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(Kei wants to give all of himself to Yamaguchi, but maybe he still needs time.)
In the final brushes of sunset across the canvas of the sky, the neighborhood streetlights flicker to life. The shuffling of their soles echo off the walls; Kei fiddles with the strap of his volleyball bag and counts twenty steps before they reach the front door. Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. Beside him, Yamaguchi swings their hands together, scrunching his face in contemplation.
“Tsukki, do you think dogs can love? Like, romantically?”
“They have to. That’s how they reproduce, right?”
“I mean, like. Do they French kiss each other? Are their mouths made for that?”
Kei stifles a laugh. “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”
“You think it’s funny! Don’t pretend you don’t!”
Kei grins and tightens his grasp on Yamaguchi’s hand, caressing the knuckle of his index with his thumb. Yamaguchi hums and leans into his side.
They come to a stop in front of the Yamaguchi household’s front gates, the lantern lights hanging on either side wavering against the metal. Yamaguchi swings himself around and tugs at Kei’s jacket sleeve near the elbows. Kei watches him scuff his worn-out volleyball shoes against the concrete.
“I guess their snouts would get in the way.”
“Yeah. Licking is probably their version of French kissing, though.”
“True. Tsukki?”
“Hm?”
“I…”
Somewhere in the house, Yamaguchi’s mom turns on the radio, the static melody of the music finding its way out to the front porch. Yamaguchi looks up at Kei and taps on his elbow to the rhythm. He hesitates, visibly biting back the three words on his tongue; Kei has the gall to feel guilty.
“Nothing,” Yamaguchi says, a small smile forming on his lips. He leans in and leaves a chaste kiss on Kei’s cold cheek. “Good night.”
Kei lets himself smile back, brushing Yamaguchi’s bangs aside to leave a kiss on his forehead. He lingers there and plants another, and another, feeling the warmth blossom between their skin.
“Good night,” he whispers. The boy smiles up at him, squeezes his forearm as if to say I know . The guilt festers in his chest; he ignores the erratic pounding of his heart.
He lets his boyfriend detach from him and disappear behind the gate. A few footsteps later, Kei hears the front door open and close, Yamaguchi’s muffled singing trickling out of its cracks. He tucks his hands into his jacket and starts on his way home.
(Kei wants to give all of himself to Yamaguchi, but maybe it isn’t time he needs; maybe he just needs the tingly sensation in his abdomen to tornado through his lungs, weld the words in his throat and off of his tongue. Courage scrapes at the walls of his teeth.
He doesn’t let it escape, though, so for now he waits.)
The house is quiet when he walks in, save for a sniffle and a cough from behind Akiteru’s door frame. Kei sets his bag down on his bed before gathering his pajamas and slipping into the bathroom.
There’s something comforting about the click of the shower lever today, as it unleashes the scalding water onto his taut skin. His thoughts are almost tangible, melting at the heat of the water, nagging at him in every neuron. He exhales, rubbing at his temples and willing the worries to disappear down the drain.
The documentary on asteroids he’s been meaning to watch might take his mind off of things. Yeah. He settles on this as he turns off the faucet and wraps the towel around his waist.
Barely ten minutes into the documentary, as he watches a professor simulate an asteroid collision with Earth, Kei hears a silent knock. The door unlocks, revealing a brushed-out mop of blond hair in his peripheral.
“Kei, can I talk to you?”
“I’m watching a documentary right now, Nii-san.”
“It’s kind of urgent.”
Kei sighs, tilts his laptops to 45 degrees. “What is it–”
He freezes as his gaze lands on his brother in the doorway. Akiteru’s eyes brim with tears; he clutches a pillow in his left arm, wordlessly tugging at the tag with the laundry instructions. His purple sleeve is embroidered with small damp ellipses.
Kei closes his laptop and shifts on the bed toward Akiteru. He hasn’t seen his older brother cry since middle school, when he found out he was lying about being on the volleyball team. In some ways this is different, laced with nervousness and a sliver of relief. In other ways it’s the same: soaked in humiliation, inevitability, regret. Seeing him sad is something Kei isn’t used to; it makes him uncomfortable, like a rose thorn in a bouquet of sunflowers.
Akiteru sits on the opposite edge of the twin bed, making small undulations in the mattress. He swipes at his eyes again and sniffles. Kei waits.
“Amaya and I broke up. A few hours ago.”
His eyes widen on their own accord. Amaya-san was Akiteru’s girlfriend of nearly four years; she had stayed over during the winter holidays every year and visited them regularly. Kei had thought they were going to last a while, if not forever.
“It wasn’t too much of a surprise; we’ve almost broken up three times now,” Akiteru adds with a shaky laugh. He sounds heavy. “But it still sucks, you know? I- I really loved her.”
The walls of Kei’s heart shrivel into themselves. He hadn’t known that anything was wrong, hadn’t seen any signs during Akiteru’s time back at home. Maybe it should concern him, how they live in the same house but separately in their minds, their thoughts bound to their rooms and the chipping wallpaper.
“Why did you guys...?” Kei manages.
Akiteru squeezes his pillow with both arms now. “We’re just…different people, you know? Like, at different stages of life, with different values and love languages. She needed me to show my love through words, and I needed her to show me love with time.” He exhales unsteadily. “And in the end, we just couldn’t give each other enough.”
“Mm.”
Kei thinks about Yamaguchi and how he smiles at him no matter how early it is in the morning, how he tugs at Kei’s sleeve and pulls him into a hug before saying goodbye at night. How Kei kisses his forehead after practice, and holds his hand under their desks when the teacher is turned away. He wonders if that’s enough for Yamaguchi, if he gives enough to Yamaguchi. If Yamaguchi is content with being as they are. His fingers drum on the inside of his arm.
“This might be dumb, but are you okay?”
Akiteru nods slowly. “I know this is the best thing for both of us, so part of me is relieved. But–” His words catch in his throat. “But I want to be comforted right now, and usually the person I’d go to for that was her, you know? I just want to be held by her.” He scoots closer to Kei and drops his forehead on his shoulder. “And I want to comfort her too. So, so much.”
The sobs release themselves from Akiteru’s chest then, and he wails, heaves, digs his fingernails into his pillow and into Kei’s knee. Kei can almost hear the ringing in his brother’s head, the clapper of a bell hitting the sides of his brain with painful clarity. It’s almost too much to bear; he holds his arm stiffly around his brother’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles on his shirt sleeve.
They stay like that until Akiteru’s heartbeat slows, unable to keep up with his tears; he shakes less under Kei’s hovering embrace. Kei tries to group words together in his head, tries to find the right combination. It’s okay. You’ll move on eventually. Maybe it’s for the best? He knows all of those are true, but not what Akiteru wants to hear, so he stays quiet and waits for Akiteru to break the silence.
“It’s the little things about her, you know?”
“Hm?”
“Like, the one strand of hair that never failed to get in the way of her face. The mole right under her nose.” Akiteru scratches mindlessly at Kei’s knees again. “The hangnail scars on her thumbs.”
Kei thinks about all the things he likes about Yamaguchi; his mind is overwhelmed with the sheer amount of examples that it goes blank. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“She gave such good hugs. And she listened to me when I brought up issues I had in our relationship. She never got mad, either.”
“Mm.”
“But maybe I needed her to?” Akiteru’s voice cracks. “Maybe I needed her to.”
“Mm.”
Akiteru nudges himself out of Kei’s grasp and looks him directly in the eye. Another batch of tears roll themselves out onto his lower lashline. “I think what hurts the most is that I know I lost a good person. She’s so good, Kei.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever find anyone else like that again.”
“You will.” Kei pauses. “But you don’t need to think about that right now.”
“About what?”
“Finding someone else. Moving on.”
“Oh,” Akiteru nods, blinking the tears down his cheeks. “Yeah. You’re right.”
The silence is unnerving, as is Akiteru’s gaze. Kei moves his vision towards the wall far behind his brother’s head. Chipping, chipping wallpaper. He clears his throat.
“I think it’s okay to hold onto the memories for now. I would, too.”
Akiteru stares at Kei for another second too long before pulling him into a hug; Kei tries to adjust his limbs so they don’t dig into his ribs.
“Thanks, Kei. When did you grow up?”
“You sound like a grandparent.”
Akiteru hugs him tighter. “Thank you. I mean it.”
“Mm.”
“And I hope you don’t have to do that. Hold onto the memories, I mean.”
Kei feels his breath catch in his throat and just nods into his brother’s shoulder. It would be a lie to say the thought hasn’t crossed his mind, that one day he’d be stripped of soft hazel stares and freckles that spell out grace under the pad of his thumb. He feels the sudden urge to hear Yamaguchi’s voice, to drown out the beating of his heart.
Maybe his heart is too loud, because Akiteru pulls away.
“Sorry,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
Kei nods again weakly. Is he worrying? Should he be worrying? Tiny needles of shame prickle his skin for letting the tables turn so easily and making Akiteru comfort him.
His brother doesn’t seem to mind, though, eyes glazing over again.
“Hey, can I stay here for a little longer? I know you were watching something, but I...I don’t think I can be alone right now.”
And even though he rather enjoys being in his room alone, and even though he rather enjoys watching these documentaries by himself, Kei leans back and scoots over for Akiteru to tuck himself in, dangling his heart in front of Kei’s own. He opens his laptop and presses play.
(Barely twenty minutes in, as a montage of nature scenes plays with heightened classical music in the background, Akiteru cries again, clutching Kei’s shoulder.
“I wish I could’ve shown her more love, Kei. Do you think she knows? Fuck , do you think she knows?”
Kei keeps his eyes on the screen.)
In the wispy minutes after midnight, after Akiteru has left him alone in the walls of his room, Kei writes a letter.
Dear Yamaguchi,
Dear Yamaguchi,
Dear Tadashi,
Hey. I haven’t written a letter in a while and I’ve never written one like this before, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m using the same pencil I use to write my literature essays and do my math problems, but for some reason it feels different. Like it holds more weight this time. Maybe someone’s playing a trick on me and they swapped out my regular pencil with another that’s encased in iron. Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m nervous. I kind of want to scrap this and start over but if I pause now I’m afraid I’ll never finish.
I know I don’t vocalize it as much as I should, but you are the person I cherish the most. I like the little freckles on your earlobes. I like the scar on the inside of your left ring finger that you got when we were trying to cut your birthday cake together when we were eleven. I like the way your elbows tuck in when you get really excited about something. I like how your hair is always matted in the morning except for that one strand that we just can’t seem to control no matter how much water we use; I hope we never succeed in patting it down.
You light up every room with every word that leaves your lips. I’m so lucky to be the person that gets to feel your smile on my own. I savor every hug you give me, when you bring your chin over my shoulder and nestle your love in the crook of my neck. I’m so happy that interlocking your fingers with mine is something natural now, and not something that makes me burst into flames. But I think I’m aflame whenever I’m around you, really. Maybe that’s just my new normal state.
I’m grateful for all of the times you’ve never left me, like during the situation with Nii-san, and during our first summer training camp, and now. I’m grateful for the way you adjust your shirt collar during our dinner dates, and the way the sunlight encases your eyes when we reach the top of the hill on our hikes. I’m grateful for your hand squeezes in the middle of the night when you sleep over that remind me I’m not alone. I’m grateful that you trust me to be with you when you cry. I’m proud of you for always being one step ahead of me, and thankful that you’ve let me catch up to you and be by your side.
I think a lot about the moment you told me you loved me, while we were sitting on the couch in front of my TV in the dark. When you whispered it into my ear while I was half-asleep because you knew I couldn’t say it back yet, and you didn’t pry even though you knew I heard you from my tightened grip on your thumb. Thank you for being patient with me. Thank you for still giving me all of yourself when I can’t seem to give you all of me. I don’t know how you’re still here with me after all these years, but I’m so happy it’s you and not anyone else. I hope we can grow together forever, if you’ll let me.
Sincerely
Kei hovers.
Lov
— Kei
to: tadashi
[ link ]
from: tadashi
i dont know whether this is the best or worst text ive ever received
to: tadashi
this is the most fascinating information in the world what do you mean
to: tadashi
are you free today?
from: tadashi
my shift ends at 8! is that too late :/
to: tadashi
no i’ll wait for you outside
from: tadashi
ok cant wait to see u :)
to: tadashi
me too
to: tadashi
<3
from: tadashi
AAAAAAA <333
(Kei wants to give all of himself to Yamaguchi, and maybe it starts with those three words.)
At 7:30 Kei approaches Shimada Mart, donning black sweatpants and a beige sweatshirt that Yamaguchi bought him for his birthday last year, a small moon and star printed on it right above his heart. The slippers he haphazardly put on slide against the concrete with a palpable sense of urgency. He claws at the thick material of his left sleeve.
Behind the sliding doors of Shimada Mart, Kei sees a distorted image of a cashier. They slide open, and Yamaguchi comes into view, sprinkling a few yen into a customer’s open palm. His hair is tied low and loose at the back of his neck, brushing the strap of his olive green apron that wraps around behind his head and creases his black shirt around the waist.
Looking up at the sound of the door, Kei watches his boyfriend straighten his back, mouth turning upward and dimpling the spaces below his cheeks and his hazel eyes. Now yen-less, his hand waves at him happily.
You’re adorable, Kei thinks, unable to stop the small smile blooming on his face. I like you so much. So, so much.
“I’ll wait outside,” he mouths, and Yamaguchi nods, turning to his next customer with a new warmness painted on his face. I did that, he beams, I painted that, and the thought provides him enough heat as he waits outside in the autumn chill.
Twenty minutes later, Yamaguchi steps outside, apron-less and clad in an indigo fleece and blue jeans. Kei stands as Yamaguchi spots him and bounds over, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.
Yamaguchi smiles up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Missed you.”
Kei reaches up and cards his right hand through Yamaguchi’s evergreen hair. He pats the top of his head one, two, three times. The cowlick springs upward in resistance as he moves his hand away. He thinks he might cry.
“Hey,” Yamaguchi says softly, reaching for the hand that just left his head and tugging gently at Kei’s index. Kei thinks about the scar on Yamaguchi’s ring finger; he wants to kiss it. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
The letter is in Kei’s pocket, folded neatly in four. It weighs him down like a dove in a cage, waiting patiently yet desperately to be set free. But Kei can’t seem to fiddle with the lock just yet, can’t find the courage to show Yamaguchi how deep the well of his affection goes, afraid of incinerating from the vulnerability. So he finds the gaps between Yamaguchi’s arms, gathers him into a hug, and gives him a summation of all the things he cannot say.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Yamaguchi freezes under him for a second, before burying his face into Kei’s neck and bringing his arms around his shoulders.
“D-Do you mean that?” he stammers. “Do you really mean that?”
Kei nods into the fleece. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I love you.”
Yamaguchi leans back to face Kei, arms still locked tightly around his neck. Eyes glossy, he leans in and kisses him, gifting him with such gentle definity. Kei closes his eyes and takes in the taste of the Shimada Mart peppermints from Yamaguchi’s lips.
“I love you, too,” Yamaguchi says as they break away, pulling him back into a hug so that his words lie close to Kei’s ear. “So much, Tsukki. I think about you all the time and you make me the happiest person in the world and I’m going to cry right now.”
“Sorry for taking so long to say it.”
“No, no, no.” Kei wants to store the sensation of Yamaguchi’s smile against his neck, so he can open it and remember it whenever he wants. “Thank you for waiting till you were ready.”
“Tadashi.”
“Kei.”
“I love you.”
“Me too. I love you too. I love you I love you I love you.”
(Kei doesn’t need to worry about forever, or holding onto the memories; right here and now, he loves as he can, and it’s enough, it’s enough, it’s enough.)