Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Eighteen-year-old Giyuu would never imagine himself hanging off the edge of someone else’s bed in the middle of the week for a “quickie” before class.

Younger Giyuu would believe it a tiny bit more if he was also clued in on the fact that this person was part of his friend group—except he would question ever having a legitimate “friend group,” so maybe he would believe it even less. Who knows? Not 21-year-old Giyuu, who had three of Shinazugawa Sanemi’s fingers buried inside of him.

Seeing Sanemi was a regular occurrence. It was partially a coping mechanism for the personal things they were each dealing with, but it had more to do with the fact that Sanemi was hot and willing, and Giyuu was horny and eager. The best part: both of them agreed it was a no-strings-attached situation. It probably wouldn’t work out if they tried, anyway. Sanemi had the romantic prowess of a saltine cracker, and Giyuu had the emotional capacity of a paper plate. Put that cracker on a plate, though, and there was a little something there—something consumable that might halt someone in their tracks for half a second, but it was a pretty easy visual to move on from. Two single, closeted college guys end up in bed together—big whoop. That was basic television, these days.

Some people would care. Some people would care a lot. Giyuu knew one of those people personally. That’s where the coping element seeped into an otherwise normal activity. Giyuu had a story, just like everyone else; did anyone get away with a trauma-free childhood? But the death of his parents as a result of the rather terrifying home invasion he’d experienced when he was 12 didn’t have any influence on which position he undertook in Sanemi’s bed. That had way more to do with just how much Giyuu’s best friend would care that he even dared to think about Sanemi in a sexual context.

Sabito was a good person, despite displaying signs of what Giyuu could only describe as blatant homophobia. He’d never said the words “I hate gay people” out loud, but the look on his face when Giyuu leaned a little too close to another guy in class, and the way he reacted that one time he caught 16-year-old Giyuu in bed with his boyfriend . . . well. Giyuu wasn’t good at reading between the lines, but Sabito didn’t leave much up for interpretation in that chapter.

Unfortunately for Giyuu, nothing got past Sabito. Case in point: the way his eyes narrowed when Giyuu walked into class, three minutes early, wearing Sanemi’s clothes because their “quickie” had gotten very intense very quickly, and the outfit he put on that morning was now the top layer of Sanemi’s laundry basket.

Sabito confronted Giyuu as soon as he sat down. “Whose clothes are those?”

Giyuu didn’t look him in the eye. “Sanemi’s.”

“Why are you wearing Sanemi’s clothes?”

“We were hanging out.” It wasn’t a lie. It was just a few inches away from the truth. “And I spilled something on myself.” Also not too far from the truth.

Sabito chuckled, maybe a little tightly, if Giyuu read into it too much—which he often did, when it came to Sabito.

“Real descriptive,” Sabito teased.

“It was just soda.” Giyuu hated lying. “But it was sticky, so he gave me some clothes.”

Sabito seemed satisfied enough with that answer, and Giyuu was satisfied enough to let the interaction go—again.

And again, and again, and again.

∘° ♡ °∘

Of the four classes Giyuu had filled up the second semester of his third year with, “Art History 345: Study the Works” was his favorite.

It was his first class focused specifically on art, and it granted him the freedom to choose a Japanese artist to study the works of. His first week in that class was spent diligently researching various artists and staring at their work for hours, as was expected of him and his classmates. Ultimately, he chose Hiroshi Senju.

Nostalgia drew him to Hiroshi, who was known for his large-scale waterfall paintings. Giyuu grew up near a waterfall. It was only a few miles from his back door, and he used to visit with Sabito all the time, often under the supervision of his sister and/or Sabito’s father. Hiroshi was a tricky person to study, given the only thing depicted in most of his paintings was water, but Giyuu was up for a challenge.

It helped that Hiroshi shared similar views to Giyuu. He once said of his works, “In my paintings, I am expressing the awe and the joy of living on Earth. On this planet, we have perfect gravity, temperatures creating and sustaining life, and we have water. I am moved by the fact that this is a miracle of the universe.”

Giyuu had enrolled in college knowing he wanted to study history. He’d always been interested in humanity and the consequences of thousands, millions, billions of beings with complex emotions trying to share the same planet—which, in and of itself, was a phenomenon of perfect circumstances. Giyuu liked to know facts about how earlier humans acted, detailed timelines of major events, the evolution of society into what he knew and lived in today, and some of the science that made history possible.

Generally, Giyuu’s studies did make him slightly more aware of the economy and of corruption in the world — how scary it was to look outside his window and see the government repeat the patterns that led to wars in the past. Regardless, he appreciated how perceptive and introspective working toward a bachelor’s degree in the history of humankind made him.

It was also really easy to make friends as he traveled along this path, considering the class of history-graduates-to-be was rather small; there were only 50 of them on Giyuu’s campus. One of them was Sabito, who led the charge for Giyuu’s interest in history from a young age. The two of them spent so much time outdoors when they were kids, digging up rocks and bugs and looking for dinosaur fossils. It was inevitable they would follow the same path of wondering about the world’s origins.

Another one of the history majors was Sanemi, who Giyuu had an interesting relationship with. It wasn’t anything, but it certainly wasn’t nothing. To outsiders, and even to their friends, they were amicable, at best. Sanemi had a short temper, and Giyuu had delayed reactions to most things; it led to some arguments that straddled the line of serious and playful, but that amused the rest of their friends regardless of which way their bickering skewed. The rest of the group was ignorant to what happened between Sanemi and Giyuu behind closed doors—because it was no one’s business, first of all, and because Sabito did not need to be privy to that knowledge.

Neither did Kanae, the only woman in their study group, and one of only three women in their graduating class of history majors. Sanemi had an intense crush on her, but he had some complicated feelings about dating. It had something to do with his father being an asshole responsible for all the scars on his and his siblings’ bodies, and Sanemi, being his father’s son, not trusting his own temper. Giyuu only vaguely knew the story through their brief moments of pillow talk, and he spent most of that time dozing off to the tune of Sanemi’s voice and body heat. Sanemi didn’t care. Giyuu was just a sounding board to him, anyway.

Then there was Obanai, who rounded out Giyuu’s group of friends. Obanai was rather quiet, a side effect of constantly wearing a black mask despite the COVID-19 pandemic being, largely, behind them. Apparently, he had ugly scars around his mouth that he didn’t like people to see. Giyuu hadn’t even seen him push the mask aside to eat or drink something, and he’d known Obanai for nearly three years. It was actually pretty worrying, but he was still standing. Plus, his girlfriend, Mitsuri, took care to make sure he ate enough when the two of them were together.

The five of them went to the library almost daily to study together—well. “Together” was a generous word for sitting at the same table with open books, laptops and study guides. But it was the way the five of them preferred to spend their study time, and that Thursday afternoon was no exception.

Giyuu hadn’t been counting the minutes, but he would bet money that no one had said a word for half an hour until Kanae suddenly spoke up, albeit quietly, “We should go to the Ghibli Museum.”

She turned her laptop to face the guys, showing the main page of the Ghibli Museum website. “I can get tickets for this weekend. On me.”

“You’re not paying for us,” Sanemi said quickly. He slid her laptop closer to him. “Never heard of this place.”

“I was looking up fun museums. It was this or the Dinosaur Museum in Fukui,” Kanae said. “I just need a break from the shit we’ve been talking about in class. Mr. Yuzu deemed it ‘earthquake week.’ Did you know over 100,000 people died in Kanto?”

“1932, right?” Sabito asked.

“1923.”

“Fuck.”

Mr. Yuzu was an interesting professor, in that he taught the history of Japan differently each year. His course was an extracurricular, so he was allowed to do that, but his range was something special. He would cover art, religion, food, wars, true crime, natural disasters, manmade disasters, and even conspiracy theories, like the rumored “demon slayer corps” that finally withered away in the early 1900s.

“Are you getting quizzed on that?” Obanai asked.

“Yes,” Kanae sighed. “We have to know the date, city, circumstances, and death count of 15 major earthquakes from the 1700s to, like, 1950.”

“Bummer,” Obanai mumbled. He jutted his chin toward Kanae’s laptop. “Can I invite Mitsuri?”

“Of course you can.”

“Then I’ll join.”

“Me, too,” Sanemi said.

“I could use a fun trip. We’re about halfway through The Korean War,” Sabito sighed. “My head hurts as soon as I wake up thinking about that class.”

Giyuu was lucky; he’d taken the bulk of his baseline classes, which included the more brutal pieces of history, in his first and second years. He’d moved on to art and paleontology — which made him more interested in the Dinosaur Museum, but he did like a good Studio Ghibli movie. He and Sabito had watched My Neighbor Totoro together at least a dozen times throughout their childhood. (Maybe they were due for a re-watch one of these days, sitting on the couch of Sabito’s childhood home, positioned right next to Giyuu’s.)

“I’m in,” Giyuu said.

“You guys are the best.” Kanae slid her laptop back to the spot in front of her. Sanemi leaned over to help her select the tickets, then slid his card into her hand to buy them. Giyuu already knew he’d corner each of the guys to pay for their own ticket later.

Just like that, the five of them went back to their independent studies. They couldn’t exactly help each other, given they were all studying different things despite having the same (overarching) major. Giyuu and Obanai were both following the art history path this year, but were focused on completely different time periods and countries in their respective courses. Sabito had challenged himself with the entirety of Asia, and he was currently in the midst of Korean history, whereas Sanemi and Kanae were both studying Japan specifically.

Still, being in a group made all of them more productive. They could switch off who went out to get them snacks or meals, and alternate who stayed at the table when they felt like going for a quick walk to get away from the books and electronics. It always happened in three waves: Sanemi and Kanae went, then Sabito and Giyuu went, then Obanai went—often to meet with Mitsuri somewhere, even if they only had time to spend a few minutes together.

The same was true of smoke breaks, except only Sanemi and Giyuu smoked.

Again, Giyuu didn’t count the minutes, but he knew Kanae spoke up about the museum when the time in the corner of his laptop screen started with 14, and Sanemi tapped him on the shoulder when the time had shifted to 15.

“Jacket,” Sabito said as soon as Giyuu stood up.

“I know.”

They were days away from February, which meant there was still a generous dusting of snow outside. It was cold enough for Giyuu to see his breath, but it all blended in with the smoke from his and Sanemi’s cigarettes.

The two of them didn’t talk much, despite having sex regularly. They only really spent one-on-one time together because of these smoke breaks. If Sanemi hadn’t started their first one-on-one conversation, back when they were still in the first of their four college years together, they probably wouldn’t talk at all.

One simple question got the ball rolling back then.

“When’d you start smoking?”

“High school.”

Giyuu’s first boyfriend got him started. The two of them didn’t have anything in common, except for the fact that they were both closeted boys who wanted someone to lean on. Kota had his father to worry about; Giyuu had Sabito to worry about. All they could do for each other was have sex, smoke cigarettes, and rant about living in a world that deemed their attraction to each other a disgusting sin.

“Same. I was 15.”

“16.”

They both wanted to quit, but it wasn’t worth it while they were still in school. Trying to graduate was stressful enough. Add to that some “weird tension” with Sabito (which Giyuu didn’t explain to Sanemi, at first) and an unrequited crush on Kanae (which Sanemi threatened to choke Giyuu for if he ever told anyone else), the cigarettes and the surface-level talks that came with their shared smoke breaks were necessary.

“What about you?” Sanemi asked, moments before he would find out that Giyuu was gay. “You like anyone? You and Sabito seem to have something going on.”

“Me and Sabito?”

“Yeah. You’re always together. Iguro and I go way back, but I don’t hang out with him as much as you hang out with Sabito.”

“We’re not . . .” Giyuu cleared his throat roughly, because it felt like there was something living in his throat—the truth, maybe, or a lie he could have told.

Could have. “He’s not.”

“But you are?”

It had been Giyuu’s first opportunity in years to admit something. He only did so because there existed a layer of  plausible deniability if Sanemi U-turned and revealed himself as homophobic as well. So Giyuu nodded, slowly, stiffly.

“Tough.”

Giyuu had wondered, in a panic, what gave it away. Was he obvious about it? Was Sanemi—?

“Are you?”

“I like what I like. Right now, I like Kanae.”

Sanemi was Giyuu’s first rodeo with acceptance after high school. He’d come out to his sister, Tsutako, when he was much younger—when he was crying because he didn’t like the girls in his class and felt like a freak because the boy he liked in elementary school made him feel like a monster for having a crush on him. Tsutako cradled Giyuu in the bend of her elbow and promised there was nothing wrong with him; there was something wrong with the world. But everything would be okay, because he had his big sister to support him.

“You have Urokodaki, too, and Sabito.” She’d been so sure there wouldn’t be any problems with the two of them.

Maybe she and Giyuu were both ignorant.

But here was Sanemi, who couldn’t seem to give a fuck less, who also embraced himself and didn’t let anyone tell him what was right and what was wrong. He went toe-to-toe with his father and even made comments about hot guys in front of Sabito, once Giyuu let it slip, in private (and in confidence), that Sabito wasn’t very accepting of Giyuu’s sexuality. Sabito never said a word against Sanemi—maybe because he was tougher, buffer, angrier than Giyuu. Or maybe because Sabito didn’t care about Sanemi as much as he cared about Giyuu, and that made Giyuu’s homosexuality a much bigger problem.

It was backwards logic, but Giyuu couldn’t make sense of it any other way. There was no way in hell he was going to ask; if he could avoid the topic of his sexuality for the rest of his life, he would.

Sure, it clouded his future in a fog of mystery. Sure, he was worried about one day wanting to get married and having to decide if he should invite, or even tell, Sabito. But that was so easy to ignore in the meantime. The pit of dread that opened up in his stomach every once in a while was worth sticking to Sabito’s side like he did when they were kids—when Sabito was the coolest person in the world, always looking out for Giyuu, always knowing what to do and what to say and where to go, always making Giyuu feel special, like he was the only person on Earth Sabito would ever care about that much.

Giyuu didn’t want to lose that for anything, not even for love, not even for who he was.

∘° ♡ °∘

Giyuu woke up on Friday morning to a series of strange notifications.

Venmo
Shinazugawa Sanemi requested ¥1,500

Tanjirou Kamado⁵
i just think black mambas aren’t as dangerous as gorillas, you know????

Nezuko Kamado
Would you rather be trapped in a mall for 24 hours with a gorilla or five black mambas? Tanjirou gave me a stupid answer.

Instagram
tokimui: what’s the biggest animal you think you could realistically win a fight against

Class Cancelled
I ate a weed brownie instead of a normal one last night and I am still high. You all get an automatic 100% on the quiz we were supposed to have today. Study independently and have a great weekend. (Proofread by my wife.)

Giyuu sent Sanemi money, laughed over Tanjirou’s messages, told Nezuko he would rather be stuck with a gorilla, and asked Muichirou if he was allowed to have a weapon, or if he had to combat the animal with his bare hands because that would severely change his answer.

“Are the kids asking you weird questions about animals too?” Sabito was still in bed, which was rare for 7:00. Granted, he didn’t have classes on Fridays, but he usually got up to see Giyuu leave for class; then, he’d go to the gym.

“Yeah,” Giyuu mumbled over a yawn. “Did you choose the snakes or the gorilla?”

“The snakes.”

“Really?”

“Gorillas are scary as fuck.”

“Snakes are silent, and super deadly. At least you’ll hear a gorilla coming.”

“And what exactly are you gonna do if a gorilla comes for you?”

“Hide in the vents?”

“Mhm. Good luck getting there before it gets you.” Sabito sat up and stretched his back. His voice was strained as he asked, “What about Muichirou’s question?”

“I asked if I had to use my bare hands or not.”

“You do.”

“Oh. Then, maybe a capybara?”

“That’s mean.”

“I know. But if I have to.” Giyuu shrugged. “Or a deer, I guess. No antlers.”

“I said deer. Or a fox, but I would feel bad.”

“I couldn’t fight a fox.”

“Why?”

“They remind me of you.” That wasn’t news; Giyuu had always said Sabito was akin to a fox thanks to his sharp features and high-pitched laugh. There was also the “fox incident” back when they were 13. They were on their home from the waterfall, alone for the first time, and a curious fox ran up to the two of them. Sabito didn’t hesitate to step in front of Giyuu to protect him. The fox stopped, stared, and rolled onto its back, playful and whining for Sabito to pet it. Giyuu called him the “fox whisperer” after that—especially since it growled when Giyuu moved, but reacted favorably every time Sabito got its attention.

“So you’d feel bad fighting a fox, but not a capybara?”

“I wouldn’t be happy about it, but I’d rather fight a capybara than a fox.”

“That’s crazy,” Sabito said. He slid out of his own bed just so he could climb into Giyuu’s. “I’m gonna make you watch capybara videos so you feel bad.”

“Okay,” Giyuu chuckled. “What about my class?”

“I saw your phone. I’m surprised Mr. Ikeda doesn’t get high more often. Did you pay Sanemi?”

“Yeah. Are you going to the gym?”

“I think I’m getting a cold. Throat itches.”

“And you’re in my bed?”

“We live together. You’re getting it anyway.” Sabito rolled onto his side, using Giyuu’s chest to balance the weight of his arm as he started looking up capybara videos. “I’ll sweat it out later. I still want to go to the Ghibli Museum tonight.”

“Wear a mask.” He’d blend right in with Obanai and maybe Kanae, who more often than not wore a mask outside to protect her rather weak immune system. “Do you want pain meds?”

“Do we have any?”

“Uh . . . I can get some.”

Sabito chuckled. “I’m fine. Just watch.”

Sabito kept his head against Giyuu’s shoulder as he played various videos of the creature Giyuu said he would fight in a completely hypothetical situation. There were a surprising amount of compilations, including capybaras riding on the backs of other animals, remaining unbothered as pelicans tried to eat them, walking right into people’s houses, weaving between children’s legs, and playing with sticks.

“They remind me of quokkas,” Sabito said after their eighth or ninth video. “You know what quokkas are?”

Giyuu did. He let Sabito show him a bunch of quokka videos anyway.

When Giyuu finally responded to Muichirou, an hour after Sabito had crawled into his bed, he switched his answer to deer. Sabito was right; he’d feel a little too bad fighting a capybara. At least a deer would hurt him back.

Since Giyuu and Sabito had hours to kill before they would meet up with Kanae, Sanemi, Mitsuri, and Obanai at the Ghibli Museum, they decided to walk into town to get breakfast. They had their favorite spots: one that served huge plates for a decent price, one that had the best coffee either of them had ever tasted, and one that specialized in mini cheesecakes of various flavors. Sabito wasn’t very hungry, and Giyuu wanted coffee to get through his day after staying up a little too late picking the next Hiroshi painting he would present about, so they ended up at Dr. Barista.

It was a tiny shop, owned by a kind woman named Tamayo and her . . . sidekick? No one really knew if Yushiro was Tamayo’s brother or friend, or held some other relationship status with her; the most anyone knew about him was that he was grumpy, but a phenomenal server and a valuable asset to Tamayo’s shop nonetheless. He also knew his regulars very well. As soon as Giyuu and Sabito walked in, he waved them over to their favorite booth (right under the wall of revolving paintings for sale) and called out, “Give me five minutes!”

Yushiro didn’t even take their order. He walked over with their coffees, put them down, and asked if they were hungry. Barely three minutes after that, he put a breakfast sandwich in front of Giyuu and soup in front of Sabito—which wasn’t his typical order, but, “You sound sick. Enjoy.”

“We should probably get you medicine if Yushiro noticed how sick you sound,” Giyuu suggested.

“Later.” Sabito sighed, blissful, after the first bite of his breakfast. “I’m getting another bowl of this for sure.”

Perhaps because he was listening for it, Giyuu heard the beginnings of a stuffy nose and swollen throat in Sabito’s voice. Whatever Sabito had come down with, it was setting in fast.

Unfortunately, the nearest pharmacy was another 20-minute walk in the opposite direction of campus. Giyuu was hesitant to let Sabito make the trip, but Sabito refused to sit still on his worst days. 

“Does it feel like a cold, or something worse?”

“Probably just a cold.” Sabito had his sights set on the off-brand medicine, which claimed to help with headaches, stuffy noses, sore throats and coughs. He plucked the bright orange bottle off the shelf and grabbed the dark purple one, infused with melatonin, for good measure.

Giyuu followed him to the self-checkout, and he tried not to stare. He got caught up sometimes, in simple moments like this. He’d always lived with Sabito in simple ways: eating meals, doing chores, walking to school, studying, all the boring things that were only bearable with someone else. Sabito had always been the person to make life’s worst moments liveable. And he always managed to look so cool, making Giyuu’s life something he was proud of. His sleeves sat, scrunched up, just beneath his elbow—one hand tucked into his pocket, the other balancing his medicine. He stopped to look at a display of energy drinks, and the sunlight falling in through the front window washed over his eyes, brightening up his purple irises. His hair shifted over his shoulder as he turned his head to look at Giyuu, to ask him, “Want anything?”

Giyuu was so pathetically breathless from taking Sabito in, all he could do was shake his head and follow Sabito the rest of the way to the checkout stand like a puppy that hadn’t found its bark yet.

Eventually, just as Sabito was pulling his card out to pay for his cold remedies, Giyuu got ahold of himself and started interacting with Sabito like a normal person again. “How’d you get sick anyway?”

“Probably this person I made out with a few days ago. I knew their voice was stuffy.”

“Oh.” Giyuu sat with the feeling that washed over him for a second, something like jealousy and heartbreak and anger all at once. He felt it all settle, heavily, somewhere against his skull—the kind of ache that existed right behind his eyes. He was certain if he dared to shift his gaze away from Sabito, he would feel a shooting pain overtake his frontal lobe. Ripping his eyeballs out would probably hurt less.

“You met a girl?” Giyuu asked. He didn’t want to know—not that he didn’t care. He cared too much, and his care was a parasite, eating at his otherwise resilient vision. Giyuu rubbed his eyes, as casually as he could, to hide the evidence of his tears.

“It wasn’t anything serious. Just having fun,” Sabito said. That left a bitter taste in Giyuu’s mouth, like the ginger he often ate with his salmon—biting, burning, tearing up his eyes again. Why did Sabito allow himself the space to “have fun,” but wouldn’t grant Giyuu the same? All because Sabito liked women, and Giyuu liked men?

“Hold this,” Sabito said. Giyuu numbly took the purple medicine and watched Sabito step to the side of the sidewalk to drink a cap full of his orange medicine.

And Giyuu’s heart ached for him again. It pulsed to the beat of Sabito swallowing heavily, of Sabito’s nose scrunching momentarily at the taste, of Sabito reaching for Giyuu to take back his purple medicine.

Giyuu should hate Sabito. He should hate Sabito because Sabito would hate him, if only he didn’t choose to ignore who Giyuu was. But he couldn’t. Sabito was Giyuu’s one and only; he always had been. And if Sabito was willing to ignore Giyuu’s faults, then Giyuu was willing to ignore Sabito’s.

∘° ♡ °∘

The Ghibli Museum was largely uneventful, in that there was a lot to look at, but not much to actually do for adults. There was a gift shop with plushies, hoodies, magnets, and the works. Giyuu bought a few little things for the Kamado children and his sister, but he was careful about his budget. He was a college student, after all, and he survived throughout the year on the money he made during the summer (in addition to the money Tsutako sent him, because she loved him).

Then there was the invitation both Mitsuri and Kanae received from Kanae’s younger sister, who had just started college herself. Giyuu got the message from Mitsuri’s excited mouth: “Tengen’s having a house party tonight! We should all pull up!”

Giyuu looked at Sabito first, who had opted for going out with a mask because whatever disease he’d caught from that stranger’s tongue was wreaking havoc on his immune system. Sabito just shrugged. He wasn’t one to say no to an invitation, no matter how trivial or dangerous. He was just as willing to go to a doctor’s appointment with Giyuu as he was to skydive with both of the Tomioka siblings. Sickness or health, rain or shine, boring or exciting, Sabito was always there.

That made it a bit difficult for Giyuu to feel comfortable talking to the very bright man who approached him at the house party. He had long, blonde hair with flame-red tips. In fact, the layers and composition of his hair genuinely looked like fire. His bright orange eyes added to his overall heated aesthetic. Giyuu was immediately mesmerized.

The man stepped up to him with a kind greeting, “Hello! Are you here by yourself?”

Giyuu glanced around, searching for Sabito. He’d gone to the bathroom a minute or so ago, leaving Giyuu to lean by the wall and take long sips of his third drink because there was no way he was going to approach anyone else first.

“I’m with friends,” Giyuu said. He studied the man’s face for a moment, and he felt warmer than he did a second ago. It wasn’t the alcohol; this man was gorgeous. He stood maybe one or two centimeters above Giyuu, but the slight discrepancy made all the difference in the world to Giyuu, who swooned over men who were taller and bigger than him. Like this stranger. Like Sanemi. Like Sabito.

“But they’re all busy,” Giyuu said quickly. “So, I guess I am by myself, for now.”

“Well, I’d love to keep you company. Do you need another drink?”

Need wasn’t the word Giyuu would use. Want was much closer to the truth, running as deep as Giyuu’s desire to get away from this spot, tuck himself into the corner of another room with this fire of a man so Sabito didn’t catch them talking.

“I’d love another drink.”

The man held out his hand for Giyuu to take. “I’m Rengoku Kyoujurou, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Tomioka Giyuu.”

Giyuu had enough sense to send a sloppy, one-handed text to Sabito about seeing a classmate and wanting to hang out one-on-one for a while. He probably said sorry, too, and something like “see you at home later,” but he spent most of his time texting glancing up at Kyoujurou as he led them through the crowd, hand firm around Giyuu’s fingers. He wore a permanent smile, and he seemed to know just about everyone in the house, stopping for seconds at a time to say hi to a handful of people on their short venture through the kitchen.

Giyuu swooned again over Kyoujurou’s efficiency as he grabbed two beers out of the fridge with one hand and smoothly handed one off to Giyuu. His heart jumped in excitement when Kyoujurou let go of his hand just to press his palm to Giyuu’s hip and tug him a little bit closer, all so he could align his voice with Giyuu’s ear, “It’s loud down here. Wanna hang out upstairs? Tengen has a theater room.”

Giyuu didn’t trust his voice to reach a volume above the music and chatter, so he just nodded. Kyoujurou took his hand again. This time, Giyuu got to watch him navigate the space without the interruption of trying to communicate to Sabito that he was, essentially, abandoning him. Not once did Kyoujurou lose his smile, nor did he hold Giyuu up for more than a few seconds to bump elbows with or greet someone he knew.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was pent up from not seeing Sanemi for a few days, maybe he was just a young adult with a healthy body and a sexuality that skewed right in Kyoujurou’s direction—Giyuu was so turned on.

The vibe upstairs was completely different. The music was still audible, but it wasn’t nearly as loud. There was also chatter, laughter, and the like coming from some of the rooms connected to the long hallway. Some doors were shut, and Giyuu wondered how many of them were filled with people bold enough to hook up in someone else’s house. He wondered if he and Kyoujurou would end up in one of those rooms. Giyuu didn’t necessarily sleep around, especially with Sabito as his roommate, but he felt an immediate attraction to Kyoujurou that he’d never experienced in his adult life.

It helped that Kyoujurou was a gentleman, holding open the door of the theater room and holding his hand as they walked down the steps. It was a spacious room, with three rows of comfortable-looking chairs. Kyoujurou aimed for the back of the room, behind the intricate set-up.

“The bean bags he has back here are really comfortable,” Kyoujurou explained. His voice was louder now that they were in a predominantly empty space. He helped Giyuu settle on one of the — yes, very comfortable — bean bags, then disappeared for a moment to grab a remote.

The screen spanned almost the entire wall across from them. Giyuu was in awe. As far as he knew, the person throwing this party was also a student at their college. Was this his rich parents’ house? Was he a trust fund kid? Giyuu was almost jealous. He didn’t even have a TV in the house growing up; he spent all of his time outdoors, with Sabito, exploring waterfalls and studying wildlife.

Then again, if it came down to a television or Sabito, Giyuu would always choose Sabito—no matter that the TV could offer Giyuu queer news and media that brought him one step closer to accepting himself.

“What kind of movies do you like?” Kyoujurou asked. Tough question. Giyuu didn’t watch a lot of movies. He knew what types of movies he didn’t like — the weird rom-coms that weren’t actually that romantic or funny. He didn’t particularly like horror movies, either, or thrillers, because they did nothing for him. It was difficult to jumpscare Giyuu.

“Artsy films?” Giyuu said. Kyoujurou gave him a look—not judgemental, but certainly amused.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s niche. I like it.” Kyoujurou navigated to the menu to start looking through the movies. “Do you study film?”

“No. History, actually,” Giyuu said.

“Oh. Do you want to watch a documentary?” Kyoujurou sounded so open to the idea, which made Giyuu’s heart swell. Sabito was the only other person in his life who had the patience to watch a documentary with Giyuu. Well, him and Tanjirou—but Tanjirou was also the type to do anything for the people he loved. That was just his heart. Giyuu liked to think Sabito’s willingness to do anything with Giyuu had more to do with Giyuu than anything. (Wishful, maybe, but he was allowed to wish. It was all he had.)

“You don’t mind?” Giyuu asked. “I know they can be boring.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I couldn’t be bored with you next to me,” Kyoujurou said. Giyuu bit the inside of his cheek, and he felt like a teenager with a crush all over again.

Ironically, Kyoujurou found an art history documentary, one that Giyuu had been eyeballing when he was doing his initial round of research to pinpoint which artist he wanted to study for his class. The price point for renting the documentary had put him off, though, since he didn’t have the streaming service that would allow him to watch it. Whoever owned the house — Tengen? — did.

Seeing the art on the big screen was breathtaking. Giyuu had seen art, at most, projecting onto the wall in class when fellow students did their presentations. Other than that, it was his laptop, his phone, or the wall at Dr. Barista, and even those were just smaller, easily-transportable prints. In the theater room, Giyuu felt like he could jump into the paintings, they were so big, and so high definition.

He was so in awe he nearly forgot where he was: in someone else’s house, with a (very attractive) stranger sitting right next to him. He felt a timid arm slide across his shoulders, and he finally came back into his own body to look at Kyoujurou.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Kyoujurou asked, stopping short where he was about to settle with his arm around Giyuu.

“No,” Giyuu said. In fact, he shifted a little closer, enjoyed Kyoujurou’s warmth a little more. Two men, two beers, an art documentary, a stranger’s house — and then the buzz of his phone in his pocket, a ding ringing through the theater.

One was easy enough to ignore. Two was a little more difficult to ignore, but Giyuu was still able to brush it off. Three finally had Giyuu pulling his phone out of his pocket to make sure none of his friends needed him.

It was Sabito. Of course it was Sabito.

“Is someone looking for you?” Kyoujurou asked after Giyuu’s phone dinged for the fourth time, while he was actively looking at it.

“Just my friend,” Giyuu said. He typed a quick message in response to Sabito’s worry, trying to get Giyuu to wrap up with his friend so the two of them could go back to the dorms together: I’m fine, you can go without me, see you in the morning.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Sabito.” Giyuu didn’t want to talk about Sabito. He didn’t even want to think about Sabito. But he was tipsy enough for his mind and his mouth to be disconnected. “I’m upset with him.”

“Why’s that?” Kyoujurou asked. He was leaning into Giyuu’s space, listening attentively—but his body was doing a lot of talking, too. His hand had slipped down to Giyuu’s waist. Their shoulders were touching.

Giyuu liked the proximity. He liked Kyoujurou—for how attentive he was, moving Giyuu’s drink away from his foot when he placed it on the ground, and how he didn’t seem to mind that Giyuu was ranting, “He doesn’t accept me. He gets so weird every time I even get close to a guy. You should’ve seen his face when he saw me with my boyfriend back in high school, he was so pissed. He yelled at Kota, kicked him out of my room. And he was so stressed about being outed, he broke up with me. I never saw him again. And Sabito didn’t even feel bad! He said, oh well, he wasn’t good enough for me anyway. But he just doesn’t want me to be with a man.”

“He doesn’t sound like a very good friend.”

“He is. Unfortunately.” Giyuu chuckled, all breath, no humor. “He’s been my best friend forever, so it sucks that this is the one thing we disagree on. I can’t change it. I tried, but . . .”

Kyoujurou’s cold, damp fingers touched Giyuu’s jaw, and, in following the pressure of Kyoujurou’s fingertips to look at him, Giyuu realized he’d started to cry. He didn’t bother wiping them away. He looked into Kyoujurou’s soft, worried eyes, and then he was cutting off his ability to see so he could replace the sense with the feeling of Kyoujurou’s lips on his mouth.

The kiss was brief, and Kyoujurou looked worried when he pulled away. “Was that inappropriate?”

Giyuu shook his head. “Thank you.”

Why the fuck did he say ‘thank you’?

He quickly tacked on, “For listening to me.”

Kyoujurou picked up his beer again. He leaned back a little, taking himself slightly out of Giyuu’s space, but he didn’t go far. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Me, too,” Giyuu muttered. He gulped down the last of his seltzer and crushed the can in his palms. He almost wished he would feel the stab or pinch of the aluminum to wake him up, get him feeling more alive.

“What about you?” Giyuu asked in the meantime. “I’ve talked your ear off. Tell me about yourself.”

“It’s okay. I like your voice,” Kyoujurou assured, but he followed through with Giyuu’s request for some personal information. “I’m studying to be a social worker. I’m in my second year right now. And I get the whole friend thing, sort of. Mine’s not against me swinging both ways, but he doesn’t exactly play in my field. And I’ve liked him for a long time. It’s pretty tough to move on.”

“Oh, wow.” Giyuu refrained from admitting the same about his feelings for Sabito, for the time being. “I’m sorry. Who’s your friend?”

“Actually, he’s the party host. Uzui Tengen.”

“Oh. No wonder you know the house so well.”

“Been here hundreds of times,” Kyoujurou chuckled. He glanced down to Giyuu’s lips, and Giyuu’s breath caught in his throat. He dared to lean forward a little bit. He felt nervous, somehow, as if he’d never kissed anyone before. Was he a good kisser? Was he good enough to press his lips against another man’s? He and Sanemi didn’t kiss very often when they had sex. Giyuu didn’t have much experience in that department because he didn’t have a lot of time to kiss anyone he was actually attracted to.

Unfortunately, that night wasn’t going to give him any experience points. Instead of another easily-ignored ding, Giyuu’s phone started ringing. He knew who it was before he even turned his phone over.

“Ugh, Sabito.”

Kyoujurou backed off, allowing Giyuu the space to pick up his phone, “Hey.”

“Let’s go,” Sabito said impatiently. There was no music bumping in the background, which meant he was outside somewhere. “I’m not leaving you at some stranger’s house.”

“I can get a ride from someone later,” Giyuu insisted. “Seriously, I’m fine, and you’re sick, you should go rest.”

“Giyuu,” Sabito said flatly. “Come on. I need to know you’re safe. And I don’t wanna sleep in the room alone tonight.”

Giyuu sighed, a long and slow sound that his phone’s microphone probably didn’t pick up on. It was so difficult to say no to Sabito. He would feel terrible all night knowing he let Sabito go home by himself, sick, when Sabito was looking for company.

“Okay,” Giyuu relented—folding, as one would say, like origami paper. “Sorry. Give me five.”

“I’m out front,” Sabito said.

The familiar sound of a phone call ending beeped in Giyuu’s ear as he looked at Kyoujurou. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was really nice hanging out with you,” Kyoujurou said. “Would you want to hang out again sometime?”

“Yes. Yes, that would be really nice,” Giyuu said. He watched the unknown change in his life unfold, like the beginnings of a butterfly effect—Kyoujurou’s number in his phone, laying in wake for whatever it would do to Giyuu’s future. Giyuu’s phone felt heavier when Kyoujurou handed it back, like a bolt of electricity was now installed alongside all the other software in the device. Or maybe Giyuu was just a little more tipsy than he thought.

“I’ll walk you out?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Giyuu’s guilty conscience roared to life as he brushed Kyoujurou’s hands off of his waist at the front door. He stopped in his tracks, “I’m—”

“I understand,” Kyoujurou said. He opened the door for Giyuu, and he left a comfortable distance between them as they walked outside.

“Giyuu!” Sabito called. He was leaning against the side of the house, though he kicked off and approached quickly once he spotted Giyuu and Kyoujurou. He stopped in front of them, and he looked Kyoujurou up and down. “Hey, man. Who, uh — what’s your name?”

“Rengoku Kyoujurou. You’re Sabito?”

“I am.” Sabito glanced at Giyuu, who would be of no help at the moment. He didn’t want to say a word.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Giyuu and I were just catching up.” Kyoujurou looked at Giyuu, and he nodded. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. Goodnight,” Giyuu said. He watched Kyoujurou walk away. He studied the bright red tips of his hair, the length of his shoulders, the confidence in his strides—and he avoided looking Sabito in the eye.

“Friend?” Sabito asked, teeming with doubt. Of course he was. Sabito knew all of Giyuu’s friends. The secrets they kept and the topics they didn’t discuss were major, but they were few and far between.

“Yeah,” Giyuu said vaguely. Sabito stared at him blankly, and Giyuu shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He wished he was better at lying. He wished he could do it—and he resented that. What he wanted was to tell the truth, but it was impossible to tell Sabito the truth.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay.” Sabito was doubtful again, but he laughed it off, this time. He pressed his palm to the small of Giyuu’s back—something Kyoujurou couldn’t do specifically because he was around. But Giyuu liked the weight of the hand there, even if this hand wasn’t formed with acceptance. It was still love and care and gentleness, so close to being everything Giyuu needed.

Sabito stopped to grab Giyuu some food on the drive back to their room. He didn’t ask Giyuu if he wanted food or what he wanted because he didn’t need to. He knew Giyuu well. He didn’t ask Giyuu to hand over his card or pay him back because he didn’t want to. He liked taking care of Giyuu. He didn’t ask Giyuu about the last hour of his night or any questions about Kyoujurou because that would mean coaxing the truth out of Giyuu, and neither one of them were ready for that. Chances are, neither of them ever would be.

Giyuu went to bed that night with an anxious heart, wondering what the long-term consequences of meeting Kyoujurou would be. There were a lot of options. Giyuu doesn’t talk to him, ever, and he always wonders: what if? Giyuu does talk to him, and they become friends, and life is simple until another man comes along. Giyuu does talk to him, and it gets serious, and then what? Giyuu hides it from Sabito? It becomes a point of contention in their relationship? Sweet Kyoujurou’s feelings are hurt because Giyuu can’t stop choosing Sabito over everything—his other friends, his love life, himself?

Or is there a chance Giyuu falls in love, moves on from Sabito . . . and then what? He never sees Sabito again? Is that ever going to be a possibility? Can Giyuu conjure up the strength to tear his soul tie with Sabito? Could this all become a laughing stock one day, when Giyuu is 40 years old and realizes he was so hung up on a boy-going-on-man for no reason?

At 3:28 a.m., Giyuu finally gave up on sleeping for the night. He quietly slid into his desk chair and returned to his many open tabs of Hiroshi Senju’s works.

Despite spending hours scrolling through them already, Giyuu still hadn’t actually made a decision. It was something like choice paralysis: all of the works were waterfalls, but each had a different color scheme and different method of display. Some of the works he saw were simply paintings. Some were set up in dark rooms, lit up in such a way that they reflected on the floor. Some were painted across entire walls in apartments and condos.

The general shape and flow of the water was much different in each painting, too. Most of the paintings featured just one waterfall with multiple streams, but some featured multiple waterfalls merging together along a river. Some of the water was wild; some of it was calm. Some of the water fell in ringlets, some in nearly perfect lines.

They all felt a little different. Some reminded him of home; those unruly ringlets merging together across the lake were nostalgic. Some reminded Giyuu of where he’d like to be. They were so serene, cascading down the canvas in such a way that evoked the sound of rushing water, the warmth of the sun and the way it felt to be alive.

Giyuu must have stared at each painting for over 20 minutes, but it felt like no time had passed at all. He blinked in the eyes of a red waterfall, and, suddenly, the sun was up, and Sabito was turning over in his bed.

Giyuu watched Sabito look over to Giyuu’s bed, glance at his desk, and then wave, all before he even bothered to rub his tired eyes. Giyuu waved back. He waited for Sabito to say the first word, worried about how he was feeling and if he’d even be up for conversation.

“What are you doing?” Sabito asked, his voice rough from sleep and sickness. He stretched without sitting up, and his eyes squeezed shut as he did. Giyuu watched the blanket fall off of his chin, exposing the low ponytail his hair was pulled into over his shoulder. Sometimes, after a day or two unwashed, Sabito’s hair started to curl at the ends. It was naturally wavy, not nearly as curly as Giyuu’s, but it straightened out when it was perfectly clean. The ringlets reminded Giyuu of the waterfalls.

“Stuff for class,” Giyuu said. Sabito slid out of bed, and he lazily shuffled over to Giyuu. He didn’t even open his eyes fully. He stood behind Giyuu, and his chest touched Giyuu’s back as he leaned over to look at his laptop. Giyuu held his breath for a moment, taking control of his fast-beating heart. Sabito was warm, and his heartbeat was calm, like the peaceful waterfalls in Hiroshi’s collections.

“Study the Works?” Sabito guessed. Giyuu nodded.

“Show me.”

Giyuu started simple, with the homepage of Hiroshi’s website. Sabito patiently listened to Giyuu talk about Hiroshi, though he was so silent, Giyuu peeked over his shoulder to make sure Sabito hadn’t fallen asleep.

“I’m listening,” Sabito promised with a laugh. He brought his arms up to lean against Giyuu’s shoulders, and he dropped his chin against his forearm, so close his cheek pressed against Giyuu’s ear.

From there, Sabito would throw in an occasional hum or comment, something to alert Giyuu to the fact that he hadn’t fallen asleep. Giyuu tried not to focus too much on the breath against his ear, the rumble of Sabito’s chest on his shoulder blade, the tap of his fingers as he drummed his shoulder to the rhythm of Giyuu’s impromptu Hiroshi Senju crash course. It was all so intimate, so Sunday-is-for-lovers.

But it was still Saturday, so close yet so far.

“I like this one.” Sabito pointed at a painting off to the left of Giyuu’s screen. The backdrop of the waterfall was blue on the left, purple on the right. The colors were striking, but not necessarily vibrant, like many of Hiroshi’s other paintings (including the bright yellow one just above Sabito’s finger).

Giyuu clicked on the blue-purple waterfall to make it bigger for both of them. The waterfall was centered in the painting, with a thick, white streak of the water separating the blue and purple sides. Sabito ran his fingers along Giyuu’s screen where the water bubbled up. “What’s this fog at the bottom?”

It did appear that way, and maybe it was that way. Maybe it was a cloud, or a shadow, or an illusion. But Giyuu always interpreted it as water. He could almost see the movement of the waterfall in the still painting: the speed, the strength, and the peace. He could almost feel the way the water would splash up at him and Sabito when they were curious kids peeking over the river to get as close to the waterfall as possible without falling in.

“It’s water,” Giyuu said. He pointed out the darker, stiller strip of grey-green paint at the bottom of the artwork. “See? That’s the river, I think, and the white is the water splashing up.”

Sabito hummed. “Well, I like it. You should make your presentation about this one.”

“Okay,” Giyuu agreed. He hadn’t gotten any closer to figuring out which painting to choose independently. Leave it up to Sabito to put an hours-long endeavor to rest in minutes.

“I want more soup,” Sabito announced, and he finally took his chest away from Giyuu’s back. “Go shower. I’ll drive.”

The car was as warm as the music Sabito played, lulling Giyuu into a peace so full, he leaned his head against the window and blinked himself awake in what felt like seconds. They were parked outside of the coffee shop by the time Giyuu was conscious again. The car was still running, and Sabito was in the driver’s seat, looking at something on his phone. He glanced up, and he smiled—mouth hidden behind his mask, but his eyes gave him away.

“Good morning. Again,” Sabito said.

“Sorry,” Giyuu mumbled. He reached for his seat belt, just to realize it was already off.

Sabito must have seen his confusion. “We’ve been here for a while. You looked uncomfortable.”

Giyuu brushed past the deep display of care, lest he get choked up and fumble over his words. Sabito followed him into the shop, and, like clockwork, Yushiro greeted them, ushered them to their table, and rushed away to get them their drinks.

Giyuu looked at the art on the wall. It rotated every week, always for sale upon request. He didn’t expect to look up and see anything he’d actually be interested in, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a very familiar and colorful waterfall.

“Whoa,” he whispered. Sabito looked, too. It took him a second longer, but he pointed out the same waterfall, “That’s the artist you’re studying, huh?”

It was—not only that, it was one of the paintings Giyuu was planning to present about later in the year. He had to work up to that point, though. Be a little braver. The backdrop of that painting was very colorful, almost a perfect rainbow. It was vibrant, eye-catching, and, to Giyuu, queer. But he wouldn’t present himself as someone who let himself personally connect with the painting until he was ready to say that part out loud.

“How much is that?” Sabito asked when Yushiro came back around with Giyuu’s coffee and Sabito’s soup (which he hadn’t explicitly ordered yet).

Yushiro barely looked at the painting. “Take it. It was a gift to the shop.”

“Wha—really?” Giyuu asked. Yushiro nodded, “It’s yours.”

He didn’t let Giyuu ask again; as busy as ever, he disappeared, likely to grab Sabito’s coffee, too.

“Great way to start your collection,” Sabito said. He climbed up on his chair to reach the painting. Giyuu extended his arms to take it.

The painting wasn’t an original; Hiroshi’s waterfalls were monumental in scale, which was part of what made his art so unique. But it was a perfect size for a bedroom wall—the width of Giyuu’s shoulders and the length of his forearms. Giyuu held the painting like an oversized platter and admired it up close. From greens to red to pink to yellow to blue, back to green, then a sliver of orange and an even smaller sliver of brown, the colors popped right off the page, surrounding Giyuu with something he couldn’t have in front of Sabito.

“That can be the first painting in our place,” Sabito said. He was watching Giyuu, even as he sipped soup off of his spoon. He barely looked at the painting. Giyuu wondered if he was disgusted by it, if he was only tolerating it because Giyuu liked it. Maybe he would let Giyuu hang it on the wall and never look at it again. Maybe Giyuu would hang it right above his head so he would stop getting butterflies when he woke up and caught Sabito staring from his bed.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to afford more for a while,” Giyuu said. “I don’t think I could have afforded this one in the first place.”

“We’ll save up,” Sabito said. “We’ll get good jobs, and we’ll fill our place with however many waterfalls you want.”

Giyuu didn’t know what to say for a moment. Sabito was talking far out—after college, when life really started and Giyuu would have much more to worry about. Work, bills, whether or not he could ever have a wedding he wanted and the friendship he was desperate to keep in the same lifetime. But graduating meant moving on. That meant Sabito finding a partner and settling down. That meant Giyuu tearing his lungs apart with sobs every day because who knows how long it would take for Giyuu to move on? How much longer until he didn’t love Sabito anymore? How much longer until he could like Sabito but not love him, love him but not hate him?

“Well.” Giyuu didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what Sabito was saying—until he thought about home, the waterfall moments they shared together, the space they always had in Urokodaki’s place. And he laughed, with relief, as the realization came to him. “I mean my own place, not Urokodaki’s.”

Sabito chuckled. “Right. Yeah.”

Yushiro returned with Sabito’s coffee, and he brought a large, plastic wrap for Giyuu to cover Hiroshi’s painting. Giyuu couldn’t believe it. What a funny coincidence, first of all, and what a stroke of luck, to get the painting for free. Maybe Giyuu could bring it to class and present it as a live work rather than one projected onto the wall. Maybe it would feel even better, if Giyuu could hold up the colorful painting like a physical extension of him and explain exactly why the mix of rainbows and waterfalls—of sexuality and nostalgia—tugged at his heartstrings so intensely.

Sabito was in the middle of retracing his steps at the party when he caught sight of two people walking into the shop.

“Hey, strangers!” Sabito called, then violently coughed into his elbow. He groaned, “I should not have done that.”

It was Kanae and Sanemi. Kanae rushed over to the duo, whereas Sanemi approached Yushiro, since they weren’t Dr. Barista regulars.

“Hi!” Kanae sat down next to Giyuu and threw her arms over his shoulders in a quick hug. “How are you two? Hungover?”

“Yes,” Giyuu admitted. Maybe he was just tired. Either way, he felt sluggish and not phenomenal. He didn’t even want to eat, it was so bad. (Come to think of it, Yushiro hadn’t given him any food. Giyuu would swear by the assumption that the barista was capable of witchcraft or reading minds.)

“I didn’t drink. Just sick,” Sabito said. Kanae sucked in a sympathetic breath between her teeth, “You sound terrible. Do you need anything?”

“I’ve got Giyuu, I’m good,” Sabito said, and he sipped his soup again. “But thank you.”

As much as Giyuu liked hanging out with Sabito one-on-one, he also liked being in group settings because no one really expected him to speak. He could be silent and listen to them like a podcast as he slowly sipped his coffee and let it make him feel a little more human as the minutes passed.

Sanemi and Kanae recounted their crazy night, which included a group of people who took their shirts off on the dance floor, the game of beer pong that ended in a physical fight, the near-drowning of some first-year in the pool in the backyard, and Obanai and Mitsuri’s drinking contest. The lattermost event had Sanemi completely hungover after taking four shots back to back. Kanae was fine—and so was Mitsuri, apparently, because the girls could drink all of the guys under the table. Giyuu would never understand how they did it.

In the middle of Sabito re-retracing his steps for the night, including the 20 minutes he spent laying on the grass outside because his head was pounding, Giyuu got a text.

Hi Tomioka! It was great meeting you last night. I hope you got home safely. If you’re interested, I’d love to finish that documentary we were watching. Maybe we could watch a few more, too. Since you’re studying history, we could find a historical one. Let me know, we can make a date out of it!

Giyuu smiled, though he bit a chunk of flesh on the inside of his lip to prevent it from growing too wide.

I liked meeting you, too, Rengoku. Sabito got me home safe last night. Did you get home safe?
I’d really like to hang out with you again. Are you busy next weekend?

“What about you, Giyuu?” Kanae looped Giyuu back into the conversation.

“Oh,” Giyuu tucked his phone under his thigh. He assumed they were still talking about their nights, so he said, truthfully, “I was just catching up with Kyoujurou.”

Giyuu hoped saying it casually enough would make them believe that Kyoujurou was just someone he’d known for a while.

“Kyoujurou?” Kanae rolled her eyes up, thinking. “Wait, Rengoku Kyoujurou? Mitsuri’s best friend?”

Giyuu had no idea Kyoujurou knew Mitsuri. “Yeah.”

“Blonde hair, red at the ends?” Kanae confirmed, and her excitement exploded when Giyuu nodded. “Oh, he is so sweet! I didn’t even know he was there! But, he is best friends with Tengen, that makes sense. I didn’t know you two knew each other!”

“Yeah, we,” Giyuu paused awkwardly. “We’re friends.”

“How’d you meet?” Sabito asked, cutting off whatever Kanae had been about to say. Kanae frowned, glancing back and forth between Sabito and Giyuu—and Giyuu felt like a deer in headlights.

“You didn’t know either?” Kanae asked Sabito, who shook his head without looking at her—too busy focusing solely on Giyuu. Kanae chuckled, a little awkward, a little confused. “Why are you keeping Kyoujurou from us, Giyuu? You two have something going on?”

“No,” Giyuu said way too quickly. All three of them gave him a strange look. He tried to laugh it off. “We just started talking recently. We watched this art documentary together, um, for fun.”

“A documentary for fun,” Sanemi mumbled, shaking his head lightly. “Your definition of fun is fucked up.”

Giyuu would argue he and Sanemi had a lot of fun together, but he couldn’t joke about that in front of Kanae or Sabito, lest Sanemi throttle him and Sabito look at him like the scum of the earth.

“Well, I’m glad you’re friends,” Kanae said, beaming. “He is Heaven-sent, and his movie nights are so fun. You should come to one! Are you busy next Saturday?”

“No—”

“We should go home next Saturday,” Sabito cut in. “We haven’t seen Urokodaki in a while. He’ll want to do something for your birthday.”

“Oh,” Kanae muttered. She glanced at Giyuu and gave Sanemi a look, too. It was evident she had an opinion about Sabito’s interruption, but she didn’t say whatever was on her mind.

“Maybe the weekend after,” Giyuu said. He wanted to argue, but Sabito was right. Urokodaki always wanted to see him, Sabito, and Tsutako on or as close to their birthdays as possible.

It was about time he saw his sister, anyway. Talking with her about everything that had been plaguing him would be nice.

∘° ♡ °∘

Giyuu’s birthday fell on a Sunday, which was perfect for the plans Sabito had made for them.

They left for Urokodaki’s place right after Giyuu’s class on Friday, where he presented about the blue and purple waterfall Sabito chose for him. He had two hours during the car ride to tell Sabito about it.

“I made it about nostalgia,” Giyuu said. “It reminded me of when we were kids. Remember all the sunsets we saw?”

“Yeah. And the sunrise, that one time.”

Giyuu remembered. Of course he did; it was impossible to forget. It was the evening before the one-year anniversary of Giyuu and Tsutako losing their parents, and he’d been sick to his stomach with grief all night. He tried to sneak out, but Sabito was sleeping on the other side of his bed. They went together, taking a single flashlight into the woods and clumsily navigating their way through the paths that led to that waterfall. It was the most reckless thing they’d ever done, and it was that same night they came face-to-face with the fox that earned Sabito his “fox whisperer” nickname. They got in so much trouble from both Urokodaki and Tsutako, who were ready to launch a search party to find them, but it was what Giyuu needed to do—and Sabito was always there when Giyuu needed him.

“Do you want to go back?”

“We always do.”

Visiting Urokodaki came first. He already had a meal prepared for them when they arrived, and Tsutako had made it to the house before them.

“My baby!” Tsutako called. She adored Giyuu like he was her own child; the responsibility she’d taken on as a 19-year-old earned her a motherly title. Giyuu dropped his bag onto Sabito’s waiting hand and rushed into his sister’s arms, careful and mindful of the fact that she was holding Kanzaburo, Urokodaki’s old but sweet cat. Giyuu was taller than Tsutako these days, but he still bent to her height and dropped his head on her shoulder, because he would always be her baby.

“How is school?” Tsutako asked. She passed Kanzaburo into Giyuu’s arms so she could hug Sabito, who she also adored for protecting Giyuu’s safety and happiness all these years. He only hugged her for a moment, though, before walking up to the house to put his and Giyuu’s things inside.

“It’s good,” Giyuu said vaguely. He glanced past Tsutako to watch Sabito disappear inside the house. The front door was still open, but he was far enough out of earshot for Giyuu to feel comfortable whispering, “Can we talk later? Just the two of us?”

“Are you okay?” Tsutako asked, matching the quiet volume of his voice. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Is something going on with Sabito?”

Giyuu nodded. Tsutako nodded back, squeezing his shoulder gently. “We’ll take a walk together after dinner.”

Giyuu was in a much better mood by the time he and Tsutako left for their after-dinner walk, with Tsutako’s smart excuse that they were going on a “sibling stroll” so Sabito didn’t invite himself along. Sabito did make Giyuu promise to hurry back so the two of them could make it to the waterfall before nightfall.

That wasn’t a problem. There was only one thing Giyuu wanted to talk about with Tsutako, anyway.

“I think Sabito hates me for being gay.”

Tsutako stopped in her tracks. They hadn’t even made it all the way down the street.

“Did he say that?” Tsutako asked, anger already seeping into her voice. Giyuu continued walking, wanting to get a little further away before he said anything else. He knew his sister. She was loud when she was angry.

“No, but he always acts weird when the topic comes up,” Giyuu said.

“How so?”

“He looks at me so weirdly,” Giyuu said. He could picture the look on Sabito’s face perfectly. It was a scowl, almost, and his eyes were cold. He looked at Giyuu like he was sick, like being gay was a disease.

“But he still hangs out with you?” Tsutako asked, and she scoffed when Giyuu said yes. “Did he give you any support at all when he found out?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Tsutako sighed, and she pressed her palms together over her nose. “Walk me through it. How did he find out? What happened?”

Giyuu was laying on the bed with Kota after school one Friday evening, their limbs and fingers tangled together as they talked about nothing. It was a nice day. Kota’s teacher threw them a little party because they were her favorite class (even though she wasn’t allowed to say that), and Kota filled up on so many cupcakes that his stomach was still hurting.

Giyuu rolled onto his side to press his hand over Kota’s stomach in a cutesy, comforting way. Kota drew him into a soft kiss instead. (Giyuu skipped recounting the details to Tsutako — like the hand Kota slipped under his shirt, and where his hand was along Kota’s hips — but he clarified that it was a very compromising position.) There was no doubt that they were in a relationship of some sort.

Sabito walked right into Giyuu’s room. He never had to knock. The space had become Sabito’s as much as it had always been Giyuu’s.

Kota and Giyuu jumped apart. Sabito didn’t apologize. He didn’t leave. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. He didn’t look at Giyuu; he stared straight at Kota.

“Sabito?”

“You should go,” Sabito said to Kota. The tone of his voice very much implied that it was not a suggestion.

“Sabito—”

“You don’t want Urokodaki to find out, do you?”

The threat washed over Giyuu like cold water. Kota grabbed his phone and his jacket, and he left the room without saying a word. Sabito slammed the door shut as soon as Kota walked out.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” Sabito said tightly. His arms were crossed, and he was acting like he was scolding Giyuu for some terrible wrongdoing. Giyuu’s stomach churned at the implication—that what he was doing was wrong. What was so wrong with it? He liked Kota.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Giyuu said weakly.

“Boyfriend?” Sabito scowled. “You’re too young for a boyfriend.”

“What? But you dated—”

“This isn’t about me, Giyuu,” Sabito said. “Don’t you think your parents would be disappointed?”

Giyuu was glad he and Tsutako had continued walking, because her sudden and piercing shriek, “What!?” could have alerted Sabito, Urokodaki, and Kanzaburo if they were any closer to the house.

“Why the hell would he say that to you? Mom and dad would never be disappointed in you!”

“He did say sorry,” Giyuu said, giving Sabito a little bit of his credit back. “He said he was worried about me getting hurt, or something like that, but, I don’t know. It felt like he hated me being with a guy, he just didn’t want to say it.”

Tsutako took another moment to calm down, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth three times. She dropped her hands onto Giyuu’s shoulders.

“Are you sure he was upset about Kota being a man?” Tsutako asked carefully. “You don’t think he could’ve been upset about Kota?”

“Because he smokes?”

“No,” Tsutako chuckled. “Well, maybe a little. But Sabito could’ve been jealous.”

Giyuu was genuinely lost. “Why would he be jealous?”

“Giyuu,” Tsutako said. “I’m not saying he had any right to treat you or Kota like that. He definitely had no right to bring up our parents. But, he has always been pretty protective over you. And he still spends every day with you, right?”

Giyuu nodded, waiting for the punchline, the reveal, the pin drop.

“I’ve had this thought for a long time,” Tsutako prefaced. “I think Sabito likes you.”

“Of course he likes me,” Giyuu said. Tsutako’s eyes lit up for a moment, but she fell apart in laughter again when Giyuu tacked on, “We’re best friends.”

“Giyuu.” Tsutako placed her hands on Giyuu’s cheeks, a sign that he should focus. “I think he wanted to be Kota.”

It finally clicked after Tsutako raised her eyebrows, encouraging Giyuu to think about it a little more. He shook his head, “He doesn’t like men being with men.”

“Has he ever said that?”

“No,” Giyuu admitted. “But he always gets so weird when I talk to men.”

“Mhm,” Tsutako said, a drawn-out hum. “You know who does that? People who are jealous because the person they like is talking to someone they might be interested in.”

“But it’s only with guys.”

“Of course it is, baby, you only like guys. He has no reason to be jealous of women.”

Giyuu’s eyes dropped to the floor, thinking. Tsutako’s theory wasn’t completely ridiculous, in that it was true Sabito had never explicitly stated he was homophobic. But it was ridiculous in that Sabito was too cool for Giyuu. He was too good for Giyuu. And, more than that, he was too bold. If he had feelings for Giyuu, he would have confessed a long time ago.

But Giyuu nodded along to the tune of Tsutako’s theory and her protectiveness, “I’m not saying he’s right to act like this. In fact, I’d still like to call Haru over to rough him up for making my baby brother cry.”

Giyuu chuckled, and he felt loved as Tsutako pinched his cheek between her knuckles. Even if there wasn’t much truth to what she said — maybe? Giyuu wasn’t sure. He couldn’t even wrap his head around what Sabito might think or feel or want, a strange and foreign feeling — he felt better.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Tsutako asked.

“No,” Giyuu mumbled. “I don’t want this to turn into a big issue.”

“It’s already a big issue. He’s either homophobic, or he’s making you anxious and confused because he won’t admit his feelings for you,” Tsutako said. “Are you sure I can’t say anything to him?”

“I’d rather just live like normal,” Giyuu admitted. “He doesn’t say anything or do anything anymore. Maybe he’ll come around. I don’t know. . . .”

“What if he doesn’t?” Tsutako asked, presenting a very real scenario that Giyuu didn’t want to imagine. “Are you going to cut him out of your life?”

Giyuu couldn’t say anything for a moment. His lips were trembling too much. His throat burned like he’d just taken a drag of his first cigarette, or like he’d jumped into the waterfall without holding his nose.

“I don’t know,” Giyuu mumbled. “I guess I’ll leave that part up to him.”

“Giyuu.”

“If he wants to go, he can go,” Giyuu said, and it felt like dying. “What can I do?”

Tsutako clicked her tongue. “You deserve a best friend who’s going to support you.”

“He does, in most ways.”

“Your best friend shouldn’t have you on edge like this,” Tsutako said. Giyuu nodded. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But it was so hard. . . .

“I love him,” Giyuu admitted, out loud, for the first time. “So I’d rather just deal with it.”

“Oh, Giyuu.” Tsutako let her pity hang in the air for a moment. Giyuu cried a little more, sniffling pathetically.

“Let’s go to my place,” Tsutako decided. “You’re gonna spend the night with me and Haru, and we’re gonna eat ice cream, and I’ll drop you back at school on Monday morning.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll just stay,” Giyuu mumbled. “I already told Sabito we’d go to the waterfall together tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“He wants me to play piano, too.”

“You don’t have to do everything to make him happy, especially if he won’t accept you.”

“I know.” Giyuu wished he had more to say for himself, but he didn’t. He was a sucker for Sabito, through and through.

“We should head back,” Giyuu said. “Before it gets too dark to see the waterfall.”

“Okay,” Tsutako said, though she didn’t let Giyuu start walking right away. “But you should think more about this, okay? You shouldn’t have to hide any part of yourself from the people you love or be ashamed of it. If he doesn’t accept you, then he doesn’t love you fully. I know he’s been there for a long time, I know you love him, and I know he loves you one way or another, but you don’t have to stick around just because of that. Sometimes, everything can be perfect except for one big thing. It’s like finding the perfect partner, but they don’t want kids, and you do. You have to keep going, find someone who wants what you want. There are too many beautiful souls out there to trap yourself with one who isn’t going to give you everything you need.”

Giyuu sat with her words for a moment, and he tried not to cry more. The thought of there being someone out there who was better for him than Sabito sounded like some big joke, and it also sounded like an impossible task to find them. There was no one else in the world who helped Giyuu climb through his bedroom window when the Tomioka siblings narrowly escaped the robbers in their home. There was no one else in the world who promised Tsutako that he would take care of Giyuu through his college years and followed through with that promise. There was no one else in the world who spent his undergraduate years being Giyuu’s roommate. There was no one else in the world who drove Giyuu home every other weekend and made two hours in the car feel like 20 minutes, at most. There was no one else in the world who tamed a fox on the spot so it wouldn’t hurt Giyuu, even though he was just as scared as Giyuu in that moment. There was no one else in the world who went to visit the waterfall with Giyuu and taught him how to skip stones when he barely knew how to do it himself.

There would never, ever, be someone like Sabito again.

“You’re right,” Giyuu said anyway.

“And you should talk to him, whenever you’re ready,” she suggested. “If you’re worried he’s going to lash out, you know you can call me. Anytime. I’ll be in the same room or the next room while you talk. I’ll have Haru there, too.”

Giyuu was glad Tsutako had found someone like Haru, who she could rely on, who would be in her corner for whatever she needed, who was the Sabito to her Giyuu. But he didn’t need to be involved in this.

“I will,” Giyuu promised, even if he didn’t know when or how. “Thank you.”

Their walk home was slow, giving Giyuu time to recover from the cry he probably needed to have in the comfort of his sister’s arms. He had a bit of a headache, nothing that some water and a few jokes from Sabito couldn’t fix.

Because Sabito could fix everything, even the pain he caused.

“Watch out,” Sabito warned, no more than five minutes after he and Giyuu had started walking their little path. There wasn’t anything paved for them to walk on; there never had been. But there was a path of Sabito’s and Giyuu’s own making, comprising dead patches of grass and withered down dirt from the soles of their growing shoes.

Giyuu almost always forgot about the dangerous parts of the path, like the sharp rock jutting out of the grass at ankle height and the deep part of the dirt from a generation of gophers. Sabito remembered. He pulled Giyuu closer or grabbed him by the dip of his waist to pull him away from the danger. He always had. Sabito knew the path, and Giyuu knew Sabito.

The waterfall hadn’t changed much over the years. It was tall, standing, approximately, at three times’ Sabito’s and Giyuu’s combined heights when they were both 13. (Approximately. They guessed.)

The waterfall flowed down into a rather clean river, which only went deeper into the woods. They’d never found the end of it, or another opening. Tsutako and Urokodaki strictly forbade them from following the river any further. They were on edge enough because the boys traveled into the woods in the first place. Once they found out the boys were sneaking out, though, they made a new rule: “Tell us each time you go, and be home before sunset.”

“Let’s dig for stones,” Sabito prompted. He stood up, carefully climbing the small hill that led down to the waterfall. He left his shoes behind, and Giyuu followed suit.

“You want to dig?” Giyuu chuckled. “Aren’t we too old for this?”

“You’re telling me you don’t miss it just a little bit?” Sabito challenged. Fair point. Giyuu missed a lot of things from when they were kids.

Sabito and Giyuu were getting filthy. It must have rained within the past couple of days; the dirt was soft, and it got under their nails easily. But they found some really pretty stones and a whole lot of worms. They carefully dug around the creatures and collected the prettiest, flattest stones they could find, all piled up around the small holes they dug into the earth.

“Best two out of three,” Sabito proposed, balancing his best stones in his right hand. “Whoever gets the furthest doesn’t have to drive home.”

“You could just ask me to drive,” Giyuu said. He started gathering his best stones as well.

“You have no confidence,” Sabito scolded. “You could win.”

Doubtful, but Giyuu gave it his all anyway. His first one plunged right into the river without skipping once. His second got a few good bounces, but not nearly as many as the 12 Sabito recorded.

“You win,” Giyuu declared. He tossed his third stone to the side, but Sabito snatched it out of the air.

“Not yet,” Sabito said, grinning at Giyuu. “Two of three.”

“You already won two out of three.”

“All or nothing,” Sabito bargained, probably just so he could see Giyuu fail again. His eagerness gave him away, “You first.”

Giyuu couldn’t say no when Sabito was looking at him like that, with the stone laying flat against his palm, waiting for Giyuu to take it.

Giyuu gave it a good effort, and he counted five skips. Sabito counted six.

“Go ahead,” Giyuu said. He doubted the one extra point Sabito definitely gave him on purpose would help him at all. “Beat me.”

Sabito made a show of tossing his stone up, catching it, giving it a little spin when he tossed and caught it again—and Giyuu rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, but still laughed at Sabito’s antics.

“Alright.” Sabito pressed his hand to his shoulder and rolled it, as if warming up to pitch a baseball.

“Sabito.”

“This one’s for you, babe,” Sabito joked. He tilted his head to each side, another mock stretch, then corked his arm back—and tossed his stone right into the middle of the river. It didn’t skip once.

Giyuu laughed so hard he fell to his knees in the dirt. “What the hell?”

“Damn.” Sabito clicked his tongue. He was standing there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head and tapping his foot like a disappointed, middle-aged golfer. “What a shame. I guess I’m driving home.”

“Why did you do that?” Giyuu couldn’t stop laughing. He was still on the ground, but Sabito reached out to help him up. Giyuu dusted the dirt off of his hands, and he let Sabito bring him to full height as he said, “Because I like when you’re happy.”

Giyuu’s laughter died down as the funny moment turned into something genuine, something breath-taking, the kind of moment that buried itself in Giyuu’s heart, the kind of thing that made it so hard to let Sabito go. Literally. His fingers were still pressed against Sabito’s palm. And Sabito was looking at him so sweetly, like Giyuu was a completely normal person he happened to adore. As if the sun wasn’t setting and casting a colorful glow on both of them, creating a striking backdrop for the waterfall of their childhood, the waterfall that resembled Hiroshi Senju’s paintings. Reds and oranges and yellows, evoking a sense of warmth and maybe anger—all in the eyes of the beholder. Greens and blues and purples and pinks, natural and romantic and stunning. All came together to represent something so natural, a beautiful miracle of nature—and something so unnatural, Giyuu’s deep love for Sabito, ingrained in his molecular structure. He was born this way, built this way. The dust and matter that formed billions of years ago were always going to come together to create Tomioka Giyuu, who would love within his gender and who would be soul tied to the dust and matter that created Sabito. And, somehow, Giyuu was supposed to believe that that was wrong. Somehow, Sabito did think it was wrong.

“We should head back, right?” Giyuu asked. Sabito nodded. He, too, had stopped laughing, but the smile never left his face. Neither did his hands, guiding Giyuu once again along the path that he hadn’t memorized the dangerous parts of. Maybe if he was wandering by himself, he would know to take a bigger step over the jagged rock, and he would know to walk up toward the thick gathering of bushes so he didn’t roll his ankle in that dip. But he was conditioned to follow Sabito, always, so why would his brain bother filing away anything else?

Childhood tradition didn’t end there; it never did in Urokodaki’s house, with Sabito and Tsutako lounging around as well. Giyuu had grown up playing piano, taking after his beautiful mother. She would often play the Tomioka siblings a song before they went to bed. It was her version of a lullaby, since she wasn’t fond of singing. Sometimes, she would play a song that already existed; sometimes, she would make something up on the spot. Giyuu never learned to play any specific songs. He learned to play the notes he needed, and he followed the same rhythms his mother used to play, the ones that shaped him into a music lover in the first place.

Urokodaki had a piano in the dining room, taking up half the space, but it was well worth having a cramped eating area. Giyuu played the piano every single night, when he was a kid. Urokodaki loved the music, and Sabito loved to watch. Even Kanzaburo got involved, lazing across the top of the piano because the little guy loved falling asleep to the tune of the vibrations, even as he grew old and went deaf.

Before he and Sabito even bothered to wash more than their hands from their trip to the waterfall, Giyuu sat down and played a song for all of them. It was something he heard from his mother when he was maybe eight years old, a beautiful, calming melody that—maybe because it was fresh in his mind—reminded Giyuu of the waterfall. It cascaded down into deeper melodies and crashed into multiple keys, slightly jarring but still rhythmic.

This might be the last time Giyuu ever played piano for all five of them. Maybe he would come home, and Tsutako would sit next to him as he played for Urokodaki, with Kanzaburo falling asleep in front of him. But he doubted if he would ever feel Sabito’s hands on his shoulders as he hovered and watched ever again. Because that was the brutal reality that Giyuu was facing, the one he’d never heard in words before—but, of course, Tsutako would be the one to push him toward a future where he thought of every single possibility. If Sabito wouldn’t accept him, Giyuu would have to move on. And if he had any plans of getting closer to Kyoujurou, who he did really like, that might happen much sooner than later. Maybe he wouldn’t marry Kyoujurou. Maybe nothing would come of their relationship. But having any relationship was going to cause tension with Sabito, and, Tsutako was right, he couldn’t live like this forever.

Giyuu dragged the song on and on. It lasted four, then five, then six minutes. He played the final notes in a rush down the span of the piano. They all clapped for him. Giyuu stood up, completed a dramatic bow, and smiled through the painful discomfort settled in the pit of his stomach—because he had a deep, dark feeling that he would never have his whole family in the same room again.

How sick it was, for Giyuu to experience the miracle of nature and the pure disdain of love in the same evening, and to tie it all up with one of his dead mother’s melodies.