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There is a very pretty boy in Itto’s biology class. Realistically, there are a few people that Itto thinks are pretty in any given class, but this guy is… Wow. He has to physically stop himself from gawking as he slides into a chair near the back of the room, a few seats away from said pretty boy. Wisps of blond hair frame his face, green eyes warm and inviting. He leans back in his chair, his frame lithe but muscular. Before class even starts, he seems to have made friends, chattering with the people around him.
It’s a few minutes before class begins with introductions, which Itto has already done twice today in his previous classes. It’s more of a formality than anything; he doubts that many of his classmates will remember names five minutes after the introductions are over. He certainly won’t—except one, Thoma. A name to pair with that face.
Much to Itto’s behest, however, it’s several days before he sees Thoma outside of the stuffy classroom.
“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea for you to join a club,” Itto’s best friend, Shinobu, comments offhandedly as the pair walks up to the campus’s club recruitment event. “I mean, with the band and homework, are you gonna have enough time for everything?”
Itto shrugs. “I dunno if I’ll join anything. I’m just scoping out my options.”
Shinobu clicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Alright, fair enough.”
There are a plethora of stands and volunteers milling around the event, and Itto takes his time chatting and getting freebies. His haul mostly consists of branded pens and chapsticks that he shoves into his pockets, though he’s delighted when the stand for traveling abroad has lollipops. He sticks the strawberry-flavored candy in his mouth and grabs a brochure so the volunteer won’t know he’s just in it for the candy.
Then, Itto spots Thoma in front of a stand for the local shelter, leaning down to scratch a dog between the ears.
Shinobu must notice Itto’s longing gaze, because she rolls her eyes and grabs him by the wrist, dragging him to the shelter stand.
Thoma cheerfully talks with one of the volunteers as Itto and Shinobu approach. There are a few dogs on leashes around the stand, and Itto squats beside one, allowing it to sniff his hand before he pets its snout. The dog licks his hand, causing Itto to laugh boisterously.
“Ha, I think he likes you,” a voice says from behind Itto, and as he turns to look up, his voice catches. “You’re Itto, right? I think we’re in the same biology class.”
Itto clears his throat, still looking up at Thoma. “Yep, the one and only.” He gestures to Shinobu and says, “This is Shinobu, and if I remember right, you’re Thoma?” he asks like the name hasn’t imprinted itself on his brain. He can almost feel how much Shinobu wants to breathe out a long sigh next to him.
“Mhm! I haven’t really seen you guys around campus, what dorm do you live in?”
Itto lifts the shiba into his arms without thinking, holding it on its back like a baby and scratching its stomach. “Oh, I actually live with my abuela about ten minutes from here. I get to stay for free since I do all the heavy lifting around the house.”
“I live in the co-ed dorms with some other friends,” Shinobu responds, “They can be a handful.”
Thoma laughs, and Itto smiles as Thoma and Shinobu make conversation about dealing with roommates—something Itto’s beyond glad he doesn’t have to worry about just yet. The dog, who is still in Itto’s arms, starts to lick at Itto’s face, apparently unhappy with the sudden lack of attention paid to him. Itto quickly rectifies the situation by again petting the dog’s stomach.
“Is he a shelter dog?” Itto asks suddenly, looking up to meet Thoma’s gaze.
“He is! Isn’t he well-behaved? I thought he was perfect to bring along for recruitment.” He pauses for just a moment, then asks, “Is it working?”
“Looks like it,” Shinobu snickers, knowing full well Itto’s here more for a person than his dog.
“If you want to volunteer, I can totally help you get started,” Thoma offers, and though Shinobu purses her lips, Itto nods.
“Sure, that sounds good. Do you want my, uh, phone number, or…?”
“Technically, you should just write your school email on that slip on the table,” Thoma replies, and Itto feels all of his skin start on fire at the same time. “But let’s trade numbers anyway. In case either of us misses a class, we can share notes.”
Itto breathes a sigh of relief as disaster is averted. He shifts to hold the dog in one arm and pulls his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Thoma. Thoma quickly sends a text to himself off of Itto’s phone and hands it back.
“We’d better get going,” Shinobu says after a slight lull. “Practice is in a bit.”
“Alright,” Itto says, not without hesitation. “Seeya in class, Thoma.”
“It was nice seeing you, Itto, and you too, Shinobu! We should get together and study sometime—”
“Yes!” Itto blurts before he even realizes what he’s saying. “Text me and we can like, have lunch in the cafeteria. Or, wherever. Up to you!” Hurry, Itto thinks, leave before he can say anything else or change his mind.
Shinobu coughs as Itto turns to make his escape. “Hey man, you have to give that back.” She casts a pointed glance at Itto’s arms.
Itto pauses then looks down at the yawning creature still cradled in his arm. “Ah, my bad.” He stalls and fixes the paw-print bandana around the dog’s neck before handing him back to Thoma. “I wasn’t stealing this.” He rubs his chin, brows furrowing while he weighs the consequences of bringing home a dog without running it by his abuela. “Although, maybe I could take him with me. He’s so small and quiet, I don’t think Abuela could really be upset. He could keep the bugs company when I’m not home.”
“The bugs? Itto, she’s going to flip if you show up with a dog,” Shinobu groans. “This is the second time we’ve talked about this: she will not care how cute it is—”
“Yeah, but this one is wearing a bandana!”
“Plus,” Thoma interjects cheerfully, “He is incredibly smart. He can open doors. Not on command, mostly for fun, but it’s very entertaining.”
Itto’s jaw drops, awe-struck by the magnificent animal who is trying to stick its head in Thoma’s shirt. “He’s a genius. What else does he do?”
Thoma sets the dog down and pulls a treat out of his pocket. “Spin, boy!”
The dog spins.
Itto can’t believe his eyes and for a moment, he almost tears up. “I have to take him, I have to—”
“Practice!” Shinobu smiles through clenched teeth as she grabs him by the arm and drags him away from the stand.
Thoma laughs as he clips a lead onto the dog’s collar. “If you come back and volunteer you can see him again.”
Itto nods solemnly. “I will come back. Every day. If Shinobu lets me.”
“I won’t.”
—
The next time they have class, Itto’s sitting in his usual spot when Thoma taps on the chair beside him. “This spot taken?”
Although someone usually does sit there, Itto’s sure they wouldn’t mind moving over one seat. Hopefully.
“It’s yours now,” Itto says, watching as Thoma pulls the chair out and takes a seat.
Class isn’t set to start for about ten minutes yet, so Itto isn’t surprised when Thoma begins to chat. “You mentioned bugs when we were talking before. Do you have them as pets?”
Itto lights up, partially because he loves bugs and partially because Thoma must have been thinking of him. “I do! I have mostly beetles, but also a tarantula and some millipedes.”
For a moment, Thoma looks slightly terrified. “Millipedes?”
Itto nods. “They’re pretty cute. They can roll into a ball like pill bugs. Centipedes are the ones that people are usually scared of since they have longer legs.”
“Ah,” Thoma replies, not looking entirely convinced. “Are you studying insects, then?”
“Yup! I’m an entomology major. How about you?”
“Veterinary medicine. I want to have my own practice one day.” Thoma leans down to take his notebook out of his backpack. “Running a low-cost animal hospital has been one of my dreams for a long time now. Why did you want to major in entomology?”
“Oh, I went to Creepy Con as a kid and saw this guy with a bunch of bugs in some jars and I, like, asked him about them, and turns out he was an entomologist too. We talked for hours, he gave me a couple of rollie-pollies, and now I’m here. Not really sure what I’m doing after this but I’ve got time.”
“It’s great to pursue your passion,” Thoma says with a nod, eyeing the creatures drawn in permanent marker on Itto’s backpack.
“Yeah, my big passions are bugs and music.” He pauses a moment, then adds, “And Yu-Gi-Oh.”
“Wait, really? My friend Ayato is always trying to get me to download this Yu-Gi-Oh app and play with him, ‘cause he goes to another school quite a ways from here, but I have no clue how to play. I prefer more traditional games myself.”
“Do you want to learn? I could teach you.”
“Ha, no thanks,” Thoma says immediately, “I’d rather you just play with Ayato instead if you’re cool with that.”
“Definitely cool with that. What’s his username on the app?”
Before Thoma can answer, the professor begins the class. Itto passes Thoma a note that reads, “What’s his username?”
The note he gets in return says, “I’m sorry I can’t read your handwriting. What does that say?”
Itto carefully writes it again, attempting legibility. Thankfully, it’s a success and passing notes becomes a habit during the next few class periods. Through their little notes, they learn tidbits about each other: Thoma’s in rugby, and Itto’s in a band. Itto’s allergic to beans. Thoma loves hotpot. Ayato is better at Yu-Gi-Oh than Itto, but Itto doesn’t mind because he’s having fun either way.
During one of these exchanges, Itto offers to walk Thoma to rugby practice “since it’s on the way to the parking lot anyhow.” Itto raises his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as they leave the student union building and start their descent down the winding sidewalk, wincing at the abrupt shift in temperature. “Yikes, wasn’t this hot when I got here this morning.”
Thoma shrugs apathetically. “There’s a breeze, at least. The heat’s never really bothered me.”
Itto huffs as he eyes the athletic jacket hanging loosely off Thoma’s lean body. “That explains a lot.”
“What? It’s super thin, I can barely feel it!”
Itto stuffs his hands in his pockets to combat the urge to pull on the jacket and test the validity of that statement. “I had to alter mine because I didn’t like how the collar felt, but, uh, that’s just a weird thing with a lot of clothes for me.”
“What was wrong with the collar?” Thoma asks, tilting his head curiously.
“Uhm, scratchy? There was some stuff I covered up with a softer material from my old school jacket.”
“Oh, you sew?” Thoma’s eyes gleam with excitement. “Me too! What got you into it?”
Itto rubs the back of his neck and grins a bit. “I was really rough on my clothes as a kid so my abuela taught me how to fix things myself. Helped me to not bug her all the time.” Itto pauses to rub his thumb over the tiny decorative stitching he added to the bottom of his shirt. “I’m like, the tailor for all my friends now. Pretty cool if I say so myself.”
“Look at that,” Thoma whispers as he leans down to admire his work. “It's really nice, Itto.”
Itto flushes, pride shining in his eyes. “Job’s not done if you didn’t do it well.”
Thoma smiles as he looks up, locking eyes with him just for a moment. “I completely agree.”
When they arrive at the field, Itto sees the rugby team waving at the other side and turns to see Thoma waving back when he freezes, blood singing in his ears. As the hem of Thoma’s shirt rises over his taut stomach, Itto’s floundering for any coherent way to wish Thoma farewell is cut short by his phone ringing.
His savior. “Shinobu! I’m on my way, see you in a bit!"
"Late again?" Thoma smirks as he wipes his forehead with his crumpled shirt.
He looked good before, but how does he look even better now? Focus, focus, you got this, bro. "Yeah, again. I'm running on Itto Time, y'know?”
"Itto Time." Thoma repeats, fascination gleaning in his eyes. “See you in class.”
“Yep, catch you later!” Breaking into a full sprint, Itto clears a fence at the end of the field before disappearing into the parking lot. Itto Time? Itto Time? It was already haunting him. Maybe Thoma would forget. Maybe Thoma would be gracious and pretend to forget. Not an especially comforting thought, but better than the mockery Itto was anticipating. “It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine,” he whispers as he clutches his bag to his chest and leans against the side of his abuela’s old van. “It’s all good, not a big deal.”
Sliding into the driver’s seat and shutting the door a little too hard, Itto repeats. “Not a big deal.” He chooses to ignore the strange crunchy noise that rattles the engine as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning his music up to the max volume. He mouths one last time, “Not a big deal. He’s cool. It’s cool.”
—
The band, Bug Boyz, initially had a super difficult time finding a place to practice. Abuela’s house was out of the running, as Itto didn’t want to bother her with all the noise, and the rest of the band lived in the dorms.
With a little luck and a lot of work from Shinobu, though, they secured a place just before the academic year started—a woman named Yanfei that had graduated a few years before Shinobu agreed to allow the use of her half-finished basement. The catch, though, was that the band had to help finish the renovation each time they practiced.
As Itto swings his van into Yanfei’s driveway, Shinobu stands at the front door with her arms crossed over her chest. “The boys are in there working already. Lemme guess, you were busy with Thoma?”
“I lost track of time,” Itto huffs as he runs up to her, Shinobu holding the door open for him.
“You can’t get out of the hard stuff just ‘cuz you like a boy,” Shinobu replies, her look a bit mischievous, cuing Itto in that she isn’t actually mad.
“I know, I know,” Itto replies, holding his hands up in front of him. “What’s on the agenda today, boss?”
They both descend the stairs into Yanfei’s basement, where the other band members are hard at work sanding the walls.
“Prepping the walls for paint,” Shinobu replies, leaning down to pick up a piece of sandpaper before she shoves it into Itto’s hands.
“Ow,” he mutters before realizing it didn’t actually hurt. “I’ll start over there.”
He gestures to the corner by the stairs and turns to go, but Shinobu catches him by the arm and points him towards the rest of the band. “No, you stay where I can see you, Itto. I know what you’re up to.”
Itto gasps in mock indignation, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his guilty smile. “Up to? What would I be up to?” Texting Thoma. That’s what he would be up to. She sees right through him.
Shinobu rolls her eyes, unable to keep a grin from inching across her face. “The boys are waiting for you, better catch up.”
“And what are you contributing today, hm?” Itto leans down to smirk in her face. “Are you keeping me distracted so you can go do… whatever it is you might do?”
Shinobu’s shoulders sag. “Ah, you got me. I was actually going to order take-out once we were done prepping the basement but since we’re taking so long—”
Itto seizes her by the shoulders before she can continue and whispers a desperate plea. “I will sand the walls until there is nothing left. Please get us food.” He releases her without saying another word and grabs safety glasses off the railing before barging into the midst of the band. “We’re getting lunch!”
Through the haze of debris, cheers were rising so loud they could probably be heard from the street. “Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!”
And then it’s sanding. Primer. Sanding again. Paint around the edges, paint around the trim. Rest. Devour hot take-out.
Itto alternates between stuffing his mouth and taking pictures with his phone to show Thoma the progress. He adds emojis with reckless abandon but only uses his three favorites: the oni, the triumphant face, and the sunglasses. With this combination, he imagines that he is curating a complex range of emotions that perfectly accentuates the text.
“I am the BEST painter—aside from Shinobu maybe—so I get the ultra-important details all taken care of. If you ever need anything painted? I’m your guy.” Itto sprinkles the end with a tasteful pair of sunglasses and sends.
“Good to know!! Are you still coming over to study later? If you’re tired we can reschedule.”
Itto drops the takeout container on the floor in his haste to respond. “No No No I’m still coming over!!@!” He pauses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I already got snacks, I’m very committed.”
Shinobu glances at his screen and nearly chokes on her drink. “Itto, why did you add twenty emojis to that message?”
He glances down, then up slowly with round, questioning eyes. “Is it too many? I want him to know I’m excited.”
“Maybe take, like, half of them off so it matches the other texts and you’ll be fine.”
He nods with a solemn expression. “You always have my back, bro. Anyway, I think everything is taken care of for today, so let’s rock!”
After an hour or so of something that can maybe be called practice, but more likely can be called fucking around with instruments, Itto sets his hands on his hips and calls it for the day, antsy to get going to Thoma’s more than anything. The band understands, and anyway, one of the guys has an e-sports competition on campus so they need to get going.
As they all congregate near the door, Itto winces at the sight of black paint speckling his arms. “I hope this comes off easy. I have to look perfect.”
“Hey, breathe.” Shinobu rubs Itto’s back gently to get his attention. “I’m sure he won’t notice and you’re just there to study, anyhow. Don’t speed on the way back.”
Itto wraps her in a tight hug before running out the door, saluting his gang on the way out.
—
“Hair? Perfect. Food? In this very hot bag. Study materials? Hopefully in my backpack.” Itto mumbles to himself as he knocks on the door of Thoma’s apartment and tries not to fidget with the things in his hands.
And then Thoma is on the other side of that door—beautiful as always, clad in sweatpants and a loose t-shirt—and Itto suddenly feels a lot less prepared.
“Hi,” Itto says.
“Hi,” Thoma responds, “Glad to see you. Come on in!”
So Itto does, feeling like he’s carrying far too much. He slips off his shoes and then sets down the bag of food he’d picked up from his abuela on the way here. “Here are the snacks I was talking about,” he says, “Tamales and buñuelos, homemade by my abuela.”
He thinks he sees a sparkle in Thoma’s eyes. “That’s awesome,” he says. “I can’t wait to try some!”
Itto knows his abuela’s food will not disappoint. After he sets down his backpack, his anxious tunnel vision begins to clear, and he takes a moment to look around the dorm room. It’s a bit bigger than Itto expected for a dorm room, but it’s not huge by any means. Somehow, Thoma has comfortably fit a small table, couch, and bed into the space. A dog plush rests on the top of the couch, a Spirited Away poster is framed and hung above his bed, and a reed diffuser sits on the side table. Nothing elaborate, but it suits Thoma’s vibe.
Focus, focus, get to the table. One step at a time. Almost there. Perfect. Mission accomplished! Itto slides his backpack off his shoulder and sets it against the wall, suddenly well enough to make a keen observation. “Cute place you got here… not a lot of bugs though.”
Thoma pauses in his straightening of the pencils that were spilling out of Itto’s bag, staring blankly. “Should there be bugs here?”
“Yeah! I have a purple beetle pillow that would look great right there by the dog.” Itto points enthusiastically. “Or maybe a white one so it doesn’t clash with the other stuff. Or, maybe a couple small ones: one white and one red.” A giggle from Thoma makes him pause, red creeping into his cheeks. “I love it without the bugs too, obviously, it’s great.”
“Oh, you’re fine.” Thoma laughs again. “I’m glad you approve. Let’s get our things together so we can get started.”
Perhaps he’s lucky that Thoma seems to actually want to study, because if it were up to him, he’d probably keep yammering until he said something he’d regret.
Itto takes his notebook from his bag and lays it out on the table, flipping to the notes for the current unit. As he goes to reach for a pencil, though, he notices that the nail polish he keeps in his bag has rolled underneath the table.
“Ah,” he says, sliding off his chair and reaching under the table, “One second.”
Thoma makes a curious sound but waits for Itto to reemerge, triumphantly holding the nail polish bottle in his hands. “Do you always carry that with you, or…?”
“Oh, yeah, I have to.” Itto holds his nails out for inspection. “Gotta keep ‘em flawless. I feel kinda,” he pauses for a moment to search for the right word, “sloppy, I guess? When they’re chipped.”
Thoma nods, his eyes on Itto’s hands.
“Do you ever paint your nails?” Itto asks, setting the bottle on the table.
“Sometimes, yeah,” Thoma replies, his gaze shifting to his own nails that he holds in front of his face. “Not lately though. I don’t have any polish here.”
“You do now,” Itto says, leaning down to rummage through his bag and pull out yet another bottle of black polish.
Thoma blinks at him. “Isn’t it a little excessive to carry two all the time?” he says with a bit of a chuckle.
“You just saw how easily that one was almost lost!” Itto defends. “And besides, if I didn’t have two, I couldn’t give one to you right now.”
Thoma laughs again. “Fair,” he says. “But you don’t have to do that. I’m not very good at painting my nails, to be honest.”
“It’s really fine. I have more at home.” Itto nudges the bottle closer to Thoma. “And I’m obviously a pro, so… Let me do it for you.”
Thoma’s face softens as he gives in, though he says, “Okay, but we have to study first.”
“Right, right. You know, I almost forgot about that.” Itto taps his pencil against the table.
So they begin to—or attempt to—compare notes, Itto’s penmanship again posing an issue as Thoma has to ask Itto for clarification on nearly every other word.
They get through it, though, and start to quiz each other on vocabulary, going back and forth for some time. About a half-hour into study, Itto realizes he is losing focus because of the noises his stomach is making. He stares at the bag of food, wrestling with his conflicting desires of satiating his hunger and finishing his notes on this section of the textbook.
Mercifully, Thoma breaks the silence. “We could take a break if you want, I think we’ve covered enough so far.”
“God, please, yes,” Itto blurts out, more enthusiastic than he’d intended. “I mean, I’m just hungry.”
“Let’s eat, then,” Thoma says, sliding the bag of food over to Itto.
Itto tries not to act ravenously as he opens the bag and takes out the tamales. For a moment, he’s afraid that he visibly drooled at the sight of them. He tries not to think about it too hard and instead asks for something to eat on. Thoma informs him that he has to eat on the table and laughs at his crestfallen expression before standing to grab what they need.
Itto’s initial attempts at conversation can’t compete with his plate and they fall into a comfortable silence, broken only by Thoma’s compliments of the food. Itto can tell he’s knowledgeable on the subject by the way he points out some of the spice combinations, so once he’s done stuffing his face, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and asks, “Do you like to cook, Thoma?”
Thoma lights up. “I love to cook!” he says. “I used to cook all the time when I still lived back at home, but… well, I obviously don’t have a kitchen here. Which is a bummer.”
“You know who does have a kitchen?” Itto asks immediately, before he’s even really thought about it. After he’s said it, though, he worries it’s too soon to invite Thoma over to his house. Is it too soon? Yes, he’s currently sitting in Thoma’s living space, but…
Thoma raises an eyebrow, awaiting Itto’s follow-up.
He decides to bite the bullet. “My abuela does. A fully stocked one. All the pots and pans you could need, all the utensils and that bizz… I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you using it sometime.”
Thoma laughs and says, “I’d love that.”
Yes. Not too soon.
After they’re done eating, they get back to their study session. Between the biology chapters, Itto helps Thoma out with some of his Spanish homework. Every half an hour or so, Itto allows himself a phone break, and on one of these, he gets a text from Shinobu: “How goes it, loverboy? Make any smooth moves yet?”
Itto tries not to blush as he texts her back five big red X emojis. He slams his phone face-down on the table and says, “I think I’m all studied out for today.”
Thoma stretches his arms over his head. “Good call,” he says, then flipping his textbook shut. Itto follows suit, stuffing all his study materials back into his bag. That leaves the nail polish bottles alone on the table, drawing both of their attention.
“Guess it’s time, huh?” Thoma says, taking one of the bottles into his hand and giving it a shake. “Think the color will suit me?”
Itto smiles. “Anything would look great on you,” he says, and then he bites at the inside of his cheek.
Thoma’s gaze flickers up to him and they hold eye contact for a moment before he says, “Even neon pink?”
“Even that,” Itto responds. “Here, come closer,” he says soon after, not letting Thoma dwell on his comment for long.
Thoma scoots his chair closer, splaying his hands flat on the table as Itto unscrews the polish bottle. He has pretty hands with long, slender fingers and short nails. Itto concentrates intensely as he paints Thoma’s nails, careful not to get any paint on his skin. He does a great job, too, despite how nervous he feels with Thoma watching him.
After he finishes painting one hand, he clears his throat and says, “You know how I’m in that band, Bug Boyz, right?” It sounds pretty stupid after he’s said it—obviously, Thoma knows, Itto just came from practice.
Still, Thoma just nods.
“Um, yeah. Well,” he shakes his head, starting over. “We actually have a show coming up on Saturday. I know exams are, like, Friday, and you might be tired, or…”
“Hey, that’s really awesome!” Thoma interrupts, eyes gleaming. “Where’s it at? I’d love to go see your band play.”
“Oh, there’s this couple that hosts shows in their basement—it sounds creepy but I swear it isn’t!” he quickly clarifies, pausing from painting Thoma’s nails, “They host shows, like, every weekend, for underground bands like ours that don’t have anywhere else to play.”
“No, that sounds cool,” Thoma replies with a smile, quelling Itto’s worries.
“Cool, cool, cool. I’ll text you the details,” he says, getting back to work.
Once all of Thoma’s nails are painted, Thoma waves them around and blows on them a bit to help them dry.
“See? It looks great on you,” Itto comments, and then jokes, “You’ll have to start carrying polish wherever you go now, too.”
Thoma shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips that makes Itto feel warm inside.
“Thank you, Itto. It does look pretty good. You did an amazing job, too, not a speck out of place.”
“I didn’t say I was a pro for nothing,” Itto says proudly, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest.
After Thoma’s nails dry, they finish up the buñuelos, and Itto—despite how much he’d like to stay longer—deigns to head home.
—
Their next study session a few days later brings them to Itto’s house, where his abuela begins fussing over Thoma the moment he walks in the door.
“Que lindo, ¿es tu novio?” she asks immediately, causing Itto to turn bright red.
“No, Abuela, and also, he speaks Spanish—” Itto stutters out, as Thoma hides a laugh behind his hand.
“Not very well,” Thoma adds.
“Well enough,” Itto hisses out.
Thoma laughs again.
Abuela ushers them into the dining room and pulls out a chair for Thoma, urging him to sit. Once he does, she makes her way into the kitchen, leaving the two boys alone.
“Sorry about that,” Itto says, still red from embarrassment.
“Don’t be sorry,” Thoma responds, having a kind enough soul to pretend Itto isn’t as red as a tomato right before him. “It’s really okay. Your grandma seems very nice.”
“She is! Maybe… too nice, sometimes,” he whispers, but she’s walking back into the dining room before either of them can get out another word.
“Itto mentioned how much you liked the tamales,” she says, setting a plate down in front of Thoma and then one in front of Itto. “I made some more, so please eat. There’s rice, charro beans, and plantains as well.”
Itto, scared of being mortified again, quickly says, “Thanks so much for the food, Abuela! Now, if we could just—”
Abuela laughs, interrupting him. “I can take a hint, you know,” she says, because apparently, her favorite hobby is embarrassing her grandson. She’s out the dining room door before Itto can say much else.
Thoma grins as he loads his plate. “She’s funny.”
“Yeah, so funny.” Itto cracks a smile. “I love her, but man, she stresses me out sometimes. Never know what she’s gonna say next.”
“I wonder if I could talk her into giving me the recipes for all this.” Thoma sighs contently after they’ve been eating awhile, “Especially the plantains.”
“She’d probably end up making you a cookbook.” Itto laughs and pushes his food around his plate absent-mindedly. “She kinda goes overboard sometimes, but so do I when I’m excited about stuff. And this is the perfect time to warn you: I am going to introduce you to all my bugs when we go back there.”
“How many do you have?”
“Not a lot, like, eight? A tarantula, three onikabuto, a rose-orchid mantis and a couple millipedes—oh, that’s it. I have seven bugs.”
“Mm, I imagine they aren’t all roommates?”
“Oh, god, no. They all have their own spaces, I built an apartment complex for them. Come see!”
Itto quickly washes his and Thoma’s plates in the kitchen before ushering him to his bedroom.
An apartment complex is not far from the truth. Itto’s craftwork is very on brand: vibrant and somewhat irregular. Introductions with the bugs, a general overview of the organization system for their food and supplements, and decoration choices: Itto recounts each detail with perfect clarity and by the end Thoma is well acquainted with his strange pets. Even the millipedes (Milli and Peter).
“Aaand, here!” Itto holds out a white plush beetle, practically shoving it into Thoma’s arms. “For your apartment. It’ll be perfect, now.”
Thoma holds the plushie to his chest, still taking in his surroundings. Besides the actual terrariums, Itto’s room is covered in posters and various insect plushies are scattered throughout.
“It alright if we study in here?” Itto asks, knowing this is the place where they’re least likely to be disturbed by his abuela.
Thoma nods, setting down his backpack. Itto points him to the beanbag chair in the corner before he flops backward onto his bed, holding his notebook above his face. Thoma sits in the beanbag chair, the beetle plushie propped up against the side of the chair, and opens his textbook in his lap.
They study for significantly shorter than they had the last time before Itto finds his focus wandering—sure, exams are in two days, but studying is so boring and Thoma is right there and they could be doing literally anything else.
Itto’s surprised when Thoma speaks up first. “Hey, I was looking up your band on Instagram the other day—” Itto takes a moment to scream internally, “—and I really like how you all do your stage makeup.”
Itto proudly proclaims, “All me and Shinobu, baby! It’s so cool, right?”
Thoma nods, looking amused. “Can I try it?”
After Itto stares at him for a moment, he hops off his bed and hurries to the bathroom to get his makeup supplies. He grabs his makeup bag and a few eyeshadow palettes, and when he gets back to his room, Thoma has moved to sit on the bed. Itto plops down next to him and sets the supplies off to the side, rummaging through the bag before he produces an eyeliner pencil. “Alright, hold still,” he says, and Thoma holds up his hands.
“Wait,” he says, “No, I want to see if I can replicate it on you.”
“O-Oh,” Itto stutters. Still, he passes the supplies off to Thoma and swallows thickly, mentally preparing himself for Thoma’s hands on his face.
He’s not prepared. Thoma lifts a hand to hold Itto’s cheek as he swipes the eyeliner pencil across the opposite eyelid, and his hands are so soft, his touch so gentle…
“I used to play with makeup when I was a kid,” Thoma says, voice quiet as he concentrates. Itto’s thankful his eyes are closed because he’s sure if he saw how close Thoma’s face was to his, he’d probably blurt out something dumb and embarrass himself. “You know Ayato, who you play Yu-Gi-Oh with? Well, I was kinda adopted by his family as a kid. And our mom, she always left her makeup out. Probably ‘cause she knew we liked to play with it.”
Itto smiles. “Sounds cute,” he says.
“Yeah, but Ayato was the worst. His sister Ayaka always made him look so nice, and then he’d turn to me and draw all over my face with the worst color combinations in existence. It was awful.”
Itto can’t help but laugh, causing Thoma to screw up. He sucks in a quick breath through his teeth. “Um, makeup wipe?”
“Sorry,” Itto says, grabbing the makeup wipes and passing them over. “I started doing makeup pretty early, too, just beginning with, like, eyeliner. I was sort of bullied, but not like, too much bullied by the kids on my block.”
Thoma’s mouth pulls into a frown.
“So I stopped wearing makeup for a while. I dunno, I felt like people would treat me more how I wanted to be treated if I didn’t do anything feminine… After I got on hormones, though, I felt comfortable enough to start again.” He pauses, biting at his lip. “Sorry, this got kinda heavy.”
Thoma looks at him with big eyes and says, “No, it’s totally fine. I like to hear it. Not that—not that you were bullied, but I like to hear about you.”
Itto lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. “My abuela was super supportive of, you know, everything, trying to protect me and stuff… I don’t know where I’d be without her.”
“I’m glad you have her,” Thoma says, and Itto’s eyes flutter shut again as he continues to draw on the eyeliner.
“Me, too,” he says quietly.
“I was pretty lucky, living with Ayato and Ayaka,” Thoma says, then. “Their—or, our family is very rich, and no one wanted to mess with us. So when I transitioned, everyone was really respectful.”
“That sounds nice,” Itto replies.
“Sure, but it made me really… sheltered, I guess. I didn’t realize for a long time how hard other people had it.”
Thoma glances down at the photo on his phone before picking a shade from the eyeshadow palette.
“That’s not really your fault, though, is it?”
“I guess not.”
They’re quiet for a moment as Thoma dusts eyeshadow over Itto’s eyelids. And then Thoma is done with Itto’s eyes, so he can actually open them—and Thoma is so close, so very close.
As Itto watches him, he ponders. Why does Thoma grab the brush instead of the lipstick and take so long lining the curves of his mouth? Is it commitment to detail that makes him lean down to paint the red stripes over Itto’s jaw? Itto has watched Thoma’s steady hands in the labs after class. Having one of those long slender fingers curled underneath his chin and gently turning his head to the left, then the right feels—right? It’s not a good enough word, but it’s the best he can manage when he finds himself… enthralled. Thoma has him spellbound. He closes his eyes again.
“I think it’s done,” Thoma says as he lays the brush down.
Was it strain he heard? Or an overactive—hopeful—imagination? When Itto opens his eyes and sees Thoma in the same place, he exerts an enormous amount of effort to not tremble.
Thoma’s eyes wander for just a second before he grabs a hand mirror and holds it between them. It’s facing the wrong way but for some reason, Thoma hasn’t noticed.
Itto cautiously raises his fingers to push the mirror aside and the motion pulls Thoma’s attention to him. His cheeks are pink and Itto imagines he looks the same way. His blood is singing in his ears.
Ask. Ask him. There’s no way he doesn’t know by now. Wouldn’t he have moved away? He isn’t sure.
Thoma’s mouth trembles almost imperceptibly.
Fuck it.
Itto leans in just as the door creaks open.
“I made dessert if you two want any—oh, I’m sorry.” Abuela makes a hasty exit.
Fuck.
They both back away quickly, and Thoma laughs breathlessly, “Um, so dessert, huh?”
“Right, yeah. Dessert.”
Itto will have a conversation with his abuela about knocking before coming in later. But for now, he and Thoma head to the dining room for brownies. Awkward brownies. If brownies had feelings, these brownies would probably be the most mortified brownies in existence.
And when Thoma leaves, arms stacked with tupperware full of Abuela’s cooking and a white beetle plushie, Itto sees him off at the door.
“I, uh, had a lot of fun,” Itto says, the door ajar between them. Crisp autumn air blows in and ruffles their hair. “You should come back again.” As soon as he says it, he has to hold himself back from burying his face in his hands. Could he sound more desperate? Haphazardly, he adds, “And my abuela would love to see you, too.”
Thoma smiles, close-lipped. “Goodnight, Itto.”
—
It’s practically radio silence from Thoma for the next three days, and Itto cannot possibly shut up about it.
“And I said my abuela would love to see him too, like, I could not have messed that up more if I actually tried. I should have just kissed him. I should have kissed him and then it would have been fine. Or maybe it would have been worse because then she would have walked in while we were kissing and oh, god, that would have been so much worse.”
“Hey, Itto?” Shinobu glances up from adjusting the microphone stand.
“And then I saw him in class, and he acted like everything was all normal, I mean—it was our exam, so we couldn’t talk or anything at all, but he still sat next to me, and that’s a good sign, right? But I don’t even know if he’ll come tonight anymore ‘cause I messed up so bad. I mean, he hasn’t texted me back at all, but I only texted him once in case he needs space, I just—”
“Hey, Itto?” Shinobu repeats pointedly.
Itto, miserable. “Yeah?”
“Please stop talking until the show starts. This is the hundredth time we’ve gone over this and it’s not as bad as you think it is. If you start arguing with me again I’m going to lose my mind, so just stop thinking about it.” She glances around him and sighs quietly. “Oh, no.”
“But I can’t just stop thinking about it. I might have ruined things forever. Do you know long forever is? Forever without him? Forever without knowing if—”
“Itto, shut up. You have company.”
“What?” He turns to follow her gaze and inhales sharply to see Thoma walking up behind him. “Oh, oh my god. He’s right there. Ouch!”
Shinobu returned to the microphone as if she hadn’t kicked him in the shin with spiked boots. “You’re welcome.”
Itto supposes it might have been warranted, but seeing Thoma brings him a new wave of anxiety he hadn’t experienced before.
Thoma seems nervous as well. But he is here.
Itto fidgets with his drumsticks, twirling them around his fingers in a vague attempt to ground himself. “Hey.” Perfect, nailed it. Don’t mention your grandma this time, idiot. Casual.
“Hey.” Thoma smiles up at him. “Made it.”
“Yep.” Use tone. Use tonal indicators when you talk. “I’m glad you’re here.” Itto breathes before he continues. “I, uh, haven’t heard from you in a minute.”
“Yeah, sorry, I had a bunch of exams crammed into a couple days so I haven’t left my dorm in days.” Thoma shifts his weight slightly. “I didn’t forget about this. I just didn’t have time—”
“Don’t stress, I’m just happy you’re here.” Itto feels lighter. “I missed you. Hanging out with you.”
“Look, uh, I know you don’t have a ton of time to talk before the show, so I—I brought you this,” he holds out a slip of paper folded into a square. “You can read it later, um, after the show. I just had to give it to you, because it was burning a hole in my pocket.”
Thoma tucks the paper into Itto’s open palm, and then he’s gone into the (admittedly not large) crowd as quickly as he’d appeared. Itto fumbles with the edges of the paper for a moment in his wake before he puts it in his back pocket.
“Well enough to play, Itto?” Shinobu calls him over. “We’re about to start.”
“Let’s do it.”
It’s not the first time they’ve played here, but it is the first time that Thoma’s watching, so Itto’s nerves start to rise again as he takes a seat at his drumset. As soon as they start, though, the adrenaline rushes in and then Itto doesn’t have thoughts to spare—just the rhythm pounding in his ears and Shinobu’s voice singing through the speakers.
The crowd seems to like them—at least, they stop chattering with each other to actually listen to the music, which doesn’t always happen. There are a few familiar faces in the crowd besides Thoma, people who have come to see Bug Boyz more than once, which makes Itto grin like mad as he drums away.
He’s sweating by the time they reach halfway through their set and Shinobu calls a water break. They retreat behind the curtain for a moment, and Itto, who’s never been a very good listener, feels drawn to the piece of paper sitting in his pocket.
As he pulls it out and starts to unfold it, he gets a wicked glare from Shinobu, but continues anyway.
“Dear Itto,” it starts, “Sorry for chickening out the other night. I really like you, and I hope I didn’t screw everything up. I know this is like the lamest way to confess, but that’s what this is—a confession. So talk to me later, okay?”
Itto’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Thoma had been worried about the same things? About screwing everything up forever?
He’s not able to ruminate on it longer before Shinobu is practically dragging him back out on stage. As she does, Itto blurts, “Let me dedicate the last song to him.”
Shinobu stops in her tracks. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He jumps up and down twice in place. “Let me do it.”
Shinobu laughs boisterously, “Alright,” she says. “You crazy bastard.”
As the final song approaches, he finds himself distracted, watching Thoma in the crowd. He seems to be enjoying himself, standing pretty close to the stage.
And then Shinobu is putting the microphone in Itto’s face, and without thinking, he’s saying, “There’s someone very special to me here tonight… This song goes out to you, Thoma.”
The crowd cheers, and Itto catches Thoma beaming at him, so he beams back and holds up his hands in the shape of a heart.
The song itself isn’t particularly romantic—none of their songs are—but as soon as it’s over, Itto throws his drumsticks on the ground and beelines off the stage and to Thoma, where he grabs him by the wrist and drags him out of that basement, into the cool night air.
“I read your note,” Itto says, breathless.
Thoma laughs, “I figured.”
“I really like you, too,” Itto says, still not letting go of Thoma’s wrist. “I thought I screwed it up, but you also—? It’s so dumb.”
“It is dumb,” Thoma agrees, slipping his wrist out of Itto’s grasp, but only to intertwine their fingers.
Itto’s heart is on the verge of making a violent exit through his chest. “Thoma?” He grips his hand tightly and pulls him closer, waiting for something. Recognition, perhaps?
Thoma’s shoulders rise as he falls against his chest, eyes shining under the street light. “Yeah?”
Itto doesn’t hesitate this time, there is just no time for it. He leans down to catch Thoma’s lips in his own, and it’s warm against the cold—it’s perfect—exactly what he imagined and better. Everything in the world disappears, except for Thoma who is real and warm and clinging to him like Itto is going to disappear.
Itto collapses backwards against the brick wall when he comes up for air and drags Thoma with him, shaking in every limb. It’s a relief; the end of agonized waiting and uncertainty.
Thoma’s fingers wind their way into the white strands of hair dangling over Itto’s face, pushing it up and away. “You kiss like you’re starving, Itto.”
“I was,” Itto blushes at his own very frank confession. “I am.”
“Well, you don’t need to starve anymore.” Thoma reassures him, leaning up for another kiss.
Inside the house, another band begins their set; they can hear the muffled music through the walls.
“Should we go back in?” Thoma asks, glancing at the door.
Itto vigorously shakes his head. “No way. Let’s get out of here.”
“Should you tell Shinobu?”
“She’s not my babysitter, man,” Itto laughs loudly, taking out his phone to shoot her a text regardless.
“Alright, alright,” Thoma chuckles, “Where do you want to go?”
Itto thinks for a moment, then presses his forehead against Thoma’s. “Where do you wanna go?”
“Wanna just go back to my dorm?” Thoma asks, and Itto’s never heard a better idea.
—
Days later, with exams and shows in the past, Itto and Thoma find themselves making cupcakes in Abuela’s kitchen.
Itto carefully places the cupcake liners in the pan as Thoma whisks the batter, wearing one of Abuela’s old aprons, all cute like. Then, in a lapse of judgment, perhaps, Thoma lets Itto whisk the frosting while the cupcakes are in the oven.
“Alright, yeah, I got this,” Itto says as he whisks. It occurs to him that he will be done faster if he whisks faster, and so he really goes ham with it until it splats on both of their faces.
Thoma starts laughing, reaching up to swipe the frosting off of Itto’s cheek with his thumb before sticking it in his mouth. “It’s good,” he says. “I mean, you can’t really go wrong with frosting, though.”
“Come here, let me try,” Itto says, pulling Thoma closer to him and quickly licking frosting off his face.
Thoma pushes him away and wipes at his face with his hands, “Ew, dude, you just licked me!”
“I’d do it again,” Itto replies, licking his lips.
“No! You will not!” Thoma laughs, fighting Itto off as he sticks out his tongue.
Itto wins, though not by licking Thoma’s face again—he catches his lips in a quick kiss before returning to whisking the frosting at a more appropriate pace.
“I… suppose that’s technically not licking. Felt like it a little bit, though.” Thoma unties the apron from around his waist and tosses it over a chair, casually wiping his hands on Itto’s shirt.
“What the—hey!” Itto scurries backwards until his back hits the counter.
Thoma corners him with no hesitation and traps his boyfriend between his arms. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”
“I can take it!” Itto defends, wrapping Thoma into a bear hug and lifting him off the ground. Thoma’s grinning as Itto twirls him around once and then sets him down, just as the timer on the oven starts to beep.
“Sure you can,” Thoma teases before reaching to grab an oven mitt.
Itto intercepts, a toothy grin lighting up his face. “Oh, allow me.” A dramatic flourish of the mitt—Itto’s theatrics are so distracting that Thoma misses his close call with the frosting bowl—and the cupcakes are safely deposited on a cooling rack. “Can we frost them now?”
“No, they just came out of the oven. I told you before.” Thoma eyes him. “So I’m setting a timer and we’re going to wait together for them to cool.”
“That sounds boring.” Itto pouts. “What am I gonna do until then?”
“Surely we can think of something,” Thoma says with a little smirk, pulling Itto closer by the hem of his shirt.
In the end, the cupcakes get cold.