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1.
The first time Shirabu really talks to Kawanishi, he has his head centimeters down the toilet bowl seat, gagging up hydrochloric acid and mucus as it clogs up his oesophagus, burning holes through the muscles in his gullet. That's not to say they haven't talked before - they have - being on the same sporting club means they see each other more often than they see their classmates, what with their 6-day training schedule. But they're both quiet to a fault, and Shirabu truly doesn't remember the last time he exchanged more than six words with his peer.
He slumps over the toilet, letting out a groan, hygiene be damned. He's sleepy but then again, he also feels iffy. He can never win at life. An uncomfortable churning in his stomach tells him to heave over the rim of the porcelain seat, but only spit dribbles down his chin. He groans, upset and uncomfortable.
From his position by the toilet, he can see the sky through the glass vents, the opalescent moon grinning down on his misery with a perfect crescent grin. He's half tempted to flip the bird – and he would have if not for the sudden wave of nausea that tides over him with renewed vigour. He lets out a pitiful whine. His first ever training camp in Shiratorizawa and the world decides to make him suffer, as if this hadn’t been what he’s been waiting for his whole life.
He's not sure how long he’s been there, his perception of time becomes skewed with only the crickets and rush of water down the pipes to keep him company. The heady smell of the toilet makes him giddy and he’s already sending his eighth message to heaven when the bathroom doors open.
It creaks, almost like the sound effects of a horror film but Shirabu is too deep in his suffering to be afraid. He hears the cold slam as it the door swings around its hinges and bangs into the wall opposite, followed by another as it closes shut. A sudden gurgle of water erupts once more in the quiet hours of the morning, the churning in the pipes the only solace to silence. Then he hears the footsteps.
And while everything looks like the setup to a tragic end of a ghost movie, the sounds are almost welcoming – Shirabu thinks it’ll be real stellar if the cold, clammy hands of death could take him now and end his suffering. But as things are, it is not his time to die yet. He knows because the footsteps stop right outside his toilet cubicle, followed by an audible knock. Shirabu is willing to bet all of Tendou’s hair that the Grim Reaper has nothing on manners. How quaint.
“Shirabu?”
Shirabu recognizes the voice, although the version he’s accustomed to is a lot less scratchy and not as deep. He opens his mouth to respond but he ends up throwing up a bit more of the yuck stuff in him. The spittle is gross – really gross. He’s reminded of something weird he once read – something about frothy seminal babies in a flask. He stops before he weirds himself out.
"Are you okay?" Kawanishi says around a yawn from the other side of the door. Which brings him back to his current predicament.
It’s funny – Shirabu doesn’t recall leaving the door to the cubicle unlocked but then again, he has no recollection of locking it either. But either way, he hears it creak open as Kawanishi enters, and from his peripheral vision, he can see the holes in Kawanishi’s sneakers.
“Are you okay?” Kawanishi asks again, this time standing a little behind him as he stoops over the smaller boy. He yawns once more before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. He peers into the toilet bowl and winces.
"I'm fine," Shirabu replies around a moan as his stomach twists once more, diving head first into turbulence. He spits down the toilet bowl before looking up at Kawanishi, giving an unconvincing thumbs-up. Kawanishi hands him a wad of toilet roll, doubtful.
“Should I call the teachers?" He reaches out a hand and rubs small circles against Shirabu’s back – an almost thoughtless action but Shirabu feels the first thaw in their relationship. He’s almost grateful, and the warmth from Kawanishi’s touch is soothing against the coldness of the toilet bowl in his grip.
“Don’t,” Shirabu protests weakly. He sounds a lot less convincing with how hoarse his voice has gone, not to mention the soft warbling effect that comes with everything else. He makes a gesture. “They’ll send me home.”
Kawanishi looks at him unblinkingly. “I’d love to be sent home.”
For someone who looks as cool as Kawanishi does, he really does go against the usual conventions. Shirabu can’t believe how easily deceived he can be. He snorts. “Kawanishi I don’t-“
He gets interrupted by a loud thwacking sound as the bathroom door gets flung open from the outside. It takes them both by surprise and their heads swing comically towards the source of the sound, almost like meerkats. The door swings inwards, and one of the second year comes running in, doubled over with his hand clutching the lower half of his abdomen.
Oohira’s face is ashen, barely registering anything and completely overlooking the two of them. He hastens over to the cubicle next to Shirabu's. There's a minute of silence as the door slams shut and the sound of a zipper coming undone is heard. Then like a ghoul from the graves, there’s a loud groan followed by the most awkward keening sound Shirabu has ever heard.
And as if the situation isn’t been bad enough, Kawanishi looks Shirabu dead in the eye and says as quietly as he can, barely audible between all the groaning and grunting. "Diarrhoea must be a pain in the ass."
It’s the last straw. Shirabu feels Kawanishi's unflappable image crumble right before his eyes, and he stares in disbelief as Kawanishi starts laughing at his own intentional pun. His lips are bitten raw in an attempt to keep it in, and when it doesn't work, he hides his face against the crook of his arm, strings of laughter muffled by the cloth of his jacket.
It’s the first time the thought of friendship ever crosses his mind, and looking at the way Kawanishi’s eyes crescent in good humour makes him feel warm inside. Or it could just be the nausea talking.
Kawanishi would have kept at it, laughter reverberating through him, had it not been for Oohira’s lucky break. Laughter dies in his throat when they both hear the sound of liquid diarrhoea against water – a wet schlippp – and that’s all the push Shirabu really needs. The stench that fills the bathroom makes something curdle in Shirabu's stomach. The bile rises up his throat immediately, and he empties the rest of whatever is left in his organ into the toilet bowl, adding to the cacophony of sounds.
If anything, Shirabu remembers three things from that night:
1. The way the moon seemed to laugh at him with it’s huge grin
2. The way the stars winked at him from the vents, goading him
3. The way Kawanishi held his hair out of his face while he emptied his gut
And their friendship starts from there.
2.
He wants the window seat. He needs the window seat. Everything Shirabu does, he does it for the window seat. Or that’s what he insists upon when Kawanishi refuses to budge from his seat, arms folded over his chest as he leans against the window, 120% amused at Shirabu’s outcry.
This is why he’s sulking, after a practice match out at a school far north. He slinks in his non-window-seat seat, folding into himself, scowl apparent on his face. Kawanishi thinks it’s funny, isn’t even deterred by the amount of angst written all over his current expression.
“Are you really mad,” Kawanishi says amused but Shirabu won’t give him the honour of an answer. Instead, he shoots Kawanishi a withering look, lips skewed to the side in an incredible display of blasé before turning his head the other way.
When the bus starts up, Shirabu knows he’s already lost this round. He can’t possibly fight for the window seat now but he’s going to do his darn best at being a piece of shit. No one walks away scot free after deliberately taking away whatever it is that he wants.
Shirabu remains obstinate about it, staying rigid in his position, refusing to meet Kawanishi’s eye even when the latter pokes him in the cheek.
Tendou starts bothering him from the front but even that won’t make him budge. It takes a while before everyone eventually backs off, but even then, he is dissatisfied. He tries his best to remain angry, but eventually, that takes up too much energy and Shirabu finds that he can’t stave off sleep.
***
He wakes up by accident when the bus jumps over a hump in the road. It’s dark in the bus, the lights have been all switched off inside with the only pockets of light coming from the lamps outside or the moon overhead.
When he gets a better bearing on himself, he finds himself leaning against the solid form of Kawanishi’s arm with his friend’s jacket draped over him in a poor resemblance of a blanket. He peers up at Kawanishi: his face turned to the window, arm resting on the window ledge. He almost looks cool again but Shirabu knows better than that.
But it’s captivating all the same. He can see the soft slants of Kawanishi’s face highlighted under the moonlight. His expression is a lot softer, unguarded – raw and honest. He feels safe. It’s a lot easier to forgive Kawanishi for stealing his window seat like this, and Shirabu finds that he’s willing to drop his charges.
He allows himself the sanctity of the atmosphere, sleep settling behind his eyelids once more. He curls up against Kawanishi, tucking himself against his friend’s arm. He remains adamant that it’s not a snuggle. Never a snuggle.
…
It’s fine as long as Kawanishi doesn’t find out.
The next time – well, there’s never a next time. Kawanishi gives him the window seat by default, and Shirabu sometimes catches himself missing the comfort of Kawanishi’s arm when he wakes up with his face pressed against the cold, hard glass.
3.
Death has never been so appealing as Shirabu looks at the wretched costume he holds in hands. It makes the worst impression of a moon – a large yellow styrofoam globe attached to a sweeping mass of black cloth dotted with shabby stars.
"This is the most hideous thing ever," Shirabu says as he holds up the offending costume. " Can I switch to a tree?"
"Kenjirou," the class chairman scowls. She unrolls the furled programme sheet in her hands and shows it to him. "Everything's already been printed. You should've opted for a different role for the class play if you were going to be so averse to it later."
"Why couldn't we be normal and do a booth?" Shirabu complains and the chairman glares at him, completely unamused.
She waves a hand at him, dismissing his plight. She points at the costume and goes on a long, off-tangent, one-sided conversation about how much effort was put into making it. He nods distractedly and she hits him once with a rolled up copy of the manuscript.
"Final rehearsals are in ten, so you should start preparing," she clips before stalking away. Shirabu stares after her in distaste.
He attempts to fit his head through the small opening in the moon, but it's a tight squeeze and it takes effort to force it on. He makes it halfway through with his head caught just past his nose when he gets stuck. He spends a good ten minutes grappling with the orb, finding it exceedingly difficult to get a grip hold on the round material. There’s an opening where his face is supposed to show, but pulling from there doesn’t give him any leverage and he struggles against the tightness against his face.
Shirabu lets out a huff. He sulks in a corner regretting his life decisions for a lengthy period of time. And just when he thinks things can’t get any worse, something – somebody - crashes bodily into him, long spindly arms tangling around him in a poor attempt of a tackled hug. Shirabu teeters over, the moon too heavy to support, and he smashes the styrofoam head-first against a wall.
For a few dizzying moments, Shirabu feels his head bounce around inside styrofoam. It doesn't help that the mass feels lighter and he's two parts sure he just made a gaping hole through the top of the material. He swears that he's got some of that white stuff in his eyes. He thinks dully that that’s one way to get it off – by pulverizing the material straight to pulp.
“Oh my, Kenjirou,” the person says as the gangly limbs lets go, and Shirabu sees none other than Tendou Satori in his mind’s eye.
There’s an obnoxious cackling outside his moon equator but he can't see the source; his eyes are too low to see through the hole meant for his face and all he sees is the grey material of dull styrofoam. Everything is made worse with the stench of chemicals emanating from the cheap material. The pungency is so strong; he's getting a bit delirious. Maybe he's hallucinating and this is all just a bad dream.
Somewhere outside his styrofoam sphere, he hears Semi say, "I think he's stuck."
Probably dreaming.
"Maybe we should help him," Ushijima says.
Shirabu doesn't have time to protest; people seem to act so fast these days. There’s a hard tug on the moon and he feels his skin get pulled along with it as the sphere pinches it into place. He totters a bit as the person tries to pull it off. The intention was good, Shirabu believes it with all of his stone heart, but the outcome isn’t as great – the styrofoam gets crushed under the grip. A soft pulpy sound is heard and more styrofoam rains onto his face.
"Oh my god, you're destroying it Wakatoshi," Tendou laughs from somewhere else.
"You know what, maybe I should take over," Semi says. He sounds apologetic, at least. If anything, Shirabu is marginally glad that at least one of his upper-class men has a head with brains on his shoulders. "You can hold onto Shirabu instead."
They move around, shuffling over the floors. He hears Ushijima mumble an apology before thick hands grabs his shoulders and holds him in place. There moon starts to twist against his skin, and the squeaky sounds are loud in his ears. He feels his skin prick in discomfort, making his hair stand on end, but he feels the grip start to loosen.
When it pops free, Shirabu can feel an indent across the skin of his face where the moon left its mark. The first thing he sees when it comes off is Tendou’s grin right in his face and Shirabu has to stop himself from over-observing the small vegetable stuck between his teeth. Tendou gives him a good laugh before he rears back, snorting. The entire costume exchanges hands from Semi to Tendou. Shirabu’s eyes narrow to slits as he notices the hole through the top.
"So you really are the moon?" Tendou asks, mouth stretching wide open as he lets out an unabashed guffaw. Semi on the other hand has his lips pressed tightly together, he tries his best to stifle his amusement. It must be amusing, really: fierce, angry kouhai reduced to nothing more than a cheese-block moon. It's a losing war for Semi, Shirabu knows because he can see how Semi's shoulder shake with the mere effort to keep it all in.
Tendou holds the programme in his hands and points at the casting list. Letting out an airy wheeze, he pulls himself together long enough to say, "It says here you're the moon." He flicks the programme into Shirabu's face and inside, Shirabu feels ten fuses blow.
If Shirabu ever thought that Ushijima is his saving grace, he finds out how cruelly wrong he is.
"Do your best," Ushijima tells him, face straight and entirely serious. It’s not a mockery, but it somehow irks him how seriously Ushijima takes his role. He feels himself crack a stiff smile, lips twitching almost comically and Semi doesn't miss the expression. He ushers the other two away before they do anymore collateral damage and Shirabu watches them slip through the open doors.
***
He gets another visitor during their rehearsal break. They have thirty minutes till their first show and he already feels the mental exhaustion of standing in the background, balancing a destroyed sphere on his neck and shoulders.
He pulls off the costume and tosses it to the side before sliding down the length of a wall and letting out an exaggerated sigh. Barely minutes later, a shadow falls on him and Shirabu has half a mind to kick the leg standing in his vision.
"So you're like… the moon," Kawanishi says, lips curling a little at the corner and Shirabu looks up, huffing loudly. It’s an unexpected visitor but one he can appreciate, nonetheless. Kawanishi squats down to level with Shirabu, folding his arms over his knees. Shirabu finds himself admiring the fine curvature of Kawanishi's nails.
"What are you doing here?"
"I got a tip-off. From your favourite person in the whole wide world," Kawanishi says. Shirabu has a hundred doubts running through his head. If the small smile on Kawanishi's lips is trying to convey something, Shirabu doesn’t think he's going to like the rest of his words.
"Don't tell me-"
"Tendou-san said you looked really out of this world," Kawanishi grins. He inches his head towards the destroyed costume and Shirabu, in all his mournfulness, feels the mood go sour as he hears the pun fall out of his friend's mouth. "He wasn't lying," Kawanishi hums.
"I didn't sign up for this," he says grouchily, and so, very tired. To be fair, he knows he technically did sign up for the role, but it was out of sheer lack of choice rather than a willingness on his part. He sighs, defeated. “I can’t act. There really wasn’t any other choice.”
He's not angry really, but it's embarrassing. He thought he'd left behind all his embarrassing moments back in middle school. He still remembers that one time he had to play Momotaro and he doesn't want to go through that again. But here he is, upgraded: this time he's the moon.
"No, you're right," Kawanishi says idly. He inclines his head to the side, mulling over some thoughts. "I'd have done the same if I were you. But… It's cute. "
Shirabu jerks in surprise, eyes widening in embarrassment. "What?" he stammers out. It's rhetorical - he doesn't want Kawanishi to repeat himself but to his chagrin, Kawanishi does.
"Cute," Kawanishi tells him, flicking him on the forehead randomly.
Kawanishi's words have an unexpected effect on him and Shirabu feels them drive right into his soul, shooting arrows straight through his heart. For a while, Shirabu is left spluttering stupidly, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as his cheeks start to colour in the most lurid shade. He punches Kawanishi in the shoulder lightly, upsetting his friend's balance. "Shut up," he says weakly.
"You're cute," Kawanishi grins, slow and lazy; perfect on his face. And Shirabu feels his heart beating under his skin, loud and thunderous, pulse accelerating and roaring down his veins.
"Stop," Shirabu groans. He scrubs his hands down his face, messing up his well-kept bangs. But he can't care for that very much right now – his face is burning. It doesn’t help that he blushes with his whole body and the red travels down his neck like fire. Kawanishi laughs; the soft kind that sounds more like a breath than anything else, and Shirabu sneaks a peek through the cracks in his fingers. It’s not like he has much of a dignity left anyway.
Kawanishi looks back at him, vaguely humoured. On impulse, Kawanishi reaches out and straightens Shirabu's bangs before casually asking, "Should I be watching your performance?"
The idea horrifies him and Shirabu pulls his hands free from his face. He cringes. "Nooooooo. Don't."
For the strangest of reason, he only wants to show Kawanishi the best side of him. Standing before him as the moon would probably reduce him to a joke in Kawanishi's eyes, and that bothers him a lot. Kawanishi snorts but doesn’t push it. Instead, his fingers linger a little longer on the fine strands of his fringe before he withdraws his hand and leans forward, wagging his eyebrows.
"Hey," Kawanishi hums. His expression is tame but Shirabu doesn't miss the childish glee in his eyes. "Do you wanna hear another moon joke?"
Shirabu feels his eyes flutter close, and he exhales loudly. (He can still feel his heart thudding hard in his chest, a steady beat of loud staccatos.) He doesn't know why he hasn't been expecting this. "Kawanishi, now is not the time-"
"The restaurant on the moon didn't get too many good reviews, the food was passable but it didn't have atmosphere."
Shirabu opens his eyes. "That was horrible," he says flatly, and Kawanishi pinches the bridge of Shirabu's nose, mock offended.
"It's pure genius-"
Kawanishi gets cut off when someone in the back room calls out to Shirabu.
"I think I have to go," Shirabu tells Kawanishi. His friend hums in understanding. He stands up and helps Shirabu to his feet, his grip strong and warm around Shirabu's hand.
"Good luck Kenjirou," Kawanishi says softly and he reaches out to pat Shirabu on the head, gently brushing his palm over his head. He gives Shirabu a final wave before he slips out the door which Semi, Tendou and Ushijima had just used hours prior. And unlike the time with the other three, Shirabu feels a little antsy watching him go.
His nerve endings are all sparking; there are too many things about that had just happened. And he wants to salvage every ounce of those memories, wants to have them engraved on the sutures of his brain. And the one thing that had stood out more than anything else had been the way Kawanishi had called him by his name. It makes his heart flutter and it makes him feel so full and light. He feels something shift inside, a funny jazz bubbling through his chest. Shirabu thinks he might want to dance a little, shake someone or even yell. He feels good enough to forgive Tendou for ruining his cheese wheel of a moon. His mind blanks out in a blissful stupor, and for a minute, he's worried he won't remember his lines.
In all his seventeen years of existence, Shirabu doesn't think he's ever been so smitten, so grossly infatuated, so head over heels to the point that he forgets that the moon has no lines. He picks up the ugly costume, swinging it around before floating back to his classmates. It isn't the best course of action - the styrofoam sphere takes another blow to the side and caves in.
By the time he's standing on that stage, the moon is reduced to nothing but a haphazardly shaped crescent but Shirabu thinks it's okay. He only feels more than conflicted when he doesn’t find Kawanishi amongst the crowd.
4.
They're only two weeks in since the third years have retired from their position, but already, Tendou takes the reign on things. He's not even captain, or vice-captain for that matter. But Tendou being Tendou, does whatever he likes. Nothing surprises Shirabu anymore.
"I signed us up for a charity event," Tendou tells them, like it's the most natural thing in the world; just like how one plus one equals two, how spring would surely come after winter, how Yamagata misplaces his phone after practice and how Semi always loses a sock in the Laundromat.
"You can't do that," Kawanishi says, clearly unimpressed.
"But I already did," Tendou says. He twirls a full circle around Kawanishi before pressing a nametag into his hands. He peers up at the taller boy, eyes narrowing down to slits. Shirabu is strangely reminded of a raccoon. "What are you going to do about it?" he whispers at Kawanishi and Kawanishi blows a breath of air into his face.
He goes around handing out name tags and flyers, like the free walking advertisement he already is. Shirabu looks at the sleazy piece of paper; Van Gogh's Starry Starry Night is printed in poor resolution and stretched out over the background. In the cheapest, free font available, CHARITY MURALE is printed in red, like a warning.
"Ominous," he comments. He skims it over and it doesn't tell him much.
"It's charity week. We're going to the park to paint a gigantic Van Gogh mural," Tendou explains. He leans over Shirabu and uses his head as an arm rest. Shirabu shakes his head, trying to dislodge the redhead but it doesn't work. He does, however, come off with a yelp when Semi pinches him in the side. He rubs at the sore, lips pouting. "I suggested we do something as a team. Tanji was all for improving the team image. He said we ruined it enough in the public eye."
It's not very convincing, Shirabu is pretty sure Tendou has been doing all the ruining on his own. He wrinkles his nose. "What image though? I wasn't aware we had one."
Tendou waggles his eyebrows and raises his hands to emphasize his next set of words. "Loving, Tender and Charitable: Shiratorizawa Volleyball Club."
No one seems to buy it. Yamagata looks like he's two seconds short of saying something scathing, but no one could ever beat Ushijima to the punch when it comes to saying the unwarranted.
"It's a good idea," Ushijima says mildly. "Painting is said to be therapeutic too."
"For what cause are we working for?" Semi asks and Tendou shrugs.
"Who cares? It'll be fun!"
Oohira looks doubtfully at the paper. "Maybe we should just sell cookies?"
"What are we, girl scouts?" Semi snorts.
Tendou nods in agreement. "Eita knows what's good."
Semi socks him.
"I can't paint though," Kawanishi says. He looks at his hands and shakes his head. He shows his fingers to Tendou, as if it'll change anything. "Their lack of talent betrays me but I've learnt to accept them for their flaws. Are you really going to put them through suffering?"
Tendou snorts before slapping them away lightly. Kawanishi shoots him an insulted look before Ushijima goes over to join them. He pats Kawanishi gently on the hand, a strange gesture of encouragement and sympathy, before scowling at Tendou. Tendou gawks, utterly betrayed.
"My hands can’t paint neither," Ushijima tells Kawanishi. He holds his fingers out for younger boy to see and adds, "But knowing that they try their best is good enough."
Shirabu has to fight to school his expression, lips twitching in humour as Kawanishi nods awkwardly.
And although no one ever thought to pin Ushijima as a liar, the mutual thought goes largely unsaid as they watch Ushijima unleash his hidden talent on the very day of the event. Tendou had promised an easy task; the mural is huge and the probability of getting a hard segment is supposedly low. But as fate would have it, the odds are against them yet again and they land a portion of the moon and a neighbouring star. The event planners hand them buckets of different yellows and blues and Shirabu feels his eyes spin at the sheer number of them.
"Fucking hell," Yamagata says, arms crossing over his chest. He makes a face, squinting as Ushijima continues to single handedly make yellow colours materialise on the mural in perfect blends. Yamagata’s lips purse as he tightens his jaw, completely mystified. "He's not even trying, is he? I thought he said he was shit at it."
Semi looks up from the drawing plan and chucks his brush away. He leans back on his haunches. "Who knew he had the knack for art?"
"At this rate," Tendou says, eyes narrowing. "Wakatoshi is going to be more Miracle Boy material than I am."
***
"You've got paint on your face," Kawanishi tells him when they’re two hours into the event. They’re taking a break on the grass with paint drying on their nails. Kawanishi reaches around for a tissue and motions for Shirabu to come over.
Shirabu scoots over without giving it second thoughts. He squeezes his eyes shut as Kawanishi brings the tissue up to his left cheekbone - careful to guard his eyes from an accidental prod to the eyeballs. He lets his guard drop, his faith in Kawanishi twisting around his heart like twine. His heart gives a sudden squeeze of affection and he feels safe, in good hands.
In hindsight, he probably should have been more careful about trusting Kawanishi.
Shirabu jerks when he feels the coldness of wet paint touch his skin as Kawanishi smears colour onto his cheek. His immediate reaction is to shove his friend away, but Kawanishi is laughing uninhibited, a rare display of cheer that comes as often as the leap years. Inside, his heart jumps, stutters and misses a beat; completely out of tempo. As insulting as it is for there to be paint on his face, Shirabu feels his mouth begin to quirk. It's the strangest thing ever - the fact that he's not mad. His salt shaker heart has mellowed in Kawanishi's presence and it feels natural; something that's been a long time coming.
“Ha ha,” Shirabu says, trying his best to sound annoyed. It doesn’t work – nothing ever seems to work around Kawanishi anymore.
He reaches up to wipe it away but he gets stopped in his tracks when Tendou trips over him, knee connecting with his side as he underestimates the sheer size of Shirabu. Tendou topples over Shirabu face first and Shirabu finds himself collapsing under Tendou’s weight. The train of events doesn’t end there; Tendou accidentally upends a paint bucket with his flailing hands, sending it flying.
It happens so quickly, yet so slowly. They all have their heads turned, eyes following the trajectory of the pail and the paint. The paint flies overhead and splatters in thick dollops over Ushijima’s perfect moon, and for a moment, Ushijima’s face contorts with utter surprise.
“My moon,” he says. His voice betrays no emotion but Shirabu swears it’s the most crushed expression he has ever seen Ushijima make.
Tendou flops on the grass, sheepish. He makes a sound akin to a dying horse as he rolls off Shirabu before curling into himself. “Don’t look at me,” he says mournfully. “I’m a sham.”
“What was it that you said again?” Semi snorts as he picks up the bucket, the grass dyed blue underneath the rest of the paint that has spilled.
“Loving, tender and charitable,” Oohira offers. Ushijima is less than amused as he eyes his ruined moon – the devastation is so apparent, Shirabu feels his heart reach out to him.
He tries to right himself, using his elbows to push him off the ground. But a dull pain shoots through his ribs where Tendou had accidentally kneed him. He lets out a wheeze and Kawanishi immediately turns his attention back to him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Kawanishi asks.
“What’s blue and smells like yellow paint?” Shirabu says as casually as he can, ignoring the pain in his side.
Kawanishi’s brows furrow, completely bewildered. “Huh?”
“Blue paint,” Shirabu says mildly. It’s not funny but Kawanishi’s expression is.
“Oh my god, you’re not okay, are you?” Kawanishi says, clearly alarmed.
And Shirabu can't help but let out a snort of laughter. He buries his face in the fabric of Kawanishi's sleeve when his friend comes close enough, breathing in the scent that is characteristically Kawanishi. He's careful not to let the drying paint on his face smudge. Somewhere outside his immediate private bubble, he hears Tendou plop into the space right next to him as Semi gives him a lecture.
It isn't until much later, does Shirabu notice that the paint smear looks more like a yellow heart than anything else. He's willing to deceive himself into thinking that it's a wobbly attempt at a heart, given Kawanishi's lack of aptitude for the arts.
5.
It's usually Tendou's fault. The kind of rubbish they end up doing, that is. He's always dragging them head first into the strangest things, Shirabu has come to accept that it's part and parcel of the Shiratorizawa life. He doesn't complain, at least not verbally; he accepts everything with a due resignation. But this time, it's Ushijima's fault.
The new school year blooms into season, and the club picks up Goshiki. It is to Shirabu's greatest delight that Tendou finds it more amusing to bother the starry-eyed first year instead of him.
"Firefly squids!" Tendou says loudly and an old lady carrying apples shoots him a disapproving stare. Goshiki nods vigorously, his head in danger of dislodging from his spine. Tendou waves a pamphlet in front of Ushijima's face and the taller nods appreciatively. He humours Tendou by procuring a heavily marked map from his haversack, crosses dotting along the coastal lines. The excitement is mutual - although it can't be said that they're excited for the same reasons.
Summer crawls in over the days and it's particularly hot as the entire team waits for the bus.
It doesn’t get better: the temperature is five times more oppressive in the bus. Due to some depressing twist of fate, the air conditioning fails ten minutes into their lengthy journey. Shirabu’s willpower starts to shrinking considerably at the prospect of the long ride ahead. It doesn’t help that it’s crowded too, and Shirabu feels suffocated as he stands amongst his taller peers. The air is muggy at his level and he would give anything to be as mountainous as his friends. It must be even more depressing to be Yamagata.
While the list of complaints is endless, one thing that ticks him off more than anything is the way the road starts to bend and twist. He finds himself, more often than not, pressed against Kawanishi's side, an additional human furnace warming him from the sides.
Every now and then, he thinks it might be a good idea to clamber onto his friend like a monkey and enjoy the view from the summit of Kawanishi’s height. But most of the time, he channels his energy into maintaining some kind of distance between them. It doesn’t help that they’re both in Bermudas, and every skin-on-skin contact is almost electrifying to Shirabu. He’s successful for ten minutes before the bus does another one of its sharp turns, and Shirabu, once again, loses his footing before crashing right into Kawanishi’s side.
He steadies himself with his hands, fingers pressed against the hard muscles on the side of Kawanishi’s torso. His embarrassment doesn’t end there - he makes the mistake of looking down and from where he stands, he can see the length of Kawanishi’s legs.
And for some obsolete reason, he can't take his eyes off of Kawanishi's toned legs; they’re almost elegant in their own way, not to mention the perfect arc of his calves. He stares, unabashedly, for minutes on end until Kawanishi clears his throat and nudges him. Shirabu jerks and looks up at his friend, hands falling away and heart hammering between the ribs in his chest as a sudden flush of heat rushes to his face. Kawanishi offers him a lopsided grin, exhaling loudly through his nostrils; Shirabu knows what it means - Kawanishi is highly entertained.
"Can I help you?" Kawanishi teases, and Shirabu flushes some more.
"It's hot," Shirabu grumbles.
Kawanishi nods, eyes sliding back to the book in his other hand. "I'm sure," he says without meaning it but all in good humour.
Shirabu swears it isn’t on purpose, but the bus gets ricketier after the sharp turn and he eventually finds himself perpetually tucked against Kawanishi’s side. He eventually gives up the act and just clings onto his friend for dear life.
It could’ve been just him but Shirabu’s certain the bus gets a hundred degrees hotter, his skin crawling with a strange kind of heat that reminds him of ants treading on him. He feels sweat form underneath his shirt but he only hopes his fingers don't get sweaty and clammy as he clings onto Kawanishi’s arm.
***
They get there a little after 6pm but they spend the next 2 hours getting lost. It comes as a surprise that Ushijima isn’t good with directions, but it’s even more surprising that Yamagata is. The small boy who loses his phone on a daily basis has the ability to find the one thing that really matters – Shirabu can’t tell if he should have seen that coming.
When they reach the coasts, the darkness has already descended and the beach is teeming with people with nets and jars. Ushijima is largely unimpressed with the sheer number of people but at least they made it alive.
They don’t spend time hesitating. Their shoes are discarded before they get into the waters.
“It’s a shame we didn’t bring a net,” Kawanishi says as he scans the crowd of people waving their own nets in the air.
Further along the coast, Tendou curls his toes into the sand and wriggles them. When he’s got enough grit on them, he raises his foot and wipes it down Semi’s leg, eliciting the best kind of yell from Semi. The latter retaliates by pushing him over in the water and he falls with aplomb.
“I have a net!” Goshiki exclaims, loud and eager as he bobs next to Shirabu.
“Oh! Someone came prepared!” Tendou yells as he hobbles over, absolutely soaking. His hair flops over his forehead, pressed flat against his skin. He gives Goshiki a good, firm slap on the back and the younger boy is glowing with pride. They both start chortling, and while Tendou may have meant the gesture to be one of genuine encouragement, Shirabu doesn’t miss the wet handprint on the younger boy’s shirt.
In his haste to impress, Goshiki fumbles into his bag to pull it out, accidentally dropping his umbrella into the sea. For a second, no one moves as they watch it casually drift away on the tide. It isn’t until much later when Oohira makes his move, lunging after the umbrella only to create more waves that continue to send it on its journey outward bound.
They spare a moment for mournful silence as they watch the tide carry it out to sea, a bright red speck disappearing over the crests of seawater.
When it gets a little past 10PM, the ocean comes alive with colour. The waters are a churning sapphire as the squids start to appear one by one, and the general spirit of the team peaks. It’s the closest thing to magic Shirabu has ever seen, with the waters glimmering and shining like Christmas lights under water.
And while Shirabu really isn’t interested in bioluminescent sea creatures floating along the coast, Kawanishi clearly is. He has this expression on his face: quietly curious with his eyes narrowed to scrutiny. He leans over a little as Tendou sinks the net under water, and when it reemerges empty, the disappointment is clear in his eyes together with the way his lips tug a little downwards at the corners. The quiet honesty of Kawanishi is endearing and Shirabu finds himself unwilling to leave his side, even if his toes are slowly pruning underwater.
It takes more than half an hour before Tendou successfully nabs a squid from the waters. He raises it high over the water in triumph and Ushijima claps with a serious kind of enthusiasm. He waves it in front of Semi, wriggling the net in his face and Semi flinches.
"Stop that," Semi scowls. He grabs the handle away from Tendou and for a moment, they engage in a pathetic tug-o-war as the both start pulling the net in their direction. It’s almost comical, Shirabu thinks. “You’re killing it,” Semi mumbles as he loses his grip in an unprecedented loss.
This time, it’s Ushijima’s turn to be prepared. Their first firefly squid ends up in a translucent bucket Ushijima had brought from his dorm. He isn’t ashamed when he says he bought it specially for the occasion. Needless to say, the mass of them lose their interest once the squid gets into the bucket; it gets transferred from one hand to another until it ends up in Kawanishi’s grasp.
He peers into it and gives it a gentle swirl. "Oh it jiggles," he says, faintly entertained.
Shirabu is more than relieved when Kawanishi offers for them to get back onto dry land while the rest of the gang try to pick up more squids. Oohira proves to be the most adept at it with Semi a close second. Tendou is just loud.
They spend the rest of their time on land in a serene silence, but Shirabu isn’t really bothered. Kawanishi spends most of his time observing the firefly squid in the bucket, giving it a tiny jostle every now and then to watch it float listlessly in the water. It’s an affable gesture, probably.
In the distance, he watches as the rest of the team cheer loudly as Goshiki catches his first squid. His enthusiasm is smothering and Semi gives him a good ruffle on the head. It’s a little strange, he thinks. Both he and Kawanishi feel a bit detached from the others; they don’t fit in with the ebb and flow of the team dynamics. They’re quiet, reserved and when Goshiki lets out a loud cry, it feels like the Shiratorizawa cheer might have accidentally missed a generation.
He takes a peek at Kawanishi. The squid has been left untouched between them for a while now. His friend is staring straight ahead, knees drawn to his chest and chin resting on his knees. Shirabu glances back at the others and sighs. It’s strange but it works, he thinks.
The two of them spend the rest of the night sitting in the sand in silent companionship other than Kawanishi’s passing remark of how tired he feels watching everyone else move with vigour.
The party ends at 1AM, when everyone crawls back from the waters barely awake. By now, most of the crowd has gone and Shirabu honestly doesn’t know how they’re going to make their way back to campus. He’s not very worried. If anything goes wrong, he could always pin it on his upper-class men, or at the very least, on Tendou. Getting Tendou in trouble is always a wild card.
When everyone is down for the count, Kawanishi stands up and dusts himself.
“Where’re you going,” Tendou whines. “I just sat down.”
“I’m going to release our friend,” Kawanishi says. He lifts the bucket with their first firefly squid to show Tendou, but Tendou is barely aware and listening. Kawanishi turns his gaze to Shirabu. “Wanna come with?”
Usually he would have said no. Really. He tries to convince himself that he’s doing it only because he’s a good friend, but inside his heart trips up, and he tries not to appear too eager.
They coast is still beautifully lit when they walk up to it. The squid gets released, and Kawanishi looks a bit mournful. He turns to go, bucket in his hands but Shirabu grabs his sleeve and pulls him to a halt. He ventures out deeper into the waters, gently tugging Kawanishi along. And Kawanishi follows along, willingly, a silent understanding passing through them.
It’s the most beautiful thing Shirabu has ever seen in weeks. The ocean stretches out ahead of them, void of people and with the soft summer breeze rolling in over the waters, carrying the whiff of salt and brine. The water is absolutely glowing, a soft gemstone blue shimmering under the waves, and as the tide washes over with the moon shining right down, they sparkle with an intensity of bright electricity. They stand there, side by side, silent other than the crash of waves, soft and tumultuous, eddies swirling around their legs. Shirabu allows himself to forget about the rest of the world. He forgets about homework, his dying teammates on the beach, time.
It takes Shirabu by surprise when he feels Kawanishi’s soft fingers close over his hand. Like a secret, Shirabu ducks his head to hide his smile and he inches a little closer to Kawanishi, closing all the space that’s been left between them. Above them, a full moon shines down on them, leaving the rest of the sky a spotless darkness. In that small window of time, it’s almost like they’re infinity.
+1.
In the distance, Shirabu hears the school bell toll as the hour hand strikes 2. Class ends a little early on Thursdays for both he and Kawanishi, and they always make the trip to the gym together. The afternoon is quiet – most classes aren’t out yet and the rest of them are camping indoors where it’s cooler and less likely to wear them out.
Shirabu trudges behind quietly. In his line of sight, there’s Kawanishi’s back; broad, dependable and firm. It’s another thing Shirabu has grown to love. Kawanishi is the embodiment of everything special and important to him, and Shirabu doesn’t quite know what to do with all these emotions going unsaid between them. He doesn’t lie when he says he absolutely adores Kawanishi; but he isn’t satisfied with just drawing the line there. He wants something more, something deeper, something he can call his own.
He wants that official title.
"So… What am I?" Shirabu asks a little too loudly for his own taste as he trails after Kawanishi. The thought travel through his mind and out his mouth too quickly for him to catch, but he doesn’t mind.
His friend stops ahead of him under the archway leading to the courtyard, turns around and raises an eyebrow in question. Shirabu shrugs indifferently; it's not like him to question things really, but this is something he needs (wants) to know.
Kawanishi shoots him an enquiring look, inclining his head a little to the side. Shirabu finds himself repeating his words a little more insistent this time and Kawanishi just snorts, amused.
"You're Shirabu Kenjirou," Kawanishi says unhelpfully and Shirabu had been expecting that, at least to a certain extent he did. He knows Kawanishi like the back of his hand despite knowing him for nothing more than slightly over a year. Experience has taught him that Kawanishi could be as bad as Tendou if he wanted to be - annoying and full of bad jokes combined with terrible timing.
Shirabu shakes his head. But he's not worried, per se. It's almost natural, even. "That's not what I mean," he says as he walks up to join Kawanishi by his side. He puts his hands in his pockets then turns in his spot to face his taller companion. Sunlight falls on Kawanishi like a golden halo and the boy becomes a thousand times more charming than what Shirabu is used to. His heart flutters again as it always does since time immemorial. "What am I to you?"
A soft huff of laughter escapes Kawanishi's lips and his eyes crescent a little, amused (it’s Shirabu’s favourite look on his face but he’ll never say it aloud). He reaches out and takes Shirabu's face between his palms and Shirabu has to stop himself from nuzzling against the touch - he's in love, so in love. But he's not going to be the first to admit it. The romantic thought flies out of his mind when Kawanishi squishes his cheeks together, and Shirabu kicks him in the shin. Kawanishi laughs again, soft and reserved, just like the shy idiot he is.
"You're…." Kawanishi trails off, humming. He thinks about it for a second before shrugging. He says the next words like they hold no weight; like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You're my favourite."
The effect is instantaneous and Shirabu feels the blush in his face reach the tips of his ears, turning them scarlet. He maintains his gaze despite the red on his face, determined to look unfazed. " Okay then, answer this - what are we?"
Kawanishi clicks his tongue.
"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" Kawanishi asks. His face remains passive but there isn’t anyone who smiles with their eyes more than he does. The brightness in them are twinkling and it sets off cages of butterflies – an entire zoo even – in Shirabu’s chest, a happy, warm, bubbly feeling resonating from within spreading to his fingertips. He nods resolutely; he’s going to see this through or die trying. Kawanishi only sighs, squishing Shirabu’s face once more.
“I like you,” Kawanishi tells him bluntly, but the smile is still there in his eyes.
“I like you too, but someone’s going to have to be the brave one between the two of us and ask the other out,” Shirabu says cheekily, trying to wriggle himself free of Kawanishi’s grasp. He fails spectacularly when Kawanishi doesn’t take the hint and refuses to move his hands away.
“You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?”
“Do you even have to ask?” he says, grinning. It’s not that he likes to put Kawanishi on the spot – but this is just how it is between the two of them.
Kawanishi leans in close, face only a breath away and Shirabu feels his pulse start beating erratically. For a moment, he expects a kiss – it’s almost romantic and it’ll be his first ever. It would have been even better if they had taken the other route, that way they’d share a kiss under the branches of the large magnolia trees, flowers above and beneath them, scattered across the grass. But it’s only too bad that Kawanishi has hay fever; some dreams can only remain as dreams – not that he’s complaining.
His daydream is cut short when their foreheads touch and noses brush in an Eskimo kiss. It’s not what he wants but it works too.
“How can I help you?” Shirabu asks, lightly, mirroring a question from a distant memory. Kawanishi pinches his left cheek and Shirabu has to suppress the urge to break into nervous giggles.
"Will you be mine?" Kawanishi asks softly, and by the way the red dusts over his cheeks, Shirabu can tell that Kawanishi is just as affected and shy as he is. He tries to say something but he finds that his mind is blissfully blank and all he can manage is a nod, as words fail him.
Shirabu finds that his voice stops working too; his throat suddenly constricts almost painfully with the immense force of emotions - because he knows. He knows he's in love, and he knows Kawanishi loves him too. But to have these emotions put into words, clear as the afternoon sky, hanging between them in a moment of tenderness, evokes all kinds of emotions in his heart. He makes a face and Kawanishi laughs at him.
He leans over to peck Shirabu on the forehead, soft, quick and flitting like birdsong. Shirabu pulls away before he leans in and burrows his face firmly against Kawanishi's chest – he smells like soap.
And he can hear the trip of Kawanishi's heart; firm and loud in his chest like a metronome in allegro.