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The first time it happens, Tanizaki Junichirou laughs it off.
They’re sitting beneath the half-dead cherry tree at the edge of the school courtyard, eating lunch between classes. The grass is cold beneath them, the air heavy with the low hum of conversation from other students. Tanizaki pokes half-heartedly at his bento, eyes flicking up whenever Tachihara laughs — a sound that always manages to feel too bright, too careless, too real.
And then Tachihara says, between bites of rice, “Hey, Tanizaki. Can you help me with something?”
Tanizaki looks up immediately. “Sure. What’s up?”
“There’s this girl,” Tachihara starts, tone casual, but his eyes shift toward the crowd by the vending machines. “She doesn’t realise that I’ve been trying to get her attention for the longest time…”
Tanizaki frowns. “A girl?”
“Yeah.”
He blinks, tilting his head slightly, trying to think of anyone that Tachihara could possibly mean. Tachihara’s not exactly shy, but he’s never been one to gush about crushes, either. “Who?”
Tachihara grins, the corners of his mouth quirking up with a playful glint. “Your sister, Naomi.”
The world stills.
For a moment, Tanizaki’s mind blanks — not in the way that comes with panic, but in the sharp, static-laced kind of silence that arrives right before something inside him cracks. He stares at Tachihara for a second too long, until he remembers to breathe again and forces out a small, brittle laugh.
“Oh,” he says. “You mean Naomi.”
Tachihara doesn’t notice the slight tremor in his voice. He just keeps talking, leaning back on his hands and squinting at the sunlight. “Yeah. She’s cute, you know? Kind of intimidating, though. I’ve tried to talk to her a few times, but she just looks through me. Think you could… I don’t know, put in a good word or something?”
Tanizaki presses his lips together, trying to stop his thoughts from spilling out.
Naomi. Of course.
His twin sister. His other half, as everyone calls her. Naomi, who steals the spotlight in every room without meaning to, who always walks beside him like they’re mirror images — only she’s the one people actually look at.
“Yeah,” Tanizaki says finally, forcing a smile. “Sure. I can talk to her.”
It keeps happening after that.
At first, Tanizaki convinces himself that Tachihara’s just being friendly — that his sudden interest in Naomi is a coincidence, that he’s not trying to twist a knife into Tanizaki’s ribs every time her name leaves his mouth. But after a week of sitting together and listening to Tachihara ask about her favourite colour, her hobbies, whether she has a boyfriend, Tanizaki starts to feel something splinter inside him.
He hides it well, he thinks.
When Tachihara jokes about Naomi’s beauty, Tanizaki laughs. When Tachihara points out that Naomi’s handwriting is neater than his, Tanizaki shrugs. When Tachihara mentions that Naomi complimented his tie that morning, Tanizaki says “Oh, really?” like it doesn’t sting.
He tells himself he shouldn’t care. Tachihara’s his friend. Naomi’s his sister. It’s normal.
Except it isn’t.
Because Tanizaki knows exactly what it means when Tachihara leans too close during group projects, or when their shoulders brush in the hallway, or when he tosses out a casual “you’re really easy to talk to, Jun’.”
He knows because it’s the same feeling that sits heavy in his chest every time he looks at Tachihara — the one that he’s been trying to ignore for months.
It gets worse when Naomi starts to notice.
“Oh, the guy with the orange hair?” she says one evening while they’re walking home. “He’s kind of cute.”
Tanizaki stops walking. “What?”
Naomi hums, smiling at her reflection in a shop window. “Tachihara, right? He waved at me this morning. He’s been doing that a lot lately.” She tilts her head. “You two are close, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Tanizaki says slowly. “We are.”
“That’s nice,” she says simply, then slips her arm through his. “You should invite him over sometime.”
And just like that, she forgets about it, humming under her breath as they cross the street. But Tanizaki doesn’t.
He can’t.
Because now he knows — Tachihara isn’t just talking. He’s doing this on purpose.
By the time midterms roll around, the teasing has become a routine.
Whenever Tanizaki joins Tachihara in the library, the latter always starts the conversation with, “Guess who I ran into today?”
Tanizaki doesn’t even need to ask anymore. He knows the answer.
Naomi.
Every. Single. Time.
Sometimes, Tachihara adds small details — “She looked really good in that blue sweater” or “She smiled when I said hi.” It’s subtle, almost harmless, but Tanizaki can feel the deliberate edge behind each word.
He’s not sure when he started to notice the smirk that hides behind Tachihara’s grin, or the way he looks at Tanizaki after each mention, as if waiting for a reaction.
And Tanizaki hates that it works.
He hates that his chest tightens, that his pulse jumps, that he feels jealousy twist in his stomach even when he tries to convince himself it’s ridiculous. He hates that Tachihara knows exactly how to make him flinch without ever saying it outright.
He hates that a part of him still finds Tachihara impossibly, maddeningly charming.
One afternoon, after school, they’re alone in the art room.
Tachihara’s sprawled across a desk, playing with a pencil between his fingers. Tanizaki’s sketching something he’s too distracted to finish. The sunlight spills through the window, soft and golden, dust floating lazily in the air.
“Hey, Jun’,” Tachihara says suddenly, voice low, teasing.
“Mm?”
“You ever get jealous easily?”
Tanizaki glances up. “Jealous?”
“Yeah. Like, if someone you liked started liking someone else.”
The question hangs in the air like smoke.
Tanizaki’s pencil stills. “Depends on who,” he mutters.
Tachihara smiles. “So you do get jealous.”
“Not really.”
“That so?”
Tachihara leans forward, his grin sharp now, eyes gleaming like he’s enjoying a private joke. “Then you don’t mind if I keep talking about Naomi, right?”
Tanizaki’s heartbeat stutters.
He swallows, trying to keep his expression calm, but Tachihara sees it — the flicker in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.
“…You’re doing this on purpose,” Tanizaki says quietly.
“Maybe,” Tachihara admits, still smiling. “Guess I just like seeing how much you care.”
Tanizaki stands abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor. His pulse is roaring in his ears now, anger and embarrassment and something else mixing in his chest.
“That’s not funny,” he says.
“I’m not laughing,” Tachihara replies, his voice softening. “I just… wanted to see if you’d finally notice.”
“Notice what?”
Tachihara steps closer, slow enough that Tanizaki could move away if he wanted to — but he doesn’t.
“That I don’t actually care about Naomi,” Tachihara says. “I just wanted to see if you’d get jealous.”
Tanizaki blinks, his breath catching. “You— what?”
“I like you, idiot.”
For a moment, all Tanizaki can do is stare.
The words feel too heavy, too unreal. They hang between them like something fragile, something that could shatter with a single wrong move.
Then Tachihara laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”
Tanizaki’s face burns. “You— you made me think—”
“That I was after your sister? Yeah. Sorry about that.” He grins, almost sheepishly. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, though.”
Tanizaki glares at him, but his heart’s pounding too fast to come up with a retort.
He opens his mouth to say something — anything — but Tachihara leans in just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“So… do I have your attention now?”
And just like that, Tanizaki realszes that Tachihara’s had it all along.