Work Text:
anteroom . crush
Choso likes silence. Okay, that might be an overstatement.
He likes wordless silence, but not the kind that usually triggers his overactive mind and sends him spiralling into anxiety. Instead, he finds relief in soft background noises such as the rain, passing cars, the rustling books on the library’s second floor (his favourite), or whatever LoFi Girl is up to on YouTube these days.
So, time and time again, he ends up wondering how he ended up in this loud-ass group of people.
“The fuck you mean you’ve never been drunk?” Satoru whispers a little too loudly for the study room, pointing a Hot-Cheetos-tainted finger his way in disbelief. Even Suguru, with his eyes rolling at his best friend’s antics but equally loud munching of a chip, seems just as surprised at the answer.
Like most interactions that leave him feeling like a fool, it started with pretending not to be aware of the conversation happening around him, even if his headphones had been turned off for some time.
In his defence, they were supposed to be working on their research for Neurobiology of Disease. Still, they all seemed more interested in Shoko’s latest failed one-night stand that turned into a two-month-long situationship. Or at least they were until Choso tried to dodge getting involved in the conversation but somehow turned into the center of attention.
He stares at his notes in silence, pondering for a minute too long why he should explain himself to someone he’s known for only a few months.
Fortunately, he doesn’t need to.
“For the exact same reason, you can’t go a day without eating sweets, and Kento refuses to talk to any of us before his morning coffee. It’s called personal preferences, my dude,” beside him, Yuki only glances his way with a devilish grin on sight. A sign she’s only waiting for an opening to attack. “Plus, some of us can actually get laid sober.”
Choso does his best to stop the small snort but fails miserably after witnessing Satoru’s baffled expression and Suguru’s snickers.
“Okay. First of all, ouch, my dude. I don’t need alcohol to get laid. It’s a personal preference. I just feel like people –and by people, I mean me– are freakier when drunk. I’ll even do poppers if you know what I mean.” And no, Choso has no idea what he is talking about, but Yuki nods in incredulous agreement at his explanation. “But that’s off-topic. The question here is why goth Chun-Li has never been drunk?”
He could always lie his way out of this unnecessary interrogation. He could blame it on a fake allergy, but they know him well enough to tell when he is not being honest. Doesn’t help that he is a terrible liar.
Maybe partial honesty is not such a bad option. He could say the scent reminds him of those early days after the car accident, the ICU and six funerals. Noritoshi Kamo didn’t celebrate the nearly miraculous healing of two sons but rather drowned himself in bottle after bottle of Glenfiddich 18 to stop thinking about hospital expenses and the void six kids left in a house that at first seemed too small but ended up feeling achingly big.
The light impact of Yuki’s combat boots against his ankle is enough to bring him back to reality.
Shoko laughs, avoiding the judging gaze from the passing students behind the glass wall that is doing little to nothing to mute their conversation from others who are actually doing what students are meant to do at a library. Still, she presses her index and thumb and moves her hand as if zipping her mouth, hinting Satoru to shut up.
Suguru takes that as his cue to grab the bag of Cheetos and hide it in his lap, saying he won’t give them back until they are done reading. By doing so, he successfully distracts Satoru’s prodding questions.
Choso likes Satoru. He really does. He is alright, albeit a little loud and obnoxious. But damn if he is not envious of his lack of care for adulthood.
He stands up, left knee cracking after finally changing positions, and claims he needs fresh air. However, what he really needs is to get away.
It’s too easy to get attached to people. However, the more he gets to meet them, the more difficult it is to hide how, underneath all the aloofness and nonchalance, Choso desperately wishes he could belong. That he could partake in the conversations and tell some stories of his own.
The more they talk about alcohol and casual hookups, the more he realizes all he’s missed because life has barely started to feel like it’s worth living. Because for the first time in years all his hard work seems to be paying off, even if he thinks he will drop dead out of exhaustion before he finishes paying his student loans, despite all the awards and scholarships.
Still, he finds himself longing for something he’s never had: normalcy.
Choso can’t help but imagine what his youth would have been like under any other circumstances. He aches for the foreign sense of freedom he sees in Satoru’s little regard for academics, Yuki’s unabashed casual flirting, and even Haibara and Shoko’s loud and kind nature.
The truth is that from time to time, he thinks about all the things he was robbed of due to his weakened neurotransmitters.
“Same as usual?” Yuki asks behind the line of the single vending machine that is near the library. Choso tries to refuse the attention, but she’s already crouching to get him a white chocolate bar. It’s the one he likes. “Hey, big guy… what if we bounce outta here?”
“What about the others?”
All she does is shrug with a smile. Not big and wide as she usually does when something manages to be of interest or when a mischievous idea comes to mind. It’s the kind she usually unsheaths when it’s just the two of them. A slight curve of her lips and the softening of her amber gaze symbolize a mutual but silent understanding at the knowledge the other is close to their limit.
It’s a little disorienting how much they’ve come to know each other in such a short period of time. Despite the realization of the attractiveness of the woman before him, in front of this shitty, bill-shredding vending machine, Choso realizes that maybe she is the first friend he’s had because she might be the only one he will ever need.
However, the way his heart skips a beat when he realizes she is holding their backpacks in hand feels far from amicable.
* * * * *
The word ‘pretty’ is something that rarely ever makes it into his vocabulary. Why would it? He doesn’t really have the time to care about such a thing.
Usually, it’s used more as an adverb. He is pretty tired all the time. He is pretty sure all the love he needs comes in the shape and form of his brothers. And he is pretty damn certain he loathes his father.
Other times, it seeps in as an adjective, usually directed to a single person. He calls Eso pretty because he knows the word makes him happy. That, for the briefest moment, makes him forget about the scars drawn on his back underneath the tattoos of his mother’s eyes. And when it comes out with a sketchbook in hand, it makes his violet gaze light up in pride at all the designs he shows to his older brother, whose knowledge about fashion may be close to zero but knows that when he blurts the two syllables, he does it with earnest honesty.
However, the more he stares at Yuki, the more he finds himself using the word to describe her. More often than not, the word feels insufficient. It doesn’t do justice to her light brown eyes, rosy cheeks, puffy lips, and kindness.
But right after those thoughts comes panic. The fear of the unknown. The dread of experiencing something for the first time a little too late to be asking for advice.
Choso’s search history looks like that of a preteen rather than that of a man a year away from his thirties. While he may be no fool, he really wants to believe the internet when it says a crush will pass in no time. He is betting on that.
But his palms sweat in a way that has nothing to do with the weather when Yuki finds him after Friday class to offer him a ride on her motorcycle. He accidentally bites his tongue when she suggests buying a helmet for him because late afternoon rides home are turning into a recurrence.
In her small studio apartment, Yuki offers him a beer as she takes a sip of her own and sits on the small, rounded table in front of the kitchenette. As she fishes a MacBook Pro from her backpack, Choso eyes the way a drop of condensed water near the top falls down to the label of the maroon bottle.
“Shit, I forgot you didn’t drink. Leave it. I’ll finish it once I’m done with this one.”
In uncharacteristic stubbornness, he takes a long sip from the bottle and makes a face at the unpleasant flavour. Beer is not that bad, but he genuinely dislikes Stout. Yuki’s eyes follow every move from the other side of the table with a curious glint and a reflective, lopsided smile.
“The fact that I’ve never been drunk doesn’t mean I don’t drink,” Yuki snickers in amusement, probably noticing the pink embarrassment under the dark ink on the bridge of his nose.
“Well, you are not missing out. I may be a stoner, but I’m not a big fan of being drunk. I don’t like the idea of being in a vulnerable position in an uncontrolled environment… And I usually end up throwing up.”
Choso suspects there’s more to that. The blonde has gotten to know him, but he can say just the same.
Her lost stare may have something to do with reminiscence. After all, she’s not too fond of those memories.
It happened the first time he tried weed. With their legs dangling from her small, hazardous balcony, she once told him all about it.
Sorority rush, greek weeks, and frat parties. How it was easier to spot her at a rave than in a morning class during her freshman year as an undergrad.
Yuki told Choso about him. She trusted a newfound friend with the knowledge that her last partner got a little too caught up chasing nightclubs high on MDMA. She found him cheating, snorting cocaine from another girl’s collarbones before his lips found hers. Mere hours ago, they had just used the l-word.
Despite the laughter, he could tell it still hurt.
The truth is that Yuki was too smart yet too naive at the same time. She may have had a life and aspirations out of the flashing lights and electronic music blasting on speakers. But her past self sought the comfort of companionship in someone who had never really been available in the first place.
Maybe that’s why she fell for it. Society expects women to be fixers, tamers of reckless men, but who is there to catch them when they break? No one other than themselves.
Yuki walked out of that relationship with the mark of a shattered heart, the discovery of boxing as a new hobby to mute the resentment, and the drive to graduate as the valedictorian.
As always, she succeeded.
But when the blonde called him lucky for never having feelings or at least experiencing attraction for another person as smoke left her spit-slick lips, all he could do was nod to hide his grimace.
“You wanna do it?” The words bring him back to reality. Choso really tries not to blush at the sudden question as she nears the bottle to her parted lips. “Yeah, let’s fucking do it.”
‘It’ means bar hopping, he soon realizes.
The plan is simple, at least in theory.
There are five different bars and a late-night eat between her place and the bus station that takes him from Downtown to the stop two blocks away from his apartment. They will both have two drinks tops at every bar and call it a night.
Sounds easy enough. Yuki says she used to do it with Shoko and Utahime when they were doing their Masters, but Choso is not a heavy drinker, and he hates big crowds.
The worry of having more than a single beer seems to slowly vanish as they enter their first destination: a small and secluded speakeasy.
“Didn’t you say something about not being fond of vulnerability in an uncontrolled environment? Five bars seem like too much.”
“Yup, but it’s cool if it’s with you. We’ll take care of each other. I trust you.”
A part of him likes to believe that sometimes the way her eyes linger on his Adam’s apple and how her fingertips find his arms might be a sign she’s flirting with him, but that might be his head, right? Yeah, that’s definitely it.
The bartender pours him an orange drink upon Yuki’s recommendation and Choso’s lack of imagination at the dozen possibilities he sees on the menu. He also tries not to have an aneurysm at the prices, secretly hoping the other four bars are less expensive than this one.
Beer may be an acquired taste, but discovering cocktails might make the night easier. The sweet yet spicy flavour flooding his tongue manages to pave the way for a pleased smile.
“Okay, yeah. It’s actually good.”
Yuki pumps her fists in the air and cheers loudly, disturbing the quiet atmosphere and earning a few glares from others.
“Thought I’d take you out for rat piss, didn’t ya? I have impeccable taste, Choso Kamo,” she sighs happily after sipping on her martini. “Plus, we’re thirty. Our hangovers are two working days long. We gotta make sure it’s worth it.”
But neither of them appear to hear those words.
The thing with Yuki is that she makes everything way too easy. It drives him crazy in the best possible way.
One of Choso’s favourite things about the blonde is how rarely anything seems to bother her. While he overstresses about every single inconvenience, all she does is say, “oh well,” “such is life in the tropics,” or “it is what it is,” and move on when things don’t work her way.
Paradoxically, that easygoingness makes it harder for him to pretend that finals being two weeks away is the only reason that has him on edge. He has never admitted it out loud. Voicing it will make it real. He can’t let that happen.
Even if his slowly intoxicating mind can’t help but notice how the dim lights make the lines of her muscular shoulders stand out under her skin-tight, long-sleeved top, he tries to remind himself that there’s no one out there to whom he is not related that will ever understand him like she does.
Just his fucking luck: he has a big, fat, stupid crush on his first friend. Goddammit.
So Choso sits there in silence as Yuki talks excitedly to the light-haired bartender. He blames the angry red colour marrying his face and neck on the fact that he is always awkward and shy in front of strangers rather than on the hand that’s been sitting on his knee for the past half an hour.
Yuki may fall for the lie —at least she succeeds in pretending she believes him. The bartender, however, offers the pair a couple of tequila shots with a smirk, noticing Choso’s eyes following Yuki as she munches a lime slice to chase down the fiery drink.
“Thanks, Tengen,” he mutters after saying goodbye, putting his wallet back on the zipper bag of his puffer jacket.
“Good luck with your crush, big guy.”
* * * *
Choso discovers the hard way that all that bullshit Kechizu spawned out once after he came back home at three in the morning, smelling like Bacardi, was true.
It’s all the air’s fault.
One moment, he is a little tipsy, laughing at Yuki’s dramatic retelling of the one time Satoru, Shoko and Suguru made out at a party and pretended nothing happened. The next, he’s walking out of the third bar to realize he’s already incredibly drunk.
His face feels on fire, tongue slurring as he tries to tell Yuki to stop Naruto-running on the busy sidewalks of Main Street. She’s just as woozy and pink-faced, condensed air leaving her puffy lips as she roars in laughter.
Yuki is pretty, way too pretty. Long blonde locks set in a messy, high ponytail that displays the entirety of her golden ear piercings and beautiful face.
All Choso can do is stare, hoping that he is not an honest drunk. He may not have had a real friend before her, but he knows the way his heartbeat stutters has nothing to do with their current relationship.
“Tsuk’yuki…” they both laugh at the mingled words, hand in hand, as they wait for a red light to cross the street. “I don’t think I can handle more than this.”
‘This’ is not only the overpriced drinks flooding his system. ‘This’ is Yuki touching him like it’s nothing. He fears the intoxication will bring down the veil Choso uses to pretend he doesn’t feel alight when her cold fingers press against his cheeks to make fun of his flushed skin because, apparently, the drunker he is, the more crimson his face becomes.
“Hammered already?” Yuki coos and calls him cute when he nods. “Me too.”
The fourth bar is not really a bar at all. It’s the mezzanine of an old apartment building turned into a nightclub.
Yuki says they just have to “dance it off.” Choso refuses to disappoint her by admitting he’s got two left feet.
If he were a little more sober, he would probably deny crossing the threshold. This place called ‘Hidden Inventory’ calls for a premature death.
Highly flammable acoustic foam covers the walls. The DJ booth is at the center of an improvised but overcrowded dance floor. The fact that a person is wearing sockless Birkenstocks in the weeks before autumn turns into winter.
Everything about this place is just screaming for an accident to happen.
When Yuki drags him by the hand towards the bar, he feels like a kite pending by a single thread in the middle of a storm. What’s left to do in this position but to stare lovingly at how the strobe light paints diamonds on her sweaty skin amidst the chaos?
“Do you want a beer or something stronger?” Yuki screams in his face.
But Choso doesn’t answer the question.
“You are very pretty.” Not ‘look’ –‘are’ because the word was made for her.
It takes a second too long to realize he voiced that out loud.
An apology is scribbled down his tongue, but the muscle feels heavy as if made of lead. He wants to dig a hole in the concrete, crawl inside, and lie down until he rots for ruining the one good thing he’s found in this life.
Still, nothing happens.
All Yuki does is laugh drunkenly, but it’s not at him. Something burns in the honey-laced warmth in her eyes. It’s adoration. She looks pleased. For a second, Choso feels tempted to ask what this reaction means.
Could it be…?
“Hey, barman! Pour us your heaviest drink!”
Turns out one should not mix Jägermeister with an energy drink. The name ‘Jägerbomb’ serves as a forewarning of its aftermath.
Choso doesn’t really remember walking out of the club. However, the image of Yuki’s side profile, flushed cheeks, and closed eyes dancing and screaming the lyrics of We Are The People will forever remain imprinted behind his eyelids.
At some point in the night, they find themselves sitting on the spot Yuki mentioned. He has no idea how they even got there, only that he’s lost his beanie on the way.
Choso’s fingers drip with chimichurri as the grilled chorizo sausage escapes the confines of the once crusty bread roll, falling on the plate, barely missing the wooden table. Before him, Yuki is desperately chugging at her beer to fire down the hiccups and burning tongue.
Yuki is obsessed with all things spicy. Barely edible tteokbokki and sour candy are her snacks of choice whenever they have to stay up late to finish their readings after lab hours. So Choso doesn’t even question when she asks for the restaurant’s spiciest hot sauce with her tacos.
Instead of staring at the blonde like a lovestruck idiot, he should have warned her when the waiter brought a bottle labelled in Spanish with the word ‘Habanero’ and many flames around it. If not then, he most definitely should have stopped her when she poured the thick, orange liquid over the meat as if it was nothing.
A little too late, he begs the waiter for a glass of water and sugar. But by the time he comes back with a smug expression, Choso already suspects what’s minutes away from happening.
Yuki’s tear-streaked face turns green, blonde hair plastered against her sweaty neck and forehead –wait, when did she let her hair down?
“Yo, big guy. I don’t feel–” but she doesn’t finish the sentence.
They both stand up at the same time. The chair Choso used falls loudly to the ground, nearly making him trip as they sprint toward one of the two washrooms.
Choso barely manages to hear one of the waiters yell, saying both can’t go inside. The one who stands closer to the hallway must see the sickly pale colour painting Yuki’s face because he ends up opening the door for them.
They barely make it inside.
Yuki burps loudly before retching on the toilet as Choso grasps tightly at her long hair, trying to hold it in place so it doesn’t end up falling victim to the vomit.
He tries to help. He really does. But objectively speaking, what did he expect? He’s just as —if not more— drunk.
The stench and sight of the blueish mess on the toilet make bile travel through his esophagus alarmingly fast. He can’t ask her to move, nor can’t he let go of her hair. She’s clutching to the lid as if her life depends on it.
With his ego and self-respect lost somewhere along the way, he ends up turning towards the only other option his alcohol-hazed brain registers: the sink. At least he has half a mind to turn on the water before emptying his stomach on the porcelain.
They stay there for God knows how long as the waiters knock loudly on the door. His hand never leaves her hair. He doesn’t really register when, but her fingers lock with his.
* * * * *
The echoing of loud voices and the tingling, numbing sensation on his fingers are the only things that manage to rustle him awake.
When Choso opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is a tangled mess of blonde hair, head tucked against his shirtless chest. The second is the pungent aroma of alcohol permeating every corner. The third is that he is currently in his bedroom with his passed-out best friend curled against him, bare legs tangled with each other.
In full honesty, he expected a hammering headache and feeling like the entire world population river-danced on top of him. There’s nothing. He could use some cold water, though.
“Hey, you awake?” he mumbles against the top of her head after making sure he is not sporting a severe case of morning wood. After all, he is in the same bed as the woman who haunts his restless dreams and conscious thoughts.
Yuki grumbles and turns around, finally freeing his arm. He takes that as his cue to satiate the thirst that is becoming more uncomfortable every minute.
It isn’t until he is out of bed that rationality seeps in.
Yuki Tsukumo is in his room, on his bed, wearing nothing but the oversized, worn-down AC/DC sweatshirt he uses as pyjamas. He closes his eyes, face burning, and turns around after catching a glimpse of the black lace of her underwear as she goes full downward-facing starfish over the gray cotton sheets.
Choso walks to the door, having fifteen different breakdowns.
He wants her, but not like this. He’s worked so hard not to ruin this friendship. After Eso, Kechizu, and Yuuji, she is the single, most important person in his life.
He fights back the sting of tears born of frustration and a sense of betrayal of his own feelings to no avail.
Walking down the aisle, trying to recollect everything that happened, he stops dead in his tracks when he sees his three brothers staring back at him in stunned silence.
“Legend has it there’s a girl in your room,” Yuuji teases, breaking the silence. As he remains motionless, an excessive amount of marmalade cascades over his toast, unnoticed in the moment’s amusement.
Kechizu sips loudly at his chocolate milk with a stainless-steel straw as Eso clears his throat, flipping the bacon that sizzles on the pan with a fork. If Choso weren’t on the verge of a nervous meltdown, he would scold him for cooking with something only meant to be used for eating.
“W-what happened last night?” he asks, voice tinged with uncertainty. He can’t swear is not what it looks like because he doesn’t even remember most of it. The roughness in his voice and the turmoil poorly concealed thanks to his stammering makes him wince.
He feels like the biggest idiot ever to walk this planet. And maybe he looks as small as he feels because the teasing mood immediately shifts.
All eyes on him soften as Kechizu stands up, adds ice to a glass, and fills it to the brink with water before offering it to him. At the same time, Yuuji asks his older brother to sit on the stool he is currently using.
They are all awfully quiet as Choso attempts to muffle his sobs.
But the loud, roaring snore that comes from his room elicits a snort out of Eso, and a chorus of chuckles from Yuuji and Kechizu. A small smile threatens to escape at the absurdity of the moment.
Eso puts a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him, making the tears well back up out of gratitude. “You’ve done nothing wrong, brother. Stop overthinking.”
Apparently, Choso was close to blacking out when he called Eso and asked for help and a ride back home, using the word ‘sorry’ as a comma at the end of every sentence. Kechizu joined because a part of him wanted to make fun of his always-strict older brother, but Yuuji reveals that he only did it out of worry due to the anguish in his tone.
When Eso and Kechizu arrived at the pinned location on the outskirts of Downtown, the owner was throwing a fit. The man was screaming, saying the pair better leave the bathroom pristine.
They did. According to one of the waiters, despite the stench, it was cleaner than when they first went inside. Choso may have been disgustingly drunk, but he is nothing if not considerate and responsible.
“Is it her?” Yuuji asks then, eyes soft at the peace drawn on Choso’s face after hearing Yuki was wearing his top. Despite the drunken teamwork, she ended up throwing up on her clothes and Choso’s black puffer jacket and Converse high tops after the ride back home.
Her.
Choso may have never uttered her full name, but they know about the woman who tore down his walls and built a place for herself. They may have never met until last night, but they have witnessed how he seems calmer, how he is more at peace ever since a work session turned into a full-blown conversation that made him get home late and break his carefully constructed routine for once.
Not only is Yuki the prettiest, most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. She’s brought an entire palette of brightness to colour even his loneliest, grayest days.
They know. At least, by the knowing look on Eso’s violet gaze, Choso can tell he is aware that there’s more to what he lets out.
The idea of them seeing this side of him is a little terrifying.
Sitting on a squeaky kitchen stool, wearing nothing but navy-blue sweats and his heart on his sleeve, does he realize it’s not that bad. Maybe his therapist is right. Sometimes, it is okay to be the one asking for help.
His brothers are smart and strong. They don’t need him. They are choosing to stay with him. They deserve trust rather than just overprotectiveness.
“You like her, don’t you?” Eso mutters with his lips against a teacup made of glass. In the sink, a bowl falls from Choso’s slippery, foam-covered hands. Eso huffs with mirth, puts the cup on the counter, and plays with the string, darkening the steaming chamomile tea.
Eso laughs at the small, defeated noise that manages to escape his throat.
“Do you think she knows?”
Yuuji pouts. Kechizu huffs astounded. Eso, who was there when he walked out of that first mandatory therapy session numb but in tears all those years ago, simply raises a thick, pierced eyebrow and chuckles.
“You are way too dense for your own good,” Eso ruffles his hair before walking out of the kitchen with a wide grin.
It takes a long, cold shower, half an hour of anxious cooking, and one whole cycle of the washing machine for him to build up the courage to knock on his own door.
“Tsukumo, uh, can I come in?”
The answer never comes. At least, it’s not spoken. Yuki opens the door with the most embarrassed look he’s ever seen on her face. The sight makes him shiver.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts before she can mutter a single word.
Yuki looks how he expected a hangover to feel. Still, she laughs, voice coming out rough from her abused throat.
They are standing awfully close. It’s enough for him to notice her face is covered in tiny red dots over her faint freckles, and her hair is still a little damp.
“I literally went full The Exorcist on your shoes and jacket. Why are you the one apologizing?”
The truth is that he doesn’t even have an answer for that. Not one that is worth voicing out loud.
Sorry for almost crossing the line he’s carefully drawn between them. Sorry for letting his eyes and thoughts linger all night on her lips, wondering if they are as soft as they seem. Sorry, because ever since he was a kid, he learned that sometimes, being sorry is the only way to enter and exit a conversation. Sorry because he has all he ever wanted, a friend, but still wants more.
“You have petechiae,” he resists the urge to touch her face.
“I have what now?”
“Your blood vessels are broken because of the strain.”
“Oh, man. For real?”
“For real.”
“So now I look as stupid as I feel, huh?” she groans, burying her face in her palms. Even though Choso shrugs, his mind keeps racing over the fact that she’s here, in his room, wearing his clothes. “Was it fun, at least? You know, before I barfed my dinner on you and everything…”
The fact that he stays silent should be enough of an answer, and Yuki knows him far too well. She laughs wholeheartedly and hisses in dramatic agony at the sting on her temple as Choso sits down on his desk chair, offering the breakfast he just cooked for her.
After devouring the waffles and crispy bacon, Yuki pats the empty space on the mattress, prompting him to lie by her side. Contrary to last night, his body is stiff at the proximity, nails sculpting crescents on the palms of his nervously sweaty hands.
“I’ll admit it was fun,” Choso starts sincerely. Yuki was right. It’s okay if it is her. “But let’s never do it again.”
“Aw, Choso. Don’t you know the old proverb: Friends that throw up together stay together?” She jokes, laying on her side as she prods a muscled pec with a long finger. “Thanks for everything, big guy.”
The way she voices it almost has him believing the thankfulness has more to do with him holding her hair, making sure she got somewhere safe, and cooking for her.
He has to stop fantasizing.
No matter how pretty she is, how fast his heart races at the sight of her, how much he wishes he could tell her that, contrary to what she said, his luck ran out, and now he risks losing all over this stupid crush that won’t go away.
Yuki Tsukumo is his best friend.
That’s all she will ever be.