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Shirabu measured up his problem in several ways, but there was no easing into it or denying the lack of other options. Either he confessed and got it over with, or he didn't do anything at all.
He gathered his belongings into his school bag and stood up after the bell rang. Kawanishi followed beside him and led the way out through the door as other students streamed out.
"I think you're incredibly, really brave," Kawanishi said.
"Do you really mean that?"
"From the bottom of my heart." His voice didn't hold any reassurance, missing the nuance and dropping for a lost flatness.
"I don't think you care at all."
"I'm trying to be nice."
"Lying to be nice is a little off..." Shirabu slipped his hand into his bag and felt around for his phone until he could fish it out.
Kawanishi faced forward, his head falling back and his eyes drifting ahead. "If he's so dense that you can't do anything subtle about it, then what's the point of talking to him and telling him?"
"It's the only way to do it."
"No, that's...that's not what I meant. Isn't it nerve-wracking going in and straight for it? Why don't you do what other people do and write him a letter or something?"
"You sound so nervous like you're the one who's going to do it," Shirabu said. His hands stilled on his phone. "You're concerned after all."
Kawanishi scratched at his neck. "Have you thought about giving him a letter?"
"Yes, I have."
"And?"
"I think that has a ton of room for misunderstanding something."
"What can there possibly be to misunderstand?" Kawanishi asked. "Say you like him and nothing else."
"Even an ordinary person can misunderstand that." Shirabu swiped on his phone and typed.
"Why would anyone go through the trouble of just saying they like someone if they don't intend for it to be meaningful?"
"I don't know, but it probably happens."
Kawanishi leaned over Shirabu's shoulder. "What're you doing?"
"Nothing." Shirabu maneuvered his arms away and angled his phone screen to the other side.
Kawanishi moved back and raised an eyebrow. "You're fidgeting."
"Not really."
"You're typing out a text that says 'aaaa' to a blank recipient." Kawanishi's mouth twitched against a smile. "You're nervous."
"I'm tired of this." Shirabu shifted his arm behind himself to slide his phone into his pocket, and he fumbled and dropped it. He rumbled through his nose, filling out a moment of time before he crouched to retrieve it.
"You're both calm and nervous. You don't sound nervous at all. It's eerie. Almost as eerie and surreal as the time you told me you decided you were going to confess."
"That was a few hours ago."
"You told me you were just going to do it, and, I asked what'd you do next, and you didn't even have an answer. I can't believe you're going to let whatever happens, happen."
"There's nothing to get so upset about."
They stopped in front of another classroom, emptying of students going off to club activities or going home for the day. Kawanishi clapped Shirabu on the back.
"Good luck."
"See you later," Shirabu mumbled.
Kawanishi waved as he walked away, until turning and lowering his arm to leave.
Shirabu forced his shoulders to untense with a breath. Ushijima was packing his belongings into his bag, carefully, unresponsive to someone talking to him. His friend flourished a hand and left, and Shirabu stepped in.
"Ushijima-san?"
Ushijima stood from his chair. His hand remained on the straps of his school bag as he focused on Shirabu. "What is it?"
Shirabu glanced to the side. "Uh..."
"Do I know you?" Ushijima asked.
"No. We don't share any classes or friends, I don't think. But I actually, I'm..." Shirabu's eyes shifted again, and his head inclined forward, rocking with his feet in thought. He bent further and bowed. "I'm, I've always been a fan of yours."
"You have?'"
Shirabu's head tilted back up, his shoulder tension recoiling again. "I think you're a...cool...well, not a cool person... That's not what i meant forget that," Shirabu snapped. He resettled. "I think you're special, and I really like you. We haven't really talked, but you're a kind person, and you have this charm with it that I can't explain. You're really strong--"
Ushijima handed him a piece of paper. "Here you are. Thank you."
Shirabu looked down at it as he accepted it. He let out a forced breath. "An autograph...? No, I didn't mean. I want to spend time with you, as more than a friend."
"Oh? Do you want to come over to my house?"
Shirabu's throat choked on a noise. "Right now?"
"You have something to do," Ushijima said, his voice falling, losing itself to the missed inflection of a question.
"No I don't. I can go home with you." Shirabu's fingers crumpled the edges of the paper. He turned at his waist to tuck it into his bag, and he hesitated. He made for his bag several times before he resigned himself to holding it with his hands.
Ushijima stepped aside and opened the door. Shirabu missed Ushijima's initial reaction to his acceptance to follow him home, and he couldn't see any traces of it now. His face held nothing but neutrality, expressionless to the point of calmness.
"Do you live around here?" Shirabu asked.
"Within walking distance," Ushijima said with a nod.
"Oh." Shirabu rubbed at his neck.
The silence stretched out in front of them with the sidewalk, loud and prominent until the wind blew and stirred bushes and branches. Shirabu squared his shoulders against the cast of stiffness in them, which only deepened it. He readjusted his school bag strap and glanced up at Ushijima.
"Are you hungry?" Shirabu asked.
"No." Ushijima's eyes crinkled, drawn soft but serious, contemplative and frowning but not to his mouth. "Are you getting hungry? I apologize, I forgot about dinner."
"I'm not hungry. I don't know why I asked." Shirabu's hand tightened on his bag, and he fought a grimace.
Ushijima stared ahead again, unaware of Shirabu's gaze. He had none of the self-inflicted wariness that Shirabu did. His face carried a light manner into the pressing of his lips, comfortable in the quiet evening.
At the entryway to an apartment building, Ushijima turned and led them up the steps to his door. He hung his coat on a wall hook, and Shirabu shuffled to do the same, hovering behind him and stepping to the side.
Ushijima's hands worked at his neck to loosen his tie. Shirabu watched him from the corner of his eye, attention to the angles of his wrists and arms, on the shade of air against his collared neck. Shirabu was so preoccupied that his arms stopped moving, and he fell into staring.
Ushijima cleared a table and piled papers on it. He nudged a few pens to one side of the table.
"These are almost done. I just need some outlining and shading for now. I'll leave that to you." He waved at the stack of papers.
"...You what?" Shirabu picked up a piece of paper. A manga panel was drawn on it, missing backgrounds and other details.
Ushijima tilted his head. "Did you want to do backgrounds instead? Someone else does that."
Shirabu regarded the paper again. "This is what you asked me over for?"
"You said you're a fan of my manga."
"No I didn't. I said I'm a fan of you."
Ushijima shifted in his seat. "But I'm a mangaka. This is my manga."
Shirabu sighed, expelling all resolution and dropping the paper to reach for a pen. "How much help do you need?"
"Any amount is fine." Ushijima pulled papers to himself and started drawing.
Shirabu left his arms on either side of the paper for a moment. The only characters he could see on the page were girls, and the conversations contained in the speech bubbles held no sign of conflict anywhere.
"I've never heard of your name involved in manga," Shirabu said.
"I don't use my real name to publish. I don't want to attract any distracting attention."
"Distracting...attention..."
Ushijima lifted his head. "If you didn't know I was a mangaka, then why did you approach me?"
Shirabu gathered his hands into closed, vague fists. "I was confessing."
"Confessing what?"
"That I like you."
"Oh." Ushijima redirected his focus to his pen.
Shirabu loosened with a visible movement unfolding his tension. He leaned forward. "Did you hear me?"
"I did," Ushijima said, nodding without removing his eyes from his work.
"Did you understand what I meant?" Shirabu asked.
"You like me, right?"
"I don't...I don't think you understand." Shirabu reached across the table to stop him from drawing. "I wouldn't go out of my way to just tell you I like you."
"But you did."
Shirabu's hand thumped on the table, and he groaned. "That's not what I meant."
Ushijima paused and looked at him. "Then why did you say it?"
"Stop confusing me and let me think of something." Shirabu sifted his hand through his hair, to the back of his head.
Ushijima gestured at the paper. "You still haven't completed a page."
"I'll get to it." Shirabu slouched in his seat and glared at the paper.
Time cooled him down, and he filled his silence with outlining and filling in color. He worked slowly, still half lost on his thoughts.
Ushijima glanced at him. "You're very skilled, Shirabu. Good job."
"Thanks." Shirabu deflected his reaction into his shoulder, pretending to cough and hiding his mouth. He noticed the straight-forward way Ushijima addressed him, as if he had to set aside attention and make a conscious effort to remember to tell him.
Ushijima pressed a button on his phone, and the screen lit up. "I think dinner's ready."
"I just finished a page." Shirabu clacked his pen down on the table. His arms relaxed. "Why're you a mangaka, anyway?"
"I don't really know how to explain it."
"Do your best."
Ushijima stood out of his chair to head into the kitchen. He pushed his chair in and let his head drift in a sideways tilt. "I wanted to try being serious at drawing."
"That's it?"
"I really wanted it."
Shirabu let out a breath, and he choked on it as it condensed into laughter. "I'm not surprised you misunderstood what I said."
Ushijima returned with a couple plates and chopsticks. He made another trip for bowls of soup, and when he expressed satisfaction at the table setting, he sat down. "What did you say earlier, before I left?"
"Nothing." Shirabu shook his head and took a bite.
"You chickened out, didn't you." Kawanishi came to Shirabu's side and matched his pace to walk beside him as he entered the school gates.
"Good morning to you, too," Shirabu mumbled.
"I can see it right away. You look the same you did yesterday morning. You didn't confess."
"I did confess. He didn't...take it." Shirabu directed his gaze away, and he brought his hands together to crack his fingers.
"What do you mean?"
"He...gave me his autograph..."
Kawanishi laughed. "An autograph?"
"Don't take it the wrong way," Shirabu said. "He's not conceited."
"Clearly."
"I told him I'm a fan of his, and he gave me his autograph."
"You should've worded it better."
"Next I tried telling him I liked him, and I want to be more than friends, but he invited me home so we could work on art together."
Kawanishi laughed harder, and he lifted his arm partway to his neck, his other arm around his stomach.
Shirabu gripped his school bag. "This isn't that funny."
"That's the worst confession I've ever heard. And it has nothing to do with him saying no--it's all you. You messed it up."
"I got that."
Kawanishi recovered in one audible breath. "So what're you going to do now?"
"I don't know..." Shirabu's hand came to his chin, and he looked at the ground.
Kawanishi edged into his space, and he elbowed him. "You're thinking of writing a letter now, aren't you?"
"No," Shirabu said.
"Be as honest and straight forward as possible."
"I'm not asking you for advice." Shirabu turned from him, and he followed someone else into the class building, hurrying to make it past the swung open door without touching it.
The door was already on its way closed as Shirabu slipped in, and Kawanishi was burdened with the door weight smacking him. He struggled at the entrance and shoved it off.
Shirabu headed into his classroom, shoving the door open with his foot. He arrived at his seat, and waited for Kawanishi.
Kawanishi appeared and slumped into his seat, his belongings falling onto the floor with a thud. "Thanks for the help."
"You're welcome." Shirabu stretched his arms and yawned.
After school, Ushijima found Shirabu in the hallway. Kawanishi waved with a grin and left him behind.
Shirabu had already turned to ignore him. "Ushijima?"
Ushijima watched Kawanishi leave. His eyes drifted back, and he fixed on Shirabu. "I wanted to thank you for yesterday. You didn't have any problems with the art club, did you?"
Shirabu rolled his lips together to hold himself back from reacting right away. "What? How'd you know?"
"I've had an eye on you for a while."
Shirabu lost the shape of his shoulders to stiffness, with his arm stuck bent to his head. "What...? What does that mean?"
"I've been thinking of having an assistant, and the art club's the best place to look."
"Oh." Shirabu deflated.
"So it's not a bother for you, is it?"
"Ah. No. I'm not on any projects right now."
"Good. Can you help me again today?"
"Sure. Anytime I'm not on a project, I can." Shirabu readjusted his school bag strap higher on his shoulder, and he made to move for the door.
Ushijima bowed. "Thank you. I really appreciate your help."
"Uh, you're welcome." Shirabu compared Ushijima's honesty with Kawanishi's sarcastic gratitude earlier that day, and he grimaced.
Ushijima straightened. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Shirabu walked and opened the door, and Ushijima followed him.
"What's your favorite thing to draw?" Ushijima asked.
"Water."
"You mean scenery and backgrounds?"
"Extrapolating from that, yeah, I guess." Shirabu shrugged. "But it gets boring if I don't have ideas. What about you? What do you like drawing the most?"
"Animals." Ushijima nodded.
"Your manga doesn't have any animals in it at all."
"I need to improve on my skill of drawing humans, and work is a motivation."
"That doesn't sound pleasant or productive..." Shirabu's head fell back, and he stared at the sky. The setting sun lost some of its warmth from the day, but the residual warmth left an echo of an impression on Shirabu's skin, like a physical lightless glow.
"I know everything about animals, but I know very little about people. I think there's something interesting in unexplored dynamics."
"Well, when you put it that way, I can kind of see it." Shirabu fell quiet, and he looked over a clump of trees along the sidewalk.
"I think this is as good a time as any for me to ask you something."
"What is it?"
"As I already said, I'm interested in unexplored dynamics. And I don't understand why you developed a liking towards me. What do you like about me?"
Shirabu's hand fell from his neck. "You don't know what's likable about yourself?"
"I don't. Not just that, though; I want to know it from you specifically. You seem easily annoyed and agitated, and I get the feeling that I can bother you."
Shirabu's mouth twitched. "I... That's kind of true... I do hate a lot of people, and I hold grudges easily."
Ushijima's eyes remained on him, waiting in kind. "Go on."
"But you're really courteous, and your heart's always in the right place. And you have a manner of speaking with words that's careful. Just a few moments ago, when I asked if you know what's likable about yourself, you didn't just say no, you clarified 'I don't.' You're a little out of it sometimes, but that has its own appeal and charm, I think, and your interests are sincere and kind in an out-of-the-way subtlety you can't deny. I've also seen you out on runs and jogs, and I think you're really strong and fast, too." Shirabu bent his head forward, partly to hide, and partly to follow on his urge to bow. "So I more than really like you, I have a lot of feelings for you."
Ushijima didn't say anything. Shirabu stood back again to his usual height, and he leaned forward to catch his eyes.
"Well?" he asked.
Ushijima drew his hand to his chin. "The way you put it, those qualities would make an ideal character that avoids a lot of clichés."
"Ushijima-san... Please don't model a protagonist or love interest after yourself..."
"Why not?"
"You'll come off as arrogant, and you're not."
"I use an alias. No one knows who I really am."
"Still." Shirabu whirred into a rumble. "Did you hear all of what I said?"
"I did."
"And?"
Ushijima held him in a gaze. "I'm really glad we working together. I have a lot of feelings about it, too. It's one of those meant-to-be situations that happens naturally with the blessings of fate."
Shirabu's chest heaved with a breath. "I...agree."
Shirabu managed to write a confession letter without Kawanishi finding out. Despite Kawanishi's insistence, it didn't take much to hide it from him. All that was left to do was leave it somewhere Ushijima could find it, and just for him, a place where it couldn't be mistaken for someone else.
He eyed Ushijima's school bag as they walked through the hallway and out the building after class. Ushijima's arm held rigid over the top of his bag, and Shirabu couldn't see a way to slide it in.
"Someone else is coming to help today. Is that alright?" Ushijima asked.
"Hm? Oh, sure. Who?"
"Someone named Tendou. We get along well. I hope you two do, too." Ushijima leaned against the wall next to a window, and Shirabu followed him and waited.
"Is he on his way?"
"He'll be here."
Shirabu let his bag slump to his wrist, and he pretended to dig around inside to stall. Ushijima crossed his arms and drummed his fingers on his arm.
When someone approached them, Ushijima stood. Shirabu quickly leaned off the wall.
"Wakatoshi-kun! Thanks for waiting." Tendou's hands fell from his wave, and he laced his hands behind his back. "Who's this? Shirabu?"
"I'm Shirabu Kenjirou. From now on, I'll be helping Ushijima sometimes." Shirabu hooked his arm back through his bag strap and hitched it up.
"I'm Tendou Satori. You can call me Satori."
"I'll call you Tendou. You can call me Shirabu."
Tendou's voice creaked in his throat. "You can't do that."
Shirabu faced Ushijima. "I'm ready to go."
"Fine." Tendou leaned to Ushijima and whispered, his hand shielding their mouths, "I'd keep an eye on him if I were you. He's a weird one."
"He's helping me. Similarly to what you do," Ushijima pointed out.
Tendou's arm withdrew, and he closed his mouth. He drifted to Ushijima's side and started walking.
"If you have Tendou as an assistant, do you really need my help, too?" Shirabu asked.
"Tendou only helps once every few days."
"I've asked Wakatoshi to let me do more and stuff, but he always says no." Tendou waved his hand, flicking his wrist in a falling zigzag, like an autumnal leaf. "Wakatoshi, why can't I be in charge of more things?"
"You're not very good at a lot of things."
Tendou gave a small gasp, too delayed and deliberate to broadcast any actual hurt. "You came out and said it! Don't do that so easily."
Ushijima tilted his head. "But isn't that the truth about anyone? I'm sure Shirabu isn't very good at a lot of things, either."
Shirabu's mouth shifted. "Thanks."
"So, what you're saying is, if you're good at everything, then that means you're average..." Tendou brought his hand to the back of his head. "You're very insightful, Wakatoshi."
"That's not even close to what Ushijima said."
"It's called inference. Read between the lines, Kenjirou."
Shirabu took his phone out of his bag. There was a message from Kawanishi, but Shirabu scrolled past it.
Tendou pushed on Ushijima's head, and encouraging Ushijima to lean with him to look at Shirabu's phone.
"Who're you messaging, hm?" Tendou asked.
"No one."
"Do you have Wakatoshi's number? You should have mine, too."
"I don't have his," Shirabu said.
Tendou let go, and Ushijima straightened with him.
"Now watch and listen, Wakatoshi," Tendou said, his voice subdued from facing away from Shirabu, directed only to Ushijima.
"What are you going to do?" Ushijima asked.
"This is an integral part of romance that even you don't understand. When you first meet someone you have an interest in but you don't already know them, you have to ask for their number."
"Oh." Ushijima leaned forward to meet Shirabu's eyes. "Can I have your number?"
"That's not how it works. You can't ask right away," Tendou said.
"That wasn't any good?"
"No. Let me do it." Tendou turned, his mouth opening.
"You can't have it," Shirabu said.
"You're not supposed to turn me down before I try."
"How else can it be realistic?"
"That's not realistic. Give me a chance."
Shirabu deflected his attention by facing away and coughing into his shoulder. "I wouldn't give my number to a stranger."
"I agree with Shirabu," Ushijima said.
"Fine. No more advice." Tendou crossed his arms.
When they arrived at Ushijima's apartment, Tendou dumped his bag on the floor beside the door and made for the fridge. Ushijima didn't give him any notice, but Shirabu stopped after he took off his shoes.
"It's not even dinner."
Tendou poked his head out from the fridge door. "We're not friends, so you can't tell me what not to do. Only Wakatoshi's allowed."
"I didn't tell you you're not allowed." Shirabu held his hand out. "At least give me some water."
"No." Tendou returned to the fridge.
"What if I called you 'senpai' for today?"
Tendou paused. "You're just going to make it unenjoyable. I can tell." Tendou walked around the kitchen to fill a cup of water, and he slid it on the counter in Shirabu's direction. "Here. Call me Satori and we're even."
"No. Tendou."
Tendou's nose and mouth wrinkled, but it unravelled with a shrug. "Okay."
"Waste of time," Shirabu mumbled after he accepted it, halfway to Ushijima's room.
They gathered around Ushijima's table, and Ushijima distributed supplies to everyone. He handed them separate panels in different stages of completion.
Tendou stretched his arms out and cracked them. "Time to get started."
"I'm really looking forward to seeing your work, Tendou," Shirabu said.
"Don't be fake nice." Tendou grabbed a pen and angled a piece of paper to draw on it.
Shirabu followed him in the silence, and the atmosphere faded away to engrossed work. Shirabu couldn't gauge how much time passed, but that in itself was an indication of how much he had fallen into the work.
Ushijima stood from his chair, and the chair's feet screeched on the floor. "It's time for a break. Does anyone want anything?"
"I call the last soda can," Tendou said.
"Water." Shirabu's voice came out quiet, almost in a rasp, and he cleared his throat to dispel the itchy feeling in his throat.
"I'll be right back."
Tendou's eyes flitted to Shirabu. "So how'd you meet Wakatoshi, anyway? He never mentioned."
"I bumped into him a few days ago, and he told me he was looking for someone in the art club to help him."
"He did, huh? Remembered you from the art club? He has amazing memory. It's terrifying," he said with a sage closed-eye nod.
Ushijima returned with a soda can, a pitcher of water, and two cups. He laid them out and sat down. "We've done a lot of work tonight."
Tendou stretched his arms up and yawned. "Is there a deadline coming up?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck, Wakatoshi-kun." Tendou patted him on the shoulder, and then took a sip of soda.
"Do you do any digital art, too?" Shirabu asked Ushijima.
"I've been meaning to, but I haven't learned how to use a tablet."
"Sure you do! I saw you doodle something the other day." Tendou flapped his hand at Ushijima's laptop sitting on his desk. "Can we see?"
"...Alright." Ushijima retrieved it and opened it on the table. Shirabu and Tendou scooted their chairs closer to him.
"You're so trusting..." Shirabu marveled out loud.
"I am?"
"Oh, I don't mean that it's weird. It's just that you're letting us look right at your desktop and folders. I wouldn't do that."
"That's because you're already a suspicious person, and you probably have a lot to hide. Wakatoshi doesn't have anything to hide."
Ushijima clicked open a folder full of photos of birds, and Shirabu snorted. "Clearly, he has nothing to hide," Shirabu said.
The only thing in the folder that resembled digital art were the eyebrows drawn on every bird photo. Almost all of them were cockatiels, and they stared back in every photo, their beaks closed and crests raised inquisitively. The added eyebrows consisted of just a solid block of color in an eyebrow-shaped stroke above their eyes, and the gentle shapes somehow gave them an air of curiosity or concern.
It brought Tendou to tears.
"Wakatoshi, this is adorable," he said in between laughs.
"But you can't even call this doodling."
"Don't listen to him."
"He barely did anything," Shirabu mumbled. His eyes averted, and he rubbed the back of his neck, shifting to an angle that drew out the frustrated red in his cheeks and the strain of his mouth.
Ushijima closed his laptop. "We should get back to work."
"Wait a sec. I want to see something." Shirabu grabbed a paper from Tendou's completed pile. "What's your special talent? What do you even do to the panels that we can't?"
Tendou raised his chin proudly. "Glad you asked. I add special effects." He pointed at the floral backgrounds.
Shirabu spun the paper to look at it from another angle. "That's it? This is just one special effect. Can't you do anything else?"
Tendou sunk in his chair and rumbled. "You want to see something else? Fine. Give me a minute." He swiped a blank paper and began drawing.
"Is this going to take long?"
"No."
Shirabu slouched against his chair. He made a point of drumming his hands on the table, but Tendou ignored him.
Tendou sat back and surveyed his work. "There. All done." He slid it to Shirabu.
An uneven pattern of stars arched a swath across the page. The pattern didn't scatter to the point of jarring, it fluctuated and struck an unbalance of character and style.
Shirabu slid it back. "This is just like your flowery background, but with stars."
"Wow, you're really boring. Grumpy." Tendou relocated the paper to Ushijima's side. "Here. A gift, from me to you."
"Thank you."
Shirabu scratched his head and brushed his hand over his hair. "Can we just get back to working?"
"Yeah, alright, we're getting to that anyway." Tendou nudged his soda can away and resumed drawing.
Shirabu put pen to paper again, but after a minute, he stopped and watched Ushijima, discretely eyeing him without turning his head. Ushijima worked in comfortable silence, as comfortable as the silence he always carried, and his eyes didn't leave the page until he finished it. Shirabu briefly looked back at his own work and feigned innocence.
He checked again, and found Ushijima fixed back in place. The light of his eyes directed down against the softness of his concentrated face made Shirabu's stomach fall, like his breath, and his automatic reaction forced him to look away.
It came down to his work ethic that kept him drawing.
Ushijima sometimes came to school noticeably tired from working on manga in the night, but on the morning after a deadline, Shirabu approached him in his classroom at lunch.
"I saw you this morning. You looked awful."
"Kenjirou, you're not so good looking right now, yourself."
"Don't ever say that sentence in any combination again," Shirabu said without looking at Tendou. He passed Tendou's desk and took a seat next to Ushijima.
"It was only one night. I'll recover." Ushijima rubbed his neck.
"He's so serious about it, too. He patched himself up like he got into a fight or something." Tendou gestured at the compresses and medical patches on him.
Ushijima looked between them. "There's no point in mistreating myself completely."
"That's the spirit," Tendou said to Ushijima.
Shirabu leaned into his arms and rested on the desk. "How do you manage schoolwork and mangaka work? Isn't that incredibly grueling?"
"I don't have time for anything else," Ushijima said.
Shirabu grumbled. "You don't sound bothered by it."
"You're forgetting one thing, Kenjirou. He's more incredible than an incredible human, he's the super mangaka that can write a chapter in a day! It's miracle boy Wakatoshi!"
"I can't write that quickly," Ushijima said.
"Those kinds of embarrassing lines are why I told someone I don't know you," Shirabu said.
"Someone asked about me?" Tendou flapped his hand. "Who?"
"I don't even remember." Shirabu sighed. "It's too bad you don't get embarrassed at what you say. You really need to hear yourself."
"I hear you, and I hear me, and I don't hear anything wrong except what you're saying is wrong." Tendou moved, and he rolled his movement into facing Ushijima. "What do you think?'
"Ah, I've...lost track of what you're talking about."
Shirabu snorted, and it shook him down to his crossed arms on the desk supporting his head.
"Y'know, I've seen you fiddling around with that for a couple days now." Tendou motioned at the letter in Shirabu's hands. "What'cha got there?"
Shirabu shifted his hands to an angle to obscure Tendou's view. "It's nothing."
"Hm, I'm gonna find out eventually." Tendou hummed.
Shirabu slipped it back into his bag. He eyed Ushijima's school bag, and thought about hiding it in there, but if Ushijima wasn't around, Tendou always was, and he didn't have an opening.
Ushijima came to his seat again. The drifting silence between them made him glance. "Did something happen?"
"Nope." Tendou shook his head and bit into his sandwich.
Shirabu had already finished his lunch, and the leftover napkins lied in the trashcan. He had nothing to do to fill lunchtime, especially with Kawanishi out sick for the day. He idly swiped on his phone screen.
Tendou swallowed and wiped his mouth. "Hey Wakatoshi. What do you think of love letters? Ever written about that?"
"I have. I think there's a certain aspect of mystery in that kind of romance that always attracts people's attention."
"What would you do if you got one?" Tendou asked.
"I don't know. I don't think I would, though, so I'm not worried."
"Worried! Ha!" Tendou laughed.
Shirabu groaned. "Can we find another topic? This is so boring."
"Kenjirou, we write a romance manga. This is all we do."
"We draw, you talk about anime and video games, and Ushijima talks about bird feeders. That's not what we talk about," Shirabu said.
Ushijima sat back. "So should we talk about it?"
"Please. No." Shirabu's arms extended until they flopped over the side of the desk.
"Alright." Ushijima picked up his trash, and he walked to the trashcan to dump it.
"You made Wakatoshi leave," Tendou said.
"That's not why he left."
Tendou crossed his arms. "Do you think I can write a good love letter?"
"No," Shirabu said right away.
Tendou turned to Ushijima as he reclaimed his seat. "What do you think, Wakatoshi? Do you think I can write a good love letter?"
"I think so."
"What about Kenjirou?"
"Yes, but probably in a different way."
Tendou leaned into his hand. "Oh? That sounds interesting. Why don't you draw it out?"
"Don't make a manga about me."
Ushijima shifted. "When you put it that way, I feel uncomfortable about drawing you."
"Good going, Kenjirou." Tendou crossed his arms behind his head. "Anyway, did you ever have an eye on someone else from the art club, Wakatoshi? Why'd you pick Kenjirou?"
Shirabu stiffened.
"What do you mean? I didn't pick him."
"Sure you did. Kenjirou told me that's how you met."
"Shirabu approached me a while ago and confessed that he's a big fan," Ushijima said.
Tendou turned to Shirabu with a smug grin. "Embarrassing lines, huh?" Tendou snorted. "I dunno, Kenjirou. Calling yourself a fan of Wakatoshi is embarrassing."
Shirabu scratched at his chest and stalled his response. "You've said way worse."
"I didn't hide it. Ahahah! That makes it even funnier!" Tendou laughed.
Shirabu clasped his hands together on the desk and stretched his fingers to crack them, pointedly ignoring Tendou. He caught Ushijima's eyes watching him, and he hunched slightly forward to shield himself with his shoulders.
At the end of the day, Tendou went his separate way home and left them to do work on their own for the night. Ushijima led them in, and Shirabu milled behind him at the entryway to remove his shoes.
His bag slipped to his arms. The letter remained finished in the bag, incomplete without its actual delivery. He couldn't hide it in Ushijima's belongings in the broad daylight of a classroom or general school-time without the possibility of someone seeing him, and hiding it in the private time of their art work defeated the point of an anonymous letter. He ended up hating the idea.
"Ushijima...?"
"Hm?" Ushijima looked back from the kitchen. "What is it?"
"Have you ever given any thought to why I keep telling you I like you?"
"Isn't it just because you like me?"
"You're...looking way too directly at the point." Shirabu drew out a sigh.
"There's something that I'd like to confess, though, now that you bring up the topic."
"What is it?" Shirabu asked slowly.
"I told you I had specific interest in you because I didn't understand why you liked me. I've learned a lot from being with you, so thank you. I've learned more about unusual characters from the way you react."
"Unusual...characters..." Shirabu mumbled.
"I think you're one of a kind, Shirabu. I'm really glad we met." Ushijima nodded and returned to fixing a bowl of fruit for them.
Shirabu tapped his hand on the table. "Okay, I can't do this anymore. Ushijima, you really need to get it this time. So I came prepared." Shirabu hurried to his bag and pulled out his letter. "This is a love letter. You can't misunderstand it this time."
He shoved it into Ushijima's hands, and it crumpled in them. Ushijima turned it over. "What's this for?"
"Specifically for you and no one else." Shirabu glanced down at Ushijima's hands. "Aren't you going to open it?"
Ushijima's hands lowered, descending to fall against his legs. "It's for me?"
"There's no one else here but you." Shirabu frowned. "Ushijima?"
Ushijima reached for paper and a pen, and Shirabu crossed his arm across Ushijima's to stop him. "Don't give me another autograph."
"It was my first reaction."
Shirabu took in a breath. "Your first reaction? That's how you react to a confession? Do you mean that you knew what I meant this entire time, but you played it off as something else?"
Ushijima withdrew his hand and sheepishly folded it over the still-clasped letter. "I didn't know how else to react."
"I'm so confused, I don't know who misinterpreted who at this point." Shirabu crossed his arms. "But you're a terrific actor, I have to admit." He rumbled a groan in his throat. "It's unfair. You have writing potential at your disposal, and you're also legitimately dense. I can't tell anything apart."
Ushijima relaxed, tension rolling out of his shoulders. "You're not mad that I did that?"
"No. I was just as bad. And it's kinda funny now that I think about it." Shirabu bent forward and swiped the letter back. He waved it. "Now that that's over, you don't need this."
Ushijima's eyebrows wrinkled. "You're not going to let me read it?"
"It ended up just being a prop. The content isn't important."
"But I want to read it."
Shirabu maneuvered it behind his back. "You've heard my real feelings already. You don't need it."
"But I want to know what a love letter is like."
"Write one." Shirabu walked to his bag and stuffed the letter inside.
"I'd like an example."
"Ask Tendou."
Ushijima's curiosity swayed his head to a tilt. "I don't understand why you'd go through the lengths you did to confess, and then hide your confession."
"It's embarrassing, alright? I don't have the tolerance level that Tendou does." Shirabu grabbed the fruit plate and stopped at the hallway threshold for Ushijima.
Ushijima gave one last look at the letter's resting place before following.