Chapter Text
Nakamura had grown used to being surrounded by noise while his mind barely registered any of it. He felt nothing, except maybe a dull sense of frustration. The headmaster cleared his throat, and every high school student suddenly fell silent.
Then came the formalities.
The boy’s fists clenched at the sound of the man’s voice. The forced cheerfulness about the year ahead, the endless reminders of the rules, that fake smile... Nakamura sighed quietly and, after a moment, looked away. From beneath the dark strands of hair hiding his eyes, he studied the faces of the other students from the corner of his gaze.
His eyes moved from face to face. Boys and girls alike, each met with the same quiet indifference, the same muted disdain. Then his gaze stopped.
Amid the sea of black and dark brown hair, one head stood out — light brown, almost golden beneath the pale morning light filtering through the windows.
Nakamura couldn’t get his eyes off him.
When the speech finally ended, the boy turned around and the early sunlight illuminated his face, the faint freckles scattered across his skin and the warmth of his wide brown eyes. Nakamura frowned in confusion.
Why didn’t he feel that familiar, deep resentment he carried toward every stranger he met?
He didn’t blush. He only kept staring, his frown deepening slightly as the strange absence of hatred unsettled him.
~~~
Hirose.
The name lingered in Nakamura’s mind for the entire first day of school. The first four hours of class passed in a blur, his teacher’s voice fading into meaningless noise as something uncomfortable kept pulling at his attention. Something warm. Something that made it impossible to focus on a single word being said.
He already knew he would regret it later. Grades didn’t matter much to him, but dealing with his mother afterward would be even more exhausting.
Still, the warmth wouldn’t fade. If anything, it only grew worse every time he glanced at Hirose or caught himself thinking about him.
And, God, he hated it.
He hated the way that classmate — who looked younger and softer than the other boys — could still carry that natural cheerfulness, that gentle smile, while everyone else wore the same tired gloom left behind by the end of the holidays.
Nakamura hated the strange feeling curling in his chest.
...And yet, Hirose was somehow the only person there he didn’t hate.
~~~
The bell rang, and Nakamura slowly packed his things into his bag, careful not to get caught in the rush of students flooding out of the classroom. He waited, as always, until he was one of the last left.
After a while, the room had nearly emptied. Only a small group of boys remained, talking loudly near the windows. Nakamura got up and headed for the door, almost certain Hirose had already left by now.
Why was he even thinking about that kid?
Something slipped from his pocket and landed softly on the floor. His handkerchief, probably. Nakamura barely glanced at it. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
Then he froze.
Right.
What was on it.
“Wait, is this yours?”
The gentle voice made his heart jolt painfully in his chest.
Nakamura turned slightly, forcing himself to stay composed as he looked straight into—
Oh.
Those brown eyes were fixed on him. Warm and attentive. Way too close.
Nakamura immediately looked away. His gaze dropped instead to the fabric in Hirose’s hand, and heat crept sharply across his cheeks.
He was blushing.
Not because of Hirose. No. It wasn’t because Hirose had stepped on it, picked it up so casually, but because he was now holding the stained cloth in his hands.
Hirose’s expression dimmed as he looked down.
The red patch against the white fabric. Blood.
Shit.
Panic tightened around Nakamura’s throat. He snatched the handkerchief back almost violently and shoved it deep into his pocket. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared if someone noticed.
So why did it feel unbearable now?
“…Sorry,” Hirose murmured softly, though he didn’t sound sure what he was apologizing for.
Nakamura said nothing. He turned immediately and walked away without a thank you or goodbye.
Behind him, Hirose only blinked once before giving a small, confused shrug.
~~~
Nakamura’s eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling long after midnight, wide open and painfully alert. He shifted beneath the blankets, kicked them off, pulled them back on, even tried lying on the cold floor for a while—anything that might force his body into sleep.
Nothing worked.
4:23 a.m. glowed faintly from the clock beside his bed. He still hadn’t slept at all.
For the first time that day, frustration toward Hirose began to creep beneath his skin. With a quiet sigh, Nakamura pushed himself up and crossed the room before kneeling beside the aquarium in the corner. Inside, his octopus rested motionless among the rocks, its limbs slowly curling and uncurling in the dim light.
Nakamura placed a hand against the glass, his expression softening just slightly.
“Why the hell did he apologize…?” he muttered.
Honestly, Nakamura would have preferred Hirose telling him to screw off. That would’ve been easier. Something sharp enough to cut this strange feeling off before it grew any worse.
But instead, Hirose had apologized.
And what kept Nakamura awake wasn’t even the apology itself.
It was the fact that he hadn’t thanked him.
A bitter feeling twisted his chest. Guilt, maybe.
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered, eyes still fixed on the octopus. “I just have to make him hate me, Icchan.”
~~~
Nakamura chopped the carrots in steady, mechanical motions, his eyes fixed stubbornly on the cutting board. The cooking classroom buzzed with noise around him — chatter, laughter, the clatter of utensils against metal bowls — but he barely processed any of it.
Not once did he look directly at Hirose.
Still, his attention followed him constantly. Nakamura’s gaze drifted around the room under the pretense of distraction, quietly searching for an opportunity.
He could always do something reckless. Pull Hirose’s pants down in front of everyone, maybe. That would probably earn him a slap. But after Hirose had apologized yesterday…
Nakamura couldn’t even bear the thought of walking up to him just to humiliate him.
That stupidly kind…
Innocent angel.
The thought struck him so hard he slapped himself across the cheek without thinking. A few students nearby stared at him oddly. Nakamura ignored them and immediately returned to cutting the carrots.
Focus.
It didn’t help.
His ears kept catching Hirose’s voice no matter where he stood in the room. At this point, he was seriously considering bringing earplugs to class. Being assigned to Hirose’s group should have made things easier. It gave him the perfect chance to make Hirose hate him.
So why did that thought leave a heavy, quiet fear sitting in his chest?
“Guys, look! An octopus!” Hirose suddenly called out.
A crowd immediately gathered around him. Nakamura stayed where he was at first, knife still in hand, but before he realized it, his eyes had lifted from the cutting board and locked onto Hirose for the first time that day.
And just like that, the coldness inside him melted away.
He barely noticed the girls grimacing in disgust, or the boys laughing nearby, or even the amused fondness spreading through the group as they watched the animal move.
All he could focus on was Hirose.
The bright, delighted grin on his face. The soft sound of his laughter. The stupid apron tied around his waist. God.
And the octopus itself clung fearlessly to him, tentacles wrapping around Hirose’s wrists and sleeves, one sliding briefly against his cheek while Hirose laughed in surprise.
Nakamura genuinely couldn’t tell if he was dreaming anymore.
Cute…
He had to do something before this feeling rooted itself too deeply inside him.
Nakamura stepped forward before he could change his mind, the knife trembling slightly in his hand before he shoved it back into his apron pocket. His eyes remained fixed on Hirose and the octopus clinging to his sleeves, though several tired gazes shifted toward him in surprise.
Was this the first time he’d willingly approached a group since the school year began?
Probably.
Nakamura cleared his throat.
“I… know how to handle octopuses,” he said abruptly.
Hirose blinked, startled. The bright grin on his face softened a little when he noticed Nakamura standing there. Nakamura caught the faint sheen of sweat near his temple.
“Seriously? That’s… actually kinda amazing.”
His voice carried that same awkward gentleness from yesterday, like he still wanted to make things less uncomfortable between them. Like he was waiting for a name.
“Nakamura,” he muttered, avoiding his eyes.
Hirose smiled immediately.
“Well, Nakamura… he’s cute, isn’t he?”
“It’s a she,” Nakamura corrected quietly.
Hirose laughed under his breath before carefully offering the octopus toward him.
For a second, Nakamura hesitated.
The creature wrapped around his wrist almost instantly, its tentacles curling against his skin with quiet familiarity. Too familiar. It reminded him too much of Icchan waiting silently in the dim glow of the aquarium at home.
The octopus clung to him the same way it had clung to Hirose. Nakamura’s fingers trembled. This was his chance.
His only fucking chance.
A sharp ache rose in his throat. A tear welled up in his right eye.
He loved octopuses.
He loved the way they hid in dark places and watched the world. The way they recoiled instead of attacked. The way they never laughed at him or looked at him like he was a freak.
But Hirose had to hate him.
Before he could think twice, Nakamura pulled the knife from his pocket.
One swift motion.
The body jerked violently in his hands. Dark ink sprayed across his sleeves and cheek at the exact same moment the room fell silent.
Nobody moved.
The students stared at the limp octopus, then at Nakamura, then back again in horrified confusion.
Nakamura felt his stomach twist so hard he thought he might collapse right there onto the floor. Instead, he forced his face empty and cold.
“…Well,” Hirose said after a long silence, his voice quieter now, “we were going to cook it anyway.”
Nakamura froze.
Hirose glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“At least… it was quick.”
Nakamura stared at him.
Why wasn’t he angry? Disgusted? Frightened?
“I-I mean…” Hirose swallowed. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself. So… it probably took courage, right?”
The knife slipped from Nakamura’s hand and clattered against the floor. His chest tightened painfully.
Did he really just kill it for nothing?