Chapter Text
Even after two months, Fuuta still isn’t used to how short his school commute became after he moved. Instead of being forced to get up early to catch a train ride that overstayed its welcome from day one, he could practically roll out of bed and still catch his ten minute bus ride to the university. It was perfect, and with the low price the Mukuhara-Kirisaki household was charging for rent, it sometimes felt like he was robbing them.
There was just one problem.
Fuuta could admit he looked a little rough around the edges. I mean, he kind of had to. With his eye messed up the way it was he needed to at least look tough if he didn’t want people messing with him. Still, it wasn’t like he was actually some kind of delinquent, so when a guy who was obviously up to no good started hanging around his bus stop it just put him on edge.
The guy was weird . He had a nasty look in his eyes, and he’d obviously had his hair bleached at some point, though from the look of how visible his roots were, it’d been at least a year. If it was just those things, Fuuta would’ve spotted him leaning against the bus stop smoking and written him off as some common punk.
But, well, how was he even supposed to describe this?
The guy had the most preppy fashion sense Fuuta had ever seen. If he wasn’t Fuuta’s age, he’d probably fit in at whatever fancy private school Haruka’s friend went to. What kind of delinquent wears a sweater vest ?
Not my business. Fuuta had planned to just ignore him, out of place or not, menacing bus stop weirdos weren’t his problem.
It becomes his problem when the guy is roughly shoved into him without warning.
Well, there was a warning, if a shouting match between the guy and some edgy woman was supposed to count. He just didn’t expect whatever argument they were having to become violent, or to get him involved.
By the time the guy got to his feet, the woman was gone. “Tch, bitch can’t stick around for fights she started,” he growled, but surprisingly he turned and offered Fuuta a hand. “You should know better than to stand so close to a fight.”
Fuuta took the hand, but couldn’t help shooting off a snarky reply of his own. “You should know better than to fight so close to where I’m standing. This is a public bus stop.”
The guy froze, and for a second Fuuta thought he might’ve earned himself a punch, but he just burst out laughing. “Ha, so you do have some bite to you. I was wondering, with you never saying anything.”
“Maybe I don’t want fights with random people when I’m waiting for the bus.”
“ She started it, bitch has a hard on for justice or some shit and decided she doesn’t like me hanging around. I hate dealing with her, but we’re both friends with the same little brat.”
Fuuta crossed his arms, scoffing. “I pity any kid who’s friends with both of you, if that’s how you act together.”
“Trust me, you shouldn’t. Kid’s so annoying. They’d probably kick your shins if you felt bad for them.”
That was certainly an image Fuuta was familiar with. Although, Amane’s more passive aggressive than violent. The worst I’ve seen her do is pour salt in Shidou’s coffee when he isn’t looking .
The two go silent, the guy reaching into his pocket for a new cigarette. “So, you got a name?” He asks, his tone awkward.
Fuuta considers not answering, after all, he had planned to just ignore this guy, but if actually talking to him proved anything it was that despite all the swearing he wasn’t some violent thug. “Kajiyama Fuuta.”
“Hm, mine’s John.”
Somehow, that was the start of a friendship.
Learning more about John honestly didn’t do anything to Fuuta’s impression that he was weird. For one thing, the days he was at the bus stop were seemingly random. On days he was around he’d always be there by the time Fuuta showed up for his morning commute, but he almost never showed up on the same weekday twice in a row.
He’d seen the same woman show up once or twice too, although she seemed to be making an effort not to get into another fight. The latest time she’d been practically seething as she traded John cash in exchange for some kind of envelope. When Fuuta asked, John just shrugged.
“Pretty sure she’s an investigative journalist. The shitheads downtown don’t mess with me, so I help her out sometimes.” He waved the money around casually. “Info pays pretty well, I guess.”
Then there was the way his clothes didn't suit his personality at all. John shows up one day in a leather jacket and his sharp smile is strangely proud when Fuuta points it out.
“First thing in the closet that’s actually mine ,” he said, “everything else is picked for me, and I'm just stuck making it work.”
“You let someone dress you like that?”
“Shut up, appearances are important .”
Pieces were being laid out, but whatever picture they made together wasn't getting any clearer. Maybe he shouldn't be so curious, but Fuuta was nosy. He couldn't just ignore how things didn't quite add up when something so weird was right in front of him.
As curious as he was, Fuuta didn’t think about John for most of the day. Why would he? He only ever met him in one place, always around the same time. He was just an anomaly to spice up his wait for the bus.
It’s obvious when Fuuta bothers to think about it, but of course John exists outside of that time. Just because Fuuta had never seen him anywhere else didn’t mean anything.
Why he was suddenly at the counter of Fuuta’s favourite ramen place was something he couldn’t even begin to guess. He almost didn’t recognize him, even staring right at him the way he was acting was so out of character it was making Fuuta doubt his eyes.
There was John, hunched as if he was barely holding himself back from bowing and smiling apologetically as he spoke to the manager.
“I’m sorry Moriyama-san.” Compared to what he was used to, John’s voice was soft. “The files got corrupted. I’m already in contact with the printing company, but your flyers might take a few more days.”
The manager sighed, but nodded. “These things happen. If they’re ready by Friday we’ll still be on time.”
“I’ll let them know.”
Whatever they were doing, it seemed to end there. The manager went back into the kitchen, and John picked up a tablet off the counter and began typing something.
“Y’know,” John jumped, eyes darting to him. “Your customer service smile is crazy .”
“What?”
“You didn’t even swear once. Didn’t know you could switch off like that.”
John narrowed his eyes, but instead of the anger he was expecting, it was out of… confusion? “I’m sorry, have we met?”
Fuuta hadn’t expected the lack of recognition to… kind of hurt. “Thought we were friends, but I guess not.”
John kept staring, before suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Oh, you’re John’s friend! Fuuta, right?”
“What?”
“I guess he never mentioned me?” Not -John looked sad as he said that. “That’s… fair. I guess I do the same thing.”
“You aren’t John?”
“Nope, Kayano Mikoto, at your service!”
Something was off about the whole situation. If it was just his face, Fuuta could explain away the similarities. When he was in elementary school he was in the same class as a couple of twins, and if their parents hadn’t practically labeled them no one would’ve been able to tell them apart. It wasn’t that far-fetched.
Except whatever was going on here was beyond genetics. They had the exact same old faded dye-job, the same piercings, and Fuuta could swear John had worn that exact same outfit last week.
Surely people his age wouldn’t be that dedicated to matching, not even twins.
The next time Fuuta sees John, he's leaning against the bus stop flicking away the ashes from his cigarette. He isn't even close enough to be noticed when John suddenly startles, and rushes to answer his phone.
“Kayano speaking.” The soft tone of voice is so much more obviously forced coming from John, but it's scary how close he gets. Whatever response he got though, it got him to drop the act immediately. “Yeah Ma, it's me.” He paused, listening to the voice on the other side. “He’s fine . That kid just asked us to visit again, and you know he hates the hospital since our diagnosis… It doesn't work like that. Look, I'll write a note for him and he’ll call you when he's back.” The call ended abruptly, but John only sighed. “Love you too, Ma.”
It wasn't Fuuta’s place to point out that he was being a little too aggressive in stamping out his cigarette with his heel, but it did make him feel awkward saying anything. In the end, it was John who started talking first.
“I hear you met Mikoto.”
“What, not even a hello?”
John just scoffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “As if you didn’t hear that whole thing.”
“…Fair enough.” It wasn’t like Fuuta could just lie when the truth was so obvious. “So… that was your mom?”
“Let’s just say all that shit is complicated.”
“How’s it complicated? It’s a yes or no question.”
“It's like this; she's my Ma, but I ain't her son. Our sister took it okay, but it's been rough since they found out about me .”John’s frustration was clear, but he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. “Anyway, Mikoto . Never thought you’d meet randomly like that. Fair warning, he gives everyone annoying nicknames.”
“Annoying?”
“That woman I talk to? He called her Koto-chan once. Can you believe it?”
“How is he still alive?”
John grinned, “no one messes with Mikoto. Not with me around.”
For a moment, they lulled into silence. Fuuta checked his watch, the bus was late for some reason. Well, I might as well find something to talk about .
“Is Mikoto the one that dresses you like that?” He asked.
“I told you, appearances are important.” Surprisingly, John looked guilty as he said this. “I’ve already messed things up enough for him, I can at least put up with this.”
“Is that why you answer your phone like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re pretending to be him. Badly, too.”
At that, John shrugged. “Last time I didn’t, I got him fired, so…”
“Ouch.”
At that moment, Fuuta resolved that the next time he got his haircut, he’d be nicer to his sister’s coworkers. He can only imagine how it feels to be the reason a family member loses work.
The bus came into view only seconds later.
Fuuta would like the record to show, a month and a half is actually a completely reasonable amount of time to not catch on to a friend not existing half the time. John laughing his ass off like it was obvious said more about him than it did about Fuuta.
“What did you think was going on?”
“Honestly?” Fuuta knew he was going to regret admitting this. “I was starting to think you were trans.”
They were almost kicked off the bus, John was laughing so loud.