Archive of Our Own ^beta

Litost (Czech)-A state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery.

He recalls the word as he sits down in one of the metal folding chairs that his college provided for tonight’s mixer event. It wasn’t really his idea to go—but Yamamoto had insisted all day. Tired of hearing about the mixer, Fukunaga relented. And then Yamamoto decided not to show up.

The chairs around him are arranged in a circle, and he names them in his head, one by one, until the names wrap around to his own seat. The action calms him and he can now focus more on the freshly-minted university students taking their seats instead of the sinking feeling in his stomach. He tries to see the nervousness in them too; when he notices the girl sitting beside him bouncing her leg up and down and biting her lip he feels almost relieved.

Schadenfreude (German)-A sense of joy or pleasure at the pain of another.

It’s not the best term but one that would have to do. Conversations carry around the circle, each person bringing a new voice into the noise of what quickly becomes a racket. Fukunaga remains quiet. He isn’t open to wasting his words on people he’s unlikely to talk to ever again.

After a few minutes pass, a woman comes to stand in the middle of the circle to silence the crowd and begin the mixer. She introduces herself as a counselor, and she explains that the first part of the mixer would be for everybody to introduce themselves one by one. There it is, litost , Fukunaga thinks to himself as the counselor asks a girl in a light blue sweater to start the group off. She’s about five or six seats away from him and when she stands, she stands tall with a straight back, throwing her dark hair over her shoulders. A smile widens across her face, and Fukunaga envies her confidence.

“My name is Tateyama Hikari, and I intend to study biology.” She sits down with a flourish, sweeping her hands underneath her short white skirt to hold the fabric in one place. What a show-off.

The circle seems to be filled with science majors for the most part: medicine, physics, and forensics. A large university in Tokyo allows for varied programs, but Fukunaga had hoped for widespread diversity, not just scientific diversity. He holds his chin in his hands and recites the dictionary in his head: dumbstruck, dumbwaiter, dumbfound, dummy, dump, dun, dunce, dunderhead.

“Uh, hello. My name is Ennoshita Chikara. And I want to study filmmaking!” His voice is clear, and he has a nervous little grin on his face. Fukunaga watches Ennoshita as he waves briefly and sits back down. He thinks that surely he’s seen Ennoshita somewhere before. Surely.

Before he can figure it out though, a more pressing thought of public speaking takes over his mind; he minimizes the word count in his head by omitting all the extraneous parts. Fukunaga rehearses the phrase in his head over and over again so that he’ll have it right by the time it’s his turn. As the girl beside him sits down, he stands up.

“I’m Fukunaga Shouhei and I’m studying linguistics.” He says it cleanly and neatly although his voice rasps in his throat a little from underuse. When he sits back down, nobody seems to be making the same faces they did back in high school. Their faces used to scream, “ he can talk?” and the memory makes Fukunaga think that a fresh start can be nice.

A few more people take turns introducing themselves and the college lady resumes talking. Fukunaga, ignoring her, decides to pass the time once more. Bore, boreal, Boreas, borecole, boredom, boric acid, borne, boron, borough, borrow.

She must have dismissed the group while he was concentrating on the dictionary because people are standing up and chattering now. Fukunaga remains seated. He’s never been much of a talker, so why should he start now, especially considering his preset rules? College is the same as anything else, isn’t it? Pulling his bag a little closer to his chest, he closes his eyes and sighs quietly.

“Hey,” the voice causes Fukunaga’s eyes to snap open. “I think we used to play volleyball together.” Fukunaga tilts his head upward so he can see more clearly. Ennoshita Chikara has a smile on his face; his voice is bright and excited.

Koi no Yokan (Japanese)-The feeling upon first meeting somebody that you’re going to fall in love.

Sometimes your own language can be the most fitting.

“Karasuno,” Ennoshita says, pointing a finger toward the center of his chest.

“Nekoma,” Fukunaga responds, bewildered. He could swear that he remembers something, anything. Surely he remembers this feeling, at least.

“I remember you. I just didn’t know if you remembered me. We were captains at the same time. You didn’t talk much.” And all of a sudden, the memories come rushing back to Fukunaga. It’s the flutter in his chest during captains’ meetings at their summer training camp. It’s making conscious decisions to send fast and hard spikes toward Karasuno’s captain, vying for attention. He nods now, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You still don’t talk much, do you?” Fukunaga shakes his head in response. “Hey, that’s cool. Do you wanna leave this thing? It’s pretty boring.” Without any hesitation, Fukunaga stands up to follow Ennoshita outside.

Half an hour later they’re sitting in a corner booth at a near-empty pizza parlor a few blocks away from campus. It’s one of those touristy places that’s supposed to model pizza parlors in New York City, as if anybody but New Yorkers would know if the place was authentic.

Fukunaga stretches his legs out so his feet rest on the opposite bench next to Ennoshita, who rambles on about what’s been going on in his life since they last saw each other. It’s a little difficult to keep up since Ennoshita has to back up every now and then to explain background information. All the while, Fukunaga stirs his soda with a straw. Sometimes Ennoshita says something funny and Fukunaga smiles.

“Are you rooming with somebody from Nekoma?” Fukunaga only nods. “Who?”

“Yamamoto Taketora.”

“Mohawk guy.” When Fukunaga hums in conformation, it’s Ennoshita’s turn to smile. “He’s pretty loud, huh? And you’re quiet.” Fukunaga shakes his head and taps his index finger at his temple. He isn’t sure if Ennoshita will understand the gesture, but it’s worth a shot. “You’re loud in your head.” Fukunaga grins so that his teeth show.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you talk very much?”

Fukunaga is half tempted to actually try explaining everything to Ennoshita, but instead he just shrugs.

“Don’t like it, huh?”

Fukunaga shakes his head, reconsiders, then nods.

“So it’s harder to explain than all that. That makes sense. You know, I’m working on a film right now—it’s still in a preliminary stage, but I digress—anyways, there’s this character in it who doesn’t talk. I’ve been trying to come up with a decent reason for ages, but I can’t seem to pin one. And it’s not like I can write her out because she’s the main love interest and the whole ‘no talking’ thing is a major plot point.” Fukunaga raises his eyebrows. “Anyways. You probably don’t want to hear about the film. It’s super early in production. Not that good yet.”

Fukunaga rolls his eyes at Ennoshita’s lack of self-confidence. When Ennoshita only laughs, Fukunaga raises an eyebrow and takes another sip of soda.

“You’re funny, Fukunaga-san. Hey—I know you’ll probably be busy with your own coursework, but since you’re studying language maybe you could help me with the screenplay?”

“Not composition,” Fukunaga says, his face turning red.

“Yeah, but you read a lot, right?” Ennoshita is trying to coax Fukunaga with his gentle smile, and Fukunaga will be damned if it isn’t working. He nods. “Then you’ll know if it sounds any good.”

Just before Fukunaga can protest again—he isn’t about to let Ennoshita persuade him this easily—a waiter brings out their pizza. Ennoshita thanks him for bringing it so quickly, and the two of them dig in. Fukunaga is pleasantly surprised with the pizza; he likes how it’s still hot from the oven and how the cheese pulls out in little strings when he bites into it.

“Do you still play volleyball?” Ennoshita asks between bites of his own slice. When Fukunaga shakes his head, Ennoshita furrows his eyebrows. “Why not? You were really good in high school.”

Fukunaga feels his face heat up and he takes a sip of his soda. He wiggles his hand noncommittally.

“Don’t get humble on me,” Ennoshita laughs. “We could find a league and play on it together. Hey, maybe your roommate wants to join us. I’d ask Tanaka, since he goes here too, but he’s playing on the university team. Got a sports scholarship.”

Fukunaga hums. The two of them eat in silence for a little while longer, even after they’ve already eaten too much.

Shemomedjamo (Georgian)-To continue eating after you’re already full, just because you like the taste of the food.

Before they part ways, Ennoshita plugs his number into Fukunaga’s phone and makes him promise to text him later. Fukunaga is sure that he would, even if Ennoshita hadn’t made him promise.

He nearly gets lost on his way back to his building, but Fukunaga is glad to make it there before dark. He’s still reluctant to call it home since he and Yamamoto have only been living there for about a week but he knows that it’ll begin to feel like home eventually. When he comes in the door, Yamamoto is slumped down on the couch watching a crime show on their tiny television.

“Welcome back,” he grunts. “I’m beginning to wish I saved more of my graduation money for a TV. This thing is a fucking postage stamp. Where have you been?”

“The mixer.”

“Oh yeah. How was that? I ran into somebody and decided not to go.” Yamamoto still doesn’t look back from the postage stamp. “That hot asshole from Nohebi got even hotter after he graduated high school. He has a tongue ring now. We went out for coffee.”

“Thirsty,” Fukunaga teases. “I ran into somebody too.”

“Really? Who?”

“Ennoshita Chikara.” Fukunaga sets his bag on the coffee table and sits down next to his roommate.

“Captain crow? Remember when you had that crush on him last year?” Fukunaga tries to act nonchalant but his expression must betray him, because Taketora’s eyes get wide and he says, “Oh my God, you still have a crush on him.”

Fukunaga clears his throat. “Daishou Suguru?”

“That’s different. I don’t necessarily want to date Daishou, but I do want to have hot, sweaty wall sex with him.”

“Too much information!” Fukunaga presses his hands to his ears. “Gross.”

“And you’re not gross? I bet you wanna go on cute dates with captain crow and he’ll buy you flowers and you’ll grow old together with like, ten cats and four children.” Fukunaga opens his mouth to protest, but Taketora cuts in. “Look, you can say all you want, but you have a thing for him. I say you should go for it.”

“You’re embarrassing.”

“Come on, Shouhei. We’ve been friends since we were like, nine. There’s no getting rid of me and my embarrassing, gross, slutty ass now. Speaking of slutty, do you think I’ll look desperate if I text Daishou now?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

[9:52 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Hey, this is Fukunaga.
[10:18 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: oh cool i’m glad you texted me
[10:18 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: sorry this is a little late i was watching a movie
[10:22 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: It’s okay. What movie was it?
[10:23 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: The Shawshank Redemption
[10:23 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: my roommate said he hadn’t seen it and its like my favorite movie
[10:23 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I think I’ve seen that one. With the man who breaks out of prison?
[10:25 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: yeah! Its like the whole reason i decided to get into filmmaking
[10:25 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: That makes sense. It’s a pretty good movie. I don’t know too much about movies, but I liked it a lot.
[10:27 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: well you’ve got me now fukunaga-san

Fukunaga doesn’t know what to make of the last message from Ennoshita, but he likes how reading it makes his heart flutter.

[10:29 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: anyways i know classes start on monday but do you wanna meet up and work on my screenplay sometime??
[10:30 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: we don’t have to work on the screenplay i mean we could do whatever
[10:30 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I do like coffee... And we could do the script over coffee
[10:30 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: sounds like a deal
[10:30 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: when do you wanna get it on? I’m pretty much free all weekend

Fukunaga very nearly makes a prostitution joke since the opportunity is too good, but instead goes for a more entry-level jab.

[10:32 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I bet your mom is pretty much free all weekend.
[10:32 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Also I can do Sunday morning if you’re up for it.
[10:33 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: good one fukunaga... I can meet you on sunday morning and we can fight irl

Fukunaga finds Ennoshita on Sunday morning sitting in a corner table at a small local coffee house. His laptop is closed, and he rests his head on top of it with his eyes shut. Fukunaga slides into the booth quietly, and then clears his throat to get Ennoshita’s attention. He jolts, but softens a little when he sees it’s only Fukunaga, not a laptop robber, sitting across from him.

“Ah, Fukunaga. It’s early as hell.”

“It’s 9:30.”

“On a Sunday. That’s like, a crime.” Fukunaga only blinks at him. “I don’t know how y’all city boys do things here in Tokyo, but in Miyagi we sleep in on Sundays.”

“Hick.”

“City-slicker.”

Fukunaga grins at Ennoshita, and Ennoshita returns the favor. They order their coffee, and while they wait for it to be delivered to their table, Ennoshita jumps into describing his movie. He taps away at his laptop as he does so, pulling up preliminary character sheets and short concept pieces.

“Okay, so it’s like a sci-fi film to end all sci-fi films. I mean, face it, it’s very nearly a dead genre. Nobody can really nail the sci-fi flick anymore, and I’m not saying I’m superior to these other guys, but at least I’m not making twenty-nine dystopian novel adaptations every year.” Ennoshita shakes his head and curses under his breath a little, partly wanting to rant about the death of a genre, partly wanting to describe his own film. “I’ve watched like every decent sci-fi thing made since Star Wars . And all the bad stuff too. It takes dedication, Fukunaga-san, to sit through The Bicentennial Man . Like it’s definitely sci-fi but at the same time it’s like the kind of stuff they show to terrorists to make them talk.”

Stiob (Russian)-A form of parody requiring such a degree of overidentification with the subject that it’s unclear where love for that subject ends and parody begins.

“So essentially I’m trying to fix the mistakes of bad sci-fi cinema by making a film that’s so good people have no choice but to love it. Not only is it a homage to all my favorite sci-fi films, it’s a chance to outdo them. Like, uh, Christ, you like to read, right? It’s like how Vergil wrote the Aeneid to mimic Homer, he also wrote it to make Homer look bad. At least that’s what my roommate tells me. He’s much more knowledgeable about that kind of stuff than I am.”

Aemulatio (Latin)-A Roman notion of paying respect to one’s predecessors by delivering an improved version of their work.

“Anyways I don’t know where to get the money for what I wanna do, but I’m thinking I can maybe get a grant? It’s really complicated. It’s kind of like, exploring the multiverse theory, and there’s space ships and multiversal bounty hunters. The main character is a bounty hunter from our dimension and he’s looking for this guy who’s been closing portals between the universes, and his only lead is this girl who won’t talk to him. So he has to find the bad guy before a whole bunch of other bounty hunters do, and he has to fall in love with the mute girl, and it’s all very complicated. But I can see it in my head and it works.”

Finally, Ennoshita takes a deep breath and a sip of his coffee. Fukunaga had pulled his journal from his bag and began to take notes halfway through Ennoshita’s spiel.

“Neat,” Fukunaga says.

“I really just wanted to go over initial stuff with you. I just wanna make sure you’re interested. If you end up deciding to help, I’ll definitely credit you for screenplay if and when this gets slated for production,” Ennoshita says. Fukunaga waves his hand dismissively. “I’d have to credit you somehow. Just sit on your notes and tell me what you wanna end up doing.” They both sip their coffees in silence.

Ennoshita goes back to tapping on his laptop, and Fukunaga watches the coffeeshop, periodically making  note of his observations. He writes about the tired woman behind the counter and the young couple sitting across the shop and the old man sleeping in one of the comfy chairs in front of the fireplace. Most of all, he writes about Ennoshita.

A little pink flash of his tongue pokes out from behind his teeth as he types, and very occasionally he looks back over his work while pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t react to his own work much, aside from small sighs of discontent each time he has to fix a typo.

“So,” he says suddenly. Fukunaga pretends he wasn’t just watching. “Classes start tomorrow. Are you nervous?” Fukunaga nods. “Me too. It’s all so much bigger than it used to be. Like I actually knew people in high school, but now I feel like just another face in the crowd.” Fukunaga nods sadly.

Semaphorism (English)-A conversational hint that you have something deeper to say on the subject, but don’t go any further.

“It’s not that I don’t think anybody will like me. I just think it’s almost too big and busy to make new friends. Right? Everybody tells me that’s how it’s supposed to feel, but I wish it didn’t feel that way. Anyways. How is your roommate doing? I told Tanaka about y’all and he asked about Yamamoto.”

Fukunaga gives Ennoshita a little thumbs-up.

“I guess he’s excited about classes too. Do you know what he’s studying?”

“Political science.”

Ennoshita laughs. “I never would have guessed. And you’re studying linguistics. I guess both are a little unexpected. Then again, you're an odd duo to begin with. Nothing should surprise me about the two of you.” Fukunaga shrugs. “If you told me all this stuff while we were in high school, I probably would have thought you were joking.”

They hang around the coffee shop for a few more hours after that. Fukunaga scribbles little things he notices about Ennoshita as he works at his laptop. After a while it becomes less of a journal entry and more of a list, which Fukunaga soon revises so that it’s alphabetical. When it’s finished, he looks over his work satisfactorily.

Fukunaga’s phone buzzes.

[11:48 a.m.] MOM SAID: Just checking on you to see how you’re settling in. I know it’s difficult for you. Love you lots!
[11:48 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: So far, so good. I’m out to lunch with a friend who, shocker, is not Taketora.

Ennoshita looks up and cocks his head to the side as if to say “who’s that?” Instead of replying, Fukunaga just shakes his head to dismiss him, trying to brush the texts off as something unimportant.

[11:55 a.m.] MOM SAID: Exciting! I’ll let you get back to it
[11:56 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Love you

He’s not sure who Ennoshita assumes he’s texting, probably Yamamoto. It’s safe to say that he’s only texting Yamamoto. Then again, it’s also safe to say that he’s texting his mom. It’s safe to say that he’s a little nervous when it comes to Ennoshita.

Now it’s Ennoshita’s phone that buzzes. He runs a hand through his hair and pinches the bridge of his nose. The sentence starts as a hum in the back of his throat and slowly comes out in words “Yeah, my roommate is being weird. I have to dash. This was good, though, we should do it again sometime. Talk to you later, Fukunaga-san.”

Ennoshita almost goes in for a handshake—a high five—a fist bump - but he awkwardly pulls back halfway and only knocks on the table. He packs up his laptop quickly, gives Fukunaga a little salute, and heads out the door. Fukunaga only hangs around for a few minutes after that, just long enough to take a short note of the table-knocking in his journal.

By the time Fukunaga shows up to his first class on Monday morning, any of the seats he would have wanted were already taken. All that’s really left are a bunch of seats in the middle of the lecture hall, none of the back-of-the-room-close-to-the-wall seats Fukunaga would have leapt at had Yamamoto not held him behind a few minutes with his excessively long shower.

Fukunaga makes his way to one of the remaining seats and gets settled down. He takes out his journal and some pens, and he turns to the first blank page so he can take notes on what to expect from the class. The people around him are all talking, talking, talking, but it doesn’t seem like any of them are having real conversations. They’re just talking so that they have something to say.

Anecdoche (English)-A conversation in which everybody is talking but nobody is listening.

For a while, Fukunaga just watches the other students and waits for his professor to show up. There’s a boy sitting in front of him trying to get a girl’s phone number, who only rolls her eyes at him and chuckles a soft “no.” He can hear people behind him making introductions, shaking hands and talking about how this is all so different from high school.

This is all so different from high school.

Worry, worse, worship, worshiper, worsted, wort, worth, he recites. Wot, would, wound, wove, wrack, wraith. He’s calmed down a little bit once the professor walks in and sets his things down on the table in the front of the hall. A hush falls over the room.

“Hello,” the professor says “and welcome to World History. It’s the first day of classes, and since most, if not all of you, are freshmen, this would usually be the point where I make some kind of moving speech about coming of age and finding yourself in university. I’m not going to do that. I can’t tell you anything your parents and high school guidance counselors haven’t told you already. That being said, I’m passing around a stack of papers and a clipboard.” He takes the items from the table and hands them to one of the boys in the first row. “The clipboard is the attendance sheet, and the stack of papers is your syllabus. The syllabus... “

Fukunaga completely zones out. He isn’t sure what to make of his professor—he hadn’t caught his name and he doesn’t want to reach into his bag for his schedule. He feels a little bit distant from all of this, like college wasn’t the best fit for him just as his guidance counselors always used to warn. It’s too hard to read all the people sitting around him to see if they’re nervous or if they’re enthralled or some mix of the two. All he can assess his his own feeling.

Monachopsis (English)-The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.

He feels like a baby antelope trying to get his bearings for the first time. All of a sudden, he hates the feeling of knowing the exact word to describe “not belonging” and he has no way to release that energy until class is dismissed.

A full week of class is a cause to celebrate.  Both of them had made it through all of the confusion, and Fukunaga felt glad to say that classes were all uphill from Monday. They’re still underage, but Yamamoto managed to get ahold of some liquor and decided he was going to get absolutely shit-faced. Fukunaga wasn’t going to participate, but he certainly wasn’t going to stop Yamamoto either.

And now he’s face down in their empty bathtub while Fukunaga sits on the bathroom counter with his legs crossed. His phone is in his hand, filming the scene while Yamamoto laughs nervously.

“Why am I such a fucking idiot?” His words slur a little bit. He throws his arm over the side of the tub letting his phone drop to the floor. “I sent him the eggplant emoji . You can’t take that back.”

“You already told me five times.”

“Did I?” Fukunaga nods, shaking the camera up and down as well. “Fuck. Well I sent him the eggplant emoji.” He stops the capture and sends the video to Ennoshita.

Fukunaga twists so that his feet rest on the toilet lid and he can see his roommate a little better, who is rolling around in the bathtub bemoaning his fate.

“This is karma for underage drinking,” Yamamoto moans.

Fukunaga’s phone buzzes and he immediately checks it, opening a new snapchat from Ennoshita. The caption reads, “lmao we’re both dead,” and the picture isn’t of Ennoshita, but of somebody who Fukunaga can only assume is Yahaba, his friend’s elusive roommate whom he had only heard horror stories about beforehand. He holds a book in one hand and a sandwich in the other, staring directly into the camera. His brows are furrowed like he’s about to yell at Ennoshita for snapchatting with Fukunaga instead of eating dinner.

“Tora, say hey to Ennoshita,” Fukunaga says. Yamamoto grunts and flips the camera off. Quickly, he takes the picture before Yamamoto realizes what he’s doing and captions it, “@your roommate.”

“Stop flirting with captain crow. Comfort me.” He puts his hands over his eyes and curses under his breath. His legs are pulled close to his body because he’s too tall for the tub, and even then his toes brush the walls. “Why do I even like that asshole?”

“Hot asshole,” Fukunaga corrects.

“Okay. He’s hot. You have me. But why do I always go after assholes? He’s an asshole.”

Nostalgie de la Boue (French)-Literally: “yearning for mud.” Used to describe the feeling of longing for something that is depraved or below one’s station.

“He paid for your coffees.”

“But—”

“Was he nice to the staff?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Not an asshole.”

“He at least seems like an asshole when you look at him,” Yamamoto says. “At least you have captain crow to thirst over. He’s good. And he likes you.”

“Taketora...“

“Don’t give me that shit. You two exchange texts like swoony teenagers.” He lets out a long sigh. “And then you’ve got me with my fucking eggplant emojis.” He sits up. “Hand me the bottle.”

Reluctantly, Fukunaga turns around and takes it from its place next to their toothbrushes. He passes it over to Yamamoto, who unscrews the cap and takes one last gulp before shakily standing up and pouring the rest down the drain.

“Never again. Not until I’m twenty. I’m going to bed.” Fukunaga takes Yamamoto by the arm and helps him out of the bathtub and into the bedroom. As soon as he lays down, he’s nearly out cold and Fukunaga promises him he’ll be back after he brushes his teeth.

He sees the phone on the bath mat and decides to pick it up and hand it back to Yamamoto so he’ll have it in the morning. Curiosity gets the best of him and he checks the notifications just in case Daishou had texted back.

[2:18 a.m.] HOT ASSHOLE SAID: lmao if u wanted to go out with me u could have asked ;)

Fukunaga can’t help but smile and feel happy for his friend.

A week later, while Yamamoto was on his first date with the newly dubbed “hot suitor,” Fukunaga decided to meet up with Ennoshita for another screenplay work session. They set out on a search for good seating,  and find a quiet corner near the art history section on the second floor, deciding to hunker down for the long haul since, after all, the library is open until midnight on Saturdays.

“I think it’s serendipitous that our roommates both had dates this fine night,” Ennoshita says as he pulls up a chair next to Fukunaga. “Serendipitous. That’s my word of the week.” Fukunaga only hums and looks up at Ennoshita, who looks angelic even in the ugly flourescent light of the library. “Anyway. Yahaba hangs out with darling Kentarou like every day, and I swear to God it’s a miracle he hasn’t sexiled me yet. It’s getting a little ridiculous.”

As he gets his laptop set up, Fukunaga takes his journal out and picks out some pens and highlighters to write with. Ennoshita fumbles with the power cord, getting his arms caught in the tangles; Fukunaga sits patiently and admires the plain green cover of his notebook with “3 SUBJECT | 120 SHEETS | COLLEGE RULED” written across the bottom. By the time Ennoshita sits down and logs in, Fukunaga already has his notebook open to a blank page.

“So, I’ve been working on dialogue. Can you look over this scene for me? Takahiro has just gone down to the medical wing of the ship to meet with Kanagaki and ask for a job. Kanagaki is trying to figure out if he can trust Takahiro.”

Fukunaga scans the page, first reading for the basic feel of the scene, a little tense but not high stakes. Then he goes back through to make sure the dialogue doesn’t seem too clunky. After a few lines, he’s had enough.

“Hey, don’t change that! That was a good line! It told you everything you need to know!” Fukunaga only gives Ennoshita a blank look. “What was wrong with it?”

“Kanagaki doesn’t need a life story.” He changes it to something a bit more reasonable.

He decides that “ Son, we are overstaffed down here as we are and cannot accept new workers at this time,” is too clunky and awkward, changing it to, “Son, we’ve got enough help here. I hate to turn you down.”

And “I still don’t trust you, but you’re hired,” is a line Fukunaga doesn’t even have a word for. It’s changed to “We’ll see how you’re doing in a week, son” with the extra direction of a sigh and a shifty glance around the room.

“You’re an absolute machine, Fukunaga,” Ennoshita says, bewildered. “What would I do without you? I’m a decent enough director, but screenwriting really isn’t my thing. Need practice. My mom’s a great writer though. When I was in high school she would practically write my scripts for me. I think she just misses it, you know?”

Fukunaga nods and changes a few more lines of dialogue in another scene.

“She used to be a playwright. I mean—she’s still a playwright I guess. But before I was born, my parents lived in Sendai and my mom was a stage director at this little theater and she used to write all of her own plays, and my dad, he was just a stagehand because he had a day job in a hardware store and he was taking business management classes and that’s how they met. They both tell it different, but I like my dad’s version better.”

Fukunaga looks up so he can see Ennoshita’s face as he tells the story; a smile is spread across his face and every so often he’ll laugh a little and shake his head.

“The way my dad tells it, they were doing a production of Narnia and he was supposed to be painting the White Witch’s sled. It was supposed to be navy blue, and he didn’t really like the color but it’s what the stage manager told him to use. So he’s painting this sled, he’s about halfway through painting this sled, and this little lady comes over and she says to him, she says ‘what the hell is this?’ So he’s looking at her real funny because she’s like, the tiniest person he’s ever seen back where they build sets, but he’s also really scared of her because she’s pretty mad. Anyways he looks at her and he just starts stuttering because what else is he supposed to say, and she just chews him out because she’s the director, you know, and it has to be repainted and she’s sending him out to buy new paint immediately because this shade of navy blue just won’t do. She makes him go get new paint, and the way he tells it, it’s exactly the same color so he’s kind of pissed for that reason, but also every other time he sees her, she’s looking directly at him.” Sometime in the middle of the story, Ennoshita had leaned in close to Fukunaga so that he barely has to raise his voice above a whisper. The close contact startles Fukunaga a little, but he’s hoping for the best and doesn’t pull away. “And after a few weeks of this woman just staring at him, he decides to go and give her a piece of his mind. And he pulls her aside, and he asks her what the big deal is and then she’s the one stuttering. So she tells him that she just really liked him, and he found it kind of funny and went on a date with her, and the rest of the story is right here in front of you.” Fukunaga can’t help but smile. Ennoshita remains close for a few seconds after the story ends, but he pulls away with a hasty “ah, but you probably don’t want to hear about all that.”

“So humble,” Fukunaga says under his breath.

“Don’t think I can’t hear you, Fukunaga-san. You’re funny.” Ennoshita leans back in his chair, rocking on the hind two legs. He puts his arms behind his head and shuts his eyes. “So what about your parents?”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. Ennoshita opens one eye to peer at Fukunaga.

“Oh yeah. The whole ‘no-talking’ thing.” Fukunaga nods, and Ennoshita plants the chair firmly on the ground. “Still trying to nail that whole love interest thing. I always worry that the reason isn’t good enough. Or that it isn’t right.”

“Any reason is good enough.”

“Snippy.” Ennoshita smirks, reaching around to pull his laptop close so that he can see the screen. “But noted.”

[5:45 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: how’s your week been so far?
[5:47 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: It’s been okay. Everything has started to fall into place. Taketora goes out with Daishou but he still comes home and watches Jeopardy with me, my mom always calls in the middle of dinner. It’s a nice little routine. What about you?
[5:47 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: it’s been pretty good. Yahaba still hasn’t sexiled me, so
[5:47 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: It’s only a matter of time...
[5:49 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: lmao he’d only use it as revenge for something dumb like forgetting to put the dishes away
[5:49 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: anyways do you wanna break your routine on friday
[5:50 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Tell me more, I’m intrigued
[5:52 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: one of Yahaba’s high school friends is throwing a party
[5:52 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: You never really struck me as a party guy?
[5:56 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: yeah, well this girl in one of my classes is going
[5:56 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: i was kind of hoping that i’d run into her there
[6:09 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I’ll go if you go.

Fukunaga comes to the conclusion that he fucking hates parties about ten minutes after he arrives at his first one. It’s full of all the people that used to make fun of him in high school, all the people who get drunk and loud and make out with perfect strangers. There’s a group of guys in the kitchen playing beer pong, pretty girls cheering them on at an arm’s length. People mill about, dancing and laughing. Fukunaga keeps his eyes locked on Ennoshita, just in case they need to leave early. He hopes they’ll leave early.

If this was one of Ennoshita’s films, the light would be soft, backlighting Ennoshita and the girl standing next to him. It’s impossible to make out what they’re saying over the cacophony of beer pong cheering and electronic dance music. Even their silhouettes show that they have an interest in each other. This is the kind of party that leads to first love, beautiful and touching.

Fukunaga sees the lights as harsh, dancing flashes of green and blue and violet in his eyes. He squints against the brightness and tries to listen instead of watch. If he watches, he knows that he’ll see what the movie wants to show him: love. He can’t bear to see that girl in his place. He hopes that their conversation is dry and weather-related.

But he can’t hear them speak, he can only see Ennoshita’s smile as the girl touches his bicep. Fukunaga feels storm clouds brewing in his chest. His heart beats loud as thunder. As the two of them dismiss him, heading back to a bedroom, the storm moves upward and stings at the backs of Fukunaga’s eyes.

He leaves them alone, hoping that Ennoshita will change his mind before the pair can go too far. Sitting on the couch, Fukunaga tries to enjoy the party just by watching everybody around him. Nobody takes notice of him there, and it’s a small comfort to know that. A few minutes pass, and Fukunaga becomes ever more certain that he’s the only sober person at the party.

Somebody sits down beside him on the couch, groaning as he relaxes. Fukunaga immediately tenses, taking note of the dyed-blonde hair and various piercings that the guy sports.

“I’m so fucking high right now,” the intruder giggles. “Hana’s gonna be pissed .” Fukunaga only stares at him in stunned silence, having noticed yet another piercing on his tongue. “The name’s Terushima.” He cocks his head to look at Fukunaga. His smile is dangerous, his bloodshot eyes full of mischief.

Terushima extends a hand, and Fukunaga shakes it reluctantly. “I’m Fukunaga.”

“Nice ,” Terushima drawls, dragging out the vowels. “Sorry I don’t have any more weed. You look like you need some, buddy.”

Fukunaga gulps. “I’m fine.”

“Nah, nah. You’re fucking worried about something. Loosen up, dude, it’s a party. We’re all here to have fun. Make out with a pretty girl.” Fukunaga straightens up, and Terushima must notice because he follows up: “Or a pretty boy.” He sticks his tongue out to show off the silver ball that rests on its surface.

“Hey,” a girl approaches the pair on the couch. “What the heck do you think you’re doing, Terushima? Look at this guy! You’re freaking him out.” She’s not very tall, but she takes up a lot of space with her hands on her hips, a scowl drawn on her face.

“Told ya Hana’d be pissed.”

Hana gives Terushima a Mom-look, all pouty lips and scrunched eyebrows. Her brown eyes glow with rage. “Don’t give me that, Teru. I can’t believe I’m still babysitting you. I turn my back for five minutes and you’re off scaring the only person aside from me who’s sober at this party.”

“Hana, look, it’s all right. This is Fukunaga.” Terushima drapes an arm over Fukunaga’s shoulder. “He’s my new boyfriend.”

Fukunaga feels his face heat up, and Hana restrains a giggle. “You’re funny, Teru. But tell your boyfriend goodbye. It’s almost your curfew.”

“Shit, Hana, can’t you tell we’re in love?” Terushima plants a wet kiss on Fukunaga’s cheek. “You can’t put a curfew on love.”

“Come on, Cinderella. Your prince might come around tomorrow.” Hana grabs Terushima by the arm--the one that isn’t wrapped around Fukunaga. “Fairy godmother says it’s time to turn back into a pumpkin.”

Apocolocyntosis (Latin)-The act of turning into a pumpkin

Terushima reluctantly follows Hana, and calls out to Fukunaga as he’s dragged away. “I’ll never forget you, my love!” Fukunaga watches as they disappear into the crowd and decides to go look for Ennoshita.

He checks one of the bedrooms and immediately regrets his decision. There are certain things you can’t unsee if you’re not totally drunk. He checks the next one a little more reluctantly, glad that he did. The girl from before is sitting in Ennoshita’s lap, running her hands all over his chest as she kisses him.

Fukunaga clears his throat, and the girl nearly leaps off the bed. Her mouth is open in an embarrassed “o” but Ennoshita appears totally calm.

“Home?” Fukunaga asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Ennoshita says, scratching the back of his head. “Sounds like a plan.” He turns to look at the girl he was previously making out with. “I can text you later, if you want?”

“That sounds good,” the girl squeaks.

“All right. I’m ready whenever you are, Fukunaga.” He stands up and dusts off his jeans.

Biao (Mandarin)-To hang on somebody’s arm in a way that restricts movement.

That is what Ennoshita is doing now, pretending to be drunk. He has just made a mistake. He does not want anybody to know, especially Fukunaga.

“You’re funny, Fukunaga,” he laughs. The one in question is visibly uncomfortable, but he remains silent. Ennoshita wants to ask him why he remains silent. “Thanks for walking me home. I’m sorry we couldn’t hang out more. I’m sorry—I’m sorry about Akane.”

Ennoshita is earnest. He’s incredibly sorry about Akane, the girl at the party, and he wants Fukunaga to understand that it was meaningless, that he doesn’t feel for her like he should. Like he wants to. Like he needs to.

If this were one of his movies, the streetlight would turn rosy when Fukunaga smiles his forgiveness, lighting him from behind. Instead, it burns orange like it always does. It’s a guilty reminder that things don’t always work out like they do in stories. Ennoshita places a hand on Fukunaga’s shoulder, but does not go farther than that. He nods, a wordless goodbye, and lets himself into the building.

The elevator is empty on his way upstairs. It stalls a little at his floor, and when the door finally opens, the hallway stretches before him endlessly. As soon as he unlocks the door to his dorm, he heads back for the bedroom, not finding Yahaba. He throws himself onto the bed and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands as if that will make him forget what happened.

His heart feels very heavy. Part of him knows that he’s supposed to like kissing Akane—he’s a boy, she’s a girl, and isn’t that how it works in the movies? When their lips met, the music was supposed to swell and the camera was supposed to spin. But the kiss only felt empty, devoid of cameras and bright lights. He knows that he’s supposed to like girls without imagining somebody else in their place.

He stands and makes his way into the small bathroom that he shares with Yahaba. He stares into the mirror and dislikes what he sees.

“You’re such an idiot.”

He runs a hand through his hair and plays with the bumps on his skin. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Such an idiot.”

He grabs his toothbrush, putting a dollop of toothpaste (probably too much) on the bristles. He scrubs his teeth vigorously, until his gums nearly bleed. He spits forcefully—there’s a bit of blood that he can see well against the white foam and porcelain.

“Idiot, idiot.”

He brushes his teeth again in the same manner as before. There is no music. The lighting is white, too bright, too harsh. His back heaves with sobs as he brushes his teeth again and again.

[2:13 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Hey, I haven’t heard from you since last Friday, has everything been okay with you?
[2:17 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: yeah just a little busy you know
[2:17 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAD: Did you end up seeing that girl from the party again?
[2:17 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: nah i dont really think thats going to work out
[2:18 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: i ran into some personal stuff and just kinda said screw it to girls for now
[2:19 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Sorry it didn’t work out. If you need anybody to talk to, I’m willing to listen.
[2:19 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: thanks fukunaga. Did you want to work on the screenplay this week
[2:23 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: That sounds like a good idea. Yamamoto is going out again tomorrow, if that’s not too short notice?
[2:23 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: nah that works for me. I can be over there around seven since I have a group project meeting in the library in the afternoon
[2:25 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: That sounds like a plan. I’ll make dinner. Text you directions later

At exactly 7:15 in the evening, Fukunaga goes downstairs to let Ennoshita into the building. University had gotten tight enough that each building had a different keycard to get in, and while Fukunaga had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea, it could be a little inconvenient sometimes.

“So this is your building, huh? Since y’all are from Tokyo, I had kind of assumed you could commute from home every day,” Ennoshita says as they begin to take the 3-flight trek upstairs. The elevators had broken about three weeks before, and Fukunaga had long since stopped waiting for them to be fixed.

“45 minutes.”

“Until what?”

“Commute.”

“Oh. You lived that far from campus? I thought Nekoma was close to here.”

“No,” Fukunaga hums as he unlocks the door to his suite. “Too many train stops.”

They cross the threshold, kicking off their shoes, and Fukunaga motions for Ennoshita to settle in on the couch while he gets dinner started. As Fukunaga starts up the rice maker, Ennoshita puts all of his things together, laptop bright, phone silent, and Spotify blaring the soundtrack to Star Wars .

“You have a really nice little suite here,” Ennoshita says. “Mine and Yahaba’s looks a little like yours, but we don’t have a kitchen. We have a communal one on the first floor, but for the most part we just order takeout or go get cafeteria food. Do you need any help?”

Fukunaga shakes his head and motions for Ennoshita to get to work. He starts prepping the chicken while Ennoshita taps away at his computer. He finds it calming, listening to orchestral music and the distant tapping of a keyboard while he chops chicken and heats up the wonky stove. In the back of his mind he imagines that he and Ennoshita live together, and that this is a normal part of their routine, that they’ll have dinner together and watch sitcoms on the couch before bed and their last thoughts before drifting off will always be of the other. It makes his heart ache to think of it, but it’s the cathartic kind of ache and he keeps at it.

“Hey, Fukunaga,” the voice pulls him back to reality. “Would you mind if I flipped through your notebook? I feel like I’m missing something that you may have written down.”

“It’s personal.” He hopes that his words don’t come out too harsh.

“I guess it would tell me why you don’t talk, huh?”

“Ennoshita…”

“Too far, sorry. I don’t mean to pressure you - I just - would like to know, you know?” Ennoshita pinches the bridge of his nose. “I guess I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me.”

Exulansis (English)-The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience simply because people are unable to relate to it.

He has a long, long list of reasons why he doesn’t talk about it. Compassion is a miracle, kindness is a miracle, but pity is the most common kind of reception. More than anything he isn’t sure if he can put the experience into words anymore, like it was something out of a cartoon he used to enjoy as a child then eventually grew out of. But part of if clings onto who he is like a Naruto sticker he left on his bedroom wall for too long, and now it haunts him, an inevitable reminder of who he once was and always will be deep inside.

Or maybe he’s just bad at analogies.

To take his mind off things he busies himself with making dinner, dropping the chicken in the frying pan and setting the kettle on the stove to boil alongside it. Ennoshita keeps tapping away at the computer as as the Imperial March plays.

Everything comes together without any major hitches and they eat in relative silence on the couch, sharing the laptop to watch cat videos on Youtube.

“I get why you’re a cat person now,” Ennoshita says. “Look at him squish in that box.”

Fukunaga nods and takes another bite of rice. “Squish squash.”

“We should probably get to work,” he laughs. “As distracting as squishy cats are, I have to nail the backstory sooner rather than later.” The webpage is swapped for a Microsoft Word document, and Ennoshita cracks his knuckles before pulling the laptop close to his body and getting to work.

Yutta-Hey (Cherokee)-Directly translated as “it is a good day to die,” often used as a battle-cry. It isn’t a wish to die, but rather a feeling of contentment with life.

“I’ve got it.”

“You’ve got what?”

“The backstory.”

“Oh.” Ennoshita’s eyes grow wide. “Oh. By all means, say what you have to.”

When he sits down in his own room, the first thing Ennoshita does is unfold the sheet of paper that Fukunaga gave him before leaving earlier that evening. He reads and rereads it a few times, at first unsure how to feel but then slowly growing sad and angry and understanding all at once.

I think at the heart of everything it started because I didn’t have anything good to say.

[11:47 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: hey i read the letter is everything good

Having nothing to say really was only a thing because I didn’t really have anybody to say it to. I was really close with my dad, you know?

[11:50 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: i’m sorry things were so shitty. I’d send you a meme but idk if i have one appropriate for this situation
[11:50 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: It isn’t really a big deal.

I don’t know, I guess it was the fact that I was such an easy target. I had a funny voice, and I’d really forgotten how to talk after everything.

[11:52 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: so what you’re saying is i should change the subject

Looking back on it, sometimes I don’t think it was as bad as I thought it was then. Maybe it doesn’t make sense. In high school a few of the guys actually apologized to me, I guess maybe because Taketora made them do it.

[11:53 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Do you think you can use the material?

That was about the time we became friends. “Once you get a bloody nose for somebody there’s no going back,” he always tells me.

[11:55 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: i’m not sure how i can make it work but i want to make it work

It’s funny. My mom didn’t really even know about the whole thing until Taketora told her about it about a year later when we were ten or eleven.

[11:58 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I can help you make it work.

And sometimes I don’t even think about it anymore, but it’s still there. Logically I know I don’t have to worry about any of it anymore but I still do.

[12:00 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: then we can make it work

[7:23 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: hey what are you up to this weekend??
[7:31 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I hadn’t really made any plans. I think I was just going to hang around with Taketora. Why?
[7:33 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: there’s a festival and i was thinking we could go hang out
[7:33 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: i mean if you don’t want to i can make yahaba go with me but i think i’d get stuck with darling kentarou as well and i really just. Do not want to hang out with them at the same time
[7:34 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: I think I know what you mean… but I think that I can make it. Did you just want to send me details and meet up there?
[7:34 P.M.] ENNOSHITA SAID: ugh can’t believe i have to pull up the website again, the things i do for our friendship :/
[7:34 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: You’re full of it, Ennoshita.

Fukunaga waits just at the end of the fifth row of food stalls. It’s a little early, 6:45, and they were supposed to meet up at 7:00. His thought was that Ennoshita would have trouble finding him if there were a lot of people, and sure enough it takes a few coordinating text messages to meet up and get right to what’s been dubbed “hangout at the trash heap.”

A crowd begins to form around the edge of the food stalls, but Fukunaga doesn’t let it bother him for once. He searches for his friend, but Ennoshita finds him first.

“Trash heap!” Ennoshita’s heavy arm slings over Fukunaga’s shoulders. “Hangout at the trash heap! Trash heap! Hangout at the trash heap!”

“Stop chanting,” Fukunaga laughs.

“I’m excited. I’ve got spirit.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Do you wanna get something to eat? I haven’t had anything like, all day. This is my first festival in Tokyo, and the food had better be good, you know?”

Fukunaga nods and they spend the next few hours wandering around as the sun dips below the horizon. It’s been years since he’s had so much to eat, at least since the end of his second year in high school, when Kuroo challenged him to a watermelon eating contest (which Fukunaga is still proud to say that he won). He knows that he shouldn’t be eating so much on the off chance that he may get sick later, but he’s having too much fun to care.

He’s having so much fun, he almost forgets about the way Ennoshita’s eyes crinkle when he laughs, he almost forgets about the way his red t-shirt stretches over his back, and he almost forgets what it feels like to be head-over-heels for somebody who could never love him back. Almost.

“Hey,” Ennoshita says with a quick glance at his watch, “I think the fireworks are supposed to start up soon. Do you know where we could get a good view?”

Happy to oblige, Fukunaga leads Ennoshita to a little playground not too far from the food stalls. There are a few people there already: a high school couple at the top of the jungle gym giggling about a little boy running laps around them, the boy’s mother watching him from a bench. Fukunaga and Ennoshita take seats on the swingset.

They turn slowly so that the metal chains twist up tightly, and then they lift their feet off the ground and let physics take over. Both of them laugh, getting dizzy and worked up, and they have trouble staying quiet and not bothering the small handful of people around them until the fireworks start.

It’s like being a child again. Fukunaga watches with awe as the sky turns into a field of beautiful vivid colors, dazzling and bright. Gold dust shimmers, falls, and fades away as it draws closer to the tree line, and red stars streak across the sky like comets.

The show goes on for a few minutes before coming to an end like firework shows always do, with a billion loud pops that leave Fukunaga’s ears buzzing. They sit in silence for a little while longer, until the mother and her son have left for home, and even the young couple has wandered off.

“It’s like ten-thirty,” Ennoshita says, checking his phone. “We should probably get going.”

Fukunaga nods. He and Ennoshita begin to make their way back home, still in a state of silence. It’s hard to figure out why Ennoshita is being so much more quiet than usual, and Fukunaga wants to speak up and take a turn for once. But he’s still not sure if he can reasonably do that.

“Did you have fun?” Fukunaga finally asks. They’re about ten minutes into the half-hour walk home, and he’s not sure if he can take much more.

“Yeah.” Ennoshita kicks a pebble on the sidewalk. “I really like hanging out with you, Fukunaga.”

“Me too.” He feels his face heat up. They cross into campus, at the top of a small hill close to the building where Fukunaga takes his literature class.

“I’m glad. I love you, man.” Ennoshita slings his arm over his friend’s shoulders. All of a sudden, Fukunaga’s heart skips a beat, and his legs go out from under him. His ankle pops, and a jolt of pain causes him to wince.

“Fuck!”

“Holy crap , was that your ankle? Are you okay? Can you stand?” Ennoshita offers a hand to help Fukunaga up. He’s able to stand, but it hurts if he puts too much weight on his hurt foot. “Here, we’ll limp back to your room together. Put your arm around me.”

“Thanks.” Fukunaga grits his teeth as he gets his bearings, but pretty soon he and Ennoshita are making their way across campus. It’s nice to take it slow, since it’s not often that he gets to see everything so still and quiet. Usually people are rushing to their classes, coffee in their hands and sleep in their eyes.

At night, the air is still warm but it’s not unbearably hot like it can be in late June. Owls hoot from their perches in the trees and cicadas buzz. There aren’t many cars, which makes crossing the street a much less stressful ordeal, thankfully.

When they get into the building, they’re faced with a new challenge.

“The elevator’s broken,” Fukunaga explains.

“Yeah, I remember. They still haven’t fixed it, huh?” Both of them stand still for a moment. “I guess this means I have to carry you.”

“You don’t—”

“I do. It won’t be that bad, ‘cause you’re like a beanpole. I used to piggyback Noya and Hinata around all the time.” He crouches down a little bit and boosts Fukunaga up so that he’s resting somewhat comfortably against his back.

Great, Fukunaga thinks to himself, as if all the contact before wasn’t enough. Get it together, like, what are you? Fourteen?

They make it up to the second floor pretty easily. Climbing the next flight of stairs to the third is a little more difficult, but Ennoshita manages to keep from dropping Fukunaga. By the time they’re stopped in front of the door to Fukunaga’s dorm, Yamamoto is already opening the door.

“ Christ , where have you been? Do you know how many times I’ve tried calling you?” He has one hand on the door, the other wrapped around his phone. “Are you two okay?”

“He fell down,” Ennoshita explains, stepping inside. “Hurt his ankle.”

“Oh. Do you need help getting back to the bedroom?”

“I’ve carried him all this way.” Ennoshita adjusts his hands’ positions. “It’s that door over on the left, right?”

Yamamoto nods, and Ennoshita shuffles back to the bedroom which Fukunaga shares with his roommate. All of a sudden, he feels very embarrassed about everything in his room, all the childhood photos and cat figurines and various keepsakes that he had collected throughout the years.

“See? Not a big deal,” Ennoshita says as he sets Fukunaga down on his bed. He pauses for a second and takes a look around the bedroom. Fukunaga feels his cheeks heat up. “You guys have a nice little setup. Me and Yahaba just kind of threw our stuff on our sides of the room, but like, you two look like you’ve always lived like this.”

“Thanks,” Fukunaga responds with a smile.

“I’m going to let you get dressed.” Ennoshita rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “You know, ‘cause it’s late. And you should probably get some sleep. Long day.” He waves goodbye, turns around, and steps into the living room.

Fukunaga lays down flat on the bed and listens for Yamamoto, waiting to hear him chastise Ennoshita for coming back so late.

“Wait,” Yamamoto’s voice is softer than usual, like he’s trying to keep Fukunaga from listening in on a secret. “Before you go, I just have to ask you one question.”

Gretchenfrage (German)-Literally “the Gretchen question,” an allusion to Goethe’s Faust. A question that is blunt and direct, inquiring as to somebody’s true intentions.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” There’s a pause after this, where Ennoshita must be replying in that soft voice which he usually saves for the library. “It’s just been us for so long, you know? Nobody else has really bothered to learn him like me. And—and I’m glad that somebody else is looking out for him.” Fukunaga takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I love him too.”

[10:53 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: ok so hypothetically speaking do you think piggy or simon would win in a fight
[10:55 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Two things. One, I’m in class, stop bothering me. And two, are you talking about Lord of the Flies?
[10:59 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: im in class too and YES i’m talking about lotf because that’s what we’re covering in class right now and i dont get all the talk about symbolism because i only watched the movie but like its obvious who would win a fight among the other boys but... what about piggy and simon they’re OUTLIERS, FUKUNAGA
[10:59 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: You need an education and I’m not here to distract you
[11:01 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: im gonna level with you. I absolutely hate reading and there’s no way i’m reading this book idc if its like 100 pages
[11:04 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Sparknotes is a thing that exists?
[11:04 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: for the love of god fuku if i have to listen to another word about ralph’s loss of innocence something bad is gonna happen
[11:04 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: honestly i dont even think the movie was that good and i cant imagine the book is much better
[11:06 a.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Lord of the Flies is a good book. Maybe you would know if you read it. I’ll catch up with you after class
[11:10 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: okok fine i get out at noon

[12:08 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: heLL YEAH im out of class wyd
[12:09 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Just sat down for lunch... I got out at 11:30
[12:09 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: do you wanna do dinner at mine tonight? I can get takeout and we can work on stuff. Yahaba has a date with darling kentarou lmao
[12:09 p.m.] FUKUNAGA SAID: Sounds like a plan. I can be over around 6 and we can get set up?
[12:10 p.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: see you then

Ennoshita is waiting at the entrance to his building when Fukunaga arrives. When he first sees his friend, he’s leaning up against the brick and tapping at his phone with furrowed brows. Quietly, Fukunaga moves to slide up beside him, but Ennoshita notices him beforehand.

“Hey,” he says, “are you ready to help me tackle all my lit homework?” Fukunaga only rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes. You know you love to help me.”

Ennoshita does have him there.

They ride the elevator to the fifth floor (Fukunaga is glad for a little reprieve). It stalls, but lets them off at the right place. Ennoshita guides his guest to his dorm, and welcomes him with a flourish of his arms.

“It’s basically the same as yours,” he says, “but we don’t have a little kitchen. Just a table. So that’s shitty. But we make do with a microwave and a mini fridge and stuff.” Ennoshita crosses the living space and opens the tiny refrigerator door. “Speaking of, did you want anything to drink? We have soda.”

Fukunaga nods and catches the can of Pepsi that was thrown at him, tapping the top of the can a few times so that it doesn’t explode when he opens it. They both drink their sodas in silence as they get set up, Fukunaga setting his notebook and pens on the table, Ennoshita moving his laptop from the bedroom to the dining room table.

After they get settled, Fukunaga notices a little movement out of the corner of his eye. It’s quick, just spanning the small space from the bedroom to the bathroom. Ennoshita seems to notice, just rolling his eyes and muttering, “ Yahaba. ”

Ennoshita offers Fukunaga a spare pair of earbuds, but the latter declines. He doesn’t really mind the sound of somebody taking a shower; it ranks somewhere up there with rain on his list of calming sounds. After about two minutes, Fukunaga finally understands the gesture. It’s not that Yahaba has a bad voice, his voice is actually really good, it’s just that he insists upon singing songs exclusively from the musical Cats and somebody can only listen to “Mr. Mistoffelees” so many times before they just crack.

Yahaba showers for about fifteen minutes before creeping out of the bathroom again, wrapped in a bright blue towel. It’s all of Fukunaga’s willpower not to try and make eye contact.

Soon after that, there’s yet another bedroom-to-bathroom exchange, and Fukunaga has decided that it’s impossible to focus on the work he’s supposed to be doing for his Literature class.

While Yahaba does his hair, he switches to songs from The Lion King which is at least tolerable. He has different voices for each halves of the duets, and Fukunaga thinks that may be slightly overdoing it.

Another switch. Fukunaga makes sure to meet Yahaba’s eyes in silent judgement.

After that, he just tries to forget about the whole thing, and he finds himself poring over an article about the intricacies of politics in 19th century China. He’s not very interested in it, but it gives him something to do while Ennoshita tunes the whole situation out.

“Hey, Yahaba,” Ennoshita finally says, pulling an earbud out. “We have company.”

From the bedroom, Fukunaga hears a groan, and Yahaba emerges a few seconds later, fully dressed in a lavender button down and khakis. He taps his feet impatiently—brown wingtips—and adjusts his watch so that the face rests atop his wrist.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a hand. “You must be Fukunaga-san. Ennoshita here talks about you quite a bit. I’m Yahaba Shigeru.” Fukunaga smiles, taking the outstretched hand and shaking it gently.

“Where’s Kyoutani?” Ennoshita asks, not looking at his roommate.

“Oh, what time is it?” Yahaba’s eyes flick to the analog clock hanging on the wall. “It’s only just past seven. He’s not picking me up for another hour.” Before Ennoshita can make a comment on Yahaba’s early preparations, he cuts in, “I just got excited. Big night, and all.”

“Excited?” Fukunaga asks, and Ennoshita shoots him a look that just screams ‘ oh no .’

“I’m glad you asked, Fukunaga-san! There’s a local production of the Agamemnon this weekend, and Kentarou got us tickets. Now, I don’t want to jinx it, but it’s going to be lovely.” Yahaba pulls out a chair, taking a seat while Ennoshita rolls his eyes.

“And Yahaba here hasn’t shut up about it for a week, at least.”

“Rude. This combines two things I love, okay? Classical literature and the theatre.”

“Sometimes you’re so gay it actually pains me, you know that, right?”

Yahaba slaps Ennoshita’s arm; Fukunaga laughs.

“It’s culture ! Not that you would know anything about that!”

The banter continues for another forty-five minutes, branching out into their respective majors. Yahaba is more than happy to discuss his discipline, Classical Studies, much to Ennoshita’s chagrin.

“Actually, Fukunaga, as a classicist I’m interested in your study of linguistics. Have you considered looking into the development of Romance languages as a response to the wide reach of the Roman Empire? On the whole, I think it’s fascinating.”

“Nobody else does.” Ennoshita tries to cover up the remark with a cough.

“I was actually just talking about this the other day, but I read a discourse on English as a barbarian’s language in comparison to more direct Romance languages like Spanish and Italian.” Yahaba twirls his hair around his index finger. “Opinions?”

“English is shit,” Fukunaga says.

“Yeah,” Yahaba laughs. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.” As if to punctuate the sentence, somebody knocks on the door.

Yahaba rushes to the front of the apartment, opening the door with a flourish to reveal an angry-looking young man in a nice suit. His hair is dyed blonde, the only remnant of natural color coming through in two thin stripes around his head. They remind Fukunaga of the stripes that run down the sleeves of athletic wear. Yahaba throws his arms around the man, wrapping him in a tight hug. The latter mutters something in annoyance, nearly inaudible. Yahaba, however, doesn’t seem to mind, only smiling.

“Ennoshita! We’re on our way! It was wonderful meeting you, Fukunaga-san!” With that, they were on their way.

The next few minutes pass in uncomfortable silence before Ennoshita finally speaks up. “I don’t even know how Kyoutani puts up with him, really.”

“Oh my God,” Fukunaga says, and they both start laughing. “I thought you were joking.”

“He’s that bad, isn’t he? Like, he never shuts up. It would be fine if we had similar interests, but he’s got such a boner for Julius Caesar, he can barely see straight.”

“Stop,” Fukunaga throws his head back, laughing. “You’re mean.”

“He’s awful. He’s the worst.”

“I’m so sorry. Every day?”

“Every single day.”

They work in silence a little while longer, Ennoshita tapping away at his laptop while Fukunaga does his reading for history. He takes notes in one of his journals, having left all of his school notebooks behind at his own dorm.

“Although,” Ennoshita says suddenly, “I am a little jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Like of Yahaba and Kyoutani. They really care about each other.” He rests his chin on his hand and looks directly at Fukunaga, almost sad, but not quite. “It’s such a crazy thing. They make me look at myself and say, ‘hey, why can’t that be me?’”

“It’s scary.”

“Being in a relationship?” Fukunaga only shrugs his response, not knowing what else to say.

Wu Wei (Chinese)- The Taoist concept of conscious non-action, believing in letting things happen in natural and uncontrived ways.

“Of course it’s scary. But it’s a nice thought. I mean, I’ve sworn off girls for now, I just still want something, you know? It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

It’s everything to not write about the incident right away.

By the time Fukunaga gets home that evening, it’s almost midnight, and Yamamoto is passed out on the couch while a rerun of some game show plays on the postage stamp. Fukunaga had enjoyed spending the evening with Ennoshita. After Yahaba left, they ordered Chinese and discussed the screenplay some, Fukunaga doing character sketches and language designs while Ennoshita wrote snippets of scenes and commented on his friend’s work.

It wasn’t until he set his bag down on his desk that he remembered what Ennoshita said about swearing off girls, but that he still wanted a relationship. Now that he’s alone, he’s ready to tackle the problem. There will be over-analyzing. There will be flowcharts. Smiling to himself at all the mental organization he’s about to do, Fukunaga opens his bag and reaches inside for his notebook.

At first, he thinks that it’s just out of order, that he had hastily thrown it in there on his way out. He empties the contents. It’s not in the main pocket. He pulls out all the pens and receipts and empty gum wrappers. He dumps the bag upside down, disbelieving.

“Taketora!” He cries, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Come here!” This is the first time he’s raised his voice in a long time, and it feels weird. His throat feels like it’s full of cotton. He hopes that Yamamoto hears him.

“What? What?” Yamamoto practically rushes into the room, knowing that something is wrong. He looks at the floor, covered in papers, covered in pens and books and an empty bag. “Did you lose something?”

“My notebook.”

“Oh,” Yamamoto says, realizing. “Captain crow has it.” Fukunaga only nods. “He won’t read it.”

Fukunaga shakes his head.

“He wouldn’t care anyways. He likes you, Shouhei.”

Fukunaga shakes his head again.

“Come here.” Yamamoto outstretches his arms, and holds Fukunaga like that until he’s able to breathe right.

The following night, Fukunaga has the dorm to himself. It’s common these days—Yamamoto has established Suguru as a potential soulmate, and once Taketora puts his mind to something, he follows through. Fukunaga makes himself a mug of tea and watches a Jane Eyre period drama on the postage stamp.

During one of the commercial breaks, there’s a knock at the door. Fukunaga makes a quiet, irritated noise in the back of his throat and stands up to answer. He’s about to tell the person to go away— can’t you see I’m busy watching a watered-down version of Brontë —but once he sees who it is, his features soften.

“Hey!” Ennoshita’s voice is unusually bright. “I found your notebook.” Fukunaga smiles and lets Ennoshita come inside, shutting the door behind him. Ennoshita hums along to a jingle for dish detergent as he places the notebook on the kitchen counter. Fukunaga stands on one side of the counter, next to the stove, while Ennoshita is on the other.

“This nice girl let me in downstairs. I figured I’d call you when I got here, but she was a step ahead. I can’t believe the elevators are still out of service though,” Ennoshita says as he sets the book down on the counter.

“Same here. And thanks,” Fukunaga says, picking the notebook up and flipping through its contents. His smile grows, glad that the notebook was returned safely.

“I, uh.” Ennoshita clears his throat. “I read it.”

All of the air rushes out of the room; Fukunaga feels like he’s been punched in the gut all over again.

“I mean, not much of it,” Ennoshita follows up “but enough.”

“Chikara—I—listen—” Fukunaga stammers, as if he could talk.

“Don’t be like that. There’s nothing wrong with it, you know about Yahaba. I just wish that you’d told me earlier. That you like guys.” Everything is very still and Fukunaga feels like his friend is standing too far away. “And look—there’s that guy you keep writing about. You need to tell him how you feel. It’s just that you like him a lot, clearly, and if I didn’t know any better I might say that you’re in love with him.” Ennoshita pinches the bridge of his nose before going on. “It doesn’t matter who he is. He needs to know.”

Fukunaga shakes his head and slides down along the cabinet so that he’s kneeling on the floor. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“I have class in fifteen, but if you need me to stay with you I—”

“Go.”

“I don’t know if I feel comfortable leaving you,” Ennoshita says.

“Chikara.”

“Shouhei.”

“ Please .” Fukunaga almost chokes on the word. His throat hurts, his heart hurts. When the door clicks shut behind Ennoshita, he feels tears sting the backs of his eyes. He’s already on his knees; he might as well pray.

Winterkearig (Old English)-Literally “winter-care” or “winter-sorrow.” The feeling of sadness equatable to the cold of winter.

It’s been a few days since Ennoshita heard from Fukunaga. He started worrying as soon as he left, closing the door behind him quietly. He remembers the way his friend had looked as he walked out, and he hates that he was the reason for it.

At this point, he isn’t sure what to tell Fukunaga, but he knows that he has to say something.

[3:45 p.m.] DRAFT: hey fukunaga, i should have been more clear the other day, because i really like you and i want to try all over again

He deletes the message before he can send things and mess things up all over again.

[3:48 p.m.] DRAFT: can we do coffee or something? I want to talk to you

That one too, is deleted. Ennoshita hates the way things had become awkward between them, how things were going so well, and how, when he read the journal, he felt happy. He felt relieved to know that Fukunaga liked him, because just maybe that meant they had a chance together, that this “taking a break from girls” thing could be a more permanent deal.

He didn’t like kissing Akane. And he feels better saying that aloud now. And he wants to tell Fukunaga in any way that he can, but he’s not sure if he'll be heard out.

Fukunaga lays flat on his bed, having just enough energy to do schoolwork, but not quite enough energy to do much else. Yamamoto had invited him out with some friends from high school, but Fukunaga declined, asking that he just bring back some food.

He still hasn’t heard from Ennoshita, and he wishes that he has. He composes messages to him in his head, just things that people had said to him in the past few days, funny things about the food in the caf, and those ugly statues outside the student union. He’d send snaps of animals on campus, and of Yamamoto sleeping in weird places.

It’s stupid, he knows, to lose a friend over something so trivial. He knows, logically, that Ennoshita is just confused and trying to leave a little wiggle room for both of them to catch up with their hearts. It still feels like he just did something wrong. It’s still hard to send a text.

Right now it’s just too much to pick up. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but he’s feeling a jumbled mix of the feelings he’s always felt, the feeling of being lost and out of place. Ennoshita is gone, Fukunaga is alone, and he’s really wishing that Yamamoto didn’t go out for ramen all of a sudden. It’s like high school again, and the crippling realization of a long-distance crush. It’s like middle school again, and coming to terms with liking boys at all.

Altschmerz (English)-Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had

He lets the room grow dark around him, only getting up to turn the lights on when he can no longer see his hand in front of his face.

[1:22 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: hey what are u doin on wednesday??????
[1:24 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: probably doing homework like i am right now
[1:24 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: and what do you mean by what am i doing on wednesday
[1:25 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: throwing a party!! thought youd wanna come ;)
[1:25 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: why would anybody want to throw a party on wednesday night
[1:25 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: don’t most people have class on thursdays
[1:25 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: omg LIVE A LITTLE
[1:25 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: ur such a mom
[1:25 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: are u my mom ennoshita
[1:27 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: no… i just had a lot of drama with fukunaga and kinda wanna lay low :/
[1:27 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: the quiet guy???
[1:27 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: all the more reason to come tbh
[1:27 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: we can find u a male companion
[1:28 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: you really want me to come?
[1:28 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: lmaoo yes
[1:28 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: u have to come
[1:30 a.m.] ENNOSHITA SAID: fine.. I can be there
[1:30 a.m.] TANAKA SAID: yessss i cant wait

Ennoshita shows up at Tanaka’s party sometime around 11:30. There are already plenty of people milling about, drinking beers, dancing to shitty music, and laughing a little too loudly over their friends’ dirty jokes. It’s full of the kind of noise that crawls under your skin and fills you with electricity, making your hair stand on end.

He picks up a drink from the kitchen, knowing that it’ll help him loosen up. He’s been stressed lately, partly from university, partly from Fukunaga. The university part was an easy fix—study as much as you can, and the moment you feel like you’re about to collapse in on yourself, find something to relax you. Ergo, cheap beer, shitty music, and boisterous laughter.

Fukunaga is a little tougher than all that. He’s not the kind of problem you can solve with a party, but he takes a seat in the recesses of your mind until the silence and the waiting gets to you. It’s impossible to confront the silence; it’s like talking to a brick wall. He’s tried reaching out, but he keeps getting pushed away.

His heart feels heavy thinking about Fukunaga, and he takes another sip of beer. It burns his throat on the way down. If you just hadn’t read that stupid journal. If you could just get over him already. If you could just—

Somebody taps Ennoshita on the shoulder, halting his train of thought. Tanaka is shouting something about being glad that Ennoshita could come, and he’s throwing an arm around Ennoshita’s shoulder, holding a half-empty bottle of beer in the other.

“Dude,” Tanaka shouts over the din, “where’s your friend? The quiet one?”

“Oh, uh, we’re not really on speaking terms right now. I think I did something to make him mad.” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“That sucks. Come on. Let’s take your mind off things.” There’s a mad glint in his eye. Ennoshita is drawn in by it, grabbing Tanaka’s outstretched hand. They begin to push their way through the crowd.

A few hours pass by in a buzz. Flashing green and purple lights scatter across the walls, across the dancing bodies of party-goers. Tanaka introduces Ennoshita to some of his roommates, also on sports scholarship, but he forgets their names almost instantly. They down a few drinks in the kitchen; they do some shitty dancing in the living room.

By the time they make it back to Tanaka’s bedroom, Ennoshita has already had at least five beers, and he feels a nice buzz. Tanaka’s room is quieter than the rest of the apartment, the music muffled by the walls. The two of them are lying flat on the bed, laughing at a joke they can’t remember the punchline to.

“I think it was like— that boy should have quit when he was a head— I don’t know. It’s a pun.”

“Shit, that’s even better than what I was thinking,” Tanaka wheezes.

Ennoshita and Tanaka burst into fits again, wheezing giddily with laughter. During this, they both roll over so that their noses almost touch. For a moment, everything is still and quiet except for the thrum of the bass just outside their door.

“Hey, Ennoshita?” His voice is low, barely audible over the music. “Can I kiss you?”

Ennoshita hesitates for a moment, but in the end he nods.

Tanaka pulls Ennoshita close and they kiss slowly, Tanaka doing most of the work while Ennoshita figures out if he likes it or not. Give it to him like you’re supposed to.

Tanaka runs his tongue over Ennoshita’s lower lip. You can do this.

Tanaka gently parts Ennoshita’s lips and slips his tongue into the other’s mouth. You can do this.

The kiss deepens, Ennoshita trailing his hands down Tanaka’s back, finally resting them just under the tail of his shirt. Tanaka furrows his brow and moans into Ennoshita’s mouth. Wait. Something is wrong.

“Tanaka, I’m not sure if I can do this.”

“What? I thought you like guys?”

Tanaka had hardly missed a beat, but Ennoshita pulls away before anything else can happen.

“No, I do. It’s not that—it’s just—there’s somebody else. I think I might be in love or something, and I don’t want to hurt him by being with you, and I don’t want to hurt you by being with him.”

Tanaka sighs and sits up, leaning back against the headboard. He looks down at Ennoshita, who is still lying on his back. “What are you doing here without him?”

“He’s mad at me.”

“The quiet guy.”

Ennoshita doesn’t speak; he only has the heart to nod. A tense silence hangs in the air. The music continues to play in the living room. Tanaka scratches the back of his head.

“Look, you’re my friend. But if this guy means that much to you, then you need to say something. Just go ahead. I’ll catch up with you another time.”

It’s nearly three in the morning when Fukunaga hears his phone buzz. Worrying that it’s Taketora, he answers it without checking the caller ID.

“You okay?” His voice rasps from underuse and sleep.

“Fukunaga? Oh, thank god. I didn’t think you would answer,” Ennoshita answers from the other end. His voice trembles. “We’ve never talked on the phone before and you’re ignoring me now. I know you’re mad at me but I just need you to help me one more time.”

Fukunaga doesn’t reply, and he half expects Ennoshita to hang up.

“Look, I know you’re there because I can hear you breathing. I just—if you still don’t want to be my friend after this, I promise I won’t be mad at you. But Tanaka invited me to this party at his place, which was kind of a mistake in the first place—anyways—I decided to go but it went south. I’ve had a little more to drink than probably necessary and now it’s dark and I can’t find my way back to my building but I can find my way back to yours and I can’t get in because I don’t have a key.” Ennoshita pauses, and Fukunaga imagines him pinching the bridge of his nose like he always does when he’s nervous. “You’re still there. I can hear you breathe. And I’m sorry for whatever I did to upset you. I miss you. I miss how you listen to me and laugh at my horrible jokes and help me write my screenplay. And I miss being there for each other. If you don’t want that back, it’s fine, but I want it back for tonight.” Ennoshita lets out a little sob. “Just for tonight. Because I need you. Please.”

Fukunaga doesn’t think twice before he speaks. “Coming.”

He pulls himself out of bed and pulls his jacket over his shoulders, which he had left lying across his desk chair earlier that night. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, he crosses the small living space and sits down on the welcome mat to pull his shoes on.

As Fukunaga opens the main door, Ennoshita jolts in surprise, but upon seeing who it is, he relaxes. He smiles and lets out a breath. Fukunaga opens the door wide enough for Ennoshita to slide through. When he crosses the threshold and cooler air hits his skin, Ennoshita sighs with relief.

“Thanks. It’s wicked hot outside, and it’s like the middle of the night.”

“July,” Fukunaga adds.

“What?”

Ennoshita didn’t pick up on what he was saying—Fukunaga shuffles uncomfortably before correcting him, “It’s always hot in July.”

“Oh,” Ennoshita says with a shrug. They begin to climb the three flights of stairs up to Fukunaga’s dorm. “It’s pretty hot even for July, isn’t it?”

Fukunaga sighs, wishing they would stop talking about the weather.

The rest of the climb is in silence, save for the sound of their feet and their breathing. Wednesday night isn’t really a time for parties, although Fukunaga knows of at least two on campus tonight. He wonders what Taketora is doing as he unlocks the door to his dorm.

He ushers Ennoshita inside, who stands still in the living area, staring blankly at the bedroom door. Fukunaga had left it slightly ajar, and he wonders now what’s going through Ennoshita’s mind. Suddenly, Ennoshita turns around and addresses Fukunaga: “I—I don’t want to be a burden or anything, but where am I sleeping? There’s only two beds and I know that Yamamoto doesn’t want to sleep on the couch.”

“Party,” Fukunaga says.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’m going straight to bed, then.” Fukunaga nods. “It’s been a long night.” He nods again. “I’ll explain in the morning. I should really be heading that way since I have class at noon.”

“Goodnight.”

Ennoshita disappears into the bedroom, and Fukunaga sets a kettle on the stove to make himself some tea. While he waits for the water to boil, he leans with his back against the counter and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. Presently he feels very small and very afraid, not knowing what to do about Ennoshita. Surely he would find a way to explain himself. Surely, surely.

But he’s not sure if he has the words in him.

La Douleur Exquise (French)-The excruciating pain that comes from wanting someone you can’t have.

So maybe he does have the words, but he can’t string them together in a way that Ennoshita will understand. He could use all of his hand gestures, all of his one-word answers, but he may never really understand what’s going on. Fukunaga isn’t ready to say more than two or three sentences at a time—even for love—and he isn’t sure if this is something you can send via text or email. Maybe it isn’t something that needs to be said at all, and it’s just a secret that Fukunaga will have to take to the grave. But he could never do that. Not to the man he loves.

The kettle begins to whistle quietly, and Fukunaga removes it from the hot eye of the stove before it can bother Ennoshita.

When he wakes up the next morning, Fukunaga’s first thought is of Ennoshita. He’s curled up on Yamamoto’s bed on the opposite side of the room, the top of his head crowned in golden sunlight that comes through the window. Fukunaga feels something tug inside of his chest before quietly rolling out of bed.

Last night, Fukunaga had vowed to himself that he would somehow tell Ennoshita everything—somehow tell Ennoshita that their friendship was never just friendship to him. He sits down at his desk now, pulling a slip of notebook paper from the top drawer. There’s already a pencil sitting near his hand; he picks it up and begins to write so that he can organize his thoughts on the page.

The words don’t come easily, but they come in forceful torrents. They beat him from the inside out, bruising the inside of his ribcage, pulling his heart in two. They feel hot and leaden in Fukunaga’s stomach as he writes them onto the paper. He clenches his teeth, he furrows his brow, and he doesn’t bother looking back over his writing once he’s all done. He just signs his name carefully at the bottom of the page: Shouhei.

There’s no closing transition. No sincerely, no love, no yours truly. There’s only the final sentence, followed shortly by his given name. Fukunaga clenches it tightly in his hands but doesn’t crumple it. Instead, he carries it to the kitchen and begins to make breakfast.

He cracks two eggs and they begin to sizzle in the hot pan. Fukunaga lets his eyes drift to the Formica kitchen counter, where he’s placed the note for Ennoshita. Tired of looking at his words, he folds the paper into fourths. He tries to forget that the note exists altogether, but it still taunts him from its place.

Soon, the smell of warm cooking and the sound of shuffling in the kitchen causes Ennoshita to come out from the bedroom. He scratches his head and greets Fukunaga with a yawn.

“Good morning. Thanks for letting me stay last night. And for making me breakfast.” Ennoshita walks over to the part of the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. “I know I’ve said this a million times before, but you and Taketora really struck it lucky this year.”

Fukunaga shrugs.

“You’re still mad at me,” Ennoshita says, furrowing his brows.

Fukunaga shakes his head, then sighs, sliding the folded letter across the counter. He says: “For you.”

Ennoshita unfolds it carefully and licks his lips before starting. “ Chikara ,” he reads. “ I want to apologize for everything— what’s with this use of my first name?— and I wanted to tell you every single reason that we can’t be friends anymore. Please keep reading, because you need to know what I have to say almost as much as I need to say it.”

Fukunaga watches the eggs instead of Ennoshita, embarrassed that he’s reading the letter aloud.

“I was upset about the notebook because I didn’t want you to find out who it was really about. I thought for sure you would figure it out because you’re too smart for your own good, sometimes. You said that I would be your friend no matter what. You said that, whoever all those journal entries were about, that I must really love him. And I think sometimes that I might. But I don’t want to scare you —Please, Fukunaga, you’re always so vague about the stupid journal,” Ennoshita stops reading to comment and chuckle “— because I don’t like scaring the people I love.”

There’s a long pause before Ennoshita continues. All of a sudden, Fukunaga thinks of the first time they stood like this. Now it’s a cruel pantomime. Now they both know Fukunaga’s secret.

“You remember me from the summer training camps last year, and I remember you. I remember how you supported your team and how all your teammates respected and cared for you because of it. I wanted to be like you because I wanted to be like that for my team. But I also wanted to be on your team. I wanted you to make me feel like I was useful and needed.

“And then in college, you did.” Ennoshita’s voice hitches. “All those nights holed up in the library working on your screenplay meant the world to me. You thought I was valuable. You never once questioned why I didn’t like to talk when I wrote such good dialogue. You learned my hand signals. You helped me home when I had hurt my ankle. You did things for me that nobody had ever done for me before, except for maybe Taketora, who doesn’t count because we’ve known each other since we were nine.” He lets out a huff of short, strained air. “You found your place in my life with such ease and grace, and you helped me in so many ways that I can never repay. I repay you only with my love for you. But I don’t think that I can be your friend.

“I can only hope you understand that I still think the world of you. And the sun and the moon as well. There’s a word—it’s Norwegian—forelsket—and it refers to the intoxicatingly blissful feeling of falling in love. I’ll always remember that word because I’ll always remember you.”

The letter ends there, but Ennoshita doesn’t read the signature, he just speaks it: “Shouhei.”

The room is silent now except for the sizzling of the eggs, now burning in the pan. Fukunaga can’t bring himself to take them from the heat, since he’s too busy watching Ennoshita. He’s just holding the letter now, pinching the bridge of his nose. Carefully, Ennoshita sets the letter down on the Formica, and he begins to make his way to the kitchen where Fukunaga is standing, staring, waiting.

Mamihlapinatapai (Yagan)-A look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something they both desire.

“Chikara,” Fukunaga murmurs.

“Did you really mean all of that? The journal and the letter?” Ennoshita matches the whisper. Fukunaga nods in response. “You’re funny, Shouhei.” Ennoshita smiles and Fukunaga nods again, sadly.

Ennoshita places a hand on the back of Fukunaga’s head and pulls him close. Fukunaga’s first thought is to pull back, put distance between himself and Ennoshita because he knows he can’t survive on one last embrace forever.

Even though Fukunaga hesitates, Ennoshita slowly continues with stars in his eyes. Fukunaga feels something flutter in his chest, something like love and fear. He watches as Ennoshita closes his eyes, and Fukunaga closes his own.

Ennoshita presses a kiss to Fukunaga’s lips, chaste, gentle. It’s over almost as soon as it starts, but Fukunaga holds onto the feeling as Ennoshita speaks: “I think I might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Fukunaga allows himself to laugh. He raises his eyebrows incredulously. Ennoshita gets a good look at him and begins to laugh as well. “It sounded cooler in my head.” Fukunaga begins to laugh even harder, nodding his head, placing his hands on Ennoshita’s shoulders to keep from doubling over. “Oh come on, Shouhei. You don’t have room to laugh. Your letter was probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever read.”

They share a few more kisses between giggles, and Fukunaga relishes every one of them. He likes the way Ennoshita’s lips feel against his—he feels soft and warm; he tastes like sleep and dreams. Ennoshita wraps his arms around Fukunaga’s waist and twirls him around the kitchen, causing the latter to squawk in surprise.

He places Fukunaga on the ground gently, and begins peppering Fukunaga’s neck with gentle kisses, saying his name between each one. “Shouhei, Shouhei, Shouhei.” Ennoshita pulls away for a moment to get a better look at Fukunaga. There’s a smile spread across his face, and Ennoshita feels a surge of happiness swell in his chest, having put that smile there in the first place.

“You’re in love with me, aren’t you, Shouhei?” Ennoshita sings. Fukunaga rolls his eyes at the mocking tone. “Don’t be that way.” He tickles Fukunaga’s sides; he squirms and laughs, trying to push Ennoshita away. “You’re in love with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Fukunaga laughs. “Yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“Yes, I love you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Shouhei.”