Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Yohei goes to check his admission results, he takes the train by himself. 

He follows the crowd that’s forming in front of the boards displayed in the campus, nerves making his hands tremble, even when he stuffs them deep in the pockets of his jacket. Even that makes him huff in frustration. It doesn't deserve the importance he's giving it. 

He pushes against the bodies pressed tight together, searching casually for the gap between the two candidate numbers before and after his. 

The girl next to him that’s loudly chewing skin off her thumb, screams and immediately flings herself in the arms of her dad. Yohei watches them for a bit as they bounce in a circle and make plans for a celebratory lunch. It’s really cute. 

He turns around and realises most students are flanked by at least two of their parents, if not their entire family. Some of them crying, buried deep into hugs, others posing for pictures, laughing with relief. Yohei is alone. 

Yohei is alone and he doesn't know what to do when an exam number catches his eyes on the board.

“Fuck.” 

He just stands there, until the sharp cries of seagulls startle him, somewhat mocking. "Sorry," he stumbles out of his stupor, walking away so the people behind him can have a look themselves, walking away before he ruins the joyous atmosphere. 

He isn’t actually going to go there, no matter how the thought fills up his mind, but – 

There’s no way he’s going.

***

He really isn’t going. 

***

He meets up with Haruko at their usual café next to school a few days later. The grades they get don't really matter anymore, not with the wave of admission exams they've just been hit with, but it's nice to lean into the routine while they still can. He sits at their usual booth to wait for her and the waitress simply waves at him, already preparing their matching cream sodas without having to order.

Yohei smiles, weirdly amused, considering how tightly strung he had been the first time Haruko had suggested meeting there. He was used to meddling with different crews, joking effortlessly to neighbouring gang leaders whom he needed to stay on good terms with, but the floral café with matching porcelain tea cups had proven to be a much different obstacle to get over. 

He watches Haruko arrive a few minutes later, running as fast as she can, before reaching the café’s corner and suddenly resuming into a dynamic speed-walk. Yohei laughs despite himself at the sight, commits it the best he can to memory. 

She makes a beeline towards their table and huffs an apology with her hands on her knees, “Sorry, practice ran late!” Her cheeks are still red from the effort, but it looks closer to a nice blush on her, cute and shoujo-heroine lite. 

“You’re good,” Yohei sips on his blue cream soda. “I just got here.” 

They open up their textbooks and pretend to have a go at their latest maths assignment before quickly deriving on basketball team related topics. 

“Coach Anzai is still shuffling the first-years around,” she grimaces while spinning the straw in her drink, the vanilla ice cream slowly dripping into her red lemonade. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think he’s convinced our attack will hold with both Rukawa and Hanamichi gone next year.”

Yohei smiles at how tightly she’s frowning her brows. “Don’t you remember how worried you were at the end of our first year with these two idiots?” he teases. “Turns out Miyagi-san managed to handle them just fine.” His own voice comes out a little forced, a little too self-convincing for his taste. 

Haruko laughs, self-deprecatingly. “I’m probably thinking too hard about it, aren’t I?” She pauses, the muffled conversations of the middle-aged housewives around them briefly taking over. “It just -” She stares out on the street below them, where couples and families are walking past each other, focused on getting to their destinations. “It feels different, our last year.” 

Yohei shifts in his chair, unsettled. Sakuragi stayed behind all the time leading up to the Winter Tournament. He didn’t say why, but Yohei could feel the edge of desperation behind the shots all the same. He understands it better now, what it means for something to be his last chance. “Yeah, I kind of understand why Mitsui-san came back to hang,” he laughs, not wanting to sour the afternoon. “He pretty much refused to retire.” 

Haruko struggles to stifle her laughter, clearly remembering it. 

“The team will be fine,” he says. “You did a lot for them.” 

Haruko blushes, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I only followed Ayako-senpai’s directions.” 

That’s unfair, Yohei thinks. Haruko designs entire training programs adapted to each players’ weaknesses and strengths, knows what words to use to get them back in a difficult game, and yet sells herself short. It was obvious what her cheers meant to Sakuragi whenever the big dumbass turned around after every successful shot to V-sign her. 

He’s considered telling her being a good coach doesn’t mean being a good athlete before, but loathes how the words just won’t form properly; loathes that he’s terrified of what it might look like out in the light. 

“ – Hei?” 

Yohei blinks to find Haruko looking at him, looking for an answer. “Sorry, what did you say?” 

Haruko hesitates, not knowing how to breach on the topic. 

Oh, they’re doing this now, Yohei realises. He struggles to maintain his expression as smooth as glass. He’s not about to make it easier. 

“You’ve heard Hanamichi got into Shintai, right?” Haruko says at last, her lips bending into a worried shape. She says it like there’s a world where Sakuragi did not show up on his doorstep as soon as he got the acceptance confirmation from the university coach, buzzing with such raw joy it was impossible not to congratulate him. 

“So I’ve heard.” 

Haruko opens her mouth and closes it.

"I know, alright," Yohei says, harsher than what he'd intended. He flips noisily through his textbook to diffuse the awkward tension. "I know, you don't have to say it." 

"I heard really good things about Yokohama's kinesiology track." Haruko sighs, looking at him with something dangerously close to pity. “That’s why you couldn’t come to the match, right? To go check the admission results?” 

Yohei can feel his own face twist with misplaced guilt. He didn’t think anyone would notice his absence. 

And yeah, the fact that it was good was precisely why he’d applied there in the first place. And also why he didn’t expect going through the first round of admissions, let alone the second one. The orals were excruciating; Yohei still feels the cold sweat going down his back in the waiting room, the craving for a smoke in his hands and the distinct impression that the staff was going to come tell him with an apologetic smile that they were so very sorry, but there had been a mistake after all . He winces, cornering the page scribbled with equations. 

"You worked really hard for it too," Haruko adds kindly, too nice and patient for her own good.

Hindsight is 20/20, but honestly Yohei could tell, from witnessing their very first conversations, that Haruko wouldn't be like the other 50 girls whose faces Sakuragi forgot instantly. That she'd be the one. 

Even during their first year, Yohei recalls vividly, her traits already had that rare maturity that set her apart from most of their classmates, easily elevating her traits from merely pretty to simply beautiful. It was an awful reminder, looking at her subtly pink lips and blushing cheeks that she was something Yohei couldn't ever be. Soft and modest in a manner he couldn't achieve and didn't want to.

Worse, Yohei found out while standing next to her in the stands of the basketball court for hours on end, she was incredibly easy to talk to. It felt special, when she'd turn her head towards him, face lighted up in concentration and hair tucked behind her ear to hear him over the noise. 

Damn you, Haruko, he remembers thinking with ugly pangs of jealousy. Damn you for being so easy to love. 

"Yeah," Yohei replies instead. "It's pretty good," he follows up with, even though it doesn’t line up with the conversation they’ve just had. 

Haruko’s lovely face crumples in worry. "That’s not what I’m asking."

"Hmm," Yohei says. "What did you answer to question 4?" He taps the prompt lightly with his pen.

"Yohei."

Reluctantly, he raises his head back up to meet her eyes.

"Is this about Hanamichi?" Haruko says, in the stern voice she usually reserves to the basketball team slacking their way through their morning run. 

Yohei scoffs in his hand. It's always about Sakuragi for the two of them. It's a little mortifying that she'd guessed right so easily though.

"You can still see each other during the weekends, can't you?" she says, like she's talking to a very small child. "It's going to be different, but it doesn't mean it can't be good."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Haruko startles, visibly surprised. "But this is your future?” She says, like it isn’t something Yohei already knows. “You can't keep sacrificing yourself without expecting anything in return, I mean – " 

"I said, I don't want to talk about this anymore," he says with a decent enough attempt at finality. 

Haruko opens her mouth, then swallows the words back in. "Fine," she says like she'd say this conversation isn't over. She pulls the textbook over to her side with surprising strength, tearing it easily away from Yohei's clenched fingers. "Question 4."

***

“I’m home,” Yohei announces from the entrance. He pauses, waiting in silence before taking off his shoes, and sighs in relief when the muffled rumble of a washing cycle echoing in the corridor is all that answers him. 

He hasn’t looked at his face yet, but the steady throbbing above his left eye tells enough. He whines softly at the pressure building in his temples when he has to bend down to drag his shoes to the side, but also knows better than to leave it untouched before going to bed. 

Objectively, they weren’t particularly good fighters; he’s pretty sure he’s beaten them up easily with the entire gang before, Yohei recalls while making his way to the bathroom. Well – back when Sakuragi wasn’t part of the basketball team yet, he reminds himself without bitterness. It feels odd to think of it as the past he’d left behind, is all. 

Yohei sets himself in front of the sink, mouth wide open, checking for broken teeth. It’s kind of bad, but it’s going to be worse tomorrow, he knows from experience. A purple bruise is blooming above his eye and dripping in hues of yellow down to his cheek, but it’s nothing compared to the, frankly, quite impressive slit in his lip slowly oozing out blood. 

“Fuck,” Yohei gently touches his face with the tip of his fingers, trying to remember how to palpate broken bones. 

“Yohei? You’re in there?” 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. His mom’s voice startles him and Yohei grabs a random towel to compress his lip, panic slowly rising in his throat before throwing it on the floor. He opens the door and switches the lights off, making sure his bad profile is facing towards the semi-darkness. 

“Hey,” he forces himself to say. “How was work?” 

If going by the schedule plastered on the fridge, Yohei should have had at least two more hours to make himself look presentable before the end of her day. The panic is making his voice come out all wrong, but it’s the best he can do with the fake smile tugging on his fresh wounds. He leans against the frame of the door to hide the dizziness. 

“Someone’s sick,” she sighs distractedly, tapping on her phone. “I’m taking her night shift. I just came home to pick up some clothes.” 

“Again?” Yohei frowns. They've been short staffed at the clinic for a while, but it’s rare that they ask her to stay for night shifts several times a week. 

“It is what it is,” his mom says in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks pale in her grey uniform, her face almost waxy with exhaustion. 

All of a sudden, her eyes widen in belated realisation, and Yohei can feel the pull in his skin for the earful he’s about to get. “Sorry, I completely forgot about making dinner,” she says instead, rubbing the tension headache in her temples. “There should be left-overs somewhere in the fridge, you’ll be alright?” 

“I’ll manage,” Yohei smiles, not really knowing whether getting caught would have been worse. Her hand reaches out for his arm, but doesn’t quite make it there, awkwardly hovering in the air. 

“You’re so reliable,” she says in a sigh. Yohei’s face twitches, uncomfortable. It’s not as if he’s done something particularly helpful. She probably said it to say it, already looking back at whatever had her attention on her beeper before. 

“Well,” she says, mirroring Yohei’s plastered smile with her own, like two strangers in a house. “I’ll get going then.” 

He feels guilty watching her walk off with the disproportionate gym bag hanging off her neck, knows that she’s been tired, but can’t help it when tension drips out of his shoulders as soon as the door slams. Yohei would like to be good, but doesn’t see the point in lying to himself. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, remembering the orientation form in his bag. 

She’s already gone. 

Well. Worst case scenario, he can just sign it. 

Instead of worsening his academic record, Yohei does his best with the medical supplies available, gently tapping his wounds with gauze until his entire face is smeared in – according to the label – expired merbromin red. He doesn’t linger in front of his reflection, weirdly unsettled by the worn out grimace it gives back. You should see the other guy, he would normally smirk to Sakuragi, but doesn’t bother with the act. 

Yohei groans when he opens the fridge, the white light making his head pulse painfully. Unlike what his mom had said, there’s not much in it, save for unidentified veggies and a couple of eggs. Better than nothing at all. 

He makes a half-assed attempt at tamagodon with heated up instant rice, and leaves a serving in a tupperware. It’s far from being the worst food he’s ever had, but his jaw clicks awkwardly at each mouthful. 

After clearing the table, he slides the window open. There’s a slight breeze coming from the street, still fresh despite the season nearing spring. For a long time it’s nice to just stand there, to take in the faint noise of the cars and the izakaya around the corner, the muffled conversations that fizzle out in the air before he can make out what the words are. It feels a little like being underwater, at the exception of the occasional amber glow from his smoke warming up his face. 

Yohei exhales one more time and yeah, alright. It’s time to start poking at the weird magma of emotion stagnating under his chest. Unlike some other boys he could name, he enjoys understanding what’s crawling under the surface. 

He takes another drag, lets the anger – an old friend, by now – wash over him. He’s found it’s the best way to keep it at bay after all this time. Allowing himself to feel it, every once in a while, without questioning its roots, before it swallows him whole. He stares at the polluted sky, the blurred out lights from aeroplanes crossing, before setting it aside. 

What’s left is an ugly mess of half-finished thoughts and pulsating bitterness. Yohei takes a sharp drag out of his smoke and exhales it out as slowly as he can, the tobacco crinkling in the wind. Realistically, he should be over it. It’s been three years. Three years during which he showed up for every match, at home and away, the occasional summer camp. 

It saved him, Yohei knows. He noticed it all, did not allow himself to tear his eyes away. Sakuragi calling himself Akagi’s little brother; Miyagi’s kind words coming to sooth a missed play; Rukawa’s begrudgingly attributed trust. The Sakuragi blooming under the applause of the crowd was not the same one whose tears Yohei could not appease, who fought too hard to want to only hurt his opponents. 

Yohei stabs the burnt out cigarette into the glass container his mom hides deep into the corner of the window. A better friend would be over it, definitely. 

***

Ironically, Yohei’s first mistake is actually going to class. He could have cut the school day short, enjoyed a surprisingly sunny afternoon on the roof until it was time for Sakuragi to go to practice. He winces, actually appalled by the idea that he willingly chose to go to his applied biology class instead. 

Despite his best efforts to speed walk through the corridors to make it to the old lab on the other side of the building, he’s a few minutes late. 

His teacher raises her eyebrows pointedly when he slides the door and mouths an apology. Yohei’s ears flush warm with embarrassment, uncharacteristically sheepish as he tries to make it to his assigned seat by the window without tripping on the bags lying open on the ground. 

He’s normally better at disappointing teachers than this. 

“–  Please indicate which presentation you’d like to work on,” she continues despite the interruption. “I’m aware these are bonus work and quite advanced topics, but experience in research projects will come in handy in secondary education.” She pauses, with strange finality. “This might be your last high school assignment. Treat it with the care it deserves.” 

Yohei squirms on his chair, unable to shake the distinct impression she’s looking straight at him. Are they really running out of time? Won’t their lives just carry on after graduation, why does everybody have to make it seem like it’s the end to everything they’ve ever known – 

Yohei cuts down the thought before he can think it through, bites down on the annoyance he doesn’t want to feel. He picks up the sheet of paper on his table and starts browsing distractedly through the prompts, desperate to cleanse the bitterness clinging to his teeth. 

The photosynthesis stuff is easy to put aside, he’ll literally gag if he has to see one more oxygen probe in his life ever again and so are the climate related questions. Muscle Protein Synthesis: myofibrillar and mitochondrial proteins. He circles that one, reluctantly. 

“Any time now, Mito,” the teacher drawls next to his desk, a hand extended towards him. 

“Uh,” Yohei startles. He hadn’t heard her approaching at all. He fumbles with the form, eager to make up for his late arrival. 

After collecting the worksheets, she starts writing names next to the prompts on the board. At first he assumes it’s for the topics to be distributed between the students and shrugs, ready to give up his first choice if someone asks for it. As the moment lingers, he realises, with distinct dread pooling down in his guts, that these are group projects. 

He fights to keep the grimace off his face, even when the teacher adds his name right next to Kurumi Sakai’s. 

He turns around, hoping to share a sympathetic look with her. She’s whispering to her friend, but stops as soon as she spots Yohei. 

She stares at him with big wide eyes, confused but somehow already offended by Yohei’s mere existence. Yohei should be offended back, but mostly finds himself tired thinking about the social energy he’s going to have to pour into the project, in addition to the actual research. 

He sits through the rest of the lesson, making plans on how to make this somewhat functional. When the bell rings, he stands fast and grabs her bag before she can rush out with the rest of their classmates. She whirls around dramatically and her nose scrunches up this time, in clear distaste. 

“Hey,” Yohei says, as cheerfully as he can. “Is it alright if we meet up in the library after club activities to plan the presentation?” He’d figured it’d be better to make the first step. 

Sakai squints, eyes sharp and narrow under her bangs. She exchanges a quick glance with her friend, who presses her lips together. Or maybe not. 

“Or another day, if you prefer,” he adds, keeping his voice on the same level. 

Sakai lets an uncomfortable silence settle and crosses her arms. “No, today is fine,” she says like she’s making it clear she’s calling the shots. Yohei resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Great,” he beams. And instantly tones it down when he’s met with less than enthusiastic pairs of eyes on the other side, narrowed intently on his every move. “I guess.” He hovers, waiting to see if anyone is going to defuse the tension. This has to be the weirdest conversation of his life. “Well, hm,” he finally gets out. “See you later then.” 

He walks down the corridor, feeling the uncomfortable weight of their gaze on him all the way. 

***

“Haruko-chan looked cute today with her braids,” Sakuragi babbles on straight after getting changed and it’s no different from the usual, what Yohei is used to settling for, but when the weariness comes, it’s harder to push back. 

“Yeah,” Yohei smiles. “She did.” 

That’s not even a lie. Haruko looked cute today, with twin braids flowing out of her backwards baseball cap, a graphic tee artistically peeking under her sports uniform. It stings like one, though. 

They’re about to pass the gates when Yohei remembers why he stayed behind in the first place. 

“Shit,” he says out loud. He’s done for if he doesn’t show up for the meeting he suggested himself. “Hey, I gotta go,” he cuts through whatever Haruko fantasy Sakuragi was walking them through.  

“What?” Sakuragi stops dead in his tracks, realising Yohei isn’t following anymore. “Want me to come with you?” He pulls his shirt to his shoulders and flexes his biceps. 

Yohei’s mouth dries up. “What?” He echoes stupidly back. How embarrassing can it get, really? 

“If you need someone to fight with you!” Sakuragi smiles with his teeth. 

“Oh,” Yohei laughs, getting it a million years later. “I’m good, don’t worry.” He’s pretty sure it’s meant to be a joke anyway. Sakuragi doesn’t fight anymore. Yohei feels the explanation on the tip of his tongue and irrationally pushes it back. I have a biology presentation coming up sounds completely out of character for him. He imagines the surprise – the laugh, probably too – painted all over Sakuragi’s face and flinches in anticipation. “It’s not what you think,” he settles for instead. 

“Oh,” Sakuragi’s shoulders slump comically. “But we haven’t talked today at all,” he continues petulantly, mouth dangerously close to a pout. His nose scrunches up, a complicated expression on his face. One that doesn’t suit him at all. 

Maybe Yohei could have deciphered it three years ago, but he doesn't know what it means today. He resists the urge to smooth the wrinkles on Sakuragi’s forehead with the tip of his fingers and smiles in a way that normally reads as reassuring. "I'll catch up with you tomorrow, alright?"

Sakuragi smiles big at that, like an overgrown puppy. “Sure thing!” 

Well, that wasn’t an ache hard to soothe. Before going, Sakuragi offers him a firm clap in the back, radiating post-practice giddiness, “See you tomorrow!” 

Yohei lingers into the touch, pathetically. 

***

Of course, Sakai is already there when he gets to the library, a bunch of advanced looking textbooks eviscerated on a table. He sits in front of her and quickly apologises for being a few minutes late. 

“That’s quite all right,” she says, with what’s supposed to look like a polite smile, but comes off pinched at the edges. 

Yohei gets his own notes out and lays them out on the table, weirdly self-conscious about the graphs he’s attempted to draw over the past hour. “So, where do you want to start?” 

Sakai looks at him, clearly stunned. Yohei frowns; has he already managed to also fuck this up? He was barely late at all. She shakes her head in disbelief, her bangs clipped back to the sides of her head. 

“I’ll do the research and the presentation,” she says slowly, in the voice of an elementary school teacher. Exaggerating each syllable and the tiniest bit condescending. After a beat of silence, she adds,  “You can help with formatting the bibliography, if you want.”  

Yohei honestly doesn't hold it against her; knows first impressions firmly last. He was very aware of what he looked like in first year, showing up every other day with scratches all over his face - split knuckles on unlucky days – barely turning in work, laughing loudly to Sakuragi getting rejected by every girl in the school. But there wasn’t a point, back then. Nothing to look forward to, at least not in relation to grades. 

“Actually,” he tries. “I was kind of interested in looking into amino acid absorption defects? Hm, like the part when the proteins are getting absorbed by the body but – ” 

“I know what amino acids are,” Sakai cuts in, bristling. 

Yohei blinks a few times. “Oh nice,” he says stupidly. “So yeah, hm, so maybe showing the process of the absorption, but also giving a few examples of how it can go wrong to make it more  – ” 

“Are you trying to make fun of me?” Sakai frowns, in a tone that has none of the fake-nice strategy she’d adopted earlier. Yohei blinks slowly at her, stunned into silence. She sighs and drags her hand through her hair. 

“I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, but I need a good grade on that project,” her voice doesn’t shake, but he can see how white her hands turn, how tightly she’s clasping them together. 

Yohei doesn’t know her very well, but news travel at light-speed in their grade. He’s heard whispers in the corridors about her dad working at a famous hospital, a busy neurologist or cardiologist. He wasn’t trying to pry, but it was obvious in the way her shoulder slumped in front of the midterm exams result table in the corridors when she didn’t make first place, heavy under the weight of someone else's expectations. It doesn’t matter, he wanted to say. Wanted to sooth her dejected pout, her tired sigh, but the moment was gone in a flash, her face hardened with determination again. 

Pathetically, it seemed kind of nice to Yohei. That someone would care so much about her future, fill her schedule with tutoring so passing her exams would be the least of her worries.

The memory resurfaces so vividly Yohei can’t push it back in time. It came up during one of the study sessions hosted at Haruko's place, where the pillow cushions matched and her dad kindly offered to bring them homemade lemonade instead of questioning why she was bringing a boy into her room. 

Right away, he had to show his notes –  or the lack thereof –   so she could decide on the best plan of action to bring up his grades. His ears burned as she flipped through the worksheets so carefully he could have thought they were made of glass, if he didn’t know better. 

“But, Mito,” Haruko raised her head after reading through them, looking too much like she genuinely cared for Yohei to tell her to fuck off. "Why is it empty? No one ever checked your books?"

Yohei shrugged, back then, affecting casualness. "Not really," he said when the actual answer was a definitive no. His mom was too busy to even sign his grade report and he hadn't seen his dad in three years. 

He squirmed, despite himself. It was obvious that Haruko was asked where she was going every time she went out and called the family phone when she was in trouble. It sounded nice, but it also meant he would have had to spell it out to her. 

He stiffened, preparing something to say when she would push on. Instead, Haruko hummed and said with a kind smile, “Let’s start with Unit five then?” 

“So,” Sakai brings him back to the situation at hand. “If you’re trying to make fun of me with your friends,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “Don’t.” She’s scrunching her face really tight, her eyes weirdly blurry. 

“Uh, my friends aren’t in that class actually – ” Yohei trails off without finishing. 

She makes small huffs of impatience. Wrong answer. 

“Listen,” he tries again. “There was no way I could have known you were going to pick this one – ” That doesn’t quite make it either. She kicks the table under them, as transparent of a threat as he’s ever seen. 

“Please,” Sakai rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows I want to be a doctor,” she bites like it’s an insult. Yohei startles at that, surprised by the venom in her tone. Like yeah, he knew because of her self-introduction in the biology class at the beginning of the year, but he’d found it cool, to be honest. How passionate she was about her dream. 

He gapes for air and before he can find something else to say – “This is really important to me too,” and the raw honesty of it almost makes him flinch. “I, uh, want to be a kinesiologist after highschool. So, yeah. That’s why I picked this presentation, actually. I thought it could be useful for later.” It feels weird to say it out loud, he realises. Admitting to himself this is something he wants for real. 

“Oh,” Sakai says with genuine surprise, like that’s not an answer she would have expected at all. She’s clutching her notes, Yohei realises, with a fully colour-coded outline. 

“We can start from there, if you want,” Yohei gestures at it. “That looks very neat. We can divide the work later.” 

Sakai straightens at that, her cheeks slowly warming up at the compliment he threw in passing. And like, there’s no way, right? Sakai is top of their class, part of the track team, has plenty of close friends. She’s a cool girl. 

It’s kind of sad that a compliment from Yohei seems to mean so much to her. 

“I guess,” she hesitates, looking at her pretty handwriting. “We can try,” she smiles reluctantly, almost despite herself. Yohei smiles back, but she’s already pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail, switching on her focused mode at once, ready to power through the documentation she’s pulled on their table. That’s kind of cute, Yohei can’t help but notice. 

Well, he thinks while grabbing a pencil in lieu of fancy highlighters, maybe fun can be found along the way. 

***

“I’m still waiting for that orientation form,” his homeroom teacher says at the end of the day, as Yohei picks up his notebook and stuffs it into his bag. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the annoyance in his tone. 

As if on cue, his professor says in a dramatic sigh, “I cannot keep on giving you extensions.” 

“Hm, sorry,” Yohei says, adjusting his bag on his shoulder where the form in question is still crumpled under his textbooks. He’s barely putting effort into faking the apologetic tone, but it’s what his teacher seems to be looking for. 

He shakes his head solemnly. “Monday first thing on my desk.” 

Yohei’s shoulders slump in relief before he reminds himself nothing will happen if he doesn’t return it. The school year is about to end, no one will care about what he ends up choosing. He takes it as his cue to leave and starts heading towards the door where the rest of the class is slowly dripping into the corridors. 

“Mito,” his teacher calls without raising his eyes from his paperwork. “I thought you’d learned to stay out of trouble.” He takes his reading glasses off his nose, “Keep it up.” 

Yohei frowns, perplexed. Does he think he’s being difficult on purpose? He hasn’t seen his mom since they bumped into each other. Is he asking him to sign it himself and to get it over with? He shifts his weight from one foot to the next, oddly uncomfortable. 

He’d thought he’d been doing a good job at hiding the fights and the skipping, always managing to stay somewhat afloat in first and second years so no one would ask questions. That it was the reason why no one had come to talk to him about it; because they hadn’t noticed. 

“Sure,” Yohei nods dutifully, while a sinking feeling settles in his stomach. “I’ll make sure not to.” He doesn’t wait up, rushes out of the classroom, away from the nausea sticking to the walls. 

***

“You good bro?” Yuju says on the walk to the train station. “You’ve been kind of quiet so far.” 

“Hm?” Yohei says, pulled away from dissecting the conversation he’s just had. “I’m good,” he says mechanically. They’re already about to reach the stairs to the platform, he realises. He must have been sort of distracted. Apologetically, he offers, “Want to go hang out somewhere? The park or something?” 

“Nah, can’t do,” Yuju smiles. “I’ve got to pick up my sister. That’s the day my mom finishes late.” 

“My bad,” Yohei winces. He knows that. He’s been seriously messing up lately. 

“No worries,” Yuju roughly claps  Yohei’s shoulder, letting him know better than words it’s already forgiven. “See you tomorrow.” 

They head off for the opposite platform and Yohei watches the train carry Yuju away, considering what to do next. Sakuragi is at practice, but he didn’t feel like going – Ruwaka’s fanclub’s squeals get old quickly enough. Nozomi’s parents have been on his back about finding a job so he’s been doing hours at the restaurant of a friend of theirs; that one is a dead end. He could ask Chuichiro, but he’s been putting time towards applying to a technical uni and it’s most definitely not that great of an idea to distract him so close to the deadline.

He slumps in the uncomfortable plastic seats. Maybe Yohei doesn’t feel like doing anything these days. 

He leaves the station before the train arrives, choosing the hour-long walk instead. He passes through the neighbourhood, watching small groups of kids with matching brand new school bags mess around, and drowning the sound of their laughter, his conversation with his mom and his teacher, the tenacious thought that he still hasn’t filled that stupid orientation form, with his MD player turned up to the max.

Before arriving in sight of his apartment block, a craving for a 7-11 ice cream hits and he redirects to the nearest convenience store. Before picking something in the refrigerated fridges, he spends time skimming through the manga magazines displayed at the entrance, careful to avoid the sports section, and that eats up an extra ten minutes. 

After that though, he has to resign himself to getting back on the walk back to the silent flat, mouth full of sugar making his teeth ache. 

“I’m home,” he says as he takes off his shoes, to no one in particular. 

“Welcome back,” his mom echoes brightly in the distance. Yohei startles; her schedule said she wouldn’t be back before the early morning. It’s a somewhat pleasant surprise, though. He changes out of his uniform and goes into the kitchen. Leaning into the door frame, he watches her chop veggies and then pour them into a broth. 

“Hi,” he tries. Bringing up her schedule at once seems kind of ungrateful. 

“Hi,” she smiles, looking more rested than she has in a while. It’s been years since he’s seen her without the mask of exhaustion wearing off her face. “I’m making nikujaga, want to lend me a hand?” 

“Sure,” Yohei smiles and goes to wash his hands. He watches intently as his mom shows him how to prepare the pork, manoeuvring the knife to get rid of the white gristle. 

“That’s good,” she compliments when he tries his best to make even slices, and tries not to preen so hard under the attention. The kitchen warms up when the stew starts to boil and is soon filled with a nicer smell than anything Yohei has ever achieved on his own. It feels good, he realises as he sets the table for two. It’s really nice. 

Such a good boy, his dad used to say whenever he took the initiative to lay out the plates for the three of them. So bright, he used to ruffle his hair. Yohei places the utensils at what used to be their assigned seats, his mom’s facing the window and Yohei’s, facing the door. 

“Thank you for the meal,” they say in unison over the still steaming food and smile at each other in rare complicity. 

“That’s really good,” he says through short huffs of breath, mouth still full of that burning first bite. It satisfies the craving from earlier deeper than the ice cream had managed to. 

“Are you complimenting yourself, now?” his mom laughs, but she’s also digging in enthusiastically. “I thought it could be good for you to learn how to cook before university. I’ve tried your little dishes in the tupperwares, you know,” she says with a side-smile, like it’s an inside joke. 

Yohei didn’t know that, actually. Annoyance briefly makes itself known deep under his ribs, because how was Yohei supposed to get it right if no one was there to show him? He pushes it back down immediately, unwilling to let it ruin the moment they’re sharing. “I know,” he laughs heartily. “Oh,” he remembers before taking another bite. “I have something to tell you.” 

“Me too,” his mom says, her mouth turning back into a serious line. She sets her spoon next to her bowl. “Yohei,” she starts in the same kind of voice she used to explain his dad wasn’t coming back next week from his business trip, wasn’t coming back ever. “I quit my job.” 

“Oh,” Yohei says. He considers saying sorry, but the clinic worked her to the bone and didn’t bother to veil the threat of firing her whenever she brought up her mandatory paid leave. If anything, they should be apologising to her. “Nice,” he says stupidly instead. That can’t possibly be the appropriate word, but it’s the one he’ll have to settle for. 

Silently, Yohei makes plans to go ask tomorrow if the delivery place he did hours for during first year could take him back. He doesn’t bother bringing it up to his mom upfront though. He knows they both prefer to talk around things. 

“Yeah,” her mom’s traits stretch in something that’s not quite a smile. “Your uncle is setting up a business in Hiroshima. He kindly offered me to join.” 

Yohei stills. Hiroshima? He must have misheard. He knows her brother is living there, of course, but they haven’t seen that side of the family in forever. “Isn’t that kind of far?” he croaks out in spite of his own volition. 

“Oh, Yohei,” she says with something awfully close to pity. “I was just thinking – well, with you going to university…” She has the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. “There’s not much of a reason for me to stay in Kamakura,” she says in a kind voice that ultimately, does very little to soothe the blow. 

“But what about me?” Yohei almost says. He pinches his lips together, so tight it’s verging on pain. It’s an asshole reaction to only think of himself when his mom is given such an opportunity, he’s aware, but –  

He stares at his blurred out reaction in the broth, bile rising in his throat that’s unexpected enough he can’t tell whether it’s about to make him throw up or laugh in her face. “That’s nice,” he says, trying as hard as he can to maintain his voice at level. “I guess,” he bites out, struggling to chase the lingering, now-bitter taste of the stew away.

It’s honestly kind of rude, so Yohei expects the flinch, but doesn’t find any satisfaction in watching her do so. He suppresses a laugh in disbelief. What was she thinking? That he’d be overjoyed at the idea of her leaving him with nowhere to return to? 

Neither of them say anything for a while, but they don’t really resume eating either. Yohei has kind of given up on food by this point. He keeps his gaze firmly on the table, not trusting himself to know what to do with the resentment building in his chest. 

“Ah,” she says, her posture totally rigid now, like she’s giving a last try at mending whatever’s left of their family and bracing herself for the outcome. “What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

Yohei considers showing her the form, discussing together about what his best options are, what university will grant him better courses, more chances to make it into a good seminar and the network necessary to carry out his own practice. It’d be nice if someone could force him to make the right decision. 

“It was nothing important,” he stares at the dishes they’ve just made together instead of looking at her. All he can think about is if this was her way of saying goodbye. “Nothing at all.” 

She’s about to say something, to press on the mediocre front he’s putting on and please, Yohei cannot help but hope, please –  

“I see,” she replies with a sad smile. 

None of them bother to liven up the conversation after that. The rest of the meal carries on with suffocating silence and ends with the loud clatter of plates left to soak. 

***

Yohei closes the door to his room gently, careful not to make too much noise when his mom is getting ready for bed and hates himself for it. 

He stares at the bed he didn’t make in the morning, the pictures he got developed last summer and –   it’s what gets him. The normalcy of it all, when his life has been pulled under his feet again. He gets closer to the wall and pulls the picture with the three of them on it. 

Yohei honestly doesn’t remember where it was taken really well, the memories of an excursion at the beach glazed over artificially like the film itself, a red bucket in his hands too bright to be real. His father’s face stares back, foreign and yet familiar in the shape of the brow, the cowardly quip of the mouth. 

That time was like a void; gaping in absence, swallowing away any good memories. The words stuck anyway when his mom assured it wasn’t Yohei's fault, her hands shaking a little. 

He hadn't fathomed it could be before she’d said it out loud. 

He sits on his bed, at a loss of what to do for real. He feels the urge to get the orientation form in his bag and rip it out dramatically, but even that seems performative and pointless. 

Through a haze of tiredness, he’s reminded of the climate Unit his biology class powered through before winter break, of those scientists working on Antarctic sites to dig strata of ice straight out of the ground. Most of his classmates had been horrified to hear about the isolation induced by the yearly contracts and the lack of civilisation, but secretly he’d found it quite nice. 

He lays down, imagining a quiet broken only by the crunch of steps in the snow. Closes his eyes, as he entertains the idea that, he too, could disappear and never be found. 

***

The noise of a construction coming from an open window startles Yohei into awareness and he blinks his eyes open, confused, only to slam them shut again when he’s confronted with the brightness of the midday sun. He groans at the time displayed by his treacherous alarm; he’ll be lucky if he even makes it to his second period. 

He slips in the classroom after morning break, dragging himself to his desk. He considers taking a pencil out, but decides against pretending. The neon white that Yohei finds headache inducing at any time of the day, feel especially offensive this morning. He groans and buries his head in his arms, letting go of whatever-left-appearances. 

Yohei dozes off straight through maths, English and Japanese class. He’s pretty sure it’s obvious, but no one comes to disturb him. He’s still napping comfortably in the sun by the time the bell rings, but it seems excessive getting up for that too. Away in the distance, the dull roar of laugh rings in the corridors, immediately followed by a weirdly intense shriek of pain. It washes over him, doesn’t find any asperities to hold on to, before a hand comes to scratch his neck, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the rugged sensation against his skin. 

“Yah, what are you so sleepy for?” Sakuragi’s voice resonates over him. 

“Huh,” Yohei drools over his table, the mark of his hands on his face. He must be quite the sight now, but Sakuragi simply laughs and drops a can of carton of soy milk over his desk. It’s great, because not only Yohei hasn’t eaten at all today, the physical act of opening the straw and piercing the carton with it allows him to not think about whatever the fuck was that.  

He feels the warmth of a blush on his neck when Sakuragi leans against the window and watches him drink, but does nothing to fight it. It’s a nice sight, Sakuragi smiling back to him. One he wants to treasure. 

Before they have time to actually talk, the door of their classroom slides so abruptly it startles them both, some of the sesame soy milk smearing his desk in dark stains. “What the hell,” Sakuragi grunts. 

Yohei doesn’t even have time to explain before Sakai is already crossing her arms in front of his desk, in a picture-perfect embodiment of self-entitlement. “There you are,” she looks down on Yohei. “You’ve got a free period now, let’s go to the library.” 

Yohei doesn’t even bother asking how she got hold of the information, simply stares back with the most unamused half-smile he can muster. He lets the moment linger without moving, feeling particularly cruel today. 

Sakai transfers her weight from one leg to the other, feigning indifference, but Yohei picks up on her head moving slightly to the side, the worried fold of her mouth – Yohei snickers interiorly. The obviously fake confident font she puts on with him is kind of cute. He doesn’t want to make her feel worse than she probably already feels, though. Not with Sakuragi looking straight at him, at least. 

“Alright,” Yohei sighs, but still gets up. “I made progress on the second part, I’ll show you when we get there,” he explains as he picks up his blank notebook and slings his bag over his shoulder. 

“But – ,” Sakuragi says, and Yohei can feel him frown even before turning back. When he does, it’s much worse than what Yohei expected. His entire face is folding on itself, expressing clear disappointment. “I thought we were having lunch together.” 

“Oh,” Yohei lets out despite himself. “Uh, the guys should be at the cafeteria already if you want to eat with them.” He hovers awkwardly, thinking of what else to say when Sakuragi’s mouth turns into an actual pout, but Sakai doesn’t stop and heads out of the classroom, clearly expecting Yohei to follow. 

“Ah, shit,” Yohei says to no one in particular. “I’ll catch you after practice or something, yeah?” is the best suggestion he comes up with, focused on wondering whether he’ll be able to reach her before she realises he even stopped. 

“That’s what you said yesterday already,” Sakuragi almost whines. Yohei pushes down on the urge to shut him down, doesn't want this to be something else to regret. 

“This week is a little busy,” Yohei winces, trying his best not to let the annoyance transpire through. “I’ll be free this weekend.” 

Sakuragi starts nudging the table with his feet, uncharacteristically quiet. “Basketball games are on Sunday,” he says with a small voice. 

Yohei sputters at how unfair that is. He has missed one basketball game in three years, it’s just that he couldn’t explain why he couldn’t come that day, but he knows the schedule, always has. He doesn’t have time to explain today either. 

“Uh,” Yohei starts walking backwards, and groans in pain when the corner of someone else’s desk digs into his flank. “We’ll figure something out!” He smiles and finally starts to pick up the pace. 

When Yohei passes in front of the corridor’s plexiglas, Sakuragi’s blunt shape catches his eyes; still and deformed by the perspective. He moves on. 

***

“Stop looking so goofy,” Sakai says without looking up from the graphs she’s copying on a transparent sheet of paper for the projector. She’s let down her hair and it catches the sun piercing through the library’s windows. There are faint traces of a nude eyeshadow applied around her eyes, Yohei notices, making them wider than they really are. “We’ve still got a bunch to do.” 

That’s an exaggeration, Yohei evaluates rationally. The presentation itself is mostly done – Sakai read the part he had written with attention and still declared with half-veiled resentment that she had nothing to add to it. Weirdly, that felt like the biggest compliment Yohei had received in a while. With just cosmetics and script rehearsals left, he’s pretty sure they’re ahead of all the other groups by a large margin. 

“Sorry, my bad,” he smiles, and that feels like the line of a script too. He reaches for the colour pencils spread out on the table to add some details to the cell side-cut and bumps into her hand. “Huh, sorry,” he repeats while a pink blush rises to her cheeks. 

Distinct giggles rise behind them and they turn around in unison just in time to see two girls ducking under the mostly empty bookshelf, and then running away. “Isn’t that your friends?” Yohei says as he recognises them, even when they’re hiding the bottom of their faces with their hands. 

Sakai scowls. “I told them not to do that.” She plays with the beaded bracelets on her wrists, looking awfully like souvenirs from Hawaii. “I don’t understand why they’re being so annoying,” she says with an upset face and it’s the closest thing from an apology Yohei has ever gotten from her. “We’re just working.” 

“My friends never listen to me either,” Yohei laughs, giving her an easy way out. “As soon as it’s sensible advice, it’s like my best friend can’t hear it at all.” 

That too, stung, before fading into a dull ache. Haruko didn’t know him at all back then, not like Yohei did. It felt like misplaced humiliation, telling her exactly how to cheer him up. It felt like losing –  Yohei scoffs. Losing implies he once stood a chance. Giving up would perhaps be more appropriate of a word. 

“That’s sad,” Sakai says, so direct it takes the breath out of him. There’s no pity in her tone, just a matter-of-factness that’s somehow even worse. Her pencil stops moving, suspended in the air. “I wish they wouldn’t do that. It shouldn’t be a habit.” It’s unclear whether she’s talking about herself or Yohei. 

“Uh,” Yohei chokes out. He tries to come up with something socially acceptable to add, but Sakai is still staring at him, the intensity of her gaze barely dimmed out by her bangs. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Yohei finally says, with a flat voice he doesn’t recognise. 

Sakai tilts her head to the side in visible confusion. “If they’re your friends, you should be able to talk to them?” Her tone rises at the end of her sentence, but her brows stay frowned, like Yohei’s just said something incomprehensible. 

He initiates the denial, ready to say that it’s really not as bad as she’s making it out to be, but it’s a “yeah” that comes out of his mouth, small and way too honest to someone he’s known for less than a week. 

He contemplates briefly the possibility of turning the question back to her, considering they quite literally witnessed her friends spying on them and then bolting off, but lashing out in face of the truth seems a little low, even for him. He doesn’t like the person he’s become, deflecting and cowardly, but it’s like he can’t manage to be anything else these days. 

He stares at the half-coloured protein on their shared graph and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, “Wanna take a break?” He winces comically when she looks back, full of suspicion. “I don’t think I can focus anymore.” 

Sakai’s face twists, probably about to promote the merits of working throughout an entire lunch break. She hesitates, looking at her own unfinished drawing before admitting – decidedly set on defying Yohei’s expectations today –  “Actually, yeah.”

She tidies up her work station methodically, while Yohei sort of shoves his mismatched pens into his bag, “I could use a break.” 

***

The canteen lady’s usual smile is accompanied with an eyebrow rise when she sees the two of them arriving right before the end of second service. She’s always been kind to Yohei though and prepares two lunch sets for take-out, sending them off with an exaggerated wink. 

Weirdly, It makes Yohei’s insides squirm with something acidic and he doesn’t manage to send back a smile that doesn’t read as tense. She interprets it as something else entirely and sends an encouraging thumb-up, which makes the entire ordeal even more embarrassing. 

“For you,” he throws his lunch to Sakai. “Have you ever been to the roof?” The canteen lady’s wink is still floating before his eyes, associated with an unease too floaty to pin down. It’ll be easier to deal with in a place he’s familiar with. 

Sakai frowns – more out of habit more than anything else, Yohei is starting to understand –  and says, “Hasn’t it been forbidden?” 

It kind of has. The admin realised fights were happening on the roof and decided that, after a full round of concertation with teachers and student representatives, the best option was to close its access. Yohei snorts interiorly, talk about treating the symptom. 

“Uh,” Yohei says, feeling the weight of the key he “borrowed” from the maintenance agent and made doubles of three years ago in his pocket. Honestly, though. If they didn’t want him there, they would have changed the locks. “Not really,” he assures with a confidence he doesn’t have. “You’ll like it,” he throws in, like that’ll make the difference. 

Sakai throws him a glare that looks like it could literally peel through the veneer of bullshit he just put on, but also shrugs. “Sure, then.” 

They take the stairs to the fourth floor and Yohei points to the half-assed barricade of degraded desks crossing the way to the door leading to the roof. “That way,” he says redundantly. He’s already half-way done walking through the débris, barely thinking about where to put his feet, when he realises Sakai may need help. 

It’s a strange urge. Or well, an unfamiliar one at least. He doesn’t usually have to worry about Sakuragi for stuff like that. He’d actually be more worried about the actual pieces of furniture if they were to come in contact with him. It’s not fair to compare, though. He knows that. 

Feeling the need to prove the feeling wrong, he turns around, ready to offer her a hand. 

She startles, much closer than he’d expected her to be, pulling her uniform up as she takes a big step over one of the chairs lying on the ground. “You good?” Yohei asks uselessly, not really knowing what to do with the limbs attached to the sides of his body. 

Sakai hums, quickly catching up to him. She’s part of the track team, Yohei reminds himself. Did he just assume he had to help out because she was a girl? He fumbles with the lock a few times while she just waits on the side, deeply committed to the act of checking no one’s near. When Yohei finally manages to open the door, his cheeks are burning in embarrassment. 

Going out in the open is a relief. As the first breeze hits, Yohei feels the tension he didn’t realise had accumulated in his shoulders, slowly drop. Sakai sighs in what could be appeasement, the sun harsh, but not unkind on their skins. Sweat pools in the collars of their uniforms quickly and they resolve to find a shadowed area to eat. Summer feels near. 

“Why the medical field?” Yohei asks around the crunch of marinated radish, partly because it feels like a better idea than eating in awkward silence, partly because he really wants to know. 

Sakai’s eyebrows rise and she immediately starts to cough around her mouthful, clearly not anticipating the topic choice. Yohei lets himself laugh, because that would be his reaction too. 

“It’s kind of lame,” Sakai says while reaching for her iced barley tea. “You know my dad is a doctor?” Yohei nods. She plays with the cap, screwing and unscrewing it. “So like, a bunch of his friends are doctors too, right?” Yohei nods again, even though he wouldn’t know much about that. It makes sense, probably. She squirms again, the words rushing out her mouth like she can’t stop now that she’s started. “At dinners and stuff, they kept comparing which drugs to prescribe to get the highest-payoff, but money wise, not to actually help them get better and I don’t know – ” She pauses, looking a little sad. “No one deserves that, I guess.” 

“You want to help people. That’s not lame at all.” 

“Oh,” Sakai blinks. “I could have just said that, I guess. Or that I like biology enough to make a career out of it.” She laughs, a little self-deprecatingly. “What about you? You must have a reason, if you asked me.” 

“Uh,” Yohei says. He grabs the back of his neck, thinking of a way to put it together that doesn’t make him sound insane. “When my friend got injured, I got to spend some time at the hospital with him.”

The kinesiologist at the rehab clinic quickly figured out he was there pretty much every single day , and while it should have been embarrassing, it proved to be useful to make sure Sakuragi wasn’t overexerting himself. By the end, he knew all of the nurses by name and the doctor had shown him how to manipulate Sakuragi’s back to feel for anomalies. 

Obviously, he’d liked that, being able to trace the line of Sakuragi’s spine, feeling the shivers circulating all the way in the broad of his back. He liked that this was a scene not many people had been privy to, the stretch of Sakuragi’s muscles, the broad warmth of his skin laid out under Yohei in blind trust. It was a nice change, after being reduced to standing in the side-lines for almost a year. 

It was miserable, seeing Sakuragi quite literally writhe in pain, forehead covered in sweat at the smallest action, but Yohei was a fucked-up mess back then too. It felt nice to be able to care for him, to be able to help. To spend time with him again. 

That particular guilt was already there but manifested in other ways. Yohei couldn’t stop picturing it, even deep into the night. Sakuragi hitting the ground, the made-up, nauseating crack of a spine breaking he was too far even hear through the roaring crowd, resonating loud and clear in the dreams, the sickening sight of limbs laid out in impossible angles. Relentlessly.

“But, what if I can’t play basketball ever again?” Sakuragi had said after not being able to even stand up without vicious dolts of pain visibly running through his body. His face was ashen, realisation slowly sinking in of what he’d done. 

Yohei wanted to grab his cheeks, slowly sooth the worry away with the tip of his fingers, but that’d be going too far, even for him. “You’ll be okay,” Yohei croaked out, unconvincing to his own ears, but the only thing he could think of to stop the tears from spilling on Sakuragi’s cheeks. You have to. His words felt hollow, reduced to the same state as the muted TV in the background. 

Yohei wished Haruko would be there instead of him. He wondered if Sakuragi wished for that too. 

There’s no way he can say any of that to Sakai though, so he opts for the safest option. “It was cool to see the nurses and the doctors work. It made me want to do that too.” 

Sakai nods back, satisfied with what’s not really a lie, but not quite the truth. Leaving his half-eaten lunch aside, Yohei crosses his arms behind his ears and lies down on the concrete. Closes his eyes for just a few seconds and tries to forget how deceitful a person he is, when she just bared her true motivations in front of him. 

Yohei wakes up to a firm shake on his side, startled out of visions he hadn’t had in a while. “The bell is about to ring.”

Yohei rises up slowly, disoriented and perhaps nursing a minor insolation. “You could have woken me earlier,” he grunts, voice still deep with sleep. That’s insanely impolite, he realises a little belatedly. 

Sakai shrugs. “You looked like you needed it.” 

Yohei shakes the haziness out of his head. She makes it so easy. You should talk to your friends because they’re your friends. You should sleep when you’re tired. It’s stuff Yohei should know, but it’s been a while since it’s made sense at all. 

Soon enough, they’re back in the flow of students getting back to their class. “Hey,” Yohei says louder than he’d expected to. Sakai turns around, and before Yohei can think against it, “I’m really glad we got paired together.”

Sakai lets out a startled little laugh. 

“Me too,” she admits reluctantly. “But, I mean,” she teases, hands on her hips. “What would you have done without a genius like me?” 

Yohei forces himself to laugh back. “I know.” She elbows him in the ribs a little too hard, but it feels deserved. He can’t shake off the feeling of a presence clawing right into his nape, whispering what are you getting into?

He turns around, but there’s nothing for him to see. 

***

The gym is the same as always, reeking of boy sweat and echoing in call-outs as the team gets ready for one on one drills. Yohei leans against the doorframe to watch Sakuragi go up against Rukawa and immediately fail to see the feint before he’s already been passed and scored on. 

Yohei feels his eyebrows rise. That rarely happens so blatantly anymore. 

Sakuragi scowls and lowers his stance, like a big cat about to bounce. There’s the squeak of shoes on the hardwood floor and the ball is already through the net, not even touching the hoop. 

Rukawa scoffs, inexpressive as ever. “Stop wasting my time.” 

There’s an edge to Sakuragi’s face, gone so fast Yohei thinks he might have imagined it.

“Washed out player,” Sakuragi shouts back, but there’s none of the usual heat behind it. 

Yohei doesn’t pretend to be some sort of basketball expert, but can’t help but notice an odd pattern in Sakuragi’s form as he executes a series of steps around Rukawa. He tilts his head so far it hits the side of the door. The thought itself is so close, it’s painful that he can’t verbalise it. 

Sakuragi’s shoulder clashes into Rukawa’s body and – Summer camp of first year, Yohei recalls. Relax, coach Anzai repeated over and over again. There’s tension, he realises, written all over Sakuragi’s plays. One by one, the kouhais stop executing the drills to watch the face-off, until one ball only is heard in the gym.  

They set up one more time for a best of threes and concentration is painted all over their faces, so palpable Yohei can almost feel it in the air, sticky and desperate. 

It’s not just an impression, it’s first year summer camp all over again. Yohei remembers Sakuragi showing up on his doorstep, at odds with the confident version of himself he’d seen grow in the past days, eyes pink and head hanging low. 

“I couldn’t do anything at all,” he confessed with Yohei’s covers drawn over his face. It was too hot to use covers at all – sharing a bed, even – but Sakuragi always slept like that, only the soft top of his buzzed cut standing out against the pillow. Like a little kid. 

Yohei didn’t mind really, hands always running cold from the smoking. 

“It’s okay,” Yohei said quietly. “You still have lots of time.” His hands hovered over Sakuragi’s shape under the sheets, desperate to reach for that warmth. He didn’t. Looking back, he wishes he had. Wishes Sakuragi still told him his secrets, deep into the night. 

There’s the slam of a door and Yohei is startled out of the rêverie, faced with the stunned silence of the gym. Haruko hesitates, but after exchanging a glance with coach Anzai, runs after Sakuragi in the direction of the outside sinks. 

Yohei winces, wishing he could do that too; wishes the canteen lady could see him stand next to Sakuragi and wink to him all the same, and wishes people wouldn’t see them together ever again, that they could only exist in the quiet of his room. He –  

He doesn’t know what he truly wants. 

After a few whispered sentences Yohei is too far to catch, the rest of the team starts practising again.  Careful at first, but slowly building back into a rhythm. And soon, it’s like nothing ever happened. 

***

“Of course, you had to be watching that,” Sakuragi drawls out when Yohei makes his presence known after practice wraps up, shoulders hunched together. He kicks the rocks on his path, dragging his feet on the ground. The grumpiness could be amusing – cute even –  if Yohei could shake off the certitude that the issue runs on a deeper level. 

They start walking, Sakuragi an unfamiliar presence in his back. Yohei doesn’t turn around fully, but stills say, in the most normal voice he can summon, “I’m always watching you, you know that right?” 

Sakuragi grunts back, mood not lifted at all. 

“Come on,” Yohei tries again. “Even geniuses need a post-practice convenience store run sometimes.”

There’s the start of a reassuring smile on Sakuragi’s face, the outlines of it so familiar Yohei could map it out in his sleep. All of a sudden, it reverts back to the previous expression, eyes foreign and clouded by something Yohei doesn’t see at all. 

“I’m good, I think,” Sakuragi says with a quiet voice. 

“Oh,” Yohei says, not letting himself be hurt. “That’s fine.” He’d wanted to enjoy a long walk home with Sakuragi, not knowing how many are left. “That’s fine,” he repeats, a little uselessly. 

They part ways at their intersection. 

***

Realistically, there’s a bunch of stuff Yohei would like to be doing instead of getting ready for the basketball team dinner. 

Moping in his bed and other equally fulfilling activities are looking like strong contenders, but he actually makes the effort of picking a decent shirt before heading out for what he’d well understood to be a special offering. The Sakuragi gang may be the non-official cheering squad, but they’re not part of the team. 

He doesn’t listen to the part of himself that’s longing to see Sakuragi. He watches the city lights in the train and doesn’t let himself think that it’s what they’ve been like lately, passing by each other like ships in the night. 

It’s convenient, is all.

Thankfully, his friends are already there when he gets to the restaurant – a nondescript meaty place next to school – waving for him to join them at a table to the side. He gets clapped in the back by some second-years and smiles shyly back, never quite knowing how to return the clumsy show of affection. 

He makes eye contact with the server, looking completely under the water – Yohei would be too, faced by rows of teenagers built like doors with an appetite to match –  and  signals for a drink, with an apologetic smile. 

“Finally decided to join us?” Haruko says with teasing eyes, and Yohei sees exactly what drives Sakuragi crazy. 

Yuji says, as Yohei takes a seat next to her. “It’s been forever dude.” 

“I’m not even late,” Yohei says, feigning the misunderstanding. 

“Nah,” Nozomi shakes his head. “Feels like we haven’t seen you in weeks.” 

“Ugh,” Yohei grabs the back of his neck. ”Our bio teacher gave us that crazy extra assignment.” He enjoyed it really, but still smirks. “I’ve been studious, that’s all.” 

That gets laughs around the table, which is what he was going for. The topic switches after that, and it becomes easier to just listen in, faintly distracted by the ambient noise and the sticky surface of their table. 

There are cheers at some point which, Yohei quickly pieces back together, are a reaction to Chuichiro getting into his first choice university. He smiles genuinely at that, trying his best to get back into the flow of the conversation. “Congrats,” he says in his direction and they clink their glasses together. 

“Oh right,” Yuji says. “What university are you choosing in the end, Yohei?” 

It’s a pretty good transition, delivered with what could be a casual tone if Yohei didn’t know all of them better than this. He doesn’t miss the quick looks they exchange between the four of them, nor their postures straightening at once. He knows how to recognise an ambush when he sees one. Yohei takes a sip of his drink, thinking of what to say next. 

“You told them, Haruko?” He asks with a light tone, even though it’s obvious she did. 

“I”m sorry,” she winces, looking at the others for reassurance. “I didn’t know – I thought you had told them already.” 

“I was going to,” Yohei says, ignoring the guilt lacing at the bottom of his drink. 

“Dude,” Yuji says. “That’s like, the least important thing right now.” 

“Yeah,” Nozomi drags his chair closer to Haruko which, if it didn’t sound completely stupid, could be a gesture of protection, squaring his shoulders in front of her. Yohei almost scoffs out loud, protecting her from what?  “We wish you had told us, but that can wait.”

They all nod in agreement. There’s something awful about imagining them staging an intervention without including him, speaking behind his back because Yohei is too pitiful to figure it all out by himself. Resentment builds up in Yohei’s throat, so overwhelming he doesn’t know whether he’ll be able to swallow it back. 

“Are you really going to follow Hanamichi?” Chuichiro asks and it’s miserable when he puts it that way, how desperate it makes him sound. “That uni is dogshit except for basketball.” 

Yohei doesn’t say anything back, letting the silence drag on and on, until it’s properly uncomfortable. The team laughs at something behind his back, but it feels oddly fractured compared to the mood at the end of their table. 

“Uh,” Chuichiro searches the others’ faces, looking for a hint of what to do next. Yohei refuses to give it to him. “You don’t play basketball,” he says slowly, like Yohei is fucking stupid. 

“Thanks,” Yohei laughs incredulously. “I kind of had that one figured out.” 

Haruko winces. “That’s not what we mean, we’re worried that – ” 

“Right, go and get them!” Sakuragi suddenly appears over Haruko’s shoulder with trays of food in his arms, still laughing in the other direction. He looks up and sees Yohei, and the smile immediately dies on his lips. 

Yohei feels something harden in his chest. Haruko and Yuji exchange a sharp look, mouth half-open like they’re about to say something that’ll ruin Yohei’s night – Yohei’s life, at this rate. 

He stands up, pushing the chair back with so much strength it hits the floor with a loud clatter. “Ah, shit,” he bends down to get it back up. The back of his neck feels like it’s been lit on fire. He laughs even though there’s nothing funny about the situation. 

Yohei makes himself look at his friends and they’re just sitting there, mouth hanging open in shock. His whole body goes hot, and then startlingly cold like even his blood has abandoned him to this fucked up scene. “Okay,” he says while reaching for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his back pocket. He waves it around pathetically and just leaves the room. 

It’s that or staying there and probably barfing in everybody’s plates – which would be even worse –  even though right now that’s the only way Yohei thinks it could have actually gone worse. So yeah, he walks out because that’s what he does best anyway. Running away. 

***

There’s a small black cat in the alley behind the restaurant, nosing gently at the trash to decide if anything is worthy of becoming his dinner. “Hey,” Yohei calls with one hand, the other busy shakily lighting up his cigarette. He gets closer and nudges Yohei’s calf. 

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I have nothing for you.” The cat meows loudly and gets back to foraging. 

He’s the ideal smoking partner really, Yohei contemplates as they fall in companionable silence. One that's not bothering to fill the silence with anything. There’s a comforting quiet for a while before he feels, more than hears, the door slide behind him. 

He’d been expecting it, he realises. His shoulders are still tense, gearing up for a fight despite himself. 

Sakuragi squats next to him, uncharacteristically silent. His shoulders come up by his red ears, his back hunching a little as he focuses very intently on the ground in front of him. Yohei exhales longly in the chill of the early night, making sure it’s not directed towards him. Sakuragi has never liked the smell, after all. 

“You could have told me,” Sakuragi says at last. Yohei can’t see his face clearly in the dark, but he’s pretty sure he’s doing that mousey thing where his mouth is pointing to the left, when he knows he’s in the wrong but too proud to admit anything. 

“Hmm,” Yohei replies. He leans against the wall behind him, bone-tired all of a sudden. “I could have.” 

“I don’t get it,” Sakuragi declares louder, definitely contrary this time. He stands up, towering over Yohei. He rarely realises how ridiculously smaller he is with Sakuragi usually making the effort to bridge the distance. He doesn’t this time though, and the gap is harrowing. “I thought we – ” 

His face scrunches up, and Yohei tries hard to guess what that means, he really does, but comes out empty-handed. 

“I don’t get why you’d leave me alone.” 

Yohei hears himself laugh before he can stop it. It’s an ugly sound, mocking and incredulous even to his ears. Sakuragi bristles.

“Just – ” Sakuragi buries his hands as deep as he can in his pockets, pointedly looking at the floor. Like he’s… Like he’s nervous. “Can you tell me why?” 

“I don’t know what they told you,” Yohei pauses to take a drag, even though it's making him more nauseous than anything. “But I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of what you think.” He gives him a tired smile. “I’m picking my university so we can stay together.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah,” Yohei crushes the stub with his heel and gets ready to light a new one. “Don’t worry about that, it’s taken care of.” 

“ What?” Sakuragi says, closer to a scream than anything else. Yohei winces, before the cold realisation that they’re talking about completely different things slowly dawns on him. 

“It’s not – that’s not what I meant,” Sakuragi passes his hand through his hair, short again, and Yohei wishes he could do the same. “I was talking about your girlfriend!” 

“ What?” Yohei coughs. 

“I saw you two on the roof, the other day,” Sakuragi says, pointedly looking at the space under Yohei’s ears, but not directly at him. 

“Uh,” Yohei can’t deny that, still struggling to get his breath back under control. Something drops inside of Yohei’s chest at the lack of acknowledgement, surprise even, when he’s compromising his future for him. Trust Sakuragi to focus on the least important matters of them all.

“That really pissed me off you know,” Sakuragi spits out, in the rash anger Yohei has always seen directed towards other people, but never himself. “That’s our thing.” He splutters as his arms cross in front his chest, “She doesn’t look fun at all. What would she even have in common with you?” 

“What do you know?”

Sakuragi startles, a weird look in his eyes. He starts again, equally prickly. “But it’s true! Why would you be with her when – ” He doesn’t finish the sentence, words caught up in his throat. 

“Then what do you have in common with Haruko?” Yohei says. He’s yelling too, he realises. “What do you like so much about her, uh?” 

Sakuragi recoils, like Yohei’s just hit him. “That’s not –  that’s not the same.” 

“Is it not?” Yohei says, even though he knows he’s twisting the knife. He watches Sakuragi’s face flinch in hurt and finds an odd sense of satisfaction in it. It’s gone in a flash and only leaves emptiness behind. “Seriously,” he goes in for the final blow. “Grow up a bit.” 

He takes the easy way out, turning his heels on Sakuragi and heading back out in the main street, escaping the regrets making his head pulse painfully. He meets eyes with the cat, still looking at them in the distance, barely a shape at all in the darkness. All that’s left are sliced irises dripping in judgement. 

Yohei takes back everything amenable he’s ever said about him being a good smoking partner. He’s terrible and smug. 

***

Yohei finds himself standing in front of a pachinko machine, staring desperately into the void of colours and the reflection of the leds. Blearily, he realises two things –  one: he can’t tell what time it is at all, the sheer clicking of the marbles overpowering any attempt at an estimation from his part, two: someone is tapping on his shoulder. 

“Sir,” the employee in the frankly atrocious yellow uniform with red stripes says. “You will find refills at the counter.” 

She smiles, but it’s slightly unnerving. Like Yohei is supposed to understand what she means. He turns back towards his machine, ignoring the emptiness of the eyes the plexiglas reflection sends back –  It’s stopped.

How long has it been like that? He can’t quite recall. 

“Thanks.” His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Too rough, like he’s been underwater. Hoarse, from the salt. He stands, face buried in the fog of smoke. That’d make him crave one too normally, but it doesn’t now.

“We hope to see you soon!” 

Yohei walks out. The glint of the marbles burns his retina far into the night, morphing into shapes and movements he can’t make sense out of. 

***

“–  hei? Yohei?”

Yohei stirs, confused. 

 “Yohei.” It sounds like his mom’s voice, but that can’t be right. He shifts around, blood flow constricted by his jeans. He never bothered to change out of his outside clothes. 

“You’re going to be late.” 

Yohei cracks an eye open and it’s an instant mistake. His mind still feels fractured, blurred out by something that doesn’t go away when he rubs his eyes. A hand comes in contact with his forehead, nice and refreshing. It’s gone at once. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah,” he croaks out. It’s so obviously a lie. He doesn’t know at what time he got back – doesn’t remember getting back home at all actually – but it could not have been quiet. He probably woke her up, even. Maybe Yohei can press on the guilt she showed the other day like a bruise, and get the entire day off. He considers it and immediately feels worse for thinking that way. 

Yohei glances at her face and there’s a worried expression all over it. “Do you need me to stay?” She sits on the side of his bed, shifting the centre of gravity towards her. She presses her lips together, “I had an overnight trip planned, but if you’re sick…” She trails off. 

Yohei takes it as what it is; the cue to play his part. “I’m fine,” he assures with what’s part a grimace and a smile. He shouldn’t be trying too hard to convince her he’s actually fine. “I’ll sleep it off today, if that’s okay.” 

She smiles. Yohei smiles back. It’s easy when he knows what the right answer is. 

“I’ll call your school, don’t worry about that.” 

“Sounds good,” Yohei replies, already sinking back into a place where no thought can hold on to him. 

He doesn’t hear her leave. 

***

A phone rings in the distance, but Yohei doesn’t bother waking up for that. His mom said she’d take care of it. 

Instead, what drags him out of a sleep so deep he feels vaguely nauseous, is the drill of their door ring. He stumbles in the apartment, bleary and disoriented as he reaches out for the door handle. Is his mom back already? 

He’s so out of it that he thinks it’s still one of those dreams when Sakuragi is standing at his doorstep. 

“Hi,” Sakuragi says, neck blazing red. 

Yohei fumbles to close the door, grunting in overexertion. He can’t be doing this right now, not like this. One more day and he’ll be back to normal. Tomorrow, he can be a normal person and pretend everything is fine again. 

“Woah,” Sakuragi slides his stupidly big foot into the gap. Yohei struggles, actually trying to overpower him for a second before giving up. 

“What?” 

Sakuragi startles. He looks at the part of his body that’s stuck in the interstice, abashed.  “It’s just,” he waves a worksheet around like a white flag. “I have your maths homework.” 

Yohei hesitates. He really couldn’t care less about the homework itself, but Sakuragi is stubborn. He won’t leave if Yohei doesn’t give him something to chew on. He opens the door slowly. “Fine,” he mumbles reluctantly, still swimming through the daze of oversleep. 

He lets Sakuragi walk in behind him, not bothering to show the way. At least, that’s what he tells himself. The presence behind his back feels oddly overwhelming, foreign almost, when they’ve done this so many times before. 

Yohei cringes at the state of the flat, quickly closing the kitchen door before Sakuragi can see the sink overflowing with dirty dishes. It wouldn’t normally matter – Yohei has seen Sakuragi’s room through far worse – but it’s tender today. Exposed. 

“We can go in my room, I guess – ” Yohei offers instead, before realising Sakuragi’s attention is fixated on something else entirely. Half of what’s closest to a living room is already packed up in cardboard boxes, walls raw and naked. The realisation makes its way on Sakuragi’s face, so transparent it’s not a surprise when he opens his mouth to request explanations. 

“Where are you going?” Sakuragi says in a small voice, ridiculously at odds with the rest of his demeanour. 

Yohei closes his eyes. He doesn’t mean to be like that, he’ll reply in a second, it’s just that –  

“You’re getting everything wrong,” Yohei says out loud, not really meaning to. 

Sakuragi flinches. He opens his mouth again. And closes it. “Yeah, fair enough.” 

“Let’s just – ” Yohei points to his room, already fighting a headache. “Let me explain properly.” 

He lets Sakuragi take the desk chair and sits on his bed. 

“Here,” Sakuragi says while handing him the sheets, still not looking at him. “Your maths stuff.” His lips are pressed together very tightly. 

“Thanks,” Yohei says mechanically. “Is that for both Thursday and Friday?” 

“Well, no,” Sakuragi frowns. “It’s still Thursday, how could it be for Friday?” 

Yohei tries coming up with a decent lie but yawns instead, irrepressibly shutting down any attempt to fight off the fatigue that feels so deep it might as well be lodged in his bones forever. 

“Did you – ” Sakuragi says, gaze raking over Yohei’s entire appearance and past him. “You always make your bed. Did you just wake up?” 

Yohei doesn’t bother answering that. 

“You thought it was Friday already?” Sakuragi’s eyebrows shoot up, creasing his entire forehead. It’s very distracting. “Wait, you thought you’d slept through two entire days?” 

Yohei is still wearing the same clothes from, well, yesterday, apparently. It’s an easy conclusion. Sakuragi will probably say it out loud, make the thought exist on its own so they can move on from it. Never address it ever again, probably.

“Does that happen often?” Sakuragi says out loud instead, tone hued in worry. 

Yohei laughs self-deprecatingly. He has gotten really bad at predicting what Sakuragi is about to do. 

Yohei raises his head, finally meeting Sakuragi’s eyes. “Maybe?” He winces at how unconvincing that sounds. “I don’t know.” 

A long silence follows, deeply uncomfortable. They’ve never done this before. If their positions were reversed, it’d be fine – Sakuragi always pushes out the issues that are bothering him, externalising everything before he even knows where it’s coming from. It’s a lot, but Yohei has always found it brave. He could never fathom exposing all of himself like that, revealing what’s truly under it all. 

So, Yohei never talks about what’s wrong and now the silence feels strange. He doesn’t like that. 

“You said you’d explain,” Sakuragi says at last. 

Yohei swallows, his throat drying up. Having Sakuragi’s limbs sprawled over his chair, taking most of the space in the room, does nothing to relieve how oppressive the situation feels. Yohei shakes his head, desperate to shake off the impression that the walls are slowly closing down on them. 

He doesn’t know where to start, even. All the stuff he’d held back is tangled so tightly together, it would actually be easier to cut through it. Yohei doesn’t have that option, unfortunately. 

“My mom is moving to Hiroshima.” 

“But you’re not – ” Sakuragi breathes out, words slurring together in a familiar tumble. He stops, embarrassed. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”

“No, really,” Sakuragi insists. “I wasn’t  supposed to make this about me.” 

Yohei raises his eyebrows. The wording itself feels like – Of course. He smiles, but there’s no joy to it. He would have appreciated this to remain private. He loves Haruko, but there are things she shouldn’t know. 

“I’m really sorry,” Sakuragi repeats with urgency, when it’s clear Yohei is not going to say anything on top of it. 

Yohei scoffs. He doesn’t even know what he’s really apologising for. 

Sakuragi pales, colour sucked out of his cheeks. Yohei doesn’t wait to process the implications of that. 

“I’m not going with her,” Yohei adds faster. It’s very much like ripping a band-aid; gentleness only ends up hurting more. “I’ll just move into the Shintai or Yokohama dorms.” 

“I didn’t even know you’d gotten into Yokohama university,” Sakuragi mumbles, looking at their feet. 

“Only Haruko knew about it,” Yohei says. “Because she had guessed it. I wanted to tell you, but – ” His chest clenches, he blames it on the oversleep. “There was never a right occasion.” 

“But we spend so much time together!” Sakuragi says, straightening his entire body in indignation. The shift is enough to make him tower over Yohei, feeling decidedly very small in the crusty fit he’d put together for a night out that feels like a lifetime away. Sakuragi is in practice wear, but it still feels like he has the advantage.

Yohei raises his eyebrows again. “Have we been spending that much time together recently?” 

“I mean – ” Sakuragi says. He stops, clearly trying to recollect the few occasions they’d managed to wrangle out of each other’s schedules in the past months and struggling to. “We just – ” 

He pauses again. Yohei waits.

“I didn’t notice,” Sakuragi finally admits. The honesty should hurt, but Yohei is mostly thankful that he’s realising it at all. “But like – ”

He frowns, more focused than Yohei has ever seen him. “Aren’t we supposed to say that stuff to each other?” He says, tentatively. “I told you first when I got into Shintai.” He rubs his neck with his hand, like the admission is taking a lot out of him. “I’m a genius, but I can’t guess it all.” 

It’s Yohei’s turn to flinch. He didn’t realise Sakuragi was emotionally cognizant enough to understand how much Yohei has been the asshole in their friendship since middle school. 

Perhaps it would be better if the both of them were experiencing physical pain right now, face rubbed wet and raw, gleaming and slick with blood. It’d hurt less probably. Yohei would know what to do, know how the events would play out. 

“We used to tell each other everything,” Sakuragi mutters. The past tense is just a confirmation of what Yohei has known for a while; this is the end for them. 

Yohei considers lying there again, shutting down what he knows to be the truth but – He remembers Sakuragi confessing to Haruko back in first year and the hot tears running down his cheeks when he’d learn about Rukawa. He owes the same honesty to Sakuragi, but most importantly, he owes it to himself. 

All this time he’d waited for Sakuragi to be brave, without understanding he could be brave too. 

“I was afraid.” 

“Afraid?” Sakuragi repeats. “You?!” 

Yohei ignores the honest vein of confusion in Sakuragi’s voice. “Afraid of what you’d think.” 

“What?” Sakuragi says, desperation making his tone rise hysterically, like he might lose it entirely. “What do you mean? I swear I’m trying to understand, I just don’t – I wouldn’t – ” 

He swings his hands in frustration and it knocks over Yohei’s textbooks sprawled over his desk, scattering them at their feet, like a cairn. 

Yohei wasn’t planning on admitting this, well, ever. He had built up the resolve over the past three years to show up to the wedding, a perspective only made bearable by its immediate consequence: getting wasted in his hotel room as soon as possible. He would stick around to see their first born (Sakuragi’s eyes but Haruko’s nose), he’d decided, and then fade to become an interrogation, a figure of the past buried deep in family photo books. 

A secret he’d carry to the grave. He’d never really minded, before this. He loved to keep Sakuragi’s secrets, it seemed only fitting that he’d be buried as one. 

“I wanted to go to Shintai to be with you,” Yohei finally says. “Because I like you.” 

There’s no weight lifted off his chest, no relief like he’d expected to feel. It’s free-falling, no control at all over what is happening inside of his mind. The conflicting emotions are crashing against each other, and none of them is giving way: it’s either utmost sadness, actual despair that this is how it ends or just - the other one. 

The fucking grief he thought he was adult enough to set aside. 

Sakuragi’s head tilts, “Uh?” 

Yohei can feel his own eyes widen. Is that all? Is that all he has to say? It’s been transparent to everyone for so long, there’s no way it’s an actual surprise to Sakuragi, right? If he could feel the basketball team’s stares on him whenever he waited outside of the gym, not quite processing what he meant to Yohei, but lingering enough to make the self-loathing rise up to the surface, so could Sakuragi, right? Right? 

“Okay? I like you too,” Sakuragi says, clearly not understanding what Yohei means. 

“No, you don’t.” Yohei smiles. “Not like I do.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakuragi says, the rage that had boiled down to simmer earlier reignited all at once. 

“It’s fine.” 

“No,” Sakuragi’s breath swells and crests like the ocean. “You don’t get –  you don’t get to decide for me. What the fuck? I didn’t even know that was an option, why are you deciding what I feel?” 

“Do you want me like you want Haruko?” Yohei asks, but as soon as the words are out he realises it’s a mistake. 

“No,” Sakuragi frowns. “Of course not – ” 

That’s it. 

Yohei has been bracing himself for this, but living through it is a much different experience. On any other day, it would have been fine, he would have taken the words in and waited to be at home to lose it, but Sakuragi is in his room and he can’t – he can’t lick his wounds in private. 

It’s what he hates the most, self-absorbed and selfish, but it still hurts so bad he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

Yohei curls onto himself and reaches for his face with his hands, letting out a quiet sob like he hasn’t in a decade. 

He’s glad he’s sat on his bed already, because he can’t afford to be dropping to his knees like the epitome of a dramatic Greek tragedy character, overestimating his own importance in the broader events of the play.

“Yohei?” 

“I’m fine,” he says in a shaky breath. He’s not fine. He’s trying to choke the feeling back down and he can’t. The next breath transforms into a wet sound and it spills out of him in a sob, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Yohei pulls himself closer to his knees, hands digging painfully into his orbits, in the hope that it’ll keep the tears burning his eyes from going anywhere, desperate for a semblance of control. 

There is the loud clatter of a clair falling on the ground and Yohei hears, more than sees through the blur of the tears and the block of his arms, a succession of fast steps on the ground, until the edge of the bed. Sakuragi’s knees are in front of him and tentatively, gentle like it never is, a hand comes to nudge the back of Yohei’s head.

It’s pathetic, Yohei knows, but he can’t stop himself from leaning into the crease of Sakuragi’s hip, burrowing his face into the soft fabric of his shorts. Sakuragi makes an awful noise at that, close to the whine of an animal in distress. Arms hover for a second, and then close down on Yohei, engulfing him in the warmth of a skin that caught the evening sun, still faintly wet with sweat. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sakuragi says, still brushing through the mess of Yohei’s hair, but the words are hollowed out, carved inside by fear. 

They’ve compared heights before, competed at the start of their growth spurt, even, before it became evident that it was a race Yohei stood no chance in winning, but it still feels jarring, how small and bony he is next to him. Deep down, even if Yohei wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he can admit it to himself at least, it feels good. Safe. Like Sakuragi wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Like he didn’t cause any of it in the first place. 

Sakuragi sits on the bed to face him and Yohei follows, drawn to his chest like a magnet. “I need to think about it,” Sakuragi enunciates slowly, like the words have been picked carefully. 

Yohei manages to stop crying, shocked out of it. “Think about what,” he asks stupidly and cringes at how it sounds, deformed by the swelling in his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Sakuragi repeats, which isn’t a real answer. “Can you just, can you just give me time? I want to – ” He blushes from his chest to the top of his ears. “I want to answer your – ” He stops, collecting himself. “I want to answer your confession properly.” He stumbles around the word anyway and it’s almost enough to set Yohei off again. 

He’s never had to pronounce the word for himself, Yohei realises. Has always been full of love, brimming with it, and has always directed it towards other people. Anyone, but Yohei. 

There’s a minute of calm. Yohei just breathes against Sakuragi’s clavicles, breathing in his scent: detergent, acidic sweat and burnt rubber. It’s so overwhelmingly Sakuragi that he doesn’t find it in himself to shut him down. 

Realistically, he should. There’s really no point in letting this entire mess scab, only to open it up a few days later; letting it heal only so it can ooze fresh blood again. 

“Fine,” Yohei says instead. It’s really not. 

***

They get ready for school together the next morning, cramped into Yohei’s bathroom that normally has no issue accommodating him, but in which Sakuragi has to bend his neck. 

“There,” Yohei hands him the red toothbrush that only Sakuragi uses. 

He gets a grunt and a nod in return. 

The entire ordeal is weirdly silent. No playful shove or attempt to make the other laugh. Which is like, okay, they’re both tired from yesterday’s conversation. It doesn’t have to mean anything. 

Yohei throws little glances out of the corner of his eye for Sakuragi’s face in the mirror spotted with traces of toothpaste and dust, out of habit. Their eyes meet when Sakuragi finally looks up from the stain he’s been pointedly focusing on and they still. A few seconds or hours pass, and Sakuragi frowns, all serious and thoughtful. 

If they were who they still were yesterday, Yohei would let himself laugh and tear his eyes away. Because that’s always been the rule, eyes up, don’t look – Except now, there’s nothing left for him to hide. So he decides to keep looking. 

After a beat, Sakuragi tears his eyes away and imperceptibly moves to the side. At any other time, it wouldn’t have meant anything, but right now it’s just enough for the part of their shoulders that was pressed together, to be left hovering in the air. 

Yohei can’t think about anything else. 

Okay. It feels like something is broken, even though nothing is. 

Yohei spits in the sink. 

They finish getting ready, but all Yohei thinks about is whether they’ll become like the wrist he broke in primary school; the same bone but always bearing the sign of the break. Healing around the fracture, but in a shape that’s permanently altered. 

All because Yohei couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

Yohei closes the flat behind them and stumbles in the washed-out light of morning in Sakuragi’s wake, content to let him lead the way. 

***

When does a coincidence stop qualifying as one, Yohei wonders as he walks to school with Sakuragi. One coincidence is a coincidence. Two coincidences in a row is, well, quite odd. But strange doesn’t mean unnatural. Three coincidences? A fucking pattern. 

“Hey,” Yuju intercepts them at the train crossing. 

“Nice morning, isn’t it?” Nozomi starts off, after pretending to be absorbed in reading a sports magazine at the Family Mart that’s a twenty-minute walk from his house.  

“Oh?” Chuichiro says with fake surprise when he feigns to stumble upon them, when Yohei has noticed him waiting for at least five minutes in the street that’s perpendicular to their usual itinerary. 

Yohei winces, but they make it easy enough to pretend he hasn’t noticed. He scowls harder, realising that was probably the point. 

“Wow,” Sakuragi says with genuine surprise. “Sakuragi’s gang’s all there!”

With the silence that comes with early morning, they resume the walk to school and drop off Sakuragi at his morning practice. Sakuragi comes to a sudden stop and – “I’m picking you up after evening practice,” Sakuragi says to Yohei specifically, mouth set in a tight line.

“Alright,” Yohei says like it’s a question, not quite managing to keep the tiredness out of his voice. He feels the burden of the trio’s shared looks in his back, but they refrain from asking questions right in front of Sakuragi, which is good. 

“You don’t have to look like that,” Yuju says after they’re done waving him off from the gym’s door. 

“Like what?” Yohei says when he’s sure Sakuragi is running energetically to the other corner of the gym and certain to be out of earshot.

“We’re not going to ask if you’re okay, dude,” Yuju rolls his eyes. “Stop looking like we’re about to ambush you.”

Yohei freezes. Doesn’t that qualify as an ambush already? 

“Bro, chill,” Chuichiro echoes. “We’ve literally said we’re not going to do it.” 

“Thanks,” Yohei says, the words tacky in his mouth.  

“Just – ” Nozomi says nervously. “Sakuragi was really upset at the team dinner when you left.” 

“Was he?” Yohei scoffs, because that’s the Shohoku team motto after all, attack is the best form of defence. 

“Yohei,” Yuju says, harsher than his usual tone. “He was a mess. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that, except – ” He cuts off, because there’s no need to say it out loud when they all know what he’s referring to. 

Yohei remembers Sakuragi at the funeral, wrecked by guilt and wishes he hadn’t. The pain probably doesn’t compare, but the thought that it might have been caused by his own doing is a truly awful one. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Chuichiro makes desperate little huffs. “This isn’t what this is about.” 

“We know you wouldn’t have let it happen without a good reason,” Yuju cuts in. “Just – ”

“Come to us when you’re ready,” Nozomi fills in. 

Yohei shrugs, pretty sure he’s not going to take on that offer. 

“Sure,” he agrees easily, powered by the sick thrill of fucking up and getting the attention he’s deep down somewhat wanted. The high lasts until early afternoon, after which he crashes on his desk and settles on looking at the shapes of his English teacher’s mouth rather than listening, waiting for the rest of the day to roll out. 

***

Relying on muscle memory, he takes the path to the basketball gym after class. There’s not really a point in hiding anymore. Besides, it’s nice enough to listen to the balls bounce against the walls – the soundtrack to his youth – he thinks distractedly, before laughing at how ridiculous that sounds. 

Having delirious thoughts is, in the end, kind of an issue because he doesn’t realise before it’s too late that Haruko is squatting right next to him. 

Yohei immediately tenses, but she doesn’t push right away. 

“Don’t you have to supervise them?” Yohei asks after she’s made it clear she’s not going to initiate the conversation. 

“Hello to you too.” 

“Hi,” Yohei amends. “Don’t you have to supervise them?” 

“Like you’ve said,” Haruko says, lifting only one eyebrow. “The team can manage without me for a bit.” 

“Sorry,” Yohei says, rubbing the itchiness out of his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m talking to you like that.” 

That’s a lie. He knows. 

“It’s okay,” Haruko says, pointedly looking at the gravel at their feet. “Did you manage to talk to him?” 

“Yeah,” Yohei says. “It’s not – it’s not finished though.” 

“Hm,” Haruko says, looking like that one painting whose half-knowing smile you cannot escape. 

“Don’t you know that already?” he says, harsher than what he was going for. 

Haruko tilts her head to the side, pulling on her manager jacket so it comes around her knees, looking cute and soft and loveable. “I asked if Sakuragi was okay this morning, that’s it? He said he went to give you homework yesterday, nothing else.” 

“Oh,” Yohei says, feeling very stupid. 

If he didn’t say anything, even to Haruko – Sakuragi must be really ashamed then. Is being loved by Yohei so horrible of an idea? 

“Whatever it is,” she reaches for Yohei's arm, and it’s a bigger comfort than what he’d imagined. “You’ll be fine, you know that right? You’re very precious to him.” 

“Yeah,” Yohei says, but it’s closer to a strangled noise, because even then, all he can think about is more than you? 

“Yohei,” Sakuragi says, from behind. “Let’s go?” 

“I’ll see you later,” Yohei says to Haruko, a reassuring smile plastered on, like she's the one needing the reassurance.

He lingers into the touch of her arm, not really wanting to go. She pushes him gently in Sakuragi’s direction and Yohei should really stop seeing signs everywhere. 

Seeing it coming doesn’t make it better, he’s found. 

***

When they make it there, it’s still the version of Zaimokuza tourists don’t get to see; beach equipment covered up with tarpaulin, an ocean wind carrying a chill crisp enough that it sends shivers up Yohei’s spine. The sun is about to disappear behind Enoshima’s steep cliffs, but Yohei doesn’t find himself missing its heat. They’re walking so close that Yohei can feel the warmth radiating off Sakuragi, and it’s somehow enough. 

It’s clear they’re about to have an extremely unpleasant conversation, but it’s still nice. The tide is low, waves lapping lazily at the shore, and providing some rest for the creatures inhumed under the sand. It’s damp when they sit on it, humidity silently seeping through their uniforms. 

There’s a woman and her daughter walking along the coast with a dog, and a few groups of highschoolers scattered across the spread of sand, but it’s easy enough to ignore and to pretend they’re alone on the beach. It’s weirdly comforting, to realise how small they are in the much larger context of things. 

Sakuragi picks up sand with open hands, carefully moulding the grains into an abstract shape. Yohei is happy enough to watch, committing the odd angle of his middle finger that never quite recovered from being jammed in second year and that still hurts when he hits it against the ring, the calluses on the side of his thumb he was proud to show off, to memory. 

Sakuragi slowly adds a handful of sand to the side of the construction, but it crumbles miserably, back to what it used to be. “Okay,” Sakuragi inhales sharply. “Let’s do it.” 

“Let’s do what?” Yohei says, still looking at the vestige. 

“Well,” Sakuragi blushes. “You know.” He tries to hide it – looks away quickly to the line of the ocean, and seems shy in a way Yohei could have never predicted. Sakuragi is usually so brazen, not quite uncaring about what other people think, but doesn’t usually think of consequences before jumping into a situation with his eyes closed – hell, he jumped into basketball quite literally face first. 

So yeah, shyness is kind of a new look on him. 

“I really don’t,” Yohei laughs in disbelief. There must be a limit to the number of revelations thrown to his face in a year, surely. He hopes there is. He really hopes there is. 

Sakuragi splutters, the tip of his ears turning quite literally tomato red in a way that has nothing to do with the pink tingle of sun exposure. “Dating,” he mutters. 

“What?” Yohei’s heart lurches in his throat. He’s trying to be as careful as possible, doesn’t want to be led into another misunderstanding. 

“You confessed, so now we’re dating?” Sakuragi says, a hand coming to brush the back of his head. 

“But you said,” Yohei says, almost proud of the way he’s not flinching, “that you didn’t want me like you wanted Haruko?” 

Sakuragi grunts loudly and bends his torso between his knees, before getting back up. “I’m a genius at basketball, but I suck with words, dude, you know that. I meant to say,” Sakuragi explains with his hands. “That you’re different people. So, like,  of course, I don’t want to do the same stuff with you.” 

“Okay?” Yohei says, his shoulders hunched so high he can quite literally feel tension knots forming in them again. “But, don’t you want to do the dating stuff with her?” 

Sakuragi crunches his nose, like he’s about to sneeze. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Yohei repeats stupidly. 

“It was different at the beginning, first year – ” Sakuragi stops. “I just wanted someone to do that stuff with. Like, you know, walking to school, or holding hands.” He groans and digs his fingers in the sand, clearly struggling. “But it wasn’t just with her. I just didn’t want to be alone.” 

Yohei winces at the admission, weirdly scared that Sakuragi gets so vulnerable sometimes. It’s safe with Yohei, of course, but he doesn’t know about other people. He doesn’t want Sakuragi to get hurt. 

“So anyone, right? Not just Haruko?” Yohei offers. 

“No,” Sakuragi says. “Yes? It’s just – I had this plan of joining the club and winning the tournament and beating Rukawa, and how cool that’d make me look, so of course she would like me back after, but…” He trails off. “I don’t think that was the point after all.” 

That makes sense. Even if Haruko has become the club manager, Yohei doesn’t think he’s actively seen Sakuragi try to know her outside of her interest in basketball. He’s always liked the idea of Haruko as a trophy, something to win, rather than who she is.

It doesn’t explain why he’d pick Yohei out of all people, though. “But then, why me?” Yohei asks, a little pathetically. “Because I was there?” 

“No,” Sakuragi says, the way he’d say fuck that. “Because I like you too.” 

Yohei feels a blush of his own slowly warming up his face, so incapacitating he sort of just stands there, mouth opened. 

“When you started dating her,” Sakuragi scowls with the same indignation fueled tone he’d used in the alley behind the restaurant, making it clear he’s talking about Sakai. “It made me really angry that she would be the one on the roof, the one coming over at your house – ” He opens his mouth and closes it sadly. “I wish I had realised it sooner.” 

It’s as close as they’ve come to Sakuragi apologising to Yohei for not taking time for each other over the past months, year even. 

It’s kind of huge, honestly. 

“I’m not dating Sakai,” Yohei says because it’s all he can manage when he’s that shell-shocked. 

“What?” Sakuragi screams. “What?!” He screams louder. The seagulls fly up and caw back. “But? You’re always hanging out together? She was on the roof with you?” 

“We had a group biology project to do together,” Yohei says in a laugh, because that one is easy to diffuse. “We’re just friends.” 

“Ugh,” Sakuragi flops back flat on the sand, turning on his flank so he can pointedly look away from Yohei. “What the hell, man.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” Yohei reaches for Sakuragi’s side, rubbing the ribs slowly until Sakuragi’s looking at him again. “I liked spending time with her because she reminded me of you.” 

Sakuragi preens at that and Yohei is just hit with raw glee, so bright it feels like he shouldn’t stare right at it. “Really?!”

“Yeah,” Yohei also lies down in the sand. “Really.” 

At last, the sun sets and the sand under them cools down, letting go of the rays it’s absorbed during the day. Yohei finds that he doesn’t care. He hasn’t felt that warm in what feels like forever, finally realising how miserable the past weeks really were, now that there’s something to be happy about again. 

“Fuck,” Yohei laughs. “What do we do now?” He’s half-serious, half-joking in equal parts. He’s spent so long thinking about Sakuragi, but not of what they could do if they were to ever date. It hurt too bad, thinking of something he could never have. 

“I mean – ” Sakuragi looks at him in a way Yohei doesn’t recognise. Hungry, almost? 

Yohei looks around, and most of the groups have left, deterred by the rising onshore breeze. The darkness is relative enough that they can get away with it. Sakuragi doesn’t look away, still fixated on Yohei’s face. 

It’s selfish, probably, but Yohei doesn’t want to initiate it. Doesn't want to be the one to force Sakuragi into it. That being said, when Sakuragi leans to kiss Yohei on his lips, Yohei lets him. It’s chaste and just barely open-mouthed, Yohei’s upper lip caught between the two of Sakuragi’s, but it sends a shock down his spine. 

It’s greedy, he knows, but he reaches for the back of Sakuragi’s head where the hair is just slightly more grown and gently brings him closer, even though it’s not really possible. It’s a little sloppy, Sakuragi over-eager and full of teeth, and much different from Yohei’s most shameful fantasies, but it’s also what makes it good. 

They part, and Sakuragi smiles so big it distorts his entire face. He’s beautiful, sweet and boyish, even with sand clinging to the faint curls of his hair. He rolls on the ground like a puppy would, so excited Yohei can’t contain his laugh. 

It makes him clear his throat though, a blur setting obstinately in his eyes. 

“Please don’t cry again,” Sakuragi says. “It was so scary.” 

“Alright, I won’t,” Yohei laughs a little wetly. He smiles at him, but Sakuragi is serious, mouth twisting down, looking at the hematomas under his eyes. 

“I’m okay now,” Yohei says, reaching for Sakuragi’s cheek and marvelling at the realisation that it’s something he’s allowed to do now. “I promise.” 

Yohei brings his hand up to rub at his own face, without accounting for the sand scraping at his skin. The adrenalin must be free-falling, because he’s suddenly feeling the accumulated lack of sleep, the exhaustion in his bones, the blaring headache he’d managed to tune out all day, much more vividly. 

He yawns, loudly. 

Sakuragi gets up and offers him a hand. “Come on,” he ushers Yohei back to his place. “I’m making dinner.” 

***

“It’s ourdndaiwonn,” Sakuragi huffs around a steamy mouthful of cabbage. 

Yohei didn’t hold much hope for it, considering how wilted the poor thing looked in the clearance section. It’s surprisingly tasty, and Yohei finds himself coming back for more. 

“What’d you say?” 

Sakuragi quickly gulps down the food, visibly burning his tongue in passing. 

“You good?” Yohei pours water in his glass.

“I said,” Sakuragi repeats after downing it in one go. “It’s our day one.”

They’ve been doing this forever, eating at each other’s home. Yohei would probably find it embarrassing, coming from anyone else. It’s always felt so unnecessary , like those couples parading in matching shirts that have something to prove to themselves.

“I’m walking you to school tomorrow!” Sakuragi grins, practically buzzing out of his skin with excitement. 

Yohei wants to point out that they did that yesterday already, but it’s hard not to feel the excitement too. “Sounds good,” he says instead when they’re done clearing the table, Sakuragi washing the dishes and Yohei wiping them. 

He can let him have this, Yohei thinks. He can indulge, like he indulges himself when they slip under Sakuragi’s covers and he lets their legs get tangled.

“Let’s do that,” Yohei murmurs, eyes falling shut as he feels Sakuragi curl himself around his shoulder; warm and safe. 

He doesn’t dream.

***

“It was fine,” Sakai rolls her eyes in the corridor. “You did fine.” 

Yohei winces, he did kind of mess up the transition between their conclusions on myofibrillar proteins and the second part of the presentation. He’d recovered in a few seconds, but their teacher definitely noticed it. 

“You were really good,” Yohei says, which is true. The presentation persona she puts on, open-faced and eloquent, was a fun discovery he’d made during their rehearsals. 

She rolls her eyes again and then elbows Yohei sharply in the ribs, like she knows what he’s thinking about. “ I wasn’t the one who got complimented for getting into the same university as her.” 

“ You’ll do really well there, I believe,” she imitates, with the same dead-pan tone as their teacher. It sends Yohei into a fit of laughter as they walk out of the building, where the heat is already rising and making their shirts stick to their backs. 

“Yohei!” Sakuragi calls from the scooter he parked in a hurry in front of the school, waving his hand in big circles. 

“Ah,” Yohei apologises. “I’d better go.” 

“Looks like your best friend ended up listening to you in the end,” Sakai grins like a fox, not bothering to hide her amusement. 

“Ugh, don’t,” Yohei prickles, embarrassed that it’s as transparent as this. 

“Hm, sure,” Sakai giggles as Sakuragi makes less than amenable faces in her direction. Yohei cringes, but it’s mostly fun. He waves at her as he crosses the street. 

“Did it go well?!” Sakuragi asks with the same anguish Yohei used to ask about game results with. 

“It’s done,” Yohei grimaces. “She was really harsh on the other groups.” 

“But not you guys,” Sakuragi smiles really big. “Which means it went well.” 

“It did,” Yohei laughs, accepting the helmet Sakuragi throws at him and quickly fastening it under his chin. “You’re ready?” 

Sakuragi makes one of his patented Sakuragi noises, which he knows is a synonym for assent. 

“You know, you really would be better off doing this with Haruko,” Yohei says. 

“What?!” Sakuragi screams right in his ears. 

“A lot more room on the scooter,” Yohei wiggles his eyebrows. Sakuragi barks a laugh, jumping behind Yohei as he switches on the engine. 

“I really wouldn’t,” Sakuragi smiles against Yohei’s shirt, reaching around Yohei’s torso with his stupidly big arms. 

Yohei smiles with his teeth too and he knows Sakuragi can feel it. They set off, following the curves of the road by the cliffs, heat rising from the asphalt and leaning into the turns. 

Yohei looks forward to the summer.