Chapter Text
The vending machine spat out two cans of coffee getting one black, one sweet. They hit the metal bottom with a dull thud. Hirose snatched them both, tossing the sweeter one straight at Nakamura’s chest. "Got dumped," he said, like he was announcing a daytime special.
Nakamura fumbled the catch, the can bouncing off his ribs before he scooped it off the pavement. He blinked at Hirose, thumb hovering over the tab. "Hana?"
"Yep," Hirose said, popping the tab on his black coffee. The bitter steam curled up into the afternoon air. "Said I wasn't as interesting as she imagined. Like I was some... recut trailer that spoiled all the good parts." He took a sip, wincing from its bitterness, but didn't stop talking. "Funny thing is, I don’t even I liked her in that, you know a *romantic* way. I just didn’t know what to do when she asked me out."
Nakamura froze mid-sip, coffee dripping down his chin. He swiped at it with his sleeve, eyes darting sideways like he was calculating escape routes. Hirose leaned against the vending machine, letting the silence stretch until it snapped. "I mean, she kept wanting me to act all cool or whatever. You never do that." He nudged Nakamura's shoulder with his own. "You just let me be... me. Even when I'm being an idiot."
Nakamura choked on his coffee, the liquid spraying in an undignified arc as he coughed into his elbow. "You're not—" he hacked, wiping his mouth, "—not an *idiot*, Hirose." He glared at the pavement like it had personally offended him. "You're... you're actually very charming. Hana's just... missing out." The last part came out muffled, as if he'd shoved the words back halfway through speaking them.
Hirose's grip on his coffee can tightened. *Charming?* His brain short-circuited. Nakamura had called him *charming* and suddenly the sidewalk seemed unfairly tilted. He stared at Nakamura's profile, the way his nose scrunched when he was flustered, the stubborn set of his jaw. *Oh no.* This wasn't just friendly admiration anymore. That feeling had changed long ago. This was the feeling of missing a step on the stairs, the swoop in his stomach when a rollercoaster tipped over the edge. He wanted to poke Nakamura's cheek just to see if it was as warm as it looked.
"Anyway," Nakamura muttered, kicking a pebble, "don't let it get to you. Breakups happen." He glanced at Hirose sideways, then quickly away.
Hirose's pulse hammered against his ribs as he watched Nakamura flick his bangs out of his eyes with a quick, effortless jerk of his head and suddenly it was the most graceful thing he'd ever seen. The way Nakamura moved was like watching a skateboarder land an expert level trick they hadn’t even been trying for: casual, accidental brilliance. He catalogued every detail: the frayed edge of Nakamura’s schoolbag strap, the way his knuckles whitened around the coffee can like he was afraid it might escape, even the stupid way he always stood with one foot slightly turned in. It was all *perfect*. Hirose’s brain helpfully supplied an imaginary slow-motion replay of Nakamura drinking his coffee earlier, droplets clinging to his lower lip before he swiped them away. He was basically directing a mental highlight reel titled *Nakamura Being Cool: Volume 47*.
Nakamura cleared his throat, and Hirose realized he’d been staring. Not just staring but gawking, like Nakamura had spontaneously grew four sizes. He scrambled for something to say that wasn’t “I think I might be in love with the way your eyelashes look in direct sunlight.”
“Walk home with me?” he blurted.
"Sure," Nakamura said, and then immediately turned on his heel and walked away. Just left. Like Hirose had asked him to pass a pencil, not upended his entire emotional universe. The word hung in the air, too casual for the seismic shift it caused in Hirose's chest. He stood there, coffee cooling in his hand, watching Nakamura's retreating back until he disappeared around the corner. *What the hell was that?*
Hirose groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until colors bloomed behind his eyelids. *Smooth. Real smooth.* He'd basically just word-vomited a confession wrapped in the world's lamest invitation, and Nakamura had reacted like he'd been asked to help carry groceries. No blushing, no stammering, no *anything*. Just ‘sure’, and gone.
*He thinks you're a freak now,* his brain supplied helpfully. *Who stares at their friend's mouth like that?* Hirose kicked a pebble so hard it ricocheted off a bike rack with a metallic *ping*. Of course Nakamura had bolted. Normal people didn't short-circuit over the way someone's fingers curled around a soda can. Normal people didn't mentally replay the exact angle of someone's wrist when they wiped coffee off their chin. Hirose was, apparently by his mind and definition, abnormally obsessed with Nakamura's everything, and now Nakamura knew.
He definitely knew.