Work Text:
The clasp on Mizutani's window jiggled two hours and fifteen minutes late.
It was 2h17m after the punch-drunk courage of the cornered convinced him he was totally ready, 1h32m after the relief of admitting he hadn't been at all, 1h05m after the shame of feeling absurdly disappointed, and 0h47m after his body mercifully concluded that of all his issues, wakefulness was the most solvable.
He woke up to the sound of the metallic rattle near his ear. It wouldn't have been enough to wake a heavy sleeper under normal circumstances, but Mizutani had shifted during the night.
His bed was situated underneath the window, which seemed like a good idea in summer but meant every winter brought with it the question of whether to rearrange his room. The issue of comfort versus laziness always came out a stalemate for Mizutani, compromise met by heavy blankets and regulating sleep to the bed edge farthest the wall.
Tonight, restless tossing had coaxed him to the wrong side. Awake, chilled, and afraid to move, Mizutani looked up at the window as best he could. Being right underneath it the angle was bad, and the curtains allowed little hint of what stood outside save a distorted silhouette. Someone short and thin, and the head kept changing shape.
The form shrank further as it drew nearer, the incomprehensible head clarifying into long tendrils swirling around as if windblown. Granted it was windy, but in shadow the strands looked longer than they should. They made Mizutani feel as if a stranger waited outside.
Though if she would do something like this, that wasn't so far off the truth.
The lock rattled again. The clack that woke Mizutani was hard and abrupt, as if the sound had startled the instigator as much as Mizutani himself. This time the window was tested gently, the noise of the wind nearly covering it up. The silhouette concentrated further, culminating in the soft squeak of skin against the window pane and three slow, steady taps. Met with no answer, they continued gradually louder.
Cold air radiated from the glass above him, a mere hint at the degree of unpleasantness on the other side. Mizutani closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and told himself he could wait it out.
When his phone vibrated from the bedside table, he squawked aloud. He thought he knew what name to expect, was ready to ignore it same as the tapping and the fountain of cold air on the back of his neck. But when the characters flashed onto the screen his eyes widened, one hand darting out to grab his cell as he sat up while the other shoved the curtains aside.
The backlight was dim but still enough to identify the face cast in murky blue hue. Mizutani continued to hold the phone up as he undid the latch, letting the window swing open into his room and the boy along with it. The other tumbled flat on his back to the space between Mizutani's calves, right foot sticking awkwardly in the large gap between the wall and bed.
Mizutani brought the phone closer to the face below him, but there was no real question anymore. The features grinning back at him were upside down but a positive match to the glowing characters on the cell display, blinking now in the aftermath of a missed call.
“Oh my god you look so freaked out are you kidding me?”
Family Name: IZUMI
Given Name: Kousuke
Current Status: Laughing at you, again.
Mizutani closed his eyes and sagged back onto the bed. In the intermittent blinking of the screen he could see Izumi's arm reach up to shove the window shut and extricate his trapped foot from against the wall. The electronic blink finally died, allowing his eyes to readjust to the dimness of the room, now illuminated by what moonlight made it through the column of parted curtain. He could feel quivers radiating from the bed below him.
“Oh man, look at you.” Izumi turned over, clutching his stomach and stifling his laughter in the mound of heavy blankets. “You're breathing harder than I am and I just ran here through freaking Antarctica. Who did you think I was?”
“It's not even snowing,” Mizutani muttered, though he could feel Izumi continue shaking slightly even after his laughter died down. A length of something thick drooped off Izumi's head and over Mizutani's knee, leeching the warmth from the blanket covering it.
Mizutani cast his eyes down to it, blinked, then sat up. Izumi stayed where he was and looked up expectantly, dark sheets still falling from his head to play around Mizutani's knees, black clothing nearly making him disappear in the shadowy folds of the bed.
After only just catching his breath, Mizutani was finding oxygen recurrently elusive.
“Oh my god, no, you. What the are you even—” His hand reached out to catch some of the dark strands of hair. “Who do you think you're supposed to...”
Izumi batted Mizutani's hand away from his head, pushing himself onto his knees. “I'm a female burglar. Obviously.”
“Oh.” Mizutani reached out again giggling, pulling hair from either side of Izumi's head to frame it more primly around his face. “Shit. Are you here to steal something?”
Izumi smiled, shrugging. “Your virginity?”
“Oh, oh. Are you, like...” Mizutani sat back further, as if to fully take Izumi in. “Trying to make fun of me or something? Because...”
“Because my current appearance is counterproductive to cultivating shame in anyone but myself.”
Mizutani mashed a corner of blanket into his moth, making a muffled sound while nodding.
“Which is why,” Izumi flounced his hair into a more naturally becoming cascade while reaching behind himself. “That's not what I'm here to do.”
Mizutani sat blinking, a wad of freshly liberated, slightly damp blanket now fisted below his chin. Izumi sat up taller, sweeping his arm back to center and revealing a pink box Mizutani had failed to notice till now. “I am here to make your dreams come true on this, the most glorious of days.”
He set the box down between them, unfolding the sides to reveal a single slice of strawberry cake. From his pocket he produced a broken sliver of candle he used to stab the strawberry through messily.
“At least from your perspective.” He pulled the match from behind his ear. “Happy birthda—”
Finding out your infinitely comfortable best friend is capable of uncomfortable silences can be awkward when your go-to plan for uncomfortable moments is to follow his lead and do what he does.
In this case, Mizutani had caught Izumi's hand in sort of an odd spot, one freezing Izumi's wrist where it hovered above the candle—probably fine enough—but another stalling retrieval of some striking surface for the match behind Izumi's other ear. Much like other times Mizutani stumbled into these situations—perhaps not taking as full advantage of the quantity of cord between shared earphones as maybe he could—Izumi responded with such careful effort not to move away that, considering his usual languid comfort, it was actually sort of funny he thought he was fooling anyone.
Izumi didn't move exactly, but he raised his eyebrows as he said, “Is this the part where you proposition me?”
It had taken closer acquaintance with Izumi to even notice he was more conservative about close contact than most would give him credit for. Though to be honest, if sitting close to a teammate made Izumi feel the same way Mizutani did now as he sort of accidentally cupped Izumi's cheek, maybe he'd be a little more conservative about close contact, too.
The minor freezes or offers of excessive berth to Mizutani's personal space still mostly came out when they were alone, though, and Mizutani didn't like to tease. In a way it was sort of cute, which was exactly the kind of feedback you didn't give Izumi on anything you planned to see again. “Sorry, my mom. She's got this crazy nose, like...”
“Your proposition was going to involve something smelly?
“Ew, gross. The matches.” Mizutani took the chance to let go of Izumi's hands and pry the red-tipped stick from where Izumi had rolled it between his fingers. “They've got this chemical smell when you light them. I don't want you to get in trouble.”
“She's not awake, and it's your birthday.” Hands now free as Mizutani tossed the match into a cup on the bedside table, Izumi frisked his arms, then titled his head in a way unmistakably designed to emphasize the coil of hair around his jaw. “She'd think it was cute.”
For all Mizutani prided himself on his increased familiarity with his friend, there was actually someone who could call Izumi cute and more than get away with it. Mizutani found his choice of intimate somewhat untoward.
“And then she'd tell your mom who would totally know you aren't.”
“It's that uncanny Mizutani sense of perception.” Izumi smiled as he teased the tips of his hair before dropping them to bat Mizutani's hand away from the strawberry atop the cake. Pulling out the candle stub now messed with cake trimmings, he held the wick inches from Mizutani's face with one hand while still hugging himself with the other. “I guess those with the dormant version are stuck using their imagination.”
Since his sixth birthday, Mizutani never once missed out on a birthday wish. His huff was powerful enough to send a hunk of frosting and red pulp from the candle to the slope above Izumi's left eyebrow. Izumi's expression knit slightly before he groaned, collapsing backward onto the bed, out of reach before Mizutani could make his claim as rightful consumer to every inch of the cake.
“God, even the damn cake is freezing.” The wig must not have been held in place very firmly since the fall jostled it, creeping back on his head like the female version of a receding hairline. Izumi brought his sleeve up to wipe his forehead clean of frosting and stray hair, resting his arm there while turning to the window to look out the slit in the curtains.
Mizutani popped the remains of the strawberry into his mouth and sucked off the glaze but poked noncommittally at the rest of the dessert. He didn't have the bravery required to sneak past his parents' room to the kitchen for utensils himself, and he got the feeling Izumi was going to insist on wearing the wig if he was sent out instead. Izumi was also starting to look pretty settled, now curled up onto his side to stare out the window grimly. The strawberry leaked cold juice into Mizutani's mouth as he began to chew.
He lifted his leg and shoved his heel against Izumi's cheek through the blanket. “Do your parents know you're here?”
“Hah” was all the response Izumi deemed necessary. He stayed lying for a while before suddenly rolling up onto his heels and grabbing the windowsill.
“Yeah, I should go. If I don't show up at school make sure to give the right description when they go looking for my frozen remains.”
Izumi ran a hand through his hair dramatically, then proceeded to assure the presence of the wig and clothes about his person, swoop the top blanket off Mizutani's bed around himself like the last minute overcoat to his departure routine, and push the window open, poking his head out as Mizutani yelped.
“Hey!” Mizutani made a grab for the fabric around Izumi's shoulders as the cake slid closer to the window, riding atop the blanket section not yet dislodged from the bed. Izumi pulled his head back in and Mizutani scowled at him. “Why don't you have a coat?”
Izumi didn't let go of the blanket but let Mizutani's tugs to retrieve it pull him back inside. He settled back on the bed, tsking at Mizutani upon seeing how close the neglected cake had come toward the window. He relocated it safely off the blanket and onto Mizutani's pillow. Mizutani let go of the blanket as he rolled his eyes and moved it to the nightstand.
“It didn't go with the outfit, I'm wearing a sweater, and running keeps you warm.” Rather than take advantage of Mizutani's occupied hands to firm his seizure of the blanket, Izumi let it fall from his shoulders, wadding it into an oversized ball between the two of them and pushing off of it to help himself stand. “I'd kinda banked on the idea that someone would leave his window unlocked like always and I'd be able to get in fast.”
Standing without the blanket in the gusts from the partially open window, Izumi was outright shaking.
Mizutani grabbed his arm and yanked, moving himself and the ball of blanket aside on the bed. “Shut the stupid window and warm up a little before you go. You're being scary.”
Izumi laughed between chattering teeth and shut the window but flinched back when Mizutani pushed all the layers of blanket back to let him under. “Um,” Izumi sat back on his heels, hugging himself with the arm that wasn't being gradually pulled from its socket by Mizutani. “Are you sure you want to—“
With the warm air rapidly escaping his encasement of blankets, Mizutani found himself only yanking harder and grumbling under his breath. “Oh, yeah, I'm definitely the one that sounds unsure right now.”
Izumi landed next to him with a surprised sound that was only partially the wind getting knocked out of him. Mizutani ignored it and reorganized the blankets above them, figuring Izumi would settle in quickly enough now the thing was done. He did, too, pausing only slightly before shuffling around to a more comfortable position facing Mizutani.
It was only then Mizutani realized what the actual nature of his friend's protests might have been. For one thing, Izumi's shoes knocked against Mizutani's shins, and he could feel a little grit already spreading around the foot of the bed. For another—
“Geez! How are you still this cold when you've already had a few minutes inside!” Having Izumi sealed under the blankets was almost worse than having them open to the air.
“You make it sound like your room is some sort of bastion of warmth.” Izumi grabbed Mizutani's hands and sandwiched one of his own between them like cheap heating pads.
“Don't press your legs up against me like that!” The fabric of Izumi's pants was alarmingly cold against Mizutani's bare legs.
The cold body removed itself before Mizutani even finished speaking, hands retreating under the blanket, apparently content to produce their own heat.
“Hah, sorry,” Izumi said, smirking like he'd done it on purpose and making Mizutani roll his eyes.
Reaching around to the box on the nightstand, Mizutani set the cake between them. There was only one pillow, so Izumi's head lay on the mattress. Wig strands tangled around his neck and underneath his cheek, alluring hair face-framing apparently no longer on his mind. Mizutani twisted the cake box this way and that as if an angle to surmount it without the usual equipment might materialize. Izumi watched him till he gave up and they both sat staring at what was, considering the effort involved, really a somewhat asinine birthday gift.
Mizutani picked at the edge of the cake box.
He glanced at Izumi. “Wasn't it supposed to be Shinooka?”
Izumi looked surprised, but the tense moment dissipated of its own accord and he reached out to spin the half-dismantled box slowly on the bed with his thumb and index finger.
“It didn't work out.”
Mizutani snorted. “Good. That would have been really awkward.”
Izumi smiled, and the slow cake rotation turned into something more like a mid-speed cake whirlwind. “Oh, great. I'll keep that in mind, then. Mizutani: feels more awkward about a nighttime visit from Shinooka than with me in his bed dressed as a girl.”
Mizutani frowned. “It's just a wig, anyway. You didn't try very hard.” Mizutani caught Izumi's wrist before inertia enacted permanent damage to his birthday. He lifted the arm above their heads, pulling Izumi's body up slightly as he did, as if to get a better look at him before dropping him back down onto the mattress. “Surprise definitely not as advertised.”
“It's a surprise, dummy.” Izumi shivered from the air let in by the movement, then turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “It isn't even supposed to be advertised.”
“Oh.” Mizutani thought a moment. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Mizutani hadn't meant to appear ungrateful. He took one last look at the cake before cutting into it with three fingers, shoveling the tip to his mouth. It was a little sweeter than he usually liked, but it was his birthday and he was in a sweet mood. When he finished his first handful he splayed his fingers, sucking off the frosting from each and catching any roaming bits elsewhere with his tongue. When he looked back up, Izumi was looking at him again.
He grabbed off a slightly smaller handful of cake and held it to Izumi's mouth.
Izumi turned his head from one side of the cake hand to the other, refusing to open his mouth sufficiently. “That's disgusting.”
Mizutani grinned. “You brought me cake in the middle of the night with no utensils. What did you think I would do?” Withdrawing the cake, he took a particularly large bite. A little frosting got on his nose, but he ignored it and focused on sucking off his bottom lip.
Izumi turned back to the ceiling and closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head.
“Good point. Dumb move.”
“Plan neesh moar forefought. An napkinsh.”
Izumi planted a palm over his eyes. “I do my best. This definitely isn't turning out to be one of my better ideas.”
This whole best friends thing really never ceased to be enlightening. Mizutani had no idea Izumi could be so squeamish about sloppy eating habits. He spread a generous amount of frosting and leftover strawberry pulp over his lips before shoving the rest of his handful overflowing into his mouth.
“I forbib voo.”
With his vision obscured, Izumi failed to react to Mizutani's movement soon enough, and he was left with a peck on the cheek before he even had time to move the hand from his eyes. Mizutani would have preferred to really smear himself on, but something quick gave him more time to ready for Izumi's retaliation.
He commended himself on the choice when he managed to back off before the retribution even began. Though as the seconds passed and the retribution became less an issue of “when” than “if at all,” he had to double check Izumi to confirm his speed hadn't botched the job.
It was there, though—white with just a little bit of red over cheek with just a little bit of freckles. Yet the only response was silence and a look that made Mizutani feel weirdly apologetic. He reached his hand out, but it was beat by Izumi's finger, wiping up the frosting to stick in his mouth as the boy turned away from him again.
Mizutani swallowed and decided not to go for another bite. His was really sticky and sort of wanted a drink from his water glass, only there was a match in it. He moved the cake to the nightstand.
Izumi was up on his elbow facing him again by the time he turned back around. “So what, you knew the whole plan?”
“Um.” Mizutani's handling of their off-kilter moments might be steadily improving, but he was never going to best Izumi in recovery time. He stuck his clean hand in the water glass and wiped it on his chin and face. “Not really. I just overheard Tajima saying something about midnight on my birthday and Shinooka coming to my window alone.”
Izumi raised his eyebrows and glanced from the window back to Mizutani. He snorted. “Sounds like you knew some things better than me.”
“Wait.” Mizutani paused in the act of provisory cleaning to scoot closer to Izumi, head balanced on the edge of the pillow. “So what did you hear?” His shins met with Izumi's pants again, though it didn't bother him so much now since Izumi was getting warmer.
Izumi flopped back away from him to give the ceiling another frustrated glare. “That the whole team was coming.”
Mizutani poked him in the side, though his body was unresponsive. “Stop moving around so much. It lets cold air in and I've only got boxers so I feel it worse than for you.”
“Mizutani, your life.” Izumi didn't look at him, but he reached his hand out to smooth some of the hair on Mizutani's head as Mizutani had done for him before. “Is it always this tragic?” The smoothing hand suddenly traveled lower, scooping behind Mizutani's neck and pulling him closer. “Do you need a cry?”
“Shut up, it's my birthday!” Mizutani threw his arms forward to stop his face from being planted in the middle of Izumi's chest. Izumi didn't really try to win the struggle but made it hard for Mizutani to get away. He snickered and kept pulling till Mizutani's cake-sticky hand smeared against his sweater. “Birthday boys are supposed to be pampered and stuff!”
Izumi released him instantly, glaring as he surveyed the frosting-white imprint of Mizutani's hand on his arm.
“Seriously. It's the least you could do after this lame excuse for my fantasy. You don't even have breasts.” Mizutani took advantage of Izumi's dropped guard to pat his chest with the sticky hand. Disappointed to find the previous run-in with Izumi's sweater had wiped off the better part of the frosting, he still made his best effort at an imprint, wiggling his palm firmly into Izumi's left pectoral.
Izumi grabbed his wrist and tossed it aside, shaking his head. “Though it may surprise you, a friend will actually only go so far to help you get off.”
“The wig alone doesn't really work.” Hand now mostly clean, Mizutani dunked it in the water and wiped it on his shirt, gesturing at Izumi with his chin.“You've got nice eyes, but whole-package-wise you still don't really look like a girl even with that thing.”
Izumi smiled. “You, on the other hand, could totally pull it off.”
“You think so?”
Izumi cursed at the sudden pulling to dislodge wig hairs from underneath his head, face a perfect example of the “I should have known better” expression Mizutani was learning to stimulate with great reliability. He sat up, turning away as he put the wig on, then throwing his head back around, palms open on either side of his face to act as glamor lights.
“How do I look?”
Izumi turned his head slightly off the pillow and stared at him.
“You look like a dope. Take it off.”
“Aw, come on.”
Izumi closed his eyes and plopped his head back down. “I'd totally do you, ok? Happy? Off.”
Mizutani leaned back away from the fingers clutching blindly for his head. “I wonder if Shinooka likes long hair?”
Izumi sighed, hand flopping down on the bed between them. “Lesbian Shinooka would totally do you. Give me the wig back so I can warm my head I'm fucking freezing.”
Izumi turned his palm upward on the bed as if to accept the wig, but Mizutani only looked at it, eventually leaning back against the headboard. “Why'd you pull something like this when it was so cold out, anyway?”
“Like I said, I didn't know you'd be trying to lock a lone girl in freezing weather outside your window tonight.”
Mizutani didn't say anything, and Izumi laughed.
“Was that seriously the plan? Leave it locked and close your eyes till she went away?”
Mizutani slumped back under the blankets and covered his face with his pillow.
After not too long, he felt a gentle return poke to his side.
“Sorry.” Izumi's voice was just at the edge of the pillow, and when Mizutani moved it he found Izumi curled up closer to his side. He pulled the pillow down and hugged it to his stomach.
“Heh. Well, you said you never planned for her to come anyway. Not your fault.”
“Oh, well, yeah.” Izumi's tone made Mizutani's gaze switch back toward him. “I did invite her, actually, though.” Izumi fidgeted with the corner of Mizutani's pillow. “Just not to come alone.”
Mizutani groaned and brought the pillow back up to his face.
“Oh, come on! I told her it was for your birthday! I didn't...explain it or anything.”
“Mphmngaamph.”
“What?”
Mizutani lifted the pillow slightly off his mouth. “Why do you do this?”
He could feel Izumi shrug on the bed next to him. “It's what you want, isn't it?”
“Bmpaaha—“
Izumi tried to pull the pillow off his face but Mizutani hung on, only allowing it to be tugged enough to envelop both their heads below it.
“Yeah, but you don't have to go playing matchmaker every freaking chance you get. Last time—“
“You need a goddamn girlfriend.” Izumi attempted to move himself out of the cocoon surrounding their heads, strengthening his pull on the pillow and pushing off Mizutani's shoulders. “I'm looking out for you! I'm doing the best I can! I swear, the longer you stay single—“
“You're single!”
“God, yes, fine, I'm single. Hey, why don't we put you in charge of solving that one? Sound good?”
Mizutani paused to think a moment. He pursed his lips. “I don't really know if I want you to get a girlfriend.”
Izumi turned onto his back, letting go of the pillow to punch himself in the face through it.
Mizutani watched him lie inert for several moments before raising his fist to take a punch himself.
“Ow!” Izumi ripped the pillow from both their heads to throw it across the room, seizing both Mizutani's wrists in one movement. He pinned them down, first above Mizutani's head, then over his mouth when he tried to speak.
“You're being a baby!” Mizutani wanted to argue. But with arms and head immobilized through nothing but one of Izumi's fists, he was alarmed by just how much stronger the smaller boy seemed right now. Truthfully he might have been able to get out if he really fought, but he felt oddly incapacitated. It reminded him a lot of back when Izumi used to tickle him, though they didn't do that so much now anymore.
Breathing hard despite his lack of action, Mizutani lay waiting with the taste of his own still slightly sweet skin in his mouth till Izumi's eyes softened and he changed his grip. Clasping one of Mizutani's hands, he pulled him up into a sitting position with a sigh.
“You're being a baby and I'm being a busybody.” Izumi let go of Mizutani's hand but stayed sitting up to face him. “Sorry. But it's not like it's just me. Especially not this time.”
Mizutani frowned. “Yeah, who...”
“Well, you mentioned Tajima. And whenever I talked about the whole birthday thing to him he kept winking and telling me he knew 'just what to do'.” Izumi shrugged, smirking a little. “I figured he just meant something obscene and let it go.”
“Wait, how would Tajima know I like Shinooka?”
Izumi laughed, flopping back down to the bed with his arms folded behind his head. “We've sort of been through this, Mizutani. You don't exactly hide it well.”
“Yeah, but...” Mizutani didn't like the somewhat pitying tone to Izumi's voice. He leaned back onto the headboard till something awful occurred to him. “You don't think she knows, do you?”
Izumi glanced at him, not answering for a moment. When he did he spoke in a very level voice.
“At this point I'm going to say yes.”
“What?” Mizutani blinked, startled from a conversation he had thought was merely headed toward morbid conjecture. He turned to frantically pull at Izumi's elbow. “What's that supposed to mean? How can you even be that sure? Just because you think it's so obvious doesn't mean everyone pays as much attention as...”
“The thing is, she did agree to come tonight. She was even helping me pick out the cake before we all met up.” Izumi released his folded arms to shove Mizutai's hand away from his elbow.
Mizutani stilled, eyes widening. “Wait. So you think...” He swallowed, trying to keep his voice under control. “So you think she actually...”
“Then she got Tajima's message that none of the team could make it and she'd have to go on without us. And I got the one sent to all the guys telling none of us to show up, not that I told her about it. Still.” Izumi rolled over onto his stomach, face planted into the mattress. “At that point she couldn't get out of there fast enough.”
Izumi sighed into the bed, pillowing his head on an arm. “I guess it wasn't the most likely story with me standing there right in front of her.”
Mizutani sank half way down onto the bed. “Ok.” He pulled up the blankets to his chin, half burying Izumi's head underneath them. “But still, I didn't have anything to do with—“
“She was backing away and I just started blurting stuff out.”
There was a moment of stillness before Mizutani was tearing the blanket down, trying to seize Izumi's wrists the same way the boy had done to him before. It didn't really work because Izumi didn't hold back with his struggling, but he did at least get him turned over to look at his face.
“YOU TOLD HER?”
“No!” Izumi had already managed to immobilize one of Mizutani's wrists, though he was still fighting off the other. “No. I went a little overboard probably but I didn't do that at least. I was just talking you up.”
Mizutani paused in his struggling to dedicate all his faculties to a particularly heartfelt wince.
“What? What's wrong with that?” Izumi took advantage of the pause to throw off Mizutani's arms and sit up. “I did my best to suggest to her all of your many alluring qualities!”
Mizutani winced again. “Oh god...”
“What?”
“Is that how you said it?”
“What?”
“You're always saying that kind of thing about me!”
“What?” Izumi had been leaning in closer with every single utterance, but now he sat back a little hurriedly, waving his hand as if to dispel misunderstanding. “Ok, yes, maybe sometimes, but I'm not seri—“
“And you always act like you're trying to sound as sarcastic as possible!”
Izumi stopped, hands mid-wave, mouth hanging open.
“Fine, yes, I'm sorry.” Izumi's entire posture drooped. “I can't help it. Either way I fell over myself like an idiot, totally freaked out your crush, and now I'm sitting here in her place, alright?! I'm trying, I just—“
The sound of footsteps down the hall sent them both rigid. By the time light spilled in from the crack underneath the door, Izumi was already half way rammed into the gap between the wall and the bed, a stream of curses in his wake as he tossed away thick blankets to widen the opening. His frame was so small that his head was actually what gave him the most difficulty going down, something Mizutani might have laughed at if he hadn't been so busy smoothing the blankets down after him and realizing his pillow was still half way across the room.
The door opened with an outpouring of disorienting light.
“Fumiki, are you talking to someone in...”
Mizutani's mother came into the room with a look of irritation, but as she entered her expression turned indecisive. Mizutani didn't know if she'd noticed the odd placement of the pillow. He'd managed to lay back down on his bed in an uncomfortable sort of way, albeit breathing a little hard. She squinted at him.
“...You need your sleep, honey.” She frowned and looked back once before shutting the door.
Mizutani lay still, waiting so long to hear from Izumi he'd have thought the boy gone through some hole in the earth situated inexplicably underneath his bed.
“Isn't it cold down there?” he whispered.
“God yes. Is it safe to come up now?”
Izumi didn't wait for an answer—maybe he knew if the safety call were left up to Mizutani he'd be down there all night—bumping around below the bed before rolling out from underneath.
He began to climb back over Mizutani to his side, dusting himself off as he went. “Cold and also disgusting. How do you—“
He stopped, one leg about to reach over Mizutani's stomach. He pointed to Mizutnai's head.
“You're still wearing that wig.”
Mizutani blinked. “Oh.” He ran some strands through his fingers. “Yeah.”
“Were you wearing that when your mom came in?”
The horrified look on Mizutani's face was apparently the only answer Izumi needed. He collapsed onto the other boy's stomach, clutching anything his hands came in contact with and potentially hyperventilating.
Mizutani didn't have anything to cram on either of their mouths anymore. “God, Izumi, shut up. I don't want her to come in here again.”
Izumi climbed haltingly up Mizutani's torso like his laughter was as debilitating to his body as it apparently was to his brain. He stroked the side of Mizutani's face through the layers of wig hair. “Fumiki, honey, you need your sleep.”
“I can't believe you.” Mizutani brought up his hands to wrap around Izumi's neck, a gesture of strangulation to make up for the fact he was starting to laugh himself. “You are the worst. You are the worst friend.”
Izumi pulled weakly at the fingers around his neck, bringing his legs up to shakily straddle Mizutani's stomach for leverage. “Hey. Do we have to go into all the things I've done for you tonight again?”
“Oh yeah, great, thanks.” Izumi gave up on freeing his neck. Mizutani had to squeeze his arms into his sides, blocking out the fingers that went for his armpits. “You've been doing really good by me tonight. Honestly, sometimes I'd swear there isn't anything you want more than for me and Shinooka to hook up.”
Mizutani had to pull Izumi's neck closer to protect his sides. Head now situated practically on top of Mizutani's torso, Izumi relinquished his struggle for freedom, collapsing limp, snickering and heavy onto the the body beneath him.
“Pretty Fumiki...” Mizutani would have asked him what he'd been drinking tonight if he didn't know any better. He thought a little spittle might be soaking through his night shirt. “Pretty Fumiki and his many alluring qualities.”
Mizutani loosened his grip on the other boy's neck. “Other times...” Drinking would explain a lot of things.
He stared down at the quivering body on top of him. “Other times I'd swear there isn't anything you could possibly want less.”
Izumi stilled. For a moment, he wasn't even laughing. Then he moved to tap playfully on Mizutani's chest. “Says the guy who only opened the window when he figured out it was me.”
“Seriously, you just...” Izumi's neck lolled atop Mizutani as he moved his hands, bringing them up to clutch his hair.
Which turned out to be wig hair, but it didn't really matter. He pulled and moaned.
“No, no, it's ok, you got me.” Izumi propped himself up on Mizutani's chest to look him in the face, still spitting a little when he couldn't hold in a laugh. “Gorgeous gals like you are hard to share. True facts.”
Mizutani pressed a hand to Izumi's chest to try and push him off, but he wouldn't budge.
“I try, I mean. I do the best that I can, but...”
Unable to shove Izumi off from on top of him, Mizutani turned onto his side, sending the other boy down to the bed. Izumi giggled a little extra, like being placed onto his side was some sort of giddy fair ride. Mizutani found himself wondering almost yearningly where Izumi's qualms about personal space had gone.
“This is so good to get off our chests, isn't it? I'm glad we can talk about this. Let's make out.” Izumi put a hand behind Mizutani's wigged head.
“Izumi, seriously, you're getting too loud. I don't care how much she likes you, I don't want Mom to find you in here.”
Izumi pressed a cold nose near Mizutani's cheek to whisper, slightly damp lips grazing against his ear. “At least she'd know you don't spend your nights in bed wearing a wig and talking to yourself as a girl.”
“Oh, yeah, fantastic. Exactly the way to let her know nothing's wrong with me! Instead I spend my nights in bed wearing a wig and pressed up against another guy!”
Of all the times Izumi awkwardly bumbled over giving ample room on the couch, all the times he'd made sure their hands didn't graze too much when handing off a ball, of all the times Izumi couldn't stand to be that close, none of it made Mizutani feel so intensely sad as now, Izumi more than an arm's length away—but shoved there by his friend, so roughly his back nearly met the wall.
The trick before had always been to break contact. But not a single part of them was touching anymore. Izumi's head and shoulders were the furthest away—the part Mizutani had pushed off. But his arms had trailed more slowly after him. Not close enough to touch Mizutani, but lying limply in the space between them. The trick had always been to break contact, but bereft of that, Mizutani reached out his hand.
Izumi's fingers recoiled. Then, suddenly, he was scrambling, trying to find purchase on the blanket. It took Mizutani a moment to realize Izumi was falling, that now he really had backed into the wall and was slipping into the crack. Mizutani reached out to lend his hand, but when Izumi saw it, he latched onto the windowsill instead.
“Um.” Izumi pulled himself out, backing further out of Mizutani's reach the further he drew out of the crack. “Yeah I should probably go before she catches us, huh?”
Mizutani found himself opening his mouth, about to argue.
“No, that's not what I—sorry—that's not what I meant. I mean, you know. Before she catches...” Izumi was clutching at the curtains now, trying to stand. The widening part of fabric let in moonlight behind him, casting an Izumi-shaped shadow where he'd been laying some indiscernible juncture before.
Izumi finally found firm footing, and with that the room stilled. He hadn't regained his balance exactly, but his gritty shoes were planted firmly on top of the blankets, and he stayed upright by leaning against the window, stopping the sway of the curtains as he pinned them to the glass behind him. The only visible movement was the shadows of the trees outside, creeping in with the moonlight.
“...Before she catches me.”
* * * * * *
He hadn't meant to confess, but in the grand scheme of letting cats out of the bag, it didn't feel so significant anymore.
His mom had been cautious around him all morning, tired from waking up early to cook, watching without comment as he only half ate the birthday pancakes he'd politely reminded her about daily for the last two weeks. Yet as they stepped into the entryway, it took no more than a five second utterance and a reach into his bag to change her expression entirely.
“So that's what all that noise was!”
She said “noise” but between laughing and shaking her head and mumbling something about “boys,” he could see her eyes on the soft wad balled up in his hands.
She reached out to it and he drew back out of her reach. “I'm not sure it's to keep.”
“No?” She looked a little sad but let him back away, then turned into the closet to retrieve his coat. “Well you must have enjoyed it, anyway.”
“What?” His gaze twitched automatically to check her eyes, but all he saw was the back of her head. When she turned and extended the coat to him, he withdrew further. “Why?”
His mother looked confused for a moment, then shook her head, dropping the coat to her side and pushing past him to toss it on to a chair. She collapsed onto the sofa. “Well I don't know, honey.” She ventured a smile at him as she shrugged. “But that boy Izumi always seems to know just how to make you laugh.”
He swallowed. “He does try pretty hard sometimes, doesn't he?”
“He does, and that's exactly what counts, so I don't want you behaving like this today or to hear any more of that sorry soul tone out of you.”
“What? I'm not behaving—” He pulled up short when he saw the look on her face. “...It's not about presents! Geez, I'm not five...”
“Twelve. The last big birthday mope was when you were twelve.” She got up off the couch, and when she approached him holding the coat again she was smiling fondly. “But you're not twelve anymore either. You might want to learn to accept things you don't want with a little more grace.”
She held out the coat sleeves so he could slip his arms inside. The span was wider than she could reach, and the tips drooped past her fingertips. “You don't have to grow up too fast if you don't want to, though. Just be nice when someone puts a lot of thought into something for you.”
“I don't think he meant to—” His mother was holding out his lunch when he turned to face her, expression puzzled. He looked away when he took the box. “I don't think he meant to do it.”
“Well... That's why you're taking it to school, isn't it? You're not sure it's to keep.” She patted him on the shoulders, beginning to lead him out the door. “Maybe he's going to take it back.”
Suddenly he was shaking his head vigorously, pulling away from her hands and trying to twist the door knob despite the lock.
“Honey?” She kept her grip on one arm, stopping him from opening the door, turning him to her a little. “Did you want him to take it back?”
She let go of his arm but he didn't leave.
His eyes pleaded with her. “Should I let him?”