Work Text:
“Uh, Shidou, the teacher wants you in the staff room. Right now.”
A classmate’s voice drifted in from the doorway, cutting through the sound of wind brushing past the half-opened window. Shidou was rocking his chair at the back of the room, bored out of his mind, muttering to himself.
No need to guess what this was about. Obviously his conduct points again. What else could it be?
Shidou Ryuusei—school delinquent, resident problem child. Everyone thought he was trouble, and he couldn’t care less.
In a tiny village where the only scenery was mountains, rice fields, and grazing cattle—life was painfully dull.
But today, something was different.
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“I’m giving you one more chance, Shidou. If you don’t pass your practical score, you’ll have to repeat the year.” The teacher’s voice dropped to a tired growl.
Shidou folded his arms and leaned lazily against the staff-room doorframe. “And? Who’s gonna help me with the project? No one here wants anything to do with me.”
“About that.” The teacher sighed, helplessly. Then she turned toward another student sitting quietly by the window.
Shidou glanced over—
and froze.
The other student sat with legs crossed, leaning against the window. His long, slender arm rested casually on his lap. What should have been the standard boys’ uniform—a white shirt and black trousers—was replaced with a girl’s sailor-collar blouse.
Yes. A sailor blouse. With a ribbon at the chest. Though below, he still wore the regular boys’ trousers. His silver hair, shoulder-length and slightly messy, looked soft like a wisp of cloud.
Nagi Seishirou.
The weird kid. The quiet one—so quiet it was almost eerie. The rumored genius, though no one had ever seen him take anything seriously.
“I’m assigning Nagi to help you,” the teacher said.
Shidou raised an eyebrow. “Hah? Him?”
“In exchange, he won’t have to participate in school activities for the entire term. He agreed.”
Shidou looked at the blank-faced boy again. Nagi only lifted his eyes for a moment, lips parting slightly as if mid-yawn, then went back to staring out the window like nothing had happened.
Weird.
Weird as hell.
But god, he was interesting.
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It began with Shidou going to Nagi’s house—his own was too far, so the teacher allowed him to work there every Friday.
Nagi lived in a small house in the middle of a grassy field, with a little wooden bridge crossing a stream. A peach tree—already bare—stood in front, and a white cat curled up on the wooden steps.
Nagi said nothing. Not even a greeting. He just opened the door, walked in, sat on the wooden floor, and acted like Shidou was air. Eventually, though, they started working.
Shidou talked. Nagi listened.
Shidou tried to dump work on him; Nagi tossed it back at his face—hard.
Shidou asked; Nagi nodded or shook his head. Nothing more.
The strange routine continued until, one day on their way home, Shidou asked:
“Why do you dress like that anyway? With the sailor blouse?”
Nagi glanced at him with unreadable eyes, went silent for a moment, then answered softly,
“Because it feels good.”
That was it. No complicated reason. Nothing to judge.
And Shidou felt something restless twist in his chest.
They kept working together. Walking home together. Some days, Shidou asked what songs Nagi liked; Nagi simply handed him one side of his earphones.
They sat by the riverbank listening quietly, trees swaying overhead. And Shidou began to realize it wasn’t just curiosity anymore.
He wanted to know him more.
He wanted to understand what he was thinking.
He wanted to know what Nagi dreamed of when he closed his eyes.
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Rain started falling around four in the afternoon—heavier than anyone expected. Most students had gone home early. Some ran through the rain; some were picked up.
Now Shidou sat at the back of the room with Nagi beside the window, as always. Nagi’s forehead rested against the glass, hands on his lap, staring at the dark clouds outside.
His silver hair reflected the dim rainy light—softly glowing, surreal, like he didn’t quite belong to this world.
“How’re you getting home?” Shidou asked quietly.
“Not sure. Might wait for the rain to stop.” Nagi didn’t turn to look at him.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll sleep here.”
He turned then—just as he said that last line. His face still blank, but something in his eyes felt like teasing… Or maybe Shidou imagined it.
Shidou chuckled and tossed him a candy.
“Eat something so you don’t fall asleep like a polar bear.” Nagi caught it, opened it, and popped it in his mouth without a word. Rain drowned out the silence between them.
Lemon candy.
After a moment, Nagi asked—
“Shidou… have you ever thought about liking someone?”
Shidou froze. That question cut through him out of nowhere.
“Why’re you asking?”
“Just curious.”
Shidou looked at him—surprised. Nagi still didn’t look back, lost in the rain outside.
Shidou sighed.
“…Yeah.”
“I like people who are weird.”
“I like people who don’t try to fit in.”
“People who are quiet but make you want to understand them more.”
“And I like it when they look at me.”
He said it to the rain— but really, it was for Nagi.
Nagi stayed silent for a long time. Then finally stood up, walked over, and sat at the next desk. The wooden chair scraped softly.
“I don’t know if those feelings are called ‘liking’ or not,” he said quietly. “But you make me feel alive.”
“Like I’m not alone. Even when we’re not talking.”
Rain kept falling.
Shidou turned.
Nagi looked back.
His eyes weren’t blank like usual. They held something else—something uncertain and warm, something he probably didn’t understand either.
Shidou leaned in slowly, stopping just before their lips met.
“If you don’t want to—”
“I want to.”
Nagi cut him off softly—barely above a whisper.
Then it was Nagi who leaned in first. His lips were soft, warm, with the faint taste of lemon candy.
There was no sound except the rain. No words. No dramatic gesture.
Just quiet. Just a gentle kiss—like summer rain.
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After that day, no one brought up the kiss. No questions. No explanations. No talk of what they were.
Things simply shifted—quietly.
Shidou walked into school the next morning with Nagi beside him. People stared. Nagi, who usually walked alone, was now matching strides with him.
They didn’t talk, but Nagi handed him a custard-filled bun.
“I bought two.”
“This one’s yours.”
“You never share with anyone,” Shidou laughed.
“You’re not ‘anyone.’”
A simple sentence— but Shidou heard it echo in his head all day.
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They finished their project. Shidou passed.
Normally, he would’ve been thrilled to stop going to Nagi’s house—but instead, something felt strangely empty.
“So I’m not coming over anymore, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Shidou sat on the school’s back balcony, watching the fields sway in the evening breeze. Nagi sat beside him, one knee drawn up, fingers holding the edge of his sailor blouse fluttering lightly in the wind.
They were quiet for a while. Then Nagi murmured,
“You can still come. Even if there’s no work anymore.”
Shidou looked at him. Nagi didn’t meet his eyes—face calm, but Shidou could tell he was nervous.
“I’ll come,” Shidou said. “Even without a reason.”
Nagi finally looked at him. The usual cloudy-rain eyes—but with a shine that hadn’t been there before.
Shidou kept going to Nagi’s house every Saturday. No homework. No projects. Just them—listening to music, watching movies, sometimes napping beside each other.
One day, under a starless cold sky, Nagi said:
“Stay over.”
“Lonely?”
“…Don’t know. But if you’re here, it feels okay.”
Shidou could only laugh quietly. Nothing Nagi said surprised him anymore.
They slept in Nagi’s room that night. Futons on the wooden floor, the faint scent of the blanket, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on the wall.
Shidou lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Nagi lay on his side, close enough for Shidou to hear his breathing.
“You scared?” Nagi asked suddenly. A question that held a deeper meaning.
“Used to be,” Shidou said.
“But not anymore.”
Shidou turned toward him. Nagi was already looking back, eyes no longer lifeless—gentle, wavering like water.
Shidou touched his cheek lightly.
Nagi didn’t pull away.
They kissed again—slow, warm.
Not confused like the first time. This one was certain. Accepted.
Shidou wrapped his arms around him; Nagi stroked his back gently. No rush. No hunger. Just presence.
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Their bodies pressed together—quiet, steady, full of feeling rather than desire. Nagi cupped Shidou’s nape as their lips met again.
“Shidou.” A whisper softer than the wind.
Shidou didn’t answer—but Nagi continued anyway.
“Don’t be too kind. If you disappear… I don’t think I could breathe.”
His voice was barely there, but clearer than anything.
Shidou said nothing—just rested his face against Nagi’s shoulder and held him tighter.
It wasn’t rough or urgent. Just a night where they felt each other completely.
And it told them everything.
They woke late the next morning. No alarms. Just soft sunlight, birdsong, and shared warmth.
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That afternoon, after showering, Shidou came out wearing Nagi’s clothes—a faded T-shirt and shorts.
Nagi was folding laundry on the balcony. Both boys’ uniforms hung on the line: Shidou’s usual one, and Nagi’s sailor blouse with its large collar.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Shidou said while toweling his hair.
“Hm?”
“Why do you wear that sailor blouse anyway?”
Nagi paused, eyes lingering on the fluttering garment. After a silence, he said,
“Because my mom wore it.”
Shidou blinked, not expecting that.
“She wore it when she went to this school—top of her class. I saw a picture of her once, standing in front of her homeroom. Wearing that exact blouse. Blank expression… kind of like how people see me.” He let out a small laugh.
“After she died, I found it in an old box. She hid it really well, like she didn’t want anyone to see it. But I… wanted to wear it.”
Shidou stayed quiet, listening.
“When I wear it, it feels like she’s here with me. Not because I want to be her. Not because I want to be a girl. It just… feels good to bring it back into everyday life.”
Nagi finally looked at him—eyes calm, honest, unflinching.
“I know people think it’s weird. But so what? I don’t care.”
Then he smiled—not the faint daily smile, but a real one.
And in that moment, Shidou realized— maybe they weren’t strange to each other at all.