Chapter Text
Osamu hates summer. He hates the weather. He hates the fact that he now has to hear the sounds of high-pitched squeals all day long now that the elementary kids are home too. He hates being stuck with nothing to satiate his boredom. By the end of the first term every school year, he dreads the miserable mid-July weather. He never handled rising temperatures well, no matter how much time passed he never grew used to it. The sweltering heat left him in an awful state, cloth bandages soaked with sweat and sticking to him uncomfortably, with his hair frizzy and bangs stuck flat to his face in all the wrong ways on the hottest days. He is far from a social recluse, but during the summer with his lack of friends and companions he would even willingly interact with, Osamu stays inside for most of his summer break every year, there isn't much reason to go out. That's the sordid reality of his life, really. the fact that there’s never much reason to go out. It’s exhausting to perform. The only times he tends to venture outside of the house during these times is to wander around in search of a cure to his boredom, or find something as interesting as finding the location nearest bridge to drop himself off of.
A week into his summer break and he’d gone outside a total of two times (not that he left any more often before), one to go to the store for the essentials and the other was as of this moment, because he couldn't go another day without interaction with others. It wasn't as if his guardian, if that was the correct term of his stupid situation, had spared more than a few comments a day to him, after all. He doesn't eat his meals outside of his room, and so a small pile of crab cans builds next to his bed. Osamu can't be bothered to clean it besides ensuring that he doesn't get bugs, he would rather die than cause an infestation. He finds himself fixating on it instead, staring at the growing debris for minutes at a time as if it was an effort to do something about it. Time passes by in a haze, though Osamu can't tell if it's too slow or too fast. He's only reached the age of fifteen within the past few weeks and his daily life is devoid of meaning, a souring contrast to what was proclaimed to be the start to the best years of his life. Osamu would die before his life presented itself as something worth that.
It's on the second Saturday of his break that he ends up forcing himself outside of the house before he loses his mind and takes drastic measures again. The mid-day sun hangs directly over Osamu's head as he walks through the neighborhood, watching his neighbors with a passive attitude. He would take delight in messing around with some of them, but over the last few months they grew to look at him with disdain due to his usual antics. Osamu grew tired of it quickly.
It's on the second Saturday of his break that he finds a possible cure to his predicament in the shape of the short ginger blob he spots at the end of his street. Osamu knows every one of his current neighbors along his street, maybe not personally but he knows names and faces well. He doesn't recognize anyone in the neighborhood with striking ginger hair that reflects the heat of the sun, and as Osamu walks closer his suspicion is cemented. He stands on his own side of the street for a few minutes, watching the kid. He looks like the troubled type, some piercings and– oh god, he even has the eyeliner to match the look. (Which isn't exactly a bad look.) Osamu is hesitant to approach not because he is nervous, not at all, he can socialize with people just fine and keep on an amicable face, no, the issue is the mangy mutt that this kid is walking around his yard.
Osamu isn't afraid of dogs, quite the opposite actually, he makes sure they are afraid of him. He had no real reason to have such grievances against dogs, he had never been attacked by one, he had no phobia of them. He just didn't like them. They slobber, most are loud, and no matter big or small they took up his personal space when he got within feet of their own.
He would imagine that a stranger standing across the street with a blank face, eyes ablaze with fury directed at a puppy who didn't provoke him, isn't much of a good look. Osamu's evaluation of the situation is proven true when the kid he had been watching, for a decent five minutes by now, turns around and stares back at Osamu when the tranquil bubble bursts and he feels the weight of Osamu's gaze.
He watches the boy's perplexed expression form into a scowl and he yells, "Hey! What the fuck are you doing?"
Osamu doesn't respond immediately, a natural lack of expression resting on his face as he studies this new person across the street. Osamu definitely doesn't recognize him, but he is glad to be seeing him now. He swallows, clenching his fists. He's not one to lose his shit because of someone this easily, but he finds it hard to speak in this confrontation, something he is not at all familiar with.
He opens his mouth and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind, "I was wondering where your parents are, isn't it dangerous for little boys to be outside playing on their own?" Height seemed like a good thing to target on this one, as corny of an insulting joke as it is, Osamu can run with this bit.
The response Osamu expects comes with a loud, "Huh?" And a growl, "I'm not a kid, you ass, I'm fifteen! You're just as small as me!”
Osamu is fast with a quip back, "You really could've fooled me, no need to get so angry." He raises his arms in fake defense, "So much bite for such a small bark."
"Is that supposed to be comparing me to a dog?" He grumbles at Osamu through a clenched jaw.
Osamu shrugs vaguely, smiling as he crosses the streets much to the clear dismay of the other kid he may be torturing at this rate. He watches the stranger back away a few feet, guiding his dog in front of his body which is enough to prevent Osamu from venturing any further, not that it even matters, since he is standing in front of him now, less than a meter away.
He bites the inside of his cheek, hands folded in front of his body awkwardly as Osamu realizes he doesn't actually know where to go from here. This guy is wonderfully easy to tick off, but Osamu doesn't want to ruin a shot at genuine interaction for the next few weeks, so he won't go through his usual routine of mind games until the other person is the first to break the silence.
"What are you even doing? Are you just dicking around? I'm not in the mood, weirdo." The sound of his voice is calmer, Osamu notes, but understandably he is still quite stand-offish.
Osamu shakes his head no, it was a half truth, so they weren't exactly lying. He was interested in interacting with this guy beyond annoying him. "I live down the street." He racked his brain on what to say next, "My parents told me to go introduce myself to the kid who moved in." Scratch that on the lying part, but at least it was believable, and offered a better chance at a better outcome for this. His parents didn't tell him that, he hasn't had a conversation with his father in well over a month, and his mother has yet to call this week. The honest part was in his recollection of Mori telling him to at least talk to someone outside of the house. Osamu had largely ignored him up until now.
That seems to ease the attitude down a bit, as Osamu's calm smile is decently convincing. His nerves aren't taking control of him, not at all, he doesn't make stuff up to get this kid to like them so he can have a shot at interaction with another person, absolutely not. (It's pathetic how desperate he sounds even in his own mind.)
"Your mom, huh?" He considers the answer in his mind, and hums in response to Osamu's white lie, "Whatever."
Osamu interrupts him, predicting that the conversation would go nowhere if he didn't intervene, "What's your name?"
The kid's face sours when Osamu interrupts him, as if he could look any more pissed off, and he answers, "Why should I tell you?" He does tell him, though, immediately. "It's Nakahara Chuuya." So much for his bitter quip.
Chuuya. Osamu liked the sound of his name, it had a nice ring in his ears. "Osamu. I'm Osamu Osamu."
An awkward silence displaces both of them after that, neither of them are sure what to say. Osamu digs his foot into the grass while keeping his gaze fixed onto Chuuya.
Just like before, Chuuya takes initiative to continue the conversation. He takes notice of the chunky black headphones around Osamu's neck, and with a raised eyebrow he asks, "What kind of music do you like?"
Osamu corrects him, "They're noise canceling headphones."
"That's not what I asked." It's said with attitude again and Osamu holds himself back from a smart remark. Those don't always go over well, and likely won't now.
His face threatens to fall in annoyance but Osamu keeps his expression to feign interest in the topic. The reality is that Osamu is rather boring, he lacks hobbies or favorites of most things, there's not much reason to when everything seems the same, dull to his notice. "I don't listen to music that much.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Classical music is fine. I listen to some pop and rock, nothing special.” It was true, he was one of those regretful people who doesn't listen to music. He plays it when forced in his musical lessons, but that is entirely different, and not relevant or a fact worth mentioning to Chuuya.
Chuuya only visibly takes an interest when Osamu mentions rock music and he hums in approval. He looks at Osamu with a thrilled glint in his eyes, "I get into metal or rock the most, I'm actually learning to play the guitar too. Cool ain't it?" Smugness colors his voice, so much so that Osamu
Osamu shrugs, not having much of an opinion on it, playing instruments never interested him all that much even if he could play one or two himself. "If you think so."
"What's that supposed to mean?" And Chuuya was back to a defensive tone.
Osamu breezes past to the next topic, "You said you're fifteen right?"
Chuuya tries to interrupt him, but Osamu speaks quickly over him, "I'm fifteen too, last month, actually," he speaks more dramatically, "Did you miss your middle school growth spurt or something?"
"Shut it!"
"What?" Osamu puts on a whinier voice to mock defense, "I'm just being honest, to me you looked tiny from down the road! How tall are you anyway?"
Chuuya's face shows a silent scowl at Osamu, and that only gives him more of a reason to press Chuuya's buttons. "A hundred sixty, fifty, fourth, thirty? I can go in if you need." It's clear that Chuuya doesn't appreciate the hyperbolic tone Osamu speaks with, but Osamu waits patiently with a smile for a reply. It comes in the form of a mumble that Osamu cannot make out, so he put his hand to his ear, "Sorry what was that? Your voice is small too, I can't hear you."
"I said I'm a hundred fifty centimeters, are your ears not working you jackass?" He raises his voice so much it hurts Osamu's ears for a moment, but he just laughs.
"Wow! I was right!"
"How the hell were you right?! You guessed a hundred thirty in the end!"
"It's called a joke." Osamu speaks, matter-of-factly.
Chuuya growls out, "Well it's not a funny one, you ass."
Osamu squirms when he notices the dog Chuuya holds by the leash move for the first time. He had nearly forgotten it was there, it stayed almost perfectly still the entire time.
The other boy takes notice, eyeing Osamu weirdly, "What's up with you now, scaredy-cat?"
Shaking his head, Osamu huffs, "I'm not scared of him, I just don't like dogs. They're scruffy and slobbery." He stares down the border collie laid at Chuuya's feet, his gaze more fierce than it needs to be. His attention is caught again when he hears a stifled giggle, looking up in shock to see Chuuya with a hand over his mouth.
"You're ridiculous, y'know that? He won't bite, he's trained, or, well– being trained." He breathes deeply until he isn't about to lose his shit over Osamu's childish behavior.
"What difference does that make?" He crosses his arms.
Chuuya lets out a long sigh, "Baki's . He doesn't care about you." Right, the vest, service dog. Osamu remembered that now.
"That's a nice way of putting it, thanks so much, I feel so loved," Osamu deadpans, "Wait, Baki?"
Chuuya nods, "Yep. Full name is Arahabaki."
“That’s a name for sure.” Osamu looks from the dog to Chuuya.
Chuuya enthusiastically shakes his head again, "Yep! It's really cool, isn't it?!"
"No. It's definitely something only a little kid would do, you really just keep proving my point here, Chuuya, you're real mature for your age." Osamu rolls his eyes, staring down at the mutt again.
"Will you stop calling me a child, you bastard– why are you calling me Chuuya?" He pauses, a confused tone to his voice.
"Being honest, that's supposed to be a virtue. It's your name isn't it?"
"Well– yeah but, it's not like we're friends or anything, you weirdo." Chuuya clicks his tongue, and Osamu grins, delighted.
“Is Chuuya the type to have friends in the first place? Most people aren't fond of this level of hostility, you know, it's considered rude.” He laughs at his own joke, again. Apparently it goes past Chuuya, as he appears unphased except for a slight twitch in his brow.
“I could say the same about you, you don’t really seem to be the approachable one here, bandaged bastard.” He brings his hand down to rest on his dog's head as his voice rises again.
It was a fact Osamu could refute. He doesn't exactly have any friends (any, if he were to be transparent), but he wanted to, at least this time. Chuuya seemed interesting, making Osamu feel like he wanted to try to make friends with him, a stark contrast to his usual behavior. He is unsure of where to even start on making friends, appearance and behavior often driving people off. But here, now, he stands patiently, fixed on Chuuya with a practiced smile.
“How about we be friends?”
He waits for a response, but Chuuya gawks at him with wide eyes, that Osamu notices are oddly dilated, until he finally does get one.
"Are you mental or something?"
It's not far from realistic, Osamu will admit, but it's certainly not what he wants to hear. He frowns deeply, letting out a whine, "You're so mean! I came and introduced myself, talked with you, isn't that enough?"
If Osamu is being genuine, Chuuya can't tell, but he assumes he isn't so he scoffs, "You've been calling me an elementary schooler for twenty minutes, insulted me and my dog, and you're a creep. Why would I want to be friends with you?"
"Fine–! Fine." Osamu groans, putting aside the jokes, "I shouldn't have. Is that better?" Half of the jokes aside, he isn't the best at being genuine anyway.
"What kind of apology is that?!" The volume of Chuuya's voice hurts Osamu's ears again.
At this point, Osamu lets out a loud yelp when the dog moves again, and barks, and Chuuya's attention is drawn to it over Osamu, and they think of it as another reason to dislike dogs. Chuuya is quick to react, ignoring Osamu completely in favor of paying attention to Baki. He watches the dog paw at Chuuya's leg, and Chuuya responds by laying a hand on the dog's head.
He is quiet as Chuuya turns around and walks back to sit on the steps to his house. Osamu of course follows him. It's a few minutes of silently standing in front of Chuuya, again, and staring at him. Chuuya sits leaning over his dog laying in his lap, not bothering to comment on Osamu's annoying following act again.
The silence is broken by Osamu, "Are you alright? Too worked up? You do seem like a hot-head actually–"
"Shut your trap, you ass, I'm trying not to faint." It's muffled by fur, not that Chuuya is speaking very loud anyway.
Osamu, understanding that the situation is serious, decides to stop with the jokes for real now, "Are you– are you alright Chuuya?"
"Obviously not, thanks." It's sarcasm, Osamu notes, "Stood for too long. Too much pain, emotional stress. Low heart-rate, Baki sensed it." The explanation is choppy at best, but Osamu is able to understand it. He's known people with cardiac alert dogs, pets for emotional support, so he assumes it to be some mix of the two.
"Alright, how do you fix it?" Now, Osamu had a better grasp of medical information than some his age thanks to his lengthy track record of hospitalizations. He likes to think of himself as knowledgeable when he's swallowed a dozen or more medications and gone in with the worst case at times, at least.
"I don't just fix it, dumbass. Best I can do is lay here, or elevate my legs. I don't feel like moving." Chuuya peeks up at Osamu, voice soft.
Osamu hums, taking a seat next to Chuuya on the steps, and to his surprise Chuuya says nothing to protest the action. The only sound Osamu hears is the calm wind and Chuuya's steady breathing. He does his best to ignore the panting of the mutt on his lap. He picks at the edges of his bandages, causing them to fray slightly at his wrists.
He swallows, biting the inside of his cheek. "So," he begins, "why did you move here?"
It takes a moment for Chuuya's eyes to flutter open, and he stirs. "Hm?"
"I know you're not asleep or fainting. I asked why you moved here. Yokohama. Ear canals too small to hear too?" Osamu crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap.
"Shut it. My brother in law got a new job. New teacher.” Relaxing a bit more, Chuuya shifts his head so he is able to look up at Osamu.
"Which school?" Osamu tries his best to show interest, and when he hears Chuuya mumble the name of his own school, that interest becomes genuine. "Hey that's where I go!"
The dying light in Chuuya's eyes is ignored in favor of asking more questions, "Who's your brother in law?"
"My brother's husband, second caretaker." That much should have been obvious.
"Your brother?"
"Paul.” He clarifies quickly, “Verlaine. He and Arthur didn't take last names.”
Osamu tilts his head, confused, "Are you not Japanese? Or half?"
"No I'm–" Chuuya groans, "I'm adopted, I guess. They're both French." He is able to sit up easier now, lightheadedness dissipating fairly well after a few minutes of lying down.
"Oh, that makes sense." He nods, watching Chuuya sit up. "Doing better now?"
Chuuya shrugs, Osamu takes it as a nonverbal sign of "so-so". Unfolding his hands, Osamu pulls out his phone to check what time it is. He's been here for about an hour already, to his surprise. He focuses back onto Chuuya, whose eyes are once again closed. Osamu studies him soundlessly, committing details to memory. They observe Chuuya's relaxed demeanor, the way his bright hair frames his face, and notices that Chuuya has freckles, which aren't that bad of an accessory to his face, Osamu thinks to himself.
When Chuuya opens his eyes, Osamu even notices that they're heterochromic. If he realized that before, he doesn't exactly remember. Did he? While cycling through his memory, Osamu unintentionally zones out to the sight of Chuuya's shifting body.
"Stop staring at me. You're being weird."
Awkwardly, Osamu opens his mouth to respond, closes it immediately, and looks away. He mutters, "My bad."
"Whatever."
The creak of the door behind them opening grabs both of the boys' attention. In the door-frame stands a man Osamu can only assume is the brother Chuuya mentioned. "Chuuya are you– oh." His eyes move down to Osamu, narrowing with what seemed like suspicion, paranoia, perhaps both, Osamu would assume. "Who are you?"
Osamu takes a moment to think but speaks quickly with another practiced smile on their face, "Osamu Osamu. I live down the street."
Verlaine nods his head, humming for a moment to himself. "May I ask why you are here?"
Chuuya answers for Osamu, "Said his mom told him to introduce himself, make friends or some shit." He moves to a fully sat up position now, looking back at Verlaine.
"Language." Verlaine sighs. "Are you alright, did you faint?"
"Whatever. No, almost did. Stood for too long, caused pain, lower heart rate, the usual stuff." He pushes Baki off of his lap, the dog assisting him to stand up. Osamu, figuring it is best in this situation, stays silent.
"That's exactly why I told you to–"
"Exactly why you told me to keep the walk short, yeah I know. I've been in a pain episode, like, a week, I know. You don't have to nag me. I've been near fainting all day, lay off." Chuuya groans dramatically, and Osamu has to hold back a laugh.
"I'm not nagging you, I'm–" He exhales, crossing his arms, "I need you to help me unpack some of these boxes."
Chuuya briefly turns his head to glance at Osamu before nodding. "Alright give me a second."
With that, Verlaine gives one last look over the two of them and goes back inside. Chuuya lets out a long, dramatic sigh, and turns to face Osamu. "Sorry. That was my brother and his demanding ass."
Osamu stands up and nods, "I figured." He waits a moment before adding, "I need to go now, right?"
"Well yeah." Chuuya states the obvious.
"Right." Another pause. "Are you free another time though?"
"Huh?" Chuuya had moved to open the doors but stopped at the question. "You mean like hanging out?"
Osamu considers the earlier comments. The ones where Chuuya was, what Osamu assumed to be, appalled at the idea of being so much as acquaintances with him, much less friends. He can only think of the other ways Chuuya responds to wanting to spend more time with them than this, but he pushes the various imagined scenarios to the back of his mind in favor of shooting his shot, "Yep! You definitely have no friends, right? You need someone to spend time with or summer break will be awful, I assure you."
It's probably not the best he could come up with, more irritating quips at Chuuya, but it fills him with glee when Chuuya just laughs. He doesn't look angry, but surprisingly content, "God, you piss me off. Alright. Some time, sure."
Chuuya closes the door behind him, leaving Osamu alone on his porch. He stands still for a few moments, processing what happened. While he wouldn't consider Chuuya anywhere near an acquaintance yet, much less a friend, he considers his original mission a budding success.
On the short walk home Osamu stares at the ground, thoughts circling round in his mind. He contemplates the fact that maybe he won't hate the summer so much this year if he has a new form of entertainment hardly even a block away.
The next three days are spent by Osamu in the world outside his bedroom walls, much to his own shock. He slips down the slope of his yearly summer routine of staying up late, waking up late. Until three or four in the morning, thanks to even worse heat induced insomnia compared to his usual sleeping problems. He wakes up some time in the late morning, when he can hear the grating noise of his neighbors shuffling about next door calling their brats to come to the house for lunch.
He sits on the sidewalk, eyes fixed onto Chuuya's house down the street. The reason it takes him three days of sitting outside, contemplating and planning, is because he doesn't actually know what to do in this situation. His current idea is to forcefully go and mess with Chuuya, ask him to hang out, go to the arcade, or some other thing that won't be terribly dull.
Osamu is stuck in a place where he is unsure. He needs to plan an interaction, rehearse it in his head as always before he does it. This time, though, he found himself rising to an unconformable new level. Osamu is in no way the best at identifying his own emotions, only his motivations. This time he could hardly pinpoint that much. He knew he wanted to make friends with this kid, somehow in some way, but he couldn't for the life of him understand why. He was overthinking something so stupidly simple. Uncertainties are something Osamu by his nature avoids, and this uncertainty was pissing them off.
In the midst of lamenting over his own situation Osamu comes to the conclusion that he is pathetically lonely. Surely that is the answer. He's never been this needy to form an attachment to a human being, and the desire is a foreign one. At some point, he does relent to his own whims. Distant looming is turned over by a spur of impulsive action, and in one quick decision Osamu finds himself drifting down the sidewalk and across the block. His feet hit the asphalt uncomfortably with each step he takes down the street. The trek up the five step front staircase feels inconsistently long, longer than it should. He stands there for what feels like longer than he should. The seconds tick by in his mind, though he can't focus past the sensation that he is about to be turned away. Of course the thought doesn't deter his desire to pester his new friend nonetheless.
It isn't Chuuya who opens the door, nor his brother, so the drawn conclusion can only be the “Arthur” Chuuya mentioned the previous day. The temperature isn't terrible compared to yesterday. Osamu itches his arm, his freshly applied bandages sticking to the sweat forming in every perfectly uncomfortable spot on his body. He's fine though, despite the sensation, and he appears normal. He can't say the same for the bizarre person before him clad in a full coat fit with a woolen scarf woven tightly around his neck. During the summer. Osamu can only assume it's worse than some cloth bandages and a button-up shirt. He meets a gloomy gaze cast down on him as Osamu is studied, picked apart visually by another family member of Chuuya’s. He is very quickly growing tired of this, first it was the brat himself and now the other two did it too.
“Oh, hello.” He suddenly speaks, almost startling Osamu, though it's less unnerving than his dull eyes boring into Osamu’s own, “What do you need?”
“Is Chuuya home?” In an expert move, Osamu cranes his neck past Rimbaud to peer at the flash of orange that he sees move across the room behind him. An unexplainable jolt of excitement runs through his body.
The other boy moves swiftly out of Osamu’s line of sight, retreating behind the wall. He stands flush to the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, a suppressed hiss under his breath as he tries to whisper insistent instruction to send him away. The world is set on torturing him, though, and his family is going to be the ones lending him the punishment firsthand. Rimbaud spares Chuuya only a quick glance before turning back to Osamu.
“You must be the boy Chuuya was talking about last night, Osamu?” His aura shifts towards a more welcoming attitude, and while the effect goes flat on Chuuya, Osamu nods eagerly.
Playing the good kid comes naturally to Osamu, he can charm most people as he pleases, and surely he could play this game with Chuuya if that's what he wanted. “Yep, that's me. Chuuya was talking about me?” There's a teasing quality to his voice as he raises it, triggering a shiver to run down Chuuya's body at the sound.
“All he would talk about during supper–” A rough shove from Chuuya interjects the conversation and he continues, “All bad things, what are you doing here?” He feels a firm hand grip his shoulder from behind, likely due to the intense nature of his interruption, but neither of the two say anything.
“Do you want to hang out?” The first thing that Osamu thinks to say is what he incidentally blurts out.
One of his eyes twitched, it's a thing that Chuuya can't control alongside his sour expression. “And do what, huh?” The question goes unanswered much to his annoyance. That seems to be a regular thing with this guy, he thinks to himself.
“I'm free pretty much any time. I don't have much going on anymore.” It's a vague statement, but it isn't like it was a lie about his life this time. Osamu hasn't had anything going on for months now, or years if he wanted to be truly accurate about it.
Seeing no better end to the conversation, Chuuya relents, “I have some games if you're into that.” He adds under his breath, “I guess.”
The offer comes out much to Osamu's delight and Chuuya's dismay. He doesn't waste a second before he pushes past the two in the doorway. When Osamu enters the house he's met with a rather empty scene, though he didn't expect anything less considering the fact that the family is still in the process of moving in. There's no homely decoration, just boxes upon the same drab shade of brown boxes marked with various words that Osamu struggles to make out. He pulls off his sneakers, setting them up neatly against the wall. It's easy to tell whose tennis shoes are thrown haphazardly into the pile of shoes. Dog boys seem to be messy, after all, he thinks. He glances up to be met with the back of Chuuya's head moving away and into the living room and he follows close behind. He hears the sound of Rimbaud closing the door and floating off to another place in the house, little noise announcing his presence in the first place.
The living room at least has some set up to it, though the only thing in the room is a TV with an accompanied game set hooked up to it and a couch. Osamu sees the dog now too, laid peacefully along the length of the couch. A little bastard. It's unnerving how quiet the house seems compared to Chuuya's loud boasting that fills up the space. He prattles on excitedly while digging his hands through a large brown box labeled games, “So what're you into? I got some shooting games, or survival if you want something harder, unless you're a pussy?”
Osamu doesn't know what he likes, so he only shrugs in response to the question. “Whatever Chuuya wants.”
Though it's a boring answer, Chuuya nods. He proceeds to pop in what looks to be some type of street fighter game. It's not something Osamu typically gravitates towards, the only games he plays anymore are on his dingy old DS since it was the only thing he ended up bringing. This shouldn't be too hard to pick up.
While Chuuya messes with setting up the game, Osamu takes his opportunity to drop down in front of the couch next to the other on the floor. Another period of silence follows over the two, and Osamu so nobly takes it upon himself to continue the conversation with more questions.
“Where'd you move from?”
Chuuya hands him a second controller he plugged in while Osamu wasn't paying attention. “Outside Yokohama.” The impressive answer earns him a groan that brings a smile to Chuuya's radiate features, leaving Osamu to blink slowly at him. “Fine, what about you, huh bandages, you from around here? You're the one who acts all mysterious.”
Osamu purses his lips, his expression unreadable. It's not a sensitive subject, but he isn't too thrilled to reveal his current living situation in all of its convoluted development. “No, I moved here to stay with a family friend.” That's one way to describe it without getting into the specifics.
“Family friend” was certainly a choice of words to describe Mori, but Osamu couldn't outright say something akin to the truth of “my family got tired of me and sent me off to one of my father's work colleagues, isn't that cool?” There must be some visual indication on his face judging by the way Chuuya hums in response to immediately dropping the subject. Whether it's from a place of trying to preserve the conversation from steering into a disgustingly personal avenue, Osamu can't tell. He is thankful either way because now they can start the game, he can move on and enjoy some time.
The character selection is pretty limited, unfortunately. Not that Osamu has a preference for character customization heavy games either way, but it's not a very grand impression of how much he'll enjoy the game. Once he selects one from the random assortment of brawling avatars, he inquires more, “It's like street fighter, right?”
“Sort of, it's more like a knockoff but it's still fun. I have one of the Street Fighter games somewhere in my other boxes.” Osamu nods his head, affirming his own assumptions that the game was in fact a dupe. It was fine, quality wasn’t a concern, his only concern was leaving Chuuya’s sorry ass begging for mercy when Osamu wins.
Time races by as the two engage in a heated exchange of petulant cursing one another and cheap insults at the other's respective playing. Osamu comes out the victor and Chuuya is left to throw himself back against the couch and tangle his fingers in his hair, “You cheated, jackass! There's no way!”
He wants to smack the triumphant grin off of Osamu's face. The act seems a tad dramatic in Osamu's eyes but he enjoys it nonetheless, being able to get such a reaction out of Chuuya fills him with a satisfaction he can't determine the cause of. He raises his arms in the air feigning sympathy, “I know, it's so hard being beaten at something you thought you were so good at, my heart aches for you, Chuuya.”
“Shut it, you don't feel sorry at all!”
“Nope, maybe you are perceptive, just not when needed, huh?”
“I want a rematch.” It's both a promise and a threat. One rematch turns into two, which turns into four, and by the time they tire of it the two are exhausted from their hyper focused play.
The clock propped against the wall opposite of the two ticks in the background, fading back into Osamu's conscious focus. It was surprisingly late in the evening, when did it even get this late? Osamu originally came here around three or four in the afternoon, it's now well past eight o’ clock at night. He checks his phone, only one notification as per usual, and it's only Mori asking where he was. Nothing exciting unlike the boy sitting next to him.
Osamu keeps his focus on Chuuya, curiously watching him pack the box up again and scooch it back in its rightful place next to the television. A brilliant idea lights up his eyes and he moves forward. It's a harsh invasion of Chuuya's personal bubble, and when he turns his head he is met with two wide brown eyes gaping at him.
“What the fuck are you doing.” A demand, not a question.
“Give me your number.” Another demand not open to question.
The phone is held out for Chuuya to take, a new contact already pulled up eagerly ready to be filled. There's a long pause before a look of consideration forms onto Chuuya's face in combatants with Osamu's seldom optimistic smile.
He does type his number though and hands Osamu back his phone with a passive grumble, “You're just gonna blow my phone up with stupid shit, ain't’cha?”
“That's right.” He saves the contact. Now he has more than four people on his phone, what a feat. Speaking of the other few, he needs to answer his messages. The only thing he sends Mori is a vague declaration he'll be there later. He’s never anything but vague, really. “I need to go.”
“Oh.” A disappointed sound slips from Chuuya’s lips that he is quick to suppress by snapping his mouth shut. “Yeah, okay, whatever, see you later.” He crosses his arms covering up his displeasure with apathy.
“Oh, Chuuya is gonna miss me? How sweet, I'll make sure to come back so you don't die of loneliness.” He stands up using the couch as leverage to pull his weight up.
“Hah?! I'm not gonna miss you, you ass! Just go.” His head is now turned away from Osamu, but the flushed tips of his ears makes it all the more obvious how he is feeling.
“I'll never leave Chuuya alone.” It's the last thing Osamu says before he exits, waving goodbye. He tugs his sneakers on and rushes out of the house.
Outside is still light enough for Osamu to be able to see clearly. The sound of neighborhood kids laughing and squealing into the hazy summer night fills his ears, and for once in his life, Osamu feels the same inside. It's not a long walk to the house, only a block or so, but it certainly takes Osamu a considerable time to stroll in the midst of his wandering mind.
As easy as it is to rile Chuuya up, it's even harder for Osamu to resist doing in the first place. There's something in the way he's unapologetically expressive, even if it's his mostly dramatic temperament. Osamu's always taken an interest in the reactions of other people, content to sit on the sidelines observing them from a disconnected plane. There's something he just doesn't get, something he wants to understand through the way Chuuya fascinates him more than the rest of the individuals he's met.
When Osamu does reach the front steps he hesitates before opening the door as quietly as he can manage. It's wasted effort, apparently, as both Mori and his daughter are in his immediate line of sight when he enters. He stalls conversation, kicking his shoes off by the door.
Osamu makes direct eye contact, then averts it awkwardly as he starts, “I met the Chuuya kid.”
“Oh, that's good, I was starting to worry you'd never interact with anyone outside of the house.” Osamu interprets that as a mix of sincerity and a poke at his own social detachment. His lips form a thin line at the thought. Mori continues on with his usual offer to Osamu, “Some more people to talk to is good for you. You're welcome to join me and Elise for dinner. She helped me like a big girl.” The adoration coloring his voice makes Osamu squirm. He hates that overbearing affection from parental figures, it's such an alien thing to witness. He keeps his expression blank. Elise doesn’t say anything to Osamu, but does give him a passing glance, instead she continues to converse with her father about how easy preparing the meal was. Osamu tunes her out.
Osamu’s fixed look flicks between the two of them sitting at the kitchen with an impassive glint in his eyes. He shakes his head, “No, thank you, I ate at Chuuya's.” There's no success in lying about the fact, it's well known by the both of them that Osamu doesn't eat much in the first place.
“At least take some of it up to your room.” If it's a bargain that will get the man off of his ass, Osamu is willing to give in. Though, it's more like he's forced to. There isn't much choice given to him when he's handed a plate of rice, with meat and vegetables he doesn’t care about asking what they are.
He takes the plate upstairs and discards it to its rightful place in the corner of his desk. The truth is he was hungry, but he lacked interest or initiative to eat much of anything right now, or really most of the time. Osamu is pretty small for his age, not lanky, but small, he knows it and everyone else knows it. He doesn't like feeling full, doesn't like the feeling of eating food, so he doesn't. His greatly nutritional diet consisted of crab, coffee, and microwave dinners if he had the energy to make it.
By now the sun has nearly set, leaving the room dark besides a sliver of murky orange-blue hues that filters past Osamu's blinds. He sits on the edge of his bed. Osamu crosses his legs, folds his hands in his lap. The quiet gets to him after a few minutes, a strange thing that doesn't always happen that fast. He shifts his position again. There's a bone deep exhaustion snaking its way through his body. He can shower tomorrow.
Osamu enters a state of deep contemplation. Is it desperate to text Chuuya immediately? Is it weird? Does he even care in the first place? The answer is seemingly the last question in Osamu's mind, he doesn't care, he promised Chuuya he'd never leave the boy alone, and how could he ever go back on his word?
He pulls up the contact in his phone, debating internally once more before he clicks on it. There's no going back once it's sent, so what does it matter? (It matters a lot, he wouldn't admit). What does he even send? What do people typically text their new friends, or anyone for that matter? Osamu doesn't know, he doesn't leave the house for fucks sakes.
???: chuuyaaa - ˕ •マ
Shockingly the response is almost immediate.
chuuya: what's that. Osamu?
osamu: yep a cat, what else? Do you like dogs so much you can't tell what other animals are?
chuuya: I'm not stupid, shitty Osamu
osamu: you could have fooled me (°ロ°)
chuuya: die
osamu: gladly!!!
He scoots back until his body is flush against the wall. A boyish smile plays on his lips. The two continue messaging back and forth for an undetermined amount of time. He learns some of Chuuya's other interests, few of which Osamu mutually shares but that's fine. He can get into them. Literature is something he can at least provide finite commentary on so there's some hope in keeping this going. Even the knowledge of how Chuuya acquired Baki, every detail about the mutt, and his love for the thing is bestowed upon Osamu. He's not envious of a dog, he just doesn't care to hear about it, but he pretends to. It's late, almost midnight when Chuuya gets some sense in his mind to end the interaction.
chuuya: i'm sleeping.
osamu: no you're not. you can't leave me up alone. it's lonely, you know
chuuya: then come back over later if it's so lonely for poor ol you. I can show you my other games
He starts typing, then stalls his response. The light from his phone screen illuminates his face with an unnatural blue glow as his eyes strain to focus.
osamu: I’m just going to beat you at them all
He's left on read. It stings, but it could mean nothing. It means nothing, probably. Chuuya is probably sleeping, or trying to, like a normal person should be at this time of night. He shouldn't be upset about that, like how a normal person wouldn't be so worked up over it. However, if it has not been made transparent enough yet, Osamu is far from a normal, functional human being. His phone is tossed somewhere out of sight on his bed. A weak grumbling sound fills his ears supplemented by a painful gnawing sensation in his upper abdomen. He breathes deeply, groaning and bringing his knees to his chest.
When he slithers his way downstairs in the dark to the kitchen, where he finds a can of crab in the middle of the shelf. It's a consideration he supposes he is thankful for, at least Mori supplied him with one of the few things he would eat on a consistent basis. It means nothing, probably. Osamu needs food so he doesn't die, that's all to it. He mixes some of the leftover rice from his untouched plate with the crab meat. The rest is scraped into the trash and covered by a box that was already on top.
The food is bland when he brings it up to his mouth. He chews methodically, cringing at the bits stuck to his mouth. Half of it is consumed before Osamu can't stomach the feeling anymore.
Sleep does come a bit easier to him that night with some junky stir of hope in his chest aiding him goodnight.