Chapter Text
No role suited Imari better than when he wasn’t playing any at all. Don’t be mistaken–in the near month that they had been rehearsing together, Asahi had seen him take on all sorts of personas and voices, all of which had blown him away beyond words. To Asahi, Imari invented theater.
But still, as they sat by the clubroom’s open windows, sunlight spilling onto his warm tawny skin and silking through his dark hair, Asahi couldn’t help but think that here, simmering amber eyes half-lidded as he scanned his script and giant body quiet, Imari was just the coolest . Said honey eyes looked up from where he was taking notes in his script to Asahi, who tilted his head with a smile.
“Say, Asahi,” he started, voice naturally dipped in a low growl with the undertone of youth. “Do you want to have a sleepover?”
Asahi paused, his words entering, then spinning and flipping around in his head before they sunk in. “A…sleepover?”
Imari nodded, lifting his script and absently pushing the loose onyx strands escaping from his clip back with his palm. Asahi followed his movements carefully. “At whose house? And…why?”
“Mine. I live alone in an apartment–if that’s alright with you,” Imari said. I live alone. You . You, as in…just the two of them? Asahi smiled with his mouth open. Why was it starting to sound like Imari was planning to kill him at this ‘sleepover’? “Since the performance and exams are soon, we could study in the afternoon and rehearse at night. Fun, yes?” he continued, and the tone he used to say ‘fun’ was sarcastic at worst and mild at best, but someone else seemed to jump at the idea.
“That’s a great idea, Imari!” Botan exclaimed with the classic rasp in her voice, appearing from out of nowhere to pat the actor on the shoulder. “Such diligence, as expected from Mr. President!” Nobody really meant it when they called Imari “president”, but it was an endearing gesture nonetheless. In the back of his mind, Asahi couldn’t help but think– Ah, of course, he meant the whole club.
Imari craned his neck to face her and faintly rubbed his shoulder, expression unbothered. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to pause and change his mind before continuing, “I was thinking it could span multiple…”
-
It was to be a two-night, three-day, makeshift exam slash theater camp at Imari’s apartment, including the Friday they had off that week for a teacher conference day. It really rolled off of the tongue.
As Asahi packed for his stay, his hands felt clammy. It was 10:30, and they had planned to first arrive at 11:00. To be completely honest, he hadn’t ever slept over at a friend’s–not even with Maki and Youhei. What was sleepover etiquette? Should he bring his own pillows? Blankets? Toiletries? Was he supposed to bring a house gift? Was that strange? Or would it be rude not to?
–Bzzt. He was fished from his sea of questions by the vibration of his phone, which he flipped open to a message from Imari.
BTW, I have bed & shower things. Bring ur own toothbrush (˵╹-╹) ━☆ thx.
Asahi’s eyebrows raised and scrunched at the message. Relief washed over him, though new concerns for Imari’s texting diction filled his mind. It was equally as disturbing as it was surprisingly in character.
Alright, thanks! He promptly replied, checking the time before shutting his phone. It had displayed 10:45, and he still needed to find Imari’s house. He scrambled for the rest of his things and stuffed them into both his bags, then hastily made for his bedroom door.
He hovered around his kitchen and living room, finding a box of unopened chocolates in the pantry. He silently apologized to whoever had originally bought them before taking and placing them into an old gift bag.
Imari’s apartment was a walkable distance from the school, meaning a few train stops from Asahi’s house. He ran his thumbs together over each other again and again as he leaned against the train door. It was just a little camp with friends, doing schoolwork and rehearsing. The two things he could always rely on.
Though he tried his best to quell his nerves, his mouth was bone dry by the time he rang the doorbell. He was running more than a little late. There was silence for a few moments (in those moments Asahi truly believed he had gotten the address wrong), followed by the thrum of footsteps and a swinging door.
“Ooh, chocolates? You’re so polite, Asahi!” Botan greeted him at the door, dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. Asahi had to adjust to out-of-school Botan for a second before he replied, nodding.
“Should I have brought something else? I wasn’t sure if–”
“Whaat? You really didn’t have to bring anything, but I guess that’s Asahi for you…mhm mhm, always so polite! I’m sure Imari’ll be jumping up and down in joy.” The mental image drew a small laugh from Asahi, whose entire body felt lighter. “What are you doing there, praying? Come in, come in!”
Botan’s back was already turned to him by the time he entered and took his shoes off by the door, hearing the other boys’ voices a short distance away. The doorway had opened into a comely apartment, with a living room on the left and a kitchen dining space on the right. Further back from the living room area was what appeared to be another small hallway, with what Asahi assumed was Imari’s bedroom and bathroom.
When he entered the kitchen, Imari and Kaoru were too occupied with an argument of sorts to notice Asahi. They were both wearing aprons, Kaoru holding a steel bowl double the size of his head close to his chest, while Imari was slouched over him with some sort of his own packaging. To Asahi, whenever Imari wore anything other than his school uniform, it looked like a set costume. Imari was in character more than he wasn’t. Apron Imari, a character named Imari with the exact same personality as Imari but with an apron, was the newest addition to his broadening roster.
“Maybe not right now, because dark chocolate is an acquired taste. Ac-qui-red. Why not get acquired to it now?” Kaoru grumbled.
“Why would I do that when I’m already acquired to milk chocolate?” Ah, so that’s what this was about. When Kaoru spotted him from behind Imari, his face lit up and he pointed an accusatory whisk at him.
“Oniwa! Which do you prefer, dark or milk chocolate?”
Asahi blinked. “I like milk chocolate.”
“Augh! No, you don’t!” Kaoru exclaimed in defeat, setting the bowl down while Imari brightened at his response. Although Asahi wasn’t really sure what he did, he knew he felt a little bad. He approached the counter with Botan, who set his box of chocolates down.
“Are you guys still on this? Here, Kaoru, Asahi was gracious enough to bring his own chocolates! I’m sure some of these must be dark!” When she opened the package, Kaoru scanned the contents before plucking a piece and promptly popping it into his mouth. Although his eyebrows were still stiffly lowered in dissatisfaction, he seemed to enjoy them. They might’ve been an even greater decision than Asahi had thought.
A thought came to Asahi then. He turned to Botan, “What chocolate do you prefer, Senpai?”
“I don’t like chocolate!” She said with a salute and a grin, surprising Asahi. Botan totally seemed like the type to enjoy sweet foods–though, he supposed Imari in every sense seemed like a dark chocolate person, and he decidedly wasn’t. The members of the theater club were always full of ironies, and Asahi would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy learning each new one. It felt like what “becoming friends” was supposed to feel like. It felt like what “being friends” was supposed to feel like.
On another note– “Why are we baking again?” Asahi asked, a small concern laced into his chuckle. He didn’t realize baking sweets was part of the club camp experience.
“We’re not really baking–I mean, we are, but we’re studying too. We were talking about the psychological concept of the Method of Loci–you know, where you connect your memories to certain places or activities. So we’re all studying math while baking, so we associate math stuff with these baking memories,” Kaoru said, begrudgingly whisking the batter.
To prove his point, several math textbooks and worksheets were spread across the counter along with the baking supplies. “We started making chocolate chip cookies, but I really don’t like milk chocolate and apparently Imari really doesn’t like dark chocolate.”
Imari spoke up, “I was thinking it would motivate us better if we ate a cookie per worksheet we completed.”
Wouldn’t it be easier to buy them, then? Asahi thought, then laughed. “Um, why don’t we just make two batches?” He was met with a curt silence.
“You know, this is why you’re part of the club,” Kaoru sighed, clearly defeated both with himself and the others. These upperclassmen were funny.
Asahi soon learned that Kaoru was actually a really good baker–to be honest, he felt like he was learning more about the ideal ratio of ingredients for a perfect chewy dough than he was learning these logarithmic equations. He swiped his finger on the remains of the first batch’s unused dough, absently licking his finger while he worked at a particularly confusing problem.
“Are you stuck?” His entire body jumped at the sound of a very low voice very close to his ear, and Asahi craned his head up to his right to see Imari scanning his paper.
“Ah-um, yeah, a little, on this one. I don’t remember what I’m supposed to do without a subscript,” he replied. Imari leaned down so that those loose curls of his black hair brushed against Asahi’s ear. He tried not to move–subconsciously, he was trying not to breathe too much.
“It’s automatically a 10 in that case,” Imari said, taking the pencil from his own hand to write on his worksheet. He’s so close! “And so you’ll just have to multiply this by this exponent and put it into your calculator.
Imari didn’t pull away as Asahi moved to punch the numbers in. Ah, that’s one of the answer options. “Thanks, Imari-senpai!” He grinned, and his upperclassman moved away to take some cookie dough for himself.
“No problem.”
From then on, Asahi was a little more aware of where Imari was at all times. In relation to himself, he meant. Maybe it was because the boy was so tall, and in general, took up a lot of space, but he always felt like a looming presence above Asahi.
Asahi was measuring out the second batch’s flour in cups when he felt Imari hovering behind him. He turned his head, about to ask what was wrong when he felt a hand at his side. It cupped his waist, then gently shuffled him to the right.
“I need a teaspoon,” Imari said, opening the drawer that Asahi had been standing in front of. Oh. Asahi brought a hand up to his face to brush some flour from his cheek, looking back to the bowl he was working on. The action had been so casual, and so gentle, but the touch to his waist had surprised him. It reminded him of their time on that train, when Imari had brought him up from his agitated state and trapped him against the door. He had closed him from the loudness of the world and kept him sane.
Senpai is…surprisingly touchy. For a guy, that is.
…Well, best not to dwell on it.
He had finished his math review for the day by the time the cookies were in the oven–defeating Imari’s reason for making them to begin with. They had ended up making three batches–the original milk, a dark chocolate, and one with sprinkles for Botan. He had a sneaking suspicion that they just wanted to make some cookies, past the apparently psychological academic benefits.
“Should we be eating lunch soon?” Asahi suggested, stealing a glance at the clock as it read just past 13. The others looked up from their own work and hummed in agreement. They all turned to Imari, the host, for their next meal. Why was this camp beginning to revolve around food?
“I have ramen,” he said, and the three cheered.
The rest of the afternoon was spent working on their other subjects, spread out in Imari’s living room. Asahi was mulling over an English textbook on Imari’s couch, legs spread in front of him while he rested his back on the armrest. Botan and Kaoru had spread their numerous notebooks across the coffee table and floor, and Imari was off somewhere else in the apartment.
He was following the clouds out of the balcony windows, lazily tracing their vague shapes against the gold-painted summer sky. He felt like falling asleep. His life had been so peaceful lately–more than it had ever been. He didn’t really think he deserved such peace.
Plunk. The world came back into focus.
Plunk. Plunk. Shhh… Rain was coming down. It started and then kept going, in a thin sheet overlaying the evening scenery.
“It’s raining.” He flinched at Imari’s voice. For such a big guy, his presence was deadly quiet until its shadow loomed over your entire body. He entered the living room, four cup handles haphazardly hooked on his fingers. He set two down on the coffee table for the backstage members, holding the last cup up for Asahi. “It’s tea.”
“Thanks,” Asahi said, both eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise as he took the mug and let the warmth seep across his palms. He hummed blissfully as his insides hazed with that same warmth.
Imari nudged at his calves silently, and Asahi brought his knees up so that there was room for the boy to sit on the couch’s right side. Oh, so that’s what it is, Asashi thought. He uses touch instead of words. It wasn’t like Imari didn’t talk much–he was always just brief. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
When Imari settled into his seat, he reached for Asahi’s calves again–only this time, he unbent the blond’s knees and placed his legs on his lap, where they’d been on the couch just minutes earlier. He reached to the small table beside him for his own schoolwork, sipping at his drink.
Upon feeling Asahi’s gaze, he turned with those intense golden eyes. “Is this alright?” He asked.
“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he replied. Eh? What just happened? Asahi looked back to his English textbook and closed his eyes with a loose smile. Maybe more words would be better for this sort of thing, Imari-senpai…
Everyone stayed silent with their work for the next hour, and Asahi admitted that he didn't mind the position they were in. It felt like an extension of that peace he had thought about earlier, bordering on a closeness he had never experienced before. He was going through a lot of firsts this weekend.
After dinner and a final stretch of studying, Botan slammed her textbook down onto Imari’s poor coffee table and stretched with a loud howl of a yawn. “I’m done for the day!” She whipped her head around to the actors, a rolled-up script already in hand. “Rehearsal time!”
Asahi sat up, respite buzzing through his body as he set his textbook down. Any more grammar and his head might actually just explode and then melt into a sorry mess.
It was running later into the evening by then. His body had been dormant for so long, energy built up tenfold, and he was very grateful for the opportunity to expend it.
They cleared the coffee table from the room and used the living room as the stage. Botan had suggested a certain activity where they couldn’t move their bodies, forcing them to only use their faces and voice to project their emotion. It was unnatural for Asahi, and given his flat voice, even more difficult than he had predicted.
He often thought he was dragging everyone down with his lack of acting experience. Especially considering his only colleague was Imari, who Asahi was certain had the talent to make it onto any stage he chose. But when Imari had stopped mid-line, tilted his head, and told Asahi, “Focus on one thing at a time”, it was difficult not to. From then on, he tried to keep his focus on the easiest thing–Imari.
They went back to normal rehearsing shortly after, and Asahi had never been so grateful for his limbs. He began his speech to the painter’s sister.
“Your brother seems to think I have designs on you…” He cast his gaze downwards and shook his head. “A cruel assumption, don’t you think? I would never lay a finger on you.”
“You look too sad,” Imari butted in.
“The chairman’s supposed to be taunting her in this scene. Like…he’s pretending to be hurt by the painter’s words, but he’s actually just showing off his power over her,” Botan supplied. “Try adding some more faux-dramatics into your words.”
“Faux…what?”
“Cut words you want to treat lightly and stretch words you want the audience to cling to,” Imari said.
Asahi hummed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he repositioned himself. He sat on the couch, crossing his arms and legs as relaxed as he could.
“Your brother seems to think I have designs on you…” he sighed as if the painter’s words were an inconvenience. “A cruel assumption, don’t you think?” He smiled, and with an airy lilt in his voice, “I would never lay a finger on you.”
Botan snapped her fingers, nodding her head in satisfaction. “Perfect!” Imari stayed quiet, eyebrows raised ever so slightly.
They worked through the rest of the play and smoothed hiccups here and there, wrapping up by the time the stars had settled comfortably into the night.
Kaoru stretched his short limbs to the ceiling, giving a grand yawn. “Should we call it a night? I’m done with my costume drafts,” he said, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook.
“Mm, I think all that studying wore me down too,” Botan agreed, turning to Imari. Botan must've had an abundance on her plate, being a third-year and basically the leader of the club. “What were our sleeping arrangement plans again?”
“I have some futons we can put here, and someone can sleep on the couch. I can sleep in my room.”
“Sounds good!”
They took turns showering, setting their stuff up for the night. They laid two futons, decidedly Kaoru's and Botan’s, across the floor where they’d been rehearsing. They were large and full, the folds of the bedding and blanket practically swallowing Kaoru’s frame as soon as he nestled inside of it. In the back of his mind, Asahi wondered if they were so unused because Imari had just bought them for them.
“I wonder if he sleeps so much so he can be extra sassy when he’s awake,” Botan chuckled as she watched Kaoru already fast asleep, though her tired eyes gave away her own position. They said their goodnights and shut the lights so that only the moonlight lit the room, and a faint snore Asahi recognized as Botan’s began shortly after.
Asahi himself wasn’t tired at all–in fact, he had the urge to continue practicing his acting; if not Hellgate , just some other script. There was so much more he wanted to improve before the performance.
He sat up from the couch, looking around before cautiously standing up. He slid the door to the balcony open, stepping into the night and looking out at the neighborhood streets shortly below. He thought about the upcoming performance, the eyes of the whole school watching him and Imari recite the lines they had been repeating for the past month. It felt safe when he did it with the club, but on a stage? With a spotlight?
He thought of Imari’s own dilemma–they weren’t watching him, they were watching the chairman and the teacher. Admittedly, it did little to quell his nerves.
The balcony door slid open behind him. “Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake-” he turned to, then craned his head up at-“Imari-senpai! You’re awake!”
The host slid some slippers on, then stepped onto the balcony. “I have trouble falling asleep,” he said. Something in Asahi knew there was more to the statement, but he stayed quiet. “Is Asahi troubled by something?”
Asahi teetered between telling him and keeping it to himself, before settling on, “I couldn’t sleep either. I want to keep acting.”
Something lit in Imari’s eyes then, like the moon was reflecting its crescents into his amber. He smiled. “Want to go to my room?”
Imari’s room was…large, for one. Well, he couldn’t tell if it was large or if it was just empty. Other than his bed on the left, some drawers and a bookshelf actually overflowing with stacks of papers and books bordered the right wall. There were no decorations. Actually, that went for most things in Imari’s flat–only the necessities, not anything else. Asahi guessed when you lived with no one else, there were no eyes to please but your own. He felt a bit sorry for Imari, and then he felt sorry for feeling sorry.
“Did you want to keep rehearsing Hellgate ?” Imari asked, sitting back on his bed. Unsure where else to go, Asahi joined him.
“Um, anything really. I just want to get better before the show. I feel like my voice still isn’t…emotional enough.” He placed a hand on his throat, thinking back to that middle school classroom. “I don’t know how to not sound like me.”
Imari stood to scan through his bookshelf, running his fingers through the spines before pulling out a script. He handed it to Asahi before settling under his blankets, leaning against the corner of the walls with crossed arms.
“That’s a script from when I first started acting. It’s a four-person play, and they’re all different animals, so they all have really different voices,” he tapped the dip of his throat. “Try using your voice in a different way for each character.”
Asahi skimmed the script. A bird, a duck, a fox, and a cat. He tilted his head. “But isn’t a duck also a bird?”
Imari smiled. “Think about it then–why would the duck be so different from what you picture the bird to be like? What makes him special?”
Asahi bothered his lower lip, nodding. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
He read through the script. Occasionally, Imari would nod. Otherwise, he would simply train his flaming eyes on him. Asahi quickly found that the bird was the easiest–her personality wasn’t that far from his own. The duck was the hardest–so comical, so out there, and expressive in a way that Asahi made himself silly trying to replicate.
He was re-reading a monologue for the fox in his head, half-asleep, when he heard a gentle thud and turned his attention to Imari.
His head had thumped against the wall, his body barely propped up as he slept. Asahi scanned the room for a clock, finally landing on one that read: 1:58. Oh geez. He needed to get back too.
But he’d been at his position with his back to the wall and his own lower half tucked into the blankets for so long, the will to get up had long since dissipated into a drowsy puddle. He closed the script with the last bit of energy in him, then processed the dark back of his eyelids before he knew he had closed them.
Sleep took him under.