Archive of Our Own

It starts off fairly innocent.

To be fair, it’s not even Mizuki’s fault. It’s the curse’s, because anything and everything wrong with Mizuki’s life can be traced back to it.

Scowling, Mizuki rummages through his desk, and when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he swivels his head to scrutinize the desks on his nearby classmates suspiciously.

Illari arches her brow at him challengingly, so Mizuki quickly drops his glare at her. Illari could be intimidating when she wanted to be, but he doesn’t think it’s like her to steal. But he doesn’t put it past his other classmates who are more… questionable in nature to do so, particularly if it was to play a joke on his expense.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Hana, who catches him glaring at her, flashes him an innocent smile. If Mizuki was a lesser man (he scorns her online fans, what did she call them whenever she streamed again? Chad? Chat?), he might have fallen for it.

Mizuki glowers harder.

“Uh… You good?” From the side, Wuyang waits for him worriedly.

The bell had just rang, signalling the beginning of lunch time, and the classroom was already partially empty. Wuyang’s already finished packing up, everything put away in a green messenger bag that he’s slung casually over a shoulder.

Mizuki likes to take his time keeping his things, especially after each class. His pencil case first, his textbooks, and then finally the lucky charm. There’s a sort of calm the routine provides to him, a reassurance that the curse won’t activate in the middle of the day and slaughter the entire class or something.

Despite how slow he takes, Wuyang always waits for him before heading to the cafeteria together. Mizuki’s not sure how it started, this odd friendship (--if that’s what he can call it, because even if there are times Mizuki has spent a second too long looking at Wuyang in areas he definitely shouldn’t have been or if he sometimes admired Wuyang’s features a little more than what was socially acceptable for two guys who hung out regularly together, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything at all--) that’s developed between the both of them.

But right now, Mizuki has more pressing matters to deal with.

His lucky charm.

It’s…

“Gone.” Mizuki snaps. He checks the front pocket of his bag again, and when that fails, pats the pockets of his blazers. “Gone,” he repeats, this time disbelievingly.

Which should be impossible, given that the seller had explicitly promised Mizuki that it was impossible to lose.

Wuyang shuffles his feet uncertainly. If Mizuki wasn’t feeling so anxious, he might’ve thought that the scrunched up expression of his was cute. “The red amulet?”

“I know I put it here.” Mizuki raps on the edge of his desk. And then he adds, with the conviction of a sentenced man, “Someone took it.”

“We can look for it later if you want.” Wuyang offers. He glances at the doorway, where the last of their classmates were leaving. The room’s almost empty now aside from the both of them. “C’mon, they’re gonna run out of baozi. I’ll just get you another amulet after school instead.”

“Yes,” Mizuki explains patiently, “But I need it to be this one. It’s just… different.”

How could he explain it to Wuyang? That it feels incomplete now, that even though he’s kept everything away, that his desk is cleared, it still feels as though he's left something important behind. Mood soured, Mizuki goes back to scowling at the floor.

Wuyang seems to consider his statement thoughtfully.

But Mizuki gives a little huff. “Just go. I’ll catch up.”

Which is a lie, and the both of them probably know it. Mizuki’s going to spend the entire lunchtime scrutinizing every mark of the floor and bristling at classmates that look a little too long in his general direction.

And Mizuki had really wanted to play the newest patch of Mecha Guardian with Wuyang too.

Muttering underneath his breath crossly, Mizuki flips open his bag again, just to be sure the lucky charm hadn’t fallen in when he hadn’t been looking.

Wuyang still doesn’t budge from where he’s standing.

“Well?” Mizuki prompts unhappily, rummaging through his stuff. “Go on ahead.”

Just his luck to lose yet another charm. Technically, Mizuki supposes he could always ask Lady Shion for more. She would undoubtedly provide him with more funds to get another, or anything he wanted, really, but he’d rather not ask her help if he could.

Wuyang leans over.

“What’re you--” Mizuki starts to say, before he stops.

All brain activity in Mizuki screeches into a sudden halt as Wuyang takes his hand.

Wuyang’s always been open with his affections. A pat on the back, casual bumps on the shoulder, or the occasional ruffling of hair. But this is different.

Mizuki’s not going to pretend he’s never thought about it. Somewhere along the lines of their friendship, his appreciation and admiration for Wuyang had turned into something fonder. And it was meant to end there.

But both of Wuyang’s hands are on Mizuki’s, completely engulfing it. The action is small, but the effect it has on Mizuki is instant. It feels… gentle.

Intimate.

Mizuki stops breathing.

Wuyang’s saying something. Mizuki can see his lips moving, and wow, okay, maybe that wasn’t the best idea, because now he’s focusing on the lines of Wuyang’s mouth and the faint shine on his lips.

And why are Wuyang’s hands so warm?

With great effort, Mizuki slowly tears his gaze upwards to meet Wuyang’s eyes. Mentally he’s frantically wracking his brain wondering what Mizuki’s said to have caused this to have happened.

Fuck, Wuyang had stopped talking. What was the last thing he said?

“Huh?” Mizuki says intelligently, struggling to sound nonchalant.

Wuyang blinks back. For a fraction of a second, he doesn’t respond, and Mizuki’s panicking if he’d accidentally said anything out loud.

But Wuyang continues on, because it’s Wuyang, and if there’s anything Mizuki’s learned from all the time they’ve spent together is that if there’s anything the guy genuinely enjoys doing, it’s yapping. Wuyang probably talks to himself even when there's no one in the room.

“Well...” Wuyang carefully takes his hands back, dammit, Mizuki had been looking pretty weirdly at him, hadn’t he? “I mean, I know that pretty much nothing can replace you and your onamori, but… maybe this can be a temporary replacement.”

Mizuki stares at him with amazement.

“Anran jie said I always had good luck! So maybe… that translates well for you.”

His voice trails off a little in the end, but Wuyang’s still looking back at him earnestly. What was that logic? To be honest, Mizuki still doesn’t really know what fully goes through Wuyang’s mind. But at the same time…

Mizuki would gladly lose all of his lucky charms if it meant that Wuyang would hold his hand again.

Naturally, he doesn’t say any of that out loud. 

“Alright, I guess.” Mizuki says gruffly instead, swallowing.

Wuyang gives him a sideways grin. “You tend to get really nervous especially when it gets colder.”

He did? And Wuyang… knew that?

“I do?” Mizuki echoes, bewildered.

Wuyang quirks an eyebrow up, still smiling. “Yeah? When it’s rainy, or if the temperature drops even just a little, you get like, really grumpy.”

“Oh.” 

“You know what else could warm you up, though?”

”U-um…” Mizuki’s eyes widens. “Like,” he stammers, “Other than hand holding? Like, as in the next step? Or like--

“Some nice, warm, food!” Wuyang hops up from the seat, eyes sparkling. “The baozi are practically calling our names, and man! You’ll feel so much better after eating.”

“Oh. Right.” Mizuki hopes that Wuyang doesn’t hear the disappointment in his voice. “I knew that.”

He half-heartedly slings his bag over his shoulder. But Mizuki can’t say that he’s too depressed over it, though. The need to find his amulet is seemingly gone. Or at least, the tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that had been persistently insisting on finding the good luck charm is blessedly silent. Although it might’ve been just from the shock from Mizuki’s unplanned heart palpitations.

The cause of said palpitations glances back curiously at Mizuki, already at the doorway. “You coming?” Wuyang calls.

Maybe it really would be okay.

“Yeah,” Mizuki replies. “Let’s go.”

He quickens his pace to meet Wuyang at the door.

Good luck charm or not, it still doesn’t change the fact that Mizuki’s hands are still tingling from warmth. 

Nothing goes wrong that day.

At first, Mizuki is suspicious. After all, normal is something he’s never experienced. Or-- doesn’t. Mizuki doesn’t do normal. He’s used to mirrors shattering the moment he so much as lays eyes on them, needles sticking from unfortunate places, or coins mysteriously vanishing after leaving them in places he knows he last saw.

But his textbooks are miraculously where he left them, no fire starts throughout the day and all reflections are left intact even after Mizuki gives a nervous glance at himself. He’s still not taking any chances, though. By the time the bell had rang, signalling the end of class, Mizuki hadn’t waited before frantically making his way back home.

Nothing bad happened on the way back. Even the tabby cat that usually hissed in warning at Mizuki whenever he got too close to it purred-- actually purred!-- as Mizuki passed by its usual spot.

Like his bad luck had completely disappeared. Like if he was carrying his omanori.

As if on cue, Mizuki’s skin tingles.

Had what Wuyang said really worked? The… hand holding?

Lying on his bed facing the ceiling, Mizuki flushes at the memory. No, he tells himself sternly, Mizuki was not going to overthink it. But it was all too easy for him to remember Wuyang’s smile, kind and open. The genuine concern in his eyes. And his hands--

Wuyang’s face, bare inches away from his.

You tend to get really nervous especially when it gets colder.

Wuyang noticed. Wuyang notices Mizuki.

Rolling over, face fully warm now, Mizuki lets out a dreamy sigh into his blankets. Then he slowly rolls back, facing the ceiling again, blank-faced.

This is ridiculous, Mizuki thinks to himself, unhappily. Mizuki’s overthinking this. Wuyang doesn’t like him in the way Mizuki does. He’s seen the way Wuyang interacts with his other friends too, and there’s not much of a difference. Just because he spends more time with Wuyang doesn’t mean anything else about their friendship. And just because Wuyang decides to hold his hands once doesn’t mean anything else, either.

Oh well. At least Mizuki had the chance to hold Wuyang’s hand once, even if it was for just a few seconds.

Or at least, that’s what should’ve happened.

The sun blazes unforgivingly down on the class.

Mizuki puts a hand up to shield his eyes.

Just his luck. It’s been chilly all week, and the universe decides to give him a day rivalling the heat of the Sahara Desert on the day he has PE.

Mr. Winston’s droning on and on about the rules of the game they’re about to play or something, but it’s hard to focus on his voice when all Mizuki wants to do is to go back into shade. The heat’s affecting even the usually more cheerful students of the class as well. Next to him, Kiriko’s sitting crossed legged on the ground, dazedly tugging at the grass. A little away, Juno’s hunched like a sad melted ice cream under the shadow Mr. Winston casts on the ground.

So, when Wuyang bounces over to him, Mizuki barely pays attention to him.

“Hot day, huh?” Wuyang whispers.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Murmurs Mizuki back, earning a laugh from Wuyang.

He grins at Mizuki, eyes twinkling. His hair seems to have been hurriedly put up, a few strands peeking out from behind his ears. Wuyang’s red earring flutters in the wind.

Wuyang, Mizuki thinks to himself distractedly, is the most beautiful thing in the world.

He turns back to concentrate on Mr Winston before he can say anything stupid out loud. Mr. Winston’s using a ruler to point at the whiteboard he had dragged all the way to the center of the field. Illari’s yawning. Normal PE day things.

But then Wuyang slips his hand into Mizuki’s.

Mizuki splutters.

He whips his head back at Wuyang.

Wuyang, who’s… studying Mr. Winston’s whiteboard intently. He’s biting his lips, the way he does whenever he’s trying to pay attention in class. His expression is even, and he’s using his other hand to shield himself from the sun. In other words, Wuyang is…

Completely unbothered.

If not for the fact that he’s literally holding Mizuki’s hand right now, Wuyang’s behavior is otherwise normal.

Kiriko’s eyes widens, and Mizuki swears he can hear her thoughts as she exchanges looks with Hana next to her. Both of them look at Mizuki dead in the eye, and then in the way that only high school girls do when they’re definitely talking shit about you, start giggling.

Mizuki’s ears redden.

“What are you doing?” Mizuki hisses quietly to Wuyang, trying to hide the flush that had spread all over his face. But he doesn’t try to snatch his hand back.

Wuyang has the fucking audacity to look surprised. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks.

“Huh?” 

“T-This!” Mizuki definitely does not stutter as he shoots their linked hands a pointed glare. “Why’d you… Why did…”

“Oh,” says Wuyang. “Sorry.” He awkwardly-- no, fuck, why, no-- retracts from Mizuki. “I thought your lucky charm was still missing.”

“No!!” Mizuki snaps, louder than he intended to. A few heads turn. 

“I mean, no,” Mizuki continued, lowering his voice, trying not to sound too desperate. “It’s still missing. So you can… You can still…” He gulps, squeezing his eyes shut. “Do whatever, I guess.”

There's a pause. 

And then, miraculously, thankfully, Wuyang’s gentle warmth envelopes his hand again.

Mizuki peeks an eye out.

Wuyang’s back to normal, concentrating on the whiteboard again. But there’s a slight smile that previously hadn’t been there on his face. 

Mr. Winston continues on.

Illari yawns again. 

And if Mizuki holds Wuyang's hand stiffly the entire lesson like it's radioactive, that's between him and himself. (And maybe Kiriko, who still won’t stop smirking at him.)

It escalates from then on. At least, that’s the best way Mizuki can put it.

“Heyyy, Mizuki,” Wuyang drawls, in front of his desk.

Mizuki swallows, and has a few seconds to feign nonchalance as Wuyang casually grabs his hand.

“You’ve gotta play Mecha Guardian with me more,” Wuyang chats, oblivious to the internal turmoil he’s plunged Mizuki into. “I think I de-ranked like, three tiers after you left the call last night.”

Mizuki responds with a pained, “Hm.”

“Hana keeps making fun of me.” Grouches Wuyang, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Mizuki’s eyes follow the movement. “And you know when she gets started, she never stops.”

Ever since the day on the field, Wuyang seems to have taken what Mizuki said as permission to hold Mizuki’s hand whenever he feels like it.

Which is fine.

This is normal, Mizuki told himself, as he turned purple in the face from the lack of oxygen as Wuyang laughed at something Genji said, hand still in Mizuki’s.

Nothing wrong with it at all, Mizuki told himself, forcing the muscles in his cheeks to lift in a weak attempt at a smile as the both of them walk together after school to the gaming cafe, Wuyang swinging their joint hands together while talking animatedly.

Mizuki is totally fine with it. He is! Really! His heart feels like it’s soaring every time Wuyang so much as grins at him.

But at the same time it’s not.

Because-- and Mizuki hates himself for it, hates himself for even considering it-- what if? Being able to touch Wuyang so casually, so constantly, has left Mizuki wishing that they were…

Mizuki doesn’t dare to let himself finish the thought.

Wuyang and Mizuki are friends. They’re not… anything else. Wouldn’t be. Wuyang’s actions are no different than a good friend’s. Wuyang is the most empathetic person Mizuki knows, and that makes him compassionate. Wuyang would’ve done the same for anyone else in Mizuki’s position.

Surprisingly, nothing Mizuki considers as occurrences from his bad luck has happened ever since Wuyang started holding his hand. But maybe, in some twisted, convoluted way, this was his curse. Mizuki’s taking advantage of Wuyang in this situation, isn’t he?

What makes him different from Lady Shion?

And when Mizuki has that thought, staring at his bedroom ceiling, he has a jolt of cold dread forming in the pits of his stomach.

Now, Mizuki watches Wuyang continue to talk about his night rank adventures and rambling about how he’s going to eventually catch up to Hana one day. Because that’s just the kind of nerd Wuyang is.

And because Mizuki cares about Wuyang, he knows what he has to do.

He waits till Wuyang takes a pause in his chatter to talk.

“Wuyang,” Mizuki interrupts.

Wuyang looks at him expectantly.

“We need to…” Mizuki’s voice trails off. They’ve never had an actual argument, so Mizuki knows this is going to be difficult to get through. “Talk.”

“About?” Wuyang gives him a bemused expression. He seems to have noticed the shift in the mood, because his eyes suddenly look notably serious.

“About--” Mizuki gestures in exasperation to their hands. “This. I think it’s better if we stopped.”

Mizuki’s about to launch into a monologue about the metaphorical breakup of their technically-not-really relationship, when Wuyang stops him.

“Wait,” It’s Wuyang’s turn to interrupt him. Wuyang has a bit of a funny expression on his face. “Is the bad luck starting again?”

Mizuki hesitates. “Well… no.”

“You managed to find your onamori then?”

Mizuki frowns, unsure where Wuyang was going with this. “No?”

“Oh.” Wuyang pauses, and then barrels on. “It’s not because you think I’m uncomfortable or anything, is it?”

Wuyang’s prediction is so accurate, so spot on, that Mizuki stops, blinking in bewilderment.

Wuyang seems to take this as an answer, because he huffs a little, shoulders relaxing. “Mizuki,” he sighs, (Mizuki’s the one who’s meant to be exasperated, so why is Wuyang sighing?) “I don’t mind.”

Mizuki opens his mouth to protest.

“Look,” Wuyang continues and Mizuki shuts his mouth, “I care about you.” He shuffles on his seat so that he sits closer to Mizuki. “Okay? You’re a kind guy, even if you don’t really show it at times--”

“Gee, thanks,” mutters Mizuki, feeling self-conscious.

“--and don’t try to hide the fact you don’t think about others too. It’s your curse, but you’re always worrying about me and the rest of our class being affected by it.”

Mizuki’s not really sure when during the conversation they’d suddenly switch topics from Wuyang to him instead, but Wuyang’s eyes have this gleam that tells Mizuki that he’s determined to get his words out.

Wuyang gently wraps both Mizuki’s hands together.

Mizuki gulps.

“And I know your curse thing genuinely bothers you. So if I can do anything to help you with it, and it makes you feel better about it--”

Wuyang looks into Mizuki’s eyes. “--I don’t mind,” he finishes. “I really don’t.”

Mizuki looks back into Wuyang’s gaze.

Oh, Mizuki thinks. Wuyang’s hands are still warm, and his eyes crinkle as he smiles at Mizuki.

And it’s in that moment that Mizuki realizes that he is completely and utterly fucked.

If whatever infatuation he had previously with Wuyang was admiration or even just a crush, this feeling was completely different. And Mizuki’s sure about it.

Mizuki is in love with Wuyang.

Wuyang might as well be asking for Mizuki’s hand in marriage.

“Yes,” Mizuki says automatically.

“What?”

“I mean… okay,” Mizuki’s voice cracks. “That’s… cool.”

Wuyang’s lips curve into a smile. “Great! I’m glad I got that across.”

Mizuki doesn’t move from where he’s staring up at Wuyang.

A few more seconds pass, and when Mizuki still doesn’t move, Wuyang clears his throat. “So…” He finger guns, because some things apparently never change. “Are we still okay with the hand holding? Only if you want to, of course.”

At this point, Wuyang could ask anything and Mizuki would agree.

“...Sure, I guess,” mumbles Mizuki.

Wuyang brightens.

Their… arrangement doesn’t come without its drawbacks, of course.

“So,” Kiriko chooses to announce from the doorway, as though her gigantomous footsteps weren’t large enough to announce her presence, “Wuyang.”

Mizuki grits his teeth.

He tries to smile, but it comes out more in a grimace.

Why did Kiriko have to choose to confront him about it when literally everyone was in class? Mizuki had been half expecting something similar like this to happen after she’d seen them together in PE, but why now? It was as if she was intentionally placed into this world to make his life hell.

Unfortunately, everyone also included Wuyang, who perks up at the sound of his name. 

“Heh,” smirks Kiriko, leaning on the doorway. Her eyes are trained on Mizuki.

“Don’t worry about it, Wuyang.” Says Mizuki sweetly.

“Oh, um--”

Mizuki storms over to Kiriko. And then, in the most venomous voice he can muster, Mizuki hisses, “What?”

Kiriko doesn’t move from her spot. Loudly, because Kiriko doesn’t have a fucking inside voice, she exclaims, “Why didn’t you tell me you guys were datin--”

Mizuki coughs loudly over her words, because even Bastion, who didn’t even speak their language, could've predicted what she was going to say.

She stares at him.

“Whoops,” says Mizuki. Then he shuts the door in her face.

Looking back on it, Mizuki supposes that he probably should’ve taken that interaction as a warning that things were about to spiral out of his control. Whatever Kiriko knew, Sakura knew. And considering Sakura and Sombra had started hanging out together…

The next of his newfound troubles comes in the form of Hanzo, wanting to talk to him.

Mizuki finds that out when he arrives at school one morning with a paper slip embedded into his desk by an arrowhead. Mizuki knew that was nothing personal against him at least-- Hanzo had a little bit of an odd sense of humour at times. 

Mizuki can’t lie, being called for a meeting with Hanzo made him a little nervous, even if he’d technically spoken to the Shimada brothers outside school. Genji was fine, with his easygoing and extroverted nature, but Hanzo…

He could be a little intimidating sometimes. Standing outside the senior classroom with several of them gathered in a group staring him down makes Mizuki feel like he’s about to be interrogated by the mafia rather than a stormy high schooler.

“Mizuki,” greets Hanzo solemnly, when he walks in.

Mizuki inclines his head towards Hanzo. “Hanzo-san.”

Hanzo wordlessly offers him-- was that a whole ass teapot in the middle of the classroom?-- a cup of steaming tea.

Mizuki, half-wary, accepts.

“I am glad to hear you are doing well.” Hanzo rumbles.

Mizuki wishes he was a little more specific. “...Thank you.” He settles on at last.

“That pertains to your new courtship, of course.” Hanzo sips on his own cup of tea idly.

Mizuki wonders if he’s finally lost it. “Pardon?”

One of Hanzo’s impressively bushy eyebrows raises up.

And that’s how Mizuki finds out how he’s exactly one half of the new hottest rumour that’s been going around in school.

The thing is, Mizuki realizes with daunting horror, it totally looks like that from an outsider’s perspective.

Wuyang doesn’t make it better. He’s always been a somewhat touchy-feely guy, but after their talk, Wuyang seems to be even more determined to make sure to prove to Mizuki that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable sharing contact with Mizuki.

“Here,” Ms. Domina announces, dropping a stack of papers on Mizuki’s desk. “Take one and pass it to everyone-- oh. Hm.”

The last part is mainly due to the fact that Wuyang has adjusted their desks so closely together that their legs are practically bumping into each other.

Which is cute, but Mizuki kind of wishes the ground would swallow him up as he’s faced under the scrutiny of Ms. Domina’s withering stare.

Ms. Domina doesn’t say anything, but she wrinkles her nose lightly as she turns away.

But nothing is worse than the cafeteria incident.

To be fair, it’s partly Mizuki’s fault too.

Wuyang’s favourite food isn’t baozi.

It’s dan dan noodles. Baozi just happens to be a close second, and the cafeteria only serves dan dan noodles every two Fridays.

On those days, Mizuki gets himself some baozi so Wuyang can get both. Wuyang gives Mizuki some of his noodles to compensate him for the food.

Not that Mizuki minds too much. He’s always done that in the early stages of their friendship after noticing the way Wuyang’s eyes light up whenever Mizuki’s taking a bite of his bun, as if Wuyang’s savouring the taste himself. So-- it’s a normal thing for the both of them to share.

Wuyang’s still stubbornly clinging onto Mizuki as they sit down on their unofficial table next to Lucio and Brigitte.

“Hey hey,” chirps Brigitte.

Lucio’s too busy devouring what Mizuki’s pretty sure is an expired box of some type of green cereal, but he waves.

Both her and Lucio thankfully don’t mention anything about the fact that Mizuki and Wuyang are practically attached.

Mizuki gives them a nod, trying not to think too much about the fact that Wuyang’s pretty much nestling him into the seat. Friends, he reminds himself, grinding his teeth together. Nothing more.

Mizuki’s almost proud of himself. After around the fifth day of hand holding, he’s mastered the art of complete nonchalance. He’s always had a good poker face anyway. All it had taken was some basic self-deprecation, but hey. Everything had its price.

Mizuki puts one of his baozi on Wuyang’s plate. He picks another up and gives it a tentative nibble.

“How have you guys been?” Wuyang greets, mixing some of his noodles together.

“Pretty good.” Brigitte shrugs. “But I could be better, I guess. Just a little nervous about how I did Ms. Angela’s test.”

Wuyang nods sympathetically. “That’s gotta be stressful. I’ve heard that she’s a harsh marker, right?”

As he talks, Wuyang grabs a generous portion of his food with his chopsticks towards Mizuki.

Without thinking, Mizuki swoops in to bite from his chopsticks.

“Here, have some more.” Wuyang picks up some more food. “Nice, huh?”

Mizuki hums non-commitally. 

He’s about to take another bite when there’s a scandalous gasp, and a metallic clang sounds. Something drops to the bottom of his peripheral vision at the same time. Startled, Mizuki glances down.

It’s a spoon.

Mizuki glances back up. The table sitting directly opposite them had gone completely silent. Niran has his hand clasped over his mouth, and next to him, Genji and Symmetra watch him with stunned silence. All three of their faces carry various degrees of shock.

And by that, Niran looks the most scandalized, Genji amused, while Symmetra looks absolutely indifferent.

Mizuki follows their gaze back to Wuyang’s and his linked hands. Next to Wuyang, who’s looking expectantly at him, with food still on his chopsticks, Mizuki realizes that they kind of look like the embodiment of a couple on their first date.

Oops, Mizuki thinks belatedly.

Mizuki stands up abruptly. “Wait,” he starts. “This is normal--”

But it’s much too late. The effect is immediate.

“NORMAL?” Niran shrieks.

“Normal?” Genji cackles. He laughs so hard he almost falls from his chair.

Symmetra tosses her hair over a shoulder with a harumph.

Silently, Mizuki curses Genji in his mind, hoping that he’ll trip and fall in front of the whole school during the next assembly.

At one point, even Illari asks.

Mizuki has to tell her no, but as he’s watching her leave, braids swinging in the air, Mizuki realizes despairing that if Illari of all people is asking, he’s doomed.

Because Wuyang still thinks they’re friends.

And they are! Which is a new problem for Mizuki, because every single time they so much as exchange glances, Mizuki still feels like his heart wants to launch itself out of his throat. He feels like he’s just gotten better at not showing it outwardly.

It’s on that afternoon when they’re biking together after school over a bridge where Wuyang calls him over the side. It’s always peaceful around this time of day, with the water sparkling beneath them and the gentle breeze, but unfortunately for Mizuki today, this also means he hears every single one of Wuyang’s words.

“You got me a what.” Mizuki’s voice is flat.

Wuyang proudly brandishes the thing, no, creature he’s holding. “A labubu!”

The… labubu is a faded green bear-slash-rabbit hybrid. Its teeth are stretched so widely over its face that there’s no way that it was unintentional, and it stares menacingly back at Mizuki. It dons a small equally green bucket hat.

Mizuki thinks of the worst insult he can dish out. “It looks like Kiriko,” he gets out.

Wuyang doesn’t react.

“It’s ugly.” Mizuki elaborates.

“Hey!” Wuyang protests defensively, upset on its behalf. He even closes its comically large ears as though the creature could hear Mizuki. “Don’t say that! You’re hurting its feelings.”

Mizuki grunts. He rests his bike over the side of the railing. “Why’d you get it, anyway?”

“I thought it could be like,” Wuyang presents it to him, and great, it’s Mizuki’s turn to hold the labubu. “A good luck charm or something, you know? You still haven’t found your other one.”

Mizuki’s hit by several thoughts at once.

Wuyang could be just so sweet at times. But at the same time… his heart plummets. What if this was Wuyang’s way of telling him that he wanted their hand holding to end?

And did he really have to get Mizuki something so hideous?

Mizuki holds the labubu by an ear, conflicted.

“It’s yours now.” Wuyang dramatically wipes away a pretend tear. He pats Mizuki on the shoulder, and the touch lingers for a moment too long, before Wuyang withdraws. “Take care of our newborn child.”

Our child?

Mizuki glances up in alarm. “Wait, no. I don’t want it.”

He tries to push it towards Wuyang’s general vicinity, but Wuyang is unfortunately prepared for it, because he hops onto his bike, dodging Mizuki’s attempt.

“You’ll take care of it, then?” Wuyang bats his eyelashes, looking back and no fair, because a gust of wind blows just then, with Wuyang’s hair in the breeze prettily framing his face like Mizuki’s in the middle of some Disney movie.

“I--” Mizuki protests hotly.

“I can’t hear you!” Wuyang calls, and he’s off, speeding off on his bike.

“Wuyang!” Mizuki tries to yell, but it comes out as a half-hearted whine.

But Wuyang’s already almost on the other end of the bridge, full speed ahead. He’s always been the athletic one out of the two of them, and judging from the distance he’s gaining with every second, Mizuki can tell that it’ll take him a while to catch up with Wuyang. Mizuki sighs, and glares at the labubu in his hand.

Mizuki is half tempted to throw the damn thing over the bridge.

But of course he doesn’t-- it’s something Wuyang’s given him, and Mizuki would rather jump off himself than let any harm come to it now, damn it.

Kiriko 2.0 stares back at Mizuki, and Mizuki suppresses a sigh.

Whatever. It was always going to be a lost cause when it was Wuyang requesting something from him, anyway. At least this meant that whatever he and Wuyang had going on would end. It was probably for the best, Mizuki reasons, trying to ignore the prick of reproach in his chest.

He hangs the labubu on the front of his bag, and Mizuki doesn’t think about the way he’s biking home alone that day.

Getting up for school the next day feels a lot harder than usual.

Mizuki blinks awake right the moment his alarm sounds. He lets it ring for a couple more minutes, blankly staring sideways at his desk. 

With a groan of effort, he swings himself off the bed. The labubu’s eyes seem to follow him from where his school bag lies, right next to the bedroom door, as Mizuki properly gets ready.

Mizuki’s walk to school feels like he’s escorting himself to his own execution. There was nothing to be miserable about, Mizuki reasons, as the neighbour’s tabby cat flattens its ears and hisses at Mizuki. They’re just going back to how they were.

Well, not really, Mizuki mulls as he takes individual steps up the staircase to the classroom, dragging his feet on the ground. Going back to how things were implied that there had been something, and that’s pretty inaccurate to say.

With that, Mizuki slides open the classroom door.

The first thing he notices is that both his and Wuyang’s desks are still next to each other’s. 

Mizuki gulps.

It’s still relatively early in the day, with only a handful of students in the class. Wuyang’s hurriedly scribbling his name on what Mizuki identifies as their multi-choice math assignment.

“We had two weeks.” Mizuki deadpans, settling on his chair.

“Homework is temporary,” Wuyang shrugs, flipping to another page. He starts to fill the page, barely looking up. “Rank, however, is eternal.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mizuki eyes Wuyang warily, but Wuyang’s just circling the same answer for each question, moving onto the next page.

“Here,” he sighs, after another moment of watching Wuyang fill in a whole row of ‘A’s. Mizuki offers his notebook over to Wuyang. “Just copy mine.” 

Wuyang looks up at him like Mizuki’s just handed over the holy grail. Which, Mizuki supposes, in Wuyang’s position, might be the equivalent of that. “Really?”

“Why not?” It’s not like this is the first time that this has happened.

But what happens next isn’t.

Wuyang leans in close to him. Impossibly close, until Mizuki can practically feel Wuyang’s body heat radiating off him.

Mizuki gapes at Wuyang. Which is a mistake.

They’re so close together that Mizuki can smell Wuyang. Wuyang’s eyes are low lidded and dancing with mischief.

Friends, Mizuki desperately chants in his mind, fighting to stay focused as he forces himself to meet Wuyang’s brown eyes, like pools of honey. Friends, friends, friends.

A weight lifts from Mizuki, and for a second, Mizuki thinks that maybe that’s his soul ascending from his body. But no-- he sees a flash of his notebook to the side.

“Thanks, Mizuki,” Wuyang says breezily.

And then-- Mizuki’s not sure if it’s a hallucination his mind makes up-- Wuyang winks.

Mizuki might have squeaked. He’s not sure. Mizuki makes another small, confused choking noise.

Is Wuyang… flirting with him?

Just friends, his brain supplies automatically.

Okay, wait. Backtrack. But Wuyang’s already given him his version of a good luck charm. There was no reason for him to have done… whatever that had been.

Or was that normal? Mizuki doesn’t know. Does he even know anything anymore?

His spiralling thoughts are interrupted by Ms. Domina’s high heels click against the floor outside the classroom, signalling her entrance.

Wuyang jumps in his seat. “Uh oh,” he mutters, scrambling back to his notebook.

Sitting next to him, Mizuki feels like he’s about to reach his breaking point. Their legs bump into each other every time Wuyang so much as fidgets during class. That is to say, they’re touching the entire time, since Wuyang barely pays attention anyway.

Mizuki can’t find it in himself to properly look Wuyang in the eyes after that. Which is an issue by itself, since Wuyang’s basically glued himself to Mizuki’s side. But there’s a mixture of mortification and an unidentified emotion that Mizuki can’t quite name that stops him from doing so. 

Avoiding Wuyang-- or at least, as best as Mizuki can--only goes so well until the afternoon, when they’re forced by Mr. Winston to be out in the gymnasium.

His plight doesn’t go unseen.

“Trouble in paradise?” murmurs Kiriko, as she passes by him on her way to Genji.

“Shut up,” grumbles Mizuki. He’s trying to ignore the not-so-subtle looks Wuyang has been giving him ever since a couple minutes ago when Mr. Winston’s called for them to find their individual partners for basketball. “We’re fine.”

Just to spite her, Mizuki shuffles closer to Wuyang.

“You’ve been acting off all day.” Wuyang whispers to Mizuki, when he gets within earshot. “Are you feeling alright, Mizuki?”

Not really. Just that if I stare at you a little too long I’ll start thinking about something like how soft your laughter is or your honey-brown eyes and just might combust.

“Um,” Mizuki says instead. He blinks a couple of times. “Yeah.”

Wuyang studies his expression. “You’re not,” he decides, after a heartbeat. Then, louder, “Hey, Kiriko?”

Mizuki’s head shoots up in panic. “Wait, Wuyang,” he hisses.

But Kiriko, who’s barely a couple of feet away from them, is already looking at them in apt interest. She catches the basketball she’s been dribbling with one hand. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think Mizuki is feeling well.” Wuyang frowns. “Can you tell Mr. Winston that for us while I’m bringing him to the nurse’s clinic?”

“Yeah, why not?” Kiriko, the devious minx, puts on a face of mock sympathy. “Awhh, Mizuki. Is that so? Should’ve told us earlier if that was the case.”

Mizuki shudders. “I’m fine,” he snaps, giving the both of them the nastiest glare he can manage. And that’s saying a lot. He’s made a couple of kindergarten kids cry once just by walking by.

Wuyang doesn’t budge. He matches Mizuki’s glare disapprovingly. “You’re clearly not.”

“Actually,” Kiriko starts, and Mizuki knows her well enough to realize that the crafty glint in her eyes is bad news. “You know what, you’re right, Wuyang. Mizuki does look a little pale now that I’m looking closer.”

“He’s been kind of off ever since this morning,” Wuyang explains to her worriedly, because Wuyang is apparently an angel that cares about Mizuki even when Mizuki won’t properly tell him what’s wrong.

“I think you should carry him to the nurse’s office,” Kiriko blurts out.

Mizuki looks at her, horrified. “What?” He hisses.

Thankfully, thankfully, while Wuyang doesn’t have any embarrassment holding Mizuki’s hand in front of the whole school, he seemingly has his lines drawn at something as ridiculous as that, because Wuyang hesitates. “Is it that bad?” He asks Mizuki.

Mizuki is quick to interject. “Of course n--”

“Whoa,” Kiriko says. “Did you see that?”

“What?”

Kiriko points somewhere behind Wuyang.

Wuyang turns back, and in that split second, Kiriko lets her basketball drop.

It hits Mizuki’s ankle with a solid thunk. Pain shoots through his foot immediately.

“GAH!” Mizuki yelps.

“Yep,” Kiriko nods, like that was enough to confirm anything. “Definitely bad.” 

“Mizuki!?” Wuyang’s attention turns back to him. “You’re injured!”

“‘M fine,” mutters Mizuki, eyes watering in pain.

Kiriko pats Wuyang on the back. “Milady’s waiting for your embrace, methinks.”

“I am not,” snaps Mizuki, but it’s evident that no one is listening to him anymore.

Wuyang lowers himself.

No way. No fucking way.

Mizuki’s at least a good few inches taller than Wuyang. But Mizuki is forced to watch, in torturously slow motion, as Wuyang gently gathers Mizuki in his arms, and then seemingly effortlessly, stands up. All while Mizuki is in his arms. In a princess carry.

Wuyang shyly meets Mizuki eyes, and smiles.

Mizuki almost whimpers. Almost.

Because holy fuck that’s hot.

But he has an image to maintain.

“Kiriko!” Mizuki snaps angrily, or at least as angry as he can while his high school crush has Mizuki in his arms. It comes out more as a squawk.

Equally humiliated and horrified, Mizuki buries his face in his hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kiriko waves him off, spinning the basketball with one hand. “See you later, princess.”

Mizuki hates Kiriko.

“So,” Wuyang says, as they’re out of the gym, still carrying Mizuki, “Are you finally going to tell me about it?”

Mizuki’s too busy hiding himself in his own hands. He very purposefully refuses to look at Wuyang. In fact, he doesn’t notice Wuyang’s asked him anything at all until he repeats it again.

“I’m fine,” mutters Mizuki. “You can put me down too. Kiriko’s just messing around, I’m not actually injured.”

Every step Wuyang walks makes Mizuki even more self-aware of the fact that he’s being carried, his feet swinging from Wuyang’s forearms. He can feel every shift of muscle with each step Wuyang takes, and Mizuki’s thoughts are starting to borderline on dangerous territory.

“I’m not stupid,” Wuyang cuts him off firmly. And then, voice softening-- “Mizuki, look at me?”

Why is Wuyang being so patient with him? Mizuki hates it. He’d rather Wuyang treat him with complete indifference if that means Mizuki doesn’t have to foolishly get his hopes up every time something like this happens.

“Please?”

Dammit, even when Mizuki’s not looking at him, Mizuki can tell that Wuyang’s got his sad puppy dog eyes on.

Reluctantly, Mizuki removes his hands from his face. “Put me down.”

Wuyang stops. For one horrible second, Mizuki’s not sure what he’d do if Wuyang refuses. Does he even have the willpower in himself to tell Wuyang to put him down again? But Wuyang obeys, and Mizuki feels his balance shift as his feet are back on the ground.

“This is about your curse, isn’t it?” Wuyang asks anxiously.

Mizuki pauses.

Wuyang takes that as a chance to go on. “Was the good luck charm I got you not strong enough?”

Wuyang’s still concerned about Mizuki. Something tightens in Mizuki’s chest at that, but he pushes it away. He attempts to make a joke to lighten the mood instead.

Mizuki shrugs. “Probably made it worse, to be honest.”

Wuyang tilts his head, and too late, Mizuki realizes that that’s the wrong thing to say, since Wuyang seems to be taking Mizuki’s words seriously. “And holding hands doesn’t work anymore?”

This is it, Mizuki thinks. If there’s any other way to stop whatever ridiculous notion Mizuki’s subconscious has already made of them, it has to be right now.

So Mizuki folds his arms across his chest, and sticks his chin out in a way he knows alludes arrogance. “Uh-huh.”

Wuyang isn’t shaken by that at all. His eyes glow determinedly. “That’s not a problem!”

It’s not?

“We can try to, like, increase physical contact if you want to.” Wuyang’s rambling now, nodding as he speaks quickly. “Like, you know. It worked at first, so what’s there to say it won’t work now? We could… um, hug it out or something?”

Wuyang spreads his arms out hopefully.

His buff, extra toned arms.

Mizuki stares back at Wuyang miserably.

Wuyang continues rambling when Mizuki stays silent. “Or if you need, um, I could give you a kiss or something? For extra good luck,” he adds on quickly. Wuyang points to his own lips. The action is so casual, so typical, that it’s clear to anyone with eyes that Wuyang doesn’t feel a shred of embarrassment offering that up to Mizuki.

And Mizuki snaps at that.

He can’t do it anymore, Mizuki internally wails. He just can’t.

The hand holding, the smiles, the carrying, Wuyang. There’s just so much he can take, and Mizuki is a weak, weak man in Wuyang’s presence. If Wuyang just can’t take the hint, then Mizuki’s just going to have to be direct.

“Wuyang,” Mizuki exhales. He raises his eyes to the sky briefly, praying to whatever deity up there that they would for once be on his side for this.

“Mizuki?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Mizuki’s voice breaks in the middle, and he swallows.

Fuck. Why was this so difficult?

Mizuki takes a few extra seconds to compose himself, heart hammering in his chest.

Wuyang waits.

“It’s just…”

Three simple words.

“I just…”

Mizuki’s throat seems to dry as he faces Wuyang. He bites his lip.

“Um.”

“Mizuki,” Wuyang calls his name softly.

Mizuki stops.

“It’s fine.” Wuyang’s still talking in that soft tone of his. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. We can continue this conversation some other time.”

But it’s that softness, that kindness, that makes Mizuki even more determined to get the words out.

“I like you,” Mizuki says at last. His heart is pounding so loudly that he’s half sure Wuyang can hear it.

Silence.

Mizuki can’t bear the silence. “And-- And I know you don’t. But that’s fine. I’m not saying this because I want you to reciprocate or anything, it’s just that I need to say that since, um, you don’t, so all this time you’ve been trying to help me but it just feels that I’m really just taking advantage--”

“Wait.” Wuyang interrupts.

This is so painfully awkward. Mizuki just wishes that he could get this properly out.

“That’s not true,” Wuyang says.

“It is.” Mizuki groans. “I’ve been taking advantage of the fact that--”

“No, no.” Wuyang says hurriedly. “The thing before.”

Now it’s Mizuki’s turn to look at Wuyang confusedly.

“You know.” Wuyang mumbles, fidgeting. “The part about… me not liking you.” The tips of his ears are red.

Mizuki stares. And stares some more.

He’s not imagining it. Wuyang is blushing, and although it’s faint, now that Mizuki’s taking a proper look at Wuyang, it’s evidently there.

“Huh?”

Wuyang takes a deep breath. “Mizuki,” says Wuyang patiently, “I don’t think most people would be willing to hold hands with just anyone.”

“Huh?” Mizuki repeats dumbly.

Wuyang rubs the back of his neck, flustered. Then he seemingly shakes himself out of it. “What I’m saying is…” Wuyang reaches out for Mizuki’s hand.

His expression is serious, Mizuki notes in wonder.

“I like you.”

“Oh,” says Mizuki, voice small.

He doesn’t believe it at first. Doesn’t let himself. After all, it sounds too good to be true. The odds that his affection was reciprocated? Hard to believe. But someone as beautiful and charming and kind as Wuyang liking him? Impossible.

Yet the more Mizuki’s looking into Wuyang’s steady gaze, he finds that it’s hard to believe otherwise.

Wuyang likes him.

Wuyang likes Mizuki, who’s weird and superstitious. Mizuki, who’s grumpy whenever the weather drops and carries a curse and has his little habits that even Mizuki himself sometimes thinks is a bother.

Then, because Mizuki’s always been a little paranoid and has to check, one more time-- “Really?”

Wuyang nods solemnly. “Yes, really, really.”

“Wait,” Mizuki stops, slowly realizing. He eyes Wuyang suspiciously. “Does that mean that back when you offered to hold my hand…”

Wuyang groans, and hangs his head low.

His ears, notes Mizuki with growing amusement, are completely scarlet now.

“Please, can we not mention that?” Wuyang’s voice is a little muffled.

Mizuki laughs. The sound is just as delighted as free as Mizuki feels.

Whatever worries that Mizuki has had previously about his interactions with Wuyang in the past few weeks seem to have melted away, leaving him at ease.

“To be fair,” Wuyang tries, defensively, “I did offer it at first to actually help you. I’ve always had good luck anyway, and didn’t mind if it really helped you.”

He’s so uncharacteristically bashful that Mizuki’s heart gives a little squeeze at the sight.

“It did,” Mizuki admits, because he’s starting to feel a little bad for Wuyang. “The curse disappeared for a little.”

“Oh!” Wuyang perks up at that. “It did help!”

Wuyang looks happy. With a jolt, Mizuki realizes that this moment is real. That Mizuki’s days of agonizing are completely gone, and that Wuyang really does care about him the same way Mizuki does.

The realization does a few unhealthy things for his heart.

“I would really have been fine either way.” Mizuki huffs, because he’s always been a little bit of a tsundere. Sue him. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Did Wuyang know the extent of which he had affected Mizuki? Mizuki keeps his face impassive as he tries not to recollect how much of a hot mess he’s been in front of Wuyang. Admitting he likes Wuyang is one thing, but for Wuyang to tease him for it is another.

“Oh.” Wuyang looks a little disappointed, but in the next moment he brightens up with a mischievous spark in his eyes, like he did previously today, leaning in. “But we wouldn’t have been having this conversation to begin with, would we?”

Wow, okay. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well,” Wuyang’s lower lip juts out, expression turning a little sly. “At least I don’t blush and kick my feet like a middle schooler with a crush every time we brush our hands together. ”

Mizuki splutters, indignant. “So what?”

“Well,” Wuyang breathes. The fidgeting starts again. Wuyang stares directly at Mizuki. “We could…” He mumbles something else that’s too soft for Mizuki to hear. 

Whatever it is, it has Wuyang full-on fidgeting, even kicking the ground with his feet a little.

“What?”

“… Kiss,” Wuyang says louder, after a second. “When I was offering… Ah, screw this.” He clears his throat, and squeezes Mizuki’s hand tighter. “Do you still want that kiss for extra good luck?”

Mizuki thinks he might’ve misheard at first. He gawks, mouth falling open and close.

How does Wuyang say things like that so easily?

But for the first time, it’s Wuyang’s turn to look mortified, and in a way, it’s satisfying to see that after the agony he’s put Mizuki through.

When he doesn’t respond for another few seconds, Wuyang coughs. “Or… not. Never mind, I guess.”

“No!” Mizuki yelps. He might’ve said that a little too loudly.

Wuyang pouts, and looking at him again, Mizuki realizes that Wuyang is teasing him. Mizuki lets it go, though. He has bigger things to worry about, like his crush to kiss.

“Okay,” Mizuki says, breathlessly.

Wuyang swallows, and Mizuki watches his throat bob.

By the time Wuyang reaches over, the mood between them has shifted. Mizuki’s not ready-- but he doesn’t think any amount of time would have changed the way he feels, the way Wuyang’s stare is doing things to his already jumbled emotions.

Their eyes meet.

Mizuki inhales softly.

They’re so closely pressed together that Mizuki can feel how much Wuyang’s trembling. He can even feel the rapid beating of Wuyang’s heartbeat as Mizuki leans closer to him.

Wuyang’s breath tickles his lips. Mizuki can tell that Wuyang knows too, because his eyes flicker towards Mizuki’s lips, and then back to Mizuki’s eyes again. “Are you sure you want--” Wuyang starts.

But Mizuki closes the gap between their lips with an impatient tug.

Wuyang’s lips are warm, Mizuki thinks. And soft. Really soft.

Then Mizuki pulls away.

Wuyang blinks. He looks stunned, like he can’t believe what Mizuki’s just done.

“Sorry,” Mizuki feels like he should be apologizing. “I should’ve waited.”

“Don’t apologize.” Wuyang’s expression changes, and the sides of his lips tug into a smile. “Just couldn’t wait, huh?”

Mizuki flushes.

This time, it’s Wuyang tugging them together.

Their kiss lasts longer. Wuyang kisses Mizuki like he’s a dying man and Mizuki’s all that’s keeping him tethered, desperately and wholeheartedly. It’s messy and wet, with Wuyang’s tongue clumsily licking into Mizuki’s mouth. Their teeth clash a couple of times as Mizuki deepens himself into the kiss, matching Wuyang’s enthusiasm.

Wuyang teasingly nips his lower lip, and Mizuki gasps.

“Tease,” Mizuki accuses, and he can feel Wuyang’s laugh against his lips.

When they pull away, Mizuki’s grinning the hardest he’s ever been in his life.

Wuyang touches his own lips, studying Mizuki. “Whoa.”

“Whoa,” Mizuki agrees. His chest feels so full it feels like his heart’s about to burst. “So… What now?”

“Dunno.” Wuyang looks just as awestruck as Mizuki feels.

“Well, what do you want to do? I’m not going back to class.” Not especially after that. Mizuki feels like he could spend the rest of his life just like this, staring into Wuyang’s soft brown eyes.

Which are widening at Mizuki’s words. “We’re skipping class?” Wuyang sounds thrilled.

“Uh, yeah?” Mizuki shrugs. “Why not? What do you wanna do?” 

A pause.

“...Mecha Guardian?” Wuyang suggests. “Internet cafe?”

Mizuki shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You are such a nerd.” Mizuki sighs fondly. But he doesn’t refuse Wuyang.

How can he?

Wuyang laughs, that brilliant charming laugh, and Mizuki can’t help but smile back at him. “Let’s go!”

So they go across the field, with Wuyang happily chattering to Mizuki. A breeze blows, gentle and calming as they walk together, hand in hand.

This time, Mizuki knows that he doesn’t have to let go any time soon.