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If there is anything that can be said about long train rides is that they give Aone Takanobu a lot of time to think.
There's just something about it all - the gentle rock of the carriage and the quiet bustle of people - that's ideal for silent musings, wandering minds, and the like. It's the atmosphere, maybe, one which makes him feel as though he is not alone. It's the feeling that the world is constantly moving, instead of being stuck at a standstill. The feeling that time is not a construct of man, but a journey - leading on and on to reach that final destination.
His thoughts consume him as the train shoots through the same old scenery. As a child, Aone would have kicked his feet up and pressed his face against the window, admiring trickling leaves and vast blue skies. Now, he prefers his feet planted on the floor, as grounded as one can be on a moving vehicle, though his eyes are no less amazed by the brilliance of nature; growing amongst the concrete slabs and brick walls of civilisation. Surviving. Thriving.
Primarily though, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Aone likes to think because it distracts him from the empty spaces left on either side of him. The subtle lack of presence – the aching feeling of abandonment.
He knows, in reality, nobody sitting beside him is a rather trivial concern all in all, but he can’t help it; it affects him just as anything else does. Just as his longing to reach out and communicate with the world does; just as his choice to remain silent lies not in an inability to find the words to say – but an inability to find somebody who will listen.
And it’s never as prominent as on long train rides just how little people pay him mind.
(The exception lies only in the children who stare – he acknowledges them with a tiny wave each time – and thus, it’s the others that make it even more apparent; the gazes that sweep over him and turn away, the hurry of steps to bypass him, the ducking of heads, and the crowds that pack closer together.
For Aone, though, they’re always merging somewhere further away.)
His gaze drops from the window opposite when he hears the sound of footsteps growing closer.
For the first time in a long while, he sees a stranger directly approach him on the train. There's not a glimpse of hope in that - Aone has long forgone the belief that people would sit beside him willingly, for whatever the reason might be, but he waits anyway.
Maybe this time, he thinks. Or maybe not.
His eyes catch the gaze of the other, and the stranger shoots him an easygoing smile. Aone keeps his expression neutral, mouth only a little tighter as he anticipates the tall brunet brushing past him to get to the next carriage.
It comes as genuine surprise that he doesn't. Instead, the stranger chooses to sit right beside him, without a hint of being intimidated at all.
The seat creaks unpleasantly when the brunet flops onto the worn cushion, stretching his arms high above his head. Maybe a moment too late to be considered perfectly polite, he turns and asks: "Hey, can I sit here or will your imaginary friend get mad at me?"
Aone blinks, slow as dripping honey, and gestures ‘go ahead’. He doesn’t point out that the young man is already sitting there, and that asking at this point is really not necessary.
"Awesome," the brunet cracks a grin; a burst of brightness on his sly features. "I'm Futakuchi Kenji, by the way. You may have heard of me."
Unfortunately, Aone hasn't, so he shakes his head dutifully, picking at the hem of his sweater.
Instead of being disappointed, Futakuchi's grin grows wider. "You haven't heard? Even better. I've always wanted to meet someone who lived under a rock."
Aone frowns in response this time. He can tell the other wants to pick a reaction out of him, but if Aone is good at anything, it's not reacting at all. He angles his head away, so his eyes are mostly focused on the passing view through the opposite window – just like they had been before Futakuchi’s abrupt arrival.
"Not a man of many words, huh?" Futakuchi muses aloud. "That's okay. I can do most of the talking. I'm good at that. Just give me a name, make us even. I gave you mine." He pauses for a moment. “Wait. You can talk, right? I’m not just making some stupid assumption?”
"Aone." He supplies. He figures it’s enough of an answer for the brunet to figure out the rest on his own, so he doesn’t lift his gaze from the window. The plants beyond the glass are a blur by now, but if he squints, he can still make out the fresh colors of flowers zooming past.
"Okay, Aone. Aone, Aone. Cool." Futakuchi articulates, testing the name on his tongue. He doesn’t dwell on it long. "You know, Aone, I noticed something. You're actually really tall, even sitting down. What do you eat?"
Aone shrugs, half-tempted to reply with just 'food', but he was taught better than that. Instead, he looks back at Futakuchi, and thinks that they're not that far off on height, anyway. He's really not one to talk.
"Not gonna divulge your secrets so easily, huh," Futakuchi says after a break of silence; realising that he wasn't getting an answer. He seems intrigued more than anything, and Aone briefly wonders if Futakuchi is going to try making him speak a challenge. "S'okay, I get it, I'm a pretty intimidating guy. You'll get used to me. Say, where are you getting off, by the way?"
Aone turns to the wall behind him, where a map of the train lines lies protected by a thin sheet of plastic. He points to station 23. He’s in the latter end of his trip now, and it’s coming up in ten, maybe twelve, more minutes. Futakuchi makes a curious noise.
"Hey, same here! What do you know, we're train buddies!"
Aone doesn't know what he's supposed to say to this, so he doesn't say anything at all; but he supposes, for him, that's not really out of the ordinary.
“Do you take this train often?” Futakuchi asks, but before Aone can even start to reply, he’s already moving to the next topic. “I took the bus until only recently, but I’m surprised I’ve never seen you before. I guess, perhaps, I could’ve mistaken you for a lamppost! I bet if you stood right next to one, you’d make a perfect imitation!”
At this point, Aone doesn’t know how he feels about his new companion, but he’s content with just sitting through and listening – as his stop grows closer and closer. Futakuchi seems well aware of this, because he no longer waits for a response before rambling on.
“How did you get your hair that way? Is it a symptom of premature aging? You know, I’ve got this friend called Sasaya, and I think he’d look really good with white hair. He’s always giving off these old man vibes, and Moniwa – another friend of mine – says that it’s called being responsible, but hey, what do I know? It’s not like –” Futakuchi gasps, breaking his own tirade, as the train slows to a halt. “Would you look at that? It’s time to get off! Let’s go!”
Aone feels himself being pulled to his feet, and mere moments later, Futakuchi is already streaming out the train doors. He turns back, as if they’d known each other for longer than the truth dictated, and waves.
"Bye, Aone! Get home safely!"
Aone nods, and returns the sentiment out of courtesy alone. He doesn't know why the stranger bothered - it's not like they knew each other, and it's not like he was great company anyway. He knows more than anyone how unsociable he seems; but it's a part of who he is, and he's given up trying to change that.
Nevertheless, Aone goes home in a pleasant mood that night, and wonders if the incident today will ever repeat itself. Sitting beside someone for once felt really nice.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it's not long before he crosses paths with Futakuchi again.
They take the same train at certain times of the week, Aone comes to realise, though he doesn't notice this until Futakuchi tells him quite plainly that he's seen him on the station platform a couple of times, and waved his hello (which he claims was cruelly ignored, but Aone doesn't even remember seeing him wave, so he's dearly apologetic for ignoring whatever the greeting may have entailed).
Futakuchi takes his seat right by Aone, just like the first time, and chatters his ear off about a whole myriad of irrelevant topics - though Aone listens because he's a good listener, and learns because he's intrigued.
They're heading the opposite direction from last time: off to the lively city of Tokyo. Aone is going because he has university to attend there, but Futakuchi has yet to disclose his own destination. Aone doesn't expect him to. They're merely acquaintances at this point, and if it doesn't come up, it doesn't come up.
"You know, Tokyo's always been pretty wild to me," Futakuchi is in the middle of saying, "I grew up in Miyagi. Totally different playing field. It was nice, all country life compared to the big city, and everyone kind of knew each other, which was pretty cool."
Aone raises his hand, and Futakuchi blinks owlishly at him. The brunet then huffs in amusement, lips quirking into a teasing smile. "Yes, Aone? This isn't class, silly, you don't have to put your hand up."
Shaking his head, Aone takes a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, "I'm from Miyagi, too."
"What?" Futakuchi sucks in a breath. "No way! And I didn't know you existed? How did I miss a guy like you? Were you this big back there, too?"
Aone keeps his mouth shut once more but nods his head twice in succession. Futakuchi looks more curious than ever, "I could probably ask around anyway. I'm sure someone I knew must have known you. I said everyone kind of knew each other, right? You were there, you'd know what I was talking about.”
Futakuchi makes the shape of a ball with his hands as he continues, “If you were in the volleyball circle like I was; that goes double. It was pretty much a crime if you didn’t know at least who Ushijima Wakatoshi was. He was like, Miyagi’s super ace. Did you ever play volleyball, by any chance? You've got the build for it."
He shakes his head.
“Oh, well, we should play sometime,” Futakuchi says. “Between the two of us, I reckon we could win through sheer intimidation alone. We’ll play against tiny high schoolers and watch them run away with their tails between their legs.”
Aone frowns pointedy at this, and Futakuchi laughs.
“Aw, don’t be like that. You, me, and my friend – he’s this dude called Kamasaki, real angry all the time – we’d be like… the tallest players on the court. It’d be awesome!” Futakuchi brings his hands up, stretching them out in a horizontal line in front of them. “Three tall players up the front – like a massive wall. What do you say, Aone? Wanna try it out sometime?”
Curious, and half-enthralled by the prospect of being part of something, Aone says yes.
The next time Futakuchi arrives, the brunet doesn’t even ease into conversation. He dives headfirst.
"I don't really like sweet things," Futakuchi admits in lieu of a proper greeting, as he seats himself next to Aone without invitation. Aone isn’t bothered – in fact, he welcomes it. If this were to become the norm, he doesn’t think he’d mind at all. "But I absolutely love candy. Is that a contradiction?"
He replies to that with a casual shrug. Futakuchi shrugs back, reaching into his bag to procure a bag of colorful gummies - never mind that an elderly man is giving him a disapproving look; though for the sweets in general or for eating them on the train, Aone doesn't really know.
Futakuchi honestly just goes for it regardless.
And he’s not an elegant eater, really he isn’t, but he doesn’t look like he tries, either.
It’s the longest Futakuchi has been quiet in all the time Aone has known him – admittedly not a very long time, but it’s more than anyone’s ever sat beside him, so it feels much longer than it is – and Aone wonders if food is simply the key to Futakuchi’s active volume control.
The brunet is mid-chew when he shakes the bag at Aone in offering. "Want one?"
Aone shakes his head, but the offer is appreciated. He’s not good with accepting things from anyone – be it gifts or simply the action of being offered food – because he’s far too used to being the giver, rather than the receiver.
Maybe it’s also because of this that he thinks of Futakuchi when he passes a candy store on the way home.
Out of impulse maybe, and spurred perhaps by a strange sense of eagerness, he buys the very kind the brunet seems to like. With no proper reason for it, he stashes it away in his bag, and makes a note to give it to his new companion, should they meet again.
(They do. It’s a bizarre thing, chance, and yet they play into it every time.)
Curiously, after some weeks of casual coincidences, they bump into each other before a compulsory statistics class at university, and Futakuchi practically glows at the sight of him. Aone feels his chest grow warm – very few people are this happy to see him, and he's adequately flattered that his train companion is one of these people.
"Aone! Yo, you do stats, too?"
Aone nods, hoping it's just as clear that he's pleased to see the other too, even if he doesn't voice it.
"Sit with me!" Futakuchi insists, grabbing onto his arm and tugging. "The professor's such a bore, and I hate statistics. Excel is a pain in the ass. We can play pictionary to pass time instead. Can you draw?"
The words come rising up like wildfire, but Aone is by now well accustomed to Futakuchi's endless stream of speech. He gestures 'so-so' with his right hand; not having a lot of confidence in his artistic abilities, but enough, probably, to pass a game of pictionary with minimal effort. If it's possible, Futakuchi brightens even more.
"Awesome," he says, dragging Aone off to a set of seats by the sides of the lecture hall. "I hope you don't mind sitting sorta close to the front, by the way. I'm no suck-up, but I forgot my reading glasses today, so I will literally see nothing from the back."
Aone taps the sides of his temples quizzically – and Futakuchi seems to understand the unspoken question perfectly.
"What? Glasses?" He grins, "Yeah, I wear glasses, do you have a problem with that? If you’ve got some vendetta against glasses, speak now or forever hold your peace."
With a quiet snort, Aone shakes his head, and busies himself pulling out a notebook and pen for class.
"Pictionary!" Futakuchi reminds him, pulling the pen from his fingers and replacing it with a bright red marker. Futakuchi then pushes a mini dry-erase board between them, balancing on the arm rest, and writes 'draw something!' on the top of the board. His marker is green.
Aone draws an oval.
"A potato," Futakuchi immediately guesses. "A bean? A ball?"
Aone adds eyes to it, and a very familiar fringe.
"A Pokémon, a teddy bear, wait, is that supposed to be me?"
Aone nods, then struggles to keep the growing amusement off his face as Futakuchi grabs his hand and starts rapidly scribbling details onto the picture.
"No, no, if you're drawing me, you have to put stars here, y'know, because I'm charming and all that," he mutters. "And don't behead me, where's the rest of my body? So rude, honestly, is this what you do to all your friends?"
When Futakuchi's done - both with rambling and with completing the small doodle of himself - he lets go of Aone's hand and gazes thoughtfully at the picture. He uncaps his marker, holding the green cap between his teeth, and mumbles, "You guess this time," as he sets to work drawing something right beside the red scribble Aone made.
His drawing takes form much faster than Aone's had, and Aone feels a rush of fondness when he sees exactly what the brunet is doodling. Futakuchi is, admittedly, a decent artist when it comes down to it, and Aone reclaims his ballpoint pen to write his own name on his notebook page. Futakuchi pauses to look at it.
"Yep, you got it, it’s you." He smiles, a little bashfully, marker cap still hanging from his mouth. "Now I won't be lonely. Because I’ve got a friend."
Aone is unbelievably touched. He looks back at the drawing - now complete - with himself and Futakuchi standing side by side, and feels the sudden urge to just keep this picture forever. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, gesturing at the image.
"May I?" He asks, and Futakuchi blinks. The cap falls out of his mouth, most likely from the shock of Aone suddenly using his voice. However, he recovers just as quickly, snatching the cap up and fumbling faintly.
"Take a picture? Yeah, go for it." Then, not a moment later, he adds, "Wait! Let me add one more thing."
Futakuchi grabs his red marker again and writes 'friends' down the middle of the board. Aone nods, a silent encouragement, and takes the green marker to decorate the blank space with some tiny flowers. Futakuchi grins again, and leans back in his seat, satisfied.
"A masterpiece," he says, a notch softer than usual – mainly due to the professor clearing his throat to command the class' attention. Aone looks over to acknowledge the teacher, before posing his phone to take a quick photo of the completed drawing.
"I think that's all the pictionary I want to play today," Futakuchi continues, despite class only having started and his complaining earlier that it was only to pass time in said class. Aone doesn't point it out – neither does he point out the careful way in which Futakuchi packs the pictionary equipment away; not smudging the image at all. He turns his attention back to his phone, and gazes at his own copy of the drawing – a simplistic thing, admittedly, but adorable in its own right.
He decides to set it as his phone wallpaper. He hopes Futakuchi doesn't mind.
At the time, he didn't realise it, but sharing the class means that Aone sees Futakuchi far more often than he did before.
They no longer part ways at the train station, and instead walk to campus together, letting idle conversation flow between them. This regularity and routine comforts Aone, and he starts to speak a little more when they're alone; but if Futakuchi notices, he doesn't say a word about it.
Sometimes, Aone will walk Futakuchi to his other classes too, just because he's there, and though he doesn't express it well, Futakuchi is clearly pleased with this development.
"I don't need a caretaker," Futakuchi will say, nose in the air. He crosses his arms like a petulant child. "You don't need to walk me to class, Aone. I am perfectly fine on my own."
"I want to," Aone replies, and they leave it at that.
Interestingly enough, Aone soon finds Futakuchi waiting for him outside of class, too, and it becomes an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they really can hang out any time. The reality doesn't sink in quickly – Aone's friends in high school were never like this – but soon, Aone and Futakuchi work around each other's schedules to meet up, and Aone grows accustomed to seeing his companion's face almost daily.
They go out for coffee, go on long walks to explore the neighbourhood, and study together in the campus library when work deems it necessary. This becomes the story of their lives - a schedule with a constant presence keeping company, despite surviving just as well without it.
It's how Aone learns of the little things. Of the way Futakuchi likes his coffee (black and bitter, because 'once you've gone bitter, you can never go back'), of the way Futakuchi hasn't got a filter on his candy addiction (his favorites are the sour ones, go figure), and of the way Futakuchi is determined to play regularly on their college volleyball team; to bring glory to his position as captain and ace in high school.
He learns of the way Futakuchi bites his tongue when he’s nervous, of the way his voice grows louder and louder when he’s excited. Of the way he holds grudges like there’s no tomorrow, of the way he tries to be vocal about everything – even if nobody asked for his opinion.
Aone learns of all these things, and keeps them, filed under the slowly unravelling mystery that is Futakuchi Kenji.
There’s a question that weighs on Aone’s mind that he couldn’t put into words for a long time. It’s only sitting on the park bench, watching stray petals fall slowly around them, that he tries.
“Back then,” he begins quietly. “On the train, when we first met. Why did you choose to sit next to me?”
Futakuchi hums, working up a response. His specialty is talking, so it doesn’t take him nearly as long to string his sentences together.
“I’m interested in people,” he says. “Interested in their lives – what makes them who they are. Why they do what they do. But I’m not interested in just any random person; couldn’t care less about them, really. So, probably… it was because I like stories, and you looked like one.”
“Stories.” Aone repeats.
“Yeah,” Futakuchi agrees, waving his hands about. “I mean, I’m a storyteller at heart. But even I get sick of my own voice sometimes.”
Aone watches him disbelievingly.
“Okay, no I don’t,” he admits with a grumble, clearly unimpressed at being read so well. His expression eases though, when he adds, “I told you before though, didn’t I? With you, I won’t be lonely.”
At the time, Aone doesn’t ask about the people he’s heard of – doesn’t ask about Sasaya, Moniwa or Kamasaki – he just wonders. Wonders if it’s possible for someone who is constantly surrounded by other people to still feel extremely lonely.
But out of anyone, doesn’t Aone know how that feels most of all?
Then he wonders if that’s what Futakuchi meant – when he said with you, I won’t be lonely.
"We haven't visited this café before," Futakuchi points out when they're on one of their walks. Aone's with him in saying that they, as country boys growing up, really learn to admire the great city with a degree more awe and wonder than common city folk - and it's only proven by the way Futakuchi is adamant to try everything, even though he's picky with his drinks and even pickier with his food.
"We're going in," Futakuchi decides before Aone can get a word in, and marches into the café, the soft yellow lights casting a halo like glow around his head. "Hurry up, Aone," he urges. "I'll even treat you, out of the pure kindness of my heart."
At this, Aone rolls his eyes, but he does increase the length of his strides until he's situated right beside Futakuchi, who is quietly perusing the menu and muttering to himself.
“Everything on this looks boring and the same as everything else,” he tells Aone, and Aone clamps a hand over the brunet’s mouth. He bows apologetically to the cashier, grabs a paper menu, and leads Futakuchi off to the corner – where he can complain without offending anyone else.
“You know I’m right,” Futakuchi continues, prying Aone’s hand off his face. “All the pictures are so average they could be stock photos. And they’re overpriced. What do you think?”
Aone sighs, and instead of replying, points to a quaint little mug on the menu; small in comparison to everything else, but with a distinct leafy swirl on the top.
“Oh, you want the pretty one,” Futakuchi observes, mood lifting almost exponentially. It’s like his previous annoyances simply fade from memory. “Good choice. It’s the only decent looking thing here. I’ll get it too.”
With one precise movement, Aone hands Futakuchi a bill – enough to cover both of the drinks, but Futakuchi takes one look at it and pushes it away. “Kindness of my heart, remember?”
In a blend of both exasperation and oddly, affection, Aone allows it.
Sometimes, he lingers on Futakuchi’s laughter a lot longer than he should. It fills him with his own sense of exhilaration – a state of pleasured satisfaction that no other person is capable of inducing. It’s not a special kind of laugh – Aone, ever observant, knows that it’s not all that different or uncommon, really, it’s just a laugh. But still, it feels just a little bit like magic every time.
He’s sitting on the floor of Futakuchi’s room, when he’s struck by a sudden thought.
Here, in close proximity, he’s never felt so at ease with another person’s presence. Being a reserved kind of person, he’s usually hyperaware of others around him – regardless of if he wants to ponder on it or not – but Futakuchi is just simply there.
It’s almost difficult to imagine; someone who usually takes up so much space and so much attention simply being there.
But if Aone looks up, Futakuchi will simply take notice, and he will smile, and they will both continue with their tasks to the backdrop of pouring rain outside; without words, without the need to fill the silence.
And when Aone leaves, Futakuchi will walk him up to the door, and press miscellaneous things into his hands (cake for his visiting mother, good luck charms, a kitty-themed torch, really, anything), and Aone – who’s never been good with accepting things – accepts them.
Sometimes, Aone catches Futakuchi just looking at him. He can’t pinpoint the feeling, but he feels a rush each time – one of tremendous endearment – and he thinks that if maybe, perhaps, things were to change between them, he really wouldn’t mind.
When Aone is on the train alone, he doesn’t think to hide the spaces beside him, anymore.
He speaks on the phone, not through voice but through text, to the apologetic words of his missing train companion – who for some reason or another, always wants to keep him company nowadays, even if he’s not able to be right there beside him.
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> aone! do you want to hear a joke?
Even if it’s just a simple question, a simple kind of conversation, Aone can no longer hold in his smile.
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ << if you want to tell one
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> what do you call a bear with no teeth?
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ << what?
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> a gummy bear!
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ << that was not funny
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> you’re just jealous you don’t have my sense of humor
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ << futakuchi, aren’t you in class right now?
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> what is class?
ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ << …
ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ >> … so anyway
And though he’s surrounded by people who still make a point not to sit beside him, Aone doesn’t feel even a little bit lonely.
Sometimes, Aone will see things – small wonders, tiny delights, like dragonflies and butterflies dancing beneath the streetlights – and will think that the only thing that could make the moment any more poignant, any more memorable, would be Futakuchi by his side.
“Hey Aone,” Futakuchi cuts through comfortable silence one day, voice firm but tone uneasy, “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything,” Aone replies.
“Yeah, okay, so. I was feeling – no, uh, thinking. Wait. Give me a second.” he stammers; the first time Aone can ever recall him doing so.
It piques his interest, so he puts his materials down, and gives the brunet his full attention. He keeps his expression open, and hopes Futakuchi understands that he really can tell him anything.
“You know what,” Futakuchi says, “Just come here. I’ll show you.”
Aone moves over, with a bare inkling of what Futakuchi intends – but it’s not hope he will indulge, for he’s long forgone the belief that things will click so easily – and waits.
Soon enough, Futakuchi leans forward, seems to suddenly thinks better of his actions, and places a dainty kiss to Aone's cheek.
Though his voice is usually loud, his kiss is like a whisper; the softest brush of lips against skin, and with it, warmth paired with hesitance, and a promise of a secret unspoken - a whisper, just like a whisper.
Aone catches him before he pulls away completely, sees the flash of uncertainty in his eyes, and kisses him properly. He always thought falling in love would feel like falling apart, but rather, it feels like everything falling into place.
When they do break off, Futakuchi pretends he isn’t flustered and rests his head on Aone’s shoulder – hiding the redness of his cheeks. They stay like that for a while, quiet and reflective, until Futakuchi rises in a daze, and presses their lips together again.
Everything really does fall in place.
Sometimes Aone wonders why people don’t see what he sees in Futakuchi Kenji. It’s every moment, every word exchanged and every word saved for later, that brings them closer and closer together, and though his voice is still soft, he’s finally, finally - ;
Aone has finally found somebody who will listen.
"You know, Aone," Futakuchi says, as they're sprawled on the train seats once more; a reminder of the place they first met. The same old scenery passes, but Aone's eyes are focused on the figure beside him, with brown hair and brown eyes and a personality vivid as the sweltering sun. "I'm really glad I sat next to you on the train."
Behind the words lies an unspoken I’m really glad I met you.
And Aone smiles at him, a rush of fondness washing over him like it has many times prior; the feeling familiar and utterly heartwarming. It sets a pleasant flutter in his stomach, and sparks a rhythmic beat in his chest.
"Yeah." He murmurs, gentle and immensely grateful.
It means I’m really glad I met you, too.