Chapter Text
"His happiness... is mine too..."
Okuto uttered those words, feeling them scrape against his throat. A new wave of tears warmed his cheeks.
No.
That wasn't true.
A part of him, the more realistic one, knew it was only an excuse to make himself feel less miserable.
His happiness had never been taken into consideration from the beginning. He had always sacrificed himself for his idea of the greatest love story never told.
After all, it had never crossed his mind to ask Hirose whether he was straight or even what he would think if one of his friends turned out to be gay and in love with him.
For Hirose, there was only kindness; he was like that with everyone... even with him. That was why Hirose didn't love him the way Okuto loved him.
This story had existed only inside his head.
For almost an entire year.
Nakamura Okuto had given a new meaning to the word pathetic.
"Hey... are you okay? I saw you fall and-"
Okuto turned around and, even through his tear-blurred eyes, he made out a tall, slender figure approaching him with a sports bag slung over one shoulder.
There was no one else on that street. Just the two of them and his bicycle, forgotten on the ground.
"Nakamura...? Is that you?"
Okuto froze.
That voice...
He wiped his eyes with his sleeve while the other hand clung to his notebook, the comic where Hirose confessed to him, the only anchor still keeping him grounded.
It was an alternate universe that comforted him for losing Hirose in reality.
For losing him before ever having him.
He heard the footsteps drawing closer, now painfully aware that he wasn't alone, though he wished he were.
The last thing he needed right now was a witness.
The city lights visible from there - a place that was probably lovely to admire with someone you loved - almost seemed to remind him that pain wasn't temporary, but its end could be.
But Hirose, kind as he was, would be sad to find out he was gone, and if someone found the comic as a picturesque and unintentional suicide note, it would be a thousand times worse.
So he swallowed and remained still.
"Hey, Nakamura. It's me, Matsumura. Are you okay?"
Apparently, Matsumura wasn't giving up.
He set down both his sports bag and his school bag, both heavy judging from the sound they made.
Okuto flinched and curled further into his cardigan. It was so cold that even his tears seemed to be freezing.
Matsumura crossed the remaining distance in a few long strides and stopped beside him.
"W-What are y-you doing here... at this hour?" Nakamura hiccupped. He had cried so much that talking aloud to another person now felt unnatural. He rubbed his right eye, trying to catch a fallen lash.
"Basketball practice," the boy replied, kneeling down and making sure not to invade his personal space.
Nakamura couldn't even feel his legs anymore from dropping on the ground. He had probably scraped his knees too, but he neither wanted to check nor patch them up.
"Coach kept us late. We have our last match next week. But I should be the one asking that. What hap-"
"Hirose has a girlfriend!"
He blurted it out in one breath before another wave of tears climbed through his ducts.
Now he wouldn't be the only one to suffer, right?
"Hirose... is dating... a girl..." he added in front of his silence.
"What? Since when?" Matsumura burst out, already pulling out his phone. The screen lit up and flashed his face. "That's impossible! Oomo- I mean, I would've kno-"
Okuto wasn't crying his heart out to hear that idiot call it all impossible!
"Oh, shut up!"
Matsumura slipped his phone back into his pocket with a grimace that promised a scolding for whoever had kept him uninformed.
Okuto sniffed.
"What's her name?" Matsumura asked, leaning closer so the wind wouldn't carry away their words.
With one last burst of energy, Okuto shut the notebook and turned it over to hide the title.
Matsumura already knew about it, but he didn't want him to notice the tear-stained pages or the love confession scene which would make him look even more pathetic than he already was.
"Hana-chan."
"Hana-chan? Hana what? How old is she? Which class is she in? What-"
"How should I know? How the hell am I supposed to know that?" Okuto snapped, coughing because of the mucus in his throat.
"You would be a terrible informant," Matsumura commented, earning an eye roll from Okuto.
"I don't care what her name is! I don't care what you think! How can you be so calm? You should hate all of this too!"
Before he could understand what was happening, he felt two hands pull him closer.
His chest - Matsumura's chest - was warm.
He had such a nice scent. Soap and clean skin. He mentioned he was training so he had to take a shower to change his clothes before leaving school and… Okuto caught himself smelling him.
In his defence was accidentally!
Probably.
Against the damp traces on his cheeks, now chilled by the winter evening air, their closeness felt incredibly pleasant.
But he wasn't Hirose.
His muscles stiffened.
Yet he moved even closer to him.
The human body was so weak, so needy for someone else that wanting to be alone was usually a self-induced torture.
"You did your best, Nakamura-kun," Matsumura whispered to him, his warm breath brushing against his forehead like a goodnight kiss.
Okuto opened his mouth but didn't talk. Hearing someone say those words to him... no one had ever said them before.
He had always told them to himself:
Go for it, Nakamura-kun! You got it, Nakamura-kun!
Giving himself a pat on the back even when his arm hurt trying to reach that point of his body.
He did a lot. He had gone for it, but it wasn't enough. Now it was time to… let it go.
It was over.
Only crazy people insisted on possessing the object of their fantasies.
He wanted to love Hirose, not own him.
But Okuto was suffering.
He had all the rights to suffer on his own.
When he closed and opened his mouth again, a strangled sound, almost like a siren, came out.
"I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM SINCE THE FIRST TIME I SAW HIM!" he screamed, feeling his lungs tighten as the air left his body with each cry.
The night amplified any noise and his voice was already too high to be ignored. He truly hoped no one would call the police.
Or maybe they should.
He would finally be arrested and have all the time in the world to detox from Hirose in jail.
He was shaking, but Matsumura wasn't making him feel like an idiot.
He held him a little tighter, as though he were keeping together the pieces of his body and soul that were about to break apart.
"THAT'S NOT FAIR! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME INSTEAD! NOT HER! WHERE THE HELL DID SHE COME FROM? OH MY GOD, SHE'S SO CUTE! WHY CAN'T I HAVE WHAT SHE HAS?"
The fabric of his uniform was as soft as a caress against his face.
Okuto sniffled, feeling his snot run down his nose as rage and self-pity mixed together until they were impossible to distinguish.
He had once read about the five stages of grief.
Even if no one had died, it felt as though he had lost a part of himself forever, and in the wake of that loss, he wanted nothing more than to follow it.
He had built so many futures around Hirose's smile that seeing it meant for someone else made them all collapse, burying him beneath the wreckage, putting another nail into his coffin.
However, Matsumura kept patting his back like he was soothing a toddler into a dreamless sleep.
It was a nice sensation. Once Hirose patted his back too.
"I know... I know..." the taller boy murmured, just to remind him that he was there, listening.
Not that Okuto could possibly forget it.
Seriously... when was the last time someone had hugged him excluding Hirose during the play and that photo?
Three years ago, maybe, when their parents had forced him and Kana to hug for his birthday or something.
Fuck, even his family hated him…
"I... I wanted to... be his boyfriend..." Okuto added in a quieter voice, giving his throat a moment to rest.
He coughed and nuzzled his face into Matsumura's warm chest.
His hands tightened around the back of his jacket, and somehow that seemed to give Matsumura permission to do the same with Okuto's cardigan.
Oh, Matsumura would be so pissed once he realized he had gotten his well-groomed, prince-like appearance dirty.
"You... you don't... Mat... Matsumura... aren't you in pain?"
Matsumura sighed.
"I love Hirose-kun, but more like an older brother who's proud of and a little jealous of his younger brother. I didn't see this coming, but as long as he's happy, I'm happy too. Is Hana-chan a good girl?"
His words made Okuto feel even worse.
So he was the real pervert, lusting after Hirose all this time while pretending to be his friend first.
But he sucked both as a stalker - Matsumura's collection was far better than his - and as a friend.
In almost a year, Hirose had never asked for his LINE (when he did so straightforwardly to Otogiri-sensei) or wanted to meet outside of school for reasons that had nothing to do with studying.
Kousei shifted and rested his head on top of Okuto's.
His hand gently rubbed his hair in comfort.
The cold night was still there, but the ice around his heart was finally beginning to melt.
He might be wrong about Matsumura. He was… a nice guy.
If Hirose had been his friend for so long, there had to be a reason, after all.
His back shook with sobs, and tears he had feared were gone forever filled his eyes once more.
"That's okay, that's okay... cry, scream... do whatever you want. I'm here with you."
Nakamura tightened his arms around Matsumura until he could feel his own hands overlap.
The boy let him do it, and because of that, Nakamura tried not to sound more pathetic than he already was as he sobbed endlessly.
Tears were salty once they ran into his mouth.
Kinda a surprise.
Okuto noticed they were saltier than the way people described them in books.
Another thing he had learned during these days of crying was that he might sound loud - perhaps he really was - but no one would come to comfort him.
Like a tree falling in a forest, it could only make a sound if there was someone there to hear it.
Yet Matsumura was holding him tightly, and with the same patience and care he had shown that lost child at the shopping mall, he was taking care of him.
Maybe he should thank him.
Maybe…
"I just... want to be loved. Everyone made me feel like some kind of freak! Even without knowing I'm gay.”
That bitter consideration ran on his mind for so long now had found a way out of his mouth.
“Imagine how much they would've hated me if I had actually told them..." Okuto went on, not even knowing how he had managed to say so much without coughing or stopping.
"I want... to be loved for who I am. I don't want to wear a mask and pretend... what's wrong with me?" he whispered. "Hirose... is living his life while I'm stuck in my fantasies... I suck."
"No, absolutely not." Matsumura's voice was firm, though he kept holding him gently. "Cry as much as you want, vent as much as you need, but don't think you suck. You're a human being, and you deserve to love and to be loved."
"Easy for you to say," Okuto muttered. He wiped his nose on the fabric of the shirt until he didn't feel the nostrils empty. Fuck you, Matsumura. "You're perfect. Handsome, tall... a damn Prince Charming! People would beg you to smile at them, imagine the rest!”
Against his chest, Okuto felt the boy suppressed laughter. He was almost tempted to cry again so he could let his nose run freely on him.
"What's funny?" Okuto groaned. He might be holding him so dearly but he could punch him anyway.
"Mmm… the fact you are so gay that even during a breakdown you said I am hot."
"I DIDN'T CALL YOU HOT! YOU... YOU... CREEP!" Okuto yelled, pulling his hands back only to punch his chest.
He would have used more strength, but apparently the combination of no appetite, no sleep, endlessly crying, and a broken heart made his blows feel more like an annoying series of little thumps.
"You called me a fucking Prince Charming," Matsumura replied with a warm laugh, far too warm for a night like that, grabbing his hands to calm him down.
His fingers curled and smooth the side of his hands.
The sweetness of that movement made Okuto press his lips together.
"That's a nice compliment," Matsumura added, closing one eye in amusement before pulling him back against his chest.
This time Okuto found his spot more easily; burying his face there.
"You attractive guys are always insufferable," Okuto muttered through his teeth, half muffled by Matsumura's chest raising with a joyful breath.
Still, he wrapped his arms around him again, just like before.
...Would Hirose react like this if he accidentally called him Prince Charming? He had always thought of Hirose as more of a little princess to protect...
But what did he actually know about Hirose to create vaguely accurate fantasies?
Whatever.
Now anything made no sense, right? Hana-chan was the lucky girl to stay by Hirose's side and Okuto had to accept it.
The impact of the fall from his imagination pedestal to the ground of reality hurt, but he was still alive.
“Nakamura-kun,” Matsumura called him softly.
“Mmmhh?”
“I think you are really a nice guy and you don't give yourself enough credit for. Your devotion for Hirose-kun is sweet and after all the pain this made you go through, you don't hate him.”
“I will never hate Hirose-kun! I love him!”
“You don't hate him because you love him. You don't hate him because you are mature enough to put in his shoes and understand him. So you are a good person,” Matsumura clarified. “You deserve to be happy. He isn't the only guy on the entire Earth, you know. Maybe while you were staring at him,” he commented, squeezing his own shoulders for a second, “someone else was already looking at you.”
Okuto blinked and lifted his head to check his face. He had to joke, what the hell.
He found Matsumura already staring at him without any trace of mockery.
Calling him a prince fitted terribly.
Handsome in a way that made him glad to be alive, elegant, with big slate-blue eyes that brightened when he was amused and darkened when he was serious.
It was ironic.
He had only met Matsumura twice, - thrice today - yet he had spent hours talking to him.
He had talked more with Matsumura - and more honestly - than he ever had with Hirose.
What the fuck?
Was this what happened when you fell in love at first sight and never found the courage to actually talk to the person you idolized?
He wished he could blame it on his shyness, but did Hirose even care about him?
Hirose was direct. Whenever he wanted something, he went after it, even when it made him look reckless.
So why wouldn't he make a move?
Why wouldn't he respond to any of his hints?
If Hirose liked him back, wouldn't he have done something by now?
Okuto almost preferred to continue to cry.
At least his thoughts wouldn't spiral in such a direction.
“Whatever was going through your head, you will figure it out.”
He saw Matsumura's mouth moved but he couldn't match his words with the movements of his face like an episode of his favourite drama got wrongly dubbed.
Stupid little prince.
Now he was about to make him feel guilty for using him like a handkerchief.
“Sorry… I get you all dirty…” he confessed, pulling back with a last pat over his chest.
So Matsumura lowered his glance to check the damage he had to scold him for.
“Huh? That's okay. I need to change my clothes anyway,” he explained with a shrug. His hands fell on the ground to support his weight and in a certain way pushing his chest out as he was showing the mixed fluids didn't disgust him at all.
Was he joking? The little prince now was okay with being cried on?
Then Okuto felt Matsumura change position again. He smiled softly, lifting his hand like he was about to grab his head to guide him back there but he actually brought it to his own chest.
“If you want to lay down again, you can put your head here,” he indicated the still dry side of his shirt before lowering the hand again. “Really, if you need more time, I am here. I want to be sure you are okay, that's all that matters.”
No one was that patient with him.
When he was just a kid, Okuto had learned not to trust people too much. They were mean and judgemental. They called him weird, scary, stupid and then left like meeting him was the biggest of their mistakes.
When his mother asked him if he had found some friends, he had no idea about what to say because he felt uncomfortable and friendship wasn't supposed to be like that.
So the question switched from ‘have you found any friends?’ To ‘at least you talked to someone… real?’
Once Okuto decided to not even give them a chance to hurt him, so he isolated himself.
But someone else came into his life.
And also left for a cute girl's only fault was wanting a boyfriend at fifteen.
And he was crying because of that.
Yet Matsumura was still here.
Laughing about his gay ass's Freudian slip, the state of his shirt and trying his best to comfort him.
He was really nice and he was there.
For him.
That was the last thought his brain transmitted before shutting down.
For the first time in almost a year, Okuto's brain decided to take a break.
The negative train of considerations, self-pity and the few glimpses of joyness he had from barely normal interactions with Hirose simply frozen in one of the drawers of his memory.
Now he could just see Matsumura's lips slightly open, his eyes focused on him.
He must have looked hideous from the prince's perspective.
Crying ugly for days, barely taking his uniform off just to not make it dirty for the school.
He lived with what he was wearing at that moment, tears, saliva and mucus included. He didn't eat, so the acid in his stomach was killing him.
The last thing now-
Okuto was staring at Matsumura so hard that even the boy noticed it. Matsumura was warm, gentle, beautiful enough to make him hold his breath and quell his paranoia.
Couldn't Hirose have more ugly friends like Oomori? If Matsumura was like him, he wouldn't get so much distracted by his pretty face!
Matsumura tilted his head, his eyes softened and as his curiosity was a trigger unconsciously programmed inside him, Okuto leaned out.
He closed his eyes, and before he could start thinking and torturing himself with the consequences, for the first time he was truly a teenager.
He hadn't aimed or pushed his head against his. It was very natural.
When he felt the pressure of something on his sensitive lips, it was as strange as hitting his spoon while eating, but much more pleasurable.
His arms wrapped around Matsumura's waist, his mouth tracing a line within the outline of his, nothing but peace in his heart and mind.
Like nothing else belonged to him but Matsumura's lips.
Okuto felt the other boy's hands find his hips, moving closer to indulge in their contact.
That made him feel strange in his guts.
Matsumura had big hands.
The type of hands any basketball team would want and now he was using them to make him feel… wanted.
Maybe it was that, or maybe it was simply the foreign sensation of being held, but Okuto found himself exploring.
He parted his lips and caught Matsumura’s upper lip between them, gentle and uncertain.
Something wet brushed against his skin.
His tongue stayed pressed behind his teeth, as though some instinct told him to move it, but he didn’t understand how or where.
Matsumura's mouth was slightly open, sharing the same quickened breath with him.
In the manga he read often - he had to admit - he disliked the way kisses were portrayed. Maybe for artstyle or because the story wasn't that good but… kissing Matsumura apparently was more than excellent.
Kissing Matsumura, what a funny concept.
Wait, it wasn't just a concept!
Okuto pulled back abruptly, his hand pressing against Matsumura’s chest.
That was the distance that should have been between their mouths.
What the hell just happened?
His eyes flew open. His breath hitched in his throat, cold fear making his muscles tighten.
Matsumura took a second before looking back at him.
His face was flushed, making him look even more ethereal as his eyes slowly opened. His long lashes fluttered against his skin, pupils slightly dilated under the moonlight.
“SO-SORRY!” Okuto screamed the moment their eyes met, scrambling onto his hands.
His knees almost gave out as he tried to stand, but embarrassment pushed him forward anyway.
His brain kicked back in, immediately replaying the last few seconds in the most humiliating montage it could possibly produce. And he had spent almost a year fantasizing about Hirose liking him back, even though he had never once managed to make it happen! He knew how strange his mind could be!
He stumbled twice, wiping his clumsy palms against his trousers before running for his bike.
“NAKAMURA-KUN, WAIT!” Matsumura called, breathless as he got to his feet as well. Judging by the grunt he let out as he sank back down onto one knee, his legs had given out too.
Okuto’s hand drifted to his chest while the other gripped his bike.
“Sorry… I'm sorry… Matsumura, please forget it,” he whispered.
His voice dissolved into the evening air, swallowed by the distant sounds of people complaining about another day waiting for them.
Even if Matsumura was there, he couldn’t hear him anyway.
Okuto had no defence at all.
He'd kissed a boy who wasn't Hirose.
He'd kissed a boy who wasn't Hirose for the first time.
And that boy who wasn't Hirose but whom he'd kissed... had kissed him back.