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Hirose was eyeing the top shelf with both interest and annoyance. After looking around and finding no other person to ask for help, he figured he would have to take matters into his own hands. He placed one foot on the very bottom shelf and grabbed another to hoist himself up. He stretched, fingertips brushing against the spine of the textbook he needed for class, but ultimately failing to grab it.
“Why is it always so high up?” he hissed, trying again but to no avail.
For a moment, he cursed his own bloodline for passing down the gene for short height then he cursed the school’s library for deciding to have bookshelves so high up it was close to touching the ceiling.
He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. Great. He could try finding someone, but it was nearing closing hours, so he had very little time to get the book he needed. Sure, it was his fault for leaving his assignment at the last minute, but he had a horrible memory!! No one could blame him!!!
He was about to try climbing the shelves when he heard footsteps.
He whipped around ready to beg for help, but his words got stuck in his throat.
It was a man around his age. He was incredibly tall with short black hair and bangs nearly covering his black eyes. He wore a brown bomber jacket with a black shirt underneath which was—oh my, it was tight, and it showed off the man’s…well, his—
He had abs. Muscles. Not jacked but fit enough that Hirose could count a six-pack from where he was standing.
He was standing in front of one of the bookshelves, and he was either ignoring him or hadn’t noticed him because his attention was fully on the books. He reached for one and—was it possible for hands to be beautiful? Enchanting? His hands were big, and his fingers were long like a pianist.
Hirose stared. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. Who was this man, and why was he here in a library when he should be at a photo shoot having his pictures taken and quite possibly being sold to a model agency?
Finally, the man looked in his direction, and his eyes widened. He was pale, so it was easy to spot the blush forming on his cheeks. Hirose watched with fascination as it spread down his neck, and he wondered if it reached his ears too.
Neither one looked away, and Hirose felt a palpable tension between them. It was like a rubber band being pulled, and he knew at some point it was going to snap.
“Um…” The man’s voice was soft and quiet with an undertone of a deep rumble. “Do you need help?”
Unconsciously, he looked at the top shelf.
The man followed his gaze and immediately put the book he grabbed back on the shelf before walking in his direction. The blush on his face darkened, and Hirose’s mouth slightly parted as the man got closer.
Wow. He was stunning.
“D-Do you need…a book?” His voice cracked, and Hirose wondered if the man was nervous, and if he was, was it because of him?
It left him giddy.
“Uhhhh.” He blinked multiple times before he fully processed what was asked. “Yeah! Yes, please, I need the one with the black cover.”
The man nodded and so easily grabbed the book. He handed it to him with two hands as if he was presenting a valuable item.
Hirose may have “accidentally” brushed their fingers together, and he relished the contact before he hugged the book against his chest. His own cheeks were warm, and he found himself at a loss of words.
All he knew was he didn’t want the man to leave.
“Are you a student?” he asked, and he wanted to hit himself with the book. Of course he was!!! He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t!!!
The man smiled, something so small yet filled with a kindness that left Hirose swooning, and said, “Yes. I was looking for a book. I need it for a project.”
“Same! Kind of. I actually forgot I had an essay due tonight, so I had to come and get this bad boy otherwise I would be soooo screwed.”
The man chuckled, and it sounded like wedding bells.
“I understand the feeling.”
Hirose bowed his head. “My name is Aiki Hirose.”
The man returned the gesture. “Okuto Nakamura.”
O-ku-to. Okuto. Okuto.
He could already see himself saying it over and over again.
“What book were you looking for?” asked Hirose. He was desperate to keep the conversation going.
Nakamura perked up and with only a few steps grabbed the book and returned to his side. The reserved smile from before was completely replaced with a large grin.
“It’s an amazing book discussing several topics regarding octopuses like their behavior, biogeography, migratory patterns, and—” He abruptly stopped, and his eyes widened. “S-Sorry! I didn’t mean to dump all that information on you.”
Hirose, who was listening intently with interest, blinked. “Don’t say sorry. I wanted to keep listening.” He didn’t tell him he wanted to keep listening to his voice too.
Nakamura made a weird sound between a choke and a gasp
“Really?” he squeaked.
He nodded. “Do you want to go get a drink?” His eyes widened once he realized what he said. “T-To keep talking about. The book!!! Your book. Or mine. Whichever.” He shrugged, face hot like lava, and he averted his gaze. “If you want,” he whispered.
“I do!!” Nakamura was leaning into his space, eyes wide and frantic. “I really, really do!!!”
Hirose laughed, and his cheeks bunched up near his eyes from how wide he was smiling. “Awesome! We should go check these out then we can go somewhere.”
Nakamura quickly nodded, and he worried his head was going to fly off from how fast he was moving.
As they walked to the front desk, they filled their space with light conversation about topics that were often used when getting to know someone. What’s your major? What year are you in? How many classes are you taking this semester? Are any of them kicking your ass? What got you into octopuses? What made you want to be a teacher?
By the time they checked out their books, they were standing outside. It was late evening, the stars up high with the crescent moon smiling down at them.
“I know a cafe that closes pretty late,” said Hirose. “Want me to give you the address? We can meet there.”
Nakamura almost dropped the book he was holding in his hurry to take out his phone. He shakily handed it over, and Hirose noted the pristine condition it was in compared to his own cracked one. After exchanging numbers—Hirose immediately naming it “🐙♥️”—he sent the address.
Nakamura’s face lit up once he received it, and Hirose didn’t know how captivating a face could look when painted by the glow of a cellphone’s screen.
“I don’t have a car,” he confessed, “so I’m going to take about fifteen minutes to get there by bus.”
After pocketing his phone, Nakamura didn’t immediately say, “Goodbye,” or “See you there!” Instead, he looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words for it. Hirose was a patient man, and he quickly realized as seconds ticked by that he would wait an eternity for Nakamura if it meant he would eventually tell him what was on his mind.
“Icantakeyou!” he blurted in a rush. “If—If you’re okay with it, of course.” He fidgeted with the spine of the book.
Hirose smiled, charmed by Nakamura’s flustered behavior, and said, “Yeah, I’m fine with it. Lead the way!”
As they walked, he asked, “You’re okay with a cafe, right?”
“Yes! I love drinking coffee or tea.”
“Really? Latte or frappucino? Sweet or unsweetened tea?”
He made a face. “Neither. I like my coffee black, and I prefer green tea.”
Hirose whistled. “You have a sophisticated taste.” He grinned, “I think you’re going to judge my taste in drinks.”
Nakamura shook his head, his face red and eyes wide, and said, “I’ll never judge you for anything!!” His voice was loud, and it echoed in the empty walkways.
He should have been caught off guard by his energetic if not intense energy, but Hirose found himself enjoying it—almost looking forward to the next explosion of words and expressions if it meant he could discover a bit more of who Okuto Nakamura was.
“Phew! Good to know.”
“What…” He faltered before clearing his throat. “I-I mean, what drinks do you like?”
He hummed and squinted at him in playful suspicion. “This isn’t a trap, right? You’re not going to laugh at me?”
“No!! Never!!”
He held out his hand with his pinky raised. “Promise?”
They both stopped. Hirose was staring at Nakamura while Nakamura was staring at his hand with wide eyes. When he didn’t move, Hirose’s mood dropped. How could he be so stupid?! A pinky promise?? Really?? They were both adults, not children!!! Nakamura was clearly a person who was incredibly mature and not someone who likes to sleep in, watch anime and read shoujo manga, eat cereal in bed, plays video games—
A pale pinky wrapped around his sunkissed one.
Nakamura was cold—not freezing but cool enough he felt the clash between his own body heat against his. They were touching, a small point of contact which was unlike the brush of fingers from before. It was more intimate. Intertwined and slotting into place like they were always meant to be.
Hirose didn’t make a move to pull away, so Nakamura didn’t either. Once again, they were staring at each other, and the tension from before came back but stronger and more palpable. He could almost feel the heavy weight of it on his shoulders and the pit of his stomach, sending sparks down his spine to his toes then back up to his cheeks where heat pooled.
It was Nakamura who pulled away with a gasp, and he stuttered, “L-Let’s keep going.”
“Mm.”
They walked in silence, and for the first time in his life Hirose didn’t have the urge to fill it. It was like a lull after a loud and overwhelming day.
“What kind of car do you have?” he asked, curious about what kind of vehicle the ever cool and mysterious Okuto Nakamura drives.
They reached the parking lot, and Nakamura nervously chuckled, “It’s, um, not a car.”
Hirose furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean…” He trailed off when they stopped in front of a motorcycle.
He slowly turned to Nakamura who looked like he was one second away from prostrating. He looked back at the motorcycle.
“No way,” he whispered. The sparks were back but more intense. “You drive a motorcycle?!” He grinned and circled it, eyeing it with interest and awe. “Wowzers!! How—what?! How cool!!!”
Nakamura shifted from foot to foot. “Do you really think so?” he whispered.
Hirose giggled, “Think? No, I know.” He was nervous, but excited at the same time. He gestured to the motorcycle. “Show me how to get on.”
Nakamura hurriedly grabbed the helmet that was hanging off one of the handles. “Put this on first.”
Hirose handed his book over to Nakamura who put their books away in a small compartment underneath the seats. He took the time to turn the helmet over, admiring the different stickers decorating it, and he smiled when he spotted a few octopuses. Cheekily, he looked up at Nakamura with wide eyes and slowly blinked.
“I don’t know how to put it on.” He pouted, “Help me?”
“Ye-Yes! Of course!! Wh-Whatever you need!!”
Nakamura was gentle as he slowly lowered the helmet onto his head. He pointed to the face shield.
“You can always slide it up by pushing it here.” Without any warning, Nakamura grabbed his hand and guided it to the bottom of the face shield. He grasped it and together they slid the shield up.
He didn’t let go, and Hirose daringly squeezed his hand.
Nakamura’s eyes widened, and he finally let go. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Before Hirose could say anything, Nakamura was already sitting down on the motorcycle and—
Wow. Okay. Nakamura’s jeans tightened, and it highlighted his thighs which were without a doubt muscular and thick. Hirose’s mouth dried, and he was close to ascending to gay heaven.
“Um, Hirose?”
He snapped out of his trance and stared at the empty space behind Nakamura then back at him. He lifted the face shield and pouted, “Help?”
Nakamura’s face went so red, Hirose was worried he was going to pass out. “Yes, of course!! Okay, um, so put one leg over the seat.” Hirose was about to do just that when Nakamura grabbed one of his hands and placed it on his shoulder. “Grab onto me, so you don’t fall over.”
“Oh,” he whispered, caught off guard and utterly swooning. “Alright.”
He threw his leg over the seat and, using it as an excuse, squeezed his shoulder.
The muscles. They were very real.
Once Hirose was straddling the seat, he didn’t move his hand away. Instead, he asked, “What now?”
Hirose saw Nakamura’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Now you can wrap your arms around my waist or—”
He pulled down the face shield, wrapped his arms around his waist, and placed his head against his back.
“Is this okay?” he asked, loud enough he hoped Nakamura could hear him.
Judging from his high pitch squeak, he did. “Ye-Yes!”
Then Nakamura turned it on.
The motorcycle roared to life, and everything began to rumble. Hirose felt the engine right underneath him. Vibrations started from his legs up to his head, and he gasped. He tightened his arms and squeezed the seat, caught off guard by the movement.
A hand laid on top of his own, and Hirose gasped again—but for a different reason.
He felt the telltale sign of a caress—a thumb passing over his knuckles in a gentle motion—before Nakamura squeezed his hands.
“You okay?” he called out, loud enough to be heard over the roaring engine, and the helmet.
He nodded, his head still pressed against his back, and it was as close to a “go-ahead” as one could get because the next moment, Nakamura patted his hands before he took off.
Hirose jerked, and he shrieked as they began to move. He shuffled closer to Nakamura, pressing his front against his back, and held him even tighter. He squeezed his eyes shut, trembling as he felt the rush of cool air, and he let out a scream when they did a turn. He wasn’t sure if Nakamura could hear him, and he hoped he wasn’t able to, because he wasn’t expecting the rush of a motorcycle to feel so terrifying.
Then he opened his eyes.
The world was a blur—lines of color molding together to create unique streaks of yellow, blue, orange, red. Trees, cars, streets, lamp posts, buildings, sometimes even people, becoming nothing more than a passing memory—here and gone the next. There was something so liberating yet vulnerable when driving on a motorcycle compared to driving in a car. There was nothing between them and the world. It almost seemed like they became a part of the world. Another moment adding onto the city life.
The engine revved, and Hirose saw a turn coming up. He wanted to close his eyes again, like he was about to brace for impact, but he forced himself to keep looking. The world tilted, and he felt the motorcycle—them—move with it. His heart went up his throat, his arms tightened, but he kept his eyes open. The ground seemed closer than before, but they were upright the next second and speeding down the street.
Adrenaline spiked in his veins, and he laughed, breathless and in disbelief, before looking at Nakamura.
His next laugh turned into a gasp.
Nakamura’s eyes were narrowed, entirely focused on the road, and his hair was windswept. His face was fully visible now, and Hirose no longer thought of him as handsome. The word was too simple and inadequate. It was like looking at the moon, and the sun combined. He wanted to keep staring at his chiseled jaw line, the red tip of his nose, the different shades of passing colors in his eyes, his thin lips pressed together in concentration yet, at the same time, he was nearly blinded by the sight alone. When he finally found the strength to look away, he almost thought he would see black spots.
He rested his head against his back and closed his eyes. He felt Nakamura breathing, his body heat blanketed him, and he pressed his palms against his chest—right over his heart—and he felt it. The beating against his hands, strong, untamed, yet soothing.
All too soon, they came to a slow stop. He slowly opened his eyes, and they were in the parking lot next to the cafe. Nakamura placed a hand over his own, squeezing them twice, then asked in a soft voice, “Are you okay?”
No, he wasn’t.
He felt forever changed.
“Yeah,” he choked, and Nakamura laughed as if he understood.
Nakamura was the first to get off the motorcycle then he held out his hand. Hirose didn’t even have to ask for help. Nakamura was already offering it to him as if it was second nature.
He placed his hand on his, and with a gentle squeeze, he helped him off. His legs were shaking, and he stumbled. Nakamura caught him—one arm wrapped around his waist while the other held his hand—and they stared at each other once again. Their faces were far too close, and if it wasn’t for the helmet, Hirose knew their noses would have touched.
Nakamura swallowed and slowly pulled away as if he was relishing every second. Hirose was doing much the same. Nakamura carefully took off the helmet, and he stared at his unkempt hair. Embarrassed, Hirose ran his fingers through it.
“Does it look bad?”
Nakamura shook his head and softly smiled. “You look cute.”
Hirose gasped. Nakamura looked mortified.
“I-I’m sorry!! I didn’t mean—”
“Thank you.” Hirose’s face was hot, and the back of his neck was starting to burn too. “Th-The cafe. Right, the cafe. Um…” He pointed in its general direction. “Ready?”
Before he could turn, Nakamura grabbed his hand. The hold was firm, determined, and if not a bit nervous judging from how clammy it was. Hirose followed the hand up to the arm, from the shoulder to the neck, and finally he looked at Nakamura’s beautiful face.
He was staring at him with an intent that left Hirose weak in the knees.
“I mean it,” he whispered, squeezing his hand. “You are cute.”
Hirose’s eyes widened, and his hand twitched in Nakamura’s hold.
“Oh.”
Really? Okuto Nakamura—motorcyclist, body of a god, sweet, gentle, kind, and octopus enthusiast—just called him cute and he said oh?!
“You’re cute too,” he blurted.
Nakamura looked shocked as if he had never considered the sheer possibility that Hirose would find him cute.
“Really?” he asked, high pitch and in disbelief.
“Yeah.” Hirose grinned, “Do you think I go around telling anyone they’re cute?”
His face twisted in what looked like displeasure. “Of course not!” Then he deflated and quietly added, “I-I mean, I hope not.”
Hirose giggled, and the high of everything that’s happened to him so far pushed him to interlock their fingers together. He squeezed Nakamura’s hand and ever so slowly, he squeezed back.
“I don’t,” he reassuringly said. “You’re the only one.”
They both looked away, and Hirose felt a shyness he never experienced before washing over him. It made him nervous. It made him giddy. It made him anxious to see where this would take him—both of them. He wanted to know already. He needed to know.
“Do you think…” Nakamura paused, eyes flickering all over his face, looking for something and if Hirose had to take a wild guess, he knew what it was. After a beat, Nakamura’s expression softened, and the smile that left Hirose breathless appeared. “Can we keep doing this? I-I mean, can we hang out or get together or—” He bit his lip, but despite the obvious nerves, he kept staring at him, unabashed of his stumbling request.
“Yeah,” he whispered. He smiled widely and squeezed Nakamura’s hand. “Yeah, of course!! I want to.” Then he coyly asked, “So, is it a date?”
Nakamura wheezed. Hirose laughed so hard, he had tears in his eyes.
Nakamura abruptly said, “Yes.”
Hirose let out a few more chuckles, wiping his eyes, and asked, “Yes what?”
“A date. It’s a yes—I-I want to ask you out on a date.”
He sobered up immediately.
Nakamura’s expression turned earnest, he slowly shuffled closer, and he slowly raised his hand until it was cupping his cheek. How did this happen? One moment Hirose was trying to reach for a book at the top shelf in a library then the next he was in a parking lot with a stranger who left Hirose wanting to carve a space for himself in his life.
He leaned into the touch and looked up. He could compare Nakamura to the sun or moon, the Earth or ocean, the planets or stars, beautiful or handsome—but none could ever come close to what was the entirety of Okuto Nakamura.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving Nakamura’s, and he was distinctly aware of the closing gap between their faces. “I’ll like that.”
It didn’t matter who kissed who first. What mattered was Nakamura’s lips were on his.
It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t desperate.
It was fleeting. A touch barely felt before he pulled away, but it left Hirose lightheaded as if they kissed for hours on end.
Nakamura was smiling that smile Hirose knew he would treasure forever, if Nakamura had him.
“Do you think the cafe is still open?”
Hirose giggled, and he wrapped his arms around Nakamura, leaning his head against his chest. “I hope so.”
They stayed there, holding onto each other tightly, before Hirose was suddenly reminded of one very important little thing.
“Oh my god!!”
Nakamura quickly placed his hands on his shoulders and squeezed, looking him over for any injury. “What? Are you okay?”
“Okuto,” he said, eyes wide and heart racing. “Our assignments.”
They stared at each other as horror dawned on them.
“We still have time,” said Nakamura, but Hirose saw the panic creeping in.
“I need to go home and read the book and—”
Nakamura cupped his cheeks, and Hirose took a deep breath.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “I’ll drop you off—”
“Can I go with you?” he asked. “I don’t want to be alone.” I don’t want to be apart from you.
Nakamura kissed the tip of his nose.
“Of course.”
He wanted to cover his face and hide, run away if he could, but Nakamura was his anchor. He could only groan in embarrassment and pleasure at the attention he was given.
With one last kiss on his lips—he almost fell over from how weak in the knees it left him—Nakamura was guiding him back on the motorcycle.
He grinned, “Let’s go.”
And Hirose knew, without a doubt, he would go with him anywhere.