Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

august

It’s a three hour drive to the beach—three and a half technically because this year, the hotel Eijun and his brother had chosen after hours of poring over hotel reviews and guest tips is further down the shore, away from the touristy boardwalk they have grown tired of and closer to the local shops and restaurants.

Eijun starts fidgeting in his seat an hour into the drive, peering out the window at the landmarks he’s memorized from driving down the coast every summer. He feels two taps against his thigh, whipping his head to the culprit who regards him with a lazy smile.

“Want more room? I can shove Youichi over,” Kazuya whispers, gesturing at the boy opposite of him.

Eijun tips his head forward to peek at his brother, currently passed out at the other window seat, mouth hanging open as soft snores leave his mouth. He looks picturesquely ugly (Eijun’s allowed to say that—he had woken Eijun up this morning by pushing him off his bed). The younger lets out a snort of laughter before covering his mouth with his palm, reaching for his phone.

Kazuya rolls his eyes but a puff of laughter leaves his own lips as he watches Eijun snap a picture of him. Satisfied, he shows the picture to him, earning another muffled sound of amusement from the older before moving it to his folder labeled BLACKMAIL!!!

“You’re horrible,” Kazuya shakes his head, a grin perched on his lips.

Eijun mirrors it, tucking his phone back into his sweatshirt. “Maybe, but he would’ve done the same!”

Kazuya nods in agreement, humming as his eyes flitter out the window to the shadowy skyline they drive past. “Probably... tormenting each other runs in your genes after all.”

From the passenger’s seat, Eijun’s mother turns around, smiling fondly at the two. “About two and a half more hours,” she pauses to click her tongue at her oldest, who lets out a particularly loud snore, before turning back to them, “you two should sleep too, it’s still early!”

Eijun can’t help but observe the 360 that Kazuya’s face does—morphing from quiet amusement to something a bit more attentive, well-mannered. His dimples appear as his smile turns polite, speaking softly to her, “We’ll try to, but don’t worry about us. You should sleep too.”

“No, no, I have to make sure we don’t get lost,” she insists, swatting at her husband in the driver’s seat, who lets out an affronted noise. “Oh, how’s your father by the way? Make sure you give him a call once we’ve arrived!”

Eijun’s heart does a small leap as he listens to Kazuya adamantly answer all his parent’s questions about school and soccer and his father, his responses genuine and thoughtful each time. His mother claps her hands at the mention of Kazuya being appointed a co-captain of the soccer team, and his father laughs when he jokes about his own father’s cooking. From the opposite seat, Youichi’s dozing head falls over his shoulder at a bumpy junction of the road, and he allows it to linger there, unmoving. 

Eijun thinks his entire family has little Kazuya-shaped crevices carved out in their hearts.

His gaze stays fixated on the boy next to him, admiring the sleep-tousled brown locks to the movement of his jaw as he speaks to Eijun’s father about the new vegetables they’re growing in the garden. 

He thinks his crevice is the largest of all.

Growing up, Eijun has always thought Kazuya was nice—even when he hears the way him and Youichi argue during video games, even when he sees him provoke members of the opposing team at soccer games, even when he used to pinch Eijun’s cheeks when he was getting a little too mouthy when they were younger.

He had always just been nice. 

As they get older, though, he starts to notice other things—like how Kazuya is not only nice but funny (in his own sick, twisted way) and athletic and smart and tall and, maybe, just maybe, nice to look at as well, like right now, when the dimness of the early dawn shades his face just right, carving his features into something sharp and delicate.

He doesn’t realize the fondness that leaks out of him until Kazuya turns to regard him, lifting his brow quizzically.

“Hm?”

Eijun tilts his head involuntarily, eyes rounding in surprise. “Hm?”

Kazuya chuckles, flicking his thumb at Eijun’s hair playfully. “You’re staring.”

“No,” then, “Was I?”

“This was you.” Kazuya angles his body towards him, shoulder resting against the seat. He bulges his eyes out exaggeratedly, eliciting a giggle to leave Eijun’s mouth as he swats at his cheek to turn his face away when genuine shyness starts to creep up his chest from Kazuya’s unrelenting gaze.

“Okay, I may have been staring, but I didn’t look like that!”

“So, you admit you were staring?”

“I was zoning out!” He was zoning out on everything but his face, it’s the truth slightly diluted. If he hadn’t been so brazenly caught, he probably could have stared for the entirety of the car ride.

“Uh-huh,” Kazuya says, reaching out to pinch his nose. Eijun scrunches it in response, inwardly preening at the open-mouthed smile that he gets from Kazuya from doing so. He shifts so he’s mirroring Kazuya’s position, nestling the side of his head against the headrest. Kazuya blinks at him, silent for a few seconds, then, “Tired?”

“A little,” he admits, containing the yawn that threatens to leave his mouth. He doesn’t want to sleep. He wants to talk to Kazuya. “Are you?”

Kazuya nods. “Yeah, but it takes me a while to fall asleep if I’m not comfortable.”

“What’ll make you comfortable?”

“Dunno,” he yawns, “Wanna try singing to me?”

It’s Eijun’s turn to flick at his temple, no real force behind it because he would never intentionally hurt Kazuya. They stay like that, chatting about little things, until both their torsos start to strain from the way they’re twisted.

(Kazuya tires from it first, Eijun calls him old and haggard, and he earns a rough pinch on the cheek that stays red for the next two hours and makes the rest of his family laugh upon checking into the hotel.)

Eijun licks sweet honey off his fingers as he watches his brother dive into the pool, eagerly chewing on the lemon in his mouth. Droplets of water fly into the air, splashing softly against his skin.

Kazuya plucks a slice of lemon from the container that his father had prepared, smiling as he follows Eijun’s eyes to the pool he so clearly wants to be in at this moment.

“Just go in, Ei.” He presses a palm to his back and gives him a little push. If he notices the way Eijun’s skin ignites under it, he makes no comment.

The younger turns, frowning at him. “I do, but Youichi’s gonna try to drown me.”

Eijun and his brother had gotten into an argument earlier about whether the younger would room with their parents or him and Kazuya, Eijun rooting for the latter. They rock-paper-scissor’ed over it, Youichi had won, and instead of accepting the defeat gracefully, Eijun had sent the sleeping picture he took earlier to Mei. They have not been talking ever since (the argument had occurred thirty minutes ago).

Kazuya laughs at that, the sound loud and full as it reverberates through the air. He never explicitly picks sides when they argue, but he likes to linger around Eijun in the aftermath because he, admittedly, tends to be the poutier of the two.

“He’s not gonna drown you, just go in.”

“You don’t know that,” Eijun huffs, slipping another slice of lemon into his mouth. “He’s so evil sometimes!”

“And you’re the picture of innocence, hm?” Kazuya tucks a stray strand of hair that sticks to Eijun’s cheek behind his ear, gesturing at his phone at the poolside table.

“He deserved that,” Eijun mutters, instinctively leaning into the fingers thumbing at his hair. “Also, yes, I am nicer than him!”

Kazuya pulls away, and he has to stop himself from chasing after his hand.

“What if I go in with you?”

Eijun weighs the pros and cons in his head: drowning at the hands of his brother but his last view being Kazuya’s hair slicked back from the water. It’s a difficult decision. His eyes are still drifting upwards, deep in thought, when he feels the arms that slip under his torso and knees stealthily, and then he’s in the air, yelping.

He had not even noticed Kazuya’s movements towards him, his thoughts preoccupied with the very boy.

“Kazuya!” he shrieks as the older takes quick strides to the edge of the pool, terrified not because of getting hurt—Kazuya would never hurt him—but because of the way his heart beats erratically, basically thrashing against his chest. He prays Kazuya can’t feel it in their proximity.

From Eijun’s periphery, he sees his brother cheering and whooping in the pool, yelling something akin to, “Throw him! Throw him!”

(He’s going to post that sleeping picture everywhere!)

Kazuya smiles at him, his dimples sweetly caving into his cheeks as if he’s not about to plummet Eijun into six feet of cold water. He nuzzles their noses together briefly, whispering, “Sorry.”

And then he jumps, submerging both of them into the pool.

“Did you see this?”

In the bed across from him, Youichi flips his phone around, blonde hair and a blurry face appearing on the screen that Kazuya doesn’t bother to decipher as he spares it a brief glance before returning his attention to his own phone. “No.”

In response, he hears a gruff, “You barely looked, asshole,” that he also decides to selectively filter out, burying his head further into the hotel pillow, sighing softly. The comfortable silence of their room returns, both of them winding down from a day of sight-seeing around the beach. 

Vacationing with the Sawamura family is a tradition that began a few years ago when his father had been sent away on a business trip for the whole summer. Once the news reached the family across the street, they immediately insisted that he must come with them to their trip to the coast. Ever since, his attendance to their annual summer trips has been consistent. If either of the Sawamura siblings ask, he tags along to save their parents the grief of having to entertain them for a full week. In the private confines of his mind, it’s something Kazuya looks forward to every summer since the first. His calves ache from the miles of walking across the coastal line, and his skin itches from the sun beating down on it all day, but it’s a welcome type of discomfort.

The sudden click of their door opening doesn’t alarm them, barely catching Kazuya’s attention as the pitter patter of footsteps soon follow, gradually becoming louder as they approach closer.

He only looks up once he hears Eijun’s voice.

“What are you guys doing? I’m bored.”

His hand holding his phone drops against the covers, eyes meeting Eijun’s, which are already fixated on him curiously, playful. The younger boy walks past his own brother, instead approaching Kazuya’s bed where he plops at the edge casually. Now that he’s closer, Kazuya can make out the slightly damp hair, his skin flushed pink more than usual as if he had just gotten out of the shower.

Youichi doesn’t grant him the acknowledgement of looking up, simply pointing his index finger to the door. “Get out.”

“No,” Eijun says, referring to his brother, but he holds Kazuya's gaze, shifting closer to him. Kazuya instinctively makes room without being asked. “What are you doing,” Eijun repeats softly, this time the question directed only to him, as he lifts the comforter and invites himself into his bed. The smell of honey and citrus immediately hits Kazuya, the scent of their hotel shampoo. He had just used it earlier himself but it smells different on Eijun—sweeter.

“I was looking at soccer stuff,” he replies, waiting until the other has settled, adjusting the pillows to nestle against his frame. He maneuvers himself so they both have equal shares of the comforter, which Eijun will inevitably begin to hog at some point. He motions at his phone, and almost instantaneously, warm hands are stealing it from his grasp, though admittedly Kazuya doesn’t put up much of a fight.

“Is this your schedule of games when school starts? It’s so little! I have five games in the first month alone!”

“Just the first two weeks,” Kazuya hums, yawning and tilting his head so he can see what Eijun sees. The tips of his hair mingle with Eijun’s as he watches the younger fiddle around the app, eventually pulling up a page with highlight videos of his games from last year.

Eijun taps on a random thumbnail, a sound of recognition leaving his lips as their school’s soccer field comes into view, “Wait, I remember this, I was there!” They watch it for a few seconds longer, up until when Kazuya makes a goal (to which they both utter a soft ooh) before Eijun exits out of the video excitedly. “Okay, how do I pull up Youichi’s? So I can bully him.”

Said boy makes a non-committed grunt from his bed, his first sign of being alive since Eijun had burrowed into Kazuya’s bed. He stirs from where he’s laying down, rolling to face them. “Don’t show him,” he warns lazily. It’s half-hearted, half a threat, and goes fully ignored.

“Hold on, let me see,” Kazuya mumbles, peering closer, taking Eijun’s hand holding the phone into his. He scrolls through the app, each time he does so, his thumb grazes against Eijun’s index finger, unnoticing of the way the younger stills under his touch. “Here.”

Youichi’s profile loads on the screen, and Kazuya doesn’t have to keep his hand wrapped around Eijun’s anymore, but he lets it linger, relishing in the warmth of his skin. Under the blanket, Eijun’s body heat radiates through the space they share, practically a heater in the form of a human, his unintentional repayment for the blanket he is now indeed hogging, Kazuya confirms.

He doesn’t comment on the thievery, simply leaning in closer and sighing softly. It’s one of his favorite things about Eijun—his warmth. He thinks he’s been spoiled to grow up next to it in such close proximity. Eijun giggles at a picture of Youichi, caught perfectly mid-jump, giving the illusion of him levitating, and Kazuya feels the warm breaths that fan across his skin.

“I said don’t show him,” Youichi groans but makes no move towards them, now rolled back onto his side away from them, barely even looking up from his own phone.

Eijun uses his free hand—the one not locked in Kazuya’s grasp—to scroll through the page of videos, clicking on one spontaneously. He laughs at the ensuing video that plays, making a sly comment that Youichi immediately quips back at, but Kazuya can barely register anything, his eyes drooping. His vision goes from vivid to hazy as the fatigue fully settles into his bones, comfortable in the proximity of Eijun and his warmth and the smell of sweet honey and citrus.

Kazuya wakes up to the low whirring of the television. He blinks his eyes open, reaching for his glasses at the bedside table as the image of a basketball game begins to form on the screen. Eijun is tucked to his side, still deep in slumber, small, warm breaths leaving his open mouth, so he maneuvers himself carefully to sit up, leaning against the headboard.

Youichi pokes his head from the bathroom then, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

“You’re finally up?”

Kazuya yawns, lifting what is left over of the covers on his side of the bed to search for his phone. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost ten,” he makes out from Youichi’s garbled speech as he brushes his teeth. “Wake him up,” he says, gesturing at the sleeping figure next to him. “My parents are getting ready to head downstairs for breakfast.”

Kazuya nods, but once Youichi goes back into the bathroom, he drops his head to the headboard, closing his eyes for a minute, tiredness still seeping deeply into his bones. When he finally opens them again, he reaches for Eijun’s shoulder, shaking it gently.

“Ei, wake up.”

Sunlight floods through the hotel’s floor to ceiling windows, wrapping everything in its warm rays. A beam of light flits over Eijun’s face, illuminating it softly, and Kazuya can’t help but think about how well it fits, how at home he looks enveloped by the daylight.

When the shaking doesn’t work, he takes to poking and pinching his nose, biting back a laugh when Eijun scrunches his face even unconsciously. He finally begins to stir after a minute, a whining sound coming from his throat as he swats Kazuya’s hand away.

“Get up, seriously,” Kazuya says louder, aware of the endearment in his voice. “We’re about to get breakfast without you.”

At that, Eijun peeks one eye open, molten and gold in the sunlight. “Breakfast?”

Kazuya barks out a laugh, moving his hand to ruffle his hair. “Yes, hurry up and get up.”

Eijun props himself onto his elbows, blinking at the room. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Kazuya echoes Youichi’s words just as said boy saunters out of the bathroom, changed out of his pajamas and looking a bit more awake than the two of them combined.

He groans when he sees them side-by-side, still clearly sleep riddled with no attempts of getting up. “Can you guys hurry up and get ready? I’m hungry!” 

He makes no extra comments about Eijun’s presence in their room. Per his and his brother’s game results from their first day, Eijun was supposed to be sleeping in their parent’s room but it’s halfway through the trip, and he’s woken up in Kazuya’s bed since the first. Youchi had grumbled and moaned about it the first few nights but has done nothing to actually enforce their (unwilling) agreement. Kazuya thinks it’s funny, thinks both of them knew that Eijun was going to find a way into their room one way or another.

He feels Eijun nuzzle into his shoulder, and that smell of honey and citrus fills his lungs again, still just as sweet as last night. He lets his head fall over Eijun’s, chuckling softly as the siblings argue back and forth.

“You always take so long to get ready, you brat, hurry up!”

“No, I don’t! You do! You’re the one who takes an hour to gel your hair in the morning for school!”

“At least I try to look good, and you?”

“Don’t have to try too hard unlike you, thank you very much!” Kazuya laughs in approval, patting at Eijun’s cheek. He finally begins to push himself out of bed, knowing that doing so will get the younger to get up too before Youichi lunges at both of them out of frustration.

They quickly get ready with the background noise of Youichi’s complaints about how he’s absolutely starving.

The rest of the day is spent at the beach, swimming until their fingers feel wrinkly and walking around the local town until Kazuya has blisters forming on the soles of his feet. Eijun’s flip flops get swept away by the waves at some point, and Kazuya carries him on his back whenever they have to cross sun-scorched gravel roads. Everything is aching by the time they return to their hotel, but something about it feels right, peaceful. 

It’s on the last night of their vacation that it happens.

A summer local around their age that they had been consistently running into since they arrived on Sunday had invited them to a party at his house by the shore, promising them a small gathering and some drinks.

He lied.

Instead, Eijun cringes from the booming music and clamor around him, making his ears ring with a constant buzz. The last he saw his brother was a few minutes ago, surrounded by a group of strangers, sipping on a beer. His head spins slightly as he scans the crowd, cursing the dimness of the room.

He feels a tug at his wrist.

“Ei, slow down.” 

Eijun can recognize his voice even now. The grip on his wrist tightens, pulling with enough force to spin him around to face Kazuya, who looms down at him, concern evident on his face. He slides a palm to his cheek, eliciting a shiver from Eijun, as he attempts to speak over the crowd, “You good?” When Eijun nods, he drops his hand, wrapping it around his torso as a barrier between them and the couple dancing next to them. “Did you find Youichi?”

Eijun frowns, shaking his head. He gestures at the doorway leading out of the room, and Kazuya nods in understanding, turning them around.

Warmth seeps through Eijun’s lower belly, unsure if the way his body tingles is from the spritz he was sipping on earlier or the way that Kazuya’s fingers are intertwining with his, squeezing his palm as he pulls him past the crowd. It’s most likely a combination of both, but Eijun is well aware of the fact that one is factoring in more than the other, but he pushes it out of his mind for now, sighing in relief as they finally leave the room, instead entering the more desolate kitchen.

The only people that linger around are couples having private conversations and those drinking quietly to themselves. Kazuya releases Eijun’s hand then, and the younger briefly chases the contact before coming to his senses. He lets his eyes linger over Kazuya’s figure as he pulls out his phone and begins tampering with it.

“Kazuya,” he murmurs, a burst of alcohol-induced confidence rushing through his veins.

Kazuya raises his brow in question and presses his phone to his ear. He’s probably calling Youichi, but Eijun doesn’t care about that right now. He takes Kazuya’s free hand into both of his.

“Let’s go over there,” he gestures at a quieter, empty corner of the kitchen, walking backwards with a coy grin, one that makes Kazuya return it belatedly, the older rolling his eyes as he lets himself be dragged.

Eijun takes pride in that—the way that Kazuya goes along with anything he does. It’s a perk that comes with knowing each other for so long, for being someone important to Kazuya for so long that he will give in to him everytime (almost everytime, his mind reminds him unhelpfully). It fills him with a certain type of cheekiness that rides a bit on the illogical side of things, but he doesn’t care. 

When they get to the corner, Kazuya pulls his phone away from his ear, furrowing his brows in frustration as the unanswered call stares back at him on his screen. Eijun swats the phone away gently, attempting to steal his attention back. He doesn’t want to find Youichi just yet.

He smiles when Kazuya finally looks up at him, pocketing his phone. “You okay? Do you want water?” 

Eijun positions his head to nod but loses his footing from how hard he’s staring back at him, and Kazuya catches him, leaning him against the countertop, placing a steadying hand at the dip of his back. He’s still looking down at his feet when he hears the rumble of Kazuya’s laughter above him, scoffing in amusement, “Ei, seriously? We both drank the same amount.” 

Then, he feels himself being hoisted up, placed carefully onto the countertop. Kazuya squints down at his shirt before tsk’ing and turning around.

“Wait here.”

Eijun waits because just as much of the hold he has over Kazuya, the other has a hold over him too—tenfold of what he has, probably.

Eijun swings his legs, his ankles bumping against the kitchen cupboards as he sits and watches Kazuya scan the kitchen for something. The deafening music from the main room has faded to dull background noise, but his heartbeat still rings loudly in his ears, as if reminding him to calm down, but Eijun no longer thinks he can use the overwhelming atmosphere as an excuse for that; rather, the cause lies in the older boy walking back towards him, a bottle of water in one hand and Eijun’s heart in the other.

Kazuya unscrews the lid, taking a quick sip before pushing it against Eijun’s chest. “Drink this. Take small sips,” he instructs. “We’ll look for Youichi after.”

Eijun nods, whispering a quiet thanks before taking a sip, not even bristling when Kazuya begins patting away at an amber-tinted stain on his shirt with a paper towel. He hadn’t noticed the stain until now, but secretly, he is grateful for it because Kazuya is so close.

His face hovers merely a few inches away from Eijun’s chest, his brows taut as he carefully wipes at the mark so he doesn’t spread it any further. When his figure begins to draw back, Eijun chases it down, delicately wrapping his arms around the boy’s shoulders, keeping him firmly within his space.

He speaks into his ear despite the music no longer being an issue, “Can we stay here for a little longer?”

Kazuya’s eyes widen, but only for a split second, his composure returning just as quickly. He chuckles, nodding and tilting his head to reply, “Yeah, too crowded for you in the main room?”

The younger pulls back to face him, scrunching his nose in distaste and humming in agreement. They both break out into laughter at that, Kazuya’s soft breaths fanning over his face, each one sending a spark against his skin. “Let’s give Youichi another fifteen minutes and then dip, okay?”

“Okay,” Eijun murmurs, the hand on Kazuya’s shoulder snaking to his nape, pulling at the ends of his hair. The two of them have always been a bit touchy—Eijun by nature, Kazuya by constantly being around him. But this, it’s crossing the borders of too touchy, teetering towards something more dangerous. “Your hair smells like lemons, by the way.”

Kazuya laughs good naturedly, still carefully wiping at the stain on Eijun’s shirt before softly replying, “It’s the hotel shampoo. Your hair smells like it too.”

“I like it. We should take some for home,” Eijun drawls out, which sends Kazuya into another bout of laughter, and he feels proud because his dimples are on full display. They’re silent for the next moment, only the muted clamor from the other room being audible. 

“How are we doing, Ei? Tipsy?”

“A little. What about you?”

“Same.”

Eijun’s lower lip juts out at that, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “You don’t seem like it.”

Kazuya rolls his eyes, unable to resist the endeared grin that finds its way on his face. He cups his cheeks softly, talking exaggeratedly to drive the point, “That’s because I have to take care of you right now, and once we find your brother, probably him too. But trust me, my head is spinning right now too.”

Eijun giggles, drawing in closer to nuzzle their noses together. He’s done it a thousand times before—as a greeting, after games, in his room when they’re alone watching movies, but it feels different now, more intimate. “Okay, okay I believe you. Thank you,” he sings, retreating only to cup the older’s jaw, tilting his head to examine him closely from the curve of his brow melding into the gentle slope of his nose. 

Kazuya huffs in amusement but lets Eijun study his face, his grin only growing wider when Eijun’s index finger pokes at his left dimple.

“I like these,” the younger remarks, awestruck and bold all at once. He guides Kazuya’s finger to the other dimple. “They’re so cute!”

“Cute?” Kazuya lifts a brow, tipping his head to the side. He’s achingly handsome like this, Eijun thinks it’s a bit unfair. “Wait, say that again,” he continues, pretending to reach for his phone as if to record.

“Shut up, don’t be annoying,” Eijun huffs. He drops his hand, perching it back on Kazuya’s shoulder. “You know what I said.”

The corners of the older’s lips quirk upwards, not quite a smirk but bordering smugness too closely to be considered just a smile. “Nah, I didn’t hear you. Say it again?”

Eijun scowls at him, moving to pinch his cheek in irritation. He playfully kicks his ankles to the back of Kazuya’s knees, which does nothing but make the boy chuckle. “I’m not saying it again. Also, I was referring to your dimples, not you!”

“I happen to be the owner of these dimples, by the way.”

Eijun widens his eyes exaggeratedly. “Really? I had no idea, seriously.”

Kazuya ignores him, continuing on, “So, by association, you think I’m cute too.”

“I don’t, actually!”

He tilts his head, drawing in closer, flattening his free hand against the countertop. “No?”

Eijun feels his breath catch in his throat. “You’re so annoying,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against his jaw. “Yes, you’re cute, you dummy.”

Kazuya’s hand stills as if he had not expected his admission. Pride flares in Eijun’s gut at catching him off guard, but it doesn’t last long because Kazuya leans into his palm, boxing Eijun in, and the younger belatedly realizes the utter lack of distance between them, becoming hyper-aware of the contact points—where his thighs meet Kazuya’s hips, his right hand curled around the back of his neck, his left cradling his jaw, the cadence of Kazuya’s fingers beginning to drum softly against his side.

The proximity makes his head spin.

His mind clears only to ponder if Kazuya wants to kiss him as much as he wants to right now. The older has always kept his interest vague, never directly returning Eijun’s sentiments. Eijun would push and push and push, and Kazuya would always let him—but never reveal an inkling back.

He skims his hand across Kazuya’s jaw, tracing the curvature of his face with his fingertips before delicately placing his palm against his cheek, gazing brazenly into the amber eyes that stare back unwaveringly.

“Yeah?” Kazuya whispers, the rhythm of his breath slowly becoming uneven, eyes flickering between the golden orbs in front of him and somewhere lower.

Eijun gnaws on his bottom lip, thinking. Then, he draws in, carefully placing a soft kiss to the other’s lips. It’s brief, and he pulls away immediately but it sends a jolt down his spine all the same.

Kazuya blinks back at him—surprise, amusement, and something unrecognizable registering on his face. He swallows thickly, and Eijun’s stomach drops as his figure retreats to run a hand through his hair. But then, he’s leaning in, cupping Eijun’s jaw, tilting his head to the side.

That’s the exact moment they hear it—the unmistakable sound of Youichi’s distinct, boisterous laughter. Both of them pull away immediately, like they’ve both left burns on each other’s skin. Eijun feels himself sober up in an instant as he stands from the countertop, landing on his feet clumsily. A cold wake washes over his body, and he feels the physical rush of his blood traveling through his veins. This time, Kazuya doesn’t offer a steadying hand, barely sparing him a glance—as if he had not been devoting his sole, undivided attention to him just moments ago—walking towards Youichi who casually strolls into the kitchen with a few others he doesn’t recognize.

From the periphery, Eijun hears their conversation in the ambience, blurred and faded like background noise. He gives himself a second to recover before joining them, a casual smile draped carefully over his lips.

“We were looking for you!” He chides, dodging the hand from his brother that comes to flick at his forehead in greeting.

“Yeah, you guys looked all over the empty, deserted kitchen for me,” his brother quips back, eyes darting between him and Kazuya in lighthearted accusation. Eijun forces a laugh through his lips (the ones that had just been on Kazuya’s, the ones that now know what it felt like to kiss someone he loves).

He cocks his gaze to Kazuya, but the other doesn’t look his way.

Kazuya doesn’t look at him for the rest of the night, never directly anyway. He holds Eijun’s wrist when they’re leaving the party, he puts a palm on his lower back when he’s urging him into the taxi, and he lets their knees bump against each other’s in the ride back to the hotel—but he never looks at him.

Eijun wonders if he had misinterpreted it—the look in his eye back then, the way he held him so close, so tenderly. He wonders all the way back to his hotel room that he had finally gotten what he’s wanted since the day the Miyukis’ moving truck pulled into their neighborhood eleven years ago, and how maybe, just maybe, what he wanted didn’t want him back.

Eijun wakes up mortified. He whips his head around, finding the spot next to him in the bed empty. When he scans the room, he only sees Youichi at one of the hotel armchairs, on the phone.

They lock eyes, and his brother speaks indistinguishable words to whoever he’s on the phone with before addressing Eijun, “Kazuya went downstairs to buy coffee. Call him if you want him to get you something.”

Eijun nods, semi-grateful for his absence but craving his presence all at once. The memory of last night is so fresh in Eijun’s head that it rings through him, sending ripples of shock across every crevice of skin that Kazuya had touched. He wants Kazuya to be there right now, smiling at him, comforting the tight band of nerves that wraps around his stomach, squeezing.

Kazuya returns to their room a few minutes later with three drinks in his hand. Eijun stills, looking up at him. He begs for their eyes to meet as Kazuya strides through the room, passing a dark coffee to Youichi. His brother accepts it, still on the phone, eyes flickering over to where Eijun sits in bed with an indecipherable look. Then, Kazuya turns. Eijun’s figure grows rigid, straightening his posture, attempting to appear nonchalant as he walks over to him, still not quite meeting his eyes.

When he finally does, they reveal nothing. Kazuya shoots him a small smile, passing a lighter, milkier coffee to Eijun, uttering a soft, “Morning, Ei. Here, this is yours,” before he makes his way back to Youichi, sitting in the armchair opposite of him.

Eijun’s entire heart plummets into his stomach.

For the rest of the morning, he tries so hard to feel like he was not the only one there last night—that what happened had not been merely a figment of his imagination. Kazuya was about to kiss him back, had his fingers buried so delicately into his hair, positioned to pull him in, place his lips on his again. He remembers it so vividly.

When they’re packing their bags, Eijun sits on the floor next to him, folding his clothes haphazardly. “I’m still sleepy,” he says, attempting to make conversation. Kazuya spares him a glance, humming in agreement before returning his attention to untangling his charger cord. It takes a beat for Eijun to realize he’s not receiving another reply.

He feels so, so stupid.

He sits in the middle seat on the car ride home, and the proximity leaves him aching, heart stuttering in his chest at every merge of contact: whenever their thighs meet, knees bump, arms brush against each other. Kazuya is good at what he does, always, simply staring out the window, a heavy-lidded gaze peering across the blue horizon, his eyes a fetching hue of deep amber in the sunglight but never giving anything away, sealing the innerworks of his mind with a lock and key.

Eijun’s throat is scratchy from how much he’s screamed at him in his head for something . His bones feel heavy under his skin, coated in anticipation and want. He wants a sign, a look—he wants anything of Kazuya’s that he can grasp and latch onto to let him know he remembers as much as Eijun does (and that he wanted him just as much as Eijun did).

Kazuya cocks his head to him, and a breath catches in his throat. But he only smiles, not quite meeting his eyes, and ruffles his hair.

“You should sleep, Eijun.”

Then, he slips his earbuds in and drifts his gaze back to the ocean, decidedly more interested in its vastness than Eijun.

(It’s a rare instance where Eijun wishes Kazuya wasn’t so nice, wishes he were kind enough to be a little crueler.)

september

Kazuya hisses as he examines the sun burn that lingers on his skin since coming back from the coast two weeks ago. From outside, the sound of a car engine grows louder and louder as it approaches before subsequently halting. He peers outside his bedroom window to the view of Youichi and Mei strolling out of the former’s car.

As if feeling the weight of his gaze, Youichi whips around, vulgarly holding up both of his middle fingers to the window and sticking his tongue out. Mei turns too, grinning when he spots Kazuya watching them, and jogs across the street undoubtedly to ruin the peaceful day he’s been having thus far.

He’s debating if he should double lock his front door when it slams open, and Mei’s unfiltered, “I’m home!” encroaches the living space. Kazuya groans but begrudgingly leaves his room to greet his friend.

Mei had been traveling with his family all summer, having only returned a week ago and spending every waking moment since then with Youichi—Kazuya would know, seeing and hearing Youichi’s sportscar speeding down their relatively quiet neighborhood at the peaks of midnight. He’d be surprised if everyone in their neighborhood didn’t know.

“Where are the balloons? The welcome banner?” Mei whines, barely five steps into his house and already being ridiculous.

“You say that as if you coming back is something to celebrate,” Kazuya decidedly chooses as his first words to his best friend this entire summer. He meets Mei’s outstretched arms for a hug (why everyone he chooses to be in his life shares the trait of being obscenely touchy, he’ll never know). “Also, you’ve been back for a week now.”

“Details, details.”

Kazuya rolls his eyes. “How was your trip?”

He knows how Mei’s trip went from the constant dumps on social media throughout the course of the past two months, and Mei knows he knows so he grins as he pulls away and keeps it brief.

“Good, but I missed you guys.” Mostly Youichi, goes unspoken. “And how was yours? I thought Youichi and Eijun got tan, but look at you!”

Something tics in his jaw at the mention of his name. He feels the quick falter in his expression, and he prays that Mei doesn’t notice because if there is something that he and Youichi share, it’s their scary accuracy of perceiving him.

He echoes Mei’s earlier sentiment, though for different reasons, “Good. We spent a lot of time at the beach.”

He waits and waits for one of Mei’s mocking replies in return, an easy Well, no duh, you guys were staying at the beach, but it never comes. Mei eyes him strangely, in a way that makes him shift his weight, feeling unsteady on his feet. He turns, trailing to his kitchen. “You want water or something to eat? My dad brought home these pastries that a customer got him at work last night.”

“It’s fine, me and Youichi got food before we picked up Eijun from tennis practice.”

Kazuya’s glad that his back is to him when Mei mentions his name a second time, opening his fridge to fetch a bottle of water for himself anyway.

“We’re watching a movie at their house later, by the way. Eijun’s been begging us to see it since I came back. You should come.”

He’s mentioning him a lot. Mei must know it too because he feels the weight of his gaze on his back, begging for a reaction from him. He’s rehearsed his careful indifference too often since coming back for it to crumble in the presence of his relentless best friend. He doesn’t know if Mei knows the full extent of the events that had transpired on that last night of vacation, still doesn’t know if Youichi even does, but he doesn’t allow his mind to linger on it for too long because then he will start to think about it (the proximity, the looks, the warmth of Eijun’s skin on his—stop, he tells himself.)

He’s been blocking the memories of that last night with an iron clad wall, doesn’t even allow his mind to drift to its periphery. If he doesn’t think about it, doesn’t acknowledge it, it never happened. His and Eijun’s friendship remains intact, comfortable and easy as it's always been.

He thinks of himself to be a bit cruel, truthfully. He’s not so ignorant of Eijun’s overt affection towards him over the years moreso that he just ignores it—ignores the way Eijun gazes at him sometimes with a glint in his eye that he doesn’t ever try to decipher, clings onto him so fervently since they were younger, says words that leave Kazuya unintentionally piecing things together in his mind, wondering when the admiration that this neighbor had held towards him for most of his life turned into something more, something he couldn’t bring himself to return in the extent Eijun wanted.

Kazuya takes a long swig of water before replying, “I’ll see. I wanna get some stuff ready before the first day back at school tomorrow.”

Mei finally breaks the odd expression he’s been sporting at that, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly—or normally for him. “Your fashion sense does not warrant you needing to pick out an outfit the day before—”

“I was talking about packing my backpack and making meal prep for after school!” Kazuya huffs, and Mei throws his head back to laugh. Just like that, Mei drops it (temporarily, Kazuya knows him too well), and it’s easy again. They both pull out their phones to compare class schedules, Mei insists that he had a souvenir to bring back for him that he conveniently left at a gas station on the drive home, and after a few minutes, Youichi comes trailing in.

“Yo, where are you guys?” he calls out from the front door.

“In the kitchen,” Mei shouts back, like it’s his house.

He comes in and immediately goes for the box of sweets at the center of the island, barely sparing either of them a greeting. “These are good,” he declares, mouth full. Mei makes a pinched face, mouth pursed in position to scold him, but Youichi continues before he can, “Eijun wants to watch the movie at 5 by the way,” and then levels his gaze to Kazuya, “You coming?”

Kazuya inwardly cringes, careful that his expression doesn’t reflect the web of thoughts that have been plaguing his mind for the past two weeks. He’s well aware that everything since coming home from the vacation has been different. Eijun acts strange, and he acts strange in return (For good reason, a voice in his mind chides). The three of them still hang out, but each time, Eijun looks at him, golden eyes wide and consuming—and not in the way that Kazuya usually finds endearing, but they gleam with something akin to aching, anticipation, laying in wait for something—something that Kazuya can’t bring himself to give him, doesn’t think he even has the capacity to.

In real time, the older Sawamura eyes him with something pitiful. He’s probably noticed the shift in behavior, of course he has, and extends the offer as an olive branch for the two of them. Kazuya should take it. He does. “Okay, let me get my stuff together for school, and I’ll head over in a bit.”

Mei claps his hands together in glee. “Yay! One last movie night!” He steals the pastry perched between Youichi’s fingers, and the latter barely blinks, simply reaching into the box for another dessert.

After another few minutes of harassment (from the two, towards Kazuya) and clearing out a good half of the pastry box, they leave. Kazuya is halfway back to his bedroom when the front door clicks open again. He thinks it’s Mei or Youichi forgetting something, and a joke forms on his tongue but dies just as quickly because he hears the footsteps from the foyer—knows them so well.

Eijun shuffles into the hallway to his room a moment later, Kazuya’s slippers slightly oversized on his feet and an uncharacteristically sheepish smile on his face. “Hi.”

Kazuya feels the lump forming at his throat. This is the first time they’ve been alone together since the trip. He forces himself to swallow it down.

“Hey,” he greets, aware of the shift in his voice. “Mei and Youichi were just here.” He hesitates but walks into his room, knowing Eijun will follow.

“I know, they said so. I passed by them on the way here,” the younger follows him just as he predicts but lingers at the doorway, unsure as he fiddles with the loose fabric of his shirt in a way he’s never done before, and Kazuya hates it.

“Ei, come inside,” he says, hoping his voice comes off casual to ease both of their nerves. It seems to work because Eijun steps into his room not even a beat later, making a beeline for his bed and winding himself around a Dodgers plushie they had won at the fair together when they were younger. He’s wearing one of his big house shirts, and it rides up slightly as he lays on his side. Kazuya feels the betrayal of his own body, eyeing the sliver of skin at his waist and quickly turns around, suddenly preoccupied with his backpack. “What’s up?”

He hates that he even has to ask, it’s never something he’s had to do before. Eijun’s presence at his house is to be expected, normal.

“I wanted to make sure you’re coming over later.” He can’t see him, but he knows he’s squeezing the plushie to his chest right now, a nervous habit of his. Kazuya has witnessed it one too many times when Eijun would stake out at his house after a bad fight with his brother or when he was avoiding his parents after getting into trouble. “And,” he pauses, and Kazuya holds his breath, “I wanted to talk to you.”

The same lump from before reforms, this time from his lungs to his throat. Kazuya hums, just to have time to formulate a proper response, carving the words on his tongue because that’s what Eijun deserves: a real response. What he gives him is a little less. “Talk about what?”

“Anything,” Eijun says, apprehension lacing his voice. “I don’t like that we’ve been weird. I just want to talk to you. Like before.”

Kazuya’s heart lurches in his chest at how vulnerable he sounds, guilt seeping in. This is just Eijun. It should never be weird between them. He fiddles with the zipper on his backpack, opening and closing it just to have something to do with his hands before releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had still been holding and finally turning around, “It’s been a little different since we came back, hasn’t it?”

Eijun’s eyes go comically wide and pretty, the sunlight that peeks through his windows hitting them at just the right angle. His mouth forms an endearing ‘o’ as he nestles his head into Kazuya’s pillow under him, splaying unkempt brown locks against it.

A small, shy grin breaks out on his face as he beckons Kazuya over to his bed, and the latter finally starts to feel a bit better in his proximity.

Kazuya creeps closer, joining him as Eijun scoots over to make room. He mimics his position, peering over at Eijun nervously with a hint of curiosity for his response.

“So, it’s been weird since we got back for you too?”

“A little, yeah.”

Eijun rolls his eyes, pouting. “Not a little. A lot. You wouldn’t even look at me when we talked sometimes.”

“Sorry,” he quips, biting back a smile at how Eijun scowls, then, “I didn’t mean to. You were acting weird, and I didn’t know how to react to it. I always do whatever you do, you know that.”

The other looks a bit placated, biting his own bottom lip but the smile comes out nonetheless because Eijun’s never been good at shielding when he’s happy about something. “That was my fault then, I’m sorry too.” He uses his foot to poke at Kazuya’s shin. “No more being weird then, okay?”

“Okay, and I’m sorry too,” he breathes out, and then he can’t help it, unused to not having his touch intertwined with Eijun for so long. “C’mere,” he beckons the younger over this time, and Eijun tilts his head in question but does exactly that, scooting closer. 

Kazuya reaches over to flatten brown, unruly tufts of hair, leaving some of them the way they are out of pure endearment. His hair is slightly damp under his fingertips, fresh from the shower, and no longer smells of the hotel’s honey and citrus but a more familiar apple scent, still just as devastatingly sweet. Eijun doesn’t say anything, simply staring with soft honeyed eyes, his lips naturally jutting out into a pout (Kazuya doesn’t allow his gaze to linger on his lips for too long). 

He should’ve taken Eijun’s silence as a warning because then he’s hit with that look, the one that Eijun’s been giving him all week, the one that makes him want to run far, far away. Alarm bells ring in his head. Kazuya retracts his hand as gold eyes bear down on him, hopeful and analytic all at once. He sucks in a breath, and Eijun opens his mouth, voice uncharacteristically small, “Kazuya, do you remember that night of the party when we were on vacation?”

“The party?” He clears his throat. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“I remember chunks of it,” he lies, voice polished and deliberately casual. “It’s kind of blurry to be honest.”

Eijun’s heavy gaze pierces through his core, defeningly loud in the silence. There’s flickers of ache and hurt as his eyes linger on him, then down at his hands, squeezing the plushie impossibly tighter to his chest. It makes him look smaller than he is, and it makes Kazuya feel bigger in his faults. “What do you remember?”

“We each had a can to drink. The music was really loud, and it was hot. We went somewhere after we couldn’t find Youichi, and then he finally showed up,” he remarks, rolling over to his back, staring at the white ceiling above him, anything but Eijun. He doesn’t trust himself to look at him right now. There’s a growing, dull pit that circles his abdomen, his body physically recoiling at the words that continue to leave his mouth. “We took a taxi home, and your parents yelled at us when we got back. Did something else happen?”

Eijun’s breath hitches. “I don’t know. Did something else happen?”

His mouth feels dry, but he forces his tongue off the roof of his mouth as he utters, “Nah, I don’t really remember.” Then, to be even crueler, “Do you remember?”

Eijun laughs, and maybe to anyone else, it would be convincing, but Kazuya has been making Eijun laugh since they were six and seven, even when he’s not that funny, even when he’s hurting him the way he is right now.

“I don’t remember either,” he says between carefully clipped giggles. “That night is blurry to me too now that I think about it.”

Kazuya hums. His chest feels heavy against his ribcage, and anything he thinks of feels wrong to say right now. They sit in the silence that they’re both unwilling to breach until Eijun releases a resounding sigh. He turns towards him, patting Kazuya’s cheek, urging him to look his way. Kazuya does and regrets it.

He’s reminded again of his own cruelty as Eijun gazes at him head on, eyes so molten with resignation and something else, unrecognizable even to him. He aches to hold the hand that grazes his face but doesn’t think he deserves to at the moment. “I guess we were both being weird for no reason then, no?”

There’s an agglomeration of things Kazuya wants to tell him, all trapped in his throat, ranging from I’m sorry and I hope we’re still okay and You look pretty even when you’re sad and then I’m sorry again. Instead, he says, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Eijun hums. “I’ll stop being weird like I said, so you can’t be weird anymore either, okay?” He punches his arm for emphasis.

“I won’t,” he says, guilty, mesmerized, and then, “Okay.”

Eijun grins at him, more genuine this time, and plants his palms on the bed to prop himself up. Kazuya’s eyes instinctively trail over his figure as he keeps his hold around the plushie, holding it securely against his stomach. He looks too soft like this, in Kazuya’s bed. 

Kazuya feels his body go into physical discord, something stirring in his chest that quells only as his hand reaches out to cup around Eijun’s calf, toned under his fingertips from years of running around clay courts. It’s a bit ironic this way—finding comfort in the source of his disarray.

Eijun tilts his head, and brown wisps of hair fall over his eyes. “What?”

Just wanna touch you. Kazuya swallows thickly, rattling his brain for the first thing he can think of. He wants to make sure they’re okay. “You wanna help me pick out what to wear for tomorrow?”

Eijun shoots him a bewildered look. “Pick out an outfit—but you wear the same stuff at school every day!”

The older scowls, and he’s unable to contain the smile that stretches across his face. Kazuya throws a pillow from his bed at his head (his thinnest, lightest one because he doesn’t actually want to hurt Eijun any more than he has), and it’s a little easier from there. They pick out his outfits for the week—it takes a grand total of fifteen minutes because Kazuya really does wear the same formula of clothes every day.

Then, they move to the kitchen, and Eijun helps him dice grilled chicken and vegetables for his meal prep. They chat about light topics: soccer, tennis, Youichi’s obnoxiously loud engine, the souvenirs Mei brought the siblings home from his trip, the lack thereof he brought for Kazuya. The air still feels unfamiliarly heavy, but it’s lighter than it’s been for the past two weeks. 

It’s almost five by the time they’re done, and they’re back in Kazuya’s room, Eijun rummaging through his closet for a sweater he insists he must borrow so he’s not cold during the movie (reminder: the movie is at his house).

“Oh, I like this one!” He holds up a navy blue sweatshirt, one of his soccer hoodies, and slips it over his head easily, not bothering to ask for permission. His hair is tousled and swept upwards when he pops it out of the sweater, and Kazuya chuckles from where he’s sitting at his bed, resisting the urge to fix his hair for him again.

He likes this—the stillness with Eijun.

Their earlier conversation still reverberates in his mind, leaving him with remnants of uneasiness, but he attempts to push it to the depths of his consciousness, not visible to the surface. He still feels it, though—the undeniable shift it has consequently created. The topic may have been breached, but everything else remains, like a looming storm cloud.

He grins wordlessly as Eijun frowns at his closet mirror, picking at pieces of hair that flick upwards. When he notices his gaze, the younger’s reflection scowls over at him. Kazuya’s grin only grows wider, fond. 

It’s a bit selfish, but he wants everything to stay the way that it is right now: comfortable.

He swings his legs over his bed, following Eijun out of his room as they make the short trek across the street. The cloud follows them all the way to the Sawamura’s house, but Kazuya thinks he’d rather have it that way—would rather have it linger the way it is than experience the downpour.

Kazuya thinks everything gets a bit easier when school starts. Autumn’s chill extinguishes the remaining heat of summer, making everything mellow and crisp. He hyper focuses on soccer and school and applications, especially with his new appointed position as a co-captain with Youichi.

They come to the field earlier than anybody else and stay late more often than they should (something Eijun is not shy to complain of when he carpools with them). He spends his free period with Mei and Kousei, studying and chatting, the latter moreso when it comes to the nature of the two. When Kousei wanders off from his seat, Mei will peer in closer and still press him sometimes. Kazuya learns to let his words escape him, feign indifference, and suddenly become consumed by whatever textbook or homework is in front of him.

Besides, he and Eijun are good again. He doesn’t avoid Eijun, and Eijun doesn’t avoid him—they exist in the state they have always been in: normal, peaceful, comfortable.

october

Eijun mourns the swift passage of summer, zipping his windbreaker up to his chin. Outside, the leaves have already turned to vibrant hues of reds and yellows, and his limbs feel stiff after running on the track in the biting cold. 

He shivers as he ramps up the heater in Youichi’s car to the highest setting, which the latter immediately tsks at, reaching across the console to turn it down.

Eijun wastes no time to return it back to where it was, allowing his hand to hover over the buttons defensively, swatting his brother’s hand away when he attempts to turn the heater down again.

“It’s not even that cold out,” Youichi grumbles, releasing a sigh of defeat as he places both hands back on the steering wheel to make a wide right turn.

They’re on the way to the grocery store, tasked with shopping while their parents are visiting relatives in the countryside. So far, they’d been surviving on takeout and leftovers brought over from the Miyuki’s, but Youichi had decided it was time to re-stock the fridge they’d practically emptied in the first few days and make their own meals.

“It’s cold to me ,” Eijun sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest once he deems that it’s safe, and that no more attempts will be made at lowering the heat. He’s always been the colder of the two despite everyone else’s claims that he runs warmer. “Because I’m a human and not a cold-blooded lizard like you!”

Youichi doesn’t even bother to acknowledge his last comment. “Alright, you pay for my gas then.”

Eijun rolls his eyes, huffing and bringing his knees onto the seat to tuck under his chin. “You don’t even pay for your gas. You’re broke. Dad pays.”

He’s grateful that they’re on a particularly busy part of the road because he can see the strenuous vein that pops up on Youichi’s forehead, knowing that if he didn’t need both hands on the wheel like he did now, one of them would be lodged at his forehead in the form of a hard flick. “What do you mean? I pay for it half the time! And can you not have your nasty shoes on my car seat?”

“My shoes are clean!” He twists his left leg around to show the soles of his sneakers for emphasis, and Youichi redirects his attention from the road to make a face at him.

“Ew, don’t twist your leg like that! It freaks me out, and it’s gross.”

Eijun gapes at him, dropping his leg back down. “How is that gross?”

“It’s freaky,” his brother repeats, physically cringing with his whole body. “And can you turn down the heat already? It’s so hot, I’m literally about to start sweating!”

Eijun ignores his request, also ignores his earlier request as he pulls his knees into his chest, humming as he scrolls through his phone at his friends’ updates. Mei is having brunch with his parents at the cafe he talked about the last time he had been over their house (yesterday). Satoru and Shinji are watching a movie at the mall. Haruichi is visiting Ryousuke at college—he makes a mental note to text the group chat to ask about all their whereabouts. 

Kousei’s story is from earlier this morning, during what looks like soccer practice. He can make out his brother in the background as the taller boy does a trick with the ball, kicking it into the air and catching it with his calf. Then, the camera pans to a crowd of other teammates who holler, impressed, and Eijun pauses, holding his index finger to the screen. Kazuya does a slow clap on the sidelines, a lazy smirk perched on his lips. He only appears for a split second, but Eijun finds himself replaying the story, pausing again at the few milliseconds that the brunette is present. He hates that he does that, hates that it makes his heart stutter.

Kazuya and him are okay now. Eijun, by himself, could probably fare a little better.

The memory from summer still burns in his head but not as often, the scorch of its heat dulling to a passive ache, something more palatable. Kazuya doesn’t remember and, most importantly, doesn’t like him back, and that’s okay. In the same capacity, he thinks it’s okay to keep liking him the way he’s done so for a while now, never quite expecting anything back.

That’s what he tells himself, he doesn’t expect anything back. He repeats it in his head like a mantra—when they’re at each other’s houses, walking in the hallways side by side, sharing smiles across practice fields. It’s all friendly, and if it makes Eijun’s heart beat a little bit faster than it should, it’s okay because this is for him, and he doesn’t expect anything back.

He’s found peace with it (—for the moment, temporarily, his conscience adds).

Youichi is mid-belt to a rock song blasting on the radio when he stops, turning the volume down suddenly, “We also have to get food for the team today, by the way. It’s my week to host the team bonding.”

“This week?” Eijun frowns only to disguise the pleased smile from taking over his lips. That means Kazuya’s going to be at their house for most of the weekend. He always sees the boy less frequently when the school year starts, both of their individual classes unaligned, and their sports’ schedules preoccupying a majority of their time out of school—Kazuya with soccer and Eijun with tennis. The last time he had seen him was two nights ago, when he did his homework in Eijun’s room after the boy had whined over text about studying together. Admittedly, he had ended up studying the older’s face more than his biology textbook.

Youichi’s response interjects his thoughts, “Yeah, we’re leaning towards Friday or Saturday. I still have to ask mom and dad which day would be better for them since they’re coming back on Wednesday.” 

Eijun nods noncommittedly, playing with the edge of his seatbelt. 

He still remembers how Kazuya had looked that day: sharp features illuminated by the dim glow of Eijun’s string lights strewn against his bedroom wall, his large figure crammed between his book shelf and his desk, the pinch in his brow whenever a homework problem stumped him. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Youichi grumbles as he pulls into the parking lot of the grocery store. “I’m literally just trying to have a normal conversation here. You’re so annoying.”

“I was listening!” A half-lie but also a half-truth. “Don’t be so sensitive!”

Youichi cringes and shoots him a judgemental look before stepping out of his car. “I never want to hear that from you ever again.”

“Don’t say that! There’s nothing wrong with being sensitive!” Eijun waddles after him and links their arms together once they’re inside. Youichi attempts to push him off when he’s grabbing a cart from the front of the store, but he clings on, a shit-eating grin perched on his lips as his brother huffs at him. “Are you mad that I wasn’t listening?”

“See, you weren’t listening, you liar!” Youichi pushes the cart towards the snack aisle, simultaneously maneuvering his phone with their groceries list and the boy hanging onto him for dear life.

“I was half-listening! And see you were mad!”

“Okay, only half a liar, my mistake.”

“Thank you!” Eijun only unlatches himself from the older’s arm when he spots the familiar brand of protein bars he likes to have after tennis practices. He reaches for a pack to load into the cart when he sees the brand Kazuya likes, pausing.

He turns to his brother, gesturing at them. “Are these any good?” Youichi doesn’t respond immediately, scrolling on his phone through their list, so Eijun stomps his feet to get his attention, repeating his question, slightly more urgent this time, “Are these good?

His brother finally looks up, impassive to his urgency, cocking his head forward to see what Eijun is referring to. “Those? I don’t know… doesn’t Kazuya like those?”

He fingers at the box, mumbling, “Does he?”

Youichi eyes him strangely then, his expression indiscernible. It makes Eijun shuffle his feet uncomfortably. “I think so? He eats them a lot during breaks in practice.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Eijun lies, squinting at the box to give the impression he’s actually reading the labels. “They look good!”

He doesn’t meet his brother’s eyes when he plops a pack into their cart, afraid of what he’ll see, simply turning on his heel as he places a pack of his usual protein bars next to it.

He tells himself that this is okay. Liking Kazuya like this is okay.

“You could just ask Kazuya for one to see if you like them, you know,” Youichi mutters a beat later, pushing the cart further down the aisle. He scans the shelves before finding the section he’s looking for. “Ugh, they ran out.”

Eijun tries to divert the topic because if they keep talking about Kazuya, he doesn’t trust himself to stop. “Ran out of what?”

“The guys sent me a list of what food they want,” he taps through his phone and then holds up the screen for Eijun to see, showing a stream of text messages from their soccer group chat. “And they ran out of these cookies that Carlos and Kousei are obsessed with.”

Eijun skims through the texts just as a notification pings across the top of the screen.

Kazuya 🦝

are you and ei still out?

He can’t help the sharp inhale, the way that his heart catches in his throat. Then, the flutter that travels across his stomach at the nickname, the one Kazuya’s had for him since forever. Another text comes soon after.

Kazuya 🦝

we should go early. carlos and the others are really bugging me about her—

Youichi flips his phone back around before he can finish reading the text. “Who is it?” he asks at the same time Eijun exclaims, “It’s Kazuya!”

His brother taps at the screen to reply before pocketing his phone.

Eijun nibbles on his bottom lip, unable to resist. “Are you guys doing something later? Is that why he’s asking if we’re still out?”

There’s a shift in Youichi’s demeanor, Eijun can tell from the way his shoulders tense as he pushes forward, but it doesn’t deter him, walking faster to match his pace.

“We’re going out with the others.” Then, he snaps his head to Eijun. “And no, you can’t come!”

The younger pouts at that. “I wasn’t going to ask that!” He had been fully intending to ask that. “Where are you guys even going?”

Youichi doesn’t answer him, dropping two bags of Mei’s favorite popcorn into the cart. He rolls his eyes when Eijun tugs at his sleeve, a high pitched groan sounding from his throat.

“Fine,” Eijun huffs, pulling out his phone. “I’ll ask Kazuya myself!”

“Don’t,” Youichi warns sharply, snatching Eijun’s phone from his grasp. “Eijun, seriously, we’re all just hanging out at a friend’s. You don’t know them, okay? Don’t bother Kazuya about it either.”

Eijun doesn’t understand why he’s being so vague, but there’s a plummeting sensation in his stomach. There are only a handful of moments he can recall his brother intentionally keeping him in the dark, so he feels weary all of a sudden. He forces out a laugh, attempting to sound casual, “Why is it such a big deal?”

“Don’t worry about it, brat,” Youichi gripes, tone a bit softer, as if he can sense the other’s inner turmoil. He flicks Eijun’s forehead but without the usual force behind it. “Let’s get that expensive ice cream mom and dad don’t usually let us get, okay?”

There’s alarm bells ringing in Eijun’s head, but he tunes them out, nodding wordlessly as he heeds to his brother’s words.

(There’s a little voice in the back of his head though, one that asks Why?)

Eijun is curiously looking through his socials later, tucked under a blanket on the couch with a replay of a tennis game playing in the background. Youichi had left with Kazuya to wherever an hour ago so he’s alone. He’s still a bit miffed by the secrecy.

(“Is Kazuya coming over whenever you guys leave for your top secret destination later,” Eijun had joked then, attempting to stifle the excitement in his voice at the prospect of possibly seeing the older.

His brother had simply rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “No, he’s just gonna go straight to my car and then we’re leaving.”

Eijun had to school himself from physically deflating.)

Shunpei’s circle icon is the first one that pops up when he opens the app so he taps it, unprepared for what he sees. It’s a pan-around video of someone’s house, and the room is brimmed with soccer players and other familiar faces from school. He makes out his brother and Kazuya sitting on the couch in the background, and his stomach lurches. Between them is someone he doesn’t recognize—a girl, pretty with long black hair. Her entire figure is twisted towards Kazuya, their bodies close enough to touch, speaking animatedly with him. Kazuya’s smiling face is handsome even with the ugliness that grows in Eijun’s chest.

He doesn’t like the way an uncomfortable sphere of heat immediately begins to grow and collect in his stomach, spiralling across the rest of his body, reaching the tips of his fingers enough for him to drop his phone on his lap. He looks straight ahead, taking a deep breath. The sensation feels so ugly and rotten inside of him, and he hates it.

Kazuya has always been popular. This isn’t anything new, yet the burning that encompasses his entire being is something he’s never felt before.

You can like him and not expect anything back. You can like him and not expect anything back. You can like him and not expect anything back.

Eijun’s mind spits the words out vehemently in hopes that it will calm him down faster. Kazuya is not his, so he has no right to feel the possessive streak that he does. He picks up his phone in his newfound faux rationality, tapping on the green-rimmed icon of Kousei’s close friend’s story.

It’s a picture, not too different from the video he had just seen. Except, this time, the photo is a closer view of his brother, the girl, and Kazuya on the couch. Youichi and the girl sit far enough away to leave distance between them, while the latter two sit closely. The picture is captured just when his brother is making a sour face, and Kousei’s caption reads @nmei wya 😂

It’s supposed to be funny, Eijun knows that, but he zeroes in on Kazuya’s proximity with the stranger. A bubble pops around him, and he belatedly realizes that he can’t like him the way he’s been doing so. He can’t not expect anything from Kazuya when he feels so strongly about him. He feels so much whenever it comes to him that it’s a bit excruciating, as if he’s drowning from the pure ferocity of loving him. 

He just wishes Kazuya could relieve some of it.

There is something irrational in the peace Eijun finds from finally admitting it to himself. Then, the forlorn realization that follows when he realizes that it has to stop—he needs to put these feelings away if he wants to keep Kazuya in his life the way he’s always had.

Eijun avoids the soccer team's bonding that weekend. He stakes out at Haruichi's house, eating the snacks in his fridge and lazing around in his bed as the pink-haired boy does his homework and listens to his chatter. There's texts from Mei and new story notifications from Kousei and his brother on his phone, and it takes all the willpower in him to not check them, but he manages. He tries to tune out the little voice in his head that wonders if he'll get anything from Kazuya, if his absence does anything to him at all.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be there?" Haruichi inquires, scrolling through his phone during one of his study breaks. He swivels around in his desk chair to face Eijun, his expression thoughtful. "I can go with you, if you want."

Eijun rolls over onto his side, shaking his head. "No, you have to sudy for your exam tomorrow. And I miss being at your house anyway."

Haruichi rolls his eyes, standing and sauntering over before perching himself next to him in bed. "You're welcome at my house whenever, you know that," he huffs, "But you love hanging out with your brother and Mei and all of them... you don't want to see Kazuya that badly?"

Eijun doesn't respond right away, staring at the dull ceiling above him. "That's the problem, I do wanna see him. I wanna see him every moment if I could." He hears Haruichi shift next to him. "I just need some space from him right now so I don't feel that way anymore, that's all."

Kazuya nods at the freshman players on the way to the locker room after practice. He kicks a stray ball towards them, motioning a thank you as they help the managers clean up the practice field before semi-jogging to catch up to Youichi and Kousei. The former is glued to his phone, brows knitted together as he taps at his screen furiously.

“Are we still on to go to your house after?” Kousei asks, attempting to catch Youichi’s attention. Youichi nods, mumbling a gruff yeah , evidently more focused on the messages in front of him. The taller lets out a low whistle, “You fighting with Mei or something?

“Don’t even joke about that,” Youichi grumbles, but there’s no real bite in his words, eyes still laser focused on his phone. “Family thing,” he clarifies.

Kazuya whips his head around at that, concern flickering across his features. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s freaking Eijun,” Youichi grumbles, walking ahead of them into the locker room. 

Kazuya’s steps halt abruptly. “What? Is he okay?”

Kousei shoots him a look, raising his brows in emphasis before turning the corner to his locker. Kazuya quickly strides to his own locker next to Youichi’s, where the latter is still engaged with whatever’s on his screen. He’s mid-type when he repeats his question, “Is everything okay with Eijun? Is he hurt?”

Youichi waves his palm as if shooing him off, releasing a frustrated sigh. Kazuya doesn’t listen, his fingers suddenly beginning to itch, trepidation growing in his chest. “Youichi, is he okay?”

He recalls the younger’s absence in the car ride to school this morning, thinking it had been due to an early morning tennis practice. He swallows thickly at the thought of it being due to something more serious.

“Youichi, seriously.”

Said boy finally looks up, throwing his phone to his duffel bag. “He’s just been really sick since last night, and he’s been complaining all day,” Youichi grumbles, but Kazuya can hear the underlying worry beneath his words. “He threw up this morning before I left for school. It was disgusting. My parents took him to the doctor earlier, and they just got home with medicine for him now.”

Kazuya sits on the bench to ground himself, half-relieved it’s not something more devastating, but his gut still twists with worry. He reaches for his phone in his backpack, searching for Eijun’s name in his messages. His contact picture pops up when he clicks on the thread: a blurry picture of Eijun pouting at the camera after he had just met one of his favorite tennis players last summer. The words of their most recent messages read sorry i'm hanging out with haruichi today!! have fun though!! His response had been a simple alright you too have fun.

Kazuya frowns at the time stamp of the conversation dating back to more than a week ago. The younger has been a bit distant lately, not enough to incur genuine concern, but enough for him to notice the absence of his usual constant proximity. He’s not home as often when Kazuya comes over to their house, and he doesn’t visit either. He skipped the team bonding at his own house a few weeks ago altogether to hang out at a friend's.

(“That’s weird. He usually likes to hang out,” Kazuya had said then.

Mei and Youichi had merely exchanged a glance, communicating with each other in their weird telepathic way and shrugged.)

Kazuya writes it off as the bustle of midterms approaching. The middle of the first half of the year is always the busiest, riddled with exams and games and a multitude of school events and drives, and Eijun is not immune to that. So, he had been glad when he and some of their other teammates planned to hang out at the Sawamura’s a few days ago, hoping to see the younger. Now, his palms feel clammy at the thought of Eijun being unwell.

He types out a text. 

to: ei

i heard you’re sick? you okay?

Shunpei pokes his head out from the row of lockers across them, “Is little Sawamura alright? Sorry, I just overheard.”

“He should be after the medicine,” Youichi sighs, beginning to change out of his practice uniform. “He’s just an idiot, seriously.”

Shunpei laughs good naturedly. Their teammates aren’t as acquainted with Eijun as Kazuya is but acquainted enough to know of his stubborn personality. His reputation kind of precedes him. “Should we get him anything before we go to your house? Kousei and I can stop by the drug store or something.”

Youichi shrugs on his sweatshirt, taking a step to peer over the new notifications popping up on his phone before responding, “He’s been spoiled enough these past two days, you really don’t have to—” He interrupts himself to pick up his phone, lip curling into a grimace, swiveling to Kazuya. “We have to pick up chicken porridge on the way back to my house, by the way. He keeps whining that he’s craving it.”

Kazuya nods and then squints at his phone, swiping to his unanswered text, frowning.

Shunpei grins knowingly at the two of them, shaking his head. “I can see that.”

When they enter the Sawamuras’ house, Youichi kicks off his shoes first, trailing ahead of him to switch the lights on. Kazuya follows him after a beat, re-organizing their shoes at the doorway.

The other lingers at the staircase to the second floor, peeling off his bags and jacket, careful not to drop the takeout container of soup in his hand. “I’m gonna take this to Eijun first, do you wanna order food before the rest of the guys come?”

Kazuya feels his mouth move before his mind can question the words that leave it, “I can take it to him.” Youichi’s returning gaze is heavy, patronizing almost. “If you want me to,” he adds a moment too late.

Youichi’s silence is too long for what should be considered a normal request, but Kazuya’s eagerness to see Eijun outweighs the older’s sudden tentativeness towards him so he brushes past him, grabbing the porridge, and treads upstairs. Eijun’s room is one door down from Youichi’s and shut tightly, something uncommon for him as he has a habit of keeping it open most of the time. He knocks once but doesn’t wait for permission to enter as he turns the knob, strolling into the room casually. He’s met with the sight of Eijun splayed out in his bed, his body buried under a thick comforter and his face pinker than usual.

“Kazuya!” The boy’s eyes widen as he quickly gets up, propping himself onto his elbows. He looks pleasantly surprised for a moment, but then the corners of his lips curve downwards. “Get out, you know I’m sick!”

“So you did get my text,” Kazuya chuckles, amused by Eijun’s scandalized expression as he does the opposite of what he’s told, approaching closer and plopping onto the end of his bed. He reaches across him to place the porridge on his bedside table, smiling when Eijun bristles at his nearing. “We got you the soup you asked for.”

The younger juts his lower lip out at the comment, fully sitting himself up. He keeps the blanket close, wrapping it around himself, and only then does Kazuya notice just how disheveled he looks—his hair fluffed to the left (on the side he likes to sleep), the tip of his nose red, and his eyes heavy. “Thank you,” he says meekly. “But you shouldn’t be near me right now, you have games coming up, and I don’t want you to blame me if you get sick too.”

“I’m not getting sick. I never get sick,” he replies, grinning.

Eijun rolls his eyes, no rebuttal on his lips because they both know it’s true. In the eleven years they’ve known each other, Kazuya has only gotten sick exactly once, always somehow immune to any virus or cold spreading around. The older shifts closer, pressing the back of his hand to Eijun’s forehead, who subsequently shudders and whines about how cold it is.

“Woah, you’re actually burning up.”

“I told you so! Now, leave me alone so I can nap and heal!”

Logically, that is what he should do, but Kazuya fears he grows illogical by the day at Eijun’s recent distance. He scans the plushies scattered across Eijun’s bed (more sentimental of value rather than for actual decoration) to stall as he thinks of an excuse to stay. The stuffed dog closest to him is falling apart, riddled with old stitching from past scars, but it’s Eijun’s favorite one, a gift received from his family after winning his first tennis tournament, and he doesn’t like anyone touching it. Kazuya begins to lightly fiddle with its ears.

The younger immediately yanks it out of his hands, holding it to his chest defensively. “Don’t be annoying! You know better!” Kazuya stifles a smile then. He does know better, and that’s why he does it. The muffled sound of the front door opening followed by a chorus of footsteps and new voices comes from downstairs, both of them pausing at the noise. Eijun eyes him, lifting a brow. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs with all of them?”

“No.”

“No?” He blinks at him, genuine confusion flooding his features.

“I don’t feel like it.” Kazuya licks his lips, nervous suddenly. Eijun has never kicked him out of his room, but Eijun has also never distanced himself the way he’s been doing so. He waits for the other to scowl or lash out at him, but he doesn’t. His brows furrow slightly as his lips purse, his golden eyes brimming with uncertainty. “I’ll go downstairs later,” he adds hurriedly.

Eijun breaks out of his stupor, pouting at him. “You better.” He reaches for the porridge, hissing at the heat of the plastic container. Kazuya thinks the sight is kind of funny—like the sun itself getting burnt from a bowl of porridge. He snatches it from Eijun’s hands, ignoring the whine that leaves the other’s mouth as he opens it for him, fingertips be damned. 

He offers it back to Eijun, who reaches for it with no further complaint. “Hold it by the rim so your fingers don’t get burnt.” Eijun complies, thanking him under his breath, but the pout is still evident on his face. While Eijun eats, Kazuya asks him a series of questions in between bites ranging from How’s tennis going? and What did you do over the weekend? and Why is your room so messy? He avoids asking the big question, the one that’s been pressing his mind more and more recently.

Eijun licks the last bits of porridge off his spoon, scrunching his nose, and Kazuya resists the urge to poke it.

“What?”

He sets the spoon and the empty container of porridge on his bedside table, muttering, “My past three meals have been soup. I don’t think I can have it again for the rest of the year.”

Kazuya lets out a sound of amusement, “You’re the one that said you were craving porridge.”

“Did my brother—ugh, well, I was craving it at the time but not anymore!” the younger huffs, gently kicking at him from under his blanket. Kazuya catches his leg, tugging it just enough for Eijun to lose his balance slightly and slide forward. He lets his leg fall over his lap as the boy glares at him in retaliation, his cheeks burning a brighter tint of red. “Why don’t you go downstairs already!”

“I’m still checking on you,” Kazuya quips, trying to school his laughter, knowing full well he’s doing a bit more than that.

Eijun sees right through him, scowling and pulling his blanket tighter around himself. He attempts to send another kick his way, but Kazuya presses a firm forearm over his legs, holding them in place. Eijun gives up after a minute, sighing exasperatedly when he does so, and the older relaxes his arm, letting a hand rest over his knee. If he wasn’t so confident in his immune system, their current proximity probably wouldn’t be ideal. “Why are you being extra annoying today?”

I miss you. “You didn’t answer my text.”

“I knew you were coming over today and would get the answer anyway.”

“Okay, this is me getting my answer then.” He grins as Eijun releases an exasperated groan. He feels a little bad pestering him so much when he’s sick, but he loves eliciting these reactions out of Eijun, prefers them over the brief greetings in the hallways and the polite smiles thrown his way in the car. Eijun’s cheeks have impossibly pinkened, out of anger or the extra exertion Kazuya doesn’t know, but Eijun pulls his legs closer to himself, tucking his knees under his chin. Kazuya’s hand follows the movements, dragging his palm over the blanket before resting it against his shin. “Are you starting to feel better though?”

Eijun hums, “Yeah, after I took the medicine. The doctor said I got a bad stomach bug or something.”

Kazuya shifts closer, maneuvering himself to sit next to him. “Mhm, do you know what from?”

“I think maybe I ate leftovers that went bad? I’m not too sure, but it’s been horrible, my stomach hurts so bad,” he’s whining now, as if telling on his own body to Kazuya. The latter feels something in his gut unravel, loosening the more Eijun talks to him. “Oh, also, that same day my stomach started to hurt, during practice, the lobster machine was glitching out, and I got this bad bruise on my knee from one of the tennis balls.” He pulls the covers away from his legs, revealing a dark, purple bruise marking his inner knee. “See?”

Kazuya cringes when he sees it, brows furrowing together in concern. 

“So, my knee’s been hurting too.”

“Make sure you keep an eye on this,” Kazuya murmurs, fingertips coming to carefully brush at the spot. There’s no raised bump, and the temperature of his skin at the area isn’t any warmer than the feverish skin surrounding it, so he weans his mind off from considering the scarier possibilities (for now—he makes a mental note to ask Youichi about this in the coming days). “Did they at least fix the machine?”

Eijun doesn’t respond, and when he looks up, there’s a strained expression painted across his face, staring at the spot he’s touching. Kazuya immediately lightens the pressure of his fingertips but doesn’t pull away. “Sorry, was I hurting you?”

Eijun whips his head to the side, cheeks brightening. “No. That doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, good,” he whispers, returning to his examination of the bruise. He circles it with his fingers, attempting to massage some of the remaining swelling out. “Is this okay?”

“It’s okay,” Eijun squeaks. “And coach sent the machine back to the company to get fixed.”

“Good.” He smirks up at him then. “Did you piss someone off or something? Why have you been so unlucky these past few days?”

Eijun straightens his leg out, giving Kazuya better access to the bruise. “I don’t know, and I didn’t make anyone mad! I’m just unlucky!”

“Really unlucky,” Kazuya mutters, drawing forward to see the bruise closer, and when he does, he feels Eijun’s unkempt curls brush against his cheek. From his periphery, he sees the other peering forward, eyes drawn to their point of contact. He doesn’t think they’ve been this close since summer. He darts backwards suddenly, letting his fingertips leave Eijun’s skin. He does it a bit too hastily because Eijun snaps his gaze to him questioningly, eyes so round and gold that it makes his chest throb at the sight.

“What’s wrong? Did you feel something weird?”

“Nah, there was nothing,” he coughs, scooting to the edge of the bed. He pretends to pick at a piece of lint on his pants, keeping his gaze on his lap. 

A silence passes between them.

Eijun lets out a soft sigh, but his expression is blank, curling his body into a ball. “You should go downstairs now. You’ve been up here with me for too long.”

Kazuya bites his lip. “I can stay if you want.”

“No,” he yawns, tipping his body over to lay on his side, facing away from him. “I’m tired. You should go.”

“Okay, get some rest, alright?” Kazuya reaches to ruffle his hair gently, but Eijun doesn’t move, merely releasing a sound of agreement from his throat. He gulps, finally standing from his bed and collecting the empty tupperware and spoon at his nightstand. When he’s at the doorway, he lingers. He feels like he did something wrong again.

“I’ll text you later,” he says softly but still loud enough for Eijun to hear. There’s no response. “Feel better, Ei.”

Then, he leaves.

His footsteps feel heavy as he trudges down the stairs, like sturdy weights wrapped around his ankles. The first person he sees once he’s in the living room is Youichi, balancing a variety of drinks and snacks in his arms. Kazuya immediately goes to relieve him of some of them wordlessly. Even when they’re not making eye contact, he feels the hard gaze on him, relentless even as he turns his back to him.

“Where are the guys?” He asks to clear the air, hearing their teammate’s chatter but not seeing them anywhere nearby.

“Basement,” Youichi replies, striding forward. When their eyes meet for a brief second, his gaze is calculating, but then he keeps walking, brushing past him.

november

Eijun grits his teeth as another rush of wind sweeps across his face, sharp and cold against his skin, but he endures it, cheering as he sees their soccer team gain possession of the ball. Next to him, Mei whoops loudly, pumping his fist into the air when the ball gets passed to Youichi. He grabs Eijun’s hands into his as his brother positions himself to score into the goal, only for one of the opponents to kick the ball out of the way last second. 

“BOOO,” they cry out with the rest of the crowd, throwing their arms down. 

“I swear he had it,” Mei yells to Eijun, competing with the noise of the rest of their student section. “No one saw the defender sprinting at the last second!”

“Yeah, he came out of nowhere!” Eijun cries, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling sore for his brother. They watch as the opponent team makes their offensive move, crossing the midfield. Mei’s shoulders slump downwards, and he grabs a fistful of popcorn, chewing it with a miffed expression. 

“Seiko’s matches are always the worst,” he murmurs. Eijun hums in agreement, glancing at the 0-0 scoreboard. It’s nearly half-time, and neither of the teams have even made an attempt at a scoring kick, Youichi’s earlier play being the closest. His eyes lock onto the back of his brother’s navy blue jersey, zipping like a thunderbolt through the field. There’s a collective cheer when he manages to steal the ball back.

Eijun jumps up and down in excitement as Mei cups his hands over his mouth, letting out an ear-piercing, “GO YOUICHI!”

Youichi kicks the ball across the field, and the force catapults it past the midline, all the way to the opponent’s side of the arena. The foot that catches it makes Eijun’s heart twist: Kazuya. He dribbles it past two defenders, skillfully dodging them. Then, he passes it to Kousei at the edge of the field. Kousei receives it and gets immediately hounded by two defenders. He sends it back to Kazuya, who’s positioned on the field with a clear shot of the goal. Eijun holds his breath, silent, fingers clasped together. He eyes the clock at the end of the field, seconds remaining in the quarter. Kazuya catches it with his left foot, the right already propelled backwards, preparing for the kick. It connects. The ball spins through the air, but as it approaches the net, it misses by a hair, slamming into the metal rim of the goal. The audience visibly deflates, Eijun releasing an anguished sigh. “No,” he whispers, “He was so close.”

The whistle blows for half-time.

Mei has both of his arms locked behind his head, a dramatic sigh falling from his lips. “This is killing me, like actually. I’m losing years from this game, and it’s only the first round of regionals.” The younger laughs, snatching the popcorn bucket that’s been abandoned on the bleacher seats, as if it didn’t feel like his own heart was about to beat out his chest just seconds ago. He holds the bucket tightly to himself as another gust of wind cuts across the field, knocking over empty plastic cups and pieces of clothing left stranded. 

The games at this point of the year have come pouring in full force, all squeezed in before the winter weather hits. He had barely just gotten out of tennis practice when Mei practically dragged him out of the courts, coaxing him into watching today’s game with him. Mei reasoned that he had no one else to watch it with and didn’t want to watch alone, but Eijun knows better.

He’s been distant—with Kazuya, only him. But Kazuya is intertwined with a lot aspects of his life: his brother, their circle, his own parents (just this past weekend, when he trudged down the stairs Saturday morning, Kazuya had been in the kitchen, helping them unload groceries from the car). He’s everywhere. That’s what makes it so hard.

And it hasn’t gotten any easier.

“C’mon, let’s go say hi,” Mei remarks, gesturing at all the players beginning to walk towards their team benches.

Eijun smiles politely, shaking his head. “They probably wanna rest.” The blonde gives him a look like ‘you’re joking’ before wrapping a hand around his wrist, pulling him through the rush of students leaving their seats. Any further protests from Eijun are futile, going ignored as he stumbles down the staircase. “Mei, seriously, they’re probably too tired to talk, and I have to use the bathroom!”

Mei turns only to grin wickedly. “We do this all the time, they never care.” It’s true. Eijun hopes they finally care this time. “And you can use the bathroom later!” They reach the players, most of them lingering around, talking amongst each other. Eijun’s stomach turns in dread and anticipation.

They find his brother first. Youichi is bent over his seat, staring out into the field, and sipping on a sports drinks when the blonde taps him on the shoulder from behind. He turns his head, a serious expression plastered across his face before his lips curve upwards into a smile at the sight of Mei. “Hey!”

“Hey, yourself,” Mei teases, but he’s smiling just as widely. He releases Eijun’s wrist to crouch down and grab both ends of the towel hanging loosely around his boyfriend’s neck, pulling him closer and planting a peck on his lips. Then, he deadpans. “Why haven’t you guys scored yet?”

Youichi rolls his eyes, groaning, “We’re trying, Mei, in case you haven’t been watching.” His fingers trace over Mei’s knuckles in circles. 

The way they interact is so easy, no gaps or breaks in how they feel about each other. It’s all just laid out bare for everyone to see. Something begins to simmer in Eijun’s gut at the sight, but he ignores it.

Youichi cocks his head to nod at Eijun. “How’d you drag this loser here?”

“Not a loser,” Eijun grumbles, knocked out of his thoughts. He sits next to his brother, folding his arms over his chest. “Also, I don’t really wanna hear that from someone who can’t even score.”

Mei cackles loudly, nodding in approval, while Youichi scowls, his hands positioned to argue back. “It’s not all up to me! I’m not the only one on the field, if you haven’t noticed!”

“And thank goodness for that!” Mei jeers.

“You guys are ganging up on me!” The blonde giggles, and Eijun ducks out of the way as a hand comes to flick at his forehead. It’s thankfully diverted when Mei comes forward to pepper his brother’s face with kisses to appease him. The younger makes a face, making fake gagging noises, which is met with two shit-eating grins. 

Other teammates begin to approach them, greeting both him and Mei. He can’t help but scan the area, looking for someone he shouldn’t be looking for right now.

“Kazuya’s still on the field with the coaches. They’re talking strategy right now,” Youichi offers. He doesn’t direct it at Eijun specifically, but his eyes are angled towards him—both of their eyes are, Mei and his brother, observing for his reaction. Eijun only nods, unwilling to give them anything. When he feels their prying stares redirect, he looks at the field. Kazuya is still there like Youichi said, walking side-by-side with the coaches, deep in conversation. His amber eyes are intense, nodding as he looks at the clipboard between all of them. Eijun’s throat bobs. He hasn’t seen him on the field in a while.

He misses him.

“Eijun!” Kousei’s booming voice snaps him out of his head. It takes him a second to process the high five the boy gives him as he walks past to reach for a drink in the cooler. “Haven’t seen you around in forever, what’s up?”

Eijun cringes inwardly, shooting him a sad smile. Like he said, the whole distancing thing has been hard.

“I finally dragged him out!” Mei stands, putting both of his hands on his hips exaggeratedly, and Eijun’s grateful for his interruption. “Literally pulled him out from the courts and everything.”

They all laugh at that, though Eijun’s feels a bit more forced, itchy against his throat. He genuinely feels bad about it. He wants to tell them that it’s all temporary, and once he sorts out whatever feelings he has for Kazuya, everything will go back to normal, but he can’t say that so he only laughs, poking Mei’s side in retaliation.

“Is that why you only have that on?” Kousei points at his practice clothes, the light fabric contrasting the thick sweater Mei and everyone else in the audience is sporting. Eijun nods, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering as he’s reminded of the cold.

“You’re dumb as fuck, seriously,” Youichi chastises, reaching for his duffel bag.

“I didn’t know I was going to be watching today,” he huffs in return. Mei smiles down at him guiltily, so he reaches out to hold his hand in reassurance. He knows Mei did it because he missed him.

His brother digs through his bag, brows furrowing as he begins taking pieces of clothing out. “Where the fuck did I put my extra sweater,” he mutters to himself.

Kousei watches him, looking off to the side before declaring, “He can take my extra.” His eyes meet Eijun’s. “If you want it,” he adds.

“Thanks.” Eijun nods gratefully. It’s a friendly offer—nothing more. After Kazuya and Mei, Kousei is probably third in terms of closeness out of his brother’s friends, having been friends with Youichi since middle school (though, with how things are now between him and Kazuya, he’s probably second at the moment). He accepts the sweatshirt handed to him, wasting no time to throw it over his head and escape the cold. He recognizes the smell of deodorant and heavy cologne as he buries his chin into the collar, leaving the hood perched on his head.

When he looks up, he catches Kazuya’s gaze from the field at that moment. He freezes. Kazuya is still with the coaches, but his attention is no longer on them, his eyes fixated on Eijun’s, holding them in place. His expression is blank as he stares at him, and, as always, Eijun isn’t sure what he’s thinking.

Then, he starts walking towards his direction.

Eijun feels nervous, tearing his eyes away to stare at his feet. Around him, Youichi and Kousei are catching Mei up on soccer drama involving who-knows-what, he can’t bring himself to care at the moment. He feels restless. He allows himself to peek at Kazuya again, and he’s getting closer. He whips his head away, tugging at Mei’s sleeve to catch his attention. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom now.”

“Oh, okay—” Mei says at the same time his brother pipes in, “Kazuya’s coming over, now, though.” The latters peers at him, expression more knowing than Eijun would like. “You should at least say hi.”

The other two look at him curiously, and Eijun forces a smile on his face, nodding. If he insists on leaving now, they’ll know that something is up. Kazuya is close enough for him to make out the dirt on his uniform and the sweat lining his temple. His lips are curled tightly, not quite resembling a smile but enough to pass off as one, as he approaches them.

“Hey,” he greets, fist bumping Mei. Then, he regards Eijun. “Hi, Ei.”

“Hi.” Eijun wants to run, but his legs feels like lead. “Good job out there!”

“Thanks.” His expression is even more impossible to read than usual, frustratingly blank. His eyes run over Eijun’s figure, lingering at his torso. “You cold?”

It takes all of Eijun’s effort to not curl up in himself. Instead he buries his hands in his pockets to hide the way he clenches his fist, his nails digging into his palms. When did it become so hard to talk to Kazuya? “Mhm, yeah, a bit.”

Kousei chuckles at this, shaking his head in amusement. “A bit? You were straight up shivering before I gave you my sweater.”

Eijun’s cheeks grow hot. He feels like he’s been caught for some reason, though he knows he’s done nothing wrong, nothing he can even think of. But the way Kazuya is laughing, his gaze scrutinizing, not matching the grin on his lips, makes him feel like it. Eijun shuffles his feet uncomfortably.

“I really have to go now,” he says in a way he hopes sounds casual, standing up. When he goes to turn around, Kazuya catches his wrist, tugging him back, and he sees it then: a flash of confusion and so much more painted across Kazuya’s face—it makes his gut coil both in guilt and satisfaction, though the latter he quickly pushes away.

“I just got here. Where are you going?” His voice sounds hoarse almost, Eijun thinks he’s hearing funny for a moment.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” he replies dumbly, caught off guard. He feels the eyes locked onto the both of them, and it makes his skin crawl in vulnerability, like if they look hard enough they’ll see how his skin sets aflame where Kazuya has his fingers wrapped around his wrist.

Kazuya releases his arm slowly, as if realizing the oddity of his actions. “Oh.”

Eijun smiles curtly, nodding, and then turns on his heel.

Mei gives him a look when Eijun finally finds his seat. He had stayed in the bathroom until the end of halftime, running his hands under warm water to prepare for the cold outside and stall time. The blonde lets him settle on the bleachers, gnawing on his bottom lip, before decidedly whipping his head to him.

“What’s up with you?” More hesitantly, he adds, “Is it Kazuya?”

Eijun’s stomach begins to turn again, not really wanting to have this conversation, and especially not with Mei. The blonde knows him so well, can read him like a novel from front to back—it’s almost scary. His first tactic is to feign ignorace. “Hm, what do you mean?” It only goes so far with Mei, who looks back at him, unimpressed.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Mei sighs, pinching his thigh. His eyes scan over to the field, where the players are preparing to resume the game. “You just haven’t really been… there with us.”

They both clap their hands as the ball is kicked off, the opponent team on the offense. “And I know you’re busy, but I see you hang out with your other friends all the time, so don’t say it’s because of that!”

Eijun swallows down the urge to tell him that his friends don’t have any attachments to Kazuya like him and his brother do—that he doesn’t have to fear the off chance that Kazuya will appear and shake him up and hinder the little progress he’s made at getting over him. Eijun still can’t lie to Mei, though, so he sucks in a breath, words heavy on his tongue, “Just wait a little, okay? You guys haven't done anything wrong, I promise. Just give me some time—”

“Is it because of what happened over the summer?”

There’s a flurry of cheers around them when Shunpei successfully blocks the ball from going into their goal. Mei isn’t looking at that, though, his eyes sharp as they narrow at Eijun. “Both you and Kazuya have been really weird since summer, to be honest. I asked Youichi, but he doesn’t know what happened either. He just knows that something did happen.”

Eijun’s throat feels like it’s pinching together, unable to properly form words to reply. Youichi gets the ball on the field, and it steals Mei’s attention, his head swiveling to him automatically. The younger releases a sigh of relief.

Mei is relentless, though. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. It’s obvious neither of you are going to say what happened, but…” he trails off as Youichi passes the ball to Kousei. The players dribble and pass the ball amongst each other with the other team leaving no gaps in their defense. “You can always talk to us, you know? If you don’t want to talk to your brother, I get it, but you can always talk to me, Eijun.”

Eijun feels a tickle at his nose, his face tightening under his skin. “I know. Thank you, Mei, really.” And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away. Mei ruffles his hair, beaming at him, and he doesn’t really think he deserves it. He averts his gaze to something—anything else.

There’s a group of students walking up to the front row, holding up cardboard cutouts of the player’s heads. Eijun vaguely recognizes some of the faces from the hallways. When the cutouts are held up, his gaze snaps to the girl holding up Kazuya’s, squinting to study her face. He’s never seen her at school, but she looks so familiar, too familiar, her face small and pretty against pin-straight black hair.

Eijun’s entire body goes still. It’s her. From the video.

Next to him, he registers Mei speaking but can’t comprehend what he’s saying. The girl cups her hands around her mouth, screaming “GO KAZUYA!” and her friends around her laugh, bumping her hip with theirs.

“... never liked those things.”

Eijun snaps out of his daze, but his eyes are still laser-focused on the girl. “Hm?”

Mei points at the same group that he’s been staring at. “Those head cut-out things. They’re so big and obnoxious! Plus, people behind you can’t see when you’re holding something up that big in the air.” 

Eijun finds himself agreeing out of pettiness. He can’t help himself, the words leaving his mouth so quickly he can barely catch his breath. “Do you know them? Are they close to the players to be doing that?”

“Yeah, a few are friends from our classes. Some of them are cheerleaders for the football team, I know that. I think I see Taiyou, ugh he’s in my calculus class, he’s annoying!” Eijun nods, waiting for him to get to the girl. “Don’t really recognize the rest—oh! That girl at the end, I remember seeing her at Carlos’ birthday party last year. I think she’s a friend he went to middle school with.”

Mei looks at him then, unsure, like he wants to say something but ultimately decides not to. Kazuya steals the ball during the opposing team’s turn for offense, and the girl jumps up and down, shaking the cardboard cutout in her hands excitedly, her face pretty even as the wind whips her hair over it.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it, but his mind wanders on its own. He’s seen the amount of people fawn over Kazuya through the years, an endless supply of girls and guys making googly eyes at him in the hallways and at games, even at malls and cafes when strangers would do double takes as he passed by. Eijun had always thought himself to be different, someone who wasn’t just passing by, someone who had a place in Kazuya’s life and didn’t need to crane their neck just to look at him. But this feels different. He had seen Kazuya and her talking, right next to each other, so close, and now, she’s at Kazuya’s game, sitting with Kazuya’s mutual friends, holding up a cardboard cutout of him—like she already had a claim on him.

They’d look good together his mind thinks traitorously.

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Mei throws an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him close. “I just want someone to score already, preferably our team!”

Eijun nods, tearing his eyes away from the group to look at the field. Shunpei has the ball, dribbling it between his feet as he crosses the midline. He passes it, and the ball is with Kousei now. He pauses for a moment, feet positioned defensively over the ball in case anyone attempted to steal it, and then kicks it to Youichi. Mei bristles next to him, his grip tightening on his shoulder.

His brother only has it for a few seconds before punting it away. Eijun blinks, and Kazuya is sprinting down the field with the ball. Everyone around them stands up, shouts and cries blending together. Eijun zeroes in on the 2 MIYUKI jersey, unwilling to look away. The ball looks like its floating against the turf as Kazuya dribbles it, dodging players left and right. He kicks it between the legs of an opponent, and another rush of cheers erupts from the crowd. Next to him, Mei takes his hand with his other arm, squeezing, blue eyes locked onto the field.

The other players crowd the opposing team, holding them off from disrupting Kazuya’s stride. The boy slows, digging his left foot into the ground, his right propelling behind him. Then, he strikes. The ball cuts across the air, towards the left top corner of the net. The goalie jumps, both hands outstretched to reach for it, but he reacts a beat too late. The ball goes in.

They’ve finally scored.

There's a collective roar that breaks out in the audience. Mei wraps his arms around Eijun, squealing as he jumps up and down. On the field, the other plays throw themselves on top of Kazuya, embracing him into their arms, their chests, their entire bodies. Everyone is celebrating, loud cheers of “KAZUYA” are chanted all around him over and over again, but Eijun can’t bring himself to make a sound, pride and ambivalence coating his throat, clawing at it.

It’s the only point of the entire game, giving Seido the win.

Mei drags Eijun to the field at the end of the game, running and jumping into Youichi’s arms when they find him amongst the other families and players scattered across the arena. Eijun rushes up to them, and Mei and his brother make room for him in their hug. 

“You smell!” Eijun cries when they pull away, earning a shove to his hip.

“Fuck off,” his brother jeers, but he’s grinning, pulling the three of them together.

Eijun breaks off from the embrace first, letting the two of them have their moment as he walks around. Other players pass, all of them greeting him—Kousei gives him a side-hug, Shunpei ruffles his hair, Carlos waves at him from where he’s standing with his boyfriend. He’s mid conversation with Norifumi when his eyes wander, and his heart stops.

Kazuya is across the field, running a hand through damp, sweaty hair. His sports glasses are haphazardly tucked into the collar of his jersey, and when he smiles and shakes hands with the opponent goalie he’s talking to, it makes Eijun’s chest ache from how handsome he looks. His head shifts suddenly, and as if there's some magnetic force that compels him, their eyes meet, amber and gold clashing. Eijun feels the same anticipation and dread flood through him as Kazuya pats the player on the shoulder before brushing past and beginning to make his way to him, his strides long and fast. This time, Eijun can’t bring himself to run away despite the alarm bells ringing loudly through his head.

“You okay, Eijun?” Norifumi chuckles at his abrupt silence, spinning his head around, attempting to follow Eijun’s gaze.

“Yeah, I’m good,” He squeaks back. Nori is about to reply when he spots someone behind them and excuses himself. Eijun can only nod, feeling slightly breathless. 

Kazuya is stopped every few seconds—for a handshake, a congratulations, a pat on the back—but everytime, he only pauses for a moment before he continues walking. His eyes pivot back to Eijun after every encounter, and it makes the younger’s heart thrum wildly in his chest. He’s so close, just steps away, Eijun can almost feel his figure looming over him. Anticipation pools in his chest, and with it, bits of hope and wishfulness that he hasn’t let himself feel in a long time.

Then, a thin, delicate hand locks around Kazuya’s wrist, pulling him back.

Eijun’s stomach drops at the owner of the hand.

Kazuya stumbles backwards slightly, brows furrowing in irritation, but easing when he sees the girl. His eyes widen as recognition registers on his features, and his lips curl into a smile, allowing her to wrap him into a hug. He pulls away quickly, nodding at something she says, eyes flickering over to where Eijun stands dumbly, his expression blank when their gazes meet.

Eijun feels stupid again.

Kazuya is perching a hand on the girl’s shoulder when he turns on his heel, briskly walking back to his brother and Mei, unwilling to see Kazuya interact with the girl for a second longer. 

He’s so, so dumb.

Mei and Youichi are still deep in conversation when he reaches them, so he simply taps Mei’s shoulder, smiling tensely, and gesturing at something in the distance.

“I’m gonna give this sweater back to Kousei, okay? I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t come back. He leaves.