Chapter Text
There was a boy in Yushi’s seat.
Yushi’s day was instantly ruined. He hated this kind of thing. Anything out of the ordinary, anything that messed with his routine, any person with the audacity to sit in his bus seat - sure, legally he had no claim to it, but ethically, practically, sociologically, on every other level it was Yushi’s seat. And it was always, always empty.
Every day he sat in the same seat, on the same bus, with his medium iced coffee, his pastry, his EXO playlist, the airpods he somehow hadn't lost yet, and he always looked out at the same scenery. That was the routine. The passengers, the driver, the bumps and turns in the road, he knew them all by heart.
And of course, his seat. But now there was someone there.
Yushi stood uncertainly like a confused Sim. He wanted to ask the boy for his seat back, but he wasn't prepared to cross that level of psychopathy. Yushi blinked. Maybe he could disappear the seat squatter with the power of manifesting.
Nope. Still there.
Yushi considered being normal. There were things in life more important than this, probably. He could let it go. He could be the sort of person who let these things go. Even though his seat was the most comfortable and the most convenient and had the perfect temperature and the best view and decent leg space and the best ventilation and the least noise. It was fine. It was fine. He should not be this petty and stubborn about a damn bus seat.
Yushi huffed dramatically, marched up to the offender and sat right next to him in the most passive-aggressive way possible.
The boy did not react. Yushi looked around, hoping to find someone and exchange a silent Can you believe this guy? But there was no one. All the seats were empty. All the standing space was empty. The bus was completely empty, and Yushi had still chosen to squeeze in next to the boy. Like a pervert.
Yushi felt a twinge of embarrassment. But he didn’t move. Perhaps if he kept making this boy uncomfortable, he could have his seat back.
Yushi attempted a fake sneeze.
But the boy was unfazed. Clearly he didn’t care about social distancing. He probably hadn’t noticed Yushi at all.
That was fine. People often didn’t notice Yushi. Sometimes he wondered if he was in a different dimension to everyone else.
Yushi sighed deeply and bit into his pastry. Hopefully he would never see this boy again.
—
He saw the boy again.
He was wearing a mask, but Yushi knew it was him. He could feel it. The way he sat with his limbs sprawled out over the seats like a long spider. The disaffected look in his eyes. The messy dark blond hair ( - of course he dyed his hair. Probably a delinquent.) His stupid expensive minimalist streetwear. And the seat he was in. Yushi’s seat.
The boy lifted his head and met Yushi’s glare.
Yushi flinched and looked away. He shook his head, feeling a little self-conscious. There was something disarming about that gaze, like he wanted to strip Yushi and expose all his secrets.
Yushi avoided looking at him. Better not to get involved. He didn’t want to be pinned under that gaze again.
—
The next day, the seat was gloriously empty. Yushi hummed in satisfaction. It was a beautiful day. Everything in its rightful place.
Someone sat down next to him. He felt a familiar prickle on his skin. He caught the boy’s ghostly reflection in the window, composed as always. So annoying.
Despite all the empty seats, he had still chosen to sit next to Yushi. Yushi wasn't in a position to complain. It was just a coincidence. Normal people didn’t think about who they sat next to. And this boy was very normal. He spent the whole bus journey checking his phone with that same bored look, as if nothing Yushi could do or say would ever affect him.
Yushi studied the boy’s reflection in the window. His mirrored eyes were overlaid with traffic lights, glowing red and green - stop - now go. His messy strands of hair mixed with branches waving in the wind. His moles and freckles were little flowers, and there was a vivid smear of pink graffiti over his lips.
The boy’s knee bumped against his. The boy was warm all over, and his knee bounced restlessly, which was very annoying. Not like Yushi. Yushi was always cold, and still as marble.
Yushi hated things intruding on his space, physically or mentally. He liked for people to be at a comfortable distance. This boy was not at a comfortable distance. Heat radiated from him like a flame. His body, his gaze, his fidgeting and shifting, even his scent crossed the line. Yushi leaned away, shrinking into himself. The boy moved his leg back, leaving Yushi with a lingering warmth where it had been.
Yushi drank his coffee and stared resolutely out the window. It was ice cold.
—
It was becoming a routine.
Every time Yushi got on the bus, the boy was there, in the seat next to him. He never looked up. He never met Yushi’s eyes. But he was always there, with his fancy oversized clothes, his messy hair and that same disinterested look on his face.
The fourth bus ride came and went without incident. And the fifth, and the sixth. Not that Yushi was keeping count. He didn't expect anything to happen. Things didn’t happen to Yushi. And things didn’t happen on a bus. Therefore, nothing would happen.
And yet. He was riding on every damn bus Yushi took. He didn’t have classes? He just rode the bus all day?
Yushi always sat next to him. It was strange at first, but now that boy was just another part of his everyday, like the scenery and the passengers and the coffee and pastry. They didn’t know each other. They didn’t talk. They sat together a little while, then went their separate ways. A silent agreement. It meant nothing. It was nothing.
The boy leaned closer to him, crossing into Yushi’s space. Way, way over the line.
Yushi’s entire body went still.
The boy’s face was close. It wasn't like the reflection Yushi was so used to staring at. His body was warm. He was right there, his long lashes, full lips, round eyes like twin moons, a gaze unlike anything Yushi had seen before. And his breath, hot on Yushi's skin.
Warning - System overload. All units emergency shutdown.
The boy reached out to Yushi’s face, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“You have something on your nose.” A low voice, softer than Yushi had imagined, like someone still half-asleep, talking into his pillow.
Yushi mumbled a quiet “oh”. His voice felt very far away.
The boy lightly brushed Yushi’s nose with his thumb, twice, then leaned away and went back to scrolling his phone.
What the fuck.
Yushi touched his nose. Still attached.
“Thanks,” said Yushi, below the human decibel range.
The boy gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. His ears turned ever so slightly pink. Or - No. Yushi was just insane. Yushi’s brain was a compass on a magnet, that had been smashed with a sledgehammer, and it was spinning round and round and round.
—
Yushi was in a daze as he munched his sandwich on the floor of the JSoc clubroom, a full four hours after the incident. Nothing had happened, really. Nothing worth dwelling on. Nothing to justify being so distracted that he forgot to buy his favourite sandwich, and was stuck with a club baguette.
But he kept remembering those eyes, and something stirred in his chest.
“Let’s do Saturday. You’ll behave, right, Yu-chan?”
Riku’s sing-songy tone came into focus. Yushi hadn’t been listening. In fact, he almost never listened. He took another bite of his baguette. It was pretty good. He had underestimated the club.
“Mm-hm,” he responded. Hopefully they were discussing something like “Going to the movies”, and not “Partying and taking lots of experimental drugs”.
Riku’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not listening, are you?”
“You haven't said anything worth listening to,” Yushi said into his second-choice baguette. Riku swiped at him.
Riku was the head of Japan Society (“For the promotion and appreciation of Japanese culture" - though Riku spent his time finding a parade of boys to set Yushi up with.) It was strange, because Riku had never been caught actually doing anything. He didn’t go to class. He didn’t have notes, essays, textbooks, or pen and paper. There was no evidence he was a real student. But he was everywhere. Like a school mascot.
“Yushi’s spacing out again,” Ryo said.
They ate lunch on this carpet, sitting cross-legged among drumkits and amplifiers. The clubroom was officially a music practice room, and Riku often chased out timid students, banishing them to practice on the stairs with their flutes and saxophones. “Official club business,” he would say, a smiling Jaehee towering behind him like hired muscle.
The JSoc membership was made up of Riku, Yushi, Jaehee (not Japanese, but tall and kind and good at moving tables around), and two children Riku had probably kidnapped off the street. Shouldn’t they be in school? Or maybe kindergarten? Yushi knew better than to get involved in Riku’s business. This way he couldn't be held legally culpable.
“Look, I know you don’t want to,” Riku continued as if he'd been listening, “but give it a try, Yu-chan. For me. And there’s always Guy B - ”
“Not interested.” Not after that one date where the dean had been called. And the fire brigade. And the Japanese ambassador to Korea.
“Okay, I know the guy who was really into puppets was bad, but listen. This boy is actually so sweet. He won’t steal from you or try to poison you, I swear-”
“Thanks,” Yushi broke in, “but no.” Yushi turned back to his baguette. That look kept appearing in his head. He bit down. Get out of my head, please. Leave me alone.
“Maybe Yushi already likes someone else,” said Ryo.
“I don’t,” Yushi replied quickly. Too quick. Everyone turned to look at him. Riku and Jaehee exchanged a glance. Yushi stared into his baguette and felt his cheeks heating up. This damn baguette.
“Wait, are you wearing cologne?” Jaehee was way too excited about this.
“Dude, you stink,” Sakuya chimed in.
“What? No.” Yushi sniffed his shirt. An image suddenly entered his head.
Of course. Of course that boy was overspraying and walking around in a nuclear cloud of fragrance and of course it would get all over Yushi and linger on his skin for hours. Of course.
Riku stared wide-eyed and leaned right into Yushi’s face. Yushi leaned away. Just don’t tell him about this stupid bus thing. Don’t tell anyone. They can never know. If he didn’t say it then it wasn't real. And he would never hear the end of it.
“I don’t. Like. Anyone. … I’m … learning … yoga,” said Yushi, summoning the last of his brain power to think of any word.
Riku stared even harder, like a cat who keeps meowing to be let out and you let them out and they sit in front of the door and stare at you like you did something wrong.
Yushi folded. “There’s this guy on the bus.” God fucking damn it. “He - he keeps sitting next to me.”
The others waited.
“That’s it,” said Yushi.
“That’s it?”
Yushi looked at the floor. At least he hadn’t said ‘boy’. That word was an activation phrase for the gay sleeper agent in Riku’s brain.
“What does this boy look like?” asked Riku, bright-eyed like a cat picking up the scent. All Yushi had to do was say something normal. Like he hadn’t been paying too much attention but also wasn't deliberately not paying attention.
“Long,” said Yushi, “with brown eyes.”
Fuck.
“Is he a giraffe or something?” Jaehee muttered. Riku leaned in even closer.
“What part of him is long?”
What the fuck kind of question was that? “Every. All. Every part.” Why was Yushi getting flustered? Snap out of it. Nothing happened. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing ever happens. A bus ride wasn’t going to change anything. A long dark-eyed giraffe man wasn’t going to waltz in and sweep him off his feet. That wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to Yushi. And definitely not on the bus.
“I have to go,” Yushi mumbled, and left the room.
It was only when he was halfway to the next class that he realized he had forgotten his baguette.
—
Yushi felt uneasy for some reason. Everything was the same. The bus, late as always. Coffee and breakfast, the same. The passengers, the same. Even the boy was the same, but his eyes were on Yushi, sending shivers down the back of his neck. Yushi shifted in his seat. He had checked his whole face in the mirror before leaving the dorm. Especially his nose. He wouldn't be caught off guard again.
Everything was going wrong because of this boy. The sandwich, and - well, that was the only thing. But it felt like more.
That morning, the cafe’s barista had handed him a flower, fresh and pink with little droplets of water along the stem. It was going to be thrown out anyway. Yushi didn’t want it, but he didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. He twirled it idly in his hands.
Maybe that was why something felt different. Maybe the boy wasn’t satisfied with stealing his seat. Maybe he wanted Yushi’s flower too. Maybe he was a connoisseur of flowers.
“Do you want it,” he mumbled, not looking anywhere in particular.
“What?” Something about the boy’s voice made Yushi feel a little bit insane.
“Do you want this." He held out the flower. The boy stared at him. Yushi's cheeks heated up. Had he just done something really stupid? Probably.
It didn't mean anything. People gave each other flowers. It wasn’t like Yushi was giving it to that boy specifically. That boy just happened to be there, next to Yushi, and Yushi next to him. Coincidence. Dumb luck. Why did he feel so nervous. Why did it feel like a caged animal was pacing inside his chest.
Something was wrong, really wrong. Maybe he was dying.
After what felt like an eternity, the boy took the flower from Yushi’s hand. “Um, thanks,” he murmured in that soft voice. Yushi regretted ever getting on the bus. He could always drop out. Go back to Japan, play for the national team.
“Are you - sure it’s okay?”
Yushi blinked. He avoided looking at the boy’s face. He could not look at those eyes right now. Hopefully the boy was also not looking at his face. “Um, what do you mean?”
“That - Uh - Didn't someone - give that to you? A girl?”
Yushi blinked again. A girl? What? Who? Which? Thoughts rattled around in his head like a pinball machine.
“Never mind,” the boy said quickly. “Forget it.”
Was he embarrassed? That wasn’t an emotion Yushi knew he could have.
Yushi swallowed and looked away. He spent the rest of the bus journey pressing random buttons on his phone calculator. 511 + 888, very interesting. The bus heaved along, shuddered, and he tried not to think about the heat from the body pressed against him, the cool brush of petals on his arm.