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Gumi. Gumi. Gumi. It’s always Gumi. Gumi is all Flower ever talks about. Gumi is the only person Flower ever hangs out with. Hell, he’d even brought her to Akito’s apartment, a sight which encroached on Fukase’s boundaries and set a flame ablaze in his chest.
Gumi. Gumi. Gumi. Flower doesn't shut up about Gumi.
“Gumi taught me how to make my own pins!”
Fukase doesn't care. But whatever. Yeah. Sure. That’s nice.
“Gumi painted my nails! Don't they look so nice?”
Yeah, okay. Fukase could paint his nails just as nice. Better, even.
“Gumi makes her own clothes, all from scratch! She's so cool!”
Fukase’s cooler, way cooler, even if he doesn't make his own stupid clothes from fucking scratch.
Fukase hates Gumi. He fucking loathes Gumi. Flower only met her, what, five months ago in university, compared to the nearly two decades he’d known Fukase for? What the fuck’s so special about Gumi? What the fuck’s so much better about Gumi than Fukase? What the fuck makes Flower want to hang out with Gumi so much more than Fukase?
It burns a hole in his chest, one which bores and throbs throughout his entire being.
Fukase stabs at his instant rice with his chopsticks. He can hardly see his plate through his red-hot rage. He hardly spots Flower walking past him to the fridge and hardly hears him over rage pulsing in his ears.
“Kase?”
He blinks, then looks up. Flower is standing on the other side of the table with a cold bottle of water, looking at him with that stern, judging stare which Fukase knows is only concerned.
“You didn't hear me? I asked you what’s wrong,” Flower repeats.
Fukase has to hold back the urge to laugh. Maybe it’s bringing some bitch you just met from university to your best friend’s cousin’s apartment, the cousin who, out of the kindness of his own heart, allowed you to stay and sleep in his own apartment for free? But he doesn't say that. He just hangs his head and keeps poking at his rice.
Flower watches him, waiting patiently for him to speak. He’s known Fukase for ages now and understands that he’s never been great at putting together the words to describe how he feels, so he waits. But he’s left waiting too long, and it worries him.
“Kase, c’mon, you've got this crazy ass face on like you're gonna get up and start whacking people down with an axe.”
Slowly, Flower approaches. Fukase can't help it when his gaze magnetizes to Flower’s; his slim, gentle cheeks, his small, pointed nose, his hard, aloof gaze, and the mesmerizing deep purple of his irises. Fukase finds himself lost in his eyes, staring in until he’s engulfed completely. Everything about Flower is just so remarkable, so irreplaceable. He’s ethereally perfect, and he’s slowly getting torn away from Fukase.
“Why do you always hang out with Gumi?” he blurts, not looking up from his dish.
Flower blinks, his face blank. “Because she’s my friend,” he says simply.
“I’m your friend, too,” Fukase bites back.
“Yes, you are. And we hang out, too. All the time.”
Fukase is always at his cousin’s place, more often than he’s at his parents’. He practically lives at Akito’s, and now Flower does too, literally. So they’re always hanging out, always together, even if they're just sharing space in silence. That sort of moment is always their favorite.
Flower thinks about this. Then, slowly, his brows furrow together. “Do you have a problem with Gumi?”
He’s confronted and it makes him shrink. He shrugs and mutters, “You’re always hanging out with her.”
Flower blows a fuse, in a matter of seconds. “What, I can’t hang out with my friend now? Does it bother you that I have a friend? I can't make friends or hang out with them, is that the fucking problem here, Kase?!”
He sits and sighs. He’s always hated Flower’s temper.
“Don’t start acting all sad and sorry now! I’m my own person, Kase, in case you haven't noticed, and I’m gonna make my own friends and hang out with my own friends, because I’m a fucking adult!”
The more Flower yells, the more Fukase’s blood boils. He slams his chopsticks down and finally turns to look Flower in the eye. “What about me?”
“What about you?” Flower looks at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “What about you?!”
“I’m your friend, too.” Fukase frowns deeply, on the verge of unraveling. “I’m more than your friend, I’m--I’m more than a best friend.”
Flower’s stomach sinks. He scoffs. “W-We’re not doing this anymore.”
A tense silence hangs over the kitchen. Fukase is intensely staring into Flower, who has his arms crossed stiffly over his chest and is averting his betrayed gaze.
Flower is far from oblivious for Fukase’s feelings towards him. They dated back in high school, before Flower came out, before he stopped hiding the person he truly is. It might have been a dream come true for Fukase, but it was a personal hell for Flower. He entered the relationship to hide his identity only for him to be tortured by it. Flower never liked men, but he kept trying to act like he did. Flower hated being a woman, but he kept trying to act like a girlfriend. It was killing him slowly, wearing away at him every day. Fukase was always there for him, telling him if he wasn't happy, he could call if quits whenever, but he was stubborn in his self-inflicted torture. He never wanted his parents to suspect that he was anything less than their perfect little girl.
Of course, that was before his breakdown the summer before university, before he cut his hair and gave his parents a long repressed, teary confession. Before he was kicked out.
A rush of contrasting ice and heat comes from Flower’s feet up to his head. His gut twists in discomfort, but he runs a palm over his face and sighs it out.
“You're acting like I’m the only person you have,” he mutters. “You have tons of other friends, Kase. You have Akito, you have Len and Rin, you have Miku. You have Oliver. You have a boyfriend.” Flower looks up into Fukase, his jaw tense. “You have a boyfriend, Kase! For fuck’s sake! What is your deal with me?!”
Flower meets Fukase’s eyes. Fukase stares back at him, intense and focused. There’s a look in his eyes, a hint of longing, that tells Flower exactly what he doesn't want to hear.
I’m still in love with you.
“Kids, kids? Are we alright in here?”
Fukase and Flower turn to Akito’s voice. He pokes his head out from the hallway with a bandaid over his chiseled cheekbone, looking at the two intently.
Flower sighs. He turns away from Fukase and heads down the hall past Akito, who watches him with concern. Akito looks back at his cousin, seeking answers. A shameful Fukase doesn't meet his gaze.