Work Text:
Shame hits Nakamura like a freight train. It’s immediate, flowing up his throat like acid and clogging it, the only sound of acknowledgement being a strangled croak. His book flutters, pages falling, before it slips shut in his limp grasp. The cover is like a big red sign, neon and blinking, as Hirose’s eyes trace the movement of the object, brows lifting in shock.
The chill of Autumn breezes by, his body so frozen in fear that it doesn’t even shiver. He wishes it would. So that this moment could feel real. But by the rapid blinking of the brunette, gaze flickering all over his face, he wishes it didn’t feel like anything at all. Like his stomach didn’t just sink, insides feeling tingly. Similar to TV static.
Footsteps echo in the tense silence, shoes clicking on concrete, then a figure appears in his peripheral. And as some sort of sick joke—since the universe hates him—they turn their head to view the two very still figures, slowing down their pace to watch.
That’s when something rightens in his body, snatching the Lovable Lunches manga off his lap and throwing it hazardly in his bag. His feet start moving before he’s even halfway through zipping it. He keeps his gaze on the floor, hyper aware of Hirose stepping back at his sudden departure before taking a step forward.
The uncomfortable buzzing in his stomach worsens, and he almost throws up. His lip finds itself between his teeth, holding the trembling to a small tremor.
Four more steps. “Nakamura!” Hirose shouts, sounding hoarse.
Gritting his teeth, he grabs ahold of his bag, bringing his jog into a sprint. Hirose probably only sounds like that because he’s holding back his disgust. Anger flares in his chest, gripping the strap tighter. Of course he’d be disgusted, catching your friend—male friend reading BL is distasteful. Only girls read it, and they only read it for fun. They don’t relate, they don’t wish to be held by another boy, to be loved by the same gender.
It’s abnormal. Nakamura is disgusting.
He doesn’t even bother alerting anyone he’s leaving, just unlocking his bike and letting his mind take over, muscle memory kicking in to avoid cars. He can feel his chest constrict, yet he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain of rejection, or the pace he’s peddling at.
Nakamura doesn’t go to school the next day. He says he’s sick, and it’s true.
He’s sick with himself.
In the comfort of his bed, with no one home—not like they’d check up on him either way, he wallows. He knew rejection would feel like something, but he’d never actually felt the emotion so strongly to understand the severity of it. Yeah, he was an okay kid, with regular grades and barely any hobbies. With his lifestyle, rejection didn’t have a place in his heart.
But now it swallowed him whole. A large pit opened up in his heart. When he got home yesterday, out of breath, he’d realized that he couldn’t breathe. It was so intense, indescribable emotions flooding his body, making his feet heavy as he staggered up the stairs, hand on his chest like he could claw the feelings out. He tried. The only evidence of that are angry red lines near the middle of his chest.
Even with that failed attempt, he felt like he could dig deeper into his skin. If he could just pull these feelings out manually, everything would be solved. And if he were lucky, it’d take the homosexuality with it.
That’s what they were linked with anyway, right? Maybe if he were born to love the opposite gender, he wouldn’t feel so torn. If he were born to love normally, maybe he could be a better person.
He could have hobbies other than reading…
Scowling, he sat up. Blankets piled at his waist, like they were begging for him to come back, and it was so tempting, yet with his eyes narrowing on the cubby right behind his bed, pushing the enticing warmth off his legs was easier.
They bunched up at his ankles as he used his knees to turn around, one sinking into his pillow. Pushing the wood to the side, he was greeted with multiple books.
Books. The word tastes bitter in his mouth. Why call these… disgusting pieces of literature books? They’re more like pipe dreams. A dream for a world where two characters could love the same gender. A fantasy is all it is.
“Abnormal,” Nakamura mutters, almost like his brain is trying to agree by repeating it.
He grabs everything, placing the manga on his desk before leaving his room for the first time to grab some bags to put them in. On his way back, he decides to make a quick pit stop to the bathroom. Gaining a glance at his disheveled appearance in the mirror makes him scrub his hands faster, not even drying them as he exits, aggressively turning off the light.
He should get a haircut. Girls like put together guys, right? The bangs make him look too feminine. Only females are feminine.
He doesn’t bother checking the time before sending Kawamura a text.
LINE
Hifumi Kawamura
“Hey, do you want my BL manga? I don’t have any use for it anymore.”
Sent: 2:30PM
Nakamura cringes at the word abbreviation. Saying it makes his skin crawl uncontrollably, like it’s trying to repel the way it warms his heart at the familiarity.
Her response is immediate.
LINE
Hifumi Kawamura
“Hey, do you want my BL manga? I don’t have any use for it anymore.”
Sent: 2:30PM
“Why all of the sudden?”
“Are you okay, Nakamura?”
Sent: 2:31PM
Her second text sends an ache to his chest. The scratch marks throb with a short burst of pain before returning to normal. He can practically feel her concern through the screen, and it makes him feel guilty.
He hesitates about lying to her, powering off his phone to gather the manga instead, placing them into delicate stacks inside the bags. He avoids looking at the covers, specifically Loveable Lunches. When he’s done, he twirls his desk chair to face Icchan’s tank. He rests his cheek against the cold glass, grounding him.
Icchan stares at him with the same flat expression he gives everything. If Nakamura were more sleep deprived, he’d delusion himself by saying his pet octopus’s eyes softened.
With a deep sigh, he takes his cheek off the glass, spinning the chair with his foot to face his bed. “I’m not gay.” He blurts. Nakamura couldn’t possibly say such a thing while facing Icchan, the damn octopus would grow an eyebrow just to raise it at him in suspicion.
Taking out his phone, he replies to Kawamura, still having his back to Icchan.
LINE
Hifumi Kawamura
“Hey, do you want my BL manga? I don’t have any use for it anymore.”
Sent: 2:44PM
“Why all of the sudden?”
“Are you okay, Nakamura?”
Sent: 2:45PM
“Yes, I’m sick, is all. And also, I’ve just grown out of reading the genre.”
Sent: 3:01PM
It’s such a bullshit lie he almost laughs. He hopes she at least wants it so he doesn’t revert to being homosexual. Maybe having the media within reach was the problem, after all.
Kawamura hurriedly puts her phone away, stuffing it into her bag as Mr. Otogiri’s voice drags on. He hasn’t noticed her texting, zoning in on a few people up front for already packing.
Nakamura’s empty seat sits there like a beacon. It’s eerily devoid of character, only textbooks sitting inside of it. And by the constant glances from Hirose at it, she guesses he’s the reason why her friend is home, lying to her.
It hurts to be left out again. Once she’d figured out he was gay, and confirmed that it was okay, that she supports him, he became more casual around her. His shoulders would relax, his hunched posture becoming confident, no longer having to hide. They were good friends.
Him offering his manga to him was a big warning sign. He adored the books he had—especially Loveable Lunches like she does! For Nakamura to give away something so precious to him was almost like… he was purposely stripping a part of himself. Trying to push it away.
Eyes snapping to the clock, she bounced her foot as the arrow clicked softly.
3:20, it read.
Moving her eyes to regard Hirose, a small pit of dread opened up in her stomach.
Nakamura was trying to suppress his homosexuality.
Kawamura had pulled Hirose aside right after the bell rang, forcing him to hurry up with his packing. She pulled his arm, ignoring the curious looks from people in the hallway.
The brunette seemed to know why she was dragging him, wordlessly following her. His feet would occasionally trip over themselves, almost falling on his face about four times before they reached the courtyard.
Planting her shoes on the ground, she gave him the most stern look she could muster. “Listen, you probably know why Nakamura isn’t here today.” He flinched. “I don’t. But he texted me earlier, and it was concerning.”
From the wide eyes and slack jaw she got from saying that, she realized the error in her words. Hands shooting up, she swayed them up and down, trying to soothe the thoughts in his mind.
“No, no! Not like that! He’s not hurt!” Her assurance did nothing. Hirose looked like she kicked his puppy, and then spat in his face, and then told him it was a prank.
“So, you’re saying…” He trailed off, looking somewhat traumatized still.
She kicked herself internally. “I’m saying you should go check up on him.”
Hirose slowly nodded his head, his eyes glazed over like he was trying to process the information. Then, they flickered to life, a small flame igniting, engulfing his irises with courage. Kawamura barely had time to wonder what gave him resolve before a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Okay.”
Hirose had made a quick stop at his house, rushing to get changed and grabbing an item he’ll be needing.
So here he was, in front of the Nakamura residence, standing just beyond the porch like a weirdo. His heart bumped against his ribcage as he scanned the area.
“Jeez, I rush to get changed and all I do is stand here?” He mutters to himself, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder. Yes, he brought his bag. It’s holding something private.
When the anxiety settles itself slightly, (with the help of an internal pillow going over its face), he sets a foot on the porch, then the other. His teeth want to gnaw on his nails, on anything really. Knowing what he’s about to do just sends another bolt of hesitance up his spine.
Keys jingle behind him. He turns around quickly, neck almost snapping from the force. Actually, he thinks he heard a joint pop.
Mrs. Nakamura is approaching, giving him an appraising look. There’s a soft smile on her face as she unlocks the door. Hirose figures he passed the ‘doesn’t look like a delinquent’ test.
“Are you a friend of Okuto?” She asks, opening the door wider so he can enter.
His hands sweat as he toes off his shoes, being handed a pair of slippers that totally don’t almost slip out of his hands. “Yeah,” he answers, lining up his shoes, standing with his hands at his sides as he watches Mrs. Nakamura glide around in the kitchen.
She points a finger up to the roof while setting a kettle on the stove. “His room is on the left.”
He lets out his thanks, politely bowing. He feels like a robot climbing the stairs, throat dry. He tries pooling saliva in his mouth and swallowing it as a makeshift reliever, but it does nothing. It’s unnerving how nervous he is.
When he raises a fist to knock on the door, that’s when he freezes. His bag weighs down on his shoulder like a reminder that this is permanent.
Shaking his head, mostly to shake out the jittery feeling in his body, he rasps his hand against the door. Inside, shuffling can be heard.
“Come in.”
Upon entering, he quickly made note of the state Nakamura was in. His hair was roused—bed head, redness took place under his waterline, and he was wearing a green long sleeve with sweatpants to complete it.
His brows furrowed, eyes hardening in defeat. The black haired boy slumped from where he sat on the edge of his bed, only slightly. It hurt to watch Hirose’s presence make Nakamura deflate.
Hirose made sure to slowly move into the room, placing his bag at the doorway. He paused in front of the other's bed, waiting for permission to sit. He got a jerky nod. Sitting on the mattress, he took in the room next.
There was a tank right in front of them, placed on a dresser. He believed the octopus’s name was Icchan, from the rare photos Nakamura would send to complete his story with. There was one Hirose still cracked up about, it being a picture of Kana, Nakamura’s sister, with Icchan on her face. The photo was slightly blurry like it was taken in a hurry, and it made her squirming look alive when you shook your phone.
And that was mostly it.
Oh, there were bags on his desk. With… noticeable manga in them.
Loveable Lunches stood proud on top of one of the stacks, and Hirose felt his own eyebrows pinch. Why was all of Nakamura’s manga packed up? Pinning the black haired boy with a studying stare, he watched as he shifted uncomfortably, subtly creating distance.
“Nakamura,” he tried, his voice coming out softer than he expected. Hell, if he wanted to confess so soon he should’ve let his face take the lead. When the boy doesn’t respond, Hirose lets bravery take the wheel, then regrets it.
His hand hovers over Nakamura’s, practically touching. There’s tiny little sparks, like lightning, from the contact. It makes his cheeks tint with embarrassment. How easy is he?!
Throwing his inner turmoil into the trash, he focuses.
“I will never judge you.” He finishes, tilting his head forward to try and gauge if that made an impact.
It did. Nakamura’s eyes glistened over. Hirose felt his heart sink at the sight, dropping his hand so it fully covered the others. “Never.” He repeats in a whisper, because it was just the two of them now, in their own little world. A promise.
“Plus,” he adds, smiling confidently, teeth and all. “Lovable Lunches is cool!” His hand curls around Nakamura’s, lacing their fingers. It feels so right that he allows it.
Nakamura blinks two times, each hard enough to pop a blood vessel. He squeezes their hands, eyebrows smoothing out. If they hadn’t done that themselves, Hirose is sure he would’ve reached his free hand to do it.
There’s a new smile on his face. It’s softer, not concealed like his other ones. “Right.” He agrees, the word coming out accompanied by a small sigh through his nose.
If the world tries to tear them down, they’ll just rebuild it.