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Karasu had a secret. For as long as he remembered, he liked to stare at feet. But right now, he had a dilemma. He could not choose between Otoya and Nagi. See, on one hand, Otoya was his partner. He was deeply connected to Otoya on a spiritual level, and their souls were so intertwined that they knew what the other one was thinking without even exchanging words.
HOWEVER, when it came to Nagi, he knew he fucking hated Nagi with every cell of his being the irrelevant stupid motherfucker that breathed too loud and smelled like the most awful version of body odor that was always staring at everyone like a bug eyed FREAK with no thoughts in his head irritated him to no known end. Beyond the limits of human comprehension, honestly. Sometimes, he saw Nagi, and he was overcome with an overwhelming urge to scream and cry and do god knows what else to rid himself of the sensation of having to acknowledge the presence and existence of the other alongside him.
Now, when Karasu is many shots too deep into a bottle, and Nagi appears in front of him across the table in place of where Otoya should have been had Otoya not fucked off to flirt with some other girl, he is hit with this urge again and retires to the bathroom to dry heave in front of the sink.
Fortunately, he does find Otoya entering the bathroom as he is dry heaving.
“I think me and that blonde girl are gonna get it on tonight,” Otoya says, flippantly. Karasu dry heaves once more. He can’t help but gag at the mental image.
“Please don’t,” he says suddenly and drops to the floor right before Otoya, much to his friend’s surprise. He literally gets on his knees and starts grovelling at his feet, suddenly on the verge of tears. “Pleeeeeeeeeease.”
Otoya suddenly jerks back in disgust. “Woah buddy, please don’t throw up on my shiny new pink Rick Owens cargo baskets high sneakers. Actually blondie over there really likes these babies and we actually bonded over our mutual love of high fashion footwear, so, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to get it on, which will never happen to you by the way, because you’re a sad freak who is friends with the likes of Bachira.” Then he struts past Karasu’s cowering form without a single regard.
“But aren’t you and Bachira ‘fucking gang’ as you always say?” Karasu responds, having latched onto to nothing other than that in his inebriated state. He looks down at the shoes. They look fucking stupid. He says as much, of course. “I hope it works out with that girl with awful fucking taste then.” Karasu proceeds to flip his hair that is far too short for flipping before leaving the bathroom to find a girl of his own. Ideally the same blonde girl, because nothing would be better than pissing off Otoya. He loved pissing off Otoya. He made a really funny face when he got pissed, and started complaining. Whining might be a better word actually, he ponders as he bumps into a blonde girl. The only blonde girl in the entire vicinity.
She blinks up at him with rather dead eyes. Something freezes inside Karasu’s chest as they make eye contact, the deep gray in her eyes seizing him in place.
He suddenly feels the bile rising up in his throat again, and he grasps at his mouth. “N-N-Nagi-san?!!?!?!??!”
The woman, or now revealed man, in question, grabs him by the throat and pulls him closer with a menacing stare. “Keep your voice down or I will personally shave your head bald,” he hisses ominously.
Karasu has to blink back tears at this point; Nagi has always been a super threatening guy and being this close to him is almost putting him into cardiac arrest. “I-I’m sorry sir, o-o-or ma’am. I’m really s-sorry. Can I get you anything? A drink, a gin and tonic maybe? Shall I fetch you some grapes?”
Nagi tosses back his (decidedly-fake) blonde curls over his shoulders and gives him a look so withering Karasa instinctively moves back. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you talentless whore? Are you here to hook up because your little boytoy rejected you?”
Rage rises in his throat this time instead of bile, which has genuinely never occurred before where Nagi was concerned. “Are you projecting?” He nods his head to where Reo looks bored surrounded by probably 15 different women.
Nagi grits his teeth. “Nuh uh.”
“Alright, well, you can get fucked by Otoya if thats what you want so bad, but just know, he’s not gonna do it if I step in.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Nagi asks, now perplexed, having completely forgotten any anger he’d harbored from the previous insult, because genuinely, what the fuck did that mean?
Karasu blinks. He wasn’t exactly sure either. Just then, a familiar voice calls out from behind him, having finally left the bathroom. “What’s up y’all?” Otoya drawls.
Nagi locks back into his role, pitching up his voice. “Oh, I was just talking to your friend here. He’s very….interesting?”
Karasu nods, “Yeah, well, Otoya, I was thinking that you should ditch this girl and me and you head back tonight?”
It’s Otoya’s turn to blink. “What?”
Nagi bats his eyelashes, which seem to be longer than usual. Hm, perhaps he used extensions for this very special occasion? “Don’t listen to him, jagiya, shall we talk more about the economic state of the Rick Owens shoe empire in the twenty first century? I have champagne back at home, mein soccer.”
Otoya suddenly looks starstruck at the prospect of discussing rich white men over alcohol. “Wait, do you mean it? Because I’m super down.”
Karasu resists the urge to smack both himself and Otoya upside in the head. He cannot believe this is happening; seriously, Nagi isn’t even half pretty even to pass as a girl, and he is in utter disbelief that such a loser seduced Otoya. He might have to change his opinion on his partner after this. Football partner, that is. “Otoya,” he says, on his last leg of patience, “so god help me, if you don’t come with me right now, I will lock you in a room with Bachira for twenty four hours without food or water or entertainment.”
Otoya perks up, “Hey, that sound kinda fun!”
Karasu rethinks his punishment. “Nevermind, Bachira and Isagi, then.” Otoya’s face pales.
“You wouldn't…”
“But I would!”
He agrees, finally, and they head back together. Karasu is riding an epic high in his victory over Nagi. When they arrive at Karasu’s apartment, however, he is soon faced with the gravity of the decision he had made before, and he has no idea what to do with any of them.
To start, he leans against the counter of his kitchen. “So, uh, you want water?”
Otoya laughs. Karasu sulks.
“OK, do you want to play super smash bros?”
Otoya laughs. Karasu sets up the TV and pairs the controllers.
They’re both sitting down on his extremely beaten and old leather couch now, but before Otoya is able to boot up the game, Karasu notices something, and his eye twitches.
“Hey, buddy, pal… why are you still wearing those fu- those shoes?” He asks, zeroing in on the bright pink sneakers still adorning Otoya’s (probably) lovely feet. Regardless of how Karasu personally felt about feet, he had a very strict, very closely-followed, no shoes in the house rule, and he was once again resisting the urge to smack someone.
Otoya simply glaces down nonchalantly and shrugs. “Oh, these old things? I dunno, I kinda like them, they really help to protect me against foot loving hobos on the street and in the sheets. If it’s ok with you, I think I’m just gonna keep them on.”
The two of them engage in a staring contest now, both unwilling to back down. Super smash bros boots up and the theme song starts playing in the background.
“My house, my rules,” says Karasu.
“My shoes, my rules,” mimics Otoya. Karasu can’t believe they’re having this conversation right now.
As Otoya turns back to the screen to select his player, Karasu takes this moment of weakness to lunge for his feet and wrench the godforsaken footwear off.
“What the fuck?” Otoya screeches, flapping his arms on the couch, but Karasu’s grip is firm, and soon, the shoes are thrown to the corner of the entryway, and his rules are followed. All is well.
“I’m leaving,” Otoya states, standing up.
“No, we haven’t even played. You clearly want to play. You selected King K. Rool,” Karasu says, placing his counter on Marth. He’s on the verge of tears.
“No, I actually don’t want to play, and especially not with you.” He stalks off towards the door to pull on his shoes. Karasu follows behind him quickly, trying discreetly to wipe the tears that had slipped down his cheeks.
“You can’t do that. That’s not fair.”
“No. It is fair, and I’m doing it.” Otoya opens the door, setting a foot over the bar along the ground. Karasu grabs for his arm, dragging him backwards, and they topple over to the floor.
See, Karasu had actually been hitting the gym pretty consistently for the past year, and because he went every two hours, he was jacked as fuck. In fact, his bench was five hundred. Because of his borderline disgusting levels of strength, he easily sent Otoya’s light ass flying on top of him. Now, Karasu could easily just shove Otoya off of himself, but he noticed that Otoya was also beginning to tear up a bit.
“Do you know that I don’t even like King K. Rool,” he starts, voice shaking already. “I only play him every single time because you always choose Marth from Fire Emblem, and that’s my favorite character. But I know you like him too so I never complain.”
Karasu suddenly feels like the worst person on planet earth. He probably crawled onto the earth from hell, where he was born. “I… I had no idea, I’m sorry.” He feels like he’s been apologizing a lot today.
“I just wanted to show off my new kicks that I bought with the money I earned from feetfinder.com,” he sniffles and wipes his tears away. “I finally found a really hot girl that I wanted to go home with, and you even ruined that.”
“That fucking whore was Nagi in a wig, you weirdo,” Karasu snarls, “I can’t believe you didn’t notice. It’s like you don’t even pay attention to anyone but yourself.”
Otoya squints at him, “I don’t discriminate. Hot girl is a hot girl, if it’s Nagi in a wig or not. If I want to fuck Nagi in a wig, that is MY decision.”
Karasu is hit again with the need to barf all over the place at the mere mention of Nagi from the other.
Otoya continues, oblivious, “And, if you were to wear a wig, we could fuck too, honestly. That’s up to you, buddy but I’m on my way out, so I will see you Monday morning in practice.” He hits a salute, before spinning for the door, but not also before wiping another set of tears that had cascaded down his cheeks.
Karasu just remains perfectly calm. “You’re just forgetting one thing, dear partner.”
“And what is that?”
Karasu holds up his fuckass shoes and waves them in his face. “I still have your dumb high-tops, you weirdo. And you best believe if you walk out right now I will auction them off on ebay.com.” He threatens gleefully.
Otoya’s expression morphs to one of absolute, sheer, dreadful horror. Karasu has never seen him break out in a cold sweat before. He starts shaking like a leaf. “No, no, please don’t. Please. I could’ve paid my rent with that money but instead I bought those shoes. I’m homeless, please.”
Karasu just cackles. “Then you’re gonna have to come get them!” He then bolts into one of his rooms, Otoya hot on his heels and not far behind.
He dashes into his own bedroom and hides behind the curtain. The lights are off, and hopefully Otoya is so dumb that he won’t think of turning them on.
And he was right, because from his amazing hiding spot, he can see Otoya crawl beneath the bed and hit various storage containers Karasu kept there, cursing each time. Unfortunately, he does snort a bit too loud once, and it alerts Otoya to his presence. The shoes are wrested from him as he is doubled over in laughter, which is honestly just fucked up and morally wrong in his opinion. And his opinion was always right, so basically, it was fucked up.
“You could have just put on a wig, you know?” Otoya says.
Karasu stares at him, confused. This seemed to be the theme of the night. “What the fuck are you talking about? Like genuinely what is wrong with you?” He finds himself rethinking his opinions on people, his choices in partnerships. His entire view of the world, honestly.
“Like, do you want to fuck? Because I feel like you do, but you’re not saying it, so I can’t tell for sure.”
Karasu continues to stare. He ponders this train of thought. He considers it pretty deeply, and honestly, maybe there was something there. Maybe he’d underestimated Otoya’s intelligence and overestimated his stupidity. Maybe, he did want to fuck. And maybe, Nagi in a wig being a choice that Otoya would fuck had irked him beyond all reasonable action.
“Is it ok if I don’t have a wig?” Karasu asks, rubbing his chin. Otoya shrugs.
“Sure, I guess it would still be fine. Can I keep the shoes on though while we’re doing it?”
Karasu nods, “Yeah, if that would enhance the experience for you, because I know you’re pretty attached to those shoes.”
Otoya is so grateful. Life had really been looking out for him these days. Every mishap continued to turn into something better than he could have imagined, and this was another one of those moments. Otoya took a moment to send a prayer up to god, thanking them for the blessings of his life, before he got on the bed and got to work.
Karasu goes from nodding to violently shaking his head. “Actually, take them off and then you can put them back on, but like take them off for at least 20 minutes so I can really get to know them, you know?”
Otoya pauses his prayer. “Get to know what?”
“Your feet, dude. Are you a little slow? I feel like you’re a little slow, but it’s ok, I'll make up for it.”
Otoya scoffs. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
The next morning, Karasu wakes up to an empty space, where another body should have ideally been.
He decides that some sleep would be in due order considering the events of the previous day and night. And so, we end our journey into a particularly eventful Friday night in Tabito Karasu’s generally uneventful life. Thank you for following this journey.