildered. “Just, um, dropped the mirror, is all.”
Hokuto drops down to pick up the mirror, staring down into his reflection and grimacing at the fingerprints smudging the surface. “Would you… like help, perhaps?”
Mao pauses, worrying his lip between his teeth. “... Normally I’d decline, but this is getting really frustrating,” he admits with a stressed smile. “I’d appreciate the help, if you’re willing.”
“Of course, no worries.” Hokuto sets the mirror down on the counter alongside the wide assortment of hair products. “What do you need me to do?”
“Well, I’ve already taken care of the bleaching part,” Mao starts, gesturing to the shock of blonde at the nape of his neck. “I need to tie my hair up, mix the dye together, and actually apply it. Um…”
He scratches his cheek awkwardly, the nervous curl of his smile ridiculously endearing. “I’m probably gonna need help with all of those things, but everything else after that I can handle myself.”
“I can help,” Hokuto answers the silent question, and Mao’s shoulders drop in relief.
“Thank you,” Mao breathes. “I can take care of mixing the dye, but um… could you separate my hair in the meantime? I can’t really see back there, so it’s hard to not mix up strands.”
Hokuto nods, reaching over to the counter to grab a pair of rubber gloves out of the box sitting next to the sink. The rubbery material sits a little too tightly against his skin when he tugs them on, but Mao has the smallest hands out of all of them, so Hokuto won’t say anything.
He sets to work with parting Mao’s hair while the latter begins mixing the dye and the developer, and is a little bewildered by how soft Mao’s hair is, even though it’s still damp and clumped together. The strands curl around his fingers as he plucks the pink ones and blonde ones apart.
It’s all… strangely intimate, that Mao trusts Hokuto with something like this, as simple a task as it is. There’s no conversations, but there’s no awkward silence; like they’re puzzle pieces, slotting into place, clicking together in a world of silence but still connected anyway.
That is when it starts. It’s by no means a tropey moment of realization, not really–no butterflies, no “Oh” moment, no ensuing heart attack. Hokuto’s fingers jolt to a still in Mao’s hair for but a moment, mouth parting in surprise. But only for a moment before they return to normalcy.
“... Thanks, Hokuto,” Mao mutters eventually. “... You’re really sweet.”
Oh, fuck.
THE TRICKSTARS !!!! :D
Isara Mao
did anyone leave the stove on before they left for class?
Hidaka Hokuto
No, I have yet to use the stove today. Why do you ask?
Isara Mao
i came back from my video class and the entire dorm smelled like gas
Yuuki Makoto
WHAT
Hidaka Hokuto
Oh, no. Are you okay? Did anything happen?
Isara Mao
i’m alright dw, i made sure to open all the windows and turn off everyone’s lights before i left again. currently im just hanging out in the basement and waiting for the dorm to air out. i was just asking bc the gas stove was still on when i came back- i also turned that off too before i left btw
Akehoshi Subaru
OH SHIT RIGHT I WAS MAKING NOODLES
Akehoshi Subaru
IM SO SORRY SARI UKKI HOKKE
Isara Mao
it’s alright!! no one was hurt so its ok! just remember to check the stove next time before you leave
Yuuki Makoto
Ahhhhh what should we do??
Hidaka Hokuto
It will probably clear up in a few hours if we leave it be. For now, though, we can all meet up in the basement. Does that work for everyone?
Isara Mao
i’m already here so it sounds good to me!
Akehoshi Subaru
yep yep that works!!
Yuuki Makoto
Same here!
Hokuto pockets his phone with a sigh, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and scream. It’s already been a long day, and now he can’t even go back to his dorm to take a nap.
“Are you okay, Hokuto-chan?” Arashi eyes him from across the work table with concern written clear across her features.
“Yes, of course,” he answers, because he is, really. “It’s just going to be a long day.”
Arashi smiles at him, light and buoyant like the rest of her. She’s airy and considerate in a way Subaru isn’t. Subaru burns bright and loud, almost destructive in the way he carries himself, but Hokuto is still drawn to that stupidly careless starburst of a boy. He can’t even find it in himself to be mad at Subaru for screwing his day over like this.
“Well then, best of luck getting through your day,” she offers earnestly, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sure it won’t be all bad.”
Somehow, he has a feeling she’s right.
About two hours later, he heads back to the dorm building and treks down the stairs to the basement space, which would be near silent if not for the loud chatter that could come from none other than his own suitemates, seated around one of the smaller, circular tables. Looks like he’s the last one back, then.
“Ah! Hidaka-kun! Welcome back,” Makoto greets, waving him over. There’s an empty seat next to him, so Hokuto takes the opportunity and sets himself and his backpack down.
“Hey, Makoto, Subaru, Mao,” Hokuto says, acknowledging each of them.
“Hihi Hokke!” Subaru is the big, bubbling mess he always is, though this time instead of taking up his own space, he’s sharing a chair with Mao, curling around Mao’s frame like a housecat.
Mao smiles, clearly exasperated. “He insists that he’s cold and I’m a furnace, so we’re just making do,” he explains, and ah, that makes sense.
Now that Hokuto thinks about it, the basement is a little chilly–though that may just be because he doesn’t have anything outside of a thin cardigan and a collared shirt. In his defense, it wasn’t all that cold outside; it’s simply that the basement is almost always a freezer if a student doesn’t wear more than two layers.
Makoto seems to notice, eyebrows furrowing as he says, “Hidaka-kun, do you want to borrow my jacket?”
“Huh? Uh, no, it’s fine–”
“Are you sure? I’m not cold, if you’re worried about that.” To prove his point, Makoto sheds his outer denim jacket, revealing the baggy, oversized moss green hoodie he has on underneath. “I don’t want you to get sick, Hidaka-kun.”
Hokuto wants to refuse, but he is cold, so he accepts the offer for what it is, draping the denim fabric around his shoulders. Makoto makes a high, strangled sound, but when Hokuto questions if he’s okay Makoto doesn’t give him an answer. Or, well, not one that’s coherent. If there was a way to verbalize keysmash, Hokuto would attribute it to whatever Makoto just said.
“... Right. Mao, have you been checking on the room?” Hokuto asks.
“Every half hour, yeah,” Mao answers, either unaware of or disregarding Subaru nuzzling into his neck. “The gas is clearing up and should probably be fine in a couple more hours. If you all are willing to stay up, we can just hang out down here and then head back up once we’re in the clear.”
There’s a chorus of agreements around the table.
“What should we do in the meantime, then?” Makoto inquires.
The look on Subaru’s face can only be described as downright mischievous when he whips out a pack of playing cards from the many pockets lining his varsity jacket. “Bullshit!” he declares.
Silence.
“... There’s Spoons, Go Fish, and Old Maid, too,” Mao contributes, and Subaru squawks indignantly. “We don’t have spoons, but I do have a bunch of pencils in my bag from class earlier that we can use instead.”
“I think we should play Bullshit.”
“I know, Subaru.”
“C’mooooonnn, it’ll be fun!”
“You’re going to call bullshit on everyone in every round and end up with the most cards by the end,” Hokuto predicts. The glare of mock offense is absolutely worth it.
“Um–! We can just decide what games to play as we play, right?” Makoto cuts in, breaking up the tension between Hokuto and Subaru. “We can start with Old Maid and move to… Go Fish, maybe? And then the others.”
“Fineeee. Hmph. I wanted to play Bullshit first,” Subaru grumbles, but all it earns is a whiff of laughter from everyone before Subaru relents and starts dealing out cards.
The first few games go rather well; Hokuto’s natural quiet nature drives the others’ attention away from him and towards each other, allowing him to win most of the games. He supposes he has his grandmother to thank for teaching him about them when he was little. He doesn’t really understand why Subaru is calling bullshit every time someone sets down a card, but it’s fun to simply spend time with them.
But somewhere in the middle of the third round of Go Fish, Hokuto’s eyelids start to droop, his strict posture giving way to the tiredness that’s been building up in his weary bones all day. He passes out cold against Makoto’s shoulder, snuggling into the blonde’s warmth as he wraps both his arms around one of Makoto’s.
Noise passes above his head, but he hardly comprehends any of it. He does stir a little when the warmth at his side leaves him, though it’s quick to return through a hand coming up under his knees and another against his shoulder blades.
Hokuto pries his eyes open, blurrily making out the angle of Makoto’s jaw and the green of his irises. “Yuuki,” he starts, but is shushed almost right away.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Hidaka-kun,” Makoto assures. “We think the gas is probably gone by now, so we’re getting ready to head back. I’m just taking you back to the dorm first. You can head back to sleep, it’s alright if you just want to rest.”
A completely awake Hokuto would fumble to get out of Makoto’s arms, protesting in embarrassment but thanking Makoto regardless. Then he’d let Makoto return to pick up his backpack and anything else he’d left in the basement while he goes to get ready for bed.
But this Hokuto is nowhere near coherent enough to have a logical train of thought. He’s tired, and cold, and Makoto’s warm, so naturally, he lets his eyes slip shut as he snuggles against Makoto’s shoulder.
Someone’s breath snags, choked and vulnerable, but later Hokuto won’t remember it.
It continues with Makoto.
Hokuto trudges into the common area towards the kitchen with an emptied glass and plate, a little more upbeat now that he’s had lunch, but not before stopping by Makoto and his little game set-up on the way. The blonde is sitting backwards on his chair, ankles locked around the chair legs and furiously mashing the buttons on his controller. Hokuto transfers his attention to the monitor he, Mao, and Subaru had helped Makoto set up at the beginning of the semester, where a bunch of poorly rendered video game characters race across a finish line.
Makoto removes his glasses and rubs his eyes, sighing as a bright 2ND PLACE flashes on the computer screen. Huh.
“You lost again?” Hokuto asks, setting his plate and cup down on the nearby table.
“That’s a little harsh,” Makoto comments with a nervous smile, “but yeah… I was in first, but I accidentally drove off the map.”
Hokuto makes a sound of understanding. He’s only played race car games like this a few times in his life–all of which were with Mao, Makoto, and Subaru when they could convince him–but he’s veered off the map more times than he can count because he couldn’t comprehend the controls.
“Do you want to play with me?” Makoto offers, gesturing to the spare controllers sitting next to the monitor. “If you’re not busy, obviously, but I think it’d be fun to play games without Subaru shrieking in my ears… no offense to him, haha.”
That’s… another common feature of their dorm’s game nights. Mao can be a surprisingly sore loser, and Subaru loses all control of his volume whenever he plays any sort of video game. Hokuto always goes to bed those nights with his ears ringing.
“I’m free to play for a while,” Hokuto says finally, and it’s absolutely worth it for the happiness that illuminates Makoto’s face.
He pulls up a chair next to Makoto while Makoto grabs him a controller, hooking it up to the console before setting it in Hokuto’s hands. “Do you want to play more racing games, or something else? I have RPGs, shooting games, open-world…”
Hokuto stares incomprehensibly.
Makoto clears his throat to fill the ensuing awkward silence. “... Right, you probably don’t know what any of those mean. We’ll stick to the racing ones, then.”
Hokuto nods. “I appreciate that.” And because Makoto looks a little dejected, “Maybe you can show me some more games the next time we get some free time together.”
Makoto glows at the promise, his eyes sparkling with the same shine as diamonds under a light. “I would love that!” Makoto exclaims, a rare streak of confidence and pure joy shining through, and Hokuto feels the floor fall out from under him at the sight.
“Then it’s settled,” Hokuto says, and promptly shuts his mouth before he tries and says anything about the soft blush in Makoto’s cheeks, or the way his glasses have fallen slightly lopsided in a way that can only be described as endearing. “Um- what map are you going to pick?”
“Huh? Oh!” Makoto quickly turns his attention back to the screen. “I had the map set to randomize, so there’s no telling what we’ll get, and–”
He goes off on a tangent about it, rambling on about different map difficulties and his personal experiences with each of them as the next race loads on-screen, but Hokuto can’t bring it in himself to stop him. He may know next to nothing about all these little tidbits of game knowledge, but they’re all things that make Makoto burn with a passion Hokuto rarely sees in him.
It comes to him when the next round of racing begins. Unlike most game nights involving all four of them, where yelling and competitive threats are the norm, Hokuto and Makoto go quiet in their focus. Well, they’re always quiet–it’s mostly Subaru shrieking at the top of his lungs and Mao groaning into his hands every time he loses a game.
Hokuto’s character goes careening off the road yet again, and in the time it takes for it to respawn Hokuto chances a glance over at Makoto. The blonde’s gaze is sharp on the screen, narrowed and attentive, but the serious expression is broken by the pink of Makoto’s tongue where it sticks out of the corner of his lip. When he needs to veer on a turn, his whole body tilts along with the controller, as if rotating it will make a difference.
The realization is not a sudden jolt that has him panicking, but he blanks for long enough that he loosens his grip on the controller and his character once again drives off the ramp and into the ocean.
There’s… nothing poetic about this. He realizes he’s in love with not one, but now two of his roommates, and both have been through the most ordinary of means. It’s amazing how pining can be so complicated, bedecked in sonnets and aching hearts and presumed misunderstanding, but love can be so, so simple.
Makoto, unsurprisingly, takes first place, with Hokuto in dead last. When Makoto laughs and reaches over to pat Hokuto’s shoulder consolingly, Hokuto simply smiles and adores how well joy fits on Makoto’s face in quiet.
It doesn’t end with Subaru, because Hokuto doubts anything could ever end with these three; if anything, it continues again, because they would rather push a cycle of infinity over a linear path.
Hokuto twirls on his feet, trying to picture Sakasaki’s hand holding his as they spin around the stage, but the immersion is ruined when his hip bumps into his dresser and his head knocks against the floor lamp by his bed.
Subaru looks over in concern, no longer glaring holes into his dinky little seven-year-old computer that starts heating up when he opens an internet browser. “Hokke?”
“I’m fine,” Hokuto asserts, frowning as he sets the floor lamp back in place. “Don’t mind me, you can continue working.”
“I don’t want to, though,” Subaru huffs, slamming his laptop closed with more strength than necessary. He’s going to break that poor device someday soon, Hokuto imagines. “Watching you perform is a lot more fun! What’re you working on?”
Hokuto chooses to ignore Subaru’s compliment and how it makes his ears burn, focusing instead on the follow-up question. “Sakasaki and I are going to perform a waltz scene in the middle of the play Dramatica is working on, but we haven’t been able to practice it much between our schedules, since Sakasaki primarily takes night classes while mine are in the daytime. I’ve been trying to practice on my own, but it’s difficult without a partner to get the steps in time with.”
“Hmmm,” Subaru hums, eyebrows pinching together in thought. “Ah- I could help if you want!”
“Huh?”
“C’mon, c’mon, show me the script!” Subaru says, pulling himself up from his desk. “What do we have to do?”
“Why’re you so–” excited about this, Hokuto was going to say, but if Subaru’s frustration with his computer for the past half an hour is anything to go by, it’s likely just a case of Subaru wanting to get away from whatever horrific lab he needs to finish. Which, well, Hokuto can’t blame him for that. “... Ugh, never mind. I’ve already memorized the song I’m supposed to perform here, so you don’t have to worry about singing. I just need to practice with a dance partner.”
“Perfect!” Subaru grins. “Are you leading or am I?”
While Sakasaki looked like he wanted to gut Hokuto when Itsuki explained the choreography to them– “I’m leading,” Hokuto says.
“Okay!” Subaru chimes. His hand is quick to find purchase on one of Hokuto’s shoulders, the other twining quickly with Hokuto’s free hand. Hokuto brings his arm up around Subaru’s waist in turn, bunching up the hoodie hanging loosely off the other’s frame.
“Are you good to go?”
“Yep yep!” Subaru confirms, and Hokuto nods.
“Alright. We can’t do much with how little space there is in here, but we can move in small circles. I’m going to step forward with my left foot, so make sure you step backward with your right–”
Slowly, steadily, Hokuto guides Subaru through the steps, and for once Subaru dutifully follows every instruction. Step forward, step back, step left, step right. They make small circles around the room, occasionally bumping into furniture or tripping over a crumpled homework assignment, but they make do.
Then Hokuto removes his hand from Subaru’s waist and lifts his other to spin the redhead in a twirl. Subaru takes the hint, pivoting on his heel with laughter that has Hokuto’s heart aching.
It’s so unfair to look so lovely, framed against a backdrop of rosy gold fairy lights, smiling so big that it should look abnormal but on someone like Subaru it just fits, and–
–and he can’t believe someone like this can be like the stars, so much so that he can’t tell where Subaru ends and the constellations begin. All the gold-painted barrettes make the freckles dotting Subaru’s nose bridge pop, his own little Milky Way inked into his skin.
This isn’t a realization, not really–it’s a quiet acceptance, if anything. Hokuto comes to an understanding of himself that he’d maybe always been subconsciously aware of, and just never really comprehended until this flash of laughter and dance.
Hokuto loves. He loves and he loves and he loves, from the boy whose laughter warms a room the way cherry blossoms color the trees, to a boy with all the fire of a natural disaster but all the kindness of a bleeding heart, to a boy who glows like Polaris on a dim night lost in the sea.
He loves them so deeply, so intensely, that it was never a question of realization or acceptance. Somewhere in the furious torrent of emotions in his heart, he’d always known.
As unpredictable as his suitemates are, Hokuto knows that they have their own routines, much in the same way he does.
Tuesdays are busy days for all of them; Makoto and Mao are generally free of classes, but they spend that time getting caught up on schoolwork. Hokuto leaves bright and early in the morning and doesn’t return until closer to 4:00 p.m., and Subaru has classes that keep him in the main lecture building until 9:30 at night.
It’s why, when Hokuto comes back, he expects to see Mao hogging the common area’s table with his computer, camera, and plethora of notebooks, and Makoto sitting on the opposite side of him with his own laptop out, pulling his hair out over physics homework.
But today, Hokuto was let out of class an hour early. Not a big deal, really; in fact, he’s grateful for it. It means he can spend more time practicing his lines for the upcoming stage performance. Maybe he can drag Mao or Makoto over to help him if they aren’t particularly stressed.
Evidently, an hour can make all the difference.
As he turns the key and opens the door, he half-anticipates Mao turning over in his chair to greet him, offering a wave and a friendly, “So, how was class?” Then Makoto will look up from his own work and beam, bright and excited.
What he gets is Mao, perched on the edge of the table, curling his band-aid bedecked fingers around Makoto’s arms. What he gets is Makoto pressing firm kisses to Mao’s lips, hugging him close at the waist.
Hokuto drops his keys.
The jingle of metal hitting tile startles the other two out of… whatever daze they were in.
“Hokuto,” Mao says, breathy and nervous. “I- we can explain, um-”
“It’s okay, Mao,” Hokuto cuts him off, watching as Makoto stiffens and hastily removes himself from Mao’s side, scooting off to the far side of the common area. “I- I should’ve told you two that I was coming back.”
Something heavy and sharp drops in Hokuto’s gut, poking cruelly at all the vulnerable parts of his insides. He recalls carding gloved fingers through Mao’s orchid-purple-dyed strands, bumping shoulders with Makoto as they raced each other in Mario Kart , and with every passing second the beloved memories turn sour.
This dorm had felt like home for so long, but now the walls feel suffocating, boxing him in. Mao’s strung-up polaroids turn his stomach, and Makoto’s scattered sheets of notebook paper ache to look at.
“I–sorry, I’ll go.” Hokuto feels his throat choking on the words, hands shaky as he crouches to grab his keys.
“No, Hokuto, wait–” Mao starts.
“Hokuto,” Makoto says, devastated, and Hokuto almost wants to cry, because of all the times Makoto could’ve said it, why did it have to be now?
“I’m sorry, I–sorry,” Hokuto sputters out another broken apology, making the mistake of looking his suitemates–his suitemates, his friends –in the eyes before he leaves.
(Why do they look so hurt?)
He books it out of the building, fingers trembling as he yanks his phone out of his pocket and calls Subaru’s number. The other picks up within two rings.
“Hi hi Hokke! What’s up? You’re lucky you caught me while our class is on a break, otherwise I don’t think I could’ve–”
“Subaru,” Hokuto says, ragged and tired and raw, and the said boy goes quiet. “I know you’re–in class, but–I really, really need to talk to you. Alone.”
A pause echoes from the other line, one so long that Hokuto fears he’ll simply have to hang up and figure out how to get all these thoughts out of his head on his own. But then Subaru pipes up once more, his voice much lower and more serious as he says, “I’ll be out in a few. Where are you right now?”
“Outside the dorm, but–I’ll meet you at the quad. Where the fountain is. Don’t–don’t tell Mao or Makoto. Please.”
“Got it. I’ll be there in five. See you, Hokuto.”
It’s only after the dial tone that Hokuto realizes what Subaru said. He files it away with all the other memories and feelings he needs to re-experience later, and hurries over to the fountain.
He gets there only moments before Subaru does, and it only takes Subaru’s wind-mussed hair, wheezy breath, and sloppily-thrown-on jacket to realize that the other must’ve ran here.
“Are you–are you okay?” Subaru asks, eyes as blue as the ocean depths, and Hokuto can barely swallow around the knot in his throat.
Hokuto wrings his hands out before wiping his palms against his slacks. They’re not sweaty, not really, but he needs the coarse fabric’s texture to keep himself grounded. “I’m–I got out of class early today,” he starts, and already the memories begin their playback in his mind against his will, further tangling up all the strange, negative things churning in his chest. “I got back to the dorm and I saw… I saw Makoto and Mao. Kissing.”
“Ki… oh.” Subaru’s expression grows strained, eyebrows furrowing and lips drooping into something sad. Something hurt, too. Sadness and hurt and pain and betrayal.
“I’m sorry for calling you out of class for this, it’s just–” it’s just that I love them, I love them like I love you, I love them both so much and I’m so happy they love each other but devastated because I can’t be a part of that, because I can’t ever give any of you the same happiness you give me.
And that’s–that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? Hokuto hadn’t denied those feelings ever, not once. Makoto, Subaru, and Mao aren’t deserving of being trampled upon like that. It’s always been about how Hokuto knows he’ll never be worthy of loving these people, these stars who so fiercely and earnestly fight for what they want, who can give each other something he cannot.
“It’s okay,” Subaru says, snapping Hokuto out of his spiral. He looks so lost , even as he musters up an aching smile on his face. “I’m glad you called me out for this. I don’t know how I would’ve handled it if I’d found out myself, haha.”
Something about the wording strikes Hokuto as odd, and he pushes aside all the strife storming inside him to ask, “What–what do you mean by that?”
Subaru sighs, long and weary, before coming closer, curling his fingers around Hokuto’s and resting his forehead against Hokuto’s own. “It’s so tiring,” he mutters, voice slow and raspy, like the splintering wood of a tree as it topples over into the earth, roots disconnected and powerful presence withering away. “I’m tired, and–and lovesick, and really, really jealous, Hokke.”
Hokuto’s fingers jump in Subaru’s, much in the same way his heart thumps loud in his ears. Lovesick? he wants to ask. “Jealous of who?” he says instead. “Mao? Makoto?”
Subaru smiles, and this one hurts Hokuto so much worse than any of the ones he’s seen Subaru wear. The other always smiles like a star glows, sometimes soft as a sunrise or explosive as a supernova, but now he’s–he’s a black hole, the aftermath of something that reached the end and burst into light, only to wallow in the oppressive crush of gravity as the universe stretches on forever.
“Is it so bad to say both of them?” Subaru whispers, and Hokuto feels his world turn on its axis.
Both. Both.
He inhales sharply.
“No, it’s not,” Hokuto breathes, and watches as Subaru’s eyes widen minutely. “Me too, I–” He chokes up, realizing the weight of what he was going to say, but he forces himself past the growing tension in his heart to cough out the words. If he doesn’t say them now, he knows he’ll never say them ever again. “I’m– lovesick, too. With them , with you –”
Subaru’s breath stutters, wobbly and weak, but before Hokuto can say more–
“Hokuto! Subaru!”
Mao’s voice has Hokuto stiffening and whirling around, though he keeps his hand tightly intertwined with Subaru’s. Mao and Makoto dash towards the two of them, jackets thrown on in haste and very clearly out of breath.
It’s unfair that they both look lovely, even with their haphazard appearance. Mao’s hair curls lightly around his face, framing cheeks warm from exertion, and his magenta hoodie falls loosely around his shoulders, almost like a blooming flower. Makoto’s eyes sparkle their typical saturated emerald shade even on such a cloudy afternoon, shining such a vibrant pop of color against his soft features that makes Hokuto want to kiss him.
“We were looking for you,” Makoto pants, glasses askew across his nose, and Hokuto is suddenly throttled with the urge to reach over and readjust them. Maybe fix Mao’s sloppily arranged hair clips too while he’s at it. “We wanted to explain–”
“How long?”
Subaru sounds steady and deep as he says it, firm in a way he rarely ever is. His expression is blank, smoothing over all the vulnerability Hokuto had seen only seconds ago. It has Hokuto seizing up, Makoto freezing and Mao’s shoulders jumping.
“How… long?” Mao asks hesitantly.
“How long has this been going on? Between you and Makoto,” Subaru elaborates, though only briefly.
Makoto, Hokuto thinks.
Makoto’s eyes flash with realization. He must notice it too. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Not very long. It’s–it’s only been a week, really.”
A week. That’s seven days. Only seven days, but knowing that he spent those seven days completely unaware has Hokuto’s heart dropping.
“Why did you hide it from us?” Hokuto can’t help but ask, and has to watch as Makoto and Mao look away, averting their gazes to opposite sides of the quad. Like they’re guilty of something. “We wouldn’t have been upset. We’d be happy for you, really.”
Mao huffs a laugh laced with something somber. “It’s–hard to believe that when you run out on us like that,” he mumbles, and Hokuto feels a pang of guilt. He hadn’t let them explain, had he?
How are we so good at hurting each other ? Hokuto wonders in the quieter part of his mind.
You have to tell them, the louder–the more tired, the more jealous, the more lovesick part of him cries.
“I’m sorry,” Hokuto apologizes sincerely. Say it, say it, say it. “I should’ve let you two explain. But seeing you two like that… hurt. Not because it was you two, but because I couldn’t–” – say it say it say it say it– “–couldn’t be a part of that.”
Makoto gasps. Mao’s hands ball into fists. Subaru closes his eyes. His hand remains warm in Hokuto’s own. Hokuto forces himself to push on. He can’t go back now, not when he’s committed to this.
“It makes me happy. The idea of… of you two loving each other,” Hokuto says, and he finds that it’s true, that he means it with every fiber of his being. “But I also want that with you–and with Subaru, too. All four of us. But if you all don’t want that–” he shuts his eyes tight, unable to bear seeing what their reactions are, “–then I understand. We can put this behind us and never speak of it again.”
There’s a beat of horrifying silence, and then suddenly so many things impact him– physically –at once that Hokuto’s eyes burst open in surprise. He can only process the three bodies that tackle him at once before they’re all toppling to the ground, crashing into the dry grass. Part of him expects the sickening crack of his skull against earth, but someone’s hand comes around to cradle his head, tangling their fingers in his hair. An arm curls around his back, and another lands firmly across his shoulders, gripping his coat sleeve tight.
Someone– Mao –laughs, watery and rattling, and that’s concerning all on its own because Mao is rarely ever honest about how he feels, so Hokuto cranes his neck to look. Mao, Makoto, and Subaru are all sprawled across his form, hugging each other in what he believes to be a very crushing dogpile. All the stars in the universe can’t compare to the light dancing in their eyes and the warmth in their cheeks, and Hokuto’s heart seizes in his chest at the sight.
“You are so, so honest, Hokuto,” Mao says, and–oh, it’s Mao’s hands in his hair, stroking the messy strands and tangling them between his fingers. “And… truth be told, I’ve always loved that about you.”
“Don’t forget brave,” Makoto adds with a huff of laughter, his arm shifting under Hokuto’s back to hold his waist instead, warm and gentle. “You managed to say everything Mao and I were so afraid of ever saying out loud. We–I–love you for that, too.” He keeps his head lifted, considerate of how his chin might dig into Hokuto’s skin–unlike a certain someone.
Subaru is the one with most of himself piled on top of Hokuto, one of his ankles hooked around the latter’s and torso spread wide over Hokuto’s. He grins cheekily, but the glint in his eye is telling of how his heart must be swelling with joy.
“You used my own words against me, you little lovesick copycat!” Subaru says, reaching up to pinch Hokuto’s nose in retaliation, but there’s no real bite behind his words or actions. “And then you went and confessed in such a poetic way, too! Stop being a theater kid!”
Hokuto bats his hand away, but the usual ball of irritation that he thought would bubble up in his chest never comes. All he feels is love, love, love, and… it’s a change he welcomes.
“It’s a hard thing to admit how much you love someone,” Mao murmurs, smiling when Makoto lifts his free hand to caress Mao’s cheek. “It was hard enough for me and Makoto–we’d confessed because… well, maybe some part of us thought we could never have you two too. And that we could be okay if we had each other, at least.”
“But now you have all of us!” Subaru cheers, leaning over to peck Mao on the cheek.
Hokuto lets all the tension leave him, his body relaxing into the earth as his head tilts back to hit the dirt.
“Yeah,” Hokuto says, and somehow the word almost brings him to tears. “We all have all of us. We all have each other.”
There are no verbal I love yous, but the words are everywhere; in the way Makoto hugs Hokuto’s waist, in the way Subaru giggles into Mao’s neck, in the way Mao links pinkies with Makoto, in the way Hokuto musters up all of his arm strength to hug them as tightly as he can, to crush them close to his heart.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
The sky above is cloudy, but nowhere near heavy enough to warrant rain.
They have time.