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It happens on a frosty January morning while on their way to school. The cold hits their faces and their breaths are visible; the sun is barely peeking from the horizon. If anyone else other than Chifuyu was by his side, cheerfully chirping at him, Baji would have already landed a punch or two.
“Look, look, Baji-san!” Chifuyu says, showing off his hands in front of his face. He isn’t wearing gloves, even if he should. Baji’s cheeks tint the faintest of reds when he remembers he was the one to give Chifuyu the scarf he’s wearing (and that it’s probably why he wears it, in the first place). “My fingertips are red!”
It’s true. Which means his hands must be freezing. Seriously, why is he not wearing gloves? Baji told him multiple times already to be more conscious of the weather. Last winter, the boy had caught the naughtiest of colds because of his tendency to not dress properly.
So, without any kind of thought behind his actions―not a very unusual circumstance for him, sadly―he tears away his hands from his pockets and grabs Chifuyu’s, the contrast of the temperature in their skins making him shiver. He frowns, and without thinking twice about it, blows on their joint hands, trying to warm up Chifuyu.
Baji doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he hears Chifuyu sputter, making him look up and see how red-faced his friend has become. His gaze travels back to their hands, then back to Chifuyu’s face, and to their hands once more.
He stares blankly at them, eyes widening when he understands―
Right.
He’s.
He’s holding Chifuyu’s… Hands…
Baji’s face explodes, a blush so bright and hot it could warm up the entire city of Tokyo with how much he feels his cheeks burn. He can’t keep looking at Chifuyu. He can’t.
But he doesn’t stop their hand-holding, either. He grumbles, and without a word, not even daring a glance towards the blond, puts one of Chifuyu’s hands inside his pocket.
“At least one will warm up this way.” He says, squeezing Chifuyu’s palm inside his cloak, absolutely embarrassed but unwilling to back off. “You should wear gloves.”
He risks catching a glimpse of Chifuyu. When he does, his heart, already beating fast, goes haywire.
He’s smiling.
Chifuyu, in all his morning glory, hair a bit dishevelled, with rose-stained cheeks and the light of the dawn hitting him, is smiling. Softly, beautifully, staring at where their hands are linked beneath the cloth.
Baji feels them on the tip of his tongue, the words he cannot say, doesn’t know how to articulate yet. Barely fourteen, he is too young, maybe, to know about such things. But warmth seeps all over his veins with each beat his heart makes and he wants to engrave the image in front of him forever in his brain.
How precious.
He starts walking again, unwilling to be caught staring in a daze, and pulls Chifuyu with him.
Throughout all the way to school, Baji doesn’t let go.
And when Chifuyu, the next morning, throws his hands in front of him, showing off the cold, red fingertips, he does it again.
Again, and again, and all the cold, winter mornings afterwards.
It keeps happening. Even when the temperatures rise and summer comes along, every time they walk alone, Chifuyu comes up to him and shoves his hands in front of Baji, expectant and blushing.
And Baji, for some reason―he will not name it―keeps indulging him.
(He even caught Chifuyu putting his hands in the freezer to make them cold, wanting Baji to keep holding them. It was adorable. Too much for his heart, really. That he’s alive to this day is both a miracle and a mystery.)
“Baji-san, my hands are cold.”
They’re not. It’s July, and Baji knows Chifuyu doesn’t run cold like he does, cold feet and cold hands all year long. Chifuyu might get cold in winter, since he’s a stubborn mule that won’t grab a pair of gloves to keep himself warm, but his body will quickly acclimate the rest of the seasons.
Still. He blushes, grumbles, and grabs one of Chifuyu’s hands in his.
“There. Happy?”
Despite his grievances about it, Baji doesn’t hate holding Chifuyu’s hands. If he did, he wouldn’t do it so often―almost every day now.
He likes it.
Chifuyu’s hands aren’t soft, but his aren’t, either. The way they fit isn’t perfect, and in the sweltering heat of the summer, they sweat more often than not. But he doesn’t pull away, and neither does Chifuyu. Walking towards school, or on the way to the convenience store in the middle of the night; if they’re alone, Chifuyu stares at him, extends his arm, and Baji grabs it, automatically, almost involuntarily.
(Almost, because it is voluntary. Because he likes holding Chifuyu’s hand. He likes that he’s the one Chifuyu asks it to, that it’s just a thing they do.)
Baji can’t bring himself to hate it. To put a stop to it, even though he knows he should.
“As long as Baji-san keeps holding my hand, I’ll be happy.” Chifuyu answers, cheeks flushed and the brightest grin stretching his lips.
Baji blushes, try as he might not to let the words of his best friend affect him. “Shut up.”
It’s embarrassing, how he doesn’t let go of Chifuyu even after that. How he squeezes their palms together, even with the sun rays heavily weighing down on them.
It’s embarrassing, but it makes him smile, it makes him happy, and maybe that’s the most embarrassing thing about it all.
But Chifuyu has had that power over him ever since the day they met. Baji should’ve known the moment his heart skipped a beat after Chifuyu genuinely smiled at him underneath the sunset, following him home for a portion of peyoung yakisoba they ended up splitting.
Now he’s here, holding hands with him in the middle of the street. Not wanting to let go. Used to it, after months of Chifuyu pulling the same shit over and over again and of him not refusing a single time.
Chifuyu’s laughter echoes in his ears, and he looks back at the sunlit boy, the sight weaving a smile in the corners of his lips. Shining, sparkling under the summer heat, a sky without clouds above him, joy all-encompassing.
If he could, Baji would stay here, basking in Chifuyu and all the things he makes him feel, warm hands linked together, uncaring of whoever might see them.
Uncaring of the world, so long as Chifuyu keeps asking to hold his hand.
The situation comes to a close one random night in September.
Not because they stop holding hands―heavens forbid, Baji doesn’t think he can go on without the feel of Chifuyu’s hand in his―but because it becomes a known fact about them. Of their relationship―friendship―and what they do with it.
People already know they share every meal, split down the middle (teasing, bickering, when Chifuyu smirks at him and starts eating without sharing, just swallowing down, knowing Baji will come for him). That they often go to places on the same ride, and that Chifuyu is the only one who’s ever managed Baji’s Goki other than himself. That there are few times you will see one without the other, joined at the hip since they met, since Baji accepted that Chifuyu was in his life to stay.
His friends know that he smiles more by Chifuyu’s side. That he taught the younger boy how to ride a bike. That sometimes, when they have sleepovers, Baji reads shoujo manga because of Chifuyu—knowledge he hadn’t wanted to become known but, in his carelessness, had slipped through his lips either way.
There are lots of things people are aware of when it comes to Baji and Chifuyu. A lot more that they aren’t: how Chifuyu likes to braid his hair after a bath or how they don’t bring the futon out when they stay over at each other’s place; how they don’t know how to bake but help their mothers from time to time, usually making a mess; or how often they get away from everything and aimlessly go on a ride and end up at a random festival, or at the beach, or at a hill, up until sunset and past midnight, cherishing their time together. Their habit of hand-holding is—fortunately for Baji—one of them.
Until that September night, that is.
As much as Baji wants to deny it, holding Chifuyu’s hand while they’re walking together has become so ingrained in him that he does it without thinking.
Of course, that bites him in the ass.
After a meeting of Captains and Vice-Captains for a great meal at one of their favourite restaurants―which, yes, Baji and Chifuyu did share―they’re about to each go their way, but a voice interrupts them.
“Oi, Edward, didn’t know you were so bold.”
Frowning, he looks towards Mikey. His childhood friend is wiggling his eyebrows at him in the most ridiculous way, not even holding back his laughter.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” He asks, bewildered, the tone indicating his irritation.
The rest of Toman’s upper ranks turn their way, chuckles and whistles exploding towards Baji and Chifuyu.
“What the hell are you fuckers laughing at!?” Baji exclaims, his already poor patience reaching the limit.
“Oi, are you serious, Baji?” Draken asks between laughter.
Mikey, of course, just adds fuel to the fire: “Do you need us to give you a hand?” Fucking hell, Mikey’s tearing up from how hard he’s laughing.
The teasing from the others doesn’t help, especially when Baji has no idea why. Anger swirling in his guts, he takes a step forward, ready to start a fight if needed, but a squeezing of his hand stops him in his tracks.
He looks back at Chifuyu, about to demand an explanation, when he sees the blush his best friend’s sporting, eyes firmly fixed on their hands. He doesn’t get it until he stares too and realizes―oh.
He’s holding Chifuyu’s hand.
That itself is nothing new. But he’s holding Chifuyu’s hand in front of the others.
At his red face, the rest of their friends laugh even louder. Those assholes.
“Don’t laugh, guys,” Mitsuya intervenes, smirk in place. Baji doesn’t even want to hear the bullshit that’s about to come out of his mouth―because despite his kind reputation, Mitsuya’s one of the worst. “Didn’t Chifuyu say it? That he was Baji’s right hand?”
“More like his boyfriend.” Smiley snorts, arms looped behind his head.
Mikey can’t resist it. “That’s just how they spend their days in the 1st Division, hand-in-hand.”
“At least someone wants to hold my hand.” He spits out, cheeks burning.
“Ha? Thousands would want to hold my hand! Right, Ken-chin?”
Draken sighs, laughter dying down. “Would they, really?”
“Ha!” Baji puffs out, satisfied at Mikey’s pout.
That is, until the bastard lights up with mischief and smirks. “Is this why you were asking Emma about how to romance—”
Okay, that’s it.
Baji lets go of Chifuyu and starts walking towards Mikey. “Are you looking for a fight, you pipsqueak!?”
“Who are you calling a pipsqueak!?”
It’s easy to get lost in their play-fighting after that. Baji doesn’t know when Mucho and Sanzu leave. He’s in a headlock by the time Mitsuya and Hakkai say their goodbyes, the Kawata twins riding away not long after that.
Baji’s never won once against Mikey in a fight, playful or not, and he doesn’t win this one, either. He doesn’t lose, because Draken separates them in time, muttering something about not keeping Emma waiting, but he would have if not for the intervention.
As he watches Mikey and Draken drive away, he runs a hand through his hair, nervous for a second. There’s tension in the air, both of them uncomfortable, embarrassed about what happened.
He sighs, and feels his blush return, even if not as bright. “Don’t…” He starts, clearing his throat as his words get stuck. Don’t stop asking to hold my hand because of this. “Ignore them. Those guys are fucking stupid and don’t know what they’re talking abou—”
“I like holding Baji-san’s hand.” Chifuyu interrupts him, like very few times he’s done. When he looks at him, Chifuyu’s staring right at him with that determined glint in his eyes. “Even if it’s in public, and people tease us about it, I don’t mind.”
His heart explodes at Chifuyu’s words. This whole time, it’s been unspoken. Baji knows Chifuyu likes him, knows he likes him back, but they’ve never talked about it. They hold hands when they spend time together, and they hug under the covers, late at night, without muttering a word about it.
I like holding Baji-san’s hand.
It’s like a direct attack.
Almost fifteen, he knows they should talk about it. But he’s never been good with words, never known how to put all of his feelings out in the open, without fumbling or embarrassing himself about it.
Baji sighs, fond. He walks towards Chifuyu and grabs his hand, pulling him towards his Goki.
In the dead of the night, heart racing and alive, he can feel Chifuyu’s doing the same. The smile, the blush, he might not see them, but he knows they’re there, just like they’re settled in his face.
Breeze drifting on by, his hair in the wind, Baji looks back and grins.
“C’mon,” he says, interweaving their fingers. “Let’s go home.”
And Chifuyu follows.