Chapter Text
Hizashi startles out of his thoughts when he feels a weight ease onto his shoulder. The music in his headphones continues blaring unheard as he blinks and swivels his head in confusion. He’s met with the sight of dark, messy hair falling attached to a barely visible face, obscured by both the angle and the frankly obscene scarf looped around their neck. He's almost opened his mouth to kindly request not to be used as a support by what he assumes is a drunk on his way home when the scent of lavender shampoo and coffee hits his nostrils and a full body shiver goes through him.
The hell?
He can't explain why that smell seems to calm him instantly, his head quiets and his body stills as he watches the stranger’s chapped lips part with a contented sigh.
He cocks his head in an attempt to get a closer look at the person interrupting his otherwise peaceful - in Hizashi's unique flavor of peaceful, anyway - commute. He’s quick to dismiss the idea that he's being assaulted, the guy seems to be genuinely out cold and his hands are stuffed deep into his pockets so it isn't likely he's trying to pickpocket him either.
The train around them rattles onwards, as packed as ever and Hizashi is honestly more interested in keeping his seat than he is annoyed by the stranger's faux pas. Besides, as he spies deep dark bags under the closed eyes he figures the guy needs all the rest he can get.
His complexion is pale and there's a sort of gauntness to his cheeks that makes Hizashi wonder if he's eating regularly. He's dressed like a salaryman - aside from the ridiculous scarf - in a blue button down and slacks. Curiously he seems to be wearing some sort of chunky boots underneath, completely clashing with the impression left by the rest of his outfit, but perhaps his work has shoes for the employees to change into when they arrive or something. He seems put together, if a little rugged, with his stubble and his messy hair. Clean and enveloped in that wonderful, strangely familiar scent that has Hizashi's shoulders relaxing and his own eyes feeling droopy despite the fact he's never anything but energetic in the mornings.
Of course, the thing that really has Hizashi deciding he doesn't mind the contact at all is the fact that despite the apparent gauntness of his cheeks the man is, well, to put it bluntly; buff. His shirt is tight over his shoulders, some of the buttons straining to contain his chest and looking one deep inhale from bursting. His thighs are thick where they're splayed out in his relaxed state, the muscle firm against Hizashi's own leg, not quite straining against the fabric like his arms but certainly filling out the available space. He almost giggles hysterically at his own indecent observations but in all fairness the stranger fell asleep on him first! He feels like he has the right to investigate a little, and if he happens to find something that warrants a little more investigation than would otherwise be appropriate then sue him. The guy shifts as the train stops at a station but settles again quickly, practically nuzzling into his scarf. Hizashi doesn't move, unaware that he's holding his breath until he lets it out in an amused huff and turns his attention back to the view through the opposite window with a smile he's sure is far too fond for the circumstances. The body pressed up against him is warm, even through Hizashi's leather jacket, and the weight and smell is comforting. He lets the stranger lie, enjoying this strange little event for the fleeting bliss of it, content in the knowledge that he'll probably never see this man again and that they will both forget about it in a week at most.
Except it happens again the day after.
He's sitting in the same spot, listening to early morning radio through his headphones with his bag in his lap while he thinks about everything and nothing at all. He's honestly already forgotten all about the stranger from the day before, but it only takes him half a second to recognize the warm weight slumped against his shoulder, like a pleasant sort of deja vu. He looks to his left and instantly that same scent of lavender and coffee rolls over him. His shoulders slump and he actually does giggle this time, although neither the sound nor the motion seems to disturb the stranger who is as dead to the world as he had been the day before.
When Hizashi reaches his stop and gently maneuvers the other man to lean back against the window behind them, the guy frowns and mumbles something in a deep, rumbly voice that has Hizashi snorting out a laugh. Even that doesn't seem to be enough to wake him up though, so Hizashi just exits the train with a smile.
It becomes something of a routine, even if Hizashi isn't sure his commuter-buddy even realizes it's happening, much less knows that Hizashi considers it an important part of his day. He does manage to make eye contact with the man once or twice when he stumbles into the carriage two stops after Hizashi but every time he does the man’s face is impassive and he's quick to look away even if he always, without fail, drops down into the seat beside Hizashi. Hizashi doesn't mind. He honestly worries that if he reveals how much he enjoys their little moments of peace the guy will find him creepy and start picking another seat. This isn't Korea, after all, and they don't even know each other!
So Hizashi doesn't try to introduce himself, both out of fear that his attempts at connection will be met with disgust and because if none of them mention it there's still some sort of plausible deniability, he supposes. He's technically not doing anything wrong, he just lets the exhausted looking guy use Hizashi’s bony frame as a makeshift pillow for the short twenty-ish minutes between the guy getting on and Hizashi reaching his stop. He lets himself enjoy this and he doesn't bother to feel guilty. He's done enough of that in his life and he sees no harm in this.
Which is why Hizashi is definitely not flustered whatsoever when a co-worker one day happens to take the train to work instead of his car. He certainly doesn't flush and sputter when Oboro pointedly positions himself right in front of Hizashi and his commute-buddy and raises an eyebrow with thinly veiled delight. Thankfully the train is too crowded and too loud for either of them to attempt a conversation so Hizashi just petulantly leans back in his seat and looks the other way, trying to school his expression into something distinctly not-guilty. When they reach their stop Oboro's amusement takes on the form of a shit-eating grin as he watches Hizashi carefully lean his commute-buddy back against the window. His motions are clearly practiced and his ears are burning when they march off the train together, especially when Oboro does nothing to muffle his laughter.
“So is that a regular thing, or?” The taller man bumps their shoulders together outside the station, “I don't think I've seen you that present outside of work in ages, dude”
“I-” Hizashi entertains the idea of denying everything for all of one second before his resolve crumbles and he lets out a high pitched warbling sound, “it's been happening for weeks now and I don't even know if he's aware it's happening” he wails. Oboro leans forward to look at his face when Hizashi covers it with his hands, eyebrows raised up to his hairline as Hizashi whimpers. “We haven't even said a word to each other!”
“Dude,” his friend offers up unhelpfully, laughing at his misery.
“ I know,” Hizashi whines, tugging at the end of his side-braid and probably pulling way too many strands loose. “But like, what am I supposed to do? I don't want him to feel embarrassed and start sitting somewhere else but I just- I don't know, and I know it's creepy and I'm the one probably putting more into this than there is but oh my god , Oboro, he's just-” He ends his short ramble with another warble that no vocal chords aside from his own could probably produce. Well maybe some birds could but that's not the point!
Oboro takes on a feigned solemn air as he nods, “He's hot.”
Hizashi squawks and shoves an elbow at Oboro's stomach which he has the decency to pretend at least tickled, his faux serious face cracking into another one of his trademark bright, toothy grins. “What, don't tell me that's not part of the reason you haven't asked him to stop,” he says knowingly, waggling his eyebrows, “I mean I saw those thighs and I know you're an ass-man-”
“Not so loud!” Hizashi hisses, looking over his shoulder and trying to force his blush off his face through sheer force of will. “I swear I never should've told you, what if someone heard you? What if they think you're- you're also-” he flounders, hugging himself and walking faster. The building of the call-center they both work at is within view and he'll be damned if this is how he comes out to any of their other co-workers.
“Gay?” Oboro and his 6'7” keeps up with him easily, hands in his pockets and his face twisted into a confused frown. “I mean I'm not, so, they can think what they will?” He shrugs, “I get it though, even if I don't think it would be a huge deal to be out at work.”
Hizashi bites his lip, eyes focused on the entrance as it approaches, “I don't know, man. It's just hard when no one else has ever really taken it well, you know?”
“ No-one? ” Oboro huffs in mock-offense, shoulder bumping against Hizashi's again to bring him out of his head.
“I mean one good reaction out of dozens isn't really amazing odds,” Hizashi sulks, “and yes, I know Kayama won't care so it's not like i'd lose my job but still -” They stop just outside the door, neither of them wanting to leave the conversation unfinished. “People talk, there's no guarantee it won't eventually spread outside of work.”
They stand in silence for a moment. Hizashi has stopped hugging himself and is mirroring Oboro's posture with his hands in his pockets, while Oboro is pursing his lips trying to think of what to say.
The owner of the call-center, and their boss, Kayama Nemuri, is openly bisexual and there are several employees that are either out or openly supportive of the community. It's a given, in a workplace where they work with struggling youth, that there's a general trend towards acceptance and inclusivity, since the people they're there to help often deal with oppressive environments and are looking for reassurance.
Hizashi had once been someone like that, as has a good number of his co-workers, even if he doesn't know a lot of details.
Oboro looks up at the overcast sky. “You don't have to tell anyone, I'm just… You know I just worry about you, y'know? You deserve to be happy,” Oboro shrugs and offers a tentative smile, much softer than most of his smiles, ”but hey, if you can get a bit of that happiness via some hot guy on the train I certainly won't be the one to stop you.” Oboro winks and Hizashi follows him inside before he can think of a response, cheeks red and eyes on his shoes. His heart feels warm, though, and he's smiling to himself when he gets to his work-station.
So nothing changes. He gets on the train every morning and sits in the same seat, placing his bag on the seat next to him and removing it only just before the second stop, at which point he hugs it on his lap while he pretends not to look excited. He's caught the man's gaze a few more times now but ever since the one time he received a raised eyebrow in return he makes a point to either fiddle with his phone or find something else to stare at while tracking the slumped figure in his periphery.
He's fairly certain the man recognizes him at this point, especially because Hizashi looks foreign with his pale skin and blonde hair so he's always stood out a lot more than others. He figures taking the seat next to Hizashi is just a habit for the other guy by now, as much a part of his routine as Hizashi's quiet little huff of fondness when he feels him lean his head on his shoulder. It makes Hizashi feel a little less creepy, even if he's still hyper aware of any tells that might give away just how much he enjoys these little moments. Since he's able to manhandle the stranger into a different position every time he reaches his stop though, he figures the guy's a very heavy sleeper. He probably still has no clue about that part of their commute, but Hizashi has decided to be selfish and hold onto the little secret.
He's long since stopped listening to music during his commute, something he would've thought impossible just a year ago, but the sound of the deep, even breaths of the man beside him do wonders to ease his jitters and stave off the anxiety of being packed in a box of metal hurtling along at high speed. The guy doesn't even snore; the closest he's gotten has been a tiny little snort when he rearranges himself and Hizashi had to fight the urge to squeal in delight. Sure, the guy overall looks like a delinquent who somehow managed to snag an office job - what with his messy hair, his boots and the scar on his cheek - but he's also just cute in a gap moe type of way. There’s certainly something to be said about his ridiculously oversized scarf but his strange fashion accessory is negligible compared to the way his lips are parted ever so slightly, the length of his lashes and the way he rubs his cheek on Hizashi’s shoulder in his sleep like a happy cat.
Speaking of cats, Hizashi didn’t realize that he can purr until he finds himself doing so one Thursday morning where his commuter buddy is feeling particularly cuddly. Hizashi has half a mind to swing an arm over the back of the other’s seat to let him rest on his chest rather than curl up against his awkwardly bent arm like he is, but he’s distracted by the low rumble that sounds out of place in the bustle of the train. He frowns, looking around for the source only to realize it’s coming from himself. Well, that’s embarrassing. Luckily the sound is probably low enough that no one else heard, or at least not loud enough for anyone to care.
Now, Hizashi has always been able to make a lot of strange noises at all different volumes and pitches. He was born with a strange mutation in his throat, one that not only gives him two sets of vocal cords but their shape is also highly irregular; curved vertically, but otherwise fully functional. He’s sure one of the doctors that did a study on him as a toddler has a bunch of fancy words to explain it but for Hizashi it just means he can make weird noises and he can be very loud. That last fact is one part of the reason for his tense relationship with his parents, but that’s besides the point because right now he has just discovered perhaps his new favorite part of his stupid birth defect. He can fucking purr. Like a cat.
He has no idea why he’s never tried before, it seems like such an obvious thing, and now he’s done it without even thinking about it!
He’s not sure how he’s doing it, but he’ll figure that out eventually. Right now he just grins stupidly at himself as he feels his voice box vibrate with his breath, soaking in the moment as much as he can until they will inevitably reach his stop.
Oboro is ecstatic when he shows it off later that day at work, after he spends every minute outside of calls practicing and eventually they have the whole office crowding around his desk cooing and laughing at his antics. Even Kayama comes by to check on the commotion and when she realizes what’s going on she perches languidly on Hizashi’s desk and proclaims that if Hizashi ever feels like having a change in profession she knows several people looking for someone with skills like that. She waggles her eyebrows suggestively and elbows him while the rest of the crowd giggles and throws in their own, less inappropriate, suggestions of using it for therapy or calming down people from panic attacks and the like. Oboro, the mad genius, exclaims his brilliant compromise of the sugar-baby equivalent of a therapy dog, causing Kayama to bark a laugh and finally wave everyone off back to their work. She winks at a still purring Hizashi as she saunters away and for the rest of the day Hizashi’s thoughts are filled with the implication of her offer … and whether or not his commuter buddy would be into something like that.
“Hey man, wanna come over and shoot the shit tonight?” Oboro knocks on his desk at the end of the day, grinning down at him and clearly already predicting his answer. “It’s been months! I wanna watch a movie with my best bro and eat icecream and cry about our nonexistent love lives!” Hizashi snorts at the exaggerated pose Oboro strikes but he makes a show of considering the offer carefully, dramatically pursing his lips and glancing at Oboro through his lashes.
“Hmm… I don't know~” he drawls coyly, “do I get to paint my best friend’s nails?”
“Duh?!” Oboro throws his hands out to the sides like it’s obvious and Hizashi’s act falls apart as he laughs at the put-upon expression on his face. He flaps a hand at him and turns back to his desk to finish up with a smile on his face and a huff of “yeah yeah gimme a minute.”
They end up grabbing ingredients for soba and two tubs of icecream on the way back, which Hizashi has to hold on his lap since Oboro’s tiny little car is already stuffed full of workout gear, numerous mysteriously bulgy duffle bags, a spare tire propped up and buckled into the back seat as well as an assortment of practice weapons from his sports club. Hizashi wouldn’t be surprised if the ark of the covenant is hidden somewhere in the back, too, but he’s never thought to ask if he can look for it.
“Let’s watch Icerink!” Oboro suggests happily once they’ve caught their breaths from chasing each other up five floors of stairs, “It’s on Betflix last I checked and the plot is adorable!”
Hizashi perks up imediately at the mention of that movie and gasps, “Oh I’ve been wanting to watch that since forever! Yes yes yes!”
“Damn we haven’t even opened the icecream yet and you’re already moaning,” Oboro jokes as he unlocks the door and pushes inside to discard his shoes haphazardly.
Hizashi snorts, “I think at this point icecream and a movie would be more than enough to get into my pants, I don’t think I’ve gotten laid since the start of the year,” he groans, following Oboro’s example before shutting the door.
Oboro turns to walk backwards into the kitchen, hand on his heart, “if I could get it up for you, I’d help you out in a heartbeat, bro” he vows. Then he walks straight into the doorframe and emits a startled noise that has Hizashi laughing so hard it’s like he ran back up five more flights of stairs.
The soba is good, Oboro makes the best toasted sesame sauce they’ve ever tasted and none of them have any clue how he did it but safe to say it’s not just Hizashi moaning that evening. They take turns showering, Hizashi going first because he always takes longer, and when they’re both nestled on the couch Oboro puts on some anime while Hizashi gives him a manicure. Oboro likes a clear gel on his nails with a faint shimmer but he does pick one finger on each hand to get treated to a bolder color. He picks yellow, “Like your hair!” Hizashi’s cheeks hurt from smiling, basking in the perfect mix of background noise and busywork that makes him feel an otherwise unreachable calm. When they bring out the icecream and Oboro loads up the movie Hizashi has done his own nails too, opting for a black coat with yellow star-stickers that are bound to fall off within a few days just so he can say they match.
“I’ve always wanted to learn how to skate,” Oboro admits softly about half an hour into the movie as they watch the main love interest glide along the ice, performing incredible feats of acrobatics to the sound of a crooning love song. “It looks so cool, I bet it feels like flying.”
Hizashi hums in agreement, his mouth full of the spoon he’s using as a pacifier to stop himself from commenting on every little thing that happens. It really is beautiful.
Icerink is the story of a hockey player falling in love with a figure skater and how they use their performances on the ice to show their love since they’re both awful at communicating with words. It’s toothrottingly sweet and Hizashi isn’t embarrassed to admit he’s already full-on sobbed during four separate scenes and made his way through both his own and at least half of Oboro’s ice cream by the time the movie ends. He feels wrung out in a content sort of way as they talk about what they liked and disliked, leaning up against each other on the couch sharing a blanket while they both struggle to keep their eyes open.
“Clean up can wait until tomorrow,” Oboro decides abruptly, “I'm gonna crash. You want bed or couch?”
Hizashi yawns, prompting Oboro to do the same, “Couch today, I think, don’t wanna move,” he mumbles, already rearranging pillows. Oboro grunts and nods his head, eyes drooping as he hauls himself off the couch and shambles towards his bedroom.
“G’night,” he calls faintly over his shoulder, yawning before continuing, “thanks for hanging out, man.”
“Night night, ‘boro,” Hizashi responds sleepily, packing himself up into a cocoon of blankets and making himself comfortable.
Usually they’ll sleep in the same bed and cuddle, but for some reason Hizashi doesn’t feel like he needs the closeness tonight. Oboro’s family lives really far away and Hizashi doesn’t have a lot going on outside of work so at some point they both silently agreed to just use each other whenever they need physical affection. It’s perfectly platonic and Hizashi is honestly surprised he hasn’t ever actually developed any feelings for Oboro, hunk of a man that he is, even back when he was still a hormonal teenager and wanted to hump practically every relatively pretty boy he came across. The closest description he can find for their relationship would be brothers, he supposes, deeper than friendship but familial and unconditional in a way romantic relationships rarely are. Brothers, but a little to the left.
He isn’t reminded of his commute buddy until he and Oboro stumble onto the train together the next morning. Oboro has his arm thrown over Hizashi’s shoulder as if he’s hungover despite none of them drinking any alcohol the night before, leaning his face on the top of Hizashi’s and forcing him to carry half his considerable weight. Hizashi laughs, distracted by his friend’s antics until he looks around for his seat out of habit and almost trips over his own - or perhaps Oboro’s - feet.
His seat isn’t taken, despite the otherwise packed carriage. Instead it is occupied by a familiar looking scarf that sits innocently where Hizashi usually does, bundled up but still managing to spill out onto the floor like an oversized noodle in a too-small container. Hizashi blinks in confusion, something in his heart tugging at the sight - at the implication - before his eyes drift up and to the side to the seat occupied by the scarf’s owner. He sucks in a breath when he finds dark eyes already trained on him, his brain struggling to comprehend the expression of the familiar stranger and completely unaware of Oboro’s concerned voice prompting him to move away from the doors. The eyes watching him start out wide, brows furrowed in something akin to confusion - or hurt? Worry? - before his gaze flicks to Oboro and back to Hizashi. It feels like he’s asking a question, but it comes across like an accusation and Hizashi couldn’t tell you why a flash of guilt rattles through him. He doesn’t know what expression he’s making himself but by the time he even considers trying to smile and waltz over to claim his seat the man’s face closes off abruptly. Like he’s donning a mask of indifference, smoothing out his brows and relaxing the muscles around his eyes, turning his head as he busies himself with putting his scarf back on. The entire interaction couldn’t have lasted more than a second or two at most but Hizashi feels vaguely like it’s been hours since he boarded the train, his gut churning with a tangled mess of feelings and butterflies and flickers of something he can’t quite name.
Oboro ends up bodily dragging him over to some handholds as the train begins moving, Hizashi still stuck staring dumbly as someone else takes his now vacant seat and the stranger pointedly leans away from them. The man stays awake all the way until Hizashi’s stop, never once glancing in his direction. He just sits there with a mild scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.
Huh?