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Nakamura has a hickey on his neck.
Hirose plays with his pen during first period- the one Nakamura gifted him- and that’s all he can think about.
It’s barely hidden by his gakuran collar. It’s a little red, a little blue, and a little tiny. But it’s there. It’s very much there. Hirose’s eyes keep darting to it, as if every succeeding inspection of it would either prove him wrong or make it disappear. But Hirose glances at Nakamura’s neck for the 120th time in the first period alone as Nakamura absentmindedly stares out the window and the hickey is still there.
As second period rolls he starts thinking about more than its shape and colour. Which, naturally, leads to who. Who could have given him that hickey? Hirose wonders that maybe he doesn’t know about Nakamura’s personal life as much as he thought he did. He knew Nakamura liked guys exclusively, but he never mentioned having a boyfriend. Or a fling, or a friends-with-benefits kind of situation. Or just…anything that could have warranted that mark on his neck. Hirose slumps on his desk and mutes out the lesson completely and zeroes in on the way the mark stretches as Nakamura’s head slowly moves. Nakamura is too engrossed in reading what is clearly not his textbook but some other book hidden behind it that Hirose can't make out to notice. Did Nakamura meet this person on some app? Hirose knows meeting people through there is increasingly common, but he guesses they’re all under age to use them. So this also rules out clubs and bars. And- Hirose smiles a bit at the thought- Nakamura seems a little too shy to brave the city’s party scenes at night alone. Hirose knows his neighbourhood doesn’t have any guys his age, just the one girl who goes to a private academy. Was this person from this school, then? Hirose’s stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought. His eyes scan the classroom.
There was a good chance the person who gave him the hickey was sitting right there in that classroom, unaware that his deeds have been recognized.
In between second and third period, Hirose realizes the thought of Nakamura’s secret love bite giver being in their class makes him irritated in his own skin. So he stays at his desk and doesn’t rush up to anyone to talk in the little time between lessons. What he doesn’t realize, though, is that he’s glaring daggers at his textbook. He only figures that out when the teacher singles him out saying he can ‘burn a hole through the book’ and that he should ‘be more open to learning’.
In the middle of third period is when Hirose thinks of the where. Where could this have happened? Nakamura doesn’t sneak out during lessons, lunch or P.E. So the school makeout spots like gym closets or staircases or rooftops are ticked off. When they go home, it’s usually together and they cross about a third of Nakamura’s way home before they have to part ways. Does he meet with them in secret afterwards? Nakamura never looked like he’s in a hurry to leave when they’re together, so Hirose never had any reason to think he might have had something- or, well, someone- waiting for him. Hirose doesn’t remember the entire route to Nakamura’s house from school, having only gone that path about three times, but…did he get that hickey behind the pastry shop Hirose likes to stop at? Or hidden between the bushes of the park a few hundred meters away from Nakamura’s house? Or maybe all the way in Nakamura’s room? On Nakamura’s bed? With the lights off and under the covers and Nakamura’s shirt off and–
The end of third period bell rings and Hirose is so grateful that there is only one lesson left before lunch. He needs to make a run to the vending machine and buy the coldest thing it has to offer. Hirose unbuttons the top button of his undershirt discreetly and fans his collar to let some of the cool air in. It helps matters a little, but the heat gets worse when Hirose’s thoughts slip into the same pattern as last period. Nakamura’s bite giver doesn’t really have any defining features. But he knows Nakamura well. So it’s easier to imagine just him, shivering and gasping and clutching the person’s shirt using his shapely fingers. Hirose squints his eyes. Is Nakamura’s neck sensitive? Does it bruise easily? Or is it made of tougher skin? Tough enough for the biter to have to give a few minutes of devoted biting just for the reds to start showing? Is Nakamura just as quiet and meek as he is in everyday life? Or is his louder in private? How would Nakamura react if Hirose was the one doing any of this?
Hirose doesn’t even weigh the implications of that train of thought. He’s too busy already fantasizing himself in Nakamura’s room- on his bed, more specifically- and sitting on his lap and slowly unbuttoning his shirt. Nakamura has him held by his hips. Hirose is nosing the newly revealed column of his neck, before sinking his teeth ever so slightly on the same part he’s been staring the entire day. The part with the wretched love bite. He’s biting into his skin harshly, then nibbling gently, all the while Nakamura is softly groaning into the air and pulling him flush with his fingertips pressing against his shirt.
“Aiki Hirose, number 14” the teacher’s thoughts interrupt his daydream “Read from page 14”
Hirose dutifully reads the page. It’s a bunch of philosophical frivolities about believing the good in everyone. The only reason Hirose cares enough to try imbibing what the book has to say is because he’s too red and freaked by the sort of fantasies he’s been conjuring. When the teacher asks him to sit, he takes it as a sign to focus on the literature lesson obediently and not let his thoughts slip to dangerous territories again. He starts underlining random phrases and makes tiny doodles on the corners of his notebook. The horrible excuse of a crab’s drawing is still better than what entailed as his pastime just a few minutes ago.
The bell rings and the students sigh in relief and excitedly tuck their books away for the long awaited lunch time.
When he looks at Nakamura bringing out his bento for the day, their eyes happen to meet. Nakamura gives a shy wave and then looks away red faced, rubbing the back of his neck.
Hirose freezes. Did Nakamura figure that Hirose found out about his hickey? Hirose gulps thickly and fiddles with his thumbs. If Nakamura confronts him about this, what will he say? Will he tell him he was unnerved by Hirose’s constant staring? Will he tell him about the boy who gave it to him? Will Nakamura be happy about it? Will he tell him all the nitty gritty details just like his other friends did about the deeds they did with their partners?
Hirose feels a little like throwing up. He hasn’t even stared on his bento.
“Hirose!” Takeuchi calls “Come here and check this game out!”
The seating arrangement is determined through a draw of lots, and it just so happens that Takeuchi’s seat is right across Nakamura’s. Hirose makes a beeline to Takeuchi’s bench and sits on the chair already pulled aside for him, avoiding any eye contact with Nakamura or that bite. He whips out his phone and starts downloading whatever game Takeuchi wants to hook him and Mukai up to. He idly listens to him talking about rankings and the power moves and the hot character he wants to wife in-game as soon as he gets enough coins, all the while checking in on himself that his head and thoughts stay firmly away from Nakamura.
“Nakamura” he hears someone shyly call out from him. He ever so slightly turns his head towards Nakamura’s chair, enough to spot the person from the corner of his eyes. He spots braids and glasses and he figures out who it is.
“Good afternoon, Kawamura” Nakamura replies curtly “Do you want your, um, book back? I’m not done with it yet, but if you give me a few more days–”
“No! You can keep it till you finish reading. This isn’t about that. Um…” he sees her shuffle about. Then, he sees her lean in right next to Nakamura’s ears.But whatever she has to say to him, he hears nothing.
“What?”
Nakamura’s shout rings across their area of the classroom. Even his friends glance at Nakamura for a second. When Hirose whips his head around to face Nakamura fully, their eyes meet once more. Nakamura squeaks and pulls his gakuran collar up, looking at the floor as if teleportation right then be utter salvation. Nakamura isn’t popular enough for the attention to be on him for more than a few seconds, but Hirose has kept his attention latched on him the entire day to connect the dots on what Kawamura might have informed him of. He scoots his chair a little towards Nakamura’s bench to hear more of their conversation.
“I’m so sorry you had to tell me this, Kawamura” Nakamura apologizes with his head bowed “I had no clue”
“It’s okay, I don’t think anyone noticed” then, after a beat “So is it him again?”
Him?
So there is a him.
Of course. Hirose deduced that earlier; but of course there is a him.
“O-Obviously” Nakamura wheezes, voice barely together “I knew he was a little rough this morning, but he usually never marks like this”
What?
Nakamura’s words register in Hirose’s head in bits and pieces; each one hitting harder than the last.
A little rough. This morning. Usually never marks.
So, according to everything Hirose knows till now, he can safely document that there is a guy in Nakamura’s life.
And he makes out with him in the mornings.
The place is still unknown.
But it is done enough times for it to be a usual occurrence.
And that guy, accidentally or on purpose, managed to give Nakamura a bright and blooming hickey.
Hirose feels a little like being put on the dentist’s chair right before the anesthesia hits. Consciousness slips in and out periodically. The students are chattering and Takeuchi is talking about his in-game wife looking like Yuuka and Mukai is reprimanding him for liking a girl who has no interest in him and Kawamura is softly giggling behind in the background. It’s all so wonderfully mundane, just like any other day, that it’s impossible for anyone to spot that Hirose’s world has been tipped off its axis. The words from the conversation he eavesdropped moments ago echo through his brain like he’s having a nightmare.
A little rough. Usually never marks. Usually. This morning.
Hirose mumbles some excuse about having to pee and rushes out of the door.
In the bathroom he splashes water on his face. The water is cold and refreshing to his hot and irritable skin. He looks at himself in the mirror- water dripping down his cheeks, clutching the sides of the sink.
What the fuck is he doing?
Why is he even losing his shit over Nakamura getting a hickey? A lot of guys their age have that! It’s one of the rites of passage to dating someone. Hormones, heat of the moment, et cetera. He’s seen his friends with similar marks on their body. He’s caught students in their school in way worse and more compromising positions.
This should not be freaking him out.
But it really was.
Hirose sighs heavily into the afternoon air. His face starts drying up. The post splash clarity dawns on him.
He should just...ask him about it.
He is going to drive himself up a wall if he bottles up more questions and scenarios. He should just…lay it out in the open and get concrete answers. That will solve it all. The vexation, the speculation, the mortification. It can all go away in a swipe when he faces the facts.
Hirose rushes to the classroom again as the bell rings. He steers his focus to the classes until the very end of the day. He only glimpses at Nakamura’s neck half as much as earlier.
He ignores his friends’ requests to hang out at a cafe their crushes just happen to have mentioned visiting that day and dashes to the gate as soon as he sees Nakamura leave. Nakamura has his gakuran tied and pulled uncomfortably up in an attempt to cover his entire neck's length. Hirose manages to corner him right by the shoe lockers when most of the school has already passed.
He takes a deep breath. He starts as off handedly as he can
“Hey there, Nakamura!”
Nakamura startles. He turns on his heel to see him.
“H-Hello, Hirose”
Silence stretches for a few seconds.
“Nakamura, I…I was just wondering-”
“Yes?” Nakamura cuts him off, eyes glinting with hope. Hope for what exactly, Hirose is unable to decipher. Hirose taps his toes on the ground and plays with his feet.
“You have a…” Hirose points at his own neck. He tries sounding as neutral as possible. He tries looking as nonchalant as ever. He’s just pointing out something on his body. Something as common as a twig stuck to his hair or ketchup on the corner of his mouth. Chill, casual, lowkey.
Nakamura flushes red and becomes increasingly jumpy.
“Ah”
Hirose doesn’t tell him that he noticed it the very second Nakamura walked into first period 2 minutes late. He doesn’t want to come off as the creep he surely thinks he has been the entire day. Nakamura is still rubbing his neck and looking away in embarrassment. Hirose tries to play the curiously teasing friend
“So! Who’s the lucky guy? Are you guys…canoodling?”
Who the fuck even says that?
Nakamura squeaks and shakes his head violently before Hirose has a chance to start digging the hole he plans on hiding in forevermore.
“W-What? There’s no one-”
Seeing him so flustered, all the while denying the existence of a guy Hirose knows exists, shoots up his frustration to an all time high. So, in a fit of fury, he lunges forward and practically rips the first two buttons of his gakuran and collared shirt in one go. He yanks the collar until it’s at a threat to permanently stretch out and deform and almost all of Nakamura’s collarbone is visible.
And that’s when he sees two more bruises.
Hirose gasps, absolutely appalled.
How can Nakamura have the gall to lie to his face and say there was nothing and no one when he’s carrying an incriminating series of makeout evidence on his body? All red, purple, pronounced and perfectly circular? Is it even possible to mold things like these? He’s always seen them shaped irregular and splotched, much like bruises emerging from any other injury.
Hirose narrows in on the shape. It’s such a perfect circle that it almost seems like it’s not made by a human; much less a hormonal, sloppy, hot and bothered teenage guy–
Hirose blinks.
“Icchan?”
He says it like it’s a foreign word. Like he's new and alien, even though he’s met him a handful of times.
Nakamura takes a small step backwards. Hirose loosens his death grip on the collar. Nakamura pulls his gakuran back from Hirose’s hands and tries straightening it and covering himself up again.
“H-He slipped out from his aquarium again. Usually he only clings on my arm or face and the marks fade by school time” Nakamura pulls up his uniform the best he can to show the faded suction marks dotted along his arm “T-today…I don’t know what happened. He was right next to my neck and he was sucking really p-painfully. I guess…maybe he didn’t like that I switched up his food last night? I tried experimenting with a different flavour”
Hirose stands there utterly petrified. He feels like a gigantic idiot.
He spent the entire day spiraling down because Icchan had escaped his aquarium and latched onto his owner.
He got distressed…because of a pet octopus.
He probably should be laughing right now. It’s funny! He should be laughing and his own stupidity and misunderstanding and Nakamura should be joining in and they should be musing on how this story would be a timeless classic for generations to come.
Instead, he stares at the now covered neck and feels himself burning up with shame as his brain catapults the fantasy he dreamt up during fourth period. Of being in his bed, of taking off his clothes, of imagining the ways Nakamura would react if Hirose was the one attacking his neck.
Is he even worthy of facing Nakamura after having that scandalous dream? Shy, sweet, friendly Nakamura who was just being loved too much by his own pet. Innocent Nakamura, who obviously never thought of Hirose in all the scintillating, outrageous ways Hirose did that day.
“H-Hirose?”
Hirose presses his lips together tightly. His voice cracks.
“Mhm?”
“It looked weird, didn’t it?” Nakamura looks away, pulling his collar up to the point it starts hiding his chin “S-sorry…I’ll put on some band-aid tomorrow. You won’t see it then”
“That’s good” Hirose blurts out. Nakamura flinches a little.
“Good?”
Hirose nods, smiling and sighing in relief.
“It’s good that Icchan was the one who made those marks and not some other guy”
Shit.
“Wuh?”
Nakamura sputters and turns his head to face Hirose again. His mouth opens a fraction, eyes wide and red faced with dumbfoundedness, embarrassment and adorable helplessness all at once. His arms limply hang on either side of him. Hirose can almost see his mind tuning blank.
Which is a perfect contrast of his own thoughts, which are kicked into overdrive and panic. Because really, what else can be the implication of Hirose not wanting any other guy to mark Nakamura so other than the fact that Hirose—
Hirose finds himself at a loss of words so badly, that he does the first thing that comes to his mind when he feels like he’s put in a vulnerable spot.
He runs.
He makes a bad excuse about taking his sister to the salon and runs like the wind. He hears Nakamura flabbergasted in the background and he almost instinctively turns back but not today. He just cannot face him. Not when he’s laid himself so bare about something he didn’t even know he felt in the first place.
He runs and runs and runs all the way to his front door and then runs some more to his bedroom. If his home was all the way in the frigidness of Antarctica, he would have run till there too.
The next day, Nakamura shows up to class with a turtleneck under his gakuran.
It covers his entire neck. He looks at Hirose bashfully when he sits down on his bench a minute before first period; curious and expectant, silently asking a question with his eyes.
Hirose gives a reassuring thumbs up. Nakamura relaxes and breathes out in relief and the lesson starts.
Hirose plays with his pen- the one Nakamura gifted him- and his octopus hickeys are still all he can think about.
Hirose presses his cheek against his table and towards his desk and he’s back in Nakamura’s room. He thinks of straddling his waist, of ripping his turtleneck off, of bigger and more misshapen marks on his neck. Of more misshapen marks in many other places. Of his mouth travelling the entire expanse of his skin as more and more clothes shed.
This time, the implications of his train of thought comes with startling clarity.
He wants to be the only one giving Nakamura hickeys.