Work Text:
The late afternoon sun slanted low across the road as two bikes rattled side by side, the sound of their bike tires crushing against the ground filled in the silence. Yoshiki’s bike was way ahead of Hikaru’s, while Hikaru pedaled lazily, one hand loose on the handlebars.
“You’re slow,” Yoshiki muttered, glancing at him.
“I’m enjoying the breeze,” Hikaru said with a grin, standing up on the pedals for a burst of speed just to catch up again. Their shoulders brushed briefly as the road narrowed, the air carrying the faint scent of cut grass and warm asphalt. By the time they rolled into Hikaru’s house, sweat clung to their shirts. Hikaru kicked his stand down with a sharp clang, then flopped onto the step, waving Yoshiki inside.
“You want to study a bit before dinner?” Yoshiki asked, adjusting his bag behind his back. Hikaru groaned. “Study? You just got off your bike and you’re already thinking about books?”
“Someone has to keep your grades from tanking.” Yoshiki’s tone was dry, but the corner of his mouth twitched as he followed Hikaru inside.
The small house smelled faintly of tatami and miso. They settled in Hikaru’s room with notebooks spread across the table. For a while, the scratching of pencils was the only sound—Yoshiki hunched earnestly over a math problem, Hikaru leaning back, doodling in the margins of his notes. “Hey, what’s this supposed to be?” Yoshiki frowned, nudging the page.
“A monster with six arms,” Hikaru said proudly. “It’s cooler than algebra.”
Yoshiki merely rolled his eyes but didn’t press further. The quiet settled in again, comfortable, broken only by the hum of cicadas outside. For a while, the only sound in the room was the scratch of Yoshiki’s pencil as he worked through a math problem. Hikaru sprawled across the table with his chin propped on his hand. His focus is now fixed on the boy in front of him. He watched Yoshiki’s brow furrow, lips pressed tight in concentration, and a small laugh escaped him.
“You look so serious when you study,” Hikaru said. “It’s kinda cute.” Yoshiki shot him a sharp look, “Focus on your own work.” He muttered before returning his focus back to the notebook in front of him. “I am,” Hikaru replied, grinning. His gaze lingered a moment too long, and before he realized it, the words were out.
“That’s why I like you.”
The pencil paused mid-stroke. Yoshiki turned slowly, expression caught between surprise and disbelief. “…Don’t say that so easily.” The tips of his ears were slowly becoming redder with each second passing by. Hikaru tilted his head, puzzled and confused. “Why not? It’s true.”
“It’s not that simple.” Yoshiki shifted, sitting straighter, his hands tightening on his pencil until the wood creaked faintly. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. You can’t just… throw words like that around.”
“I’m not throwing them around,” Hikaru said, leaning forward. “I mean it. I like you, Yoshiki. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
Yoshiki’s cheeks flushed more heavily, but his gaze slid away, guarded. “…If you really meant it, you wouldn’t say it so lightly. Feelings aren’t something you prove with words alone.” The room grew heavy with unspoken things. Hikaru wanted to press, to make Yoshiki see how serious he was, but Yoshiki was already packing up his books with stiff, precise movements.
“I should go,” he said, rising before Hikaru could answer.
“Yoshiki—” The name caught in Hikaru’s throat, too late. The door slid shut softly, leaving behind the quiet hum of cicadas and the faint smell of graphite from Yoshiki’s abandoned pencil.
Later, in the dark of his room, Hikaru lay staring up at the ceiling, replaying every word.
Don’t say it so freely. You won’t understand. It’s not something you can prove with just words.
Hikaru dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “But I do like him. More than anyone. Why doesn’t he believe me?” He angrily muttered to himself, rather than to Yoshiki. His thoughts were slowly becoming more jumbled before an idea popped into his head.
He rolled over abruptly, grabbing his phone that was by his futon. The bluish glow lit his face as he typed into the search bar, muttering under his breath.
“…How do you show someone you like them?”
Page after page of advice appeared: take good care of them, make them lunch, buy them something meaningful, wait for them after school, listen when they’re tired. Hikaru’s eyes narrowed, skimming faster and faster.
“So that’s it? That’s what you’re supposed to do?” He quietly muttered to himself
He pressed the phone to his chest, a weird but nice feeling blooming in his chest. Fine. If Yoshiki won’t take my words seriously, then I’ll show him. I’ll show him until he has no choice but to believe me.
─── ✦ ───
──────────────────
—In Japan, kokuhaku (告白) means “confession,” usually a love confession. It’s when someone directly tells the person they like, “I like you, please go out with me” (好きです、付き合ってください).
—It’s considered a big step in Japanese dating culture—relationships typically start after a kokuhaku, rather than gradually like in some other countries. So if someone “confesses” and the other accepts, that’s the beginning of them officially dating.
──────────────────
The word kokuhaku floated in Hikaru’s head like something sharp and sweet at the same time. A confession. In Japan, it wasn’t just a casual phrase — it was an event, a declaration, the turning of a page.
To say “ Sukidesu, tsukiatte kudasai ” wasn’t only about admitting feelings; it was about changing the shape of the relationship itself. A promise, a risk, a dare to move forward.
The classroom buzzed faintly with the monotone of the teacher’s voice, the scrape of chalk, and the restless shuffling of papers. Hikaru sat near the back, chin propped in his hand, staring down at the half-filled page in his notebook. His pencil had stopped moving long ago. He wasn’t listening to the lesson. The teacher's words entered one of his ears and came out of the other.
“If you really meant it, you wouldn’t throw it around like that.”
Yoshiki’s words still clung to him, days later, like a stubborn bruise. Every time he replayed it, Hikaru’s chest tightened—not from regret exactly, but from the gnawing sense that Yoshiki didn’t believe him. That somehow, Hikaru had failed to show what he truly felt.
He glanced sideways. Yoshiki was sitting by the window, back straight, attention fixed dutifully on the lesson. His profile was sharp in the afternoon light, the kind of detail Hikaru could sketch from memory—the faint crease between his brows, the line of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together when he was concentrating too hard.
Hikaru’s grip on his pencil tightened. ‘I meant it that day. Every word. So why didn’t he believe me?’
It wasn’t enough just to say it, he realized. Not for Yoshiki. Not when Yoshiki looked at him like someone bracing for disappointment. The thought made Hikaru’s stomach churn, a mysterious weight pressing against his ribs. He wanted to wipe that guarded look away, wanted Yoshiki to know, without a doubt, that he wasn’t playing around.
By the time the bell rang, Hikaru had already made up his mind. He shoved his books into his bag and waited for the classroom to empty before he leaned across Yoshiki’s desk.
“Come with me,” he said, with a serious tone for once.
Yoshiki blinked, startled and surprised by his sudden tone. “What? Where?” “The roof.” Hikaru slung his bag over his shoulder, tone deliberately casual. But his chest was tight, every step heavy with the decision already made.
The rooftop was quiet, the late afternoon sun spilling warm light over the concrete. The hum of cicadas carried faintly from beyond the school walls, underscoring the hush of the empty space. Hikaru walked ahead, then turned, standing squarely in front of Yoshiki.
Yoshiki looked uneasy, shifting from foot to foot. “What’s this about? You’re acting weird.”
Hikaru scratched at the back of his neck, forcing himself to meet Yoshiki’s eyes. His mouth felt dry, but he had promised himself he wouldn’t back out this time. “The other day,” Hikaru began carefully, not wanting to startle the boy in front of him right away, “when I said I liked you… you told me not to say it so easily.”
Yoshiki stiffened, lips pressing thin. “…Yeah. I remember.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Hikaru continued, voice steady though his heart thudded against his ribs. “You were right. I said it without thinking. Like it was nothing.” He took a breath. “But it’s not nothing. It’s never been anything.” Yoshiki’s gaze flickered, uncertain, but Hikaru pressed on, the words tumbling out in a rush he couldn’t stop.
“I like you, Yoshiki. Not as a joke, not because I was bored. I’ve liked you for a long time, Ever since you've accepted me for who I am. I don’t want to keep pretending it’s just friendship when it’s not, at least not for me.” He swallowed hard, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t know how to prove it, but I’ll try. However many times it takes. Because I’m serious about you.”
“I like you, Yoshiki, please go out with me!”
The silence that followed felt unbearable. Hikaru’s pulse roared in his ears, every second stretching taut and fragile. Yoshiki finally spoke, his voice quieter than Hikaru had ever heard it.
“…Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I’m careless.” Hikaru’s tone sharpened, desperate. “Because if I don’t say it, I’ll regret it. And because—” He exhaled shakily. “—because you’re the only one I want to say it to.” Yoshiki’s face was flushed, his eyes darting away, back again, like he couldn’t hold Hikaru’s gaze for too long. “You’re… you’re an idiot.”
“Probably,” Hikaru admitted with a crooked smile. “But I’m your idiot. If you’ll let me be.”
Yoshiki’s breath hitched, his hands tightening around the strap of his bag. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “You can’t just—” His voice cracked, and he turned his head, ears burning red. “You can’t just say things like that. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” Hikaru said softly. “Not about liking you.”
…
Why do I like him?
His thoughts unspooled, raw and unsteady.
This isn’t the Hikaru I grew up with. It isn’t the boy who held my hand when we were kids, or the one who used to laugh until his stomach hurt. That Hikaru is gone. I know that. Every time I look at this one, I remember it. The way his gaze is too sharp, his tone never that excited, the weight of something inhuman behind his skin.
But even as the words formed, they twisted.
And yet—this Hikaru stays. He’s there when I fall asleep and when I wake up. He follows me with eyes that never waver. He says things without shame, things the old Hikaru never would have said out loud. And sometimes, in the smallest moments, I catch him looking at me like I’m… precious. Like I matter.
Yoshiki swallowed hard, chest trembling.
I know it’s not him. But somewhere between mourning and denial, I started to love this Hikaru too. Maybe because I’m selfish. Maybe because I can’t let go. Maybe because—when he says he likes me, it feels real. Real enough to hurt.
“…You’re unbelievable,” Yoshiki whispered, finally dropping his hands. His face was still red, but his lips curved, trembling. “I should be angry at you for cornering me like this.”
“Are you?” “…No.”
Yoshiki swallowed, eyes flicking away. His chest ached with a strange mix of nerves and warmth. “Because… I like you too, stupid.” Hikaru’s eyes widened. He blinked once, twice, and then his shoulders relaxed, a small breath of something like relief escaping him. A smile flickered across his lips, subtle but real.
“Then we’re dating now!”
“W-Wait, what?!” Yoshiki almost choked on his own spit. He jerked upright, staring. “That’s not—no, that’s not how this works!” Hikaru tilted his head again, confusion knitting his brows. “Why not? You said you like me. I like you. So… dating.”
Yoshiki covered his face again, groaning loudly. “You can’t just declare it like that! There’s… there’s steps! Things people do! We don’t just—skip everything and—ugh, you’re impossible!”
“But isn’t it simpler this way?” Hikaru asked, his voice quiet but earnest. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you. Isn’t that enough?” Yoshiki peeked at him through his fingers, caught between exasperation and something warmer, softer. “…It’s not that simple. You can’t just—tie it up neatly like that.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned away, ears red.
Hikaru frowned, frustration flickering. “…I don’t understand. If you like me, and I like you, then why can’t it be official?” “Because!” Yoshiki sputtered, trying to gather words he didn’t even have.
“Because that’s not—how people usually do things! You can’t just—ugh—there’s dating, and… and holding hands, and learning each other’s feelings and—and—”
Hikaru’s lips pressed together. He looked away, jaw tight, wind tugging at his hair. “…Then I’ll find out. I’ll research. I’ll figure out how people do it.”
Yoshiki whipped around, startled. “R-Research?! What are you even—”
“I want this to work,” Hikaru said, more to himself than to Yoshiki. His voice dropped low, almost a growl of determination. “If it means learning, I’ll learn. Even if I don’t understand right now.”
Yoshiki stared at him, caught between horror and fondness. “…You’re really hopeless, you know that?” “Maybe,” Hikaru muttered, but there was no shame in it—only that stubborn, unyielding focus. “But I mean it. I like you, Yoshiki. Enough to try.”
Yoshiki’s heart stuttered all over again. He buried his face in his hands and laughed, weak and nervous, but real. “…You’re gonna drive me crazy.”
Hikaru didn’t answer. He only stepped closer, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he embraced Yoshiki in a tight hug, and Yoshiki, despite the heat flooding his cheeks and the chaos in his chest, didn’t move away.
─── ✦ ✦ ───
──────────────────
—In Japan, sharing an umbrella (相合傘, aiaigasa) is often seen as something romantic. The word literally means “together umbrella.” When two people walk under the same umbrella, they naturally stand very close, which can feel intimate.
—It’s considered a sweet gesture: offering to share your umbrella shows care, and accepting it can feel like accepting affection. Because of this, many scenes in anime, manga, and dramas use "aiaigasa" as a way to hint at romance or closeness between characters.
──────────────────
The clouds had been threatening rain all day. By the time school ended, the drizzle had finally started, soft drops pattering against the pavement and the corrugated roof of the bike shed. The air smelled faintly of damp earth, and students hurried out through the gates, umbrellas sprouting open like flowers in a sudden bloom.
Yoshiki stood by the bike rack, hand on his handlebars, tilting his face up toward the sky. The rain wasn’t heavy — just a fine mist, really. The kind that clung to hair and eyelashes but didn’t soak through.
“…Not that bad,” he muttered. He could make it home like this without trouble. Riding would be faster than walking, and if they hurried, they’d beat the heavier downpour that was probably on its way.
He turned to Hikaru, who was standing beside him with the same stillness he always carried. His eyes weren’t on the sky or the bikes but fixed forward, like he was already planning something. Yoshiki frowned. “C’mon. Let’s just ride home before it gets worse.”
Hikaru didn’t answer. Instead, he set his bag down, unzipped it, and pulled out a folded umbrella. He flicked it open with one sharp snap, the fabric spreading above them in a circle of shelter. The sound made Yoshiki flinch.
“…Hikaru?”
“Let’s walk together!” Hikaru said cheerfully, shifting closer until the umbrella’s shadow covered both of them. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if the decision was already made.
Yoshiki blinked at him, confused from the whole ordeal, “Eh? Walking? It’s barely raining! We can just bike home in half the time.”
“You’ll get wet.” Hikaru’s reply was simple, flat. “You might catch a cold.”
Yoshiki let out a sharp laugh, shifting his gaze to the glooming sky, “It’s just a drizzle. Nobody collapses from a little rain. Don’t be ridiculous.”
But Hikaru’s expression didn’t budge. His eyes flicked toward Yoshiki briefly, steady and strangely earnest. “I read somewhere that couples are supposed to share an umbrella.”
Yoshiki nearly dropped his handlebars. “What?!” His voice cracked embarrassingly loud, and he quickly lowered it, looking around to make sure no one was staring. “Wh-what kind of dumb stuff are you reading?!”
“Doesn’t matter.” Hikaru reached out and curled his fingers around Yoshiki’s wrist, tugging lightly. The touch was warm, certain. “Walk with me.”
For a moment, Yoshiki just stood there, caught between disbelief and mortification, his face heating up fast. “…You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath. But the firm pull on his wrist made him sigh in defeat. With a groan, he let go of the bike’s handles and started walking it beside him instead.
Hikaru matched his pace immediately, umbrella tilted ever so slightly so the rain slid off Yoshiki’s side, even if that meant droplets hit his own shoulder.
They walked like that, bikes rolling at their sides, the drizzle pattering softly against the umbrella above. The path home stretched quietly, most students already scattered ahead or behind. Only the muffled hum of rain and the occasional squelch of tires in wet gravel filled the silence.
Yoshiki kept his gaze fixed ahead, ears hot. “This is so inconvenient…” he muttered. “We could’ve been halfway home by now if we just rode.” “Not inconvenient.” Hikaru’s reply came instantly, no hesitation. His voice carried the same determination as if he were stating a fact of nature.
Yoshiki glanced at him, incredulous. “We’re both dragging our bikes, squeezed under an umbrella that barely covers us, and you don’t think this is inconvenient?”
“Worth it,” Hikaru said simply.
Yoshiki choked on his own breath, whipping his head away so Hikaru couldn’t see his face. “…You’re such an idiot.” But Hikaru only gave a quiet hum, as if satisfied with the exchange, and adjusted the umbrella again to shield Yoshiki more fully when he noticed the rain picking up slightly, raindrops tapping harder against the fabric. Yoshiki felt the dampness on his exposed arm but noticed Hikaru’s whole shoulder was wet now, his white shirt clinging faintly to the outline of his skin.
“Hey,” Yoshiki said before he could stop himself. “Tilt it back. You’re getting soaked.”
“I don’t mind.” Hikaru didn’t even look at him. His grip on the umbrella stayed firm. “As long as you’re dry.”
Yoshiki’s throat went tight. What is he even saying…?
“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped, voice sharper than he intended. “We’re both under here. It’s pointless if you’re wet too.” But Hikaru finally turned his gaze on him, steady and unblinking, like Yoshiki’s flustered protests were nothing more than background noise. “It’s not pointless. I don’t care if I get wet. I care if you do.”
Yoshiki’s chest lurched, a strange, traitorous warmth flooding through him. He gripped the handlebars tighter, trying to steady himself. Why does he say things like that… so easily? Without even thinking?
He hated how his heart sped up. Hated how part of him wanted to stay under this stupid umbrella forever, even if it meant dragging the bikes all the way across town.
By the time they reached the corner near Yoshiki’s house, the rain had lightened again. Hikaru stopped walking, closing the umbrella with a firm snap. He shook the water from it, then looked back at Yoshiki with that same steady, earnest gaze.
“…See?” Hikaru said. “Not inconvenient.”
Yoshiki groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re seriously the worst.” But his chest felt warm, and no amount of eye-rolling could smother the flutter that hadn’t left him since they’d stepped under the umbrella together.
I should be annoyed, Yoshiki thought as he walked into his home. But instead, I… I can’t stop smiling like an idiot. He hated it. But he also knew he’d never forget the feeling of Hikaru’s shoulder brushing his, the soft drum of rain above them, and the way Hikaru had said it without hesitation: Just you.
─── ✦ ✦ ✦ ───
──────────────────
—In Japan, sharing a bento (弁当) is often seen as an intimate or caring gesture. A bento is a packed lunch, usually homemade. When someone shares their bento, it shows thoughtfulness and a wish to take care of the other person.
—It’s often linked with affection—like a mother making lunch for a child, or someone making a bento for the person they like. In school settings, sharing food from your bento can be a quiet way of showing closeness or even romantic interest.
──────────────────
The classroom was unusually quiet during lunch break. Most of their classmates had dashed off to the cafeteria or found their usual noisy groups, leaving the two of them behind. Yoshiki liked it this way—silence, the absence of so many prying eyes. He always thought eating alone was simpler. Less fuss. Less need to pretend that everything was fine.
But today, as always these days, Hikaru was dragging a chair over from the next row with that boundless energy of his. The scrape of metal against the floor made Yoshiki flinch. “Do you have to make so much noise…?”
Hikaru plopped the chair down right in front of Yoshiki’s desk and grinned. “What? It’s not that loud. Besides, don’t you think lunch tastes better when you’ve got company?” Yoshiki rolled his eyes, though his ears burned faintly pink. “I don’t want company.”
“Liar~” Hikaru leaned his chin into his palm, a boyish grin never faltering. “If it was, you wouldn’t be letting me sit here every day.” Yoshiki didn’t dignify that with a reply. Instead, he opened his bento neatly, steam curling upward. A simple arrangement—rolled omelets, rice, and simmered vegetables, all packed with a care that Hikaru couldn’t help but notice.
“Man, that looks good,” Hikaru said, opening his own with a flourish. His was less delicate—fried katsu, pickled radish, rice piled high. A little messy, but hearty. “Trade?”
“…You can’t just say ‘trade’ when I haven’t agreed to anything.” Yoshiki muttered, already lifting his chopsticks. “Sure, I can,” Hikaru shot back, snapping his chopsticks apart. “It’s the power of suggestion. If I keep saying it, you’ll eventually give in.”
“Annoying.”
“Endearing.”
Yoshiki wanted to argue, but the way Hikaru’s grin spread wider every time he tried made his chest feel too tight. Instead, he focused on picking up a neat bite of rice, forcing himself to ignore the boy across from him, but Hikaru had other plans.
“Say ahh.”
Yoshiki froze mid-bite. Hikaru had lifted a piece of katsu in his chopsticks, leaning it forward with a shameless expression.
“…What are you doing.”
“Feeding you.” Hikaru tilted his head innocently. “Couples do this kind of thing, right? I read about it! Or maybe saw it? Anyway, it’s cute.” Color shot up Yoshiki’s neck like wildfire. He looked around quickly, as though classmates might pop out of nowhere. “Don’t just say that out loud! Someone might—”
“There’s no one here,” Hikaru cut in, still holding the katsu steadily, grin softening just slightly. “It’s just us.” Yoshiki’s chest squeezed. It was true—quiet hum of cicadas outside the window, distant shouts from the sports field, but here, in the classroom, it really was just them.
Still, his pride flared. “…I’m not letting you feed me like some kid. It’s ridiculous.”
Hikaru blinked once, then, instead of pouting, simply set the piece of katsu down into Yoshiki’s bento like it belonged there. “Fine, then it can live here until you decide to eat it.” Yoshiki stared at the golden piece sitting so smugly atop his rice. “That’s not—”
“See?” Hikaru beamed, immediately shoveling a big bite of his own rice. “We officially shared our bentos.” “That’s not how that works.”
“Sure it is. Food is sacred, Yoshiki. Think of the farmers who suffered their asses off to make this rice.” Yoshiki buried his face slightly behind his hand, muttering, “You’re insufferable.” Their conversation ended at that, but after a few minutes of complicating, Yoshiki caved in, picking up the katsu and actually tasted it. He didn’t miss the way Hikaru’s eyes lit up, bright and expectant, like a dog waiting for praise. “…It’s fine.”
“Fine? That’s it?” Hikaru leaned forward eagerly. “Come on, give me more credit than that! It’s, like, the best thing you’ve ever eaten, right?” “Don’t exaggerate.” Yoshiki huffed, though secretly, the crisp coating and savory bite really were good. “…But I’ll admit it’s not bad.”
Hikaru’s grin split wide, satisfied. “I’ll take it. Victory!”
Annoyingly, his stupid enthusiasm was contagious. Yoshiki found himself hiding a small, reluctant smile behind his chopsticks and then, before he could second-guess himself, he picked up one of his own rolled omelets and slid it over into Hikaru’s bento.
“…What’s this?” Hikaru asked, blinking.
“You said trade, didn’t you?” Yoshiki mumbled, looking away.
For once, Hikaru didn’t immediately tease. His eyes softened, genuine warmth spilling into his voice. “…Thanks, Yoshiki.” He picked it up and ate it in one bite, eyes closing briefly as he chewed. “Oh wow. That’s way better than mine. You’re seriously amazing.”
Yoshiki felt his ears burn hotter. “…You don’t have to say things like that.” “But I mean it.” Hikaru leaned in, elbows on the desk, watching Yoshiki with that same, disarming openness. “You put so much effort into everything…”
Yoshiki swallowed hard, throat tight. He wanted to brush it off, to say it was nothing. But Hikaru’s gaze pinned him in place, unrelenting in its sincerity. “…Idiot,” Yoshiki muttered, turning his eyes to the window.
“Your idiot,” Hikaru said without missing a beat.
The two of them settled into a rhythm, chopsticks moving in silence, the atmosphere almost calm. But Yoshiki’s mind wasn’t calm at all—his heart thudded against his ribs every time Hikaru leaned in too close, every time his ridiculous grin flickered across his face.
He told himself it was fine. Just eating lunch. No one would care. But the thought of someone walking back into the classroom, seeing them like this—Hikaru’s chair pulled close, bentos practically mingling—made his stomach twist. Yoshiki let his eyes flicker toward the door, then the windows. Still empty. Still just them.
He swallowed, fingers tightening around his chopsticks. His body moved before his brain had fully decided—he picked up a neat piece of simmered carrot and hesitated in the space between them.
Hikaru blinked. “...Wait. Are you—”
“Don’t say anything,” Yoshiki hissed, cheeks hot. He glanced around again—still safe. He pushed the bite forward, voice dropping to a mutter. “…Just eat it before someone comes in.”
For a split second, Hikaru’s eyes widened, then softened into something almost tender. He leaned forward without hesitation, lips parting obediently. “Aah~” “Don’t make a sound like that!” Yoshiki’s voice jumped, but it was too late—Hikaru was already chewing happily, grin stretching ear to ear.
“Mm! It’s so good. Yours tastes better than mine, seriously.” Hikaru tapped his chopsticks against his chin, eyes sparkling. “You should feed me more often.” Yoshiki rolled his eyes, shoving down the warm flutter in his chest. “…Shut up. Once is enough.”
But when Hikaru leaned his chopsticks across, holding out a plump piece of katsu, Yoshiki froze again. “Your turn,” Hikaru simply said.
“…I’m not—”
“Come on. Fair trade. You gave me something, I gave you something. That’s balance.”
Yoshiki’s throat tightened. It was ridiculous—he wasn’t a child, didn’t need someone hand-feeding him. And yet, Hikaru’s expectant face made refusal impossible. Slowly, carefully, Yoshiki leaned forward and accepted the bite, trying not to notice how close they were, how his lips brushed against the wood of Hikaru’s chopsticks.
The crunch of the katsu filled the silence. Hikaru watched him like it was the most important thing in the world, eyes gleaming.
“…Well?” Hikaru prompted.
Yoshiki looked away, chewing slowly. “…It’s fine.”
“Fine again?!” Hikaru laughed, shaking his head. “I swear, one day I’ll get you to say something more than fine.” Yoshiki muttered into his rice, “Don’t count on it.” But his chest felt warm, like he couldn’t quite keep the edges of a smile off his face.
The bell rang, sharp and sudden. They both startled, the spell breaking. Voices filtered back into the hallway as their classmates returned. Hikaru leaned back in his chair, still grinning like an idiot. “Guess lunch is over. But hey—same time tomorrow, right?”
“…We’ll see,” Yoshiki muttered, quickly shutting his bento. But when Hikaru wasn’t looking, he brushed his fingers lightly over his lips, still remembering the feel of chopsticks pressed there, and the boy across from him who made something as ordinary as lunch feel more special.
─── ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ───
──────────────────
—In Japan, having matching items (お揃い, osoroi) like keychains or accessories is seen as a sign of closeness. Matching things are often used by couples or close friends to show their bond.
—It’s a quiet way of saying “we’re together” without having to use words. Even something small, like a matching keychain on a bag, can feel special and meaningful in Japanese culture.
──────────────────
It started with something small.
Hikaru hadn’t been looking for anything in particular. He was sprawled on his bed, phone held above his head, mindlessly scrolling through an online shop while the cicadas hummed outside. Normally, he’d be looking and searching for things that made Yoshiki sigh and say Why do you even waste your time on this stuff. But this time, a set of photos caught his eye.
Keychains.
Not just any keychains— little pendants shaped like curled up koifish. One was colored black, the other was white. Simple, cute. And—most importantly—they came as a pair. Hikaru stared at the screen longer than he should’ve, thumb hovering over the purchase button.
Would Yoshiki even want something like this?
Yoshiki wasn’t the type to decorate his backpack with trinkets. He kept everything clean, plain, and practical. Even his notebooks were neat, without doodles or stickers. Hikaru imagined handing the keychain over, only for Yoshiki to frown and say what’s this even for?
But then he remembered.
Last month, Hikaru had bought a set of cat-shaped hairclips, similar to the evil cat that would always hiss at him when he tried to poke it. Of course, he hadn’t expected Yoshiki to actually use it—especially since Yoshiki had just clipped one onto the back of his head before—but when he came to Yoshiki’s home one day, he found Yoshiki wearing the hair clip to hold back his long bangs, revealing his beautiful eyes.
Hikaru had thought about that a lot.
Because Yoshiki didn’t need to do that. He could’ve thrown the clip away. But instead, he accepted Hikaru’s gift. “…Yeah,” Hikaru muttered to himself, grinning as he tapped order. “He’ll like it. Probably.”
The next day at school, Hikaru was buzzing with energy. The keychains had arrived faster than he’d expected, dangling from his bag as he waited for the right moment. He’d practiced, even—what to say, how to hand it over without looking like an idiot.
Of course, by the time classes ended, all that practice flew out the window.
“Yoshiki!” he blurted, catching him by the shoe lockers. Yoshiki glanced up from tying his laces, brows furrowing. “Yeah, Hikaru?” Hikaru shoved his hand into his pocket, feeling the hard little pendant tucked inside. His chest thumped nervously. “I, uh—got you something.”
Suspicion immediately clouded Yoshiki’s expression. “…What is it this time.” “Nothing weird, I swear!” Hikaru defended, pouting. “It’s normal. Cute, even. Just—here.”
He pulled it out quickly before he lost his nerve, holding out the black koifish keychain. Yoshiki blinked at it. “…A koifish?” “Yeah!” Hikaru grinned, fishing the white one out of his bag and dangling it proudly. “See? They’re a set. So, uh… one’s yours. One’s mine.”
Yoshiki’s ears went red immediately. “A set?”
“Like—matching, you know? I thought…” Hikaru scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Since we’re, you know. Together. Or—I mean, trying to be. Couples do this kind of thing, right? Matching stuff?”
The word couples hung heavy in the air. Hikaru watched Yoshiki’s face carefully—saw the way his eyes widened, the tips of his ears darkening even more. For a second, Yoshiki didn’t move. Then, slowly, he reached out and took the keychain, holding it carefully between his fingers.
“…You didn’t have to.” His voice was quieter than usual, almost uncertain.
“I wanted to,” Hikaru said simply.
Yoshiki’s chest tightened. He thought back, unbidden, to that day with the hair clips—how Hikaru had given it to him without warning, how ridiculous it had felt. And yet… Yoshiki had kept his. Even now, it was still tucked away in a drawer at home, safe, though he’d never admit that out loud. But this… was different. Back then, Hikaru had bought the clips out of consideration. Practicality. This was just…
Because he wanted to. Because he thought of Yoshiki when he saw it.
The thought alone made Yoshiki’s face burn. He shoved the keychain into his pocket quickly, muttering, “Thanks.” Hikaru’s grin faltered. “…You’re not gonna put it on?”
“Not right now,” Yoshiki said sharply, standing up and grabbing his bag. “People might see.” “Oh…” Hikaru tried not to let his disappointment show, but his shoulders slumped just slightly. He fiddled with the white koifish dangling from his own bag, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, no, that’s fine. Totally fine. You can… put it on whenever.”
They walked home together after that, Hikaru chatting about random things, but a tiny ache stuck in his chest. He’d imagined Yoshiki clipping it onto his bag right away, maybe even walking home with their matching koifish swinging side by side. But instead… it sat hidden in Yoshiki’s pocket, invisible.
Maybe he really doesn’t like that kind of stuff… Hikaru thought, trying not to pout. Did I push too much?
The next morning, Hikaru tried to act normal. He bounced into class, dropped his bag onto the desk, and grinned his usual grin. But his eyes—without meaning to—immediately darted toward Yoshiki.
And then he froze.
Because clipped neatly onto Yoshiki’s backpack strap, just below the zipper, was the black koifish keychain. Hikaru’s heart leapt so hard it almost hurt. Yoshiki immediately caught Hikaru’s stare, scowling as his ears turned pink. “…Don’t look at it like that.”
“You put it on!” Hikaru’s grin split wide, unable to contain himself. He leaned forward, practically glowing. “I knew you liked it!” “I didn’t say that.” Yoshiki crossed his arms, trying to look composed. “I just… didn’t want you to sulk.”
Hikaru clutched his chest dramatically. “You noticed I was sulking?”
“You’re impossible not to notice,” Yoshiki muttered, but his voice was softer now. His fingers brushed against the little pendant unconsciously, as if checking that it was still there. “…I’m fine having it there.”
Hikaru beamed so brightly it was a wonder the sun didn’t dim in jealousy. “Now we match!” He lifted his own bag proudly, the white koifish swaying as if in agreement. “See? Side by side!” Yoshiki sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “…You’re impossible.”
Hikaru couldn't be bothered to retort back, a huge grin breaking across his face, tail practically wagging behind him if he had one. Yoshiki muttered something incoherent, face burning. But even as he turned away, his lips twitched into the faintest, unwilling smile.
─── ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ───
──────────────────
—In Japan, going to a summer festival (natsu matsuri, 夏祭り) together is often seen as romantic. Festivals usually have food stalls, fireworks, and games, making them a popular setting for dates.
—Couples often go together in yukatas, which makes the night feel more special. Sharing food, watching fireworks, or just walking around the festival together is considered a classic way to show closeness or affection.
──────────────────
The late afternoon sun slanted across the road, painting the rice fields in warm gold as two bikes rolled side by side. The hum of cicadas pressed thick against the air, broken only by the steady whir of chains and the occasional flap of Hikaru’s unbuttoned uniform shirt as he coasted along, grinning like the heat didn’t bother him at all.
“Hey, Yoshiki,” Hikaru piped up suddenly, standing on the pedals to speed ahead before circling back again, “are you going to the summer festival tomorrow?” Yoshiki didn’t even glance at him, eyes forward as he steered his bike smoothly along the road. “No.”
“No?!” Hikaru gasped dramatically, as if Yoshiki had just declared he hated puppies. “Why not? It’s the summer festival! Fireworks, goldfish scooping, food stalls—come on, it’s fun.”
“Too crowded. Too noisy.” Yoshiki’s voice was flat, but his knuckles tightened just slightly on the handlebars. “Besides, what’s so fun about wandering around in the heat and wasting money on overpriced yakisoba?”
“You’re so boring,” Hikaru groaned, swerving his bike dangerously close until their shoulders nearly bumped. “It’s not about the money—it’s about the experience. Going together, eating stuff, watching fireworks…” He trailed off, grinning. “Sounds pretty romantic, doesn’t it?” Yoshiki’s head slowly turned towards him, “What are you trying to hint at me.”
“Nothing!” Hikaru laughed, standing up on his pedals again to breeze ahead, hair catching the light. “Don’t couples go to festivals together? I read it somewhere.”
“You really need to stop reading whatever you’re reading,” Yoshiki muttered, face warm. He slowed his pedaling slightly, hoping the air would cool the embarrassment prickling across his skin.
But Hikaru only coasted back to his side, tilting his head with that dogged persistence. “So? You’ll come with me, right? Just think about the fireworks. It’s boring watching them alone.” Yoshiki’s lips pressed into a thin line. Hikaru’s tone was casual, but there was something underneath it—a quiet sincerity that made it harder to brush off. He let out a long sigh, finally muttering, “…You’re not going to drop this, are you.”
“Nope.” Hikaru grinned, victorious already.
“…Fine. I’ll go. Just stop riding so close before you crash into me.”
Hikaru whooped, pumping a fist in the air as his bike wobbled dangerously. “Yes! Festival date secured!” “Don’t call it a date!” Yoshiki snapped, ears burning. But Hikaru only laughed, the sound echoing across the fields as they pedaled on toward Yoshiki’s house, cicadas buzzing louder, summer air sticky sweet with the promise of fireworks.
Hikaru rolled his bike to a stop in front of Yoshiki’s house, the faint creak of the kickstand snapping down, breaking the otherwise quiet evening air. Cicadas were buzzing low in the trees, the sky still glowing faintly orange as the sun dipped. Hikaru leaned on the handlebars and called out, half-grinning, “Oi, Yoshiki! You ready yet?”
The door opened after a beat, Yoshiki stepping out in a casual shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair brushed neatly but still a little messy in the way Hikaru secretly liked. Yoshiki squinted against the fading light. “You’re early.”
“Better than late,” Hikaru shot back, teasing, though there was a bounce in his voice. “Besides, I didn’t wanna bike there alone.” Yoshiki walked down the steps, locking the door behind him. Hikaru’s eyes flicked briefly toward the inside of the house, then—like it was nothing—he asked, “Where’s Kaoru?”
“Kaoru?” Yoshiki adjusted the strap of his bag. “She’s going with Mom. Said it’d be less boring that way.” “Oh.” Hikaru’s answer came quick, too quick, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. “That’s good.”
It wasn’t until a moment later, as Yoshiki climbed onto his bike and glanced at him, that Hikaru realized how fast he’d answered. Relief had slipped out of him too easily. He masked it with a shrug, eyes darting forward. “I mean—just less hassle, you know? Easier if it’s just us.”
Yoshiki hummed quietly, pushing off with his foot as his bike wheels turned. Hikaru followed, their handlebars nearly brushing as they rode side by side down the street. The air was warm, filled with the scent of fried food drifting faintly from the direction of the festival. Hikaru tried to keep his gaze forward, but out of the corner of his eye, Yoshiki’s profile was lit by the setting sun, and it made his chest feel heavier than it should.
“Just us, huh,” Yoshiki repeated softly, almost like he was testing the words, and Hikaru, suddenly wishing his heart would quit tripping over itself, grinned a little wider, forcing a laugh. “Yeah. Just us.”
The evening air was warm, sticky with summer humidity, but the faint river breeze made it bearable. Lanterns hung overhead, flickering in the soft orange dusk, and the narrow streets leading to the festival buzzed with people moving between food stalls, games, and crowded benches.
Hikaru’s bike rattled slightly as he coasted toward the festival grounds, backpack bouncing with each pedal. He slowed when he saw Yoshiki approaching, hands steady on his own handlebars. “Hey! We made it!” Hikaru called, grinning like the heat didn’t exist. “Perfect timing! You ready for all the festival food?”
Yoshiki didn’t even look excited. His lips pressed into a thin line. “…We’re not here for the food, you know.” “Oh, sure,” Hikaru said, leaning forward slightly, eyes sparkling. “Totally. Not for the food, not for the fireworks, not for festival vibes. Just… wandering aimlessly in the summer heat. Sounds fun, right?”
Yoshiki rolled his eyes. “…You’re ridiculous.” “Am I?” Hikaru feigned offense, “I read somewhere on the internet that festivals are best enjoyed when you try everything—especially the food—with someone you like. Pretty solid life advice, huh?”
“…Someone I like?” Yoshiki repeated, voice a little sharper, ears heating. Hikaru shrugged casually, grinning. “Yeah! It said it’s way more fun with a friend—or, y’know… someone special. Makes the whole thing better.” Yoshiki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “…You really take everything you read that seriously, don’t you.”
“Of course!” Hikaru said, bouncing slightly on his pedals. “Some advice is too good to ignore. Like… sharing takoyaki! Every food is on me, Yoshiki, please?”
Yoshiki sighed, shaking his head, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. “…Fine, I guess,” he muttered. “Yay!” Hikaru cheered, practically bouncing on the spot as he immediately went to the nearest Takoyaki stall and bought a tray. “Now, taste test!”
Before Yoshiki could protest further, Hikaru held a piece up to his lips, leaning closer than necessary. Yoshiki stiffened. “…I can feed myself, you know.” His eyes immediately darted around his surroundings, although the festival was packed full with people, they all were thankfully and surprisingly focused on their own business.
"But I want to feed you,” Hikaru said simply, eyes sparkling. “It’s part of… well, this festival experience. You have to try it with me.” Yoshiki’s ears burned, and he leaned forward slightly, carefully taking the bite. Hikaru’s grin widened instantly.
“…See? Told you it’s good.” He popped a piece into his own mouth, eyes flicking to Yoshiki. “Now the next one! You have to try this flavor, or the octopus inside, or both. It’s the whole experience!”
Yoshiki’s shoulders stiffened, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “…You really don’t stop, do you.” “Never. Especially not when it’s this fun,” Hikaru said, offering another Takoyaki ball. “C’mon, taste it!”
Yoshiki took it, muttering something incomprehensible, but he didn’t protest further. And Hikaru, watching him with sparkling eyes, felt that light flutter in his chest—that little thrill of sharing something simple, yet special.
The warm glow of lanterns stretched down the festival lanes, lighting faces and food stalls alike in a soft amber haze. The crowd was thick, voices rising and falling in laughter, chatter, and occasional shouts from game stalls. Hikaru practically bounced from one foot to the other, eyes scanning every stall like a kid in a candy store.
“Next up!” Hikaru declared, tugging Yoshiki’s hand. “Shaved ice! They have every flavor imaginable! Strawberry, melon, blue Hawaii… Oh, and lemon! You’ve gotta try it!” Yoshiki adjusted his grip on his bag strap, shuffling along. “…Do we really need another dessert?”
“Yes!” Hikaru said with finality, tugging him along. “That’s the fun part!” Hikaru said with a grin, eyes lighting up as he pointed to a stall covered in colorful syrup bottles. “And look, it’s shaved ice in rainbow colors! You cannot resist.”
Yoshiki sighed, watching as Hikaru pointed at the flavors. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, eyes flicking around at the crowd again to make sure no one was paying too much attention. “…Strawberry, I guess.”
“Good choice!” Hikaru cheered, practically bouncing in place as the vendor scooped the fluffy ice into two bowls. “Now, taste test time!” Before Yoshiki could protest further, Hikaru held a spoonful up to his lips. He leaned closer than necessary, his grin bright and expectant.
Yoshiki’s ears burned hotter, and he ducked his head slightly to avoid Hikaru’s sparkling gaze. He caved in after a few seconds of contemplating. The spoon hovered, ice slightly melting on the edges. Yoshiki took it, and Hikaru’s grin stretched even wider. “See! Told you it’s good. I can’t even explain how much better it is when you eat it too.”
Yoshiki muttered something incomprehensible, cheeks red, but he took another spoonful without arguing. Then, Hikaru’s eyes caught a stall selling candied apples and small, colorful pastries. He pointed eagerly. “Oh! And I have to get you this. I’ve seen videos of couples enjoying them.”
Yoshiki eyed it warily. “…Do I have to?” “You have to try it! I insist. It’s part of, you know, festival enjoyment! Sharing, happiness, and uh…tradition, yep tradition.”
They bought it, and Hikaru immediately tried to feed Yoshiki a bite. Yoshiki chewed slowly, then immediately made a face, which Hikaru immediately noticed, “You don’t like it?” “N-no, no I like it…” Hikaru shot an annoyed glare at Yoshiki when he received that answer.
“You don’t need to lie to me, Yoshiki, the answer is written all over your face.” Yoshiki grumbled, clear disgust all over his face, and yet he still didn't back down, “No..m-mhm It’s nice..” Grudgingly swallowed the candied apple.
Hikaru paused, looking down at the sweet in his hand. Then, almost instinctively, threw it in the nearest trash bin, throwing Yoshiki off guard, “…Why’d you—” Yoshiki began, voice low. Hikaru shrugged casually, though the faintest pout tugged at his lips. “…If you don’t like it, I can’t eat it either. Doesn’t taste the same if it’s only me enjoying it.”
Yoshiki froze, eyes wide. His face was progressively burning up before snapping his gaze away from Hikaru, ”You do know you’re wasting a lot of money on this, y’know?”
Hikaru’s grin softened, just slightly, losing some of its exuberance for a moment. “…Yeah but…I want to share it with you. That’s the fun part.”
Yoshiki’s chest tightened. He could feel his pulse in his ears. “…Hikaru…” “C’mon, don’t be all serious now,” Hikaru said quickly, nudging him gently with his elbow. “Try some of this shaved ice instead. You do like that one, right?”
Yoshiki exhaled, letting the tension leave his shoulders. “…Fine. I’ll try it.” Hikaru’s grin returned in full force, leaning closer again. “…See? Told you! I’ll always find what you like. And then… we can share it.” Yoshiki’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile as he held out his spoon. “…You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here we are,” Hikaru said cheerfully, dipping his own spoon into the bowl and feeding himself a bite, watching Yoshiki with sparkling eyes. “…This is fun. Isn’t it?” Yoshiki chewed slowly, glancing at the colorful festival lights reflected in Hikaru’s grin. “…Yeah. It’s… fun.”
The festival streets slowly darkened as evening deepened, lanterns glowing brighter against the navy sky. The crowd had grown, voices overlapping in laughter, calls of vendors, and the occasional pop of fireworks being set off in the distance. Hikaru walked beside Yoshiki, carrying the last of their festival snacks, his grin wide and eyes sparkling like a kid who never wanted the night to end.
“Yoshiki, look!” Hikaru pointed to a small clearing just past the food stalls. “We can see the fireworks from here. Perfect spot!” Yoshiki followed his gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. “…It’s crowded.” Hikaru waved a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t matter! We just need to stand here, hold our snacks, and enjoy. You’re with me, right? That’s what matters.”
Yoshiki’s chest tightened, and he looked away, cheeks warming. “…You really do say everything like it’s a rule you found online, huh?” Hikaru laughed softly. “Maybe. But some rules are worth following. Like, sharing food, watching fireworks… holding a good spot. All proven to increase happiness. Or something like that.”
Yoshiki shook his head, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “…You’re ridiculous." “And yet, here we are,” Hikaru said cheerfully, handing him another cup of shaved ice. “C’mon, try it. I saved the best flavor for last.”
Yoshiki took the spoon carefully, glancing at Hikaru. “…Thank you.” Hikaru leaned back slightly, taking a bite himself, watching Yoshiki in quiet satisfaction. “…You know, it’s really nice seeing you enjoy these little things. Makes me… happy too.”
Yoshiki’s heart skipped, and he looked away quickly, chewing his ice. “…You’re impossible,” he muttered. Hikaru snorted softly, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “…And yet, here you are, right beside me. Must be enjoying it more than you admit.”
Yoshiki’s ears burned. “…I… maybe a little.”
Hikaru’s grin widened, but softer now, quieter. He took a step closer, careful not to crowd Yoshiki, carrying their snacks with one hand. “…Good. That’s all I need.”
The first firework shot into the sky, bursting into a brilliant bloom of gold and red. Both of them instinctively looked up, eyes catching the reflection of color and light. Hikaru’s hand brushed against Yoshiki’s, and without thinking, he linked their fingers. Yoshiki froze, chest tight, then slowly relaxed, letting the contact linger.
“…It’s beautiful,” Yoshiki murmured. “Yeah,” Hikaru agreed softly, his usual high, energetic self tempered by the moment. “It’s even better with you here.” Yoshiki’s lips twitched into a small, genuine smile. “…You really say everything, don’t you.”
“And I’ll keep saying it,” Hikaru said, a quiet certainty in his tone. “…Because I mean it. Sharing all this… with you… It’s perfect.”
Another firework bloomed overhead, and Hikaru’s thumb brushed over Yoshiki’s hand. Yoshiki’s face heated, but he didn’t pull away. “…You’re ridiculous,” he whispered again, softer this time.
“And yet,” Hikaru said, leaning just slightly closer, “I think you like it.” Yoshiki looked at him, eyes wide. “…Maybe a little,” he admitted, almost inaudible.
Hikaru’s grin returned, full and bright, though more tender now. “…Good enough for me,” he said, squeezing Yoshiki’s hand gently. “Let’s just keep walking, eat the rest of our snacks, and watch the fireworks together.” Yoshiki’s chest felt light, and a small, shy smile lingered on his lips. “…Yeah,” he said softly. “…Together.”
The fireworks continued to bloom in the sky, laughter and chatter drifting around them, but in that moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of them: sharing food, quiet smiles, and the unspoken closeness that neither needed to define.
Hikaru’s eyes sparkled as he glanced at Yoshiki, bright and golden in the lantern light. “Best festival ever,” he murmured. Yoshiki’s lips curved in a tiny, shy smile, heart racing. “…Yeah. Best… ever.”
─── ✦ ✦ ( ! ) ✦ ✦ ───
The final bell rang, and students began shuffling out of classrooms. Yoshiki walked slowly, his backpack feeling heavier than usual, his shoulders slumped. His eyelids drooped, and for a moment, he swayed slightly, nodding off on his feet. Hikaru’s sharp eyes immediately caught it. “…Yoshiki?” he murmured, stepping closer. “…Hey, you’re—dozing off?”
Yoshiki blinked rapidly, forcing himself upright. “…I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing it off. “Just… tired.” Hikaru didn’t look convinced. He fell into step beside Yoshiki, matching his pace but keeping a careful eye on him. “…You sure? You’re walking like you haven’t slept in days.”
“…I said I’m fine,” Yoshiki repeated, voice firmer this time, though quieter. He didn’t meet Hikaru’s gaze, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
The ride to Yoshiki’s home was quiet, but Hikaru’s mind was already buzzing, taking note of every sign: drooping eyelids, slack shoulders, the slight limp in Yoshiki’s steps. Even as Yoshiki dismissed it, Hikaru’s determination only grew.
The moment they stepped inside Yoshiki’s room, Hikaru’s eyes practically lit up. He didn’t pause to put his bag down or even take a breath; he simply grabbed the comfiest clothes he found in Yoshiki’s closet. “Come on!” Hikaru exclaimed, grabbing Yoshiki’s arm firmly. “We don’t have time to waste!”
Yoshiki froze, cheeks heating. “…H-Hikaru—what are you—?” “No questions!” Hikaru said, practically dragging him toward the bathroom. “Just follow me! Hurry up!” Yoshiki stumbled slightly, trying to keep up, flustered beyond words. “…Wait—wait a second!”
Hikaru didn’t slow, practically bouncing on his feet as he half-pulled, half-guided Yoshiki forward to the bathroom. The bathroom door slid shut with an unnerving finality. Yoshiki barely registered what was happening as he was dragged into the bathroom by Hikaru with no explanation whatsoever.
Hikaru turned from the door, his expression filled with confidence and care as he gestured vaguely toward Yoshiki’s uniform and turned on the faucet of the bathtub, “Alright, off with it!” Yoshiki blinked in confusion, the words echoing in his head. “Off with—what?”
“Your clothes, dummy. You’re obviously sick, so let me wash you,” Hikaru stated. The blood rushed to Yoshiki’s face. His mouth went dry. “Are you insane? A-absolutely not! No i—”
He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his gaze darting everywhere but Hikaru. The embarrassment was a hot, scalding wash, compounded by a spike of shame he knows all too well, remembering the times he tries to push it down his throat. “We are not doing that. I can wash myself.”
Hikaru sighed. He didn't move, just watched Yoshiki with an unwavering focus. “You can barely stand up, let alone take care of yourself properly. Come on, Yoshiki! It’s just me—” “ That’s the point! It is just you!”Yoshiki hissed, his voice cracking with frustrated distress.
He couldn’t articulate the ugly, tangled knot of internalized prejudice that made the simple act of undressing in front of another man feel like a seismic breach of a lifetime of rules. He already felt conflicted from the previous times of affection he was given and gave the boy in front of him, but this? This was way past his comfort zone. “Just…give me the soap and leave.”
The air between them grew thick, charged with Yoshiki’s desperate discomfort. Hikaru held his stare, and slowly, his expression softened into something pure, profoundly weary. “Look at me, Yoshiki.”
Hikaru stepped closer, his hands held open, palms up in a gesture of surrender and sincerity. “I don't care about what they think of us, or what they think we’re doing is wrong. I just want to make sure you’re taken care of and that you don't fall over and crack your skull open. If you can’t manage the clothes, Fine! Keep your boxers on, I don't care! Just let me take care of you, please…I’m worried…”
The simple, unvarnished honesty of that last sentence chipped away at Yoshiki’s wall. He stared at Hikaru, seeing only genuine concern—Not judgment, not mockery, and definitely not the lust his racing mind had conjured up.
He swallowed hard. “Fine,” he whispered, turning his head sharply toward the bathtub. “Turn around, then. Now.”
Hikaru didn’t hesitate. He pivoted instantly, giving Yoshiki his back and folding his arms over his chest, becoming a solid, unmoving presence in the small room. The sounds that followed were a series of muffled and hurried rustles, the whisper of fabric falling to the floor, the metallic clink of a belt buckle, and a sigh of exertion.
When silence returned, Hikaru heard a low, tentative splash. He waited another moment, then slowly turned back. The sight made his chest ache with a quiet sympathy. Yoshiki was curled up in the bathtub. He had kept his boxers, but the rest of his clothing was discarded, a bristling pile near the door.
He sat hunched, knees drawn to his chest, the weight of the day and what they were doing made him shrink in on himself. Hikaru leaned close, cupping the back of his head gently. “Alright… first step, hair-washing. Just hair, okay? I’ll be super careful.”
Yoshiki’s shoulders tensed slightly, further tightening his grip around his body, seemingly trying to hide his body. “…Just hair…” “Yep! Only the hair. Promise.” Hikaru turned on the warm water, letting it cascade gently as he worked the shampoo into Yoshiki’s hair. His fingers moved carefully, massaging the scalp in slow, soothing circles.
Yoshiki froze at first, gripping and curling his body further, “…H-Hikaru…” “Relax,” Hikaru said softly, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. That’s it.” Yoshiki exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders ease slightly under Hikaru’s gentle touch. “…I… feel… weird…”
“I know,” Hikaru said with a soft chuckle. “It’s supposed to be a little weird at first, but also… nice. And relaxing. Look at you—already halfway to calm mode.” Yoshiki let out a quiet laugh, the sound low and tired. “…Halfway, huh.”
“Yes,” Hikaru said, smiling down at him. “You’re doing great.” Minutes passed with the soft rhythm of water, gentle hands, and quiet murmurs. Hikaru kept the mood light, talking softly about random online articles, festival food, and silly life hacks, making Yoshiki relax further, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Almost done,” Hikaru said finally, rinsing the shampoo out with careful motions. “See? Not so bad, right?” Yoshiki let out a soft breath, leaning slightly into the warmth of the moment. “…Yeah… not bad.”
Hikaru’s grin softened, brushing a damp lock of hair from Yoshiki’s forehead. “Just let me take care of you like how you’ve been taking care of me, Deal?” Yoshiki tilted his head, faintly smiling despite his exhaustion. “…Deal.”
Hikaru’s eyes lit up, excitement flowing through his veins. “…Good. I’ve got you. Don’t worry about anything.”
Yoshiki sat on the edge of the chair, towel draped over his shoulders, still slightly flustered from the previous chaos. Hikaru, standing beside him with the blow dryer in hand, practically bounced on his heels, eyes bright. “Alright, hair-drying time!” Hikaru declared, plugging in the dryer. “Prepare to be amazed by my professional-level technique.”
Yoshiki blinked at him. “…Professional-level? You’ve never done this before, have you?” “Never!” Hikaru said proudly, flipping a switch. “But don’t worry—I read about it online. I totally know what I’m doing.”
Yoshiki let out a small sigh, towel clutched tightly. “…Just… don’t blow my ears off.” “Got it, got it!” Hikaru said, adjusting the heat. “But, uh… you’ll have to help me a bit, okay? I can’t tell which parts need drying.”
Yoshiki gave a hesitant nod, muttering, “…Fine. But careful, alright?” Hikaru leaned close, letting the warm air brush against Yoshiki’s damp hair. “Okay, tell me if it’s too hot. And… tilt a little this way? Yeah, perfect.” Yoshiki tilted his head slightly, guiding Hikaru. “…A little lower… yeah, like that. Slow, slow—don’t rush.”
Hikaru grinned, adjusting instantly. “Slow, got it! I am a master listener, you know.”
Yoshiki’s cheeks flushed lightly. “…You’re… energetic as always.” “Energetic? Nah, I’m just… focused,” Hikaru said, tilting the dryer carefully. “Almost done… wait, a little more on this side. Can you… move your head a tiny bit?”
Yoshiki obeyed, still flustered, and mumbled softly. “…You’re… really into this, huh.” Hikaru chuckled, blowing gently over the last damp strands. “Of course! Someone has to make sure you don’t walk around looking like a wet mop. That someone… is me.” Yoshiki let out a small laugh, finally relaxing a bit. “…Thanks… I guess.”
“You don’t have to guess!” Hikaru said cheerfully. “I know you’re happy about it. See? Hair nearly dry. How’s that?” Yoshiki touched his hair carefully. “…It’s… not bad. A little messy, but fine.” Hikaru pouted dramatically. “Messy? Just wait—you’ll look amazing once I’m completely done!” He adjusted the dryer one last time, hair nearly dry now, and grinned at Yoshiki.
By the time they were done, Yoshiki’s hair was mostly dry, and his pajamas were on, soft and slightly oversized. He slumped into bed, exhaustion finally catching up to him. The weight of the day seemed to press down, and for a moment, he just stared at the ceiling, wondering if it was okay to even ask.
Should I… ask him? Yoshiki thought, fingers twitching slightly under the blanket. I mean… we’ve been… spending all this time together. And he’s… so persistent. So… thoughtful. But would it be weird? I mean, we’re both tired… maybe he won’t want—
He stole a glance at Hikaru, who was kneeling beside the bed, eyes sparkling and full of that usual excited energy, like he’d already solved the world’s problems for the day. …He looks happy. Calm. I think… maybe it would be okay. Maybe he’d… want to hold hands too…
Yoshiki’s lips pressed together as he finally made up his mind. “…Can I… hold your hand while I sleep?” he muttered softly, almost a whisper. Hikaru’s eyes immediately lit up, almost comically wide. “…What? Really? You… want to?” His grin was instantaneous, infectious. “Yes! Absolutely! Don’t worry—I’m so honored! Of course you can!”
Yoshiki felt heat creep up his cheeks, unsure if he should regret saying it or just be grateful that Hikaru was so excited. “…I… I mean, just… a little…” he added quickly.
Hikaru didn’t even pause. He leaned closer eagerly, taking Yoshiki’s hand gently but with a bright, almost bouncy energy. “A little? Perfect. That’s exactly how much I was hoping for!” He intertwined their fingers carefully, squeezing lightly. “I’ll hold it all night if you want. Every minute, no complaints!”
Yoshiki’s ears burned, but there was a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with embarrassment. He’s… so… happy about this. And I… I do want this. I trust him. I think I can… relax with him like this…
“…You’re such a dork,” Yoshiki murmured, his voice soft but a little amused, eyes still closed. “Guilty as charged!” Hikaru said with mock indignation, squeezing Yoshiki’s hand again. “But admit it—you like it too.”
Yoshiki let out a quiet, sleepy laugh. “…Maybe I do.” His thumb brushed lightly over Hikaru’s, testing the connection, feeling the calm, steady energy radiating from him. Hikaru sat on the ground, near the edge of the bed, still holding Yoshiki’s hand, eyes soft and full of warmth. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. You just rest now… don’t worry about a thing. I’ll keep everything in check. Just sleep.”
Yoshiki’s mind swirled briefly with thought as he snuggled further under the covers, still holding Hikaru’s hand. I don’t usually… let people do this. But… with him… it feels… safe. I think I can… sleep now. I think… I trust him.
“…Sleep tight,” Hikaru whispered softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Yoshiki’s forehead. “I’ve got you.”
A small, content smile tugged at Yoshiki’s lips as his eyes fluttered closed. “…Yeah… I know.”
And as Yoshiki finally drifted off, hand in hand with Hikaru, the room settled into quiet warmth. Hikaru’s excitement softened, his grin now calm and proud, watching over Yoshiki with the happiness of someone who had successfully protected and cared for someone he truly cherished.