Archive of Our Own

It wasn’t that today had been an especially long one, but that the entire week (and, truthfully, the last few weeks) had been just long enough for Takemichi to feel the weight of them gradually pile up, turning his bones to lead and mind to sludge in stages.

He took a long breath of cool night air, centering himself. Pressure makes a diamond. He’d be fine.

Takemichi took the key from the ignition of his beautiful yellow Kawasaki Vulcan, giving her an affectionate pat between the handlebars, stifling a yawn, stretching, and making his way up the four flights of stairs to the vacant Owada apartment. It was, to put it lightly, a wreck, and Mondo was due back early the next morning.

That thought sent a wave of excitement washing over him, quickening his heartbeat and washing away some of the lingering tiredness with it. Mondo was coming home– they’d exchanged the occasional letter, of course, and he called weekly, just as he had promised to, but that wasn’t home. That wasn’t big arms wrapped around him in a bruising embrace or slung easily over his shoulder.

The key made its way into the lock eventually, though there was no small amount of fumbling. He knew he really should have gotten the cleaning started earlier, but between taking care of the Diamonds, his shifts that stretched long into the night, and the classes that he, a lifetime ago now, had promised Daiya he’d keep up with, he just hadn’t found the time.

You’re a clever kid, he had said, ruffling Takemichi’s hair with a hand that could probably cup the whole world in its palm. He even managed to sound like he believed it– like Takemichi was allowed to believe it, too.

He shook his head, pushing the door open and hanging his coat on the hook. If he started down that old path, he’d just keep walking, and the cleaning would never get done.

He started by sweeping the accumulated snack wrappers and empty bottles into a garbage bag- christ, he really had let the place go, if this is what had accumulated just in the year since Mondo left for Hope’s Peak- then washed the comparably manageable pile of dishes.

Crumbs were swept off the table, laundry was piled into the hamper, and he did a sweep through Mondo’s room, though that had remained largely untouched in his absence. He had packed in a bit of a frenzy, tearing through like the whirlwind he always was, but his own damn clothes on his own damn floor were, categorically, his own damn problem. If he didn’t want his new Hope’s Peak buddy (or more-than-buddy, or whatever he was) to see the mess he lived in, well, maybe he should have considered that before leaving.

Takemichi spared a quick glance at the door opposite Mondo’s, the thin layer of dust atop the knob, and did not touch it.

He collapsed onto the couch, boneless, and didn’t even remember his head hitting the pillow.

When he awoke the next morning, it was to the feeling of weightlessness, the sharp, welcome feeling of laughter against his cheek, and a smell of something he had only ever known as home. Almost on instinct, his arms wrapped around Mondo’s neck, and he buried his sleepy smile in the meat of the man’s shoulder.

“Michi!” Mondo laughed, as if it was somehow a surprise that he was here and not the most natural, obvious thing in the world. As if he had ever left.

“Morning,” he grumbled, not quite ready to blink the sleep from his eyes, not quite ready to admit he was clinging to him like he couldn’t quite believe he was real, flesh and blood instead of a memory that had begun to blur at the edges.

When he did open his eyes, though, it was to the sight of someone else- Mondo’s new school friend, Ishimaru, and fuck, he had not been kidding about the eyebrows- struggling to fit through the doorway between the giant pack on his back and the helmet tucked under each arm. Reluctantly, Takemichi wriggled out of Mondo’s grip and went to help the poor guy out.

He plucked the helmets away- they were shiny, but not so much that they looked new. He cast a grin back at Mondo.

“He’s got you wearing a helmet now? He really is a good influence.” He patted Ishimaru’s elbow, a bit awkward in the close quarters of the entryway. “Good on you.”

Ishimaru frowned at that, stern. “You should be wearing a helmet as well, Yukimaru.”

“Not even a full minute in my home, and you’re already ordering me around?” There was no bite to it, Takemichi smiling at him and shoving the door closed behind them with his foot. “Come on. Mondo’ll put a pot of coffee on. Bet you’re both beat.”

“Now who’s ordering who around?” Mondo grumbled, but Takemichi didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth quirked up, just enough to betray the fact that he was trying to hide it.

“It’s my house. I’m the boss.”

“ Whose f- freakin house?”

Takemichi looked from Mondo’s honor student to Mondo and tried to communicate oh, you’re whipped- whipped through a raise of eyebrows alone, but Mondo didn’t meet his eye, so it was pointless.

He set the helmets onto the coffee table and slumped back onto the couch, tucking his pillow and blanket to his side, out of the way. “You’ve been gone for ages. I’ve got squatters rights or whatever.”

Nevermind the fact that Takemichi was technically currently keeping the lights on. When it came to the two of them, delineation of what belonged to who had always been frivolous. Mondo had been kind enough to share his brother once, so whatever Takemichi could do to pay him back was no big deal in his book. 

Mondo grumbled something under his breath, but let out a breathy chuckle. Takemichi looked to Ishimaru, who was still standing in the entryway awkwardly, and patted the couch next to him.

“Take a load off,” Takemichi said. “You must have been up early, right? It’s a long drive from Hope’s Peak.”

“Not too early,” Ishumaru said, setting his bag down and managing to sit just as awkwardly as he stood. “We had to skip breakfast, but given the journey, that may have been for the best.”

“The old lady makes you queasy, huh?” Takemichi gave Ishimaru an easy pat on the elbow. “You’ll get over it. Once you get used to the feeling of the wind in your hair- er, helmet- you’ll never get enough.”

“My bike’s not a chick,” Mondo called firmly from the kitchenette. “He’s a man. Your bike’s a chick.”

“ My bike,” Takemichi said, leaning halfway over the back of the couch to better yell in Mondo’s direction, “is a breathtakingly beautiful woman, worthy of respect and admiration. Not a chick. ”

“Yeah, whatever.” Mondo set a mug of hot black coffee down on the coffee table in front of Takemichi, flicking his nose as he passed. Takemichi flipped him off, but took a long sip, relishing the way it warmed his chest.

Smartly, he put the mug back down before speaking again. “Dunno why you would rather say you rode a man all the way from Hope’s Peak, but whatever makes you happy, boss.”

Exactly as expected, Mondo tackled him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and narrowly missing smacking their heads on the corner of the table.

Takemichi had always been scrappy and had more than earned his spot at the top of the Diamonds elite guard by his own merit, but he was still really no match for Mondo. Not that he was trying especially hard- getting wrapped up in a headlock had been exactly what he was aiming for, honestly.

There was a time, not so long ago, where he simply didn’t get to have this. Play fights became real fights, with real insults and real punches, and once Mondo had shouted to shut the fuck up about Daiya because Takemichi didn’t know a damn thing about him, and Takemichi hadn’t even managed to form a proper sentence before he threw the nearest heavy object in Mondo’s direction, slammed the door behind him as he left, and didn’t come back until Mondo awkwardly texted him a week later.

They had a late lunch at the diner and didn’t really talk about it and Takemichi just couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against him. They laughed quietly and exchanged “we’re good, yeah?”s and that was the end of it.

Incidents like that still sprung up from time to time, explosive arguments and honest-to-god fights, but they were few and far between, and Takemichi knew which buttons not to press by now. This one, for example, was fine, and ended with Takemichi just sort of sitting in Mondo’s lap with an arm around his neck.

“Little bastard,” Mondo laughed. “I’ll fuck you up.”

Takemichi laughed, too, breathless, half from the bicep squishing his neck and half from the proximity.

He cast a quick glance at Ishimaru, who looked more than a little alarmed. Takemichi realized, with a wave of sadness that he did his best to smother, that he’d have to get used to not having this anymore once Mondo made whatever him and Ishimaru had official.

“‘S all good,” Takemichi reassured, patting Mondo’s elbow to let him go and standing. “Just, y’know, guy stuff.”

“...Of course,” Ishimaru said, nodding slowly. “Mondo had mentioned you may be more rowdy in your affections than I was used to.”

That made Takemichi smile despite himself, looking at Mondo as he got to his feet. “That’s what he said, huh?”

“No one said a damn thing about affections, ” he grumbled, not meeting Takemichi’s eye, using that sharp, growly tone that meant leave it. So he did, sitting back on the couch and sipping his coffee, leaving plenty of room between him and Ishimaru, just in case Mondo was inclined to take it.

“Other than… Diamonds business,” Ishimaru said, making a noticeable (and, admittedly, kind of endearing) attempt to disguise his distaste, “do you have any hobbies, Yukimaru?”

Takemichi shrugged. “Not really. I’ve got work when I don’t have school or gang stuff.”

“Oh,” Ishimaru said, sounding disappointed.

“I, uh,” Takemichi scrambled for something, “read sometimes.”

Namely, while he had his lunch, because he really couldn’t afford to get tangled up in school politics, and eating alone got fucking boring quick. Back in middle school, he’d had Mondo, but by the time he was moving up to First Volcano High School, Mondo was already scouted by Hope’s Peak.

Ishimaru brightened at that. “Excellent! It’s important to keep your mind sharp.”

“No way do you read, ” Mondo scoffed, checking Takemichi’s shoulder so hard he nearly stumbled into an oncoming pedestrian. Takemichi gave the man a glance (which probably came across less as an apology and more as mean mugging) before rounding back on Mondo with a scowl.

“I do too fuckin’ read,” he said. “I’ve been reading horror novels and shit.” And romance. Mostly romance. The ratios weren’t important, especially not where defending himself to Mondo was concerned.

“That shit doesn’t count,” Mondo argued.

“Horror novels are better than reading nothing at all,” Ishimaru interjected before Takemichi even had a chance to. He was genuinely taken aback for a moment.

“Uh. Yeah,” he stammered. “Right.”

“Though it wouldn’t hurt to read something more informative every once in a while,” Ishimaru said, and the moment passed. “I could make some recommendations, if you’d like.”

“You know what? That’d be nice. Thank you, Ishimaru.” He turned pointedly to Mondo. “You know, it’s nice having someone with a brain in their skull hanging around. You should keep him.”

He was swiftly wrapped in a one-armed hold and noogied so ferociously it gained the attention of more than a few passers-by, and Takemichi had to make the rest of the journey to the store with his hair more of a mess than usual.

It was too late for Mondo to be awake and far too late for Ishimaru to be awake, so it came as a surprise when Takemichi heard the front door quietly open and close behind him. He quickly turned around, hiding his lit cigarette behind his back and stepping in front of his ashtray to obscure it with his boot. Ishimaru didn’t look convinced- if anything, he seemed nervous.

“I know,” Takemichi started, trying to get out in front of the inevitable lecture, “it’s bad for my health and it’s a waste of money, but it’s only every once in a while, and–”

“I want to ask your permission to pursue Mondo,” Ishimaru blurted out, face bright red. All at once, Takemichi was grateful he hadn’t snuffed out his cig, because he needed a long draw of it now.

“In the absence of any blood family,” Ishimaru continued, tripping over his words a bit, his hands curled into fists at his side, “I thought it best to ask you.”

Takemichi chewed on his lip, trying to string together a coherent sentence. It took a while, the warm air of the summer carrying with it the heavy weight of memory and the scent of cigarette smoke.

“You aren’t already?” Takemichi said, genuinely taken aback.

“Well- not actively,” Ishimaru said, shuffling a bit. “There are feelings, but those are out of my control.”

How a man a year his senior and twice his size managed to be genuinely kind of cute was beyond him. It was also, he told himself, squashing the feeling down as deep as it would go, incredibly inappropriate, given the circumstances. Not that it was ever appropriate to get all doe-eyed over Mondo’s future guy, but thinking it right now has got to be grounds for executing him, he’s sure.

“I’m really not…” he stammered, “I mean, I’m just his friend. I don’t have a say in who he dates.”

There was a long silence. After what felt like years, Ishimaru took a few steps forward to stand next to Takemichi, leaning uneasily against the railing.

“You’re important to him,” Ishimaru said, voice seemingly as quiet as he could make it. “I want to honor the past you shared before I knew him. You’re the only piece of that he has left.”

“That’s…”

He isn’t Daiya. No one would ever be Daiya again, no matter how Takemichi searched for him in every person he met. The ghost of him hung over the doorway, in the taste of smoke and the feeling of warm summer night air and the dust on the handle. Tangentially, he supposed, discounting all the things he left behind that Ishimaru could hardly pose a question like this to (his coat and his bike and his pictures and every other discarded memory), Takemichi was the last living remnant of Daiya that Mondo had.

He took another long drag of his cigarette, leaned down to snub it out in the ashtray, and stood with a long sigh.

“Make him happy, yeah?” he asked quietly, not meeting Kiyotaka’s gaze. “He hasn’t been in a while, and I think you’re the guy for the job.”

Kiyotaka let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”

He smiled at Kiyotaka. “If he hurts you, let me know. I’ll kick his ass.”

He frowned. “That’s hardly—”

“It’s what Daiya would have wanted,” he said, waving him off. “Trust me.”

Takemichi turned to look out at the cracked asphalt four stories below, lit dimly by buzzing yellow streetlights. They were too far into the city to ever get a good look at the stars, but on clear nights like this, when neither of them could sleep or Takemichi got in one of his moods, him and Daiya would race out to the edge of town where they shone brightly. Daiya would make up constellations to get him to laugh, and it would work after a while. He could still name most of them, and tried to write them down when he had a mind to. They would stay to watch the sunrise, then race back to get home before Mondo woke up.

Sometimes, on late nights with the Diamonds, he still feels him in that deep, happy sort of tiredness. It’s better than the hollow version of his memory that hangs off of his shoulders now.

“Could you tell me about him?” Kiyotaka asked.

“...Listen, he was…” Takemichi tried to find the words. “The version of him that Mondo knew and the version of him that I knew were different men. Not really different, but… get his story first, alright? That’s the important one.”

“Right,” Kiyotaka agreed, sounding somewhat begrudging. Takemichi fixed him with a small smile.

“He’ll get there. He trusts you. It just… it never really stops hurting, you know? And sometimes talking about it just hurts worse.”

“Of course,” he said, somehow quieter. “I apologize.”

“Don’t. It’s all good.” He clapped a friendly hand on Kiyotaka’s shoulder. “Go get ‘im, alright, tiger? Good luck.”

Kiyotaka nodded, resolute, before heading quietly back inside. Takemichi let out a long sigh, ran a hand over his face, and took another cigarette from his pack.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright?” Takemichi asked quietly, voice mostly drowned out by the sound of Mondo clanking around in the kitchen.

“This is important to Mondo,” Kiyotaka said, and it was good that Mondo was denser than a bag of bricks, because he was not as skilled at keeping his voice down. “He’s promised there won’t be any outright lawbreaking, and that’s… an alright compromise.”

“It’ll be a lot to handle,” Takemichi said. Mondo had never been away from the gang this long, and while Takemichi was half decent at wrangling them, it was clear they missed the boss. “If it gets to be too much, just gimme a shout, okay? We can duck out for a bit.”

He’d gotten a similar briefing from Daiya once, after months of hazing and begging and scrounging for his own bike. It was more considerate than Takemichi had been led to believe Bosozoku business to warrant- he had been expecting little more than outright brawls, a proper place to sink his fists into whatever was closest and get years of pent-up anger out in the open after so long spent roiling in him- but that was Daiya, a comfortable weight around his ankles, keeping him grounded. He bashed in his fair share of headlights, windows, and skulls, but he was firm about never letting the Diamonds tear each other apart. It was a big piece of what kept the gang so massive and so connected, Takemichi was sure- more than friends, the Diamonds were brothers, the guys you could trust to have your back even if the rest of the world was against you.

It really was a testament to Mondo’s skill as a leader that they managed to stay together. Every single one of them lost someone dear that day, and if he were a lesser leader, that would mean the death of the gang as they knew it.

“Thank you, Yukimaru,” Kiyotaka said, straightening and tugging at his shirt (an old band tee and pair of jeans borrowed from Mondo, because the guy really didn’t own anything but school uniforms, something Takemichi was definitely going to convince Mondo to fix for his birthday at the end of the season).

He smiled. “Takemichi’s fine. Any friend of Mondo is a friend of mine, right?”

Kiyotaka lit up at that, and Takemichi tried not to feel too proud about it.

Mondo finished shoving snacks and shit into his pack and handed it off to Takemichi. He let out a little grunt as he took it.

“Fuck, Mondo, did you pack the whole kitchen in here?”

Mondo ruffled his hair, not quite managing to turn his smile into a smirk. The unguardedness made his heart skip a beat, and he did his best to ignore it. “The guys’ve gotta eat, and you gotta build some muscle. It’s a win-win.”

“You’re an ass,” he said, pulling the bag on. “If any of my fucking cups get broken, you’re buying me new ones.”

“Sure. What were they all together, 300 yen?”

“I’ll kick your ass.” Takemichi kicked him- really more of a tap against his shin, because if Mondo so much as pushed him he’d end up on his back, and they had places to be. “C’mon. The guys are waiting.”

Since Takemichi had the bag, Kiyotaka rode with Mondo. They were cute, Takemichi had to admit, Kiyotaka clinging to Mondo’s waist so tightly Takemichi wasn’t sure how he managed to breathe, Mondo’s face bright red.

It’d be nice to see how all this turned out, he thought, kicking his bike’s stand up and starting his engine, watching as the other two started up the empty road.

Takemichi had known for a long time that he was never going to be able to keep Mondo. Kiyotaka had been right; Takemichi was Mondo’s friend- Mondo’s very, very good friend, even though he was pretty sure Kiyotaka had usurped him for best- but more than that, he was a reminder of what he had lost. Daiya was gone, and Takemichi remained, and he could see it in the quiet, sad way Mondo sometimes looked at him when he thought he couldn’t see, like he had something awful to say that he couldn’t quite conjure the words for. Daiya lived on through Mondo and through Takemichi, and that was a sort of beautiful thing when it didn’t mean Mondo couldn’t stand to meet his eye and wouldn’t let himself be comforted by him. It was beautiful until they looked at each other and saw him, so close that it felt like if they could just rip each other apart enough then he would emerge from their bodies like a butterfly from its chrysalis and he would be back, alive, smiling and brightening every room he entered and fixing things before they even knew they were broken, and the hurt would stop like it always did eventually when Daiya was around.

He tried to let the thoughts blow away with the rushing wind as he sped down the street, faster than he should, but they stubbornly remained.

Kiyotaka was… Well, he wasn’t that, and that was important. He’s a piece of a new life Mondo got to build, separate from all the ugly memories that only served to hurt, sort of nerdy and awkwardly brash and the opposite of everything the Diamonds were. He was good for him- Takemichi had meant that much. Mondo was happier around him, with no pretense or grief to hold him back from the authenticity he hadn’t let himself have for a long time.

Maybe Takemichi could have that, too, if he ever learned how to want it.

He arrived at the abandoned warehouse, the unmistakable sound of a rowdy party already ongoing inside. He took a deep breath, parked his bike at the end of the long line of similar motorcycles, and pushed the heavy door open just enough to slip inside.

“Takemichi!” Kenzo greeted, throwing his hands in the air. “Aren’t the boss and his buddy supposed to be with you?”

“He had a stop to make first,” Takemichi lied easily. “He’ll catch up.”

Maybe it was even true. Mondo and Kiyotaka entered half an hour later to much uproar, and Takemichi was sure the bright, happy flush on Kiyotaka’s face didn’t leave for the rest of the night, nor did the dusting of pink on Mondo’s cheeks.

There was a confusing mix of something bright and something hollow stirring in his chest, and, once again, he did his best to ignore it.

Kiyotaka, to his credit and Takemichi’s surprise, managed to stay for the entire party, only looking visibly worn out towards the end. He could endure more than Takemichi thought, he’d give him that.

“Hey,” Mondo said quietly as the festivities began to wind down, “I’m gonna get Taka back before he falls asleep on his feet.”

“Go on,” Takemichi waved him off with a smile. “I’ll look after the guys.”

“Thanks, Michi,” Mondo said. He didn’t start off immediately, lingering a moment with his fists clenching and unclenching at his side, before pulling Takemichi into an embrace so tight it was bruising. It would almost be nice if it didn’t feel like the final brick in the wall that they had built between them— like a kiss goodbye.

One day, once Kiyotaka and Mondo had built a happy life together and they could all look back and laugh at the silly crush Takemichi had been carrying since the day they first met, he’d tell him what an asshole he was about it.

He watched as Kiyotaka and Mondo disappeared down the street and then, true to his word, watched over the guys until they left for home, or wherever they’d spend the night. Then he drove out to the edge of the city, traced made-up constellations between the stars, and made sure to get home before either of them woke up.

Mondo and Kiyotaka had to leave eventually. They had promised the last month of summer to the Ishimaru patriarch (which, if Kiyotaka’s claim that he was a police officer was true, would mean one very tense August for Mondo).

“Hey,” Mondo started awkwardly, standing in the doorway with his helmet tucked under his arm, his hair left unstyled to accommodate it. He had always been pretty with his hair down, though he’d kick Takemichi’s ass for even thinking it. Mondo always hated to hear it, but he was an effortlessly pretty man. Shame he usually ruined it when he opened his mouth.

“Yeah?” Takemichi prompted when Mondo didn’t continue.

“…I’m gonna miss you,” Mondo said, not meeting his eye, like it was some sort of confession. Takemichi had to fight back a snort.

“I‘ll miss you too,” he said, smiling. “Stay safe, yeah? Both of you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

With that, he turned and started down the stairs, whatever he wanted to say presumably left unsaid.

This time, when Kiyotaka wrapped his arms around Mondo’s waist on his bike, it was without any hesitation, like that was where they belonged. As Takemichi watched the two of them disappear down the road, he let himself be a little jealous about it, now that there was enough distance between them for it not to matter.

That night after work, Takemichi returned home too late and the apartment was empty and the world was grey and silent again, and he was left alone with the ghosts in the walls.

Mondo still called on occasion; turns out Ishimaru Senior was, in fact, as much of a hardass as he had feared, but expressed something about how glad he was that Kiyotaka had made a friend, which was… kind of sweet. Takemichi still wouldn’t trust the guy as far as he could throw him, but it was good that he cared for his son.

The school year started up, and Takemichi was back to splitting his time between work, school, and the Diamonds again. Sunday mornings were for phone calls with Mondo, though, and if he had to tighten his belt and shell out for more minutes, it was no real hardship.

Messages got passed back and forth between them and Kiyotaka, and Takemichi tried not to be charmed that he was thinking of him. Questions like how his school life was going, what he was reading, how the Diamonds were faring- all things Kiyotaka seemed genuinely interested in.

It was bleak and it was lonely, but at least when he sat alone in the courtyard and choked down whatever had been marked down at the shop or ate dinner at home in silence in the small hours of the morning, he had his weekly talk with Mondo to look forward to.

(And, embarrassingly, hearing about what Kiyotaka had been up to the previous week, which sparked a confusing blend of jealousy and elation in him that he elected to not disentangle or examine too closely.)

November 23rd fell on a Saturday that year. Takemichi had reserved the day off months in advance, waking up early but not quite able to move until almost noon.

When he did eventually rise and get dressed, he choked down a slice of bread (more to perform the ritual of breakfast than to satiate any real hunger) and stared at the wall for a while, as if he could stare through it into the abandoned room beyond.

It was long minutes of just leaning against the countertop, feeling the weight of the past year bearing down on his bones, as if the days had been accumulating while he hadn’t been paying attention.

It was meant to get easier as time wore on, but as far as Takemichi could tell, the only change was that he and Mondo weren’t fighting anymore, and that was certainly thanks mostly to the distance between them.

And, fuck, it had to be worse for Mondo, didn’t it? Takemichi had seen the body, but Mondo had seen him die. Takemichi and Daiya didn’t share blood except for what had been smeared on his old white uniform jacket when he held Mondo on the side of the street, trembling, hands fisting in the back of his jacket.

He never got those stains out. He nearly wore a hole in the fabric trying. It was only looking at them weeks later, after too many days of Daiya not coming home and Mondo retreating further and further into himself, that it began to feel real– he was just gone. His things were still in his room and the lease was still in his name (and that had been a headache to figure out, and they were lucky the landlady was as nice as she was) and so many things felt unfinished, halted in their tracks indefinitely.

Death was supposed to be something grand, Takemichi had always thought. Some great crescendo that ended in deafening silence when the strings snapped and the band stopped playing, but in the end, there wasn’t even a chorus. There was just nothing where there once had been something, the same way he didn’t really notice the buzzing of the fluorescent lights at work until he walked outside and it was gone.

He took his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, tapped in Mondo’s number by muscle memory alone, and then hovered his thumb over the dial button. After a long moment’s hesitation, he pressed it and lifted it to his ear.

It rang six times before redirecting to Mondo’s voicemail message. This is Mondo, leave a message, with a faint clanking of pans and dishes far enough in the background that it had to be someone else cooking. He sounded younger, his voice a touch higher, and he can almost hear Daiya poking fun at him for the way it cracked.

“Hey,” Takemichi started awkwardly. Maybe Mondo forgot what day it was. Maybe that would be for the better. “Just wanted to check in.”

A million thoughts ran through his head- he was worried about him, he hoped he was holding up okay, he loved him in whatever way Mondo would allow. In the end, he voiced none of them; he just kept silent for too long and then let out a sigh.

“Call me when you get this. Bye.”

He hung up, staring at the dim screen for a while. He stared at the button for his own voicemail box for too long, then snapped the thing shut and shoved it in his pocket.

Whatever Daiya would have wanted from his second postmortem birthday, this wasn’t it. Some of the guys wanted to make it a proper rager, just like when he was alive, and some of them weren’t quite up to partying. A few of them were even getting pissy, saying it wasn’t right or some shit, but Takemichi shut that down quick. Like Daiya Owada ever gave a damn about what was appropriate.

In the end, it was really just a congregation of guys drinking cheap, stolen alcohol with varying levels of enthusiasm. Takemichi didn’t have much, and as the last of them headed out, a glass bottle of something dark with a twist-off cap was dropped into his hands unceremoniously. He rolled it around in his palms for a moment before shoving it into his pack and heading back home, finding he didn’t much care to be outside now that he didn’t need to.

It was already late, the streets nearly empty as he barreled down them, the chill of the evening biting into his bones. He almost recognized the blurry shapes of houses and storefronts, but he didn’t have any mind to pay them.

When he parked his beautiful Kawasaki Vulcan, dragged his tired body up four flights of stairs, shuffled into the empty, silent, dark apartment, pulled out two glasses and the bottle from earlier, and sat in front of the door that he had scarcely looked at since Daiya’s death, it was mostly without his notice.

It would be appropriate, he thought, to pour out some of the strong-smelling substance as he drank, but he’d just have to clean it up off the floor later, and he knew that just wasn’t going to happen, so he poured it into the second glass instead. Then he was sitting on the floor of the dark apartment with two glasses of alcohol, drinking one and relishing the burn in his throat and chest, occasionally leaning back to rest his head against the door.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, because it was the only thing he could think to do.

Two glasses in and he must have leaned too heavily, because without warning, the door swung open and he fell backwards, spilling his drink on his shirt and hitting his head against the floor with a loud thunk. He took a moment to blink the fuzz from the edges of his vision and surveyed the space.

He couldn’t make out everything in the dark, but he recognized the shapes of the musicians and movie stars on his posters, saw the vague outline of a motorbike on the calendar hung next to his bed that was still open to the December two years previous, the unmade bed and piles of laundry on the floor.

The air still smelled like him, that fucking awful cheap cologne he’d rub behind his ears that smelled like a blend of firewood and energy drinks, and Takemichi barely recognized the feeling of his drink seeping into his shirt even as he clutched his glass to his chest.

His phone rang, that distinct chime that signaled Mondo, and Takemichi blinked rapidly as he hurriedly fished the damn thing from his pocket, doing his best to sit up and act presentable. He quickly flicked it open and pressed it to his ear.

“Hey,” he greeted, then cleared his throat around the lump, “what’s going on? You alright?”

“I’m… Yeah. I’m alright.” He sounded tired, but… good tired, maybe. Like he was running a race and not drinking alone in the dark and waiting for something significant to happen. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier. Taka and some of the others were doing their best to keep me busy today. Keep my mind off shit.”

“Good. That’s good. The guys and me did a…” He wasn’t sure how to describe it. Pity party, maybe? “Thing. Celebratory thing.”

“Right. That’s good.”

There was a silence that followed, and Takemichi lowered himself back to the floor, finding he didn’t quite have the energy to keep himself up.

“...Michi,” Mondo said, too quiet. “ You alright?”

Takemichi was silent for a while, not sure what he wanted to say, let alone how to say it. Stringing a coherent sentence together in his mind was turning out to be a Herculean task, not aided by the alcohol numbing the edges of his awareness.

“...When does it stop?” Takemichi asked eventually, his voice too thin and breathing too ragged to pretend to be doing anything but crying on the floor. “Is it just gonna hurt until I die?”

He could hear Mondo swallow thickly though the phone’s tinny microphone. “...I don’t fuckin’ know, man. I’m sorry.”

“ I’m sorry, this is… I’m being fuckin’...”

“Don’t apologize. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you.”

Takemichi could have sworn he heard Mondo’s breath hitch, and maybe that was one of those buttons he was meant to avoid, but he couldn’t figure out what the hell for. It would probably piss him off if he could dig out the anger from under all the hurt.

“I’m gonna…” he sniffled, trying not to sound too pathetic. “Can I sleep in your bed? Just for tonight.”

He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was the wrong thing to ask, a confession of the comfort he found in the other boy that he would just have to hope he didn’t think about too much, but right now everything was fuzzy and numb and awful and there just wasn’t space to care.

“...Yeah,” he said quietly. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Mondo,” he said, trying not to sob around the words.

“You gonna be alright? I could… I dunno, bike over, skip out on Monday…”

“No chance. That school’s a good thing for you.” He let out a small, watery laugh. “Taka would kick my ass if I let you, anyway.”

“Yours and mine both,” he chucked. His voice was warm. Takemichi wished he could wrap it around himself, keep it close when things got tough again.

“I should get to sleep,” Takemichi said, knowing that if he let Mondo keep talking, he just wouldn’t let himself leave. “Goodnight.”

“Night. Call me in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment’s hesitation where he could hear the sound of Mondo shuffling, but didn’t move to hang up. In the end, It was Mondo who ended the call; Takemichi couldn’t find it in him to move the phone from his ear for a long time, cradling his empty glass against his chest.

With lead limbs, he slowly stood, leaning on the wall for support on the short trip across the hall to Mondo’s room. He pushed the door open- it seemed like Mondo’s attempts to clean during Taka’s visit had amounted to little more than kicking his clutter under the bed or in the closet- and flopped onto the mattress, pulling the crumpled blanket up to his chin.

It smelled like him, and in the morning, before Mondo called and after he got up, got changed, cleaned up the mess from last night, and quietly closed Daiya’s door again, he would feel more than a little pathetic about it.

He couldn’t even begin to think of how he would explain any of that to Mondo, so he kept it to himself.

The call came somehow both later and earlier than Takemichi had been expecting- the second Sunday in January, only a few months to Mondo’s graduation. He was sitting on the asphalt with two matching bottles of paint, a bucket full of soap water for cleaning the bike, a smaller cup of water for cleaning the brushes, and a clean rag on the ground beside him. It was one of the precious few days where the sun was up and he had no obligations to tend to, and the matching komainu on his motorcycle’s sides had been chipping for too long. She deserved better than that, so he washed the old design off and started anew.

He held his breath, keeping his hand as steady as possible. He’d even skipped his coffee this morning, slogging through breakfast to avoid the slight tremble brought on by the caffeine. The one he was painting now spanned the left side of his bike, mouth open in a roar. He finished the delicate line of its sharp teeth and leaned back, letting out a slow breath and admiring his handiwork.

Mondo’s impeccable super-ultimate-god’s-favorite-whatever timing struck just then, luckily for him, because if Takemichi had fucked up a line because his phone rang, he’d storm down to Hope’s Peak and kick his ass. He fished it out of his pocket, flipped it open, and held it firmly between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey,” he greeted. “What’s going on?”

“You busy?”

Takemichi dipped the brush in the black paint, holding it to the body of his Kawasaki. “Not really. Giving the old lady a new paint job. Need me to head inside?”

“Nah, it’s no big deal.” Despite his reassurance, he sounded nervous. “Hey, so you, uh… you’re into guys, right?”

Takemichi let out a small snort, hoping it didn’t come through the microphone. Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? “Yeah, Mondo, still gay. Why? Is it a problem now?”

Mondo barked out a laugh that sounded almost surprised. “No, it’s not a problem, asshole. I just… needed some help.”

He bit back another teasing remark, figuring now probably wasn’t the time. “What’s going on?”

“How do you… fuck, I don’t know, ask a guy on a date? Is it like dating a chick? Should I get flowers and shit?”

“Probably not? I mean, if I was going on a date with a dude and he made me feel like a girl, I’d cave his head in.” Not to mention that most of Takemichi’s prior dating experience amounted to ill-advised trysts with Diamonds his age, and he hadn’t had enough time for even that in a while- the kind of cutesy middle school shit where they went to the diner and played footsie under the table. Nothing serious. “You’re not great with girls, anyway. You get all… loud.”

“It’s not on purpose!” Mondo argued, raising his voice in a nearly perfect example of what Takemichi had been talking about. “I get fuckin’ nervous!”

“I get it, man, it’s cool,” he said, leaning forward and starting on the swirling lines of the beast’s mane. “Just saying it might be a good idea to avoid it, that's all.”

“Right. Yeah.” Mondo sighed audibly. “What do you do, then?”

“Me? I mean, I haven’t really done much dating.”

“Really?”

Takemichi shrugged, as if Mondo could see it. “I like dudes, don’t get me wrong. Lots. Big fan. I just haven’t found one worth the effort yet.”

“Oh.” Takemichi wasn’t certain why he sounded so surprised about that. If he’d dated anyone worth talking about it, Mondo would be the first person to find out. “Alright, if someone wanted to make you feel worth the effort, what would they do?”

“Me?”

“You’re a guy, right?”

Takemichi let out an amused snort, shifting so he held his phone in his hand again, giving his shoulder a break. “Last I checked, yeah.”

“Then what would work?”

Takemichi sighed. “...I dunno. Just, like, dinner, maybe? It’s not really… it’s harder to do all the date stuff when you’re a pair of dudes. You get looks and shit. People are fuckin’ weird about it.”

“Why don’t you fuck ‘em up?” Mondo asked. “I know you can.”

“Like I said,” Takemichi leaned forward, squinting as he lined the curl of the komainu’s eyebrow, “not worth the effort. I’m not catching a case for a guy who sucks.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mondo grumbled.

“I’m not… I don’t want it to sound like it’s just fuckin’ lame and stressful, or whatever. It’s awesome. It just takes a little more work, but I think you’re worth it, man.” He wrinkled his nose at the way his voice cracked on the man, hoping Mondo didn’t notice. His ears were burning just enough that he couldn’t blame it on the sun.

“...Thanks. Yeah.” His voice had that far-away quality it sometimes got when he was chewing on a thought.

“It’s Taka, yeah?” Asking was more of a formality than anything. It had better fuckin’ be Taka.

“...Yeah. That obvious?”

“Nah. I was just hopin’. If you’re running away with any of the snooty assholes from wonderschool, I’d want it to be him.”

Mondo let out a genuine laugh at that, ringing from somewhere deep in his chest. Takemichi tried not to feel too warm, but allowed himself a small smile nonetheless.

“No one’s running away though, yeah?” Mondo said once he recovered. “I’m staying right here. You’re still…”

He didn’t finish the thought. Takemichi tried not to think too hard about what he would have said if he did.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s all good. Don’t take him for any of the shit I like, though. He’s, like… practical and shit. Take him to a supply store and get him new notebooks or something. Definitely don’t get him flowers.”

“Right. Yeah, you’re right.”

“Tell me how it goes, yeah?”

“Sure. I’ll let you get back to your woman.”

“Appreciate it. See you.”

The line went dead before he had the chance to hang up. He flipped his phone closed and shoved it back into his pocket, trying to focus on painting while he still had daylight.

If the texts he got the following Saturday and the full debrief he got Sunday were any indication, it was a disaster, due in no small part to the fact that neither of them had been on a date before, Mondo did start yelling at one point, and no one had bothered to tell Kiyotaka it was meant to be a date. Still, despite everything, they managed to get the awkward romance conversation out of the way, make plans for a few weeks out, and get Kiyotaka a new notebook.

Takemichi felt more happy than anything else, so he decided that the anything else didn’t matter.

The next time he saw Mondo, it was Takemichi who made the trip. It was the end of March, and the warm spring air danced on his skin as he rode. Taka had eventually convinced him to get a helmet of his own, and Takemichi had taken the liberty of painting it so it looked less lame. He still didn’t wear it around the guys, though.

He had gotten a decent enough score on his final exams, and he’d have to start looking at colleges next year. Not that he had the option, really, unless some rich benefactor deigned to donate a lump sum of cash, but his teachers expected him to turn in something for a future plan. Maybe he could cozy up to one of Mondo’s special wonderboy friends. One of them was some kind of ultimate level nepotist, right? Maybe he had a thing for scrappy bikers.

Any and all musing ended once Takemichi reached the city borders. Biking downtown was always a pain in the ass, and it seemed like everyone in the goddamn country was trying to get to Hope’s Peak. He did a quick scan for cops before splitting the lane between two cars and speeding down the road. He got a few honks and showed great restraint, he thought, in not flipping up his visor and spitting at them.

He managed to get to Hope’s Peak sooner than if he had driven a car or taken the train, at least. Parking was, as Mondo had warned, a bitch, and he ended up having to shell out ¥500 at the tiny visitor lot. He pulled his key out of the ignition, took his helmet off, gave his beautiful Kawasaki Vulcan (with her newish black and white komainu on either side of her pretty yellow fuel tank) an affectionate pat between the handlebars, and jogged to the entrance, trying to walk the line between getting there as quickly as possible and not sweating through his one nice shirt right before the ceremony.

There was a swarm of people– mostly around his age, but plenty much older– hanging around the front entrance. Takemichi had to shove his way roughly to the front, ducking under swinging elbows and squeezing between bodies.

When he finally managed to reach the front of the mob, he was all but pressed against some official-looking security guard. He fished his ticket out of his pocket and presented it.

The man took the ticket, flipped it over, and looked down at Takemichi with a raised eyebrow.

“Name?”

“Yukimaru Takemichi.”

The man sighed, sounding tired. “No Yukimarus graduating this year. Go home.”

“Wh–” Takemichi sputtered. “I’ve got a fuckin’ ticket! You assholes are the ones who sent the damn things, and now you’re not gonna take it?”

“ Sure we did. Listen, kid, it’s been a long day–”

“It’s about to get longer if you don’t–”

“Takemichi!”

Takemichi whipped around at the sound of his name, coming face-to-face with a man who looked to be Kiyotaka if he were sixty years older and a hundred years more exhausted. He bit back the sheesh that threatened to escape, though he wasn’t quite able to stop the small wince.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, squeezing once. “I apologize for my stepson’s behavior, sir. He gets nervous in large crowds.” He handed over a ticket of his own, as well as some sort of identity card. “Ishimaru Takaaki.”

The man looked from the card to Ishimaru Senior once, but didn’t seem to need much convincing. It would take a lot of effort to fake a resemblance that uncanny, Takemichi thought, and the man before him looked like his small supply of effort was being spent entirely on remaining upright and breathing. The man at the door waved his hand in the air, assumedly signaling someone, and stepped inside to let the two in. There was a roar from the clamoring crowd as the grand, heavy door swung open, but as soon as Takaaki and Takemichi stepped inside, it closed behind them with a creak and a loud clunk, and the entryway of the school was nearly silent.

“Uh,” Takemichi started awkwardly, “thanks for that. You’re Taka’s… granddad?”

Takaaki looked very, very tired. “I’m his father.”

“ Damn, ” Takemichi hissed before he could catch himself, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, you just… are you fine?”

He let out a sigh that sounded like it came from his very soul. “You’re Kiyotaka’s… other biker friend, aren’t you? Owada’s boy?”

“I’m not his boy, ” Takemichi said defensively. “I’m his man. Not- not his man, that’s- I mean I’m a man and we know each other. In a brotherly way.”

Takaaki raised an eyebrow, but, thankfully, elected not to say anything. Takemichi, remembering the man before him was a police officer, tried awkwardly to hide his helmet behind his back.

“Right,” Takaaki said, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment, then sighing. “Thank you for being friends with my son. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With that, he started down the hallway towards the gym. Takemichi elected not to follow him, instead heading in the opposite direction. This was probably the only opportunity he’d get to see the inside of Hope’s Peak, and he wanted to take advantage of it.

The classrooms, it turned out, were disappointingly normal. They could almost be the ones at First Volcano if not for the un-defaced desks. He figured they’d have some sort of futuristic learning robot or something, but it was just desks and chairs.

He didn’t manage to find the sauna Mondo had talked about, but he did happen upon a massive pool, large enough to swallow his entire apartment complex and still have room left over for laps. He was just about to step into the large, echoing space when there was some sort of commotion from inside. Cautiously, he leaned out from behind the curtain dividing the main area from the locker room/gym to see a boy struggling to gather a toppled mountain of cleaning supplies. He was in a suit a size too big for him, and Takemichi would guess he was in his first year of high school– too young to be a student here.

Looking around the space, he didn’t immediately see any teachers that could get them into trouble, but if there were any about, they definitely would have heard the noise. Takemichi couldn’t very well leave the poor guy to fend for himself, so he scurried to the far side of the pool, set down his helmet, and started gathering armfuls of whatever and dumping it into a neatish pile.

The kid jumped, but once Takemichi started helping, he relaxed, gathering his own armfuls.

“Thanks,” he sighed, relieved. “I’m–”

Just then, there was the sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway. Takemichi grabbed the boy by the arm, scooped up his helmet, and hauled ass out of there, hiding behind a piece of exercise equipment large enough to obscure the both of them. The footsteps stopped, and there was the sound of a curtain being pulled back. Takemichi held his breath, only letting it go when the footsteps retreated.

“--Asahina Yuta,” the boy whispered.

“Yukimaru Takemichi,” he said, grinning. “You here for the ceremony?”

“Yeah! My sister’s graduating.” He sounded mostly proud. “You, too?”

“My, uh… a family member of mine,” he said with a nod. It was a lie, sure, but it didn’t feel like one. “You shouldn’t be fucking around near a pool when you’re wearing a suit.”

“I know,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he regretted it at all. “I wanted to see, though. Aoi’s always talking about it.”

“Can’t blame you,” Takemichi said with a shrug. Stones and glass houses and all that. “We should probably get back there, though.”

Asahina nodded. “Right. They’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, anyway.”

Takemichi walked over to the doorway, stuck his head out to make sure the coast was clear, and then gave Asahina the all-clear. The pair scurried back down the stairs, then down the hall to the gymnasium. Asahina entered first, gave Takemichi a little wave, and then walked over to a couple that he assumed were his parents.

Takemichi paused before following, eyes catching the towering trophy case. It was, of course, full nearly to spilling, as could be expected from the most prolific school the country had to boast. It seemed to Takemichi to be an exercise in futility- it was by the very nature of the school that every person attending would be exceptional, wasn’t it? What was the point of keeping score?

Still, he crossed the room to examine it, leaning close to read the engraved names. They weren’t just run-of-the-mill medals and trophies; there was a menagerie of commemorative garbage, too, ranging from handmade sculptures to golden swords.

One of them, a more traditional-looking one shoved towards the back, caught his eye. It seemed to bear Kiyotaka’s name at first glance, but upon closer investigation, it was commemorating Toranosuke Ishimaru. Takemichi frowned. The name sounded familiar, beyond the obvious, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He blinked, kicking himself. Right. Prime Minister Toranosuke Ishimaru. No wonder Kiyotaka hadn’t mentioned it- that’s not a legacy Takemichi would want to own up to, either. He resolved not to mention it and walked back to the double doors of the gymnasium.

The room was full– too full to just be the staff, graduates, and their families. He assumed some of them must be underclassmen. For a lot of the visitors, the family resemblance was clear; there was a girl in the crowd whose catlike smile matched one of the graduates, an excited girl who could be twins with one of the short boys standing up front, and Takemichi could spot Asahina’s sister by the distinct, excited wave of her hands her hands alone. A few of them, though, were a mystery, like the pink-haired woman or the sharply dressed old man.

It wasn’t as if he could judge, he supposed– he clearly wasn’t related to anyone here, after all.

Once Takemichi managed to get to the front (it wasn’t as if he was going to block anyone’s view, after all, standing below eye level even with his spine pin-straight), he caught Mondo’s eye and watched as he all but beamed. Takemichi gave a small wave, not quite able to fight back a smile of his own.

He can’t remember the last time Mondo had smiled like that. It must have been with a different face, in a different life— pimply and perpetually nervous-frustrated, with the beginnings of unkempt stubble that Takemichi had been so terribly jealous of, back when there was more to smile about than shout at and the world was brighter, more full of color; no ever-present storm cloud above them; no bottomless divide between them.

Mondo murmured something in Taka’s direction, which made the other boy chastise him as quietly as he could, though the soft delight it stirred in him was evident. There were no clouds or chasms with Kiyotaka at all— he was brash and unashamed, heart on his sleeve, not even a brick to start a wall for Mondo to hide behind. He was every earnest intimacy Takemichi couldn’t give Mondo.

Maybe he could have, back in that same distant past, but that version of Takemichi had died with Daiya Owada. Now he was only himself, nothing bigger and more real to moor himself to.

He took a deep breath. Tomorrow, he could be in that gray place, drifting between work and school and the Diamonds like a ghost inhabiting his own body, but now, there was Taka and Mondo, feeding each other's smiles and vicariously filling his world with color for the first time in a long while.

The ceremony, same as the classrooms, was not terribly special, discounting the exceptional people attending, as well as the fact that when the headmaster said you all are the light of the future he probably meant it and wasn’t just filling empty space. Something about it felt just a touch more somber, too- both Mondo’s middle school graduation and Takemichi’s the year after had been much more raucous and celebratory. There was a buzz of excitement in the air, sure, but that was all it was– a buzz. Nothing raging, nothing thundering.

Maybe it was due to the small size of the graduating class, or perhaps the very nature of the school itself. After all, for the rest of the country, graduation was a thing of some uncertainty; a crowd of bumbling teenagers would be released to the real world, and many would lead lives that ranged from tedious and unfulfilling to outright catastrophic failure. This simply wasn’t a concern with Hope’s Peak alumni. Every single student currently shifting uncomfortably in a folding chair was all but guaranteed success in whatever they pursued. There was no uncertainty, no anxiety about what the future may hold, because the sixteen graduates and sixteen underclassmen and the class of sixteen before and before and after and after ad infinitum– they were the future.

Takemichi let his eyes wander to the people around him, the sound of Headmaster Kirigiri’s speech fading to white noise. Each of them, by chance or by fate, had been caught in that gravitational pull of someone greater than themselves, the same as Takemichi had been caught in the Owadas’ orbit. No wonder half the country was currently storming the gates; to a person without enough ambition of their own, being a satellite to hope was a pretty good deal.

The speech ended and the room erupted in applause. The sixteen students stood from their chairs and filed out in an orderly, practiced line, and Takemichi whistled, loud and obnoxious, because it was nearing the end of the days where he could adore Mondo as openly and enormously as he wanted.

Mondo caught his eye when he walked past, giving him an encore of that broad, toothy grin Taka had inspired in him before, and Takemichi couldn’t help but mirror it.

There was some milling about before they were released to the courtyard. Takemichi wondered briefly if he should be looking at picking up transcripts or something for Mondo, but swiftly decided that was neither his responsibility nor his business. Mondo not being able to make it for winter break meant this past year had been the longest they had ever gone without seeing each other since their first meeting, and Takemichi had little interest in drawing that distance out for any longer than he had to. He hugged his helmet to his side, wove through the crowd, and swiftly made his exit.

Takemichi had no sooner stepped foot onto the carefully kept grass of the Hope’s Peak Academy courtyard than found himself several feet off the ground, wrapped in a crushing embrace by two strong arms. Once the grip loosened enough for him to wriggle his arms out, he wrapped them around Mondo’s neck, hiding his smile in his hair and breathing in the thick, familiar scent of his favorite hairspray.

“Congratulations,” Takemichi laughed, bracing his hands on Mondo’s shoulders and leaning back so he could meet his eye.

“Thanks,” Mondo said, grinning. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” he lied. It’s not as if the past year mattered right now, anyway. “You?”

“Great,” he said, and if Takemichi hadn’t lost his ability to read the other boy in the past year (and he very much doubted he had), he meant it.

Taka reached them shortly after and Takemichi gave a small wave at his approach, feeling his feet touch the grass again, Mondo’s arms leaving his middle. He was then, to his own surprise, wrapped up in another embrace, though this time, he remained planted on the ground and his breath managed to stay in his lungs, if just barely.

“Hi,” Takemichi said awkwardly, resting a hand between the boy’s shoulderblades. “Congrats, Taka.”

“Thank you, Takemichi!” Kiyotaka leaned back, bracing his hands on Takemichi’s shoulders. His eyes went to the helmet lying on the grass, and he lit up. “I’m glad you’ve begun taking road safety seriously!”

“Yeah, well, you’re a good influence, I guess.”

Taka brightened further, which Takemichi wouldn’t have even thought possible. Looking at him for too long felt like staring at the sun, so he shoved a hand in his pocket, rummaging around for the two small envelopes he had brought with him. That dislodged Kiyotaka’s hold on him, which was probably for the best, because whatever Takemichi was feeling about it, he shouldn’t be.

“It’s not much, but I uh, saved some cash for you guys,” he said, feeling his ears start to burn. He quickly found himself regretting the little doodles he’d scrawled on the front alongside their names (a tiger for Mondo, which had felt obvious, and a hawk for Taka, which he had spent three days agonizing over choosing), but showing up with something as impersonal as an unlabeled envelope of money felt cheap, and even though he had spent the past month agonizing over what to get them, he didn’t come up with anything better. So in the end, it was ¥2000 and a goofy-looking drawing of an animal for the both of them.

“That supposed to be me?” Mondo asked, pointing at the tiger.

“ No. ” It came out a little more defensive than Takemichi had meant for it to. “That’s a tiger, dumbass.”

And he had half-expected that to turn into another fight and was already half-regretting it, but Mondo just ruffled his hair, stuffing the envelope in his own pocket, and Takemichi barely bit back his small sigh of relief.

“Nah, it’s cute. Thanks, Michi.”

“Yeah, well.”

He turned to Kiyotaka then, who looked to be on the brink of tears. Takemichi froze, his dread swiftly returning tenfold. Pissing Mondo off was one thing, but making his guy cry was almost certainly another.

“Fuck, sorry,” he started quickly, “I can change it if you don’t like birds or something. I could turn it into a dragon or some shit? Or, uh, I might have a blank one, and you could have that?”

“No, Takemichi, I love it,” Taka said, grinning as he sobbed, and Takemichi didn’t have the first clue what to do about that. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

“Uh,” Takemich hesitated, “are you sure? It’s not a big deal if you’d rather–.”

Mondo elbowed him. “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it.”

“...Okay.” Takemichi nodded slowly. He supposed Mondo was the one to trust where matters of Kiyotaka were concerned.

It was kind of refreshing, Takemichi had to admit, how unabashed Taka was about his emotions. Maybe Takemichi should ask him how the hell he managed it.

“That does remind me,” Taka said, wiping the tears from his cheeks almost casually, I have a gift for you as well!”

Kiyotaka extended a fist, and Takemichi, perplexed, cupped his hands below it. Taka uncurled his fingers, and something heavy, brass, and round fell into Takemichi’s waiting grasp. He held it closer to his face to get a proper look, then felt all the blood drain from his face.

It had somehow escaped his notice until then that Kiyotaka’s carefully pressed school uniform was missing the second button from the top.

Oh, Mondo was going to kill him. Worse yet, Mondo was going to hate him.

“I don’t– you shouldn’t–” he stammered, his tongue feeling far too big for his mouth, “You should give this to Mondo, shouldn’t you? I mean, I’m not–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Takemichi!” Ishimaru was beaming, seemingly oblivious to Takemichi’s suffering, his first name said so casually ringing like the carving of his gravestone. “Mondo is the one who–”

“It’s a gift, asshole,” Mondo growled, and Takemichi dared not look in his direction. He was trying to remember which road would get him to the ocean the fastest so that he might drive himself into it at the earliest opportunity. “Take it.”

Takemichi really had no choice– the thing was already cupped in his hand, whether he liked it or not.

“Father!” Ishimaru shouted, greeting someone that was somewhere behind Takemichi’s back. With a quick bow of his head and a wide smile, as if he hadn’t just set Takemichi’s world crumbling down around him, Ishimaru left.

“Mondo,” he said, turning in his direction but still not looking at his face, trying and failing to keep the desperate edge in his voice at bay, “I didn’t do anything to– I don’t know why he thought I’d want this, but I never said anything to him, I swear. I wouldn’t– I don’t even have his phone number! You can–”

He was caught between trying to fish his phone from his pocket to offer for investigation and shove the button in Mondo’s direction, but the other boy’s arms were firmly crossed over his chest.

“Michi,” he said, tone remarkably even, “It’s all good. Calm down.”

Takemichi blinked, finally looking up at him. He wasn’t quite meeting Takemichi’s eye, staring somewhere off to the side, but he didn’t look upset. If anything, Takemichi would say he was embarrassed, but that didn’t make any goddamn sense.

“... What? ” he asked, for lack of anything more eloquent.

“I said it’s fine. I know neither of you are the type.” He looked somewhere behind Takemichi then, features softening to a small fondness he was sure he’d never seen on his face, and he didn’t have to guess who he’d find reflected in those pale eyes. “He’s got a big heart. You’re important to me. That makes you important to him.”

All the blood that had sunk to the pit of Takemichi’s stomach found its way back to his face so rapidly he felt his head spin. He was glowing bright red, he was sure.

“Right. Uh, thanks,” Takemichi said awkwardly. “You’re important to me, too.”

“Yeah.” Mondo’s eyes met Takemichi’s for the first time, his face still wearing the last remnants of that affectionate gaze, and he had to fight the impulse to look away, something in his chest tightening painfully.

“You should still probably take this,” Takemichi said, trying again to hand Mondo the button, but he just shook his head.

“Nah. Keep it,” he shrugged. “In fact, hey, if it makes you feel any better…”

There was the distinct clink of metal-on-metal as another small, heavy object dropped into his hand, but he didn’t dare look to see what it was. There was just– there was no way–

“Keep those safe for us, yeah?” Mondo said, a small smile on his face. Takemichi just nodded, his mouth too dry to speak, and shoved them (as well as his cell phone, which had been clenched in his other sweaty fist for the last long few minutes) into his pocket.

“I don’t…” he cleared his throat. “This tux is rented, so I can’t…”

“All good,” Mondo laughed. “Your graduation’s not ‘til next year anyway, right?”

“...Right,” Takemichi replied, and though Mondo hadn’t asked anything of him, it was a promise.

“So, carpentry, huh?”

The early September nights were heavy with the warmth of summer. Kiyotaka was inside, asleep in Mondo’s bed (something everyone was still getting used to, hence Mondo’s sporadic bouts of sleeplessness- it’s weird, he’d said once, but good. He’s so warm, it’s like sleeping next to a furnace, and he fuckin’ kicks the shit outta me sometimes ), and the two of them were leaning against the outside wall of the apartment. From here, Takemichi could see only the inky-black sky above the banister, still devoid of stars.

“Yeah. Taka’s got politics and shit, so I’m gonna get an apprenticeship out in Tokyo.”

“Tough to get a job out there,” Takemichi said, shooting Mondo a small grin. “Cutthroat. Think you’ve got what it takes?”

“Fuck yeah, I do,” Mondo said, sounding certain. Takemichi supposed that was fair. He had alumni status from the country’s single most prestigious school backing him up, after all. “What about you?”

Takemichi shrugged. “Graduate, and after that… I dunno. Maybe I’ll woo some rich idiot and he’ll pay for me to go to university.”

“University, huh? What for?”

“Haven’t really thought about it. It’s not really an option until the rich idiot shows up.”

Mondo hesitated for so long that Takemichi assumed he had grown tired of the conversation– or maybe just tired in general. It was pretty late, after all.

“You know,” he said slowly, “once me and Taka got our feet under us, we could probably help you out.”

Takemichi shook his head firmly. “Not a chance. Especially not when…”

Not when the Ishimarus were still dealing with the consequences of Kiyotaka’s grandfather’s actions and then some, the fucking asshole. Taka had never known a life where the Ishimaru name wasn’t a curse, and he deserved to have the chance to achieve that before anything else.

“Taka should come first,” he finished. “Wouldn’t be right otherwise. Don’t go saddling him with more debts he didn’t ask for.”

“He’d want you to go, too.”

Yeah, because he’s just good like that, Takemichi doesn’t say.

He’s still got both buttons on a cord around his neck, hidden under his shirt– one solid brass, engraved with the intricate details of the Hope’s Peak Academy crest, and the other slightly lighter, far more weathered, smooth and even to the touch, and that was too many questions unasked and unanswered, and he feared what would happen if he tried.

Instead he just shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t even know what I’d go for. Never really got good at much in school. Besides, who’d–”

The dust had re-accumulated on the doorknob in the almost year since Takemichi had last been in Daiya’s room. If Takemichi and Mondo were both gone, then the apartment would be gone, too– the hole they’d had to patch up when Daiya got drunk and accidentally sent his elbow through the drywall; the stain on the carpet from the first time Takemichi had been over for dinner, when he was so certain Daiya was going to be livid and kick him out of the gang and take away the only place he’d ever felt like he belonged, but he didn’t, he just laughed and called Takemichi a clumsy dumbass; the old couch he had been sitting on when he feebly confessed, after much prodding, that he was pretty sure he liked boys and Daiya had banished all his worry with nothing more than a wave of his hand and an admission that so do I sometimes, kid, it’s really not a big deal ; Daiya’s bedroom- all of it would belong to someone else, someone who had never known Daiya and sure as hell didn’t give a fuck about his memory or whether his ghost had somewhere to come home to roost.

And maybe he had never meant to take on the responsibility of keeping that memory until the day he died, but he’d already lost Daiya once. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing the only pieces of him they had left.

“Someone’s gotta be here,” he mumbled, voice too small.

He heard Mondo shuffle a bit, inhaling as if to start speaking a couple times, before evidently giving up and standing, heading back inside and letting the door close behind him with a soft click. Takemichi took a shaky breath before pulling his carton of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, putting one between his lips and lighting it. The smoke still tasted like a stale memory.

When Takemichi returned home from work a week later, it was to the smell of dinner and the sound of cooking, which was nice. Takemichi rarely had a warm meal that wasn’t instant noodles nowadays.

He dropped his bag onto the couch, his jacket following shortly after. He rounded the corner into the kitchenette.

“Smells good in here,” he said, already beelining for the sink where the dirty dishes from preparation had begun to accumulate. Taka turned his head, shooting Takemichi a warm, broad smile.

“Good evening, Takemich! How was your day?”

Takemichi shrugged, turning on the tap and reaching around the clutter on the countertop for the bottle of dish soap. “Busy. Looking up now. How was yours?”

“It was nice!” Taka said brightly. “Mondo and I had breakfast, went for a jog, and did some tidying. He’s running an errand now, but he said he would be back for dinner.”

“Tidying, huh? Both of you?” Takemichi smiled at the soapy pan he was scrubbing. “You really are a good influence. He sure as hell never tidied before you came along.” And, sure, neither had Takemichi, but Taka wasn’t in his life for keeps. No sooner would he leave for Tokyo than the floor around Takemichi’s couch-bed would begin to accumulate snack wrappers and empty cups again.

“Well, it’s important to keep your space clean! Though I can’t exactly blame him for never learning, seeing as–”

Takemichi heard Kiyotaka’s teeth click as he snapped his jaw closed. Probably for the best. That told him all he needed to know, though– Taka only ever watched his tongue like that around Takemichi where matters of Daiya were concerned.

“Yeah,” Takemichi said quietly. “I mean, he wasn’t… no one becomes a parent at that age on purpose, right? Always some kind of tragedy. He wasn’t ready for shit like that. Didn’t know how to do any of it.”

There was the distinctive clunk of a pan being moved, then Taka was at his side, holding a hand out expectantly. “I’ll dry the dishes. If it’s alright, I… want you to tell me about him.”

Takemichi laughed quietly. “How about I’ll dry and you make some tea. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna want to be sitting down. Been on my feet all fuckin’ day, anyways.”

He saw Kiyotaka, out of the corner of his eye, hesitate for just a moment, then nod. “Which tea should I make, then?”

Takemichi shrugged. “Whichever one’s calling to you, Taka. I’m easy.”

The room seemed so suddenly empty with only the sound of running water and the quiet roll of boiling water. The kettle was only able to whistle for a few short seconds before Kiyotaka removed it from the stovetop. He even dumped the first pour down the sink, which was a little wasteful and the tea really wasn’t good enough to even warrant it. Still, it was sweet.

Takemichi sat heavily into a chair at the short end of the table, his whole body seeming to weigh triple what it had an hour ago. It was even quieter then, just the distant sound of the roads below, the wind, the rattling air conditioner, and their breathing.

“So,” Takemichi said, running his thumb along the edge of the cheap, chipping teacup, “what do you want to know?”

“You said you knew a different version of him than Mondo did, if I remember correctly.” Kiyotaka’s tone was firm and unwavering, as it always was, and he wouldn’t condescend enough to speak to Takemichi like he was made of glass, but there was still a consideration to him, a hint of softness to his words that Takemichi appreciated. It was a gentle brush of fingertips against the handle of the knife, as opposed to the twist it could be.

“Sure. I mean, he wasn’t my brother. He was… I don’t know if there’s a word for it. Like if your cousin was your best friend, maybe? Something like that.” He tapped his nail on the side of his cup, the quiet clinking and the warmth keeping him tethered to his body. “He didn’t have to care about me. He just did, because… I don’t know why, I guess. Never really asked him.”

He swallowed. “I was a shitty kid, y’know? I mean, you’ve met Mondo. He was less angry when he got to you, but it runs deep. It did for all of us. It came out with Daiya sometimes, too, but he was so goddamn tired, he didn’t even have the energy to yell about it. He… fuck, I mean, I always hoped to god Mondo didn’t notice, but he’d just swallow it, and it’d eat him from the inside. He picked up smoking, and I’d go out with him and make him talk to me, because I worried one day he’d just get fed up with us and vanish, take a wrong turn down a bad road and get himself killed or something. I guess… I guess I was kinda right, in the end.”

He was just fidgeting with his teacup now, watching the shapes the warm yellow kitchen light made in the ripples. “I’m making it sound bad. He was a good man, he was just so fuckin’ young, you know? He was littler than me when he and Mondo had to make it on their own. A 14-year-old kid is never gonna be a good parent, and he never really got to be a kid himself, either. That fucks you up. He had to worry about keeping him and Mondo alive when he shoulda been worrying about girls and test scores and shit. He only really got to be normal with the Diamonds.”

He sighed, leaning back and running a hand over his face. “Sorry, I’m not making any goddamn sense, am I? I haven’t really talked about him since he died, and he was always a hard guy to pin down.”

“You haven’t? Not even with Mondo?”

Takemichi barked out a surprised laugh, then cleared his throat. “Fuck no. If it was that bad for me, it’s way worse for him. We used to have these huge fights about it.” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance but getting the feeling he missed the mark. “Not that I blame him. We were teenagers, y’know? Hormones and shit don’t mix well with losing someone you love.”

He finally met Kiyotaka’s eye. His thick eyebrows were drawn together, his gaze almost soft, and Takemichi still kind of hated being looked at like a kicked dog, it turns out. He stared at the table again.

“I’m glad he has you. I haven’t seen him this happy since Daiya was around.” He smiled, though it felt weak. “I couldn’t have picked a better guy to lose him to.”

He looked to Kiyotaka, who, to his surprise, seemed confused. His face fell. “Sorry, did I, uh… Was there something…”

“You’re in love with Mondo,” Kiyotaka said, as if just putting it together himself. Takemichi froze, nearly spilling his cup.

“ What? No, I– he’s–” he could feel his face burning, a mixture of one part embarrassment and three parts shame swirling in his gut.

“I asked you if it was alright for me to start seeing him, and you said it was. Why would you–?”

“Because it was!” he interrupted, certain he couldn’t bear to hear it a second time. “It is! It’s really— listen, it’s not a big deal, alright? I was never going to do anything about it, even before you showed up. I couldn’t do that to him, and he’d never… Even if I felt right telling him, even if I could just fuckin’ ask him to stay with me, he doesn’t want me. He never wanted me. Not even as a friend sometimes, back before you showed up and fuckin’ helped him get his head on right. I’m too wrapped up in-” he gestured in the direction of Daiya’s room, “-all of this shit. I’m a bad memory and he’s never gonna get better if he’s stuck with me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed a hand over his face. Maybe he’d just never open them. That would be better. The world would just keep turning around him, and he could go back to not being a part of it.

“ Please just forget about it,” Takemichi said quietly, on the verge of begging. “Take him away to Tokyo and tell him to never talk to me again if it’ll make you feel better. Just don’t take this from him. It’s the only good thing he’s had going for him in a long time.”

There was a warm hand resting on his where it laid on the table, and his eyes flew open. It was his turn to be confused, evidently, because Kiyotaka wasn’t angry. He didn’t even look upset, he was just… concerned.

“Takemichi–”

The door swung open with a thud, and Takemichi snatched his hand back, ripping his eyes from Kiyotaka’s. He chugged the still-warm cup of tea as quickly as he could, trying to wash down the lump in his throat, and got up to help him carry the bags inside.

“Smells good in here,” Mondo said, smiling. His cheeks were flushed, and Takemichi couldn’t look at him.

“Your man made dinner,” he said, taking the bags. “I’ll unload these. Go thank him.”

Mondo’s eyes seemed to sparkle at the very idea, pink on his cheeks darkening. He didn’t even hesitate, rushing towards the kitchenette. Takemichi shut the door with his foot.

He managed to shake off some of the nervousness and joke with the pair of them as the night wore on, but he still couldn’t quite make himself meet Kiyotaka’s eye.

Mr. Inomata looked from the Takemichi to the paper in his hands, eyebrow raised. He let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Through the tall windows over his shoulder, Takemichi could see students congregating- right now, it looked like lighthearted roughhousing, but that could turn south at a moment’s notice.

“Yukimaru, do you think I’m an idiot?”

He returned his attention to his teacher. “No, sir.”

“Then why have you handed in a list of university programs we both know you have no intention of applying to?”

Takemichi shrugged. “Because you wouldn’t let me turn in a blank sheet of paper, sir.”

“You’re a bright boy, and you have a bright future ahead of you. If money is the issue...”

Of course it was. It always was. Unless the issue was Daiya or Mondo or, more recently, Kiyotaka, the problem was money.

“I couldn’t even afford the application fees, and I don’t think I have the grades, anyway.”

“That’s it, then? You’re just going to give up?”

Takemichi shrugged again. “I know when I’m beat, sir. It’d be a waste of everyone’s time.”

Mr. Inomata let out another one of his very tired sighs. “Listen, Yukimaru, I’m not going to accept this.”

Takemichi crossed his arms, biting back a tough shit, because that’s all you’re getting. He just raised an eyebrow, which would be unacceptable at any other school in the country, but here, it was probably the most civil disobedience he’d see all day.

“ But, ” he said, scribbling something on a legal pad, tearing off the page, and handing it over, “I’ll give you an alternate assignment. Choose one school to apply for, and I’ll pay the fees.”

Takemichi blinked, bewildered. “Sir, that’s…”

“You’re one of the brightest students this school has given me,” Mr. Inomata said, and, really, it was not as much of a compliment as it sounded- a dying lightbulb was brighter than two-thirds of First Volcano, “and you deserve a fighting chance. Even if you fail, you should know it was your own fault and not just because you got unlucky.”

“...Alright,” Takemichi said, wrinkling the paper with how tightly he clutched it. Mr. Inomata waved him off.

“Go on. Make sure your parents sign off on it, and we’ll talk again next week.”

Takemichi nodded once, finding himself more resolute than he can remember being in a long time, and left.

“Michi. Can we talk?”

Takemichi froze, looking up slowly from his notebook and borrowed book on Hitotsubashi University. He feared, for a long moment, that Kiyotaka let slip about their prior conversation and Mondo was here to let him down gently, which would be painful and humiliating.

“Yeah,” he said, closing his book, “everything good?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” Mondo said, settling down onto the couch next to Takemichi. “Just… I got a call about an apprenticeship, asking when I can start.”

Takemichi furrowed his brow. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is. It’s not really…” Mondo was fidgety. “Once me and Taka are settled down, I’m gonna build us a house.”

Ah. Right. This was the inevitable goodbye speech, where Takemichi takes his final bow and exits Mondo’s life with as much grace as he could muster. He forced a smile.

He’d really thought he had more time.

“That’s great, man. I’m happy for you,” he said. “Remember to write, yeah?”

“I was actually wondering if you’d- I know we talked about it before, and you weren’t…” He scowled at the wall for a moment, shaking his head, not quite meeting Takemichi’s eye. “You can put however many fuckin’ rooms you want when you build the place yourself. Two, three, whatever. Nice ones. And you could paint the walls whatever color you wanted, or even put some of those bitchin’ animals you like and shit…”

Takemichi smiled, a bit charmed by the clumsy offer. “You wanna build me a guest room?”

“Sure. Or a regular room, or whatever the fuck. Doesn’t matter. You could stay when you felt like it, or move in or whatever. We’d, uh, be happy to have you. Me and Taka both.”

His face fell to a frown, and he chewed on his lip. He tried to think of a single thing he wanted more, and was coming up with nothing. Tokyo was a long way from here, though– a day’s trip to get to Daiya’s room or his tombstone or anything the man left behind that wasn’t Takemichi or Mondo themselves.

He smiled. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t put my name on it or some shit, though, yeah? Just in case you need it for something else.”

“It’d be yours, asshole,” Mondo said, though he had a small smile of his own, “no something else about it, got it?”

“Yeah, alright. I won’t hold you to it.” He leaned back into the old cushioning of the couch, trying to act casual despite the strange blend of guilt and warmth stirring in his chest. “So when do you leave?”

“I, uh,” he still didn’t look at him, “was hoping I’d be able to stay through November. Haven’t asked yet, though.”

“That’s…” he swallowed thickly. “That’d be cool. It’d be good to have you around.”

“Yeah?” He almost sounded surprised.

Takemichi patted his arm, affectionate almost in the casual, easy way things used to be. “Sure, yeah. This is your place too, idiot, remember?”

And it would be nice to not have to get through it alone this year. He didn’t know how many more Novembers he could handle on his own.

Mondo smiled, soft in that way Taka had taught him, where the corners of his eyes wrinkled. It was terrible of him, Takemichi thought, to look at him like that.

His eyes left Takemichi’s and found the book on the table, eyebrows shooting up. “Fuckin’ Hitotsubashi? You lookin’ at business school?”

Takemichi quickly picked it up and shoved it roughly into his bag. “Just some shit for my teacher. It’s nothing serious.”

“Good. Fuckin’ weird to think of you as a businessman.” He leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “You shouldn’t have to wear a suit and tie and shit. It ain’t right.”

Takemichi shrugged. “What should I do instead? Fuck around at 7/11 for the rest of my life?”

“Nah, you should do something cool. Racing or acting or some shit.”

He snorted. “Yeah, maybe if I’d gotten into wonderschool. First Volcano doesn’t funnel into any big acting schools, last I checked. Bein’ a salaryman’s probably as good as it gets.”

Mondo was giving him a look, and for the first time in years, Takemichi couldn’t figure out what he meant by it. The realization was distinctly unpleasant, sinking like a stone into the pit of his stomach.

“Forget it,” Takemichi mumbled, putting the rest of his shit in his bag with the book. “Like I said, it’s just some shit for class. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Michi, c’mon, don’t fuckin’--”

Takemichi stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I gotta go. Got work tonight.”

“Can you fucking talk to me?”

He froze. He didn’t see Mondo stand, but he heard it.

“A couple months away and you act like you don’t fuckin’ know me anymore. I want… I don’t know, but I don’t want whatever the hell this is.”

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know,” he said sharply, rounding on Mondo, “because there’s not a fuckin’ thing I can do until you do.”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem is the same goddamn thing it was when you left. You got to go meet people and get better and I stayed here. You changed and I got stuck, and it’s my fuckin’ fault I couldn’t keep up?”

“No one asked you to–”

“You didn’t have to!” He was practically screeching, and found that he didn’t care too much. “You never had to ask! I wanted you to keep taking whatever I had to give and never have to fucking ask for it! I just wanted to fuckin’ be there!”

Mondo was pissed, of course. More pissed than anything else, and Takemichi was too pissed to figure out what the other things were.

“Then why don’t you want to be here now? ” Mondo’s voice was low, almost calm if not for the sharp edge to it. It still cleaved through Takemichi like an axe.

Takemichi attempted to even out his breathing, but they kept coming in ragged pants. He could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“ Want ain’t got nothing to do with it. Someone’s gotta stay here, and you’re the one with a future to look forward to.”

“Why the hell does someone have to stay here?”

He took a deep breath, trying not to recoil. “...I’m gonna be late. I’ll be back tonight.”

He left out the front door, trying hard not to slam it, and figured he’d better go find somewhere to spend the three hours until his shift started.

Takemichi didn’t go straight home after work. He’d still be back before sunrise, he told himself, but everytime he thought about walking in that door, the pit in his stomach opened up again. So he drove out to the edge of town, then further, until he reached the cemetery where Daiya was buried.

It was far too late for him to be here, but he really didn’t give a fuck, and a locked gate had never been great delinquent deterrent, anyway. He parked his bike and walked to the far side of the temple, closest to Daiya. The lights were so dim he could barely see his hand in front of his face, but it hardly mattered. He could probably find him with his eyes closed by now.

Sure enough, he quickly found himself staring down the dim shape of a small stone monument. Gingerly, he ran his hand over the engravings he couldn’t quite make out in the darkness- Daiya’s name, the date of his burial, and the date of his death, which was still up for debate, as it was either just before or after midnight.

“Sorry,” he apologized quietly, “didn’t bring flowers or anything. Wasn’t really planning to visit.”

He sat down on the ground, resting his hand on the cool stone. The black silhouette of the tombstone against the dark sky, at this angle, was almost exactly as tall as Daiya had been when sitting across from Takemichi on the floor of the apartment or outside on the balcony or out at the edge of town. The familiarity made him ache.

It was odd. In his memory, Daiya had been larger than god, but the impression he left in everything else was that of any man.

“Your brother’s a dick,” he whispered. “Less of one now. It’s not like… I mean, it’s never gonna be like when you were around, but I think he’s doing alright. Except when he pisses me off. Or when I piss him off.”

He tried to breathe. It came out ragged and strained. “I fuckin’ hate this, man. I can’t… you always knew what to do, and when you didn’t, you figured it out. I thought that was just somethin’ you learned as you grew up, but it didn’t happen to me. Nothing really happened to me, shit just happened around me. I’m the same little freak you left behind, just fuckin’... angrier. And more pathetic. It was cute when I was 15, I guess. Like a street dog in the rain, with those big eyes and all. Now it’s just…”

With a heavy, shaky sigh, he ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. “I guess I was always your dog. You told me to sit and stay and you went and fuckin’ died on me, and no one’s around to tell me to get back up. I dunno.”

He leaned his face in his hand, resting his elbow on his knee. “I don’t know if I wanna be Mondo’s dog like that. If that’s what he wanted, I would. You know that. But…”

Every humiliating fantasy he’d cooked up since they met. Shit like biking down to the beach and spending the day in the sun, getting a little place together, learning to cook properly, with good ingredients and not just what was on markdown, the feeling of hands on his waist or lips on his. The terrible way they came unbidden still, only now there was a second pair of arms to wrap around him, a body on the other side of him when he woke up in the morning. Bright red and pale lilac eyes looking at him with matching tones of soft adoration.

Daiya alive, giving him away at his wedding, or whatever equivalent thing they got to have. All things he could not have anymore, or maybe things he never could have had.

“God, fuck, Daiya, I want them so bad,” he confessed, so quiet it barely reached his own ears. “I want them to be happy, and I don’t want to be fuckin’ jealous about it or whatever, and I’m trying real hard to be a grownup about it, but I wanna throw a tantrum and yell and cry and shit. I’m supposed to be bigger than that.”

He breathed, in through his nose and out through his mouth, until he felt steady enough to avoid collapsing in on himself.

“Can you just tell me what you want from me so I can start moving again?” he asked feebly. “I think I’m pretty shit at guessing.”

The sound of distant wind and the soft tinkling of faraway chimes was the only answer he received. He sighed, stood, and gave the grave an affectionate pat.

“Talk later, yeah?” he whispered, then snuck back the way came.

When Takemichi parked his bike, walked up the stairs, and unlocked and opened the front door, it must have been close to three in the morning. He kicked off his shoes, looked up, and locked eyes with Mondo, who was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Takemichi had never seen him fresh off one of their fights, preferring to run away for at least a day or two, but he had made a promise this time. His hair was a mess, not properly undone from the pompadour but he’d clearly been running his hands through it, and now it was hanging wavy and limp about his face, long enough to brush his shoulders. With the dim light coming from the kitchenette behind him, he could see the deep bags under his eyes. There wasn’t any bruising on his knuckles, and that was the first time that had happened. There definitely were on Takemichi’s, and probably some on his toes, too.

He leaned against the door, closing it quietly without looking away from Mondo. He cleared his throat.

“If you wanna go to business school, that’s cool,” he said, his voice raspy. “We can figure it out.”

He shook his head. “I don’t give a fuck about Hitotsubashi.”

Mondo’s eyebrows furrowed. “Then what…?”

“I was being a dick,” Takemichi said, breaking eye contact to lock the door, step forward, and toss his bag on the floor next to the couch. It hit the ground more heavily than he would have liked, but honestly, he couldn’t care less about the neighbors right now. “Sorry. I shouldn't've bit your head off.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Mondo said sharply, then frowned. “Sorry. I mean please don’t give me that shit. If it’s not the school shit, tell me what it was.”

“Told you, I was being a dick.”

“ Michi, for the love of god,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair again, “just tell me what I said so I don’t do it again. I don’t… it fuckin’ sucks when I hurt you. I hate it. I thought I was done doin’ shit like that.”

Takemichi was silent. Mondo sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions and staring at the ceiling.

“You ain’t closed up like that since we were little,” he said quietly. “Daiya was the only one who could get you to open up again. He’d just pull you away and talk to you for a bit, and you’d be back. I never figured out how the hell he did it.”

Takemichi chuckled humorlessly, finally sitting. “Yeah, you and me both. Probably the same shit he did to get you to stop punchin’ walls.”

“Don’t think so. He never taped towels over your hands, far as I know.” He smiled just a little bit, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Joke’s on him. I just punched harder.”

“Yeah, he coulda thought that one through a little better. Once you got ‘em off, you could punch through the wall.” He shrugged, giving a little smile of his own. “Sometimes you were less angry once you got there, though. Distracted you for long enough.”

“Yeah,” Mondo said, voice sounding far away. “Guess it did, huh.”

Takemichi felt very small. “Sorry, I know you don’t like—“

“ Motherfucker, will you let me apologize?” Mondo snapped, sitting forward again. Takemichi recoiled, and Mondo scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. “God dammit, I’m not trying to… It’s fine, okay? Whatever you’re gonna say sorry for, it’s cool. All of it.”

He nodded slowly. “…Alright.”

They were silent for a while. Mondo was looking at the floor, and Takemichi was pretending he wasn’t looking at Mondo. Years ago, Takemichi would have said something encouraging or reassuring or at least distracting, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to be what Mondo needed anymore.

It isn’t a realization he likes.

“I hated him sometimes,” Mondo confessed in a voice smaller than Takemichi can remember it ever being, snapping him out of his thoughts. “When he got mad, at least he always knew what it was about, you know? And that would just piss me off worse. I… I figured I wouldn’t fuckin’ miss him when he was gone. Load of shit, though. I miss him like hell.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Sometimes-“ when he breathed, it came in audible stutters- “Sometimes, back when you first started living here for real, I’d hear the door and I’d think it was him. Let myself sit in that sometimes. And then he’d still not be there, and I’d be pissed again. Wasn’t right.”

“It’s cool, Mondo.” He cracked a small grin. “Did the same thing to you sometimes.”

Mondo smiled at him- a real smile, if a tired one- all teeth. “Probably shoulda had a real adult or some shit, huh? We were fuckin’ awful.”

He shrugged. “Next time we’ll do better.”

“No fuckin’ next time, got it? I’m not losing you. Not losing anyone with you, either.”

“Got it,” Takemichi said, giving a small shrug of surrender. “I’ll do my best.”

“Just…” He sighed. “Just promise you’re not goin’ anywhere, yeah? I know you can’t stop the rest of it, but…”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he swore. “You got me.”

“Good,” Mondo said, and after a moment’s hesitation, awkwardly opened his arms. Takemichi, just as hesitant, scooted over to his side of the couch and leaned into him, arms wrapping around his chest while Mondo’s circled his shoulders.

It was nice. Takemichi’s ear was pressed to Mondo’s chest, and he could hear his steady heartbeat, feel the rise and fall as he breathed. The chasm between them felt… Not narrower, he thought, but maybe less bottomless.

“You a snuggler now?” Takemichi chuckled under his breath. Mondo gave him a squeeze, burying his face in his hair.

“Nah, just missed you,” he mumbled. “...Maybe a little. Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah, alright,” Takemichi said, slumping further against him. “Taka’s okay with it?”

“There’s not a damn thing we could do that Taka wouldn’t be okay with. Told you, he loves you.”

He buried his face in Mondo’s shoulder. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.”

“Fuck off.”

Mondo let out a long sigh, but didn’t speak further. Takemichi thought maybe he should get him up and into his own bed, but before long, he was snoring, and Takemichi wasn’t long for the waking world, either.

He could be forgiven, he thought. It was late, he’d had a long day, and he’d wanted to fall asleep in his arms for as long as he could remember.

When he woke, it was to the smell of coffee, the rattling hum of the air conditioner, a rumbling under his cheek, a gentle scratching at his back, and the faint sound of quiet conversation. He blinked, sitting up a bit, and almost instantly regretted it, because now that he’d had this once, he wasn’t sure how he was meant to go the rest of his life without it.

He was laying on top of Mondo, who was lounging with one arm behind his head and the other lying lazily across Takemichi’s middle. The scratching, as he quickly found out, was Kiyotaka absently running his fingernails along his spine.

He wished he hadn’t sat up at all, or at least let himself relish it a little longer. It was over almost before he realized it was happening.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, stifling a yawn and trying to get to his feet without planting an elbow in Mondo’s stomach, “didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“All good.” He sat up, not quite meeting Takemichi’s eye. “There’s coffee.”

“Mm. Thanks.” He turned to Kiyotaka, sat on the other end of the couch with Mondo’s feet in his lap. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Takemichi!” he greeted warmly, a broad smile on his face, perhaps a touch too loud for the first thing right after waking up, but Takemichi couldn’t stay mad at him. If he was ever mad at all.

He padded over to the kitchenette, took a deep breath, and tried not to dwell on it.

“Shit,” Takemichi hissed. He tilted his head at an awkward angle, trying to catch a glimpse of the glob of bleach he’d just felt drop somewhere in his hair that it wasn’t meant to be.

“Takemichi?” Kiyotaka’s voice reached the bathroom moments before his body did. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said, frowning at his reflection. “Just fucked up.”

“Are you… dyeing your hair?”

“Yeah,” he said, finally locating the rogue bleach and wiping it off with a paper towel. “Don’t tell me you thought I was a natural blonde.”

“...I suppose I hadn’t given it much thought. Surely that isn’t allowed in your school dress code?”

“Nah, but they pick their battles, y’know? If someone’s getting their jaw broken, you don’t worry about the hair color of the guy next to him.”

“Regardless, you should follow dress code, Takemichi.”

“You kidding? The Diamonds would rip me apart. I’m already gay, I can’t be straight-laced too.” He paused, sparing a look at Kiyotaka. He was frowning, arms crossed over his chest. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay or straight-laced, I mean. Just doesn’t really work for a biker.”*

“How are you planning to color the hair on the back of your head?”

“I usually just feel it out.”

“Why don’t you have Mondo help?”

“Because he’s got the fine motor skills of a wild animal and thinks toner is for chicks. You’ve seen his pompadour,” he said with a grin. “Plus, y’know, he was gone for two years. Had to learn to do most things on my own.”

Kiyotaka was silent for a while. Takemichi saw him leave out of the corner of his eye, and thought that was the end of that, but he returned shortly after wearing one of Mondo’s old sleepshirts and a pair of sweatpants. He closed in on Takemichi, holding a hand out expectantly.

“Very well,” Taka said, as if the matter was entirely settled.

“It’s fine, Taka,” Takemichi reassured. “I’ve got it.”

“My motor skills are excellent, I have no reservations regarding the gender of hair products,” and though he still looked severely disapproving, Takemichi didn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitched, just a bit, “and I’m here now, so I see no reason why you should refuse.”

Takemichi rolled his eyes, failed to crush the fondness that bloomed in his chest, and wordlessly handed the brush over. Kiyotaka let out a pleased hum and sidled up behind him, holding Takemichi’s head with one hand and angling him this way and that. When the brush finally touched his head, it was colder than he had been expecting.

Kiyotaka’s movements were methodical and careful. Takemichi caught glimpses of him in the mirror, his tongue between his teeth, his brow furrowed. Takemichi could picture him making the same face while taking an exam or practicing flashcards, and it wasn’t difficult to imagine how Mondo had fallen in love with him.

“You’re still doing well in your studies, Takemichi?” Kiyotaka asked. “Just because you’re close to graduation doesn’t mean you can be slacking off.”

“They’re goin’ fine. Haven’t reached the end of my rope yet. Actually, I…”

He hesitated. For a moment, he considered just letting the sentence drop, but Kiyotaka, it seemed, was not going to allow it.

“What was that?”

“I’m going to be applying for Gakudai,” he mumbled, staring down at the sink. Even so, he could see Kiyotaka’s reflection light up out of the corner of his eye.

“Takemichi!” He grabbed his shoulders, beaming at their reflections. His delighted tone was loud enough that Takemichi thought he may actually have to apologize to the neighbors. “You are? That’s wonderful! You’ll make a fantastic teacher! I’m so glad you’ve decided to take up the mantle of shaping the youth of tomorrow!”

“Don’t get excited,” Takemichi said, though he knew it was useless. “I’m not going. I’m just applying.”

“Don’t discredit your abilities! With a bit of hard work, I know you’ll get in.”

“Sure. Maybe. I can’t just go, though. It’s expensive, and there’s things I have to take care of here.”

Kiyotaka’s face fell. “I’m… sure we could figure something out. Tokyo Gakugei is a public university, so with a bit of saving…”

“I could have enough saved to go ten times over. There’s still things here that need to be taken care of.”

“Like what? It doesn’t seem like you have many connections, save Mondo and the rest of the… Crazy Diamonds.”

“Ouch. I’ve got plenty of connections, you know.”

“None that you care about.”

Takemichi sighed. “Alright, sure. I don’t really give a shit about the 7/11 or whatever the fuck. Still.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He paused, looking into the sink like it had some kind of reasonable excuse waiting for him. It supplied nothing, except maybe that it could use a scrub more often.

“Daiya’s here,” he said eventually, not looking up. He could feel Kiyotaka tense behind him.

The room was silent for a while, save the soft rasp of the applicator brush against his roots. He was still too aware of Kiyotaka’s warm presence at his back, too aware of his own heartbeat, of his tongue that felt too thick in his mouth.

“I didn’t know Daiya, and I can’t say for certain what he would have wanted,” Kiyotaka said in a voice low enough to be soft, “but I don’t think he would have wanted you to stop from bettering yourself on his behalf.”

Takemichi bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting metal. He tried to calm his breathing, which had become too erratic too quickly.

“You’re right,” he gritted out, “you didn’t.”

He frowned. “Takemichi, I–”

“Drop it.”

And maybe he was horrible for it, and maybe he’d regret taking that tone with him all evening and into the next morning, seeing that hurt, angry look on Kiyotaka’s face every time he closed his eyes, but the subject was dropped nonetheless.

On the night of the 22nd of November, Takemichi wasn’t able to make it home until late. Once he’d changed into his pyjamas and splashed some water on his face, he collapsed onto the couch, grateful for his foresight to leave his blanket within reach and Kiyotaka’s restraint in not putting it away.

Despite the tiredness that sunk deep into his bones, he tossed and turned for what felt like hours. With a grumble, he reached for the remote, hoping to find something to lull him to sleep, but paused when his hand hovered over where his phone lay on the coffee table.

After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up and flipped it open, staring at the dimly glowing display. The time was just past one in the morning on the 23rd.

He dialed into his voicemail. The most recent was from Mondo, the one time Takemichi had the nerve to be too far from the phone to pick up immediately. He called him a flaky asshole in a tone that made something in Takemichi’s chest tighten, so, shamefully, it stayed. In the next, his voice got younger, more pitchy; it was much easier to see the way he had changed looking back than it had been in the moment. He can’t remember why he kept this one- it was just him confirming plans they had made earlier in the week- but every time he listened, he couldn’t quite make himself delete it. And then–

“Hey, Michi,” came the tinny, distinct voice from his speaker. There was the muffled sound of water running in the background and the quiet clattering of dishes. “Some dumbass forgot to pick up an onion at the grocery yesterday. Think you can pick me one up on your way home? I’ll pay you back. Thanks, kid, talk later.”

He used to send him on those little errands sometimes, usually as an excuse to give him a little walking around cash. It wasn’t the last one he ran for him, but it was the last one he remembered. It had been an occasion where Daiya did truly forget, and he made Takemichi chop it since he was doing the rest of the cooking. It stung his eyes like hell, and Daiya had laughed and laughed.

He kept that one, of course.

“You little asshole, I’m gonna keep calling ‘til you pick up,” Daiya’s voice snapped through the speaker in the next message. “Where the hell did you run off to? I checked all your spots. You can’t– you fuckin’ scare me when you do this, you know that? If it’s your folks again, just fuckin’ tell me. You know you always got a place to stay with us. You can’t just fuckin’ say shit like that and vanish, you know? You goddamn…”

There was a long pause. He could hear his labored breathing, as if he had been running across town and not just driving. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Look, Michi, we’re not mad. I’m not mad. Mondo’s pissy, but he’ll get over it, you know how he is. Just come home, okay? Talk later.”

Takemichi swallowed, old guilt renewing. The Owadas had been out searching for hours, as it turned out, only for Takemichi to show up at their doorstep late into the evening, spattered in mud, the salt of dried seawater clinging to his clothes. Daiya, exhausted, hadn’t let him get more than one foot in the door before picking him up and squeezing him so tightly he was afraid he’d snap in half.

You ever fuckin’ pull that shit again, that’s your ass, Daiya had said into his hair, but, true to his word, he didn’t sound angry. Just relieved.

The whole thing took some getting used to. Takemichi didn’t acclimate well for a while.

That one stayed, too.

The next voicemail had Daiya singing off-key, too close to the microphone, undoubtedly as punishment for not picking up. That song still played on the radio sometimes, and it was always a special kind of hell when it did.

Before he could get to the chorus, Takemichi heard the quiet creak of a door opening and closing and quickly snapped the phone shut. He looked up just in time to meet Mondo’s eye.

“Hey,” Takemichi mumbled, sitting up.

Mondo smiled, soft and tired. “You can’t sleep either, huh?”

“Nah. Wanna put something on?”

“Yeah.” Mondo sat next to him, reaching forward to pick up the remote control. This time, Takemichi didn’t hesitate to lean into him, resting his head on his shoulder. Mondo wrapped an arm easily around his shoulder while some commercial played.

An hour into some movie Takemichi was barely paying attention to, Kiyotaka also emerged, bleary-eyed, blanket around his shoulders.

“Shit, did we wake you?” Takemichi leaned forward, reaching for the remote, but Kiyotaka just shook his head, plopped down on Takemichi’s other side, and leaned his head onto his shoulder, snoring within moments. He looked to Mondo for some sort of guidance, but found he had already fallen back to sleep, too.

He settled into the warmth of the two of them. It was nice, he thought, to not feel so empty this time of year.

“We got everything?” Mondo asked, staring into his backpack.

“You should. You did, like, three sweeps of the apartment.” Takemichi elbowed him affectionately. “Besides, if you did, I can just hold it until you get back. No big deal.”

“Yeah, alright.” He zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You gonna be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” he shrugged. “It’s just four months, right? Unless you’re gonna skip out on my graduation.”

“Fuck no,” Mondo said, ruffling Takemichi’s hair. “Me and Taka could visit on a weekend or two if you wanted.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna be busy studying for exams, anyway.”

“If you need help, please don’t hesitate to call,” Kiyotaka said, putting a hand on Takemichi’s shoulder.

“Yeah, alright,” Takemichi said with a small smile. He wasn’t sure if he’d take him up on it; after all, there was no difference whether he passed or failed, save perhaps a blow to his pride. It would be nice to have an excuse to talk to him, though. “Wish your old man a merry christmas for me, yeah?”

Taka beamed. “Of course! He’ll be delighted.”

Takemichi tried to imagine Takaaki Ishimaru’s face twisting into something like delight, or even contentedness, and couldn’t manage it. His emotional range seemed to span from despondence to exhausted despondence.

Kiyotaka went down a checklist of things they might have missed, and Mondo confirmed that each one was in its place, and then they went through it twice more for good measure. Mondo almost made it to the door before insisting he do one more check through his room, sure he had left his coat, which ended up being on the hook by the door where Mondo had hung it up the night before. Then, Kiyotaka insisted they finish the last of the dishes before they go, even though it amounted to little more than the cups and plates they used at breakfast, and spent about three times longer than necessary scrubbing each one, refusing to let Takemichi or Mondo help. Then, it was two more sweeps around the apartment, hunting for any little thing they might need in the next four months.

It took an extra hour to get them out the door, and even then, they lingered. Takemichi leaned on the doorframe, speculating on what weather they might run into, Taka and Mondo entertaining him for much longer than they needed to.

They needed to leave eventually, though. Mondo wrapped his arms around Takemichi’s chest, squeezing him tight.

“Four months’ll be over before you know it,” he said, and Takemichi wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to convince.

“Yeah,” he said, patting Mondo’s back affectionately. He hadn’t even realized Mondo was lifting him off the ground until his feet touched down again.

He wasn’t sure what he expected from Kiyotaka, but it wasn’t an embrace that was just as bruising. It took him a moment to recover from the surprise, but Kiyotaka didn't release him for several long minutes, so Takemichi had ample time to return the gesture.

“Be safe, yeah?” Takemichi said, breathless.

“Of course,” Kiyotaka said with a sharp nod. “We’ll see you again soon, Takemichi. Stay well.”

“Yeah,” Mondo said, ruffling his hair again. “Call when you can, got it? I’ll let you know how the apprenticeship goes.”

“Yeah,” Takemichi agreed. They hesitated for a moment, then left. Takemichi watched as they descended the stairs, then waited on the balcony to spot the blur of Mondo’s motorcycle as it carried the two of them away to Tokyo.

“You’re gonna be graduating this year, huh, Yukimaru?” Kenzo asked, pulling his bike up just behind Takemichi’s.

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” Takemichi said, turning his engine off. He lit a cigarette and leaned back. “Why?”

Kenzo shrugged. “Just figured Owada woulda asked you to be leader by now. You think he’s not gonna?”

“I’ve been de facto leader for the past two years. Who the hell else is he gonna ask?”

“I dunno. Maybe someone who doesn’t say shit like de facto. ”

“Piss off,” Takemichi said, reaching back to swat at him. “Sorry some of us know how to fuckin’ read. I know it makes your illiterate ass feel bad.”

“Hey, c’mon, Yukimaru, we’re not all the fancy college type,” Isamu chimed in, leaning forward from where he sat on a low stone wall.

“No one said a damn thing about college,” Takemichi said, and he knew it was too defensive.

“Didn’t have to. Saw that paper in Inomata’s desk when I was lookin’ for answer sheets.”

“Everyone had to do those, dumbass.”

“Yeah, but yours was special,” Isamu argued, shit-eating grin splitting his face.

“Fuck off,” Takemichi said, feeling his face start to burn. “He didn’t like the first one and he made me do another.”

“And you listened to him?” Kenzo asked.

“Some of us don’t wanna get kicked out, asshole.”

“Owada’s new buddy is some kinda super-hardass, isn’t he? Maybe he’s rubbing off on him,” Isamu suggested.

“Hey, don’t talk shit on Kiyotaka. He’s a good guy.”

“Definitely rubbing off on him,” Kenzo agreed with a smirk. Takemichi flicked his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it underfoot.

“Both you assholes get ready to ride before you say something else you’re gonna regret,” he ordered sharply, starting his own engine. Kenzo and Isamu shared some sort of look before Isamu hopped down and went to find his bike.

If not for the fact that he needed Kenzo to watch his back, he would have left those assholes in the dust.

“You feel ready?” Mondo asked.

“I guess,” Takemichi grumbled into the phone. He couldn’t help the feeling that he should have studied more, should have spent less time fucking around with the Diamonds, but it couldn’t be helped now. He did one last quick scan over his notebook, hoping to absorb any information he might have missed.

“Have faith in yourself!” Kiyotaka commanded. Takemichi could practically picture his scowl, the furrow in his brow. “You can’t admit defeat before you’ve even begun!”

“Yeah, alright,” Takemichi sighed with a smile. “Guess all I can do now is my best, right?”

“I’ve seen your best, man,” Mondo said. “You got nothing to worry about.”

He chuckled. “Taking a test is a little different than smashing skulls and windows to keep up with your ass, but sure.”

“Yeah, alright, but—”

“Takemichi, you shouldn’t be smashing skulls and windows!”

“Alright, I promise to not smash anything during the test,” he said, raising a hand in surrender. “Unless someone else starts it.”

“If you start breakin’ shit, they’re not gonna pass you.”

“Yeah, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I passed my exams just fine, asshole.”

“Sure,” Takemichi grinned, “anyone could with Taka’s help.”

“And you had my assistance as well!” Kiyotaka pointed out. “Therefore, you’ll do fantastic.”

“Hey, yeah!”

Takemichi’s grin faded into something small and soft. “I guess I can’t go wrong with two Hope’s Peak alumni behind me, huh?”

“Exactly. Go kick some ass, alright? Call when it’s over.”

“Sure thing,” Takemichi promised, “talk later.”

The line went dead, and he flipped his phone closed and tossed it onto the couch. He’d come too far to get disqualified for something as stupid as having a cell phone on him. 

He made his way to First Volcano (on a Sunday, which he was just a little pissed about), the cold January air cutting straight through his coat as he rode. The snow that hadn’t quite melted was caked in dirt and debris, leaving ugly, sooty piles on the sidewalk and grass. The sky, too, was grey and cloudy. Takemichi tried not to take it as a bad omen.

It was a nervous tic he had developed in the past months, but maybe something closer to reverence, too; he pressed his palm to his chest and ran his thumb over where the pair of buttons lay on a cord beneath his shirt, paying mind to the way they felt against his skin and, for a moment, nothing else.

He took a breath to steel himself and walked through the large metal doors that led into First Volcano High School.

“Okay, and… last one’s C.”

Takemichi frowned. “You sure?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Shit,” he grumbled, striking that one through. “Okay, I’m gonna tally up my score.”

“Fuckin’ hurry up ,” Mondo said. “I've been waiting all damn day.”

“Another five minutes won’t kill you, asshole,” he said, smiling despite himself. Mondo huffed, but otherwise ceased his complaining.

For a few minutes, the only sound was his pen on his paper and the quiet clicking of calculator buttons. He triple-checked his results, then leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“A solid 78%,” Takemichi sighed, setting down his pen. “It’s not gonna get me into the University of Tokyo, but that’s pretty decent.”

“Good thing you weren’t shooting for Todai then, huh?” Even through his phone's shitty speaker, Mondo’s pride came through clearly. It made Takemichi’s heart swell. “You did good, Michi. You should be proud of that.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t all me,” he deflected. “Speaking of which, pass the good news on to Taka, will you?”

“Sure thing.” He paused for a moment. “I mean it though, yeah? Always knew you had it in you.”

He scoffed, trying to fight the warmth creeping up his neck. “C’mon, man, don’t go soft on me now. It’s just a fuckin’ test.”

“Hey, no one’s soft,” Mondo laughed. “Just sayin’ it how it is.”

“Aw, piss off.” He paused, his ears burning. “...Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” There was a creak in the background and the distinct sound of a chair scraping against the ground. “Oh, hey, Taka’s back. You alright if I…?”

“Sure thing,” he said with a nod. “Kiss your man for me, yeah?”

“Little bastard. Talk later.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes with a small smile, snapping his phone shut. Every time he talked to Mondo, he seemed a bit happier. That had been the case for a while, of course; going to Hope’s Peak had worked wonders for him, only intensified by the arrival of Kiyotaka. And Takemichi…

Well, he’d been two steps behind him since they met. It made sense that the gap kept getting wider, he supposed– Takemichi had always been worse at forcing himself to keep moving.

He had this horrible, indulgent little fantasy he’d been returning to recently, wherein he rode Mondo’s coattails to Hope’s Peak, same as he had everywhere else he’d ever been. He’d even photocopied a map of the floor plan he’d found in a library book once (then swiftly disposed of it once he had it memorized, because, fuck, how would he even begin to explain that if someone found it?), just to get a clearer picture. He would imagine being something other than a reminder of the things Mondo was better off forgetting, meeting Kiyotaka and becoming close to him in his own way, meeting all of Mondo’s classmates and having friends of his own. He even imagined- and he chastised himself for this even as he thought it, staring at his cell phone- that Mondo and Taka could have fallen in love with him, too, and they could… They could figure something out. Some sort of agreement where they all got to have each other.

He shook his head, biting down hard on his cheek. The truth of the matter was that to be theirs, he would need to be someone else entirely, but he was only Yukimaru Takemichi, once and forever head of the Diamonds’ elite guard, once and forever their well-trained dog. He had emptied himself of all but the things they might find useful, and he remained empty now.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and pulled his notebook from his bag. The primary test was done, but he still had Gakudai entrance exams at the end of next month. There would be plenty of time to dwell on the things he’d never have once those were over.

It made a world of difference to start studying outside the apartment, it turned out. Takemichi would bike wherever– he especially liked the rocky cliffs near the coast on days where it was dark and cloudy, but not so windy his papers would fly away. Sometimes he’d go to the park and watch the dogs play, taking breaks to pet the few that bounded over to him.

(And he knew very little about the hearts of the blushy girls who walked them, but he tried to very gently let the more forward ones know that barking up that particular tree was not going to yield much of a result.)

Sometimes he went to sit with Daiya. He hadn’t been seeking him out, but like so many times before, he got on his bike with his head half-fuzzy and when he was back in his own skin, there he was. He never stopped looking for him, maybe, like whatever tethered the two of them in life didn’t quite die with the man himself.

Takemichi would talk to him in a low whisper, repeating the facts and figures he’d memorized, explaining the goddamn quadratic formula like Daiya would not have sat and tolerated when he was alive, but the bastard went and died, so he’d have to fuckin’ deal.

He put down his notebook and stared at the tombstone, at the single pathetic plum blossom he’d snapped from a branch on his way in. He was trying to scrape together what money he could, but he couldn’t think about the reason for too long without feeling the sting of guilt for even considering it. So he pushed it from his mind.

“I never figured it out how it happened,” Takemichi mumbled, before he even realized he was speaking. “You were never reckless like that before. I never thought you’d be the type to get killed unless you really meant it. And if you meant it, you wouldn’ta done it with Mondo watching. You woulda waited ‘til the two of us had our own lives, right?”

Or so he’d said once, on one of the few occasions he came home too drunk to stand properly. He’d collapsed onto the couch, and Takemichi sat on the floor with his back against the cushions, letting Daiya clumsily scratch his scalp as he babbled.

He’d promised he’d never make them find his body. Some neighbor would report the smell long before Mondo and Takemichi even noticed he was gone, so busy with all the great things they’d be doing that they’d hardly pay any mind to him.

Takemichi didn’t understand why he said it like it was meant to be a reassurance and not the worst thing anyone’s ever said. He understood a little better now.

He had always started shaking before he started crying, and even in that inebriated state, Daiya managed to get out in front of the tears. He was unceremoniously scooped up from the floor and cradled- properly cradled, like he hadn’t been since he was little, one arm hooked under his knees and the other around his back, his cheek pressed to Daiya’s chest.

He’d asked Daiya to please not kill himself in a voice so small it felt like it might break on its way out of his throat. Daiya pressed his cheek to the top of Takemichi’s head and said something about his kicked puppy dog eyes before crossing his heart as best he could without letting Takemichi go.

“Fucker,” Takemichi mumbled, trying to steady himself. “You’re the one who talked about promises between men, and then you go and… Fucking asshole. I don’t forgive you. Come back so I can yell at you.”

So he didn’t mean it because he couldn’t have, but he wasn’t stupid. He was a dumbass, but he wasn’t stupid. So it hadn’t been an accident and it hadn’t been on purpose.

Where did that leave him, then?

Stranded in a graveyard, it seemed, talking to a man who could not listen nor respond nor love him anymore, no matter how much he wished he would.

He shook his head, swallowed thickly, and went back to quietly explaining the themes present in Soseki’s Kokoro.

“So,” Isamu said, “next meeting’s on the 20th, right?”

Takemichi frowned. It was the most transparent bait Isamu had ever laid out, and he’d seen his clumsy attempts to goad rival gangs to follow him into a waiting ambush. “I’ve got work.”

“Yeah? All day?”

“All damn day. Gotta make rent.”

“Bullshit!” Isamu shouted, delighted. “You’re gonna be testin’ for college and shit, huh?”

“You’re testin’ me right now, and you’re not gonna like the results you get.”

Kenzo held Takemichi’s shoulders, leaning into him with a drawn-out sigh. “Oh, our Yukimaru’s gonna leave us all behind, same as Mondo.”

“Does bein’ a biker gang leader get you scholarships and shit? Can I be next?”

“ Guys, ” Takemichi chided, “c’mon. I’m not leaving.”

“Tokyo’s not far, but it ain’t close enough to spend every weekend here,” Isamu said, quirking an eyebrow playfully.

“I’m not goin’ to Tokyo,” Takemichi said. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

“Don’t try and spare our feelings,” Kenzo sighed dramatically, putting the back of his hand to his forehead and leaning his full weight on Takemichi’s back.

“Christ, can you get offa me?” Takemichi groaned, trying to shove him to little avail.

“Nope,” Kenzo said, “I’m just gonna miss you too bad. Isamu, come help.”

“Fuckin-” Takemichi managed to get out from under him. Kenzo staggered for a second, nearly knocking his bike over. “C’mon, assholes, we’re riding.”

Isamu wore a smirk. “I touch a nerve, boss?”

“Just get your bike,” Takemichi grumbled.

Takemichi clutched the little slip of paper in a trembling, sweaty fist, as though it would vanish if he loosened his grip even a little bit. Four hours in a silent testing room, and he really wished he could say he felt confident about the results, but he had nearly sweat through his jacket while writing and could still feel the echoes of his thundering heartbeat weeks later.

“Is it up yet?” He asked Mondo, pacing the room with the phone held to his ear.

“Gimme a sec, I’m still walkin’,” Mondo huffed. “Parking near this fuckin’ school is ass, you know.”

“Walk faster, ” Takemichi demanded.

“What is he saying?” Taka’s voice sounded more distant than Mondo’s. It would almost certainly be drowned out by the bustle of the crowd around them if not for his propensity to project.

“He wants us to run to Gakudai, I guess,” Mondo said.

“We can’t run, Takemichi. Someone could get hurt.”

“Yeah!”

“...But tell him we understand his impatience, and we’re getting there as quickly as we can.”

Mondo huffed out a small laugh. “Pretty sure he can hear you, Taka.”

“Yes, well, it doesn’t hurt to repeat it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I– oh shit, I think I see it!”

Takemichi’s heart leapt into his throat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it's a little up ahead. What’s your number again?”

He unfolded his hand, his fingers stiff, crescent moon indents left in his palm from his fingernails. “384.”

Mondo’s voice faded into the crowd around him. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours where the only thing he heard was dozens of indistinct conversations. He felt like he needed to throw up, or dunk his head in ice water, or something.

There was a noise that sounded like celebration, and Takemichi tried not to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his face at the distinct sound of Kiyotaka’s laugh.

“You fuckin’ did it, man!” Mondo shouted. “You’re in!”

“No shit? Actually?”

“No shit! Fuck yeah, Michi, we knew you could do it! We’ll go do something big to celebrate next week, yeah?”

“Holy shit,” Takemichi said, beaming. He truly doubted he’d get this far.

“Fuck, this rules. We gotta- we gotta go home and pack and shit. See you soon, alright?”

“Yeah,” he said. “See you soon.”

He held the cellphone to his ear for a long time after Mondo hung up. He really managed it. He’d gotten into Gakudai on his own merit, and–

The lightness in his chest faded. And it didn’t matter.

He had nearly forgotten all of this was just to prove he could do it. He still wasn’t going to Gakudai, same as if he’d never applied at all. It was waking up asleep on Mondo all over again with Kiyotaka gently scratching his back, or the strange configuration of limbs they’d found themselves waking up to on Daiya’s birthday; a taste of something that only served to remind him that he was not the kind of person who got to keep things like them. Kiyotaka and Mondo had each other, and Takemichi had Daiya to look after.

He opened his palm again and watched the little slip of paper with 384 written on it flutter to the floor. Mr. Inomata had been right– now Takemichi knew for certain that he hadn’t just gotten unlucky.

Takemichi waited in the parking lot for Mondo and Taka this time around. It was the right decision- the very moment after Mondo pulled into a spot and cut his engine, he all but tackled Takemichi in his haste to wrap him up in his arms. Takemichi let out a yelp that quickly turned into a laugh.

“Hey,” he said, wrapping his arms around Mondo’s neck. “Was the drive okay?”

“Yeah,” Mondo sighed. “It’s good to be home.”

Takemichi tried not to melt- truly- but it was a futile effort, not helped in the slightest when Kiyotaka joined them, standing at Takemichi’s back and throwing his arms around the pair of them. This time, at least, he knew to hold onto the moment for as long as he could, burying his head in Mondo’s shoulder and looping one of his arms around Kiyotaka, squeezing gently.

He was put back down onto the asphalt, but the arms around him didn’t leave quite yet. He still had two hands on his waist and two more closing him in. It was nice enough that he knew it would be terrible later, but he tried not to think too much about it.

Mondo was beaming, his face flushed, and it felt to Takemichi that he got happier each time he saw him, like his standard baseline had just been moving closer and closer to contentedness.

And if he fell in love with him again there in the dirty parking lot with such a raw intensity that it felt as though he’d die when he hit the ground, who could blame him? And if he could feel Kiyotaka’s warmth and picture that smile- the one that made him think he’d swallowed some small piece of sun in his youth that lodged itself in his chest and never quite got loose- and fell just as hard, who could blame him for that, either?

When Mondo stepped back, it was with a hesitation that made Takemichi’s heart jump, though he tried very hard to smother it, and started the long walk up the four flights of stairs to the apartment.

In a blink, everything was warm and full again. Mondo sat on the couch and Kiyotaka joined Takemichi in the kitchen and it was as if they had never left. The hollows they left were filled, without ceremony or hesitation, and Takemichi felt the light of it on his skin again, like the first spring day after a long winter.

“There’s nice tea in the cabinet,” Takemichi suggested as casually as he could, as if it was something he just kept around and not solely purchased because he thought of Kiyotaka when he saw it. “We could have some of that.”

Taka pulled the small tin, decorated with little flowers the same color as his eyes, from the cupboard and gave Takemichi a worried look. “This looks expensive, Takemichi. Shouldn’t you be saving it for a special occasion?”

“This is about as special as it gets,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t really know how to make it the right way, anyway. Better to have an expert.”

Kiyotaka gave the tin a grin so wide it nearly reached his ears. The smile he directed at Takemichi was much softer, eyebrows drawn together, and for a moment Takemichi thought he might cry again.

“Hey, we’re celebrating anyways, right?” Mondo called from the couch. “Michi got into college!”

Kiyotaka’s smile faltered. The look he gave Takemichi was somewhere between halting hope and panic. He couldn’t hold his gaze, instead turning to the cupboard and getting out the teacups.

“Sure did,” he said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic.

“This movie fuckin’ sucks, Michi.”

Takemichi swatted Mondo’s arm. “We’re five goddamn minutes in, asshole. Can you give it a shot?”

“Nah, this is one of your sad ones, isn’t it? When’s the woman gonna die?”

He sputtered. “She- You don’t know she’s gonna die!”

“Got your ass!” Mondo laughed. “The broad lives ten minutes at most. ”

Kiyotaka frowned. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Yeah, Mondo, don’t call chicks broads. It’s fuckin’ weird.”

“ You’re fuckin’ weird,” Mondo retorted. He reached for the remote, but Takemichi snatched it first, holding it above his head. Mondo dove for it, sending them both careening over the couch and onto the floor.

Takemichi managed  to keep the remote from him for all of a minute before it lands somewhere and he didn’t see where, nor did he care, because Mondo had wrestled him to the ground and locked him into some kind of grapple where one arm was locked around Takemichi’s chest, pinning his arms in place, and the other around his stomach. Takemichi squirmed half-heartedly, stifling an unbecoming giggle.

Then Mondo pressed the tip of his nose to the soft spot behind Takemichi’s ear and let out a little sigh that he wouldn’t have heard if he’d been any further away, his ams squeezing just a little bit tighter, and Takemichi felt his whole body tense, because- because what the fuck, what the fuck, and Mondo tensed in turn. Takemichi was all but shoved away from him, letting out a punched-out groan as he hit the floor.

“Shit, sorry, I…” Mondo choked out, face bright red, eyes wide. Takemichi shook his head, not quite able to look at him.

“It’s cool.” Takemichi’s voice was so strained that it came out as more of a squeak. “I’m- I’m gonna go have a smoke. Put on whatever.”

He half-stumbled, half-ran outside, slamming the door in his haste. With trembling hands, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a drag that was almost too long. When that one was gone, he snubbed it out in the ashtray and lit another.

Because Kiyotaka’s little touches, the fingertips that brushed his waist when he passed behind him or the way his thumb rubbed over his knuckles when they sat next to each other- that was one thing. He could convince himself that was just how Kiyotaka was. Mondo, though–

Takemichi wasn’t angry, but he was feeling a lot of something and it was making him want to break things until he felt less of it. He had made it halfway to the stairs before he realized he was walking, stopped, leaned against the banister, and tried to catch his breath or stop shaking or something.

It could be nothing, he told himself. It was probably nothing, and he was making too big of a deal about it, but the buttons hanging around his neck felt like they were burning twin holes in his skin.

He started towards the stairs again, stopped, started back towards the apartment, stopped again, scrubbed the hand not holding his cigarette over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to think.

Maybe Mondo meant more by it, or maybe it was some weird fluke. It could be a hundred things, but- but it didn’t matter, did it? After all, Mondo and Kiyotaka would leave not long after Takemichi’s graduation, and that would be the end of it. Takemichi would stay here, years would roll on, and Mondo would stop having room for Takemichi in his life. They’d become memories to each other, the kind of friends you met up with for drinks when you happened to both be in town, and that would be it. He knew that. He’d known that since Mondo first got scouted by Hope’s Peak. The circle of his life had grown large enough that he didn’t need to keep the things that hurt him around anymore.

He was used to the thought being accompanied by a sort of detached resignation. This time, it made something in his chest sink.

He didn’t want Mondo and Kiyotaka to leave. He wanted them to stay in this shitty apartment in the part of town where the roads always seemed to crack and buckle and all the jobs are the kind you work until you kill yourself and the ghost of Daiya Owada shone through everything like the little pinpricks of light that formed made-up constellations.

Maybe that made him evil, if falling in love with his best friend and his best friend’s best friend hadn’t already, but he was still good enough that he would never ask.

He took deep breath after deep breath until they didn’t come in short stutters anymore. Then he finished off his cigarette, walked back to his ashtray to stub it out, shook the last of the trembling from his hands, and entered the apartment again.

The TV had been turned down low, and Kiyotaka and Mondo had clearly been speaking moments before, snapping to attention when the door creaked open. Mondo jumped to his feet.

“Hey, uh,” he started, turning a shade of pink that was unfairly pretty, and, god, he was really going to be the death of Takemichi, “sorry about–”

“All good,” Takemichi interjected, forcing a small smile. “You’ve done worse shit than smell my ear.”

Mondo laughed, too loud, and Kiyotaka looked… sad, maybe. Something like that.

Takemichi collapsed onto the couch, and so did Mondo, a careful distance between them that didn’t escape Takemichi’s notice.

The First Volcano High School graduation ceremony was much less formal than the Hope’s Peak one had been. Takemichi shifted in the uncomfortable metal folding chair as the music club played (a group of five classmates that he’d only ever seen in passing, and they would almost be good if not for how pitchy the singer was). Then there was a speech from their class representative, who Takemichi had heard did manage to get into Todai. If he were to bet on it, he’d say she’d be the only one for at least the next two years.

Then the headmaster, a very old man that Takemichi had only seen on the occasion that he had fucked up severely, took to the podium, and there were the canned phrases and empty words that meant nothing except for that there was an occasion where a speech must be made. This is what had been missing from Mondo and Kiyotaka’s graduation- the transparent way no one believed a goddamn thing they were saying.

He cast a glance out to the crowd lined up along the edges of the auditorium. Mondo blended in a little better, but Kiyotaka, in his crisp white shirt and sharp tie and broad smile, stuck out like a beam of light in the dark. Takemichi smiled and gave a little wave, and the two of them returned the gesture.

The headmaster finished speaking, and Takemichi joined the rest of the room in applause. Most of his classmates, he was sure, were yelling largely because this served as a good excuse to do so. They rose in some semblance of order and left in what could only be called a single-file line if the person describing it had never seen one in their life. Takemichi almost caught a rogue elbow to the ribs, and he was glad it didn’t make contact, because that wasn’t going to fly at his goddamn graduation and he shouldn’t be fighting right now.

As soon as he made it out to the front of the school, he scanned the crowd for Kiyotaka and Mondo. They were already starting to get approached by strangers, so Takemichi booked it over to them. Mondo saw him first and smiled.

“Congratulations, Michi,” Mondo said, reaching out and giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before retracting his hand. Takemichi tried not to be too disappointed.

Kiyotaka, it seemed, had taken it upon himself to be the one to wrap Takemichi in a crushing, congratulatory hug. That did make Takemichi feel better, to be fair, and he wrapped his arms around Kiyotaka’s neck with a grin.

“We’re so proud of you,” Kiyotaka said, sounding choked up. When he pulled back, Takemichi saw that he was, indeed, crying.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, patting Kiyotaka’s elbow. He was still never sure what to do when he cried. “Oh, uh, hey, by the way…”

His hands went to his jacket, and he unceremoniously tugged the second button off and extended it to Mondo with a nervous smile. “Here. That’s my end of the deal, right?”

Mondo blinked, the tips of his ears coloring just a touch. “Hey, man, it’s all good. Don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon,” Takemichi said. “Take it before one of the girls from my class does. I’m at my limit on gentle rejections.”

Mondo hesitated, then extended his hand. Takemichi dropped the button into it– it was lighter and more plain than those found on the Hope’s Peak uniforms, but it was something. Mondo pulled him into a sideways hug for just a moment. Takemichi smiled.

That was something, at least, and it made Takemichi soften. He returned the small squeeze before begrudgingly letting him go.

He pulled his first button off and handed it to Kiyotaka. “I’m pretty sure I owe you one, too, right?”

Kiyotaka hadn’t been able to stop his small smile, nor his tears. “I don’t believe the tradition dictates that there has to be an equal exchange.”

“Well,” Takemichi said, trying to think of an excuse and finding none, “have it anyways. That way it’s fair.”

“I suppose if it’s in the interest of being fair, it’s alright,” Kiyotaka acquiesced with a sniffle. Takemichi handed over the button with a smile of his own, and it felt much more adoring than he meant for it to. Kiyotaka held it in one cupped palm, running a finger over the surface with something like soft reverence on his face.

“Yukimaru,” came a voice from somewhere behind him before a hand fell on his shoulder, “congratulations are in order.”

Takemichi turned, meeting Mr. Inomata’s eye and giving a polite smile. “Thank you, sir.”

“Getting into Tokyo Gakugei University is no small feat. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I am, sir.”

“I do hope you’ll reconsider going. Your education is important, and I’m certain your friends would agree.”

If looks could kill, Inomata would be a red smear on the pavement under Takemichi’s gaze. The man just gave him a knowing smile.

“The hell are you talking about?” Mondo asked. “Of course he’s goin’.”

“I certainly hope so,” Inomata said, giving Takemichi’s shoulder a squeeze before bowing his head. “Good luck, Yukimaru.”

With that, he left. Takemichi considered, briefly, tackling him to the ground and beating him until his knuckles were raw, but Takemichi was an adult now, and that meant adult charges and adult jail, so he just gritted his teeth and clenched his fists at his side.

“What the hell was that about?” Mondo asked. “You tellin’ people you’re not goin’ to Gakudai? They been givin’ you shit or something?”

Takemichi hesitated, chewing his lip, not meeting Mondo’s eye. “...It’s a long way from here.”

“Yeah, but you can stay with me and Taka. We’re close enough,” he argued. There was just the barest hint of a desperate edge to his voice. “It’s not a long drive.”

“I can’t just leave, ” Takemichi argued. “There’s too much to take care of here. I was never gonna–”

“ Bullshit. That’s bullshit and you know it,” Mondo snapped. “You fuckin’ wanted to go to school! What the hell changed?”

“Nothin’ changed. ” Takemichi was trying very, very hard not to start shouting. “I can’t just have shit because I want it. That’s not how this works.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You already have it. You fuckin’ made it in!”

“I can’t– Someone’s gotta take care of the Diamonds, the apartment–”

“To hell with the fuckin’ apartment, why does it matter?”

“Because Daiya’s in there, and I can’t fucking lose him again!” Takemichi shouted, his voice cracking. The people around them fell quiet. Takemichi felt his face start to burn.

“Michi-”

“Nevermind,” he croaked, not able to look at Mondo or Kiyotaka. He scrubbed his eyes and all but ran for his bike.

They just didn’t talk about it. Takemichi came back home hours later, a weight in his chest so heavy he could hardly breathe around it, and Kiyotaka gave him a tired almost-smile, and Mondo could barely look at him, and that felt worse. Dinner was mostly quiet, and Mondo and Kiyotaka went to bed early, and Takemichi tried not to feel like a bitch for how much quiet sobbing he was doing.

The next morning, Takemichi laid down for a lot longer than he should have after waking up, staring at the back of the couch, his limbs feeling like lead. The sun was already up when he finally heard Mondo’s door creak open, and Takemichi hoped he didn’t startle too visibly.

There was a sputtering shortly before the smell of coffee filled the room, followed by some shuffling and two soft clinks of porcelain on the coffee table. After another moment, a hand gently grabbed Takemichi’s calf and shook it.

He sat up to see Mondo, who looked like he’d barely slept. He offered an awkward sort of half-grin.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice rough. “We good?”

Takemichi nodded slowly. “I’m good if you’re good.”

“I’m good,” Mondo said, and that was the end of it, Takemichi supposed. The tension was still so thick he could practically feel it coalescing on his skin, but at least Mondo was here. For now, at least, he had that.

He tried to forget that in a few days Mondo and Kiyotaka would be gone forever, because it made his chest feel like it was collapsing in on itself all over again, and he wasn’t sure how much more of that he could take. 

Even Kiyotaka started keeping Takemichi at arm’s length, all soft little touches gone in an instant, and Takemichi wished he was a better man so he didn’t miss them so much.

He deserved that, though, he thought. He didn’t have any claim to them in the first place, and he had been indulging entirely too much. It was his own damn fault that it felt like dying to lose it.

The only loose end left to tie up was Mondo’s retirement from the Crazy Diamonds. The party was more of a formality than anything– Mondo had been out of the saddle for a while, and he’d be 20 in a few months, anyway. Still, it was as good an excuse to celebrate as any, and Mondo’s legacy would undoubtedly be the proudest the Diamonds had to boast for a long time.

Takemichi had already gotten a few congratulations- his official promotion to leader was, similarly, a foregone conclusion. He’d be with them for another year or so, and then… Something else. He hadn’t figured it out yet. More of the same, he imagined.

“Right,” Mondo announced, his once-thundering voice more low and rumbling now, but no less commanding. The raucous sounds of the Diamonds died to a low murmur, every boy in attendance turning to pay attention. “I can’t stick around forever. You guys know that.”

A few jeers came from the peanut gallery. Mondo shot them a sharp look, and they fell quiet once again. “Fuckin’ anyway. You’re gonna need a new leader, yeah?”

Takemichi had already taken a step forward, ready to stand at Mondo’s side one last time, but he froze.

Mondo didn’t say his name.

Takemichi felt like he’d stepped into a lake, and now everything was underwater. Kenzo was being hoisted onto someone’s shoulders, everyone was screaming, and Mondo- Mondo wasn’t looking at him. The motherfucker couldn’t even give him the courtesy of eye contact while he shattered Takemichi’s world around him.

A hand came to rest between his shoulder blades, and Takemichi could have bitten it off. Kenzo gave a pat that would have been companionable an hour ago.

“No hard feelings, right?” Kenzo asked, either gloating or nervous, but Takemichi couldn’t tell through the blood rushing in his ears.

The words leave his mouth before he even realizes he might say them. “Race me for it.”

Kenzo gave him a strained, uneasy smile. “Hey, man, no need for-”

“C’mon, Michi,” Mondo said. “Don’t-”

“Shove it. You’re not the fuckin’ boss anymore,” Takemichi snapped. Mondo looked taken aback for a moment, almost hurt, but he’d just tossed any claim he had to Takemichi’s sympathy out the goddamn window. He turned back to Kenzo. “Race me.”

Kenzo hesitated, but there was really no way for him to wriggle out of this without looking, at best, scared. It’d cost him the respect of the guys in a heartbeat. “...Alright.”

And there was nothing left to say. Kenzo could pick the track, Takemichi figured. Kenzo could pick any road in the goddamn county. It didn’t matter.

He ended up choosing a route that passed by the apartment building; Takemichi would think it was an attempt to get under his skin if he thought Kenzo had the mental capacity to do some shit like that on purpose. Takemichi stared at the map, memorized the streets he’d be speeding down, got onto his bike, and made his way to the starting line.

He didn’t rev his engine or start trash talking or do anything flashy. He didn’t even meet Kenzo’s eye. He just stared straight ahead, waiting for the word go, and sped off the moment it hit his ears.

Usually, the sting of the wind on his skin would chase away all the ugly things following him. Not this time, though; he was too aware of his body, the road under his tires, the sound of Kenzo’s engine, far too close for comfort.

He’d always wondered what the last few moments before death would feel like- whether time would crawl to a halt so he knew exactly what was coming in the heartbeats before it hit him or go so fast he wouldn’t even feel it until he was gone- and it turned out it felt like the rumble of an engine and night air so thick he nearly choked. It made sense; bosozoku get the kind of death parents use to teach their kids to behave and follow curfew and wear a helmet when they pedal to the corner store. Hospital rooms and death beds and the age of 60 were reserved for people who had anything other than the open road and being enough of a disturbance that the people who would rather pretend you didn’t exist had no choice but to look.

It felt like a knife in his heart, still cupped in the hands of the man who killed him, as it had been for years.

He pushed his bike further, increasing the gap between himself and Kenzo. The world was a blur of buildings and streetlights and power lines. He took a turn too sharply, nearly careening into a fence, but managed to recover- barely. The time it took him to collect himself cost him precious centimeters between himself and Kenzo, the other boy’s motorcycle growing a few decibels closer. Takemichi’s heart was thundering in his chest, his throat tight, his breathing ragged from more than just adrenaline, more than the raw resolve that had been grasping at him for the past half hour.

They weren’t on the road where Daiya had died- that was sacred ground- but Takemichi could see it from here, the curb himself and Mondo had sat on the last time he’d seen Mondo cry. The area had already been taped off, and maybe that had been why it took so long for Takemichi to accept that he was gone. All that had been left was a stain on the ground and splattered over Mondo’s jacket and a crumpled, broken form that could have been anyone’s.

He imagined being the one Mondo had raced that night. He’d gone over the evening countless times in his head, and though he knew he never would have in the moment, he imagines insisting he go instead, and Daiya could stay behind, and Mondo could still prove how much he deserved it and Takemichi would be gone instead of Daiya and the world would be that much better for it.

But he was just thinking now, his heart in his throat, his hands shaking. He wasn’t wishing. He wasn’t begging some god to hear his desperate plea and send him back so he could die instead.

Maybe he hated Mondo, he thought, but… no. There was anger and betrayal, a hurt so deep he felt it in the marrow of his bones, but Takemichi had hated before, knew the sharp shape and form of the feeling, and found none in himself.

His hand went lax on the throttle. He wasn’t pulling the brakes, but he let himself drift to a slow stop on the even road. Kenzo closed the distance and whipped past him, making the hem of his jacket flutter just before the wind died out. He put his feet on the ground, coming to a complete halt.

He just didn’t want to die anymore. Or maybe he wanted to be alive more than he wanted Daiya to come home. Or maybe he cared about the act of living now, of having another day to look forward to.

When the hell had that happened?

The race was well lost by then. Kenzo was the red dot of a tail light in the distance, and there wasn’t enough track to make up the gap between them. That stung a bit, Takemichi had to admit, but less than it had before the race had begun.

He should finish the race. He was the offending party, after all. He started moving again, slowly, taking in the soft, warm light of the street lamps. He was pretty sure he was going under the speed limit, but he wasn’t paying attention to the speedometer. He was looking for familiar landmarks, the trail of stones that led him home.

He pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building, took the key from the ignition of his beautiful yellow Kawasaki (the one he’d been so, so proud to show Daiya, the one Daiya had admirably stifled a laugh at the first time he clumsily tried to paint a fox on it even though it had ended up looking like a beached fish and even Takemichi knew it, the one that had seen the scene of Daiya’s death and Mondo’s first joyride around the city and Mondo’s graduation and been there for Takemichi every time Mondo or Kiyotaka did something that made him want them just a little bit more), gave her an affectionate pat between the handlebars, and walked up the stairs to the apartment.

When he opened the door, Kiyotaka shot up from where he had been sitting on the couch, posture ramrod straight.

“Yukimaru,” he said, and that stung a little. “Is… is Mondo not with you?”

Takemichi shook his head. “You knew, huh? Shoulda figured he’d tell you.”

“...He thought it would be best if–”

Another head shake, sharper this time. “I don’t wanna talk about it. He can explain his damn self.”

Taka’s jaw snapped shut, his teeth clicking. There was a short silence before Takemichi let out a long sigh, leaning against the door so it closed behind him with a quiet click.

“You two leave in the morning, yeah?”

Kiyotaka nodded hesitantly. “...That’s still the plan, I believe.”

“Right. Hey, it was nice falling in love with you two, yeah? Do it all over again if I could. Gonna miss you.” The smile he gave was small, and he hoped it hurt less to look at than it did to make. “Don’t tell Mondo, though. He’ll get a big head, and I’m probably gonna be fuckin’ pissed for a while.”

Kiyotaka blinked. “...Two?”

Takemichi shrugged. “You’re an easy guy to love. I’m glad Mondo has you. Figured I should let you know, before… y'know. Don’t think we’ll be seeing too much of each other anymore.”

“Takemichi…” Kiyotaka started, face starting to turn an attractive shade of pink. “I- we… It’s alright if you–”

“Don’t need your pity.” He turned and opened the door. “Just tired of leaving shit unsaid. Figured I’d better get it out there while I can.”

There was the quiet sound of four quick steps on the floor before a hand came to cup the back of his neck. Chapped lips were pressed to his hairline, a huff of warm breath tickling his scalp. Kiyotaka stayed there for what felt like it could have been hours, gently kissing his forehead while Takemichi’s brain struggled to make the whole thing make sense.

“There’s space in the Tokyo apartment for you, if you want it,” Kiyotaka said, lips still brushing Takemichi’s skin. He took a deep breath that Takemichi could hear as well as feel. “We want to have you there. It isn’t pity.”

Takemichi laughed. It sounded watery. “I won’t hold you to it. Pretty sure Mondo’s gonna be raging when I see him next.”

Kiyotaka shook his head. “...He could be. That doesn’t change anything.”

One more second to relish this, Takemichi thought. Just one more second where Kiyotaka was close enough for Takemichi to smell the soap on his skin (woodsy and subtle, the same kind Mondo used), so he could torture himself for the rest of his life every time he smelled something similar.

“Yeah,” he croaked, “we’ll see.”

He stepped outside, Kiyotaka’s warm fingers falling from his neck, and closed the door softly behind him.

He remembered to breathe, wiped his eyes, and made his way back to his motorcycle.

The city seemed so much quieter at lower gears. When his engine wasn’t roaring and the wind wasn’t rushing in his ears, he could almost hear the buzz of the old streetlights. If the neighbors were playing loud enough music in a building with thin enough walls, he could hear that, too. Somewhere, there was the low thudding of drums and bass he could almost feel in the soles of his shoes.

This had never seemed like anything more than a place people died in. Had people here been alive the whole time?

By his estimation, he crossed the finish line at least fifteen minutes after Kenzo had. Mondo was the only one left waiting, slumped over on the curb. When Takemichi pulled in, Mondo jumped up and yanked Takemichi up by the scruff of his coat, nearly knocking his bike over.

“Where the fuck were you?” Mondo shouted, voice strained. “You fuckin’ asshole, you can fuckin’ ride circles around Kenzo, I know you can. I’ve fuckin’ seen it. What, you stop off to have a smoke or some shit?”

Takemichi tried to shove him away, but his grip on his jacket was too strong. “Your little bastard won. What’s it fuckin’ matter how it happened?”

“I thought you were fuckin’ dead, Takemichi,” Mondo barked. “I thought something happened and I’d have to go scrape your little corpse off the road, you piece of shit. What, wanted to give me a goddamn heart attack as a going away gift? Got your fuckin’ kicks?”

“Wouldn’t’a had to do any of this shit if you’d just fuckin—” he squirmed again, to no avail. His grip remained iron. “God fucking dammit, Mondo, what the hell is your problem? Three years leading the gang and now I’m not fuckin’ good enough for you anymore?”

“It’s not about– staying here was gonna fuckin’ destroy you! If I gave you the gang, you were just gonna fuckin’ rot in this town for the rest of your damn life! I wasn’t about to fuckin’ kill you, too!”

Takemichi felt the anger in his chest sputter and die, replaced by something cold that snaked its way up his spine and made his brain feel fuzzy.

“Mondo,” he said in a tight, quiet voice, “what do you mean, kill me, too?”

The blood drained from Mondo’s face, and the hand fisted in his collar tightened. Takemichi couldn’t hear anything but his labored breathing.

“What did you mean by that, Mondo?” he repeated, an edge of desperation in his voice. Mondo still wasn’t answering, his wide, terrified eyes trained on Takemichi like a deer caught in headlights.

Mondo’s grip on him loosened, and he ran a hand over his face and looked at something in the distance. Takemichi grabbed two fistfuls of Mondo’s shirt, not trusting his own legs to keep him upright.

“Please, Mondo,” he begged, and Mondo squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. When he spoke, he didn’t open them.

“...My damn fault he’s gone,” he said, voice trembling. “I was bein’ fuckin’ stupid and reckless and swerved into oncoming traffic. If Daiya hadn’t…”

Mondo swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. “He took the blow for me. Same as always.”

Takemichi tried to remember how to breathe. “...Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“I wanted to. I tried sometimes. I just…” He inhaled shakily. “You loved him so much. I- I thought… I didn’t wanna be the guy who took that from you. I didn’t want you to hate me for it.”

Takemichi bit back something vile bubbling in his throat. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Mondo’s chest, just above where his fists were clenched in the fabric.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole,” he choked out. “Couldn’t hate you if I wanted to.”

The trembling hand at his back uncurled, thumb rubbing small, hesitant circles into the fabric. Takemichi’s fists clenched tighter.

“That why you never wanted to talk to me?”

He could hear Mondo swallow. “...Yeah. Part of it. It also just… it fuckin’ hurt for a long time. Talkin’ to anyone about him sucked, but with you, it was like gettin’ stabbed.”

“Still hurts?”

“...Yeah. Not always.”

Takemichi relaxed his grip and wound his arms around Mondo’s middle, pressing his face against the fabric of his shirt. If he got tear stains on it, well, Mondo could fuckin’ deal.

“Yeah,” he said, voice small, “me too.”

Mondo wound his arm more tightly around Takemichi’s shoulders, his other hand hesitantly stroking through his hair. Takemichi stayed there, eyes squeezed shut, taking shallow breaths and pretending not to be crying, until the world became real again and he could feel the ground beneath his feet and hear his motorcycle idling somewhere behind him. He leaned back just enough to look Mondo square in the face.

“That mean you’re gonna stop shutting me out?” He meant for it to sound teasing, but his voice was too small, too hopeful. Mondo gave him a soft, strained smile, corners of his red-rimmed eyes wrinkling.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Door’s open for good. Promise.”

The appearance they made at the tail end of the party was done more out of obligation than anything. By the time they made it back, almost everyone had gone home, save Kenzo and a few stragglers with nothing better to do. The man of the hour was startled at seeing Takemichi, but he just clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said tiredly, “good job out there. You earned it.”

“...Yeah,” Kenzo said. “You too.”

“You take care of the guys while we’re gone, yeah?” Mondo said, ruffling Takemichi’s hair, his hand coming down to his neck to stroke a thumb along his skin for just a second before letting it fall back to his side.

Takemichi tried very hard not to dwell on that. It wasn’t working especially well.

“For sure,” Kenzo said, resolute. Takemichi kept in the amused little huff that danced around in his chest.

He’d do fine. Takemichi would have picked him too, once he retired. In the end, he supposed they just cut out the middle man.

“We’re gonna head out,” Mondo announced. “Take care, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kenzo said with a nod. “Thanks, boss.”

Takemichi gave one final wave, and that was it. Part of him ached at the idea of leaving the Crazy Diamonds- his impromptu retirement meant he didn’t have long to adjust to the idea- but Mondo gave him a small, soft smile, and it was like a balm on any lingering hurt.

Whatever, he thought. He’d live.

The drive home was the slowest Takemichi had ever seen Mondo ride, minus the times he’d rev his engine outside the restaurants that had the gall to kick them out. It was low enough that if they shouted, they could even talk to each other, but Takemichi felt too out of his mind to hold any kind of coherent conversation.

They pulled up to the apartment parking lot, and for the second time that night, Takemichi gave his pretty yellow Kawasaki Vulcan an affectionate pat. When he looked at Mondo, he had an amused little smile on his face.

“You still do that shit?”

Takemichi shrugged, unashamed. “That’s my woman. I’m just trying to keep the romance alive.”

Mondo chuckled. “You’re a weird little freak, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Takemichi acquiesced, starting his ascent. “You’re no fuckin’ better, though.”

“Nah. Guess not.”

The door swung open, and Kiyotaka was on his feet again. This time, he met them at the entrance, and there really wasn’t enough room for the three of them, but Takemichi was finding it hard to hold it against him.

“You’re back,” Taka said. “Did you- I mean… How did things go?”

Mondo reached over to stroke Taka’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, but due to the proximity, Takemichi ended up boxed in by Mondo’s arm and the wall.

“All good,” Mondo said, and Taka gave him a small, relieved smile.

“Good,” he replied, leaning into Mondo’s touch. “I’m glad.”

Takemichi realized he was staring and did his best to look elsewhere, but the whole world seemed to be Kiyotaka and Mondo. His eyes landed somewhere around Mondo’s elbow.

“We, uh… we still gotta leave in the morning.” Mondo’s hand squeezed Takemichi’s shoulder gently. “Sorry. If we could stay longer…”

Takemichi shook his head, giving him a small smile. “I get it. It’s all good.”

“Takemichi,” Taka said, “would you like to sleep in our bed tonight?”

Takemichi froze. The hand on his shoulder clenched so hard he was sure his bones would splinter.

“Uh,” Takemichi rasped once he remembered how to speak, “what?”

“It would be more comfortable than the couch, I imagine,” Kiyotaka said, almost nonchalant, as if he’d just offered something normal and expected.

“That’s… I mean…” he swallowed thickly, casting a glance back at Mondo, who was bright red and avoiding Takemichi’s eye. “Is that… fine?”

“...Do what you want,” Mondo mumbled. It was… well, it was kind of unbearably cute, honestly. Takemichi was glad he was out of his yelling phase.

“Then, yeah,” Takemichi said with a little smile, “guess that’d be good. Thanks, Taka.”

Kiyotaka beamed. “You’re welcome.”

The hand on his shoulder relaxed in stages. Mondo gently smoothed his hand over the fabric before letting it drop, giving an embarrassed look. Takemichi just gave him a small smile and a shrug.

It had been a very long time since Takemichi had been in Mondo’s room. He’d stuck his head in once or twice, but that was usually the limit; he hadn’t spent any significant time in here since that November evening years ago, and he’d certainly never spent time in here with Kiyotaka and Mondo.

He caught a flash of bright red reflected in the mirror Mondo had hanging on his wall, peeking out from the collar of his shirt. He tugged at his collar to reveal the beginnings of a bruise that stretched along the junction between his neck and shoulder.

“ Christ, Mondo,” Takemichi chuckled. He caught Mondo’s wince in the mirror.

“Shit, that’s gonna be nasty. Sorry, Michi.”

Takemichi shrugged, running a thumb over the sore muscle before righting his shirt. “It’s cool. Taka should know better than to drop a bomb like that while you’re holding on to something.”

Kiyotaka huffed, folding the shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the day. “I didn’t drop a bomb. There’s only one bedroom in the Tokyo apartment, and it would hardly be appropriate to have you sleep on the floor. I had thought Mondo and I were on the same page.”

“We are, ” Mondo grumbled, tips of his ears coloring. “Doesn’t mean you had to say it like that.”

Takemichi bit back an amused snort, breaking eye contact with his reflection to turn around. “Hey, uh, speaking of all that.”

He stared out the window. It was small, and the blinds had been broken some time ago now, hanging bent and twisted on one side, but outside, he could see the building across the way, a hint of the bannister, and a small patch of inky-black sky. There would be even less stars in Tokyo, snuffed out by the light of the city, he supposed. No constellations, imaginary or otherwise.

Or– no, they would still be there, wouldn’t they? Not snuffed, just temporarily outshone, same as when the sun was out. Silent, unseen watchers, but there in the sky all the same.

“Was hoping you guys would come down and help me move all this shit in July,” he said quietly. “Lease isn’t up ‘til November, but I figure…”

“Of course we will,” Kiyotaka said, smiling gently. “We can have you settled in before the term begins.”

“Cool, yeah,” Takemichi said, staring at the floor. “‘Preciate it.”

“We got you,” Mondo said simply, with a crooked smile and a finality that Takemichi couldn’t help but believe. Like somehow, this was all fine and anticipated and Takemichi had been silly to think there was any reason he couldn’t have it.

Once Mondo and Kiyotaka were settled in and ready to turn the lamp off, Takemichi tried to take a spot on the far edge of the mattress, but that didn’t fly. Kiyotaka, who was evidently a lot stronger than Takemichi had thought, simply picked him up by the waist and deposited him between him and Mondo, and being manhandled and so, so close to the two of them was doing awful things to his heart, not helped in the slightest when Mondo wrapped an arm loosely around his waist and pulled him close and Kiyotaka pressed his chest to his back, burying his face in his neck. Takemichi hoped they didn’t feel his racing heart, but he didn’t know how they possibly couldn’t.

First Kiyotaka’s breathing evened out, then Mondo’s, but the arms around him never loosened. He buried his burning face in Mondo’s chest and tried to exist in that warmth for as long as he could, but eventually, he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

When Takemichi opened his eyes, he was curled halfway around Kiyotaka, who was on his back and snoring softly. Mondo had spread out over more than half the mattress, half his forearm wedged under Takemichi’s chest. He sat up slowly and blinked at the open window- the sky was still mostly dark, the first beams of morning just barely starting to break up the inky blackness. He gave the two of them one last look, ran a hand through Taka’s soft, cropped hair, and shuffled off the mattress to go have a cigarette and watch the sun rise.

It was still early enough into the summer that the mornings were crisp. The air was never really fresh, always lightly choked with pollution, but Takemichi would be a hypocrite to complain. The street lights flickered off below, and the world was briefly painted in deep blues.

He lit a cigarette and leaned over the balcony. The door faced north, so he had to crane his neck to peek around the right side of the building to see the sun, and even then, he only really caught a glimpse of it.

The last sunrise he watched with Daiya had been a little over a week before his death. Takemichi wished he could say he saw it coming, that he somehow knew it would be the last time they got to speak one-on-one, but the truth was that Takemichi hadn’t suspected a thing. He just wanted to spend time with him, same as he always had, and it was nice, same as it always was, and that was it. Mondo had been a little more pissy in the weeks prior, but even that had felt normal; his temper had always come and gone in waves, and it was difficult sometimes, but not unusual. Not a warning sign.

Takemichi had to admit, it made a lot more sense that Daiya had done it for Mondo. It hadn’t been suicide, not really, and it hadn’t been an accident, either– Daiya Owada just loved his brother enough to die for him, and anyone who had ever talked to the man could have told you that.

The sky turned from blue to a dusty pink. The first proper rays of light peeked over the horizon, stretching long fingers past the tall buildings. He took a drag off of his cigarette and leaned back, stretching out the kink in his neck.

Maybe Daiya Owada hadn’t been larger than god. Maybe Daiya Owada’s enormity was greatly exaggerated by the watchdog of his temple. Maybe the mosaic of memories Takemichi had built in his image only stretched so tall because he was always looking up to him, and that effigy was never going to be to his exact likeness, anyway. Maybe he could hop down from the altar and let himself have this, because Daiya, The Man had never asked for the worship that had been laid at the feet of Daiya, The Ghost, especially not from Takemichi.

Maybe one day it would even stop feeling like a betrayal.

He ashed his cigarette just as the front door creaked open. Takemichi turned with a small smile just in time to see Mondo slip outside, rubbing his arms lightly against the slight chill.

“Morning,” Takemichi greeted in a whisper, not wanting to break the quiet spell of early morning. “Sleep alright?”

“Yeah. Pretty damn good,” he said, voice still low and gravelly. “You sleep okay?”

“For the most part. You’re a fuckin’ matress hog, you know that?”

“Aw, shut the fuck up.” Mondo leaned against the banister next to him, bumping their shoulders gently. “Bed in Tokyo’s bigger. You won’t hardly notice.”

“Bullshit. They don’t make beds big enough to not notice your ass.”

“Yeah, well–” Mondo paused, giving a small, confused look that quickly faded to soft amusement. “You wearin’ our buttons?”

Takemichi’s hand went to the cord around his neck, feeling cold metal against his fingers. Shit.

“You told me to keep ‘em safe,” Takemichi grumbled defensively, moving to tuck them back into his shirt. Before he could manage to get his trembling hands to cooperate, though, Mondo stopped him, taking the buttons between his thumb and forefinger and examining them.

“Mine’s from my Diamonds jacket,” he admitted quietly. He was staring at the buttons in his hand with a sort of wistful reverence that was making Takemichi’s stomach twist into knots. “Wanted to give it to you before I left for Hope’s Peak, but I just… didn’t feel right about it, y’know? Not with how things were back then. Not with me still lyin’ to you. Couldn’t ask you for that.”

“Woulda said yes,” Takemichi mumbled, heart in his throat. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” He smiled sadly, running a thumb over the smooth brass. “Maybe even knew it back then. Maybe that woulda been worse.”

“Oh.” Takemichi wasn’t sure if Mondo was trying to let him down gently. He had thought- he had really-

“Fuckin’ stupid,” Mondo chuckled, shaking his head. “Made Taka give you his so it wouldn’t be weird, y’know? Sorry for scarin’ the shit out of you.”

“All good,” Takemichi said, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. He forced a laugh. “Y’know, for a minute there, I really thought he had a thing for me.”

“You shittin’ me? Of course he does. You don’t wanna know what he’d do to you.”

Takemichi, as a matter of fact, was very interested in what Kiyotaka Ishimaru would do to him, but that wasn’t the most pressing issue right now.

“Sorry,” Mondo mumbled, starting to step back. “Probably not what you wanna hear first thing in the morning, huh?”

Takemichi caught his wrist, tugging him back. Mondo gave him a wide-eyed look.

“I’m in love with you,” Takemichi stated, plain and open. “Both of you. Have been for- for fuckin’ years now. So if you want me, I’m here, yeah?”

Mondo swallowed. “...You serious?”

“Yeah,” Takemichi said, his voice thin, and, because he apparently wasn’t above begging yet, he tacked on a feeble “ please. ”

Mondo’s fingertips traced lightly up the side of Takemichi’s neck, then carded into his hair. Takemichi remembered to breathe, tried to calm his racing heart, but all that went out the window when Mondo leant down and kissed him.

It didn’t matter that they still had morning breath, or that the neighbors could see, or that this is exactly what Takemichi hadn’t let himself imagine for the better part of the last few years, because he could feel every point of warm contact where their bodies pressed against each other, and he could hardly even imagine that there had been a world outside of this, let alone that it had ever seemed to matter at all.

The hand still holding his cigarette white-knuckled the railing, supporting his weight while his other slipped up under the hem of Mondo’s shirt, digging the pads of his fingers into the warm skin of his lower back. Mondo let out something that Takemichi would describe as a small whimper if it came from anyone else and curled his fingers into Takemichi’s hair, tugging to get a better angle and slipping his tongue past his lips.

Takemichi pulled back reluctantly, panting for breath. Mondo rested his forehead against his, and the now-golden light of the sunrise danced across his pretty features, making his skin glow.

“Always gotta make shit difficult, don’t you?” Mondo whispered, giving him a crooked smile. “You know we gotta leave in a few hours.”

“You know me,” Takemichi mumbled, rubbing a thumb along Mondo’s spine. “Always had the worst timing.”

He kissed Mondo again, just a quick, chaste peck this time, and tugged his shirt back down. Mondo stood up straight, gazing at Takemichi with so much unbridled affection that he couldn’t stand the sight of it for more than a moment.

“I’m gonna get some coffee started. We should give Taka the good news,” he said, running a thumb along Takemichi’s jaw before dropping his hand. “Think I owe him some money.”

Takemichi barked out a laugh. “No fucking way did you assholes bet on this.”

Mondo shrugged. “It seemed like an easy win at the time.”

“You’re an idiot,” Takemichi said, voice brimming with fondness. He gave him one last kiss, because he could, lingering longer than he needed to. “I’m gonna finish my cig.”

Mondo nodded, stood up straight, and hesitated for just one more moment before heading inside. Takemichi watched the door close, took a deep breath, and stabbed what remained of his cigarette into the ashtray. He cast one long, lingering look out at the sunrise, taking in the golds and blues of their street in the early morning, and followed.

It took about fifteen minutes for the old coffee maker to spit out a pot, and she didn’t need to be watched too terribly closely. This was fantastic for Takemichi, who was on a mission to find out how many times he could kiss Mondo before he had to leave. By his count, he was up to eleven or so, and he had quickly grown particularly fond of nibbling Mondo’s earlobe and the underside of his jaw.

Takemichi had been so focused on going down the list of every last way he’d imagined kissing Mondo that he didn’t notice Kiyotaka’s approach until there was a stifled yawn from behind him. When he turned, Kiyotaka looked as close to smug as Takemichi could ever remember seeing him.

“Right, okay,” Mondo said, “you were right.”

“I believe I’ve earned an I-told-you-so, ” Taka grinned, reaching past them to pick up the coffee pot, which had probably been sitting neglected for the better part of 20 minutes. Takemichi wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really been keeping track of the time.

“I’m pretty sure it’s cheating if I told you,” Takemichi argued, crossing his arms and leaning back into Mondo’s warm bulk. A hand came up to easily rest on his shoulder, thumb rubbing the bare skin just above his shirt collar. That was nice. He could get used to that.

“You told him?” Mondo asked incredulously. “He fuckin told you?”

“Technically speaking,” Kiyotaka said, pouring three cups of coffee, “I had my suspicions, and you confirmed them. It wasn’t an unprompted confession.”

“Still cheating.”

Kiyotaka shrugged. “I’m having a very hard time trying to feel bad about it.”

“Guess I won’t hold it against you,” Mondo said, his voice rumbling low and close where he buried his nose into Takemichi’s hair. Takemichi let out a small, happy sigh.

“We should probably have a discussion about… everything,” Kiyotaka said, handing Takemichi a cup of lukewarm coffee. Takemichi took it, then reluctantly stood up straight.

“Right,” he said with a nod. “Makes sense.” When Kiyotaka sat down at the table, he followed suit, and heard Mondo join them soon after.

“Your being with Mondo does not necessitate you being with me,” Kiyotaka said seriously, shoulders square, “but I had been operating under the assumption that you’d like to be with us both. Is that correct?”

“I mean,” Takemichi said, feeling his face starting to heat up, “yeah. If that’s alright?”

Kiyotaka’s stern expression cracked, giving way briefly to softness as he reached for Takemichi’s hand, giving it a little squeeze. “Of course it is. I would be incredibly happy to be with you, Takemichi.”

He gave his own embarrassed little smile. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Excellent,” Kiyotaka smiled. “With that settled, I’ve done as much research as I could on the subject. Our situation isn’t unheard of, but… it had been much easier to find resources on being with another man than being with two other men.”

“So we feel it out, yeah?” Mondo said with a shrug. “Figure out what works the hard way.”

“Exactly. And in the interest of that, I do expect the two of you to work on communicating with each other better.”

Takemichi felt another embarrassed flush coming on and tried not to hunch over in his seat. “Right. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Takemichi,” Kiyotaka said seriously. “I… it’s very important to me that this works. To both of us, and, presumably, to you, too.”

“‘Course it is,” Takemichi said, straightening.

“Then that’s the matter settled, I believe.” Kiyotaka released Takemichi’s hand and stood from his chair. Before Takemichi could follow suit, Kiyotaka was standing in front of him, cradling his face in both hands, nose inches from his own.

“Takemichi,” he said, “could I kiss you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he whispered, his voice thin and breathy, before closing the distance himself.

He had been planning on letting Kiyotaka take the lead, not quite sure what to expect. It turned out, though, that he was a very enthusiastic kisser, using the hands framing his face to deepen it. Takemichi let out a noise that he hoped sounded more surprised than anything else, but he really had his doubts, especially if Kiyotaka’s answering groan was anything to go by. Takemichi tried to remember to breathe, one hand coming up to run his fingers through Kiyotaka’s hair, the other gently covering the hand cradling his cheek.

Kiyotaka nibbled at his lip, and Takemichi was more than happy to let his tongue explore his mouth. It was almost too much, a little clumsy in his eagerness, and Takemichi’s heart swelled. God, he was cute, and he was gorgeous, and Takemichi’s hand moved from his hair to his waist to pull him closer, and it was allowed, and it was alright, and when he opened his eyes there would be a pair of men who moved through his life like a dream he wasn’t supposed to be having and they would both be his.

To think he’d once thought himself uniquely, divinely unlucky. Clearly, he’d been wrong.

Kiyotaka pulled away with a soft pant and a smile, skin flushed, still gently holding Takemichi’s face. Those piercing, sunset-red eyes were so unfairly soft, so unreasonably adoring, that the only course of action Takemichi could think to take was to lean forward, resting his forehead against Kiyotaka’s chest.

“Was that-“ Kiyotaka’s hand twitched, just slightly, and Takemichi could feel the way he nervously swallowed, “-alright?”

“Yeah,” Takemichi mumbled. “It’s just… nice. This is nice.”

Another hand- Mondo’s, certainly- gently combed through his hair. Fingernails scratched gently at his scalp, and everything was peaceful and warm and Takemichi was having a hard time stopping himself from drifting off to sleep.

“I’m never letting you two leave at this rate,” he sighed. In response, Mondo gave a low chuckle, and Kiyotaka stroked his thumb gently along Takemichi’s cheek.

“You guys have everything?” Takemichi called, standing on his tiptoes to try and see the top shelf of the cabinet. “Clothes? Books?”

“Yep,” Mondo said from the sitting room. “Takin’ some other little shit, too, so we don’t hafta worry about packin’ it up later.”

“Good idea.” He closed the cabinet and went to join Kiyotaka and Mondo. He chanced a glance at the clock– it seemed like they may actually get out on time, despite the fact that the past hour had been about one quarter packing and three quarters stolen kisses.

Speaking of which.

Takemichi tugged Kiyotaka gently down by the collar of his shirt, pressing his lips to the corner of his mouth so he could feel it curl into a smile. He was certain he’d never grow tired of that, even if he had it every day for the rest of his life. Which, he supposed, might be possible.

And, fuck, that idea was going to take some getting used to.

No sooner had Takemichi pulled away (with no small amount of reluctance) than Mondo grabbed his chin and pulled him into another kiss. That, too, made butterflies stir in his stomach.

Mondo pulled back with a long sigh. “We gotta go.”

“Yeah, I know.” Takemichi gave a small smile. “See you guys in a couple months?”

“Yeah,” Mondo says, pulling him into a tight hug. Takemichi held him close, not ready to let go, even less willing when Taka’s arms wrapped around them, too.

Takemichi didn’t follow them into the parking lot when they did eventually go. Instead he leaned over the railing, watching as Kiyotaka buckled the strap of Mondo’s helmet under his chin, hearing the motorcycle’s engine roar to life, and for the first time, matching sets pale lilac and deep scarlet eyes sought his, and, finding them, brightened. Taka and Mondo waved goodbye, and Takemichi returned the gesture, a little uncertain and a lot charmed.

He watched them leave, as always, following their silhouette until it disappeared down the road and out of sight, and then for a little while after.

There were still three coffee mugs in the sink and the smell of Mondo’s godawful aerosol deodorant hanging in the air; they served as the only concrete evidence that the past few hours hadn’t been a dream.

Takemichi let out a long sigh, though his chest felt light with it. He had better start going through the apartment and deciding what to pack.

In more flattering interpretations of himself, Takemichi might consider himself a fox, sly and clever, weaving around trees and legs in a blink and darting into the underbrush before he was noticed; perhaps even a guardian lion like the ones adorning his motorcycle’s bright yellow fuel tank, all winding manes and the warm feeling of being able to protect the things he held dear. He knew, in truth, that he was a dog, coming when he was called. What led him to Daiya’s grave was something more intrinsic than loyalty or faith (though those were a factor, too)- it was instinct, found deep in the marrow of his bones.

He laid the flowers on the stone. He’d paid for them himself, honestly, with his own money, so the bouquet was small and a little bit wilted, but he got the feeling Daiya wouldn’t mind. Or maybe he would. Either way, Daiya wasn’t going to tell him.

Takemichi settled onto the ground, tucking his knees to his chest. Talking to Daiya had always felt like the easiest thing in the world, but now he was at a loss for words. The cemetery was quiet, but not silent- during the day, Takemichi was rarely the only mourner, and he could just barely make out the distant mumbled prayer of someone a few rows down. The gentle summer breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees overhead, a few rogue leaves cascading down onto the pathway between graves. Takemichi watched a few of them float to the ground, then sighed, steeling himself and turning back to Daiya.

“I don’t…” he started quietly, gaze falling to the junction where stone met dirt. “I’m fuckin’ sorry, okay? If there was a way to do this without leaving you– I never wanted you to be alone. You never let me be alone like that.”

He wrapped his arms around his knees. He felt like he was on trial, pleading his case to a judge who may have already decided a verdict before he even walked in the door.

“This is everything I ever wanted, Dai,” he said quietly. “Real future for myself. I fuckin– I got into Gakudai. I’m gonna be a teacher and shit. I didn’t die before graduating like I thought I would. I made it out. I get to leave. The world’s a real place I get to go live in and not just the empty fuckin’ shell you left behind.”

He leaned forward, running a finger over the single pristine white petal on the pathetic bouquet. “...Wish you were still here,” he mumbled, swallowing around a lump in his throat. “You made this shit easy. You made it make sense.”

He breathed, deep and slow. He always held his breath driving past any other cemetery, but if some of Daiya got in his lungs and haunted him for the rest of his days, he couldn’t imagine being anything but grateful.

…But that wasn’t fair, was it? Daiya had been tied down by circumstance. He’d never asked for the apartment or this city or his name etched into stone. All he’d made for himself was the gang, and…

And he’d never wish that life on anyone else, let alone one of his boys. With Mondo, it was never an issue, because he was beholden to no one and nothing and wouldn’t let you forget it, altogether far too wild to be subservient to anything- not a person, not a creed, not an obligation. Mondo lived and breathed and exuded freedom. Takemichi, though–

Mondo wouldn’t have died for this. Daiya did. Takemichi would have, if given the chance, and he’d been slowly killing parts of himself for it, anyway.

He remembered his conversation with Kiyotaka from years ago, and all at once, Takemichi was certain that Daiya would be furious if he knew. The man was a walking suicide note- anything he wanted to pass on after he was gone already had a detailed plan of succession, from his meager pile of worldly belongings to the gang itself. This, the destroying of himself in service of something more important, couldn’t have been something he wanted to outlast him, could it?

Takemichi raised his head hesitantly, as if he’d be met with the stern, disapproving glare of Daiya himself. Instead, there was only stone, bathed in sun and warm to the touch, like the rumbling body of a motorcycle and very unlike the breathing body of a man. He traced the pads of his fingers gently over Daiya’s name, a path as familiar as the drive home.

Daiya wasn’t there. The urn in the ground under Takemichi’s feet was just that- bones and the ashes that were once flesh. That wasn’t Daiya. That was barely his body. Daiya was everywhere; in the wind through the trees and the gentle cascading of leaves and petals that followed, in the gold at sunrise and sunset, in the guardians keeping vigil painted on the side of Takemichi’s motorbike, the ones that matched the statues at the entrance of the temple that held his grave, in made-up constellations, in snapshots of moments immortalized in a voicemail box. Or he was nowhere, and the world was the same as it had been during his life, blissfully ignorant of the crater left by the impact of his death. Either way, Takemichi was sure he would hate having his memory babysat at the expense of Takemichi’s life.

Takemichi patted the stone with a finality that felt strange. “I love you. Never told you enough. Thought it woulda been weird if you knew how much you meant to me. I… I hope you knew anyway, though. I was never any fuckin’ good at hiding it, I bet, always running when you called. Or when you didn’t.”

He scrubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “You made me fuckin’... safe and happy and shit, and I’m never gonna get to pay you back for that. Thought I’d have my whole life to make it up to you. You were supposed to fuck up bad enough that you’d need my help like I always needed yours, and we’d be even. You always had to have the last word, though, didn’t you?”

He laughed, quiet and watery, letting his arm drop. Tears started rolling down his face, and he just let them. After all, who was there to hide them from?

“No more of that shit.” His voice was quiet and steadily resolute. “I’m done with the debts unpaid and shit left unsaid. Promise, I’m gonna start doin’ what’s gotta be done while I still got the time.”

His legs were still shaky when he stood, just barely enough to be noticeable. He swallowed thickly, nodded his head, and cracked a small smile.

He left. There was no reason to say goodbye.

The door to Daiya’s bedroom was the barrel of a loaded gun that Takemichi was staring down, and he was every bit as terrified. His heart thundered in his chest, so loud he was sure Kiyotaka and Mondo could hear it. It wasn’t as if there was much space between them in the cramped hallway, anyway.

He felt a hand gently wrap around his elbow. Mondo shot a quick glance in his direction, giving him a reassuring, if nervous, smile.

“You ready?” he mumbled. Takemichi nodded, and Mondo’s thumb rubbed over his skin once before he retracted his hand, turning the knob and pushing the door open. A quiet creak rang through the silent apartment, then everything was still again, save the birds outside and the way Mondo’s breath hitched.

Takemichi had packed up most of the house in the previous months, but he couldn’t bring himself to do this alone. He was weak, and Mondo should have first say in what happened to Daiya’s things, anyway.

He chanced a look at Kiyotaka, who was staring at the back of Mondo’s head, tears starting to pool in his eyes. Takemichi reached out and gently took his hand, earning him a small smile and a squeeze in return.

He wiped his eyes and silently inclined his head towards the open door. Takemichi nodded, dropped his hand, and entered after Mondo.

The light still filtered through the broken blinds, shining on an unmade mattress, a shelf lined with more gachapon tchotchkes than books, a dresser cluttered with hair supplies and cosmetics that had likely been expired even before Daiya had died, no small amount of mess on the floor, a modest collection of posters lining the walls, a calendar still hung to december some years prior, and a small, cracked mirror, lined with polaroids, reflecting the cramped room back at them. Takemichi caught his own eye and paused.

The change was hardly notable, but the dark circles under his eyes had lessened some and his skin was clearer, less blotchy and red than he remembered it being. When he smiled, there was still some twinge of melancholy, but the action came easier, like the muscles in his face had suddenly remembered that they could twist upwards, too.

He looked healthier than he had in a while. It was nice.

A small photo of Chuck caught his eye, mid-bark, tail wagging so quickly it was a blur, cradled in a pair of arms he recognized to be Mondo’s. He smiled, gently pulling it from where it was wedged between the glass and the dark, chipped wooden frame of the mirror.

Most of the photos were of Mondo, going all the way back to when he was little- in the earliest, which had been torn and taped back together at some point, he looked to be five or six, with frizzy hair and a missing tooth. Takemichi let out a small, breathy chuckle, and carefully extracted that one, too.

There were a few with Takemichi in them. Most of them were with some other Diamonds, and one was so blurry he was only recognizable by the flag he carried and the shock of blonde hair, but there was one that stood out. Takemichi was still small enough that Daiya could lift him with one arm, as he did in this photo, his other one wrapped around the shoulders of a clearly pissed off Mondo. Daiya was beaming, mouth half-open in what was undoubtedly a teasing remark cast Mondo’s way. Takemichi was—

Well, there was certainly no way Daiya hadn’t clued into the fact that he meant the world to Takemichi. Even at that young age, he looked at him with a note of awestruck wonder usually reserved for shit like fireworks and giant paintings and statues that stretched so tall their fingertips brushed the sky.

Takemichi took that one down, softly ran a reverent fingertip over the surface, and tucked it into the stack with the others.

Once the polaroids were all removed, he turned back to Mondo, who didn’t seem to have touched anything yet. He was surveying the small space, eyes slowly flicking from one thing to the next, lingering on everything. After a while, he ran a hand over his face, letting out a small, pained laugh.

“We left his goddamn dirty laundry on the floor for years,” he said quietly. Takemichi winced.

“Yeah,” he conceded. “I can take it to the coin wash later. If we—”

He choked on his words and tried to remember how to breathe. In and out. Didn’t matter whose spirit was lingering in the air. “...If we stop now, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to come back to it.”

Mondo was silent for a while. The hand on his face eventually fell, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Yeah. Alright.”

Takemichi placed the photos in an open space on the dresser and started gathering armfuls of shirts from the floor and depositing them in the hamper. It really wasn’t that much, but there was hardly any floor space to begin with. Wordlessly, after a moment’s hesitation, Kiyotaka joined him, lifting each garment carefully, as if it was something precious and delicate that might crumble to dust in his hands. Takemichi could understand the feeling, he supposed.

He saw Mondo lean over, pick up the photos, and start rifling through them. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Takemichi returned the look unconsciously, pausing to watch until Mondo reached one that made his face fall and his brow furrow.

Takemichi reached for something to say, some condolence or reassurance, but found nothing. He just sat there, useless and empty, until Mondo spoke.

“Y’know, it’s fine if you…” he looked away from the photos in his hand to the floor. “You can be pissed about this. It’s not gonna fuckin’...”

Takemichi waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

“...I’m not pissed,” he said, and he can rarely remember a time where he’d been this gentle with him, but enough had changed that he figured he might as well give it a try.

“Well, maybe you should be,” Mondo argued. “All this shit, it’s my fault.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Takemichi saw Kiyotaka open his mouth, then close it again. He almost wished he hadn’t, aching for any kind of distraction. Something in his chest burned and roiled like acid.

“I don’t blame you,” he mumbled. “Blame yourself all you want, but don’t put that shit on me. I only…”

He hoped someone else would cut in and fill the silence so he didn’t have to finish the sentence, but neither Kiyotaka nor Mondo did.

“It just fuckin’ sucked that I had to lose you, too,” he said to the floor, voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t figure out how to talk to you anymore. You were just… gone.”

He couldn’t make himself look up. Eventually, there was the sound of shuffling, and before he knew it, Takemichi was pulled into a tight, warm hug, hands fisting in the back of his shirt.

“...Sorry,” Mondo mumbled. Takemichi could feel his breath catching where their chests were pressed together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Takemichi responded, wrapping his arms tightly around Mondo’s middle. “I wasn’t any goddamn better. Just don’t… don’t go, yeah?”

Mondo let out a shaky breath. “Not goin’ anywhere. Not leavin’ you.”

Takemichi had to bury his face in Mondo’s neck against the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to knock him over. “Cool.”

He took a moment to breathe, then pulled back just enough to catch sight of Kiyotaka, who was clearly trying very hard not to cry and not doing a very good job at it. Wordlessly, Takemichi reached for his shirtsleeve, tugging him over and holding him, too. Taka wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed, burying a muffled sob in Takemichi’s hair.

Kiyotaka’s unabashed earnestness was still refreshing and more than a little enchanting. Something in his chest stirred and he didn’t have to fret over the implications of it anymore.

Eventually, begrudgingly, he let go, taking a deep breath. “C’mon. We gotta get this shit taken care of.”

“Right,” Mondo said, sounding just as reluctant as he let go. Kiyotaka just nodded, wiping his eyes.

Takemichi let himself linger for another moment, exist in the idea that this was happening, and they were his, and this once-insurmountable hurdle was little more than a bump in the road now, and once everything was filed and packed into the moving truck he would be gone and there would be a whole life ahead of him, impossibly beautiful and bright and filled with hope.

He walked to the wardrobe to start sorting Daiya’s old clothes into keep and donate piles, pausing when his gaze landed on the stack of photos. On the top was a picture of Daiya from before Takemichi had known him, still not grown out of his teenage reediness, leaning proudly against a shiny new motorbike and grinning from ear to ear. Takemichi smiled back at him.

So Daiya was never going to give him away at his wedding, but he was giving him away here, his memory no longer the shackles around his wrist that bound him to postmortem servitude but instead a gentle nudging at the back of his brain that he was once loved, and that love remains as many do- in artifacts and stories and his own beating heart and the lines connecting stars.

The pain remained, of course, and maybe it always would, but Takemichi wasn't drowning in it, and if that was the price of knowing Daiya Owada in life, he’d bear it gladly.

He tugged open a drawer full of unfolded, disorganized shirts, huffed out an affectionate laugh, and felt light.

Takemichi awoke to the faint smell of breakfast and a warm body pressed to his front. He slowly blinked his eyes open to see Kiyotaka’s dark hair, his head tucked under Takemichi’s chin, warm breath tickling his neck. He grumbled sleepily, closed his eyes again, and wound himself more fully around Kiyotaka’s frame, slinging an arm over his shoulders and a leg over his waist. Kiyotaka grumbled in his sleep, arms tightening around Takemichi’s middle.

He wondered idly how much longer they had until their alarm went off. It wouldn’t be long enough, of course- it rarely was, and Takemichi often found himself wishing he could stay in bed with the two of them all day- but another twenty minutes or so would be nice. He pressed a few soft, sleepy kisses to Kiyotaka’s hairline, enjoying the happy little sigh he let out in response.

In the end, it was closer to five. Mondo burst in with a feigned gasp that startled Kiyotaka into sitting bolt-upright. Takemichi blinked awake, jostled, took a moment to admire Kiyotaka’s toned upper body and the way the blanket pooled around his waist, and looked to Mondo, who had a hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

“My boyfriend and my best bro… in my own bed, too!” Mondo said, and easily dodged the pillow Takemichi sleepily chucked at him, laughing.

“You’re up early,” Kiyotaka yawned, glancing at the bedside clock. “Do you have to be at the shop soon?”

“Nah. Just couldn’t sleep.” He walked over to the side of the bed and gave Kiyotaka an enthusiastic kiss good morning. Kiyotaka grinned sleepily, hand sliding up Mondo’s arm to rest on his shoulder. Takemichi propped himself up on his palms, and because he was allowed to, he watched them.

When Mondo and Kiyotaka eventually pulled apart, it was with matching expressions filled with so much unfiltered admiration that Takemichi ached at the very sight of them. The butterflies in his stomach only intensified when the looks were turned on him.

Mondo then leaned further forward to kiss Takemichi, and he let himself revel in the feeling of him before reaching up to grab Mondo’s collar and tugging sharply, causing him to tumble onto the mattress with a yelp, sprawling over Takemichi and Kiyotaka’s laps. Takemichi gave a small, victorious smile before leaning down and pressing soft kisses to Mondo’s exposed neck.

“C’mon, Michi, I got shit to do to,” Mondo protested, but his hand came up to rest on the back of Takemichi’s neck, pulling him in closer.

“Thought you said you didn’t have to be in the shop ‘til later,” Takemichi mumbled against his skin. If not for the awkward angle, he’d stay here for hours.

“Takemichi,” Kiyotaka chided, though the smile was audible in his voice, “be nice.”

“Alright,” Takemichi sighed, pulling back just enough to press one more lingering kiss to Mondo’s disappointed frown before sitting up. “What the hell are we up so early for?”

Mondo grinned, slowly climbing back to his feet. “C’mon, I made breakfast.”

Kiyotaka was tugged to his feet first, and Takemichi thought he deserved a medal for not instantly darting forward and kissing every inch of his exposed skin. He did, however, insist upon a kiss good morning once he’d swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and Kiyotaka was happy to oblige, leaning down and grabbing Takemichi’s chin to kiss him. He pulled away eventually, giving Takemichi a soft, gentle smile before turning to open the dresser and pick out his clothes for the day.

Takemichi stretched his arms above his head with a small grunt before getting to his feet, picking up yesterday’s discarded sleepshirt from the floor and tugging it over his head. Opening the bedroom door, he was immediately greeted by the subtle, pleasant scent of eggs and rice.

Takemichi pulled up a chair- the novelty of eating at a table instead of plopping down on a couch and scarfing down a quick meal still hadn’t really been lost, even in the months of breakfasts and dinners that they’d already shared in the small apartment. Like many things as of late, Takemichi hadn’t even considered the idea a possibility until it had already entered his life, and he was loathe to give it up.

Table space was a little limited, but no one seemed too terribly worried about it. Kiyotaka, dressed in a sharp white button-up and slacks, grinned as he took the seat to Takemichi’s right.

Takemichi grinned down at his bowl- it was scrambled eggs over rice, which wasn’t the most difficult or extravagant meal in the world, but he’d rarely seen Mondo make anything more complicated than toast for breakfast in the years they’d known each other. It was- and he would probably never tell Mondo this, but with how often his boyfriends caught Takemichi by surprise, who knows- kind of cute.

Takemichi started to tuck in to his food and swept his eyes over the tabletop. Three matching lunchboxes, packed and tied neatly the night before, Taka’s adorned with swooping hawks and Mondo’s with pouncing tigers (and Takemichi’s with not much, mostly for lack of time and relative lack of interest, though Kiyotaka had come home with a small sheet of dog stickers from the store where he got his stationary and would occasionally stick one or two onto the sides), a collection of ballpoint pens- the nice kind that Mondo and Takemichi weren’t allowed to use without asking, a thin stack of papers that Takemichi didn’t need to turn in until tomorrow, but should probably put in his bag at some point this morning, anyway, a small tchotchke bowl that currently held a deck of playing cards, Kiyotaka’s wallet, both Mondo and Takemichi’s motorcycle keys, and four uniform buttons, and a map, half-unfolded, with a big circle in permanent marker somewhere around the eastern edge. Before Takemichi could ask, Mondo already had the piece of paper in his hands, unfolding it with a beaming grin.

“Got the plot for the house staked out,” Mondo said, tapping the inside of the circle. “It’s a nice place. Quiet. It ain’t gonna be massive, and it’s a while from the train station, but- but it’s gonna be ours, yeah?”

Mondo looked up, turning that unbridled joy on the two of them. Kiyotaka was staring at the map with wide eyes, mouth slightly ajar, and Takemichi couldn’t help but feel some of that wonder, too. He watched as his expression slowly turned into a bewildered smile.

“Mondo, this is wonderful, ” Kiyotaka said, voice full of quiet delight. “Did you- do you know how much it’s going to cost? When will you start construction?”

“I, uh,” Mondo rubbed at the back of his neck, “may have leveraged the whole Hope’s Peak grad thing to get a discount. Said it’d bump up the property value.”

“ Mondo, ” Kiyotaka chided, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it, staring at the junction like it would vanish if he looked away.

“I didn’t lie or nothin’,” Mondo argued, also transparently toothless. “We are gonna be living there. There’s no rush. The apartment’s still good for while Michi’s in school.”

Some terrible, scared part of Takemichi froze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for himself to wake up back in Daiya and Mondo’s old apartment, directionless and alone save the ghost in the walls again. His hands curled into fists on his lap, and he tried very hard to crush it.

Then Mondo looked at him with a grin that was almost shy, but no less admiring for it. “Figured you could pick the colors of the walls and shit? Thought that’d be an alright really, really late grad present?”

And it all fell away, just like that. He breathed, easy and slow, and returned the smile.

“Yeah. That works great.” He reached over the table and laced the fingers of his left hand with Mondo’s right, warm and alive and roughened by callouses. The look Mondo gave him was impossibly soft, more than Takemichi would have ever guessed him to be capable of, and so deeply, clearly in love that Takemichi didn’t even have to ask if he meant it. “Thanks.”

Mondo gave him a little squeeze. “Don’t mention it.”

And Takemichi wouldn’t, but he’d think about it, file it in the part of his brain that was busy reworking his definition of home, and treasure it.

He reluctantly retracted his hand, because as funny as it would be to watch Mondo try and eat with his left, he figured he could have mercy on him. Just this once.

The food was good- better than Mondo’s first attempts, certainly, which were so burnt Takemichi was certain they qualified more as charcoal than food- and once he was done eating, gently reached over to run a hand through Kiyotaka’s hair, reveling in the way he sighed, smiled, and leaned into his touch.

“Think it’ll be far enough from the city lights to see the stars?” Takemichi mused, not aware he was even thinking about it until the question passed his lips.

Mondo let out a small hum. “Dunno. We’ll have to find out.”

“I hope so,” Kiyotaka said, still not opening his eyes. “It was always too bright to see them at home.”

“We should make a trip outta town when we’ve got the time.” Takemichi scratched lightly at Kiyotaka’s scalp. “I’ll show you my favorite constellations.”