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Of all the things in the world— the kinds of people, the rules society sets, the things you're just expected to do— there’s one type Kirara hates the most: boring.
He hates wearing boring clothes picked out by his boring parents. He hates his boring hair, his boring face, his boring life. You’d think Jujutsu High would be better, but those damn old men are just as bad.
Tonight, he looks in the mirror, hands clenched tight around the rim of the sink, and thinks, I need to be different. I need fever.
“Kirara,” Hakari’s voice comes muffled through the door, following a hard knock. “Get up, we're gonna be late. It’s noon.”
Kirara burrows further under the covers, smothering himself with fuzzy pink blankets. “I’m skipping!” He shouts at the door, burying his face back in the sheets.
The door opens. Kirara flexes his toes as Hakari’s weight settles on the bed, pressed against his shins. “Why’re we skipping?” Hakari asks, flopping back to drape himself over Kirara’s legs.
“It’s just... so not cute,” Kirara mutters, wiggling anxiously. He can hear the bloody thump, thump, thump of his heart in his ears.
“What, school?” Hakari slaps his arm, moving to pin him down better, calmly wrestling him into getting up. “It won’t be that bad. We have a mission today, dude, and we can go play pachinko for a while—”
“Me, I’m not cute! Kin, I messed it up!” Kirara finally bursts from the blanket, weaving his fingers through his hair and tugging at the roots. “Look! Look, it’s so ugly, I’m so…”
His lip wobbles. He takes a deep breath in, but it doesn’t help; hot tears keep welling up in his eyes like a brewing storm, impossible to take back.
“I grew it out so long and now it’s all ruined,” he sobs, slapping his hands over his red face.
Kirara’s never been afraid to act ‘girly’, especially around Hakari. It’s just how he is, and he doesn’t care about covering it up. But now, with the choppy ends of his bangs sticking up, his cheeks wet with tears, and his wavering cries filling the silence, he almost hates himself.
“Sorry,” he stutters, wiping his eyes, “I just need to get it fixed. I can’t go out like this, Kin, I don’t want anyone to see me.”
He tugs at the ends of his butchered, tangled hair. With a long, wet sniffle, he tries to choke down his sobs, lacing his trembling fingers together.
God, he’s the worst. Hakari just came here to get him up for school, and now he has to deal with him being a baby about a bad haircut. Kirara bites his tongue, blinking hard to clear his eyes.
“I do my own hair, y’know,” Hakari says. He stares at the moon phase calendar on Kirara’s wall, avoiding his eyes, but he doesn’t look annoyed. He has the same calm, bored look on his face as always. “I can try to fix it for you now.”
Kirara’s mouth drops open. “Would you really?”
“Sure. It’s just straightening out some jagged ends, you didn’t mess it up that bad.” He turns back to Kirara and tousles his hair, tugging a stubborn knot. “And you know your hair grows fast, man, it’s not like this’d be permanent anyway.”
“Okay,” Kirara says dumbly, his chest aching. He gathers up a shaky smile, sniffling one last time. “Okay, yeah! Thanks, Kin.”
“I’m a damn saint, I know,” Hakari snorts and heaves himself up from the bed, his broad shoulders flexing as he stretches.
When he cracks his neck, his sharp jaw flexes, creaking with a yawn. His uniform hangs well off his frame, baggy and draping over his muscles. He’s always been so angular, so manly. Kirara can’t imagine being like that.
“Kin,” Kirara says quietly, looking up at him. In the quiet, dark loom of the morning, lingering stress clinging to his heavy eyelids, he suddenly feels vulnerable. His breaths still hitch with the echoes of his sobs, making him dizzy. “Do you think… there’s something weird about me? Like, I’m not the way I should be?”
It's a stupid question. Even Kirara doesn't know what it means. Still, Hakari tilts his head, thinking it over with that same bored sincerity he takes everything with.
Kirara's heart aches.
“I think you’re Kirara,” Hakari finally says, reaching out to pull him to his feet. “And I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
“Kin-chan,” Kirara sighs, swinging her legs from her perch on the chipped bathroom counter. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m coming, trying to find the goddamn scissors,” Hakari mutters, rustling around a little more. Kirara leans her head back against the mirror and closes her eyes, thick lashes clumped with last night's mascara fluttering against her cheeks.
Hakari’s frustrated grunts as he tosses aside empty beer cans rings clear in her ears. She can hear each of his footsteps as he trips over the clothes they’d thrown on the floor on their way into bed.
Their apartment is barely big enough for the two of them to share. It was likely built to be a single; the floorplan is so small they're almost on top of each other at all times. It isn’t as fancy as their Jujutsu High dorm rooms, either, with their expensive floor heating and perfect water pressure.
But it’s still better in every way, because she can be right next to Hakari all the time. They share a bed, shower, bathroom, and almost every breath of air.
The very best part, though, is that there are no stuffy old higher-ups breathing down their necks. It’s just her and Hakari. She hums a happy, familiar tune, tapping her nails on the sink. Clink, clink, clink. She sings through her favorite part, idly rolling the silver ball in her tongue against her teeth.
“What’re you singing?” Hakari asks, finally stepping in and setting the scissors, brush, and box dye next to her. He pinches her thigh, and when she gasps, leans in to kiss her.
She gives in for a while, letting him lick into her mouth, opening her legs to wrap them around his waist. Her skirt rides up, and he flicks the hem with his fingers, teasing.
Finally, she pulls away, shivering and panting. “Don’t ask a question if you’re not gonna let me answer, jerk,” she laughs. She licks up the spit dripping down her lip, ignoring the sharp flick of his eyes down to her tongue. “It’s Takada’s new single! She has a concert in a week, we totally have to go.”
“Sure,” Hakari bites her neck, holding her waist to keep her from falling off the counter as she flinches. “Whatever you want.”
“Don’t get distracted,” she warns, half-heartedly, as he sucks her skin between his teeth. “You promised we’d do it today. My split ends are getting split ends, Kin-chan! And look at my roots!”
Hakari gives her jaw one last kiss before straightening up. He grabs the brush and starts to sort through her tangled ends, gentler than she’d be with herself.
Abruptly, Kirara feels like she’s going to cry. She clears her throat, swallows her heart back into her chest, and kisses him again.
"Thanks, Kin-chan," she grins as he pushes her bangs away from her forehead. He smiles back.
Now, she knows that this is fever, the type of heat that can’t die out.