Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are a series of events that Semi Eita regrets doing but would absolutely repeat in a heartbeat, including, but not limited to:

1. Gulping down an extra large (and thick) most heavenly vanilla milkshake from the cafe near his campus building that he knows would completely obliterate his guts because of course he has to be born lactose intolerant (the universe is unfair like that.) 

2. Engaging in whatever Tendou Satori considers as entertainment (this one is self-explanatory.)

3. Picking Shirabu Kenjirou up from any sort of blind date shenanigan he has gotten himself into (you can still see puke stains in the nook of the backseat of his car if you squint.)

Emphasis on the repeat. And repeat translates into multiple times in the far future, that Semi now considers it almost daily routine.

Which is exactly how Semi finds himself weaving his car through the dense traffic of Tokyo on this very fine Saturday night. He doesn’t mind, really, because getting himself somewhat involved with Shirabu’s weekly routine actually gives him room to breathe from all his monstrous assignments.

Semi, as per his usual protocol, had planned on killing his time in the parking lot of a fried chicken joint with mobile games when his phone had given two consecutive dings exactly after he finished his dinner.

Bail. Meet u outside, it said. And in less than thirty seconds, Semi’s car is already out into the streets.

He takes a final turn, and as soon as he sees Shirabu standing in front of the izakaya, Semi blinks his headlights twice. Shirabu jumps into the passenger seat before the car even comes to a full stop and lets out an obnoxiously loud sigh.

“Bad?” Semi asks as he flips on his blinker before retaking the lane.

“Fucking terrible,” Shirabu says before clicking his seatbelt on. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

“Trust me, I don’t. I bought wings, by the way. Figured you might be hungry.”

“Really? Oh gosh, you’re the best. Thank you.”

From his peripheral vision, Semi sees Shirabu reach over to the backseat for his dinner.

The sound of rustling paper fills in the silence in between songs, and Semi pushes his glasses up, glancing over his side mirror before adjusting his gas.

“You know what?” Shirabu prompts between bites.

“What?” Semi says, driving with one arm and propping the other against the door. 

“Do people ever shower before going to izakayas? Or any date for that matter?”

Semi side-eyed him from the driver’s seat. There goes Shirabu and his ever complaining mouth. “Is that relevant?”

“Well, I mean—”

“Swallow your food, Shirabu.”

Comically, Shirabu does. “I mean, do you know that it smells like someone fucking died in there?”

Semi steps on his brake as the light above changes to a red. There’s a nudge at the corner of his lips, along with the scent of honey soy, and Semi does a full ninety-degree pivot to bite the thing off Shirabu’s fingers.

The savory bits of tender wings fill his whole palate, with a dash of sweetness from the sticky coating.

The vivid glow of the traffic light douses Shirabu in full red; a color Semi knows he would never have inside his wardrobe. It’s downright mortifying , Shirabu once said, but right now, against his features, it’s anything but. And it would have been a lie if Semi so much as thought that it was.

“I like this.” Semi says. A verdict.

“Right? Best honey soy ever.” Shirabu carries on with licking the excess sauce off his fingers before wolfing down the rest of his meal.

Only when the vermillion glow wavers into a much more amiable green does Semi finally look away, the tug in his gut ever persistent. And if it takes him a full second too late to pull his car forward, no one pays it much regard.

“Have you been drinking?” he asks, partly out of curiosity, but mainly just making sure.

“LaCroix.”

“Wow, with this scale of a disaster, I thought you would have gone shitfaced.”

The bouncing of sandy hair tickles the side of his vision as Shirabu shakes his head. “Wouldn’t have been fun. Plus, I promised you I wouldn't drink.”

A few hundred dates ago, Semi had agreed to let Shirabu go out on his parties and blind date frenzy after he promised in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit twice over that he will: one, tell Semi exactly where he’s going; two, not turn off the live location of his phone; three, immediately call Semi if there’s even a whiff of trouble.

(“You’re being unnecessarily difficult.”

“I don’t fucking care. I’d rather put you under military-grade surveillance than have your dead body mailed to our front door.”)

Long story short, Semi has his reasons.

Also, in the past year Shirabu has been doing this, he almost always comes out unscathed, so Semi lets his reins hang a little loose. (Emphasis on the almost, because there’s that one time. Thank god for the leather seats in his car.)

“Having a drink and getting blackout drunk are two different things, Bub,” he says.

“Sure,” Shirabu says before holding up a few strands of fries. “Fries?”

Permission comes in the form of Semi’s open mouth, and Shirabu proceeds, happily, before indulging himself in a few scrumptious bites.

“Date rate?” Semi asks.

“Six. Frankly, I had a good laugh. At least before I began physically cringing at everything he’s saying.” Shirabu shrugs before adding, “and you were right, I was hungry.”

Semi nods along, lips curved in a satisfied smile. The empty streets of Tokyo unfurl itself in front of him like a reel, street lights blinking in salutation, and as Semi takes the last left hand turn, their apartment building peeks shyly from its standpoint.

They open the door of their complex to find the lights on, with Shirabu fussing over how Semi always forgets to turn them off. Semi only shrugs as they make their way towards the kitchen.

“Did you finish all of your dinner?” Shirabu asks as he shakes the paperbag in one hand, the other holding Semi’s cup of drink.

“Mm-hm,” Semi answers from his seat at the table, typing a text on his phone, glasses perched on the top of his head. “You can throw them out.”

Shirabu does the job before taking a few gulps from the massive paper cup. “Is this vanilla milkshake?” He says it the way he might say maiden’s blood.

Semi looks up from his phone. “What? Oh. Yeah. It’s not as good as the one at campus, though.”

“Semi, you are fucking lactose intolerant.”

Semi resumes his typing. “I know.”

“You dumb shit,” Shirabu mutters. “I’m taking a shower. And if your stomach starts acting up while I'm at it, good luck.”

“I’ll be fine, Shirabu. Stop fussing.”

Semi is, in fact, not fine. Less than fifteen minutes after Shirabu gets into the shower, Semi’s intestines begin fighting the life out of him. Back when he was younger, Semi had thought that consuming more dairy would make him finally able to tolerate them. When that didn’t work, well, he chose to walk this path anyway. Pick a poison, they said, and Semi will die with a cone of ice cream in hand.

It also happens that Shirabu takes ridiculously long showers, so Semi settles on the couch, curled in a fetal position, scrolling away in his phone and cursing every existing deity for making him miserable.

“If I catch you sneaking anything that contains even a single drop of dairy,” Shirabu says as he finally steps out of the shower, the towels draped on his shoulders catching the droplets from his hair. “You’re sleeping in that lovely car of yours.”

Semi, despite the awful twisting of his guts, laughs. “Fuck off,” he says before getting up and making his way towards the bathroom.

“You fuck off.” But Shirabu’s voice is quickly muffled by the closing of the door.

When he’s finally done with business and the raging monster in his stomach is settled back into its slumber, Semi changes into his pajamas and makes himself comfortable on the couch, laptop in tow.

Shirabu is nowhere in sight, and Semi sees the darkness from the gap underneath his bedroom door. He switches the light to the dimmer lamp by the corner, so as to not disturb Shirabu’s sleep because he knows Shirabu would wake up from the slightest bit of disturbance, and plugs his earphones in.

The time in the corner of his screen reads 00.47, and Semi types away his essay, humming along to whatever music is coming through. Semi works best at night, he’s always known that, which is why he spends most of his weeknights staying awake until the sun peeks from the far horizon.

Which is also why, after battling his assignment for almost two hours, Semi feels the impending headache from behind his eyeballs long before it actually hits. He takes off his glasses, reclines on the couch, and massages the bridge of his nose.

Semi thinks that all his assignments are hell-bent on haunting his remaining living days, because he sees the draft of his essay in the back of his eyelids when he closes them. Cursing, He decides to open his eyes and stare blankly at the ceiling, because if he has to see a jumble of formulas for a concrete column for one more minute , he’ll definitely lose his mind.

When he subconsciously starts calculating the estimated force of his ceiling platform instead, he clicks his tongue and gets his ass up, snatching his guitar and a pack of cigarettes before leaving his apartment unit, going up four flights of stairs towards the rooftop.

Semi claims one of the plastic seats before lighting his cigarette, taking a drag and welcoming the familiar burn as he basks in the world around him. It’s cloudy, with cold gusts of wind weaving its way into his hair in a gentle hello, and Semi pulls his jacket tighter.

There is something undeniably different about the world after dark, Semi thinks, especially in the deepest hours like this. It’s when the city and its people fall quiet, when there’s no one else but him and the unspeaking sky. Semi blinks at the blur of constellations of city lights in front of him. Apparently, he left his glasses downstairs.

Long tendrils of smoke escape his lips, and Semi throws the butt of his cigarette to the concrete floor, the last of its sparks snuffed out underneath his sandals.

He balances his guitar properly and pulls the chain in his neck over his head, detaching his makeshift pendant. Without another thought, Semi starts strumming.

There isn’t any particular song in his head, just a set of chord progressions that makes enough sense. It’s cathartic, in a way. When there’s too much going on inside his head, he resorts to music most of the time. He does that with his piano too, back in his family home. But being stuck as a college kid in the middle of an urban city with limited living space, guitars will have to do. He lets his mind trail away with every string of note he picks. 

Usually, when Semi doesn’t think, he thinks about Shirabu, and all the astounding amount of shitty blind dates he’s willing to put up with. He thinks of the permanent scowl of Shirabu’s lips, to his ridiculously straight hair, to his playlist that is exclusively filled to the brim with contemporary pop music. He wonders what Shirabu’s favorite song is, and something in his chest flutters at the thought.

He isn’t sure if he has ever really asked, but Semi remembers a song that frequents the speakers in their living room just enough for Semi to memorize the melodies. Subconsciously, his fingers begin to shift, feeling his way into the song.

Semi counts in his head, and he strums; one two three, one two three. It’s light, and it’s something a little like waltz. One two three, one two three. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but he remembers the progressions just fine. One two three.

The song finishes with its last two notes, and Semi slips another cigarette between his lips before uncapping his lighter.

“I didn’t know you listen to Taylor Swift.” 

Semi jumps in his seat.

His lighter falls with a resonant clack against his guitar and he catches it before it hits the ground.

“Holy shit. Don’t do that,” he says after swiveling around.

Against the dark, Shirabu’s features are still easily discernible. He gives Semi a casual shrug. “Sorry,” he says before taking a step.

“No, wait.” Semi holds up a hand, making Shirabu stop mid-track. “I’m holding a terribly cursed item between my fingers right now and you’re gonna kill me.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes before walking over anyway. “It’s an open space, Semi. I’m fine with it as long as you don’t do it indoors.”

Shirabu pulls the plastic chair, but Semi interjects. “Sit over here. The wind is blowing the other way. You won’t get smoke into your face like that.”

And without so much as an ounce of hesitation, they switched seats. They’re face to face now, two arm’s length away.

“For someone with a shit ton of allergies and restrictions, you sure love doing things that are equivalent to suicide,” Shirabu says, pulling his legs up and crossing them.

Semi snorts, exhaling a puff of cloud towards the wind, away from Shirabu. “A cup of vanilla milkshake won’t kill me, Shirabu.”

“But smoking when you have intermittent asthma will.”

Semi flicks the ash off the tip of his cigarette, shaking his head and smiling. Shirabu glances at the chain around his wrist, squints, and reaches for it. Semi extends a hand to let him take it. The brief touch of his fingers sends electric sparks down Semi’s spine, and he would like to pretend it’s from the cold.

“I’m honestly still having a hard time believing you kept this,” Shirabu says as he inspects the pendant. “And to wear it around your neck, of all places.”

Semi shrugs. “It matches my overall aesthetic. You have good taste.”

It’s a guitar pick, secured to the chain with a detachable clasp. The purple resin looks black underneath the predominant darkness, but the silver eagle head inscribed on it reflects whatever light is present. Semi sees Shirabu turn it around in his hand and grazes his thumb over the kanji, written in the same silver inscription as the eagle. Semi Eita.

It was Semi’s graduation gift from Shirabu, one that he intends to keep until he can’t.

There’s a look on Shirabu’s face, something Semi doesn’t see very much. It’s indiscernible, gentle eyes and gentler smile on his face, subduing all the sharp edges he usually displays. 

“Did you know that I almost didn’t give this to you?” Shirabu asks, looking up to meet his eyes.

Semi looks away and tilts his head towards the sky, making a string of O’s with the smoke. “Really? Why?”

“I thought it was stupid. I mean, Goshiki got you a pair of headphones.”

“Which turned out to be a terrible idea because I ended up getting about a hundred piercings. But that,” Semi gestures at the necklace with his cigarette. “I can use anytime and doubles as an accessory. Talk about awesome.”

Half the truth. Semi keeps it because, indeed, it is awesome, but he wears it above his heart because it’s a piece of Shirabu. He takes a last drag of his cigarette before killing it.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, adjusting the guitar in his lap and begins fingering a random melody.

For a moment, his question hangs in the air with the gentle strum of his guitar strings. He keeps his eyes on his finger, keeping them from lingering at Shirabu.

Semi is about to ask another question when Shirabu beats him to it.

“Do you ever go out on dates?”

Semi scrunches his brows. “Yes? I mean, who doesn’t?”

Shirabu remains silent for a few more seconds before answering. “But you don’t go out much.”

Semi casually shakes his head, still busy conjuring up a random song. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“I don’t see why I have to.”

He hears Shirabu click his tongue. “Don’t you get bored?”

“I have loads of stuff I can do. Seriously. Have you ever heard me complaining about being bored?”

When Shirabu doesn’t answer, Semi looks up. He squints, trying to make out Shirabu’s expression with this least useful sight of his.

His lips are pressed in a hard line, something that Semi is used to seeing whenever Shirabu is being his usual self without any sort of repulsiveness. Semi likes to call it the default.

Semi places his guitar down.

“Why do you go out on those shitty blind dates?” he settles on asking.

Semi sees the subtle way Shirabu tenses, but then he clears his throat and adjusts his sitting position.

“Just because,” he replies.

Semi gives him a pointed look. “That’s not an answer.”

“Sometimes, people do things for fun, Semi.”

Semi snorts. “Yeah right. You don’t even like half of them.”

He feels a gentle kick to the shin from Shirabu’s socked foot and laughs at it.

“It's just weird,” Semi continues. “I mean, why waste your time on people you don’t even like? You can just spend them with people you actually like.”

“Well, I don’t like eighty-percent of the population.”

“Fuck off. You like me enough.”

Shirabu kicks him again, harder this time, and Semi sticks his tongue out at him.

Shirabu reclines on his chair and sighs. “You’re not wearing your piercings,” he points out.

“I’m not,” Semi replies with a shake of the head. Semi had taken most of them off this morning, leaving only a pair of silver studs behind.

“Why?”

Semi shrugs. “Just because.”

A single hum comes from Shirabu, and then, “I like you better with them on.”

Semi looks up with his brows raised, only to find Shirabu already looking at him.

“It adds a nice touch to your overall personality,” he says. He’s looking at Semi, honey eyes wide and alight, despite the hour, and Semi dare says that Shirabu reflects the dim lights from the flimsy lamp in the far corner in a way only he could. Semi doesn’t quite understand that.

At this state, Shirabu is not the badass premed student he is known to be. His hair is a goddamn disaster. He has his dark circles and post-acne hyperpigmentation on full display. His lips are chapped. He’s wearing nothing but an old hoodie and a pair of pajama pants.

But it doesn’t stop the corners of Semi’s lips from lifting, or the beat of his heart accelerating tenfold; because even like this— especially like this— Shirabu is so fucking perfect.

“We can go out sometimes, you know?” Shirabu says out of nowhere. “Not the grocery store or impulsive snacks kind of going out we usually do, but like, really go out. For drinks? Or anything else you like.”

Semi’s smile turns into a chuckle, and he shakes his head once. He has sworn off drinking since a thousand years ago.

“That’s really sweet of you, but no thanks,” he says. “I’m happy with this current state of mine, so rest assured, you can have fun without me.”

The grunt of the plastic chair cuts through the quiet pause as Semi adjusts his seat before bringing his guitar back on his lap, pulling up another song.

Somewhere from the far above, thunder begins rumbling.

“Semi, it’s gonna rain.”

Semi looks up to the dark sky. “It looks fine to me.”

“You can’t see shit without your glasses, idiot.”

“What is it with you and rain? Really, Shirabu, it’s not that bad.”

“I hate getting my clothes wet,” Shirabu says before getting up to his feet.

Semi, in turn, stops playing. He stands up and stretches before asking, “Do you want to play Mario Kart?”

Shirabu whips his head around, looking at Semi with full accusation. “What the hell? It’s past three.”

“Never used to bother you before. Come on.”

Semi brushes past his roommate towards the exit door. 

“Are you sure we’re doing this?” Shirabu asks once he’s seated on the couch, its seat pulled out to create a makeshift bed.

“Why the heck not,” Semi says from in front of the TV stand. He’s sitting crossed-legged, taking his time to fumble with the Nintendo Switch resting on its dock.

“You’re not tired?” Shirabu asks. “It’s late late.”

Semi glances at the clock and shrugs. “I can sleep in later. I don’t usually sleep at night during weekends anyway.”

The room brightens a little from the TV screen in front of them and Semi returns to the couch, carrying two controllers. He passes one to Shirabu.

“What are we doing?” Shirabu asks, taking the device.

“Mario Kart?” Semi says as he presses on a button, the game icons on the TV are highlighted accordingly. “But it’s fine if you want something else. Your pick, Bub.”

“Mario Kart.”

Semi clicks on the assigned icon and the screen in front of them shifts. They fiddle with the controller for a couple of minutes, bickering about which racetrack and characters to choose as the gentle taps of rain begin to hit their window.

They end up doing a round of rock-paper-scissors, because Shirabu wants princess peach and Semi wants princess peach just to fuck with him. Semi lost anyway, but he beats Shirabu’s ass by a long shot, throwing Shirabu into a fit of rage, kicking his thighs demanding for a rematch.

It’s nights like this that Semi cherishes the most. Nights where he and Shirabu play a rowdy game of whatever at the weirdest hours; cheering, laughing, sometimes escalating into full-on body wrestling. It never fails to make the butterflies in Semi’s chest flutter like a rainstorm, and Sometimes, Semi clutches at his heart, the one that harbors this immense love Shirabu even with a tinge of sadness somewhere beneath it.

But for now, Semi doesn’t mind. As long as it’s the two of them.

(They ended up falling asleep on the couch, and when Semi wakes up to see his guitar pick around Shirabu’s neck, he doesn’t ask for it. Shirabu returns it two days later.)

*

Semi:

im at the convenience store

Semi:

u want anything?

Shirabu:

potato chips. oranges bananas

Shirabu:

also anything 4 tmr breakfast

Semi:

onigiri?

Shirabu:

sure

Semi:

k

Shirabu:

thxxxx <3

—

The barest trace of sunlight filters through the half drawn curtains of their apartment, lamenting the place in the cool glow of a mid-spring morning.

The frying pan sizzles, savory notes of smoke rising from the eggs sitting right atop it, and Shirabu scrambles them slightly before bending down just in time for Semi to reach over for the cupboard above them.

There is a certain kind of intimacy between two people sharing a routine; wordless understanding between two souls who know each other by sense, by touch, by heart alone. The moon and its tide. No questions, no words.

Only chaste taps; subtle smiles. Familiar. Safe.

Somewhere inside that bubble, a clatter comes from their mismatched plates. Semi places one next to Shirabu, and another on the far side of the counter, before scooping the contents of last night’s haul onto its smooth surface.

The whistling of the kettle weaves its way into the quietude, and Semi reaches over to the stove, Shirabu’s back already turned against him for the refrigerator. Two mugs are at the ready, a heap of black powder in each of its cavity, and Semi pours. He welcomes the scent with a weird sense of homecoming.

He keeps in mind to leave Shirabu’s mug half full. A space for the milk. (Oat, because Shirabu is adamant on keeping the pantry completely dairy-free, even if it alters his own diet in the process.)

“I’ll be back late tonight,” Shirabu says before closing the refrigerator door.

“Study session?” Semi hands over the yellow mug, which Shirabu takes with a shake of his head.

“The usual.”

The milk traces storm clouds on Shirabu’s espresso, transforming it into something almost entirely new.

“A date? On a Wednesday?” Semi asks, leaning his hip on the countertop. The coffee leaves something warm and bitter in his throat.

Shirabu shrugs. “Nothing crazy, I swear. Just cafes.”

Semi sets his mug down. “Okay. How late?”

“Hopefully not too late.”

Semi hums in affirmation, hands moving to prepare the table in front of them. Onigiri. Scrambled eggs. He keeps in mind to set aside the half-empty carton of milk. A space for Shirabu.

“Do you want me to pick you up?” Semi asks, considering. “Or drop you off, maybe?”

Shirabu sits, scooping a portion of eggs for himself. “No need. It’s down the street. I can take the bus from campus.”

“Text me if you need anything.” Semi passes the bottle of soy sauce. An offering.

“Sure thing.” An acceptance.

—

“I’m telling you, Semi-Semi, the kids from the arts dept are absolutely batshit.”

The sound of Semi’s guitar wafts through the late afternoon glow, echoing against the walls and into the nooks of his living room.

“Seeing that you’re one of them, Satori, I consider the fact unsurprising.”

Semi keeps his eyes closed as he works on the strings, savoring the familiar press of steel and nylon against calloused fingertips. He’s home alone and procrastinating on his assignment that is due at midnight, so just like any other normal college kid with too many deadlines, he chooses to sit back and give his best friend a random call instead.

There’s a distant clanging from the other side of the line, and Semi cracks open an eye before saying, “Are you baking?”

“Nope. I’m cleaning,” Tendou answers, followed by a muffled thud.

“Wow. I didn’t know you did that without me.”

“I’ll let you know that sharing a room with you for four consecutive full years alters my whole habit.”

Semi adjusts his grip and begins fingering an intro. He sings then; not really putting much effort, but just enough to not sound off key. He likes the sound of his voice sometimes, specifically when he’s sitting haphazardly, or lying down, when he’s only singing for the empty room. Tendou chimes in a few times, his voice coming in a little delay from the call, but Semi doesn’t mind.

He ends the song with a lazy strum.

“Wow. You think you’d put up a YouTube cover someday?”

Semi snorts. “Nah,” he says before continuing on some random chords.

“You should join me in the theater club, Semi-Semi. You’d sound good in a musical. And with a face like that, they’ll adore you.”

Semi snorts. The mental image of himself on stage belting the shit out of Defying Gravity does not look appealing in the slightest. He physically cringes at the thought.

“I’ll pass,” he says.

“Come on! Do you realize you kinda sound like Brendon Urie? Dang, if you ever decide to join, I’ll beg Ennoshita so we can do Kinky Boots.”

“Now that is a direct insult to Mr. Urie there, Satori. And for the love of god I can’t fucking dance in heels.”

Tendo chuckles at that, sounding cracked and tinny from Semi’s phone speaker.

“ Is Kenjirou there?”

“No. He’s away,” Semi says before he stops playing. 

“Say, Eita?”

“Hm?”

“When are you ever going to ask Kenjirou out on a date?”

Million dollar question. If he had a penny for every time Tendou asks him that, he’d be able to buy a new guitar.

Semi is now laying down on the couch with his guitar balanced on his chest, arms wrapped around it. The drumming of his fingers cast a reverberating sound from the wooden body.

“Not in the near future?” Semi says.

“You know that if there’s anyone you’d want to spend the rest of your life with, it’s him, right?”

Semi groans before propping an arm behind his head. “I think he deserves better.”

“You hear that? That’s the sound of direct bullshit—”

Semi clicks his tongue. “Fuck off—”

“He likes you.”

A series of angry strumming ensues before Semi says. “No.”

“Semi-Semi, do you even see the way he dotes on you?”

“That’s just him, Satori. He takes care of people. I mean, he used to take care of the whole damn team.”

For a few long seconds, there’s only static. Semi is just about to yell for Tendou when he finally comes through.

“Kenjirou learns that from you, you know?” he says.

Tendou’s words float in the silence of Semi’s apartment and weave its way through Semi’s head. Did he?  

“I’m not that nice,” Semi says, deflecting.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You carried Taichi on your back all the way to the school clinic when he twisted his ankle, remember?”

Ironically, Semi does. “Come on. Everyone would have done the same—”

“My point is,” Tendou cuts. There’s a lot of muffled thuds from his end that Semi really doesn’t want to ask about. “Kenjirou admired you as a senior. That kid went from a feral cat to a fairy godmother in a span of months.”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“That’s all you, because out of the five of us, you’re the one who cares the most.”

Truth is, Semi was the one who’s always fussing about his teammates; maybe it’s the aftermath of having a little sister. He doesn’t really know why, but he did feed his teammates every now and then, or bring them miscellaneous trinkets, or let them raid his first aid box during any form of distress.

He never really thought about it.

“What I know is that Kenjirou sees you as more than just a teammate. Maybe more than a friend even.”

Semi sighs, closing his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll leave you to mull over your love life, then. I gotta vacuum this whole place.”

Semi chuckles. “If I come over and my allergies start acting up, you’re redoing all that.”

“I’ll chuck a whole strip of Claritin down your throat,” Tendou says, followed by his signature singsong, “Bye-bye, Semi-Semi,” and a wet smooching sound.

The line goes dead and Semi relishes in the silence of his living room. It’s still early, by some standards. Semi decides he will give himself another fifteen minutes to stare at his ceiling before abusing his brain.

He’s right on the edge of slumber when the front door opens with a slam, making him jump to a seat with his heart pounding, knocking his guitar over.

“Holy shit, Shirabu!”

The guy in question storms into his room without so much as a glance at Semi, throwing the door closed behind him. Semi only sighs, rolling his eyes before planting himself facedown on the couch.

—

Semi:

there’s chinese takeout

Semi:

[picture]

Semi:

come on out :)

Shirabu: 

fine

—

Shirabu walks into the kitchen without so much as a noise.

“Okaeri,” Semi teases, watching from behind his laptop as Shirabu crosses the room.

He looks disheveled, if only a little. Probably because he had been rolling around in his bed, if what the slight tousle in his hair and the wrinkles in his clothes indicates. He’s bare-faced and wrapped in pajamas, which is unusual because Shirabu rarely changes before showering.

At least Shirabu doesn’t look like he has been crying, so Semi figures the situation isn’t that dire.

Shirabu proceeds to grab a bowl from the cupboard before taking the seat across Semi. His cheeks are dusted with pink, complementing the prominent pout on his lips, and praise the lord that Semi still has all the dignity to not kiss them. Instead, he offers a gentle smile.

“How’s your date?” He asks, taking the bowl from Shirabu’s hands to fill it with rice and some beef.

Shirabu glares.

“Not so good then? Well, you’re in luck because I heard that a little bit of Chinese takeout can do wonders to a wounded soul,” He presents the no longer empty bowl to Shirabu, commercial style, complete with a wink. “I fixed them up.”

Shirabu makes a face at him.

“You’re a shit cook,” he says with no real bite, taking the bowl regardless.

“There’s this thing called delivery services, dear Shirabu. It still counts as fixing up dinner.”

Shirabu only rolls his eyes. Semi chuckles before promptly standing up from his seat, taking an empty mug with him.

“So what happened?” he asks as he fills Shirabu’s mug with water

“A lot.”

He sets the mug down in front of Shirabu before resuming his place across the table.

“You know you don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel like it,” Semi says, studying the way Shirabu angrily chews on his dumplings.

He earns a sigh. “I know. I just– I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Did you get into a fistfight?”

“What? No! I’m not you.”

Semi props his elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand. He keeps his eyes on Shirabu.

“For real,” Shirabu says, taking a scoop of mapo tofu. “If it was you instead of me, I think it would’ve gone down with a fistfight.”

Semi whistles before adjusting his glasses. “Okay?”

“He’s the you- need -to-worship-me kind of guy”

“A narcissist?”

“More of a dickhead, but yeah. I guess that too.”

Semi can’t help but holler in laughter. “I thought you like bad boys?”

“Bad boys and dickheads are two different things.”

He gives Shirabu a pointed look, to which Shirabu responds with a sigh.

“There’s a thin line between the two species. And I happen to know where to draw it.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Honestly? Not much. But it’s the little things like cutting me off mid-sentence, brushing my words off, et cetera, et cetera. And it kinda piles up.”

The sound of subtle chewing fills in the blanks between them as Semi thinks, considering his zero tolerance towards disrespect, Shirabu is probably right.

Semi grimaces before returning half his attention towards the assignment on the screen. “Yeah, guess you’re right. So you just up and left?”

Shirabu swallows. “I threw my coffee at him.”

Semi snaps his head up. “No fucking way.”

“Mm-hmm.” Shirabu swallows his food before continuing. “He’s drenched with caramel latte by the time I walked out.”

“Wow. That, right there, is one for the books.”

“I know. But I was too mad to take pictures, so.” Shirabu shrugs and resumes his fervor. Leave it to Shirabu to destroy your dignity, Semi thinks.

Semi stands up and walks the length of the kitchen, the tiles cold underneath his feet. He adjusts a tilted magnet on the refrigerator door before opening it.

“Date rate?” He asks as he reaches for the soda cans on the shelf.

“Oh, the motherfucker does not deserve a rate!”

Semi laughs, closing the fridge with a backward kick before returning to his seat. “Come on! You know you’ve had worse dates.”

“My worst dates so far only consist of boring people. Or fuckboys who try too hard to get in my pants. Sometimes with shit body odor. Nothing like this.”

The soda tingles in his tongue, exactly the way he likes it. Semi puckers his lips before asking. “But did they?”

Shirabu stands up to move his ass, now sitting next to Semi, bowl of food in hand. “Did they what?”

Semi types on his assignment. “Get in your pants.”

That sentence earns Semi a good pull on his ear. He yelps before quickly swatting Shirabu’s hand away.

“Shithead. You’re gonna rip my piercings off,” he says, rubbing at his helix rings.

“And you deserve it.” Shirabu lifts his chopsticks and practically shoves it to Semi’s face. “Open your mouth.”

Semi backs away, eyes never leaving his screen. “I’ll eat later.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

It takes Semi a whole six months of living together to be able to decipher the slight changes in Shirabu’s seemingly permanent irritable tone of speaking, to be able to tell the difference between normal irritable or irritable irritable. His last sentence falls into the latter category.

Semi chooses to pretend he didn’t hear the question because he knows that Shirabu knows that Wednesdays are the days when Semi usually skips lunch from his back to back classes. He glances at the second tab open on his browser window instead.

“Thought so.” Shirabu says. “Open your mouth.”

Reluctantly, Semi does.

“Where’s the beef?” He asks mid-chew.

“Shut your fucking mouth when you’re eating.”

He swallows. The hands feeding him his next mouthful of beef is far kinder than the words spoken only seconds before.

“Why is it always either that or your ridiculously bitter coffee?” Shirabu asks, gesturing at the soda can next to Semi’s laptop. “You’re going to throw yourself to an early grave from a heart attack.”

“If I’m ever going to have a heart attack, Shirabu, it’ll be because of your insufferable ass.”

“Says someone who can’t even stick to a proper meal schedule.”

Semi only opens his mouth to bite the dumpling off Shirabu’s chopsticks. 

They stay like that, Semi typing away in his laptop with Shirabu feeding him his too long overdue meal. It’s something they do every so often and Semi, honest to God, does not remember when exactly they had escalated into this level of comfort. But here they are, spoon feeding each other and finishing a shared bowl of Chinese takeouts like they’ve been doing it their whole lives.

The legs of Shirabu’s chair screeches against the ceramic tiles as he gets up to put away the empty dishes, and Semi, in turn, has added a whole page to his essay.

“When is that thing due?” Shirabu asks. The clatter of utensils and running water loud in the background.

“Midnight,” Semi says casually, sipping on his soda.

“You’re a chronic deadliner, you know that?”

Semi closes his eyes, fingers hovering above the keyboard for a few seconds to conjure up a sentence he almost forgets. “I have four hours to spare,” he says when he resumes typing. “I’m almost done anyway.”

There’s the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing, and Semi can sense Shirabu taking the seat opposite him.

“Anything I can help you with?” The tart smell of oranges fills his nostrils, and Semi glances at Shirabu for a split second.

“You fed me.”

“Mm. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Fix the format of my essay then. The fucker keeps messing up everytime I add a new citation.”

“I’d rather die.”

They lapse into another comfortable silence, broken only by Semi’s frantic typing and the occasional smacks from Shirabu’s lips as he chews on the oranges. It isn’t too long until Semi’s citation finally stays put on their designated pages, and he quickly types in the email address of his professor before clicking send with more than three hours to spare. By then, Semi only stares blankly at the computer screen, not a single thought in mind.

“Hey,” Shirabu speaks. Semi doesn’t even realize he is still in the room.

Semi blinks and turns his terminally impaired attention towards Shirabu. “Huh?”

Shirabu stands and walks toward him, stopping just a few inches away. Semi feels the heat of Shirabu’s knee on his thigh, and he tries his best to ignore it. Tries, capital, because his essay-fucked brain is not doing a remotely decent job at it. At this angle, Shirabu towers over him, and Semi has to crane his head to keep his gaze.

Shirabu places a gentle hand on the sides of Semi’s glasses, slowly pulling them off his face. Semi closes his eyes, catching a whiff of something tangy, the residual zest that still lingers on the tips of Shirabu’s fingers. 

When he opens them, he finds a pair of copper irises staring back.

“Thanks for dinner,” Shirabu says before retreating into his room, closing the door behind him. Semi is left to stare at the shadows.

Only when Semi closes his laptop does he find a plate of orange behind it, peeled and separated.

*

The roar of his electric guitar resonates from the amplifier in his room, rolling with the same rage and frustrations as Semi’s head. He has a deadline, as per usual, and he’s casually leaning back on his desk chair, both feet propped up on his bed, generating a whole verse of a rock number like he doesn’t have a single fuck to give.

Maybe he doesn’t. He slides his fingers over the metal strings all the way through the length of the neck, creating a satisfying glissando against the backup instrumental from his other speaker. Dang, that’s a banger. Electric guitars are the best anger output ever created.

The song is about to climb on to its climax when the strings suddenly die into useless clacks against the body, along with all the noise in Semi’s room.

“Bon Jovi? Really?”

He groans.

Semi spins in his chair to find Shirabu casually leaning against the open door frame, swinging the head of Semi’s extension cord in front of him.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asks.

For once, Semi curses himself for leaving his door open.

It’s a habit that stuck with him from sharing a space with Tendou Satori during the wilderness of freshman year, something that, apparently, transcends the changing years and living partner. It used to be a way for Tendou to keep an eye on him, especially on the days Semi had been drinking the living daylights out of himself.

This time, Semi does it as a memorandum to Shirabu, a reminder that no matter what happens, Semi is only a room away. He only closes his door when he isn’t home, or when he doesn’t want to be found. Shirabu understands, without a word and without question, and evidently, Shirabu respects that.

So even when Semi is on the brink of tearing out his own hair, as long as his door is open, Shirabu knows he’s accessible.

(Semi is seriously questioning his own judgment.)

He exhales, releasing a little bit of his residual anger before answering.

“Back to back classes, labs, meetings. Probably home late,” Semi says in a clipped tone. “Why?”

Shirabu hums, biting the inside of his cheeks. His brows are scrunched in a way only a turmoil inside his head is capable of unleashing. By the third month of living together, Shirabu has done it one too many times that Semi calls it The Face.

It usually does not mean anything good.

Semi sits upright and squints at the blurry outline of his roommate, setting his guitar aside. “You need a rescue team?”

Shirabu shakes his head. He takes a few steps into the room, now standing right next to Semi’s desk.

“Nah, just that I have a date and it’s a little further downtown,” he says. “But it’s fine, really. I’ll take the taxi.”

There’s this little habit that Shirabu does every time he’s trying to fake nonchalance. It’s the slight rise of the pitch in which he talks, the subtle way his gestures get more animated, and the way his eyes crinkle just a little too much. Anyone who’s anyone will definitely buy it, but Semi isn’t just anyone.

Semi squints harder. “Are you sure? I can drop you off after my lab.”

Again, Shirabu shakes his head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Where is it?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” It comes out a little harsher than Semi intended.

Shirabu takes a framed photograph of their highschool volleyball team from the desk and stares at it for a few heartbeats before answering. “Shibuya.”

Semi watches as he traces over the outline of the members, and Semi has done the same thing multiple times to know that Shirabu’s slender fingers are going over the two of them, standing next to each other in the glass-trapped memory. 

There’s a reason why Semi picked that picture to be framed, out of all the team pictures he had in his photo album.

Shirabu only fiddles with his hands when he has a few things in his head, but this time, Semi lets it go, giving Shirabu a quick nod before returning to his guitar. “Call me if you need anything.”

Shirabu turns away. “Will do. Thanks.”

“Replug the whole shit, Bub!”

And of course Shirabu doesn’t. Just to spite him.

—

Semi slams the front door of his apartment closed with a kick, sliding down the wall of his foyer just seconds later. His ass hits the floor with a thud, and he exhales the longest breath known to the history of mankind.

Three words: college is madness.

First of all, it’s seven thirty fucking p.m. on a Friday night, which means Semi has been in campus grounds for almost twelve hours straight with only a few minutes of insubstantial breaks between his classes, labs, and appointments with those godforsaken academic gremlins (read: his professor and his group mates, in separate meetings). His whole body is running on three cups of coffee and four hours of sleep, it’s a miracle he’s still alive.

Second, he made a mistake on the calculation of his steel Truss which, in turn, altered the whole damn result of his assignment. One mistake, but his professor had given him that pointed look, and even though he was kind enough to let Semi redo his assignment without any damage to his overall credit, it still felt like someone clawed on your hand-knitted sweater.

Third, they ran out of vanilla Essel Super Cup in the convenience store downstairs. (Alright, fine. Ice cream is basically poisonous to Semi, but he’d take a raging gut over an impending aneurysm any day.)

In conclusion: civil engineering is a darn highway to hell and he may as well be the one building said highway. Almost literally.

Bad day? You fucking bet. Semi almost cries when he throws his jacket away and crawls into his bedroom. (Yes. Crawls.)

No, he absolutely does not have the energy to climb onto his bed, so he just lays there on the floor like a ridiculously overgrown starfish and stares into the ceiling, boots still tightly laced and all.

His phone generates five consecutive vibrations in his pocket, and Semi screams, imagining Kuroo or Yukie with a string of notes from their paper that needs immediate attention. He fishes his phone out and is promptly sent into distress at the name flashing on the screen

Shirabu:

sos

Shirabu:

pls call me

Shirabu:

rn

Shirabu:

u need to call me

Shirabu:

act like its urgent

The speed in which he presses the dial icon would absolutely mortify Graham Bell, but Semi doesn’t care. Shirabu picks up before the second ring finishes.

“Shirabu?” Semi says. He can hear the booming bass in the background on the other end.

“Hey!” Shirabu answers above the boisterous music.

A series of realization washes over Semi with the fake chirp of Shirabu’s greeting: one, Shirabu is drunk; two, Shirabu is in a fucking nightclub, without a heads up to Semi; three, something is going on, because Shirabu does not drunk call, not even when he’s asking Semi to pick him up. It’s always just texts.

Who’s that, Semi hears from somewhere on the other end of the line.

“Shirabu?”

Baby? the same voice says.

Who the fuck would be calling Shirabu baby?

Semi hears a rustle. A thud. Muffled voices he can’t make out. Shirabu’s laugh, timid—followed by a chirpy no, i’m good.

Static.

Semi’s blood runs cold.

“Shirabu?” The urgency is now prominent in his voice.

A jumble of unpleasant scenarios begin flashing through his head, which does nothing but amplify his looming worry. The dread in the pit of his stomach is now creeping up to his throat, gripping his airway in an onset of panic.

He couldn’t hear anything over the roaring of the blood in his ears, and Semi pulls his phone away to check on his screen. The call is intact.

Breathe, he tells himself. He wipes his shaky hands on his cargos.

When he presses the phone back on his ear, there's much less chatter, only distant music.

And then, silence.

“Thanks,” Shirabu says. “I think I’m bailing.”

Semi lets out a sigh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Shirabu is speaking too damn fast, exactly the way he would when he’s trying to lie through that set of perfect teeth. Semi clicks his tongue, because he’s absolutely not having it. Especially not today.

“What happened?” Semi asks.

“Um—”

“Shirabu Kenjirou, what’s going on?”

“You’re overreacting. Everything’s fi—”

“Bullshit.” His voice turns into a snarl.

A sigh.

“You texted me an SOS a minute ago, Shirabu. If you think I’m buying it then you’re a fucking dumbass.”

Another sigh. This time longer.

“Drugs were involved.”

Semi is already flying out of the apartment before Shirabu even finishes the sentence. Hallelujah for his intact shoes.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he runs down the stairs.

“I told you—”

“Just answer my goddamn question.” Semi throws his car door open. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe? I had a few drinks.”

Semi ignites the car and latches his call to the bluetooth speakers before clicking on an app to look for Shirabu’s exact location. “Where are you now?”

“Can’t you just check my—”

“Quit your fucking attitude , Shirabu. Where are you?”

“The back entrance.”

Semi is now zooming in on the maps. “A fucking alleyway?”

“Yes?”

“Get the hell out of there.”

“I can’t get back inside.”

“Then walk around the building!”

“Where?”

Semi lets out an exasperated groan. “Just— okay hold on.”

He scans the map around Shirabu’s icon, looking for any place that Shirabu can use as temporary shelter.

“Wait, Semi. I’ll hang up. You’re home now, aren’t you?”

Semi shifts his gear to reverse and backs up before rolling away. “No. I’m picking you up.”

“I can get a—”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Semi says as he rides through the lush trees of their campus boulevard.

“Okay.”

“And don't you dare —”

“I won’t hang up.”

Semi sighs. “Okay.”

The stone buildings of his campus ground fades into the background, making way for flashier glass and steel of Tokyo’s finest.

“Shirabu?” Semi says. The blinker on his car is ticking in a steady rhythm.

“Yeah?”

“There’s a convenience store about two blocks away. To the left from your side of the intersection.”

“Do I just– walk out of the alley?”

Semi glances at the map on his phone. “Yeah. Just keep your heads up.”

The traffic light in front of him turns red, and Semi’s intrusive thoughts are nagging for him to just break through. The road is fucking empty, for goodness sake. But the Tokyo P.D isn’t something he would want to mess with, so he only exhales an exasperated sigh, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits.

There’s mostly silence on the other end of the line, only the occasional rustle and the faint roar of passing cars. When he checks the map, Shirabu is close.

“Oh, I see it,” Shirabu confirms.

“Okay,” Semi says. A man crosses the road right in front of him just before the lights turn green. Semi curses before slamming his foot on the gas.

Over the speakers, he hears the faint bell of the convenience store door opening, followed by the signature welcome greeting. There’s distant chatter now, the sound of machine whirring, and a ding. Semi exhales, and lets his shoulders drop against the backrest of his seat.

“Semi?”

Noticing every minute detail of Shirabu’s expressions comes with distinguishing the tone of his voice, and some of them, Semi had thought, are worth noting. Like the one he uses just now. It’s soft and slow, like he’s trying to reach him with deliberate hands. A gentle touch.

It only takes one word from Shirabu to douse all the building rage in Semi’s chest.

“Yes, Bub?”

“Drive safe.”

Something throbs underneath his solar plexus before he feels the hot prickle behind his eyes. Semi blinks, clears his throat, and against his will, huffs out a weak chuckle. “Yeah.”

And the smile, also against his will, stays.

Semi zooms past a silver sedan.

“Shirabu?”

An obnoxiously loud rustle comes from the other end before Shirabu answers with a simple “Hm?”

“Stay with me.”

“I’m making instant ramen.”

Semi snorts. “Fucking hell, Shirabu. I’m like two minutes away.”

He is, indeed, only one turn away from the alleged convenience store.

“Good. You can eat with me.”

“Shirabu, that is not—”

“Semi?” Shirabu is using that voice again. “Relax. I’ll get you something to eat. I know you haven’t had dinner.”

Shirabu, as much as he hates it, is as stubborn as Semi is. So he resigns his fate to whatever Shirabu is doing, and turns on his blinker at just the right moment.

Now don’t get him wrong. Semi loves to drive. There’s a distinct feeling of freedom when he gets his hands on the wheel, or when he’s speeding down a highway and the world around him just blurs into nothingness. It’s like he’s running; like he’s free.

But the universe is cruel and decided to place Semi in a monstrously organized walkable city. And a walkable city, Semi highlights, is up there on the top five of a car rider’s biggest enemy due to its criminal lack of parking spots. Semi curses when he doesn’t find any visible parking space.

“Shirabu, I’m detouring for a while, yeah?” He says. “I need to park my car.”

His only reply is a single mm-hm.

Semi takes a left hand turn after passing the convenience store, half looking at the buildings around him, half hoping for a miracle. If he’s going for a parking garage, he’ll have to drive further into the narrower lanes. (Which, honestly, isn’t ideal.)

He adores this city with all his heart but right now, he feels like throwing a giant wrecking ball on one of the buildings to create a makeshift parking space. Fuck Tokyo.

Just as he’s about to complain to Shirabu, the flickering light of a gas station comes into view (thank Jesus). He slips inside and parks his car in the far corner, killing the engine and disconnecting the bluetooth.

The evening air bites his skin as he slams his car door closed, and for the first time since he left the apartment, Semi thinks about his abandoned jacket, lonely on the floor of his foyer. 

“Semi, my ramen is almost gone.”

Semi is walking as fast as he can without falling into a jog. “You can eat without me. I’m fine.”

Shirabu doesn’t answer him. Semi turns a corner and less than a minute later, he’s pushing the door of the convenience store open.

“There you are.”

The sentence echoes in Semi’s space, both from somewhere to his right and from the device in his ear. He turns, immediately meeting Shirabu’s gaze from a few feet away, just in time to see him place a finger on the red button on his screen. The line in Semi’s ear goes silent.

A wave of relief hits him like fresh air, and Semi releases a breath before crossing the room.

“Are you okay?” He asks, wrapping his arms around Shirabu. He doesn’t care that Shirabu hates unnecessary skinship; Semi is just glad to see him.

Shirabu, as expected, doesn’t return the embrace, but Semi feels the weight of his body as he leans against his torso, and that’s more than enough.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” comes Shirabu’s muffled reply.

Semi pulls back to inspect Shirabu’s wellbeing. His mascara is a little smudged, and the tint on his lips is fading into almost nothing. There’s high color on his cheeks, Semi guesses it’s from the wind, which also explains the state of his hair. Otherwise, Shirabu looks perfectly fine.

His gaze is as sharp as ever. Semi holds it, and puts a palm on his cheek.

“You’re not—” Drugged?

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you feel anything? Dizziness, hallucinations, fain—”

“No,” Shirabu says with a laugh, shaking his head. God, he looks radiant, and Semi feels his heart stumble on its beat. “I’m fine, really. The walk sobered me up a little.”

Semi lets go of Shirabu completely, letting him return to his seat. “You didn’t tell me you were going to a nightclub.”

Shirabu opens his mouth only to immediately close it. He chews on his lips instead.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Semi asks, as gentle as he can go.

Shirabu looks away, swaying on his barstool. “Would you have let me go?”

Would he have let Shirabu go?

It’s a valid question, considering Shirabu knows that Semi would throw a fit before doing it.

Semi doesn’t answer, his heart beating harder with every second. He takes the seat next to Shirabu and places his elbow on the wall table.

“You know, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Shirabu says, still not looking at him. “You’d go batshit. And you did.”

Semi swallows, because he isn’t wrong. Shirabu sighs, shakes his head, and turns to look at Semi.

“Next time, I’ll let you know where I’m going exactly.” Shirabu says. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to make your day any worse than it already is.”

Semi’s brows shoot all the way up to his hairline, from both the apology and the last sentence. A tired laugh escapes his chest. “That obvious?”

“I had my suspicions from the way you were talking on the phone. One look at your face the second you arrived confirms it.”

Semi closes his eyes and faceplants into the table. He takes a few seconds to regain himself, one two three four, before turning around to face Shirabu, cheek resting on the fold of his elbow. He offers a weak smile.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you over the phone,” he says.

Shirabu nods. “Understandable.”

“Next time you’re going to a nightclub, I’m coming with you. I promise I’ll make myself invisible.” It’s soft spoken, but the finality of it still doesn’t leave room for argument.

Semi expects an outburst. He expects a dozen protests and double the bargaining. Because, for the most part, Shirabu doesn’t give a shit if Semi has no room for argument. He makes room for it.

Instead, Shirabu only nods. “Okay.”

The curves of Semi’s lips transform into something more, something honest, and this time, it reaches the corners of his half closed eyes. Shirabu pushes an onigiri at his face.

“I’m not hungry, Bubsie,” Semi says.

“It’s not an offer,” Shirabu says with a deadpan. “I will seriously run you over with your goddamn car if you don’t finish at least one onigiri.”

Semi shuts his eyes in protest.

“I’ll let you have your Essel Super Cup after this.”

At the mention of his favorite ice cream brand, Semi sits up straight with a sudden burst of energy he didn’t know he possessed. He takes the onigiri and peels it open.

“You know what? You could have just said that from the beginning,” he says, now sounding significantly chirpier, before taking a huge bite. “It would have saved you all the drama.”

Shirabu reaches a hand to push Semi’s chin close. “Manners, Semi. And don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this to stop you from dying midway. I’d still like to have a safe trip home, thank you.”

“Hey. I won’t die.” Semi brushes his palms together after completely devouring his rice ball in exactly three bites. “Do you have more?”

Shirabu gestures at the space next to him with his eyes. Apparently, there’s two more. Semi reaches for another with a shameless grin before quickly peeling the plastic off and taking a bite, all the umami goodness of it reaching every corner of his mouth.

“I’ll cook you something tomorrow,” Shirabu says with a shake of his head. “You can’t survive on convenience store food forever.”

“‘S fine,” Semi says. “It’s a college kid survival skill.”

Semi earns himself an eye roll.

“You’re not wearing your jacket,” Shirabu says, his tone void of any emotion. Just a statement.

Semi swallows. “I wasn’t planning on having a turn of events, frankly speaking.”

“You should at least keep one in the car,” Shirabu says. He pulls on the sleeve of Semi’s t-shirt, effectively turning him around in his stool.

Semi hums over his third serving of onigiri.

“You walked two blocks wearing this?” Shirabu’s eyes are wide as he registers Semi; from his windswept hair, his faded Hozier t-shirt, his slim fit black cargos, down to his laced up Docs.

“It’s a two minute walk, Shirabu. Not two blocks. Calm down.”

“Your regular two-minute is a normal person’s five, Semi. You’re a ridiculously fast walker.”

Semi raises his hand in surrender and swallows his last bite. “My boots keep me warm, at least. Now can I have my ice cream?”

With a resigned smile, Shirabu nods. “One cup.”

Semi does not waste a single second. When he returns, happily and with a cup of vanilla ice cream in his hand, Shirabu’s gaze lands on his t-shirt. He then stares for exactly three seconds, and squints.

“Is that fucking Sirius Black?”

“What?” Semi glances down at his t-shirt before returning to his seat. “Oh, this? Yeah. Wow, can’t believe you just noticed,” he says before scooping a huge dollop of heaven into his mouth.

Shirabu is visibly bristling. “Where did you get that ridiculous t-shirt?”

“eBay. Obviously.”

There’s a moment of silence, gracefully filled in by the sound of Semi’s smacking lips, before Shirabu groans and says, “Okay, that’s it. I’m getting you an official Hozier merch. No more of this bullshit.”

“You should have seen the Jesus one,” he says before taking another massive spoonful.

“They have a Jesus Hozier t-shirt?”

“Shirabu, there’s plenty of ridiculous t-shirts online if you look hard enough.”

“Absolute blasphemy.”

“I’ll print your face on one of my tshirts, how ‘bout it?” He closes the lid of his now empty paper cup.

Semi only earns himself a deadpan. He offers a comical smile, and Shirabu shakes his head before pulling something out of his sling bag.

There’s a bundle of white scrunched between Shirabu’s fingers, and then, Semi feels something soft and damp on his lips. It’s fragrance free, because of course Shirabu considers Semi’s absurd sensitivity towards fragranced products.

“You’re a goddamn mess, you know that?” Shirabu says as he gently rubs Semi’s lips with baby wipes.

Semi can only stare, not a single thought conjured in his short-circuiting brain. Shirabu throws the wipes into his instant ramen paper cup before carrying it away to the trash bin by the door.

“Let’s go,” Shirabu says with one hand on the handle. “Before you get too tired to drive.”

There is one two three four quick beats of his heart and a huge flip in his stomach before the gears in Semi’s brain kicks in, and by the time his feet move to follow, the exit door of the convenience store is already swinging shut.

*

Contrary to the extreme lengths they go through to take care of each other, Semi and Shirabu don't really share much physical contact.

It comes as an unspoken arrangement, because he knows that Shirabu isn’t comfortable with unnecessary touches and Semi isn’t that much of a prick. At first, it takes a few weeks of extreme adjustment because Semi is used to having Tendou all over him all the time. But he learns, and in no time, Shirabu also learns to tolerate the occasional flick on the forehead, or a few light shoves on his shoulders.

But even after two whole years, it’s still a challenge to Semi, if he’s being honest, because Semi finds comfort in the touch of his loved ones. And with Shirabu, there is only the stretch of limbs that embodies the word almost, longing stares and stolen glances, that most of the time Semi has to physically do something with his hands just to restrain himself from touching Shirabu.

Exactly like on this very fine day.

“So,” Semi says as he’s sprawled over the length of the couch, plucking the strings of his guitar. “Have you finally sworn off those shitty blind dates?”

Shirabu is sitting on the carpeted floor with his back to the couch, not sparing him even a glance. Semi has a perfect view of his laptop screen from here, half of it is a Word document of Shirabu’s medical essay, the other half displaying a medical journal spitting a lot of medical nonsense.

“As you can probably see now, I’m preoccupied.”

“That has never stopped you before.”

Semi sees Shirabu’s shoulder slump with a long sigh, before he quickly reaches over for Semi’s guitar, violently twisting whichever peg he can grab hold of. He retracts his hand before Semi has a chance to curse.

“Fucking hell!” Semi says as he tries to return the peg. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“I might consider if you stop being a pain in the ass.”

Semi turns the misplaced peg, carefully keeping his ear on the string. “How is asking about your blind dates being a pain in the ass?”

His B string is now back in tune, and Semi starts another intro.

“Not that,” Shirabu quips. “Your existence is.”

Semi laughs, his fingers strumming to Michael Jackson’s Beat It.

They don’t touch; not even when Semi is acutely aware of the heat where Shirabu’s head lightly grazes the side of his hip. For a few solid minutes, they’re just there, comfortable in each other’s personal space without so much as any real contact. Shirabu occasionally jumps in to hum along with the song.

“Seriously,” Semi says without pausing his fingerwork. “Did you really swear off your blind dates?”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s been a month, Bub. You don’t usually go without it this long. Couple of weeks, maybe, but a month is just weird.”

The song finishes, and Semi closes his eyes, joined hands resting on his guitar. The chatter from their TV fills in the silence of the room.

“I’m going out next Saturday,” Shirabu says.

“Ah. I see I spoke too soon.”

Semi feels the radiating heat leave his proximity and cracks open an eye. Shirabu is looking at him with that expression.

“You’re making a face,” Semi points.

Shirabu only further furrows his brows. “I’m not.”

“Are to. What’s wrong?”

Shirabu doesn’t answer, still with the expression .

Semi sets his guitar down on the floor, turning to his side to face Shirabu completely.

“Shirabu, as much of a pain in the ass that I am, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Shirabu looks away, pulling his knees up and hugging them. A gesture Semi is overly familiar with during the course of their volleyball days. Shirabu is nervous.

Semi feels a tug at the corners of his lips. Dang, it’s cute when Shirabu gets nervous about trivial stuff.

“Alright. Fine,” Semi says. “Don’t talk to me. Just let me know if you need a rescue team. I should have Saturday night free.”

“S’not a blind date,” Shirabu mumbles.

“What?”

Shirabu finally looks up to meet his eyes. “It’s not a blind date.”

Semi blinks. “Okay? Is this one of your group study sessions, then?”

A groan leaves Shirabu’s mouth before he buries his face in between his knees.

“Shirabu, you’re acting weird.”

Shirabu rests his chin on the crevice of his knees, and Semi doesn’t miss the way he fidgets with his own fingers. Semi counts his breaths; one, two, and then Shirabu starts to speak, looking anywhere but Semi’s face.

“There’s this guy I’ve been talking to.”

Semi nods. A silent permit.

“He’s, um,” Shirabu continues. “He’s in my year. We’ve been talking. And we’ve been seeing each other a lot?”

“Okay.”

“I asked him out yesterday.”

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

What?

If he hadn't already been lying down, Semi didn’t think his legs would hold up because he can pinpoint the exact moment his earth stops spinning.

“You what?”

“I asked him out on a date.”

So Semi’s ears are definitely not betraying him. He swallows.

“Did he say yes?” Semi asks despite his crumbling walls.

Shirabu nods, just once.

“So is he, like, your boyfriend now?”

“Kind of.”

Once, sometime last year, when they were on their way to pick Shirabu up from his blind date, Tendou Satori had asked a question that altered the whole chemistry of his brain.

If one day Shirabu finally finds the guy he’s looking for, what would you do?

That day, as he cruised the unforgiving streets of Tokyo, Semi had only laughed, because I don't think he’d ever find anyone worthy of a second date from that shit app, Satori.

From the passenger seat, Tendou said, it doesn’t have to be from these stupid dates, Semi-Semi. It could be anyone he knows from campus.

Semi didn’t answer him.

Eita, you can’t do this forever. Either you let him go, or you tell him about your feelings.

To this day, Semi has done neither.

Again, despite himself, Semi forces a smile, hoping that it comes out genuine and not as strained as the way his heartstrings feel. Besides, he doesn’t want Shirabu to see the cracks in his armor. It’s the best part of him, after all, and keeping himself together is the second best thing he does after music.

“Well, isn’t that great?” he says with a surprisingly light voice.

Shirabu’s brows scrunch in evident confusion. “It is?”

Semi nods before booping the tip of Shirabu’s nose.

“Means that I’ll soon be off rescue duties.” Semi replies before getting up from the couch, not sure about where to go. (Away from Shirabu’s gaze.)

From behind him, Shirabu snorts. “Don’t be stupid. You’re still in charge of picking me up from campus when it’s raining.”

“What?” Semi teases, his head frozen in a half turn. “Your boyfriend can’t do that?”

The couch pillow hits him square in the head with astonishing force.

—

As opposed to the sense of impending doom underneath Semi’s chest that’s sitting like a ticking time bomb, the days go on as maddeningly normally as usual, which honestly is kinda infuriating. 

Semi picks Shirabu up when their schedule allows it to, they have their usual convenience store stop, they eat dinner over some ancient c-drama on tv. The only defining factor is that a few times, Semi catches Shirabu smiling at his phone. (Which does not help Semi’s lingering feeling of always wanting to throw up for no reason. At all.)

Inevitably, the following week bleeds into nothing and Saturday looms in front of him like the dread of an execution day.

Semi turns on his blinker a few seconds before switching lanes.

“You know what’s funny?” Semi prompts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so nervous for a first date before.”

Shirabu, indeed, has not spoken a single word throughout the drive. If it were any other day, Semi wouldn’t have been concerned because Shirabu, by default, isn’t too much of a talker anyway. But Shirabu doesn’t bat a single godforsaken eye as some heavy metal blasts from the car speakers, which automatically flips all of Semi’s nerves to DEFCON 1 because Shirabu hates heavy metal, and when Shirabu doesn’t react to any moderate annoyance, it’s a wailing siren that something is terribly wrong.

But today is the global debut of that First Date™ featuring someone who is finally not from a shady dating app, and as much as he hates it, Semi understands where all the jitters are coming from. So Semi takes a deep breath, counts to five, and exhales, willing all his mental nuclear bombs to settle down.

“Do you think I’ll mess it up?” Shirabu asks, eyes set on the raindrop pattern on the window.

“Of course not. I mean, this isn’t a stranger, Shirabu.”

“It’s exactly because he’s not a stranger that I can't mess this whole thing up.”

Semi presses on the brake, and the car rolls to a gentle stop at their destination.

He turns around then, taking in Shirabu’s side profile from his seat. Shirabu is leaning on the headrest, and not in a relaxed manner. His jaw is tense, and Semi doesn’t miss the way he clenches his fist, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, and the way he’s constantly shifting on his seat.

“Shirabu.” Semi’s voice comes out a pitch lower than usual.

Shirabu turns, and against his own pounding heart, Semi offers a smile that he hopes is reassuring.

“You’ll be fine.”

There’s a long exhale, followed by a pattern of clenching and unclenching fist, before Semi sees a bob on Shirabu’s throat. “I like him,” he says, looking anywhere but at Semi.

Semi could feel the edges of his fortress threatening to crumble. But just like any other day, Semi keeps it together.

“Yeah, Bub. I can see that.”

The squeaking of Semi’s windshield wipers fills in the weighted silence; not an uncomfortable one, just one that is a little heavier. Shirabu heaves another sigh and glances up at Semi, looking visibly more composed.

“How do I look?” He asks.

“Come a little closer so I can judge you properly.”

Without a trace of hesitation, Shirabu leans forward.

Shirabu, obviously, puts some effort into his appearance. The scent of Shirabu’s signature warm citrus perfume makes its way into his nose, and Semi can see the way his complexion is smoothed over; also the way his wispy bangs fall perfectly into place. (Shirabu had ditched those terrible slanted bangs from high school, which Semi is glad for because Shirabu with wispy bangs is something straight out of his fever dreams. Chef’s kiss.)

His gaze lands on Shirabu’s lips. They’re tinted very subtly, just the right amount to make his whole face pop, and the gloss he puts over them should be a motherfucking crime because if he stares at it for another second longer, Semi is sure to commit a felony.

When he speaks, his voice is thick.

“You got your compact powder with you?” Semi asks, clearing his throat afterwards.

Shirabu reaches into his sling bag before placing the compact on Semi’s hand. He unclasps the lid, takes the puff, and begins to gently dab it on Shirabu’s cheeks. He feels Shirabu tense under his fingers.

“Relax. You went a little overboard with your blush,” Semi explains as he works his way over the apples of Shirabu’s cheeks. “I’m tuning it down a bit.”

It’s funny, the way his heart is breaking the speed limits of Tokyo streets at the sight of Shirabu’s face. He sees this face every fucking day. Has seen it since his second year of high school, in various kinds of distress, battered and bruised from training, alive and gleaming from post-match afterglow, puffy and utterly disheveled in the mornings when terms are rough. But it doesn’t fucking matter because Semi still has a hard time breathing just by looking at it.

If Shirabu notices the slight tremble of his hand, he doesn’t say.

“There you go.” The compact gives a low click when Semi closes it. “That way, all attention goes to the lips.”

He boops Shirabu’s chin, for dramatic flair, and Shirabu flicks his hand away

“Lavender looks good on you,” Semi says, gesturing at Shirabu’s cable-knit top. A genuine compliment.

Shirabu doesn’t smile when he replies, “I know.”

There’s movement from somewhere outside, and Semi glances at the overall direction of the cafe’s front door. At the sudden shift of Semi’s attention, Shirabu turns.

“Oh, he’s here,” he says.

A brown haired guy is standing near the entrance of his cafe, umbrella in one hand and scrolling through his phone with the other. He looks properly dressed for the occasion—Semi expected as much. He doesn’t seem to notice Semi’s car.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up?” Semi says.

Shirabu whips his head back around, looking royally pissed. “No, dad.”

“Do you need an umbrella? It’s–”

“No. For god’s sake, shut the fuck up. I’m not a middle schooler.”

There it is. When Semi smiles this time, the few pounds of deadweight on his chest falls away.

Shirabu shakes his head before looking at Semi in the eyes, the space between his brows forming a slight crease. His gaze holds something Semi can’t quite decipher. “You’ll be home when I get back?”

Semi nods. “I will.”

“Yahaba.”

“Huh?”

“His name is Yahaba.” There isn’t any undertone to Shirabu’s words. He’s simply stating a fact, like it’s something Semi should know. “I think he’s in STEM.”

Semi gives him a teasing smirk. “Go get him, tiger,” he says with a wink.

Shirabu rolls his eyes before getting out of the car, closing the door with a thud.

Semi watches as Shirabu comes up to the guy. They exchange a few words, and something heavy lodged in Semi’s throat.

He sees Shirabu reach for his hand, and Yahaba takes it, kissing it with the softest brush of his lips, and Semi’s heart wails in agony.

He didn’t want to believe it at first, but now that he’s seeing it, seeing them together, fingers intertwined with each other’s and sharing a fucking umbrella, the selfish part of Semi that lays dormant in the deepest trenches of his heart rages. 

Semi thinks that getting shot in the head is much more merciful.

Before they enter the cafe, Shirabu leaves one last glance at him. Semi stops breathing, and looks away immediately.

He bites his lips and blinks his headlights twice before rolling away from the curb.

It’s a miracle that he even makes it back to the parking lot of his apartment in one piece, and by then, the sky has turned into a dark twilight.

Semi kills the engine, and the stereo along with it, and the sudden absence of music makes the silence deafening. He drums his nails on the dashboard just for the extra auditory stimuli— to keep himself from losing his sanity.

Like every time his mind is on the brink of exploding, Semi counts. One two three four five. And again, one two three four five. He smooths his hair with his fingers and exhales. You’ll be okay, Eita. You always will be.

Well, Shirabu is now out of sight, and therefore, hopefully, at least for another few hours, out of his goddamn mind.

Another exhale. We're good, Eita.

Until he reaches for his phone in the cup holder and finds his fingers curling against a round object instead

When the realization dawns on him, his heart stops.

Semi fishes it and inspects the compact powder in his hand. Round and rose gold, plain without any decoration save for the brand logo. He sees his face on the reflective surface of the lid, and the tint of the metal makes his steel gray eyes look warmer, golden, and Semi imagines a different pair of eyes staring back at him, just as warm and much more golden– honey like.

Would Kenjirou be okay without his compact?

He turns the object around in his hand, spinning and fidgeting with it as he forces his mind to not think of its owner.

But in the silence of his car, the ringing in his head gets exponentially violent. His chest tightens, and he can’t hear the tapping of his fingers anymore, drowning in the sound of his own heartbeat. He sucks in a breath, and before anything escalates to something irreversible, Semi reignites his car and drives.

As soon as he speeds down the streets of Tokyo, the chokehold around his whole body falls away. Semi drops his shoulders and releases the tension in his jaws, reclining a little in his seat.

It did a lot less than what Semi had hoped, because in no time, the tides come back stronger, and this time, they don’t stop. Semi doesn’t stop them. He can’t. Not this time.

He thinks about brown eyes and wispy bangs; he thinks of peeled oranges, of convenience store sushi, of lingering touches he wishes he could forget; of one last look before disappearing; of so many what ifs and what could have beens.

Semi feels the telltale of a tear in his eyes and veers towards the highway.

He doesn’t know where he’s going— he never does, not when he’s driving to clear his head. But he drives anyway, because driving is his catharsis and he needs it. Tendou says once that Semi needs to stop thinking, and maybe he’s right, so right now, navigating the empty inter-prefectural highway, he doesn’t. He keeps his foot on the gas as the twinkling lights of the capital waves him goodbye.

He hates that when he’s not thinking, he thinks about Shirabu. And when he thinks about Shirabu, he feels.

The avalanche doesn’t come until he has long passed the borders of Tokyo, staring ahead at the passing road dividers in an empty shell of the person he has been holding up to be. And it starts slow, the way storms usually do, and it builds and builds and builds until the edges of his vision blurs, until the dark of the suburban skies begins to close in on him, until the pulsing pain in his chest turns into something far more excruciating that Semi has to clutch on it, just to make sure that his heart is still beating beating beating even though it’s for the same person who left it in ruins.

The years of holding on chisels away the groundwork of his entire being; and now that he knows what he had lost, now that he knows what it feels to lose something; it would take a fucking miracle to survive the crash.

Semi swerves towards the nearest parking area before he’s able to drive himself into a literal crash. He slams on the brakes, not caring that he’s violating the designated parking spaces, and throws himself out of the car, ripping his glasses off his face. He lands on all fours, coughing and dry heaving into the asphalt as his floodgates run open.

Semi had never let himself cry like this. But just this once, he does; ocean wave blues of half a decade of yearning that he learns to cruise; that for as long as the tides call, would always try to submerge him. And Semi fights, gasping for air and aimlessly reaching for the void until one last ripple pulls him down, anchoring him into the bottom of the seabed, collecting barnacles with no sunlight to keep him company.

A strangled gasp escapes his lips, and Semi immediately slaps his hand over his mouth. Goddammit, it hurts. It fucking hurts and he can’t breathe, and if death finds him like this come morning, Semi wouldn’t give a shit. He’d welcome it.

When his head begins to spin, he crawls over and sits against his car, still gasping for air. He wishes he had a pack of cigarettes. He wishes he had his guitar. He wishes he had Shirabu.

It’s a losing battle, he knows. Maybe it’s time to forfeit.

Semi fumbles over his pockets, pulls out his phone and unlocks it from sheer reflex, and calls the number on the speed dial.

Tendou picks up on the second ring.

“Talk to me,” Semi whispers before Tendou has a chance to speak.

“Holy shit, what happened?”

Semi hiccups on his first inhale. “I—”

“Hey,” Tendou says, his voice gentle as the evening tide. “Listen to me. Eita, breathe.”

Semi closes his eyes and tries, biting his fist in a lousy attempt to stop choking on his tears. Tendou counts for him, and Semi follows along. One two three four five. And again, one two three four. He never makes it past five.

When Semi’s coughs subside, Tendou asks, “Do you want me to come over?”  

Semi shakes his head before remembering that Tendou can’t see him. “Can’t. I’m–a few miles before Fuji-Q. I think,” Semi gasps. “Not our usual–rest area.”

“You drove an hour in the fucking highway like this?”

“Jesus fuck, Satori, please.” Semi takes a shuddered breath. “Just talk to me.”

After a dramatic exhale, Tendou starts talking; about everything and nothing, about the Japanese National Volleyball Team, about his classes. At one point, he recites the full recipe for cherry cobblers and jokes about how it’s going to send Semi straight to his grave in multiple ways, and Semi holds on to it; holds onto the thin thread of Tendou’s voice anchoring him to reality.

“You good?” He asks when Semi has been quiet for too long.

Semi wipes his face before putting on his glasses. “Yeah.”

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

He lets out a resigned breath. “Stupid heartbreak.”

The son of a bitch asshole has the audacity to snort. “What are you, a highschooler?”

But Semi smiles anyway. “I wish. Man, I miss Wakatoshi,” he says before pushing himself up on his feet, leaning on his car for support.

“So, what are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know,” Semi admits as he sits himself in his car, closing the door beside him. He feels a lot lighter, despite the tightness in his eyes and the dirt on his clothes. He sighs. “I swear to god, Satori, I don’t know.”

“Come over and spend the night.”

Semi purses his lips in lieu of an answer, contemplating. He really does need an escape, but he’d told Shirabu he’d be home when he gets back. Then again, for obvious reasons, Semi really, really doesn’t want to see Shirabu. He groans, suddenly feeling oddly guilty.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to see Kenjirou for the time being.”

Sometimes, it’s like Tendou has telepathic access to the inside of his skull. Creepy, but it has proven to be as useful as it is annoying. So Semi laughs it off.

“Get the fuck out of my head, Satori.”

“Well? Get your miserable ass over here so we can talk.”

Semi huffs out a chuckle. “Be right there,” he says as he revs up the engine. Once the line is hooked to his speakers, he shoots a quick text to Shirabu.

“You good to drive?”

Semi switches his gear and backs his car up. “Honestly, I’m gonna need Advil when I arrive.”

“You’re free to raid my place. In the meantime, I’ll talk your ears off. Gotta squeeze as much headache into that highly academic brain of yours, y’know? So you’d make the most of your Advil.”

Semi makes a face. “What the hell kind of logic is that?”

“I don’t know, Semi-Semi. I’m an art student, I don’t do logic. You tell me.”

Leave it to Tendou to stay true to his words. An hour and a half goes by in a blink and a blur of his anecdotes. (And a surprising decline of Semi’s headache.)

Semi doesn’t get the chance to knock when Tendou’s door swings open, and he’s immediately engulfed in a bear hug.

“You look like shit,” Tendou greets.

“I deadass feel like one.” Semi’s voice is muffled from the fabric of Tendou’s hoodie. He still hates the way Tendou has almost a whole head over him.

“Also, you’re disgusting. Have you been rolling around on asphalt?” He says, face twisted in an accusatory manner as he holds Semi at arm’s length, inspecting the suspicious dark stains on his t-shirt.

Semi thinks back on the way he dramatically threw himself off the car and does a mental facepalm. “No?” He lies; to no avail, apparently, because judging from the look on Tendou’s face, he might as well have just said yes.

“Dumbfuck. I’ll get you something cleaner.” He leaves the door open for Semi to follow and disappears behind his bedroom.

Semi crashes himself on the corduroy couch, facedown, and is immediately impressed that he doesn’t escalate into a nonstop fit of sneezing.

“I didn’t hear you vacuum over the phone earlier,” Semi says, turning his body over just in time Tendou emerges from his room carrying a set of clean clothes and a towel.

“I told you, years of being roommates with you changed my whole cleaning habit. I get antsy if this place hasn’t been vacuumed in a week, so rest assured that it’s always impeccably clean,” he says before throwing the hunk of fabric on Semi. “You’re welcome to shower. All my products are hypoallergenic and safe for babies.”

Semi swings the towel over his shoulder and pulls himself up into a seat. “I’m not a baby.”

“No, but you’re a hassle. And I’m saying that in the most endearing way . Now get off my couch before you get dirt all over it.”

With a roll of his eyes, Semi makes his way into the bathroom.

The cold shower is a nice distraction, and Tendou’s products really are hypoallergenic that Semi almost laughs. He finishes quickly, and when he steps out, now clean and smelling delightfully of peppermint, he finds a strip of Advil and a glass of water on the coffee table.

“I don’t think I need that anymore,” Semi says, but he does take the glass of water and chugs it down like there’s no tomorrow.

“Better prepared than sorry,” Tendou’s voice resonates from the kitchen. He comes into the living room carrying a plate of something and a jug of more water. “Here,” he says, handing the plate to Semi. “Usually, it has the same effect as Advils.”

Semi squints at the dessert on the plate. “What is it?”

“Tiramisu. Relax, it’s the one I usually make. Dairy free.”

He stares at the plate, processing the situation through the haze of his head, before finally accepting it with a newfound warmth in his chest.

“How the hell do you suddenly have tiramisu?”

“You think I’ll stop stocking up on your favorite desserts because we don’t live together anymore? That’s offensive, Semi-Semi. What do you take me for?” Tendou says before placing the jug of water on the coffee table. “Besides, the theater kids love your version of the tiramisu so much, I'm taking pre-orders now. So I always have tiramisu in my fridge.”

When the cloud-like coldness melts in his tongue, Semi lets out a small laugh. It’s been too long since Semi had tiramisu, and the sentiment almost makes him break down in tears.

Tendou left to grab his iPad to finish his assignment, and when he returns, occupying the other side of the couch, he tells Semi that he can have as much tiramisu as he wants. (So he does.)

When Semi comes back from his third (and last) raid of the refrigerator, Tendou is nowhere in sight. So Semi, merrily sipping on his soy milk, kills the light in the living room and proceeds to make himself comfortable in Tendou’s room.

It’s nice to have this routine back, Semi laying on his stomach on the queen sized bed scrolling away on his phone while the owner of said bed is up on his monstrous PC doing whatever it is that animation students do. Vintage punk rock from Tendou’s playlist fills in the silence, and Semi didn’t realize how much he misses physically having Tendou around until now.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Tendou asks, still busy clicking away on his computer.

Semi swallows a gulp of milk before answering. “Kenjirou got a boyfriend and I dropped him off on their first date.” Curt, quick, like ripping off a band-aid.

“No way,” Tendou blurts out. Semi doesn’t look away from his phone, but he can feel Tendou’s eyes on him. “Who?”

“Yahaba.”

“Don’t know him.”

“Me neither. Kenji says he’s in STEM but I guess he’s not in my dept.”

“And you dropped Kenjirou off for his date?”

Semi speaks through the milk straw from between his teeth. “Mm-hm. But I do that all the time.”

“For those shitty-app dates. This is a real date, Eita. Sheesh, talk about being a masochist.”

Semi snorts. “I know, right?”

He sucks the air out of his milk carton, creating annoying slurpy noises before letting it go with a pop.

“I waited until they went inside the cafe,” he continues. “I… watched them hold hands.”

He hears Tendou suck in a sharp breath. “You know, I think being skinned alive would have hurt a lot less.”

“Believe me, I had similar thoughts.” Semi places the empty milk carton and his glasses on the nightstand.

It takes Semi a few seconds too long to realize the clicking has stopped, and when he does, he turns his head to find Tendou leaning back on his chair already staring at him.

“What?” Semi asks.

Tendou scrunches his brows before proceeding. “Can I ask you something?”

“You never asked for permission to ask me anything before.”

Tendou ignores him. “Why don’t you ever want to tell Kenjirou how you feel?”

Semi rolls his eyes and turns away back towards his Twitter feed.

“I’m not trying to nag you this time, trust me,” Tendou adds. “It’s an honest question.”

Semi only hums.

“Is it because you think it’s unrequited?” Tendou continues. “But how would you know if it’s unrequited if you’ve never even asked?”

Semi clicks his tongue, eyes glued on a cat video.

“I just don’t get it,” Tendou says. “I don’t really see the problem with you guys getting together. I mean, Kenjirou looks like he—”

“Because, Satori,” Semi says, locking his phone and slamming it to the bed with more force than necessary. “He’s too good to be true.”

“Yes, I understand that he’s pretty, especially without that annoying slanted bangs—”

“No, you don’t understand.”

Tendou tilts his head in apparent confusion. So he really doesn’t understand. Semi stifles a groan and sits himself up on the bed, cross-legged, facing Tendou.

“When Kenjirou first moved in, I spiraled into one of my severe allergies,” Semi says. “I was taken to the hospital after a shot of EpiPen.”

Tendou straightens up on his seat so fast, Semi worries he broke a spine. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Yeah, sorry. I think I forgot.” Semi really is sorry, but he shakes his head. This isn’t the time. “Point is, do you know the first thing he did when we got back home?”

Tendou doesn’t answer. He’s only looking at Semi, his mouth pressed into a hard line. The hair falling over his eyes makes his gaze a lot more intense. Semi wouldn’t have been able to hold them if he had been wearing his glasses.

“He sat me down on the couch and demanded a whole lecture on every single thing that I’m allergic to. He made me teach him how to use an EpiPen, and asked if he could carry one in his bag. He took notes, literally, in that annoying glittery notebook of his, and until this very day, he keeps our pantry completely non-allergenic and dairy free.”

Semi pauses, and lets out a humorless laugh as the images of Shirabu fussing over him comes to mind, before continuing.

“He spoon-feeds me when he knows I haven’t eaten but can’t leave my laptop screen. He peels and cuts all my fruits, can you believe it? And he even keeps a tab on the expiry dates on every strip of medicine in our first aid box– which is mostly mine!”

When he realizes how it sounded out loud, Semi makes a face.

“God, that made him sound like a complete maniac, but that’s not what I meant.” Semi sighs and massages the bridge of his nose before rubbing his whole face. He’s starting to regret not taking the Advil earlier. “Not even you went that far, Satori. And we were roommates since highschool first year.”

Semi looks away towards the pattern of Tendou’s blanket and traces the spirals with his index finger.

“Eita?”

There’s this voice that Tendou uses when he’s being serious. It’s lower, a little breathier, with a more prominent rumble beneath it. It’s gentle, but the hairs on Semi’s arms stand up anyway.

“Do you know what that sounded like to me?” Tendou asks.

Semi dares himself to look up, grateful for his blurry vision acting as a buffer. “What?”

“Love.” Simple, honest. A fact. Tendou isn’t teasing. “Eita, that sounded like he loves you.”

Semi shakes his head. “It’s just the way Kenjirou is. He takes care of everyone. He’s always been the one taking care of the team.”

This time, Tendou startles him by letting out a frustrated groan. “God motherfucker , do I need to wipe your eyes with a fucking Windex? I can’t understand why the hell you’re so blind.”

“Okay, fine,” Semi snaps. “Yes. Maybe he does love me. Maybe he does care. It’s a fucking Schrodinger’s cat, for fuck’s sake. He cares and he doesn't. And okay yes, I won’t fucking know unless I open the box. And I don’t wanna open it. I’m a coward. Because do you know what my problem is?”

Semi keeps a laser sharp gaze on Tendou.

“I have never, ever been loved like that before,” he says, raising his voice a notch up. “Not by my parents, not by Alisa, heck, not even by you. We fought because of me a dozen times over, Satori. I know you get sick of me at times, don’t fucking lie! And I get it. I get that I’m a fucking handful. I get that I’m a fuck-up who only knows how to ruin his life and the lives of everyone else; who can’t even keep his—”

Semi doesn’t see Tendou move until his fist lands on the side of his mouth. The impact sends him staggering backwards, and when Semi’s head finally catches up with the situation, Semi looks at Tendou with absolute bewilderment. It doesn’t hurt as much as it shocks the living light out of him.

“What the heck was that for?” When he speaks, he tastes blood.

“Are you done?”

Why the hell is Tendou so infuriatingly calm?

Semi lunges forward and backhands him across the cheek. Tendou retaliates as quickly as Semi moves, and he manages to grab both Semi’s hands with incredible finesse and strength. Jesus, Semi hates that Tendou is generally bigger than him. In three seconds flat, Tendou has him pinned to the bed, completely restrained. Semi tries to wriggle away, but Tendou is fucking straddling his whole body.

“Get off!” He yells.

“Calm down,” Tendou says as he pushes both of Semi’s arms above his head, now holding them by the wrist with one hand. Semi pulls his arms, but Tendou’s death grip didn’t so much as budge. Semi groans.

“Get the fuck off me, you motherfucking bastard.”

“Not until you get your damn sense back.”

“Shut the f— mm!”

Tendou covers Semi’s mouth with his free hand. “Listen— ”

Semi shakes his head to the side and, when Tendou’s grip comes loose, bites whatever finger he can chew on. Tendou yelps, quickly retracting his hand away from Semi.

“I’m not listening to any of your— ow!”

The sudden pain on his ear shoots up all the way to his spine, and Tendou really does know exactly how to twist it so that it hurts like a fucking bitch.

“Listen to me, asshole.” Tendou’s eyes are like daggers. Semi can feel the rage dripping off his gritted teeth. “I did not save your goddamn life to hear you talk out of your fucking ass!”

Semi stops grappling. In between his ragged breathing, he looks— really looks this time—at the face staring down at him, at the glint in those familiar auburn irises half hidden behind blood-red hair falling around his face. Something crawls up Semi’s throat then; fear, guilt, shame, epiphany—everything in between, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Tendou lets go of Semi’s ear, practically almost throwing his hand, and Semi lets the weight of his words sink in. He swallows. 

“Satori–”

“You are not a burden!” Tendou is yelling now. He never yells, not even when he’s being a menace. “You are not a fuck-up. You were eighteen, and eighteen-year-olds do a lot of stupid things, but that does not define who you are as a person.”

Semi opens his mouth to say something, but Tendou isn’t letting him.

“Yes, you were reckless. You took everything too far. And we fought over it every other day. But it’s worth it. Eita, you’re worth it. You’re worth every fight we’ve ever had. You’re worth saving, you’re worth every single one of my therapy sessions. You’re worth it.”

Something flashes in Tendou’s eyes, and it changes the whole intensity of them; it’s brighter, like he’s holding back tears. Panic surges in Semi’s veins because the last time he saw Tendou cry was— let’s just say that it’s a day neither of them wants to remember. But just as quickly, Tendou shuts his eyes tight, and when he opens them, they soften; along with the grip on Semi’s wrist.

“So don’t you dare,” he continues . “Spit all that bullshit about not being loved enough, because I did. I loved you. Obviously not in the romantic way but I love you regardless, and don’t you fucking dare act like I didn’t. Do not talk shit about yourself like it doesn’t matter, like you don’t matter. Because you do.”

When Tendou finally stops speaking, both of them are out of breath. Semi is stone cold staring at his best friend, replaying his words over and over until it loses its voice; until it no longer feels like an explosion, until it feels like something that stays as a permanent mark in the depths of his mind— the way it should have been since long ago.

Tendou heaves one last sigh before retracting his hand. He glances at Semi’s lips, and he seems to realize the position they’re in because he quickly jumps off Semi like he’s on fire.

“Satori—”

“I’ll get my first-aid kit,” he says before leaving the room.

Semi is left alone in the gray-walled room with the same punk rock playlist wafting through the computer. It sounds distant now, somehow, like Semi is listening to it from another room entirely. He brings his hands up, and Tendou’s fingers branded themselves in angry red marks around his wrists. He hears his voice again in his head— like a soft wind, and Semi stares at the stains on the ceiling as he takes his time to collect himself.

He hears running water from the distance and Semi wonders what in the whole damn world is taking Tendou so long. He licks the drying blood off his lips for the lack of better things to do.

Tendou returns carrying a black pouch and an ice pack, hair slicked back from his face with water. He isn’t smiling when he sits himself across Semi and works himself through the kit.

“Stop licking the cut,” he says, folding a sheet of gauze in half. “You’re gonna get germs all over it.”

“It tastes like my guitar strings,” Semi says as he pushes himself up to a sitting position.

“Dude, I’m not even gonna ask how the fuck you know what your guitar strings taste like.” Tendou tilts Semi’s head up by the chin before gently patting the cut with antiseptic. Semi closes his eyes, and the familiar scent of povidone iodine wafts through his nostrils. The gauze is rough, cool to the touch.

“I’m sorry,” Semi says when he doesn’t feel the fabric on his skin anymore.

“Save it. It’s almost two years ago.”

Semi shakes his head before opening his eyes. “Not that. I’m sorry I slapped you,” he says. “And bit your hand.”

“Oh.” Tendou looks away as he zips the pouch. “Yeah. Me too. I was aiming for your jaw but you moved.”

Semi releases a soft chuckle. “I guess I kinda needed that.”

Tendou adjusts his seat and crosses his arms on his chest, the long sleeves of his t-shirt covering Semi’s bite marks on his hand. “Does it still hurt?”

“No, but it’s damn well gonna bruise.”

Tendou drops the ice pack on Semi’s lap. “Don’t fucking lick the antiseptic,” he says before getting up from the bed.

Semi takes both the pack and his words for them.

When he settles back down on the pillow, Tendou switches off the lights and pulls the blanket over the two of them.

“To answer your question,” Semi prompts as they lay among the quietness of the midnight hour. “On a more serious note, I think I’m just scared.”

It takes Tendou a few seconds to answer. “Of what?”

“Of Kenjirou leaving. I’d rather have Kenjirou like this than not at all.”

“What makes you think he’s gonna leave?” The tone is light, the one he usually uses when Semi is being a ridiculous boghead. Semi doesn’t answer.

He stares at the blurry outline of Tendou’s wardrobe, the darkness making his eyesight shittier than it already is. A piece of sleeve is sticking out of the cracks in between the door. Semi wonders if Tendou still hates folding his laundry.

“Eita?” Fuck. Please don’t use that voice again. “Kenjirou doesn’t know about what happened that night, does he?”

Semi reflexively does a facepalm. He really wishes Tendou didn’t know him that well. Seriously, it’s getting annoying.

He feels the bed shift next to him. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

“Because I don’t want to lose him! Don’t you get it?”

If Semi is to cry now, it’s because of the excruciating mental fatigue. He has had enough emotional rollercoasters for the day.

“I can't let him see every single part of me just for him to eventually leave, Satori.”

Semi feels the tightness in his chest threatening to suffocate him. No, not again. The heat in his eyes rolls down the side of his face, and blinks, trying to will them away.

“If I lay down all my cards on the table and he decides to leave anyway, I—” He chokes on his tears, letting out a fit of painful coughs.

But now he has a boyfriend, and holy shit, it fucking hurts.  Semi can't bring himself to say it, because saying it means admitting that it's true.

Goddammit, why does this have to hurt this much? Why does it hurt so much just by thinking about it? It didn’t hurt this much when he got replaced from being the starting setter. It didn’t hurt this much when his pet turtle died. Semi doesn’t want to think about it, but he does. Fuck it, it hurts. It’s going to break him in ways he doesn’t want to think about. It hurts. He doesn’t want to think about it. It hurts it hurts it hurts.

He feels Tendou’s hand around his wrist, and suddenly, Semi is being pulled into his best friend’s chest, the same hand that had punched him is now caressing his head in the gentlest ways.

“Breathe,” Tendou says into the strands of his hair. “One, two, three, four. There we go.”

One two three four five six seven. Semi exhales. One two three four five six seven; he makes it to eight this time.

It feels like forever when Semi’s breathing finally finds a more reasonable pattern to settle in, and when it does, he focuses on the beat of Tendou’s heart and the fingers playing with the various piercings on his ear.

“So, now what?” Tendou asks, the vibration from his chest amplifying his voice. Semi adjusts the position of his head.

“Now I let him go,” Semi answers simply.

“For good?”

Semi shrugs, but then, “Is it weird that I don’t want Kenjirou to break up?”

He feels Tendou shake his head. “They say that the highest form of love is the act of letting go.”

“I thought it was grief.”

“I think it’s synergic. You can’t let go of people without feeling some sort of grief.”

Semi tilts his head upwards, although he can’t really see Tendou’s face anyway. “Aren’t you supposed to be aro-ace? Why are you suddenly a love expert?”

Tendou tugs on one of his lobe studs. Semi yelps. “Being aro-ace does not make me a fucking airhead.”

Semi rolls his eyes and wishes Tendou could have seen it.

“You do realize that sooner or later, you’re gonna need to tell him about all the shit you went through in freshman year, don’t you? Love confession or no love confession,” Tendou says.

“I know. I’ll work on it.”

The slow tunes of Tendou’s humming puts Semi in a steadier state, and Semi dares himself to finally close his eyes.

“When he breaks up,” Tendou says. “What are you gonna do?”

Semi shrugs. “Try again? Assuming there’s still a place for me somewhere. Assuming he’d even break up.” There’s an awful lot of assumptions going on.

“I have a feeling they’ll break up. I don’t know why, but I’m not sure they’ll last that long.”

“Well, I hope they don’t break up, for Yahaba’s sake. I know I’ll lose my shit if I ever see Kenjirou cry.”

“They will. Trust me.” 

There’s something about Tendou’s intuition usually being right, and if circumstances were different, Semi wouldn’t question it. But tonight, he shakes it off, not daring himself to hope

Tendou scratches the nape of his neck, and Semi sighs in pure bliss.

“Eita,” Tendou says in the gentlest tone of his voice. “Don’t throw away your shot.”

Semi knits his brows. “Did you just fucking quoted Hamilton at me?”

Semi feels the reverberation in Tendou’s chest as he laughs. “I thought it was neat. Besides, I’m serious. I don’t think you should give up just yet.”

Semi sighs. “If the time comes, maybe I’ll ask him out on a date. Maybe.”

He hears Tendou click his tongue. “Honestly, a hand in marriage would be preferred, Semi-Semi.”

“Another word from you and I swear to god I’ll throw you out the fucking window.”

Tendou kicks him to the other side of the bed. “Go to sleep. I’ve had enough of you.”

“Well, goodnight to you too, asshat.”

Semi lies awake, bright-eyed and blinking at the darkness of the room thinking about what happened in the past hour. 

He thinks of the way Tendou talks to him during his meltdown. He thinks of the softness of Tendou’s t-shirt on his torso. He thinks of dairy-free tiramisu and a strip of advil.

Don't spit all that bullshit about not being loved enough.

The question now, has he returned the amount of love he is given? 

And then he thinks about Shirabu, home alone and possibly annoyed to the brim because Semi left after promising to be there when he gets back. He thinks about the medicine cabinet that’s always stocked up and updated. He thinks of hand-fed chinese takeouts and peeled oranges.

Has Semi loved Shirabu enough?

He turns around to his side and closes his eyes.

(He wakes up to Tendou hogging the blanket, exactly the way he used to, and yanks it back towards his side of the bed. Old habits die hard, if they even die at all.)

*

Interestingly, it doesn’t hurt as much as Semi thought it would.

It doesn’t really affect his dynamics with Shirabu that much. They still annoy the shit out of each other, they still prepare each other’s breakfast; hell, they even bicker on what color should the new beanbag be. (Shirabu wants beige, Semi wants neon green. They ended up getting beige because Semi isn’t gonna damn argue with those pretty brown eyes. Whatever you say, Bub.)

There is a lingering dull throb in Semi’s chest, but that’s really just about it. Semi doesn’t wince when he hears Shirabu’s voice answering a call from Yahaba. He doesn’t scream when Shirabu says he’ll be walking home without him. He doesn’t writhe in pain every time Shirabu smiles at his phone.

And Shirabu really is happier. Shirabu is, by default, not the most animated person on earth, but Semi knows exactly where to look, so he sees the little springs in his steps; or the way he laughs a little more often, a little more unrestrained. On his better days, Semi’s heart fills with warmth at the sight of it.

Of course, some days are harder. Some days, Semi closes his bedroom door and cries himself to sleep. Other days, he goes out for a drive around Tokyo burning the midnight oil (almost literally). Sometimes, it’s just a hell lot of fuck everything .

Tendou checks in on him regularly. Sometimes ringing him up for a call that lasts until both their devices die, sometimes showing up on his doorstep unannounced with a tray of whatever non-allergenic and dairy-free dessert he baked. One time, he even manages to smuggle Semi into the theater which, much to Semi’s own amusement, turned out to be one of the best experiences throughout his college life because apparently, the theater kids adore him.

(You’re the tiramisu guy.

You play the piano? Sweet!

So Tendou-san wasn’t exaggerating, you really do sound amazing.

Semi-san, please audition for the theater club.)

The closest thing to a tipping point that he comes across is when he receives a single text from Shirabu, saying that he’ll be staying at Yahaba’s for the night.

Semi snatches his car keys and arrives at Tendou’s door in less than ten minutes, in which he just stares at the ceiling contemplating if he should move his ass to Australia and restart his whole life.

(Semi-Semi, letting go of someone isn’t something you can do overnight. It takes time—days, months, maybe years . Some days are gonna hurt so much more, and that’s okay because healing isn’t linear. But you’re gonna be okay.)

He cries again, but he tries again.

—

Shirabu:

what time r u gonna be home

Shirabu:

???

Semi:

idk im at the library doing homework

Shirabu:

>:(

Shirabu:

do u want dinner

Semi:

no thx

Shirabu:

ok im getting dinner 4 both of us

Semi Eita has notifications silenced

Semi places his phone face down before returning to his damn cursed bridge structure model and drags the screen in front of him, clicking away in certain places as he adjusts the cables of his earphones.

Two things he hates: the violin and civil engineering, and one of them happens to be the defining factor of his future. (Haha)

Semi remembers being bodily dragged by his mother for his violin lessons when he was eight. He remembers screaming and crying his lungs out, not caring that he’s making a scene, and he remembers the dreadful hour he spent with his tutor biting his lips and holding back hiccups. Once, he even tried breaking his bow in half, which only resulted in his mother violently twisting his ears and him being grounded for an entire month.

(He winces at the memory because it brings him back to a more recent and equally unpleasant ear twisting incident involving his best friend. A shudder washes through him, and he wonders if Tendou learned that trick from his mom.)

Going through his college homework is exactly like that, only this time, it’s him mentally dragging himself through the mountain of assignments when all he wanted to do was blast the hell out of his electric guitar; it’s him kicking himself in the ass to submit everything before the deadline. The only good thing about it is that his ear remains intact.

(In his defense, Semi only found out he hates engineering when he started going to uni. Again, he wonders if Australia has better food than Japan)

Semi goes through his calculations for the second time, meticulously checking every single one of them and making sure he did them correctly before he’s able to send himself straight into hell like he did on his last assignment.

He’s in a nice mental state; tranquil, unbothered, moisturized, obviously not happy but he is in his lane, extremely focused and flourishing, and his chest swells at a glimmer of hope that he can finish this earlier than he planned.

That all ends when Semi hears obnoxiously loud moans.

He makes a face in the general direction of the sinful noises. He’s alone in the working space and, concluding that he isn’t in any immediate threat, returns to his screen and cranks the volume of his music up. He should have brought his noise canceling headphones.

It works for a flimsy minute, until Semi’s natural short temper gets the better of him. 

He groans and yanks his earphone off, storming around towards the bookshelves ready for a fistfight, complete with a string of unleashed profanities at the tip of his tongue. Semi doesn’t care if some people would rather fuck like bunnies than do their schoolwork, he doesn’t care how loud they get during any of their sexual activities, but he does care about his grades and his sanity, because producing animal noises in the campus library should be a legal crime.

He staggers backwards like he has ben physically hit by a baseball bat, because there’s a literal guy getting a fucking blowjob behind the shelves.

The image is now at the top of his repugnance chart, and that’s saying something, considering he had seen Atsumu getting backshots in the parking lot. (Don’t ask.)

Bonus question: guess who the star of the show is.

“Sweet Jesus,” Semi curses, startling the dark-haired guy who’s on his knees, effectively making him jump to his feet. The recipient of said blowjob doesn’t falter, and Semi catches a flash of dick before it’s quickly (and mercifully) covered.

Semi really wants to bleach his retinas.

Yahaba looks up as he zips his fly and Semi can feel his outrage multiplying tenfold.

(Yeah. Him.)

“Dude, seriously?” Semi says, “In the fucking campus library?”

Yahaba raises an eyebrow before glancing over at the dark-haired guy.

“I’ll see you around,” the guy says before turning to leave.

Semi crosses his arms and leans a shoulder on the bookshelf.

“So what was that all about?” Semi shoots.

“Semi,” Yahaba greets, and Semi detects sarcasm in the double syllables of his own name.

“I don’t know how the hell you know my name,” Semi says. “We’re not even in the same department.”

Yahaba scoffs. “It’s hard not to when my own boyfriend never shuts up about you.”

Oh so he’s this kind of jackass. It takes all of Semi’s willpower to not roll his eyes.

“Alright, whatever. Just, I’m gonna ask you this, as fucking amiable as possible,” Semi takes a step forward. “What the heck are you doing?”

“Getting the best blowjob in my entire life, apparently,” Yahaba answers casually. “At least before I was interrupted.”

“You have a boyfriend, Yahaba.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

Wow.

Semi’s eyebrows shoot all the way up his head, and he feels the rage boiling hot underneath his skin. He can’t decide if Yahaba is an asshole or just a plain dumbass.

“Of course it’s a problem!” Semi whisper-shouts. “What if Shirabu finds out?”

“So? It’s not like we’re that serious.”

Again, fucking wow , because Yahaba says it the way he might brush off the dirt on his sleeves. Semi huffs out a humorless laugh out of sheer disbelief .

“You’re making it hard for me to not punch you, here,” he says.

Yahaba stands up straight. The extra inch he has on Semi is really adding to the fuel. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Right. Calm down, Eita.

Semi wipes his face before clenching his fist and stuffing them inside his pockets, letting out his anger in an exasperated sigh.

“Look,” Semi says, his voice dropping a few pitches. “Whatever circus you have going on here, please keep Shirabu out of it.”

“That’s rich coming from someone whose body count is off the charts,” Yahaba quips.

Jesus Christ, Semi wants to scream. Yahaba picks up the sudden shift of atmosphere like a hound, lips stretching to a wicked smirk. This guy, Semi thinks, out of all the people in this world, why does Shirabu have to end up with this guy?

Semi really, really wants to strangle him. There must be the chains of the devil holding Semi’s limbs back because there is no way in hell he would be able to do that by his own sheer will. He takes one step forward, turning up the already spine-chilling tension a few notches.

“I’m not going to fight you, Yahaba. Seriously,” he says. To his own surprise, his voice doesn’t have the same raging resentment as his chest. “I don’t give a single flying fuck about what you do, or what you’re gonna say about me.” Semi pauses for a second, releasing the rest of his anger through an exhale before continuing. “Just please, please keep Shirabu out of it.”

He turns around to pick up his stuff before leaving.

(Semi ignores Shirabu’s fussing when he comes home fuming, and locks himself inside his room.)

—

The next morning, Semi almost throws his phone out the window when his alarm blares. He blinks himself awake—

And notices the lovely scent of cinnamon roll breakfast muffins, fresh out of the oven. (Yes. He knows.)

It would have been enough to ease his foul mood, until he remembers two things at once: one, although the apartment smelling of baked goods used to be a common occurrence, he doesn’t live with Tendou for that to happen anymore; two, Shirabu never bakes on weekdays, especially weekday mornings. So he kicks his blanket off and makes a beeline towards the kitchen to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Shirabu yelps when he turns around from the stovetop, finding Semi hovering in the entrance. “The least you could do is make a noise!” He eyes Semi up and down before letting out a sigh. “That, and put on a damn shirt.”

Semi smirks. “What? Don’t let my tattoos distract you, Bub. You’ll burn your eggs.” The roughness of his morning voice ruins the teasing, but at least it still invokes an eye roll from Shirabu. He walks around the dining table and inspects the tray on the counter.

“Is this—”

“Cinnamon roll breakfast muffins,” Shirabu finishes. “It’s yours. I mean, it’s Tendou’s recipe, specifically altered to accommodate your well-being, so it’s yours.”

Semi blinks at Shirabu like he just grew ten horns because Semi may not understand jackshit about baking, but he lived long enough to know that any of Tendou’s recipes are not the easiest. “You baked this from scratch?”

“Yes.”

“It’s seven a.m.”

“And?”

“What time did you wake up?”

“Earlier than usual,” Shirabu answers.

Any form of displeasure Semi had for his upcoming day immediately vaporizes, because holy motherfucker Shirabu woke up long before sunrise to bake his favorite breakfast muffin from scratch, and it’s doing a shitload of things to his mental wellbeing. It’s so Shirabu, yet at the same time unexpected.

The mitten and the butter knife shoved into his hands shatters whatever daydream Semi is drifting off to. “Pluck them off the pan and see if I did it right,” Shirabu says. “Careful, it’s still hot.”

Semi doesn’t need to be told twice.

The muffins come off looking extremely gorgeous, and Semi breaks one in half before taking a bite. The familiar sweetness of it brings him back to his earlier uni days and Semi gets a sudden urge to cry; he doesn’t know from where— bliss, nostalgia, relief, heartbreak; maybe all of them at once.

Shirabu is looking at him expectantly.

“I’m honestly scared for my life,” Shirabu says.

Semi smiles before shaking his head. “They’re good. A little too crumbly, but I’m honestly not complaining. I think you overdid your mixing on the batter.”

Shirabu shrugs. “Alright. Maybe I’ll do better under more reasonable circumstances.”

“As in, not waking up at four on a Thursday? Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bubs, they’re still awesome.” Semi says as he walks over towards the stovetop where the eggs are cooking. “Besides, it took Satori about thirty tries to develop this recipe, so you’re good.” He grabs the spatula before flipping them, the crisp sizzle adding to the eventful morning.

From somewhere next to him, he hears the click of the kettle, followed by a clinking of mugs.

The minute hand on the clock moves exactly one number before Semi sets the eggs on the table. By then, the heavenly scent of cinnamon is almost entirely overwhelmed by coffee. Shirabu places Semi’s mug in front of him.

“Thanks,” he says in between bites of his muffin.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” Shirabu asks, unprompted.

The bitter taste in Semi’s mouth definitely isn’t from his coffee. He swallows a good mouthful of it in lieu of an answer.

“Is everything good?” Shirabu tries again.

The bottom of his mug releases a muted clack when Semi places it back on the table.

“Shirabu?”

Shirabu looks up from the eggs he’s trying to scoop, acknowledging Semi only with a raise of his eyebrows.

There’s a lot of things Semi wanted to ask him. A lot of things Semi wanted to know, and a lot of things Semi is too scared to find out. Things that might make it easier, or things that might just make Semi keep doing all the stupid shit he’s been doing.

“Are you happy?” The question flies out of Semi’s mouth before his brain can stop it.

Shirabu snorts before saying, “Is this a trick question?” When he sees the look on Semi’s face, any previous traces of teasing completely disappears.

Semi isn’t smiling, and the fifty shades of dark circles under his eyes are probably adding to it.

The overwhelming clusterfuck of emotions from the past month is taking a toll on him. Semi can’t bring himself to put on a facade; he doesn’t care if Shirabu sees right through him, because right now, Semi is just dead tired.

Smiling around Shirabu used to be easy, he wonders what changed.

Semi heaves a sigh. “No,” he says. “Are you happy?”

Shirabu shrugs. “Generally speaking, yeah. I mean, I have nothing to—”

“Does Yahaba make you happy?” It comes like a grenade, because Shirabu’s face flashes about fifteen different expressions at once.

Say yes. (Please, don’t say yes.)

Don’t throw away your shot, he hears Tendou’s voice in his head, but Semi might have just pulled the trigger and aimed at the sky.

“Yes.”

Semi gives a single nod. “Okay.” No, it fucking isn’t. Semi takes another bite of his muffin. It tastes like cardboard.

“Semi?”

“Hm?”

“Are you happy?”

The question almost makes him holler in demonic laughter.

“This isn’t about me, Bub,” he says, ruffling Shirabu’s hair before leaving for the shower.

—

The downfall of it all happens exactly one week later, when Shirabu barges inside Semi’s room without warning, yanking his shoulder and spinning Semi around in his desk chair away from his laptop screen.

“What did you say to Yahaba?”

The already persistent throbbing in Semi’s head spikes twicefold.

“What the hell, Shirabu?”

The sheer proximity makes the intensity of Shirabu’s expression so stark that Semi almost had a whiplash. Eyebrows scrunched, jaws set, hands balled into fists. His eyes are blazing, and Semi feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Semi has absolutely no idea what on earth is going on, and he wants to throw a bucket of ice water at Shirabu.

“What the fuck did you say to Yahaba, Semi?” Shirabu yells.

“I didn’t say a damn thing!” Semi shoots back, defensive from the way Shirabu is speaking to him.

“Then why the fuck is he complaining about you dragging him off to the back of the library trying to beat him to shit?”

Oh. That.

The onset of Semi’s impending rage washes away with his exhaled breath. He takes off his glasses and begins massaging the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not how it happened.”

“Yeah? Then what the fuck happened?”

Semi only looks at Shirabu, at the way his chest rises and falls in rapid speed, the way his eyes are glistening with tears threatening to spill. He thinks about last week, about the way Yahaba talks, about the way that dickhead didn’t feel an ounce of sorry for Shirabu, or his pathetic ass, the way Semi had prayed to God to spare Shirabu from this mess. 

Semi keeps his mouth shut.

“I thought so,” Shirabu says through gritted teeth before stomping out of Semi’s room.

“Shirabu,” he calls as he follows him out.

“I don’t know what the fuck is your problem but try to mind your own goddamn business next time.”

Semi blinks, incredulous. “I did not—”

“This is the kind of stunt Kawanishi might pull, but you?” Shirabu scoffs, before adding, “I expected better from you!”

“Shirabu,” Semi says, trying to keep his voice even. “Did Yahaba say something to you?”

“I said none of your fucking business!”

“It is if he’s shit talking me behind my back.”

“Well, what about you shit talking him in the first place?”

Semi groans, raking his hand through his hair. At this rate, his head is going to explode.

“I have no idea about what you’re saying, Shirabu. I swear.”

“Is this your way of getting back at me because you’re not good enough to find a dick warmer?” Shirabu says, eyes cutting through Semi, sharp as daggers.

Semi flinches, but he speaks anyway, his voice surprisingly calm. “I don’t know where that comes from, but it sure as hell doesn’t sound like you.”

Shirabu ignores him before turning away towards his room.

“Shirabu, he’s not how you think he is.”

“You have no right to tell me how I date—”

“I did not fucking tell you anything about how you date . Are you even listening to yourself? Jesus fuck, this is going nowhere.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be having this fight if you had shut that big mouth of yours and—”

Fuck it.

“I saw him getting blowjob at the library last week!”

Semi’s temper is dripping off the edge, and he doesn’t wait for Shirabu’s answer.

“He’s that jackass who puts his dick in everyone’s asses, Kenjirou,” Semi yells. “There. I said it.”

Shirabu’s mouth hangs open mid sentence. If Semi is composed, he would have seen the way Shirabu freezes, slowly withdrawing his hands to his chest, as if trying to keep himself together. He would have seen the way Shirabu blinks like Semi has just thrown a bomb in his garden. Whatever fuse Shirabu was about to blow is now doused, obvious in the way he no longer holds himself like he’s about to march into a battlefield.

But Semi is blinded, so he didn’t; even if he should have.

“You don’t fucking know him.” Shirabu’s voice is tight, but firm. He isn’t screaming anymore.

“Well? I saw him being sucked off by some guy in the fucking library!” Semi didn’t hear the way his voice booms against the silence of their complex. “ This is exactly why I didn’t tell you a goddamn thing. You would’ve gone batshit defending his ass!”

“You don’t know him!” 

“Fuck around and find out, then!”

It rings like a war cry, and Semi regrets it the second its echoes fade.

Then, he sees it. He sees Shirabu’s shoulders drop. He sees the flash of hurt, the waterworks falling down into the floorboards. It’s eerily quiet, the living room, Semi’s head, Shirabu’s tears. It’s loud, Semi’s raging pulse, his labored breath, his dread. Shirabu’s armors fall with a clang underneath their feet, and Semi is forced to see the damage he caused.

“Oh shit,” he whispers, reaching out for the man in front of him. “Shirabu—”

Shirabu chokes out a sob and slaps his hand over his mouth before dashing out of the apartment, leaving the door open behind him.

—

Just like every other time shit happens in his life, Semi calls Tendou.

“I had a fight with Kenjirou and he ran away and he turned his phone off and I don’t know where he is and I feel like throwing up,” he says in rapid-fire speed before Tendou has a chance to greet him.

Tendou is silent for a few seconds.

“Hello to you too, Semi-Semi. Did you ask Taichi?” He says just as Semi opens his mouth to scream.

He closes his mouth. “No?”

“You should. If there’s anyone else he trusts other than you, it’s Taichi.”

Semi chews on his lips.

It’s almost sunset now. It’s been exactly an hour since Shirabu left. It’s been an hour since Semi’s calls didn’t go through. It’s been an hour since Semi started pacing around the apartment like a madman.

And in the past hour, Semi curses himself over and over for his sheer stupidity. In the past hour, he’s been dry heaving and on the verge of hyperventilating from the amount of anxiety building up in his chest because Shirabu is out. He’s alone. He hasn’t eaten. He didn’t fucking bring his jacket. He’s alone. Where is he? Shit, it was such a dumb fight and he probably would never forgive Semi. He’s alone. It must be cold outside. Is he safe? He’s alone. Please come home.

“Hey,” Tendou’s voice cut through the cacophony of his thoughts. “I can hear the meltdown in your head, Eita. Get your shit together.”

Semi swallows. “Okay.”

“Kenjirou has enough common sense to not get himself in trouble, ‘kay? He’ll be fine. Just go and ask Taichi.”

“Okay.”

One two three four. Breathe.

“He’ll come home, Semi-Semi. You’ll be fine.”

Semi’s throat tightens. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

Semi clears his throat. “No, uh– I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Okay, then. Bye-bye Semi-Semi. Text me.”

The line goes dead and Semi takes a deep breath, counts to seven, and exhales. He falls into the couch and decides to give himself a few minutes to collect himself before making a call to Kawanishi.

Okay, Eita. You need to calm the fuck down.

Semi closes his eyes. In his head, he sings Frozen’s Let It Go, and by the time he’s able to hum along, the tension in his body disappears, only to be filled in by extreme exhaustion.

It’s then that Semi hears it. A distant rumble from somewhere above, and then, the soft pattering on his window. He shoots his eyes open.

“Shit,” he says as he jumps to tear the curtains open.

There’s droplets on his window. And it keeps coming. Fast.

“Holy shit.” Semi grabs Shirabu’s jacket from the coat hanger and flies out of the apartment, car key in hand.

By the time he leaves the parking space, it’s a full on downpour.

Semi has no fucking clue on where he’s going as he drives through campus ground. The roads are empty, it’s raining, and the streetlights around him look like oil painting smeared by a toddler because his chickenshit eyesight is good for absolutely nothing.

He slams a fist to his steering wheel and curses at the pain. Well, at least he deserves that. For yelling at Shirabu and for leaving his glasses behind.

He drives at a reasonable speed, because he’s still somewhat reasonable, and presses on the brake when the lights turn red.

Where the hell is Shirabu?

He mentally yells for his head to be quiet and think. Think, Eita, think. There’s the library, but the library isn’t a great place to go when you’re frustrated and crying (unless it’s because of a ten-page paper due in a few hours). Besides, Shirabu can’t enter because he didn’t have his student ID.

There are also parks. But Semi quickly swats that idea away because a) there’s a ridiculous amount of parks in this ancient campus ground, b) it’s raining; be real.

Could Shirabu have gone downtown? The sole thought of it makes his temple pulse because how the fuck is he going to find Shirabu in the whole of Tokyo?

The lights turn green and Semi drives.

He mentally sifts through every single possible place Shirabu could have gone as he squints through his eternally blurry vision at the sidewalk. There’s that coffee shop near Shirabu’s building where he usually gets his coffee. The cafe near the labs with his favorite breakfast bun. There’s the university housing. Off campus apartments.

The realization strikes him like lightning and Semi almost slams the brake.

Taichi.

He fumbles for his phone somewhere in the cup holder, only to be greeted by his own reflection on the fucking dead screen.

The devil really does work hard, and he’s hustling against Semi. He sighs against the deadweight returning to his chest.

Semi screams, because goddamn fuck.

He drives past the university housings at an agonizingly slow pace, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk for the slim chance he might catch sight of a familiar figure. When there’s only rain and the streetlights, he turns towards the campus buildings, to the park, to the places he knows a little too well, to find yet another empty pavement.

But Semi drives anyway, heart racing a million miles a minute with a string of prayers never once leaving his head. He takes another three rounds around STEM just in case, before heading towards the other side of campus grounds. School of Medicine, Shirabu’s home turf.

He doesn’t know what to expect when the white walled-building looms in front of him. He doesn’t expect to find Shirabu here. He doesn’t expect to find Shirabu. He hates this. He hates being helpless. If anything happens, Semi is never going to forgive himself. Please, God, don’t let anything happen. Semi feels the pinprick heat behind his eyelids, and he blinks. He blinks because he doesn’t want to cry. He doesn’t want to cry but his throat starts closing up again. His chest feels heavy. He’s spiraling.

He doesn’t move when the traffic lights turn green, so safe to say that it’s finally time to go home.

He takes a detour to that one place near the apartment with the best miso soup and dumplings; partly because Semi hasn’t eaten anything since this afternoon, partly because Shirabu loves the miso soup. It’s embedded in him to consider Shirabu in every single decision he makes; it’s a reflex, just like the way he breathes and the way he turns his steering wheel. God, he hates it. Semi can’t help but smile at it.

Semi kills the engine and glances at the passenger seat, at the baby blue athletic jacket strewn on it. He drapes it on before stepping out of the car.

He arrives home a little later with a bag of takeouts and a heavy heart, wearing Shirabu’s jacket and exhaustion on his back. He kicks the door close and ambles towards—

“Where the hell have you been?”

Semi nearly drops the takeout bag.

Shirabu is standing in the middle of their apartment, looking absolutely livid, without a single drop of rain on him.

“Kenjirou?” It comes as a half whisper.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for the last forty five minutes and none of my calls came through!” Shirabu yells.

For a few seconds, they’re just there, looking at each other, a hundred different questions in each of their faces. Semi blinks, and he exhales before he speaks.

“You forgot—”

“You left your fucking glasses!” Shirabu lifts the object in his hand, and Semi’s chest caves in on itself. Shirabu takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, and if Semi hadn’t been completely petrified, he would have run for his life.

“You were gone when I came back,” Shirabu says, jabbing a finger at Semi’s chest. “I knew you went for a drive because you always do that to get your steam off, but the door was unlocked and you left your glasses!”

Semi opens his mouth.

“I called everyone!” Shirabu’s voice climbs into a fever pitch. “Tendou, Taichi, Goshiki, Kuroo, the junior you called using my phone once. And none of them has any idea of where you are! Not even Tendou.”

“I–”

“It’s a fucking thunderstorm outside! You drove through the rain, in the dark, without your fucking glasses! What the hell were you thinking?”

You. I was only thinking about you and the things I said and it was raining and you left your jacket—

Something glistens in the corner of Shirabu’s eyes. When he blinks, it falls like raindrops on their window.

“I know you’re reckless , but this is something else.” It was no more than an exhale between sobs. “You could have died.”

Shirabu isn’t looking at him anymore, only slamming a weak fist on Semi’s chest, over and over and over again. Semi can hear the hitch in his breaths.

“You could have died, Eita. What the hell.” Shirabu’s voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and Semi’s heart cracks at the sound of it.

The hand in his chest is now laying flat, and Semi knows Shirabu can feel his racing heart. He can almost hear Shirabu’s racing mind.

Semi pulls him into a hug.

It could have been minutes, or hours or even years, but Semi holds him close, supporting half his weight and soaking the tears in his eyes. Shirabu is cold to the touch, he always is, and Semi hopes he’s warm enough for the both of them.

“I’m sorry,” he says against the strands of Shirabu’s hair.

For everything, he didn’t have to say. Shirabu hears it anyway.

Truce comes in the form of Shirabu’s arms slowly wrapping around his waist, pulling them closer against each other like their lives depend on it.

“Tadaima,” Semi whispers. I’m sorry.

When Shirabu speaks, the rage in his voice has long subdued.

“Okaeri.” I’m sorry.

(They eat in silence, and Shirabu retreats into his room almost immediately after. Semi leaves his door open.)

*

Everything changes since that night, and Semi wants to pluck the hairs off his own head.

They don’t talk. Unless exchanging exactly three words during breakfast counts as talking, Semi might as well be having a cat as a roommate. And that’s being generous, because even cats meow the fuck back.

It’s not like they’re really actively trying to avoid each other, it’s just that Shirabu doesn’t really come out of his room often, and when he does, he makes sure that he isn’t in Semi’s direct line of sight.

And it’s not like Semi isn’t trying to communicate—he swears to God he is. Semi keeps his door wide open. He texts Shirabu every so often. He makes small talk. He even brings home some of Shirabu’s favorite strawberry ice cream against his own well-being.

And so far, Shirabu hasn’t said anything longer than three words, or looked Semi in the eyes.

(Right. Maybe Shirabu is avoiding him. Go figure.)

But Shirabu is Shirabu, and Semi knows him better than the back of his hand, so Semi still sees the bags under his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, and the empty gazes that lasted a little too long.

Semi tries to understand. But a day turns into two, then three, then five, and Semi is just a guy with a very short temper and zero patience, so when Shirabu locks himself inside his room after class, Semi fucking waits.

He does his homework, makes a call to Yukie about their group project to end up doing it in tandem, abuses his electric guitar in the most reasonable volume, showers, ate a whole can of Pringles, and watches two episodes of k-drama, all while glancing at Shirabu’s door every fifteen minutes.

Semi’s tolerance is getting paper thin, frankly speaking. He knows Shirabu isn’t asleep from the strip of light under his door, and his feet itches to just kick it down and demand his answers.

But Semi is still somewhat rational, and Shirabu has been cooped up in there for hours, so Semi is sure that he’s bound to come out. He takes a deep breath, returns to his screen and bites the straw of the oat milk carton in his hand. Patience.

Not five minutes into the episode, the door creaks. Semi catches Shirabu’s gaze red handed.

Shirabu looks like he’s just seen a ghost.

Busted. The corners of Semi’s lips rise in a subtle smirk.

They indulge in a whole five seconds of staring contest before Shirabu breaks the spell.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he says. Five words. Semi takes that as a win.

Semi pauses his screen and shrugs before adjusting his glasses. “Medical k-dramas aren’t exactly giving me the luxury. You should try them. They’re awesome.”

“It’s just a lot of bullshit and glorification, Semi. It’s stupid.” A whole sentence. We’re getting there.

His milk carton gives an obnoxious slurp as Semi empties it. “ You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah. It’s fucking dark out.”

The bout of sarcasm doesn’t affect Semi in the slightest. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, setting his laptop aside.

“You hungry?” He asks.

“No.”

“Great,” Semi jumps up to his feet and stretches his arms up above his head. “Let’s go get burgers.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

Semi pointedly ignores him as he walks toward the TV stand where his car keys reside. “I’ll get my jacket. Don’t forget yours.”

“Are you fucking—”

He whips around so fast, steel gaze finding another pair of unrelenting bronze, and Shirabu immediately stops speaking. If he wants to be difficult, Semi can multiply that by ten. “Did I leave room for arguments?”

Shirabu sighs. “It’s almost one a.m., Semi.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“Stop being a pain in the—”

“Please?”

Shirabu’s face morphs from pure annoyance to surprised confusion in the span of ten milliseconds. Semi sighs before rubbing a hand over his face.

“Look,” he says as he massages the bridge of his nose under his glasses. “I promise I won’t drag you out for another midnight snack hunt if you don’t want to. But just this once. Please?”

Shirabu narrows his eyes, looking at Semi with that look he used to have when he’s on the court analyzing their opponents. It gives him chills, honestly, because Semi hasn’t been on the receiving end of that look for years. But he doesn’t waver; either because he’s tired, or because he’s desperate. Maybe both.

Shirabu groans, but when his eyes open, they stay on Semi. Softer this time.

“Okay,” he says.

Semi nods. “Get your jacket.”

—

Shirabu is quiet through the drive, and Semi tries to not think about it.

The past month is— weird , to put it in a word; considering the insurmountable amount of mental gymnastics (at least on Semi’s end) peppered with rapid shifts in the currents of their dynamic. The headache is beginning to brew underneath Semi’s temple and it feels a lot like catching up with jetlag.

And Semi has no idea what the fuck is going to happen next, because as much as they bicker, as much as they get on each other’s nerves, he and Shirabu has never once gotten into any serious falling out; not even that time during highschool.

So right now, Semi is trudging on uncharted territories, and he’d be lying if he says it doesn’t terrify him.

“So, uh,” Semi tries. “Is there anything you’d like to eat? Options are limited but I'm open for suggestions.”

“I’m not hungry,” Shirabu mumbles against the acoustic pop from the speakers.

“Shirabu, you haven’t been hungry in the past week.”

“Wow. Thank you for noticing.”

Semi only sighs before flipping his blinker on. 

“Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”

Semi hears a soft exhale of breath. “Burger’s fine.”

Resigned, Semi keeps his foot on the gas. They arrive at the burger joint in less than fifteen minutes.

The burger guy greets him over the intercom as he eases his car into a halt. Semi recites their order almost reflexively.

“Any drinks?” the guy adds when Semi finishes.

“One large vanill— mmph!” a hand slaps itself over Semi’s lips, effectively shutting him up.

“A large cola please,” Shirabu chimes from the passenger seat, shooting a glare at Semi.

Semi rolls his eyes.

“Anything else?”

“Nope. That’s all. Thanks,” Shirabu says before taking his hand off Semi’s mouth only to point a finger directly at his face.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Semi smirks. There we go. The knots in his chest loosen a little at Shirabu’s remark. It’s good to see him like this, the usual deadpan irritated sharp mouthed Shirabu. And Semi had missed him, not just in the past week after their falling out, but in the past month when Shirabu had been too preoccupied with his boyfriend.

He switches his gear to drive. “Close enough. Welcome back Shirabu Kenjirou.”

Semi pulls forward to pay and pick up before driving out back towards the streets of Tokyo, humming along to the lively tunes of Radiohead. 

The sound of crunching paper bags from the passenger seat weaves its way in between Semi’s voice, followed by a whiff of something fried. It’s a familiar scene from their everyday lives, driving around at night for a drive-thru and both of them being so impatient that they end up devouring their meal in the car. For a second, the clusterfuck of the past month completely slips away from Semi’s mind, and it’s like their regular drive-thru nights again.

They need to talk, and Semi knows that. But Semi is terrible with deep talk and Shirabu is so much worse, and both of them are just generally terrible at expressing themselves. But he knows he needs to do this, and he also knows that once they get back home, Shirabu would bury himself back under the blanket.

So Semi glances at the side mirror before veering towards the highway.

“Where are we going?” Shirabu asks when he realizes that they aren’t heading homeward, the string of fries between his fingers frozen in midair.

“You’ll see,” is Semi’s only reply before accelerating through the empty roads.

The digits on his dashboard screen reads 01:27, and Semi’s heart is beating out of his chest. He wills himself to calm down, glancing at the streetlights and signages for the sake of any distraction. From his rearview mirror, the glittering skyline of Tokyo inches smaller and smaller.

“Semi,” Shirabu says in a half whisper.

“Hm?”

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?”

Semi snorts. “Shirabu, I know we haven’t been the friendliest towards each other these past few days, but come on.”

“I mean, we’re speeding down the inter prefectural highway at an unreasonable hour. I have every right to be concerned.”

Semi rubs the leather surface of his steering wheel, settling his hands at six o’clock. Relax, Eita.  

“Just trust me,” he says.

It takes them a full round of a Queen hit album and full silence before Semi lifts his foot off the gas and the car begins losing speed. Semi takes the lane towards the rest area as casually as when he enters the burger joint.

“Wait, are we stopping?” Shirabu says. Somehow, the panic in his voice is even more prominent. “Why are we stopping?”

Semi shoots a quick glance at the passenger seat. “Are you seriously scared?”

Shirabu only purses his lips.

“Jesus,” Semi quips. “We live together for almost two fucking years. Do you think I’m capable of murder?” He backs up to one of the parking spots and rolls the car to a gentle stop. “Besides, we’re here.”

“A rest area?”

Semi nods before killing the engine and unclasping his seat belt. He reaches over for the paper bag on Shirabu’s lap and straightens the edge out with his fingers. “Now, do you want to eat in the car or do you want to get out?”

Shirabu looks at him like he just proposed a skydiving trip. “Get out, like, eat outside the car? Like a picnic?”

Semi shrugs. “Call it whatever you want.”

“Isn’t it kinda cold outside?”

“Fine,” Semi says before stepping out of the car, the chilly spring air hitting him smack on the face. The faint sound of Shirabu’s swearing tails him, followed by the door of the passenger seat opening and closing.

“Holy fuck ,” Shirabu says when he reaches Semi standing at the rear end of his car, visibly fuming. “Are you ever going to stop doing exactly what I tell you not to do?”

Semi turns.

“First of all, you’re not the fucking boss of me,” he says before placing a hand on the notch on his SUV trunk door. “Second,” he adds as he pulls on the latch. The door swings upward, revealing a decently spacious trunk littered with miscellaneous stuff. “It’s more comfortable back here. Thank me later.”

Shirabu only gapes as Semi tidies up the trinkets taking permanent residency in his car.

“I should have brought pillows and blankets,” Semi says when enough space has been cleared for the two of them to sit. “Also my guitar. Damn, I should keep at least one guitar in the car.”

He climbs on and makes himself comfortable, crossing his legs underneath him, facing the open world before patting the space next to him. Shirabu doesn’t follow, putting both hands on his hips instead, keeping an accusatory glare on Semi.

“What the hell is this all about?” He remarks.

Semi peers inside the paperbag before pulling its contents out. “If you ever wonder where I disappear to when I drive, it’s usually here.” He sets one neatly wrapped burger a bit further away, at the space where Shirabu is meant to sit, before taking his own out and begins unwrapping it. “I used to take Satori, back when we were still roommates. But I go alone nowadays.” 

From here, the rustling pine trees beyond the tiny grass plain look like something out of a child’s fairytale, illuminated only by the frail glow of the waxing crescent. Semi thinks of all the lonely days he spent here, and for some reason, something in the pit of his stomach hurts. He looks down at the smooth surface of his bun and shrugs before taking a bite. “Either way, consider this place as my hideout.”

Shirabu, after a few seconds of hesitation, gingerly follows his example.

“We’ve never done this,” he says after a few moments of silence.

Semi hears the unspoken part. Why haven’t you ever taken me here?

He takes his time to swallow before answering. “I didn’t think you were up for stuff like this, honestly.”

The rustle of wax paper carries itself from somewhere to his right, and Shirabu speaks again. “Why are we doing this now?” Why are you taking me now?

I’ve always wanted to take you here .

“Because,” Semi says instead, crumpling the burger wrapper in his hand before reaching into the paper bag for his second. “I thought you might need a little breather.”

They enjoy their food in silence, and Semi lets his thoughts stray off towards the days he used to do this every other weekend. It’s nostalgic, in a way, but there’s something about tonight that’s concurrently different from his past midnight drives. Not exclusively because of Shirabu, but it isn’t not because of him either.

This is new, and it feels a lot like new things do; like the first day of volleyball practice, the first class in uni, the first piano rehearsal. It’s new, but having Shirabu here doesn’t feel invasive. It’s unusual as much as it’s right– like Shirabu is meant to be here, in this secluded part of Semi’s life.

Semi tosses the ball of wrapper into the paperbag and gulps down his coke.

“Are the stars always this bright here?” Shirabu says

The unexpected initiation takes Semi by surprise. He turns his head at Shirabu before answering. “On clear nights like this, yes.” He mentally winces at his own sentence.

Shit, that was terrible. Semi could have said something that wouldn’t kill the fucking conversation.

Shirabu only hums before folding his wax paper up and dropping it in the paperbag.

“Do you have–”

Semi hooks a finger on the handle of the mini duffel bag he keeps in the car and drops it next to Shirabu’s leg.

“Baby wipes?” Semi finishes the question for him. “Everything you need is in there.”

Shirabu only looks at him with a mix of incredulity and awe before beginning to rummage through the pack. Semi cranes his head up to the sky, biting on his straw but quickly stops when he remembers that Shirabu will kill him for it.

There’s the sound of scrunching plastic, and from his peripheral, he sees Shirabu’s hand move. And then, the gentle pop of the water bottle being uncapped.

“I can’t believe you keep stuff like this in the car,” Shirabu points.

Semi puts his paper cup down. “Learned my lesson after that time you puked all over my backseat, Bub. So, I have you to thank for this.”

Shirabu throws his dirty wipes at Semi’s shoulder, which he picks up and throws into the paperbag with a laugh.

“C’mon,” Semi says before hopping off the car into the small grassy plain, the makeshift paper bag trash bin in one hand and a pack of cigarettes on the other.

The earth is cool to the touch. A little damp, but not enough to drench him. Semi sits, without a single fuck, and lights up a cigarette.

It’s a little too quiet out here, with only cicadas and the occasional wooshes of passing cars on the highway beyond them. Semi hates quiet; probably because he grew up in a family with a very prominent musical background, or because he used to spend most of his waking days with Tendou. Either way, he’s used to having constant background noises, and he finds comfort in it.

Also partly because when the world around him gets a little too quiet, his mind gets a little too loud.

Semi blows out a puff of smoke, and for the second time, regrets that he left his guitar back home.

“What are you thinking?” Shirabu asks, taking his place next to Semi.

Semi flicks the ash into the paper bag. “It’s quiet,” he says before placing the cigarette back between his lips.

“It’s nice,” Shirabu replies. His voice is gentle, all the usual sharp edges of his tone falling away. “I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“I know.” Again, Semi is taken aback by Shirabu’s admission. “You’re never comfortable if the place is too quiet.”

Semi takes a long drag before exhaling through his nose. “You notice.”

“We live together. It’s weirder if I don’t.”

Semi doesn’t answer, only keeping his eyes straight at the pine trees in the far front.

“It’s the first thing I noticed when I moved in, to be honest,” Shirabu adds. “That it’s never quiet when you’re around.”

Semi makes a face. Somehow, that sentence feels offensive. “Are you saying that I’m annoyingly loud?”

“No. Jesus.”

Semi gives Shirabu a pointed look, blowing a quick huff of cloud to the side.

“I’m saying,” Shirabu begins. “You’re— I don’t know. You’re like a walking musical, y’know what I mean? Something always sings when you’re around. Either it’s you, or your guitar, or your fingers drumming a rhythm, or something from your playlist. If that makes sense?”

It doesn’t, but it’s rare that Shirabu initiates all the talking. It has only happened a few times before, and one of them was when they were back in highschool, during the first few days Semi had lost his position as the starting setter.

Over the years, he learns that it’s Shirabu’s way of trying. So Semi nods anyway. 

He lies himself down on the grass, killing his cigarette along the way.

“I come here because it’s the only place where I can’t be found,” Semi reveals.

There’s a soft rustle from next to him, and Semi doesn’t need to turn around to know that Shirabu is lying next to him. A little closer than usual, but not in the way Semi doesn’t like.

“Understandable,” Shirabu replies. “If I can drive, I’d probably camp out here during finals week.”

Semi only stares at the constellation above him, not a single sound escaping his lips.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Again, Shirabu’s voice comes against Semi’s quietude.

“What?”

“Home.”

“Miyagi?”

Shirabu nods. “I used to sit on the roof of my parents’ house with my brother to count the stars, trying to identify different constellations with an old encyclopedia on our laps and a shitty flashlight in our hand.”

“Is that why you asked about the stars when we first arrived?”

Again, Shirabu gives him a single nod.

“It didn't occur to me until we arrived here that I hadn’t seen the stars since I moved to the city.” There’s a few heartbeats of silence before Shirabu continues. “And I realized that you can’t really see the stars from Tokyo.”

Semi was born in Tokyo, so most of his childhood memories consist of city lights and skyscrapers. But he spent enough time in Miyagi to appreciate its natural landscape, to stargaze at weird hours on the Shiratorizawa dormitory rooftop, to consider Miyagi home.

And Shirabu is right, they can’t really see the stars from Tokyo.

Something about it makes Semi wish he had grown up in Miyagi like the rest of his friends. Would he have learned more about the stars and the mysteries they hold then?

“I broke up.” Shirabu says, breaking his reverie. It comes out of nowhere, But Semi isn’t at all surprised.

Semi nods before replying, “I had a feeling.”

“Aren’t you going to tease me about it?”

Semi scrunches his nose in solid disgust at that. “Why the hell would I be teasing you about it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you were right.”

In a way, maybe he was. But Semi isn’t going to make this about him . It’s about Shirabu and everything he’s been feeling, and as much of a flimsy relationship that it was, he knows that to Shirabu, it meant something. It was more than just another page. Semi doesn’t care if he was right. 

Semi doesn’t answer.

From next to him, he hears Shirabu sigh. “I just,” he says, “I had wished you’d have told me about that ordeal in the library.”

“Would it make that much of a difference? I mean, would you have believed me?”

This time, it’s Shirabu who doesn’t answer.

“I guess Yahaba and I were bound to break anyway,” he says finally.

“I had hoped you didn’t, frankly speaking.” Semi lets out a sigh before continuing. “I had hoped he was different.”

Shirabu lets out an obnoxiously loud snort. “You expect me to believe that?”

Despite himself, Semi smirks. “I lied, okay? The reason why I didn’t tell you about the thing in the library was because I didn’t want you to get hurt, not because I thought it was pointless.”

This time, Shirabu giggles. Goddamn fuck, he’s giggling. “Fucking bullshit.”

“No! I mean it, I swear.”

“Quit trying to win my good side!”

“Hey, c’mon. You were happy. Don’t lie.” Semi holds up a hand when he feels another protest coming from Shirabu. “I saw how you were. You genuinely liked him. He wasn’t just another asshole you dated on a whim. I know he means something to you. At least for a while.”

Shirabu’s breath softens, and after a few seconds, he says, “Alright.”

Semi shrugs. “I guess I didn’t want to ruin it,” he says.

Shirabu hums, and they lapse into another round of silence. In the end, like most of their previous conversation in the past thirty minutes, Shirabu is the one to break it.

“You didn’t ask,” he says.

“About what?”

“About all this? About what happened that night we… y’know.”

Semi shakes his head.

He senses Shirabu shift from beside him before saying, “Why didn’t you?”

“I figured if you had wanted me to know, you would.”

“Well, I came to Yahaba’s place and found him with another guy riding the hell out of his dick.”

Semi jumps to a sitting position at that, looking at Shirabu like he just assassinated the president. “No fucking way.”

“We underwent a screaming match and I broke up with him right then and there. Slapped him in the face before I left.” Despite the gruesome topic, there’s a glint in his eyes, and Semi feels the lightheartedness in which Shirabu speaks. “It started raining exactly as I ran away from the place. But I hailed a cab, so all’s good.”

Semi blinks, agape. “Holy shit, Shirabu.”

“I know, right?” Shirabu grins. “But can you blame me? I was pissed as hell that day.”

And just like that, Semi is reminded of the exact reason Shirabu is pissed as hell that day. He swallows, and resumes his position next to Shirabu on the grass.

“Hey, Bub?” Semi says.

“Hm?”

“Are you still hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

Shirabu nods. “Yeah. I mean, yes, he’s an asshole. Yes, I was furious. Yes, I would very much like to feed him to the sharks.”

Semi purses his lips and adjusts his position, now lying on his side facing Shirabu’s profile. “I feel a but coming,” he says, pointing a finger at Shirabu.

Shirabu rolls his eyes without sparing Semi a glance. “But,” he emphasizes with a playful smirk. “That’s the thing. It didn't really hurt. Not when he called me a shit ton of names, not when I broke things off and he didn’t even stop to consider. Not when I turned around and walked away.”

Shirabu, true to his words, doesn’t look remotely distressed. But Semi reads between the lines, and Semi knows what he sees. There’s something else Shirabu isn’t telling him, but he decides not to press.

“Are you tired?” he asks instead.

“Of what?”

“This.”

Shirabu rolls to his side, now facing Semi and looking him dead in the eyes. Semi feels the edges of his defenses crumbling.

“What do you mean this?” he says, the crease between his brows deep enough to cast a shadow. Semi doesn’t avert his eyes.

“We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms, you know?”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “We’re fine, Semi. I’m just adjusting from the breakup. That’s all.”

“No, you’re not.”

Shirabu only looks at him, confused. Semi takes a deep breath before speaking.

“This whole thing,” he begins. “Say all you want about it. Maybe the thing with Yahaba didn’t hurt you. But I know you, and I saw you this past week. Do you know what I see?”

He’s looking at Shirabu now; at the hair that’s in complete disarray against the grass, at the hard line of his lips, at those whiskey eyes that stand out even underneath the dim light and the ever prominent dark circles beneath them. Semi’s heart breaks a little at the sight of him.

“I see a lot of pain, and wherever it’s coming from, I know I'm responsible for some of it.”

Shirabu immediately pushes himself to a half sitting position. “No. Semi, you—”

“Yes, I did,” Semi cuts, holding his gaze. “I’m not trying to make it about me, I’m really not, but we haven't fought like that since nationals, and even back then, it wasn’t anything to this extent. You ran away crying last week, Shirabu. You didn’t even cry when I threw a shoe at your face in highschool. Isn’t that saying something?” 

Shirabu chuckles before turning away and lying back down. He’s looking out at the stars now, both hands neatly folded on top of his abdomen.

“I know you’re trying to hide it, and I know you’ve been avoiding me.” Semi reaches his hand out to touch. He thinks better, and something in the pit of his stomach crumbles. He quickly balls them into a fist.

“I’m sorry,” Semi says.

“You apologized—”

“Not properly.” He looks away, towards the same stars Shirabu is gazing at. “I’m sorry about everything I said. Every single word. I’m sorry for making you cry. I’m sorry for not chasing after you the moment you step foot outside the door. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner. I’m–”

“Stop.” There’s a sharp intake of breath, and when Semi turns to look, he sees that Shirabu has his eyes closed. “Stop right there.”

Shirabu takes a few shaky breaths, leaving Semi dumbstruck and at a complete loss of words.

Did Shirabu just fucking cuts his apologies? And right when he’s being genuine.

Semi is halfway up ready for a protest, but Shirabu quickly cuts him off.

“God motherfucker,” he says before knocking Semi down with a hug, displacing his glasses as he goes.

It’s not chaste, or fleeting. Or half-assed or brief or accidental or whatever else anyone would call it. It’s warm and tight and honest; devoted in every single way that Shirabu is, and it’s as bewildering as it is welcomed.

It takes Semi a whole dozen heartbeats to register what the hell is happening.

“Apology fucking accepted, you moron,” Shirabu says against Semi’s shoulder. “Now shut the fuck up.”

Slowly, like the butterflies taking flight from the bottom of his chest, Semi wraps his arms around Shirabu, cradling his whole body like a lifelong promise he intends to keep. This is new, and it feels a lot like new things do; like the first breeze of spring, like the first sip of a warm tea. The pickling heat on Semi’s eyes hits like wildfire, so he closes them tight and counts his breaths slowly. One two three four. And again, one two three four, until the threat of his impending downpour begins to subside.

Eventually, Semi is the first to let go.

“Please tell me Yahaba did hurt you in some way,” Semi says, adjusting his glasses.

“You just want a reason to beat him up to death, don’t you?” Shirabu replies. “I swear I’ll lock you in the fridge, Semi. No fistfights, especially over some resident asshole.”

Semi grins, but then he catches Shirabu's gaze, and he looks so—God there isn't any word in his vocabulary that could justify how beautiful Shirabu looks beneath the starlight. The growing tightness in his chest is bordering on painful, and Semi’s smile fades into something more subdued. He lifts his hand up to caress a thumb over Shirabu’s cheek.

“You deserve so much better,” Semi says, looking up at the endearingly familiar face. “Don’t you know?”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “Yeah? The one person that I want doesn't even want me.”

But I do. I do I do I do, don’t you know?

“Then he’s an idiot.” Semi’s words echo with feigned nonchalance. Shirabu’s laughs ring with unfeigned freedom. Semi wants to kiss him.

Shirabu pushes himself off Semi and rolls onto his back, spreading his limbs all over the place.

“I think I won’t be going on dates anytime soon,” Shirabu says. “I’ve had enough shit to last me the entire school year.”

Semi laughter echoes against the cicada’s symphony. “Why did you even go on those dates, anyway?” he asks. “All you do is complain about them afterwards.”

The lack of response startles him, and Semi turns, finding Shirabu blinking at the galaxy as if looking for answers. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I think I felt the need to prove something.”

“To who?”

“Myself.”

Semi hums. “Did you finally prove yourself right?”

Shirabu shakes his head before turning to look at Semi, smiling. “On the contrary,” he answers. “I proved myself wrong.”

Whatever the hell that means. But Semi returns the smile, because the gleam in Shirabu’s eyes reflects something tranquil, undisturbed, like sunlight on the calm sea surface. Secure. And it makes Semi feel that way too.

Shirabu turns away before changing the subject, all the tension from the past week has finally melted away. “Can I ask you something?” 

Semi hums in affirmation.

“What did you really do in the library?”

Semi barks out a ridiculously loud laugh.

“What?” Shirabu asks before lightly kicking Semi in the side. “I’m not joking! That was a genuine question!”

“I know, I know,” Semi gasps, wiping the tears off the corners of his eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well? Did you really punch him in the face?”

“No, for fuck’s sake! We just talked, and neither of us were even yelling. He fed you lies, Shirabu, I swear I didn't punch him.”

“Oh. Shame, ‘cuz I wished you did.”

“I kinda regret not kicking that idiot in the face, to be honest. Would have been worth it.”

Shirabu snorts, and Semi notices the moon has shifted slightly.

“He did say a lot of things about you that night,” Shirabu adds.

“Like what?”

“Bad things.”

Semi rolls his eyes. “Figured as much. That jackass hates my guts.”

Shirabu rolls over, now lying on his stomach supporting his weight with his elbows, looking at Semi like he just stole Shirabu’s stash of chips.

Semi scrunches his brows. “What?”

“During your freshman year,” Shirabu begins. “How many people did you sleep with?”

Semi blinks. “I– What?”

“Just be honest. I’m not gonna judge you.”

“Where the hell is this coming from?”

“Yahaba says you’re a manwhore.”

Wow. Semi’s mouth hangs open criminally wide.

“And you believe him?” he exclaims.

“Taichi says you were notorious for dating around and getting laid here and there.”

Again, fucking wow.

This time, Semi spits out a dry laugh. Shirabu lies back down before heaving a long exhale.

“When I told you Yahaba said a lot of things about you, I meant really, really bad things, Semi,” he says. “I kept saying he was fucking with me, but I don’t know. And I feel like there’s a lot of things I don’t know about you, especially  things from your first year, because everyone keeps saying completely different things from what I’m seeing everyday.”

Semi chews on his lips. He takes a few seconds before answering, “A lot of shit happened during my first year in uni, Shirabu.”

“Well? What kind of shit?”

In all honesty, Semi doesn’t know how to answer that.

“So is it true that you had gonorrhea?” Shirabu blurts out.

Semi chokes on his own spit. “Out of all the rumors that I’ve heard about myself,” he says after his fit of coughing subsides. “That one takes the cake as the most ridiculous. No, Bub, I never had gonorrhea or any other STDs known to mankind because I have only ever had sex with two people in my entire life, and the only date I ever slept with is Alisa.”

“Alisa Haiba?”

“Yes. We’re in the same department. She’s my senior. I dated different people every other week but Alisa was the only one I liked enough and she’s the only one I ever– y’know. We dated for a few months.”

Shirabu seems to be trying to process the whole thing, judging from the sudden lack of noise coming from his part.

“So you don’t collect one night stands like Pokemons?” he says finally.

“No, what the fuck. I mean, yes, I go out on random dates with random people, but that’s it. Dinners. Hangouts. Sometimes parties. Except for Alisa, none of them even made it to a second date.”

Semi pauses, counts the stars above his head in sync with the beat of his heart, before adding, “It’s a lot like your arrangement, honestly.”

“But I don’t understand,” Shirabu says. “You’ve– You used to go on random blind dates too, so why are you being a prick to me about it?”

“I am not a prick!”

“You literally monitor my location every time I go out!”

Okay, fair point. Semi closes his eyes and sighs.

“Like I said, Shirabu, a lot of shit happened during my first year in uni.”

“What the hell kind of shit?”

Semi groans. Fuck, out of all the times Shirabu chooses to be stubborn as a rock—-

“The kind of shit that puts me into rehab, Shirabu! Okay?” he yells towards the sky, snapping his eyes open.

From next to him, Shirabu is stunned silent.

“Semi?” Shirabu’s voice comes like a gentle touch; tentative, timid. Sweet Jesus, Semi hates that tone. “Semi, We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Semi shakes his head. It’s about damn time. “I owe you at least this much.” 

There’s a rustle from somewhere to his side, but Semi keeps his eyes up, the constellation blinking back at him.

“Look,” Semi begins, “I’ve always loved having fun and getting drunk at parties. Alisa said I was insane but honestly, I liked that floaty, tilted feeling of being drunk. And it ended up that my drinking problem is the reason Alisa broke up with me.”

A single star catches his eye. It’s brighter, prominent, and Semi holds on to it.

“I don’t remember much, it’s just a jumble of blurry pictures. But I do remember being devastated over it, so I went out more just to get it off my head.”

A soft wind blows, and Semi pulls his hoodie tighter. “It was a date gone wrong, I think? Again, I don’t remember much about those past few months but I think this guy asked me out and invited me to some other guy’s party. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital bed.”

Shirabu immediately straightens up. “Holy shit , Semi.”

“I don’t even know how I got there. I woke up and Satori was already there crying and screaming at me for being stupid.” Semi chuckles. “Apparently I managed to get myself home, I don’t even know how the fuck. But that night Satori was out late so he wasn’t there when I got back. He came home to me unconscious on the floor. At first, he thought I was blackout drunk and asleep but I was dead cold to the touch and he couldn’t wake me up. Threw me to the ER immediately. Alcohol intoxication.”

“Jesus Christ,” Shirabu whispers.

“Yeah. Pretty fucked up, isn’t it? Scared the living shit out of him.”

Semi thinks of Tendou then, the ever present deadweight in his chest making its way to the surface. He takes off his glasses and blinks hard enough to keep the moisture out of his eyes.

“It’s the reason he moved out, by the way,” Semi adds. “He had nightmares about it to the point that he couldn't step into our place without freaking out. He didn’t tell me at first but we argued all the time ever since, and we got into a huge fight and, well, we talked.”

Shirabu keeps his quiet. Semi takes that as a permit.

“I spent most of my summer days in rehab, Satori went to therapy. He still goes to therapy up until this day.”

Semi presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and groans.

“God, the worst thing you could ever do to your best friend is send them to fucking therapy. Satori deserves so much better, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that,” he says and, after a few breaths of composure, continues. “But then I got discharged, and Satori got better. We got better, and the new term was starting and I needed a roommate. And then you came.”

Semi pauses, and without looking at Shirabu, concludes. “From there on, everything just kinda stopped.”

Without his glasses, the sky is just a tapestry of dark velvet; but Semi doesn’t mind. In an overly sharp world, sometimes a blur is all you need.

From next to him, Shirabu whispers, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Semi only shakes his head.

“You know what’s funny?” he asks, rhetorically. Semi lets out a bitter laugh before carrying on.

“Looking back, it was stupid. I can’t justify my actions. I don’t have any reason to be doing those useless crap in the beginning. It was just me being a complete idiot of a fuck up.”

Semi heaves a long breath before carrying on. “It’s downright embarrassing and I hate it. I hate that I ruined my best friend because of it. I hate that I’m a completely useless piece of shit. I still hate it even now. I hate myself because of it.”

And deep down, he means it. There won’t ever be a day when he doesn’t feel the shame looming over him like a storm cloud, no matter how many times he tells himself to let it go.

“I guess I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

He closes his eyes tight, and when he feels the tears pooling at the back of his throat threatening to choke, he pushes himself up and sits, burying his head in his palm.

“Semi?”

Semi doesn’t think he has the self control to not burst to tears if he turns. So he doesn’t.

“Look up.”

Semi holds back a sob, pressing his eyes to the base of his palms.

“Semi, look up.”

And he does.

“Put on your glasses,” Shirabu says. “I need you to see it.”

Semi blinks though the blur of his tears, but complies.

“Over there,” Shirabu says, the tip of his index finger is just barely visible from Semi’s peripheral vision. “That really bright star. That’s Polaris.”

It’s the same star Semi was looking at earlier.

“It’s the north star. Sailors used to look for it when they got lost at sea. To find their way home.”

It catches his eye. Semi holds on to it.

“I’d like to think of it as you,” Shirabu continues. “A star. To look up to.”

Unlike Tendou, Shirabu is terrible, terrible at giving words of comfort. Semi chuckles at the severe absurdity of it.

It’s endearing, really.

“You’re not a bad person, okay? You’re good at learning, academic wise or not. And I get to pick up a thing or two from you.”

But the thing is, Semi understands. It’s the way sometimes he can understand written Chinese just from his prior knowledge of Kanji, without actually speaking the language, not from each of the words itself but the underlying foundation of it; the roots. Because, in the end, Semi realizes that he and Shirabu share a lot more profound things than just an apartment or a team position.

A gentle curve begins forming on his lips, and Semi sighs, dropping his whole body back into the grass, taking off his glasses. “Tell me more about the stars,” he says, because one thing he knows Shirabu is good at is speaking facts and science.

The lull of his baritone washes over Semi like a warm blanket, encompassing him in something safe. It’s a different kind of comfort than what Tendou offers, but Semi learns to keep it, he learns to familiarize himself with this unfamiliar bubble they only just begin to share despite being roommates for so long.

Somewhere along the way, they go from counting the stars to counting dreams. Shirabu stops spitting mad science, and Semi starts talking about everything and nothing, letting the world around them dissolve into an illusion; as if they exist, but at the same time, not really.

Semi isn’t sure about how long they stay, all he knows is that they stay long enough to see the sky shift into something lighter, the darkness dissolving into a vanilla twilight.

When he reignites his car, they leave behind a streak of golden glow into the fading light of the capital.

—

The sun is climbing on its reins when Semi kills the engine of his car back in the parking lot of their apartment.

“I think I’m skipping class today,” Shirabu says before falling into the widest yawn anatomically possible. “I’m dead tired.”

Semi’s cognitive function is all over the place, it’s a miracle they survived an hour-long drive through the highway. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel before answering. “Same. I’m gonna sleep the whole day through. Please don’t wake me up.”

“Are you hungry?” Shirabu asks out of nowhere.

Semi’s head pulses at the sound of breakfast. He winces. “God. Fuck no.”

“Good, because I don’t have enough energy to feed you.”

A single click sounds from Shirabu’s seatbelt. Semi turns his head towards him and, against the haze in his head and the pounding in his chest—

“Bub?” His mouth blurts before his hopeless brain could stop him.

“Mm?”

Shit.

The realization hits him about three seconds after he registers Shirabu’s voice, and suddenly, all of Semi’s fatigue goes out the window.

“Spit it,” Shirabu snaps. “I need to sleep.”

Oh, shit. His heartbeat accelerates tenfold. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven eight nine.

Don’t throw away your shot.

Fuck it.

“Shirabu Kenjirou, would you go out on a date with me?”

*

“Semi-Semi, for the love of Jesus, please stop whining.”

Of course Semi doesn’t. Neither does he stop pacing around in his room. Or pulling on his hair.

“It was stupid, wasn’t it? I was stupid,” he says. “Tell me I’m stupid!”

“Compared to all the dogshit you did during freshman year, no.”

Semi dives into his mattress facefirst before releasing a scream. This is not how he imagines planning his date with Shirabu would go.

“Tell me again why the hell would you ask him out if you’re just going to freak out over it.”

“I was half asleep!” he retorts, lifting his head up a bit. “And I didn’t think he’d actually say yes.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Tendou deadpans.

Semi wants to bury a hole and lie down in it. Preferably for the rest of his life.

“So, where are you going?” 

“I don’t know!” The sound of his own voice startles him, so Semi rolls over and takes a deep breath, the scent of his freshly laundered sheets filling his lungs. He counts; One two three four. “Sweet Jesus, Satori, I don’t know and my head hurts.”

“You have,” Tendou clicks his tongue repeatedly in a rhythmic way, imitating a ticking clock, before continuing. “Approximately twelve hours to decide.”

“Don’t fucking give me a deadline. I have enough deadlines!”

“Either that or you’re just dead. Pick a party.”

Yeah, Semi would rather just die. But he can’t because he has a fucking date tomorrow. So for the hundredth time in the span of five minutes, he groans.

“The aquarium,” Tendou suggests. “It’s got a nice ambience to it.”

Semi rolls his eyes. “Be real, Satori. He’d hate that.”

“Honestly, my ideal date would just be a nice walk around the city, Eita. Try a lot of different foods and just talk.”

Semi sighs. “Kenjirou and I do that all the time.”

“See? Both of you are unbelievable.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t even trying to be helpful,” Tendou says. “Quick, name a Disney musical.”

Semi makes a face in a very judgemental way. “Frozen.”

“No.”

“What the fuck? You told me to name a Disney musical!”

“Anything else other than Frozen.”

“Tangled.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Does it have to be Disney?”

“No, but I need a reference for my assignment and I’m familiar with Disney.”

Semi rolls his eyes, harder this time, because he knows damn well Tendou isn’t just familiar with Disney. He’s borderline obsessed.

Wait .

The clarity hits Semi like a flash of eureka. He springs out of his bed a little too quickly, spine straight and eyes sparkling.

“I love you!” He yells into the phone.

“Ew.”

“I gotta hang up now. Seriously, thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

Semi hangs up on him with a bunch of kissy noises and jumps around in his room like he just won the freaking lottery.

Maybe he did. But it’s gotta wait until tomorrow.

—

“Would you please just tell me where the hell are we going?”

Semi turns around towards Shirabu as they arrive at their designated platform.

He finds himself staring at a pair of scrunched brows and amber eyes glinting with anticipation (bordering on irritated, honestly, but Shirabu is irritated about ninety nine percent of the time, so Semi doesn’t take that into account.)

A lot of different things lodges in his chest then; excitement, dread, the telltale of a panic attack, and a decent amount of nausea. Semi remembers going on his first piano recital. His four-year-old self thought he was about to faint then, but little did he know that standing in front of his long-term love interest taking him on their first date is a million times more nerve-racking.

But Semi is familiar with this game. This is just any other time we go out, he says to himself, just pretend you’re grocery shopping . So he offers a knowing smirk, keeping his shaky hands in his hoodie pocket.

“Impatient now, are we?” He teases.

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “I ditched my oxfords for you, asshole. I deserve to know where we’re going.”

“I don’t get it. What is it with you and your oxfords?”

“They make my legs look good!”

Semi eyes him down from head to toe. Shirabu is dressed in a t-shirt and denim jacket with chinos and a pair of Nikes. Semi did tell him to ditch his oxfords and to dress comfortably, but Shirabu looks good anyway, and Semi doesn't know what it is that makes Shirabu look good in every single thing he wears. 

It’s unfair, really.

Bonus point: Shirabu insisted that he did his hair, even though Semi had told him that he didn’t really need to. (Not that Semi is complaining. Shirabu’s forehead is completely exposed and Semi can’t decide if he should kiss it or punch a concrete wall.)

Semi realizes that he’s been staring a second too long, and his face warms. He looks away, clearing his throat before speaking. “You look fine like that.”

“Semi?”

“Hm?”

“Are you nervous?”

There are only two people in this god forsaken world that can read him like an open book, and it’s Semi’s century-long misfortune that he happens to be going on a date with one of them. It’s ridiculous to the point it’s almost laughable, Semi does a mental facepalm at it

“No,” he lied.

Shirabu only gives him a pointed stare.

“A little?” Semi says. “Look, I haven’t gone on a date since a lifetime ago, okay? I have every right to be nervous.”

“It’s just me, Semi. Come on,” Shirabu retorts. “We go out together every other day.”

I wouldn’t be nervous if it weren't you, honestly. “Not on a proper date.”

Shirabu takes a step closer and Semi catches a whiff of his signature citrus perfume, although it’s left long enough for the flowery notes to come through. Jasmine.

“You wanna know something?” Shirabu starts.

“What?” Semi says with a raised eyebrow.

“I wanted to wear that lavender cable knit that you liked,” Shirabu says. “But I wore it on my first date with that dickhead Yahaba fucking Shigeru. Now it’s permanently stained.”

Semi’s laughter resonates with the train station music chiming through the speakers, signaling the arrival of their ride, and all the imminent danger in his body comes to a halt exactly as the train does.

The doors open, revealing a lightly crowded car, and when they arrive inside, Semi presses himself against Shirabu’s back.

“You wanna know something?” he whispers.

“What?” Shirabu replies, leaning back a little. Semi catches something beneath the prominent jasmine in his perfume, something warmer. Ginger.

“You look perfect.”

That earns him a light jab on the chest.

“I seriously have zero idea where we’re going.” Shirabu says when their train rolls away from the second station they pass.

“You’ll see,” Semi replies casually.

Shirabu turns to face him, and the look he’s giving Semi is almost accusatory. “Is it the aquarium?”

Semi makes a face. “Of course not. You would have hated that.”

“We’re not doing paintball, are we? I’m wearing white.”

“Shirabu,” Semi says with a deadpan. “Give me a little more credit here now, would you?”

Shirabu squints harder.

“You’ll know when we arrive,” Semi says, tapping Shirabu’s forehead. “Trust me, it's going to be your best date ever.”

“It better be. Otherwise, you’re getting me a brand-new plushie.”

Semi smiles. “Deal.”

The soft chug of the wheelset against the rail entwines into the dull chatter of the crowd, creating a familiar choir of nostalgia. Semi closes his eyes, focusing on the blooming sentiment in his chest. He never knew how much he misses commuting with public transport. He glances out the windows occasionally, trying to make sense of the blur of his beloved city. Tokyo looks different from here than from behind his windshields, he realizes, the way Shirabu is when he’s with his friends and with Semi. Different lenses create different results, but maybe Semi’s lenses are just a tad bit rose-tinted when it comes to the guy pressed against his chest.

“No way,” Shirabu gasps when there’s only one stop left.

Semi lets out a teasing hum, the earliest traces of a teasing smile evident on his lips.

When Shirabu turns, there’s a look of absolute disbelief.

“Are you taking me to Disneyland?”

Semi grins.

“Holy shit,” Shirabu says under his breath. “Are you even allowed to take someone to Disneyland for a first date?”

Semi shrugs. “I don’t think rules really apply to us.”

The intercom rings with the signature jingle before announcing their arrival and they step off the train, Semi just two paces behind Shirabu.

“No fucking way,” Shirabu says as they tread the concrete steps of the platform.

“Really, Shirabu, you’re smart. I thought you would have guessed by the time we stepped out of the apartment. I mean, isn’t my costume a dead giveaway?” Semi says, spreading his arms in a gesture of displaying the giant Mickey head printed on his hoodie.

“You wear that thing all the damn time, stupid.”

Semi only laughs and continues on his way down the stairs.

“Talk about the cheesiest fucking date ever ,” Shirabu says, but Semi feels the joy radiating off his voice. “I can’t believe you.”

“Well, you’ve never been here, have you?”

Shirabu shakes his head and Semi makes a disapproving tsk-tsk at that.

“Almost two years in Tokyo and you’ve never stepped foot on the holy grounds. Shame.”

Shirabu gives him a light shove in the chest.

“You’re welcome,” Semi replies. “Now, do you wanna walk or do you wanna take the Mickey Train?”

“What Mickey Train?”

Semi grins.

—

Shirabu, as it turns out, looks like he’s still trying to make sense of the whole situation. He’s looking everywhere, from the interior of the Mickey Train, the glimpse of the park from the window, even at the kids wearing princess dresses. There’s a certain gleam behind his eyes that Semi used to see before a game, and the certain way his body bounces just a tiny bit with every step. He’s not exactly smiling, but Semi knows enough that Shirabu is excited. A little overwhelmed, maybe, but excited nonetheless.

There’s a healthy amount of crowd at the entrance gate, and they take pictures as they wait, mostly with Semi insisting because Shirabu is still too distracted by everything that resembles a Mickey head (including but not limited to the giant bush in the middle of the entrance ground). He looks a lot like the preschooler a few feet away from them, it’s so fucking adorable.

Once the park opens, they scan their tickets and walk through the brick archway, the smell of buttered popcorn wafting through the air.

“Holy shit,” Shirabu says in half a whisper as the boulevard of World Bazaar comes into view.

And then, fucking finally, the smile comes.

It starts slow, exactly like sunrise, but it builds until it brightens up his whole face, adding to the preexisting glow in his eyes and amplifying it tenfold.

Semi is no poet, but he understands why generations of them would sit in a candle-lit room atop a stone tower, bleeding inks of all the bewitching ways their muse must have changed their whole galaxy. Because, standing next to him now is the person who had re-written the stars in his sky; and Shirabu rules it, vivid even against the screaming colors of the bizarre architecture, confident as if he could single-handedly outshine them in a perfect victory.

(He can. Goddammit, yes he can.)

And for all the insanity of it, Semi also understands why people would willingly walk the battlefield knowing there is only demise on the other side.

Semi wants to kiss him. If the circumstances were different, Semi would have.

Shirabu turns to look at Semi, before letting out a delighted fit of laughter. It’s honest, unrestrained, and it rings in Semi’s head like wind chimes. His heart honest to God somersaults from the sound of it. 

“Is this real?” Shirabu asks.

Semi shrugs, as nonchalant as his racing heart would let him. “As real as it can get,” he confirms.

Shirabu shakes his head and huffs out a laugh. “What the hell was going through your head?”

“Well, If I wanna outdo the other five hundred dates you’ve been on, I  need to step up my game.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Semi puts his hand out, unfolded, into the narrow space between them. An offering. “Walk with me?”

Shirabu stares at Semi’s hand, then at him, before placing his hands on top of it. An acceptance. “Lead the way.”

—

Here’s the thing: Semi doesn't particularly enjoy amusement parks.

Well, at least not for the rides; courtesy to that one time Tendou dragged his ass to ride every single freaking rollercoaster in Fuji-Q Highland and Semi ended up regurgitating his whole gut content in the toilet for a good amount of thirty minutes. All in all, it did some irreparable damage to his overall wellbeing.

When Semi tries to reassure Shirabu that the rides in Disneyland are for kids and therefore enjoyable, he only gets a deadpan and a Semi, I’m not scared of extreme rides. 

So right now, walking through the colorful streets of Disneyland, the unease in his chest is coming from something else entirely.

(Not that any of the rides in Disneyland is even remotely extreme. Semi just doesn’t like the sensation of moving at unnatural angles.)

They spend the whole day alternating between getting snacks and exploring the rides, and as Shirabu said, a lot of them don't faze him in the slightest. Semi notices that he’s mostly there just to document the abundance of cartoon characters present in every corner, laughing along at the hyper-animated robots.

At least the queues are bearable, and the sun isn’t trying to burn them to crisp. A gust of wind ruffles Semi’s hair, but he doesn’t mind. Shirabu curses because it keeps dislocating his Minnie ears.

It’s only when they’re standing in front of Space Mountain bickering the hell out of themselves that the realization comes to Semi: that taking Shirabu to an amusement park is one of his greatest mistakes, because Shirabu is a fucking adrenaline junkie and Semi is, well, a scaredy cat (Shirabu’s words.)

But Semi ends up bearing through Space Mountain like the decent person that he is, and reassures himself that if an eight year old girl wearing a sparkly tutu can survive it, then so can Semi.

They end up queuing multiple times because Shirabu insists.

“Can we fucking stop doing Space Mountain?” Semi says, blinking at the sudden brightness of the outside world as they step out of the white building. The sun is descending, and the wind howls stronger than a few hours ago.  “My head is spinning.”

“It’s the only ride that gets me pumped up,” Shirabu answers. “The rest is boring.”

“We went three times! ”

“You’re just weak,” Shirabu says before grabbing Semi’s wrist. “C’mon. I wanna do rounds in the souvenir shops.”

Before Semi can process what the hell he means by that, Shirabu is already yanking him away.

Turns out, doing rounds on the souvenir shops translates into exactly that. Shirabu ends up dragging Semi by the hand into multiple shops back to back, and Semi ended up wandering the district looking for some more snacks after he insisted that they don’t need another pair of matching keychains, Shirabu, we already got four and Shirabu had sticked his tongue out at him.

There’s a beautiful streak of orange on the twilight sky, and the sweet juice of the watermelon cube bursts in Semi’s mouth as he chews, keeping half an eye on Shirabu’s souvenir haul on the bench.

“How is it that you’re willingly eating fruits in Disneyland but never at home?” Shirabu says as he approaches Semi, carrying a brand new plastic bag filled with something Semi doesn’t bother to ask.

“Hate to break it to you, Bub, but these bad boys are one of the few things I can fully enjoy,” Semi says before getting up from his seat, carrying his now empty plastic cup and Shirabu’s bag of trinkets. “Let’s go.”

“Where? We went on every single ride.”

“The fireworks. It’s mandatory,” Semi says before turning away to lead the way.

“Semi.”

Semi stops and turns halfway around. When Shirabu doesn’t budge, Semi speaks. “What?”

Shirabu is biting his lip, and the crease in between his brows are visible even from almost ten feet apart.

Something tugs in Semi’s chest then, an onset of panic. “Shirabu?”

But then Shirabu shakes his head before falling into step behind him. All traces of worry gone. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

Semi shrugs and doesn’t think about it anymore.

Despite the full darkness, they ended up in the tiled floor of the castle grounds earlier than necessary, so Semi drags Shirabu along through the windy evening for another detour to raid some snacks from the nearest restaurants. (He ends up getting a smoked turkey leg, which Shirabu steals occasionally.)

“Sorry, no fireworks tonight,” says the lady in the uniform when they arrive back near the castle.

“I’m sorry, what?” Semi blurts.

“The wind is too strong. We have to cancel it.”

“But you can’t cancel it.”

The lady shrugs before saying, “Sorry.” The apologetic look on her face is sincere.

“But you–”

“Thank you.” Shirabu’s voice cuts through Semi’s protests, and Semi feels a pair of hands guiding him away.

Well, so much for a fucking perfect date. Semi blows a stray hair off his forehead.

“They aren’t supposed to cancel the fucking fireworks!” Semi protests once he gets over the initial shock of the whole turn of events, Shirabu’s hands still carefully keeping him from running, pushing him forward.

“Semi, it’s fine.”

“But this is something everyone needs to see!”

“It’s okay.”

“But you haven’t–”

Shirabu stops both of them midway and interjects the steps. He’s holding Semi an arm’s length away.

“Semi,” he says. “It’s alright. Really. It’s just fireworks. We can light up our own on the rooftop if you want to.”

But Shirabu doesn’t understand. It’s not just about the fireworks. Semi wanted today to be perfect. He needs this whole first date to be perfect, because for Shirabu, Semi won’t settle for anything less.

Semi pouts and looks away.

“Hey,” Shirabu calls.

Semi grunts.

“Look at me.”

He does.

The corners of Shirabu’s lips rise, but he’s biting on them hard enough that they turn white. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes that burns as bright as the storefront neon lights. Semi squints.

“Are you laughing?” he accuses.

Shirabu’s defenses break and he barks out an obnoxious snort. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to get genuinely upset over a canceled firework show.”

Semi clicks his tongue, the muscles of his face not relaxing at the slightest. Shirabu’s smile turns into something much gentler.

“Don’t let it ruin your day,” he says. “I had fun. We had fun. And we can come back here anytime if you want to.”

“It’s supposed to be your perfect date,” Semi admits.

“And it is. Fuck the fireworks, Semi. This is my best date ever.”

Semi huffs out a weak laugh. “Date rate?”

“Solid ten out of ten,” Shirabu answers, the smile not fading in the slightest.

Shirabu doesn’t smile often, especially not throughout the whole day, so when Semi sees the gentle curve on his lips staying , the heavens don’t even stand a chance against it.

Despite himself, Semi smiles too. He nods before saying, “Let’s go home.”

Semi walks, and makes it six steps before he hears Shirabu call his name.

“Semi.”

He turns, seeing Shirabu close the distance before shuffling through his bag, taking a sweet amount of time.

“Did you lose something?” Semi asks, edging on cautious.

Shirabu’s hand leaves the sling bag in a fist, not betraying any of its contents.

“Hold still,” he says before reaching up to Semi’s ear. Semi pulls back and tenses reflexively.

“What–”

“Relax,” Shirabu says before taking one step closer. “I got you something.”

He lifts both hands up, and Semi can feel him work his fingers on one of his lobe studs. “I’m putting it on now, okay?”

The cold touch of Shirabu’s fingertips on his ears sends shockwaves down his spine. His hand is extremely gentle. It doesn’t hurt, but for some reason, the alarm in Semi’s head blares like there’s no tomorrow. Warmth begins crawling up his whole face, and Shirabu’s fingers are suddenly a lot colder. 

“There you go,” Shirabu holds him at arm’s length when he’s done, inspecting Semi’s newly decorated ears. “Wow, I can't believe they actually suit you.”

“Shirabu, you do realize that I can’t see it, right?”

Shirabu holds up a finger before rummaging through his bag, producing a familiar round object. He hands it to Semi.

“Come and take a peek,” he says with a tight smile.

Semi unclasps the compact. When he sees the reflection of his ears, his heart clenches in the most devastating way.

It’s a pair of stud earrings, with three jewels representing the silhouette of a Mickey head. They’re light colored, silver frames and—pink? Purple?—Semi can’t really tell from the dim lighting. They’re pretty in all their simplicity, exactly the way Semi likes his accessories. And the best thing about them is that they match his other studs and helix rings.

Any kind of disappointment he felt from the previous ordeal completely washes away, making room for something much more pleasant.

Shirabu’s right, it does suit him.

When Semi closes the compact, Shirabu is chewing on his lip, staring at his feet and fidgeting with the strap of his bag.

“I’ve had it for a while, but I just,” Shirabu stammers. “I wasn’t sure if i should, y’know—”

“I like them.”

Shirabu snaps his head up, eyes wide. “Really?”

Semi nods. “Yeah,” he says with a gentle smile. “Pretty.”

(His last word wasn’t about his new earrings.)

Shirabu’s eyebrows are now all the way up his forehead. Goddammit, he’s so fucking cute.

Shirabu coughs out a laugh. “Okay. I didn’t think you’d actually like them.”

Semi rolls his eyes. “Shirabu, I’m still wearing that guitar pick you gave me at graduation around my neck. Have faith in me.”

“The only faith I have is in Jesus,” Shirabu says before sidestepping Semi. “Let’s go.”

Semi grabs his wrist before he can go any further. Shirabu turns, and looks at Semi with a lot of things hidden behind the gleam in his eyes; surprise, confusion, everything in between. Semi smiles anyway.

“Thank you,” he says.

But Shirabu only shakes his head and smiles. “Thank you.”

—

“Next time we’re going to Disneyland, you’re driving,” Shirabu says as they tread the concrete steps from the bus stop towards their apartment building. “My legs are killing me.”

“Now imagine you wearing those loafers.”

“I can always steal your shoes.”

Semi scoffs. “I’m two sizes up.”

“I use your sandals to the convenience store all the time anyway. What’s the difference?”

Semi only lets out a laugh.

“Hang in there, Bub,” he says. “We’re two minutes away.”

“Five, Semi!” Shirabu says after a dramatic groan. “Not everyone walks like they’re a freaking fugitive. At this rate, maybe even ten!”

“Come on,” Semi says. “Look at the bright side! You can bask in the world around you.”

Shirabu only looks at Semi with a dead stare. Semi purses his lips.

“Like,” he says, looking around at whatever he finds interesting. “There! A cat.”

There’s a fat calico sitting next to the lamppost a few feet away. She turns, as if sensing that Semi just called her out.

Shirabu stops in his tracks. The cat gets up, stretches, and trudges towards them.

Semi watches as Shirabu drops into a crouch, offering his hand out in a silent gesture of hello. The cat sniffs, before bumping her head at Shirabu’s palm. Hi there.

“She likes you,” Semi says.

Shirabu rummages over his sling bag and procures a small jar of dry food. He feeds the cat a few kibbles, with an addition of extra ear scratches.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Semi, all cats like me.”

Semi shrugs. “Can’t see why not. Also, do you carry around cat food in your bag?”

“Yes. I feed the campus cats all the time.” Shirabu scratches her chin, and Semi can hear her vibrate from all the way up here.

The sight of Shirabu and cats is doing terrible things to his heartbeat, and Semi has this sudden urge to scratch the concrete sidewalk underneath his feet in hopes of getting rid of this funny feeling.

If Semi isn’t severely allergic to cats, best believe he'd adopt an entire litter if he gets to see Shirabu like this every fucking day.

Semi finds the corners of his lips lifting in affection.

“Come on,” Shirabu says when he resumes position, immediately falling into step.

It’s a clear night by all standards, and Semi breathes in the familiar city air into his lungs. Come to think of it, he doesn't really get to enjoy this very much—driving and all. He makes a mental note to do more public transport commuting in the future.

Semi stops in his tracks.

“Hey, Shirabu?” He says. Shirabu turns to face him.

 “Do you wanna take a–”

The words die in Semi’s lips when he sees the whole of Shirabu’s appearance. He looks–fine, for the most part. But Semi squints and eyes the sequined surface of Shirabu’s Minnie ears.

“I’m sorry, Bub, I can’t take you seriously in that,” he says before snatching the headband and taking off into the night.

He hears a string of cuss words coming from behind him, followed by a set of footsteps. Shirabu’s reflexes are still deadly fast, and it only takes him seconds to yank Semi by the hood, retrieve his headband, before running away and leaving Semi in the dust.

Semi considers that a challenge, and when Shirabu disappears around the corner, he dashes off full speed, the dim glow of the streetlights leading them away. He grabs Shirabu by the waist and lifts him up, spinning him around until Shirabu is shrieking in delight, his laughter resonating on the concrete walls around them,

They arrive back home hand in hand, all the ache in their muscles forgotten.

—

(The studs are Purple. Semi is kicking his feet in the air and smiling to his pillow like a schoolgirl.)

*

Semi dreaded the tectonic shift that might occur after their Disneyland trip, and the upcoming days really does prove to be— different. However, he can’t quite put a finger to where the difference actually is.

They still go on the same breakfast routine. And the usual laundry schedule. And food deliveries for dinner. Shirabu is still a prick and Semi is still the stubborn sleep-deprived student who forgets to eat lunch.

The difference, Semi notices after a few days, lies in subtlety.

It’s in the way Shirabu places a hand on Semi’s shoulders, the way he’s a bit more soft spoken. The way Shirabu says goodnight before they retreat to their respective rooms. It takes a keen eye and a long-time shared living space to be able to pick up on the nuance.

It’s not uncommon, really, Semi wouldn’t normally be giving it much thought because Shirabu does this every once in a while. The problem is, it occurs about ten times more often than it used to.

Sometimes, Semi indulges in it. He’d retaliate with occasional winks and flying kisses, even bordering on the lightest touches when he’s up for a dance with the devil. Other times, he only smiles before retreating behind the closed door of his room.

It’s a little like braving the seas, if he has to put it. Semi trudges anyway.

—

“Take a break.” Shirabu’s voice cuts through the heavy metal in his earphones. 

Semi is half lying down on the couch, knees up and his laptop balanced delicately between his stomach and his thigh.

“You’re going to get chronic neck pain if you stay in that position,” Shirabu adds.

Semi looks up to find Shirabu’s blurry face and pulls his earphones off by the cable, placing an arm at the back of his head. “I’ll get chronic neck pain anyway. What’s up?”

Shirabu rolls his eyes. “Let’s go get some snacks.”

“There’s frozen gyoza in the freezer.”

“I don’t want gyoza.”

“What do you want?”

“Korean fried chicken in that place downtown.”

Semi deadpans before returning to his screen. “Call delivery.”

He hears Shirabu click his tongue. “How is it that I’m the one in premed but you’re the one who’s always doing assignments?”

“Welcome to STEM.”

“Yahaba’s in STEM and he still has human hours.”

“Well, he’s not in civil engineering,” Semi says, squinting at the half finished column footing on his screen.

From his peripheral vision, he sees Shirabu walk away before returning to sit on the floor, facing him. Then, he feels the incessant poking on his cheek that escalates into light slapping.

“I’m ordering in. What do you want?” he says as he continues to harass Semi.

“Buldak. Fucking cut it now,” Semi says, clasping his fingers around Shirabu’s. It still surprises him how he can fit Shirabu’s whole hand in a fist.

“Your hands are cold,” he adds without looking away from his screen.

“My hands are always cold.”

Semi, like a true masochist that he is, keeps his hold around Shirabu’s hand, clicking and sliding away on his trackpad with the other. His attention isn’t on the design in front of him, it’s everywhere but; on his own thumb drawing circles on Shirabu’s wrist, on the steady rise and fall of their breathing, of the proximity in which they share—hyper aware of his heart almost breaking out of his ribs, wondering if Shirabu can feel it.

“You’re something else if you can operate AutoCad without a fucking mouse,” Shirabu says, and the bubble of tension around them dissolves into stardust, tingling Semi in every inch of his skin. He doesn’t let go.

Semi turns. “Welcome to STEM,” he says again, with a wink this time.

Smiling, Shirabu shakes his head. “I placed our order,” he says, waving his phone in the air before standing, tugging on Semi’s hand as he goes. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Get up.”

Semi remains motionless, “No.”

Shirabu gives a single intense yank, almost making Semi roll out of the couch.

“What the hell!” he says, holding his laptop in the air with a single hand.

“Jesus, you’re heavy,” Shirabu remarks. “I used all my strength in that pull and only managed to budge you an inch.”

“You’ll rip my arm off,” Semi says as he shifts to a sitting position, laptop securely closed.

Shirabu isn’t dropping his effort to pull Semi up to his feet. “Get up.”

“Fine,” Semi says before finally standing up, carefully placing his laptop on the coffee table. “Happy now?”

Without letting go of his hand, Shirabu unlocks his phone and begins scrolling. Five seconds later, the living room is filled with vintage jazz coming from their bluetooth speaker. Semi scrunches his eyebrows in unexpected recognition.

“Is this Ella Fitzgerald?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yes. Why?”

“I didn’t even know you listened to anything other than contemporary pop.”

Shirabu only rolls his eyes. “Stop ruining the moment. Dance with me.”

“What?”

This is so outrageously out of character, Semi is getting a whiplash from it.

Semi squints. “Did you bonk your head?”

“No, stupid.”

“Then what the fuck?”

In lieu of an answer, Shirabu places Semi’s palm on his shoulder, before reaching around to put a hand on Semi’s back.

His eyes are dead set, unrelenting; the way he is before a meticulous toss, or a freaking setter’s dump during the opponent’s set point. Semi spent so much time on the bench looking at him from the outside that he knows, he knows, from the blazing light in those eyes that this isn’t happening on a whim. Semi holds his gaze, and he’s standing so fucking close that he noticed for the first time, the hot whiskey in his irises are rimmed with something darker. Burnt umber.

And they fan the flames on every single brain cell that Semi had used to design his column just minutes ago, smolder them to ashes, and he swears to God the temperature in this room rises exactly two degrees from it.

“Dance with me?” Shirabu asks as he intertwines their fingers.

One thing about Semi is that he doesn’t think he could ever say no to Shirabu.

“Lead the way,” he says. It comes out more as an exhale.

And Shirabu does. He sways them around just enough to keep them moving, but not enough to topple them off balance. Semi’s musician instincts kick in, and his head begins counting. One two three four. One two three four.

“Eyes on me, pretty boy,” Shirabu says. “Your feet aren’t going anywhere.”

Semi huffs out an awkward chuckle. “I don’t know jackshit how to do this.”

“Tendou is quite the dancer.” Shirabu pulls them to the side and Semi’s steps follow suit. One two three four; his heart is racing. One two three; they’re off beat. “He didn’t teach you?”

“He spins me around like a maniac, but no.” One two three four. “Who the hell taught you?”

“My whole family, essentially.”

One two three four, and they finally fall into place. Once Semi is sure his feet can be left on autopilot, he begins humming to the melody.

“You’re a fast learner,” Shirabu says.

“Maybe you’re a good teacher.”

Before they know it, Semi is full-on serenading, and Shirabu is all in for the ride, occasionally pitching in on the easier parts of the verse. When the soft jazz fades into something unexpected, Semi adjusts their arm, now holding Shirabu by the waist.

“Madonna?” he says as he loosens his grip on Shirabu’s waist. “You put Madonna between these sacred fucking vintage jazz?”

Shirabu twirls until their outstretched arms are only holding on by the tips of their fingers. “It’s on shuffle, you dumbfuck,” he says. “Besides, Madonna can’t ever go wrong.”

He yelps when Semi gives a gentle tug. Shirabu spins back until Semi catches him by the hip, almost nose to nose.

“Well, you have impeccable taste, Bub,” Semi says with a smirk.

They spend their entire five minutes like that, singing and swaying and laughing and enjoying each other’s presence in a newfound light. Semi would have cried from the immense love blooming in his chest, if not for the deeper parts of him looming somewhere at the back of his head, reminding him that Shirabu is not his to keep.

Suddenly, the backs of his eyes prickle for a whole different reason.

When the song subsides into a slow saxophone melody, Shirabu pulls them closer and places his chin on Semi’s shoulder. They’re chest to chest now, and Semi prays to dear Lord that Shirabu can’t feel his thundering heartbeat.

“I love this song,” Shirabu says.

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. My parents listen to a lot of vintage jazz. I grew up pretending to hate it, but I listen to it when they’re not around.”

Semi can’t help the smile stretching across his lips. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not a lot of people do. I don’t think even Taichi does.”

Semi has had his fair share of dates and intense makeouts, but here in their living room with faded t-shirts and pajama shorts, dancing along to Madonna and old jazz from a streaming platform, nothing has ever felt more intimate . He closes his eyes and leans a little closer. Shirabu smells like baby powder.

Semi hums along with the instrument, and perfectly on cue, he sings. He keeps his voice low, just a few notches above a whisper, because it’s something he wants only Shirabu to hear. La Vie en Rose.

They’re just swaying lazily now, side to side, cheek to cheek, and almost heart to heart. And in Semi’s world, there is no one else but the both of them.

His throat begins closing up as the song crawls into its outro, and he shuts his eyes tighter to keep the waterworks at bay. He bites his lips, praying that Shirabu doesn’t pick up on the slight tremble in his breath.

He ends up not singing the last verse, but his arm around Shirabu’s waist is firm.

“Did I ever tell you,” Shirabu says, his voice a little raspy. “That I love hearing you sing?”

Semi shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“Well, I love hearing you sing.” He can almost hear the smile in it. “You’re a shit cook but your impressive voice overcompensates that.”

Semi only huffs out a weak laugh.

When the song fades into silence, the ringtone from Shirabu’s phone blares, and whatever spell that has been holding them, shatters. Shirabu pulls away, holding Semi at arm’s length. Semi doesn’t dare meet his eyes.

“Sorry, I— I’ll get that,” Shirabu says without so much as another touch before peeling himself off of Semi, leaving his whole body cold in its wake. 

As he stares at the receding outline of Shirabu’s figure, Semi’s heart breaks all over again.

—

(That night, Semi locks his bedroom door and lies on the floor, staring at the ceiling trying to settle the roaring beat of his heart.

He thinks about all the ways he can get away from Shirabu.)

*

Avoiding Shirabu is easier said than done because one, they fucking live together.

Yeah, just one. But that one thing branches to a lot of other things like Shirabu dragging Semi’s ass to eat, or folding Semi’s laundry for him, or showing up in STEM when his classes end earlier so they can go home together.

All in all, not ideal.

Semi resorts to other easier things to be done, like not replying to the memes Shirabu sends him, restraining himself from teasing, and having his door closed everytime Shirabu is home.

(He’s driving himself crazy. And when he sees Shirabu’s favorite brand of potato chips in the convenience store, Semi spirals into a mini meltdown for a full thirty seconds.)

So when Yukie comes with more gruesome essay revisions from their professor, Semi wants to make an offering to the gods as gratitude. And after that, Semi does what Semi does best. Overwork himself to death.

Well, almost .

“Semi, I know your door is closed right now but I can hear you typing so get the hell out here and eat,” Shirabu says from outside his room.

Semi freezes. He pauses the music in his earphones and lets the silence linger, praying that Shirabu will go away if he waits long enough.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, idiot. You literally just stopped typing.”

Semi facepalms.

“There’s ice cream,” comes Shirabu’s voice again.

Manipulative ass . Semi clicks his tongue, crosses the room and opens the door just a crack.

“Meiji?” he asks.

“Ben & Jerry's non-dairy.”

“Here I am hoping you’d have mercy,” Semi says as he opens the door wider.

Shirabu smiles, and it’s terrible for Semi’s overall health. “Not a chance,” he says before walking away, Semi just a few steps on his tail.

There is, indeed, ice cream in the freezer. He grabs it, walks to the dining table and tries (multiple times) to rip the seal open.

“Here,” Shirabu says before coming over to take the pint from Semi. With a swift motion of the utility knife, the seal pries open. He hands it back to Semi with a smile.

(It’s a genuine one, and Semi notices how it lights up Shirabu’s whole face, softening all the hard edges of his features the way Semi adores so much.)

Semi feels the warmth creeping up his face and focuses on the smooth surface of his ice cream instead, grabbing a spoon before scooping a dollop into his mouth.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“I bought tekka maki too. And a bunch of other snacks,” Shirabu says as he turns around to wash his hands.

Holding the spoon between his teeth, Semi rummages through the plastic bag in front of him. There’s tekka maki. Onigiri. Potato chips. A bunch of other snacks. There’s even Semi’s favorite Buldak Noodles.

Semi wants to jump over and give Shirabu the hug he deserves. (Or jump over the apartment rooftop. He can’t decide.)

Instead, he clears his throat and pulls the spoon out of his mouth. “I didn’t know you went to the convenience store.”

Shirabu leans his ass on the counter, arms crossed. He keeps his eyes on Semi and says, “I texted you.”

Well, Semi has had Shirabu’s notifications silenced for the past three days. He tries not to physically wince.

“Right,” Semi says, promptly looking away. He scoops another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth just to have something to do.

Shirabu walks over and begins placing his haul on the table one by one. “Look I know your academic load is crazy, but please take it easy.”

“I’m not beating myself up over it, Bub. Trust me.”

“Also, you’ve been holed up in there for five hours straight, Semi. You could go down with a fever.”

Semi smirks. “What? You don’t wanna drive me to the ER?”

Shirabu only deadpans and Semi drops his smirk.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

Shirabu doesn’t answer. Instead, he walks over to where Semi is standing, and places a hand on Semi’s cheek.

It’s cold and still a little damp, but the gentleness of its touch leaves something warm underneath Semi’s skin regardless. Shirabu places both hands on the sides of his face before gently pulling his glasses off. A single hum comes, followed by a light stroke of a thumb over Semi’s cheek, right over his dark circle, and Semi closes his eyes.

(Semi wants to lean into the touch and kiss the palm of his hand.)

“They’re so much worse than last month,” Shirabu says. “Your dark circles.” 

Semi nods, and swallows the extreme pounding of his heart before saying, “I know.”

He hears Shirabu let out a sigh, the soft breath tickling Semi’s chin, and feels the hand leave his face; now settling on his shoulder tracing the swirls of ink underneath his tank.

Semi dares himself to open his eyes.

“I’ll tune it down,” he whispers, prying his glasses off Shirabu’s grip.

Shirabu retracts his hand and Semi feels the ghost of its touch, his skin yearning for it.

“At least eat something,” Shirabu says, arms crossed.

Semi purses his lips before grabbing the pack of tekka maki and his glasses. “I’ll take this—“

“You’re not leaving the dining table before I see you eat.” Dead set and accurate. Shirabu’s gaze is challenging.

Semi groans. “I need to finish my essay.”

“Five minutes. Come on.”

Semi, the stubborn ass that he is, indulges in the challenge.

Shirabu sighs after five torturous seconds of staring contest. “Alright. Fine.”

Semi is already moving before Shirabu even finishes the word.

“Doors open, Semi!”

Semi rolls his eyes before walking back to open his door just a crack.

—

“I wanna see the new Miyazaki movie in the theaters.”

Semi looks up from his laptop to find the blurry outline of Shirabu’s body leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“My door was closed,” Semi says in lieu of an answer.

“No. It was open about an inch.”

Semi squints before returning to his movie. Shirabu clicks his tongue, and from his peripheral vision, Semi sees him cross the room before settling on Semi’s desk chair.

“Semi.”

“Mm?”

Shirabu reaches to grab Semi’s forearm, tugging it like a child begging his parents. “I wanna see Miyazaki’s new movie.”

Semi grunts. “You can go wherever the hell you want, Shirabu. You don’t need my permission.”

“I want you to go with me.”

Semi’s insides are suddenly withering to death.

That was a fucking jumpscare.

“No,” Semi pulls his arm away.

There’s a moment of silence, and the guilt at the pit of his stomach starts building up. It’s almost as if Shirabu didn’t expect Semi to say no. “What do you mean, no?”

“Exactly as I meant.”

“Why?”

Semi chews on the inside of his cheeks, and watches as Baymax walks through the wild traffic of San Fransokyo on his screen.

He needs an excuse. Fast.

“You have a deadline for Monday?” Shirabu asks, breaking into his forcefield.

“No.”

Think, Eita.

“Are you going out with Tendou?”

Semi considers saying yes at that, but that means he has to face Tendou and his endless pit of questions and an earful about how Semi is an idiot (Semi already knows that he is, he doesn’t need to be reminded of that, thank you.)

Semi lets out a sharp exhale before answering, “No.” Damn, he should have just said he had a deadline.

“Then let’s go. We can go grocery shopping after that.”

On the screen, Hiro is weaving his way through the crowd.

Fucking, think!

“Come on. We haven’t gone out in a while.”

Something.

“I have a date tomorrow,” Semi blurts out of nowhere. Now his brain is mentally bitchslapping his mouth.

Shirabu looks at him in extreme horror. “What?”

Semi tries to keep his face neutral. “A date.”

“With who?”

“Suna.” Again, stupid fucking mouth.

“Suna?”

“Suna Rintarou. He’s my junior in the department.”

“I know who he is.”

Semi shrugs before returning to his screen, feigning nonchalance at Shirabu’s shamelessly gaping mouth. “Okay.”

“Why?” Shirabu asks again.

“Why what?”

“Why are you suddenly going out on a date?”

Semi sighs and pushes himself up into a seat. “I don’t know, Shirabu. Maybe because I feel like it?” His tone comes out harsher than he intended.

“But you don’t go out on dates.”

“Maybe after our last date, I kinda miss it. I haven’t done shit like this since freshman year, you know?”

Stupid, Eita. Semi regrets the sentence as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Shirabu looks like he’s been physically slapped. Semi sees the lines of his face fall, and Shirabu looks away before letting out a quiet, “Okay.”

And Semi feels the exact moment when his heart is shattered into smithereens from hearing the way Shirabu says it; small, resigned, like he’s already given up.

Semi bites his lips. “We can go out for dinner sunday.”

“No, just–,” Shirabu exhales, pushes Semi’s chair back and stands. “It’s fine.”

Semi swallows the thick lump of guilt crawling on his throat. “Okay, then.”

Shirabu leaves without another word, the door behind him closing before Semi can move.

Semi hurls his laptop to the side and screams into his pillow before shooting a text to Suna.

—

“You do realize this is weird, right?” Suna says from the seat opposite him.

“I know,” Semi answers, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t make it any weirder than it already is. Just order whatever. I’ll pay.”

Suna only gives a nonchalant shrug before going back to browse through the menu, whistling an off-key version of Twice’s Heart Shaker.

“Semi-san–”

“Drop the fucking honorifics. We’re not friends just yesterday.”

“Alright, Semi. What do you want?”

“Anything that doesn’t contain dairy.”

“Cherry punch okay?”

Semi deadpans, and blinks. “I’m deathly allergic to cherries.”

Suna sighs before passing the menu to him. “Welp. Pick your poison. I’m ordering,” he says before calling the waitress.

Semi ends up ordering an iced tea and fries for himself, and lets the waitress leave with the menu.

“Suna–”

“Rin,” Suna cuts. He swallows his mouthful of onigiri before continuing, “No one in this world ever calls me Suna, other than the professors.”

“Okay, Rin. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Suna looks at him like he just offered a trip to the arctic. “Huh?”

“Your studies, I mean. I hope you didn’t flunk your midterms for solid mechanics.”

Suna chokes on his soda. “How do you–”

“Because last year my whole class did. It happens every year. I have no idea why.”

Suna blinks. “Are we seriously here for a tutor session?”

“Well? What else do you wanna talk about?”

Suna picks a strand of fry (from Semi’s plate that he isn’t touching) before putting it in his mouth. “I don’t know. What do you wanna talk about?”

Semi squints, and gets a shrug in return.

“You look constipated,” Suna says. “Really, Semi, you’re not that subtle.”

Semi rolls his eyes and sips on his iced tea. Too sweet. Semi winces before stirring the glass with his straw.

“You’re welcome to vent, y’know,” his companion says again. “It’s not like we’re friends just yesterday.”

Semi clicks his tongue. “If this ends up on Twitter, Rin, I’m gonna kill you. I know you run Uni’s main gossip account.”

Suna laughs. “Maybe it won’t. Trust me, Semi, not everything ends up on twitter.”

Semi doesn’t have an ounce of trust for this guy, but in certain aspects, Suna is right. Semi probably needs someone other than Tendou to talk about this with. Maybe he’ll get something.

Well, here goes nothing.

“I’m sorry I dragged you here without prior notice,” Semi settles on saying.

“Mm.” Suna places his soda can back on the table and swallows. “You running away from somethin’?”

Yes. “Maybe.” 

Suna raises his eyebrows and gestures for Semi to continue.

“I’m avoiding Shirabu.”

“Ah, trouble in paradise. You do realize that taking a guy out on a date is not the answer? Especially if said guy already has a boyfriend.”

“What?” 

“I have a boyfriend,” Suna says with a shrug.

“No— I mean, yes, I know you have a boyfriend. But, what the fuck, trouble in paradise?”

“I mean, asking another guy out on a date isn’t the way to fix things with your boyfriend, Sem—”

“Shirabu is not my boyfriend!” Semi says a little too defensively.

Suna blinks. “Okay? That, my friend, is news.”

“What?”

“He called me when you were missing the other day, y'know? Sounded like he's in extreme distress." Suna shrugs before picking another strand of fry. "Also, do you realize that half of the department thinks he’s your boyfriend?”

Semi doesn’t know how much more absurd talk of the town he can tolerate. “That’s ridiculous. He was with Yahaba until a few weeks ago.”

“That,” Suna points a finger gun at Semi, “We didn’t know. Fuck, really? Yahaba-who-fucks-anything-with-a-hole-Shigeru?”

Semi snorts. “Yeah. There isn’t any other Yahaba in STEM as far as I know.”

“Holy shit, did Yahaba made a deal with the fucking devil for Shirabu?”

“Beats me. But I’m honestly glad they broke up.”

“With that kind of reputation on Yahaba, I agree.” Suna steals more of Semi’s fries before asking. “So, if Shirabu isn’t your boyfriend, then why the hell are you avoiding him?”

Semi looks away and pretends he’s enjoying his iced tea.

“Oh.” Suna’s whole facade lights up in a mischievous epiphany. “Oh, shit. Did you only just realize you’re head over heels in love with—”

“No, Rin,” Semi quickly smashes that lightbulb away. “I’ve been in love with him since forever, and I’ve been through all the five stages of grief twice because of it .”

Suna blinks. “Oh, this is interesting. Carry on.”

“We went on a date a couple weeks ago.”

“No fucking—”

“Long story short,” Semi cuts with a pointed look, “He’s just different after that and I’m— I don’t—” Semi groans and places his forehead on the cold surface of the table.

He feels some tapping on his head before hearing Suna’s voice. “I’m assuming all of this is actually a good thing?”

Semi lifts his head up and adjusts his glasses. “Maybe? He’s nicer than usual. He smiles a lot? If that makes any sense.”

Maybe it doesn’t to Suna, but he nods anyway.

“Do you realize he’s in love with you?”

Semi, for what it seems like a hundredth time in the span of fifteen minutes, groans. “Why the fuck does everyone keep telling me that? I mean, you don’t fucking know for sure, do you? All you people do is assume.”

“Semi, someone’s gotta be blind to not see that both of you are in love with each other.”

“Cut your crap.”

Suna winces. “Dang. I know your eyesight is a literal pile of shit but come on.”

“Maybe Shirabu is just too caught up with the moment because we went on a date one time, Rin!”

Suna shakes his head. “Are you even listening to yourself now?”

Semi reclines on his chair and blows a strand of hair away from his face.

“Semi?”

Semi’s eyes fix themselves on the crack in the ceiling. “Hm?”

“Are you scared?”

“No,” Semi lies.

“Then why are you here instead of back in the apartment you both share, professing your undying love?”

Semi lets out a loud exhale and closes his eyes. “This conversation is not going anywhere.”

“Are you waiting for him to confess first?”

Semi opens an eye and shoots Suna the dirtiest look he can manage before succumbing back to darkness.

“So? Are you scared that he’s gonna reject you?”

“No,” Semi deflects almost immediately.

“Listen, man,” Suna starts. “I’ve seen this film before. As in, been-there-done-that kinda thing, Samu and I.”

Semi sighs. “Point is?”

“Point is,” Suna says. Even with his eyes closed, Semi can feel Suna's gaze making a fucking brand on his forehead. “Both of you are wasting your time. Take a chance or lose a chance. What the hell are you so afraid of?”

What the hell are you so afraid of?

Semi thinks back on that fateful night in the outskirts of the prefecture. He thinks of the long overdue conversation, of constellations and midnight snacks, of the warmest and most sincere hug they ever shared; the beginning of a lot of things they didn’t really realize.

And then, he thinks of his greatest fear; but this time, it isn’t Shirabu looking at him with disdain. It’s Shirabu holding hands with someone else, laughing and being completely free; it’s Shirabu packing his movers boxes because he finally found someone he’s willing to share forever with.

Suddenly, something hot prickles underneath Semi’s skin.

Take a chance or lose a chance.

Don’t throw away your shot.

Semi opens his eyes and sits up straight, adjusting his glasses.

“Did my TED Talk make it into that thick head of yours?” Suna says with a smirk.

Semi chuckles and shakes his head in return.

“You know,” Semi says. “Tendou would have given me a fist to the jaw.”

Suna shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t blame him.”

“Promise that this won’t end up on twitter? I’m willing to bribe you.”

Suna snorts. “None of this even has to end up on twitter if you play your cards right. Besides, you bribed me enough.”

After that life-changing talk, they really do proceed to a tutor session (which Semi enjoys very much because it kinda gives him an excuse to show off to his juniors a bit.)

Semi takes a gulp from his tea after a round of analysis studies. “You want me to drive you home?”

Suna shakes his head. “No need. I got my ride.” he gestures with his head at a guy approaching their table.

“Ya ready to go?”

“Miya,” Semi greets.

“Just Osamu,” he says with a smile. Semi can see why Suna is hopelessly in love with this guy. “Miya reminds me of the idiot.”

Semi laughs. “Thanks for lending me your boyfriend.”

“Nah. S’not like yer actually interested in him,” Osamu replies. “‘Sides, this brat right here is in dire need of an academic rescue. I suggest ya ring him up and terrorize him more often.”

Suna slaps Osamu’s belly before getting up. “I thought you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I’m sick of ya.” Osamu takes off his cap and puts it on Suna before taking him by the hand. “See ya, Semi-kun.”

Semi laughs before waving them goodbye, now left alone at the table staring at the leftovers of their snack.

—

(A photo of him and Suna together in the cafe ends up on twitter with the caption of a pair of glancing eyes, and Semi wakes up the next morning to an earful from Tendou and another earful to Suna.)

—

Semi only notices the text messages from Shirabu when he (finally) hangs up on Suna.

Shirabu:

im at the library

Semi:

ok

Semi:

what time do u finish

Semi:

which library ill pick u up

Semi checks in on his phone three hours later to find out that Shirabu left him on read. He shoots another text, decides that he’ll call delivery a bit later, and plugs in his charger.

He is then left unsupervised singing along to Olivia Rodrigo, wrestling with his essay and picking apart every single highlighted paragraph without bothering to confirm Kuroo or Yukie. Call him a lunatic, but Semi actually likes doing essays (at least compared to calculating a bridge Truss.)

Semi is lost in his journal rabbithole when his phone blares, making him jump three feet away from his desk. It takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s just his alarm and not Shirabu calling. He pushes his chair across the room to turn it off and clicks on the message app.

His last message is left unread. No missed calls. No other texts.

It’s already six p.m. What the hell is taking Shirabu so long?

Semi purses his lips and presses call without further thoughts.

Hi, it’s Shirabu. Leave a message, thanks, Shirabu’s voicemail answers after a round of rings.

“Hey, Bub. Um, call me back if you want me to pick you up? We can get dinner on the way. If you don’t text me in five minutes, I guess I’m ordering takeout,” Semi says.

He pauses, chews on his lips, and then adds, “It’s cloudy outside, so stay safe, kay? See you home.”

Semi presses the end button and somehow, his chest feels hollow.

He places his phone back down and gives himself five minutes to indulge in his guitar before ordering takeout.

—

The click of the front door resonates through the unit, followed by a muffled thud through the soft pattering of the rain against the window.

“Shirabu?” Semi calls from the kitchen, placing the plate of spring rolls on the table.

Shirabu emerges at the kitchen entrance without a sound or a smile.

“Okaeri,” Semi greets and smiles anyway. Welcome home.

He only gets a nod and a creak of the wooden chair against the tile in return. Shirabu keeps his hands crossed, not sparing Semi even a glance.

“How’s your day?” Semi asks.

“Fine.”

Okay. Semi scrunches his brows.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

Okay, now that is a DEFCON 1 worthy answer.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Semi sighs, and decides to try again.

“I want to tell you to take it easy with your assignments, but I’ll be speaking out of my own ass,” Semi says before pushing the plate of spring rolls towards Shirabu. “Eat. I know you’re hungry.”

“I think I’m moving out.”

Semi’s hand freezes in place because the orbit of his whole damn world has just been thrown off kilter.

“What?” 

Shirabu pretends he’s interested in the rolls and picks two pieces for his plate.

“Shirabu, what do you mean you’re moving out?”

“Exactly what I said,” he says.

Semi blinks. “Why?”

He only earns a single shrug.

“Did I do something?” Semi asks again.

“Not everything that’s happening in my life is about you.” Shirabu says it with the flattest tone ever used in all the history of languages.

Okay, what the fuck?

“Yeah, but I don’t see anyone else living in this place. Be real.”

Shirabu rolls his eyes and pokes his spring roll around.

“Look,” Semi begins. “If I did something wrong, please tell me.”

“I said it’s not you.”

“Then what the fuck is your problem?” 

Shirabu sighs and shakes his head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then talk to me. I can’t understand you if you won’t talk to me.”

“You’re being difficult.”

Semi huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’m not the one who’s moving out on a whim! And you’re calling me difficult.”

“You’re not helping!” Shirabu yells.

“I can’t fucking help you if you’re keeping things this way!”

Shirabu groans, slams his chopsticks on the table, and stomps out of the room.

“Shirabu!” Semi is already on his feet before Shirabu disappears.

Without looking back, Shirabu dashes out of the unit, Semi just a few seconds behind.

“Shirabu!”

Shirabu is still impossibly quick, but Semi is a fast runner by default, so when Shirabu takes the emergency stairs towards the rooftop two at a time, Semi only needs a few extra push to close in on their distance. Shirabu kicks the exit door open and dives straight into the pouring rain.

Semi doesn’t stop, and reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Shirabu, wait—”

“What?” Shirabu snaps, turning around so fast he effectively swats Semi’s hand away from the sheer force. “What do you want now?”

“Me?” Semi shoots back, incredulous. “I’m not the one who started a whole shitstorm and then diving headfirst into the rain! What do you want?”

It’s fucking wet out here, Semi feels his tshirt starting to stick on his back, and it’s like the world is rooting for Semi’s temper to get the best of him.

Shirabu rakes his hands through his matting hair, pulling them back with enough strength to rip them off the roots.

“You goddamn fuck son of a—”

“Don’t you dare cuss at me—”

“Fuck you!” Shirabu screams before turning away. Semi catches his wrist in the last second.

“Let me go!” Shirabu is effectively throwing a tantrum now, but Semi’s grip is firm. He barely feels the scratches on his arm where Shirabu rakes his nails against.

“Semi, let me fucking go or I swear to god I will scream—”

“Shirabu, hey.” Semi grabs his other wrist in an attempt to hold him still. “Listen to me—”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“Kenjirou, hey.” At the sound of his given name, Shirabu’s whole body goes rigid underneath Semi’s grip.

“Please?”

Semi loosens his grip and moves his hand to cover Shirabu’s fists. God, Shirabu’s hand is freezing.

He keeps his eyes on Shirabu, and for the good part, Shirabu doesn’t look away.

There’s water everywhere—on his hair, his bare feet, his ears—and Semi feels his clothes desperately clinging to his skin like the hope in his heart. It’s fucking wet. It’s uncomfortable. Shirabu must hate this so fucking much.

Semi takes Shirabu’s hands and places it on his chest. He doesn’t dare break their gaze.

“Talk to me,” Semi says again, closer to a whisper this time. “Please, Kenjirou, talk to me.”

To Semi’s bafflement, Shirabu barks out a laugh.

It’s sharp. Bitter. Colder than the pouring rain on their bodies.

He slaps Semi’s grip off.

“See?” Shirabu says. “This is exactly what your problem is!”

Semi had thought he didn’t have any more fuse to blow, but dear lord, this is Shirabu fucking Kenjirou he’s dealing with.

“Really? I’m trying to talk to you and now I’m the problem?” Semi says. 

Shirabu yanks his arms so hard that Semi loses his hold completely, and screams.

And then, Semi sees it— he sees the way Shirabu bites his lips before dropping his head low; he sees the violent shake of his shoulders. And then he hears it. A sob, a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re a goddamn sadist, Eita.”

This time, Semi is just blatantly confused. He groans.

“Kenjirou—”

“I’m in love with you!” Shirabu’s voice is sharp enough to cut. He whips his head up looking straight at Semi, and Semi’s heart freezes in place.

Oh.

Oh.

“I have been since highschool,” Shirabu continues through his ragged breathing. “I went out on those stupid dates so I could get over you. But I can’t! Eita, for the love of god, I can’t.”

Shirabu is choking on his words, but Semi doesn’t hear anything else.

I’m in love with you.

Something flutters underneath his chest, and Semi feels like he’s flying.

“And then you took me to fucking Disneyland, and I thought— I thought I can finally give up on those shitty blind dates. I thought I finally had a chance. I thought we had a fucking chance!”

Semi barely feels the impact of Shirabu’s fist on his chest, because through the raindrops on his glasses, there’s only Shirabu and his words going over and over and over again in his head.

Dear Lord, I’m so in love with him .

Suddenly, the rain doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Just when I thought I can finally give up on the hopes of us, you came back and—”

Semi pulls Shirabu’s face close and kisses him.

There’s cold, and a beat of silence, and then Semi feels the force on his chest shoving him away.

“Get the fuck off me!” Shirabu screams. “You went out on a date with Suna Rintarou last night and now you’re trying to kiss—”

“Wait.” The word leaves Semi’s mouth before his brain can catch up. “Wait a fucking minute.”

“What the hell do you want! ”

Semi grabs him by the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up, Shirabu. Listen to me.”

“No! Let go of me!” Shirabu slaps his arms away, but Semi holds himself firm.

“There’s nothing going on between me and Rin.”

“You have a fucking nickname for him?”

“Everyone calls him Rin, Shirabu! It’s not exclusive. Listen to—”

“I don’t wanna listen to anything you have to say!”

“Then I won’t speak.” Semi’s sentence rings with finality.

Shirabu stops moving entirely, wide eyed in disbelief and Semi has never, ever been more scared of anything in his entire life.

Both of them are now panting like they’re running a fucking marathon, and Semi raises a hand, carefully tucking a strand of Shirabu’s hair away from his eyes before cupping his cheek with both hands.

Semi can’t properly see it, but the whites of Shirabu's eyes look like they are tinted red. Goddamn, he wants to see Shirabu’s face, bright and clear, away from the water stains on his glasses and the sheet of pouring rain between them.

Shirabu has always been beautiful, and not even the rain can wash that away. Semi knows, he just wishes he could see it properly. Appreciate it. Appreciate him.

Now he sees why Shirabu hates the rain so much. In his head, he curses at it, and a flash of lightning comes to light up their sky in a billboard big go fuck yourself. For a split second, the browns of Shirabu’s irises are set ablaze.

With the gentlest touch of his thumb, Semi wipes the constellation of tears and raindrops away from Shirabu’s lashes. He feels the heat creeping in his own eyes and, with all the pent up love choking him almost to death, leans down and kisses him.

The kiss doesn’t send him into the sky like fireworks, it doesn’t give him that flutter he imagined he would have. Instead, against all of his waking dreams of a first kiss, there’s a sense of immense security.

The rain on Shirabu’s lips tastes like slow weekday mornings; like midnight drives and impromptu game sessions, like dancing to an old school playlist in the living room. He tastes like highschool, like half a decade of memories; like coming home.

Semi pulls away, slowly, and leans his forehead on Shirabu’s.

“Can I speak now?” Semi asks, voice thick from unshed tears.

He earns a single, solitary nod, and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry about that date,” Semi begins. “Honest to god, I panicked when you asked me to go out, and my stupid mouth decided to say something incredibly stupid at the last minute, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Semi places a kiss—once, in the crease between Shirabu’s brows—for the apology.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you? I had to watch you go on those stupid dates with those stupid ass motherfuckers you don’t even like, wishing every single time that it was me.” Semi caresses his thumb over Shirabu’s cheek before continuing. “And then I had to watch you, the love of my life, hold hands with your boyfriend after I dropped you off on your first date. Jesus, Kenjirou, I swear to God I shed ten years off my lifespan because of it!”

He feels Shirabu’s soft chuckles against his skin, and places another kiss—twice, one for each cheek— because he’s been waiting for this. They’ve been waiting for this.

“God, for so long, I was scared shitless because I didn’t want you to leave if I confessed! And then the whole circus with Disneyland happened and then I was scared shitless because I’m in love with you ten times more than I already was and you started treating me differently and I had no fucking clue about what to do about it.”

Semi places a kiss, again, at the tip of his nose, because he knows that everything will be alright. They’ll be alright.

“I’m sorry, okay? I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you that it scares the hell out of me. But I love you. Kenjirou, I love you so damn much so please, please live with me forever now.”

Semi’s voice cracks at the end of his sentence, and he feels the heat trickle down his cheeks. 

A pair of hands come up to hold the sides of his face, and his glasses slide off him with extreme finesse; as if the person doing it has done it hundreds of times before. Semi dares himself to look up and find Shirabu already smiling at him, radiant and ever lovely, and Semi can see it even through the blurs of the rainstorm and his vision.

“Took you long enough,” comes Shirabu’s reply, and Semi feels himself being wrapped around gentle arms, warmer than a summer evening. The lips that find him now serve as a keepsake.

It’s liberating, in a way, to be able to lay down all his defenses and let Shirabu take him in the ways he has only ever dared to hope. The ever permanent knot in Semi’s heart finally falls away with each drop of rain, with each stroke of Shirabu’s hand on his hair.

Semi pulls away to catch his breath. “You’re worth every damn second of it.”

Against the downpour, Shirabu’s smile widens. “Tadaima,” he says, and seals their lips in a promise of a new beginning. I love you.

Semi kisses him back.

“Okaeri.” I love you too.

*

Semi turns away from his laptop screen and sneezes for five consecutive times.

“Oh my God,” he grumbles before sniffling and rubbing his whole face. “Kenjirou, do we still have Claritin?”

Shirabu arrives at the living room and places a kiss on the top of Semi’s head before assuming his place on the couch.

“We do, but didn’t you take enough already?” Shirabu says.

Semi snorts through the tissue before throwing it into his makeshift trash bin (old fried chicken bucket). He reclines his body against the couch behind him and closes his eyes. “I’m dying out here.”

He feels Shirabu’s cold hands on his forehead. “Are you sure this is your allergy acting up?”

Semi rubs his eyes so hard he’s seeing colorful spots behind his lids. “Yes, Kenjirou. My whole face itches inside and out. I’m fine.”

Shirabu reaches over and pries Semi's hands away. “Stop rubbing your eyes so hard. You’ll dislocate your lens.”

“I can do that?” Semi blinks the spots away and tries to rub it off again.

Shirabu sighs. “Yes, you can do that. Stop it!”

Semi pulls away and sneezes three more times before letting out a groan.

“Stay with Tendou for the night,” Shirabu suggests. “I’ll clean this whole place up.”

Semi shakes his head. “I’ll just go out for a few hours. I’ll get better after that.”

“No. It’s gonna take me all night.”

“I’ll help you.”

“In that condition, Lord help you,” Shirabu says before getting up from the couch. “Go pack your bags.”

Semi kicks himself up to his feet. “Are you throwing me out?”

Shirabu turns around and plants a kiss on Semi’s cheek. “Eita, I love you. Stop being insufferable.”

Semi sneezes two more times before entering their shared room to pack his bags.

—

The door of Tendou’s apartment opens almost immediately after Semi rings the bell.

“Oh, shit. Did you take Claritin?” is the first thing Tendou says at the sight of Semi’s bloodshot eyes.

“If I take anymore, I’ll overdose,” Semi says, his voice muffled from the mask.

“But your asthma’s fine, isn’t it?”

Semi nods before pushing through the entrance. “Hopefully. I brought my reliever, though.”

“What happened?”

“I guess Kenjirou and I got too caught up in everything that we forgot to deep clean the place.” Semi places his duffle bag at the foot of the couch before taking a seat.

“So he’s cleaning your whole place now? By himself?”

“He kicked me out,” Semi says as he takes off his socks and shoves them in the bag. “Believe me, I’d help him, but I’m not in the state to fight him over it.”

Tendou snorts. “I’ll make your usual allergy tea.”

Semi yanks off his mask and breathes in the fresh, clean air of Tendou’s place. He relishes his no longer stuffy nose, and basks himself in the calming scent of green tea and orchid, exactly the way Tendou’s old room used to smell like. It brings Semi a brief bout of nostalgia.

Tendou comes back into the living area carrying a mug of steaming hot tea, and Semi takes it like he’s just been handed liquid ecstasy.

“I haven’t had this since forever,” Semi says after a sip. “It tastes like high school.”

“You associate that tea with highschool?” Tendou asks as he turns the air purifier on.

“Mm. Do you know how unhygienic the Shiratorizawa dorms are? I can’t ever stay in anyone else’s room, not even Wakatoshi’s. And he’s one of the most sanitary people I know.”

“Sometimes, I pity your hyper-allergic ass.”

Semi only shakes his head. “Me too.”

When everything is good and settled and Semi has gotten himself rid of the leftover dust from his place, he lies sprawled on Tendou’s bed staring at the ceiling, feeling exponentially better than hours ago.

“Y’know,” Tendou says from the desk chair, eyes glued to his PC. “It’s nice to finally see you guys officially together.”

Semi bites his lips. “Yeah. About that.”

“Eita?”

There’s that voice again. Semi clicks his tongue and pushes himself up, glaring at Tendou.

“Do you realize how terrifying you sound when you use that voice on me?” he says.

“I have no clue about what you’re saying, but what the hell is with that look?”

“What look?”

“You made a face.”

“No.”

Tendou completely ignores him. “Are you and Kenjirou exclusive?”

Semi glances sideways. “We’re on first name basis.”

“We've been on first name basis since day three. That does not make you my boyfriend,” Tendou retorts with both hands crossed.

Semi decides that it’s best to lie back down and stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, we haven't– talked— about the arrangement of— things?”

Tendou only so much as deadpans.

“We’re preoccupied, okay?” Semi defends. “Finals week is coming.”

“But both of you confessed?”

“Yes?”

“Have you guys kissed?”

“Yes.”

“Did you guys fuck?”

“What— No!” Semi flips his whole body to the side. “We’re not there yet.”

Tendou only gives him a flat look, and Semi closes his eyes.

“But we share a room now, okay? So that’s something.”

“Did you ask him to be your boyfriend?”

Semi opens an eye. Tendou does not look too happy. “Is that necessary? I thought people are automatically exclusive when their feelings are requited.”

Tendou slaps a palm to his forehead. “Then what the hell did you say that day?”

Semi shrugs. “Kenjirou said out of nowhere that he wanted to move out, I want batshit, and he went batshit because I went batshit, then he stormed off into the rain and I chased after him, and then we underwent another screaming match—”

“That,” Tendou cuts him off, “Does not sound like a confession!”

“Well, that day I wasn’t planning on confessing!”

“What did you say? After you both confessed?”

Semi blinks. “I asked him to live with me. Forever.”

Tendou takes a deep breath and exhales softly before getting up from his desk chair. He crosses the room towards his wardrobe and pulls out his pair of jeans.

“What are you doing?”

“Dragging your ass out to Ginza so you can buy a proper gift for your not-yet-boyfriend boyfriend . Get up and change! We leave in five.”

“You take forever to style your hair!”

“Fuck my hair, Eita. I’ll drag you by the ear if you’re not ready by then.”

—

Shirabu:

what time are u coming home?

Shirabu:

its safe now dw :D 

Semi:

lol

Semi:

be there in 10

Shirabu:

okkkk

—

“Tadaima.”

Semi clicks the door closed and makes a face at the lack of response.

“Kenjirou?”

Maybe he’s out at the convenience store? Semi shrugs and walks through the hallway into the living area.

Mid morning sun filters through the sheer curtains covering the window, casting a lazy glow over the room, and Semi drops his bag on the couch with a muffled thud. He takes a deep breath, and when not a single nuisance enters his nose, decides that Shirabu really did deep clean the place all by himself. The place smells freshly of clary sage and lavender, and Semi scans the room to find an essential oil diffuser sitting at the corner of the room.

The heartfelt gesture almost brings him to tears, but something on the coffee table catches his eye, something square and dark and tied with a silver ribbon. He squints and crouches to take a better look.

Semi Eita, the tag attached to it reads. Semi scrunches his brows at that. It’s not his birthday.

Is Shirabu up for a damn prank?

Assuming that the thing is meant for him, Semi pulls on the ribbon and lifts open the lid. He only notices that the box is actually a very deep purple.

Semi makes himself comfortable and rummages through the contents of it, and almost chokes himself from the sudden bout of incoming tears.

There’s a shit ton of things going on, from pictures to stickers to greeting cards and everything else in between, most of them dating from his highschool days, and Semi grazes his fingers over the memories.

There’s a polaroid picture of the team from Semi’s last game, after they lost against Karasuno. A keychain Semi had brought back for the team after a trip to Europe with his family years ago. A bunch of flower stickers Semi also brought for the team because his sister gave him a whole pack of a hundred of it and Semi doesn’t know what to do with them (he remembers Reon being excited because apparently, the guy likes flowers). A greeting card in his handwriting for the club’s annual secret santa in his second year (he gifted a pack of pens, and a scrawly merry christmas & please stop stealing my pen is written across the card in his handwriting because someone on the team used to steal his pens and he never found out who).

The realization comes to Semi like the warmth of summer air, because this box is a memento, a remembrance , and everything inside it is just Semi, tucked inside the blanket of Shirabu’s devotion for all these years.

And it only occurs to Semi that their story had begun long before he knew it, kept alive by Shirabu’s meticulous habit of taking care and keeping things safe.

His shaky hands come to a single white envelope, with the kanji of his name written in what he recognizes is Shirabu’s perfect strokes in blue ink. He tears open the seal and pulls on its content.

Insufferable bitch, the first card says, and Semi immediately burst out laughing.

When Semi is able to catch his breath, he realizes that the card isn’t actually a card. Semi flips it around, and finds himself staring at a picture of the team, taken some time during Shirabu’s first year. 

It’s the exact same picture as the one on Semi’s desk. His favorite team picture, the one where he and Shirabu were standing next to each other. But unlike Semi’s copy, this one is frayed around the edges, and there’s a visible line in the corner that shows that it has been folded sometime in the distant past.

He places the photograph on the table and pulls out the next.

Chainsmoker with a goddamn ASTHMA.

Semi snorts and shakes his head. Leave it to Shirabu to endearingly shit talk him.

Stupidly insane lactose intolerant who drinks milkshake almost every fucking day.

Blind ass driver.

Beautiful angelic voice.

Fucking talented musician.

Killer tattoos. Seriously, you’re perfect.

Shit cook. Not so perfect, are you? LOL.

It’s mostly a picture of him, freshly printed, taken in sporadic times throughout the years they have known each other. Some, Semi remembers; the others, nothing more than a glimpse. But it’s there, keeping the hearth of his memories flickering.

Semi is now looking at a picture of the both of them, during the summer training camp in his third year. In it, Semi is grinning ear to ear, flashing a peace sign with one of his hands. His other arm is draped across Shirabu’s shoulder, who looked extremely sweaty but content nonetheless, the softest of smiles playing on his lips.

Semi didn’t remember this photo even existed until a few seconds ago, and makes a mental note to ask for the soft copy of it to Shirabu. He turns the photo around, and the prickling heat in his eyes melts into a waterfall.

My senior. Mentor. Role model.

Semi blinks, feeling the tears roll down the corners of his eyes before moving on.

It’s a picture of him on the court, mid-set, with Ushijima flying into position. He can’t determine when this photo was taken.

The setter I had always aspired to become, the setter I had wanted to surpass (and did).

He places it on the table and pulls out the next.

A picture of them from one of the days Shirabu first moved in, a selfie taken with Shirabu’s phone, with Shirabu doing a duckface and Semi sticking his tongue out. Little did they know that that day would become a pivotal moment to their whole relationship, where the tectonic plates started to shift, slowly settling into something they had always meant to become.

My first love. The better part of me.

Semi bites his lip and looks away.

The last picture is the most recent one, taken in Disneyland with the help of a stone railing and Shirabu’s mountain of souvenirs. It’s not one of the best, and Semi wonders why out of the dozens of pictures they took, Shirabu chooses to print this one.

Shirabu was mid laugh, a bit out of focus from his motion, but radiant and completely free; Semi had never seen Shirabu looking like that in pictures before. Semi was standing next to him, hands tucked inside the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, glancing sideways at the man next to him and he looks— gentle. It’s the only way to put it, because everything about Semi in that picture screams gentle; the look in his eyes, the smile on his lips, the gesture of his stance.

He looks like he’s in love, and Semi immediately stops wondering. He turns the photo around. 

Thank you. I love you.

For all the things that you were, for all the things that you are, and for all the things you’re yet to be.

Shirabu Kenjirou.

“I was about to get you flowers but then I remembered that you’re almost deathly allergic to them,” comes Shirabu’s voice. He’s leaning on the doorframe of their room, holding a dark green box of something in his arms. “So I got these instead.”

Semi huffs out a laugh and wipes the tears off his face with the back of his hand before standing up to meet him halfway.

“Almost put them together, too, but then remembered that we should do it together. You know, like all the other IKEA furniture in this place?”

Semi takes the box out of Shirabu’s arms and squints. It’s a set of Lego bouquet, and Semi snorts at how comical it is. He places the lego set on the TV stand next to him and catches that beautiful face in his hands before pressing their lips together.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says.

“And you’re crying,” Shirabu replies, kissing the tear stains on his cheeks away.

Semi shakes his head, kisses Shirabu again, and wraps his arm around him.

“I got you something,” Semi says when he finally lets go, and fishes a tin box out of his hoodie pocket.

Shirabu tilts his head back and laughs. “No way. I’m the one who should be giving all the gifts today.”

“Hey now. I was planning on giving you this. It’s not my fault I came home to your time capsule and a box of Lego.” Semi places the box on Shirabu’s hand.

Shirabu pulls the lid off and immediately shoves him playfully on the shoulder.

“No way,” he says as he takes the watch out, alternately looking at Semi and its surface, holding back a smile. Shirabu turns it around, and grazes a thumb over the inscription of his name.

Semi closes his hand around the object, prying it off Shirabu’s hands, and unlatches the buckle.

“It’s an automatic,” Semi says, wrapping the leather strap on Shirabu’s wrist. “I liked it, and I thought the size would suit you. But I know nothing about color theory, so when Satori said you’d look best in rose gold, I just had to go along.” Semi holds his hand, inspecting the polished surface of its face, before kissing the back of Shirabu’s hand. “And he was right.”

Semi sees the redness dusting the top of Shirabu’s cheeks, and kisses them for good measure.

Shirabu lowers his head then, biting his lips and visibly avoiding Semi’s eyes.

“Kenjirou? Semi says. “What’s wrong?”

Shirabu shakes his head.

“Talk to me, love.” Semi lifts his face up by the chin, gentle as the blowing wind.

Shirabu turns away, gazing at the open box on the coffee table. Semi sees the bob of his throat when he swallows.

“I wanted to—” Shirabu’s words are cut with a hitch of his breath.

He blinks a few times before shaking his head again, and says. “I just— I’m not good with words, and there’s so much I wanna tell you, but if I ever try to say it I know I’m gonna break down and cry so I—” Shirabu’s voice cracks, and he takes a deep breath. “That box is— everything I want you to know. I thought I could show you. But I—”

Shirabu chokes, and Semi sees the tears fall from the corner of his eyes. He’s still not looking at Semi, and Semi pulls him into his shoulder without another word.

“I wanted you to know,” Shirabu chokes. “That I— I’m trying. And—”

“Shhh. It’s okay, love.” Semi rakes his fingers through Shirabu’s hair, hoping the motion would ground him, the way it does to Semi in times of distress.

Shirabu shakes his head. “Do you even understand what I’m trying to say?” His voice is muffled from the fabric of Semi’s clothes.

Like any other time Shirabu’s words fail him, Semi understands. It’s something entwined so profoundly between them, unconsciously, something they built over the course of highschool days and shared living space; because before anything else, Semi and Shirabu had long known each other by heart. 

And going through Shirabu’s memories only reveals the depth of his love, amplified tenfold.

Semi places a kiss on his temple. “Loud and clear.”

He hums a lullaby, and Shirabu’s breathing settles into something more subtle along with it. Shirabu peels himself away, and Semi greets him with a smile.

“Semi Eita?” he says, hazy eyes warm like the morning sun.

“Yes, Kenjirou?”

“May I have your hand in a loving partner, for however long it lasts?”

Semi’s brows rise at the sudden, unexpected declaration.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Shirabu shrugs. “I would have asked you to marry me but wouldn’t that be a bit too early?”

Semi’s laughter rings throughout the apartment, and for the first time in the course of their whole relationship, Semi lets his chest swell with dreams.

“Yes,” Semi says, kissing him again and again and again on the lips. “Fuck yes, Kenjirou, you can have my whole life if you want.”

There are a series of events that Semi Eita will absolutely repeat throughout his life, including but not limited to:

1. Slow dancing to vintage jazz in the middle of the living room.

2. Agreeing to leave the house during a deep-clean session because of his severe allergy, even if it’s against his dying wish.

3. Picking Shirabu Kenjirou off his feet and spinning him around before catching him by the lips, smiling from ear to ear.

Because when it comes to Shirabu, Semi will always say yes— in a heartbeat, in a hundred lifetimes, a thousand times over.