Chapter Text
The second year of Hoshimi High started beautifully. The air started to warm as cherry blossoms bloomed, their petals swept by the gentle morning wind. Hirose Aiki walked leisurely through the courtyard, ready to see what the school had in store for three of its next exciting semesters, starting with the classmates shuffle.
As common practice as it was, it could potentially be a bummer if you were switched to a class with none of your old friends. Though Hirose was quite confident that he would survive such a situation, he would rather still have someone he could hangout with without having to build everything from the ground up again. Serendipitous same schoolmates to skip socializing, one could say.
The sounds of relieves, disappointments, congratulations, and others on the spectrum of acceptance became a murmur as Hirose looked from a name list to a name list. There was a pang of disappointment as he did not find himself in the same class as Mukai and Takeuchi, who were both stuck together for another year. Oomori was also in a different class, which sucked. Eventually he noticed his name, in a class with practically no people he knew.
Except he did know one person below him in the name list, and Hirose’s heart leapt with joy. Nakamura would share this year with him! Maybe being split from his other friends was the universe’s way of maintaining the balance of his happiness. Couldn’t have too many good things at the same time, he guessed.
It was not like he did not treasure his other friends, but there was something different about Nakamura. Being with him was like sitting by the ocean, watching waves rolled by as you bared your hearts to the wind. Nakamura was cool like that, like the sea, with the warmth of the afternoon sunset. His sister told him once about his sign, pisces the fish, and something about mutable water that kept changing and flowing. If he was this mutable water, then Nakamura would be a vessel that held him still, and reassured him that it was okay to rest for a while.
So being able to spend another year with the boy was super nice! And with that, Hirose may or may not sprightly skipped to the classroom. As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of his lovely octopi lover friend. Hirose smiled widely as he practically rushed to playfully tackle poor Nakamura, who could only yelp.
“Please look after me for another year!”
Since that day, about a month had passed. Though so many things did change as stated above, with Nakamura by his side, Hirose felt like nothing had changed at all. It would still be the same walk home after school, the same study session where Hirose traded his maths for Nakamura’s Japanese and English, and both suffering through science together. Lunch would be quieter without Takeuchi and Mukai, but it was not like Hirose would hear anyone else when he would spend the entirety of it talking Nakamura’s ears off, as the other boy listened to him like he was the only one in the world that mattered.
It was so, so nice, to feel like he was the most important thing to someone.
It also stirred something deep within Hirose’s heart. Something that had been there since that day at the gazebo. But Hirose could worry about it later! He had the second year of high school life to enjoy. A brief period of hope and dreams before university and the competitive job market crushed both of those things. Such is life.
Oh, well.
Today was another of many ordinary days like those that had come before. Morning classes were still gruelling. Lunch was great with Nakamura. It was an even numbered day so Nakamura bought both of them drinks. Afternoon classes were still exhausting. They were still ready to head home as soon as half past two. A slight variation would be that they were reviewing the maths homework for so long that the classroom was empty. Geometry was not something they could take just in stride.
After looking at an unnecessarily large number of triangles, they decided to call it a day. “Katou-sensei’s class was no slouch!” Hirose complained as he stretched. “At this point maths is able to live in my brain only on its goodwill from Otogiri-sensei!”
“I must say I agree with you,” Nakamura replied with a tired smile. “Why do we have to study Trigonometry anyway? I think Mr. Pythagoras would rather see us frolicking in the meadow.”
“Speak like a literature class enthusiast!” Hirose laughs, gathering worksheets and whatnots. “That reminds me, should we do a study-session-slash-movie this Saturday? I’ve heard this new movie got a rave review.”
Nakamura turned slightly pink. “O-Oh! Sure! I-If you would have me.”
“Of course. And only you!” Hirose winked, which made Nakamura’s face reach ripe redness. Hirose laughed lightly at that.
Hirose could not explain, but he enjoyed Nakamura being flustered by his teasing, which in turn made him bolder with his move, too. But lately, he was not sure whether it was just teasing or something more. As Hirose slowly became aware of the fact that Nakamura would not be this flustered with anyone else, that thing he tucked deep inside him stirred harder and louder. But Hirose could worry about it later. Should worry about it later.
Right, not thinking about it right now. And so, Hirose turned to leave the room, absently whistling.
“Wait, Hirose,” Nakamura called from behind him.
Hirose turned around, and there was his yellow handkerchief on the floor. It must have fallen from his pants pocket when he brought his hand up to scratch his nose. This pesky little thing. Hirose had not been diligent in properly storing it. He lost his handkerchiefs often, and it would earn him a light scolding every time. Good thing Nakamura was here to remind him. Another thing he should be grateful for, added to the list.
Hirose bent down to pick the piece of fabric. Nakamura also instinctively did the same. It should be no surprise that their hands almost touched. Nakamura’s hand froze at the very last second, hovering over the handkerchief, under Hirose’s noticeably smaller hand.
“Whoa, never noticed how big your hands were!” Hirose said, unconsciously placed his hand on top of Nakamura’s. “And your fingers are long, too! Man, you got some pretty digits!” He complimented as his fingers traced along the length of Nakamura’s hand, culminating in him grabbing the tip of Nakamura’s middle and ring fingers.
Nakamura became a wheezing red steamer like a boiling kettle as expected, so nothing to talk about there. What was more interesting was Hirose’s tired afternoon brain as it slowly cleared away a pile of triangles and equations to catch up with his action, analyzed the position they were in, and concluded that the way he was holding Nakamura’s fingers was not unlike he was readying to kiss the other boy’s knuckle. And perhaps he could do it right now, according to an intrusive thought. Kiss Nakamura’s knuckle. Make him blush even more. Because that was fun, was it not? Just a funny thing a boy would do to another boy. Or was there something else that pushed this thought to be so, so loud?
As the rational part of his brain fought to be present, Hirose slowly became aware of a certain kind of heat that slowly crept up his neck, slowly reaching past his chin into his cheek. Right before he turned the color of a cooked crustacean, Hirose let go of Nakamura’s fingers and collected his handkerchief with a speed of light.
“Uh…” Hirose struggled to come up with an excuse. “Afternoon brain! Am I right? Whew! So tired that you’d be saying things.”
Poor Nakamura took a while to recover. Standing back up seemed to be a Herculean task for him after that ordeal. “Y– Yeah… It was a long day… indeed.”
That feeling he repressed stirred again, creating a thunderous echo in the deep recess of Hirose’s heart. So Hirose employed the best method to take his mind off of it: Making a Joke.
“That reminds me, remember when you stomped on my handkerchief?” Hirose forced a joking lilt. “What was that?”
Nakamura squeaked. “W– W– Why would you bring that up!?” He stuttered adorably. Adorably?
Hirose quickly turned back to the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “What? Not many people stomped on someone’s hanky and then handed it back to them.” He looked back at Nakamura with a smile, “Looking back, it’s really funny though!”
“W– Well, if it was no-harm-no-foul then, uh, I’m glad!” Despite saying that, Nakamura still looked embarrassed.
“Well! If you were in a mood to apologize for something you did a year ago,” Hirose touched his chin in contemplation, “maybe you could treat me to a drink! I could really use a hot chocolate right now!”
“Ugh, Home Ec,” Nakamura complained under his breath, “I still remember how disastrous the first year class was.”
In the second year, Home Economics was still mandatory, though the lesson shifted from cooking to sewing. On one hand, no more burnt crepe to scarf down, and no more lettuce drowned in mayonnaise (Thanks, Takeuchi!). On another hand, they had to handle more of the sharp and pointy objects, and dealing with the infuriating task of threading through the eye of a needle. Sure, there were tools for that, but Hirose broke his five times since the semester started and could not be bothered to buy it anymore.
“Well, at least we get to make something cute,” Hirose said as he held up his piece of cloth he used to practice wobbly stitches. Nakamura chuckled, ears tinted with peachy color. “You are actually good at this, though.” Hirose said, looking at Nakamura’s practice piece on their shared desk.
Despite Nakamura’s earlier complaint, he was surprisingly competent with sewing. His practice stitches were neat and straight, and all the various small projects they had to learn were done beautifully (Hell, Hirose had to ask to keep a stuffed star Nakamura made because it was that cute!) It could be that sewing put Nakamura’s mind in a single track, stitch by stitch, complementing his focus when he really, really set his mind to something.
Ever since the second handkerchief incident, Hirose had come to like watching Nakamura sew. Probably because he had grown a bit obsessed with Nakamura’s long, slender fingers. Hirose loved to see all of Nakamura’s fingers carefully moving a needle with surgical precision. Occasionally the other hand’s digits would ever so gently move the piece of fabric forward. Nakamura’s black, beady eyes would become intensely dark as he aimed for the next stitch. Bit by bit, a neat line would appear, Nakamura would slightly shift his posture, and Hirose would feel immensely satisfied.
“Uh, Hirose,” Nakamura said, looking at the other boy, “are you alright? The teacher had us start a while ago...”
“Oh!” Hirose exclaimed, suddenly aware. He was thinking about Nakamura’s fingers so much that all of the teacher’s words went over his head. “What was the project?”
The taller boy touched the blunt end of his threaded needle to his lips, contemplative. “This class is hemming, and then we’ll be making a drawstring bag for this and the next two weeks. Have you not bought a new threader?” Nakamura asked, looking at an untouched bobbin in Hirose’s lap.
Hirose looked down, then to an unthreaded needle he was holding in his right hand. “My mom banned me from buying any more of them, saying it would put our family in destitute,” Hirose said with a pout, before lifting his eyes at Nakamura, “so help a friend out, would you?”
Nakamura was also very, very good at threading a needle.
“You can’t just store them in a loose bag. They’ll get crushed.” Nakamura sighed, but took Hirese’s thread and needle regardless. Hirose offered him a smile in exchange.
As per usual, the tip of the thread had to be wet for an ease of insert. Hirose was deafened by his own heartbeat as he watched Nakamura open his mouth and let the tip of his tongue touch the fiber. For a moment, he would rather Nakamura's tongue touch his instead. Nakamura would probably taste like saltwater, because he seemed to have that aquatic motif about him. Hirose wondered whether the other boy would moan quietly or loudly–
Snap out of it!
Nakamura had just pulled a length of thread at the eye of the needle when Hirose blurted out “Thanks Nakamura!”, and grabbed both the bobbin and the pin. Nakamura’s eyes widened in horror as Hirose quickly put a hanging thread in his mouth, and tried to snap it off using his teeth. It usually worked with no consequences. Not this time, though.
“Ouch!” Hirose yelped, touching his gum. His teacher and some of the classmates turned to look at him. As the taste of iron slowly permeated through his mouth, Hirose gave the class a tight-lipped smile and a ‘move along!’ wave.
“Please, remember to use scissors instead of biting your thread off," the teacher spoke to the entire class and definitely not anyone in particular.
Nakamura looked at him, brows furrowed, “What was that for!?”
Hirose was about to open his mouth when Nakamura leaned in, eyes dark with unusual seriousness. His left thumb touched Hirose’s lips and pulled it down. He could feel it move lightly back and forth, left to right as Nakamura leaned closer and closer to inspect his gum for damage. Hirose’s mind went haywire as they were in a practically kissing distance, and the hyper-awareness of Nakamura’s slender finger gently holding his chin did not help.
“No obvious bleeding,” Nakamura said, voice low. But as Hirose started to feel hot and lightheaded, Nakamura seemed to regain his spatial and situational awareness, jumping back in his seat as respectfully far away from Hirose as possible. “S– Sorry! I thought you might’ve hurt yourself badly. Threads can be sharp! We use them to cut eggs!”
As Nakamura rambled on, Hirose’s mouth was still slightly agape, his eyes were very much unfocused, and his head was staying up there, on a pink, sparkly cloud. It took him six blinks to come back to earth, just before he started to drool. That would be so uncool. “Uh– Oh, yeah, my bad. Thanks for looking after me.”
Hirose looked around. Despite Nakamura’s startling noises, nobody seemed to pay them any mind, all focusing on their project. As he reconvened on himself, Hirose could feel all the tremors his heartbeats sent across his body. The fingers holding his needle were still trembling slightly. As much as he loathed confronting the feeling he had pushed deep, deep down into the crevices of his heart, it had erupted, molten and viscous and confusing.
About damn time that he admitted he had fallen for his friend Nakamura Okuto.
“Nakamura, help!” Hirose whispered. Hemming absolutely required one to be good at keeping their stitches straight, a thing Hirose very much unable to do.
Nakamura seemed reluctant to be within a touching distance to Hirose after the ‘inspection’, so Hirose thrusted both of his hands, holding the practice fabric, towards the other boy. He also looked up at Nakamura with the best puppy-dog eyes he could do, for good measure. Nakamura eyed the messy piece of cloth, then to Hirose. His black eyes lingered at the latter for quite a while before Nakamura sighed, “I won’t do it for you.”
“What? I’m not asking you to do it for me, silly!” Hirose giggled, though the heat in his cheek was palpable, “J– Just show me how to do it. Like, how do you keep it neat and clean.”
The next minute was the longest minute for them both. Nakamura took a long and deep breath as if to steel his resolve before an arduous task, while Hirose tried his hardest to will the blush that was creeping onto his face away. Eventually, Nakamura took the fabric. Hirose watched with rapidly dilated pupils as Nakamura’s slender thumbs flexed as they pressed hard on the rolled edge, until they stayed more or less flattened.
“Press the fold nice and crisp first,” Nakamura murmured, “don’t just roll it like you did.”
After placing the fabric back on Hirose’s open hand. Nakamura left his seat to hover somewhere to Hirose’s back. Nakamura’s left hand reached out, gently cupped Hirose’s, guiding his fingers to hold the fabric properly. His left thumbs pressed over Hirose’s, and he could sense a rising heat of sorts through the digit. His right hand went to guide Hirose’s needle. Nakamura held his breath as he fidgeted Hirose’s right hand with its position and angle.
“I’m left-handed, but this should do. You aim it like this,” Nakamura’s right middle finger gently pushed Hirose’s needle, “then you pushed,” his voice was low against Hirose’s left ear, as he used both his thumbs and his index finger to push Hirose’s. The needle went in easily.
“Pull it all the way. ” Nakamura said. As Hirose started to feel Nakamura’s hand sweating, the latter’s right hand quickly left his to its own devices. Hirose stared blankly at the pierced needle, and absently did as Nakamura instructed.
As soon as Hirose let his right follow the gravity down, Nakamura caught it again. As he guided Hirose’s needle, Nakamura unconsciously rested his chin on Hirose’s shoulder. He could feel Nakamura’s throat bobbing as he swallowed his nervousness, and Hirose felt like he could pass out again. No, not just pass out. Pass away.
“The teacher expects us to do either catch stitches or slip stitches. I’m… not sure what you were doing, to be honest.” Nakamura’s soft voice came from somewhere to Hirose’s right, and his Adam’s apple lightly grazed Hirose’s shoulder, sending shivers down his body. “Let’s do slip stitches. I think it’s a bit easier”
Nakamura’s right hand meticulously guided Hirose’s to insert the needle, and to pull it out. Unlike the first time, Nakamura did not let Hirose pull the thread himself, instead he seemed to be in a trance as he continued guiding Hirose’s hand, stitch by stitch. Hirose’s vision started to blur as his mind focused more on the sensation of Nakamura’s fingers on his hand. Every line traced as Nakamura’s finger slightly moved as he guided Hirose’s hand were very vivid, very corporeal despite how light the touch was. As his motion became more confident, more comfortable, Nakamura’s hand no longer sweat, instead becoming comfortably warm around Hirose.
And to his little surprise, Hirose got completely lost in that warmth.
But good things always came to an end. After who knew how long. Hirose felt a sudden cold as Nakamura left his back. He blinked, and saw his right hand resting dumbly by itself, still angled for another stitch.
“It should be like that,” Nakamura was back in his seat, pointedly turning away from Hirose. His ears were burning red. “Now you should be able to finish it.”
Hirose looked around. Nobody seemed to pay them any mind, still. The teacher was instructing someone at the front. Their little lesson went absolutely unnoticed.
Hirose turned back to look at Nakamura, who still turned away from him, appearing to busy himself with cutting fabrics. He suddenly felt how dry his mouth was, and how it had been held slightly ajar since who knew. He felt a certain kind of craving in the pit of his stomach.
“Sorry, Nakamura-kun,” he called softly, and the other boy flinched at the tactically added honorific, “Could we… Could we go over it again?”