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They’re in Arashi’s dorm, sitting on her bed, and a spring breeze from the open window tousles Izumi’s hair. He fixes it with a click of his tongue and tosses aside a sheet of bubble wrap.
“You know, if a bee or something flies in, I’m not saving you.”
Arashi leans in closer to peek at her gift, and the smell of sweet pea and sea salt gets caught in Izumi’s lungs. Whoever recommended her that perfume is a fool. Really, who in their right mind mixes such a delicate floral scent with something so astringent? Unless Arashi made it herself. Then Izumi supposes it’s not offensively horrible.
Her warm breath tickles his neck when she scoffs, “I’m not scared of bugs anymore, especially not bees.”
“Sure, girlypop.” After a little more rummaging, the contents of the white cardboard box are finally revealed.
Arashi takes out one of the serums from where it was neatly tucked into the box. She regards it with the appropriate amount of awe for a ridiculously high-priced skincare product. Arashi holds it up and admires the way the afternoon sunlight reflects off the frosted glass.
There’s a similar sheen to her eyes, wide and lustrous when she grins. Arashi turns to meet Izumi’s gaze and blinks in confusion a couple times before her smile returns, softer than before.
“You’re sure I can have all of this?” Arashi leans against Izumi’s shoulder again, peering down at the array of moisturizers and toners.
Izumi nods smugly, “Just be careful. This line is really hard to get your hands on– you’re lucky I met this guy at a photoshoot in Milan.”
“Thank you, guy from Milan,” Arashi says in an absentminded, singsong voice as she gently uncaps the serum’s lid to test the dropper.
Izumi huffs, “Thank me.”
Arashi gets up, presumably on her way to the bathroom to wash her hands and face before trying out the serum. She laughs over her shoulder, voice exaggeratedly sweet, “Thank you, Izumi-chan.”
Then suddenly there’s a crash– loud and sharp, followed by gasps. Izumi quickly shoves the box off his lap and rushes over to grab Arashi’s wrist.
“M-Move!” He yanks her away from the circle of glass around her bare feet. The bottle broke in sections rather than shattered and likely wouldn’t stick her, but panic takes him nonetheless. “Why aren’t you wearing slippers, anyway? Ugh, you’re so careless.”
Izumi’s voice never sounds like his own when he yells, shrill and sad like he’s much younger. He relinquishes her wrist and growls, “I told you to be careful! You’re so clumsy sometimes. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”
The late afternoon sun against the wooden floor makes the broken glass sparkle like stars. The tears in Arashi’s eyes look a little like stars too. Wait, tears? Why the hell is she crying? She isn’t crying in the way Izumi is familiar with, like during a tender moment in some cheesy movie or when Tsukasa tells her Akiomi mentioned her name and she whimpers like a squeaky toy.
She’s silent. They’re not like stars, Izumi realizes. More like the pieces of glass, like melting ice, sharp and bitter and sticking to her skin. Almost as if in slow motion. It might as well be for how still Izumi just stands there, mouth agape.
From bits and pieces he’s heard from Tetora and Mika, Arashi hasn’t truly cried in a long time. He makes a point to remember since once or a few times he had been the cause of her tears. And here they are again.
Izumi, in his unending grace and spectacular emotional intelligence, murmurs Naru-kun, and reaches out to pat her shoulder and say there, there or whatever you do when someone cries. Arashi recoils, features pinched in rage. Then suddenly her back is to him and she’s out of the room. There’s the slamming of the door. Then there’s distant birdsong and conversation from the courtyard and Izumi all alone.
“Really living up to your namesake, huh?” Izumi quips to no one. He saunters to her bathroom to retrieve a roll of paper towels and dustpan and brush from under the sink. It’s ridiculous that he’s the one cleaning up this mess. This is all ridiculous.
Two flights of stairs later and countless texts to Ritsu and HiMERU– how dare they not respond– Izumi is still fuming. Having none of his roommates to complain to around the dorm isn’t helping. What a ditz, fleeing her own dorm. He can’t believe she fled at all. This is all her fault, really. If Arashi stayed and told him what was wrong instead of running away, they wouldn’t be in this situation. It was just a situation, surely not a fight. Right?
Izumi checks his phone again. No texts from those people. No texts from Arashi. They’ve had fights before, ones that can lead to days of silence but typically only hours. But she’s never cried like that before. Maybe it’s a bigger deal than he assumes. Maybe Arashi’s tired of him now, maybe she hates him. Leo and Makoto were able to forgive him, and Arashi always has, but maybe things were different now.
His tears come like summer rain, hot, falling before he even realizes it, barely grazing his cheeks before they stain his trousers. Everything happens too fast. There’s a knock at the door. Then there’s muffled sniffling and words from the hallway and Izumi gets up.
He wipes his eyes then opens the door. Arashi’s eyes are a little red like the sunset that bleeds in through the window, but she’s smiling. More like how she did when Izumi still attended Yumenosaki, cold and bruised.
“Hey,” she fiddles with her necklace.
Izumi scoffs but it comes out as more of a snivel, “Don’t “hey” me.”
He opens the door a little further and gestures for Arashi to enter. She sits cross-legged on the chaise lounge, holding one of the throw pillows to her chest, and pats the spot beside her. Izumi sits down next to her. There’s a long silence before they apologize at the same time, in differing degrees of earnestness.
“I’m sorry I made you cry.”
Izumi quirks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, “I didn’t– I don’t cry.”
“Okay,” Arashi yields, holding up her arms defensively, “Well, I’m still sorry I ran off like that, I just…” She cards her fingers through her hair, “It’s really embarrassing.”
Izumi flinches but nods understandingly, “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
“Huh?” Arashi’s downward gaze travels back up to Izumi’s, “That’s– no, that’s not what I mean, Izumi-chan. You didn’t–”
“I clearly did.”
Arashi whacks him with the pillow, “Shut up and listen to me.” Izumi’s guilt overpowers his indignation and he obeys.
Arashi sighs heavily, “I started HRT a while back, and I guess it’s not that uncommon, but it’s turned me into a total crybaby.” She shakes her head, “You really didn’t hurt me, I guess what you said just set me off because of that.”
Izumi is briefly overwhelmed with relief before his eyebrows furrow in bewilderment. “Huh? Why?”
“I’m trans, dipshit,” Arashi answers with lighthearted frustration.
“Oh…”
It’s not like it’s a surprise, but Izumi supposes he’d always been the last person to realize Arashi wasn’t just Arashi. Leo and Ritsu call her a pretty lady, but Izumi never changed the way he addressed her. Even as the seasons passed, and she transformed like a flower or ocean waves, Izumi never thought much about it.
Of course, he obliged when she asked to be referred to by different pronouns– she’d been that way since they met. And he noticed how she changed the way she dressed, how she did her makeup, the tortuous way her voice would be irresistibly rich one moment, and beautifully airy the next. It was much easier to think of Arashi as a friend rather than a woman. Yet here they are.
At least with the admission, Izumi can finally confirm the lingering gazes, the gentlest fingers brushing aside a stray hair, the drunken touches at afterparties meant nothing. He knew he was gay since he was ten. No inclination to the female persuasion here.
“I mean, congratulations,” Izumi finally says, “That’s what people usually say, right?”
Arashi rolls her eyes, “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Izumi rolls his in turn then clears his throat, “So, do other people know or…?”
Suddenly, she pulls an exaggeratedly unamused expression, “Izumi-chan, are– are you serious?”
“Wh–” he sputters, “Yeah, I am!”
“Literally everyone knows!” Arashi fishes her phone from her trousers pocket, “I posted that picture on Hold-Hands last summer, silly.”
After a bit of scrolling– photos of the Pretty 5, Nyanko, Akiomi from afar– she finds the photo in question. Her and Anzu are standing side by side in front of a café posing cutely. The caption below reads, “Girls’ day!!” followed by an onslaught of emoticons. Arashi taps one demonstratively between pink hearts and sparkles– a flag with pink, white, and blue stripes.
Izumi scrutinizes it, “I don’t remember what that one means.”
Arashi flicks his temple, “It’s the trans flag, genius.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Izumi seethes and rubs the mark beside his ear, more concerned with damaging his perfect skin than the pain.
Arashi lets out a puff of a laugh and gestures vaguely at Izumi’s whole body with the wave of her hand. “How do you not know?” She sighs again, “Anyway… Are we good?”
Izumi smiles gently, “Of course. Thanks for–” He clears his throat, “You’re welcome for putting up with you. Those dramatics better not get in the way of our idol work.”
Arashi breaks into giggles and takes Izumi’s hand, something that’s happened countless times before, yet this is the first time it makes Izumi freeze. Slowly, Arashi stands up and leans over, standing in front of Izumi so she’s shrouded in orange, golden light. She has that same inscrutable look she wore when their eyes met earlier, the one that’s always frightened Izumi.
Izumi can see himself in her crystalline eyes, so he stares down at Arashi’s slippered feet. “What’s your deal?”
“My deal?” Her voice is almost musical, amused yet wavering, and she squeezes Izumi’s hand a little tighter. The heat of her breath and that bizarre perfume fan Izumi’s face when she lets out a hushed gasp. Arashi grazes his jawline with the pad of her thumb, “You’re all flushed, Izumi-chan. You okay?” A smirk tugs at her lips, “Are you gonna cry again?”
“I said–” Izumi’s cheeks flare. He sighs and finally shakes off her hand and quickly stands up. He rubs the back of his neck, “It’s this damn room– too hot. We– we should go somewhere.”
Arashi speaks with mock excitement, “Are you asking me out, Izumi-chan?”
“Let’s just go already,” he groans and holds open the door, “Ladies first.”
Arashi playfully smacks Izumi’s shoulder with a snort before going out into the hallway. Where she touched burns as much as his face, but they don’t talk about it. They never talk about it, and that’s far more bearable than words left behind.
“I cried because of the E, what’s your excuse?” Arashi teases as they walk through the shopping district, elbows hooked together.
Izumi readjusts his sunglasses on his head with a sigh, privately grateful. “Knock it off."
He tunes Arashi out as she scrolls through her phone, chattering on about some bubble tea shop near a butterfly sanctuary. Her eyes pinch in a way when she smiles that Izumi never noticed before, lending her the faintest crows feet.
She’s much prettier when she’s happy. And he’ll do everything he can to make her face light up, to share more sunny days with her, whether it’s to make up for every time he’s made her cry or if it’s his own selfishness.
Arashi catches his gaze and looks at him expectantly.
“Update your prescription if you’re squinting,” Izumi scowls, “It’s unbecoming of a model.”
She beams so impossibly bright that Izumi has to feign interest in a shop’s window display. “Y’know,” Arashi begins once her laughter subsides, suddenly serious, “I think the warm weather’s just making me nostalgic, but I feel like a lot is different now.”
Izumi only hums quizzically and hopes the way he tenses isn’t noticeable.
“So, I’m glad you’re still here.”
They don’t talk about it. But Izumi turns to Arashi, and she doesn’t quite look like his friend of all these years, same but different. They look into each other’s eyes as if they’re meeting for the first time again, and Izumi thinks that Makoto would understand if they saw other people on the side.
“I’m glad, too, Naru.”