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“Did you like me even when I was fourteen?”
Kyouji stops, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Blinks. The sudden rush of blood between his ears reminds him of watching some guy get waterboarded years ago. He's never been waterboarded himself—thank fuck—but he thinks this is probably what it feels like. A moment of painful clarity before the world goes crashing down, down, down in waves.
“Uh... What?”
Satomi raises a brow, shoves another piece of sushi in his mouth, and talks with his mouth full. “I'm just askin’.” He shrugs. Like it’s no big deal, like he’s not pulling Kyouji out of the water and staring at him before pushing him back into the deep end.
Kyouji’s throat closes up, spasms, as he tries to swallow down his heart threatening to jump out of his mouth. He doesn’t—He won’t—He can’t think about that summer. Not for too long. The Satomi of that summer shines bright in his memory—too bright. Like staring directly at the sun in the highest point in the sky, blotting out everything else in pure, hot, white. Like the blue-hot lights of the bathroom where Kyouji watched a man almost drown.
“Aw, why would I do that, Satomi-kun?”
Satomi stares at him, eyes flickering in disappointment, like he’s one of Kyouji’s old girlfriends. Narita, do I look pretty?, they’d ask, and get all sad when he didn’t notice something new about their faces. Kyouji flounders, coughs, head going underwater again.
“Forget I asked. Are you going to eat that?” Satomi says, gesturing to the tempura still in Kyouji's chopsticks.
“…You can have it.” Kyouji smiles, sets it on Satomi’s plate. He’s out of the water, for now.