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This has got to be the most uncomfortable meal of Fuma’s life.
Having meals out with people already is a decently torturous affair - Fuma prefers solitude, needs it, given how they’re constantly surrounded by a slew of managers and staff and production crew. He needs space to drop all his pretenses and just be himself.
Recently, a lot of his space has been invaded by Yudai. Fuma had initially been anxious about the idea of dating Yudai, about the space he’d have to sacrifice, but he was surprised to find that his heart had already made a space for Yudai, that he’d need Yudai to fill it, so that worked out, in its own way. They spend time together wherever they can, and given they’re both so busy, Yudai especially, Fuma is happy with whatever he can get.
Yudai, however, always tries to demand more. He’s always trying to squeeze out little pockets of time, little stolen moments, wheedling and cajoling and conniving his way into getting more time with Fuma. Fuma is grateful for Yudai’s persistence; he would never have the courage to ask that much for himself, and he appreciates every moment they get to spend together.
Today marks the first time that Fuma feels otherwise.
They’re flying off to L.A. later tonight, and their schedule for the next few weeks is packed solid, so Yudai has decided that they need a proper date night out. Nevermind that they’ve never actually had a real date out before, except for that one time in Kagawa where Yudai had ambushed Fuma with a date and he’d had no choice but to be swept along into it. Fukuoka doesn’t count either - it was just a couple of extra drinks after their team dinner, and not really a proper date per se. This time, Yudai has blocked Fuma’s schedule in advance, giving Fuma enough time to get properly anxious about it. What do people do on dates? Should he dress up? But they’ll be heading for dinner right after a whole day of fanmeetings, wouldn’t it be weird if Fuma wore anything other than his usual casual outfit?
In the end, Fuma decides not to deviate too far from how he’d typically dress - light-wash denim bottoms and a pale checked shirt (not the blue one that he’d accidentally twinned in with Jo), accessorising with his usual rings and bracelet, along with the slim silver watch that Yudai had said made him look expensive. And, given that it’s a date, he’d bought a small bouquet of flowers the day before - small enough to hide in his bag all day, though he had to be very careful not to squash it. He wanted to congratulate Yudai on Blue Lock, too; it premiered a couple of days ago, so he’d drawn a little caricature of Yudai as Nagi and himself as Reo, and with the help of some fan blogs he’d studied, got it printed at the nearby convenience store and cut it into a small photocard, slipping it neatly into a plain plastic sleeve, then into a tiny envelope that he wedged into the bouquet.
He’s waiting outside the carpark, light grey beanie hiding his bleached hair, when Yudai finally emerges from the building. He raises an arm to wave Yudai over but is interrupted by someone running over from behind a parked car. At first, Fuma panics, thinking that a stalker or a crazy fan had somehow been lying in ambush, but Yudai greets the person loudly.
“Keito! What on earth are you doing here?”
Keito laughs, bright and full. “You told me you’d be here! And I thought we could grab dinner before you guys head off to the States!” He brandishes a large bouquet of flowers at Yudai. “Congratulations on the movie premiere!”
Yudai buries his face in the blooms, taking a deep sniff. “You’re in the movie too, idiot!” He’s admonishing Keito, but his eyes are warm and fond.
Yudai finally spots Fuma and waves him over. “Fuma, look what Keito got me! Isn’t it pretty?”
Up close, Fuma sees that Keito’s bouquet is predominantly blue, interspersed with sprays of white baby’s breath and wrapped in fancy dark paper. It’s so big that Yudai looks almost dainty holding it. Fuma thinks of the small bouquet he bought, squished up in his bag. It’s probably wilted by now, he should just throw it out when they get home.
“I’m forgetting myself! You guys haven’t met, right? Fuma, this is Keito, the Reo to my Nagi! Keito, this is my group member, Fuma!”
Fuma goes for a polite bow but Keito sticks out his hand for a handshake, so Fuma extends his own, letting Keito grab it in both hands and shake it enthusiastically.
“Keito-san, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Fuma-kun, please, you’re older than me! No need to be so formal.” Keito laughs again. He seems to hold an abundance of it, emotions running close to the surface, friendly energy radiating from his face, a sharp contrast with the stiffness that has overtaken Fuma’s own.
“Fuma, you don’t mind if Keito joins us for dinner, right? Could you call a taxi? I’ll update our reservation.”
Yudai and Keito engage in a friendly tussle, Keito insisting that he doesn’t want to intrude, but Yudai blocks his flailing arms with the bouquet, already on the phone with the restaurant. Fuma gets them a taxi, and then they’re off, Keito and Yudai chattering away in the back seat while Fuma rides in front, silently staring out the windshield.
The restaurant is tucked away down a quiet side street, the interior dark and sleek, the other patrons all dressed sharply in elegant monotones. Keito blends right in, in his blazer and slacks, while Fuma feels horribly out of place. The server apologises - they weren’t able to prepare a larger table on such short notice, so he leads them to one of the many booths that line the walls. Fuma slides in on one side, making space for Yudai to sit next to him, but after another jocular disagreement, Keito sits next to Fuma instead, so that Yudai can sit across from them and have enough space to prop his bouquet up in the corner. The booth was probably only meant for two, so with the three of them, things are a little too cosy for Fuma. He presses up against the wall as much as he can, feeling like half Keito’s size as he and Yudai excitedly pore over the menu and order whatever they think the three of them will like.
While Yudai is in the restroom, Keito turns to Fuma.
“I really didn’t mean to crash your dinner,” he says, earnest and open.
Fuma fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves, rolled up over his forearms. “That’s alright, Keito-san,” pulling his lips up into what he hopes is a friendly smile. Keito is basically still a stranger, and Fuma can’t relax enough to address him plainly. “Kei-hyu-... Kei always talks about how much he misses you guys.”
“Yeah! We hung out way too much when we were filming, and now we’ve all got withdrawal, you know? I’m sure you two get to have dinner like this all the time, right? Must be nice!”
Their drinks arrive, and Keito passes Fuma his, making random small talk that Fuma does his best to respond to. He’s relieved when Yudai returns so he’s no longer the centre of attention. They throw him the odd question here and there, but the majority of dinner ends up being spent reminiscing funny stories from their days filming the movie, or recounting anecdotes about the other cast members. Fuma turns his focus entirely to the food: pulling the assorted yakitori off their skewers so it’s easier for the three of them to share, nudging the tiny pots of chili and sansho powder towards the centre of the table so that both Yudai and Keito can reach them, then nibbling quietly on his own.
Keito is so different from him. He’s boundlessly expressive, a bonafide extrovert, and matches Yudai’s energy perfectly. He makes a lame dad joke, and Yudai dissolves in a fit of giggles. He scans the sake list with a practiced eye, ordering one that makes Yudai swoon over the complex flavours. Yudai gets a dab of sauce on his chin; Fuma doesn’t dare to help him with it, in case Keito figures out there’s something going on between the two of them, but Keito beats him to it anyway, chuckling as he pulls out his phone camera so Yudai can check that he’s wiped it all off.
They’re trying to decide what carbs to end their meal with, when Yudai looks at Fuma.
“Are you feeling cold, Fuma? Maybe we should get the chicken soup with rice?”
Fuma looks down, only just noticing that he’s got his sleeves unrolled all the way, pulled down over his hands. He hides them in his lap.
“Get whatever you guys want. I’m pretty full already.”
Yudai cocks his head to the side, a flash of concern crossing his face, but Keito has already summoned the server for his recommendations. They end up getting the rice and soup anyway, two portions to split between the three of them, Keito and Yudai fighting over how much each of them gets to dole out into Fuma’s bowl. Yudai heaps on way too much, and Keito, noticing Fuma’s look of dismay, quietly swaps Fuma’s bowl for his own, smaller portion, Fuma nodding his thanks with a wry smile.
Keito gets up to use the restroom, and Fuma follows on the pretext of using the restroom too, but turns the other way at the corner so he can settle the bill. He’s just about to insert his card into the machine when he’s stopped by a hand on his wrist - Keito has somehow returned from the restroom in record time, and Fuma is caught.
“Let me get this, Fuma-kun. You were already generous enough to let me join, this is the least I can do.” He beams winsomely up at Fuma, so Fuma relents. Some small, petty part of him had wanted to find fault, but Keito seems to genuinely just be a really great person. Fuma feels inexplicably crushed at the thought.
“Thanks, Keito-san. Kei is really lucky to have you.”
There’s an awkward pause as both Fuma and the server turn away so Keito can enter the passcode for his credit card, then the payment goes through and the server hands him the receipt.
“He’s lucky to have you too, Fuma-kun. Maybe more than you know.” He winks playfully at Fuma, linking arms with him and walking them back to the table so that Yudai can scold them both in turn: Fuma for attempting to stealthily pay for dinner in the first place, Keito for one-upping him and actually paying for dinner, then Fuma again, for letting Keito get away with it. Keito plays along, exaggerated remorse on his face, then guffaws heartily when Yudai calls him out on it.
Fuma feels his shoulders curving in as he shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. He can’t wait to get home.
The taxi ride back to their dorm is silent, especially compared to how loudly Keito had waved them off before grabbing his own ride, throwing the “K” sign at them up until the very last second. The bouquet of blue flowers sits in Yudai’s lap; Fuma keeps his own bag on his, fingers playing with the edge of his shirt sleeve, rubbing at the soft fabric. Yudai is looking at his phone, chuckling as taps on it before putting it away.
“I’m so glad you got to meet Keito! Isn’t he just so fun to be around?”
The plastic wrapping around the small bouquet in Fuma’s bag is sticking out past the open zipper. Fuma pulls his bag upright to hide it, the crinkle of plastic loud in the car.
“You know, he’s convinced I have the biggest crush on you. He’s always trying to get me to ask you out.”
Fuma whips his head around to find Yudai already staring back, the look on his face tender and soft and too much for Fuma right now. He fixes his gaze on his sleeves, fisting his hands inside them.
“I guess I talk about you too much? I think the cast might have a betting pool going about how I’ll do it and when.”
Fuma feels weirdly choked up. He clears his throat to speak.
“I don’t know, I feel like you’d have a better chance asking Keito-san out instead.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
Fuma had spent most of dinner listing up the ways Keito would make a way better partner for Yudai, but he doesn’t dare to admit to any of it.
“He buys you nicer flowers than I do,” he blurts out, only because Yudai seems to want an answer out of him.
“Fuma,” Yudai says, and Fuma shivers involuntarily at how much affection he can squeeze into just one word. “Perchance have you got flowers for me concealed in that bag of yours?”
He shakes his head, but Yudai already has his hands on Fuma’s bag, pulling the bouquet out. It’s only a few flowers, white and purple and a little bent from being in Fuma’s bag all day. Embarrassed, Fuma tries to at least snatch the homemade photocard back, but Yudai is faster, and Fuma is a breath away from throwing himself out of the moving taxi just to avoid whatever is coming next.
“Fuma…” Yudai says again. Fuma’s nails dig painfully into his palms.
“It was a stupid idea, and we have a flight to catch tonight so the flowers wouldn’t have lasted anyway, you should just throw them out, I don’t know why I bothered, I-”
“You can’t just do shit like this.”
There’s a harsh, scratchy tone to Yudai’s voice, and Fuma hates himself so much. He hates how he put so much stock into a stupid dinner date, he hates how much he stressed over his outfit, he hates the way he carried his bag around so gingerly the whole day today, he hates all the time he spent fighting the convenience store printer until it gave him the right printout sizes. He hates how all of it had unravelled just because someone funnier and smarter and more charismatic than him had just waltzed in, effortlessly clicking with the only person he’s ever wanted.
“I know, I’m sorry, please, just give it back.”
There’s a horrible, pregnant pause, where neither of them says anything and Yudai doesn’t return the bouquet. Fuma chances a glance up at Yudai: the tiny envelope is open and he’s turning the photocard over, examining the combined Blue Lock and &TEAM logo that Fuma had designed for the back. The Blue Lock colours had reminded him of their first concert tour, so he’d added little wolf paws to a couple of the letters, white text on a blue background. It had taken quite a bit of careful measuring and glueing for Fuma to align both the back and the front perfectly and stick them together, and the result looks so pathetically amateurish in Yudai’s hand.
“Yudai, you don’t have to keep it, just give it back, we’ll just pretend like nothing happened.”
Yudai looks up from the photocard. His eyes are shining with tears, lips pulled wide like he can’t decide between laughing and crying.
“You have a way of making people fall in love with you, you know that? You’re always doing shit like this and I’m always falling in love with you over and over again.”
Fuma sniffs and turns away. He can’t decide if he should laugh or cry, either.
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”
Yudai leans over, pushing one of Fuma’s sleeves up so he can wrap a hand around his fist. His fingers press insistently until Fuma relaxes enough to let him lace their fingers together; Fuma doesn’t realise how tense he’d been until it all uncoils at Yudai’s touch.
“It’s a horrible thing. The worst.” Yudai punctuates his words by squeezing Fuma’s hand tight. “You gave me the sweetest little photocard and made me cry. I hate you so much.”
“I thought I just made you fall in love with me again?”
“Two things can be true at the same time.”
“You can both love and hate me?”
“I can do both those things. I can do all the things!” Here, Yudai tugs at Fuma’s hand so he’ll look up, right into Yudai’s eyes. “As long as I’m with you.”
Without so much as a blink, Fuma replies. “That was so gross, I think I’m going to be sick.”
Yudai nods. “That’s a reasonable response. But don’t do it in here, taxi cleaning fees are exorbitant.” The look in Yudai’s eyes is steely and determined, but Fuma has never lost a staring contest in his life, and he’s not about to start now.
“I’ll just hold it in my mouth until we get home, then.”
“Yes, then you can be sick as much as you please.”
“Sounds like a party.”
Yudai is too focused on keeping his eyes open to come up with a reply. Fuma juts his chin out, bringing his face closer and closer to Yudai’s, then he pecks him on the lips, eyes wide open the whole time, just because he can.
Yudai reels back with a melodramatic gasp, though his grip on Fuma’s hand doesn’t let up in the slightest.
“Now we’ll have to bribe the taxi driver into keeping his mouth shut!” His stage whisper is very much more stage than it is whisper.
“I’m sure he’s got both eyes on the road, Yudai. Right, sir?”
They quickly discover that the taxi driver is rather hard of hearing, and once they get his attention, they’re treated to a lengthy diatribe about the young people nowadays and how they get up to all sorts of hanky-panky in his vehicle, and how it doesn’t bother him half as much as the state of the economy these days, have they heard of the latest half-assed stopgap measures? What he wouldn’t do to give these ministers a piece of his mind!
He’s just about to regale Fuma and Yudai with exactly what that piece of his mind would sound like, when the taxi mercifully pulls up just across the street from their dorm. Getting out of the taxi requires a bit of wrangling because Yudai refuses to let go of Fuma’s hand, but they finally manage to tumble out, Fuma doing one last check to make sure they haven’t left anything behind, and then the taxi takes off.
The traffic light changes and Fuma tries to cross the street, but Yudai is rooted to the spot.
“Fuu-chan,” he starts, biting his lip. “I’m sorry I ruined our date.”
This is the point where Fuma should get mad, probably. Tell Yudai off for not knowing Fuma better, or for knowing Fuma better than he knows himself yet choosing to subject him to the most uncomfortable meal of his life anyway. Rail at Yudai for daring to call someone else the Reo to his Nagi, for being so irresistibly attractive that the entire movie cast is clearly helplessly enamoured with him. Offload all his pathetic insecurities onto Yudai so he can feel just as wretched as Fuma had been for the last couple of hours.
Instead, he squeezes Yudai’s hand, fingers pressing one by one into his knuckles, playing a melody he doesn’t quite know, letting the warmth from Yudai’s palm settle deep in his ribcage.
“Don’t worry about it, Yudai. I blame Keito-san entirely.”
Yudai coughs out a laugh. “Oh yeah?”
“I can’t believe he added himself to my LINE contact list then had the gall to send me a cute sticker. He’s incorrigible.”
“Oh yes, he’s the worst,” Yudai giggles.
Fuma takes offence. “I thought I was the worst!”
“Oh! I’m sorry sweetheart, you’re right, you’re definitely the absolute worst. Also, your LINE sticker choices are definitely much cuter than Keito’s.”
Fuma grins, satisfied. They have to wait for the light to turn green again, and then they have to finish packing the last of their things for their trip (Yudai probably hasn’t even begun packing yet, and Fuma will inevitably be roped in to help), but for now, Fuma lets Yudai press up against him and rest his head on his shoulder, two bouquets cradled ridiculously in his free arm, and that little photocard tucked into his breast pocket, right next to his heart.