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Kuro's kneecaps looked like a ravaged battlefield, or at least felt like one, the fresh scrape joining his bruises which had just been beginning to heal. He poked at it gingerly, wincing as pain shot up through his leg. Luckily he'd managed to catch himself and avoided any serious injury, but it still hurt. He could feel tears threatening to spill, and his lip beginning to quiver, but he was a tough boy, he wouldn't cry. He only had to wait a little longer.
The boy with pink hair and porcelain skin trotted into his eyesight, arms laden with medical supplies. Kuro looked up, face twisted awkwardly to avoid crying in front of him, his hands aggressively wiping at his face. Shu, on the other hand, looked unfazed – as he always seemed to be. It was a little unsettling. He set down his armful of medical supplies and laid them out in front of him like he was dealing cards – antiseptic, water, bandages with cute designs on them, and a small antique doll with a placid expression and a pretty, lacey dress.
Somehow, this situation had become familiar to them. Shu was somewhat of Kuro's personal medic, since Kuro was clumsy and active and had a temper, which led to him getting into all kinds – and always sat in the corner of the kindergarten room, staring as the other kids played and babbled. He clutched his doll like a lifeline. He only cried when they tried to take it away from him. Otherwise, he was quiet, smart, and a little weird, and the other kids paid no mind to him.
Except for Kuro. Kuro was a bit of an outcast, too, often roughhousing with the other kids. One day, he approached Shu, curled up in his corner with his doll in his arms, and crouched down. Shu stared at him with inquisitive periwinkle eyes.
"Why don't you ever come out and play?" Kuro asked.
Shu didn't respond.
"Can I see that?" Kuro pointed to the doll.
Shu looked frightened. Kuro might have imagined that he clutched the doll a little tighter.
"I won't break it, I promise."
Warily, he outstretched his legs and held the doll out to Kuro.
"She's really pretty. She looks like my mom," Kuro blurted. Kuro's mom didn't own any lolita-style dresses or cute barrettes, but she had the same gentle face and same curly hair.
"Her name is Mademoiselle," Shu mumbled.
"Okay. Do you want to be friends?"
"Okay."
They made a weird pair of misfits, Kuro with his bruised knees and Shu with his pretty dolls. Shu always seemed lost in his own world, and Kuro was only ever sure he was there because he always grabbed a fistful of Kuro's uniform whenever they were around strangers.
They were alone now though, so Shu seemed perfectly fine by himself. Rather, Kuro was the one who needed saving. Shu dabbed a bit of a strong-smelling chemical on Kuro's injured knee, causing another wave of pain. He flinched, biting his lip – no matter how many times this happened, it always made him regret being so careless.
"Does it hurt?" Shu murmured.
"No." Reputations were to be upkept, even around a shy doll-carrying six-year-old with pink hair.
Shu's round eyes met his, and Kuro looked away, finding interest in the branches of the overhanging trees.
"My mom says that when someone looks away when they're talking, it means they're lying," Shu observed. He continued to wash Kuro's wound until the water pooling around them ran clear.
His skin were barely grazing Kuro's – he was meticulous and focused and extremely gentle. By the time Kuro looked down he had already wrapped the knee in some kind of gauze and secured it with a bandaid. He retracted into his usual fetal position after closing the bandage box, clutching Mademoiselle once more.
Kuro poked at his knee. "Thanks, Icchan."
"Does it still hurt?"
"No!" Kuro began to stand up, but sat back down when he felt the cuts open up again. "A little."
"Do you want a kiss to make it feel better?" Mademoiselle said, arms wiggling under Shu's careful command.
"Okay."
Shu pressed the doll's mouth to his knee, a ghost of a kiss, so light Kuro could barely feel it, but he felt all his pain evaporate right then and there.
–––
Kuro's breath hitched as his head hit the brick wall. The shadows that had been torturing him shouted crude insults, giving him a final painful kick before they disappeared, leaving him to wallow pitifully in the dark alleyway. Their sudden absence was nothing close to peace – there was a ringing in his ears, blood dripping from the arm where their pocketknife had nicked him. Kuro leaned against the wall, waiting for his breathing to slow down. He would've checked the time if he'd had the strength. It was most likely close to 3:20, the sacred time when he and Shu would meet under the reassuring shade of the middle school walls and walk home together. And of course, Shu was never, ever late.
He needed to get up, to wash himself clean and roll down his sleeves to cover up his mistakes. They would walk home like nothing ever happened. But god, it fucking hurt. His legs wouldn't let him stand up for a second.
"Ryuu-kun?"
Kuro's heart dropped. Probably a fate worse than the delinquents coming back for round two was his childhood friend standing in the entrance to the alleyway. Kuro hadn't gotten any better at reading Shu's emotions since they were kids, but if he had to guess, Shu was feeling a medley of disbelief, anger, and worry right now, based on his furrowed eyebrows and balled-up fists. Kuro just looked away.
"Why." It came out more like a statement than a question. Shu crouched by Kuro, gaze steady and piercing.
"Let's just forget about it. Let's go home."
"No. Why."
"...They were making fun of you. I couldn't stand for that."
"That doesn't matter!" Shu was shaking. "It doesn't matter what they say about me! You're in pain because of me! Don't you ever think about how worried I am about you?"
"Please, Icchan," Kuro pleaded, his voice cracking. "Let's just go home."
"I hate this. I hate seeing you like this." Every word felt like a new wound on Kuro's heart. "Let me see that."
"No."
"Stop pretending you're okay!" Shu grabbed Kuro's arm, looking dismayed at the gashes that wouldn't stop bleeding for their argument. "You're always – You're so –"
Unable to find the words, Shu settled for rummaging through his bag instead, finding a first-aid kit and slamming it open in front of him. It smelled like the stuffy hospitals where Kuro would visit his mother. Cold water splashed against Kuro's injuries from Shu's waterbottle, mixing with the musky drainwater already present in the alley. He worked quickly. He was practically a doctor now from all the practice he'd had patching up Kuro. His fingers were still dexterous as always, going through all the familiar motions even though they were trembling. Kuro still couldn't meet his eyes, but he thought he heard Shu sniffling during the frequent pauses of activity. Kuro didn't cry. He'd gotten past the point when the antiseptic hurt. He just felt bitter for disappointing Shu.
"'M sorry," Kuro managed to say when Shu was done dressing his wounds. Shu just wiped his face in response.
Then, he pressed Mademoiselle's face against Kuro's arm, a silent sign of forgiveness.
–––
They'd undergone a bit of a role reversal by high school. Now it was Kuro's time to worry about Shu, whose perfectionistic drive bordered on unhealthy at times. Somehow he'd gotten really wrapped up in the idol thing, even though he hadn't shown interest in it as a child. Kuro had left the delinquent life behind, but it survived in the form of scars on his forearms and stomach. The closeness they shared from childhood gradually became obselete, starting with the loss of their affectionate nicknames, until their moments shared together were silent, but still comfortable.
The doll Shu should have grown out of by now lay on the table, watching the two of them work with a weary but pleasant smile. Like with most things, the contrast between their personalities was visible in their needlework – Shu sewed aggressively, almost impatiently, with quick, dramatic strokes while Kuro kept close to the fabric, concentrating hard. To be honest, Kuro's head was light from lack of sleep, with only the adrenaline of the sports drink he downed earlier keeping him focused. He hadn't meant to establish himself as Yumenosaki's tailor, but by some string of bad luck units had come up to him one after another, hoping he could fix them outfits for their next lives. He had thought about turning them down, but the kids in Ra*bits managed to drag out his big brother complex, and suddenly there was four more outfits' worth of fabric on the Handicraft Club table with Kuro nearly begging Shu for help. Shu's eyes had softened at the mention of Ra*bits, and after an exasperated sigh, he agreed.
A sudden stab of pain brought Kuro back to his senses. He looked down blankly at his finger, taking a moment to register that he had pricked himself on his needle. There was a bead of blood forming on his pointer finger. "Damn," he groaned, sucking at the injury as he stood. "Least I didn't get any blood on the clothing."
"The sink is in the back," Shu said, not looking away from the collar he was shaping.
Sure, they weren't kids anymore, and Kuro was more than capable of taking care of himself, but Shu's utter lack of interest still annoyed Kuro. "So cold, Itsuki."
"Listen, do you want to get these outfits done or do you not?"
Kuro turned off the faucet, shaking water from his hand. "I'm just sayin' we ain't strangers is all."
Shu huffed. "Of course not. A lull in the conversation is not indicative of a lull in friendship."
His egoism is really insufferable. The taller third-year sighed and sat back down, glancing at his childhood friend and his odd, gestural sewing technique. He couldn't remember if they had locked eyes once since they began work. He missed the days when Shu would tug on his sleeve in new places, when his eyes would light up seeing Kuro waving on the other side of the street, when he could break a smile that wasn't conceited or prudish or condescending, just happy.
That fragile, caring, genuine side of Shu: if he could just have it back for a moment, he wouldn't care what happened afterwards.
"Icchan, look at me."
Before Shu could say a word, Kuro's lips were pressed against his and his costume was left to crumple in his lap. Shu could feel a hand heavy on his shoulder, traveling up his neck to tangle in his hair, and his heartbeat accelerated. It felt so natural to kiss Kuro, so much so that he almost let his eyelashes flutter closed, so much so that he almost brought an arm around Kuro's neck. And then it was over.
"Ry- K-Kiryu!" Shu spluttered, touching a hand to his mouth, the reality of what just happened catching up to him. "What on earth!"
"I needed a kiss to feel better," Kuro said simply.
"That's – that was years ago! And Mademoiselle kissed you! Honestly, Kiryu, you're - you're -"
"Incorrigible?" Kuro offered, mimicking Keito's word choice.
"Yes, that!" Usually Shu was so eloquent, peppering his language with all sorts of fancy verbage, but to catch him off-guard was to render his vocabulary useless. He fumbled with the needlework on his lap. "Ah, you made me lose my pattern... my perfect execution has been compromised..."
Kuro laughed softly to himself and leaned back in his chair, thumbing over the half-finished uniforms. "Y'know, Icchan, your eyes are real pretty up close."
Shu inhaled, the words melting on his tongue but hesitating to say them.
"I could say the same of you. Ryuu-kun."