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Ichiban is really something else.
Tomizawa doesn't realize this suddenly, it's just a notion that builds gradually as he gets to know his new friend, as all those little moments and passing interactions begin to add up.
He can't remember what he thought of Ichiban when the man first hopped in his taxi. But it didn’t take long to reveal Ichi’s impressive empathy and courage. He saved Tomizawa’s life, and all of his crew can say the same in one way or another. Each of them holds a certain kind of reverence for their leader, and Ichiban reflects that love tenfold.
Tomizawa seems to have figured out the hero-party dynamic and found himself a comfortable space within it. Things start to make sense, at least for a while.
But the relationship between him and Ichiban keeps shifting, day by day, almost imperceptibly.
It starts with scattered hints of affection — nothing unusual for a close friendship, but a kind of warmth he wouldn't expect from someone he met so recently. Smiles sent his way, pep talks when he's feeling down, a genuine interest in anything he says, and even a nickname that the rest of his party soon adopts.
It gets him a bit bashful at first, but he can chalk it up to his own loneliness. Ichiban is just a friendly guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, blessedly kind and open to everyone he meets, and Tomi is used to closing himself off. That's all.
Still, when Ichiban starts treating him to meals and buying him heartfelt gifts for absolutely no reason, he feels like he doesn't deserve any of it. He rejects the offers in the beginning, but Ichiban’s persistent generosity and sweet, sad expression at each refusal gradually wears him down.
He learns to accept it like the others have: even the ever-stoic Joon-gi can't say no to a pouting Ichiban. Tomizawa feels as if he'll never be able to completely return the favor for everything Ichi has done, but he tries to reciprocate whenever he can.
Every time he starts to understand their connection, when it seems like they're as close as can be and he finally starts settling down, Ichiban does something to surprise him.
Recently, it had been physical affection: frequent hugs, getting his hair ruffled up, always a hand casually resting on his shoulder or his back. That one had been the hardest to get used to. He would startle and jump at every unexpected touch, but Ichiban was patient, and managed to rein himself in enough to take things slow.
Tomizawa learns that if he sits next to Ichiban and leans into his side, he would immediately feel Ichiban leaning back into him, melting at the slightest contact. This, too, becomes his new normal.
But the rest of the party doesn't question it, so he won't either. He figures it's a regular thing when Ichiban loops an arm around his waist out of the blue, and makes a comment that would sound like flirting if it were from anyone else.
“Been working out? You’re lookin’ pretty strong,” he says, with clear appreciation in his voice. It’s punctuated with a squeeze to Tomizawa’s bicep. “Nice job, Tomi.”
“Thanks, man.”
Then Ichiban drifts away, off to do whatever, as if nothing had happened. Tomizawa doesn't think much of it — because, well, it's true! He had been working hard on his figure, and he always appreciates the affirmation.
But Chitose starts giggling. It makes Tomizawa suddenly self-conscious, and an unexpected thought passes through his mind:
Ichiban treats him more like a boyfriend than a best friend.
The way Ichiban dotes on him whenever he gets so much as a bruise or a sniffle. The compliments that are so sugary-sweet that Tomi can barely respond to them without stuttering. The sunny grin with a hint of shyness that Ichiban gives whenever he's complimented back.
The idea leaves him flushed red, going about his day with a warm face and that same concept tucked into the back of his mind, lingering. He can't entirely deny it. None of his friends, even his very best, ever treated him quite like Ichiban does. He's experienced companionship, belonging, even brotherhood, but Ichiban makes him feel… treasured? Warm and fuzzy? It's hard to describe.
Tomizawa tries to push away the thought before it can snowball out of control. It's simply an Ichiban thing, he decides. He remembers Zhao saying something about it — you can't hate Kasuga-kun, he just has that kind of effect on people.
They're only friends, he reassures himself; Ichiban is the same quirky, soft-hearted goofball he's always been. There's no deeper meaning to it.
He manages to keep up that charade for a while, until Ichiban asks him to hang out.
Despite having a rather large social circle and a busy life, Ichiban always finds a way to make time for one-on-one get-togethers with his closest friends.
It just so happens to be Tomizawa’s turn. He, of course, happily accepts. Ichiban is hard to say no to, and he seems to have a sixth sense for knowing which friend could use his company. Maybe Tomi needs it more than he realizes.
The day starts off the same as usual. Ichiban drags him out bright and early, without much mention of where or why — he's not even sure if Ichiban has a plan at all. But he doesn't have any better ideas, so he follows without complaint.
They ride the tour bus for a while, where Ichiban excitedly watches the scenery pass by, and he always ends up spotting something new even if he's ridden the same routes a thousand times. They chat and joke as they browse the little touristy spots along the beach. The afternoon is spent swimming, enjoying the respite from the heat.
And as the light starts to turn dim and warm, they take a walk along the shore. They hadn't thought in advance enough to bring a swimsuit, so they're left in their damp clothes, letting the last of the sun dry them out.
“Did you at least remember to put on sunblock this morning?” Tomizawa teases.
Ichiban grins. “Hey, I only forgot it once, and I learned my lesson!”
He ruffles Tomi's hair, then flicks the water left on his hands at his friend, droplets speckling Tomizawa’s glasses. They both laugh.
Then Tomi catches a glimpse of Ichiban, and his heart rises to his throat.
A gilded halo of light outlines Ichiban’s silhouette, highlighting his features. Behind him, the horizon shines with color as the harsh rays of the sun are scattered and softened. The clouds catch striking shades of pink and orange.
He tries so, so hard not to think about the fact that he's walking on the beach at sunset with a friend he already has complicated feelings for, but it's impossible to ignore. He tries to focus on the sky instead of the man, instead of the way the light brings out gold flecks in Ichiban’s dark eyes as he gazes off at the setting sun. He focuses on the sand under his feet and tries not to stumble.
His tongue feels clumsy. He can't find anything coherent to say, so he lets the conversation lull into silence. Ichiban is watching the sky, uncharacteristically peaceful, so he lets the moment stand.
It gives Tomizawa time to think, which is really the last thing he wanted to have. But he's got to confront it at some point, and the world seems to be pushing him to do it now, consequences be damned. So he lets himself imagine.
He can imagine reaching out and taking Ichiban’s hand, he can almost feel his friend’s sun-warmed skin and the way their fingers would intertwine. Tomizawa can conjure up, with surprisingly little effort, the image of Ichiban’s lips against his cheek, the brush of softness and scratchy stubble. He just hopes the colors of the waning light will disguise the heat in his face.
But imagining Ichiban calling him his boyfriend? Inviting him to stay the night, twisting the innocent phrase into something more suggestive? He's not sure what to think of that. It doesn't feel as light and easy as the rest of the daydream. It doesn't feel right.
But that's what romance is about, isn't it? What else could he be wanting?
Fortunately, it doesn't take too long for Ichiban to be distracted, and pull Tomizawa from his own thoughts in turn. Tomi should've expected it, but he was so caught up in his own head that it catches him off guard; he almost trips over himself when Ichiban links their arms together and hauls him off in a different direction.
Ichi drags them out to a tacky waterfront dive for dinner, where they can sit out on the patio and take in the last dregs of sunlight. It at least gives Tomi something else to focus on, and lets things go back to a relative normal.
Talking, laughing, eating, just as friends. It makes him feel at ease. A couple cocktails lighten the mood, and he forgets about the whole conundrum, for a while.
Until Ichiban puts his hand on Tomizawa’s arm and almost makes him jump out of his seat.
“Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” Ichiban offers an apologetic smile. A bit of a flush highlights his golden cheeks, a bit of a slur seeps into the edges of his words.
Ichiban’s always been a sweet, sentimental drunk, and even a glass or two is enough to get him touchy-feely. His fingers still hover over Tomizawa’s arm, waiting for an answer.
“No, no, it's alright,” Tomizawa assures him, still finding himself unable to refuse the man. It's even harder to refuse his own feelings.
Ichiban’s touch eagerly returns, on his other shoulder this time, an arm slung around Tomizawa that pulls him closer.
The motion and the sudden contact mixed with the tipsiness makes him dizzy. His stomach twists around butterflies.
He sighs and lets himself melt into Ichiban’s touch, hoping it will keep him grounded in the present. Tomizawa doesn't want to worry about those kinds of things: unrequited feelings, relationships putting wedges in perfectly good friendships, the whole song and dance of dating.
He likes Ichiban. He likes this. And that's all that should matter.
But that twinge of uncertainty, the idea of wanting something more than friendship, keeps him on his toes and unable to fully put his guard down.
By the time their food and drink is finished, the sun has fully set, and the breeze has gotten chilly while Ichiban is still radiating warmth. Tomizawa parts from Ichiban, somewhat reluctantly. His neck hurts from leaning into Ichiban while awkwardly trying to keep balance on his own stool, but his only regret is the loss of contact. The spots where they were touching feel unusually cool as the wind hits drying sweat.
Meanwhile, Ichiban stretches and hops off his chair. “Hey, it's getting kinda late. Wanna stay at Revolve for the night?”
He doesn't say it like the imaginary-Ichiban in Tomi’s head did. It's purely a kind, straightforward offer from a friend, almost absentmindedly so as he leaves a generous tip tucked under the edge of his empty glass. Generosity seems to be second nature to him.
“Sorry, I have… things to do in the morning,” Tomizawa finds himself saying. A baldfaced lie, but Ichiban doesn't question it.
“Mmkay. See you tomorrow, then?”
“Yeah, for sure.”
Ichiban gives him one last pat on the back before Tomi heads off, somewhat awkwardly.
In the following days, Ichiban still hangs around just as much as usual — and is often present in the back of Tomizawa’s mind, uninvited — but they don't get much time alone.
Their party is a pretty tightly knit pack, and there tends to be a few others, if not the whole ten of them, sticking around at any point. At the bar, in the streets, on the beach. In fights and pseudo-hero missions. Riding around on their segways like the little band of nerds they are.
And he still toys with that idea of him and Ichiban together, but it never really goes anywhere. Not like it did that night.
He keeps it to himself, or at least, he had intended to. Until their next big outing — a city-wide shopping spree.
While Ichiban is busy running from store to store with his more spry companions, Adachi and Nanba split from the group to take a short break. Tomizawa decides to join them.
The three end up on a bench in the breezeway of an outdoor mall. It’s a picturesque spot, with the sunlight filtering in between palm leaves, and streams of busy shoppers passing by.
Adachi is winded from all the walking, and Nanba rubs his back with a half-sarcastic and half-caring, “Take it easy, big guy.”
They’ve known each other — and Ichiban — much longer than Tomizawa has. If anyone can get to the root of his problem, he figures it’d be them.
“Ichiban’s hard to keep up with, isn’t he?” Nanba says to Tomizawa. “Don’t feel bad if you have to take a breather with us old guys once in a while.” He gives a small smile and a reassuring pat on Tomizawa’s shoulder.
Tomi smiles, too. Even if he's one of the newest of Ichiban’s companions, he never feels left out. Everyone makes sure of that, Ichiban especially.
“He’s really something, isn't he?” Tomizawa idly toys with the shopping bag hanging off his wrist, swinging it back and forth.
He hadn't intended to buy much, but Ichiban kept insisting on getting him things. And he had to pick up a gift or two for Ichiban in return, of course. Different items roll around and crinkle the plastic.
Nanba sighs and leans back. “Ichiban can be a bit hard to handle sometimes, but I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“He's too damn nice,” Tomizawa concludes, letting the bag drop unceremoniously to the ground.
Adachi laughs. “He’s a real sweetheart. Never met anyone like him. That can be difficult to get used to, at first, but you learn to understand him eventually.”
Tomizawa rubs the red mark left on his wrist. Him and Ichiban seem to get closer and closer every day, but there's still so much he doesn't know about the man. His feelings, for one. Sure, Ichiban likes him, but Ichiban likes everyone, so how's he supposed to tell?
“I've never had a friend like him, either. If anything, he treats me more like we're dating.” He phrases the last part as a joke, but he can't force himself to laugh.
“Yeah, he's just like that.” Adachi shrugs, nonchalant. “Ichiban’s relationship with his party — well, with people in general, probably — has always been different. More intense. Even if you're only a friend, he'll love you with his whole heart with no hesitation, y'know?”
Tomizawa thinks he should be relieved. He's not sure if he actually is.
If this all is just an ‘Ichiban thing’, that would explain their unique relationship, wouldn't it? But his feelings don't like the idea of being dismissed so easily.
There's a note of concern in Nanba’s expression. “Hey, if anything’s bothering you, then you should go talk to him. He won't judge you about anything at all — you know that already.”
He does. He knows Ichiban would never think badly of him, no matter what he said. He could march over to him, bear his whole messy heart and get it over with, and still come out the other side as Ichiban’s friend, same as always. But that implies he’s figured out what he wants and is brave enough to confront it, and neither of those things is true.
Over the next few days, he keeps trying to rehearse the conversation. In the mirror, in bed, sitting on the other side of the bar. But every time, when imaginary-Ichiban would smile and ask if he's okay, the explanation would never come out right, clumsy and incomplete.
And he honestly means to talk to Ichiban eventually, but that ‘eventually’ keeps getting put off.
He doesn't mean for Ichiban to notice, either. But one morning, when Ichiban asks how he's doing, he's so wrapped up in his own head that it takes a stunned moment of silence for him to remember how to speak.
And maybe that's why Ichiban suggests he sleeps over at Resolve, even if he claims it's “just because,” and part of why Tomizawa accepts. He knows how much Ichiban cares.
The other part is that he'd never work up the courage to talk to him otherwise.
Still, the evening passes as easily as every time at the bar does, with drinks and conversation flowing. Tomizawa has reasonable helpings of both — just enough to calm his mind and pass the time. He's even okay as the others begin to filter out.
Ichiban is a few chairs away, and as the people between them head for home, he keeps looking over like he wants to snatch one of the closer seats, but he never does. It's clear he’s realized something, and is being respectful of Tomizawa’s space.
And while that’s very, very sweet of him, it only makes Tomi even more aware of how much he wants them to be close. How he wants Ichi to casually throw an arm around his shoulders again, to lean all his weight against Tomizawa until he's halfway in the man’s lap.
But Ichiban still shoots him smiles, joking and laughing. He doesn't make Tomizawa feel like he's being held at a distance. He could fool himself into thinking it's just a regular night at Revolve.
Eventually, both of them grow tired. The aimless talk becomes mellow and hushed as the night falls. When Tomizawa yawns in the middle of a sentence, they decide it's time to head upstairs, just past midnight.
Tomizawa ends up sitting on the leather sofa in the spare room as he waits for Ichiban to finish getting ready for bed. Tomi’s wearing a borrowed shirt that must have already been oversized when Ichiban thrifted it, because it trails down to his mid-thigh and keeps slipping off his shoulder. It makes him feel oddly small. He curls up in it, pulling his legs up onto the couch, and tucking the hem of the shirt under them. He recognizes the scent of Ichiban’s detergent. It's cheap but distinctive.
Before he has any more time to think about that, Ichiban emerges from the bathroom. He's got a freshly-clean glow to him, with damp skin and drowsy eyes. He's wearing pastel-patterned boxers and an old white tank top.
It's not like they haven't seen each other like this before — Tomizawa has stayed over at Resolve a number of times, when he's too exhausted or drunk to get home, or just when he's looking for company — but there's still this funny feeling that he’s seeing something he's not supposed to. Quiet, vulnerable, sleepy-soft Ichiban. Even a hero needs their rest, he supposes.
Ichiban sits beside him on the sofa, a cautious distance away. Almost enough for another person to sit comfortably between them. Tomizawa, thinking of that night at the beachside dive and missing every time they'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder without hesitation, scoots a little closer to him. Ichiban takes that as his cue to do the same, nearly closing the distance. He places a hand down on the couch. It clenches and releases, like he's aching to reach out. There's about a half an inch between it and where Tomizawa’s hand is resting on the edge of his thigh.
“Is something wrong? I… you've seemed… kind of off, lately,” Ichiban says, his voice strangely gentle, his head tilted in a curious, puppyish way.
Tomizawa crosses an arm over his skittish stomach, the sweetness of Ichiban’s tone making it do happy-nervous flips. Was he really being that obvious? He takes a breath, and tries to answer honestly, but can't stop his words from getting jumbled.
“Yeah — well, no — I'm okay, really. But… I wanted to talk to you about something. Or, ask you something, sort of. Um…”
Ichiban shifts, turning himself towards Tomizawa a degree, until their knees are touching just slightly. “Okay. Anything.”
“Right, of course.” Tomizawa clears his throat and plays with a frayed spot on his sleeve. He doesn't meet Ichiban’s gaze, but he can feel it on him, warm and attentive. After a moment to collect his thoughts, he starts again.
“We haven't known each other for that long, have we? But I already feel like we're really close. And, I've never…” A lump rises in his throat, and he swallows it down. “I’ve never had any friends that made me feel the way you do. None of them ever treated me quite like you do. More like… a lover than a friend.”
Tomi can feel the blood rush to his face. He clutches his shirt tightly within his fingers, and dares to glance up at Ichiban. There's a furrow to Ichiban’s brow, making his nose wrinkle, and it would've been cute if he didn't look so worried.
“Does it bother you? Am I too much?”
“No, it's not. You're not,” he insists without hesitation. “And that's what's confusing me. I like that feeling, being something more, but I don't know what I really want — to be your friend, or your partner? Neither seems completely right.”
With all his thoughts out in the open, Tomizawa sighs, slumping over and resting his arms on his knees. Ichiban seems to slacken too, a previously unnoticed tension unspooling from his shoulders as his expression shifts, soft and weary but still content.
“That's okay.” He exhales, a hint of a laugh hidden in it. “My feelings are complicated, too.”
Tomizawa feels a similar wave of relief. There's a flutter of excitement and confusion in his chest. “O-oh? How… how so?”
“Well, a while back, me and Sa-chan tried out dating. I really like her, and we felt like more than friends, but it just didn't work out. Something wasn't clicking,” Ichiban begins to explain. He's tracing out random shapes onto his thigh, watching his finger idly swirl about. “Some romantic things felt unnatural to do. And I kept feeling like I was in love with other people.”
He looks up at Tomizawa again. The corners of his eyes wrinkle with a wistful smile, and he continues. “Eventually, I figured out I didn't want us to be lovers, I just wanted us to be us. Somewhere in-between, something that doesn't have a name.
I realized that, for me, the line between friendship and romantic love just… doesn't really exist. And it hurts my relationships — and me — to try to force them into boxes they don't fit in.”
“Huh,” is all Tomizawa can say.
It explains the way Ichiban treats him, and the whole party. It explains the way Nanba and Adachi described him. And maybe, it's starting to explain his own feelings.
“So… whatever you want our relationship to be is okay with me,” Ichiban concludes, oddly shy.
“What if I don't know?” Tomi tries to keep his voice steady but it still comes out with a hint of shakiness.
“That's okay, too.” Ichiban puts his hand on Tomizawa’s, careful but comforting. “I'm still figuring it out myself. Sometimes you don't really know what you want until you get there.” He closes his hand around Tomi’s and gives it a squeeze. “Just tell me if it's ever, y'know, too much. Or not enough.”
Tomizawa nods, mutely. He taps the fingers of his free hand and licks his lips. It takes him a second to find his words again.
“Um, there was… something I wanted to do.”
“Sure. Go ahead.” He rubs his thumb across Tomizawa’s knuckles.
Ichiban waits, expectant but patient, as Tomizawa gathers his courage. Then, Tomi leans over and timidly presses a kiss to Ichiban’s cheek. It makes his heart race, hammering in his chest. He watches Ichiban’s expression and waits for a reaction — but he's only able to see a flash of a smile before Ichiban takes Tomizawa’s face in his hands and returns the gesture.
This kiss is much less delicate, much more enthusiastic and a little damp. Ichiban’s fingers brush against Tomi’s jaw as he pulls away. The butterflies in his stomach and the light, ticklish touch makes Tomizawa laugh. He scrubs away the wet spot on his cheek.
Ichiban laughs, too. “Was that a bit much?”
“No, not at all.” Tomizawa feels lighter, now that he has it all off his chest. Like the final puzzle piece has snapped into place. “I think I've been wanting that for a while now.”
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” Ichiban says, his voice low and contrite, as he places his hand on Tomizawa’s cheek. “I didn't wanna force anything on you, and it's kinda hard for me to judge how far along a relationship is, y'know? Didn't know if you'd be ready for all that yet.”
Tomizawa leans forward until their foreheads touch. “Hey, ‘s alright. Took me a while to figure it out myself. Just glad we're here now.”
“Me too,” Ichiban responds quietly, almost a whisper. He takes a slow breath in and lets it out quickly. Tomizawa feels hot air against his upper lip. “Can — can I…”
“Hm?” He glances up at Ichiban, but Ichiban’s eyes dart away nervously.
“Do you, um, want to lie with me tonight?”
He looks back at Tomizawa, his eyes tired yet gleaming bright, wide and full of wonder. It tugs Tomizawa’s heartstrings. They're even more hypnotic like this, up close.
“...Yeah. I’d love to.”
Ichiban pulls away. He does a terrible job of hiding a sheepish grin.
With an affectionate boop to Tomizawa’s nose, he gets up and heads towards the shelf where they keep the extra pillows and blankets.
He collects supplies while Tomizawa works on laying out the daybed. The process feels kind of domestic. Not like crashing on a friend's couch or snuggling in a lover's bed, something distinct. Like coming home after a long time away. It calms him.
When they're done, Ichiban is the first to dive under the covers, wiggling around until he's settled in. He looks like a happy little bug in a cocoon. He lifts up the blanket on one side, letting Tomizawa slip in beside him. It takes some shifting and adjusting — a few almost-elbowings, a barely-missed head collision, and some giggles — but they finally find a comfortable spot slotted together.
Their legs are intertwined, and Ichiban’s arms are around him, with his nose against Ichiban’s chest.
And for the first time, being with Ichiban feels like an answer and not another question. It feels right. It's been building for a long time, but somehow, it feels entirely new.