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He’s not thrilled when Maki corners him alone even under the best of. circumstances, but it’s not like Yoshiki usually has a good reason for it. Maki is friendly, expressive and vibrant and everything an adolescent boy is supposed to be. He is exhausting to keep up with.
Hikaru is all of those things too, but Hikaru but he doesn’t tire Yoshiki out just by existing. It’s probably what anyone else—anyone without his parents—would describe as being like family. For him, being with Hikaru is as effortless as being alone.
So when Maki sidles up to Yoshiki at the first floor vending machine, he’s already schooling his expression away from long-suffering into something politely neutral.
“Hey, Yoshiki,” Maki says, “were you plannin’ on goin’ home with Hikaru after school on Friday like usual?”
“Probably,” Yoshiki says. It’s only Monday, and it’s not like they ever make plans about it when they’re both leaving at more or less the same time and heading to more or less the same place. Maki lives in the opposite direction, so maybe he’s trying to rope them into doing something with him after class.
“I figured,” Maki says, then takes one big step so that he’s almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Yoshiki. He leans in conspiratorially. “Well, y’know Miura-san in class 2-C?”
“No,” Yoshiki says flatly. He tries to put a face to a name and dread begins to pool in his gut. He thinks that’s Miura-san is a girl—why would Maki be bringing this up otherwise? He goes through the motions of feeding coins into the machine and tapping at it robotically so that he doesn’t have to physically engage in this conversation with Maki. If he doesn’t participate in the conspiracy, maybe it will fall apart.
“Seriously?” He sighs and clicks his tongue, exasperated. “Ok, well, Yoshida-senpai on the team—his girlfriend is friends with her. And apparently she’s interested in Hikaru and wants to confess to him when he’s done with practice on Friday.”
He knew this was where the conversation was going, but it doesn’t make it any less nauseating.
“What if he skips?” Yoshiki asks, feeling immediately stupid. Hikaru skips a lot, but it’s not like him doing so would thwart any girl waiting on him. If anything, that girl would just confess to him even sooner.
“That’s where you come in,” Maki says. “If you tell him you’re busy with somethin’ he doesn’t care about—somethin’ he can’t follow you for—then he’ll probably stick around for club, right?”
Yoshiki stoops to pick up the drinks—he got one for Hikaru, whose tab is now in the four-digit territory—and mutters an unconvinced, “maybe.”
It’s not the first time there’s been a rumor about someone interested in Hikaru. He tells himself it’ll be fine, that it’ll probably be another non-event of nothing happening after all just like the other ones. But none of those ones involved other people making sure Yoshiki wasn’t going to be in the way. None of those ones had a countdown.
“Man, I can’t believe his luck,” Maki complains, arms crossed behind his head as he follows Yoshiki back to class, blissfully unaware of the effort it is taking him not to trudge like he’s headed to the gallows. “I’ve heard from plenty of the guys on the team that Miura-san is pretty healthy, if you know what I mean.”
Yoshiki does not know what he means, but he has a pretty good guess based on context clues. He grunts in response. Maybe that will make Maki shut up.
“It ain’t fair for Hikaru to get a girlfriend first and have her wanna put out,” Maki continues. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already done it before next week!”
He might hate Maki. He might throw himself over the railing of the stairs. There are plenty of options extending out before him that do not involve vivid images of Hikaru with his tongue down some faceless girl’s throat and her hand down his pants.
“Don’t worry, Yoshiki,” Maki says, clapping a hand onto his shoulder too hard and causing him to stumble forward slightly. “You n’ me will catch up to him quick! And he can give us tips on what girls really like!”
“Sure,” Yoshiki says, gritting his teeth together so tightly that they squeak unpleasantly. He lengthens his stride, gaining enough of a lead on Maki to arrive back at their classroom without any further conversation.
He sets Hikaru’s tea down on his desk with more force than is strictly necessary. Hikaru shoots him a curious look and, finding nothing revealing in Yoshiki’s expression, he shrugs and thanks him, turning back to his lunch like everything is completely fine.
The good thing about feeling unhappy much of the time is that it’s easy to shake off questions about any new unpleasantness that comes up.
They’ve stopped on the side of the road to remove their jackets now that they’re warm with exertion, and Yoshiki is determined not to check this time to see if Hikaru’s gakuran rides up on his waist while his arms are outstretched.
“Is somethin’ botherin’ ya today?” Hikaru asks, pummeling his jacket down into his bag. There’s a sliver of pale skin visible at his waist, there and gone in a flash.
“Nothin’ new,” Yoshiki lies. “Just more domestic bliss keepin’ me up late.”
“Ah, shit. Anything get broken this time?”
“Nah,” Yoshiki relaxes a bit as he throws his leg back over his bike. It’s an easy lie, because it’s true—his parents were up late fighting again. Hikaru will have heard some version of a minute-by-minute account before the end of the week, probably. “Don’t know how long they expect the doors to last. They’re hangin’ on for dear life by now.”
Hikaru laughs. “Least ya don’t have shoji screens! They’re still good for slammin’ but they don’t do anythin’ for sound. I hear every word of Gramps’ dramas if he falls asleep with the tv on.”
Yoshiki laughs, recalling years’ of memories of hanging around the Indou house with the muffled soundtrack of melodrama accompanying his and Hikaru’s activities. On rare occasions, having exhausted all other options, they’d even crept into the room and watched along with Hikaru’s grandfather.
As they pass back into Kubitachi, having mentally rehearsed precisely what to say and how to say it for several minute, Yoshiki finally works up the courage to say, “Hey, Hikaru. Are ya still interested in Saitou-san?”
“‘Course I am,” Hikaru says almost immediately. He playfully swerves his bike closer to Yoshiki for a moment, checking if he’ll flinch away. He doesn’t this time. “How come yer askin’?”
“No reason,” Yoshiki says with measured nonchalance. “So if ya got a confession from some other girl, wouldja turn her down?”
“Hell no,” Hikaru says. He laughs, like the very idea is preposterous. “I ain’t picky, s’long as she’s cute.”
He was prepared to hear as much, but it still makes everything in Yoshiki’s gut pitch uncomfortably. Personality was second to looks—which were second to the non-negotiable prerequisite that it be a girl. Because Hikaru is fucking normal.
“Didja hear about someone bein’ interested in me?” Hikaru asks, swerving nearer to Yoshiki this time. “Who is it?”
“It’s hypothetical,” Yoshiki responds.
“Bullshit. Ya never bring up girls.” Hikaru swerves and stays right alongside Yoshiki this time, pressuring him to break away and restore the safe distance between the two of them.
This was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have said anything. He’s got a shallow ditch to his left and Hikaru to his right and he’s gotta figure a way out of this because focusing so hard on staying on a straight path with the tolerance of a tightrope has him about to eat shit any moment now.
He brakes hard, then swerves around to Hikaru’s other side, forcing him to the outside of the rough country road.
“I just wanted t’ know if you had any standards at all,” Yoshiki says with a smirk. “I shoulda figured ya might settle for whatever ya can get.”
Hikaru makes an exaggerated wounded sound before breaking out into a bright peal of laughter. “Ya know, you might have everyone else fooled into thinkin’ yer all polite and docile, but I know ya can be a downright bastard when ya wanna.”
“Only to you,” Yoshiki says, smiling easily.
“No one knows ya like I do,” Hikaru confirms, flashing him a grin and whipping his head back around to face the road when he hits an unseen rock and wobbles perilously before correcting.
They’re approaching Yoshiki’s house when Hikaru asks, “Hey, ya wanna come over t’ mine? It’s nice ’n quiet if ya wanna make sure ya get a full night of sleep.”
The temptation almost overwhelms his senses. He wants to insert himself into Hikaru’s life for as long as he can, establish a place for himself so steadfast that he can’t be replaced effortlessly.
But he needs to get used to this.
“Nah,” Yoshiki says, slowing to a stop and hopping off his bike just outside his driveway, “I gotta help Kaoru with some school thing or she might stop goin’ again.”
Hikaru studies him for a moment, stopped with one leg on the ground, then shrugs in acceptance. “Gimme a call if ya change yer mind and I’ll whisk ya away.”
Yoshiki does not turn to watch him ride off until he’s out of sight.
There’s no one home to perform for, so Yoshiki trudges up to his room and shuts the door and collapses face-first onto his bed. He lays like that, prone and miserable, until the air grows too thin against his pillow and he has to turn.
Curled up on his side, he scrolls through his phone while his mind reels. This was always going to happen sooner or later. It’s inevitable. Hikaru will find someone else who will be the most important person in his life. Hikaru will spend his free time with someone else, and that person will be a girl, and he will kiss her and hold her and do all of the things that he is supposed to do—that Yoshiki is supposed to want to do too.
This was always going to happen.
This was always going to happen again, and again, and again. It ain’t like he’s gonna marry this girl. Probably. What the hell else is there to do in this town than pair off and fool around until you have to get hitched? She’ll just be the first in a line of ‘em and that line will never, never, never include anyone like Yoshiki so what the fuck is he tearing up for?
It’s stupid. Being upset is stupid. This was always going to happen and he knows that so why does it hurt? Knowing better ought to make him exempt from this heartache.
He’s gotta distract himself. He has to move past Hikaru. Then he can be a good friend the way Hikaru deserves without all of Yoshiki’s gross feelings poisoning the well. If he doesn’t get the fuck over it then he might not end up being able to keep Hikaru in his life in any capacity.
A stupid idea crosses his mind. He knows it’s stupid—this whole thing is stupid.
But if he goes out and gets it over with—hooks up with someone who isn’t Hikaru—then maybe this’ll all be easier to deal with. Maybe alleviating all of his sexual frustration with someone else will free him from the preoccupation he’s had with Hikaru for years. It’s not like he’s considered other options—other options, as if Hikaru has ever been a viable option— very seriously. Maybe all he needs is an experience to remind his heart and body that Hikaru’s not the only guy in the goddamn world. And maybe he won’t feel so damn jealous of Miura-san for getting to be with Hikaru and he’ll be able to remain Hikaru’s friend in whatever capacity he will be allowed.
It’ll take some real coordinating, but… yeah, this could work. It has to.
Yuusuke Yasaburou works in Kibougayama at the less-than cryptically named Fish And Aquarium Supplies. The shop is, according to Googly Maps, approximately seven minutes by bike from Kibougayama High. Like most small hobby shops it keeps piecemeal hours dictated by the whims of the owner, but it is open after school lets out on the weekdays.
It’s been years since Yoshiki last went inside, but as a child his mother had allowed him to gawk at the tiny schooling fish in the tanks whenever he accompanied her on errands at the nearby bank. Unless there have been major changes between then and now, it should still be interesting enough to go in and ostensibly browse for aquarium supplies.
“I wanna check out a shop nearby after school today,” he tells Hikaru at lunch. There’s no point in trying to hide it—he’s a terrible liar at the best of times when it comes to things like this.
“Yeah? Which one?” Hikaru asks.
“The aquarium store,” Yoshiki says, aggressively projecting normalcy in his voice and expression.
Hikaru raises his eyebrows. “Ya gonna get a fish?”
“Been thinkin’ about it,” Yoshiki says. And it’s not a lie. He’s been researching what owning an aquarium involves since last night, so even though he has no intention of following through and has retained almost none of what he read, he has been thinking about it for several hours.
“That’d suit ya,” Hikaru says, flashing a grin. “‘Kay, let’s check it out after club.”
He’d been prepared for Hikaru to want to come along. One of them has to be doing something unimaginably tedious in order for the other to decide they’re better off biking home alone than hanging around and keeping each other company. Still, it would have been a small relief if he’d decided against it.
Yoshiki is grateful for the dim lighting inside of Fish And Aquarium Supplies, because he’s almost certain that he looks suspicious as hell. His heart is pounding before he even opens the door and he’s sweating and his expression is probably creepy as hell. He needs to keep growing out his hair until he looks like Sadako—then and only then will he feel at ease.
An unfamiliar old man greets them with undisguised indifference from behind the register and Yoshiki’s heart drops. As nervous as he is of moving forward with his plan, the idea of it falling apart right out of the gate is devastating. But then a second employee appears from behind an aisle and approaches with a friendly wave.
Yuusuke gives both of them a friendly smile of recognition and adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. He’s slightly shorter than Yoshiki is now, but not by much. Yoshiki can’t remember the last time he saw Yuusuke outside of the brief nods of acknowledgement exchanged between drivers and pedestrians sharing the narrow roads in Kubitachi. He doesn’t suppose Yuusuke spends much time hanging around Kubitachi if he can help it—but that may be projection.
He’s no handsome movie star, no well-built athlete—he’s no Hikaru—but Yuusuke is still a man. And the fact that he is a gay man—and Yoshiki’s last hope—is more than enough to make up for any deficit in attraction that Yoshiki feels.
“Is there anythin’ I can help ya find today?” He asks the two of them, foregoing any verbal acknowledgement of familiarity.
“I’m, ah, well, I was thinkin’ of m-maybe,” Yoshiki stammers, horrified by the betrayal of his own voice and helpless to course correct. “I was thinkin’about startin’ a, uh, fish… tank…”
Hikaru fails to suppress a laugh and Yoshiki can feel his face redden with embarrassment. “Yer so nervous talkin’ about anythin’ when yer not already an expert,” Hikaru teases.
Is he? Or is Hikaru trying to cover for him? Either way, Yoshiki accepts the out and keeps his mouth shut before he can say anything even stupider.
“D’ya know what tank size you’re interested in?” Yuusuke asks, conspicuously professional in the way that he ignores Yoshiki’s nerves.
Unfortunately, his sincere question makes Yoshiki feel more panicked. He doesn’t know. He should have had an answer prepared. He should have done more research. It’s all falling apart already. He’s made a fool of himself. He could have lived through Hikaru getting a girlfriend, but he’s not sure if he can handle that on top of this level of humiliation.
Yuusuke takes a long look at Yoshiki’s face and, before he can spiral further, says, “Why don’t ya look around at what we have here? If any particular fish catch your interest, I can recommend the supplies they’d need.”
“Thanks,” Yoshiki says weakly.
After Yuusuke turns to head back to another aisle in the small shop, Hikaru bumps his shoulder against Yoshiki’s and continues to snicker at him. “Relax. It ain’t like you gotta pass a test ‘fore they let ya buy a fish.”
“They oughtta,” Yoshiki grumbles, tucking his chin down and trying to hide his mouth in the collar of his gakuran. “Fish’re still livin’ things. Ya gotta take care of ‘em.”
“I know that,” Hikaru says, a little more kind and less teasing. “But they ain’t gonna kick ya out for needin’ t’ ask questions.”
Yoshiki sighs. Hikaru isn’t wrong, and it’d be great advice if that was actually the cause of Yoshiki’s nerves. Guilt twists slowly in his gut, souring his demeanor further as he crouches down and leans in toward a tank of small white fish. They scatter when he nears, fleeing to the far side of their tank. He’s not built for this kind of deception, but he needs to grit his teeth and deal with it.
He only manages another five minutes of browsing before his nerves overwhelm him and he mumbles to Hikaru that he’s ready to leave. The cool, dry air outside is soothing against Yoshiki’s hot face, and it feels good to pedal hard and fast so that his heart finally has a valid excuse to push itself into overdrive. He can expend all of his panicky fight-or-flight energy by getting as close to flight as humanly possible, letting gravity pull him perilously fast down the longest hill on their route until even daredevil Hikaru is trailing behind him.
Yoshiki is more prepared on Wednesday. Hikaru looks somewhat surprised when he tells him that he wants to go back to the aquarium shop, but he shrugs and grins and says he’ll tag along without teasing Yoshiki. It’s something more novel to do than just riding their bikes home and stopping for a snack along the way.
It would be a relief, or at least somewhat funny, if Yoshiki did not feel such intense humiliation upon entering the shop for a second day in a row and discovering that Yuusuke is nowhere to be seen. After a full twenty-four hours of stress and steeling himself to be more normal this time, he feels nothing but hot shame for having spent so much time preparing for something that wasn’t even going to happen.
He went through the trouble of lying to Hikaru for a second day in a row in order to come here, so he foolishly spends more time pretending to seriously consider varietals of snails and different types of sediment and aquatic plants with complicated foreign names.
“Still not gonna buy anything?” Hikaru asks once Yoshiki motions toward the exit.
“It ain’t like I can bike home with a fish tank,” he mutters over the click of the door shutting behind them.
There’s not a lot of time left. He’s only got a couple days. He could count down the hours if he took a moment to do the math. Instead, he pedals harder.
“Oh yeah,” Hikaru perks up a few miles down the road, “can ya help me with crammin’ for the next math test over the weekend? I don’t wanna have to take a third makeup test in a row if I can help it.”
“Sure,” Yoshiki says immediately before he can remember that Hikaru’s probably going to end up busy this weekend. Sucking face with some girl. Or getting something sucked, more likely.
It takes him a while to work up the courage to poorly feign nonchalance as he asks, without looking over at Hikaru, “How far would ya go with a girl the same day she confessed to ya?”
“Huh?!” Hikaru pumps the brakes on his bike slightly. Yoshiki can’t bear to look at him and wishes he could just keep pedaling hard until he hits the horizon line and falls off the edge of the earth. It’s torture, slowing down to keep pace with Hikaru instead. “Since when do you ask things like that?”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Yoshiki says, perhaps too defensively. He doesn’t know what else he can add that wouldn’t sound disingenuous. I’m a guy too, after all, seems like the sort of protest that could backfire on him.
“Just didn’t realize yer finally goin’ through puberty,” Hikaru laughs and pulls up beside him close enough to slap him on the shoulder, then veers just as quickly away to regain his balance. “Yer body’s goin’ through a lot of confusing changes—“
“Go fuck yerself.”
That just sets him off cackling again until he settles enough to ride up close to Yoshiki again and coo his name in a sweet sing-song. “How come yer askin’ me? Are ya sweet on someone? Is she in our class? Do I know her?”
“It ain’t like that,” Yoshiki says. He feels trapped, fenced in by his proximity to Hikaru in spite of the open road before them and wide grey sky above. “I just overheard some guys talkin’ about that stuff today.”
Mercifully, Hikaru pulls ahead of him on the road at last and stays in front for a while, making lazy swerving lines while he thinks as he’s wont to do. Yoshiki tries to focus on the line of his shoulders drifting back and forth, or the tires on his bike, or anything other than his ass at eye level swaying across his vision like a pendulum already halfway hypnotizing him.
How far would Yoshiki go? The sudden practicality of considering this feels like plunging into the river in winter. He shakes it from his mind.
“I guess I’d do as much as I thought I could get away with,” Hikaru concludes, interrupting his thoughts cleanly. “It ain’t like there’s much point in holdin’ back if ya both want it, don’tcha think?”
“Makes sense,” Yoshiki says and then clamps his jaw shut before he can say another word.
“Seriously? I ain’t goin’ with ya again,” Hikaru says on Thursday. “Just skip yer club today, then come back ‘n meet me after practice.”
That’s how he ends up alone and terrified standing outside of Fish And Aquarium Supplies for the third day in a row. Some part of that terror comes from the realization that this is a dress rehearsal for tomorrow.
Too late, he considers the possibility that Yuusuke won’t be there today either. Maybe he won’t even be working tomorrow. Maybe he left town. It’s entirely possible that all of this self-inflicted stress will be for nothing, just salt in the wound once Hikaru severs from him tomorrow.
But he has to at least try.
He’s not relieved to see Yuusuke behind the counter as soon as he opens the door, but the abrupt dismissal of his most recent fear does at least give him a moment of calm before the rest of his anxieties fill the void.
“Welcome in,” Yuusuke calls automatically, flashing a familiar smile and a nod once he notices Yoshiki is the customer.
Yoshiki mumbles vaguely in response and scurries into an aisle immediately. Three days he’s come in here and he still doesn’t know the names of any more species of fish than he did before. He crouches down and stares hard into the tank in front of him, willing himself to calm down enough to not come off as a total freak this time.
The guppies in the tank swim back and forth, oblivious to the way Yoshiki feels like his body is a vessel for human suffering.
“Can I help ya find anything, Tsujinaka-kun?” Yuusuke asks.
Yoshiki yelps and jumps right back up to standing. When had Yuusuke snuck up near him like that?
“Sorry,” Yuusuke says with a sheepish smile, “I didn’t mean to startle ya.”
“It’s fine!” Yoshiki hates the way he can feel his face burning. He’s overdressed in his coat.
While Yuusuke does not have what he would consider to be an imposing presence, he’s solidly built. Yoshiki is still young and whispy and looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over, and that’s especially apparent when he takes the time to notice the differences between his body, on the cusp of adulthood, and the way Yuusuke’s has recently settled into it.
He doesn’t have a lot of contact with anyone, really, and it sends a chill down his spine wondering how different touching Yuusuke would feel.
A spark of panic lights up. He smothers it.
Yuusuke stands a polite distance away and faces another tank rather than Yoshiki when he speaks again. “Have you kept fish before?”
“Oh, no. I um… I like animals a lot. But I don’t know if I can get the rest of my family on board, so I’m just… tryin’ to do my research first.”
When Yuusuke turns to him, his smile is surprisingly sincere and it lifts his glasses ever so slightly up on his face. “That’s great to hear! So many people think fish are easy t’ care for so they don’t bother learning anything about what they actually need. I’m glad yer thinking this through responsibly.”
The earnest reaction catches Yoshiki off guard. A part of him feels guilty—being praised for an objective lie—but a part of him also thrills at this glimpse into Yuusuke as a person.
It’s like a test of courage—walking through the woods in the dark and stepping on something unexpectedly. A thrill rooted in fear of the unknown.
“Might not be a good idea anyhow,” he says, “they’re all probably s’posed t’ live a few years, right?”
“Ah, that’s true… Are ya off to university soon, Tsujinaka-kun?”
“I have entrance exams next year,” Yoshiki wonders immediately if he should have lied. Would it be better if he was a third year? No, there’s no way he could keep up a lie about a whole extra year of life.
“Is yer little sister interested? Maybe ya can find something she would be interested in taking care of as well.”
This is probably just a store employee trying to make a sale and nothing more, but Yoshiki can’t help but believe that Yuusuke is trying to find a solution for him out of a desire to encourage someone to pursue their interest in a hobby.
It makes something twist in his gut. He’s awful, lying like this. It’s twisted. It’s manipulative—
He imagines Hikaru with some faceless girl, sliding his hands over her body and grinning like the cat that got the cream.
—It’s his only chance.
“She might be,” Yoshiki says. “I’ll have to talk t’ her about it more.”
Yuusuke nods and his attention drifts away from Yoshiki and back to work. It shouldn’t feel like such a relief, to end such a brief, insignificant interaction—small talk, really—but Yoshiki feels like he can breathe a little easier as soon as it becomes clear that he’s not going to have to try to keep talking like he’s not here just to try to…
To what, exactly? Seduce Yuusuke? Yoshiki doesn’t know the first thing about seduction. Hell, he doesn’t know the second or third things either. All he knows is pining from afar and never, ever, ever letting himself consider doing anything about those feelings.
He shuffles around to a different aisle and begins scanning the shelves of tank decorations. He picks some up as if testing their dimensions or their heft, but he’s not absorbing any information because his head is so full of a new flavor of anxiety.
It’s probably enough that he’s a guy, right? It’s not like Yuusuke’s gotta be spoiled for choice living here. And Yoshiki’s not hideous or anything—he knows he’s no idol, but he’s polite and he has average looks. Opportunities must be few and far between for guys like the two of them. All he has to do is make himself known as an opportunity.
Yoshiki picks up a colorful piece of artificial coral with a satisfying weight to it and a smooth gradient glaze. It’s cheap—worth the price of having the chance to be brave and speak again.
“Oh, didja pick out something to take home?” Yuusuke asks as he hurries over back behind the register.
“Yeah, somethin’ to get Kaoru interested, hopefully.” Yoshiki tries his hardest to smile naturally and clenches his hands into fists at his sides where Yuusuke cannot see them. “If my sister and I make a decision tonight and I come back tomorrow to get supplies, will ya be here to answer questions?”
“I’m here tomorrow, yes.”
Yoshiki repeats the words in his brain over and over until at last he blurts out, “Yasaburou-san, I like your sweater.”
Compliments are normal. This isn’t weird. He’s not being weird.
Yuusuke looks up from wrapping the ceramic coral in packing paper and glances first at Yoshiki, then down at himself as if he’s forgotten what he’s wearing.
“Oh, this? Thank you, it’s very comfortable.” While Yoshiki is having an internal debate about whether or not he should try to continue talking about the sweater, Yuusuke adds, “Y’know, it’s strange seeing you without Indou-kun. You two’re always attached at the hip—if yer sister isn’t interested in taking care of an aquarium while you go to university, maybe he would be?”
The white noise of water pumps and filters is suddenly deafening.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
He does a passable job of acting normal when he returns to school and rides back home with Hikaru. He listens to an amount of chatter about soccer and upcoming matches and for once he is grateful for it.
The rest of the night is an anxious blur, but at least Yoshiki being quiet is not unexpected. If they notice anything strange about him, his mom and Kaoru don’t say anything about it.
He takes extra care when it’s his turn in the bath tonight. He leaves the conditioner in his hair for a few minutes before rinsing it out like his mom says he’s supposed to and he scrubs himself thoroughly from top to bottom twice, even pressing the soap between his toes. He shaves the sparse, ignorable stubble on his chin out of habit before wondering if he ought to have left it.
The bath is unscented, but he’s too antsy to soak for long anyway. Nothing short of drowning would be able to relax him.
At night, after confirming that his room is presentable, he places the ceramic coral on his desk and stares at it for a long time. It goes from a warm yellow at the base to pink at the ends of its branches. Very small fish would be able to swim between its arms—some of the little silver ones would look nice beside it.
Of course, there’s no chance he’ll ever get an aquarium now. Even if he wanted one, even if he went to another shop to get supplies, the very idea of it is too thoroughly entwined with this scheme.
Yoshiki lays in his bed and stares at the ceiling in the dark. Experimentally, he rests a hand low on his belly and conjures up the image of Yuusuke’s face in his mind’s eye. He’s… fine. He has a nice smile, and the frames on the glasses he wears now suit his face better than the ones Yoshiki remembers him having years ago, and he’s kind. He’s almost as tall as Yoshiki.
There’s nothing about him that’s physically frightening.
He must be excited. And nervous because of it. That’s what he’s feeling. Not fear.
In the morning, Yoshiki takes extra care when choosing his underwear. He considers the old Pokemen pair at the top of his drawer and how they would emphasize his youth, but he feels less uncomfortable with the idea of trying to project maturity and selects a pair of plain black boxers.
He combs his hair with numb fingers. He brushes his teeth until his gums bleed. He practices standing straight with his shoulders back. He swallows bites of dry toast without tasting.
Everything is going to plan.
On their ride to school, Hikaru asks if he’s feeling well and he wobbles on his bike for a moment, then leans into it and swerves over alongside Hikaru.
“My special attack!” Hikaru cries, then laughs uproariously. He swings wide, then turns in toward Yoshiki.
“Yer gonna make us wreck!” Yoshiki chastises him. “I don’t wanna have t’ explain to Hara-sen why yer all covered in dirt.”
“I’d just skip if we got that messed up,” Hikaru says dismissively. “Wait, hey! Yoshiki! Let’s skip!”
It steals the air from his lungs. They could avoid this problem entirely. Yoshiki and Hikaru could remove themselves from the narrative they’ve wound up in and instead of being driven apart, they could continue their friendship in unchanged peace. No girl inserting herself into Hikaru’s life, no Hikaru inserting himself into some girl, no drowning his grief in Yuusuke’s foreign arms. Everything gets to stay the same. Everything gets to stay perfect.
Maki had tasked him with making sure Hikaru didn’t skip club, but if the two of them skipped the whole day…
Except the girl—Miura-san?—will just confess to Hikaru on another day. Or if she doesn’t, some other girl will. This particular tragedy is inevitable.
So isn’t it best that they both get it over with instead of prolonging the agony of wondering when?
“Nah,” Yoshiki says. The cold air stings his eyes. “Don’t you got a game comin’ up? Yer gonna end up gettin’ benched again if ya skip club.”
Hikaru groans—Yoshiki’s right, he does have a match coming up. He talks about it the rest of the ride.
“I’ve actually gotta head home early,” Yoshiki says as Hikaru is still packing up his bag at the end of the school day.
“Oh. Ya want me to come with ya?”
“Nah—ya don’t wanna get benched, remember?”
It looks like Hikaru is actually considering whether or not he’ll go to practice.
Yoshiki can’t bear it. He ruffles Hikaru’s hair, pressing down too hard, and something in him aches. “I’ll make it up to ya. I’ll go ‘n get everythin’ ya want next time we’re usin’ the kotatsu.”
Hikaru’s eyes light up at the thought of Yoshiki catering to his every whim while staying seated and cozy and warm, waited on like a princeling. “Ok, but I’m holdin’ ya to that!”
It feels like he ought to be able to say or do something to mark this last moment with Hikaru before things change.
Yoshiki waves with a casual goodbye and exits the class and does not dwell on his cowardice because he doesn’t have time. He has a plan.
The walk to Fish And Aquarium Supplies isn’t long, but it does allow Yoshiki significantly more time and energy to think than he has on his bike—which is still parked at Kibougayama High. There are a lot of things he has been deliberately avoiding thinking about as best he can, and they are looming larger in his mind with every step.
By the time he reaches his destination Yoshiki feels both sweaty and numb at once.
“Ah, Tsujinaka-kun,” Yuusuke says this time as soon as he enters. He’s wearing a puffy vest over a blue polo shirt today. “Welcome back. Did your talk with yer sister go well?”
His tongue feels suddenly too big for his mouth. How can he speak when his tongue takes up so much space? How can he be reasonably expected to make room for someone else’s tongue alongside his own? That’s—that’s something he should expect, right? He doesn’t know what else to expect, but tongue-kissing seems like a prerequisite for everything else.
Thinking about this is not helping him stay calm.
“My bike,” he stammers, “the chain, um, broke. Near the school.”
“Oh. That’s a shame.” Yuusuke looks genuinely sympathetic.
The old man is here again today, sitting behind the register as usual. Yoshiki wonders if he ever gets up on the days when he’s here, or if the routine care of all of the tanks falls solely upon Yuusuke.
“My parents are both working,” Yoshiki says, glancing between Yuusuke and various other points of interest. He’s desperately hoping not to have to ask for what he wants. Maybe if he just thinks hard enough, Yuusuke will intuit his intentions. “So I’m stuck here for a while.”
“Is Indou-kun waitin’ with ya?”
“What? No.” The question is so unexpected it shakes him from his nerves for a moment as he scrambles to come up with a reasonable lie. “He’s got—his bike is fine. He… said he’ll send a message when he gets home. Maybe his ma can pick me up then if I still need.”
Yuusuke glances around the shop. The action seems unnecessary—it’s a small enough store that he would be acutely aware if anyone else was present. “We’re having a slow day,” Yuusuke considers. “Ogawa-san, can ya manage the shop while I give Tsujinaka-kun here a ride home?”
The old man behind the register—Ogawa-san—nods silently without looking up from the book in front of him.
“Thank you,” Yoshiki says in a grateful exhale.
“It’s no problem,” Yuusuke says, retrieving a smart grey jacket from a hook near the front counter and fishing in the pocket for his car keys. “It’s too cold to have ya walkin’ all the way back to Kubitachi. Some folks’d say it builds character, but yer a responsible young man already, Tsujinaka-kun.”
Yoshiki finds himself feeling warm at the compliment. He murmurs further thanks and trails behind Yuusuke to his small white car parked in a lot two blocks away.
He feels like he ought to excuse himself for intruding upon entering the passenger side, but he’s distracted by how tight of a fit it is.
“Ah, ya can move that seat back,” Yuusuke indicates to the lever below the front of the seat. “My granny was the last person in here and she’s probably even shorter’n yer sister these days.”
The ride back to Kubitachi will hardly take any time at all compared to when he rides his bike. It’s frustrating to think about on the days when he’s running late and pedaling like a madman. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Yasaburou-san.”
“It’s no trouble,” Yuusuke says. He drives responsibly with both hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. “It’s been a long time since I had t’ make the trip between the high school and Kubitachi but I remember how tedious it can be.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Yoshiki says, less to stroke Yuusuke’s ego than to quell his own unease.
He chuckles warmly. “That’s kind of ya to say, even if it is untrue. You must have been in grade school still when I graduated!”
Yoshiki does not want to think about that. He scrambles to find a new topic.
“Those glasses suit you well,” he says. Yoshiki wants to melt into the Earth’s core. He wants to disappear. If he’s quick enough, he could probably unbuckle his seatbelt, open the door, and dive out onto the road before Yuusuke can stop the car.
At least that makes Yuusuke laugh again. “Why thank you! My momma disagrees, but she won’t acknowledge that time has passed since the Showa era. It’s probably a good sign if the young folks approve of yer clothes and the older folks hate ‘em, I think.”
He agrees. He doesn’t know a goddamn thing about clothes. He doesn’t think Yuusuke really does either—but he has no idea what else to say to him.
“Do ya have many fish tanks at home?” Yoshiki forces himself to stare out the windshield instead of the passenger window. He presses his sweaty palms flat against his slacks to try to keep them reasonably dry.
“I only have three right now. All freshwater. Ah, I shoulda shown you pictures of ‘em at the shop. I have a real cute betta in one of them—his name is Mikan.”
“I’d like to see ‘em sometime,” Yoshiki says urgently. He holds his breath and waits for Yuusuke to offer to take him home.
“I’ll make sure to show you photos the next time you come into the shop.”
Fuck. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.
Yuusuke tells him more about Mikan, who is orange and white and has a strong personality. Yoshiki reacts appropriately with ohs and I sees and even wows. He can appreciate the way that Yuusuke is unabashedly enthusiastic about his fish—really, he can—but his heart is pounding unavoidably louder as they get closer and closer to his home. They’re already crossing into Kubitachi.
It’s even harder to avoid thinking about what exactly he’s stubbornly walking backwards into. That vague and amorphous unknown hypothetical had helped keep him somewhat calm for the past several days, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to panic about precisely how little he knows.
What kind of things will Yuusuke want to do with him? To him? What role will he expect from Yoshiki? Will the fact that he knows nothing make Yuusuke lose interest, or will it thrill him—and which of those is less nauseating to consider?
It occurs to him with a sudden wave of panic that he doesn’t have anything that they might need. No lubricant, no condoms. Yuusuke might have the latter, but if not, maybe he should just go for it anyway. And he’s older, so maybe he knows something else they could use to ease any friction. Are there other things he’s supposed to have that he isn’t even aware of? Maybe Yuusuke won’t want to do that at all and Yoshiki even considering it is a sign of how pathetic and desperate he has become.
Maybe Yuusuke likes that, though.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything. He hardly knows the man driving him home and all he can do is hug his bag to his chest to ground himself and screw his courage to the sticking place.
They’re just down the road, now. He needs to stop fucking around.
“These pants look comfortable,” Yoshiki says awkwardly, reaching his hand out and deciding at the last moment that he is not bold enough to place it atop Yuusuke’s leg. Instead, he grazes against the outside of his leg with his little finger and when Yuusuke flinches away from him, he reacts in kind.
“You’re very kind about my clothes, Tsujinaka-kun,” Yuusuke’s voice has a nervous edge to it now. “They’re nothing special, I promise. Everything is from Mion.”
“Oh,” Yoshiki says, laughing nervously, “mine too.”
“This is you, right?” Yuusuke asks unnecessarily, slowing and pulling into the Tsujinaka house’s driveway. He leaves the engine running.
“Thank you again Yuusuke-san,” Yoshiki says.
Yuusuke glances at him briefly, but does not comment on Yoshiki’s choice of address when he replies, “Of course, it was no trouble.”
Yoshiki unbuckles his seatbelt slowly, then turns his entire body to face Yuusuke and say, “Would you like to come inside for tea?”
“That’s alright, Tsujinaka-kun,” Yuusuke says with a smile, rejecting a routine and requisite kindness.
“Call me Yoshiki,” he blurts out in response. “We also—m-my parents have beer. If you prefer. As thanks for the ride.”
Yuusuke takes a long time looking at Yoshiki carefully.
This is it he thinks, bracing himself for whatever is going to come next. He thinks Yuusuke will be kind to him, about his inexperience and his nerves. He thinks that whatever they do Yuusuke will at least be gentle. He thinks this is probably the best option he has, and that the terror he feels and the way he wants to run up into the mountains and never come back is obvious melodrama. This is his only chance. It won’t get better than this.
“I need to head back to the shop, Tsujinaka-kun.”
Yoshiki moves numbly, opening the door and stepping out of the car. He’s still holding the door open when he pleads, with quiet desperation, “My parents aren’t home.”
“I know you won’t cause trouble for them while they’re out,” Yuusuke says with a tight-lipped smile. He’s looking in the rear view mirror, not at Yoshiki.
Yoshiki shuts the passenger door softly and watches Yuusuke pull out of the driveway and back down the road out of sight.
He walks robotically into his house and up to his room, where he falls into his bed alone and curls up onto his side with his own arms wrapped around his middle, hugging himself tight.
It feels like he will be breathing hard and fast forever, dizzy from the greedy gulps of air. He spends so much effort trying to calm his body that his mind hardly has a chance to process the enormity of his failure.
Maybe he passes out, or maybe he just falls asleep.
The light is low when Yoshiki wakes up, still curled tight on his side. Something feels wrong. He opens his eyes.
Hikaru’s face is directly in front of him, his chin resting on the top of his bed.
Yoshiki yelps.
“The hell’re ya doin’ here?!” he shouts, scandalized. “Yer gonna give me a heart attack!”
“I could ask ya the same thing, y’know.” Hikaru says, sitting back and crossing his arms with a pout.
“I’m nappin’. In my bed in my room in my house. It’s where I’m s’posed t’ be!”
Hikaru looks at him too keenly. He’s not awake enough to process what that means. “Well, it’s time t’ get up! I’ve been messagin’ ya to come help me out with the level I’m stuck on since yer better with timing the ones with the disappearin’ platforms.”
“Ugh,” Yoshiki says eloquently, rubbing his hands down his face. He can feel the indentations from his pillow pressed into his cheek.
“Yer still in uniform, weirdo. Get up ‘n stop sulkin’!”
“‘m not sulkin’,” Yoshiki grumbles. “Why’re ya playin’ that game? I bet ya didn’t even do yer homework yet.”
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. Hikaru’s here and he’s been playing video games instead of whatever the hell he was supposed to be doing with what’s-her-name—Miura-san. He shouldn’t be rude just because he’s envious.
Everything feels strange and dreamlike, but he’s happy to go along with the dream.
Hikaru teases him a bit for still yawning as they walk to his house, but it’s nothing Yoshiki can’t handle.
“So tomorrow,” Hikaru says apropos of nothing, “I was thinkin’ we could stop by the game center on the way back from school when we get yer bike ‘cause Kimura on the team said they got the new Master + Master game in finally. We might have t’ wait a while since it’s a Saturday, but I figure we don’t got anythin’ better to do.”
Yoshiki’s blood goes cold for a moment. Of course Hikaru saw his bike. And yet…
“Did anything happen today after club?” Yoshiki asks him cautiously.
“Other’n Kimura bein’ a total dick about spoilers? Not a damn thing. Why, were ya expectin’ something?”
“Nah,” Yoshiki says, obscuring his shock with another yawn. “Just ain’t used t’ ya missin’ me so bad ya gotta watch me in my sleep. And don’t think I forgot ya asked me t’ help ya with math this weekend.”
Hikaru shoves him. He ruffles Hikaru’s hair too hard. Everything is the perfect.
“So,” Yoshiki says flatly, standing in front of Maki’s desk on Monday.
“My bad!” Maki admits immediately, and he has the gall to perform sheepishness. “My teammate’s girl got mixed up! I guess Miura-san confessed to class 3-A’s Hikaru—the one on the basketball team. I hope ya didn’t say anythin’ to get our Hikaru’s hopes up, I’d feel like I ruined his life if he got his hopes up ‘cause of me!”
“Nope,” Yoshiki says, staring daggers down at him. He can see Hikaru at his desk out of his peripheral vision. “I didn’t do anythin’ about it.”