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The apartment was quiet as Ritsuka settled in at the kitchen table with dinner. With no one else home, he got to eat in peace while shamelessly watching TV and scrolling on his phone at the same time. It was easier that way — occupying his brain with too much stimulus when he wasn’t actively working on music or with Mafuyu — to keep it from wandering into dangerous territory.
Though tonight, the outside world seemed quiet. He flicked through channels, scrolled through streaming services, and repeatedly checked Twitter. Nothing grabbed his attention. He sighed, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote on the table. It clattered into the silence of the room, amplifying it.
Suddenly, every tiny sound was loud. The kitchen sink drip-dropped, echoing in the metal basin. The whir of the AC unit like a fly in his ear. The clock’s second hand boomed.
A memory flashed through his head — Mafuyu, the clock in his room, a shared futon.
Mafuyu.
Ritsuka’s face flushed at the idea of falling asleep together again. But that warmth was chased by an icy knife of anxiety.
“It’s weird. It’s unnatural.”
He rested his head in his hand and stared at his reheated conbini bento, pushing karaage around with his chopsticks. Kaji had assured him nothing was wrong. That it was normal. Yayoi’s reaction had been anything but.
He clicked his tongue at the empty room. If Mafuyu had been a girl, all she’d have done was nag him incessantly, just like always. There would have been no stunned face at the bookshop, no confrontation about “getting hurt.” Whatever the hell that meant. Mafuyu wouldn’t hurt a fly — well, maybe cockroaches.
If he looked at himself, and his feelings, critically, he was positive this wasn’t some kind of “phase.” Not that he had much to compare it to — he’d never felt particularly strongly about anyone before, boy or girl. A distinct memory of all the boys in his class snickering over a magazine at lunch bubbled up in his thoughts. He remembered because he’d been listening to the new Radiohead album, more wrapped up in Thom Yorke’s vocals than anything else.
When his classmates finally noticed, it apparently became their sworn duty to find “his type.” But every photo they showed him was just another random woman he didn’t know or care about. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed that that should have been his first clue. Maybe he wasn’t exactly normal after all.
No one had ever shoved a photo of a naked man in his face, but he’d been in locker rooms and public showers plenty of times. No interest in staring had ever stirred.
And yet the thought of Mafuyu shirtless — hair mussed and cheeks red like on New Year’s Eve as he’d hovered over Ritsuka on the couch — made his mouth so dry he unconsciously licked his lips.
The quiet shk of the front door unlocking made him pause, a clump of rice wobbling on his chopsticks in front of his open mouth. He glanced at the clock — Yayoi, probably.
She’d been weird the last few weeks; he had, too, if he was honest. No comments, no questions, no snarky quips — just heavy silence. It made his heart twist up into knots tight enough to sneak into his throat if he tried too hard to figure out what it all meant.
He had expected more blowback. Sharp eyes, accusatory questions, stinging words. Something. He didn’t know what to make of nothing, so he avoided it. Avoided her. It was probably the longest they’d gone without bickering in years. He briefly wondered if he had time to rush into his room with the rest of his dinner before she got inside.
“I’m back,” she called. Nope. Scratch that idea.
“Welcome home,” he replied, careful to keep his tone casual, before taking the bite of rice from his chopsticks. It was cold.
A moment later, Yayoi appeared in the doorway to the living area. She stood, staring at him, long enough that he nearly snapped at her despite the thread between them being so tenuously frayed. Before he could, she made her way into the kitchen, glancing at his lackluster dinner.
“Yours is in the microwave,” he said through a full mouth, hoping it would redirect whatever ire she was about to bring down on him. He caught the slightest flinch right before he turned back to his food. The knots in his heart grew tighter still.
Suddenly, she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, face screwed up in a way that reminded him of Mom when he was in trouble. His mind raced with questions: What happened? Had Take-san broken up with her already? Was it somehow his fault?
The second hand was booming again as his sister twiddled her thumbs, avoiding his confused gaze. Its tempo felt slower, now, as if this moment was stretching itself, getting ready to snap, family branches with it.
She took a deep, shaky breath before she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Ritsuka’s eyes widened as his chest did not crumble under the weight of expected loss. “Huh?”
Yayoi furrowed her brows and sighed, squirming a little in her chair. “I’m sorry for what I said to you a few weeks ago.” She dipped her head slightly.
“Oh.” His chopsticks dangled from his hand. He stared, silent, for far too long. Of all the ways this stalemate could have ended, this one was low on his list of possibilities. No shouting, no snitching, just… an apology? He tried to remember the last time those words had come out of her mouth, directed at him, and came up empty.
When he didn’t say anything else, Yayoi took another deep breath and tentatively launched into what seemed like an explanation. “Last week, Akihiko told me about him and Haruki, and…” she paused, as if collecting her thoughts. “I never understood, before. I didn’t…”
“You don’t have to do thi–”
She cut him off. “Please, let me. I know we fight, but… I’m your big sister, and I want you to know you can rely on me. I– I don’t need to understand fully. But I’d like to try, if you’ll let me.”
All the wind left Ritsuka’s lungs and his vision went slightly fuzzy as he blinked down at the table in shock. Understand?
“What is there to understand?” His thoughts slipped through his teeth before he realized he was speaking at all.
Yayoi let her hands fall to the table. “I don’t know! Like, do you love him?”
Ritsuka coughed as he choked on his own spit and air. “W-well, we haven’t said it like that yet…” he managed.
“What? Neither of you have confessed?” Her voice was almost shrill with disbelief.
He scowled. “No no no, he did. After I…” He stopped, mouth hanging open, and then snapped it shut to clear his throat. “Uh, never mind. We are dating. But we haven’t said… that.” His tone soured into a scold, his tongue clicking out of habit. “It hasn’t even been that long…”
Yayoi leaned in, clearly excited. “Well, when did you start dating?”
Ritsuka let out a sigh that finished as a rumbling groan. At least this was better than the silence of recent weeks. Yayoi was scary when she was quiet — well, she was scary anyway, really, but especially when quiet. Everything was easier when she spewed all her thoughts out, like now.
“Uh, July,” he said, reluctant to spill the details of a relationship she had called “unnatural.”
As if she couldn’t get more interested, she sat straight up and nearly yelled, “Were you dating at the live??”
Ritsuka could only stammer out an exasperated “N-no!” But he paused and put a hand over his mouth — a twitch of brows, squinty eyes, and a slight frown — as he considered the technicalities of “dating” versus “suddenly kissing him backstage.”
Yayoi reached over to pinch his cheek, her chair squeaking as she did. “That face sure says otherwise.” She grinned and wrinkled her nose.
He shrugged her off and looked away to hide his flaming cheeks, warm from a mix of embarrassment, relief, and a few different types of love collecting like seafoam on the shore of his heart. “It’s complicated, okay!” He glanced back at her, briefly. “And how did this conversation even get here?” It came out more hurt and vulnerable than he’d intended. But he did feel that way, so… guess he couldn’t complain that it showed.
Yayoi’s face fell, along with her hand. “R-right.” She cast her eyes down to her hands. “I… never meant to hurt you.”
Ritsuka couldn’t help the way his eyes slid off to the side, skeptical.
“I know I did, though. And I can’t undo that, but… I hope…” She swallowed. “I hope you’ll give me another chance.” She lowered her head — fully, this time — bowing as best she could while keeping her seat at the table.
Today was really, truly, full of firsts. He fiddled with his chopsticks, trying to disguise this new level of shock as it raced through him so fast his limbs tingled, as if waking from numb sleep. His bullheaded, ever-proud sister was bowing to him. Apologizing and bowing.
Seconds passed that felt like minutes. Yayoi held her bow, only breaking posture to peek at him, her anxious concern clear as day. He couldn’t be sure what she found from searching his face, but she turned back to the table and continued to wait.
Wasn’t this the ideal outcome? He hadn’t even considered it, really. All these weeks, assuming this was just going to be their new normal, forever, and now…
“Okay, okay, please stop. You’re weirding me out.” He rubbed his temples and sighed. “Thank you. I, um… yeah. Thanks.”
Yayoi raised her head and tentatively looked at him. She sniffled once, her eyes shining with tears; he silently begged them to stay firmly in place. Tension hung in the air a moment longer before she broke into a smile, suddenly stood, and pulled him into an uncomfortable hug over the table.
“Oi!” he mumbled into her cardigan, arms hovering out to the side.
“Just let me have this for a second, dumbass.” She squeezed a little tighter.
Still holding his chopsticks, he lightly wrapped his arms around her torso and let himself be grateful for this, awkward as it was. She sniffled again, and he pretended that a small, wet plop had not just landed on his scalp.
With one last, shaky breath, she let go and sat back down, still smiling.
Ever so slowly, her smile morphed into a satisfied smirk as she looked down her nose at him. “Now that I know, I get to tease you about it, like a good big sister.” He rolled his eyes and tried to take a bite of his long-cold dinner. “If you’ve been together since July, what’d you do for Christmas Eve? New Years?” She gasped as realization of the time of year crossed her face. “Valentine’s Day? White Day?”
Ah, there she was. The nosy sister he knew and, against his teenage will, loved. Ritsuka just sighed and resigned himself to an interrogation. How many times had he wished he could have asked for Yayoi’s help recently?
“Rikkaaaaaa.”
“Ohhhh my goddd, if I tell you, will you let me eat in peace?” Screw it. No use holding a grudge when she’d apologized as sincerely as he’d ever seen.
“Only if I find it satisfactory,” she giggled.
He deadpanned at her before launching into a quick summary of their dates and special occasions. He did his best to keep it brief and general, but she had plenty of questions about Valentine’s Day and how it works with two guys, gasping as he explained how that day had gone for them. When he admitted that they hadn’t done anything for Christmas Eve because they’d both been busy with family, she scoffed.
“Let me help you pick out a Christmas present this year then, you big dummy!” He rolled his eyes and scoffed back at her. Though, really, he had no choice but to agree and hope she wound up too busy with her own plans later.
Then her face softened, her lips parting slowly and her gaze going distant. When she locked eyes with him again, they were once more full of concern. “Do Mom and Dad know?”
The mood at the table, full of familiar bickering that had lulled Ritsuka into a sense of content security, dipped instantly.
“...no.”
“Mm. Okay.” She twirled a lock of hair on her finger as she thought something over. “Well, I won’t say anything. Let me know if you decide to tell them. I’ll back you up.” Standing, she skirted the table and then ruffled his hair as roughly as she could, pressing down too hard as her signature sign of sisterly affection.
“Ngh! What the hell, Yayoi…” he muttered as she walked off. The buttons of the microwave beeped. Knowing she wasn’t looking, he smiled into his lap. The knots holding his heart in his throat loosened; and for now, he could breathe again. His parents were a conversation he would worry about much, much later. Mom was never really home, anyway.
He couldn’t wait to tell Mafuyu.