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Kenji doesn’t expect anything when Aone walks over and dumps a pack of sour gummies onto his desk that morning, the brand he likes to pick up from the convenience store not very far from school. The prospect of consuming gratis sugar at an obscene time of day brightens him up considerably, and he spends a few happy minutes munching through fruity flavors as the classroom fills up for the first lesson of the morning, eventually driving Aone away when he attempts to share by tossing a gummy into his mouth without warning. The candy bounces onto the floor off Aone’s closed lips, who hadn’t at all been ready or wanting to receive it, and Kenji is still laughing at the bewildered look scrunching up on Aone’s face well after the other gets up and goes to his own desk.
They buy small things for each other all the time, from snacks to transit fare, keeping lazy tabs on their back and forth in a way that’s settled into a cozy exchange system. He’ll make up for his lackluster behavior later.
**
His suspicion spikes through the roof when Onagawa catches him an hour later and presses a bag of sugar encrusted peach rings against his chest in the middle of the hallway, wordlessly, like they had agreed upon a sketchy exchange of goods in a dirty Miyagi alleyway. Onagawa graces him with a weirdly significant moment of eye contact and then keeps walking before Kenji can come to grips with the absurdity of it all in time to bring a hand up to brace the bag, and the candy smacks to the ground, where he’s nearly tempted to leave it.
**
Lunch time is when the assault really begins. Initially it’s harmless. Kenji is sitting where he’s shoved a desk against Aone’s as usual. Nametsu shows up first and waves a bag of one of those make-your-own gummy kits in front of his nose like it’s the most tantalizing thing in the world. They’re the Kracie Popin Cookin kind that Kenji stopped bothering with years ago upon realizing what a chore it was to produce extremely lackluster results, but Nametsu pulls up a chair and together they struggle through mixing flavored powders and squeezing them into tiny molds with the concentration of trio of partners in the middle of a science experiment, all while Kenji could be doing something much nicer like eating an actual lunch and not getting heckled when his first mold of a fish predictably turns out like utter crap while Nametsu’s colors are as clean as the candy’s incredibly blinding packaging and Aone’s turns out presentable. They’re commiserating a jointly created gummy horse, the one Kenji ruined by squeezing out a dab of blue that turned the whole animal’s head blue, when Sakunami and Koganegawa walk in.
The former looks mostly comfortable visiting a second year’s classroom but Koganegawa glances around as if the area past the threshold just might be another planet entirely. He bumps into Sakunami when they come to a stop. Sakunami holds out a big gummy bear the length of his hand in both palms and Koganegawa’s pinching a bag of tiny Haribo Gold-Bears, the gifts so perfectly suitable that Kenji feels a reluctant urge to take out his phone and snap a picture.
“Happy birthday, Futakuchi-senpai!” They both greet in impressive unison, except Koganegawa’s voice has about eleven more exclamation points tacked on and Kenji can hear someone somewhere behind him ask in a poor stage whisper, ‘It’s his birthday?’
Kenji adds the candy to his rapidly growing pile. “There’s a theme happening here and I’m getting suspicious.”
Sakunami laughs and they all devolve into easy chatter. Nametsu encourages both of the first years to contribute to the gummy making process before they leave for their own classrooms.
Aone quietly picks up the big red gummy bear and inspects it with obvious interest, turning it delicately in his hands.
“You can have it,” Kenji offers, and for a moment he forgets to worry about what may be in store for the rest of the day when he sees the contentedness on Aone’s face.
**
It’s a horrible mistake, a terrible lapse of judgment. The blanket of false security gets ripped off mere minutes later.
“Futakuchi!” A classmate calls out. “There’s a Moniwa-san here to see you!”
That’s a good play, using Moniwa’s name to make sure Kenji bothers to get up. He tries to drag his feet toward the classroom door as morosely as possible, but it still takes only a few seconds to get there. The hallway is surprisingly empty save for Moniwa, Sasaya, and Kamasaki waiting for him by the windows, and Kenji immediately gets a bad feeling when he spots the canvas bagged gripped in Kamasaki’s hands that looks weighed down with something heavy.
“Are you guys free right now?” Kenji greets, eyes narrowing.
“Not really, so this will have to be quick. We got this for you,” Sasaya replies, and Kamasaki and Moniwa each take a handle of the bag and open it in a fashion that has anticipation growing in Kenji’s stomach. Sasaya reaches in with both hands, Kenji hears a crinkle of plastic, and then Sasaya slowly takes out a single, massive gummy worm.
It’s not often that Kenji is rendered speechless, but he can feel himself go slack-jawed at the sight. This might be the fulfillment of a fantasy he once had when he was six years old, back when his sweet tooth raged much more rampant than it does today, when he wished that Halloween was more of a Thing in Japan, but the real reason for his sudden silence is because the gummy worm looks like a massive fucking double ended dildo and he knows that this startling deduction is not just his imagination running wild. It’s as long as a limb. It’s ridged. It’s two-toned. Green and red. Disgustingly festive. And it’s so thick that he’s not sure he could wrap his thumb and pinky around it, and this coming from someone who can palm a volleyball with ease. He has never had the innocence of a treat that he’s enjoyed since childhood ruined in one vicious sweep before, but he’s certain that it’s happening right now because the thought of putting that tip… the tip! god, it’s ruined!… of putting thatworm anywhere near his mouth in public or in private has him wanting to beat a hasty retreat and shove the abomination into the pits of the nearest trashcan.
Kenji has all of this grossed out insult on the tip of his tongue, ready to be loosed, but instead he smiles stiffly, takes the plastic wrapped gummy worm while listening to Sasaya – who has always had an impressive poker face so Kenji honestly cannot tell if this is a gag gift or what – drone out statistics like he’s in the middle of maths, allit’s 66 centimeters long and apparently that’s a world record and wasn’t sure what flavor you liked so we got one with green in it–
“To represent Datekou,” Kamasaki throws in, magnanimously, like he’s not eating up every second of this, of Kenji willingly suffering a state of forced gratitude instead of bitching aloud like he really wants to, and Kenji’s fingers clench so tightly around the gummy worm that he has to slam his eyes shut to ignore the way it droops between his hands like a giant’s bright, flaccid, 66-centimeter long cock. That’s what it is… a huge, 66-centimeter flaccid… his nostrils flare, the image flashing through his mind so abruptly that he can’t beat it back. He thinks he’ll have nightmares later. When he opens his eyes again Moniwa is sending him a deeply apologetic look that Kenji almost feels consoled by until he remembers that Moniwa must have been in on this gift too.
“You like sour apple, right?” Sasaya asks.
“Yeah,” Kenji grits out. “Thanks.”
Sasaya nods, and Moniwa tries to reinvigorate the conversation with a genuine, “Happy birthday, Futakuchi. Don’t try to eat all of that by yourself.”
“Wouldn’t ever dream of it.”
Moniwa has a visit with his adviser to make so the rest passes gratefully quickly. As soon as Moniwa and Sasaya give a final goodbye and show their backs Kenji lunges out to grab Kamasaki’s sleeve. They’re only up to his forearms now – you could tell the time of day by checking how high Kamasaki has rolled up his shirt sleeves.
“What,” Kenji hisses, resorting to angrily shaking the gummy worm in one hand. It’s a terrible idea – Kamasaki immediately starts laughing and Kenji knew it, he knew this was all complete bullshit. He feels his face heat up when a gaggle of students pass by and start to gossip in whispers. Letting go of Kamasaki’s shirt, he hopes that his disgust is palpable even without the contact. “What is this?”
“You don’t have to thank me separately,” Kamasaki says, looks Kenji straight in the eyes, laughs again, and then continues with a gruff, “This was a gift between all three of us, split evenly.”
“I hope you kept your stupid receipt.”
“We ordered it online.”
“Return it!” Kenji stretches his arm out. “Take it back!”
Kamasaki picks up the gummy worm and drapes it around Kenji’s neck, the plastic crinkling offensively by his ears when he loops it like a fashion scarf.
“I didn’t bother to read the return policy,” Kamasaki says, and Kenji turns around and storms back into his classroom without another word, ignoring the sound of Nametsu’s unmistakable snort as half the class bursts into ruthless teenaged laughter at his new accessory.
**
“Is this some sick, agreed upon joke?” Kenji warily eyes the closed classroom door he’s been dragged to right after last classes let out, before they all have to hustle over to practice. “Is this like an intervention to get me to eat healthier? Have I reached the finale? Am I going to walk through this door and get a face full of confetti and a party hat shoved onto my head?”
Koganegawa is a terrible liar for a lot of reasons: he defaults to deference around a lot of his seniors even if he has no idea what he’s doing, he bleeds sincerity, he bleeds sincerity very loudly, and it all shows through his body language before he can muffle it down or try to play it off, which he’s also terrible at because he stutters like a faulty car engine when he has to lie right in someone else’s face. Koganegawa’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open and then closes again a second later, screws up into an ugly pout as if clamping his lips shut as tightly as possible will prevent his vocal chords from working. Briefly, Kenji is proud at this show of restraint – something that must have taken a monumental amount of effort to achieve a result equivalent to a normal person’s capacity for moderation – but then Sakunami, always competent, takes over with the most disarming smile that Kenji has ever seen.
“No way, Futakuchi-senpai,” Sakunami says. That’s all. He says it lightly, laughingly, patting Kenji’s arm like they’re both in on this wild charade together when Kenji is pretty sure that he’s the only one who has been plunged straight into hell on a day that’s supposed to celebrate his birth into the world instead of making him want to leave it. Sakunami does damage control around Koganegawa so flawlessly that a lesser man wouldn’t even recognize what’s going on, but Kenji knows, and Koganegawa lets out a rather obvious sigh of relief when he’s saved from having to explain the situation.
“Okay, whatever,” Kenji mutters. He hooks his fingers on the door, opens it, and gets a face full of confetti.
“Happy birthday!!!” Comes the collective chorus from his teammates inside, chased by the cheery words of a birthday song.
Onagawa rushes him with a striped party hat but Kenji slaps it out of his hand and accidentally stomps on it.
Fukiage and Obara step up with a fruit basket full of gummy candy and heartfelt well wishes and apologies for not being able to give the gift earlier in the day. Obara hands him the basket, smiles, and distracts him with rather good singing long enough for Onagawa to throw a banner over Kenji’s shoulders. Kenji is sure that his face is twisted into an expression that’s the exact opposite of mirth until he looks up and spots Aone at the back of the group.
Aone is recording it all on his cell phone, probably because everyone knows that Kenji would never try to slap the device out of his hand. It doesn’t stop him from giving a stink eye and sticking his tongue out at the camera, but then the corner of Aone’s mouth quirks into what can only be interpreted as a smile.
Kenji looks around the room again, at the second years freely helping themselves to one of Kenji’s gifts and the first years joining in when invited, at the team that he’s fallen and gotten back up with, a good year behind him and a better one to come, and feels himself soften with the thought of, Maybe this isn’t so bad.
Not so bad at all.