Chapter Text
白
The truth is, Shirahama doesn't know what to do with Niibashi. Or, to put it more accurately, he isn't sure if he can lay a finger on what he feels about that boy.
For lack of a better word, being around Niibashi scares him. There's something about his eyes and his face and his voice and him that makes Shirahama's stomach twist in tiny knots. He feels that he has every right to feel that way, since Niibashi is everything Shirahama doesn't understand; he's blunt, impatient, and demanding, but from the very few times they've interacted, it's already not difficult for Shirahama to see that Niibashi is also remarkably considerate, and the way he treated Shirahama in the infirmary was as if his hands knew gentleness before everything else. He looks like he was ripped straight out of a webtoon panel, yet he's undoubtedly human—so human that he dropped his sauce packet on the floor of a fast food restaurant and bumped his head under the table in the process of retrieving it.
Niibashi makes him feel nervous, and Shirahama can't say that he doesn't hate it. Feeling nervous makes him feel more like an idiot than he already does, but if someone asked Shirahama what it is that he hates the most, he wouldn’t reply 'being nervous'. He would be honest and say 'being bland' without a second thought.
Nobody wants to waste their energy talking about something bland. Bland for Shirahama conjures up the image of biting into a watermelon’s flesh, realizing that it tastes more like water than melon, before discretely spitting it out in a napkin and reaching for the bright and ripe strawberry instead; or shuffling through a bedroom pop playlist, getting tired of listening to the same reverb-drenched guitars and off-brand Mac DeMarcos over and over again, then finally ditching the playlist altogether for some more exciting tunes.
Nobody wants anything bland. People will always look for better options. When Shirahama overheard that classmate of his and his girlfriend commenting on his appearance, he would have preferred for them to say that he was downright hideous, period. Ugly and undesirable. Ironically enough, Shirahama thinks that would’ve been kinder.
So, on that day in the fast food place, when Niibashi told him that he wasn’t going to ask anyone else and that Shirahama was the only one he’s asking, something—small and fleeting and hopeful—took off in him.
Maybe he wasn’t so bland anymore.
And maybe, he doesn't mind feeling nervous whenever Niibashi is in front of him.
"Do you still want me to worship you?"
The question rolls off his tongue before he can turn it over in his head. Their steps come to a halt in almost perfect unison, and Niibashi looks up at him.
At that moment, Shirahama learns that the sun can rise in someone’s eyes. Their gazes hold, and Shirahama feels a shock run through him. He's quite certain that it's not because of the Tylenol kicking in.
"You'll do it?" Niibashi asks; his voice clear as ice-melted streams, and the colour of his eyes bright as he regards Shirahama.
Shirahama finds his pulse beating thickly in his veins. "You said that I wouldn't be bored again if I worshipped you. Is that true?"
Niibashi studies him for a moment. "You've never worshipped anyone before, right?"
Shirahama concurs by shaking his head.
"Well, let's just say that people often change after they do something they've never done before," Niibashi explains. "Either for better or for worse, but they'll change."
Shirahama nods, warily polite, since he can't decide on anything appropriate to say. For a second, there's silence.
"So have you decided to do it?"
Niibashi watches him, waiting, and Shirahama has no choice but to look at him; he figures it'd be rude not to. Niibashi's face is smooth, without the blotches and spots that commonly afflict their peers (Shirahama wonders if it stays that way during the summer, too). His features are drawn by a skilled hand; nothing amiss or sloppy, nothing out of place. All precise, carved with the sharpest of knives.
"Like I said, I won't ask anyone else, but I also won't beg anything from you," Niibashi says. "If you decide to do it, I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I won't cling to you. All we have to do is worship each other until we both feel whole."
The hallway is awfully quiet when neither of them speaks. Shirahama clears his throat. There's the rustling sound of plastic as he adjusts his ice pack. "Then what happens after that?"
"After that, I'll let you go." Niibashi's words are straightforward, unpretentious. They carry no hint of anything Shirahama needs to peer through. "And you'll do the same with me. From that point on, we'll live however we want to live."
When Niibashi resumes his walk, Shirahama's limbs, too, carry him forward. His chest trills with a sensation he doesn't have the right name for, and somewhere in his head, he feels space shifting to make room for something new—a decision.
…
Somehow, Shirahama ends up heading to practice with Kagiura.
Not that he minds, but…it's not what he planned to do. The idea didn't even cross his mind.
He meant to approach Niibashi after school to ask if he had cram school that afternoon, but just as he was about to peek inside Class A, Kagiura stepped out and asked him if he was looking for someone.
Don't say Niibashi, he thought in a mild bout of panic. Think of something else.
And so, here he is, because he lied and told Kagiura he wanted to go to practice with him. It was all Shirahama could do to not get Kagiura to ask questions, like why he was looking for his best friend. We just agreed to worship each other sounds like a crazy answer, no matter how many times he says it in his head.
"You know, this is great timing," Kagiura says as they navigate the crowded hallway of the third-year floor. "I actually have something to talk to you about."
Shirahama raises his eyebrows. "Yeah? What d'you wanna talk about?"
"Is there something going on between you and Niibashi? Because I heard you two were arguing in the hallway this morning."
Shirahama has already been asked every iteration of that question this morning, more than once. Tashiro, for one, demanded answers as to why he was talking to that 'really cute guy' whom Tashiro definitely didn't mistake as a girl, and he's pretty sure he's set off something in Miyano that he'd rather not find out, because the boy kept looking at him funny for the rest of the day.
Granted, his exchange with Niibashi didn't take place somewhere far from the madding crowd.
He tries not to let his surprise show on his face. To not give away anything, Shirahama asks a question in return, "Have you asked Niibashi?"
"I have." There's a trace of frustration in Kagiura's voice. "But he won't tell me. I tried asking him, and he changed the topic immediately. It's like he doesn't want me to know."
Unprompted, Niibashi's earlier words ring in the back of Shirahama's head.
Like I said, I won't ask anyone else.
Something he can't name gradually surges in his stomach. He tries to keep the ball rolling. "Any reason why he's like that?"
"Well…it's not really the first time he's been like this." Kagiura buries his hands in the pockets of his uniform slacks. "Niibashi doesn't talk about himself much, so I'd say that even though we're friends, I don't really know him that well. It's always been tough to get him to open up, he's stubborn like that." He lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Lately, I have a feeling that he's going through something, but he just won't talk to me. I want to help him, but I don't know how. It's like he won't let me."
Shirahama has three takeaways from the change of topic: 1) he can vouch for Niibashi's stubbornness, 2) he can't use Kagiura for intel, and 3) he doesn't know why, but he feels just the tiniest twinge of envy at the way Kagiura talks about Niibashi. "You really care about him, huh?"
"I do!" Kagiura exclaims. "I care about all of my friends, and Niibashi has helped me through a lot. I just wish he'd let me return the favour, you know?"
Shirahama tries not to read into things too much, as he sometimes tends to do. Still, he can't help but consider that there might be a reason, that there is something to read into, like why Niibashi asked Shirahama to 'worship' him when he already has a friend who seems to be more than willing to do that for him.
"Maybe he doesn't want you to help him."
Kagiura's eyebrows shoot up at that. "What?"
"People can need something and not want it, I think," Shirahama says. "Like how you can want something but not need it. So maybe that's what's going on with Niibashi."
Kagiura's expression settles into a subtle frown of concern. "Then…if he doesn't want my help, what should I do?"
Shirahama looks at the floor as they go down the stairs. "...Maybe just don't do anything."
Clearly, Kagiura isn't a fan of that suggestion. "How is that helping?"
Shirahama shrugs. "Give him space and see how he deals with it. If he's helped you through a lot, then my guess is that he has a good head on his shoulders." He lifts his face and meets Kagiura's eyes. "Then again, I'm not great at giving advice, so just take my words with a grain of salt. You're his friend, not me. You know him better."
"Hmm…" Kagiura seems to be taking in Shirahama's words. "I guess that's true. I do know things about him that other people don't know. Which is a shame when I think about it, actually."
"Why's that?"
"Well," Kagiura starts, "for one thing, it seems that a lot of people think Niibashi's rude and self-centred because he's straightforward and he likes himself, but that's not true. He's just honest. He doesn't see the point in lying to people, even for the smallest things, and he's really caring once you get close to him. I think if people looked at him through my eyes, they'd have a better opinion of him."
The look on Kagiura's face the whole time he's talking about Niibashi is so soft that Shirahama can't help but blush a little. Damn, if friendships can be like this, then he seriously needs to re-evaluate the ones that he has. Not that his friends are bad, but it would be nice if Tashiro didn't just reply 'F' every time Shirahama texted him about his fear of ending up alone for the rest of his life, for example.
To dilute the concentrated wholesomeness, Shirahama decides to tease Kagiura, "Don't tell me you have a crush on your best friend?"
"On Niibashi? Oh, I'd never," Kagiura dismisses, grinning sheepishly. "I love Niibashi, but as a friend."
Hearing that, Shirahama feels relieved, for some reason. Maybe because he's glad he's not associated with someone who's emotionally cheating on their boyfriend.
"Although, if more people knew what he's actually like, I definitely think he'd have no trouble dating," Kagiura pipes. "I'd like to see him be with someone that's good for him someday."
After that, Kagiura goes on about club stuff, but Shirahama gradually tunes him out as he becomes more and more preoccupied with what Kagiura said about Niibashi's potential in dating. When it comes to looks, that guy wins by a large margin. Tens across the board. If someone told him Niibashi was an idol trainee, Shirahama would believe it, no questions asked. He's kept quiet about this (for an extremely justifiable reason, since he's not looking to die young in the hands of his class rep), but when Niibashi participated in the 'beauty pageants' last year and the year before that, Shirahama voted for him instead of his own class's delegate. Niibashi just looked impeccable in drag. He was so convincing, Shirahama almost couldn't believe his own eyes the first time he saw him on stage. It was clear to Shirahama, when he looked at the other contestants, that it would be an easy victory for Class A, and Shirahama couldn't even be mad about it. If Niibashi were an actual girl, Shirahama would've been on his knees for him…
…and then Niibashi would probably not show even an ounce of interest in him, like all the other cute girls he's met.
But, thinking about it again, in a parallel universe, Shirahama wouldn't mind dating Niibashi as a guy. Truthfully, he thinks Niibashi was kind of cool when he asked Shirahama if he wanted to be worshipped instead, and obviously, he's mind-bogglingly cute, especially when his eyebrows were scrunched together when he was cleaning blood off of Shirahama's face.
Well. That would never happen, since he's not in a parallel universe. Shirahama is a true-blue lover of women, after all.
For now, he needs to figure out a way to reach Niibashi, considering that his initial plan has taken an unprecedented turn.
When they're just about to reach the club room, he asks, "Hey, Kagiura?"
"Yeah?"
"Does Niibashi have club today?"
"Oh, yeah, he does. He said he'd be wrapping up things a little bit late today, but I forgot why."
Shirahama fishes out his phone from his pocket. "Can you give me his LINE ID? His number's fine, too."
He ignores the fact that Kagiura is looking at him like he's just grown a second head.
新
"Wait, captain, your given name is 'Rensuke'? How come I've never noticed it before?"
"Hanazono, you've been in this club for almost two years! How do you not know?"
"I'm so sorry, captain."
"What— Hanazono, get off the ground! What are you doing?"
"Hanazono-senpai doesn't bother learning the captain's name because he's too busy having goo-goo eyes for Seoha-senpai."
"Hey, first-year! You better watch your mouth!"
"Nooo, senpai, don't get mad, aha, you're so sexy."
"Kairi and Seoha sitting in a tree—"
"I keep telling you, Seoha and I aren't like that! Yoon Seoha! Don't just stand there! We have to beat the allegations!"
"No. Go beat them yourself."
Though Niibashi's eardrums are on the verge of rupturing from the noise in the art classroom, he doesn't do anything about it. Sitting at the back of the room, Niibashi stares at his phone screen, reading and re-reading the messages he's just received:
hey i heard you have club today
do you have cram school later? if yea i can walk you there
btw this is shirahama
Niibashi surprises himself by smiling, and his facial muscles feel weird and wonky. He hasn't smiled in a while, let alone smiled at some texts.
He types up some responses:
I know it's you. I can see your name.
I have cram school today. Club wraps up at 6 for me so if you want to walk me there you can wait for me.
How did you add me?
He taps 'Send' and puts his phone back in the pocket of his uniform slacks, willing his smile to disappear.
Still, he can't help but feel…light.
So he's decided to do it.
It's not that Niibashi has no confidence in persuading Shirahama to do what he asked, but rather, he's resolved not to have any expectations (also, in retrospect, asking someone to 'worship' him sounds so pretentious, something Niibashi tries not to be. He can't say that he's not a little bit embarrassed by it). Experience has taught him that having expectations will only lead to disappointment.
Sigh. If he listened to his own advice once in a while, he probably wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place.
His phone buzzes, and Niibashi has never grabbed his phone faster.
Shirahama replies:
got your id from kagiura
practice ends at 6 for me too. i'll wait for you at the shoe lockers that ok?
you wanna grab a bite first? you said cram school makes you hungry
Ugh, his grammar is terrible, Niibashi thinks, but he almost smiles again when he notices that Shirahama remembers a point from their exchange at the fast food restaurant:
Sure. I'll meet you there.
I have time to grab a bite.
This time, Shirahama's answers materialize in a matter of seconds:
what do you wanna eat?
Niibashi ponders the question for a while. Now that summer is in its first days, the weather has become warmer, though not warm enough for cold noodles.
Gyuudon.
Just as he's about to tap out of the messaging app, a reply comes:
sounds good
g2g i'll see you later
"Who are you texting?"
Niibashi almost flings his phone out the window. In front of him, Manabe is leaning over the tables between them, his eyes examining Niibashi curiously from behind his glasses.
Right. Club is still in session.
And he's sitting with Manabe, whose face is the one thing that yanks Niibashi out of his short moment of bliss.
"None of your business," Niibashi flatly says, or at least he hopes it comes out as flat. He puts his phone back in his pocket and picks up his sketchpad again.
The club's activity for that day is still-life drawing. Niibashi has done it more times than he can count; it should be ingrained in his core memories and engraved in the sinews and bones of his hand.
Yet, the pencil he holds still feels heavier than it should, and the assortment of stationery laid out on the table seems too far away.
Let's just get this over with.
Manabe sits back down in his chair and folds his arms on his chest. "You're not gonna tell me?"
Niibashi doesn't spare him a glance as he resumes his sketching. "Tell you what?"
"Who you're texting."
"Why should I?"
"Because I already apologized to you about what happened this morning, so now we can be friends again."
"We're not friends."
"Would you rather take me as a lover, then?"
"Go to hell, Manabe."
Manabe laughs at this, because of course he'd laugh. He likes pushing Niibashi's buttons, and every time he does, Niibashi reminds himself that intentionally breaking a person's limbs counts as a criminal offence. "You're really making it hard for me to not like you, you know?"
"You like being cussed out?"
"Only if it's you."
Niibashi sets down his pencil and grabs an eraser. "You don't like me. Do you even like guys?"
"Gender's never mattered to me." Manabe shrugs. "If I like them, I like them."
"Even so, you only like me for my face and my name," Niibashi retorts. "Your 'like' doesn't have any substance."
Manabe looks unbothered. "So? You're cute, of course I like your face. And what's wrong with wanting to associate myself with one of the most powerful families in the art world?"
Niibashi almost breaks his pencil because of how hard he's gripping it. Still, he remains aloof. "You're shameless."
Manabe chuckles. "It's 'cause I'm desperate." He rests his chin on a propped up hand. If he wasn't so insufferable, he would've been a solid 8 in Niibashi's eyes. "I don't know what else I have to do to make you like me."
"Well, I don't like you." Niibashi gives his sketch a once-over before setting it on the table face-down. "You can't make someone like you if they don't."
Manabe hums. "Or maybe you just don't like men?"
Their conversation and the roast of Hanazono come to an end only once their club advisor enters the classroom, and everyone takes up their sketchpads again, Manabe included. He finally shuts up for the rest of the activity, but his silence only lasts just until club is over and everyone gets ready to head out. Fortunately for Niibashi, before Manabe gets a chance to be annoying again, the vice-captain, Otomonai, walks over to their tables and saves the day by yanking Manabe along by his tie.
"Good work, everyone." Otomonai's smile as he says that clashes with his actions. "I'll be leaving now. I'm taking this bastard with me."
"Wait, wait, Tooru!" Manabe struggles to keep up with Otomonai. "The fuck is wrong with you?! What did I do?!"
"You can't take no for an answer, so I'm giving you what you deserve." Otomonai then shoots a knowing look at Niibashi.
You owe me, he mouths.
Thanks, Niibashi mouths back. Yakisoba pan. Tomorrow.
"Careful on the way out, you two," Higashiyama calls. "Otomonai, I don't want to have to identify Manabe in the morgue tonight."
"Don't worry, I'm gonna make it look like an accident."
"Oh, how kind of you," Manabe half-shouts, sardonic. "I'll be sure to remember that when you choke me to— WHOA!"
"Hasn't anyone ever told you to shut up?" Otomonai grumbles as he drags Manabe towards the door. "God, you're so fucking loud."
"Is that what your girlfriend told you last night?"
Amidst the pair's continued bickering and the laughter of the underclassmen, Niibashi finds himself unable to take his eyes off of the blackboard at the front of the class, where the drawings they made earlier are taped and arranged. His work is placed right at the centre, but if it weren't for his name that he wrote on the top right corner of the paper, he wouldn't have been able to discern it from the other members' works.
"What are you doing, Niibashi-senpai?"
Niibashi turns around to find Seoha, one of the club's second-years, observing him with inquisitive eyes and a broom in his hands. The question is innocent enough, and Seoha looks like he's earnestly waiting for an answer, but Niibashi can't think of a proper response to give. I'm thinking about how I've realized that no matter what I do, my art will never get better, sounds too much for obvious reasons, so instead, he says, "Nothing. Just looking at the first-years' works."
"Ah, I see." Seoha nods his head; Niibashi's eyes follow him as Seoha takes a few steps forward to stand next to him. Seoha then points at one specific work right under Niibashi's. "Kaname-kun's is the most refined out of the first-years', don't you think? Then again, he was scouted, so I guess it's no surprise that he's already really good."
Although something is clenching uncomfortably in his chest, Niibashi doesn't have the heart to remove himself from the conversation, so he goes along with it. For now. "You were scouted, too, though."
"True, but I'm not talented like you or Kaname-kun," Seoha says with a smile, which is puzzling to Niibashi. He can't understand how he can be cavalier about admitting that. "Because I love art, I just work really hard for it. Being a hard-worker is the only thing I got going for me."
"Being able to work hard is a talent," Niibash tells him. "I don't have that."
"Hm? What do you mean, senpai?"
"Unlike you, I have no talent."
The sentence comes out even before he can process what that means if he divulges it to an underclassman, but he can't pick those words from the air and return them to the back of his brain now that they've been released.
"Why do you think you don't have talent, senpai?"
"I don't think it, it's a fact," Niibashi says. The drawings on the blackboard begin to blend into one indiscernible sight. "I just don't have it in me. People have lied to me, praising me and telling me that I'm talented, and at the same time, I've lied to myself, thinking that I can thrive without talent, but that's just not true. None of that is true. I don't have talent, and therefore I can't achieve anything no matter how hard I work. I've reached the end of the road."
Niibashi is all too aware of the death of their conversation that follows soon after. Staring at the bottom of the blackboard, he wonders what Seoha is thinking right now, to have an upperclassman unload all of that on him. He won't lie and say that he doesn't feel bad about oversharing, especially with someone who potentially looks up to him, but he's sick of people assigning him qualities that he doesn't have.
After a moment of silence, Seoha finally asks, "Senpai, have you ever heard of a book called 'The World of Siot*'?"
Niibashi frowns, then faces Seoha and shakes his head. "I haven't."
Seoha smiles at him again, gently. "Well, there's a passage in that book that I really like. It goes like this: 'It's not winning against despair and fear, but rather sitting down together and sharing like you're at a meal. Once you share, hope will emerge, and the problem will be solved'—"
Niibashi never gets to hear the rest of what Seoha has to say because he's interrupted by a wild Hanazono suddenly glomping him from behind.
"ACK, Kairi!" Seoha chides his fellow second-year, his previously calm tone and disposition replaced with blatant annoyance. "You idiot! You want me to see God early? Don't do that!"
"Hey, Yoon Seoha," Hanazono pouts. "When are you gonna be done cleaning up? I wanna go home."
"Then go home. Why are you even here?"
"I'm waiting for you because I'm a good friend, unlike someone I know," Hanazono says before nuzzling Seoha's neck with his nose.
Niibashi's eyes go wide, and he almost recoils. The sudden change in atmosphere is giving him whiplash.
"Cut that out, for fuck's sake!" Seoha desperately tries to push Hanazono away from him. "I'm talking to Niibashi-senpai!"
"No, it's—" Niibashi clears his throat. God, this is so awkward. Being a third-wheel is the last thing he thought would happen to him today. "—it's fine. I have to head out soon, anyway."
"You're heading out, senpai?" Hanazono beams at him. "Be careful, then! See you tomorrow!"
"Oh, I'll be done soon, senpai, so why don't we head out together?" Seoha suggests, which immediately earns him a meaningful glare from Hanazono.
"Well, I'm in a bit of a hurry, actually," Niibashi says, clearly taking the hint. "And I already told someone that I'd meet them after this."
白
When they arrive at the gyuudon place, it's packed to the gills.
"Well, damn," Shirahama remarks, narrowly avoiding a waiter holding two enormous glasses of beer in each hand. "Should we just go someplace else?"
He asks that, even though he knows that there are no other gyuudon joints close to Niibashi's cram school. The second-closest location isn't even close; heading straight for Yoshinoya downtown would've been better.
"I see a spot." Niibashi grabs Shirahama's arm and drags him further inside. "C'mon."
If Shirahama had a penny for every time Niibashi has dragged him by the wrist, he'd have two pennies; which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice.
They weave through the crowd until they reach an empty table in a far corner of the shop. The first thing that Shirahama notices about the table is that it's close to the toilets, but whatever. The place looks clean enough, there's really nowhere else to sit, and he was actually looking forward to this (the only thing that kept him going through practice was the mental image of a warm beef bowl). He's not going to complain.
After settling into their seats, a waiter takes their orders, and soon, they're left to their own devices, the air filled by the constant chatter of the other patrons.
The walk to the gyuudon place was a silent one. Just as Shirahama told Niibashi, as soon as practice wrapped, he waited for him near the shoe lockers. They only exchanged brief words before heading out, and neither of them spoke for the rest of the way.
Normally, Shirahama would try to think of something to talk about, but practice had positively worn him out. He was glad that Niibashi didn't try to talk to him, either. It was like they had a quiet, unspoken understanding.
This time, however, Niibashi initiates the conversation. "How's your nose?"
"Hm? Oh—" Shirahama stops midway through pulling his phone out of his jacket. His hand instinctively goes to touch his nose. It hasn't hurt since classes ended. "Yeah, it's all fine now, thanks to you."
"Well, it wasn't broken or anything serious like that," Niibashi says nonchalantly, "so it wasn't that hard to deal with."
"But you looked pretty cool, though, back there when you were patching me up. It's like you're older than me."
"That's impossible. We're the same age."
"Let's see." Shirahama folds his arms on the table. "When's your birthday?"
It takes a while for Niibashi to answer. "April twenty-sixth."
"Oh!" Shirahama points a finger gun at Niibashi. "We share the same date. Mine's October twenty-sixth. I'll be eighteen this year."
Niibashi blinks at him. "Then I guess I am older than you. I'm already eighteen."
"See? Called it. You just give off that vibe." Shirahama rests his chin on a propped up elbow. "You seem mature, and you use big words like 'worship'."
"'Worship' isn't a big word."
"Maybe, but you don't really hear people throw that word around much." His gaze lands on the bandage wrapped around Niibashi's pointer and he asks, "How's your finger?"
"Hm?" Niibashi's eyes flicker down to his hands for a second. "It's fine. It was just a minor cut." He pauses for a second, before suddenly perking up. "Oh! That reminds me," he says, grabbing his bag from the floor and rummaging through it while he lays it on his lap. "There's something I want to give you."
Shirahama's eyebrows lift. His chin hovers a little over his palm. "You want…to give me something?"
"Yep. Here you go." Niibashi pulls out something that sounds like plastic and presents it to Shirahama. "I made these in home ec."
"Oh." Shirahama accepts the item. "Thanks." He holds the gift in his hand, turning it this way and that. It seems to be food, contained in a small clear plastic bag. "What are these?"
"Cherry hand pies. Well, they're supposed to be proper pies, but Kagiura messed up, so we had to improvise."
Some of the hand pies do look like they're a shade darker than they should be, but Shirahama doesn't mind. His mouth quirks in a half-smile.
"I know the basketball team isn't supposed to accept gifts," Niibashi says, "but I made those for school and not with you in mind, even though I ended up giving some of them to you. So technically, it doesn't count as a gift, but more like a freebie, maybe? Because 'gift' has this connotation—"
"Hey, look, it's fine," Shirahama assures him to stop him from rambling. "Don't worry about it. Literally nobody on the team cares about that rule, so you're good. Also, you're a guy. The team only flips out if a girl is the one giving the gift."
Shirahama then remembers something. With one hand, he procures a candy bar from the inner pocket of his jacket.
"Here." He holds it out for Niibashi. "Obviously, I didn't make it myself, but think of it as a thank-you gift."
Niibashi looks at the candy bar, then at Shirahama. His eyes are coloured with amusement. As he takes the candy bar, he says, "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Shirahama flashes a smile. "Now, we're even."
The waiter brings out their food, and their words die down as they stuff their mouths with rice and beef. He learns that Niibashi likes a raw egg yolk topping on his gyuudon, and that he eats in a way that Shirahama can only describe as bordering on cute. Honestly, he didn't know what to expect when he texted Niibashi if he wanted to get something to eat before he went to cram school. He thought he'd be more nervous about it, or that their conversation would veer towards awkward territory since they know almost nothing about each other, but now that he's in the thick of it, he realizes that his worries are unfounded.
I wonder if I should get him to tell me?
"What is it?"
Shirahama blinks and echoes Niibashi's words. "What is it?"
Niibashi picks up a slice of meat with his chopstick. "You look like you want to ask me something."
"Well, I don't, but…" He trails off, trying to figure out a way to bring it up. "...I talked with Kagiura earlier, on the way to practice."
That earns him a frown from Niibashi. "What, did he blather about his boyfriend again?"
"Actually, no." Shirahama takes a sip of his drink, wiping his hand on a piece of tissue after he sets the cold glass down. "He talked about you. He's pretty worried."
There's a beat, before Niibashi asks, "What did he tell you?"
"That you're keeping things from him, sort of like that?" He moves the beef around in his bowl with his chopsticks. "I mean, it's not my place, but—"
"Ever since I started school this year, I've been dreading doing art."
Niibashi looks him squarely in the eyes. There's a slight change in his expression, a steeliness that Shirahama didn't notice before. His dark circles somehow become more pronounced. "Is that what you're keeping from Kagiura?"
"Well…rather than keeping it from him, it's just awkward if I tell him because I'm used to being relied on, not the other way around," Niibashi admits. "There's not much reason to tell anyone about it, either, but I'm telling you this since we've decided to worship each other."
Shirahama gets a mouthful of gyuudon in before asking, "So you're in the art club and you dread doing art. In other words, you don't like doing it anymore?"
Niibashi nods. He doesn't meet Shirahama's eyes anymore. "Just the thought of drawing anything makes me feel like crap, and I want to throw up whenever I look at my own artwork."
Shirahama is no artist, but he doesn't need to know anything about art to be acquainted with the feeling of not liking something he used to enjoy. Case in point, basketball club. "Sounds like you're going through it. If it's that hard, then why don't you just quit?"
"I can't. I was scouted by the school because of my art, so I'm obligated to be a part of the art club until I graduate. And besides—" Niibashi picks up his drink. "—I've been doing art for as long as I can remember. I feel like if I quit, I'll end up regretting it later. I wouldn't know what to do with myself."
While Niibashi sips his drink, Shirahama resists the urge to hug him. Much like Niibashi, he doesn't see the point in telling anyone about it—his coach will probably only tell him to suck it up, his teammates can give nothing but empty words of encouragement, and his friends don't offer much help, but here is Niibashi who just gets it. He manages to effortlessly put into words what Shirahama has been feeling for the past few months. Shirahama has never thought in a million years that the person he would violently relate to is his team captain's best friend whom he barely knows.
"You know." Shirahama feels a smile creeping to his lips despite himself. "This is gonna sound corny, but I think it's fate that we meet."
"Fate?" Niibashi sets down his drink. His eyebrows are scrunched together in the same way when he was treating Shirahama's bloody nose in the infirmary.
"Yeah. I've been…going through something similar, I think. I wasn't scouted by the school or anything, and I only started playing basketball seriously in high school, but I used to love going to club." Shirahama leans back on his chair. "It was a lot of fun and the people were great, so even though practice was really hard most of the time, I was okay with it. But then at some point, I just couldn't enjoy it anymore. I've thought about quitting before, but it's just like what you said. I'm scared that if I actually went and did it, I'd have regrets, so I try to hold on. I still go to practice, and if the coach tells me to do my best, then I'll do that, but I can't tell you when was the last time I had fun being on the court."
He still has more that he needs to get out of his system, but for now, he figures that that will be enough. He already feels lighter—much lighter than he's ever felt in months. After his short rant, Shirahama regains his breath only to almost lose it when he swears he catches Niibashi smiling.
Shirahama has to remind himself not to stare. He feels it again, that surge in his stomach, and he might call it butterflies if he knew what those actually felt like.
"A second-year in my club told me something interesting earlier today." Niibashi picks up more food with his chopsticks. Shirahama can't find any trace of the smile, but he can see that Niibashi's expression has softened. "Instead of winning against despair and fear, we should sit with them and share like we're at a meal. Once we share, we'll find a solution to our problems. I didn't know what that meant, but I think I do now."
"I don't. You're gonna have to explain that to me," Shirahama says bluntly, still trying to tamp down the funny feeling in his gut. "I flunked my Japanese Lit test last week."
Niibashi takes his time to finish off his gyuudon. It's only after he sets down his chopsticks and wipes his mouth with a napkin that he says, "It means we shouldn't keep everything in and suffer by ourselves."
Niibashi stirs his drink with his straw and gulps it straight from the glass. Shirahama, meanwhile, gazes for a moment at Niibashi's Adam's apple protruding from the smooth length of his neck, watching it bob up and down, before realizing that he's still not done eating.
The night air is warm when they finally step out and make their way to their next stop—Niibashi's cram school. The skies are clear, and the streets are busier than they were before. People in blazers and pant suits standing around in crowds in front of bars remind Shirahama of his parents, who should already be home from work by now…or not. Lately, his parents have been coming home when he's already asleep and leaving before he's awake. Even though they live under the same roof, Shirahama technically hasn't seen his father or mother for a week.
But he doesn't want to think about his parents right now. Not when Niibashi is walking next to him.
A half-moon, white and luminous, hangs over the high-rise buildings in the distance, yet Shirahama's eyes can't seem to stray too far from Niibashi's face, coloured warm amber by the city.
"So do you think it's fate that we meet?" Shirahama takes a chance. "I don't think you've said anything about it yet."
Niibashi doesn't answer immediately, clearly turning that question over in his head. "I'm not sure. But I read somewhere that our fate lies in the choices we make. So if we're going by that, because I choose to worship you, then in a way, yeah. You can call it fate."
Shirahama definitely did not expect an answer like that.
He also did not expect that that would make him blush like crazy.
Maybe he shouldn't have asked that question.
This guy is smooth, what the hell?
"If you say things like that, you're gonna make me fall for you."
Niibashi hums softly. "Is that a threat?"
Shirahama almost trips on thin air.
"Are you flirting with me?" If a human heart is capable of doing parkour, then that's exactly what Shirahama's is doing. "Is that what's happening? Is this what being flirted with is like?"
Sure, his test scores are laughably mediocre, but Shirahama isn't stupid. He's seen romance movies. He's read a couple of shoujo manga here and there. The problem is that, no matter how cute he is, Niibashi is a high school guy, and is Shirahama seriously going to let himself be a blushing mess because of a guy?
Niibashi, in response, simply turns his face toward him briefly before looking ahead again. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just going with the flow of the conversation."
He sounds and seems utterly unbothered, which somehow nips unpleasantly at Shirahama.
As he feels his heartbreat slow down, he looks down at the sidewalk silently.
"Sorry for overreacting, then," he says when they pass a bus stop.
"It's okay." A breeze blows, and Niibashi pushes a few strands of hair away from his face. "Your reaction was funny to watch."
Shirahama makes a face. Is that what Niibashi was thinking while he was fighting for his life trying to fend off an attraction crisis? Unbelievable. It's one thing for a person to hurt Shirahama's feelings, but for an attractive person to do that to him? That should count as a criminal offence. "Oh, what, you thought I was a joke? You think I'm a clown, now?"
"I don't. But you almost made me laugh. It made my day a bit better."
Shit.
Forget about what Kagiura said about Niibashi being kind and considerate; Niibashi is an idol-tier-visual-having, smooth-talking, stone-cold bastard, and Shirahama can't get mad at him. He can't even pretend to.
A few strides later, they arrive at their destination. It's the same as Shirahama remembers (it helps that he passes by the place every day on his way home), with its blaring neon sign and its plain, grey exterior. For an 'art' cram school, it surely has nothing artistic going on appearance-wise.
"Here we are," Niibashi says, looking up at the building's sign and sighing wistfully. "Well. Time to go back to prison."
Although it sounds like Niibashi is trying to crack a joke, he looks genuinely upset to be there. Seeing that, Shirahama places a hand on Niibashi's shoulder and does something that surprises even himself.
He wraps himself around Niibashi and pats him on the back.
It's not a proper hug, but they're so close now that Shirahama can breathe in the smell of Niibashi's shampoo. Niibashi fits snugly in his arms, and Shirahama already knows that Niibashi is thin, but he's never realized just how thin he actually is, never felt it pressed against his body—
"What are you doing?"
Niibashi is shaking, a full body tremor, and it’s not until a small squeal escapes him that it occurs to Shirahama that he’s laughing.
Shirahama looks down and finds Niibashi trying to cover the grin stretching across his face, but his laughter doesn't stop. It sounds muffled against his hand.
Fuck my life.
Warmth creeps up Shirahama's neck and floods his face, embarrassment settling uncomfortably within him. Meanwhile, Niibashi gives up trying and lets himself laugh so hard that he has to step back and bend down with his hands on his knees.
"Oh god, that was…" Niibashi says this between his mirth, wiping moisture away from his face with his hand. "...that was so funny. You looked so serious I had to laugh. It doesn't suit you, really."
"Hey, c'mon, I'm trying my best here," Shirahama complains while Niibashi laughs again. "Don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you," Niibashi manages even though he's still shaking. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."
Niibashi clears his throat. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "But thank you for the comfort," he says. "And thanks for walking with me."
With one last smile, he sends a swoop through Shirahama's stomach. Shirahama's eyes follow Niibashi as he walks towards the cram school building and disappears behind the doors.
If Shirahama had a penny for every time he saw Niibashi smile today, he'd have two pennies. It's not a lot, and it's a shame that it's only happened twice.
Today was a real roller-coaster.
...
Shirahama wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of shouting. As soon as he does, he reaches over and flicks on the light on his nightstand before settling back into his bed.
His parents must be home.
And they're fighting.
He knows this will happen sooner or later. It's almost like clockwork; whenever his parents don't interact with each other for days at a time because of work, it always culminates in a fight.
He remembers them fighting most when he was in elementary school, at the age when he was at once young enough to need virtually constant supervision and old enough to understand on some level the dynamics of what was occurring. Their arguments would filter through Shirahama's bedroom door that his mother had told him to shut, and he would sit on the floor with tears stinging his eyes.
Occasionally, their fights would escalate and become ugly. Nine times out of ten, it's because his father had been drinking. He might have been drunk when Shirahama's mother returned, and she might have had a bad day at work. That was a dangerous combination. On the nights his father chose to smother his frustrations with alcohol, his parents’ fights were like powerful 3 a.m. thunderstorms: loud and scary, sometimes taking an agonizingly long time to blow over. And while his mother would never drink to catch up (her sense of responsibility prevented her from drinking during the weekdays, to make sure she didn't get a hangover the next morning), when she was hurt, she could lash out with a fury that was both articulate and verbally violent. Shirahama had never heard his parents slap or hit each other, but powered by alcohol and exhaustion, they’d say things as wounding as a fist. Maybe even more so. Shirahama had heard expressions and exchanges he didn’t understand at the time, but they frightened him nonetheless because he knew someday he would.
Most of the time, though, his parents’ arguments ended in civil conversation that would peter out into silence. A moment later, Shirahama would hear them leave the kitchen, where they might have been bickering, and go to their bedroom next door. Sometimes, later, he'd hear them make love as they made up.
This fight is one of those fights where they make up after.
Shirahama stares up at the ceiling on his bed. He's stayed in that position for a while, counting down the minutes and praying that he doesn't hear any glasses shattering, but now that he knows how it ends, he rolls onto his side, feeling himself briefly relax as his mattress shifts and his bedsheets rustle underneath his weight.
But he can't sleep. As comforting as it is to know that his parents still love each other in their own dysfunctional, messed-up way, hearing them going at it next door is…less than ideal.
Shirahama's phone isn't on his nightstand. He glances down from his bed and spots it on the floor, connected to the charger. He thinks about picking it up and sending out a distress signal, but what would he even send? Help, my parents are banging next door? Shirahama would rather eat glass.
He flops back onto his side and convinces himself that this is fine. This is totally fine. As long as his parents aren't shouting at each other's faces or making a mess that he'd have to sweep up the next morning, all is well.
Then he hears what sounds like a moan, and Shirahama immediately bounds for the floor.
He grabs his earphones, plugs them in, and jacks the volume up to maximum, letting Russian Roulette by Red Velvet drown out the rest of the world. Shirahama feels free at last, but he knows he won't be able to sleep again, which is the absolute worst considering he has morning practice tomorrow.
Should I just skip? He thinks as he opens LINE and finds more than a hundred unread messages waiting for him. Most of them are from the group chats he's in and probably not important, so he marks them all as 'Read' and goes for the one message that isn't from a group chat.
Are you awake?
The last time he and Niibashi texted, it was a few hours ago, when Shirahama was on the train home. It's almost midnight now. Shirahama's friends who go to cram school always complain how tired they are once they get home, that they sometimes even fall asleep in their uniforms because they really have no energy left to change out of their clothes. If cram school is that brutal, he wonders how Niibashi is still up at this hour.
i am but i wish i wasnt 🙃
what are you up to? how was cram school?
He hits 'Send' and waits.
Come to think of it, looking at the name of Niibashi's contact now, he doesn't know how to read the kanji for his given name. He probably should've asked.
"I'll ask him tomorrow," he mutters, keeping himself company.
Niibashi's reply comes fast, and Shirahama is fast to read it, too:
I ran away from home.