Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

August, 1973

Takami Keigo arrived at Yuuei Preparatory Academy for Boys with ten dollars crumpled in his pocket and a measly knapsack slung over his shoulder.

Possessions weren’t exactly common with orphans. When you are born, you have parents. When you are orphaned, you no longer do, and that not having tends to seep into everything else like spilt black ink. He could count on one hand his “haves”: a t-shirt, two pairs of underwear, a copy of Dazai Osamu’s The Setting Sun, and his lacrosse cleats.

With his scholarship, the school promised to provide all his other essentials. Things like a toothbrush and shampoo and clothes to wear. Things that non-orphans had in excess. Most of them, at least.

Except orphan was a title Keigo hated more than anything. Orphans were children selling matches on the corner dressed in rags, faces caked with dirt. Keigo, on the other hand, was sixteen years old and fairly built for such an age. He had lacrosse to thank for it, especially the one warden at the orphanage who let him sneak out to play for the club every other night. It was pure luck that one of his games was scouted by Yuuei. He found his acceptance letter slipped beneath his door the very next morning.

But Yuuei had only ever been a place of rumor to him.

His roommates had mentioned the vast, rolling greenery and towering, sky-piercing buildings with ancient crown-molding framing every window and roof slat (not that any of them had seen it with their own eyes). The richest in the country sent their young boys there to study, or perhaps to twiddle their thumbs for four years and leave with a prestigious enough degree to take them anywhere they wished to go after the fact.

To see it, truly, turned Keigo’s feet into heavy stones at the top of the grassy knoll. The heat of summer paraded around him, hugging in close like a bustling crowd. If he moved any closer to the grandeur of stone and brick, it might paralyze him entirely. He’d never been somewhere so big. Everywhere he turned his gaze, there was more of it to be seen. Keigo swallowed a pocket of air and hiked his knapsack further onto his shoulder.

People milled down the pathways, interrupted by the occasional lamppost, all black-wrought iron curling like ribbons around the glass fixtures, each slightly different from the one before. The students, however, all walked with a similar sort of gait, their mothers following close behind in sleek updos and sensible pumps while their fathers hung back, narrowed gaze watching their sons’ every move as though to give him a thorough critique upon their arrival.

Keigo tried to ignore his out-of-place appearance as he neared the school. A ratty blue t-shirt, khaki pants that he’d grown out of two years ago, and his swollen gray-brown tennis shoes. He’d sold his lacrosse sticks for some pocket money to get a haircut, but the barber had shaved it a bit too short. His blonde locks now looked like baby bird feathers, fuzzy and stuck out in erratic positions. It was sort of fitting to how he felt, though—like he’d fallen out of the nest still covered in newborn goo, thrust into a world he couldn’t have known before.

Keigo’s eyes darted to every movement of the new world around him, the rustle of a shrub, the click of a heel against the cobblestone, a shifting cloud in the sky. His penchant for observance was a tactic of survival. In the orphanage with five to a room, your things were often stolen. Keigo slept with an eye open, it seemed, waiting for a thief to strike. And it was your fault if you said the wrong thing to someone on a down day and got into a nasty fight. It was best to wait, watch the quirk of their brow and the grit of their teeth, before greeting them.

Thus, Keigo’s eyes were weary by the time he reached the crowded front doors of the main dormitory hall. He was happy to be out of the blaring sun, but the crowd of voices and limbs made him cower into corners as he limped towards the stairwell. But the momentary pauses allowed him just enough time to look up and take everything in.

The marble floors polished into mirrors, a grand oak staircase oiled and wiped until it was silky to the touch, a vaulted ceiling that went so high Keigo felt dizzy just looking at it. He’d never been in such a nice building, and this was only one of the many on the campus. He felt sick, all of a sudden. But he couldn’t decide if it was the good kind of sick or the kind of sick that drove him into bed for days.

There was a significant crush of people at the bulletin board. Keigo tried to perch himself on his toes to get a better glimpse of what they were looking at, but there were too many heads taller than his, and the letters were so small on the sheets of paper that it wasn’t even worth his time.

Room assignments, he heard someone say over the bustle.

Keigo sighed. The hallways of the first floor looked empty. Maybe his best bet was to walk down and read every name, even though there had to be hundreds. It would get him away from the mayhem of the front hall and perhaps give him his first chance to breathe all day.

So he traversed the marble floors with his knapsack pulled close to his back. Not that any of the people here would be interested in his things, but habit was a hard thing to knock in Keigo’s case. And beyond his habit of holding his things close to his chest, he had a nasty fixation on escaping situations such as the one in the main hall. Conflict, turmoil—these were things Keigo avoided, and for good reason.

His walk down the halls was rather peaceful once the din of people descended into a mere hum, occasionally reminding Keigo that he was not totally alone. He made his way to the second floor. Then the third floor. He was halfway down the east hallway when he read his name on the plate of the door.

Takami Keigo

And in the spot where his roommate’s name was supposed to be, there was nothing.

Keigo’s hand trembled as he reached for the handle. He let himself inside and felt the warm sunlight from the window brush his bare ankles.  There were two beds stationed on opposite ends of the room pressed up against the white concrete walls. The old wood floor creaked under Keigo’s feet as he set his things down and made his way to the bed on the left.

He ran his calloused hand over the quilt and the sheets beneath it. He’d never felt something so soft. His bed at the orphanage was like sandpaper on concrete in comparison. He wanted nothing more than to shed his shoes and climb in, snuggling into a long, needed sleep.

Instead, he distracted himself with the things on the nightstand: a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, a washcloth, a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap, and a wide-toothed comb. They laid idle like fallen soldiers, a respectable amount of distance between them to have only been intentional.

A brand-new toothbrush.

His excitement was almost too embarrassing to even admit to himself.

But it was the first time he didn’t have to share such meager necessities. He wouldn’t have to ration the shampoo for his roommates or blister his fingers trying to squeeze the last drops of toothpaste from the tube.

Still, Keigo had the urge to scoop it all up and keep it in his knapsack, or maybe in the drawer. Everything being in plain sight like this made his stomach sink.

Maybe that was part of the reason he didn’t have a roommate. Without one, the room was as quiet as the dead, Keigo could hear his own breathing echoing off the walls. He’d never been without a low hum of noise—in the boy’s wing, someone was always shouting or stomping around or trying to get someone’s attention.

Maybe they knew he’d be erratic like this, orphan boy sleeping with his backpack strapped to his shoulder distrusting of everyone around him, so they gave him a room of his own.

He’d certainly be more focused all alone like this. And if he had any hope of keeping his costly lacrosse scholarship, he had to keep his grades up. That’s what the letter said.

In the closet was a modest collection of uniform clothes: two suit jackets, a woolen vest, three pairs of slacks, three button-ups, one striped tie, and a pair of brand-new brown loafers. Keigo ran his fingers over the material and tested the weight of it all in his palm. Nervousness grew like a balloon in the center of his chest, but he found he could mistake this feeling for excitement too.

There was a schedule for the day. He’d laid in bed with his acceptance letter memorizing it in case the paper got lost somewhere in his travels. There was check-in, which was happening now until two o’clock, then an assembly at three o’clock sharp in the chapel down the hill, and then the first dinner of the year at five o’clock.

Keigo didn’t exactly know where this chapel was, and he didn’t exactly have a roommate to ask. He planned to follow where everyone else went, become a shadow for a short while. Then, once he reached his destination, he could slip into the cracks, finish his year one step closer to the diploma that could change everything.

Because lacrosse was only one part of Keigo’s plan.

That was his in, the thing that happened in the background while he secured the future ahead of him. If he could get a degree like this from somewhere as prestigious as Yuuei—the thought wrung out his brain with an ebbing anticipation.

You’re smart, Keigo, his old teacher had told him, but your lack of ego, that’s what you have that others don’t have.

Keigo unbuckled his knapsack and started taking things out:

His t-shirt,

Ego is what buries people in the ground before they’ve even had a chance to speak.

one pair of underwear,

It strips men down, bares their soul to everyone—ego is the self, amplified.

another pair of underwear,

The higher your climb, the harder your fall.

his copy of Dazai Osamu’s The Setting Sun,

The ego-less man is happy in the end. He is safe.

and his lacrosse cleats.

You’ll be just fine, Keigo. All those other boys are going to hell.

II.

Keigo awoke with a stomachache, but he didn’t mind at all.

Rather, he rejoiced when he awoke nearly nine hours after consuming his first meal at Yuuei, he could still taste it in his mouth.

He’d never experienced anything like it. The weight of the plate alone in his hand made it feel full, but there was still sizzling steak and creamy garlic potatoes and marbled beef cuts and saffron rice and whatever else Keigo could possibly imagine. The richness collected just beneath his skin and gave him a sort of glow, or that’s how it felt when he trudged back to his room and took a look at his round, happy face in the mirror.

Sure, he’d sat alone. But that wasn’t totally unexpected. At the orphanage, everyone at together, so it was impossible to get a moment for yourself while you hacked away at your cardboard slab of meat. He enjoyed the rumble of the ornate dining hall, the occasional shout of boys reuniting after a long summer apart, and the scrape of the weighty silver utensils against the porcelain dishes.

Keigo dutifully kept his head down as he walked back up for seconds.

Even in the early morning, he could still taste the rich browned butter against his tongue as his stomach lurched at the thought of an equally filling breakfast. He glanced haphazardly over to the neighboring bed. Still empty.

Morning sunlight and chirping birds greeted him to his first day of classes. Keigo stretched out his aching limbs and headed for the closet. He tore off his ratty t-shirt and shorts then slipped on the slacks first. He put on a shirt, remembering how his old teacher had taught him to button it up, tuck it into your pants, and then sip everything up. Otherwise, it would look lumpy.

His hand wandered between the jacket and the vest for a while, mind lingering on more important things. He chose the jacket and held onto the sleeves of his top with his fingers as he put it on. Keigo looked in the mirror. He picked at the clothes until he was at least half satisfied.

They fit well, the clothes. Too well. Everything felt tight and winding, especially the collar around Keigo’s neck. He tended to wear oversized things from the older boys since it would give him something to grow into, but this was the perfect cut for a sixteen-year old boy of his stature. It accentuated the squaring-off of his shoulders with a stich like a cliff at the edge. It revealed the span of his chest as well as the bony prodding of his ribs against the fabric.

Keigo pawed at his hair. It was no use, though. He was satisfied just brushing his teeth and splashing cold water onto his face.

His new shoes pinched his toes as he descended the stairs and found himself out on the sunny grounds. There were hundreds of other boys milling around in matching outfits to his, some more untucked and disheveled than his own. But these boys certainly didn’t have the same worries that Keigo did, with losing a scholarship and all. They could afford to leave their shirts untucked and their ties loosened.

My tie.

Keigo had forgotten about it entirely. He pressed his palm against where it should be on his chest and felt his heartbeat quicken. He could just rush up the stairs and put it on, then be back on his way without losing a minute of his morning.

But there was one glaring problem with his plan.

Keigo didn’t know how to even do up a tie. No one had ever taught him.

They couldn’t kick you out just for not wearing a tie, right? That would be ridiculous. And only some of the other students are wearing ties. Well, most of them. What if that was the only required piece? Everything else was up to your discretion?

Keigo’s breath trembled past his lips. He had the urge to gnaw at his nails again, but they were already bitten down to the bloody nubs from the train ride.

My schedule.

Keigo’s mind reeled as he pulled the sweat-stained bit of paper out of his front pocket where his class schedule had been typed out for him. There was the name of the course, then the name of the professor, as well as which room it would be held in.

But Keigo didn’t know where Room 12 was. He didn’t even know what building it was in.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed to himself.

He was an idiot. He should’ve walked around the grounds yesterday rather than shoving his face with food. He should’ve had the courage to just ask someone, anyone, because now he was going to be late to his first class which would surely get him kicked out of Yuuei and dash all of his chances.

Keigo felt like crying. No, he was about to cry. Right now, in front of everyone. And then he would pack up his things and go home and pretend like he’d never come here in the first place.

“You alright?”

The sudden voice made Keigo’s heart leap. He whipped around to find himself face-to-face with a towering figure. A student only evident by his uniform. He had coily black hair and deep skin. His eyes were round and kind, and they looked warily at Keigo.

“Excuse me?” Keigo muttered.

“You seemed a little stressed,” the student chuckled.

“I’m—” Keigo began, schedule tearing in his vice grip, “I’m not sure where I’m going.”

The student smiled. He took Keigo’s schedule from his hand and peered at it. Then, he stuck out his hand.

“Shinji Nishiya,” he introduced himself, “class president.”

Keigo heaved a sigh of relief.

“Lucky me,” he joked.

“Lucky you,” Shinji teased right back.

He took another look at Keigo’s schedule and patted him firmly on the back.

“This way,” he said, “I’ll walk you there.”

And together they started to stroll through the summer air. Keigo squared his shoulders, but he couldn’t come close to the height of Shinji nor the broadness of his back that made him seem more like a mountain than a man. Even so, he was still slim, he parted the sunlight like a ship’s mast through fog.

“You’re new,” said Shinji.

It was more of a statement than a question. Or perhaps an accusation. No matter what it was, Keigo was flush with the need to defend himself.

“Oh, yeah,” he stammered, “I’m playing for the lacrosse team.”

“Ah,” Shinji tilted his head back, “you’re the new cannon, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Keigo asked again.

Shinji smiled down at him.

“Lacrosse team’s always been good but ever since—” his face fell, “well, they lost a good player. In a bad way.”

Keigo shifted his bag on his shoulder to account for the sudden change in atmosphere. Shinji gritted his teeth, trapping something behind it.

“Anywho,” he shook his head, “they’ve been on the hunt for a new star. Looks like they’ve found it.”

Keigo’s cheeks burned at the insinuation. Sure, he was good at lacrosse, but he wasn’t a star by any measure. He was just—Keigo.

“There,” Shinji pointed to a large square stone building in the distance decorated with spires at each corner, “is where all your classes will be.”

He pointed to the ground floor.

“Any class that begins with the number one will be on the first floor there,” he said, “starts with the number two, the second floor, so on and so forth.”

He presented the crumpled schedule back to Keigo with a small smile.

“As long as you can count, you’ll be just fine.”

Keigo chuckled and felt just a smidge of the nervousness in his body dissipate.

“And when it’s time for practice,” he pointed to a green expanse at the bottom right corner, “that’s the lacrosse field.”

“Thanks,” said Keigo sheepishly.

“Sure thing,” Shinji turned to leave, then caught himself halfway, “what was your name again?”

Keigo fiddled with the corners of the schedule. He collected his thoughts just in time.

“Keigo Takami,” he replied.

Shinji nodded.

“See you around, Keigo,” he said.

“See ya,” Keigo replied weakly.

But by the time he’d thought to say it louder, Shinji was already gone.

Keigo let out a long breath. The sun had started to bear down on his neck. He could already imagine the red burn it would leave all across his skin. He checked his watch and rushed down to the building Shinji had showed him.

One.

Two.

Three.

Twelve.

Twenty-nine.

The numbers of the rooms spun around Keigo’s head like a dizzying carousel ride.

Sixteen.

Eight.

Eleven.

Seventeen.

He swallowed hard. He opened the grand front doors.

As badly as he wanted to stand in awe at the massive entryway of yet another fanciful building, he didn’t have time to do so. And there were students all around him shoving and milling around, chattering loudly to old friends.

Keigo slipped through the crush of people and found darkened hallway. He read the numbers by the doors, all plated in gold. Room 12, that was his first class. Chemistry.

Room 12.

Chemistry.

Hirabayashi.

Keigo sighed when his eyes caught the blessed one and two. A flush of light brought him out of his haze when he realized he was there. The torturous, uncertain morning was finally coming to an end. But his stomach felt tight, he should’ve eaten breakfast. Maybe they had real pork sausages and buttery eggs and piping-hot soup.

The thought alone almost convinced him to run off and spend his hour in the dining hall instead.

Because just as he entered the vast, wood-paneled classroom, the sudden courage in his body dissolved into near nothing.

He knew people were talking about him, he’d known since the prior night. Whispers brushed along his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Eyes followed him like a dog caught on a lead, immune to any of Keigo’s tugging.

But in the echoey classroom, it all seemed magnified.

Keigo stared down at his feet and took a seat at a table in the front row. He knew he could bet on it being empty, so he’d planned to sit there in every class. At least then his classmates didn’t have to turn around to look at him and whisper; they could talk behind his back with ease.

He heard the beginnings of chatter as he opened his backpack and started to take out his thinning notebook and half-dull pencil.

I heard he’s from the orphanage.

I heard his parents died in a car crash.

I heard that they were drug dealers who got arrested.

Keigo picked at the wood of his pencil with his fingernail.

I heard his dad threw him out on the street, broke both his arms.

I heard his mom tried to gouge out his eyes, that’s why he got sent away.

None of them were right.

Perhaps because the truth was that much worse.

But they seemed to be entertained by these fantasies of Keigo’s life. Maybe they’d never met someone who was poor before, so all the things that couldn’t be true for them could suddenly be true for someone so different.

Keigo kept his head low. He sighed in relief when the teacher sauntered up to the board.

That was his plan, after all.

Get the grade. Keep your head down.

Stay alive.

III.

The first lacrosse practice of the term was set for the end of that very day.

Keigo packed up his things from his final class, Literature, and headed back out to the rolling landscape of Yuuei. The blazing sun made his vision pulse in and out, fluid shifting in his ears as though he’d been underwater all day.

Granted, Keigo hadn’t had any lunch.

Maybe he was just so nervous about his first day or realized he didn’t have anyone to sit with or was that worried about finding his next class that even the allure of scalloped potatoes and thinly-sliced beef couldn’t coax him away from the comfort of the three-stall bathroom on the second floor.

Silence surrounded him as he sat with his back to the toilet and his legs pulled up to his chest. He’d only marveled for a second at the white marble floors and delicate porcelain sinks before retreating to one of the stalls which was more of its own room. The toilet had a cover and there was a little wooden table beside it. Keigo couldn’t devise what it could possibly be used for.

But even with a grumbling stomach, Keigo was at peace. All the whispers seemed to pile up in his ears, and he needed a true moment of silence to let them seep back out. The bathroom smelled like lemons and perfume, so much so that he wondered if he’d gone into the girl’s bathroom by mistake. But it seemed unlikely at an all-boys school.

He set aside his uncertainty while he sat with his knees hiked up to his chest and his eyes trained on the brass stall handle. The church bells chimed in the distance. Keigo checked his watch. 12:11pm. Four minutes until afternoon classes. Four hours until his first lacrosse practice of the season.

Sure, he was hungry, but not unbearably so. He could tough it out for a few more classes and maybe even through practice until they were released to dinner. The plan felt foolproof as he sauntered down the halls as quiet and as unassuming as a bug crawling between the stones of the walls.

By the next chime of the church bells, Keigo couldn’t tell if the fluttering in his stomach was nerves or excitement or oncoming starvation. Students crowded the halls with rousing cheers. Keigo listened in on their conversations about going to some wall at the edge of campus or claiming a tree on the grounds for all their friends. Keigo certainly wasn’t included in any of these grand plans, but he was happy to not hear whispers about him anymore.

He took a deep breath of crisp outdoor air, no matter how humid it may have been. He glanced up into the sun with a sudden wave of dizziness, the light pulsing in his vision and leaving flares behind his eyelids. Keigo swallowed hard and started down the hill. He replaced thoughts of decadent food with thoughts of lacrosse.

Back at the club, he was in charge of repairing the pockets on the crosses when they tore. It wasn’t exactly regulation to have them all knotted up like that, but regulation was a fuzzy thing for those coaches. That’s how Keigo got more scars up his legs than a sixteen-year-old should reasonably have.

But other than his shoes, which he’d had shoved at the bottom of his bag all day, Keigo was coming with nothing. What if they’d wanted him to bring his own stick? Should he have grabbed one of the less battered ones from the club? Even if he did, it would probably look downright primitive to the other players. He should’ve brought it anyways. Just in case. Now he would look woefully unprepared and the coach would have no choice but to ask him to leave the team and the school altogether.

Words appeared before his eyes in bright yellows, screaming themselves into Keigo’s attention, symptoms of his onset paranoia, no doubt.

Or it was just the banners on the wall of the locker rooms.

That seemed more likely. The crimson fabric embroidered with golden, swooping names, indicating the year of the championship and the players who brought it home. Keigo slipped through the door and took in the silence. Empty. He’d arrived almost embarrassingly early for a reason.

He wanted a moment to himself to observe the real tile floors beneath his feet, how the grout had been scrubbed clean in anticipation for the year. He wanted to feel the oak shelves, find the brass plate with his name embossed. Keigo’s breath caught in his throat when he found it. He let his eyes roam across the name until he was sick of it.

TAKAMI KEIGO

The cubby was stuffed full, just like all the others. On the bottom shelf were practice clothes: crimson t-shirts with the school’s logo pressed on the front and breathable black shorts. Keigo carded through the hanging clothes with his mouth agape, fingers dancing along the heavy fabrics. A bloodred jersey, gold shorts, shiny new shoulder pads. His helmet was perched on the top shelf along with a brand-new pair of socks and a cup which made Keigo shiver with the memory of some of his more personal injuries on the field.

Suddenly, he could hear chatter outside the door. He was early but not so early that he wouldn’t be caught alone admiring the clothes. So he grabbed his practice outfit for the day and dashed off to the bathroom which smelled of bleach rather than lemons like before.

There, he changed. And there he sat while the world turned right outside the door. Some boys came into the bathroom to check their hair and talk crudely about someone at the neighboring girl’s school, but they never noticed Keigo in the middle stall. He kept running his hands down the front of his shirt where the school’s crest stood proud. He let the boisterous chatter fade to the background of his thoughts.

His shoes in comparison to the rest of his outfit were nothing short of dismal. He considered scrubbing at them in the sink, but then they would be wet and Keigo’s feet would get that painful rash like when the roof at the orphanage leaked and soaked his only pair of sneakers.

When he heard the assistant coach bellow over the chatter that practice was beginning in three minutes, Keigo rushed out of the stall and stood before the mirror.

He pawed at his hair, uneven blonde patches with the occasional streak of brown. His eyes were muddied in the lights, dark circles gaping below. Keigo tried to square his shoulders and stand tall like his old teacher had taught him. But with the first step he took towards the door, his posture fell. He became small again, almost invisible, and eager to remain that way through practice.

“Over here! Line up,” the head coach shouted.

Keigo slipped into the group already headed in that direction. He joined the second line, perfectly hidden by the tall first line of players. He clasped his hands behind his back and mimicked the attentive pose of the rest of the boys.

The coach was a scrawny man no older than forty. He was wearing an old visor and a polo tucked into some khakis. A whistle glinted off his chest. Keigo wondered how he was managing the heat in pants.

“We’ll be meeting here at exactly five o’clock each afternoon except for Fridays and the weekend,” the coach shouted as he meandered back and forth, “Saturdays you’re here at eight unless we’re playing a game that night, Sundays you’re off.”

Keigo committed it all to memory as he had with his class schedule.

“But I’m not giving you a day off so you can leave campus and drink yourselves sick,” said the coach, “don’t groan at me, I know what you boys get up to.”

Some of the players chuckled and nudged their friends beside them.

“Take care of your bodies, and they’ll take care of you during the game,” he said, “and if any of you show up hungover to my Saturday morning practices, I’m telling the Headmaster and you’ll be outta here quicker than a dog on a jackrabbit.”

Keigo gritted his teeth. He wasn’t planning on drinking Friday night, but the possibility of doing it and getting kicked out still made him nervous.

The coach reached to his right for the clipboard in the hands of his assistant.

“I’m calling roll, listen up!” He shouted.

He peered down at the sheet of paper.

“I’m here!”

Keigo worried that someone’s name had been called and he just hadn’t heard it. But everyone had looked to the front gate of the field where a tall student in a girl’s uniform was sprinting head-on towards the locker rooms.

“You’ve got four minutes to change,” the coach huffed without even looking up.

“Roger!”

From such a great distance, Keigo could barely pick out anything but the billow of her gray skirt and a flash of her silvery hair before she disappeared into the stone building. He turned his attention back to the coach when he started to hear names.

Akiyama!

Here.

Furukawa!

Here.

Ikeda!

Here.

Matsushida!

Here.

Okamura!

Here.

Sano!

Here.

Takami!

Keigo’s throat got tight. He wrenched his head upwards and choked out a weak noise before gathering his bearings.

“Here!” he croaked.

The rhythm of the coach’s voice stopped. His deep-set eyes with their folded-over lids swept up to the rows of boys.

“Where are you?” He asked.

As if on cue, the rest of the boys on the team turned to stare at Keigo with laser-sharp accuracy. He swallowed the knot in his throat and raised a tentative hand. The coach met his gaze, then nodded.

“Glad you made it,” he said gruffly, then addressed the rest of the team, “watch out for this one. He’ll blow all of you right out of the water.”

If their simple stares hadn’t been bad enough, Keigo could now feel heat searing into his head from their fury-filled eyes. He hunched his shoulders, cowering back into the crowd while the roll continued.

Taniguchi!

Here.

Todoroki!

Silence.

The coach sighed. He looked up.

“Any sign of him?” He asked, annoyed.

A few of the students shook their heads. Some shrugged. Most did nothing.

The coach sighed again and returned to the roll.

“Guess we’ll see if he bothers today,” he muttered.

And like nothing had happened at all, he continued on.

Usagiyama!

“Here!”

It was the same voice from earlier, now much closer, positioned at the end of the line.

She stood proud, almost half a head taller than the average player. Her arms and legs were tanned and thick, evident from the stretch of the practice jersey and shorts around them. Her silvery hair, even when pulled up into a ponytail, reached the middle of her back, long and straight strands glittering in the sunlight.

Her eyes were fiercely narrow, focused only on the task ahead but still attuned to every extraneous sound and movement. She stood with her hands folded behind her back and her nose pointed towards the sky.

“Nice to see you again, Rumi,” the coach said.

And she didn’t cower like Keigo did, she didn’t even smile.

“Thank you, Coach,” she said plainly.

Urano!

Here.

Watanabe!

Here.

Yamagishi!

Here.

Yoshida!

Here.

And Yuuki!

Here, Coach.

And that was that. No sooner had they been lined up than they were on the field warming up with the assistant coach’s. Keigo found himself at the far left side, close enough to listen in on Coach and Rumi.

“You know I can’t let you play this year, right?” He said.

“I know,” Rumi sighed, “but you’ll let me practice, right?”

“I could help you draft up another petition for a team at the girl’s school,” said Coach.

Rumi shook her head, “They won’t go for it. I already asked a million times.”

The coach’s shoulders fell.

“Fine. You can practice. But regulation won’t even let you sit on the bench for games.”

“No problem,” Rumi replied, her energy restored, “thank you, seriously.”

Then she rejoined the warm-up, stretching her legs further to each side than any of the other players could hope to ever reach.

Still, even as practice began in full-swing, Keigo found himself watching the gate, waiting for the fated missing player that no one seemed to care much about in the first place.

Coach announced their positions for the day, a quick friendly scrimmage to get to know each other again, get a feel for the new team. Keigo was the last to be placed as Attack. He acknowledged his temporary team with a nod.

“Furukawa will fill in for Goalie, I guess,” said Coach to the other team.

Todoroki. Missing. Goalie.

Keigo filed away the information for later.

He took one last look to the front gates as everyone took their positions for the first match. Then, he closed his eyes, feeling his feet rub up against the familiar sides of his old shoes, observing the push of the soles into the plush grass below. He imagined his teammates as well as the space around them, painting an abstract recreation for himself in his head. That way, even when he blinked, he could see everything.

Of everything he’d encountered since arriving at Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys, this was the first moment where Keigo felt like he belonged.

He tried to focus on the shape of the field instead of the shape of his new school shoes he wore all day, how they pinched his toes into an unnatural point. He tried to focus on the players out of the corner of his eye rather than the vast green fields and towering stone buildings in the distance.

He watched the arc of the ball and heard it snap into the pocket of someone’s cross. Keigo started to back up. The offense was gathering behind him, he could feel their energy shift. So he watched as the midfielder accounted for his options.

But if Keigo remembered correctly, he had a straight shot for the stocky offensive player who’d stood in the front while the coach gave his spiel. He was at a strict diagonal, poised to shoot right around the goalie’s corner.

“Here!” Keigo cried in a full-bodied voice.

If only he could’ve sounded like that during roll.

The midfielder hesitated just for a second before passing the ball.

Keigo’s eyes never left its edges, even as it swept into the pocket of his crosse. The weight was so familiar to him, his hands could’ve danced with joy. But instead, they were slick with sweat wrapped tightly around the taped handle. Keigo turned and eyed down the offensive player who was right where he’d imagined him to be.

Their gazes locked. Keigo passed the ball as the opposing players crossed the field to him and the goalie rocked from foot to foot.

The pass was near perfect, barely hitting the plastic ring of the pocket. And with a swooshing sound, the ball was in the net and Keigo was being patted hard on the back.

“Nice pass, Takami,” someone said.

“Good eye!” Another player shouted.

“It’s not fair,” Keigo overheard someone from the opposing team say, “we have someone filling in as Goalie.”

Keigo looked down at his feet. They were right, it didn’t really count, not when their goalie hadn’t bothered to show up. Keigo had much more to prove than making a goal.

Thankfully, he had an entire practice to do so.

With excitement filling the empty spaces in his stomach, Keigo dashed down the field and completed a quick interception—another goal, another slap on the back.

He completed a dozen more passes to the offense that put him in one degree of separation from the goal itself. More goals, more bruises on his tender back.

And just as the other team’s grumblings became obvious, Keigo was checked with an opposing stick.

The assistant coach blew his whistle, the sound peeling through the boys’ shouts like a whip.

“Okamura! Come on,” he groaned, beckoning the player to the bench behind him with a flick of his head.

Rumi wasn’t half-bad, though, despite being on the losing team. She’d scored their single goal early in the match, simply by being faster than anyone else and faking out the goalie right at the last second. When there wasn’t any action on Keigo’s side of the field, he enjoyed watching Rumi dance around the other players and always pass with a sharp grunt.

It was a shame she couldn’t play in the official matches. Keigo could already imagine a million plays they’d be able to run together.

They didn’t get to talk until the break though when Keigo was trying to get the stars out of his eyes from standing up too fast.

“You play a mean game out there,” Rumi said to him.

Her voice was melodic yet sort of gravelly, like she’d yelled her throat raw before coming to practice.

“Thanks,” Keigo muttered.

“Where’d you play before?” She asked.

“Oh,” Keigo’s cheeks went red, “just—at a club.”

“Right,” Rumi nodded, “where are you from?”

Keigo looked up at Rumi’s round, sweaty face where her eyes were shining curiously. He thought about his day, all the whispering and giggling and whatnot.

Maybe the news hadn’t reached the girl’s school yet.

“Fukuoka,” he said.

“Oh, cool,” said Rumi, taking another gulping drink of water, “see you out on the field, yeah?”

And then she was gone, leaving Keigo with just the memory of the second normal conversation he’d had since arriving at Yuuei.

The assistant coach blew the whistle, and the team was back on its feet, switching sides for the second half of the match. Keigo was a little unsteady on his feet with the ascent, his head filling with this strange cottony sensation, but he shook it off in time to hear the muted whispers of his teammates, eyes pointed to the front gates.

Someone was sauntering in, tall and lean, almost slinking past the locker rooms and towards the field. Keigo tried to make something out of the blurring shapes as the figure got closer, but the sun was bearing down so hard that all he could see were blobs of black.

“Shit, I didn’t think he’d actually show,” someone on his team whispered to their friend.

The figure got closer. Keigo could make out his tight, black shirt and rough-hewn gray workers pants. His thick black boots crunched into the clay track that surrounded the field. His hair was jet black, standing up at every end.

The Coach stood with his arms crossed as he neared.

Todoroki.

“Kind of you to show up,” Coach grumbled.

Todoroki placed his hand mockingly over his heart.

“Always a pleasure, Nishida,” he said sweet as tar.

“That’s Coach to you.”

“Right,” Todoroki said, gnawing carelessly on his thumbnail.

The rest of the team watched in silence. Keigo wondered if everyone was stunned like he was or simply uneager to engage.

But the coach’s earlier speech still echoed in Keigo’s ears. He could only imagine what he would do to this punk. Maybe he’d get kicked off the team in front of everyone—talking back to Coach like that on top of being late, he was really in for it.

“Just—” the Coach waved him off, “go get changed.”

Todoroki smiled insincerely before turning on his thick rubber heel and heading towards the locker rooms. Keigo stood in disbelief. After all that, he was still going to be allowed to play?

“Take another five,” Coach grumbled, “we won’t start until he’s out.”

This guy better be a damn good goalie.

In fact, Keigo was so curious that he stood a little closer to the opposing team’s net as they all set themselves up for the second half. He tried not to stare as Todoroki strolled out in his practice clothes, stick in one hand and his helmet in the other. The rest of the players seemed to have moved on from his sudden presence, leaving Keigo wondering all on his own.

The play began the moment Todoroki was in place. Keigo tried to push all thoughts of him to the side as he watched the ball soar through the air and cut clean lines through the cropped grass. He got ahold of it, the rhythm of the play the same as before. He almost smiled when he looked up and saw his teammate ready to receive.

But he couldn’t ignore Todoroki out of the corner of his eye, his long, spindly limbs and sickly pale skin. He passed the ball then got up close to the net, eyeing that same player to let him know he wanted to take a shot.

Then, the ball was back in his own pocket and Keigo had positioned himself perfectly for an underhanded shot at the sliver of available corner. He thrust the stick forward and imagined how the ball would look hitting the back of the net, imagining where his teammates would hit him on the back in celebration.

Instead, the ball hit a different sort of net.

Particularly the pocket on Todoroki’s stick.

The opposing team cheered louder than Keigo’s team had the entire match. Todoroki leaned on the top of his stick and picked his helmet up off his face, letting Keigo get his first good look.

The hair was only a small part of his jarring appearance. Everything else was holes, silver capped holes in his nose and his lip and all up his ears. When he smiled, everything stretched and caught the sunlight. He had a smile that made Keigo shiver, even in the blazing heat.

“Nice shot,” Todoroki teased.

Keigo pursed his lips. He let out a hot sigh.

Fuck, he thought.

He’s a damn good goalie.

Once Keigo believed something, he was unlikely to un-believe it, but that didn’t stop him from trying to prove himself wrong.

He started making more shots than before, constantly asking for the ball from the other players just for another chance at a goal. But every time, without fail, Todoroki was there with his smug smile and piercing blue eyes. Keigo could feel a woozy sort of determination building up inside of him like cement.

Another shot missed. Keigo cursed to himself and hoped Coach wasn’t watching.

“Alright, Keigo,” he heard the assistant coach shout, “let’s not forget about passing.”

But that made him even more furious, especially when he couldn’t help but look over at Todoroki after it was said.

Yet another shot went right into Todoroki’s pocket. Yet again, he smiled.

Keigo had taken a firm step away from the goal afterwards when the first wave hit him. It felt like nausea, but it had to be more than that. His fingers and toes were buzzing, and the definite shapes of the field had turned to blobs.

“Y’okay?” A player had asked him.

“Uh-huh,” Keigo grunted.

But he was certainly not okay after another step. He hunched over, feeling another wave of awfulness overcome him from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. He could feel people gathering around him.

No. He had to pull it together. He had to play.

“Sorry,” said Keigo, forcing himself upright, “just feeling a little—”

Whatever he’d planned on saying, it was lost in waves of black, the same black that was closing in on his eyes. He swayed backwards.

Then, there was nothing.

IV.

It had been a good dream, at least.

Because when Keigo awoke to a hard-rock bed under his back and a faint smell of chemicals, he knew he’d woken up back in the old orphanage. Soon enough, a crowd of boys would come crashing in, shouting, causing a stir enough for Keigo to never even hope of falling back asleep.

But it had been a damn good dream.

He could almost touch it all, still, the stone walls and the lacrosse stick and the soft leather shoes. He could imagine the taste of that rich dinner and the smell of the bathroom he’d skipped lunch in.

A beautiful, hopelessly unreal dream.

“Keigo?”

The voice was soft and resonant.

“Hey, Keigo.”

Maybe he was dead. Perhaps this was an angel.

“I know you’re awake, just open your eyes,” the girl’s voice broke through the swimming in his ears.

Wait.

Girl?

Keigo’s hazel eyes squinted open just enough for the sharp lights overhead to dizzy him all over again.

Ah. So that’s what had happened.

That beautiful dream he’d had, it was all real, particularly the goose-egg that was throbbing on the back of his head.

“Ahh,” Keigo grunted as he tried to sit up in the stiff clinic bed.

“Easy tiger,” the voice said again.

Keigo blinked the bleariness out of his eyes and saw Rumi sitting next to him, her legs and arms crossed tight and her foot wiggling impatiently. She was still in her practice clothes, but practice must have been long over judging by the sliver of sun that still remained over the horizon, dusting the wood-paneled walls of the clinic in a rare purplish glow.

“Shit,” Keigo hissed to himself as he grazed the tender spot on his head with his pointer finger.

“Passed out pretty hard back there,” said Rumi.

Keigo sighed. He looked at his hands, still rubbed red from gripping his lacrosse stick. The bed beneath him started to ache against his backside, and the paper crinkled with every breath he took.

“I didn’t eat lunch,” he admitted.

“That’s a stupid thing to do,” replied Rumi.

Keigo almost laughed. He might’ve if he’d had the strength in his body.

“I know,” he whispered.

Rumi uncrossed her arms and started fiddling with the ends of her hair.

“And with how hard you played, no wonder you were sheet-white when you went down,” she teased, “Touya really put you on, huh?”

“Who?” Keigo asked.

Rumi reeled back a little.

“Touya?” She said, “The goalie?”

Ah.

Keigo’s chest started to feel hot again, all his limbs awakening at the memory’s resurgence. He thought about his smile and the way he’d spoken to the coach. But what was more infuriating than any of that was how good he was at his job and how impossible it had been for Keigo to get anything past him.

“Guess it’s good you’ll be playing on the same team,” Rumi shrugged.

“How come he got to play at all?” Keigo asked sourly, reaching for the cup of lukewarm water on his nightstand, “Being late and all, why didn’t Coach bench him for the rest of practice?”

Rumi leaned forward with a look as though Keigo had suggested they jump from a window and test the boundaries of human flight. Her lips fell open.

“You don’t know who he is?”

Keigo looked around, “No?”

“You grow up under a rock or something?” She asked.

No, an orphanage.

“Something like that,” Keigo said instead.

“The Todorokis,” said Rumi, “they’ve got more money than God. His dad practically runs the country, this school included.”

Maybe it was true, or maybe Rumi was just pulling his leg and when he looked like he really believed it, she would smile and laugh at him forever about it.

“For real?” Keigo asked as casually as he could.

“Yeah,” Rumi leaned back into her seat, “and Touya’s in line to inherit everything. So, basically, Touya gets away with everything because if the Todoroki cashflow gets pulled from this school—”

She pulled her thumb across her neck and made a squelching noise of death.

“Oh,” said Keigo.

If he was one to read the tabloids, he probably would’ve seen plenty about such a prestigious family, but the orphanage only had three magazines that were all a decade old. But the boys were more interested in the politics of who had to clean the bathroom at the end of the week than any actual current events.

“He’s an asshole, sure,” said Rumi, “but he’s a damn good goalie, too. So we’ve learned to live with it.”

Keigo couldn’t help but agree.

Not that it made him feel any better. If he had it his way, he would’ve spent all this time that he was passed out trying to get the ball past Todoroki Touya, betting his life on it if he had to. And maybe, at the end, he’d be able to pin that asshole down and punch that smug smirk off his face for good.

Keigo shook the thought from his head. A sinking feeling overtook his insides.

No.

I can’t think like that.

Not how he thought.

He needed to think of something else.

“Oh! I brought you dinner,” Rumi exclaimed.

Keigo could’ve cried with relief.

She set up a small table over his lap and placed the covered dish atop it. Keigo could already smell the potatoes and the steaming stew. He tried not to seem so famished in front of his new friend.

“Akiyama brought your clothes and shoes up to your room,” said Rumi as she stood, dusting off her practice shorts.

“You’re leaving?” Keigo asked, instantly regretting how pathetic it sounded.

“Gotta get back to the girl’s school before curfew,” she said as she passed the foot of his bed, “Eat up. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

She disappeared with a swish of her hair down the hall and around the corner. Keigo stared into his distorted reflection in the silver lid of his dinner tray.

Touya gets away with everything.

There were kids back in the orphanage like that. Not Keigo. He could never get away with anything, not even a white lie. Someone always ratted him out.

He tried to think about his dinner as he was eating it so that all the space in his mind that might be filled with other things was occupied with something that didn’t much matter. When he was done, he left his dish, scraped clean, on the bedside table and started to ease himself out of the clinic.

They’d given him something, maybe an IV of sorts since his elbow ached. It made him steady enough on his feet to find his way out of the administration building and down the hill to the dormitory.

Dinner was long over, the straggling boys either back in the comfort of their rooms or already out on the streets, celebrating their first successful sneak out of school. Keigo didn’t mind the eerie emptiness. He was content to walk all on his own as slow as he pleased.

Keigo sighed in the dusty air when he reached the dormitory. His eyes were heavy with fatigue even though he’d been knocked out for an hour or two. All he wanted was to stuff his face into the soft, silky pillow and not let it back up until morning broke.

He lusted after the heavy quilt and the crisp white sheets. With a full stomach like this, he would be gone in an instant, drowned in the land of dreams.

Keigo smiled a bit as he opened the door to his room, ready to welcome his bed with open arms. His eyes were trained on it. He was ready.

Then someone cleared their throat.

Keigo turned.

Someone was standing at the opposite bed, unpacking, clothes already littering the floor. Jet black hair stuck up to the heavens and a million silvery bits littering their face, there was no mistaking him.

Todoroki Touya.

He smiled, just like before, and pointed lazily at Keigo.

“Hey,” he hummed, “aren’t you the kid that passed out?”

Chapter Text

I.

Takami Keigo was not easily irritated.

When you lived amongst at least a hundred other boys, you learn to tame your temper and accept life as it comes, such as your shoes being thrown in the muddy ditch or your hidden half-candy bar being stolen by a nosy bunkmate. Keigo had trained himself to be complacent in the face of such things; it was all in the name of survival.

But the Todoroki boy…

“Oh my god, you are,” he hummed.

The kid who passed out, that is.

Keigo tried to stifle his shock by turning to his things on the bed and busying his hands with them. He tugged on the straps of his ratty backpack that he’d so carelessly left in plain sight, not thinking he’d be coming home to a roommate.

“What, you don’t talk?”

Keigo was no stranger to the Todoroki boy’s voice, but hearing it so close was almost angering, like a slow and constant pinching at his skin. He did what he always did when such talk threatened his composure. He took a deep breath and swallowed around his twitching tongue.

“Nice to meet you,” said Keigo; albeit, into the opening of his bag.

“Right,” the Todoroki boy huffed.

Touya. That was his name. But what Rumi had said about his family whirled around all of Keigo’s existing thoughts. No, he wasn’t exactly tuned into the tabloids. Todoroki rang some sort of bell, but probably just from signs he saw from the streaky window of the bus the orphan boys would be toted around in for their one field trip of the year.

He was not just Touya like Keigo could just be Keigo. Something about him bore weight, and from the corner of his eye, Keigo could see exactly how he carried it.

The Todoroki boy walked with one shoulder tilted down. His steps were careless and slow, not a smidge of urgency to tossing his clothes into the corner of his closet or slamming his bedside drawer shut. Every once in a while, he would tilt his head back and adjust his neck with a whipping motion. Keigo heard a crack that, in a movie, would’ve been followed by a body slumping to the ground, dead.

His boots squeaked and stomped against the old wood floors, kicking up a film of dust Keigo hadn’t even noticed before. When he wasn’t clomping around the room like a disturbed shade, he was standing in wait with one black-painted nail between his teeth, tugging like an animal at the willing carcass.

“Fuck,” the Todoroki boy whispered to himself.

Keigo didn’t know what he was thinking about, but he wasn’t about to ask, either.

“I forgot my fucking toothbrush,” he clarified.

Keigo’s hand became a fist. He hadn’t even noticed it until his palm started to hurt from his nails digging into it. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d forgotten something so important, but that Keigo knew what he was about to ask next.

“Can I use yours?”

I thought your family had more money than God.

Buy your own goddamn toothbrush.

Or better yet, use your nasty calloused finger. Seems you don’t mind having it in your mouth, anyhow.

Keigo straightened his back. His mind had fired without target or prompting. He shoved away the searing thoughts and tried to steady himself on his own composure, the one that had kept him out of trouble all those years in the orphanage.

“Oh, hah,” the Todoroki boy chuckled, his voice like rough steel grating against each other in a poorly-oiled machine.

So Keigo turned, his mouth stitched shut, to see his new roommate holding up a toothbrush that looked like it had been run over by a train, the bristles all flattened out and the handle worn down to nothing.

“Found it. Good thing ‘cause I was about to use yours.”

Then he smiled, that teasing smile he’d had on the field when he knew he’d be capturing Keigo’s shot, no matter how crafty or unexpected. Keigo let out a hot, slow breath while his mind scurried around to capture the bits that had started to break off and gain consciousnesses of their own. There was one bit that was begging him to punch this kid’s face in, watch his nose bleed down into his mouth. There was another bit that couldn’t stop imagining their almost-shared toothbrush; it was nauseating.

Keigo heard footsteps behind him again, one decibel short of a horse prancing through the room.

“Shit,” the Todoroki boy hissed, “goddamnit.”

Keigo watched carefully out of the corner of his eye as his roommate tugged at the window which had only opened a sliver. There was an unlit cigarette hanging out from the side of his mouth. Without his goalie helmet, Keigo could finally see and count all of his piercings.

Three in each ear. One on his bottom lip. Two above his right eyebrow. One in each nostril.

Did the dress code even allow this?

His family has more money than God.

Touya’s in line to inherit everything.

If the Todoroki cashflow gets pulled from this school…

“There we go,” he huffed to himself when he finally got the woodgrain to run easy against itself.

With the window open, Keigo could feel the balmy night breeze and smell the fresh mountain air. Then, it got cloistered by a cloud of pungent smoke.

The Todoroki boy let out a long, theatrical sigh.

“This your first time at Yuuei?”

Keigo knew that the question was being directed at him. But he was afraid to turn around and look him in the eye. Everything in his mind cautioned him against it.

“Yeah,” Keigo replied curtly.

For a school where most of the kids grew up together in the same fancy academies, it was a predictable question. Keigo found no reason to lie.

The Todoroki boy was silent for a moment. There was another stifling cloud of smoke. Why’d he even open the window if he was just going to let it all out in the room?

A hand on Keigo’s shoulder shocked him out of his own thoughts. He fliched, his hands at the ready to fight back without another thought. But it was just the Todoroki boy invading his personal space, smiling around an already half-gone cigarette:

“Welcome to hell,” he sneered.

Keigo couldn’t imagine a more suitable welcome to damnation than the Devil himself.

II.

That night was just the beginning of what Keigo could only assume was the Universe testing him.

Keigo laid awake in his bed combing through everything he’d done in his whole life, wondering what could’ve possibly subjected him to such a limbo between heaven and hell. The food was as good as he remembered, but Touya’s cloying presence at the table with him made everything taste like sand. Dependent upon, of course, whether he decided to show up at all.

No, most of the time he was loitering in their room, flipping through a book too quickly to even be reading it, or poking at his own piercings with a needle in the mirror, cursing to himself whenever he got pricked.

Keigo thought that at least in his classes, he’d be free to remain invisible, unknown by the students of Yuuei. But by the doctrine of the alphabet and the proximity of their surnames, Keigo and Touya were chronically placed beside each other. Where he’d once been anonymous, Keigo could now feel a barrage of eyes fixed on him and his new seatmate. It became clear that the students’ fascination with his mysterious origins were only short-lived because there was something far more fascinating about Todoroki Touya.

They whispered about him, Keigo could tell. Gathering in little clusters when they passed in the hallways, exchanging looks with their friends whenever he strolled in late to class. But no one spoke to him. Not a single student.

Keigo couldn’t tell if they were afraid of Touya or not. Their body language wasn’t so easily read like that of the boys he’d grown up with. In the boy’s home, there was no need for secrets or passivity, everything would be aired out eventually and become everybody’s business.

But it was different here. Keigo wasn’t stupid enough to miss it. Maybe it was the wealth, or perhaps something else that Keigo didn’t even know he was lacking. Students were quiet in their frustration. When they were angry, they would be sickeningly sweet and polite to your face, then turn to their friends and call you the vilest name imaginable. Keigo’s invisibility and keen observation allowed him to follow a certain subset of drama between a few boys in his Chemistry class, but now with Touya sat beside him, the intriguing chatter had been replaced with wary looks to the seat behind them, and its pierced, brooding occupant.

And it wasn’t even just the fact that Touya was his roommate and perpetual seatmate, it was the fact that he was on the lacrosse team, too. Everywhere Keigo turned, there Touya was, his snake-like mouth stretching into that sly smile, sometimes wide enough for his jagged canines poke out over his bottom lip.

Not that his demeanor changed on the field. It didn’t matter that they were on the same team, Touya never passed up a chance to poke his pitchfork into Keigo’s ass or anyone else’s for that matter. He liked to tease from the safety of the net, half-laughing whenever he managed to really make someone mad.

“Net’s over here, honey!”

“Come on, my grandma’s got a less obvious limp than that.”

“What have you missed, six shots now? Statistically, you gotta make the next one, right?”

But he was a damn good goalie. Keigo would remind himself of this whenever he felt like excusing himself from the field to cool off. Touya would be indispensable during games if no one killed him during practice.

After two weeks of what felt like being haunted, Keigo’s will had worn down to nearly nothing. It was on a Tuesday morning in his Literature class that he felt a menacing air enter the classroom in tandem with Touya.

Touya plunked down beside him, the sound of his jewelry clanking and his shoes squeaking making Keigo grit his teeth. He cleared his throat at a disruptive volume and sat with his bag slumped against his stomach at the same angle as his back against the seat.

Touya never wore the school tie. Nor the school blazer. In fact, he even wore his own pants, at times, since he found the school-sanctioned pair stuffy—or so he shared with Keigo late one night:

“How are my balls supposed to fucking breathe in these,” he hissed, grabbing the crotch of the hanging slacks with a force that made Keigo tense up, all the hairs on his arm standing at attention.

The only piece he wore consistently was the white button-up. Even then, he unbuttoned to his sternum to show off the worn-down collar of his black undershirt and rolled the loose sleeves up to his elbows so the whole world could see the patchwork of tattoos and scars that decorated his skin.

The professor began his drone. Literature was the only class where Keigo had trouble staying awake, especially since it followed lunch. He pinched himself on the arm whenever he started to doze off, forcing his eyes to study the curve of the professor’s handwriting on the blackboard.

Keigo took his book and his pencil from his bag. He flipped to the proper page while trying to ignore Touya’s sloth-like movements beside him.

If he didn’t wear all that jewelry, maybe he wouldn’t make so much noise every time he moved.

Keigo let his thoughts expel the anger he would’ve otherwise used to tackle Touya to the ground every chance he got. If he was going to keep his head down at Yuuei, he couldn’t do something so careless. So he let his mind wander with ire. He entertained fantasies of screaming his head off at his roommate whenever he decided to slam the door closed at two in the morning.

It was the only way to stay sane.

“Hey.”

Keigo wrote something in the margin of his book.

“Hey.”

It was Touya.

“Hey, kid.”

Keigo stopped writing. Touya had nudged his arm. All Keigo wanted to do was run to the bathroom and scrub away at the feeling that lingered when he did.

His eyes revolved to the side where Touya was leaned towards him.

“Whatever your name is—” Touya hissed, “you got a pencil?”

Whatever your name is.

Keigo sucked on his tongue. He tried to discreetly tighten his grip on the book.

We’re on the same goddamn team. We’re roommates. We sit together in every class. And you don’t know my name?

Thing is, Keigo did have a pencil, just one spare. But it was just that, his spare. If he lost this pencil, or it got sharpened right down to the nub, he wouldn’t have to face the horror of doing exactly what Touya was doing. Admitting his ill-preparedness, speaking to someone who might turn to their friends and laugh about it later.

Keigo wasn’t sure what possessed him to reach into the front pocket of his bag and grab that spare pencil, maybe years of conditioning from the egregious “sharing is caring” policy at the orphanage.

“Just one,” he muttered.

Touya reached over and plucked the pencil from Keigo’s limp fingers.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

Keigo sat in disbelief, his eyes trained on his now-empty hand. His stomach churned, an itch spreading up his arms like he’d rolled around in poison ivy, an itch that would only worsen if he gave in and scratched at it.

His face twitched. Keigo tried to return to the book, to the professor’s monotone voice and illegibly swirly handwriting. But nothing could relieve the feeling in his skin nor keep him from peering over and seeing the pencil in Touya’s hand as he scratched thick, deep characters into a ragged piece of paper.

Keigo wanted to scream. He wanted to take that pencil and shove it right through Touya’s skin, see how deep it could go.

No.

Shit, shit.

Don’t think like that.

Keigo scrunched his eyes closed. He let out a shaky breath.

I can’t be like him.

When he opened his eyes, the feeling had begun to pass, but like any storm, it left a smell in the air and a wet feeling on his skin.

Get the grade.

Keep your head down.

Stay alive.

III.

October, 1973

September passed in a blur. Keigo noticed a new chill in the air upon October’s arrival, along with a crisp smell that he’d never found in the city. The leaves on the grand oak trees had just begun to turn, and more students could be found lounging outside now that the heat had dissipated, rolling in the soft grass or kicking around a soccer ball. Even though it had been nearly a whole year, everyone was still talking about the 1972 Olympics in Sapporo.

The difference was that Keigo had watched the events on a crummy television in the rec room at the boys’ home; the students at Yuuei had ridden their families’ connections right into the stands. They’d shaken hands with Yukio Kasaya. Meanwhile, Keigo and his friends had tried to recreate the ski jump event in the courtyard with only one broken arm amongst the five of them to remember it by.

Keigo sometimes forgot that he was living in an entirely different world. At least there was always something to wrench him back into reality.

Like Todoroki Touya.

There was only one place where Keigo had any escape from the Universe’s torment clad in clinking silver jewerly.

Biology.

It wasn’t common for students to take two science classes at once, but Keigo’s prior education didn’t quite align with the expectations of Yuuei, so some exceptions had to be made based on his general aptitude and willingness to study.

The only course he was required to re-take was Biology which was a class full of fourteen-year-old first-years and then Keigo. They all knew that he was older, and the rumors ran their course about Keigo being dumb or having failed the course at his prior school, neither of which were true.

Keigo had done fine in his biology course, Yuuei was simply underwhelmed by the breadth of information taught at the public school and probably needed to make him suffer just a bit to feel like he belonged.

So Keigo endured the fidgety bodies and irritating voices of the first-years and breezed through a course he’d practically taken already. And the relaxation was tripled since it was an hour that Todoroki Touya was not breathing down his neck.

That was, until the universe decided to play another nasty trick on him.

Eleven minutes into that afternoon’s class, the front door creaked. The students were working quietly on a page in their workbooks, some of them chattering with the excuse of helping each other ready in case they were caught.

Keigo looked up at the familiar sound of shoes to see Touya standing by the professor’s desk, handing him a note. The professor peered at it, then sighed, motioning to the empty seat beside none other than Keigo.

The casual chatter tightened into harsh whispers at the sight of the Todoroki boy. The students gazed at him, mouths agape as he sauntered down the center aisle. Not that Touya paid them any mind. In fact, he was staring at Keigo the whole time.

When he sat down, Keigo resisted the urge to leap out the third-floor window beside him.

“Can’t get enough of each other, huh?” Touya teased.

Keigo kept his lips sealed for a second while he gathered himself.

“What are you doing here?” He asked in a small voice.

Touya sighed, “The school finally got their papers in order and realized that I failed this course last year. So now they’re making me take it again.”

He didn’t sound happy about it. At least he and Keigo were on the same page.

Touya slammed his things atop the desk and shuffled around inside for a moment. Keigo brought his attention back to the workbook and dug his fingernails into his left palm for some sort of release. Once Touya was settled, he looked out of the corner of his eye.

Touya was still using the pencil he’d given him, but it was different now, pocked and deformed. Touya had been gnawing on it.

Keigo swallowed hard. His teeth were wearing down to nubs with how often he gritted them. His heart started to race in time with his vicious thoughts.

A pencil.

That’s all it was.

But it was Keigo’s only other pencil. He’d saved up a handful of yen to buy the nicest wooden pencils he could find so that they would last a long time, and bought a pack that only came with two. Touya probably had enough money to buy a lifetime supply of pencils. Why didn’t he go do that instead of chewing on Keigo’s with his nasty, overlapping teeth?

Keigo kept swearing to himself in his head, waiting for the awful, pinching feeling to pass. He’d never been so angry at the orphanage, even at the sharpest injustice. How could he explain this new feeling? Everything was moving too quickly for him to make any inferences.

All he could do was ignore Touya and wait for the horrid class to be over.

Wait for that horrid year to be over.

When the bell tolled signaling the top of the hour, Keigo gathered his things and made it a point to get lost in the crowd of first-years on their way out. But the sound of his name had singled him out. At least it was the professor, this time.

Keigo slinked over and bowed his head a bit. He pulled the strap of his bag closer to his chest and fixed his expression to one of intention and humility rather than murderous rage.

“As you can see, Touya has joined our class,” the professor said, exhausted by the thought alone, “and he did rather poorly last year.”

Keigo nodded, wondering what this had to do with him.

“Considering that you’re currently my best student, I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor him for our first exam?”

Keigo stopped nodding. His lips parted to protest, but a trembling fear overcame him.

He couldn’t say no, could he? This was his professor, a faculty member of the most prestigious school in Japan that he had been damn lucky to even step foot into. Yes, it was Touya, but there was more at stake than Keigo’s sanity.

If he had any hope of being someone in the future, he needed this diploma. He needed to keep his scholarship.

It was like Keigo’s body was splitting in two. He loathed even the thought of trying to help Touya. He knew him too well to even entertain the idea of it working. And the library, the one place where Keigo could be completely alone, would become infested by the person he was trying so hard to ignore.

But he couldn’t say no. Everything was on the line.

And Keigo was too terrified to watch it all come tumbling down.

“Okay,” he said.

Keigo could hear laughter, likely from the depths of hell.

At least someone was amused by all this.

“Thank you,” the professor sighed, “you know, you really are a wonderful student.”

Keigo wanted to enjoy the compliment, suck on the sweet hard candy of being appreciated for all his hard work. But he couldn’t, because there was a sour taste on his tongue that he couldn’t scrape off, the knowledge that he now had a responsibility to Todoroki Touya that, if failed, could mean the end of everything.

Keigo reconsidered the third-floor window. Jumping out of it, and all that.

IV.

Tapping his finger against the oaken table, Keigo watched the hour hand tick even further past the six. He and Touya were supposed to meet here ten minutes ago. He’d requested as much a few nights before in their room:

“So I hear you’ve been drafted to tutor me,” Touya scoffed.

“Yeah,” Keigo replied curtly.

“You don’t haveta if you don’t wanna.”

Keigo slowly slipped a hanger into the collar of his dress shirt.

“It’s fine.”

“Really? You’re a peach.”

Touya’s bed groaned under his weight when he flopped onto it. He was fiddling with some sort of sewing needle, curved just short of a fishhook. He pressed his finger against the end just to the barrier of his skin, then released it. Sometimes he tugged at his lip with it. Keigo tried not to watch too closely. Needles made him queasy.

“Where do y’wanna meet?” Touya asked lazily.

“The library,” Keigo recited, “Wednesday. Six o’clock.”

Touya’s brow flinched up. His lips pouted out.

“Alright,” he replied, seemingly impressed by Keigo’s forwardness.

But it wasn’t so much forwardness that Keigo was going for. He was more desperate for the conversation to be over, really any conversation between them for the rest of time. And now that he was sitting in the corner of the large, dusty library watching the clock meander past the time he’d stated so clearly, Keigo started to feel that same itchiness rise up in him.

He checked his watch, just in case the clock in the library was wrong. The place was packed with students worried for their Friday assessments or trying to finish a paper in order to free up their weekend. Halloween was next Wednesday. The holiday wasn’t super popular amongst Keigo or his friends, not that they’d be let out at night to dress up and knock on people’s doors. But the students at Yuuei had a strange sort of fascination with Western traditions, and this was the one they found the silliest, apparently.

Keigo listened in on conversations about plans, where they’d be buying the illicit alcohol from and how they’d scare their girlfriends at the neighboring school in the dead of night. None of it sounded amusing to Keigo. He hoped at least the library would be empty that night so he could really focus.

6:15.

Keigo slammed his book closed.

He’d been lucky to have found a table at all in a corner he’d become acquainted with in his nightly study sessions. The soft orange glow of a banker’s lamp comforted him, as well as the soft rustling of book pages and the faint musty smell of old wood furniture. Not that his seat was particularly comfortable, but his surroundings made up for it all. He’d never been in a place with such high ceilings that could manage to stay so quiet. Nor had he been surrounded by so much dark wood, polished until you could almost see your reflection in it

In the library, Keigo was left alone. Everyone was too concerned with themselves to even acknowledge him. It was safe.

6:21.

Keigo tried to occupy his mind with his own work which he’d been hacking away at for almost two hours prior, but everything kept wandering back to Touya and the agreement they’d made.

Six o’clock. He’d said six o’clock, right?

Keigo doubted himself. He checked his calendar to make sure it was really Wednesday. He was even tempted to ask someone working at the neighboring table. No, he was sure.

It was the right day at the right time—

Touya was just standing him up.

No matter how many Latin verbs Keigo conjugated, he couldn’t focus anymore. His cheeks were stinging and filling with heat. Sweat slicked up his palm against the woodgrain of his pencil, his last pencil.

He thought about the spare he’d given to Touya, how he’d infested it with his teeth marks and carelessness. How that was all these students ever did—infest things. How they would grow up to be adults who infest workplaces and families and throw money into dark corners until someone comes scrambling out waiting to kiss their feet.

Keigo gathered his work in a flurry, stuffing it all into his bag and becoming fixated on the grand library doors. He descended the stairs, letting his mind run wild as a stream.

How Todoroki Touya would never understand how Keigo felt, how much this school meant to him. He’d never understand scratching bedbug bites on your ankles instead of sleeping, hiding your precious few things in your pillowcase so other boys don’t snatch it up when you’re not looking, fighting for your place in the hierarchy before you’ve even learned to throw a punch.

The cool evening air would’ve been refreshing if Keigo had stopped to feel it. But he was too worked up, all his nerves tying themselves in messy knots, connecting one thought to a completely different thought, everything becoming each other at lightning speed.

Touya.

He’s never had to count his coins at the counter of a stationary store. No one has ever peered at his ragged haircut then whispered something pitying to their partner.

Keigo imagined a silver spoon in his mouth, a real one, polished and glinting. He imagined Touya biting on it, harder and harder and harder. He imagined his gums starting to bleed, hairline cracks traveling up the enamel of his teeth. Biting harder and harder and—

He slammed open the door to his dormitory room. Touya was lounging on the bed, hunched over his right thigh with an inky needle prodding at the skin through a hole in his jeans. He looked up, his lit cigarette tilting out of the side of his mouth like a bird on a line ready to fly away. Keigo must’ve looked as frazzled as he felt; Touya seemed like he was about to laugh.

“Yeah?” He asked haphazardly.

“Fuck you.”

Keigo hadn’t meant to say it. It just came out.

“Huh?”

Touya sat up.

“You heard me,” Keigo seethed, “Fuck. You.”

Touya’s face fell, any semblance of amusement fading away in time. Keigo’s chest felt like it was about to rip open, revealing his heart and his lungs and all these other important things.

“Fuck me?” Touya asked, pointing at his own adorned chest.

“Yeah,” Keigo threw his bag to the floor, “six o’clock, remember?”

For a few seconds, Touya really didn’t, or that’s what his face said. Then, his lips parted and he glanced to the ceiling.

“Oooh,” he sighed, “that was today?”

Keigo turned to his bed, his back to Touya. He tried to take a cleansing breath, but everything coming in felt like pure smoke, choking Keigo out until he had no choice but to spin back around and scream.

“You just don’t fucking get it, do you?” Keigo cried.

Touya, who had gone back momentarily to pricking his thigh, looked up and furrowed his brow.

“What?” He asked in a deeper voice.

Keigo tossed his hands up.

“Everything! You have everything. And this is what you do,” Keigo motioned to the needle, “fuck around and let everyone else clean up your fucking mess.”

Touya set the ink-tipped needle onto the nightstand.

“So?” He shrugged.

Keigo’s eyes got wide. Everything burned. It all gathered up at the center of himself, threating to burst. Keigo couldn’t help but imagine himself splattered everywhere, mere chunks left for Yuuei to remember him by. Maybe the explosion would take out Touya too. Then they could meet in Hell.

“So!” Keigo shouted, “You have everything now and you’ll have everything tomorrow. Every opportunity, all the money you could possibly imagine. When some of us have jack shit!”

Touya didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed. A stroke of fear sliced through Keigo, but he was too far in to stop now.

“You’re so full of shit,” Keigo hissed, “But who cares? You’ll be rich. You’ll be successful. And you’ll forget about all the little people who helped you get there, who helped you pass fucking Biology!”

Touya took the cigarette out of his mouth. He extinguished it in his nightstand ashtray. He wasn’t saying anything back. It almost scared Keigo more than if he’d returned the favor. He was just sitting there, staring, waiting for Keigo to be finished.

“You’ll never know,” Keigo said, his voice finally wavering, “you’ll never know what it’s like to suffer. To be scared. To fail.”

Finally, Touya stood up. Silence clawed at the walls as his feet hit the ground. Keigo’s heart thrummed as Touya got closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Then past him.

Keigo whipped his head around to see Touya close the door. For a moment, Keigo wondered if he could breathe, if he’d somehow evaded the wrath he’d incurred. Touya stood there for a moment, his hand atop the brass handle.

But in only a second, Keigo felt Touya’s forearm across his chest, digging into his sternum, and the flatness of the wall pushing his back and shoulder blades into new, painful places. The wind was knocked out of him instantly, the force of Touya’s grip tearing a low cry out of his chest. He pressed his head back into the wall as Touya approached, looming over him.

Touya’s eyes, ice blue, fixed themselves on a single point. Every feature was narrow now, more snake-like than ever before. Keigo wondered if he was about to be bit.

Instead, Touya leaned into Keigo’s ear, making sure the space between his arm and the wall was too slim for a human body to possibly fit in. Keigo could smell his cigarette breath and the faint waft of old blood.

“You don’t know a single fucking thing about me,” Touya hissed, the warm air brushing along the shell of Keigo’s ear.

Then, his arm was gone, the only force holding Keigo’s body upright. As he crumpled down to the floor, the blood returning to his limbs, Keigo forced himself to look up at his assailant.

Touya looked just as calm as before.

And with that calmness, he turned and walked out the door.

He didn’t come back for the rest of the night.

V.

Touya wasn’t in his bed the next morning.

Keigo feigned disinterest, but he was only trying to fool himself.  He got dressed and brushed his teeth with his own toothbrush and kept telling himself little lies.

He probably went home crying to Daddy.

No, he’s out there lying in an alleyway, drunk off his ass.

Not my problem, either way.

No matter which situation he thought up, it was all suffering. Keigo imagined a future where Touya was cut off from everything, living on next to nothing in the old run-down town where Keigo grew up. He fantasized about going there in his new Italian suit and meeting Touya in the street, reminiscing about their time together at school.

No, there was another scenario. Keigo saved it for his walk to breakfast.

He imagined a totally different universe. One in which he was born a Todoroki and Touya was born a Takami. A world where Keigo grew up with all the opportunity, all the wealth and privilege. Where he was bred in schools like these and actually taught how to do up his tie. Where his future wasn’t so dependent on his studying, and he could go out on the weekends like the rest of the boys.

A world where Touya lived in that godforsaken orphanage and learned how to hogtie someone so they couldn’t escape. Learned how to shove his way first into the food line, how to kick someone in the stomach so while they were down, you could take whatever candy they had gotten from the guidance counselor as consolation for their parents dying.

It was a world where Touya had watched it all happen rather than Keigo.

But that was where it all stopped.

Keigo couldn’t wish that night on anyone, not even Todoroki Touya.

So, he distracted himself with breakfast, one he didn’t have to fight for. Keigo let the attendants pile on steaming eggs and layer sausage after sausage. He was painfully hungry. Screaming always famished him.

Not that he’d forgotten anything he said the prior night. It was in his dreams, his own voice echoing in his head. It was a bit embarrassing to admit to himself how it all ended, that Touya had certainly come out on top. And when he sat down with his food, he tried to drown out the feeling in buttered toast and orange juice.

But he could feel eyes on him this morning, more than usual. He was sitting in his regular spot, alone. Albeit, without Touya, but that was becoming a given.

Shit.

People were definitely looking. And they were whispering. Had he worn something strange? Were his pants ripped? Oh god, he’d forgotten his belt. No, it was there, all done up. He wasn’t wearing his tie, but he’d gotten away with it thus far.

Someone snickered at the table behind him. Then, more whispers.

Keigo patted at his hair. He stared down into his eggs which he suddenly wasn’t very hungry for.

A student passed behind him with their own tray of food, but they took an extra second to lean towards Keigo and say:

“You heard me,” the boy teased, “fuck. you!”

But he didn’t mean it. He’d done it in this jovial little voice. Keigo turned around, pink-cheeked, as the two boys laughed together.

Keigo swallowed.

“Everything!” Someone shouted from the other end of the dining hall, “You have everything!”

A ripple of boisterous laughter ran over the students. There were more whispers. Keigo’s hands froze with his knife and fork still in them. He looked down at the table and tried not to throw up.

“You’re so full of shit!”

That was what got them. The killer line. Everyone laughed that time, whether they knew what had happened or not. Keigo’s eyes started to sting. He dropped his utensils to the plate with a clatter and tried to plan his escape.

But there were students at every turn, all of them looking at him or laughing at him or asking their friends questions about what happened. Keigo’s stomach flipped entirely upside down. He stood almost involuntarily, already unsteady on his feet.

“Hey,” someone said behind him with a sharp nudge on the shoulder.

Keigo turned and saw a beefy guy with his friend nearby.

“I’m failing Bio,” he fake-pouted, “wanna give me a lesson?”

Then he did this obscene gesture with his hands that made Keigo even more nauseous than before, the din of laughter echoing in the cavern of his mind.

“Hey, hey,” his friend said, “where’s your Mommy and Daddy, huh?”

The kid got up in his face and smiled.

“Huh?” He got closer, “They dead?”

Keigo balled his fists and took note of where he’d swing.

But someone beat him to it.

It all became a flurry in front of him, a blur of navy and while and black crashing in front of his vision to the marble floor. Keigo stepped back on instinct and almost knocked into the table behind him.

What had once been laughter in the dining hall became shouting, everyone rushing up to the center to see what was happening. Some students had already started cheering, others were too caught up in the moment to do anything.

There was nothing to bring everyone together like a fight.

Well, Keigo couldn’t exactly tell that it was a fight until he saw the beefy guy’s friend on his back, his face whipping back and forth in response to a quick pair of fists.

Touya’s fists, to be exact.

Keigo took another few steps back when he recognized the piercings and the thick-soled boots. Touya had trapped the student’s hips between his knees, and he was wailing on him so fast, over and over, that Keigo wasn’t even sure he was hitting him really until the blood started flying up.

The students rallied around and made a series of noises, some goading on the fight while others winced at particularly large spurts of blood. It made Keigo’s stomach churn. It reminded him of something.

He wanted it to stop.

And he was just about to scream something when some of the teachers came barreling in, at least three holding back Touya while two others got the other student to his feet.

His face was a ghastly sight. All blood and bruises and mishappen features. Keigo felt sick all over again, worse this time around. His head went fuzzy as they carried the bloodied boy to the doors and restrained a rabid Touya.

Touya.

His face was bloody too, but it wasn’t his own blood. His was breathing in hisses, his chest wavering and shaking with every exhale. His ice-blue eyes swept to Keigo.

And he couldn’t take it anymore.

Keigo hunched over and ran out the nearest door he could find. There was a bush right there. Keigo threw up into it until his throat felt hoarse, all his breakfast appearing as quickly as he’d eaten it.

Afterwards, his mouth was patchy and sour. He couldn’t stop seeing Touya’s face and all the blood. He couldn’t take the sound of fist against skin out of his ears.

Keigo squatted and let his head hang between his knees. The world spun around him, yet everything inside of him was still as the dead.

Where’s your Mommy and Daddy, huh?

Are they dead?

Keigo’s eyes welled up.

Something like that.

Chapter Text

I.

After the fight in the dining hall, Keigo felt stuck.

It was as though he was taxidermied, stuffed in the face and body at the exact moment of impact, Touya’s fist against that poor boy’s face. Whenever people looked at him, that was what they saw. Whenever Keigo looked in the mirror, he saw it too.

What followed the encounter was a suspiciously quiet day. Keigo wiped at his mouth with a wet napkin and went to his classes and ate three sizeable bites of lunch before getting paranoid and darting off to the bathroom to hide. He kept glancing towards the doors, waiting for someone familiar to pass through them.

The memory still steeped in his mind, not quite potent enough yet for him to make sense of it, but present enough to be felt. Keigo sat with his eyes pointed out the window in his Latin class, watching the clouds inch along the azure sky—thinking.

Your Mommy and Daddy,

are they dead?

Keigo straightened his shoulders. He tried to alter the image of Touya’s face smattered with blood, of the boy’s disfigurement and rawness of skin so open to the world. Keigo imagined painting over it with black ink, but the blood still shone through like the sun through the blinds. He imagined wrapping the two of them in a thick blanket, the horrid sound of skin against skin finally muffled; but the blanket still warped and thrashed against their vicious limbs.

In something of a last resort, he tried to imagine them kissing rather than fighting, so hard that their noses started bleeding and they bit each other’s tongues and that’s why there was so much blood and sound of human body against human body. But the thought became a blockade in Keigo’s stomach where he couldn’t differentiate between sensations of fear and intrigue within himself.

By the end of that day, word had gotten around about Touya’s suspension.

It was no surprise to Keigo. Another minute of that fight and the kid, who was expected to make a full recovery from his injuries, might not have been conscious anymore.  You got in trouble for that sort of thing, even in the orphanage. Touya was simply getting what he deserved.

Still, Keigo felt sick about the whole thing. He wandered around the grounds mindlessly after leaving the library, waiting seemingly for something to fall from the sky. Nothing ever did.  Keigo relegated himself to his room and spread his books out on the desk with the intention to study, but the sight of Touya’s empty bed made it hard to focus.

It wasn’t until his head was snug in the pillow and his eyes were closed that Keigo was confronted with the thought he’d been ignoring all day:

Why did the fight even happen at all?

Keigo wouldn’t put it past Touya to have an aggressive streak. With the way he dressed and comported himself and seemed not to care about anything but himself, those types tend to play dirty.

But it couldn’t be sheer coincidence that Touya landed that punch right when that kid was getting up in Keigo’s face. Had he heard what all the students were saying? How soon had he returned after being gone all night?

Keigo ran his fingers over their fight, looking for abnormalities. Touya sitting there, plain-faced while Keigo screamed at him, Touya getting up and walking right by so he could—

Keigo shoved his face in his pillow.

So he could close the door.

Of course everyone on campus had heard Keigo’s explosion. In his flurry of emotion, he’d left the door open, a sorry habit from his days at the boy’s home where your door couldn’t be closed until lights out.

Everyone had heard. All they had to do was be in the hallway, maybe in the building when it happened. Then, the rumor mill worked its magic and everyone knew word-for-word what Keigo had said before breakfast the next day. Keigo hoped the fabric of his pillowcase would suffocate him before he had to face another day.

Even then, as morning broke and Friday brought crisp weekend excitement, Touya’s suspension was still front-page news at Yuuei. There were stories floating around about him coming back as soon as that Wednesday. Others, who had heard from a friend who heard from a friend who heard from a friend, said that he was suspended until the end of next month.

Keigo didn’t know what to believe, anymore.

A grounding moment came in the form of Shinji, the class president, who caught up to Keigo after classes that afternoon and set a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he greeted with a crease in his brow, “you doin’ alright?”

Keigo opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“That was a pretty wild morning you had,” Shinji half-teased.

Keigo laughed breathily. Having Shinji’s hand on his shoulder almost commanded his organs to go back to where they came from, his heart to vacate his throat and make speaking possible.

“It was something,” he joked right back.

Shinji smiled. Keigo’s hands got warm.

“Come with me,” Shinji said, “I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”

Keigo held back at first, wondering if this ‘someone’ was an administrator finally ready to dole out his punishment for starting a fight in the dining hall, even though his hands had never touched either participant.

But Shinji had that reassuring smile, a sort of warmth like the sun’s rays that he carried around no matter how obvious autumn had become around them. He shifted his hand to Keigo’s other shoulder so that his strong forearm pressed him forward. Keigo’s stomach performed an impressive flip. He tried to watch his feet as they traversed the rolling fields of Yuuei.

What Keigo didn’t notice until they were nearing the edge of campus was that he and Shinji were not at all alone. In fact, it seemed like all the other students at Yuuei were barreling down the hill, their friends linked under their arms and their spirits strangely high.

They were looking again, just like they had at breakfast, and just like they had the entire day following the fight. But this time was certainly different. When boys would look and see him with Shinji, they wouldn’t chuckle and whisper to their friends. Their eyebrows would simply twitch, mouth pursing up in dulled shock. Some hit their friends on the arm just to make sure they, too, saw the fearsome lion and its new friend: the limping gazelle.

“Where’s everyone going?” Keigo asked softly.

“The wall,” Shinji said matter-of-factly, “have you been yet?”

“No.”

“Oh!”

He was surprised. Keigo wondered what other little truths he could tell to see Shinji make that face again, where his brown eyes twitched wide in shock and the corners of his mouth screwed up.

“So this is Yuuei, the boy’s school,” Shinji explained, “and down the hill is the girl’s school, but there’s this stone wall separating the two, so everyone from Yuuei goes down to it after classes to catch all the girls coming back from assembly.”

Sure enough, in the distance, Keigo spotted the wall in question, constructed with staggering, misshaped stones and spanning too far in each direction for Keigo to see. There were already some boys gathered on their side, and the horde of girls were approaching like a navy cloud from the west.

Keigo felt Shinji’s arm shove into him as they picked up speed down the hill. He tried his hardest not to trip while watching the scene unfold before him.

For those most looking forward to this point in the day, they’d already rushed together and climbed up the crevices in the wall, which couldn’t have been taller than the top of Keigo’s head. They steadied themselves on the worn-down blocks and reached overtop to the other.

Some instantly locked lips, kissing like they hadn’t seen each other for years rather than a mere twenty-four hours. The display sat strangely with Keigo. He hadn’t spoken to many girls in his life. It wasn’t exactly the easiest to do while living in the all-boy’s orphanage, and now that he was at an all-boy’s academy the chances had seemed slim. Despite a few conversations with Rumi during practice, Keigo didn’t know the first thing about talking to girls.

Obviously, this wasn’t the case for everyone.

Breathless make-out sessions aside, some of the other couples were just talking, their hands intertwined or their fingers exchanging soft touches along their faces. One couple was hoisting themselves up just to be able to whisper into each other’s ears, the boy’s friends hooting and hollering down below.

For the rest, the exchanges were friendly. There were groups of guys talking to groups of girls, buzzing about their weekend plans, no doubt. Some were shoving each other around, trying to see who could stay up on the wall the longest.

And for the boys who couldn’t talk to girls to save their life, they were content just to ogle, jaws agape and the occasional shine of drool dribbling down their chin. Fine, maybe that was an exaggeration, but Keigo couldn’t understand what was so compelling that they were rendered speechless just by the sight of these girls. Maybe this would be his chance to find out, to learn what was so special about it all.

When they reached the wall, Shinji released him and showed him a few rocks jutting out that Keigo could grab onto. He took ahold of them and climbed easily up the wall, subtly hoping that someone was watching his first public feat of athleticism.

Shinji was beside him, their shoulders rubbing against each other. Keigo peered into the sunny horizon.

“Who are we waiting for?”

“You’ll see,” Shinji replied.

Keigo sighed. The sun was hot all of a sudden, wrapping around his neck like an unnecessary scarf. He squinted down the way and watched figures emerge from the big blob of light.

“There we go,” Shinji sighed, likely feeling the effects of the sun too.

Rumi emerged like a statue in motion amidst all the other girls. She was easily a head taller than them, boasting cuts of muscle that was usually reserved for university students. Her long silver hair glinted in the sunlight, swooshing back and forth as she walked, a Titan amongst the regular people.

When she saw Keigo, she smiled and waved. Keigo tried to wave back, but one hand on the wall wasn’t enough for balance and he nearly slipped right off.

Rumi approached quickly. Shinji laid his cheek in his hand and smiled. Keigo’s stomach fell.

Oh.

“Hey!” Rumi greeted breathlessly, hoisting herself onto the wall quicker than anyone on the other side had.

“How’s life?” Shinji asked.

Rumi rolled her eyes, “Cut the small talk, tell me what happened! I’ve been dying to know.”

She was looking at Keigo. She wanted to know about the fight. Keigo’s mouth went dry. He wished he’d fallen off a few moments before and was lying in the grass, curled in on himself.

“There was–” Keigo began.

For as many times as the memory had played out in his head, Keigo couldn’t find the words to put to any of it. All he saw was the blood. But Shinji put his hand on his shoulder again, and Keigo felt real again.

“Some upperclassmen were picking on Keigo, Touya swooped in and beat one of them so hard you couldn’t recognize him,” said Shinji plainly.

Keigo waited for Rumi’s expression to crack in horror. It didn’t.

“Good God,” she sighed, “can’t keep him down for a month, huh?”

“What?” Keigo asked without meaning to.

Rumi looked at Shinji. “Suspended?”

“Yup,” he replied.

Keigo watched the exchange like someone would watch a tennis game, his head whipping back and forth as though he thought the ball would go somewhere other than those two places when he wasn’t looking. The ball here, of course, being total nonchalance.

“For how long?” Rumi asked, only half-interested.

Shinji just shrugged.

“They better let him back for practice,” she grumbled.

Then, Rumi turned her attention to a paling Keigo. Her eyes softened.

“Hey, I’m sorry all this happened,” she said, “the kids here are cruel. You just gotta learn to hold your own.”

Keigo swallowed. He blinked back an image of Touya sitting on his bed, a needle punching through his tender skin, a lit cigarette hanging so loose from his mouth there was no way he was actually smoking it.

“But–” Keigo began, “he got suspended.”

Rumi’s eyebrows shot up. She smiled.

“Oh, god,” she laughed, “that happens like, every other week.”

Even Shinji was laughing now. Keigo’s face burned with shame.

“It would be a miracle if Touya didn’t get suspended during a term,” said Shinji.

“Really?”

Rumi leaned in, “Every couple weeks, he’ll have these huge freakouts, basically tantrums. If anyone asks about his father or the inheritance, he goes nuts.”

“Remember last year when he punched that reporter and broke his jaw?” Shinji asked, amused.

Rumi tossed her head back and let out a brassy laugh.

“And the camera,” she added.

Shinji hid his laugh behind his hand.

“Look,” Rumi placed her hand atop Keigo’s, “don’t get bent up over it. He probably would’ve beat that guy up whether you were there or not. Seriously.”

Keigo was only half-comforted by her words. The other half of him was still weighed to the floor with some sort of responsibility.

“He’s that bad?” Keigo asked.

Rumi’s brows pinched like she was trying to hold back another laugh. But she was still sincere–always sincere.

“He’s that bad.”

II.

November, 1973

Touya returned to Yuuei on the first of November.

Just as the whispering and retelling of the morning’s events had died down, Touya returned with a chorus of clinking jewelry and a glimmering, smarmy smile. Keigo saw him first at dinner where he’d piled his own plate high with potatoes before carrying his rations out the door, probably back to their room. When he was gone, the reverent silence was broken up by excited chatter.

Even though they lived together, Keigo saw very little of Touya those first few days. It seemed he was gone until Keigo was fast asleep and left before he awoke in the early morning. Touya didn’t come to his classes nor did he grace the lacrosse team with his presence. Four days, that’s how long it took for him to finally show his face in their dorm room in the daylight hours.

Keigo couldn’t help but think it took Touya one more day to get over himself than it took Jesus to rise from the dead.

Keigo set his things down on his bed, trying to make as little noise as possible like Touya didn’t have the eyes to notice him anyhow. He rifled through his homework for the night, most of it done in the library earlier that day. He took out a pencil. His last pencil.

Resentment crept back into Keigo’s chest. He felt wound up from everything, a spring about to burst and go airborne. The carelessness of it all, the fact that he’d been suspended for almost two weeks and didn’t care enough upon his return to even come to class. Since the fight, he’d been privy to bits of information about his family, but nothing really substantial. Just that his father was rich beyond comprehension and his mother was out of the picture. That’s all. There were siblings, yes, but no word on how many.

When it came to facts like these, Keigo knew next to nothing. Yet, staring at his nub of a pencil and taking in Touya’s smokey presence behind him, Keigo felt like he knew everything he ever needed to know about the boy.

But.

Keigo sighed. He scratched at his neck and peered down at the scrape he’d gotten on his elbow during practice that evening.

If you’d been a part of that fight, it would’ve been way worse than a scrape.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He pretended like he didn’t care about his next words.

“Thanks.”

Keigo’s tongue was too big for his mouth, suddenly. Especially when Touya didn’t say anything back for a moment. Keigo’s grip tightened around the hairs on the back of his neck while he waited for something, anything to happen.

“Yeah,” Touya muttered.

It was something. That was what Keigo had prayed for, after all.

“Yeah,” Keigo mirrored without meaning to.

He shuffled through his bookbag again, feeling the blisters start to form on his fingers from the repeated motions. He lowered himself down onto his bed and pressed his back against the cold wall. Keigo picked dirt from under his nails and tended to a scrape from lacrosse practice.

“Pisses me off when people can’t just pick on someone their own size.”

Keigo wondered if his own thought had just been so strong it had broken through his mind and spoken itself into the outside world. But he looked up to see Touya glaring at him, his lips drawing back together.

“You think you’re tough,” Touya talked towards the window, “you better be ready to prove it.”

Keigo looked out the window too with a half-baked hope that there was something to see other than the snow-capped mountains and red-purple sky. Perhaps if he had all that metal stuck in his face, he would see what Touya was seeing. Something worth keeping a close eye on. Something prone to fly away.

Touya sighed and rolled his eyes back to Keigo.

“So are we doing this tutoring shit or what?”

Maybe ‘tutoring shit’ wasn’t the energy Keigo was seeking in a prospective student, but it beat whatever had been happening before Touya’s suspension. The library, a safe haven for Keigo most days, became suffocating the first time Touya breached its doors. Keigo vowed to wait a whole seven minutes before storming out and maybe putting his face in his pillow and screaming for the third time that day. At minute six, Touya’s things clattered onto the table.

“God,” Touya groaned when he saw the litter of Keigo’s homework, “how long have you been here?”

“Since classes ended,” Keigo replied. “Nice of you to show up.”

Touya didn’t pay Keigo’s slight much mind, just furrowed his brow and got comfortable in the seat across the way. He fished for something in his bag. Keigo cleared his throat.

“What?” Touya peered up.

Keigo’s hands felt stiff. “Huh?”

“You said something.”

“N-no,” Keigo mumbled, “I uh–”

Keigo didn’t want to explain himself, especially not to a guy who was trying to maneuver his feet onto the table. And he’d found what he was looking for in his bag, it seemed. That chewed up pencil that used to belong to Keigo.

Time stretched between them in an awkward, twisting dance. Keigo tried to focus on anything but the ticking of the clock echoing against the oak furniture and the way Touya knocked his lip piercing around with the tip of his tongue over and over.

The biology book sat like a limp flayed fish in front of him. Keigo knew it inside and out, yet he didn’t even know where to begin. He could feel Touya’s eyes, even if they weren’t looking his way. Maybe that was just Touya’s presence, a sort of watchfulness you feel on a walk in night-black woods.

“Are you coming to practice today?” Keigo asked in a tight voice.

It caught Touya’s attention, at least. He sucked on the back of his teeth.

“Yeah,” Touya replied.

Keigo nodded. He fiddled with the corner of the textbook page.

“Why do you play?”

“Whaddya mean ‘why’?” Touya’s tone was sharp.

“Whatever,” Keigo waved him off, “let’s just study.”

“I like a good game.”

Keigo quirked a brow at him. Touya was fiddling with the chewed-up pencil, thumbing at the disintegrating eraser.

“You do?”

Touya’s gaze was sharp. Keigo retreated.

“Yeah, I do,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Even though there’s no tackling?” Keigo asked sourly.

Touya rolled his eyes. With a bristling motion, Keigo armored himself to whatever he would say next, always a worthy opponent in battles of will with his former rowdy roommates.

“I like it because there’s no tackling.”

Keigo swallowed what felt like a dry brick, “Whaddya mean?”

Touya positioned the pencil in front of his face, eyes narrowed to the dimpled wood.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re strong,” he said, “or big,” he turned the pencil horizontally, “or tough. You just gotta be smart, watch the ball, be one step ahead of everyone else.”

While he wouldn’t admit it, Keigo agreed. He hated the thought of agreeing with Touya Todoroki, though, almost as much as he hated the reality.

“But what pisses me off,” Touya thrust the sharp tip of the pencil toward Keigo like a dagger, “is when people fuck around about it. Like, cheating and shit.”

Keigo snickered, “You don’t strike me as the law-abiding type.”

“You play fair, you win fair.” Touya dropped the pencil to the table, “That’s it. It’s not a real win if you’ve cut corners.”

The air in the library was less oppressive than before. Keigo could feel the warmth of the lamp on the table and zero in on the soft rustling of book pages amidst the dusty shelves. Chatter rose, then fell. Silence stretched, then dissipated. Life gripped tightly to Keigo’s edges, then let go like a heavy sigh. The circle of life.

Much like the slow, agonizing death of his virile towards Touya Todoroki, which he was sure would reach its peak, once more.

“Touya?” Keigo asked.

Touya let out this little grunt that Keigo couldn’t translate. He gnawed on the inside of his mouth and felt the itch of the question arise in him, an itch he’d been trying to forget ever since Touya’s suspension.

“Your father–”

Touya turned his head instantly like Keigo had suddenly morphed into a rotten plate of meat. His chest swelled with a deep breath. The tendons in his jaw shifted under his pale skin.

“Just like everyone else, huh?” He murmured.

Keigo sat up straighter.

“What?”

Touya shook his head.

“Look, you wanna learn about my family, just read the fucking tabloids.”

And like something out of the Scriptures, a true miracle, Touya found something he hated talking about more than Biology. So he flipped open his book and made a gesture like it was Keigo’s fault they’d gotten sidetracked.

But when a cool November Saturday whipped through campus and cleared out nearly every corner of the library with students sprawled out on the hills engaged in various pick-up games, Keigo did exactly what Touya suggested.

With a shred of guidance from the Head Librarian, Keigo descended into the archives where the last thirty years of newspapers had been religiously documented for student use, even though the number of students who used it was slim to none. Thus, he found the musty basement empty, especially on such a nice Saturday,

The smell of dust was comforting, though. It reminded him of his bed back at the home. Which made him think about the impending winter break. Were they going to let him stay at the school while everyone else enjoyed their time at home? Was he going to be forced back to the home just to be targeted with a barrage of questions and forced to callous his hands in the art of boyish war again?

Keigo thumbed through the first box of archives labeled with a ‘To’. The librarian had directed him rather generally to the rows where he was most likely to find information about the Todorokis, though he probably could’ve deduced it himself. He allowed the slow ticking of the clock to encourage him, file-by-file, as they passed through his fingers.

He pulled out a newspaper first where a photo of a large, square-faced man took up a little more than half the front page.

Todoroki Fortune will pass to eldest

Keigo read on while trying to dismiss the man’s imposing stare from his mind. Even through a picture, there was something sinister about his gaze.

Todoroki fortune…international and domestic holdings…property…

Skimming the article pretty loosely, Keigo searched for a mention of a name other than Enji from the picture. No mention of a wife yet, but it was noted that he had four children, the eldest of which—

was Touya.

“Oh,” Keigo sighed to himself.

Not only was Touya the son of one of the richest men in the entire world, he was next in line to receive the growing fortune. He would probably never have to work a day in his life, the gears of the money-making mechanism working all on its own. He’d only have to sit at a massive oak desk and stamp his signature onto whatever ordinance he liked. Keigo tried to envision him in one of those broad-shouldered pinstripe suits, like the one his father was wearing on the front page with a gold tie clip and everything.

But he couldn’t. The image of Touya simply wouldn’t confine itself to the stuffy collar and done-up buttons. Either that, or he’d simply drown in it all, overtaken by the weight of the silk and the grandiose gold accessories.

Touya only wore silver, anyhow.

Keigo set the newspaper down and looked for another one. A few sheets down, there were some familiar faces.

Enji, seated in a large fanciful chair surrounded by his family. His wife, a frail, white thing, almost shivered behind him in the unmoving picture. Her long hair brushed the end of her chest and engulfed the sinewy lines of her face. Beside her was a boy, twelve or thirteen, her hand on his shoulder, his hair shock-white besides a few darker bits here and there.

On her opposite side was a girl who looked slightly younger, no more than ten, with the same long white hair stretching down her back, contrasting tendrils like her brother’s threaded throughout the braided styling.

There was Enji looking massive and cold in the center, almost glacial. To his right was a very small boy, five, maybe six, Keigo guessed. He had piercing eyes like his mother’s, but only one half of his head had taken to the white hair of his siblings, the other half an ashy color which must’ve matched his fathers when he was younger. Now, it was all slicked back and rendered dark by gel.

Then, there was Touya.

Or, Keigo thought it was Touya.

He couldn’t tell at first, because even in the black and white picture, he could see his hair was pure white, not an inch of browning anywhere. He was tall and lanky. Keigo glanced at the date and did the math in his head; Touya was fourteen or so in this photo. While he was certainly older now, some things never changed, like the sunken cheeks he must’ve inherited from his mother and the imposing glare he had obviously gotten from his father.

Keigo didn’t know how they forced him into such a sleek outfit or persuade him to stand nicely long enough for them to take a photo, but he almost looked normal. Not smiling, but not scowling.

In fact, Keigo was so engrossed in the picture that he hadn’t read the headline yet.

Todoroki wife admitted to hospital for long-term treatment after “breakdown”

Keigo’s expression melted. He took another look at the small woman in the picture and tried to imagine something of a breakdown overcoming her, enough for her to be sent away.

Thing is, the article didn’t really say much about the details. They continued to use the word “breakdown” in quotes as though it were not the journalist’s words, but someone else’s. There was a fog around it all, obscuring the hard edges of the truth.

Keigo did more than skim this time, but he didn’t learn anything new. There was simply “the breakdown”, Enji whisking her away to treatment, and the persistent dismissal of the press soon after.

He poked through a few other newspapers, mostly boring articles about Todoroki Corporation’s acquisitions and occasional donations to some national cause. Then it got interesting again.

There was an article not about Enji or his corporation, but about Touya.

Todoroki eldest arrested for inciting violence on school grounds

The picture showed Touya and his father in those same outfits from the other newspaper, but it was just the two of them. Enji sat and glared with Touya behind the corner of the chair, his hand draped atop the golden molding.

The rest of the article was as vague as the title. It named Yuuei and described the weather that morning, for some reason. Then went on to recount how there were “tensions” between some of the students which led to a verbal fight in the courtyard, then a physical one. Touya was punished accordingly, no word to whether he was suspended or put in time-out or whatever else it is they do to try and punish the type of kid who attends Yuuei. No word on whether the other kids were punished, either.

But that wasn’t the only article of its kind.

Keigo read at least seven more clippings about Touya’s misbehavior, mostly his penchant for fighting but some telling tales of his public indecency and drunkenness, graffiti on the walls of his father’s buildings, and screaming matches with reporters.

“Fuck off!”

“You wanna ask about my fucking Dad, how about you find him yourself, huh?”

“You wanna fight? I’ll break your jaw so hard you can never ask a question like that ever again.”

Keigo wasn’t quite sure why they quoted all the nasty things he said, the article could probably do without it, but he could hear Touya saying those exact words in his head every time he read them, his gravelly voice mounting with frustration.

At least the endings were always consistent: Enji swooping in to clean up his son’s messes with an authoritative word and a hefty check.

You play fair, you win fair.

Keigo put the clippings back where he found them and gnawed at his lip. He quietly gathered his things and headed for the stairs. Maybe he’d still have a chance to bask in the cool breeze and bright sun and maybe forget some of the things he’d seen.

Morbid curiosity. It was a real thing.

III.

December, 1973

Not that Keigo preferred to be stuck in the library every other evening with his already suffocating roommate, but it seemed to be where he was the most.

Even lacrosse practice fell to the wayside as the midterm exams reared their ugly head at Yuuei. The coach took pity and cancelled practice for the week leading up, reminding the players that there was a certain level of academic proficiency expected of the athletics department at the school. Roughly translated: Don’t fail or I’ll have to kick you out.

Keigo’s worries, however, extended far beyond just failing. He had to maintain impressive scores if he was going to have any hope of keeping his scholarship, and the time he was devoting to tutoring someone who frankly couldn’t care less made him want to scream into his hands at every turn.

Perhaps everything would be a tad more bearable if Touya wasn’t still asking him these braindead questions in class, mostly requesting that he repeat something the teacher just said or formulating a question so simple, so crude that even a child would be able to think for a second and come up with the answer.

But with the biology professor always looking at him, Keigo worried for his image every time he imagined wrapping his hands around Touya’s neck and wringing it out until he was blue. Those fantasies had to be saved for the few minutes when he was alone in his room, the steam from Touya’s lava-hot shower billowing out beneath the door.

No, he had to keep his cool. He had to grit his teeth and answer the questions with decorum, maybe even give a little smile at the end if he was feeling generous.

The only thing that seemed to spread the tension out thin enough to Keigo to see straight was when they’d talk about lacrosse during their tutoring sessions. It would start with Keigo trying to explain a biology concept with the terms of the game, then Touya would get picky about his terminology. It would end with the two of them hunched over the table, a mass of sticky notes and pencils and rubber erasers acting as the players and the nets, their hands slapping each other away as they tried to play out the game to completion.

When they got their projected midterm grades, Touya let Keigo see his.

“Holy shit,” Keigo hissed.

Biology: F

Literature: F

Pre-Calculus: F

Japanese History: F

“God, is there a class you aren’t failing?” Keigo asked.

Keigo pointed to the bottom of the list.

Latin: B

“Oh.”

Keigo had opted to take Japanese Literature instead of a foreign language. He hadn’t even realized that Touya was taking one.

“You like it?” Keigo asked.

Touya shrugged.

“I dunno. I just like it, I guess. It’s a dead language or something like that. I like to know something other people don’t, maybe. I dunno.”

And that was the last they spoke of it.

What Keigo didn’t realize until they were walking to the library together some other evening was that Touya’s return had reset the tilt of the earth on its axis in the opposite direction. Where the other students used to snicker and whisper to their friends as they passed Keigo on the grounds, they now cowered and lowered their eyes to the ground. Keigo tried to fashion a friendlier expression in the mirror before he left one morning, thinking that it had something to do with an intuitive scowl.

But every time he and Touya were walking together, no one laughed and no one whispered.

They were scared.

Not of Keigo, but of Touya. Maybe they, like Keigo himself, could only hear the sound of fists against skin and see the splatters of blood whenever they looked at the Todoroki boy. Maybe they thought of cruel, teasing things to say to Keigo, but they didn’t want to become Touya’s next victim.

When they were walking to their biology exam, Keigo’s jaw got a sharp ache from how hard he was gritting his teeth.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate finally being left alone, it was that he could take care of himself, contrary to what Touya seemed to think. Keigo didn’t need a guard dog, one night at the boys’ home and Touya would agree. Keigo was tough, probably tougher than anyone at Yuuei. He could beat any of them in a fight, but he didn’t have the freedom to prove it. One slip-up and they would ship him back to his orphan life faster than he could say he was sorry.

Though it was best for his blood pressure that he accept Touya’s protection, Keigo couldn’t find it in himself to shed the layer of pride he’d so dutifully built up. All he had now was the lacrosse field and Rumi, who still knew very little about him besides his hometown.

But now, with the thick snow piling up all over the grounds, even lacrosse wasn’t serving as a suitable escape anymore. Keigo was stuck in the stone walls, clawing his way through every long exam, trying not to think about the swirling void of winter break. He couldn’t join in the rest of the students’ excited chatter, not while he still had nowhere to go.

He’d asked Shinji one particularly cold afternoon if he would be allowed to stay.

“I don’t see why not,” Shinji replied, pulling his scarf further up his neck.

Keigo sighed, his air materializing before him in a cloud. The school had graciously provided him with winter layers, a hat and scarf and coat and some gloves, but the difference in quality was obvious from the rest of the students. Even Shinji was wearing a black, fur-lined coat that looked to be about the same price as a car.

“I can just ask?” Keigo prodded further.

“Sure.” Shinji’s face fell, “Do you really not have anywhere to go?”

Keigo pursed his lips. He didn’t want to tell Shinji the truth, even though he must already know from all the chatter. It was something about the way Shinji looked at him and the warmth that would pool in his chest; he wanted Shinji to think he was more than an orphan who got a lucky break.

“It’s not a big deal,” Keigo waved him off, “would just–take me forever to get home just to come back, you know?”

“Well,” Shinji shrugged again.

Then, he reached out his hand towards Keigo’s face which was already burning red-hot. Keigo hoped he could pass off his rosy complexion as a reaction to the cold, but Shinji must’ve been able to feel it even through his leather gloves as he fixed the hem on Keigo’s hat, his knuckle just barely grazing his forehead.

Keigo’s mouth stuttered. Shinji smiled warmly, his eyes gleaming.

“I’ll see you next year,” he said.

With a numb tongue, Keigo could barely say more than a chaste farewell. He tried to wave too, but knew it would look stupid. He forced his hand back down to his side and swallowed down the knot in his throat.

Oh, god, he thought.

No. No. No.

He couldn’t do this again. Once was enough to have his heart broken. And to have his face punched in.

Another story he couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone.

At least he had biology class to distract him where the professor would be handing out their grades and letting them beg for a crumb of extra credit, should they need it. Keigo was excited to sit back, knowing he’d aced the exam and secured an easy A in the course.

He found Touya standing outside the classroom door, the rest of the students keeping a safe distance between him and them. Keigo adjusted his jaw and walked towards him, slipping the gloves off of his hands now that he was in the heated slurry of the halls.

Touya raised a brow at him.

“Look,” Keigo whispered, “I don’t know what you’ve told people–”

“Excuse me?” Touya interrupted.

“But I don’t need a fucking guard dog. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Touya didn’t say anything for a moment, just moved his head back an inch as though Keigo’s face had just caught fire and he was feeling the heat.

“If you feel sorry for me because I’m poor, don’t,” Keigo spat, “I don’t need you to solve all my problems. I can take care of myself. Okay?”

He hadn’t meant to keep going, but something about Touya’s face always made Keigo want to twist the knife, see if he could get some sort of reaction out of his stony face. He worried when he was done that he hadn’t whispered quietly enough, that his speech would make its rounds before lunch, that his insecurity would start to reek even more than before. But the words were eating away at everything inside of him, and he halfway hoped that a few weeks apart would really help the message sink in.

Touya’s gaze darkened. He looked to each of Keigo’s ruddied cheeks, then to the tip of his nose. Finally, Touya looked him square in the eye, his lip curling into a snarl.

“I don’t feel sorry for people,” he said.

He slipped wordlessly into the classroom. Keigo heard the church bells clanging in the distance, indicating the top of the hour. His stomach sank like it was full of sand, slumping lifeless around his bones. His mouth was dry, maybe perpetually. There was a strange chill that traveled down his back when he took off his hat and his scarf.

But he had a feeling it had nothing to do with the cold.

Keigo tried to shake all of these sensations as he took his seat next to a brooding Touya. He set his bag down gently on the floor. Touya was fishing around for something deep in the shadowy maw of the leather satchel he always carried around. Keigo decided to ignore him.

“Alright, I have your scores from the exam,” The professor began, “overall, your performance was satisfactory. I’m very pleased.”

He had to be clear about it since no one would know just by looking at his face.

“Except—”

Everyone sucked in a breath at the same time, leaving no air in the classroom for the already wilting plants on the windowsill. The professor observed one of the tests from over his dainty reading glasses. He furrowed his brow.

“Todoroki.”

Everyone turned to look. Keigo reminded himself that they weren’t looking at him this time, but he still felt like dissolving into a puddle on the floor.

“Did I fail?” Touya asked teasingly, “Not exactly front-page news.”

“No,” the professor replied coldly, “you didn’t. In fact, you did quite well.”

The students turned to look again, some of them absolutely overcome with shock. Touya simply pressed his lips together in a shrug of their own.

“Thanks, then,” he muttered.

“Too well.”

Keigo sat up straighter in his seat. He looked over at Touya just in time to see his brow harden over his narrowed eyes. He, too, shifted up in his seat.

“Whaddya mean by that?” He asked.

The professor set the paper down with a sigh.

“It would be particularly easy to get such a good score when you’re sitting next to someone who got a perfect score, wouldn’t it?”

Touya’s eyes got wide. Keigo felt his chest start to crumple in on itself when the shadowy figure of his own involvement returned to haunt him. He could feel the spark setting everything ablaze, spreading, and he had nothing to douse it with.

“What?” Touya asked lowly, splaying his hands atop the desk.

“If you wish to defend yourself—” The professor began.

“Defend myself?” Touya stood. “Defend myself? I’ve been studying with him just like you told me to! And now you think I fucking cheated?”

“Please calm down,” the professor commanded with his hands outstretched.

Maybe he didn’t know those words only made everything worse.

Touya’s breath was shaky, Keigo could hear it.

“I didn’t cheat!” He shouted.

The professor crossed his arms and gave a disapproving glare.

Then, Touya looked at Keigo.

It was like the moon meeting the sun in an unexpected eclipse, blinding the rest of reality into nothing. All Keigo could do was sit there, his mouth hanging open and his voice silent. Maybe it wasn’t with his words like Keigo had hoped, but Touya’s eyes were asking for help, his help.

Just tell him.

Tell him we’ve been studying.

That I didn’t cheat off of your paper even once.

Keigo knew the truth. Touya hadn’t looked over at his paper even once. And the test had been easier than he expected, covering the material they had really focused on. Touya deserved every point of that good grade.

But—

Touya tilted his head, still waiting for Keigo’s aid.

What he didn’t know was that Keigo couldn’t defend him. Not here, not like this. Not when his scholarship, his place on the team, the rest of his life depended on this place. What if he aligned himself with Touya now? What would happen? Would they label him a troublemaker, too? Write articles about him and keep the clippings in the archives?

Keigo swallowed dryly. He kept opening his mouth like he would say something, then cowering back into the corners of his own mind. He couldn’t defy a teacher. That would surely land him in some sort of punishment, and one punishment would end everything.

He needed this too badly.

He needed Yuuei.

So he stayed quiet.

“Fuck!” Touya shouted, his body twisting away from Keigo in a violent spasm.

The rest of the class was watching on just as silently, some clutching their pencil to their chests as though Touya was going to use it as some kind of weapon.

He advanced quickly on the teacher, his boots pounding against the wood floors. The professor stepped back, his face suddenly dripping with fear.

“You have to believe me!” Touya shouted.

“Look, you can make a case to the Student Integrity Board—”

“I don’t wanna make a fucking case!” He screamed, “I want you to believe me!”

“Touya,” the professor held out his trembling hands.

Fury was building up in Touya’s slinking frame, inch-by-inch, like water rising around you until it reaches your chin and forces you to start paddling to stay afloat. Except Touya looked happier to drown than concede. His fists tightened. His jaw rippled.

“Just sit down,” the professor plead.

“No!” Touya got closer to him, “It’s not fair!”

“We’ll talk about this after class—”

Just then, Touya took a step back. Some of the students started to exhale, thinking the worst of it was over and maybe, this one time, Touya would actually retreat to his seat and allow the class to continue.

Instead, Touya picked up one of the empty stools from the table in front and hurled it right at the professor, who had the reflexes to at least move out of the way.

But the chair knocked against the door with a deafening clatter, shaking the walls of the room into a blur. The chair hit the ground with the sound of splintering wood, a sound that echoed to the very back wall before settling into the atmosphere.

Touya stood there with his back heaving, shaky breath after shaky breath keeping him upright. His eyes were fiery, his cheeks were red. Every time his top lip quivered, the piercing caught the light. Keigo’s hand flew to his chest to make sure his heart was still beating.

The professor, still in shock from the sound and his near-death experience, scampered nervously to the door.

“I’m calling the police!” He announced before making his great escape.

It left Touya with the rest of us, all staring in wide-eyed horror. His gaze simply ran over everyone else. Then, he reached Keigo.

Everything darkened. His eyes, his mouth, his brow. He was saying something else with his glare now, but it was in a language Keigo didn’t speak yet. The world seemed to stop turning just then, as Keigo’s body began to fail itself, bit-by-bit.

As Touya approached him with heavy footsteps, Keigo braced himself for the impact to his face. He hoped all his teeth would stay put.

But Touya just grabbed the strap of his leather satchel and rooted around for a second. He pulled out a package and slammed it onto the table, looking Keigo square in the eye.

“Happy Fuckin’ Holidays,” he hissed.

He was gone like the night as dawn breaks, first in pieces, then in his entirety, leaving nothing but the memory of something you’d surely see again.

Keigo stared at the door for a moment before glancing down to the package Touya had left. He picked it up gingerly, trying to ignore his own heartbeat in his hands. It was hefty, and even the packaging was soft to the touch. Keigo flipped it over.

It was a set of brand-new, brushed silver mechanical pencils.

From Touya.

Chapter Text

I.

Winter descended upon the mountains in a way Keigo had only seen in paintings.

At the orphanage, the season was gray and slick with what felt like grease underfoot, sheets of ice shaking from the rafters of the old building and crashing to the concrete. Keigo would have to shove his hands in his wool socks to keep warm at night. His sheets were light—something he appreciated in the sweltering summers but loathed in the chilling winters.

At Yuuei, though, there was something fake about the way winter wrapped itself around everything. Rounded-off piles of glittering snow hugged the stone spires and sat itself onto every ornate bench along the path. Tufts of clouds in the gray sky stitched together like a soft quilt, keeping the wind at bay. No longer did Keigo’s feet sink into marshy, soot-black piles of old snowfall; rather, he was gliding through its soft composition, brushing rogue snowflakes off of his coat when he reached the classroom.

Sometimes, he would excuse himself from his loneliness in the library to sit out on one of those cold benches. He’d stick his nose up in the air, close his eyes, and focus on the crispness of the breeze, how it filled his lungs with a cleansing nothingness. 

It was a welcome change from the hauntings of his mind.

Every time Keigo closed his eyes, he saw the events unfold, just as he had after the fight in the dining hall. This time, though, he is in a biology classroom feeling the fires of Touya’s fury rage around him.

He tried to shake them off, think instead of the sweet desserts they were being spoiled with at dinner now, peppermint patty towers and sweet cherry crepe cakes piled to the ceiling. Keigo even tried to imagine Touya as one of the trees on the grounds, it’s spiny needles heaped in soft white snow.

A blank slate.

That’s what Keigo needed, a winter of the past. Something to clear away, or at least cover up, everything he’d done.

Though it wasn’t typical of Touya to come to practice, Keigo felt guilty now over his absence. The lacrosse coach had tried to pull him aside after their last practice before the break, but Keigo wouldn’t let him—he couldn’t let him. The field was the one place where he could be confident. Or at least, he could pretend to be. Convincingly.

A series of exams scores and goals placed Keigo on a high-speed train to what he had been dreading most of all, though he didn’t know it until his face was pressed right up against it.

The Break.

Three weeks of classless, holiday joy, as is its intention for the typical student at Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys. Keigo took to listening in on conversations in the days leading up to learn of their various plans. Some were going skiing in a country Keigo had never heard of; god knows how someone could ski for three whole weeks and not drive themselves mad. Some were going on tours of Europe or boasting about tickets to some sports game in the United States. Keigo tried to think of the long flights to curb his envy.

The more modest students were planning to visit their families—albeit, in their lofty island homes outside of the mainland. When this was the case, the students would complain about how positively boring it is to have to see their grandparents and how many times they’ve swam in the heated indoor pool and how boarish some of the waitstaff was out in that part of the country.

Keigo could only stand so much of it.

His plans to stay at school became plagued with fears of being seen. Even though every kid at that school and probably the neighboring one knew where he came from, he couldn’t bear to see them snickering towards him again. Perhaps they would table the affair entirely until everyone returned to school, so Keigo could really feel the brunt of their mockery. He’d rather waste away in avoidance than tie himself to the flogging post.

Thus, on the first day of Winter Break, as students filed out with their leather bags and hefty cases in tow, Keigo tried to blend in with the crowd. He could fit all of his things in just his bag, at least all that he would need. Sweaters, slacks, socks, a small handful of cash he’d made helping the coach out at the field on their off days. At first, Keigo had refused the money, but it always showed up in his locker the next day. Maybe the coach was more perceptive than he thought.

Keigo worried about that handful of cash the whole way to the front gates, imagining all the little cracks in his floor they could’ve fallen through, or if he’d simply left it all in the hiding spot under his mattress.

Yet, he followed the steady flow of boys, some of them crashing into their friends’ sides practically screeching about how relieved they were by the long break. Keigo tried to listen in, but there were too many conversations happening at once. In the distance, he saw the open gates. They hadn’t been that way since he moved in some months ago.

It made Keigo wonder how Touya got out.

Or if he was really gone at all. After his blowup, Keigo had hoped to see him moping in the room or something, but he was nowhere to be found. In the week that followed, Keigo teetered between worrying about the break and worrying about Touya. Not that Touya was the sort of person who would want to be worried about or who would need to be worried about. He had plenty of help from his family, no doubt. 

Maybe Keigo was just a worrier by nature.

The iron-wrought gates towered over the oncoming crowd. At the grand circle which rounded in on itself some yards away from the school’s entrance, there was already an array of sleek, shiny cars in luxurious colors, the kind sporting vast front ends and marked with a delicate, silvery emblem above the grill. Besides the cars were the drivers in clean black suits and crisp, ironed button-down shirts. Some had ivory silk gloves. Others wore black caps to shield their eyes from the smattering of snow. 

They didn’t need to wave a sign or shout out for the students to find them. Either they recognized the cars and wandered over as though it was the most uninteresting part of that day, or they recognized the stony face of their driver, not bothering to greet them with anything more than a half-nod. Keigo kept to the wall as the crowd started to thin, boys cozying themselves in the backseats of the fancy cars while the drivers hauled their bags into the trunk. Then, everyone wanted to leave at once, each person believing they’re more worthy than the other, no doubt.

Keigo’s plan was simple, though not as simple as climbing into the backseat of a car and allowing life to simply happen to him.

He’d kept a firm grip on his hard-earned money so he’d have enough to stay in a spa for a little while. There was one he knew of in the town over from the orphanage with a meager daily fee and even more meager accommodations, but it was better than the alternative. Three weeks of staying there and eating the equivalent of one meal a day would leave him just enough to take the train back to Yuuei at the end of it all.

In fact, he faintly remembered telling as much to Touya in the library some day before his outburst.

“I’m just gonna figure it out,” he’d muttered into the spine of his textbook.

“Don’t you have family or something?” Touya grumbled.

Keigo glared at him, wondering for a moment if Touya was seriously stupid enough to miss the gossip that had livened the student body up for at least two months. But, then again, Touya wasn’t much of a joiner. There was a slim chance he thought Keigo was just like the rest of them, and beating up some kid in the cafeteria for his honor was more of an excuse to bloody his knuckles.

“Not really, no,” said Keigo.

Touya gnawed on the metal bit of his pencil, flashes of his pierced tongue distracting Keigo from the task at hand.

Was it new?

Keigo tried once more to count his money in his head, imagining the weeks to come as a series of money-eating machines who wouldn’t stop until they were satisfied. If he really stretched things towards the end, he could possibly afford a nicer meal tonight, maybe a tonkatsu ramen. His stomach seared just thinking about it. He hated being asked about his favorite food. Having a favorite food was a luxury for people with parents and kitchens in their homes. He might as well have said his favorite food was a million yen since having it seemed just as unlikely.

But he was waiting outside turning into an icicle for a purpose. With his head snug in his pillow the night before, he’d reasoned that if he waited at the entrance to the school long enough, he was bound to encounter Shinji. What he wouldn’t admit, even to himself, was that he’d imagined a conversation between the two of them where Shinji feels so terrible about Keigo’s situation that he offers to bring him to his mansion home in the city, feeding him delicious food and racing around the massive, echoey halls with him.

Keigo felt guilty when he reached the end of the scenario in which the two of them sat together on the roof pointing out the stars and laughing until Shinji reaches over to hold Keigo’s face so gently as they get closer and closer—

“Shit,” Keigo hissed.

He hugged his coat closer to his chest and kept his eyes peeled on the crowd. Soon enough, he spotted a crop of black coily hair towering amongst the other students. Shinji’s height was as helpful for Keigo to find him as it was for him to find Keigo; he waved and smiled. Keigo’s stomach swooped. Shinji rushed over to him, a sleek brown leather duffel slung over his shoulder.

“Keigo!” Shinji greeted him, “Excited for break?”

Keigo’s mouth opened. All the words he’d imagined himself saying, the magic words to get Shinji to take him along to paradise, they were hanging on the edge of his teeth. He wanted to say them, he had to say them, it was the only way his plan would work.

But the thought of Shinji feeling pity for him, the expression his face would take on when he heard the sob story. Keigo had seen it plenty, from the orphanage director, from his caseworker, from the shopkeeper who sold him the wooden pencils. He felt so small, trapped under the microscope of everyone’s preconceptions of how the orphan should act, and they’ll feel fulfilled in treating him kindly, like they’re sure they’re going to heaven now.

“Just—going to visit some family,” said Keigo.

It was a lie, but a necessary one. Keigo couldn’t take that expression anymore, especially not from Shinji.

“Oh, okay,” Shinji grinned, “tell me all about it when we get back, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure,” Keigo replied.

Shinji tugged on a knit cap before waving goodbye to Keigo. He stepped backwards, keeping his eyes on Keigo until the crowd between them had become too thick. Still, Keigo could watch him from between the bodies as he climbed into the backseat of a snow-white Rolls Royce past a uniformed attendant.

As badly as he wanted to flee the scene the moment the Rolls Royce disappeared, the snow had become some sort of cement around Keigo’s ankles, the unsettling feeling of the morning creeping up through the dampness in his shoes. The courtyard began to empty, the winter wind howling even stronger than before.

Keigo reached down for his ratty, old bag and glanced back out to the entrance. Just as his feet were gaining the strength to take him to the spa, he heard the crunch of tires against gravel.

When he turned, he saw a sleek black car whip into the center of the semi-circle. Now, Keigo wasn’t all that knowledgeable about cars, but he could tell that this one was on another level than the others. Perhaps it was the squared-off grill gleaming brightly even against the hazy gray sky. The engine was nearly silent, the difference between a running car and an idle car almost indistinguishable. Keigo’s brows twitched up when he saw the slim, leaping, silver animal at the helm. 

Whoever was getting into that car had money Keigo couldn’t even imagine. 

“Excuse me?”

Keigo froze, his back to the fancy chariot. He hesitated for a moment, hoping that whoever had just called out to him was actually calling out to someone else in the barren courtyard.

“Sir,” the voice called again.

Keigo turned his head. Beside the car, an attendant had apparated in a sleek black suit and white silk gloves. He had a black flat-brimmed hat and sunglasses.

“Yeah?” Keigo replied.

“I’m looking for a Keigo Takami.”

A chill more violent than anything the winter weather could produce ran through Keigo’s body. He’d misheard, right? There was no way such a fancy car with such a fancy driver wanted anything to do with him .

“You are?” Keigo asked.

“I’ve been sent to pick you up.”

“For what?”

He took a step closer to the car, growing tired of shouting over the wind to the stoney driver.

“At the request of the Todoroki family.”

He heard him wrong. He must have heard him wrong.

“Really?” Keigo asked, knowing he sounded moronic.

The driver’s brow disappeared behind his sunglasses.

“Are you not Keigo Takami?”

“No,” Keigo assured him, “I—I am.”

The driver opened the back door, then stepped aside.

“Then are you coming in?” He asked curtly.

Keigo forced himself to stand up a little straighter. As nice as he might’ve found his Yuuei-commissioned winterwear, it was nothing compared to the shiny car or even the uniform suit the driver was wearing. 

Still, he felt the pull of the unknown like gravity itself, his feet braving the deep snow as every step brought him closer to the unimaginable. He waited for the car to disappear, for the driver to fly up into the sky in a puff of smoke, for his hand to slip right through the illusion of the door, but it was all too real, the cold edge of the car and the flat line of the driver’s mouth.

Keigo allowed his senses to be enveloped by the velvety seat and the smell of oiled leather like a cobbler’s workspace. He couldn’t stop running his hands over the surface while his body sank deeper and deeper into tranquility. He’d never felt something so soft, not even a stuffed animal or a fleece blanket. 

Keigo sneered at his scummy boots dirtying up the car floor. He was probably doing the same to the leather, his cheap clothing infecting it with filth. Maybe he could try and hover for the entirety of the drive.

A clear thought, at last, came to him as the engine turned over.

“I’m sorry, where are we going?” He asked.

The driver peered at him in the rearview mirror.

“The Todoroki Estate, sir.”

II.

The nicest house Keigo had ever been to belonged to the owner of the orphanage.

It was a place seldom seen by the boys in the home. Either you were summoned for doing something so awful that you were asked to leave hell itself, or there was terrible news for you to hear.

Keigo was summoned only once, on a bleak Sunday in early spring when he was no older than eleven. He’d been called from his room by the Floor Warden and escorted to an old car out front. No one would tell him what it was all about, but he knew better than to ask.

The owner’s house was tucked behind a mass of ginkgo trees, corners of the stone peering through the gaps in the leaves. The driver was kind enough to navigate Keigo down the path, but he wouldn’t go inside.

So Keigo was left alone on the stoop, his knock echoing through the overgrown property. The owner opened the door. She smiled.

“Takami,” she sighed, “please, come in.”

Keigo had to force himself not to stare at the gold-framed paintings lining the walls or run his hands along the oak furniture. The owner led him into the sitting room and motioned to one of the plush, velvety chairs that probably weighed more than Keigo himself.

While the owner got herself settled on the couch across from him, Keigo gazed at the intricate china tea set on the coffee table.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked softly.

“No, ma’am,” Keigo replied.

She was an old woman, not ancient but wrinkling at various points on her face. She wore a long chiffon dress and pinned up her hair so neatly Keigo couldn’t find one strand out of place. 

“I’m afraid I have some sad news for you.”

Keigo glanced up, wringing his hands together in his lap.

“Last night, your father passed in his cell,” she said.

That night, the one Keigo had been trying to forget for years, had sounded like a deafening crash of glass in his head. Whenever he dreamt it, he heard it again. And it had had this rippling effect, reaching its shadowy fingers into the sinews of Keigo’s thoughts. It made every other piece of bad news sound like the tinkle of a glass tipped over onto the table.

“He did?” Keigo asked.

The owner nodded.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded again. 

Keigo swallowed sharp feelings. The good and the bad and his mother and his father tangled together, meshing into a gray, unidentifiable soup.

“I know how hard it is to become an orphan this suddenly, but you’re in good company at the home,” the owner reassured him.

Keigo knew that. He also knew that the orphans acted very differently from the kids who still held onto a shred of hope for the day their mother or father was released from prison. 

Not that Keigo was waiting for his father to take him back. He hoped he’d age out of the system before that time came. The fact that he died was the best possible outcome, in fact. Still, everything was confused. Keigo couldn’t feel totally good, but he couldn’t feel totally bad, either.

All he could do was stare at that china set and imagine being small enough to disappear into one of the tea cups.

But her house couldn’t compare to the grandeur of the Todoroki Estate.

Keigo was convinced he could see itin the skyline twenty minutes before they reached the front gate. The other homes had stopped appearing miles ago, a long road framed by fir trees making Keigo wonder if they were actually on a long drive to the middle of nowhere. 

The grand, iron-wrought Todoroki Estate gate appeared right when he started to worry. It was taller than three of the cars stacked atop each other, and it required two attendants to open. Keigo’s mouth fell open as they drove into a long tunnel of trees, snow gathering on the branches that somehow managed to look expensive.

At the end of the trees, the grounds began, a rolling expanse of emerald grass and trimmed topiaries. Keigo tried to move his eyes quick enough so as to see it all, but the car kept its speed towards the home itself.

As they crested the small hill, the house itself emerged from behind like a dawn sun. Keigo couldn’t see both ends looking head-on at it, the thing was so big. The entire thing was painted a crisp white, towering windows somehow blurring everything on the other side of it. The roof was slanted, slicing through what would’ve been the rest of the house. Whenever he turned his head, there was more. Three stories at one end, two stories at the other with a roof you could walk on. A tall staircase was built into the hill that led to the front door, as crisp white as the walls.

The driver started to turn around the circle covered entirely with flagstone pavers. In the center was a fountain nearly six times taller than Keigo himself, an abstract looking body reaching up into the sky and spitting water into the rippling pool down below.

Keigo was in such awe that he didn’t feel the car stop, nor did he hear the driver the first three times he said his name.

“Keigo!” The driver said once more.

“Sorry,” Keigo turned to him.

The uniformed driver climbed out and rounded the car to the back door. He opened it and let Keigo out.

Gardeners milled around, some trimming the topiaries while others pushed mowers atop the already pristine grass. The house looked even bigger up close. Keigo gazed at it and tried to shut his mouth. He finally understood why some buildings were called skyscrapers.

He’d never seen a house so beautiful, not even the one the orphanage owner lived in. He’d never walked up to a door that was as tall as the second story. He’d never entered a house through a foyer, either. 

At some point, Keigo had been passed from the custody of the driver to that of a butler at the front door. Keigo couldn’t imagine how strong he was being able to open that giant front door all by himself. 

“Your things?” The butler motioned to his bag.

“Oh,” Keigo glanced over his shoulder, “yeah, sorry, they’re—”

He wanted to apologize for the state of everything, especially the fact that he was tracking dirt on the tan marble floors. 

“I will fetch the maid,” said the butler.

So Keigo was left to stare at the ornate oak table in the center of the foyer housing a vase of fresh flowers. Through the archway to his right, he could see the corner of a massive fireplace and the edge of a tufted couch. Through the archway to his left, there were the makings of a dining room, but he had a feeling it wasn’t the only one. 

Heels clicked against the sparkling floor, echoing through the massive home. Keigo turned to see the maid approaching, a simple black dress with a collar around the neck and a hem brushing around her knees. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek bun and she had small, unassuming features. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Takami,” she bowed her head, “My name is Michi. I’ll be showing you around the house.”

“I’m sorry, could I ask something?” Keigo blurted out.

Michi’s face pinched. 

“Alright.”

Keigo shook his head, “What am I doing here?”

The driver seemed less likely to know, so Keigo didn’t ask. But Michi seemed like the type to say something helpful.

“I was asked to prepare the estate for you, since you would be visiting over the Christmas Break,” she said.

“Wait, so are they here? The Todoroki family?” 

“They are in Europe until the end of the month.”

A month. Did that mean—

“So I’m going to live here?” He asked.

Michi nodded, “Yes, until they return. The entire estate is open to you, aside from the East Wing. I and the other staff will stay as well, so if you need anything, you can call from the phone in Touya’s room.”

“Excuse me?” Keigo leaned in.

Michi sighed.

“I really tried to convince him you’d be better off in one of the guest rooms, but he insisted you stay in his. I apologize in advance for the state of things. He doesn’t let us in to clean.”

Michi started walking quickly through the archway to the massive stairs in a whole other room, and she must’ve expected Keigo to follow since she didn’t bother to look back and check. All Keigo could think, though, was that he was walking very quickly to Todoroki Touya’s room. The same Todoroki Touya that screamed at him in front of the entire biology class. 

“I can really stay?” Keigo asked, feeling his voice rise in desperation.

Michi turned, her face all screwed up.

“Is there something wrong?”

Yes.

So many things.

This house , Keigo wanted to rattle off, this stairwell, this marble flooring, the fact that we’re standing in front of Touya Todoroki’s bedroom door.

“No, ma’am,” he said instead, “I’m sorry.”

Michi turned back to the door and started to unlock it with a long brass key.

“Now, the chef will be in at three o’clock, but if you know what you would like for dinner now, I can relay your order,” she said, “as I said before, the estate is open to you. If you need help finding anything, pick up the phone and press nine, the butler will answer.”

Keigo tried to peer into Touya’s room like he wasn’t going to be allowed in. First, he saw the soot black walls, splattered unceremoniously against the estate’s white interior. Torn posters held onto the wall for dear life, the unbonded corners hanging loose, most of them depictions of demons melting in hell or tall men with long hair and busted guitars. His bed was shoved in a corner, what was probably once a nice mattress littered with crumpled gray sheets and a weathered black blanket. There was a pile of clothes shoved in the corner, a shapeless blob of black.

“I tried to clean up before you came,” Michi sighed, “but Touya likes it this way. Not looking to incur his wrath anytime soon.”

“It’s fine,” said Keigo.

He wandered over to the desk on the opposite wall. There was a clunky typewriter that looked brand-new, probably unused. Every other corner was strewn with clothes and empty coffee mugs and wads of paper.

“Contrary to how it may seem,” said Michi, “there are clean towels in the bathroom and a fresh robe hanging on the door.”

Keigo’s gaze caught onto a picture frame.

“Are you sure you’d like to stay here?” Michi asked, “I have the guest room all ready.”

“It’s fine,” Keigo hummed, still looking at the photo. It was recognizable in a fuzzy, far off way.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

Kiego turned. He stuttered a bit.

“N-no,” he said, “no thank you. I’m alright.”

Michi bowed her head, then left the room, shutting the tall door behind her.

Once he couldn’t hear her heels plinking against the marble anymore, Keigo turned back to the messy desk where, on the upper shelf, there was a small gold frame with a picture inside. Keigo leaned down and peered closer.

It was a woman. Not a young woman, but not exactly an old woman either. She had a slim face and sunken cheeks. Her eyes were pale blue and her skin was graying. Still she smiled in a small, tender way, the corners of her lips quirked up just enough to convey her contentment. Her light hair billowed around her face and down past her shoulders. 

She had the same lazy, upturned eyes as Touya.

This was Touya’s mother.

What had he read about Touya’s mother again?

Keigo reached for the picture, picking it up like it would combust upon a single touch. He felt a corner of something with his finger sticking out from the backing. He flipped the frame and started fiddling with it just as carefully as before.

When he unhooked the backing, Keigo held the front of the picture in one hand and pulled out the small piece of folded paper with the other. He set the frame face-down on the shelf and started to unfold the paper.

It was just a phone number, etched in chicken scratch.

Keigo chewed on his lip and thought.

The phone sat silent on Touya’s bedside table, just a black handset with a silver rotary dial. He walked over to it, trying to rid himself of the curiosity the whole way there. It was just a phone number. He could hang up right after someone answered. They’d never know.

So, Keigo started dialing, one number at a time, the dial clicking back into place in a teasing rhythm. Maybe there was something about Touya’s room that was making him do things he wouldn’t normally do. 

His heart thrummed after he dialed the final number. The line rang. And rang. And rang.

You’ve reached the Furukawa Mental Institution. How may I direct your call?

With a gasp, Keigo slammed the phone onto the receiver. His hand stayed glued there, his heart racing in his throat. 

Todoroki wife admitted to hospital for long-term treatment after “breakdown”.

Keigo rushed to put the piece of paper back behind the photo just as he’d found it. He hooked the backing on and set it at the exact angle from before.

He wished he’d stayed curious.

III.

Keigo had only ever dreamed of living like he did at the Todoroki Estate.

There was more to do than he could manage in a year, let alone a month. The afternoon he arrived, he took a long lonely walk down every hallway he could find, peering behind doors when he was sure no one was looking. One room was far tidier than Touya’s, though that could be said about all of them, but this one had textbooks piled up in every corner and blue accents in the freshly-made bed and light-blocking curtains. Another room was the same shape, but more feminine, a pink shag comforter brushing around the white taffeta bedskirt. Every surface was impeccable, the pencils laid just so in the cup on the desk and a book adjusted until the corner of the spine lined up perfectly with the corner of the dresser.

The last door he opened led to the smallest room. There was a bed, a small one. There was a desk too, but it was littered with crayons and pieces of construction paper. There was a black toy piano in the corner and a sloppily-painted model airplane on the nightstand.

This was a kid’s room.

Keigo tried to remember his room from when he was a kid.

It wasn’t so much a room as it was a corner in that molding, peeling old basement. Though there was an exterior entrance, Keigo swore there was always someone watching him and his mother when they came in and out of the place. The house above belonged to a wealthier family from the neighborhood who had bought up all the foreclosing businesses. Keigo’s mother worked for them during the week as their maid. Sometimes she’d have to stay overnight if the family heard about a robbery down the street or something.

So Keigo was either sleeping curled up against his mother’s side on the squeaky mattress or sleeping in the corner in his sleeping bag. He was too scared to sleep in the bed alone. The creaks would startle him, but his mother’s body was heavy enough that they weren’t so loud when she was there.

One day, he’d pried off a tile from the wall with his bitten-down fingernails and found a little hovel where he could keep the shiniest yen he’d ever found just sitting on the sidewalk, a blue woven bracelet he’d taken from some kid’s desk, and a small stuffed dog his father had won him at a fair.

That was Keigo’s room. No clean white walls, no toy piano in the corner, not even a model airplane that was only half-painted. Just a stuffed dog, one yen coin, and a blue bracelet. When he’d sleep in the sleeping bag, he’d set it up right next to that space in the wall in case someone tried to steal anything.

He closed the door with a sick feeling.

Keigo suddenly wasn’t feeling so curious anymore.

At least he had dinner to look forward to. Michi called him on the phone in Touya’s room to ask what he wanted for dinner.

“What’s on the menu?” Keigo asked.

“There is no menu,” said Michi, “the chef will make whatever you request.”

Keigo didn’t have to think too hard about his choice.

It didn’t feel totally real though until he was sitting in the massive dining room, staring down at the neverending table and taking in the smell of tonkatsu ramen wafting in from the kitchen. When he’d told Michi what he wanted, she’d paused.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

Keigo smiled and said that he was very sure.

And he knew he’d made the right decision the moment he took his first bite. It was more incredible than anything he’d ever tasted, even at Yuuei. There was so much flavor in just the broth, he could’ve gone without the perfectly cooked noodles and mouthwatering pork and still called it the best meal of his life. 

He felt totally laden stumbling back to Touya’s room, like one of those kings from the Bible who just got done with some week-long feast. Michi had stuck a note on the door. 

Breakfast will be served at 8AM.

Lunch will be served at 12PM.

I will be in to change your towels at 2PM.

The indoor pool was cleaned and heated today if you would like to use it.

Keigo smiled. He relished in the strong, hot stream of the shower and the plushness of the fresh towels. He splashed cool water from the sink onto his face and messed around with his hair in the foggy mirror.

But when his hair was finally back to its old, sawed-off mess, Keigo’s chest started to deflate. He was scrubbed clean from head to toe, he’d even used the nail brush in the shower until the tips of his fingers had started to ache. Still, he felt dirty standing in such a nice bathroom. He didn’t want to touch the white marble sink for fear of leaving a mark behind. He stared into his own eyes in the mirror, waiting for the fog to obscure him again. Then he could hide again, just like he always did.

Keigo stumbled back into Touya’s room. He tugged on his pajama shirt and pants and tried to clear his head. Instantly, he felt engulfed by the black walls, the garbage and clutter closing in on his feet.

It felt like a hug.

Keigo suddenly relaxed, his chest filling like a balloon and his mind settling down. This was possibly the only room in the house that didn’t make him feel like he was wearing the Yuuei tie, like he couldn’t breathe. There was nothing to contaminate in Touya’s room. Keigo could lie in the bed, watching the moonlight shine around the picture frame on the desk.

His head sunk into the pillow like he was lying on a cloud. The sheets were silky soft, yet still warm. Keigo pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and sighed.

He breathed back in through his nose, and the smell from the blanket washed over him.

It smelled like Touya, like his side of the room. It smelled like his earthy, leathery cologne that Keigo never saw him put on, but always seemed to walk into the cloud he left behind of it. It smelled like cigarette smoke, but not in the way that made Keigo cough and sputter—it was the subtle smell of it that Keigo had gotten used to sitting next to Touya in the library.

But underneath it all was the smell Touya couldn’t put on or breathe in. It was the way he always smelled, especially when they were changing in the locker room after practice. The smell reminded Keigo of standing in the middle of the woods right after it rains, the bark and leaves and sweet wind.

Keigo took in another long breath and tried to detangle each smell from the other. He turned to the side and pulled the blanket closer to his face. He felt a dip in the bed, worn down from nights of sleeping in the same spot. Keigo settled in further and closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the smell was overwhelming. Keigo felt his cheeks get hot. His throat got tight. His stomach started to flutter too close to where his heart was. 

Keigo pushed the blanket down away from his face and tried to breathe through his mouth. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

He wanted me to stay here.

He insisted.

Then why did Keigo feel like he was seeing things he was never supposed to see? How long had it been since Touya had seen his mother? Keigo couldn’t remember the date on that news article. 

Even with the blanket down at his waist, Keigo could only smell Touya. He could only imagine Touya, his stupid, smug face and strong arms. His idiot teeth and moronic black-dyed hair. 

Keigo shoved his face into the pillow. 

Fuck , he hissed.

IV.

January, 1974

Keigo returned to Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys after a long month of swimming laps in the indoor pool, lifting weights in the state-of-the-art home gym before every dinner, running around the athletic track early in the morning before everyone was awake, and getting a weekly massage and steam session at the spa in the North Wing. What had felt like too much at the beginning of the month became bite-size with every passing day—he had the time to do everything he wanted as many times as he wanted to do it. He’d plop down exhausted into Touya’s bed every night, itching to wake up the next morning and do everything again.

Christmas was lonely, but Keigo didn’t mind. With the Estate fully decorated, the mansion felt plenty full with a decorated tree in every room and a wreath on every door. 

He hadn’t had so much time to himself ever in his life. The butler left him a few presents by his door that morning: a set of silky pajamas and cashmere socks, a stack of cable-knit sweaters in various colors, and a box of peanut chocolate confections, each in a little cell of their own. It made Keigo think of the silver, weighty mechanical pencils that were sitting unused in his backpack. It also made him think of Touya yelling at him in that classroom. It made him feel terrible, still.

Even so, Keigo wore one of those sweaters to dinner that Christmas night where he gorged himself on ham and stew and rice and seaweed salad and fresh-baked bread.

Michi joined him halfway through the meal. Keigo had gotten to know her a bit over the month: she was only twenty-one, she had dreams of being a writer, and her favorite food was any dessert made with orange. She started joining Keigo for meals when he admitted that he came from the orphanage.

“You’re like, the most normal guest that’s ever stayed here,” she said on Christmas.

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Michi laughed, “most of the others are like Olympians and ambassadors or whatever. Could never just leave them a note telling them when breakfast is. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” said Keigo.

“I just didn’t think Touya had any friends,” she said.

Keigo stared down into his empty spoon.

“I mean, we’re—” he began.

“He’s a fine kid I guess,” Michi shrugged, “never goes berserk on the staff, just on his Father and brother, at times. Totally volatile. I’ve heard screaming matches between him and Mr. Todoroki you wouldn’t even believe.”

Keigo swallowed down a tough bite.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

Parting was sweet sorrow. It took Keigo an entire week just to say goodbye to the beautiful gym. He requested tonkatsu ramen for his final meal, as well, just to make sure it was as good the second time as it had been the first time. It was.

The second hardest goodbye was the one he said to Michi. She offered to pack his things, but Keigo declined, so she just sat in Touya’s room while he did it himself. 

“Touya’s on vacation with his family, right?” Keigo asked her.

Michi just shrugged, “No clue. If he wants to show up, he can just hop a plane. The family is used to his absence. They have plenty of staff that go with them, it feels like a crowd.”

“Wait, why didn’t you go?”

Michi laughed out loud, “I’m just a maid, my mother is out there with them. She’s the Head Maid.”

“I thought that was you,” Keigo admitted.

Michi laughed again. Tears were pricking the corners of her eyes, she was laughing that hard. 

“If only,” she said, sighing, “I could be drinking a glass of wine by a chalet fireplace.”

Keigo swore he saw her eyes get misty when he left the next morning. She was still waving as he climbed into the car and rode it down the long path from the front entrance.

He felt brand-new rolling up to the school gates.

Maybe all his hours in the gym had paid off, Keigo certainly felt stronger. He’d also found a nice lacrosse set in a locker and practiced with it for a while out on the grounds. Keigo had considered asking for a nice haircut while he was there, but it would probably have been too much. Perhaps he didn’t look all that different, but it was of no matter to him.

Other students were filing in through the gates and down to the dormitories, chattering away exactly about their Winter Breaks. Keigo smiled to himself, knowing that he probably stayed in the nicest house out of all of them. He tugged a bit at the new sweater he was wearing to make sure it sat right atop the band of his jeans.

Something that was nice about Yuuei, Keigo supposed, was that it never changed. All the stones were in their usual place, the doors as creaky and towering as before, and the grounds were covered in a familiar layer of plush white snow, though some of it had turned to an icy slush during the break.

Keigo weaved through the crowd in search of his room. He recognized some students, though they probably wouldn’t recognize him in return. So he kept his focus on finding his room, perhaps lying for a while in his bed that felt like concrete after his spell at the Todoroki home.

Keigo tossed open the door and reached for his bag on his shoulder. He sauntered in, looking out the window at the snowball fight that had broken out between a couple boys. His bag bounced against the bed and he smelled cigarette smoke.

Wait.

He turned. Standing over his own bed, futzing with some clothes, a lit cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth, was Todoroki Touya.

Keigo’s blood ran cold. He backed up until the backs of his knees were pressed up against the edge of his mattress. Touya hadn’t noticed him yet. He was far too interested in his crumpled up clothes.

So, Keigo pretended he hadn’t seen Touya either. 

In silence, the two of them unpacked. Keigo took out the sweaters and the chocolates, half of which were left, and then the clothbound book. Keigo hadn’t opened it to see what it was about, he was content to just run his fingers over the fanciful embossing on the cover. 

The smell of cigarette smoke got closer. Keigo’s skin rippled with chills.

“When’d you get in?” A gruff, tired voice asked him.

Keigo set down one of his shirts. He turned his head over his shoulders, but he kept his eyes off to the side. He could feel Touya was close. He could smell Touya’s closeness.

The cologne, the sweat, the smoke—Keigo could feel his face growing hot again.

“Just—” he paused, “just got here.”

Touya’s head twitched up. He shuffled to the open window and tapped his ashes onto the stone ledge. Keigo covered his nose and mouth with his hand, anything to replace the entrancing smell Touya had left behind. 

It was because Keigo had slept in his bed every night. He had some sort of sick association with the scent now, something about sleep and his brain and oxytocin or something like that. It’s why his heart was flying around in his chest and his cheeks were bright-red. 

Keigo wiped at his face and mouth. He let out a long exhale.

“Thank you for letting me stay at your place,” Keigo muttered.

It didn't feel like enough to cover everything that had happened. Maybe his pathetic “thank you” made up for dinner the first night, but nothing else. Keigo felt like a thief, using their water and sitting in their steam room and eating their food. Especially after what he’d done or, rather, hadn’t done in biology. It would never feel like enough just to thank Touya.

“Yeah,” Touya muttered in reply, “no problem.”

It would never be enough.

Keigo turned all the way around, this time. He saw Touya for the first time since the break.

His hair was longer and shaggier. There was a new piercing in his bottom lip, but this one looked botched, all red and bloody at the edges. His face was sunken. Bones Keigo had never seen before were protruding through Touya’s porcelain skin that had gone colorless. There was a bruise healing next to his eye and a scrape down the shell of his ear. Whenever he wrapped his lips around the cigarette, he seemed to wince.

“What’d you do over break?” Keigo asked in a small voice.

He joined Touya at the window. There wasn’t exactly enough space for the two of them, so Keigo’s shoulder had to shimmy behind Touya’s. He could feel the cold January air curing his flaming face. The smell of Touya was overwhelming now, but the open window offset the insanity.

All he could focus on was the feeling of Touya’s body against his. How thin he’d gotten.

Suddenly, the half-gone cigarette was in Keigo’s face. He turned his head, but Touya wasn’t looking.

Keigo took the cigarette slowly, the edge of his pinky just barely grazing the tip of Touya’s fingers. He put it up to his mouth and inhaled, thinking about Touya’s lips touching the same spot just seconds before.

He’d smoked a few cigarettes in his life, it was something of a rite of passage in the boys home, but it had been a while. Keigo had to pull his lips between his teeth to keep from coughing. He handed the cigarette back as tears welled in his eyes.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Keigo.

“What was it?” Touya asked in a faraway voice.

“What did you get up to over the break?”

Touya huffed out a laugh through his nose. His mouth quirked up into a fleeting smile. 

“Nothin’ much,” he said.

Keigo knew when he was being lied to.

Chapter Text

I.

February, 1974

February meant classes. It also meant snow. Those were two things Keigo tolerated.

But February also meant the start of the lacrosse season. That was something Keigo couldn’t help but celebrate.

He could feel all the team’s hard work coming to a head as the first game loomed. Some poor sod had to shovel all the snow off the field for every practice, then do the same for the official field with all the stands and fancy markings in the grass. The first time Keigo saw it during their Saturday scrimmage match, he felt his chest grow past the confines of his ribs. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was the fact that he felt like throwing up with nerves during the entire match.

It wasn’t his first game, by far. But it was his first game wearing an official Yuuei uniform and wielding a freshly-taped lacrosse stick. Even from inside the locker rooms, Keigo could hear the roar of the crowd. It was like the whole student body had shown up for their first game of the season, almost every seat on their side packed with boys and girls in crimson sweaters and waving little flags with the Yuuei crest. At least, that was what Keigo could see through the cracked door.

He slipped back to his cubby with a swollen nausea now clawing its way up his throat. How was he going to play properly with this many people watching? Until now, it had just been Coach and the team. Now he had to prove everything all over again to every single person in the stands.

Touya was sitting at his cubby across the way. He’d only put on one arm of his uniform jersey, the other side was bunched up on his shoulder leaving his torso bare. He was leaning his head against the side, his back to the rest of the room. Keigo inched over to him.

“Touya?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

Touya took in a long breath. Keigo watched the stripped muscles in his back ripple along his spine, poking viciously through his porcelain skin.

“Yeah,” he said.

Liar, Keigo wanted to say.

Touya scratched at his bare stomach. He cleared his throat and finally turned around, revealing his graying face.

“What are you gonna say?” He muttered, “That I look like hell?”

That was exactly what Keigo was going to say.

“No,” he lied.

Touya nodded and pursed his lips, “Right.”

The door to the locker room flung open and the assistant coach’s voice filled all the space that wasn’t taken up by the stench of sweaty boy and anticipation.

“Warmups in five!” He cried.

Some of the boys who were already suited up for the game left in a chatty gaggle, shoving each other around and making snide comments towards the opposing team. Keigo lagged behind, watching as Touya taped his fingers.

“What’d you think of the old place?” Touya asked lowly.

The Estate.

“It was nice,” Keigo replied.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keigo shuffled his feet, “Big. Empty.”

“That’s two words for it,” said Touya, finally slipping his feet into his shoes as the final boys left the locker room.

It was suddenly silent. Keigo stared intently as Touya laced up his shoes tight, one of his gloves hanging from between his jagged teeth. His knobby fingers worked expertly through the black laces. Keigo found himself too mesmerized to catch all of what Touya asked him next.

“Huh?” Keigo glanced up.

“The East Wing, you see it?’

“No,” said Keigo, shaking his head.

Touya put on one glove, then the other. He secured them around his wrists.

“You snoop around?”

Keigo’s lips parted. He took in a deep breath, hoping sometime during which he would come up with an answer that wasn’t the total, unbridled truth. That truth being yes.

“Did I snoop?” Keigo asked back, hoping it would be enough of a diversion to throw Touya off.

He should have known better.

“Todoroki! Takami! Get out here!” The assistant coach cried through the doorway.

Touya stood up. His face came within inches of Keigo’s. He wet his bottom lip with his tongue and, briefly, Keigo could only smell cigarette smoke.

“Dunno,” Touya mumbled, “you seem like the snooping type.”

Chills rolled down Keigo’s arms. Touya said it like he’d been watching as Keigo took the backing off of that photo and keyed the number into the telephone and hung up when he knew the truth. Touya walked past him, making sure to knock shoulders with Keigo on the way out.

“Warmups, Takami” he said en route to the door.

Keigo followed, a little more unsteady on his feet than before. A good game would refresh him, a win would restore him entirely. All he had to do was focus on the even grass sprawling across the field, on the slow stretches of the opposing team, on the murmur of cheering and applauding from the stands where students had gathered all bundled up for the first game of the season.

By the net was Touya. He stretched one arm behind his head, hooking onto his elbow with the other, then he did the same for the other side. As Keigo lowered into a lunge, he watched the hem of Touya’s shirt slip up just enough to show a grungy, old bandage stuck to the skin. Keigo flitted his eyes away when he felt Touya’s attention shift.

The coach blew his whistle. Keigo grabbed his helmet off of the bench and slipped it on his head. He secured his gloves and took his stick from the student who managed all the equipment for them.

Through the grid of his helmet, he watched Touya pull his own mask over his face and tug at the ends of his gloves. He adjusted his shoulders and assumed a lowered stance. Keigo watched closely, hoping he could get another glimpse of the bandage and maybe come up with an answer to it that didn’t just leave him with more questions.

He felt like a trapped bird watching from inside its cage as a free bird spread its wings on the outside. But if Keigo blurred his eyes, he could imagine it was Touya in the cage instead, his wings battered and bandaged from trying so hard to fly out.

II.

March, 1974

Keigo certainly hadn’t become a lacrosse player for the fame.

There was not much fame to be gotten back where he grew up. The club games were not nearly as well-attended as the Yuuei games seemed to be, so Keigo was only really a celebrity to the parents that would show up to support their kids, but if he was being honest, he could never be more important than their precious son, no matter how terrible the kid was on the field.

But here, as Keigo danced across the field and sliced the stick through the air in a clean sweep, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him and, on occasion, could hear them chattering about him to their friend.

By March, Keigo was getting noticed in the halls, and not for the reasons he had been getting noticed before. It seems everyone forgot about his screwy, juicy past and were talking about his last game instead, how he’d cinched a win in the nick of time and intercepted a seemingly impossible shot from the left side. Every worry that Keigo had had about the Yuuei lacrosse team was dashed with every hard pat on his back from his teammates. In the locker rooms, they would reenact his highlights with more gusto than Keigo remembers them actually having in the first place. But this time, they weren’t mocking him.

It was unsure as to why it all made Keigo feel so sick, still.

Maybe it was the endless attention, the fact that he couldn’t even walk to class without feeling like he was on display. He could feel when he was being stared at in the library. Not that he hated it all. Some of the attention made him feel warm inside, and he’d crack a smile without meaning to.

“Keigo!”

Shinji jogged to catch up to a sweaty, breathless Keigo after their fourth game of the season.

“Hey,” Keigo smiled.

“You were amazing out there!” Shinji grabbed onto Keigo’s shoulders, “When we met and I said you were the new cannon, I didn’t know that it’d be true!”

Keigo swallowed hard. He tried to keep his smile steady. Shinji had shaved his hair over the break, but it was already starting to grow back in little black coils that caught the sunlight, every so often.

“Hey, me and some friends are going into town to get something to eat,” said Shinji, “you wanna come with?”

Technically, Keigo couldn’t. He had to tutor Touya, in Biology of all subjects. The matter of his final exam had been dropped promptly at the beginning of the semester. When Touya walked into the classroom on the first day, the teacher’s face went deathly pale. The entire scenario reeked of Touya’s father—Keigo tried to imagine what kind of threat could make a much older man’s blood run cold in the face of some teenager. In any case, the exam and the cheating allegations were never brought up again, not by the teacher nor by Touya. And Keigo knew better than to ask outright.

Thus, on Tuesday night when the clock in the library struck seven, there was Touya slumping into his seat and letting out a hefty groan that disturbed the precious silence.

“So,” Touya said through a yawn, “we starting or what?”

And Keigo didn’t say no.

So, yes, technically Keigo had a prior engagement that would’ve kept him from saying yes to Shinji’s invitation. But it was an invitation from Shinji. If Keigo turned it down now, would he ever get another chance? He could tutor Touya any old time, so what if he decided to bunk off on session? He’d earned it. With how hard he worked all the hours he wasn’t on the field, he deserved one meal with Shinji and his friends.

It didn’t help that Keigo’s entire face was on fire and that Shinji still had a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Keigo replied, “yeah, just—lemme get changed and I’ll meet you out here.”

So Keigo rushed off, running faster than he possibly had through the entire match. By the time he reached the locker room, he was completely breathles and his heart was nearly beating out of his chest.

Keigo smiled as he pulled off his shirt and rooted around in his things for his antiperspirant spray. While he searched, he kicked off his cleats.

“That eager to get to the library?” A voice appeared behind him.

Keigo turned and saw Touya standing an inch away, his black hair dripping wet and bare chest on display with a few select bruises across it, but the bandage was covered by Touya’s arm. In one hand, he held the junction of his towel around his hips. In the other, he fiddled with a cigarette.

“Shit, uh,” Keigo stuttered, “y’know I—something came up. Someone asked me—well, it’s Shinji and—”

Keigo didn’t know what to say next. So he stopped.

“Something came up?” Touya asked flatly.

“Yeah, could we study tomorrow night instead? I swear, same time and everything.”

Touya didn’t answer for a moment. Instead, his eyes rolled from one end of Keigo to another, from his half-bare feet to his hurried hands in his duffel. His expression twitched down. He closed his lips.

“Fine,” he muttered, “whatever.”

Keigo sighed. He forced a smile.

“Thanks,” he said, “see you tonight, yeah?”

Touya nodded curtly. He’d started to put the cigarette in his mouth but seemed to give up halfway. He glanced down at it, then back at Keigo.

“Sure,” he said in a low enough voice that Keigo wouldn’t have heard if he wasn’t listening so hard.

So, with Touya’s blessing, Keigo tried to wipe away as much sweat as possible with his clean towel and hide as much of the odor as possible with his body spray. He tossed the towel into the laundry bin in the corner and reached for his clothes. He pulled on his jeans, then his sweater. As he laced up his shoes, he peered at himself in the mirror on the back wall of his cubby. The longer his hair got, the more it looked like a permanent mess. He’d considered asking if there was a barber around the Todoroki Estate, but never quite worked up the courage.

All he could do was paw at it until things looked half-decent. He pressed his cold hands up to his burning cheeks. He did a smile for the mirror—the first was a little too eager, so he dulled it a bit. He tried to memorize the feeling of the smile, it was the one he would give Shinji when they met again outside.

Keigo shoved on his hat and braved the spring chill. There had been a few warm weeks that had successfully melted most of the snow, but on its tail was a cold snap that caught everyone by surprise. When he was playing lacrosse, it wasn’t so noticeable. Now, with nerves rushing through his body, it was almost unbearable.

He approached Shinji from the back where he was gathered with three of his friends.

“Hey,” Keigo greeted them.

“Keigo!” Shinji turned around and exclaimed, “Here, these are my friends. That’s Riku, Arata, and Fuyuhiko.”

Riku was tall and slim with a long face. When he smiled, only half of his mouth moved. Arata was shorter and stouter, seemingly strong. Maybe he was on the wrestling team or something. Fuyuhiko looked familiar, pretty standardly built with long hair that was far beyond the school’s regulation.

“You were vicious out there,” Riku chuckled in a rough voice.

Fuyuhiko shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket and tilted his head, “Aren’t you in my English class?”

“Yeah, I am” Keigo nodded.

“That last shot?” Arata reached out to pat his shoulder, “I thought you were gonna goof it, seriously.”

“Alright, guys, leave him be,” Shinji said to them.

“You didn’t tell us you were friends with a lacrosse star, Nishida,” Arata teased.

Keigo glanced down at his feet. He felt Shinji’s stable arm wrap around his shoulders. His stomach grew tight knots.

“Wanted you all to see for yourselves,” he said.

They started walking towards the edge of campus. Keigo didn’t know how long Shinji’s arm was actually around him, it felt like hours. It was at least until they reached the path just outside the wall, because that’s when Riku and Arata started messing around and Shinji had to go break them up. Eventually, the three friends were walking ahead, and it left Keigo and Shinji to themselves a ways back.

“Can I ask you something?”

Keigo pursed his lips as a sour taste spread over his tongue.

“Sure.”

Shinji stared pensively at the damp path beneath his feet.

“Is it true what kids were saying? About where you came from?”

Keigo’s mind froze. He should’ve expected this. Shinji was probably curious, just like everyone else. He was just asking, like any curious person would. Still, it made Keigo’s stomach sink to his feet.

“What have you heard?” Keigo asked in a tight voice.

“A lot of stuff, but I know some of it isn’t true,” Shinji assured, “mostly—the orphan thing.”

Keigo nodded a little. He stared at the ground as they kept walking.

“That’s true,” he said plainly.

“Oh,” he heard Shinji hum, “I’m sorry.”

Keigo’s face burned. He hated when people were sorry. Sorry for what? Not like they had anything to do with it. Not like their sorrys could go back and change anything.

“It’s fine. It was a while ago.”

“So you were in an orphanage?” Shinji asked.

Keigo shrugged, “Something like that. It was more of a boy’s home. Some people’s parents were alive but they were unfit to care for them or whatever. So boys were in and out.”

“Is that how it was for you?”

Keigo took in a deep breath of cold air. Shinji sounded sincere, but there was a sterility to it all. It reminded Keigo of the social worker that came to visit him after his father was sent to prison.

“Not really. My mom—she died, and then my dad was gone. So I’ve been in the home since I was twelve.”

Keigo didn’t have the guts to go any further with it than that. Shinji didn’t need the whole truth, anyhow.

“Was it bad in there?”

Bad.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“Not really,” Keigo fibbed, “not great but—not awful.”

Keigo wondered if he thought about the ‘not awful’ things about the boy’s home for long enough, if he could trick himself into believing what he just said. Not all the boys were terrible, most were just sad and lonely and took it out on other kids with their fists. Every December, someone from the city would come with a garbage bag full of toys for the boys to pick through. They’d always get a nice dinner that day, too, the best of the year. On your birthday, you got a bag of candy. Granted you could hide it from your bunkmates, it would last a good few weeks.

So, not awful.

But not great.

“Bet it’s really different here,” Shinji said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“You have no idea,” Keigo chuckled.

Shinji swerved a little and knocked playfully into Keigo’s shoulder.

“Sucks you still have a roommate though, right?”

Keigo just laughed. He didn’t want to admit that sleeping in a room that size with just one other person beat sleeping in a room just double that with quadruple the beds.

“And Todoroki?” Shinji shook his head, “Kid’s a piece of work.”

The mention of Touya made Keigo feel sick all over again. Touya had seemed fine when he asked to reschedule their study session, right? Nothing out of the ordinary. His face hadn’t changed much. He didn’t seem disappointed or murderous or anything in between. He was just Touya. Couldn’t care even if he wanted to.

So why did the thought of him make Keigo feel dizzy with worry?

“Yeah,” Keigo said, “when he’s around at least.”

“Does he even come to practice?” Shinji asked with a smile.

Keigo shrugged, “When he feels like it.”

That made Shinji laugh. Keigo wanted to join in, but the fear that Touya was listening in somehow kept him quiet.

“Y’know, for all you’ve been through, you hold your own pretty well,” said Shinji.

Keigo blushed deeply. He tried to muster that dulled smile from before, but elation was creeping through anyways.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“And now that everyone’s seen your skills on the field, you’ll have the girls crawling all over you,” Shinji teased.

Keigo looked up at Shinji with his smarmy grin. His throat got tight.

“I dunno about that,” Keigo said in a wobbly voice.

“C’mon,” Shinji knocked into him again, “you’re cute. You just don’t believe it because you went from the boy’s home to an all-boys school. You’re friends with Rumi, aren’t you?”

You’re cute.

It took an extra minute for him to hear the rest of what Shinji said.

“Y-yeah,” Keigo stammered, “but we’re just teammates.”

“Okay,” Shinji hummed suggestively.

“Seriously,” Keigo insisted.

“I’m serious too!” Shinji said, “Don’t miss your shot, okay?”

My shot.

Keigo knew Shinji meant his shot with Rumi. But there was a voice in the back of his head that was teasing him, telling him that Shinji was trying to say something else in between his words.

Dinner was at an old izakaya in the middle of town. Saturday night brought out the crowds, so Keigo expected to wait a bit for a table, but the moment Shinji and his friends walked in, they were rushed by a hostess who couldn’t be older than any of them to a back table behind a curtain. She put a stack of sticky menus in the center of the table then took their drink orders.

“Just a pitcher for the table,” Shinji said to her.

The hostess glared at him.

“I’m gonna get in trouble eventually, you know that, right?”

Shinji tilted his head and gave her a puppy-dog look. She scowled a little, then softened and rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she huffed, “but you owe me.”

She walked off rather quickly. And the moment she was gone, Shinji’s friends burst into conversation.

“She’s so into you!” Arata hissed, reaching across the table to swat at Shinji’s chest.

Riku leaned back in his seat, “It’s so obvious.”

“Just ask her out already,” Fuyuhiko groaned, “I’m sick of watching you two make eyes at each other every time we come here.”

“Oh no, I can’t get you the pitcher of beer again, I’ll get in trouble,” Arata mimicked the hostess with a high-pitched voice and a pouty expression.

Shinji waved them off and dismissed everything they said with a laugh, but when Keigo looked over, he could see the slightest twinge of pink in his cheeks.

Oh.

“Wait, she’s coming back!” Fuyuhiko whispered.

The hostess appeared just then, pushing the cloth aside while hiding a massive pitcher of beer with her body.

“Can you all shut the fuck up? I can hear you from the front of the restaurant,” she hissed at them, slamming the pitcher in the middle of the table.

“Shinji’s fault,” Arata teased with a dramatic point.

The hostess rolled her eyes. She started to pass out glasses for them. When she reached Keigo, she leaned in close to his ears.

“Don’t let these guys get you in trouble, okay?” She whispered to him.

Keigo gave her a small smile. She moved on to Shinji and set down his glass.

“You better not be getting him caught up in all this,” she teased him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Shinji replied sweetly.

For just a moment, they stared at each other. The hostess’s mouth broke into a smile. Shinji’s did the same. When she left, she made sure to take one more look back to him before disappearing behind the curtain.

Riku poured Keigo a glass of beer, but Keigo didn’t feel like drinking.

He was too nauseous without it.

III.

They didn’t walk back to campus until late. At one point, Keigo asked worriedly if they’d get in trouble.

Shinji smiled, “Not with me you won’t.”

Keigo supposed that this was one of the perks of being student body president.

They were maybe three pitchers of beer in before the hostess poked her head in and said her shift was ending, so if they didn’t want to fess up to the beer to another worker, they had to cash out now. Shinji followed her up to the front with his wallet as his friends hooted and whistled from behind. While he was gone, Keigo started stacking the empty glasses as best he could through the wooziness. He hadn’t meant to drink so much. He did anyways.

Not much choice when Shinji’s friends kept bringing up that girl.

“Hell are you doing?” Riku asked as he lit a cigarette and watched Keigo clear the table.

“Makes it easier for them to clean,” Keigo replied.

Riku let out a cloud of smoke, “Y’know, there are people here who get paid to do this, right?”

Keigo stopped in the middle of stacking one glass into another. Slowly, he set it back onto the table.

“Right,” he hummed, “sorry.”

Riku and Arata laughed softly at him as they exchanged the cigarette. Keigo chewed on the inside of his mouth until Shinji returned.

When he did, he planted his hands on each side of the doorway and flashed a wide grin.

Fuyuhiko stood up, “Didya do it?”

Shinji lifted his chin.

“Friday, six o’clock.”

The boys cheered and rushed over to Shinji, slapping him on the back and ruffling his cropped hair. Keigo watched on with a sinkhole in his stomach.

When they finally got themselves together and started to leave, Keigo caught up to Shinji and stuttered a bit.

“Congrats, man,” said Keigo.

Shinji smiled at him.

“Thanks,” he replied.

The walk home was anything but quiet. Keigo chose to walk a few steps behind and listen in as Shinji and his friends rattled on about nothing. They talked about Spring Break for a while. Riku was going to Europe. Fuyuhiko talked about skiing somewhere in the United States. Arata was going to some tropical resort on Jeju Island. Shinji said he wasn’t sure what his family wanted to do this year—either visiting his grandmother in Shanghai or taking the private jet to Quebec for some international conference his father was a part of.

Then, they started talking about the hostess. Her name was apparently Hayami and she attended the girl’s school across the way. She and Shinji had been flirting all year, ever since they started going to the izakaya. The boys wanted every detail of how Shinji asked her out, but he kept insisting there was really nothing to it.

Keigo kept his arms crossed tight over his chest. The cold was really setting in now, but the alcohol was making him sweat from the inside out. Every so often, his foot would catch a rock, and he would have to steady himself back on his feet before anyone could see.

When they reached campus, Shinji turned back to him.

“We’re stopping by the dining hall to see if they have any dessert leftover,” he said, “you wanna come?”

Keigo wiped at his ice-cold cheeks.

“Sorry, I—I should really get back to my room,” he said.

Shinji’s face folded.

“Can you find your way in the dark?” He asked.

Keigo smiled and nodded a bit. If he tried to talk anymore through the knot in his throat, he might start crying.

“Okay,” Shinji grinned, “thanks for coming out with us, it was fun. Good luck on next week’s game, okay?”

Keigo couldn’t remember how he bid them farewell. The blood was rushing too fiercely in his ears to hear anything but the sound of his own heartbeat. Once he’d turned and put enough distance between himself and Shinji, he let his eyes well with tears.

He was an idiot to think he stood any chance. Come on, a guy like Shinji? He’s too confident and handsome and normal to be like Keigo. A sweet, normal guy deserved a sweet, normal girl. Not someone fucked up beyond repair like Keigo.

He felt sick. He felt like burying his face into the wet grass and waiting for everything to go numb. He felt like grabbing onto one of the iron lamp posts and tearing it out of the ground. He felt like turning back, running to the payphone, and calling Kazuo.

You lied to me, he’d say.

You said it would get easier.

You said people are starting to understand.

No one understands.

No one ever will understand.

Keigo walked into the dormitory building feeling grimy. He thought about scrubbing his hands in the sink, then his shoulders and his face and the inside of his mouth. Maybe if he scrubbed hard enough, he could get it all out.

All these feelings he wasn’t supposed to have.

He should tell Shinji to scrub, too. He touched Keigo quite a bit not knowing there was something to catch.

Keigo fumbled with the doorknob to his room. It seemed the longer he was inside, the more drunk he felt. His lips buzzed as he shoved his way inside where the only light came from the lamp on Touya’s bedside table. The heat from the building’s furnace was mixing with the burn of the alcohol and making Keigo feel like he’d fallen into hell or something.

He heard the faucet shut off. Keigo turned his head and saw the light streaming in from around the bathroom door. He stormed over and pulled the door open.

Touya was leaning against the sink with his toothbrush in his mouth in only his pajama pants. His eyes went wide when Keigo burst in and closed the door, trapping the two of them inside. Keigo didn’t know what possessed him to do something so sudden, so nonsensical. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was Shinji’s voice spinning around and around his head. Maybe it was Touya’s bandage on full display bringing Keigo’s curiosity to a dangerous peak.

“Tell me what happened to you,” Keigo insisted.

Touya stayed frozen with the toothbrush in his mouth.

“Huh?” He muttered around it.

“The bandage,” Keigo motioned to it, “tell me what happened.”

Touya’s face fell a bit. He went back to brushing his teeth and turned towards the mirror.

“Hey!”

Keigo lunged and grabbed his arm, tugging him back around to face him. Touya resisted, but only slightly. He pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and spit his mouthful of toothpaste into the sink basin.

“What the fuck do you want?” He asked sharply.

“Tell me how you got the injuries,” Keigo hissed, “I know you weren’t in Europe with your family, so tell me the truth.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Touya asked, wiping at the corners of his mouth with his fingers.

“Why did you let me stay at your house?”

Touya pulled his lips between his teeth. He glanced to the ceiling.

“Come on!” Keigo insisted, “You storm out of biology because I didn’t defend you about the cheathing thing, fine. But why did you let me stay at your place after all of it?”

Touya leaned back against the edge of the sink.

“You said you had nowhere to go,” he replied in a low voice.

“Why do you care about that?” Keigo asked.

“None of your business.”

“What if it is my business?”

“Looking a gift horse in the mouth?” Touya leaned towards him, “Biting the hand that feeds?”

“I don’t need your fucking hand!” Keigo spat.

“Yeah, you do.”

Without thinking, Keigo shoved Touya by his shoulders so hard the back of his head hit the mirror and made it rattle. Touya shoved him back with only one hand. Keigo’s mind wasn’t working fast enough to respond.

“You drunk or something?”

“Fuck off,” Keigo hissed.

“Is that where you had to be after the game? Getting plastered?” Touya half-teased.

“What’s it to you? Not like you’re any different.”

Touya’s face melted. His eyes narrowed.

“That right?”

Keigo stepped up closer. The bright light of the bathroom created harsh shadows on Touya’s slim face. Keigo knew his breath was warm and reeked of beer, but he didn’t care. He got right up into Touya’s face and said exactly what he was thinking.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he huffed, “your piercings and your tattoos and your liquor and your cigarettes. Don’t talk to me about self-indulgence when it’s all you’ve ever known. Don’t fucking tell me I owe you anything, either. I don’t owe you shit. I don’t owe anyone here shit.”

A force greater than gravity itself knocked Keigo off his balance. In an instant, he was in the bathtub, his legs hanging off the side and his chest stinging with the memory of Touya’s hands against it. His head hit the tiles with a thud. He groaned and reached for the aching spot when the cold water from the showerhead cascaded down onto him.

“Fuck!” He shouted when the icy spray hit his skin, immediately soaking his hair and making his sweater heavy around his shivering body.

“Sober up,” said Touya.

He left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Keigo waited for him to come back, maybe with a knife to finally stab Keigo and just get the job done. That would be ideal. At least Keigo would know then exactly how Touya felt about him. But instead, he was left sitting alone under the cold stream of the shower trying to remember the look on Touya’s face, not that it told him anything.

No. All Keigo had was his mixed-up, tangled feelings weighing him down like his soaking sweater. He tugged it off, hoping it would bring some relief. He took off his jeans as well, both pieces of clothing making a puddle on the bathroom floor.

Keigo turned his body, lying down in the tub so his face was directly under the streaming water. He closed his eyes and focused on the hundreds of tiny threads of water teasing his cheeks.

If he laid here long enough, the feeling would go away. Just like it had when he showered the night his mother died. Even when the blood had washed off, Keigo swore he could still see it in the mirror. So he laid in the shower until the hot water made his face sting.

He wished there was blood, this time. There wasn’t. It was just his stupid face and tight chest and knotted stomach. Keigo was ruining everything all on his own.

At least he couldn’t tell the difference between the water and the tears. It was comforting enough to make him get himself together. He stood and scrubbed at his hair with some shampoo. He lathered soap and tried to wash away all the body spray he’d put on earlier. He probably smelled like beer too. He hadn’t even considered being stopped by the administration while he walked back to the dormitory. Something like that could’ve gotten him kicked out, right? He’d been so caught up in Shinji’s shit—

Keigo shook the idea from his mind. He was done thinking about Shinji. He was done thinking at all for the night. Once he dried off, Keigo changed into some fresh pajamas and tossed the ball of his old clothes into the corner of his closet. Like hell he’d give those boozy clothes to the laundry ladies.

Keigo filled an empty glass at the sink. He didn’t want the water now, but he was sure he would want it in the morning. Touya was already in bed, turned to face the wall. Keigo glared at him for a moment as he sat on his own bed, finally feeling a bit sober.

“I was in the city over the break.”

It was Touya, speaking in a small voice, half of which was absorbed by the wall he faced. Keigo was tempted to say something back, but he worried the delicate moment would shatter.

“I’m—caught up with some people, not the best kind,” Touya muttered, “they’ve got a business. Bruises come with the territory.”

“The bandage?” Keigo asked softly.

“Fucked over the wrong guy,” Touya explained, “got the sharp end of his knife.”

Some people.

Not the best kind.

What business did Touya have with criminals in the city? It wasn’t a lack of money, that’s for sure. He could’ve gone anywhere in the world over the break, but he stayed in Japan and got himself stabbed.

“Why?” Keigo asked.

He didn’t expect a clear answer. Not from Touya.

“I dunno.”

Keigo laid down in his bed and pulled the sheets up over his body. He turned towards Touya’s bed. All he saw was his back and his mess of black hair sprawled across the pillow.

“Why don’t you just blow them off? Get out of their business?” Keigo asked.

“They’ve got me by the balls,” Touya hummed, “it’s—complicated. Don’t worry about it.”

And for the very first time since they met,

Keigo felt like Touya was being totally, completely honest with him.

Chapter Text

I.

April, 1974

The lacrosse season was coming to a close. Yet, however short it might have been, Keigo’s life had turned upside down.

Even when they traveled to different schools in a bus that was so nice, Keigo would consider living in one, the students and coaches were in awe of his raw talent. A few came up just to pat him on the back and ask where he trained. Keigo would admit that he played for a club team, they didn’t need to know the orphan part.

Yuuei wasn’t exactly undefeated, there was one match where the flu had shot down some of their best offensive players so the second string had to take up the fight. A close game became not so close when the opposing team brought in their cannon, a towering student who Keigo suspected had been in high school a few years longer than the rest of his team. He made three goals. The game was over pretty quickly, after that.

Even so, Yuuei had made it to the championship bracket with one game to play later in the week and the last to play at the very end of April. Warmer weather had finally made its debut on the grounds, dewy, emerald-green grass covering every inch where snow used to be, a warm breeze rustling the oak trees in the afternoons. Keigo was happy to be rid of the snow. Touya seemed to feel the same way.

“Smoking in the cold sucks,” he hummed one Sunday afternoon as the two of them strolled down to the football fields.

“You still do it, though,” Keigo replied.

Touya shrugged. He took another drag.

“I like a routine,” he said.

“When’d you start?” Keigo asked.

Touya’s face pinched, “Ten? Dunno, whenever I found my father’s stash in his desk.”

“Same,” Keigo admitted.

“Boy’s home?”

Keigo felt the knot in his throat. He looked down to his feet.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Touya had never made much fuss about Keigo’s past, not like everyone else. Now, of course, the fuss was all about Keigo’s skills on the lacrosse field, but it was still a fuss. Touya just wasn’t the fussy type.

“If you turned it down, they’d put their cigarette out on you,” Keigo chuckled.

He didn’t know why he’d said it. He’d never told anyone that little fact. Why would Touya care? It had just come out like a sigh, natural as breathing. He’d let out a little laugh at the end as a punctuation as though it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Touya’s brow lowered. The cigarette hung so close to the edge of his teeth that Keigo wondered if it would fall right out. He glanced at Keigo, then to the sky.

“Assholes,” he hissed, “you got burns?”

Keigo did have one. Right on his wrist. He only had to learn that lesson once.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Touya nodded.

“Me, too.”

And that was the end of it.

In fact, aside from that moment, Keigo found himself thinking about the boy’s home less and less. He had become accustomed to the nice dining hall meals and long, hot showers. He’d come to love the silky feel of his uniform against his skin and the slightly fruity hand soap they had in the bathrooms near his classes. The other students seemed to forget about the boy’s home too.

“Hey, Keigo!” He’d heard someone whisper in the library.

Keigo was startled at first. He turned, keeping his body safe behind the library table.

It was two younger students, one of them wiry with wide, bulging eyes. The other was like a shorter, stouter iteration of him. Keigo wondered if they were brothers or if all rich kids just looked the same.

“Great game on Friday,” the wiry one said.

“Yeah,” his maybe-brother echoed, “great game.”

Keigo’s lips twitched. He tried to stop himself from stammering.

“Thanks,” he finally said.

“I was gonna try out for the lacrosse team but then I didn’t know if I was good enough,” said the shorter one, “but now that I’ve seen you play it looks awesome! I mean, it’s like you’re flying out there.”

No mention of the boy’s home. Not a word about Keigo’s rant to Touya and the fight that ensued in the dining hall. Either collective amnesia had set in amongst the entire student body, or laughing at Keigo had just fallen out of vogue and now it was cool to come up to him in the library and ramble on a little too loudly.

The taller boy shoved his friend with his elbow. That got him quiet. Keigo scratched at his neck, burning red-hot.

“Are you coming to the playoff games?” Keigo asked.

Both boys reeled back like he’d asked if they’d ever had a sip of water.

“Obviously!” Said the shorter one.

“You’re gonna wipe the floor with Shiketsu,” the other claimed with a vigorous nod.

Keigo eked out a smile. The attention was starting to rub against the grain of his skin.

And it wasn’t the only strange encounter he’d had amidst his newfound fame.

One morning, as he walked to English class, he could feel eyes on him. He looked around a bit, hoping it was just an eerie feeling left behind by the gray skies of winter. It wasn’t until he turned down the hallway that his stalker made himself known.

Keigo turned just in time to catch a boy of average everything close to his tail. He was an inch or so shorter than Keigo and had one of those haircuts that a mother insists her son gets until he is old enough to make his own decisions. He clutched a textbook close to his chest, and when Keigo looked at him, his knuckles flushed white.

“I’m—so sorry,” he sputtered out.

Keigo took a step back, “Is everything okay?”

The boy took a deep breath in. His face looked deathly pale. Keigo wondered if he was about to be sick.

“It’s just—”

Keigo waited with bated breath. The boy’s face just got whiter. He seemed distracted by something on Keigo’s face that wasn’t his eyes. Eventually, he sealed his lips together and scampered away with his head down. Keigo watched bewildered as the boy laid the back of his hand on both cheeks as though checking for a fever.

“Okay,” Keigo whispered to himself when the boy disappeared around the corner.

He just didn’t know what to make of any of it, the stares and the whispers that were saying good things rather than spreading nasty rumors. He thought about asking Touya how he handles all the attention, but Keigo felt like he already knew.

A swig of the whiskey at the bottom of his underwear drawer and an inky needle seemed to be his antidote of choice.

As the first big game of the playoffs approached, Keigo could feel himself getting antsy. He was surprised to find Touya in a similar state, lying face-up in his bed muttering something to himself while he crushed an unused cigarette between his fingers.

“This fucking game,” Touya hissed, “this fucking school.”

Keigo didn’t know much about Shiketsu. Hell, he didn’t know much about any school they’d played other than they were likewise full of kids from obscenely wealthy families. Though not as obscene as Yuuei, in most cases.

“Shiketsu?” Keigo asked.

“Yeah,” Touya grunted, “school full of fucking cheaters.”

Ever since Touya had declared his aversion to cheating, Keigo had made it a point to watch him closely while sat on the bench, to not even blink in case he missed a sleight of hand. But Touya held to his word and, despite everything, played a good clean game of lacrosse every time.

That didn’t always mean he fought nice. He was a serial shit-talker, sometimes enough to get the players arguing with each other rather than with him. A few coaches had tried to get him off the field, but there was nothing in the referee’s handbook that said a bit of verbal sparring was grounds for dismissal during a match. So Touya was something of a free agent out on the field, spreading his wings and his boundaries as far as they could stretch.

Sometimes, it made Keigo’s blood run cold. The look in Touya’s eyes would strike him as all too familiar. It would make Keigo think of his father. Then, when he would look in the mirror that same night, he would rub up and down his nose to try and change its shape. He looked more and more like that man with every passing day.

But Touya wasn’t a killer, right? The bandage, it was just an injury. The other guy, it seemed like he got the best of Touya rather than the other way around.

Keigo told himself this over and over, hoping he’d eventually start to believe it.

Friday’s game made the entire day feel different.

The air smelled sweet, the breeze uncharacteristically cold for April. Keigo’s hands trembled through all of his classes as he tried to ignore the gazes of every student he passed. At the end of the day, Keigo was fielding pats on the back and shouts of luck from across the grounds.

Warmups buzzed with anticipation. Students were already packing themselves in the stands, claiming the best seats for themselves and their friends with scarves and pennants and knit caps. The sun broke through the clouds just as warmups ended and the team was ushered back into the locker rooms and Shiketsu took the field.

“Y’know, they’re all here for you,” a voice appeared behind Keigo.

Rumi bumped shoulders with him. Her long silver hair was tied up into two tight plaits. She was in her uniform. After twisting her ankle at their last practice, the coach had insisted she take a week off despite her begging to be a part of the playoffs. She must’ve been loitering by the locker rooms in protest.

“That’s not true,” Keigo brushed her off.

“I can never tell if your modesty thing is real,” she teased.

Keigo turned, astonished.

“Why wouldn’t it be real?” He asked.

Rumi laughed, “I mean, I know that it is. You didn’t grow in the same garden as everyone else.”

Keigo’s throat got tight.

“How did you know?”

Rumi cocked her head, her brows pinched.

“You’re not exactly undercover here,” she said, “the rumors reached the girl’s school the day you got here.”

Keigo sighed. The rest of the team had gone into the locker room already, leaving the two of them alone in the hall.

“Everyone over there thinks I’m crazy, right?”

Rumi shrugged, “Yes, but—”

Keigo laughed.

“They also think you’re really cute and really really want to meet you.”

He reeled back a bit at the thought of speaking to a girl other than Rumi. Maybe it would do him some good, get his mind off of Shinji whom he’d been avoiding rather skillfully since their dinner.

“Oh,” Keigo hummed awkwardly, “that’s—”

“You don’t have to,” Rumi said like she knew something.

Keigo swallowed hard. He rubbed his sweat-slick palms together.

“Keigo?” Rumi asked in a softer voice.

“I gotta go.”

Keigo scampered away before Rumi could reply. He walked into the boy’s locker room to find one of his teammates with his shirt lifted, forcing everyone who passed by to count his abs claiming he’d sprouted a new pair overnight.

Keigo ducked his head and made himself think about the game ahead.

II.

Shiketsu was a worthy opponent.

They had this one guy on the team, absolutely giant, titanic even. Keigo and Touya exchanged a look when he walked out onto the field a head taller than everyone else. But his size was little asset as he bumbled around the field. The only thing he was good for was toppling Yuuei’s offensive line which meant that early in the game, the coach pivoted them to a defensive style. The first time he lost his footing, Keigo could hear Rumi’s shout echo all the way from the stands. Goliath had been taken down with a single timeout.

But he wasn’t Shiketsu’s dark horse. Rather, he was the distraction for Seiji, their undercover captain and fierce shadow darting around the field. Keeping track of him was the first challenge. At halftime, Touya sauntered over to where Keigo was sat.

He leaned in close to his ear. Keigo could smell his smokey sweat and woodsy cologne. It made him momentarily dizzy, but that could’ve been dehydration.

“Come in from the left. That’s his bad eye.”

When Keigo lifted his head to ask for more, Touya was already back on the field, his mask caging his face.

So for the rest of the game, Keigo focused on Seiji’s left side. Touya had been right, he had a bad eye, at least in the periphery. He got two goals on him, and Touya swept up all of Seiji’s remaining attempts. Goliath down. David down.

The game was won.

A crowd swiftly gathered on the field when the referee blew his whistle. Not exactly allowed, but no one was keeping the students from invading like they did. Rumi rushed over to sweep Keigo up into a hug with her immense strength.

“The left side!” She shouted, “You’re a genius!”

Keigo tried to tell her that it was Touya’s idea, but she was already whisked off into a conversation with some girls who had come to see the game. Keigo, in suit, was surrounded by a mass of students all asking him questions and shaking him by the shoulders.

In the distance, he could see a horde of reporters approaching too with square microphones and bulky cameras. This was more serious than Keigo thought. They were really rushing.

A hand grabbed Keigo’s shoulder before he could really assess it.

“Hey! I’m from the yearbook,” the student said, “mind if I get a photo?”

“Oh, sure,” said Keigo.

“Todoroki!” The student called out.

Touya turned and lifted his mask. When he approached, his eyes narrowed.

“Picture,” said Keigo awkwardly, motioning to the camera in the student’s hand.

Touya still seemed suspicious, but he saddled up beside Keigo and draped a heavy arm across his shoulders. The sudden scent and weight against Keigo’s body made his throat prickle. It smelled just like his bed at the Estate.

“Hey, Rumi!” The student said as he kneeled down and lifted the camera to the level of his eye, “Get over here!”

Rumi bounded over, braids whipping behind her. She, too, planted an arm around Keigo’s shoulders. The weight had almost become unbearable.

He smiled as widely as his mouth would allow. The flash still caught him off guard. Soon, both of the bodies weighing him down to the earth were gone. When Keigo turned, the reporters he’d noticed off in the distance were closer than ever, and they seemed to be looking for someone.

“Do reporters normally show up to lacrosse games?” Keigo asked the boy with the camera.

He shrugged, “Usually it’s just us yearbook staff. Maybe they’re starting to take an interest.”

If that was the case, they certainly weren’t taking much notice of the field or the coach or anyone other than—

Touya.

“Oh, shit,” Keigo sighed.

In an instant, the reporters had swarmed around Touya, obscuring him from Keigo’s sight. He tried to shove around them, but they’d mashed themselves into a tight web.

“Is it true what Todoroki Enji said in the general meeting this morning?”

Keigo hoisted himself up on his toes in time to see Touya’s eyes go thin. He scanned the crowd of reporters, each thrusting their own microphone into his personal space. The other students had backed off, choosing to watch the situation from afar. If Keigo didn’t know what was at stake, he’d probably be doing the same.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He heard Touya ask.

“The change in inheritor,” a reporter said.

Finally, Keigo broke through the tight mesh of cameras. Touya’s face fell.

“The what?”

“Your father’s decision to make your youngest brother the inheritor of his fortune and company rather than you.”

Touya’s entire face twitched. His grip tightened around the lacrosse stick. Keigo’s stomach sank, his mind flipping through every article he’d read in the library trying to predict what would happen next.

“He said that?” Touya asked in a dangerously low voice.

“Any comment?” A female reporter said, inching her microphone closer to Touya’s sneer.

Touya straightened his shoulders.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he hissed, “there, that enough of a comment?”

Some of the reporters were put off by the expletive. Others drew to him like moths to a raging flame, destined to get burned up the moment they got too close.

“Are you disappointed at losing such a massive inheritance?”

“There’s no disappointment greater than being Enji’s son, trust me,” Touya spat into a different microphone, “he sure thinks so.”

“Why do you think your father would make a decision like this?” Someone asked.

“I don’t give a shit, never have,” Touya’s voice got tense.

A chorus of Touyas followed, trapping the boy in question in a trap of sound and bodies. He turned and tried to shove his way out, but he was still the main event.

“Any remarks on your youngest brother? Is he ready to bear the burden of your family’s empire?”

Maybe it was the mounting pressure finally reaching its breaking point. Or maybe just the mention of his brother. But Touya turned with a new kind of fury burning in his eyes. He grabbed the lacrosse stick and swung.

In one, two cameras were down in the grass, the glass of their lens scattered across the field and the screams of the reporters echoing it. In two, another camera, the biggest of all, was toppled over its cameraman as a group of reporters ran to his aid with tight, worried tones in their voices. No one came to hold Touya back. No one dared to try.

“Anyone else got a question?!” Touya shouted, red-faced, his lacrosse stick primed over his shoulder to deliver another deathly blow.

Finally, the reporters started to back off, some of them standing in front of their precious pricey cameras while making sure it kept rolling. Touya’s chest trembled with fiery breaths. His eyes darted around the reporters. Then, he saw Keigo.

His tight lips loosened. His brows untangled themselves from each other. He looked like he’d been caught, even though Keigo had been there all along.

The reporters started to wander off. They’d gotten their story. They’d had enough of Touya. Students were already gone, choosing to celebrate far away from the Todoroki explosion. It left Touya and Keigo virtually alone on the field, bar a handful of students left to tend to the field after the game.

“Hey,” Keigo hummed, taking a few steps towards Touya in an effort he couldn’t quite identify the purpose of yet.

“Fuck off.”

Touya wouldn’t even look at him. His eyes were glued to the ground.

“Look—” Keigo said.

“Fuck. Off.”

Keigo didn’t know what else to say. So he stepped back, keeping a wary eye on Touya until he reached the locker room door. He saw him throw the lacrosse stick into the middle of the field with more force than he thought possible with a scream that could be heard throughout the grounds. Keigo watched him rake his fingers through his hair so hard you could think he was trying to pull it out. He wiped hard at his eyes.

Keigo knew it was sweat, not tears.

But he could’ve been fooled.

III.

No one spoke of the incident on the lacrosse field.

Out of fear, out of respect, no one could say for sure. Keigo couldn’t even catch whispers of it. Everyone pretended like it had never happened. Keigo considered trying to get his hands on a tabloid to see how they summarized the whole situation, but even to be seen reading it could spell death for him at the hands of his roommate. Touya had disappeared for the rest of the weekend. It made Keigo sick to his stomach thinking about where he went, maybe to the same place that put that gash in his side.

But when Touya returned on Monday, he wasn’t freshly injured like usual. He just looked tired. He slumped to each class and sat with a glassy stare until it was over, then he would grab his nearly empty bag and be the first to leave without a word.

Halfway through Biology, the office secretary came to the door and said the Dean wanted to see Touya. Everyone watched as Touya slinked out of the room, but Keigo watched the longest, trying to glean some sort of hint as to what he was being summoned for. He plowed through the worksheet as quickly as he could so he could ask the professor for the lavatory pass.

Keigo was nothing if not deathly curious.

So he took a detour on his way to the bathroom, hoping the time it took him to investigate would match the time it usually took him to do his business. He slipped down the hall once he knew it was clear and began to hear voices the closer he got to the Dean’s office.

Touya’s was clear even through the door. Another was muffled.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” He heard Touya hiss.

Some garbled noise in a low tone. He was talking on the phone.

“At my fucking lacrosse game,” Touya spat, “what did you expect me to say?”

Keigo leaned into the door hoping to hear the other end of the conversation, but it was no use.

“Oh boo hoo, a couple grand for some cameras, I don’t give a shit.”

To Keigo, what followed sounded like silence. But something must have been said.

“Maybe I never wanted your fucking company, thought about that? I probably wanted it as much as you want me to be your son.”

There was shouting on the other end of the line. Keigo heard the word “family” too clearly to ignore.

“You never wanted me to have that money, you had a whole other kid just to cut me out of the deal! Well, here you go. I’ll cut myself out. Happy?”

Keigo pressed his ear right up to the door. He swore he could hear Touya’s shaky breath.

“Go to hell,” said Touya.

The next sound was that of the handset being slammed down. Keigo knew well enough to run. He surely didn’t want to be caught snooping. Keigo’s heart pounded in time with his echoing steps. He thought about the picture of Touya’s father he’d seen in the newspaper. He then tried to imagine that face spitting something terrible over the receiver to his son at a far-off academy in the mountains.

Keigo tried to remember the last time he spoke to his father on the phone. It was his first day at the boy’s home, the sight of his bloodied mother still fresh in his mind. He was escorted to the front office and given a fresh change of clothes. Then, they sat him down and started to ask questions, simple things like how old he was—eleven—and where he was from—Kyushu—what he remembers from last night—

Mommy.

Mommy, wake up.

Wake up,

wake up,

wake up.

They held the handset up to his tear-worn face after the questions were over with. His father had one call to make before being locked away forever, and he chose to call his son. Except nothing was said. Keigo sat in silence, listening to his father’s heavy breaths while trying desperately to keep his own quiet, like he would climb through the phone wires to get him too. When they hung up, Keigo went back to picking blood out of his fingernails.

What do you remember from last night?

With every year that passed, Keigo thought harder about that question. If they could have opened up his mind somehow, flayed it and played a projector through it, they could have seen it all rather than wait for such a young boy to give his fullest description.

But, with every year, the things that seemed so unclear turned out to be the most true. Keigo’s mother was dead, for good. So was his father.

There was no one else.

Not even someone to yell at him over the phone.

Keigo laid his hand on the doorframe of the classroom. He glanced down to his feet. The school-sanctioned loafers had stopped pinching his heels, finally. The slacks were getting tight, though, which meant a growth spurt was soon to take over. His mother always said that when he got a huge craving for anything and everything, he was about to grow. She had never been wrong.

Again, all Keigo could do was transplant his own body to where Touya’s seemed to stand. A father, a mother, brothers and sisters—it felt wrong to covet what drew shaky black lines of ink into Touya’s porcelain skin. But Keigo just couldn’t help it. He couldn’t.

What do you remember from last night?

My Mommy, she tried to help me. She got in front of me. He wanted me. He wanted to get to me. Mommy got in between us. I couldn’t move, I was stuck in the corner. He wanted me. He wanted to get to me. He had to get rid of her so she could get to me. It’s all my fault, isn’t it? I couldn’t move, I swear. I tried. I kept screaming at her to move and she wouldn’t. Because he wanted me. He wanted to get to me.

Keigo wiped at his eyes. He gritted his teeth and shook his shoulders back.

What do you remember from yesterday?

He could still taste the blood in his mouth.

I wanted to get to him. He was in trouble, there were too many people. I wanted him. I wanted to get to him. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. I was stuck and couldn’t help. I wanted him.

I wanted to get to him.

And how old are you, Keigo?

Seventeen.

Where are you from?

The boy’s home.

What kinds of things do you do for fun?

I like going to the library. I like to play lacrosse.

When was the last time you felt really angry?

Always.

Does it ever scare you? To be angry?

Always.

Does it remind you of him when you get angry?

Yes.

How about when other people get angry? How do you feel?

No one gets as angry as me.

At night, when you turn out the lights, do you worry that there is something in the shadows you cannot see?

I know there’s nothing there.

Do you still worry?

Yes. I think he’s come back for me.

Do you feel stuck when this happens?

Always.

When you can’t see something, when the darkness obscures the important things, when it’s like there’s a big bandage wrapped around everything, does it make you nervous?

Yes.

Keigo kept pushing on the doorframe like it would suddenly split open and swallow him whole.

I’m so scared of him.

Who?

The man in the mirror. He won’t stop staring. He wants me. He wants to get me.

IV.

Talk of the championship game quickly took precedence over the saga of Touya’s run-in with the reporters. The more they practiced, the looser Touya seemed to feel about being back on the field. Rumi was her old self again, or so she claimed, bounding onto the field like the ankle had never rolled in the first place. Keigo had a feeling that she would’ve played on it broken if it meant starting in the championship game.

The grounds were slowly decorated with crimson and gold embellishments. Posters in the classroom building and along the walls of the dining hall advertised the game like there would somehow be students who hadn’t already heard of it or been to a game themselves. Keigo felt himself finally growing accustomed to the stares. People were starting to greet him, now. They always had something to ask about. They were suddenly aware that he was in most of their classes.

When the day came, the air was the warmest it had been all spring. Finals were close to over, just a few straggling exams given by sadistic professors who wanted to be despots right before the summer break. Keigo was lucky, he was able to cross off his last exam of the year that Friday morning.

One of the Academy’s advisors pulled him aside while chaos and excitement spread through the halls. He sat Keigo down and flipped through some things in his file.

“Everything looks great,” he said, “your grades are stellar, involvement is on track. And you’re a great lacrosse player.”

“Thank you,” Keigo said sheepishly.

The advisor gave a thin-lipped smile.

“We’d love to have you back next year,” he said.

The tension Keigo had been carrying all year finally dissolved, filling his fingers with a warm buzz. For a while, he’d forgotten about the conditional state of his attendance at Yuuei Preparatory Academy for Boys.

“Any plans for the summer?” The advisor asked.

“I’m working at a resort,” said Keigo, “just picking up a bunch of odd jobs on the grounds but they’re going to give me a place to stay and a stipend.”

“Sounds good,” the advisor shrugged, “and for after you graduate?”

Keigo hadn’t thought that far into the future. Making it to Yuuei was one thing, staying for his final year was something else entirely. But as for what came after—

he had absolutely no clue.

That had been the point of this all, right? Get a worthwhile diploma so he could find a job that would yank him from the muck of his upbringing, prove everyone, even himself, wrong. A boy from no-place and no-one making something of himself. That was the purpose Yuuei was meant to serve.

All he’d been thinking about for the past week was Touya and lacrosse, as though those things would matter at all in two years.

“I’m not sure,” Keigo admitted.

“Well, most Yuuei graduates go right to university,” the advisor said, “but there are plenty of job options if you’ve built a good network.”

“Network?”

“Friends with connections to businesses you might want to become a part of, shaking hands with their parents on holidays and whatnot,” he explained.

Keigo glanced to the window. Was he supposed to be networking this whole time? He didn’t know anything about the students that accosted him in the hallway just to shake his hand or ask him about the last game. The only powerful parents he knew were Touya’s and, more recently, Rumi’s—they were the resort moguls who got him the job at one of their locations.

“Okay,” Keigo replied anyhow.

He left the guidance office feeling dizzy. Didn’t bode well for the game that night.

Keigo hid in the locker room to avoid anymore conversations with well-meaning yet pestering students. Even the teachers had started getting on his case, rambling on about how long ago it was that the Yuuei lacrosse team won a championship and how close they got last time before—something happened. They always stopped there.

Silence and a faint sweaty stench comforted a lonely Keigo hours before the warmups were slated to start. He sat back into his cubby, allowing the cool wood arms to wrap around him and squeeze. He closed his eyes. There was too much to focus on.

Summer break.

Touya.

His future.

Finals.

Next year.

Touya.

Keigo peeked around the corner to Touya’s cubby. He reached out and took the hem of his jersey between his thumb and forefinger. It was silky, slightly pilled, gross-feeling like the last wash hadn’t done its whole job. He thought about Touya wearing it out on the field, how it avoided the lines of his body yet stretched around his broad shoulders. He let his hand fall to Touya’s hanging shorts, then his shin guards and shoes on the seat. Keigo reached up to the gold engraved panel at the top and traced the characters of Touya’s name, one-by-one.

His heart slammed in his throat. Keigo still hadn’t given Shinji the time of day. He’d try to flag him down in the hallway, but Keigo would pretend like he hadn’t heard. It wasn’t so much humiliation anymore, the feelings had dissipated from that night. It was something more like dread, that if he looked Shinji in the eyes it would hurt all over again.

In any case, Touya’s run-in with the reporters and that call with his father was too fresh on Keigo’s mind to think about anything else. Finals had sequestered him, along with most other students, to the library, so his interactions with Touya were brief if they happened at all.

But it didn’t keep Keigo from thinking about him.

“Keigo!”

The shout came from behind the door and made Keigo leap high enough from his seat to hit the top of the cubby with a thud.

“What?” He shouted back

“It’s Rumi!”

Keigo stood and rubbed at the top of his aching head. He opened the door and leaned back.

“Oh god, what did you do?” Rumi asked.

“Hit my head,” Keigo mumbled.

“Hopefully it didn’t kill the brain cells we need to win tonight,” she replied.

Keigo did a fake little laugh. Rumi rolled her eyes.

“But! The reason I came here,” Rumi gestured boldly, “I’m hosting a little get-together after the game, win or lose, and you’re gonna be there.”

“I dunno,” Keigo sighed.

Rumi glared at him, “You’ll be there.”

“I’m not big on parties.”

“I didn’t say it was a party.”

“Is it a party?”

Rumi crossed her arms.

“Yes.”

Keigo started to turn away.

“No! No, no, come on,” Rumi begged, grabbing his arms, “it’ll be fun. You of all people deserve to let loose.”

Rumi’s eyes were wide and glassy. Her lip was trembling, fit to burst soon. Keigo made a pained expression.

“Ugh,” he grunted, “fine.”

“Yay!”

“Don’t make me regret it,” said Keigo.

“You won’t!”

When Rumi turned to dance down the hallway, she had to evade someone coming in the opposite direction. Touya gave her a strange look as she nearly cornered him against the wall.

“Party, tonight, house down the dirt road, be there,” she told him plainly.

Touya blinked, possibly to try and break the illusion of the crazy woman holding him hostage in the corridor. Rumi was gone in the very next moment. Touya’s bewildered expression glinted silver in the overhead lights.

Once she was gone, Touya looked over his shoulder at Keigo in the doorway.

“Ready to play a championship game?” He asked lowly.

“I think,” Keigo started nursing the top of his head again, “my head hurts.”

When Touya squeezed by him through the doorway, he ruffled Keigo’s hair.

“Seems fine to me.”

V.

The details of the actual championship game were rather boring. It was one of those things you just had to be there for.

Yes, the scores were nail-bitingly close almost the entire match, one of Yuuei’s most valuable players was toted off the field with a bone sticking out of his leg, a fight broke out in the stands during halftime, and Keigo made a game-winning goal that sparked the loudest cheer those bleachers had ever heard, according to the chemistry professor who had been working there since the dinosaurs roamed the earth.

Yeah, nothing too exciting.

Keigo, on the other hand, was floating on a cloud made of overexcited students who had swept him up on their shoulders the moment the referee blew the whistle and refused to let him down even for a second. If everyone didn’t know his name before, they certainly did now.

Keigo could feel his cheeks burning the entire walk from the field down the winding dirt path down which Rumi had directed them. She said she’d rented out some fancy, empty house a couple miles away from campus so noise wouldn’t be an issue, and you could stay there all night if you were so inclined.

The illusion of choice in whether he would go or not was quickly dashed by the miracle goal. Now he was the guest of honor.

The house in question was smaller than a mansion but at least two normal-sized houses stacked on top of each other with windows stretching from one end of the wall to another and a forest of gingko trees and paper lanterns lining the walkway.

When Keigo arrived, everything was already in full swing. Music was blasting out of speakers at seemingly every corner of the vast home, mostly rock songs turned up to the point where Keigo couldn’t tell what they were saying. At least his rabid fans had given him a chance to change out of his rank lacrosse uniform and into his plainclothes, seeing everyone else out of their uniforms made everything that much more familiar.

A crowd quickly formed around him. Drinks were shoved in each hand. A cloud of sweet-smelling marijauna smoke invaded his senses.

“That shot was insane!” Someone shouted.

“I was freaking out the entire time, I really thought you guys were gonna lose.”

“Did you think you were gonna make that goal? You took it like you thought you would, I mean really!”

Keigo humored them for as long as he physically could. Rumi eventually rescued him, but only to pull him to a far corner of the kitchen and provide him with three sugary shots, one after another.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rumi grabbed his free arm and thrust it into the air, “your bird of prey, master of the field—Hawks!”

The nickname was strange, certainly a product of Rumi’s already inebriated mind, but it caught like wildfire amongst the student bodies mingling in the darkness of the house. Keigo disappeared almost instantly into its shadows, Hawks had flown into the light.

Eventually, it all became too much for Hawks. His head was feeling full of cotton and his lips were having a hard time keeping up with his words. He stumbled around a bit, dodging adoring fans who were patting him on the back and ruffling his hair, their own sanity taking a bit of a nosedive as the night waned.

Keigo wasn’t quite sure why, but he was looking for Touya.

He hadn’t said he’d come, even though Rumi essentially demanded it of him. But Keigo had a feeling he was there, his strong, metallic, bloody presence. They’d looked at each other all throughout the game, almost daring each other to win against all odds. It made Keigo feel alive. It gave him the push he needed to go for the nearly impossible shot right at the end.

He checked into every room he came across. Most were empty, Some had couples so engrossed with each others’ mouths that they didn’t even look up when Keigo burst in. When he reached the top floor of the house where only stragglers had come to act cool, he peered out every window.

Halfway down, lit only by the end of a cigarette, was Touya sitting on the roof.

Keigo pushed around the edges of the window to find where it opened. It creaked. Touya glanced back at him.

“Hey,” he grunted.

“Hi,” Keigo replied, his voice still one second behind everything else.

With a dangerous wobble towards the edge, Keigo guided himself down to sit beside Touya, close enough to smell his cologne but not close enough to touch. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Want some?” Touya asked, offering his cigarette.

Keigo wasn’t sure why he said what he said next. He just did.

“Sure.”

Even though his hands were trembling, Keigo took the cigarette, the edge of his pinky grazing the side of Touya’s hand. He forced it between his lips and inhaled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Touya mumbled to him.

His voice was uncharacteristically soft, like he was afraid to break the silence of the night that surrounded him. Even so, it was all undercut by the buzz of a party down below that was slowly spilling out onto the front lawn, messy masses of limbs and lips and alcohol.

Keigo coughed out his first cloud of smoke. He grimaced and gave it back to Touya.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Touya turned, “Hawks.”

“Aw, come on,” Keigo groaned.

“How’d you end up with a stupid name like that?”

“I didn’t exactly choose it.”

Touya blew the smoke out from the side of his mouth. He offered the cigarette back to Keigo. Keigo took it, but did nothing with it.

“You’re not acting like a champ,” Touya teased him.

Keigo tried to shake himself back to reality. He felt like he was floating an inch above the ground. His chest was twisting around and around. His stomach was in his feet.

“I’m sorry about what happened with the reporters,” he said.

Touya scoffed. He snatched the cigarette from Keigo’s idle hands.

“Whatever,” he said, “happens all the time.”

“Doesn’t make it okay,” said Keigo.

Touya breathed in deeply. He put the cigarette out onto the tarred roof.

“Todorokis don’t get to play fair,” he said.

Keigo rubbed at his eyes. He was feeling sleepy.

“What do you mean?”

“Everything’s shiny from a distance. People love to stare. But all that gold shit, it’s fake,” Touya murmured, “Get close enough, and you’ll see it.”

“How close?”

Keigo wasn’t too sure what he was saying anymore. He needed that cigarette back, but it had been flicked right off the edge of the roof.

“Pretty fucking close,” Touya chuckled breathily.

Keigo stared down at his lap, “You don’t have to get very close to know what’s going on with me.”

Touya leaned back onto his hands. It brought his body an inch closer to Keigo’s. Their clothes brushed. The breeze started to constrict in the space between them.

“I don’t know all that much,” he said.

“The rumor mill was working at all hours when I got here,” Keigo said.

Touya shrugged, “Didn’t pay much attention.”

Keigo swallowed as best he could down his tight throat. All his organs were in the wrong places. He felt a weight sinking down onto his body as the alcohol stopped working its magic.

“My dad—he was a bad person,” Keigo began in a small voice, “at some point, my mom had to take me and run, we hid in this cellar under the apartment of a rich family she worked for. She was a maid.”

Keigo tried to remember the last time he told the whole story. He couldn’t.

“But he found us. He came in with this—knife. He was trying to get to me, I still don’t know why. I couldn’t look right at his face, it scared me so bad. My mom got in between us. He—”

Suddenly, he felt Touya’s gaze. He was close, looking into the cracks of Keigo’s life. Running his fingers over it. Seeing what no one was ever meant to see. But telling the story felt like falling down a slick mountain, there was no stopping now that he had started.

“He stabbed her until she died. Bled out right in front of me. The cops got there before he could do the same to me.”

And that was the end of it. The boy’s home followed logically. Keigo decided to withhold that his father was also dead. It felt like too much, in the moment.

“That’s crazy.”

It was all Touya said.

“I know.”

It was all Keigo said back.

Then they were back again, sitting in perfect silence, watching the night pass by.

“You didn’t bring me a drink,” Touya eventually said.

Keigo laughed, “Was I supposed to?”

“I could use one,” Touya replied.

“How was I supposed to know that?”

Touya leaned and crashed his shoulder with Keigo’s.

“How about you go get your own,” Keigo teased him, pushing back with a little more force.

“You go first,” said Touya, “I’ll meet you in a couple minutes.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Touya said, “Hawks.”

Keigo pushed himself up to his feet and rolled his eyes.

“Please tell me you’re gonna drop that,” he groaned, “it’s weird enough that everyone at Yuuei likes me all of a sudden.”

Touya leaned back onto his elbows. He gazed at Keigo with his snow-soft stare.

“Welcome to your new world,” he said.

Keigo turned towards the window. But before he slipped through, he glanced back to Touya.

“You’re not gonna stop talking to me now that I’m with the in-crowd, right?” He asked.

Touya’s lips twitched up into what Keigo could only interpret as a smile, or an echo of one.

“Maybe,” Touya replied.

Keigo climbed through the window and started down the stairs, still floating above the ground.

Touya’s ghost of a smile had put one on his own face that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t notice it until he ran into a crowd of people back on the first floor.

“Keigo!” One girl called out to him, “We’ve been looking for you!”

“Your cheeks are all red,” Another said, grabbing his arm, “were you getting high up there or something?”

Keigo opened his mouth to reply, but the slowness of the alcohol had returned in full-force. The cloying smell of drugs wasn’t helping.

“We’re playing a game! You have to join,” said the first girl.

“What game?” Keigo asked.

Their answer was to pull him into the circle of about ten people that had congregated on the living room carpet. There were empty cups everywhere, most of them tipped over into spills, others hanging in the weak grasp of its maybe-owner.

“Okay, Rumi goes next!” Someone shouted.

“What game are we playing?” Keigo asked the girl beside him.

She still didn’t answer. She was watching rapt as a commotion started on the other side of the stairwell.

“Rumi?” Keigo shouted when he saw her across the circle.

She looked up. Her hair was frazzled and her eyes were blown-out. She didn’t look like she was feeling very well, but she still greeted Keigo with a smile. When the circle exploded into cheers, both of them looked around, confused.

“It’s you and Rumi!” The girl on his other side shouted as her face started to swim amidst all the smoke.

“What?” Keigo asked.

Finally, he looked into the center of the circle. There was an empty bottle, and the nozzle was pointing right at him.

“You and Rumi have to go into the closet,” a guy in the circle announced, “no more, no less.”

“Wait,” Keigo held up his hands.

But he was already being escorted, or pushed, to the linen closet at the entrance of the house. Rumi was following close behind, also against her own will. Keigo tried to explain himself the entire time they were being puzzled into the closet together.

Despite their pleading, the door was closed and the two of them were stuck, at least for the next seven minutes.

“Shit,” Keigo sighed.

Rumi leaned her head back onto the shelf built into the closet wall. Keigo felt a mass of coats engulf him from behind. It was a small space. Too small, it seemed, for Rumi.

“Fuck, I ‘otta get outta here,” she muttered, her eyes darting all around.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” said Keigo.

Rumi shook her head, but she wouldn’t look at Keigo, “Youidn’t do anything wrong. We’re—both drunk.”

Keigo nodded in agreement, but the entire process of being shoved in a closet had been sobering. His head was starting to clear and develop a nasty throbbing pain.

“Oh my god,” Rumi sighed as she shoved her eyes closed, “I hate small spaces. I hate ‘em so much.”

“You can leave,” said Keigo.

“I won’t leave you—’lone in here,” she said in a tight voice.

“Come on, Rumi, I’ll be fine,” Keigo pleaded, “just go.”

She slicked her hair back with her hands and wet her lips with a dart of her tongue.

“I feel—feel bad,” she whined, “we’re s’ppose to—”

“Rumi,” Keigo reached for her arm, “You don’t have to kiss me. Frankly, I don’t really want to kiss you.”

She looked at Keigo.

“You don’t?” She asked softly.

It was then that Keigo saw her stance, the way she had her arms braced against her chest where the opening of her shirt was cut down to the end of her sternum. She had been creating as much distance as possible between the two of them in the cramped closet.

“I thought you’d—” she began in a fading whisper.

Keigo’s face fell, “No, never.”

Rumi’s shoulders relaxed a bit. She glanced down to the floor. She rubbed a hand down her neck and took a deep breath.

“Sorry,” she said, “I just got scared.”

“It’s okay,” Keigo said.

“I know y’wouldn’t,” she said back.

“Rumi. It’s fine.”

Her eyes, lucid and misty, fell to the door.

“Go,” Keigo demanded, “get some fresh air.”

“You won’t be mad?” She asked.

“I’ll sit here by myself until the seven minutes are over then I’ll, I dunno, make something up.”

Rumi nodded. Her mouth quirked up into a weak smile. She turned the handle and slipped out, making sure to check to the left and right before making her great escape.

“Oh, Touya! Come here.”

Keigo’s knees buckled.

No, no, no.

“Just keep him company for a minute, I’ll be back before the time is up. Promise.”

No!

No!

No!

“Touya,” Keigo said tightly.

He’d appeared in the door like a lanky ghost. Touya sneered at the state of the closet and the boy trapped inside. When Rumi was standing across from Keigo, it felt like he had all the space in the world; now, with Touya, it felt like any move would entangle them. Rumi closed them inside, the click jolting Keigo to reality.

The reality where he was trapped inches away from Todoroki Touya in a dusty coat closet.

“What the hell is going on?” Touya hissed.

Keigo shook his head, “No clue. Came downstairs and now I’m—” he gestured, “here.”

Touya tried to readjust so the shelf wouldn’t dig right into his back, but all he did was wedge his knee between Keigo’s legs. Keigo straightened his posture and found a puzzle box on the shelf to focus on instead.

He wanted the seven minutes to be up now. Any second more spent in this closet with Touya might make his brain melt and ooze out of his ears. When his thighs started to burn from holding the strange position, Keigo tried to stand up and lean on the wall instead.

But standing up just brought him face-to-face with an uncomfortable Touya.

His heart leapt into his throat. He wondered if Touya could see it beating there. Touya’s boney knee was still lodged between Keigo’s. When they breathed in time with one another, their chests touched on each inhale. Keigo turned his gaze towards the door.

“Sorry,” Keigo whispered.

His face burned as he felt Touya’s hot, smokey breath hit his cheek. Just beneath it was a more familiar smell, one that had surrounded Keigo’s senses those nights he spent at the Todoroki Estate snuggled into Touya’s sheets.

Every inch of his body felt alive with electricity but, at the same time, like his organs were failing him one-by-one. Keigo felt Touya’s knee shift slightly, the stitches in their pants catching for half a second.

“Keigo,” Touya hummed.

His own name reverberated in his ear. It shook his throat and the heart lodged inside of it.

“I’m sorry, just a little longer,” Keigo whispered.

“Keigo.”

Finally, he turned.

And Touya kissed him.

He didn’t half-ass it, either. He grabbed the sides of Keigo’s face with his calloused, slender hands and pulled their faces together so suddenly Keigo would liken it to a collision of cars or planets or anything else that results in fire.

Their lips ran together roughly, thick wads of leather seeking and finding and wearing away. Touya had the slightest stubble on his jaw. His hands fit perfectly on Keigo’s cheeks. When they pulled away, Keigo could only imagine the look on his own face.

“Do you—,” he whispered

Whatever Keigo had planned to say, it felt wildly unimportant. He leaned back in, slowly, uncertain if he’d misread it all. He hadn’t. Touya’s hand traveled to the back of his neck and tugged him closer. The inside of his mouth tasted like smoke and beer. Keigo let his eyes melt closed.

Keigo’s livewire body began to shoot spark at the ends, the slightest drop of water would’ve had the ability to send a shockwave through the city. Touya pressed in closer and closer like he was trying to touch the heart stuck in Keigo’s throat. The moment Keigo’s hands had the courage to touch Touya’s hips, the hands that were once on his neck were slipping down his back.

Keigo balled the soft material of Touya’s t-shirt in his fingers. He felt the tips of Touya’s sharp fangs graze the edge of his lip. He made a small, unavoidable noise at the back of his throat.

Touya’s fingers danced at the hem of Keigo’s shirt. If he were to touch Keigo’s skin, it would burn him instantly. Everything ran hot and golden and slick and fast. Keigo was convinced he was tasting blood, at one point.

“Touya,” he whispered against his roommate’s lips.

Touya’s hands gripped the soft parts of Keigo’s waist and shoved him into the wall so hard that the puzzle pieces in the box up on the shelf shook. He lifted his knee even further up. Keigo felt himself shying away without meaning to. There was just too much happening, he couldn’t deduce what could possibly come next.

The world had stopped spinning, Keigo was sure of it. There was no past or future, just now, and the fabric of Touya’s shirt between his fingers.

Touya’s tongue ran across Keigo’s teeth. This wasn’t the first time Keigo had kissed a boy, but this was the first time he’d ever felt like doing so would result in his bodily implosion. There was barely a moment to breathe between Touya’s tongue on his teeth then under Keigo’s.

Keigo needed to hold onto something, anything. Otherwise he was going to melt into the ground or fly up into the air and careen back to earth in a fiery comet. He reached to where he knew the coats were hanging and tried to grab the arm of one, but he hung on too hard and sent both the coat and the hanger clattering to the ground.

“Holy shit!”

At first, Keigo thought it came from inside of his head. Touya was still kissing him hard and fast, his hands bunching up the sides of Keigo’s shirt almost to the level of his navel.

“Wait,” Keigo whispered.

Touya stopped. He looked right at Keigo.

“Oh my god,” the same voice appeared, “Rumi and Hawks are totally getting it on in there!”

Oh, god.

Keigo had forgotten where they were: a coat closet at a party playing a game where he was supposed to be kissing his teammate Rumi, not his teammate Touya. The moment had swept him into delirium. Realization trickled down his spine like ravines of ice-cold water.

Touya realized it too. He swallowed thickly and moved his face away from Keigo’s. His hands were still on Keigo’s waist. Keigo was still holding onto his shirt.

“Fuck,” Keigo mouthed.

“Put your clothes back on!” A girl shouted from the hallway, “Your seven minutes are up, lovebirds.”

Keigo and Touya exchanged a look. They both knew they had to do something, they just didn’t know what. Keigo could leave, but everyone would wonder where Rumi was. They couldn’t leave together, that’s for sure. And Touya leaving would just be too confusing and probably spark the greatest rumor of the whole year.

Keigo detached himself from Touya and prayed to any deity who was listening for a solution. His heart pounded. His blood flooded to the tips of his fingers. Every hair stood on end.

A loud crack sounded from further inside the house. Then, a scream. Other voices followed, some cheering on whatever had just happened while others started to panic.

“What was that?” One of the interested students asked.

“Oh my god, he broke the table!”

Their footsteps were loud. They receded. Keigo heaved a sigh of relief and thanked the deity responsible.

“We need to get out, now,” Keigo said plainly.

He wouldn’t look back into Touya’s eyes. That would make it all real. What they had just done.

Keigo cracked the door open and checked. The coast was clear. Whatever broken table fiasco that had transpired in the kitchen was much more interesting than Rumi and Hawks in the coat closet.

Keigo didn’t dare look up as he darted away from the scene of the crime, even as Touya called out his name. When he ran through the front door, he was met with Rumi in a head-on collision.

“Woah! Are you okay?” She asked, much calmer than six minutes before.

Keigo held onto her arms. He tried to keep himself from crying.

“I did something bad,” He eked out.

“What?” Rumi asked.

All Keigo could do was cry into her shoulder. Because she couldn’t understand that Keigo had almost been caught, his greatest secret revealed, his future sullied for the rest of time. He’d come too close this time, too close to ruining everything he’d worked so hard for.

Rumi wouldn’t understand why he couldn’t go back to his room. Why he had to sleep in one of the rooms in this massive house because he had done something he’d sworn to himself to never do, knowing the consequences that followed.

“I fucked up,” he sobbed into her shoulder, “I fucked up.”

He knew it was true, because he wanted to kiss Todoroki Touya again—

no matter the consequences.

Chapter Text

I.

August, 1974

A summer in the sun made Keigo shoot up like a weed, amongst a host of other physical changes that stretched the seams of his clothes tight around his shoulders and called forth the attention of more women than he would like it to.

It began as a summer of grueling work digging up expensive landscaping and skimming every pool on the grounds before they opened and hauling piles of laundry to the chutes at the end of the halls. But when Rumi came back from her month-long lacrosse camp in Korea, she must have put in a good word with her parents since Keigo’s workload quickly lightened.

Soon, he was caddying out on the golf course and lifeguarding on the weekends, occasionally picking up shifts in the resort restaurant which came with a hefty bonus of a delicious meal at the end of the night. He got close with the other servers through their subtle impressions of the insufferably wealthy patrons whom they served. While most of them were certainly more well-off in life than he, they understood more than anyone at Yuuei ever could.

They invited him to the bar every Wednesday night, and every Wednesday night Keigo had to remind them that he was too young. They would plead, say it doesn’t matter, but Keigo could still feel Yuuei’s surveilling eye on him, even from hundreds of miles away. He couldn’t step out of line now, not when life was finally deciding to treat him kindly.

His teeth were evening out, an unexpected change that struck him at the tail-end of the summer. He just looked in the mirror one day and suddenly his mouth had space for them all, leaving a dazzling smile in its wake. He grew three whole inches, or that was what Rumi insisted when she visited again for the last two weeks of their break. She measured him and everything, even marked it with a pencil on the doorjamb of his room which sent Keigo into a fit.

Keigo also sported a golden tan and a host of freckles, both of which had appeared after a few weeks of lifeguarding. His hair had finally grown out, his blonde waves falling over his eyes in a dreamy way. Sometimes, when Keigo looked in the mirror, the sight of himself was startling. He’d have to touch his own face just to make sure what he was seeing was real.

On their last night before returning to Yuuei, Rumi had begged him to get a nice haircut. Keigo resisted, but she had already paid the hairdresser at the resort and Keigo was tired of turning the offer down over and over. The hairdresser had left the length and waves but cleaned up his split ends and given him the closest shave he’d ever had in his life. Keigo spent at least half an hour in front of the bathroom mirror afterwards, adjusting the various bits of hair and practicing his new smile.

“Okay, we get it, you’re obsessed with yourself,” Rumi called from the room.

Keigo rolled his eyes. He turned out the light and leaned in the doorway. Rumi was sprawled on the floor, her back to the side of his bed.

“You’re the one who made me get this haircut,” he teased.

She poured herself another drink. Keigo’s was still half-full on the nightstand. She’d snuck some out of the pool bar, despite Keigo’s protesting. But now the bottle was here and Rumi was three glasses deep already. Keigo wasn’t about to miss out on the fun.

He took his glass and finished it, grimacing at the sour taste. His head felt pleasantly warm and fuzzy. He plopped down beside Rumi and sighed.

“You really think I look good?” He asked.

Rumi gave him a matter-of-fact look.

“I think you’re fishing for compliments now,” she said.

Keigo laughed, “Maybe, maybe.”

“Everyone at Yuuei is gonna die when they see you.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone. Even the boys.”

Even Touya?

Not a word from him all summer. It wasn’t like Keigo was expecting anything, not actively at least. They’d left on a strange note.

The last time he saw Touya, Keigo had been packing his things for the summer. Yuuei told them that everything had to go with them over the break since the staff would be cleaning. Keigo had borrowed a trunk from the school so he wouldn’t have to part with much. It was halfway full when Touya returned to the room smelling like smoke.

Keigo stared intently into the mouth of the case. His throat felt tight. Memories of that night at the party flickered back and forth between euphoria and dread. Touya had disappeared, as per usual, for a few days until the semester was over and he had to collect his things. So Keigo would lie in bed alone, playing it all out in his head until there was nothing left to remember.

Touya didn’t say anything as he tossed his duffel onto the bed and started shoving things into it. Keigo’s thoughts returned to his own belongings, he packed his book and another shirt. He paired his socks and folded them into each other. He fiddled with the worn heels.

Say something.

Keigo opened his mouth. Touya beat him to it.

“Summer plans?” He asked gruffly.

Keigo chewed on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, working.”

“You have a place to stay?” Touya asked.

“Yeah.”

And that was the end of it. Just as Keigo was placing his toothbrush and toothpaste atop his clothes, he heard Touya pull the zipper on his bag and shuffle out without another word. The door closed. Summer began.

And everything was wrong.

Working had been a nice distraction but some nights, when he wasn’t so tired, he’d lie in bed and stare at the ceiling and try to imagine it all again: the closet, their legs tangled, the kiss. He could feel details slipping through his fingers already, the specific feelings getting clouded by life’s perpetual motion.

All summer, he’d itched to tell Rumi about it. She’d asked subtly a few times, but Keigo dismissed her. What would she think? It was all so messed up. It was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. And now, they were sitting on the floor of his postage-stamp room in a far-off building on the resort property, pleasantly tipsy, thinking about nothing but tonight.

“Wonder what Touya’s been up to,” Rumi chuckled.

Keigo laughed too, though it didn’t feel like a laughing matter.

“I don’t think we’ll ever truly know,” said Keigo.

“You guys don’t talk about it?” Rumi asked, turning her gaze towards him.

Rumi’s hair was pretty up close. It looked like silk. And she smelled like the ocean even though they were nowhere near it.

“Not really,” Keigo shrugged, “he’s not the talking type.”

“Could’ve guessed,” Rumi sighed.

“I mean,” Keigo laughed, “we’re roommates and I barely know anything about the guy!”

Rumi laughed too. The only funny part of it all was how they felt, their stomachs flipping from the liquor and their heads in the clouds. Rumi leaned her head on Keigo’s shoulder. He pursed his lips.

“I’m sorry about what happened in the closet,” she whispered.

Keigo turned. Her hair grazed his lip, satin-soft.

“It’s fine,” he whispered back.

“No, really, I—” she hesitated, “I sort of wanted to kiss you.”

Keigo’s heart leapt to his throat. Rumi sat up. Her cheeks were ruddied.

“Just not there,” she said, “not like that.”

Keigo hadn’t realized how close their faces were until that moment. He could smell her biting, drunken breath. His face felt hot and his fingers tingled, but it felt like a developing flu where it’s all compounded with the knowledge that you’re about to be very sick for a long time.

“Not like that?” He asked.

“No,” Rumi shook her head.

Her pale eyes glimmered. Keigo tried to manage the chaos of his insides.

“Like this,” she hummed.

And then Rumi kissed him.

She smelled nice.

Her lips were soft.

Her skin was warm.

Keigo supposed it could be nice—this.

Kissing Rumi.

Feeling nice.

Normal.

Yes.

Nice and normal.

With his normal smile and normal hair and normal tan, perhaps this was just the last piece of the puzzle.

So Keigo let it all happen,

like it was normal.

II.

Keigo was surprised that anyone at Yuuei Preparatory Academy for Boys even recognized him upon the year’s start, especially considering he didn’t recognize himself when he looked in the mirror.

But maybe his new height and color wasn’t the only thing they were looking at. It wasn’t every day he was seen holding someone’s hand as he strolled through the property. Rumi’s palm was soft and dry. Keigo’s was constantly moist yet rough on the points where he held the lacrosse stick. With every step, their warring elements clashed in an unpleasant squelch. Keigo tried to ignore it as they traveled betwixt the stares of the student body.

“Maybe we should’ve gone for a softer launch,” Rumi teased.

Keigo laughed breathily. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known what to say to Rumi since the night they kissed. So maybe the whole thing happening between them, squelching between their palms, was best described as unsaid. One night they were lip-locked, hazy from the liquor then the next they were riding in the hired car with their fingers interlaced, talking about the year to come as though it were all expected.

“Have you heard from Shinji at all?” Rumi asked.

Keigo nodded, “He sent me a letter a while back.”

I never responded.

That was the part he left out. Shinji had written some perfectly nice things, talking about his new apartment near the university in Switzerland that had practically begged him to join their Political Science program. Then he asked how Keigo was doing and whether he was excited about his final year at Yuuei.

He said he’d try to tune into the school radio station that gives a play-by-play of every lacrosse game, but he’d be there for the championship game no matter what. Keigo read the letter at least three times over before folding it up as small as he could get it and slipping it into the pocket of the leather toiletry bag Rumi had gifted him halfway through the summer.

Rumi liked to give gifts. Keigo hated to accept them. But Rumi didn’t take no for an answer and would leave the gift on Keigo’s pillow whether he accepted or not. Thing is, he couldn’t help but feel that it was a form of pity. Not pity in that he didn’t have an Italian leather toiletry bag, but that he had no toiletry bag at all. Little orphan Keigo hiding behind six more inches and curly golden locks and a soft leather toiletry bag.

Everyone still knew the truth.

Whether it mattered to anyone was in question as they approached the courtyard where students and parents milled in half-familiarity, half-uncertainty. Those who had been here before beheld the brand-new couple now standing toe-to-toe rather strangely, like they were two puzzle pieces who were enough of a fit that you can believe it but upon closer inspection, the design has tricked you, and pulling them apart takes more strength than you’re willing to expend.

“People are staring,” Keigo murmured.

“At you,” Rumi smiled.

“At us.”

“At you.”

Then, Rumi leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like summer even as the breeze threatened autumn around them. The kiss lingered like a mosquito bite that Keigo wasn’t allowed to scratch.

Whispers rose amongst the students, just like they had when Keigo first arrived with nothing but the clothes in his knapsack. But this time they were whispers of wonder rather than judgement.

Keigo didn’t know which he preferred, anymore.

“Are you nervous?” Rumi asked.

Keigo shrugged, “A little.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Keigo replied, “yeah, I know.”

Rumi always made him feel like everything was going to be fine. Her soft hands, her long plaited hair, her sweet and unwavering smile.

It made Keigo’s chest grow warm, but it didn’t make his heart stop.

Not like—

“Go unpack,” said Rumi, “I’ll come by the wall later tonight.”

“When?” Keigo asked.

“After dinner.”

She leaned in for a real kiss this time. Keigo swallowed nervously. He mirrored her, leaning in with his lips puckered just so. They kissed. It was short and nothing more came of it besides a stronger hum from the watchful students all around them. Rumi strutted away with her braid swinging against her back. Keigo mustered a small smile. He turned to his peers who had finally taken their eyes off of the spectacle now that they felt they were being watched in return. Some scurried off to tell their friends, or that’s what Keigo assumed.

In the front hall of the dormitory building, Keigo found his rolling trunk along with a number of other bags that had been carried in by personal drivers. This particular gift wasn’t from Rumi, but from a boss of his at the resort. He was the only person amongst the strange stench of wealth that felt familiar to Keigo. He’d grown up near Keigo’s hometown and worked his way up to management of the resort’s dining experiences. He certainly wasn’t as wealthy as the patrons who ate his food, but he had enough to not even blink when the day before Christmas, he rolled in a leather trunk with brass fixtures and Keigo’s initials etched in gold at the top.

He hoisted the heavy sack by the handle and started up the grand oak staircase, its old mothy smell welcoming him back to the hallowed halls of Yuuei. He was in a new room this year on the top floor, a perk for students in their final year, since they tended to be better heated in the winters and slightly larger than other dorms. Keigo found his room number and peered closely at the names on the door.

Takami Keigo

Todoroki Touya

Everything had changed over the summer, except for the one thing Keigo was desperate to forget.

A kiss can mean nothing, he told himself.

Except as he unlocked the door and hauled his things into the new room, he felt the weight of everything sink atop his shoulders.

There was Touya at his bed, pulling crumpled clothes out of his trunk piece-by-piece. He didn’t even look up when Keigo walked in. He didn’t even grunt until Keigo had put his trunk on the bed and unlatched it.

A kiss can mean everything.

Like it had between him and Rumi. Just one kiss, and everything changed. That was the way it worked with love. It passed in such a blur you could barely keep track of yourself within it.

Maybe Touya had forgotten about that night. Perhaps he was so drunk that everything appeared to him like a dark blur in a stormy memory. If it were true, Touya was a lucky man. Keigo wished it was as easy to forget as it was for him to remember.

As Keigo unpacked, he held his breath, not wanting to miss even a mutter that came out of Touya’s mouth. The air stretched between them, the ground started to swirl, consuming everything between them until they were the only forces in the universe pulled together by their shared fear of the darkness around them.

Keigo chewed on the inside of his mouth. He picked up a polaroid of him and Rumi that they’d taken during the summer and leaned it up against the lamp on his bedside table. Then, he picked up a newspaper clipping of the three of them, Keigo, Rumi, and Touya, after the championship game hung around each other in celebration. Written around it was a glowing review of Keigo’s performance in the game. He put the clipping in the drawer of the nightstand.

“Guess I was right.”

His gravelly voice jolted Keigo out of his own thoughts. A cold chill ran down his back. He turned and watched the back of Touya’s head as he closed his trunk. He’d cut his hair again, this time with a jagged pocketknife of some sort. A wound was healing above his ear where the hair had been shaved off completely.

“What?” Keigo eked out.

“It’s a whole new world for you.”

Keigo waited for Touya to turn around. He needed to see the face that kept appearing in his dreams all summer. He needed to be sure he remembered it correctly.

“Captain of the lacrosse team, hot new girlfriend,” he muttered.

Finally, he turned, shoving the cigarette he’d been twiddling in his fingers between his lips. He was gaunt, every boneless part of his face sunken into itself and paled to a sickly shade of gray. The circles under his eyes were purple now, like the lack of sleep had given him two shiners that would never heal. There was a new piercing in his lip and a few in his ears. His nose was crooked like it was broken in at least three places.

Keigo felt like he was peering into the coffin at a dead man.

“You’ve got it all,” said the dead man.

He left. Keigo watched him slam the door closed.

It wasn’t the face he dreamt about at all.

III.

October, 1974

“I can’t,” Keigo sighed.

Rumi pouted and planted her face in her hands, carefully balancing her elbows atop the fence.

“Why not?”

“I have too much homework,” Keigo replied, “with captain duties and practice all week I’ve had to put it off.”

“Mmm, captain,” Rumi teased.

Keigo rolled his eyes, “It’s not that serious.”

“Apparently it is when you can’t take one night off to come to one banquet.”

It was that serious. Keigo wouldn’t admit it for anything: not to his coach, not to his teachers, and especially not to himself. Just a month and a half into classes, Keigo felt himself drowning beneath readings and essays and long nights on the lacrosse field trying to keep a clear head for the oncoming season.

Captain was a privilege, that much he knew. It was going to look great on his college applications. And it was a special honor since he had only been at Yuuei for one year. No one on the team was heartbroken either, they all knew the honor was well-deserved.

“Do you need help?” Rumi asked.

The hair on the back of Keigo’s neck stood up.

“No,” he said quickly, “I don’t. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

“Keigo,” Rumi’s voice lowered, “it’s fine if you need help with a class. Everyone does at some point. I almost failed Chem last year. The kid who sat beside me slept through every class and got better grades than me.”

Keigo’s hands started to sweat and slip down the rocky surface. He kept shaking his head, even when he didn’t know he was doing it.

“I’m fine.”

“Keigo.”

“Really.”

“Keigo.”

“Latin is kicking my ass.”

He paired it with a laugh to dull the sincerity. Rumi wasn’t amused.

“Latin,” she nodded, “sounds valid. Dead language and all.”

“For something that’s dead, it packs a mean punch.”

Rumi twirled a strand of her long silvery hair.

“But if I remember correctly, there’s someone we both know who’s got a knack for dead stuff,” she said suggestively.

Keigo crinkled his brows. Rumi looked at him expectantly.

“Touya-a?” She said in a sing-songy voice.

“Yeah.”

The thing about Touya was, since the very first day they both returned to Yuuei, he felt a universe away. The times where they were in the room at the same time were shrouded in tense silence. At all others, when Keigo was alone, he tried to count the cracks in the ceiling and not think about Touya out there, somewhere, getting his nose broken in new ways.

Some of it was worry. Some was curiosity that made Keigo feel like he was descending into insanity.

“It’s been—weird between us.”

“Weird?”

Keigo regretted saying anything.

“Just leave it,” he said.

“Okay, but—”

Rumi’s voice trailed off. She stared into the distance. Keigo only recognized it as the direction they’d gone in to get to the party after the championship game.

“At the party,” she hummed.

Keigo choked down a tight feeling. His eyes blurred. Rumi blinked down then back up to Keigo’s face.

“You ran out and you were, I dunno, crying, like hard,” she said, “and you said something about—ruining everything. What did you mean?”

I had made a mistake,

an irreversible mistake.

I kissed Todoroki Touya.

And I didn’t hate myself enough for it.

“It was nothing,” said Keigo, “I was drunk.”

“You’re sure?”

Keigo hated to lie, but he had to do it. He wouldn’t have lived this long without a propensity for half-truths. Still, he felt crystalline when he did it, like Rumi could see right through him to the other side.

But, perhaps, Keigo was such a good liar there was no truth left at his core. Maybe he’d told enough lies to make his subconscious believe it all.

I don’t want to kiss Todoroki Touya again.

Right down to the core.

“I miss summer already,” Rumi hummed.

“It’s barely over,” said Keigo.

The statement was only a few breezy days from being its own lie. The leaves had started to yellow and there was a new crispness to everything. Keigo waited eagerly for the snow. He liked a clean blanket over everything—a blank slate.

“You remind me of summer,” Rumi whispered.

Keigo pressed his lips together. He smiled.

Rumi leaned in and planted a lingering kiss on his cheek. Her flowery perfume stung the inside of his nose. He pulled back, his skin running along Rumi’s fingertips.

Keigo looked down sheepishly and dug his nails into the cracks between the stones until they felt close to bleeding.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Rumi asked in a quietly wounded voice.

Keigo nodded. He climbed down the wall and patted at his beet-red cheeks. The other boyfriends at the wall were lingering, pressing kisses on their girlfriends’ lips and even smiling after. None of them pulled away.

Keigo felt like he was going to be sick. The woods were off on the left, but he wouldn’t make it in time. So he swallowed everything down and started to walk, hoping it would pass. He tried to think about Latin to pass the time.

Laboro

Laboras

Laborat

Laboramus

Laboratis

Laborant

It worked.

Concedo

Concedis

Concedit

Concedimus

Conceditis

Concedunt.

He thought about Touya.

Desidero

Desideras

Desiderat

Desideramus

Desideratis

Desiderant

None of it meant anything to him.

IV.

The day Keigo finally caught Touya, the temperature had fallen to a chill. Thus, the grounds were littered with students eager to say goodbye to the sweltering summer. They’d spread quilts from their beds onto the grass, not minding the dirt and bugs, and braved the wrath of the dining hall by taking hot drinks in porcelain mugs out with them.

Keigo was at his desk rubbing his eyes and gnawing on the eraser end of his pencil wishing that he was one of those students frolicking in the new season. Instead, he was embroiled in a bout of self-torture. The culprit? American Literature.

The door swung open. He heard Touya’s heavy boots against the wood floors.

“Lord of the Flies,” he muttered.

Keigo looked up to find Touya looming over him, peering at the book being held open by a heavy notepad.

“Don’t you have to take this class?” Keigo asked.

“Already did,” said Touya.

“No way.”

“My first year,” he said, “I tested out of all the English courses so—”

He was talking to Keigo like nothing had happened. Like everything was as it was in April.

“So you read this?” Keigo motioned to the book.

“Oh, fuck no,” Touya scoffed, “I only read one of them. Some play or something.”

Then he walked to his bed and flopped down onto the messy sheets, fishing for a cigarette in his pocket the whole way.

Keigo licked his lips. He closed the book and slammed his pencil down.

Now or never.

“I need—help,” he said.

It tasted like bile on his tongue.

Touya glanced over.

“Help?”

Keigo gritted his teeth.

“Latin help.”

Touya’s brows traveled up his forehead. He looked back to the ceiling and twiddled a cigarette between his fingers.

“You come to me in your hour of need,” he teased.

“Look, if you don’t wanna help,” Keigo said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Sorry,” Touya chuckled darkly, “I’ll help. Sure.”

Keigo was too caught up in the way the mattress was tugging Touya’s shirt off of his shoulder to notice what he’d said. So they sat in silence for a few noticeable moments.

“Nunc?” He asked.

Keigo’s face crinkled up.

“What?”

“God, you really do need help,” Touya whispered.

Touya put the cigarette in his mouth and motioned towards the door.

“You go to the library and find a good spot,” he said, “I’ll finish this and meet you there.”

“Now?” Keigo asked.

“Yes!” Touya commanded, “Move, allez, ite!”

Keigo didn’t feel like he had a choice, so he gathered up his things and shoved them into his overstuffed backpack. He took one last look at Touya before he left to see a ribbon of smoke swirling up from his lips.

It was a good thing Keigo knew his way to the library, because he spent at least half of the walk congratulating himself on a completely normal conversation with Todoroki Touya. And now they were going to have a completely normal Latin study session in Keigo’s favorite corner of the library.

In the few minutes it took for Touya to make his way down, Keigo could fix his hair in the murky window reflection and set out all the work he’d nearly wept over the past few weeks. He sucked on the crevices between his teeth while keeping a watchful eye on the corner of books that shielded his corner from the rest of the library.

Touya did eventually tumble in smelling like smoke with just a pencil behind his ear. He sat with a sigh and immediately took one of the worksheets. He peered at it, turning it over and even flipping it upside down.

“Shit, man,” he hissed.

“Not all of us grew up with Latin tutors,” said Keigo.

“I didn’t just grow up with tutors,” Touya replied, “I was raised by them.”

He set the worksheet down and gnawed at his thumbnail. Keigo got a good look at Touya for the first time since their kiss.

His wounds had healed up nicely, though his nose was still so obviously crooked. His new piercings were still pretty crusty, but they didn’t look infected like before. His face was softer, the bags under his eyes had faded to their usual sullen color.

Keigo tried to remember how Touya’s face felt under his fingertips.

“Has the word ‘conjugation’ ever crossed your mind?” Touya asked sourly.

“Consummation?” Keigo asked, horrified.

“You have to be messing with me,” said Touya.

Oh, how Keigo wished he was. And how he wished just the word hadn’t set his insides ablaze.

“Look here,” Touya pointed at the page, “you’ve got it all backwards.”

He started to explain it, but his voice fell to the wayside as Keigo watched him, studied him: his cropped hair, his easy smile, the subtle smell of the woods that followed him everywhere. Keigo thought about Touya’s pillow in that vast estate, so small yet so soaked with his heavy presence. Evidence of that presence was interwoven through every memory he had of Yuuei. There was nowhere he could turn on the grounds where he didn’t feel it.

Here, sitting beside him, Keigo wondered if it was possible to see it around them, the thick tension of existing near a Todoroki—of knowing a Todoroki.

People love to stare. But all that gold shit, it’s fake.

Get close enough and you’ll see it.

Keigo wondered if he was close enough now—

if he’d possibly been close enough in that closet.

“Hey, earth to Takami,” Touya said, grabbing his attention with a few loud snaps.

Keigo shook himself back to the moment at hand. Touya rolled his eyes.

“You need to focus,” he said.

“I know,” Keigo sighed.

“So, let’s go.”

Touya started to gather up all of Keigo’s things.

“What are you talking about?”

Touya shoved everything into Keigo’s backpack. He winced at the crinkling papers.

“Come on, stand up,” Touya coaxed him.

“Where are we going?” Keigo asked as he stood.

“Somewhere else,” said Touya, “library is choking me out.”

“Wait, Touya!”

He was already gone when Keigo scrambled up out of his seat and started to follow. He was like a shadow, moving around the corners of old books like he’d been in the library before; Keigo found it hard to believe.

“Hey!” Keigo hissed, trying not to draw more attention than they already were.

But Touya didn’t turn back even once. He slung Keigo’s bag over his shoulder and shoved his way through the grand oak doors.

“Where are we going?” Keigo asked again.

He saw the corner of Touya’s mouth turn up.

“Special place,” he said.

They were moving quickly towards the grounds. Students were finally milling inside after a long fall afternoon. Touya and Keigo, on the other hand, were barreling outside to catch the last whispers of it.

“Touya,” Keigo called out again, a bit breathless.

“If this is wearing you out, I have bad news for your lacrosse career,” Touya teased.

Keigo rolled his eyes. He watched the breeze comb its fingers through Touya’s thick black hair. His piercings glinted in the half-sun left peeking over the horizon.

The two of them wove through the grounds on the uneven stone pathways. By the time the night chill was stinging Keigo’s nose, they’d reached the edge of campus.

“We’re not leaving campus, are we?” Keigo asked.

But Touya was already holding on the rocks and finding a place for his foot. He looked back and shrugged.

“No.”

Touya hoisted himself up and scaled the wall with ease. He swung his legs over the top and landed on the other side with a thud.

“You comin’?” He shouted over the stones.

Keigo glanced back at the hallowed halls of Yuuei.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Keigo shouted back.

“What?” Touya replied.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Keigo asked again, a little louder.

“What?”

Keigo huffed out a sigh and grabbed onto the same rocks as Touya. He hauled his weight up to the top and tossed his legs over. Touya was standing below, smiling.

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Keigo hissed.

“Not with me you won’t,” said Touya.

“I don’t know—” His voice trailed off.

“Listen,” Touya sighed, “The only thing Yuuei likes more than a donation is a star athlete. You’re not in any danger.”

Keigo looked out onto the open road that connected Yuuei to the world. There was nothing for kilometers, at least until the countryside houses where students partied. A bus stop was at least a thirty minute walk from where he sat. The walls were a protective measure of sorts. Or maybe they were meant to incubate them like unborn chicks, keep them warm and fed and safe as the world prepares to devour them in one way or another.

There was also the amusing sentiment that the walls were protecting the world from the voracious carelessness of young wealthy men. The world was better off without them for now.

Keigo spent his whole life in walls. He’d managed to carve out a place for himself in the first just large enough for a bracelet. He’d let the next swallow him whole, watch him disappear in the throes of hundreds of young boys and their own sadnesses. Now, at Yuuei, the walls were haunted, too full of their own horrors to even begin to fit his. He had to sit with them, face them, become them.

He’d been kept behind walls between his whole life.

So he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d missed something here on the outside.

Keigo Takami succumbed to his curiosity. He was no cat about to be killed, he was the bird that soared above it all. He was the bird that fluttered down beside Touya Todoroki shaking dust from its wings.

“Let’s go,” said Keigo.

Touya let a small smile loose.

Then he bounded off like a curious cat with its prey flying after it.

“It’s a good spot, you’ll like it.”

They walked until the sun faded and the moon took its rightful place in the night sky. Just as the streetlights brightened, they came upon a small, old town. There wasn’t anyone out on the street, but the stores and restaurants were flooded with warm light inside.

“Down here,” Touya muttered.

Keigo peered into a confectionary shop. One shopkeeper inside was sweeping up while the other took the display desserts from the window. His mouth watered at the delicate treats, each decorated with a sprig of holly or a flake of gold. There was a tailor’s shop, bolts of silky fabrics lined the walls; three fanciful kimonos sat in the window, likely the tailor’s best work. Through another window, Keigo could see the inner-workings of a restaurant with no more than ten tables. A few couples were enjoying steaming bowls of noodles or beef stew, a father was ordering another serving of whatever drink he was enjoying as his young daughter gnawed at a bit of fried tofu.

“Ahhh, finally,” Touya sighed.

They’d reached a corner of the street where a door was cramped between two other businesses. There were no windows giving Keigo entry into its happenings, just a darkened alleyway curving around to the back.

Touya opened the front door and held it for a tentative Keigo. He motioned a teasing hand inside.

There was a long hallway flush with golden light coming from some sconces on the wall. The closer they came to the end, the more Keigo could hear. Music was bleeding through the heavy velvet curtain that separated the hallway from the larger room.

Keigo tugged back one side of the curtain, noting the weathered feel against his palm.

Tables dotted the dark space, almost every single chair was occupied. It was cramped but in a comforting way. Maybe it was the music or the lingering smoke or the faint waft of liquor, but Keigo felt like he’d come home.

Touya headed for the bar at the far end. Keigo followed as best he could, reaching out a hand so his fingers could just brush the back of Touya’s button-down. A saxophone on the stage started to wail. Keigo couldn’t help but glance over and wish he could watch forever.

The drummer ducked his head and shook his long hair into his eyes. The pianist adjusted his thick, horn-rimmed glasses with one hand while the other did a tangled dance over the keys. The celloist had his eyes closed, his hands moving up and down the neck like an afterthought. Keigo didn’t realize he was staring until a hand was pulling him down.

“Sit already, won’t you?”

Keigo practically fell into the barstool. He heard the rhythm change, but not a single player looked up. It was as though they all had the same thought without exchanging a word.

“What is this?” Keigo asked.

Touya slammed the bottom of his cigarette box on the bar. He fished out a fresh one.

“Jazz,” he said.

“Jazz,” Keigo echoed.

It was nothing like the music his mother played. They found strange rhythms with ordinary instruments. Their hair fell long and shaggy to their shoulders. They wore denim jeans hiked up to their chests and ruddy brown jackets.

The song finally ended. Everyone in the bar applauded politely. Keigo joined them as the band wiped away their sweat and started up again with a thump from the bass.

He turned around to a full glass of beer.

“Is this real?” Keigo asked.

Touya grimaced, “God, you ask weird questions. Yes. Real.”

He took a swig of his, the cigarette balanced between his other fingers. The beer was half-empty.

“But we’re—”

Touya held up his hand in Keigo’s face. Keigo pushed it out of the way.

“A little mystery really does kill you,” said Touya.

“I don’t like the unexpected,” Keigo replied.

“But that’s life,” Touya shrugged, “the unexpected.”

He took a drag of his cigarette. The smoke curled between them.

“You didn’t expect any of this, right?” He asked.

Truthfully, Keigo didn’t. The morning he received the letter from Yuuei was just like any other morning in the boy’s home, an achy back and a pounding headache. Touya was an unexpected roommate…an unexpected friend.

An unexpected kiss.

Keigo’s cheeks flushed red. He finally took a sip of his beer.

“I’m scared of losing it all,” said Keigo, “I just feel like I’m teetering on the edge all the time.”

He pulled his lips between his teeth. Touya’s head, which had been bobbing to the music, stopped.

“Losing it,” he chuckled, “yeah. I get it.”

He turned his head and opened his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” said Touya, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Keigo sat up straight, a long chill running down his back.

I’ll take good care of you.

“What?”

Touya finished off his glass of beer.

“I’ve got you covered if the shit hits the fan.”

Keigo shook his head, “I don’t need you to do that.”

“Seriously.”

“No, seriously, I don’t need it.”

Touya’s face flickered into concern. He got a hold of himself quickly.

“Whatever,” he hummed.

I don’t need to be taken care of.

I don’t need to be taken care of.

I’ve made it just fine without my mother. Without my father. Without anyone.

Keigo’s blood simmered inside of him. He stared into the surface of his drink and tried to calm the thoughts. But the music was teasing him, spinning around his thoughts over and over making them look in every direction.

“Keigo?”

His voice. Then his hand on Keigo’s back. It was boney and light, but Keigo could feel it.

He could feel Touya shaking.

Keigo turned and gave him a smile.

“I’m good,” he said, “I’m good.”

Touya nodded. He left his hand on Keigo’s back for one more second before it slipped off like a man succumbing to death. He fiddled with the cigarette butt before putting it out in the ashtray. The band finished another song. The crowd roared.

Touya got the bartender’s attention for another beer. The man nodded and took his empty glass.

“So,” Touya sighed, “you and Rumi.”

Keigo sighed too.

“Yeah, me and Rumi.”

Touya nodded and did something strange with his lips. He paid a good bit of attention to his fresh beer.

“Going good?”

“Yeah,” Keigo replied.

Touya’s shoulders tightened. He went for another cigarette but stopped halfway through. He tongued at one of his lip piercings.

“She’s—” Keigo searched for something to say.

His search was fruitless the moment Touya looked at him.

Not you.

Rumi is not you.

She’s close.

But not you.

Keigo pressed his lips closed. He ran his finger along the condensation on the glass.

“How did you—” Touya started.

“I worked at her family’s resort over the summer.”

Touya nodded. He finally lit another cigarette.

“Fun?”

Keigo chuckled, “As fun as working can be.”

Touya huffed in agreement.

“You wouldn’t know,” Keigo said.

Touya held his hands up in surrender. The smoke clouded in front of his face.

“Go easy,” he said, “life hasn’t always been rainbows.”

Keigo’s smile faded.

“I’m sorry.”

Touya waved him off, “It’s not a huge deal. My father—”

Touya seemed shocked that he even brought it up. He washed the words down with a swig of beer.

“I’m sorry about all the—inheritance stuff,” Keigo said.

“I never wanted it,” Touya replied, “but, for some reason, getting it taken away pissed me off. He’s always looking for ways to cut me down. I tried to do it back to him but—he’s too crafty. I’ll never win.”

Keigo wanted to reach out and touch Touya’s back like he’d done for Keigo. But he didn’t want Touya to feel him shake.

“And I hate that house,” Touya hissed, “I dream about it being destroyed. Driving by it and everything is ash.”

Touya stared into the nothingness of the bar. He gritted his teeth, his jaw rippled. Touya watched his lips twitch. He imagined kissing them again.

He thought instead about the cold, unfeeling Todoroki Estate. The echoing halls, the barren bedrooms, the long dining table that would make conversation almost impossible. All the times he had dreamed about having Touya’s life dissolved into his amber beer.

Maybe that was the thing they had in common all along:

They were both living a life they would give anything to change.

They were both running from something that could consume them whole.

They were two swelling waves waiting for the crash on future’s shore terrified of what came next.

“See this?” Touya asked.

He was pointing at the wood edge of the bar. Keigo peered closer to see scratchings in the grain, some deeper than others but all by the same hand in the same script. It was faint enough to be missed unless someone was pointing right at it.

Keigo looked closer. It was something written in Latin.

“What does it say?”

Touya ran the tip of his finger over the etchings like an artist would admire his own work.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased.

Amor…mi arb….non puni…

Keigo couldn’t make out much more in the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me with Latin?”

“If I do a good job, you’ll be able to read this in no time,” said Touya.

Keigo rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. He tried to catch another glimpse of the etchings just as Touya wedged his nail into a letter. He was mouthing the words to himself, almost like a prayer.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you everything,” Touya grumbled.

He took a long drink of his beer. Keigo did the same, focusing on the sounds of Touya’s words in his head.

“I can’t believe you’re apologizing to me,” Keigo said.

“I can’t either,” Touya groaned, “I just—”

He stopped, mid-drink, mid-cigarette, mid-thought. His mouth twitched as though to tease the words but never really say them. His gray eyes swept to Keigo. There was a thread of desperation in his glare.

“I thought about you this summer,” he whispered just enough for Keigo to hear.

Time suspended between them. The band fell away and the faces around them faded. Touya’s eyes begged for something he couldn’t admit. It was the same thing Keigo had been wondering all summer.

Did he remember?

“Did you think of me?” Touya asked.

Keigo thought of his normal life, his normal relationship. He didn’t mourn its death, but the fact that it never really existed.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

And it meant everything:

The beginning,

and the end.

Chapter Text

I.

November, 1974

Keigo was never much good at making friends.

For the few years he’d first gone to school, he’d been painfully shy, sometimes too shy to even ask to use the bathroom. Just as he began to open up, his father disappeared and his mother had to find a new job. It was more like a job found her from all the way across town, a friend of a friend knew a couple in need of a full-time maid, and there was a place for her to stay.

Keigo was meant to transfer schools, but some things didn’t go through and his mother was too nervous at the thought of him being “found” out in public. So he spent most of his days in the dingy basement drawing pictures on the walls and lying on the squeaky mattress.

At the boy’s home, he wasn’t so much shy as he was wrung dry of things to talk about. He didn’t want to bring up his family, none of them really did, and he didn’t share any interest in cutting open beetles found in the yard. So he spent most of his days holed up on his bed with a book or out at the club field practicing lacrosse.

It was at the club field that his made his first friend.

He was an unlikely friend. For a while, he was just the strange, tall, slender man who practiced tai chi at the corner of the field in his small linen shorts and cotton t-shirt. The other boys on the club team made fun of him most of the time loudly enough for him to hear, but if he could he never acknowledged it. That tended to put out the flame of their mockery pretty fast.

Keigo thought he was just weird, if anything. His clothes were too small but his hair was cropped short like a military man. He was so slender you could see the outlines of his bones against his pale skin. His face was gaunt and somewhat shocking at first glance. He always had a towel and a canteen of water sitting next to him as he performed his tai chi, his eyes closed and his lips pursed.

The first time Keigo met him up close, they were in the locker room. The slender man fanned his chest with his shirt and wiped at the sweat on his brow. Keigo felt him glance over.

“Look, I don’t know much about lacrosse, but you seem like a fine player,” he said.

It wasn’t how Keigo expected his voice to sound. It wasn’t too high or low, just enough for the sing-songy element to come forward. But there was nothing false to his tone, he meant every word.

“Thanks,” Keigo replied.

“Ah, he speaks,” the man teased, “I’m Kazuo.”

Keigo looked over and saw the man’s hand extended towards him.

“Keigo,” he said, shaking his hand, feeling strange about introducing himself to this older man with his first name.

Kazuo turned back to his cubby and groaned loudly.

“Nice to meet someone with manners from that gang of boys,” he said.

Keigo let out a quiet laugh. He didn’t even know the half of it.

“You think they’re bad now?” Kazuo scoffed, “You should’ve been around when I was a kid.”

He zipped up his bag and slung it over his bony shoulder.

“The world is changing, Keigo,” said Kazuo, “so consider yourself lucky, you’ll be around to see it.”

Then he left. Keigo stood with his cleats in hand trying to understand what Kazuo meant by it all.

What was now especially strange was how badly everyone at Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys wanted to be Keigo’s friend from no effort of his own. People approached him in the hallways to simply say hello, girls at the wall glanced over while he walked by and whispered excitedly to their disinterested boyfriends, and even the professors greeted him warmly every time he came into the classroom.

Perhaps it was his new hair. Or his new tan. Or his new smile. Keigo couldn’t parse out the real reason. It was likely a combination of everything coated in a healthy serving of being very, very good at lacrosse.

Keigo wondered whether they’d like him as much if they knew the truth.

If they could know how his body curled in on itself every time he kissed Rumi. How it opened towards the sun when he was with Touya in that bar. If they’d seen him talking to Kazuo the year prior and drawn their own petty conclusions.

The life he’d yearned for turned out to be more fragile than he ever could imagine. Keigo found himself missing the solidness of rock-bottom.

He’s made a habit of justifying his feelings to himself before anyone had the chance to question him while he was off his guard. Keigo told himself he liked Touya because of the danger, the mystery, things his whole life had been made up of. How was he supposed to know any different? Things with Rumi were solid and sure, of course those things would make him uncomfortable. He must hate the safety of love and want the danger of the unknown.

Hence, when he was with Rumi he felt like he was standing to the left of himself, watching his own fidgeting hands and turned-in feet. When he was with Touya, he was standing comfortably at the exact center of his broken, unstable self.

Even though everyone at school seemed to like him and want to talk to him, Keigo wouldn’t exactly consider them all friends. Rumi was his friend, no doubt. Shinji could still be his friend if Keigo had bothered to keep in touch. Touya was—

Friend felt wrong. Friends make you feel good. Touya made Keigo feel mixed up and a little sick. Friends made you feel like all was right with the world. Touya made him feel like he was spinning in circles. Friends defended you in an argument. Friends didn’t beat your bully to the ground until he was reduced to ground meat for a face.

Friends didn’t kiss you in dark closets and ask if you remembered weeks later.

So no, Touya wasn’t his friend.

He was something that Keigo couldn’t even begin to put his finger on.

And it opened a pit of fear in the earth beneath his feet.

Keigo imagined an artery connecting them, bloody and tender. He could feel the slightest change in Touya’s demeanor. So when he awoke on a bitingly cold Saturday morning feeling off in every way possible, he knew it had something to do with the man across the room.

Touya was standing in front of the mirror carefully tucking a black button-up into crisp black slacks. He fiddled with the collar then picked at his own hair. There was something strange about his face, Keigo didn’t know what. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and peered closer.

Touya had taken out every single one of his piercings.

Keigo’s heart skipped a beat. In the mirror he could see Touya’s gaunt face in full for the first time, his piercing eyes peeking through thick lashes and his carved nose jutting out into the cold air.

“Touya?” He asked groggily.

His roommate didn’t look over at him. He continued to preen.

Keigo rolled out of bed and started looking for something to wear. Now that November was upon them, the threat of snow was all too real. He pulled some corduroy pants and a sweater from the dresser before slipping off his pajamas.

“Going somewhere?” Keigo asked, half-teasingly.

He watched Touya’s throat bob. He sighed.

“None of your business,” he said lowly.

Keigo buttoned his pants then tugged off his shirt. Touya glanced over briefly once Keigo’s body was on display.

“You took all your piercings out,” said Keigo.

“What’s it to you?”

Keigo pulled the sweater over his head and raked his fingers through his hair.

“Can’t blame me for being curious,” Keigo replied.

Touya sat on the edge of the bed and started to loosen the laces on his boots.

“I’m going out,” he said.

“Oh, gee, thanks,” Keigo sighed, “going out.”

“You know, you’d make a great detective,” Touya said sourly, “can’t let a single mystery hang around too long.”

He had one boot on at that point. Keigo shimmied on a denim jacket over the warm knit sweater and searched for his own boots somewhere under his bed.

“What the hell are you getting dressed for?” Touya asked.

Keigo glared at him, “Now who’s playing detective?”

Touya rolled his eyes. He tied his boots tight and released his foot to the floor with a clunk. For a moment, he stared at the wood floor. His face twitched. Keigo felt like he could see every crease now without the cold metal staring back at him.

With his own boots on, Keigo reached for the scarf tied around his bedpost.

Touya stood and shuffled to the door. He hesitated at the brass knob and seemed to sigh. He turned back to Keigo with a defeated expression.

“You comin’ or what?”

Keigo kept up as best he could on their way out of the dormitory and down the snowy lane stretching towards the front gates of the school. Usually bound shut with large locks, the gate was open this morning, leaving enough space for Keigo to see the familiar Todoroki family car sitting in the large gravel circle. Touya nodded to the guard at the gate. The moment he and Keigo passed through, clanging metal scraped along the ground and the lock was bound back on with a loud thud. Keigo glanced back to see the guard back at his post, staring off into the distance.

It was nice to be out of the cold as the two of them climbed into the backseat. Touya even fastened his seatbelt before Keigo could get his bearings. Without a word, the driver sped off around the circle and down the long road away from Yuuei Preparatory Academy.

Briefly, Keigo wondered if they would get in trouble leaving the grounds without anyone knowing. Then he remembered that he was in the Todoroki family car with a certified Todoroki. It didn’t get more foolproof than that.

The bright November day was already wearing on Keigo’s eyes. The cloudless sky rippled around them as the car wove through wispy mountain roads. Keigo fiddled with the brass button on his jacket. He looked over at Touya.

He was gazing out the window, his chin in his palm and his other hand tapping nervously against his leg. The sun caught the edges of his bones, casting deep shadows where it could not reach. Keigo, in his best efforts to not ask where they were going and prod at the seemingly unspeakable thing, chose to focus on those shadows and any shapes he could make out of them.

From the corner of Touya’s mouth to the fold of his ear, Keigo could imagine the wooden handle and pointed, steely tip of a pocket knife.

I thought about you this summer.

In his ear, he could see a small, sick dog curled up around the gap.

Did you think of me?

Keigo decided to stop imagining things that weren’t really there.

“You’re being quiet,” Touya grumbled, “shockingly.”

“Sorry,” Keigo said, staring at his shoes.

“No, don’t be,” said Touya, “most peaceful moment I’ve had in months.”

Touya cozied himself into the seat. He folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes as if to fall asleep.

“And I knew you’d be mad at me if I asked,” said Keigo.

Touya squinted one eye open.

“You were right,” he replied.

Again, he cozied himself into the seat, his eyes sealed shut, and his lips parted just so. Keigo sighed quietly and wondered if the ride would be long enough for him to catch a nap, too.

“We’re going to see my mother.”

Keigo glanced over. Touya hadn’t moved.

“It’s her birthday,” he said.

The drive seemed very short after that.

Suddenly, they were face-to-face with a vast complex, easily ten buildings or so stacked atop or around one another. Someone could mistake its dark wood accents and picturesque locale for a spa or a high-end resort. Keigo felt like he’d been let in on a secret knowing what he did.

He felt sick thinking about that phone call he made in Todoroki’s room.

You’ve reached the Furukawa Mental Institution. How may I direct your call?

And Keigo couldn’t help but realize that Touya had never said where his mother was or how she ended up there. Either he assumed that Keigo snooped around in his home or knew that Keigo snooped around in his home. Each reality made Keigo’s stomach turn sour.

The car stopped in front of the entrance. There was a gurgling koi pond in the center with a bamboo water feature—every two seconds, Keigo could hear the knock of the wood against itself. The two of them climbed the oak steps and were greeted by an opened door.

Touya made his way to the front desk. Keigo needed a minute to take in the massive entryway and vaulted ceilings and crisp stones inlaid into every other wall. A few nights here sure would fix whatever was wonky with Keigo’s brain, that much he knew.

While Touya was busy with the receptionist, Keigo shuffled over to the waiting area where there was a coffee table made from a slice of a large tree and polished until it gleamed. There was a thin orchid blooming from its glass pot at the center. There were no magazines to read, but there was a bookshelf to the left for anyone who got bored of the millions of things to see around them.

It wasn’t silent in the entryway, but there was an eerie pressure hovering over them anyhow, a calling to be respectful of those you cannot see. Keigo watched two nurses in prim cream dresses flit by, their heels clacking and their lips whispering rapidly to one another. Even through the door, Keigo was convinced he could still hear the rhythmic knocking of the bamboo.

“Keigo.”

He looked up. He saw Touya with a paper name tag pinned to his top.

“They’re gonna take me to her room,” he said, “but the receptionist said you can sit in the gardens if you want. They’re right outside where she is.”

Keigo nodded. The two of them followed another one of those nurses in a prim cream dress down a long hallway, up two flights of stairs, down another long hallway, and through an alcove. When they’d reached the door to the suite, Keigo wondered if they were even in the same building they began in.

“Our visiting hours end at five,” said the nurse with an air of caution.

“I know,” said Touya.

It hadn’t occurred to Keigo how powerful the Todorokis really were until that very moment. In a world where nothing applied to you, a simple civilian communicating a rule everyone else had to follow without exception was a frightening task. Keigo always felt like he could say anything to Touya, but in the dimmed warm lighting, he could see the stark resemblance and feel the resounding hum of the name.

Touya Todoroki

The bamboo knocked against itself again. Keigo came to.

“Gardens are through that door,” said Touya, “I won’t be long.”

Keigo didn’t have anything to say, so he wandered out the door and into the grounds. They were definitely off in a private part of the hospital. To the left, Keigo could see the rest of the buildings, to the right there was only mountains. He didn’t think there’d be much garden to see in November, but the water in the ponds was not yet frozen and there was a smattering of roses relishing in the winter chill.

Keigo ran his finger over one—the reddest rose he’d ever seen, it had to be. He even crouched down to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. He was even tempted to take it, pinch it at the stem and hide it in his pocket so he could go home and stare at it all day. He thought about where he would put it and who he would want to show it to. He thought about it growing thirsty, its edges browning closer and closer to the center of the petals. He thought about it lying in a dry heap on his desk, the rose he just couldn’t leave alone.

The rose he killed with his own greed.

Keigo walked around the other half of the gardens as the morning passed into the afternoon. He found himself a bit lost after following a cardinal that was almost as red as the rose. Keigo bent down to pick up a polished rock he saw lying to the side. It was perfect for skipping. He wished there was a lake nearby.

There was another one a few feet down the path. He made for it with a determined goal of comparing the two, stowing them in his pocket until the next time Rumi would sneak him out to the big mountain lake.

Keigo pushed Rumi from his mind for now. The day was too quiet to invite all the ruckus in.

He picked up the other rock and rubbed over it with his thumb. He held the two side-by-side, flipping them all over to see their notches. When Keigo stood tall, he was looking through the window of the Todoroki private alcove.

In the vast room was a simple wooden bed with white sheets and a large white blanket. There was a vanity in one corner, and a closet, as well as a tall wardrobe. Everything looked perfectly clean, almost unused. On one of the bedside tables was a simple bouquet of peonies. On the other was a stack of soft white towels and a pitcher of water.

Sitting in the bed, beneath the covers, was Touya’s mother. Keigo knew it was true because she looked just like her picture. Sitting at her side was Touya. He held her hand, stroking over it with his thumb as she spoke to him.

Keigo stumbled back to the other side of the building. His heart thudded at the idea of being seen. It ached at the thought of what he saw.

His eyes.

Touya has his mother’s eyes.

A deep nothingness set into Keigo’s body when he tried to remember, tried to reach for the memory, clawed at it until his fingertips bled. The nothingness crept up to his face and made his eyes hurt from behind. His throat stung.

He found a stone bench and sat on it, the hard cold surface barely greeting him. Keigo wrapped his arms around his stomach and hunched over as he tried and tried and tried.

I can’t remember

It was close enough to taunt him, but still too far away to touch. Keigo pressed his eyes closed and wished harder.

I can’t remember

The smell of her chest, the sound of her voice, the warmth in her smile.

Everything was gone.

When Keigo went to sit at his mother’s bedside and reached for her hand,

no one was there.

On the long, silent car ride home, Keigo refused to stop trying.

All those years he spent by his mother’s side, they had to count for something. There had to be some shred of recognition running through him, carried by her very genetics. But the retrieval always came up short. All he could remember was the police officer asking him if he was okay and the social worker whisking him away and saying everything was going to turn out alright.

There wasn’t even a shadow of her.

Keigo picked at his fingers. He stared out the window but couldn’t focus his eyes anywhere. He knew Touya was sitting beside him, but he felt a world away. The afternoon swirled around them as the car sped down the same mountain path it had climbed that morning.

“How was it?” Keigo asked Touya, an attempt at not seeming so distant.

“It was fine,” Touya hummed, “she’s—”

He paused. Keigo glanced out the window as another car passed in the opposite direction.

“Nevermind.” He said.

Keigo wished he’d said more. The silence was painfully taut between them. He tried to retrieve his mother once more, this time focusing on the movement and color of her hair. There was a faint remembrance of peaches wafting from her curls when she carried Keigo in her arms. That was all.

“Are you okay?” Touya asked.

Such a strange question coming from someone who never gave an indication of caring. Keigo supposed the whole morning had been strange, so maybe it wasn’t so shocking.

“Yeah,” Keigo fibbed, “just—”

He, too, found himself trailing off, whatever he was going to say lost in the crisp white mountains around them. But he could feel Touya waiting beside him, that same uncomfortable silence stretching endlessly between them.

“I was trying to think of her,” Keigo admitted in the smallest voice he could manage, “my mom.”

Keigo couldn’t take his eyes from the window. He didn’t want to see Touya no matter what he was doing: looking at him with pitiful eyes or asleep in his seat or shifting uncomfortably, or even pulling that dead stare he always did in class.

“I was just trying to—remember something,” Keigo fumbled around his own thoughts, “her voice and all.”

Still, he stared out the window. He refused to believe Touya was even still there listening to all his nonsense.

“I never thought about it like that.”

Touya’s gravelly voice almost made Keigo look over. A genuine thread pulled through Touya’s words, threatening to unravel his thick coating.

“My mother had a sort of—breakdown,” said Touya, “I was twelve. She and my father were having some sort of argument and she took the kettle off the stove and started flinging it at him, trying to get the water on him.”

Keigo felt his fingers shake. He imagined every moment of the scene from the gorgeous marble floors of the kitchen to Touya’s mother’s beautiful face screwed up in anger. He could hear the steam whistling from the end of the kettle. He could feel the heat radiating from the round black bottom.

“She burned my brother instead,” Touya whispered, “on his face, the right side.”

Then, Keigo watched the hot water streak through the air and land like fire on a small boy’s face. He could only imagine Touya’s face, though, just much younger and less pierced.

“She was saying my father was the Devil who’d come to collect her,” Touya recalled, “but she refused to leave us behind. She’d always had strange behaviors but this was too newsworthy to let sit around. My father had her locked up all the way out here so the press couldn’t find her. So we could keep everything quiet.”

Keigo tried to swallow past the knot in his throat. He knew what it was like to feel that you were in danger with the very person you were supposed to trust. His right hand was picking at the threading in the leather space between them. He could feel the tips of his fingers growing raw, but he was afraid an unoccupied hand might betray him by reaching up to the roof of the car and punching as hard as he possibly could.

It was all so unfair.

There was nothing more unfair than being a child.

Nothing.

Keigo heard the faint rustle of fabric. Then, calloused fingers were swiping along his knuckles.

Touya’s hand wrapped around his and lifted it up from the fraying threads in the seat. Keigo’s face flushed bright red once the thought came to him.

Touya’s hand is touching mine.

And it wasn’t an accident. Touya was gently carrying his hand towards something. Keigo kept his gaze squarely out the window. If he turned around, Touya would see his red-hot cheeks and get the wrong idea.

Touya started to lower Keigo’s hand until his fingers made contact with his skin. It was a patch of skin on his arm, vast and warped and cold.

It was a scar you get after a bad burn.

Touya didn’t let go of Keigo’s hand, even as his fingers grazed over the peaks and valleys of the wound. A nice pressure kept Keigo’s palm where it was against the side of Touya’s bony arm. Keigo mapped the edges of the burn in his mind and tried to remember all the times he’d seen Touya’s bare arm. It wasn’t often, and when he did there was always some other issue at hand.

How did he miss something so obvious?

“I’ve already forgiven her,” Touya whispered, “my father just can’t seem to.”

They rode the rest of the way home like that. Keigo’s fingers dancing along the very edges of the scar with Touya’s hand pressing against his, arresting him in the moment.

II.

December, 1974

The week before the Winter Ball, Keigo Takami knew he had to complete the task he’d been putting off for far too long.

He hadn’t officially asked Rumi to the dance, but it was implied enough that even some of the other boys on campus asked him if he knew what color he and Rumi were coordinating with so he and his girlfriend didn’t commit the cardinal sin of wearing the same thing as royalty. With midterms on the horizon, Keigo had almost completely forgotten about the dance and about Rumi outside of lacrosse practice and their usual talks by the wall.

He always had the excuse of being busy, between his duties as captain and his challenging schoolwork, but he wouldn’t have an excuse for the Winter Ball when the semester was over and every student and staff member would be at the girls’ school that same night.

Keigo set a deadline for himself. The day ended up being sunny and uncharacteristically warm, which he knew always put Rumi in good spirits. He hated to ruin a good mood. So he waited until the next day.

It rained that morning, and Rumi hated drizzly weather where the sky couldn’t decide if it was going to let loose or not. He hated to make a bad day worse, so he pushed it yet another day.

The day that he swore he was going to do it, Keigo was convinced one wrong move could send all his chewed food back up into the world. He sat through every class trying to decipher exactly what he would say so she wouldn’t cry or scream at him or throw a mean punch which he knew she could.

He imagined every outcome. The one where Rumi pushes him off of the wall and his lacrosse career is dashed with a broken leg. The one where the news spreads so quickly Keigo doesn’t even have a chance to make his own case, then he walks out to a bundle of firewood prepped for his immolation. The one where the sky breaks open and the world explodes under his feet and everything as he knew it disappeared into dust.

Unlikely, but not totally impossible.

Keigo just kept reminding himself why he was doing it in the first place.

I’m too busy.

I’m not ready for a relationship at this point in my life.

I kissed my roommate in the closet at that party last year and haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Keigo didn’t even dare imagine the outcome with that one. It was too terrible.

As he walked to the wall after classes that day, his palms were slick and his head was fuzzy.

You’re one of my best friends.

I just don’t think it will work out.

Remember Touya? I’ve been having dreams about laying my head on his bare chest and feeling his fingers against my skin.

Keigo rubbed his eyes in frustration. He knew better. Every animal instinct begged him to make this conversation as sensible and realistic as possible.

There was already a crowd of boys dotted along the old, viney stones. Keigo looked for a place large enough so they wouldn’t immediately be heard and have to suffer the wrath of the rumor mill at dinner that night.

I’m so grateful for everything you did for me this summer.

I don’t know how I’ll every repay you.

I’m a gay. I’m a queer. I’m a disgusting creature who should be ousted from the earth.

Keigo didn’t like to use that word. At the boys home, it was an insult at best and an accusation at its very worst. The only person he’d ever heard say it like it was just a word was Kazuo. But that was a long time ago.

He hoisted himself up onto the rocks and waited, his stomach in knots.

Rumi appeared amongst a crowd of other girls in their navy uniforms. Her hair was plaited and slicked back on her head. Her leather satchel was hooked carelessly around one shoulder, swinging around as she chatted excitedly to her friends.

Keigo could only assume they were all talking about the Winter Ball.

His chest ached when Rumi saw him and smiled. She waved goodbye to her friends and rushed over to him. With her strong arms, she pulled herself up over the top of the stones, resting her elbows on the edge and her chin in her hands.

“Hey,” she hummed.

“Hey,” Keigo said back in a futile attempt to match her energy.

She noticed right away. Her smile dropped.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I—” Keigo began.

It was all caught in his throat, every kind and gentle and sensible thing he’d planned to say on the walk up. He felt the blood drain from his cheeks and his fingers. He begged his hands to keep him steady on the wall, no matter how slick they were.

“Rumi, we’re—” he eked out, “you know you’re my best friend, and—”

Her brows pinched slowly. Keigo chewed on his lip.

“Well, lacrosse and—Latin, you know?”

None of this was coming out right. Rumi knew it as much as Keigo did.

“I’m—” Keigo tried in a last-ditch attempt.

Rumi pulled a sad smile.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she said lowly.

Keigo’s insides turned to mush. He was focusing all his energy on staying upright and ignoring the way Rumi’s eyes were shining like a lake in the moonlight.

“I’m so sorry,” Keigo whispered.

“No!” Rumi exclaimed, “It’s okay! I know you’re busy—I’m busy—university entrance exams and all that—”

Her voice trailed off. Though she wasn’t saying it, Keigo could see the hurt in her gaze and the quiet desperation of her body to be anywhere but here having this conversation.

“Rumi,” Keigo said.

“And my friends were talking about going to the dance as a group,” she prattled on.

Keigo reached for her hand. It was cold and clammy, just like his.

“You’re the first real friend I’ve ever made,” Keigo said, “and I didn’t—I couldn’t tell the difference between how excited I was over that and—”

“Whether you wanted to kiss me?” Rumi interrupted.

Keigo sighed. He wiped at his brow.

“I fucked everything up,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Rumi’s soft fingers lifted his face up by his chin.

“It’s fine,” she smiled, “really. I mean it. I’m a big girl, I’ll get over it.”

Keigo leaned into her touch. His heart warmed at the sight of her like this—his best friend.

“You got pretty hot over summer break,” she teased, “I couldn’t resist a taste before the world got a glimpse of you.”

Keigo rolled his eyes and felt a spot of color return to his cheeks.

“Is there someone else?” Rumi asked.

“Oh god, no!” Keigo said, “No, no, not at all. No one else.”

Oh god, yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

Someone else.

But you can’t know.

“Good to hear,” Rumi chuckled.

She took her hand from Keigo’s cheek and laid it gently onto the stones below. She looked down for a moment. When she looked back up, Keigo saw the mist in her eyes.

“I’ll always love you, Hawks” she whispered.

Everything in Keigo’s body ached, it longed to feel the way he was supposed to about the only true friend he’d ever made. He wanted to be normal and average and regular. Instead, he was full of rot and horror. He couldn’t subject Rumi to it any longer.

“I love you, too,” Keigo replied.

And he meant it.

“You deserve much more than you accept, I think” said Rumi.

“What do you mean?” Keigo asked, his eyes stinging with tears.

Rumi just smiled, crawled down the wall, and started off down the long path towards the girls dormitories, her hair shining in the afternoon sun until a thick, gray cloud passed in front of it.

It was going to rain soon.

You deserve much more than you accept.

Keigo didn’t know what to make of it all. Children deserved living parents, but the universe didn’t hold to its promise. By what law of fate was he meant to deserve anything?

No. Keigo had to try—

and try, and try, and try,

until his body gave out.

He just couldn’t risk it.

The night of the Winter Ball, Keigo had planned to lock himself up in the library with a few books he’d been stashing away until the semester was over. News of his and Rumi’s breakup had finally run its course after weeks of hushed chatter and pitiful looks. It felt eerily similar to the way everyone had acted when he first came to Yuuei, but no one laughed this time. There were rumors, no doubt, that Keigo had cheated on Rumi or they’d had this big screaming match over the color they were going to coordinate with at the dance, but the stories seemed to fade into the inky splotch of finals on everyone’s schedules.

Now with the last exam done, it was like the whole school had breathed a sigh of relief. Keigo could feel the excitement as he left his final class, his World Literature class. As long as he found the time the next morning to turn in all of his books, he was free for the whole winter break.

Before their breakup, Rumi had asked if he wanted to stay at the resort again or tag along with her family to the north to ski, but he’d turned her down half-knowing they wouldn’t make it to the holidays. He’d struck a deal with his coach and the Headmaster to let him stay in an empty set of dorms adjacent to the fields that are usually reserved for away teams. He made some case about extra practice, new drills, and whatever else. They agreed. Keigo started dreaming about a whole month in a room of his own, of reading all the books he’d found in the library and walking around in his underwear. It was a strange dream, walking around without his clothes, but he’d always lived with his mother or amongst other boys, so there was never a chance to just relax without a shirt wringing his neck or pants riding up his ankles.

He didn’t even remember staying at the Todoroki Estate until he saw Touya the morning of their very last exams. Snow blanketed the world outside, and Keigo caught a glimpse of Touya gazing out the window while he buttoned his shirt.

Keigo’s heart skipped. He could still feel Touya’s skin under his fingertips even though a whole month had passed. His face warmed at the sight of Touya doing up his leather belt and grasping at his hair as he looked for his boots.

He had to pretend that he was asleep once he found them because Touya always sat on the side of his bed to lace them up and would catch Keigo in the act. So, Keigo closed his eyes and focused on his thudding heart.

Touya hadn’t told Keigo his plans for the break. Since visiting his mother, Touya had been quiet as he always was, only talking to Keigo when it was absolutely necessary. But there had been a few moments between the two of them in the room or at the bathroom door. Keigo would step forward and collide somewhat with Touya, he’d look up and start to apologize, they’d both move in the same direction to get out of each other’s way, Keigo would say sorry again, Touya would stare down and move him with a cold hand on his shoulder. Then, Keigo would scurry to the window and stick his head out into the winter air until the color in his cheeks faded.

Otherwise, things between them were how they’d always been.

As he cozied himself into a large library armchair, Keigo picked up the first book in his stack. Beauty and Sadness by Yasunari Kawabata. It was recommended to him by his World Literature professor. He opened to the first page. Everything was silent, spare a ticking clock in the distance.

Keigo took one last glance out the window. The sparkling white snow was soaking in the oranges and pinks of the setting sun. He turned his gaze and saw the path leading off into town.

Suddenly, Keigo had an idea that was much more captivating than his book.

He packed up his things and left the barren library, tugging on his hat and gloves and knit scarf. Keigo braved the biting wind across the grounds to the dormitory building. He climbed the slick oak stairs, sliding off his gloves with his teeth. He opened the door to his room, flooded with the golden light of a desk lamp.

Todoroki glanced over. He was curled up in the rolling wood chair with an open book poised in his hands. The moment he saw Keigo, he slammed the book closed and tossed it onto his bed, pretending like he hadn’t been doing the same thing as Keigo just five minutes before.

“Do you wanna go out?” Keigo asked breathlessly, “To the jazz bar?”

Touya’s eyes widened.

“You wanna go back?”

More than anything, Keigo wanted to say.

I want to hear the music again.

I want to feel as alive as I did the last time.

“Why not?” He said instead, shrugging.

Touya’s brow lifted.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for his leather jacket, “why the hell not?”

The two of them slipped out of the dorms and headed for the front gates. They didn’t have to worry so much about staff or students seeing them since everyone was down at the Winter Ball. Still, their walk was wordless and quick down the long road leading to the neighboring town.

It was bitter cold once the sun went down. Keigo tried to walk through his own warm clouds of breath to keep from forming icicles on his nose.

“What made you wanna go out?” Touya asked as they passed their first street sign.

Keigo licked his dry lips, “I don’t know. End of exams, I guess.”

“Heard things between you and Rumi ended,” said Touya.

“Yeah,” Keigo said, “it’s not a huge deal. Just—wasn’t the right time for either of us. We’re still friends, though.”

Touya hummed. He couldn’t ignore the cold either, so he had his hands stuffed in his pockets and kept ducking his face down into his thick wool scarf.

They reached the bar just as the cold became unbearable. Keigo welcomed the heated interior with a long sigh and a flourish of his scarf.

“Sweet, sweet furnace,” he muttered.

Keigo heard Touya chuckle as he, too, unwrapped his scarf and shed his coat to hand to the attendant up front. The two of them, now in just their sweaters and slacks, walked down the long hallway and into the cramped space where the band was tuning up. There was already a solid crowd either packed around the small tables or standing against the wall, everyone waiting eagerly for the brassy sounds to carry them away from the woes of the week. Touya and Keigo were lucky to find their usual two seats together at the bar.

Touya motioned at the bartender for two beers while Keigo got settled in. The trumpet player was letting out one clear note after the other, stopping to adjust his mouthpiece between sounds.

Keigo tried to warm his hands between his crossed legs, preparing to handle the ice cold beer glass sitting in front of him.The crowd cheered. He turned around and saw the band counting in their first song.

The sound bloomed through the room like a sweet-smelling flower, bold and red with sharp points at the ends of the petals. The rhythm unfolded like shuffling feet in a dance hall, a million different iterations coming together in a cohesive, lively beat. Each peel of the trombone was a rush of blood through the veins of the bar, every crash of the cymbal a swift gust of wind to the face. Keigo felt his body responding to it, ready to dance along to a song he’d only ever heard in his mind, now come to life.

Keigo turned back around to take the first sip of his beer. He saw Touya with his body facing the bar but his head craned to the stage. He tapped a finger on the bar to the drumbeat. Keigo placed his hand on the surface and thought about reaching over and feeling his skin again.

Even if he had the courage to do it, there were too many people watching.

Keigo took another sip of his drink. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to limit the world to just the sounds of the band. He smiled.

“I’m glad you like it,” Touya muttered.

Keigo opened his eyes and ducked his head back down.

“Need something stronger than ‘like’,” he joked.

“Love?”

Keigo glanced over at Touya who was running a finger around the rim of his glass. His lip twitched a bit. His eyes darted away.

“Sure,” Keigo said, his voice wavering, “love.”

He’d said it in a whisper, worried that the full force of the word might send the walls caving in on them.

“Love,” Touya mouthed to himself.

He dug in his pocket for a second and emerged with a small folding knife. He flipped open the blade and started carving into the existing letters on the edge of the wooden bar. Keigo tried to read them again, but it was hard to see in the low light.

“Wanna take your real final exam?” Touya asked.

“What is it?” Keigo chuckled.

“See if you can translate this,” he said, gesturing to the etchings.

Keigo leaned over and studied them.

Amor animi…

arbitrio…

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Touya teased.

Keigo must’ve looked as focused and pained as he felt.

sumitur…

non ponitur.

Keigo huffed.

“Well, amor is love.”

“Congrats on passing Year 1.”

Keigo sneered at him.

“Arbitrio, like an arbiter? Dispute?”

“Decide,” said Touya.

“Animi—” Keigo’s voice trailed off, “life. Soul?”

“Look at you,” Touya teased again.

“Love soul decide—”

“Sumitur, taken,” said Touya.

“Non, not!” Keigo proclaimed proudly.

Touya rolled his eyes.

“Punitur,” Keigo scoured his English knowledge, “punish?”

“Nice work.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t, because you only know what each word means,” Touya said, “sentences aren’t just strings of words they’re—something else entirely.”

He ran his finger tenderly over the carved letters. Keigo tried his best to remember what each word meant and what new idea they could possibly be forming stuck together like this.

“You’re not gonna tell me what it means?” Keigo asked.

“It’s not for me to tell,” said Touya, “it’s like making myself the authority of it. But it means what it means. That’s it.”

“It means what it means,” Keigo grumbled to himself as he took a long sip from his beer, “has no one translated it?”

“Oh, sure,” Touya replied, “but you can’t exactly ask the guy who wrote it what he meant and all. And every translation we have now is just an educated guess.”

“Doesn’t that frustrate you? That you can never actually know?” Keigo asked.

Touya pressed his fingers into the first word. Amor.

“Not really,” he said, “I don’t like being told what to think. And maybe in a few years, it’ll mean something totally different to me. But it’ll still be here, like this. So I won’t forget.”

Touya looked over, his eyes softening as they met Keigo’s.

“So you’ll never forget,” he said lowly.

The song had changed sometime during their conversation. The trombone wailed out a long, wobbling note like a baby’s cry. Keigo held his breath. He glanced over his shoulder then placed his shaking hand onto Touya’s knee. They were sitting close enough that the shadows would obscure it all. Slowly, he tightened his fingers until he could feel every bone.

Touya’s eyes trailed from Keigo’s hand back up to his face.

“Keigo” said Touya, “if people find out, all those dreams you have for your life—you won’t get to live them. You’ll have to leave it behind.”

Keigo’s chest tightened. His head spun with every plan he’d ever made for his life, the things he’d etched into his own wood slats that, in however many years, would still be there whether he did them or not. He thought about the boy’s home and Yuuei and his mother and the social worker and the first dinner he ate at the Todoroki Estate and the diploma that was sitting just beyond the next few months.

You’ll have to leave it all behind.

“I know,” Keigo said, trembling.

“Your friends won’t see you the same,” said Touya.

Rumi. Shinji. Keigo imagined losing them. He imagined never having met them.

“I know,” he said.

“The world won’t understand,” said Touya, “they won’t accept you.”

The world already didn’t understand Keigo nor accept him. But the dream had always been there, just out of reach. He tightened his grip around Touya’s knee.

“I know.”

He felt Touya’s boney fingers graze his, then settle lightly atop it. A few seconds passed. Then, he tightened his grip. Keigo felt their sweat-slick palms slip against each other.

As his heart swelled past the confines of his chest, Keigo wondered if he could make peace with ending the life he’d only just begun.

But looking at Touya, holding onto him like this, gazing into the future bound up in his gaze, it stopped mattering so much.

The world disappeared when he thought about kissing Touya Todoroki again.

When the band finally finished their very last song, it was late. Very late. Keigo rubbed at his tired eyes as he finished off his third beer. Touya was one ahead of him, easily polishing off his fourth brew.

In the shadowy corner, they’d been able to lean closer and talk, mostly about school. Touya asked about the boys home and Keigo told him some of the more lighthearted tales. Touya talked about his siblings; he was pretty brief about his younger brother and sister, but had plenty to say about the youngest.

“Whenever I messed with my other siblings, they’d start crying and run to our mother to tell on me,” he said, “but the youngest would just laugh. I’d hold his toy way high above my head and he’d just jump over and over, laughing his head off. He’s a strange little kid.”

But he said it so tenderly that Keigo had a hard time believing Touya made any negative connotation with the description.

“I always wanted siblings as a kid,” said Keigo, “I’d just beg my mom every time I thought of it. I didn’t understand that a baby meant my dad had to be involved.”

Touya’s face pinched a bit at the mention of Keigo’s father. He hadn’t brought any of it up since that night on the roof. Keigo laughed it off and brought up some story from the boys home about one of the orphans falling in a well. It was the only time the press ever came to the home. The boy who fell in couldn’t even be embarrassed because now his name and face were in the paper.

Keigo and Touya shuffled out of the bar just as its last straggler patrons were stumbling through their coats and gloves. The two of them slipped down the hallway and out into the freezing winter.

The drunkards made their way out the door after them, some holding onto the wall for support while others relied on the arms of the strangers they’d met that night.

“Get home safe!” Touya called out to them.

Keigo slapped his arm, “Shut up!”

Touya smiled to himself. The drunks didn’t pay them any mind. They continued down the road to their warm homes and cozy beds, two things that Keigo was also looking forward to.

“Hey,” said Touya.

“What?”

Touya grabbed his hand and tugged him around the corner of the bar. There was a dark alleyway between the neighboring buildings that smelled faintly of garbage and urine. The shadows were so thick that Keigo couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. But he could feel Touya’s hand in his, guiding him to the brick wall.

Keigo pressed his back tight against the cool stones. He could feel Touya standing in front of him, the edge of his boot touching the toe of Keigo’s loafers. His heart thudded as he felt Touya’s warm breath fanning over his face. It smelled like beer. Keigo swallowed and took in a deep breath.

He let his eyes flutter closed and waited for something to happen. But Touya’s face didn’t move. His breath brushed the tops of Keigo’s cheeks again and again and again. He never got closer.

So Keigo took it upon himself to do what he’d been thinking of since the spring.

Keigo leaned forward, his eyes closed and his hands in fists. He moved until he felt Touya’s soft lips on his. Touya greeted him cautiously.

They kept still as the winter air warped around them and time slowed to a near stop. Keigo’s blood rushed from his heart to the tips of his fingers and back again in a second flat, over and over. His cheeks blazed. His fingers trembled against his palms.

Keigo felt Touya’s hand reach up for his face, his fingers barely grazing the stubble on his chin. Their lips parted. Keigo turned his head and met Touya again.

There was a force this time. A pressure of Touya’s lips against his. A quiet clack of their teeth as they adjusted to one another. A teasing tongue at the edge of Keigo’s lips. Touya pressed his hand into Keigo’s face and held on. Keigo reached mindlessly for Touya’s waist in the black darkness. He pressed until he could feel the bones through thick layers of fabric. The harder they leaned into one another, the tighter Keigo’s fingers gripped Touya’s wool coat.

Keigo couldn’t tell how long they were there—minutes, hours, days. It went on forever yet, somehow, not long enough. There was no breeze cold enough that could separate them or hurry them home. When they finally did part, it was reluctantly.

“We should get back,” Touya whispered.

“Yeah,” Keigo agreed.

Touya took a step back. Keigo heard him adjust his coat. He stepped forward to meet him and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“Say something in Latin,” Keigo whispered.

“No,” Touya replied.

“Please,” Keigo whined.

Touya sighed. He leaned into Keigo’s ear.

“Ad vitam aeternam,” he whispered.

“What does it mean?” Keigo asked.

Touya didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he ran his finger down the side of Keigo’s face like it was that engraving on the wooden bar.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Liar,” Keigo pouted.

And the two of them walked back through the cold, late night, letting their shoulders collide every so often to make sure the other was still there. In their room, the two of them wordlessly changed into their pajamas and brushed their teeth.

They kissed one last time before climbing into their beds which suddenly felt worlds apart in the tiny room.

“You’re sappier than I expected,” Keigo muttered against Touya’s red-rubbed lips.

Touya leaned his forehead onto Keigo’s shoulder.

“Take it back,” he mumbled.

“Thought you were a tough guy,” Keigo teased.

Touya shoved him gently. He climbed into his bed. Keigo followed suit. Touya turned off his lamp, drowning the room in blue moonlight. Keigo got under his own covers and rested his head down.

Keigo felt a hard corner somewhere under his pillow. He pulled out one of his World Literature books, the last one they read for the semester. The Lord of the Flies.

He flipped to the first page where the title stood proud.

He scrawled at the bottom:

I’ve written a secret at the end of this book.

He flipped to the very last page where the end of the story had unfolded and left most of Keigo’s classmates disappointed. Keigo didn’t mind it, he liked the idea of being rescued and returning to a normal life.

He poised his pen and thought for a moment about exactly what he wanted to say.

He decided and wrote:

It gets better.

Keigo smiled, closed the book, and placed it on his desk.

Then, he looked over at Touya, his eyes closed and his back moving with slow, sleepy breaths.

It gets better.

He wished someone had told him that long ago.

The next morning, Keigo awoke with the sun.

He put on his warmest clothes and left Touya slumped over his own covers in a deep, meditative sleep. He resisted the urge to give him a kiss on the cheek. Touya wasn’t all that pleasant when he was awoken.

Instead, Keigo quietly let himself out of the room and made his way onto the grounds. The air was brisk, but not as cold as the night before. He was craving a walk outdoors. There were no other students out at that hour since the Winter Ball kept them up so late. So Keigo was alone, weaving through snow-capped trees and piled white fluff.

He thought about the times he saw Kazuo at the practice field. He was always doing the same exercises. He would greet Keigo in the locker room, but only when none of the other boys were around. They all still made fun of him from afar. Keigo couldn’t bring himself to join them because they’d spoken and Kazuo was perfectly fine to him.

On Keigo’s last day at the field before leaving for Yuuei, he ran into Kazuo as he was on his way out. He was in his full tracksuit like usual, but he seemed tired. He looked at Keigo with a glassy-eyed stare and mustered a smile.

His hair had thinned considerably, Keigo could see the pale of his scalp. He kept licking his lips as they dried in the late summer air.

“How do you do, Keigo?” He asked in his usual jovial greeting.

“I’m fine,” Keigo replied, “I’m leaving though. Going off to school.”

“You don’t say,” Kazuo smiled, “where to?”

“Yuuei, a boys academy up north,” said Keigo.

Kazuo lifted his brow.

“Alright, boys school,” he said, “I went to one back in the day.”

He glanced sadly at Keigo.

“Don’t let them rag on you too hard, okay?”

Keigo nodded. He didn’t know entirely what it meant. But Kazuo was nice to say it.

“Are you feeling alright, sir?” Keigo asked.

Kazuo laughed, “Sir—you really are a trip.”

He looked down at his shoes and hoisted his gym bag up on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid the radiation has stopped working,” he said solemnly.

“I didn’t—know you had cancer, sir,” Keigo said.

“You weren’t meant to,” said Kazuo, “they caught it too late anyhow. Radiation was a four percent chance or something like that.”

“Why didn’t they know sooner?”

Kazuo looked at him like there was something flying right over his head. His eyes softened.

“Not many doctors out here who will touch a queer with his bare hands, much less care if they live or die.”

Keigo’s mouth went dry. He opened it to say something, but nothing could make Kazuo’s sickness go away nor stave off the death that had been picking at his hair and muscles.

“Can you promise me something, Keigo? When you’re off at that fancy school?” Kazuo asked.

“Anything, sir.”

Kazuo glanced up into the sky. The sun was setting. His chest fell slowly.

“You promise me you won’t be anyone you’re not,” he said, “life isn’t worth it any other way.”

“I promise,” Keigo replied.

“Swear it on my grave,” said Kazuo.

“I swear it.”

As he walked past the grand dining hall doors, Keigo wondered if Kazuo was still alive. It was unlikely with how much time had passed. He chose instead to imagine him doing his tai chi somewhere in the afterlife surrounded by flowers that turned to watch and never said an ill word against him.

Swear it on my grave.

Keigo hadn’t known what his friend meant at the time. He did now.

Promise me you won’t be anyone you’re not.

He didn’t know what it was about what he wore or said that made Kazuo know so quickly, but he was grateful that someone saw a future in him he couldn’t see himself.

The world is changing, Keigo.

Consider yourself lucky, you’ll be around to see it.

Maybe things were changing. Keigo couldn’t help but think so as he stared at the chapel in the distance just as its bells began to peel a familiar hymn.

Maybe someone in his life would understand, would care. Maybe he could have a job anyhow, a really important job where everyone respects him and calls him ‘sir’. The world changed before Keigo could catch a moment of it for himself. His birdish hair had grown out into golden curls, and the grounds which had once been too big for his mind to manage were suddenly rubbing up against the sides of his wings.

The bells’ song ended. The morning had gone on long enough that a groggy crowd was leaving the dormitories in search of a warm breakfast to remedy their secret hangovers. Soon, the front circle would be filled with cars waiting to take the students of Yuuei to far off, exotic places for the winter break. Keigo was content to stay, though if Touya asked him to come to the Torodoki Estate, he wouldn’t decline.

Touya hadn’t said anything about it. Perhaps Keigo should be the one to bring it up. A nice car ride to the Estate, a delicious lunch in the dining room, maybe a dip in the indoor pool. Maybe Keigo could stay in the guest room but, once all the house was asleep, could sneak over to Touya’s room and bury his face into his shoulder rather than his pillow. He smiled to himself and turned to walk back to the dorms.

It was possible that Touya would want to stay with him in the dorms by the lacrosse field. A whole month of practicing and lounging around in total privacy. A quiet, slow month to heal them of the semester’s wounds. They could spend Christmas together, exchange some small gifts over a meal.

Keigo hauled open the heavy doors and made his way to the stairs. A few students greeted him as he climbed the steps. Some mumbled how they missed him last night or made a general motion to their head that communicated an illness of a violent kind.

He walked to his door and practiced a casual smile to greet Touya with.

But when he walked inside, Touya wasn’t there to greet.

Nothing was there. None of his clothes or desk clutter or anything. With his heart in a flurry, Keigo raced over and looked under the perfectly-made bed. Touya’s overnight bag was gone. His boots, his toothbrush, everything—

gone.

“No,” Keigo whispered to himself.

He felt sicker than anyone he’d passed on the stairwell. There was no sign of a struggle. No. Touya had packed his things and disappeared. All of Keigo’s belongings were right where he left them.

Except there was a note on his pillow.

He stumbled over to it and picked it up with trembling hands. He unfolded the scrap of paper and saw Touya’s scribblings in the center.

I’m sorry.

I’ll come back.

That was all. Keigo pressed his hand over his mouth to keep from shouting. He turned to Touya’s desk and saw something there too, the only remnant of his roommate’s existence in that room.

Desperate to keep from throwing up, Keigo kept his hand over his mouth as he walked to Touya’s desk. It was a photograph and a typed note, both smaller than the palm of Keigo’s hand, and an unmarked envelope torn open carelessly.

The picture was of them, Keigo and Touya, lips locked in a dark alleyway beside the jazz bar. Touya’s head had been circled with a thick, black marker.

In the corner was a round symbol with a raven in the center. The note was just two words typed with splotchy ink:

FOUND YOU

Chapter Text

I.

April, 1978

For three years, Keigo waited for Todoroki Touya to make good on his promise.

I’ll come back.

For three years, Keigo lit up whenever the phone rang, even when it was someone else’s. For three years, he took second looks at tall, gangly men on the street. For three years, Keigo laid in bed, stared up at the ceiling, and prayed.

Please.

Please.

Let it be tomorrow.

Or the day after.

He promised me.

But for three whole years, Todoroki Touya didn’t return. As he waited, Keigo found some way to finish his degree and get his affairs in order for his graduation. Everything had passed in a blur—lacrosse, exams, award ceremonies, university applications. It all felt like a dream that refused to end no matter how many times Keigo pinched himself. He knew they were happening, all the exciting things, but he couldn’t focus his eyes long enough to enjoy any of it. He was only half-there. Half-alive.

Waiting.

And waiting.

And praying.

He’d never really believed in a higher power. If there was one and He was responsible for all the realities of Keigo’s life, Keigo would probably be finding some way to choke Him to death rather than ask Him for something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But he had to try everything. One of Rumi’s friends gave him a tarot reading. Another read his palm. He visited the temple and wrote Touya’s name on an ema. He got roped into a conversation with a Christian on the sidewalk in town, hoping that he would have something to say about it all. Nothing. No one had anything to say about whether Touya was really coming back or not.

“Are you okay?” Rumi asked him as they sipped hot teas across from one another in mid-summer.

“Sure,” Keigo mumbled into his cup.

“Keigo,” she reached her hand out.

Keigo sat up straighter.

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

“He was your friend,” Rumi said pointedly, “it’s okay to be sad or confused.”

Friend. Such a casual term for the ripping-apart Keigo felt every time he woke up alone.

Keigo shook his head, “It’s just—”

Just what?

Just nothing.

No Touya, no nothing.

“I think he’ll come back,” she said, “he always has before.”

Keigo couldn’t even be fully mad at Touya for disappearing. The scribblings on that picture sent chills down his spine every time he thought about it. With trembling fingers, Keigo had picked it up from the desk, folded it as small as he possibly could, and shoved it in his pocket.

FOUND YOU.

Touya had been involved in some shady business, Keigo remembered what he’d said the year prior.

I’m caught up with some people—

not the best kind.

It wasn’t much to go off of, but a message like the one on that picture was bound to be from these not-great people. Whatever Touya owed to them, or knew about them, was important enough to blackmail for. It was important enough for Touya to pack everything he owned and disappear entirely.

So Keigo found everything he could about the symbol on the picture, what sort of camera and film had been used—he was even tempted to take the writing to a graphologist to learn anything he could about it. But he lacked the money and the time.

All the excitement of his lacrosse scholarship to the University of Tokyo kept his mind busy enough that he remembered to do human things like eating and bathing and folding his laundry. It was no surprise to his teammates or classmates, but Keigo read the letter every night in disbelief.

Accepted.

Full sports scholarship.

He’d applied for their Business program. He thought a degree in such a lucrative field would guarantee success once he either tires of lacrosse or suffers some career-ending injury. He wondered, briefly, if he got injured in his first semester, he would lose his sports scholarship for good and be forced to either pay the insurmountable tuition or drop out completely. Yuuei was supposed to be the uncertain ground, but stepping onto the University of Tokyo campus felt just as unsure. It could all be gone in a second. When would he be able to be sure of something? Would the sand beneath his feet ever stop shifting?

He took a job at the campus library as a safety net. They mostly had him organizing dusty books onto their respective shelves or spending long nights in the basement with fragile newspaper clippings. It wasn’t miserable. Wasn’t exactly stimulating either. He’d shuffled into a bank with his very first paycheck a few weeks after the semester began, fingers trembling, asking to open a bank account. His parents never had one of those, just a clunky safe that was kept under his father’s side of the bed. Keigo always dreamed of going to the teller and handing him a stack of cash to put away where it was totally safe, where he could spend it on the things he really cared about.

Even between his classes, lacrosse, and his job, Keigo found time to look around and let his eyes mist over at the sight of it all. He did it. Yuuei was behind him, something new was beginning. He’d made a few friends. The dining hall food was plentiful and delicious. His classes weren’t so challenging. No one had to know about his past. There were rich kids and poor kids and everyone in between.

But Touya Todoroki was still missing.

His professor for Business Psychology had become something of a friend, he said he noticed a great talent in Keigo that wasn’t very common. Something about his demeanor made Keigo peel open with every visit he made to his office hours. It must’ve had something to do with the fact that he worked as a therapist for however many years before turning to teaching. Keigo just told stories, here and there. About Yuuei, about lacrosse—

about Touya.

“A friend of yours?” He asked one night in his office.

Friend. Always that word.

“Something like that,” Keigo replied.

“And he’s been missing for how long?” The professor squinted at him.

“Almost three years, now,” Keigo mumbled.

Whatever vice grip the Todoroki family had over the press was working in their favor. There hadn’t been a word about Touya’s disappearance in those three years, not one. But Keigo read the newspaper and watched the news channel every day, just in case. Any mention of the family always had to do with acquisitions or business mergers or whatnot.

Keigo was tempted to hike up to the mental institution in case Touya still came to visit his mother, but the chances of catching him there were too slim to justify the bus fare. How lonely she must be without him.

“Takami,” the professor sighed, “has it occurred to you that—perhaps—your friend is—”

“Dead?”

Yes. It had occurred to Keigo. It occurred to him the moment he read the note. It occurred to him every night as he closed his eyes to sleep. It occurred to him every time he heard police sirens out on the street or saw an obituary in the paper. He’d know. He’d read every single one in every paper he could find in those long, sneezy nights in the library basement.

He read the crime beat too, just in case talk of a criminal group in the city came up.

The professor gave him a pitiful look.

Keigo had told him bits about his mother and his father and their respective deaths, his days at the boys home and his first brushes with Yuuei. He told him about a roommate, unnamed, who became a close friend and how one spring day three years ago, he had disappeared without a trace.

“Does the school know about this?” The doctor had asked him once, concerned.

“I’m sure they do,” Keigo shrugged, “just kept it quiet.”

The professor never formally diagnosed Keigo, but words like depression and post-traumatic stress disorder and social underdevelopment were scribbled onto his little notepad. Keigo decided to have a look when he took a call in the corridor.

By his third year in university, the career-ending injury he feared hadn’t come yet and he’d breezed through enough of his courses that he could relax a bit as his time there came to a close. The lacrosse team had made it to the semifinals, but the championship seemed just out of their reach. It didn’t matter all that much, though, they still partied like they’d gone Olympic.

Keigo was even taller and stronger than when he’d arrived at university. He still worked his job at the library, not because he really had to but because he’d grown attached to the place and they offered him a cupboard office if he agreed to serve as Assistant Archival Manager for the year. He could barely walk the perimeter of the room, but it had a window overlooking the center of campus and it was all Keigo’s.

Girls chased after him. Keigo didn’t mind them. His friends and teammates whined about how whenever Keigo is around, the girls won’t even look their way. Keigo didn’t know what to say back, so he’d just rattle off some rehearsed spiel about wanting to “focus on school” and “prepare for his future”.

What they didn’t know—what they couldn’t know—was the truth of the matter trapped in the dingy bathroom of a nearby bar. It wasn’t too many, Keigo could still count them on his fingers and remember their names, but it was enough to stave off a greater desire to be committed to someone. Just enough guys to make him forget about Touya on drunken, lonely nights. Still, he’d stumble home, shuffle under the covers, and watch the empty corner of his desk like something would appear there.

Three years.

Three whole years, and Keigo was still flipping through the obituaries. He still had the photo tucked away in his dresser under all his socks along with his two acceptance letters            and his copy of Dazai Osamu’s The Setting Sun.

Maybe it was a trade-off. In exchange for the sudden and total disappearance of Todoroki Touya, Keigo could have a degree and a stable job and a family like he always wanted. The prospect seemed more possible each day between Keigo’s grades and the networks he’d unwittingly formed at career expos and fancy sports galas. He looked in the mirror and, most of the time, liked what he saw. His hair laid how it was supposed to and his eyes wouldn’t try and distort his features like before.

Sure, when someone let the door slam behind them, Keigo’s heart would race. There was an incident on campus of some man running with what looked like a knife but was really just a bike pump; Keigo went into his dorm room and didn’t leave for the rest of the day. A student with a clipboard stopped him and asked him to donate to a charity for orphaned children in the city. He froze up and couldn’t shake himself back to life until the student had backed away slowly with a strange expression.

Other than the moments where he lost control of the reins, Keigo was a capable, socially-adjusted, intelligent adult.

Yuuei and all the nonsense that came with it was behind him. For good.

A warm Monday afternoon streamed through his office window as he flipped through some newspapers a local elderly couple had dropped off to the library. The silence was nice since he could hear the birds chirping outside and a low hum of students milling to class. Sometimes, when the night was dark and suffocatingly quiet, he would tune the radio to the jazz channel. The emcee’s calming voice sometimes lulled him into an uncomfortable nap on his desk, but otherwise it would keep him focused on the task at hand, just his fingers rapping on the wood to the ever-changing beat.

But on this silent Monday as he thumbed through newspaper scraps, he felt at ease. He liked to be alone in his office like this, sequestered from the rest of the world by towers of boxes and creaky file cabinets. A friend of his had insisted he make this place a little more inviting; to her, that meant a cactus at the corner of his desk and a print of Henry Scott Tuke’s “The Critics”.

On occasion, Keigo would come across something in the archives that mentioned Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys.      Most of the time it was for an award granted to one of the students or an announcement of a large donation made to a new building or field or whatever. Keigo always set it aside to read, anyhow.

As he reached the end of the pile from the elderly couple, he eyed the headline:

Yuuei student found dead after fatal fall

Keigo’s brows pinched. He set down the remaining pile and held the words closer. It was a short article, probably only took a quarter of a page. It wasn’t front-page, either.

In the early morning on Friday January 10th, a senior at Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys was found by a fellow student unconscious on the grounds with multiple physical injuries. Authorities arrived on the scene and pronounced the student dead. Police suspect the student fell from the roof of the dormitory building, accessible by stairwell, due to the rainy conditions of the prior night.

Yuuei Preparatory School for Boys has not yet released the name of the victim as the investigation into the incident is still ongoing. Faculty members confirmed that the unnamed student was popular amongst his peers and an accomplished athlete in his final year of studies. Foul play is not suspected at this time.

A date was scribbled under the title of the article:

1967

Keigo didn’t know if it was wrong to steal from the library. They wouldn’t notice that one article was missing, would they? Why did he even want to take it, anyways? The chances that he would find out the identity of this student or even any further information on the incident was slim. Still, his fingers itched to slip the clipping into his pocket and read it later. Something about it felt personal. He couldn’t just leave it behind.

He folded it up small and set it on top of his backpack, choosing to decide later. If anything, he could take it home for a few days and then bring it back to archive with all the others. Between their small pool of staff and the absolute mountain of un-categorized clippings they were already managing, it wouldn’t be missed in the meantime.

Fell from the roof.

A memory poked at the back of Keigo’s mind, but it was too far away to retrieve.

He returned to business, stealing a glance at the folded paper with the browned edges propped atop his backpack. He imagined it shuffled in with his other important papers in his sock drawer. Safe from prying eyes.

The campus quieted as the top of the hour came and went, most students retiring to classrooms or their residence hall. Even the birds had stopped singing for a moment. There was just his ticking clock.

Tick.

Tock.

Another article. He set it aside.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

A knock echoed through the room. Keigo’s heart raced as he glanced around. Nothing was out of sorts. He must’ve been hearing things. Someone dropping their books down the hall or something.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Another knock. Louder. Three of them.

Keigo’s hands started to sweat. It was a real sound, a close sound. Coming from his window.

He turned his head slowly, keeping his eyes trained on his desk. He only lifted them when the courage leaked into his palms, turning them clammy. His eyes focused first to the blue sky, then the leaves floating along the breeze—

then on Todoroki Touya.

No. Couldn’t be him.

His hair was too short, just a few months worth of growth from a completely shaved head. His eyes were smaller and lined with a thick black soot. His jaw was wider and sharper, cheeks sullen and graying. The leather jacket was hanging off of his body like a stiff black tarp.

No. It is him.

It was his eyes. And his crooked nose. And his twitching, anxious lips. He was just older, taller—scarier.

Touya lifted his hand to wave. It was wrapped in a yellowing bandage.

Keigo couldn’t move no matter how desperately he tried.

You’re supposed to be dead.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Three years.

I waited three years for you.

Keigo wanted to scream. To tell him to leave. To never come back. Every newspaper he read and broadcast he tuned into, all of it was for nothing. Just for Touya to show up at his office window.

He’d been around this whole time. Not dead. Not in prison. Here. Knowing where Keigo worked. Knowing where he went to school. He knew. And he chose not to come looking until now.

It was the only explanation that made sense. It was the only explanation that lifted his body from the chair and carried him to the small window where Touya was waiting. It was the fire collecting at every edge of his chest as he opened the window.

The stench of smoke wafted through with the breeze. Keigo’s mouth went dry. He parted his lips to speak, but there was nothing there.

“Before you say anything,” said Touya, “let me explain myself.”

His voice was different. It was hoarse and broken, like he’d screamed it all away. Closer now, Keigo could see the bloodied splits in his lips, his shuddering breaths passing over the wounds.

“You’re alive,” Keigo whispered.

The anger that had been building in Keigo’s body melted into his feet.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

Touya eked out a teasing smile. Keigo wanted to kiss him until they tasted the blood in each other’s mouths.

“I told you I’d come back,” he muttered, “didn’t I?”

“What happened to you?” Keigo asked, his tone bending beneath the pressure of his relief.

Touya glanced down. He rubbed his hand down the length of his tattooed neck. There was nothing between the bones and the pale skin. Decomposing. It was the only word that came to Keigo’s mind.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

He was glancing around like someone was watching and it was time to get out of their sightline.

“Sure,” Keigo said, “sure.”

Touya slithered through the small window opening. While he was tall, his emaciated body let him slip through with no problem. He adjusted his oversized clothes and steadied himself. Keigo stood almost an arm’s length away from him. His desk kept him from creating any more distance.

Keigo’s body buzzed with energy. He wondered for a moment if it was all a dream and he would wake up from an uncomfortable nap at his desk with drool staining the articles he was supposed to be reading. Instead, his whole body was beating along with his heart and a sob was clawing up his throat.

Three years.

Three. Whole. Years.

“Look, Keigo,” Touya took a step forward, “I can’t tell you everything but—”

Keigo stepped forward and placed his hand on Touya’s slim face. He rubbed his thumb over the loose skin. Touya leaned slightly into Keigo’s touch. His voice trailed off. Their eyes met for a long moment.

“You’re here,” Keigo said softly, “you’re really here.”

Touya took in a long breath. Keigo could hear a wheeze somewhere in his chest.

“I had to leave,” Touya whispered, “you get that, right?”

“What happened?” Keigo asked, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Touya shook his head, “I can’t—I can’t tell you. It’s not over. None of it is.”

Keigo let his hand drop until it met Touya’s withered fingers. But Touya pulled back.

“I put you in danger, and I’m sorry,” he said, “I should’ve—”

Keigo remembered the picture.

FOUND YOU.

“They weren’t supposed to know about the school, and I don’t know how they found out but—” Touya kept shaking his head, his lips trembling.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the same small, silver knife Keigo remembered him using at the jazz bar to carve into the wooden countertop. He fidgeted with the safety.

“It’s been three years,” Keigo said.

“I know.”

“I waited.”

“I know.”

“You said you were—”

“I know.”

Touya pressed his eyes closed.

“You weren’t supposed to be involved in any of it,” he whispered, half to himself, “I fucked up. Really bad.”

“You’re here now,” Keigo said with a lightness in his tone.

But Touya’s expression wasn’t lightened. He started chewing at his fingernail and tapping his foot.

“Are you okay?” Keigo asked softly.

Touya glanced up. He swallowed.

“I’m—in a bit of a rush,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He glanced around again, to every corner of the office and to the door.

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” Keigo asked.

“I have to get away from everything for a while, eventually they’ll forget about me,” he said, “I just have to make myself scarce until it happens. A few years, maybe ten, I don’t know.”

That’s why he was tapping his foot. He was running out of time. Maybe he was being trailed and they were sniffing him out right to the University of Tokyo. To Keigo’s office.

“Why did you come here?” Keigo asked.

“Because—” he paused, “I went to the school first, to try and figure out where you’d gone. That was last night. I took the train here and looked all morning until—”

He gestured to the office.

“You looked for me?” Keigo asked.

“Because I want you to come with me.”

The ticking clock stopped. Keigo didn’t know if the batteries had finally died or time itself had quit altogether. Either way, it was just the two of them standing in complete silence.

“You—want me—” Keigo began.

“I know it’s insane,” Touya rattled off, “I just—thought that after all this time you’d wanna split as badly as I do. And I know it’s been a while, but I’m still the same Touya. I still—”

He hesitated.

“I still care about you,” said Touya, his eyes softening.

“Where are you going?” Keigo asked in a paper-thin voice.

“Overseas somewhere. Maybe Canada. Europe. I haven’t decided yet. I just have to get out. Today.”

Touya shuffled for something in the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out two tickets.

“I have train tickets to the airport and was just planning to decide once I got there,” he said.

“And you want me to go with you?” Keigo asked.

Touya took a few steps towards him.

“Think about it, we can start all over,” said Touya, “no one knows who I am, no one knows who you are. It’s a fresh start—” he looked Keigo up and down, “for both of us.”

A fresh start.

Three years ago, the prospect would’ve been irresistible to Keigo. A chance to get out of the place where everyone knew about his parents and the boy’s home. A chance to make a life for himself that he was proud of. A place where he could move on.

Since the moment Touya disappeared, the world seemed to stand still. Three years had only passed by so quickly because nothing that happened in it felt like it mattered.

I want you to come with me.

Keigo just had to take his hand. He didn’t have to say “yes” or anything. Touya would just know. And off they would go, leaving everything behind. For them.

But everything was too different now.

Keigo was one year away from a degree, one that would mean something. He had connections now. They all told him that he would be a great businessman. He had his job at the library that he actually liked. His savings account was flush with enough cash to pay rent for at least a few months in the city. He’d been talking to his advisor about further education in China or the United States considering he could brush up on his language skills.

He’d shaken hands with powerful people. He’d made friends here, people he cared about. And he had a paper due on Friday.

To just pack up and leave today—it made Keigo realize how much there was to live for in his own life. The one he’d dreaded for so long. He wasn’t ready to leave it behind.

He thought about his mother, her bloodied hand reaching towards him as the police apprehended his father. Her pleading eyes. How she always said Keigo was going to do great things, far better things than she or his father could ever imagine. How she would twist one of his golden curls around her finger and sing to him.

He thought of the promise he made to himself.

I’m going to make something of myself. I’m going to live the life she wanted for me.

Maybe leaving wasn’t the only option. Maybe Touya could stay. He could sleep on Keigo’s pullout couch in his crummy studio apartment and then they could see each other every morning and evening. He could let Touya gorge himself on the dining hall food until he busted. He could get Touya a job in the library so he could keep an eye on him. Maybe Touya would want to apply and go to school too. Then they would have all of those things in common.

But when Keigo looked at Touya’s face, he knew there was no such choice. He was sick. And scared. Todoroki Touya wasn’t scared like this back at Yuuei. Keigo imagined someone breaking into his apartment while he wasn’t there and taking Touya. Or, worse, he imagined Touya’s conditioning getting worse and worse until he wasted away without so much as a goodbye.

Keigo’s selfishness would kill him.

And he would never forgive himself.

“I—” Keigo stuttered, “I can’t go with you, Touya.”

A feeling of shattering glass filled his throat.

Touya’s face fell. He glanced down to the floor.

“You can’t?” He asked in a small voice.

“Touya, I—” Keigo stood up straight, “I have a life now, and it’s not so bad. I mean, I have job prospects and I’m so close to graduating, I don’t know if I can just—”

Touya wouldn’t look back up. He fiddled with the edge of his jacket.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it would be like this,” Keigo said, tears strangling him at the top of his throat, “and I know you can’t stay—”

His eyes misted as he watched Touya run his hand over his matted hair. He couldn’t tell what Touya was feeling, he kept his face shrouded in shadow as he moved to the open window.

“Touya, wait!” Keigo called after him.

With one hand planted on the windowsill, Touya put his face level with Keigo’s. The blue in his eyes seemed to never end. He gave Keigo a small, teasing smile.

“It’s fine, Keigo,” Touya replied, “this is what you deserve. This is the life you always wanted. You should live it.”

“Wait,” Keigo grabbed ahold of Touya’s arm, “you’re not gonna disappear for good, are you? You’ll come back?”

Touya’s smile melted.

“Welcome to your new world, Hawks.”

In a mass of black, Touya had shimmied out the window and disappeared around the side of the building. When Keigo looked out the window, he was gone. Disappeared once again with no promise to return. All that was left of him was his silver pocket knife balanced on the very corner of the filing cabinet.

Keigo took the cold metal in his hand and crumbled to the floor, one limb at a time, with only the wall to keep his head upright. Tears tumbled down his cheeks. He waited for someone to come collect him, a kind social worker who smelled like old espresso.

But no one came for him.

This was his new world.

And he was all alone in it.

Keigo returned to his apartment after the sun had gone down.

He couldn’t be bothered anymore with newspaper clippings. All he could think about was Touya and the conversation they’d had. Their brief exchange after three years of nothing. It was too brief. Keigo needed just one more minute. He had questions with no answers that he wasn’t sure he could live with any longer.

But Touya was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, like a nightmare that you can’t remember in the morning even as you’re feeling its aftershocks. He didn’t want to be seen walking around campus during the day looking as he did: face streaked with tears and his hair sticking up from his vice grip. So he waited until the sun was low and rushed to the bus and then the train that would take him to his apartment.

It was a shitty little place in a part of town no one knew about. It was a healthy commute from the school, so the youngest neighbors Keigo would encounter were mothers with their young children hauling groceries up the stairs. He always offered to help when he could, but only one had ever said yes.

He shuffled down the darkened hallway and fiddled with the key to his door. His fingers were still trembling, even hours after his encounter with Touya. There was a bottle of sake in the fridge calling his name as he let himself into his home.

Some alcohol, some late-night news programming, and a long sleep in his bed was what he needed to shake off the day. Every moment of quiet was another space to consider whether he’d done the right thing. If he should’ve gone with Touya and been boarding a plane at that moment rather than checking underneath a half-empty packet of radishes for something actually edible in his fridge. He wondered if he could have convinced Touya just to stay for one more night, to have a meal and a solid rest before embarking on his journey. Keigo hadn’t even thought of that in the moment. It was unlikely that Touya would’ve agreed, anyhow.

The memory of Touya’s graying face and body haunted him as he changed out of his work clothes. It was engraved on the backs of his eyelids, there waiting for him every time he closed his eyes. Maybe it was more serious than malnutrition. Maybe he had what Kazuo had that made him so sick. And now he was gone for good.

Well, Keigo didn’t know that for sure. He said he only had to get away for a while, not for forever. But he couldn’t trust that promise. “Come back” had a loose definition in Touya’s book.

Keigo slipped the newspaper clipping he’d stolen with the rest of his valuables under his socks. He put the knife there too, sparing a moment to hold it up to his lips and maybe catch a whiff of Touya’s smokey skin. Keigo only smelled blood. He went to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. It helped somewhat. He looked in the mirror and shocked himself with his grown-up face. He’d felt seventeen from the moment Touya’s face appeared in the window.

The sake was crisp. Keigo took two long sips before settling down on the ratty couch he’d found sitting on the curb the day he moved in. He hadn’t seen any bugs in it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

He turned on the TV, a gift from an old friend who graduated recently. The picture wasn’t exactly clear but it beat gathering around the screens at the store with all the others who didn’t find it “reasonable” to have that kind of technology in their home.

He knelt in front of it and flipped through the few channels he could get with the busted antenna. Sometimes it took a sharp strike to the top to get it working properly. Sometimes, when the couple his mother cleaned for were on vacation, she would let Keigo come and watch programs on their television, just as long as he left all the remotes and pillows exactly where he found them. He didn’t understand it at first, how they got the people into the screen like that and why it was black and white when real life was full of color. But he liked watching Astro Boy. He imagined being so strong and flying him and his mother far away, to a new place where they could have everything they ever wanted.

A flash of orange caught his eye in the mindless flipping. Keigo switched back until he saw it.

A thick blaze of flames was licking the night sky. Keigo could see the makings of a house within it, but the smoke and colors were obscuring the details. The reporter spoke in a calm and even voice over the footage.

“Just one hour ago, a fire broke out in the east wing of the Todoroki Estate.”

“What?” Keigo whispered.

“Witnesses report a man stalking the grounds just moments before the fire started to break through the windows of the house and burn the outside.”

The TV stuttered with static. Keigo slammed his fist against the top until it cleared. It was the Todoroki Estate. There was no doubt. And it was on fire. The woman’s voice had become garble for a moment, too.

“—the arsonist’s tools were found stashed on the grounds, but no suspect has been apprehended. Police will begin their formal investigation into the matter.”

“Touya,” Keigo sighed.

“The only occupant at the time of the fire was business mogul Todoroki Enji. He was evacuated and taken to the hospital with only minor injuries. Authorities are still attempting to douse the flames, but they have successfully been contained to the east wing of the Estate.”

The reporter didn’t know it yet, but Keigo hadn’t been more sure of anything in his whole life.

Touya had gotten on that bus to the airport and picked a destination. He was probably halfway gone, already. But he’d paid a visit to his childhood home, first, despite the chances he’d be caught.

It must’ve mattered more to him to see those white, stone walls black with soot—

and to trap his Father in the middle of it all.

II.

September, 1978

One month into his final year of studies at the University of Tokyo, Takami Keigo received a letter in his mailbox.

He never got mail besides the newspaper and some junk advertisements for nearby businesses. So when he sorted through it on a lazy Sunday morning, his eyes were caught by the soft yet heavy vanilla-colored envelope with his name and address embossed in bronze at the very center. There was no return address on the front or the back. He set the rest of the mail aside and ran his finger under the lip, trying not to tear the nice paper. On the inside was a card that matched the color and texture of the envelope. Only his name was embossed on it.

Takami Keigo

He opened it, an unexpected chill running down his spine.

Mr. Takami Keigo

The Todoroki family requests your presence

at the Todoroki Estate

On the twenty-third of September

At half-past seven o’clock in the evening

For a

Formal Dinner

A car will be provided at half-past six o’clock in the evening for your convenience

Keigo flipped the invitation over. There was nothing more than that, no signature or indication of who sent him such a fancy invitation. There was no number or card with which to RSVP, so attendance must be more mandatory than the words let on.

A formal dinner at the Todoroki Estate.

It had been a number of months since the fire. They showed the house on the news a few times, but only at certain angles where construction scaffolding and tarps had been set up. Eventually, there were no more pictures shown. Either it was old news, or the Todoroki family was as good at getting out of the limelight as people claimed.

In the immediate aftermath, news outlets speculated about who could be behind the crime. Most came to the same scintillating conclusion that Enji’s eldest son, scorned by his Father’s decision to change the inheritor of his fortune, set his home ablaze in an act of final defiance.

Keigo knew they were half-right: Touya was behind it all. But it wasn’t for the reasons they thought. Touya didn’t care about his father’s fortune, he never would’ve accepted it anyhow. The fire was about more than that. It was a final act of anger. A final act of destruction before he disappeared for good.

Though the family had been able to get shots of their home out of the presses, they hadn’t been able to scrub talk of it entirely. People could write about whatever they wanted, and write they did. One journalist dove deep into the Todoroki’s business records and released a profile on what they called “shady dealings”, but it never made it to the stands beyond Tokyo, and the journalist was conveniently placed on “administrative leave” soon after.

Still, they couldn’t dampen the interest of the people. Some of Keigo’s classmates were discussing what they remember of the Todoroki family, about the mother who had been imprisoned in a mental facility after a breakdown and Touya’s record of misdeeds and obscenities he would spew at reporters between bouts of truth about his father’s business. Suddenly, what was once the ramblings of a madman had become a wellspring of possible truth. Even if he did set the fire, maybe he had a reason. Keigo never let on to those friends that he knew more than they could ever imagine.

The police were still looking for Touya. They hadn’t had much luck. At least, they hadn’t found out enough about him to know to talk to Keigo, probably the last person he saw before he set the fire. Still, Keigo flinched every time there was a knock at the door. It only felt like a matter of time.

But what business would he have at the Todoroki Estate? He hadn’t spoken to anyone in the family other than Touya. And Michi, the maid he’d met over winter break. Perhaps she’d mentioned his name in connection with Touya.

Keigo’s mind swam with every possible explanation as the hours dwindled down on the 23rd of September, a chilly Saturday night when he’d usually be tucking in with a textbook until he fell asleep at his desk. Instead, he was struggling with a silk tie and pawing at the creases in his dress shirt until they went flat. A classmate of his had taken him to the department store to pick out a suit since the light gray one he used for networking dinners wasn’t going to cut it. It had been a long day of looking at himself in the mirror under the most garish light and imagining such a cheap suit against the chairs in the Todoroki dining room. There was nothing in his price range that would meet the luxury of the formal dinner.

Even so, he picked out a black suit with the least loose stitches and borrowed a tie from his professor. His shoes were old and pinchy at his toes, but between the car and the meal, he wasn’t planning to do too much walking.

As he gelled his hair down, he thought about the sheer number of utensils that could appear around his plate. He remembered someone saying that you were supposed to go from the outside in. Or was it from the inside out?

Damnit, Keigo thought as he gave up on his hair and took one last look at the fit of his suit. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible.

He sat at the edge of the couch staring out the window at the street below. A familiar black car pulled up, looking woefully out of place against the backdrop of the run-down street Keigo lived on. With clammy hands, Keigo locked the door behind him and rushed down the stairs. He straightened his tie before walking steadily to the car.

As he sat in the backseat, he met eyes with the driver in the rearview. It was someone different than the one who picked him up from Yuuei that morning. They exchanged a nod, and then they were off.

Keigo watched the lights of the city pass by with the dull hum of the car keeping his thoughts at bay. He hadn’t thought much about Touya since that day in April. He’d tortured himself with enough worry in those three years that he just couldn't take it anymore. Whenever his face would pop into Keigo’s head, he’d occupy himself with something else.

He’s gone.

He’s probably alive, but he’s gone.

And he’s not coming back.

The thought didn’t spark fear or even relief in Keigo—when he thought it, he felt nothing. It was all tamped down in some darkened part of his psyche. If Keigo had it his way, it would never be unearthed.

It didn’t matter that every man he spoke to started to look and sound like Touya. It didn’t matter that when he was kissing them, he was running his thumb across their cheek hoping it would feel the same. When he woke up in their beds, it didn’t matter that he cried silently until they woke up, too.

It didn’t mean anything because it couldn’t mean anything.

Keigo was living in his new world. The one he always wanted.

As the car climbed the hill to the Estate, the hairs on the back of Keigo’s neck stood at attention. Streetlights had turned into fir trees. High-rise buildings had become flat, manicured plains. The darkness shrouded the inside of the car until Keigo could barely see his own hands in his lap.

The front gate of the massive grounds wailed as they opened. White rocks crunched under the wheels. The car circled around to the grand stone staircase at the very front. Even in the inky black night, Keigo could make out the outline of the scaffolding stacked around the east wing. An attendant opened the door for Keigo. He unbuckled himself and gave the driver another nod of thanks. He followed the attendant to the front doors where two security personnel stood at attention. Keigo ascended the stairs and watched to see how long they would stay completely still like that with their hands primed to grab a weapon.

The same butler from his first visit opened the door for him, Keigo recognized his sharp chin. Everything was the same at the entrance: the endlessly tall walls and echoey marble flooring inlaid with strands of gold. The chandelier sparkled above, casting shadows in the details of the crown moulding. High heels clicked down the stairs. Michi appeared in a starched white shirt and knee-length black pencil skirt, her hair brushed back into a perfect bun.

When she saw Keigo, she smiled.

“I can’t believe it!”

She rushed to him and threw her arms around his shoulders. Keigo hugged her back, even closing his eyes to savor the feeling. His friends weren’t exactly the touchy type.

“Look how much you’ve grown,” she said, releasing her grip, “I can’t believe it. What, it’s been four years or something?”

“Yeah, it has,” said Keigo.

“How are you?” She asked.

Keigo shook himself into reality.

“Good!” He said, “Really good. I’m at the University of Tokyo. Almost have my business degree.”

“Woah,” Michi smiled, “you must be even smarter than the last time I saw you.”

“No, it’s just the same old me,” Keigo replied.

Michi’s smile faded a bit as she glanced to the corridor.

“I know you’re here for dinner,” she said lowly, “but your presence has been requested in Todoroki Enji’s office before the meal.”

Keigo’s chest got tight.

“Wasn’t it destroyed in the fire?”

“His main office, yes,” said Michi, “but he’s been using a secondary room to conduct business in.”

“Why does he want to see me?” Keigo asked.

A cold chill passed between them. Michi pulled her lips in between her teeth.

“I don’t know,” she said plainly.

She motioned for him to follow. Keigo did. He stayed a step behind in case the feelings in his chest were showing on his face. Walking down the darkened halls, Keigo feared some sort of trap that would take hold of his neck or hang him from his foot. Or maybe the real trap was in Todoroki Enji’s office, a place so forbidden that Keigo wondered if anyone other than Enji himself had been in there before.

“How is your mother?” Keigo asked as they walked down the long, winding halls.

Michi was quiet for a moment.

“She—passed, about a year ago,” she said, “a stroke. No one was home to help her when it happened.”

“Oh,” Keigo sighed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright, her health was never very good,” Michi replied, “and the family was very kind to let me take her position. I’ve been working to prove myself since her passing.”

It was not the way Michi talked about the family before. Keigo wondered if they were being listened to somehow.

The two of them passed by an opening in the wall which had been covered by a clear plastic sheet. Keigo could see charred black streaks through the fabric’s distortion. They moved swiftly by that and walked until Keigo was sure they’d reached the other possible end of the house.

Michi slowed down in front of an unassuming oak door with a fanciful golden handle. When she stopped, she turned and sidled right up to Keigo, their faces only inches apart.

“Be careful in there, okay?” She whispered.

Keigo furrowed his brow. Be careful? What was really on the other side of this door?

His question was answered when Michi turned the handle and slowly pulled the door ajar. She nodded for Keigo to go inside.

Even if it was his secondary office, it was huge.

A tall window on the back wall let moonlight stream onto all of the heavy oak and velvet furniture. Books lined the inlaid shelves on every other wall, some of which looked older than anyone Keigo knew. The desk, massive and polished, sat at the very center with a studded leather seat tucked into the cubby of it. A lamp with a golden stand, a green glass shade, and a gold bauble chain lit the middle of the room. A single chair with a tall, plush red back was facing the grand desk. Keigo wondered if that seat was for him.

Standing by the window just tucked away from the moonlight was a massive man, the tallest Keigo had ever seen by far. His shoulders were broad and stiff, and he was holding a smoldering cigar between his strong fingers. His dark brown hair was cut close to his head and styled back down his neck.

It could only be Touya’s father—Todoroki Enji.

“Thank you, Michi,” he said.

He wasn’t loud nor brash, but Keigo’s skin still crawled. As he heard the door close behind him, he cursed Michi for leaving him alone like this, hanging by his foot in a Todoroki trap.

“Sit,” Enji commanded.

Keigo obeyed.

Be careful in there.

He folded his hands in his lap and watched as Enji put out his cigar in an ashtray on the windowsill. When he turned, his face was covered in shadow. It wasn’t until he sat down that Keigo could really see him.

A jaw as stunningly wide as his shoulders, cut at a severe enough angle you would think it sharp to the touch. Slim, piercing eyes that saw all, knew all. Thin, tight lips shielding secrets Keigo could never even dream of knowing and a pinstripe mustache seated perfectly between his cropped nose and strong chin. Keigo felt Enji’s eyes studying him.

In all the times he’d heard about Touya’s father, Keigo had never given much thought as to what he actually looked like or what it would feel like to be in his presence. It was a heavy feeling, like he was pinned to his bed during a vivid dream that he could not awaken from. Enji stayed put, but Keigo felt like he was being circled by a sleek panther in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike at the pale of his neck. It wasn’t just that Keigo knew not to talk or move, it was that he couldn’t. Enji’s gaze made you feel like one wrong move would burn you right down to the bone.

Enji took in a deep breath. He folded his hands atop the desk.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” he said lowly, “Takami Keigo.”

He didn’t extend a hand. Keigo bowed the top half of his body as low as he could without the ill-fitting shoulders of his suit becoming too obvious.

“You’re a busy man, I hear.”

Keigo didn’t know if he should disagree humbly. So, he gave a subtle nod, already feeling like he’d made a horrible mistake.

“At Yuuei, you knew my son.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir,” Keigo said shakily.

“You were friends with him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just friends?”

Chills ran from the very top of Keigo’s head to the bottoms of his feet in his too-small dinner shoes. He felt a push on his chest, further and further in until his ribs were pressing up against his heart.

“Yes, sir,” he lied.

Enji pursed his lips.

“Would you lie to me, Takami Keigo?”

Keigo’s heart rapped in its confines. He couldn’t know, could he? There was no way he would know. Even Keigo didn’t really know if he and Touya were more than friends.

“No, sir,” said Keigo.

Enji unfolded his hands and used one to push something towards Keigo from shadows into the lamp’s light.

It was the picture of him and Touya kissing with the threatening words scribbled on it. Keigo’s throat closed up. He wondered if Enji had gotten the same message the day Touya disappeared, or if he had sent the message himself.

But when Keigo looked at the creases and the torn corners, he realized:

It was his photo. The one he kept in his sock drawer. But it wasn’t in his sock drawer, it was here on Todoroki Enji’s desk.

Enji slid the silver pocket knife to him, next. Then, his acceptance letter to the University of Tokyo.

Three things from his private room behind his locked door tucked away underneath his unassuming socks. Here they were, laid out before him like evidence that proved a crime Keigo didn’t even know he had committed.

Keigo felt faint. The color had drained completely from his face. He gripped the arms of the chair to keep from losing all sanity.

“Now, I’ll ask you again,” said Enji, “were you just friends with my son?”

A pang of desperation split Keigo’s body in half.

“No, sir,” he said in a voice more fragile than a strand of hair.

“I need something from you, Takami Keigo.”

Keigo’s face pinched. What would Todoroki Enji ever need from someone as small as Keigo? His house was evidence enough that “need” wasn’t even in his dictionary. But Keigo knew better than to ask for clarification.

“The press is far too interested in their stories,” Enji said, “in their theories about me and my family. They want to exploit us for our money and our prestige. They want to see us stumble.”

Enji folded his hands again. He leaned in an inch closer, the shadows on his face more severe now.

“No family is perfect, but I try to keep a low profile. I’m sure you understand. What it’s like to hide from someone. To be in danger.”

It was foolish to think that the same man who could retrieve a picture from a sock drawer in his home wouldn’t know every detail about his past. Keigo’s mouth was bone-dry now, so he swallowed painful pockets of air.

“I want it to end,” said Enji, “but they won’t believe me, alone. I’ll need someone to corroborate, to confirm Touya’s destructive lifestyle. Someone who was close to him.”

Keigo was smart enough to decipher who this “someone” was supposed to be.

“I have a press tour planned for next month. I want you to come with me.”

“Me?” Keigo asked.

“Not without compensation, of course. I’m a businessman, Takami Keigo. Just like you.”

Keigo wrung his sweaty fingers together.

“So I will make you a deal.”

A deal. He made it sound so obvious. Why wouldn’t it be a deal? He was a businessman, just like Keigo wanted to be. He didn’t make all that money without cutting a few deals. But Keigo never thought he’d be negotiating one of them.

“We’re acquiring a number of sports department stores and are planning a launch of the Endeavor Sportswear company. I’ll need a CEO. Someone familiar with the sports world who can serve as a pleasant face for the company. I was hoping, after you finish your degree, that you could fill the position.”

A CEO.

Keigo never thought he would become a CEO. Maybe a CFO or some other second-tier figure, but CEO. That was only ever a dream. And he wouldn’t have to fight for it like so many of his classmates. It was just being handed to him on a silver platter.

“So, if I come with you on the press tour, I can be the new CEO?” Keigo asked, still in disbelief.

“If you come with me on the press tour and do exactly as I say,” he enunciated, “then you may have the job.”

A shuddering breath escaped through Keigo’s lips. This was it. One month on the road reading cue cards and he would be in an office just like Enji’s, high in the downtown clouds where only a select few could come visit his floor. He could move out of his shitty apartment and buy a couch from the store rather than take it from the curb. He could give a healthy donation to the university like their laundry list of donors. He could be the reason a down-on-his-luck kid just like him gets to go to school completely for free.

An apartment, a nice one. No. A house. A big one. Not as big as the Todoroki Estate but enough bedrooms that he didn’t have to sleep in the same one every night if he didn’t want to. An indoor pool and a nice maid like Michi and a lush rose garden out back that he could wander through whenever he needed a moment to think.

He imagined his father seeing it from his low place in the afterlife, everything Keigo could accomplish without his help, without anyone’s help. He deserved the life he’d worked for, just like Touya said.

All he had to do was lie.

He just needed to stand in front of the cameras and say that Touya was crazy and irrational and burned down the house because he was just so bitter about his father’s decision to change the inheritor. That the two of them had been friends at Yuuei until Touya started to lose his mind and Keigo had no choice but to distance himself from it.

A few little lies, and Keigo never had to worry again.

All of his needs would be met. Everything would go as planned.

Just one month. Then I’m free.

“The issue, however, is a bit more complicated.”

Keigo watched Enji’s eyes drift to the picture as his blood ran cold.

“In addition to your help with the press tour, I ask something else of you. A favor, if you will.”

Keigo straightened up in his seat. Okay, one month and something else. It seemed worthwhile for a lifetime of happiness.

“To dispel any—” Enji hesitated for the very first time, “unsavory rumors, you will be engaged and eventually married to my daughter, Fuyumi.”

Everything went quiet. Keigo’s heart slowed to a near stop.

One month was nothing. Marriage was forever.

The strings that had been attached all along suddenly became clear to Keigo. They all but shimmered in the moonlight. Enji had struck a deal he couldn’t refuse before admitting the caveat that would’ve tainted it.

“Of course, you can always choose to not take my offer,” Enji said, “I’ve never been in the business of forcing anyone to do my bidding. But no marriage means no job and—”

His eyes fell to the picture.

“I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Keigo looked at it, so obviously him in a tender embrace with Todoroki Touya. Enji wasn’t going to say it out loud, but Keigo could decipher just what he could do with something like that. If he chose not to go on the press tour and marry Fuyumi, the picture would trickle its way into the newsstands and Keigo would be ruined forever. The job and the home he dreamed of would be as improbable as him waking up with Astro Boy’s powers. He may never be able to show his face in public again.

Everything would be gone.

But if he went on the press tour and went through with the marriage, he would be a liar and a betrayer to the one friend he’s ever really had. He would have the job and the house and never want for anything, but he would be married against his will until death did them part.

Either way, Keigo was eternally bound to the Todoroki family.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing up a contract, just to make sure our paper trail remains consistent,” said Enji.

He procured a long piece of paper from one of the desk drawers. It was small print from the top edge down to the bottom, the largest of them all being the ‘X’ followed by a long straight line, beckoning Keigo for his signature. Enji set a heavy golden pen down, as well.

It was all here, waiting for him. Every opportunity he’d worked for, distilled onto a single sheet of paper. His hand trembled as he picked up the pen.

Keigo knew, despite what Enji wanted him to think, that he had no choice in that moment. He wondered if this was how Touya felt the day he left—that each direction was a treacherous cliff down into nothingness and to jump was both the greatest courage and deepest cowardice. He wished he was in a faraway place like Touya. But he was here. Stuck. With nowhere to turn but down the barrel of his preferred gun.

So, Keigo pressed the tip of the pen onto the paper and signed his name just like he’d always practiced in his notebook back at Yuuei.

Takami Keigo

The sound of the pen’s tip against the paper rang in his ear as he took small bites of his dinner with Natsuo, another Todoroki brother, staring him down wordlessly. The feeling of Enji’s strong hand around his lingered as he took a walk with Fuyumi out in the gardens and told her just how beautiful she looked tonight and how much he wanted to see her again. The sensation of his life unraveling before his eyes made him dizzy as he walked down the halls in search of the bathroom, only to find the youngest Todoroki, Shouto, wandering on his own muttering to himself in nonsensical Latin.

When Keigo ended up in the dining room, he noticed two place settings that had been left untouched at two different seats.

One for Touya.

One for his mother.

Neither of whom were ever coming home.

Chapter Text

I.

June, 1980

On the day of his wedding to Todoroki Fuyumi, Takami Keigo was lying on the cold tile floor of the bathroom waiting for another wave of nausea to pass. He’d already thrown up three times that morning, once upon waking and the next two at the mere thought of breakfast. Not a bite of the celebratory dinner the night prior remained in his stomach as the clock struck noon.  He couldn’t bear to sit up because it meant standing up and walking into his room to see the pressed kimono hanging on the back of his door, reminding him of the day ahead.

In the year that he and Fuyumi were dating, Keigo had harbored an iota of hope that Enji would be pleased enough with his performance to forget all about a marriage. After a grueling press tour where he managed to keep his cool, Keigo waited for some ease on the deal he’d signed. But one year exactly after he and Fuyumi met, Enji left an expensive-looking ring in a velvet box on Keigo’s nightstand. The rest was implied.

Keigo proposed in the rose garden at the Todoroki Estate. She said yes. Keigo cried himself to sleep. 

Nine months ensued of wedding planners dragging them from venue to venue, force-feeding them cake and entrees until Keigo had to excuse himself for a cigarette break, a nasty habit he’d formed. It had all led them to a clear, hot day in June. The day of their wedding.

The ceremony was to be held at the heart of a lush forest, completely closed off to visitors for the day. Although their engagement had been posted in the tabloids, the details of the wedding were kept under wraps to stave off any paparazzi or party crashers. There were only fifty guests or so, mostly far-removed Todoroki family members and a few of Enji’s high-profile partners. Enji was firm with the wedding planners about having a traditional ceremony with only a few modern details tossed in.

Keigo had been fitted for a custom montsuki made of thick black material and embroidered silk. He’d stood for what felt like years at the tailor’s with his arms raised, pins poking at his sides. The tradition of yuino had to be scrapped because Keigo didn’t have any family to offer gifts to the Todorokis. Even if he did, he wouldn’t want them interacting with anyone at this level of society. He embarrassed himself enough, as is.

The reception was to be a formal dinner at a very long table in one of the forest’s botanical rooms. Keigo would change into a sleek tuxedo. Fuyumi would change too, though Keigo hadn’t been allowed to see either of her outfits. 

Fuyumi.

She was a perfectly fine girl. She was quiet and polite and had long light brown hair that she tied back into a braid most days. Her eyesight was rather poor, so she was always wearing these gold-rimmed squarish glasses. Most of her wardrobe consisted of warm knit sweaters, chiffon skirts that brushed just beneath her knees, and a pair of brown leather mary janes. She would sometimes trade her plush sweater in for a white button-up blouse and a pastel cardigan.

Her favorite scent was jasmine. Her favorite food was matcha tea cake. Her favorite book was The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima. She liked to play the piano in her spare time. Her favorite song to play was Chopin’s Ballade Op. 52 No. 4 in F minor. These were the things Keigo thought about when they were together. It was what he chose to focus on when they kissed. 

He never lied to Fuyumi. She was certainly beautiful and endlessly kind. Keigo would tear up sometimes listening to her play her piano. He thought she was very smart and too quiet for her own good. And these were things he told Fuyumi often—it made her smile and blush.

And because he would not lie, he had not said anything to her to the effect of “love”. She hadn’t either, so it felt fair.

They were to be married whether they loved each other or not, so the point became moot the closer their wedding day loomed. 

Their conversations were limited to the meal they had had earlier that day or what Keigo had done at work. They never broached the topic of Touya or their mother or even the deal Keigo had made with Enji that Fuyumi was too smart to not know about. She never said anything of the sort, but Keigo could read the glassy stare she gave her father whenever he asked how the two of them were faring. Keigo wondered if Enji soliciting him to marry Fuyumi wasn’t so much a trap as it was a cure for his daughter’s painful shyness. It would be unlikely for her to meet anyone on her own all cooped up in the house. 

Before, Keigo had school to distract himself from the inevitable. Now that he had graduated and officially moved into the Todoroki Estate until the wedding, he was forced to face the very essence of his future. If he could even consider it “his” future anymore. At the moment, he was under the oppressive thumb of Todoroki Enji who was withholding the cushy job until Keigo went through with the wedding. So not only was Keigo obligated to stay at the Estate, he had no good reason to ever leave.

Some days, he wouldn’t get out of bed until the afternoon sun was streaming hot through his window. It was the guest room he stayed in for his first visit to the Estate. He walked by the door to Touya’s room so much that it was no longer a stabbing pain but a dull, achy throb at the very center of his chest.

He couldn’t bear to see everything laid there just as he’d left it. He couldn’t bear to smell him everywhere. The few times he’d gotten curious enough to put his hand on the doorknob, a lurching sensation in his body would toss him back to his reality where everything was as unreal as Keigo could possibly imagine them to be. Spells of fuzziness would strike at the worst of times, rendering everything around him into strange, looping shapes, the sky above folding into him like a paper crane where no noise could penetrate. Fuyumi tended to leave him alone when he was in these moods, saying he “disappeared from his eyes” in a way that frightened her. Keigo would usually come to grips late in the night, unable to remember the details of the time that had passed.

He kept sane by lapping in the indoor pool and running around the massive estate until his mouth tasted like blood. He’d almost exhausted the fiction collection in the library by his first summer living at the Estate. He begged Michi to buy some newer novels for him. 

The morning of his wedding, he hoped to wake up to crisp shapes and plenty of noise. He couldn’t disappear, not today. There were too many important hands to shake and special words to say. Dawn had hardly broken when the stylists clambered down the hall to Fuyumi’s bridal suite, pulling Keigo from a dream where he was being pushed towards shore by the tide he’d tried to drown himself in. He awoke to a sore chest from coughing up nonexistent seawater.

Now he was in the bathroom, pressing his burning face against the cold tile and scraping his dry, sour tongue against the roof of his mouth. He reached for some toilet paper to clean up a bit of vomit that had stuck to his skin. 

“Mr. Takami?” A voice called from the other side of the door.

“Yeah?” Keigo sighed out.

“Your stylist is here,” the woman said.

Keigo rubbed at his temples. He’d been nursing a migraine since the night before.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” He called out to her.

With a dull pulse still enveloping his throat and his head, Keigo pushed himself up with his arms then used the edge of the toilet to pull himself up to standing. He stumbled to the sink and glared at himself in the mirror. Despite the slight sheen of sickly green, he looked alright. He’d had a haircut recently where they took his curls as short as they could go while still maintaining the shape. Even Keigo had to admit that he looked handsome with it gelled back. It was still strange, though, to run his hands through his hair and feel like something is missing.

Keigo swished some mouthwash around his teeth and prayed that his breath wouldn’t be too vile for when he had to kiss Fuyumi. He spit and watched the minty liquid swirl down the drain. Keigo pulled the collar of his shirt up over his face and took in a deep breath.

“I can do this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve got this.”

Plastering on a smile, Keigo left the bathroom and met with his stylist and his assistant. They fussed with his hair and folded and re-folded his kimono until it was perfect. The ceremony started two whole minutes early. The reception ended promptly at eight o’clock.

Fuyumi looked so beautiful it made Keigo’s heart skip a beat. And he wondered the same thing he’d been wondering since the day he signed that contract: that maybe he could love a woman—love Fuyumi. Sure, the fiery passion wasn’t there, but that wasn’t the key to a long-lasting marriage. He and Fuyumi could stand each other, at least. 

The only other moment where Keigo felt like he was going to be sick was when Fuyumi stood before him at the altar and, for the briefest moment, her eyes sparkled like Touya’s used to.

II.

November, 1980

After only a few months of marriage, a message was left on Keigo and Fuyumi’s telephone from Todoroki Enji.

They were being summoned to Furukawa Mental Institute by Fuyumi’s mother. She wanted to see the two of them on her birthday. Keigo didn’t have to worry about making time at his new job to go because the office had already been prepared for his momentary absence. It was not a suggestion, but an imperative. Mr. and Mrs. Takami knew better than to think otherwise.

So on a brisk November morning, a sleek black car parked itself in front of their shared apartment in the heart of Tokyo, just a five-minute walk from Keigo’s office. It was a high-rise unit with an open concept that made Keigo feel smaller than a flea and rounded, modern furniture that seemed wrong to sit on. They had a bedroom with a sprawling bed and endless closet, a guest room, a bathroom with an enclosed shower space made of imported stone, a large kitchen with appliances that never gave them issues, and a television with a screen that showed images clearer than Keigo’s own sight. Tucked away in the corner was an office where all the walls were windows gazing out onto downtown Tokyo. Keigo liked to sit in there late at night and watch the lights in the windows flicker on and off, wondering about all their individual lives and whether they, too, were looking out their windows wondering about him.

On the silent ride through the mountains, Keigo thought about the months he and Fuyumi had spent together. Keigo had started his new job soon after the wedding. It was stressful in every way he imagined, but people called him “sir” and actually wanted to know his thoughts about business. His degree served him better than he expected it to, and the rest felt like common sense. It felt as natural as lacrosse always did. Having money to spare, however, was an unnatural shift beneath Keigo’s feet. He could afford to provide lunch for all of his employees. He could go to the store and not bother to look at the price tag before taking it to the counter. An accountant handled his finances, so there was no holding his head in his hands at the dining table wondering how he was going to make rent that month. He could stop by the jewelers and buy something for Fuyumi that he found to be far more expensive than was appropriate. She didn’t exactly ca for fancy jewelry, but there had been a small white rose pendant on a silver chain hanging in the window that made Keigo do a double take. He couldn’t leave without it. Fuyumi wore it every day. 

Otherwise, the two of them didn’t do much talking. They would share about their day over a small dinner, and that would be it. They would greet each other in passing around the house and say a curt “goodnight” as they cozied themselves on opposite sides of the oversized bed. The expectation of intimacy that had. haunted them at the Todoroki Estate had become the occasional kiss and excuses on why neither of them could go any further. Sometimes, Keigo would ask Fuyumi to play him something on the piano. She’d been working on something while Keigo was at work. He knew because he’d always walk in on her plunking something out and making marks on a sheet of paper that she would hide away the moment he unlocked the door. 

Even at a time like this, sitting in a car on the way to a mental institution where Fuyumi’s mother had lived for over a decade, they had nothing to talk about. 

“I have a late meeting at the office tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, “so if you make dinner, you can just keep my portion in the fridge. I won’t be home in time to eat it.”

Fuyumi nodded. She had started growing her hair long. It was halfway down her back when she took it out of the braid at night.

Keigo straightened himself into his seat and watched the snowy landscape race by. He tried to imagine himself young again, just 17, sitting in a car identical to this one on his way to the same destination with Touya sitting beside him. His fingers itched with the memory of Touya’s scars. The mountains, though they were just the same as before, looked bleak and dim as though Keigo had been able to see more colors back then. A lot of things seemed that way. Like the color had been drained from their very essence or, more likely, that Keigo’s mind couldn't perceive the differences like it used to.

He and Fuyumi didn’t talk about Touya. What was there to say? He was a dirty word at the Todoroki Estate and there was no reason to go around cursing in their new apartment. Touya was an implication, a thought that Keigo would have as he closed his eyes and let his head weigh down into the pillow. The thoughts that followed—where he’d gone and whether he’d be coming back—made Keigo sick to his stomach. He couldn’t live like he did those first years at university. All that hope just to lose him again. It hurt too bad.

The massive building appeared over the snow-capped mountains. He and Fuyumi walked hand-in-hand to the entrance. Keigo handled everything with the attendant at the front desk since talking to new people made Fuyumi nervous. Soon, they were being guided up to the private Todoroki suite. 

Keigo remembered walking up to the door like this, but he hadn’t been permitted inside. It was like he’d been shrunk down small enough to walk inside of a dollhouse he’d only ever seen from the outside. There was the massive, wood-paneled room and the bed in the center where Todoroki Rei was sat up straight with a book in her lap. She gave a small smile when they entered.

Fuyumi floated over to wrap her arms around her mother. Rei held her tightly as they whispered into one another’s ears. Keigo approached more slowly, not wanting to disrupt the moment. As the two of them parted, Rei’s eyes fell on Keigo. Her brows pinched.

She recognizes me.

Whether she did or not, she didn’t let on anything with their first exchange. She introduced herself as though they were perfect strangers then turned her attention to Fuyumi who was pulling up two chairs for them to sit at the bedside.

“Congratulations,” said Rei in a soft, lilting voice.

Though her striking blue eyes still reminded Keigo of Touya, her kind voice and long graying hair made Keigo think of Fuyumi. 

“Thank you,” said Fuyumi with a growing smile.

Keigo took her hand and settled their clasped fingers into his lap. 

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” said Keigo.

“I saw your photo,” said Rei, “the one of you two together. Fuyumi, you looked so beautiful in your dress.”

This sent Fuyumi into a long explanation of every last detail of her dress, from the embroidery to the silk collar to the hand-woven shoes. Keigo had never heard her speak for this long. Her voice was grounded and assured. She looked her mother in the eye, something she wouldn’t dare do even with Keigo.

“And you’re very handsome as well,” Rei remarked cheekily to Keigo, “in case you were feeling left out.”

A glint in her eye made everything so obvious. Before, Keigo could only see her sickly posture and imagine her wavering voice, but she had a mischievous glint in her eye that felt all too familiar. Of course she was Touya’s mother.

Keigo mustered a smile. His hand started to perspire around Fuyumi’s. 

“Not at all,” he said, “she was outshining me in every way.”

He glanced over at Fuyumi. Her cheeks were pink.

“Mama,” Fuyumi said, “is it alright if I use your bathroom?”

Rei’s face fell.

“Of course,” she said, “of course, go.”

Fuyumi slipped her hand out of Keigo’s grip and tried to discreetly wipe it on her skirt as she walked to the bathroom across the massive suite. Rei’s eyes watched after her and only fell back to Keigo’s once she’d closed and locked the door.

Keigo started to mess with a hangnail as the air grew thick. If Rei really recognized him, then she knows that he knew Touya. And if she knew that—

perhaps she’d heard from him.

“I was—” Keigo said in a thin voice, “and you don’t have to say anything if it’s not appropriate to ask but I—I was just—”

Rei rescued him from his floundering with a near-whisper.

“I haven’t heard from him,” she said, “not since the fire. He called to say that he was leaving and not to go to the Estate for any reason.”

A tightness traveled up Keigo’s body until it settled in his throat. Had he called his mother before finding Keigo? Or after? Not that it mattered. Touya was gone and, if he’d really called his mother to let her know, there was an even better chance that his plans to return would never come to fruition.

Rei’s eyes softened. She had a finger keeping her place in the book that she would move up and down against the grain of the paper. She glanced out the window where Keigo had first seen her all those years ago.

“He cared very deeply for you,” she said.

Keigo had just opened his mouth to ask for more when Fuyumi’s quiet footsteps approached and she sat back down in her chair. Rei turned and smiled as though nothing had happened in her absence. Keigo knew the truth. He felt the truth like a rot that had finally reached his bones. His life ached around him, so tight and grating against his body. 

He cared very deeply for you .

He cared so much that he came to Keigo’s office at the university when time was in grim supply. He stayed, hoping that Keigo would come to his senses and follow him into the rest of their lives. He left with the ghost of a smile.

He cared.

When he saw that Keigo only had two crummy pencils in his school bag, Touya bought him a pack of pencils that would’ve cost Keigo a whole paycheck. When Keigo said he didn’t have anywhere to go over the break, Touya arranged to have him stay at his home. Touya showed him a language that had long died and a music that was just being born. 

He cared.

And Keigo could never thank him for it. Not ever.

The two of them left the Furukawa Mental Institute in the same car they’d arrived in. The drive was quiet, like before. The sun had already fallen behind the mountains, casting everything in a deep shade of blue. Keigo stared out the window until the darkness was too thick to see anything anymore. 

When he looked over at Fuyumi, he saw that she was crying silently into her hands.

Keigo reached for her. He placed his hand softly atop her shoulder. She lifted her face, tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Her lips trembled.

“It’s just not fair,” she eked out.

She leaned over into Keigo’s side and cried some more. She was right. It wasn’t fair. None of it. Not Rei locked away in an institution like that, not Touya having to disappear, not the piece of paper that bound Keigo to the Todoroki family under threat of the demolition of everything he held dear.

It just wasn’t fair.

But, as an orphan, Keigo knew not to expect “fair”. 

They arrived at the apartment around nine o’clock in the evening. Keigo gave the driver a generous tip and rode the quiet elevator with Fuyumi. She stopped crying, but every once in a while she would sniffle. The apartment was dark and eerily empty. Keigo turned on the living room light and took a second to stand in the entryway. Fuyumi headed straight for the piano. She opened the bench and took out a stack of about ten papers covered in scribbles. Her fingers trembled as she set them on top of the piano and started at something with her pencil.

Keigo walked to the bar cart to pour himself a drink, but he watched as Fuyumi danced her fingers over the keys but didn’t make any sound. All of the music must’ve been happening in her head. Keigo filled his glass with ice and poured something brown and strong over it. Fuyumi set down her pencil. She brushed her lithe fingers over the ivory keys.

“Can I play you something?” She asked.

Keigo straightened his posture, “Sure.”

He took a seat on the couch which had a perfect view of Fuyumi’s back at the piano. Her hands, still trembling, messed with the papers a bit. If Keigo squinted his eyes, he could see that it was a piano score.

“I’ve been—working on something,” she said lowly, “a project of sorts, while you’re at work.”

Keigo nodded even though Fuyumi wasn’t looking at him. He took a sip of his drink, the ice tinkling against the glass. 

“It’s a song made of many parts,” she explained, “and each one represents—”

She pulled her braid to the front of her body so she could mess with the end of it. 

“Each one represents a member of my family,” she said.

Keigo’s brain felt fuzzy. It could’ve been the drink. He doubted it.

“Now, it’s not done,” she rattled off, “but I’ve nearly got it and I think the best thing to do is just play it and see how everything fits.”

She turned. Her eyes pled for reassurance.

Keigo nodded her on. She turned back to the piano, her back rising in a deep breath as she placed her fingers over the keys.

The first note was soft. Towards the end of the piano where everything was high. The next was close to it, complementary. The notes cascaded down into a melody that seemed to ride a breeze. Keigo imagined himself in a lush forest surrounded by warm sunlight and chirping songbirds. The melody smelled of fresh air and freedom. It danced atop the keys, not committing to any of them but wanting to hear their song nonetheless. Keigo could feel himself getting lost in the melody and losing track of how long he’d been listening.

Then, a note ascended from the lower rungs of the piano. A brash boom of insistence that reminded Keigo where he was. The melody did not move. It sang a new tune that, slowly, the first melody started to follow. They moved in perfect harmony. At one point, they were singing exactly the same song. There was a pause.

A melody emerged, clear and bright. It was calculated, careful, bearing the same melody of its predecessor but in a new register that Keigo didn’t know existed on the piano. The other hand joined in, high and lilting like the first, but with a quieter and more restricted song. The two of them recognized each other but never became what they were not. They were friends. Siblings.

An even set of notes became an interlude. Simple and sincere, there was nothing fanciful happening in this part. It was just music as one would intend it to be. But it made Keigo feel at ease, like he was being told the truth rather than watching some spectacle. Just an honest, youthful tune that he was sad to hear end.

Then there was a break so long it made Keigo think the song was over. Fuyumi’s hand floated to the very center of the piano. She started in on a simple rhythm, two sets of complementary notes changing hands, one and two and one and two. Then a melody from up above. It sounded like heartache. Like desire. A melody with so many spaces like it was waiting for something else to join in that never did. The sad sound repeated over and over again, every time the same, until it was dizzying to hear. Keigo waited for it to change, for something to interrupt the neverending sound of being all alone at the very edge of the world. 

He wanted to stop hearing Touya.

The others had been obvious with a bit of deducing. Rei, then Enji. Natuso then Fuyumi. The youngest. 

Keigo knew Touya’s melody before she had even begun to play it. The song bled with something that words could never describe. Keigo could feel hot tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to hide them or wipe them away. The melody was waiting for him. He was supposed to take up those gaps, but he didn’t know how. Not when he was stuck on his couch, immobilized, feeling like he had accidentally stepped to the left of his entire life.

He didn’t even notice when the song ended. Fuyumi had turned and called out to him. His ears were ringing. He swore he could hear Touya calling for him from far, far in the distance. But it was just Fuyumi who had come to sit beside him on the couch and was dabbing at his tears with a handkerchief.

When Keigo looked over, there was an expression on Fuyumi’s face that he’d seen earlier that same day.

An expression of knowing.

Knowing that Keigo, too, cared very deeply for Todoroki Touya.

III.

October, 1983

Three years of marriage settled Keigo and Fuyumi into a nice routine.

They knew what times they liked to shower, what each other’s favorite meals were, and which shows they wanted to watch together. Keigo had his day at work, and he would come home to dinner and a fresh drink. Fuyumi would play the piano while Keigo washed up the dishes. The two of them would settle into the couch to watch a game show. Then, they would wander off to bed and share a small kiss goodnight.

Enji, and for some reason the rest of the world, was very interested in when Keigo and Fuyumi would be having children. It wasn’t enough to think about the next generation of the company, they had to think about the next next generation, as well. 

The two of them had coordinated some reasonable explanations as to why it hadn’t happened yet. There was Keigo’s company which, still in its early years, needed one hundred percent of his attention. And Fuyumi had been having some health complications that led the doctors to advise against getting pregnant at the moment. The first reason was mostly true. The second reason was not true at all. The whole truth was that Keigo and Fuyumi would not be having any children because they didn’t have sex enough to make it happen.

They did it after the Todoroki Christmas party when the two of them were feeling warm from the champagne. Keigo was nervous. He tried to make it all about Fuyumi, but the attention made her nervous too. It was sweet, though. Soft. It felt good to do something that was a release rather than a building up like the rest of Keigo’s life had turned out to be. But there was nothing really exciting about it. He wasn’t clawing to make it happen again.

And it did happen again every now and then. Fuyumi had become a bit more comfortable over time, so Keigo would lavish his attention on her and hope she felt relieved enough to not notice that he was acting strange or hadn’t finished at all. He tried his best for Fuyumi. It was what she deserved.

If some tabloid got wind of their whole situation, they might say one of Keigo and Fuyumi’s vices was alcohol. Because when they’d had a cocktail or two while watching Quiz Derby, they would get chatty like Keigo used to with Rumi way back when. The noise of the television would be drowned out by their conversations that ran late into the night.

“Didn’t you go to the girl’s school across from Yuuei?” Keigo asked one night.

“I was supposed to but—” she sighed, “I was too anxious. The day I was supposed to start my second year, I refused to get in the car with my things. So my Father hired a tutor.”

“I’m sorry,” Keigo said.

“No, it’s okay,” she shook her head, “I would’ve been terrified every day.”

Another night, Keigo talked about his childhood. He gave nearly ever detail he could without traumatizing his wife. In the end, her eyes were misted with tears.

“So this is what you always wanted?” She asked with a small smile, “This life? To honor your mother?”

That was the question that haunted Keigo years after he’d signed that deal with Todoroki Enji. Yes, all things considered, this was exactly the life she had wanted him to live. He had money, a nice home, good clothes, a wife that he could take care of without batting an eye, a job where he was important and respected. His father had never even gotten close to this life.

“Yeah,” Keigo said, “it is.”

It was.

So why did it feel like lying to say it?

His life before Yuuei started to fade in his memory. He’d been seeing a psychologist for a while who helped him come to terms with some of the finer details of his past. He hadn’t found reason to mention Touya, though, nor his arranged marriage, not when his psychologist felt so accomplished having “saved” him from a life of orphan suffering.

He didn’t have to be worried now. Everything was as it was supposed to be.

It had been more than five years since Touya left. He wasn’t coming back. That, Keigo was sure of.

“There was a girl at my school that first year I went,” Fuyumi said one night, only halfway through her drink, “she was just—ethereal. I don’t understand how one person could be so beautiful.”

Keigo nodded along. He thought about Rumi’s long silvery hair and tanned, youthful face.

“I wanted to be her friend but I could barely speak when she was around,” Fuyumi giggled, “has that ever happened to you?”

It had. Keigo couldn’t say anything more than that, so he just nodded and acted like the two sips he’d had of his liquor were stronger than they actually were.

Fuyumi laid her hand over Keigo’s.

“I’m really happy that my Father chose you,” she said, “you’re so kind. And I always feel safe when you’re around.”

Keigo couldn’t imagine his mother saying that to his father. Unless she had really felt that way before Keigo was born and screwed the whole thing up. Maybe it was good that he and Fuyumi weren’t going to have any children. It might set off the same thing in Keigo’s brain that it did in his father’s.

There were still moments where Keigo felt angry. At work, he could close the door to his office and burrow himself under his desk until the feeling passed. At home, he would lock himself in the bathroom and sit under the cold shower water. And it was always anger over nothing. Just a creeping sense of frustration that he couldn’t shake off. He felt it when he had to see Enji and when he remembered Rei in her room up in the mental institute. 

Otherwise, he was happy. He liked his apartment, he liked his wife, and he liked his work. The sex was fine. He was fine. Wasn’t that all there was to life? Shouldn’t he be nothing but happy?

On a cloudy October day, Keigo was sitting in a tea room awaiting some clients from abroad. They were coming by way of Australia, so Keigo had stayed up late the night prior brushing up on his English skills. He asked the server for a round of water. He checked his watch. He was early, but it gave him a chance to breathe and prepare himself for the meeting ahead. 

He had his back to the door. It opened and a small crowd of people walked in. Keigo sipped his water and listened in as they shuffled into chairs at one of the far tables, chattering away with each other.

Footsteps approached behind him. He didn’t look back until he heard a voice.

“Keigo?”

He turned. It was Shinji. His chin had widened out and there were lines forming at the outer corners of his eyes. But everything else, his hair and his smile and his charm, were just the same.

“Oh, wow,” Keigo stood so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair, “I’m sorry I—I’m waiting on some clients and I—”

Shinji wrapped him in a hug. Keigo felt the tips of his ears get hot.

They parted. Shinji kept his hands firmly on Keigo’s shoulders. He smiled and Keigo’s stomach flipped.

“You know, I read about you in the news,” he said, “I can’t believe it! CEO! And I’m still kissing my boss’s ass after six years,” he trailed off.

“It’s really nothing,” Keigo said, his cheeks burning.

“No, it’s everything,” Shinji insisted, “you were always the smartest one at Yuuei.”

Keigo tried to ignore the ignition in his body. It was like a bomb had been set off, the flame racing down the fuse at breakneck speeds, the impending implosion already rattling through his body. Shinji smelled like old, fancy books in a library with a hint of chamomile. Keigo wondered if is wife wore chamomile perfume.

“And you’re married,” Shinji said, finally dropping his hands from Keigo’s shoulders, “to a Todoroki, no less.”

Shinji made a suggestive expression. Keigo considered the implications of dragging him into the bathroom and undoing his pants and pressing their bodies together until they became indistinguishable and holding onto his brown curls and kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. 

Keigo’s mind twitched.

What am I thinking?

His mind was an uncontrollable machine. His body was a willing vessel.

What is happening?

It had been so long since Keigo had touched another man that he’d forgotten the frenzy it would send his body into. Just a hug sent him spiraling down into imagination.

Remembering how little he felt in those nights with Fuyumi sent a shudder down his whole body. The one thing he had hoped would fade with time was only building up more in his body, threatening to set loose any minute he decided to loosen his grip.

“I’m really proud of you, Keigo,” Shinji said sincerely, “To overcome everything in your past and be able to achieve such incredible things. You’re a success story.”

If Keigo was such a thing, he didn’t feel like it. 

He felt like he belonged in that suite with Todoroki Rei and all of the other people driven mad by their own minds. He wondered what handful of pills could make him normal again. If a shot in the arm could make him feel the same way while having sex with Fuyumi that he felt speaking to Shinji Nishiya.

“Thanks,” Keigo bowed his head, “I really appreciate that coming from you.”

No matter how successful Keigo got, Shinji was still his class president.

“Well, hey,” Shinji dug around in the pocket of his suede coat, “if you’re ever in Shibuya, let me know.”

He handed Keigo a business card. It had his title, the name of some company, and a phone number. Keigo thanked him again. Shinji shook his hand and walked back to meet his friends.

Keigo slipped the business card into his pocket. He closed his hand into a fist to try and preserve the feeling of Shinji’s calloused fingers brushing against it.

That night, Keigo was nursing his third drink on the couch while he traced his finger over the embossed letters on the business card over and over. 

Shinji Nishiya

Department Manager

When he was done, he would start back at the top. The repetition made the thrumming of his heart slow down enough that he didn’t feel on the verge of sickness. The alcohol had loosed up the ties in his body enough that he was slumped halfway down the cushion, one wrong move away from shouting some obscenity.

After Shinji left and the clients appeared, Keigo tried to forget. He tried to imagine ordering his life in a way that he didn’t have to interact with a single man apart from his employees and Fuyumi’s brothers and father. But every thought would start and end with a deep ache in his chest that, if it had lasted just a second longer, he could believe to be a fatal heart attack.

Fuyumi and Natuso had picked Shouto up from Yuuei to take him to dinner in the city. She promised to be back before ten o’clock. It was five ‘til. Keigo knew he should put away the business card and pull himself together, but he couldn’t make his body do it.

His mind conjured images of Touya. Keigo saw him first in settings he knew: on his bed in their shared dormitory, in the car on the way to Furukawa, in his seat at the jazz bar smoking a cigarette. Then there were images he wasn’t so used to: of Touya standing alone on the beach on an overcast day, of him driving down a long, winding road with no real destination, of him in a bed with plain sheets laid over his half-clothed body. 

Keigo wanted to crawl into those unreal moments and live there forever. He wanted to be the wave on the beach greeting Touya’s shoes, or the steering wheel of his car or springs of his bed. He wanted a part of it, whatever it was. Wherever Touya was in the world, Keigo wanted to be there. Even if it was hell. Keigo would follow him. He would follow him right into flame if he knew Touya would be set on fire as well.

Time had not healed the wound of his disappearance. It had only opened it every so often, dug around for something new to feel, and closed back up in a careless web of stitches that were never meant to heal him in the first place. Time was a cruel, cruel monster that Keigo cursed whenever he thought to. 

His mind, full of Touya’s voice and his smell and his image, didn’t alert him to the opening door or his wife walking through it. As she approached the couch, Keigo stuffed the business card into his pocket and wiped at his face and his hair.

“Welcome home,” he said in the most even voice he could muster.

Fuyumi wasn’t convinced.

“Keigo,” she said softly, “are you—”

“I’m fine,” Keigo interrupted, planting his face in his hands.

He felt her weight on the cushion beside him.

“Keigo,” she said again, placing a light hand on his shoulder.

Keigo’s hands were wet. He didn’t know if it was from the outside of his drink glass or tears he hadn’t even meant to cry. His body felt like it was molting out of the shell he’d planned to wear forever—like he was growing too big for the largest apartment he’d ever seen in his life. Like everything around him was a weapon with their barrels pointed right down his nose, waiting for him to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and eradicate him from the world entirely.

A cry escaped him. Another followed. Then another. It was an involuntary purge of his body, a build-up of rotted flesh and pieces he’d tried to leave behind in every place he went. The boy’s home, Yuuei, University of Tokyo, the Todoroki Estate.

He was slime for thinking about another man while his wife sat so diligently beside him. He was scum for thinking so fondly of her brother when he wasn’t here and she was. He ran away and she didn’t. He was gone forever, she was here forever. 

Nothing ever changes , Keigo’s mind reeled.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck.

I’m stuck.

Tears rolled down his arms to his elbows. He let out a shaky sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into his hands.

“What for?” Fuyumi asked.

He lifted his face from his hands and looked at her pale, round face and long silvery hair. 

“I—I can’t—” he eked out.

Her expression fell. A maturity radiated from her, all of a sudden. Keigo felt like he was sitting with his mother again.

“I know, Keigo.”

The world stopped. It listened.

“You know?” He asked in the smallest voice.

Do you know?

The one thing I’ve tried to hide away my whole life?

Do you really know?

“I know,” she nodded.

There was no doubt anymore. Keigo had been found out. The end of the world hurtled towards him quicker than he could dodge it. He felt the sands of his life start to slip past his fingers.

“You and my brother—” Fuyumi said, “you were friends.”

Keigo forced a nod.

“You were—” her voice got quiet, “more than friends?”

Keigo wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

“Yes.”

I loved him.

Kazuo would be disappointed with him. There was no point in thinking of a man probably long dead by now, but Keigo felt so awful when he remembered what Kazuo told him.

Can you promise me something, Keigo? When you’re off at that fancy school?

You promise me you won’t be anyone you’re not, life isn’t worth it any other way.

Swear it on my grave.

This life, everything he was doing. It wasn’t him. It had never been him. The life he had wanted for so long wasn’t even worth hiding away what would destroy it forever. His entire body hurt with every step he took. He’d sworn on Kazuo’s grave, and now he felt like he was swearing on his own.

He would follow Touya anywhere because life became worth it when he was there, no matter the size of their home or the salary of his work. The “life” everyone had always talked about, it wasn’t what Keigo was imagining.

That look in his mother’s eyes before she died wasn’t from imagining Keigo surrounded by wealth. She was seeing him smiling—happy. She had only ever wanted him to be happy. It was why she took such a grueling job with no compensation and let him come into the house to watch the television. 

His father had made his mother disappear the same way Enji had hidden his wife away for good. Money had nothing to do with it. She only ever wanted Keigo to be a good man despite everything she couldn’t give him.

Yes.

I loved him.

I love him, still.

Even a brief moment of honesty took the crushing weight off of his body. Fuyumi’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder in disgust. She looked him in the eye, her expression softening.

“I understand,” she said.

So simple a thing, to understand. How relieving a thing, as well. 

Fuyumi stood and walked towards the bedroom. Keigo braced himself to sleep in the guest room, not wanting to face Fuyumi in tears in her room. Or maybe she was throwing expensive vases against the wall, screaming and plotting to kill Keigo in some terrible way for lying to her, for being the way he is.

Instead, she returned with an envelope. She sat beside Keigo and handed it to him. Scrawled on the front was Keigo’s name. In Touya’s handwriting.

“I found it in Touya’s room after the fire,” she said, “I read some of it, and I’m sorry, but I stopped when I realized what it was. I thought it would be too much for you, you were so sick at the Estate, so I kept it tucked away for—a time like this, I suppose.”

Keigo’s fingers trembled around the envelope. It was real. It was his handwriting. It was Touya’s last words before disappearing forever.

Fuyumi kissed him on his teary cheek and walked to the bedroom. Keigo was alone with a letter he didn’t want to open. He stared at it for a long while, waiting for it to burst into flames or disappear in a cloud of smoke. Neither happened. The letter was light in his hands. There could’ve only been a sheet of paper inside, nothing more.

Keigo maneuvered his shaking fingers into the unsealed opening. He pulled out a piece of notebook paper folded in thirds. There was only writing on one side.

Keigo

I know what you said back at the university. You couldn’t come with me and that’s okay. I get it. But I still have to leave. I thought of you every day of those three years. I wanted to come see you the day I left Yuuei, but life didn’t work out that way.

I’m leaving for a second chance, the same one you got the day your mother died. That life you have going for yourself, it sounds pretty sweet. You should enjoy it.

But I meant what I said. I’ll come back. Only for you. And I’ll find a way to let you know that I’m back. It won’t make sense at first and will probably seem like nothing, but it’ll be me asking you one final time if you’d like to come with me.

If you want to, come and find me (you’ll know where to go).

If you don’t, I’ll move on and leave for good.

But no matter what you choose, I’ll feel the same way I felt on the day I met you.

Fucking exhilirated that someone like you would exist at the same time as me.

I guess you can call it love. I do.

Yours,

T.T.

IV.

December, 1983

One December morning, the phone rang at an hour so early that the first light had barely touched the sky. Fuyumi had been in the kitchen getting a glass of water, so she answered while Keigo writhed around, hating the idea of standing up. But a loud crash thrust Keigo immediately to his feet. He rushed into the kitchen and saw Fuyumi white-faced clutching the phone to her ear.

Her brother had been admitted to the mental hospital.

That day, the two of them had sat in the waiting room until late afternoon waiting for an update on his condition and what sorts of treatment would follow. Natsuo came at some point but had to leave for an exam. Enji never showed his face.

Keigo grasped Fuyumi’s hand as they waited for answers. Keigo’s drunken ramblings the night prior had not distanced them. In fact, they were closer than ever before. Like true friends. One night, they sat just like this, holding onto each other.

“Keigo?” 

“Yes?”

“I know that, in the letter, Touya said he might come back,” she said, “I want you to know that when he does, and you’re ready to go with him, you don’t have to say anything, just squeeze my hand and I’ll know. Don’t worry about coming back.”

“What’ll you do? What would your father do?” Keigo asked.

Fuyumi laughed, “I’ll be fine. I’d like to play the piano. Travel, maybe. Whatever he has to say about that doesn’t matter to me.”

”He’ll be furious,” Keigo said.

”But you’ll be free,” said Fuyumi, “and one day, I will be, too. It’s worth it.”

Finally, the nurse emerged and told them that a friend of Shouto’s had committed suicide in his home the prior night. Learning of the tragedy sent Shouto into a sort of “breakdown” that they couldn’t exactly pinpoint. They had to keep him to run tests and he wasn’t ready for visitors, so the nurse suggested they go home and wait until the hospital contacts them again.

Fuyumi spent the rest of the night in bed refusing to eat. Keigo tried to get some work done, but he was too distracted. He had made a habit of reading Touya’s letter every night. He tried to remember the years after Touya left, if there’d been an indication that he was near and Keigo had missed it, but nothing came to mind. In the monotony of his life, any upset would’ve been glaringly apparent. 

Still, he read the letter and thought about how Touya would reveal himself. He listened for the phone at work and even eavesdropped on some conversations, just in case. Everything stayed the same, though. Thus, Keigo went about his work diligently, as per Enji’s eternal request.

A week after Shouto’s hospitalization, Fuyumi and Keigo were permitted to see him. They took the car up to Furukawa and waited until the visiting hours opened. They were the first through the door, and the nurse ushered them down a long hall. When they reached his door, Fuyumi’s face went pale.

“I need a moment,” she whispered.

“I’ll go in first and say hello, okay?” Keigo asked.

She nodded. He let himself in. Shouto was lying in his bed staring out the window at a willow tree. Keigo had to put himself right in Shouto’s sightline to get his attention.

Shouto stared at Keigo as he pulled up a chair and extended his hand to greet him.

“It’s good to see you,” Keigo said in a stilted voice.

Shouto didn’t notice his hand. He was staring at Keigo’s eyes with a confused expression. He had dark circles beneath his eyes and some bandages on his neck where Keigo assumed he’d been scratching.

“I’m sorry about—” he didn’t want to say too much and cause a stir, “everything that happened.”

Shouto’s eyes trailed to the floor. He was touching his thumb to each of his other fingers, seemingly counting something over and over again. 

“I—know what it’s like,” Keigo said, “to lose someone.”

Shouto lifted his eyes again. He pulled his lips between his teeth. 

“I had a friend at Yuuei who meant a lot to me,” said Keigo, “when I lost him, it felt like everything was falling apart. I didn’t know what to do.”

Shouto’s expression took notice of that.

“A friend?” He asked, expectantly.

There was only one reason he might ask such a thing.

“A friend,” said Keigo, “maybe more.”

Shouto’s eyes softened. They misted over with tears. His “friend” might have felt very similar to how Touya was to Keigo.

“Mine was a friend,” he said, “maybe more. And everything is falling apart. I don’t know what to do.”

Keigo nodded. Shouto looked at him quizzically.

“What did you do?”

Keigo hesitated. Just one month ago, he was weeping on his couch over a business card. 

“I learned that I had to live my life honestly, no matter what,” he said slowly, “even if he wasn’t coming back, I had to keep my promise.”

Shouto nodded, mostly to himself. He stared down at his hand where the fingers were still counting one, two, three, four, five .

“My other friends helped me get there,” said Keigo.

Shouto looked to the wall as if to imagine those other friends in his life. Keigo wished he could see it too, just to know.

“No one can do it alone.”

And he believed it. When he thought about Fuyumi and Rumi and Shinji, he really and truly believed it. 

At least until Touya returned, he would have friends to help make life worth living. 

V.

May, 1984

Keigo and Fuyumi were on yet another trip to Furukawa on a day that proved to be hotter than they expected. Keigo was shedding his coat and even his sweater on the drive up. Fuyumi stayed bundled up, but she was dabbing sweat on her forehead with her handkerchief.

They tried to make time to visit both Shouto and Rei, but Keigo’s schedule was packed with a stressful deal that kept him either in the office or on the phone from sunrise to sunset. Ever since his workplace had given him the god-awful brick of a “portable phone” or whatever it was they called it, Keigo had not known a moment of peace. He’d ended a call while getting into the car that only prompted another when the car had barely shifted gears.

“Yeah,” he said flatly, “yeah, uh-huh. Yes, that’s what I put in the packet. Didn’t you read it?”

He didn’t like to be a stickler with his employees, but the stress of this deal had gotten to them too, apparently. He was thankful to see the hospital in the distance because it gave him a great excuse to cut the conversation short.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the seat.

“I’m so sorry,” he told Fuyumi.

“It’s alright,” she replied.

“It’s not alright, not for my heart health,” he said, laying a hand where he could feel his chest thrumming.

“I’m still impartial to submerging the phone in the bathtub,” Fuyumi teased.

“At this point, I’ll climb up to the top of Tokyo Tower and drop it to the pavement,” said Keigo.

Spring was a good thing. It made the outside of the hospital look less bleak and, little by little, Shouto seemed to be improving. He had told them how his friends came to visit because Fuyumi asked who cut his hair so ragged. Shouto had smiled and announced that it was a good friend of his with a pair of office scissors. He didn’t want it any other way.

The visit today would be a nice break from work, at least. An excuse to turn off his phone and maybe take Fuyumi out to lunch to prolong the time even more.

The two of them walked up the grand steps and to the front desk where a very young woman with a frazzled expression was hanging up the phone like a spider had crawled out of the receiver.

Keigo’s phone rang in his hand.

“Mother of god,” he groaned.

He answered it with a curt hello. The person on the other end was sort of important, though, so he pulled together some professionalism. When the attendant looked at them, he pressed his hand over the speaker and leaned towards here.

“We’re here to see Todoroki Shouto,” he said lowly.

The phone was back on his ear. The man on the line was rambling on about files he didn’t receive in the fax machine and blah, blah, blah. The attendant looked bewildered. She just stared at them.

“ Todoroki ,” he emphasized, “there’s two of them. You should be able to find at least one.”

The phone was back on his ear. The man was still talking. Keigo gave some grunts of agreement to pretend that he was listening. The desk attendant had shuffled through some papers before trying to get his attention again.

With his patience running thin, Keigo covered the speaker again.

“What?” He asked more angrily than he intended to.

“He has visitors, at the moment,” she said in a downright terrified voice.

“Whaddaya mean he has visitors?” Keigo asked, “He never has visitors.”

The man on the phone would not stop jabbering. It was becoming grating. Keigo addressed him, finally.

“Yeah, y’know what,” he said, “just come down to the office. Ask for Keigo. That’s me. We’ll work it out then.”

“There’s other people waiting, Mr. Takami,” the attendant said nervously, motioning to a short line of people building behind them.

A tidal wave of frustration mounted at the level of Keigo’s mouth.

“Just gimme a minute!” He exclaimed, “God.”

He rubbed his temples with his fingers. The whole day was giving him a headache and it was only eleven.

Someone with broad shoulders and striking blonde hair approached him on the right. He glanced over to see a boy no older than seventeen invading his personal space.

Was the universe just out to get Keigo today?

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“I have a message for you,” said the boy in a gruff voice.

“What is this, some kind of singing telegram?” Keigo asked, the absurdity of it all wedging into his voice as sarcasm.

“I have a message for you,” he said again, “from Todoroki Touya.”

Keigo’s face dropped. The hand that held the phone melted to his side with the client still on the line.

“What did you say?” He asked in a small voice.

The gruff boy with the blonde hair leaned in close to his ear. He started to whisper, a scent of cigarettes on his breath:

“ Amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non punitur .”

He was gone shortly thereafter, obviously pleased with himself for stumbling through a Latin phrase. But Keigo was frozen in his place because this was the message he’d been waiting for, the moment he was to be summoned, at long last, to answer a question that was asked almost six years ago.

With his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, Keigo set the phone down on the desk and turned to Fuyumi. She seemed concerned with his wide eyes and frazzled demeanor. 

But when he took her hand and squeezed it hard, she knew.

“Go,” she said, “take the car, go . Don’t worry about me.”

Keigo gave her one last tender kiss goodbye. It was the very least he could do after everything she had done for him.

He raced out to the car that was waiting out front. His whole body was buzzing. His stomach couldn’t decide if it wanted to be in his throat or in his feet. He told the driver where he needed to go because he knew.

You’ll know where to go.

And, god, did he know.

It was so obvious Touya may as well have put it right there in the letter. It would take some time to get all the way there, but it was long enough for Keigo to crack and smile and break into a fit of laughter that brought him to tears.

This was life, wasn’t it? This energy coursing through him? The pure joy of having woken up and stood where he did to receive the fateful message? It raced through him like a promise that the life ahead was one worth waiting for. That he’d braved the storms of Time for a reason. It was this. Blood and energy and storm and fire and everything else that consumed. Keigo felt ready to consume. Ready to live .

They passed the front gates of Yuuei. That’s how Keigo knew they were close. On that grassy knoll some odd years ago, he had been sixteen and terrified of everything that crossed his path. Now he was twenty-six and the things that used to terrify him were nothing more than blurs in the window as he raced into the future.

The main street that had once been bustling with nightlife appeared around them. Most of it had fallen into disuse and, ultimately, disrepair. But Keigo couldn’t be bothered with that now. He knew where he was going. Even if the building was rubble, he was going to go there.

“This is perfect, thank you!” Keigo exclaimed.

He shoved three hundred dollars in the driver’s hand. The man tried to call after him, but he was long gone.

He was going to the jazz bar.

The day sang above him. He heard a song in his head, the melody Fuyumi had written and played for him on the piano. She told Keigo that she was working on a refrain for him. He couldn’t hear it yet because it wasn’t done. But the moment it was, she would tell him.

Keigo found the entrance. It, too, had been abandoned along with the other businesses on the old street. Keigo could tell by the broken windows and faded sign hanging above the door. Still, the feelings he remembered from walking down that long hallway, seeing the golden light streaming through and hearing the music blare from inside, they were welling up inside of him as he clambered down the hallway.

When he reached the door, he hesitated. What if Touya wasn’t there? What if he’d gotten the message too early or too late and now he had missed his chance forever?

This is the only chance I get.

I have to try.

So Takami Keigo opened the door.

And sitting in his seat at the end of the bar beside an ashtray with cigarette smoke billowing up from it, running his finger over a phrase carved into the counter, was Todoroki Touya.

He looked up when Keigo entered. He stood and opened his mouth to speak. There was no anger or confusion or desperation in Keigo's body holding him back. He was propelled forward by every day he'd been without Touya, all those moments lying in bed wondering where he was and what he looked like now, all these years later. He was spurred on by the joy that was inflating his body until he felt like floating an inch off the ground. All those tears he'd shed over a life he didn't end up wanting. God, he'd forgotten to enjoy any of it.

So Keigo rushed towards him, wrapped his arms around him, and held him tight, just like he should have that day in his office. Touya hugged him back even harder, if such a thing were possible. The air between them swelled with desperation and lost time.

He smelled the same. Cigarettes and campfires and pine trees. His body felt fleshed out and warm, nothing like the last time Keigo had seen him just skin and bones.

“Keigo,” Touya sighed into his ear.

“No,” Keigo shook his head, “you don’t have to say anything. You don’t.”

Keigo turned his head and planted his lips on Touya’s cheek. Touya chased him with his own mouth, and a collision of teeth and tongue and everything in between made Keigo feel more alive than he had since their kiss in the closet at Rumi’s party. Everything felt like the first time, his touch and his scent and his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Touya whispered against Keigo’s lips.

“ I’m sorry,” Keigo whispered back.

“I should’ve come to get you sooner.”

“No, this is perfect.”

So perfect it almost felt unreal. Those fuzzy feelings started to rise in Keigo as he considered the possibility that all of it, the message and the car ride and the kiss, was an unbelievably vivid dream like the ones he’d have at the Todoroki Estate.

Keigo pulled away from Touya’s lips. He held Touya’s face in his hands. His jaw had filled out nicely. He was well-fed. He still had his piercings, though one or two fresh ones from his last visit hadn’t stood the test of time. His eyes spoke of time passed between them, but they gazed upon Keigo with such innocence that the time bore no weight. His hair was carefully cut and swept back out of his face. There were no bruises or wounds. Just scars. He was wearing a black t-shirt and a leather jacket that fit him nicely. His jeans were dark blue and flared a bit around his black boots.

“Tell me you’re real,” Keigo whispered.

Touya rested his hands on Keigo’s forearms.

“I’m real,” he said.

"Say it again," Keigo demanded.

"I'm real."

Kissing didn’t feel like enough. Keigo needed to crawl into Touya’s skin and know everything that had happened in the years they’d been apart. He needed to make Touya’s breath his own and taste every cigarette he smoked in Keigo’s absence.

Instead, the two of them sat in their usual seats at the bar and talked. 

“That business I was caught up in,” Touya finally admitted, “it was a gang of sorts, some guys who wanted to establish a theft ring and I got caught up when they tried to rob the Estate. I was their best connection to the wealthy world, so they ordered me around and hung my mother’s life over my head whenever I refused.”

Keigo hooked his foot with Touya’s. The simple touch made his chest relax.

“For a while, I liked them. They were my friends. I felt like they understood me. But things started changing. They wanted to know more and more about my life and it didn’t feel right. Then they found out where I went to school. They found out about you.”

Keigo remembered the picture and the threat.

“The safest thing to do was get away from anything I cared about and do their bidding until I couldn’t take it anymore. I knew they were planning to kill me that day I left. So I was running out of time.”

Touya’s voice was more grown-up, but the pain of the memory wove through everything he said.

“I left because I had no choice,” he said, “last year they were caught during a bank job and put away for a long time. It was the soonest I felt like I could come back.”

Keigo hadn’t been paying attention to the crime beat like he used to. He’d missed out on all of this news.

“I’m sorry for getting involved with your father,” Keigo said.

Touya laughed, full and bright. Keigo couldn’t help but laugh with him, even though he didn’t know what about.

“Everyone gets involved with my father,” he said, “it’s how he does business. I knew he’d make a grab at you and that the offer would be too good to refuse. Though part of it was marrying my sister."

Keigo’s ears burned with embarrassment.

"I know, I was—" Keigo paused, "selfish. I didn't understand at the time."

He understood now.

“But you’ve learned your lesson?” Touya asked.

“Fuck, yes,” Keigo groaned, “I have. Very much so.”

Touya flashed a small smile. Keigo leaned against the bar.

“It’s complicated though, he has that picture and—”

Touya rifled around in his leather jacket. On the table, he set the same picture Enji had shown Keigo, the pocket knife, and Keigo’s acceptance letter to the University of Tokyo.

“He really should change those locks,” Touya joked.

Keigo ran his fingers over the items in disbelief. The one wager Enji had against him was now in the hands of his least-favorite son. The thought almost sent Keigo into another fit of laughter.

“You jackass,” he shoved Touya’s shoulder, “I can’t believe you.”

Touya stretched his arms out, “Still got it!”

Keigo settled in to ask the question that had been burning at the front of his mind ever since he last saw Touya.

“Where have you been?”

Touya shrugged, “Here and there, wherever I could find work. Mostly the United States. Finally settled down with some translation work in the city.”

“Translation?”

“Latin,” Touya said with a subtle roll of his eyes.

“Nerd,” Keigo teased.

“Jock,” Touya teased back, “CEO of a sports empire.”

“Not anymore.”

Touya’s expression changed.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going with you,” Keigo said, “to anywhere. And I mean it, fuck everything here. I’ve been ready to leave it behind ever since I read that letter.”

Touya put a new cigarette between his teeth with a smirk.

“Wow, you’ll follow me anywhere, huh?”

He lit the end. Keigo took it from his mouth and put it in his own, taking a long slow breath and letting all the smoke out right in Touya’s face.

“Anywhere,” he said.

Touya took his cigarette back.

“We could stay, no danger in that now,” he said.

“I’ve seen enough of this place,” Keigo said.

Touya let out a puff of smoke.

“They won’t like it, all those people you wanted to impress,” he said, “they won’t like seeing two men together like us.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll lose that fancy job.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’ll be stuck with me, day in and day out,” Touya teased.

Keigo grabbed Touya’s shoulders and pulled him to his feet. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and kissed Touya, full force, until he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

“ Don’t. Care ,” he whispered against his lips.

He felt Touya smile.

“So what kind of life were you thinking you want to live?” Touya asked.

He draped his arm over Keigo’s shoulders. Keigo wrapped his arm around Touya’s back. They walked out of the cobwebby, abandoned bar to the sound of jazz music that was only playing in their heads. 

“We could go to the beach,” Keigo said, “live there.”

“I don’t like sand,” Touya muttered.

“You’ll learn to love it.”

“I’ve done all the learning I need at Yuuei, thanks.”

They emerged into the sunny street.

“Fine,” Keigo said, “deep in the woods where no one can find us but the creatures that seek our flesh.”

“How are you still so dramatic,” Touya sighed.

“You bring out the worst in me,” said Keigo.

Touya spun him around to kiss him again. Keigo sent up a cosmic thank-you to the gruff blonde boy in the hospital. And to Fuyumi. And Rumi. And even his biology teacher, the poor bastard. 

“That thing you said in your letter, about the day you met me,” Keigo said.

“Yeah?”

“Is it still true? That you love me?”

Touya ran his hands over Keigo’s golden curls.

“It was always true.”

Takami Keigo, a boy whose life started with death, was finally starting to understand life as it coursed through his veins and looked him in the eye. It was all love in the end, wasn’t it? What was a life without it? That the losing and the getting and the hoping and the disappointing was all a part of something that made him laugh until he cried from the sheer uncertainty of it all.

Because today, as he walked down a sunlit street, he could count on one hand the things he had:

Todoroki Touya

and the rest of his life.

That was all there was to it in the end.

Something worth living for and the life to live for it.

Ad vitam aeternam.