Chapter Text
Today is the most-awaited excursion for the senior students of Kazamino High School.
The buses arrive in a staggered procession, brakes hissing as the doors fold open one after another. Chaos begins soon after the students spill out in waves, voices rising all at once. Luggage thuds against pavement, wheels clatter unevenly across the concrete, someone nearly trips over a duffel bag and gets laughed at for it. The salty air hits immediately from the smell of the sea, wind tugging at uniforms and loose jackets as if urging them forward.
“Don’t run!” a teacher shouts, but immediately ignored.
“Stay with your class!”
Somewhere near the front, a group is already taking pictures, the ocean stretching endlessly behind them with sunlight glaring off the water. Others crowd the edge of the pier, peering down at the swirling tides below.
Beyond it all, docked and waiting, is the large and unmistakably expensive cruise ship that makes it very clear this isn’t just any school trip. It belongs to the director of the number one exclusive school in the entirety of Yokohama, after all.
“Class 3-B, over here! Line up properly!” Teachers begin gathering students with increasing urgency, trying to impose order over the noise.
In the middle of it all, Mamiya Natsume stands just off to the side, listening more than speaking, nodding occasionally as his student council vice president talks animatedly, hands moving and clearly arguing about something.
Sahashi Toma. Even from a distance, it’s obvious.
He leans in slightly to invade space without quite crossing the line with that familiar, irritating half-smile. The way he talks sounds mostly passive aggressive, and he acts like this conversation is just to pass the time. Next to them, the poor council secretary tries to mediate, glancing between the two like he’s already tired of whatever this conversation is.
Mamiya smiles politely, the same one he gives teachers and underclassmen alike, also anyone who needs reassurance. That being said, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
A few meters away and slightly removed from the crowd, Hioki Asahi stands with his hands tucked loosely into his sleeves, observing. Beside him, Ashiya Kakeru tears into an onigiri like he hasn’t eaten in hours.
“You see that?” Ashiya mutters around a mouthful, not even trying to lower his voice.
Hioki hums. “Mm.”
They both look toward Mamiya. More specifically— toward Sahashi. Right on cue, Sahashi says something (probably stupid) that makes the secretary visibly flinch and Mamiya’s smile tighten.
Ashiya snorts. “Give it five minutes.”
“Three,” Hioki replies.
Ashiya glances at him. “That optimistic, huh?”
Hioki shrugs faintly, gaze still fixed on the scene ahead. “He’s already at his limit.”
The heated exchange between the two council officers continue as Sahashi tilts his head, clearly unimpressed with whatever Mamiya is saying.
Natsume’s shoulders are relaxed. Too relaxed, if I do say so myself. Ashiya takes another bite, chewing slower this time. “Seriously, why does he even bother? If I were him, I would’ve strangled Sahashi weeks ago.”
“You wouldn’t survive student council for a day,” Hioki says matter of factly.
“Excuse you!”
“You’d get reported immediately.”
“Heyyy, that’s slander!”
The wind shifts, carrying more noise from the pier. Another bus door slams shut as teachers start getting louder and the students slowly fall into order.
Ashiya glances back at Mamiya again, squinting slightly against the sun’s rays. “…Do you think he’s okay?”
Hioki follows his gaze and notes how Mamiya laughs softly at the secretary’s words while Sahashi rolls his eyes.
“Yeah,” Hioki says after a moment’s silence. “…For now.”
A little further down the pier away from the noise of teachers calling out names and students scrambling into lines, two figures stand just outside the chaos, close enough to see everything, but still far enough to not be pulled into it.
Watarai Tsukasa leans back against the metal railing, one foot hooked lazily over the other, phone loosely dangling from his hand. The wind ruffles his hair, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. His attention isn’t on the ocean, or even the crowd. It’s on his menace of a friend, Sahashi.
More specifically on the way Sahashi is currently making Mamiya’s life significantly harder than it needs to be.
Watarai lets out a huff of amusement, lifting a hand to scratch lightly at the back of his head. “He hasn’t even been here ten minutes.”
Beside him, Ohara Yamato stands still, hands tucked neatly into his pockets, unblinking gaze fixed in the same direction and observing.
“He started before we got off the bus,” Ohara replies.
Watarai snorts. “As expected of him.”
Down the pier, Sahashi gestures lazily at something Mamiya is saying, clearly interrupting him mid-sentence. The secretary tries to cut in but fails spectacularly. Mamiya smiles again, but anyone with two eyes can see that it’s borderline pissed.
Watarai watches the whole thing like it’s a show put on specifically for him. “You’d think Mamiya would’ve snapped by now.”
“He won’t,” Ohara answers simply.
Watarai glances at him. “You sound sure.”
“I am.” Ohara’s gaze stays locked on the scene. “He values stability too much. Losing his temper in front of everyone would undermine his position.”
Right on cue, Sahashi leans in closer, definitely on purpose now, but Mamiya doesn’t step back and stands his ground.
Watarai lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, well. Sahashi values being a problem.”
Ohara exhales softly. “It’s a skill.”
“A skill?” Watarai repeats, amused.
Ohara nods once. “Getting under someone’s skin without crossing a line that warrants consequences.”
Watarai tilts his head, considering that. “So what you’re saying is—”
“He’s practiced,” Ohara finishes.
They both watch as Sahashi speaks inaudibly. The reaction is immediate as the secretary stiffens. And perhaps Sahashi’s plan to irritate the living daylights out of the council president has finally worked, because Mamiya’s ever so steady smile twitches.
Watarai laughs under his breath. “There it is.”
Ohara doesn’t react outwardly, but there’s the faintest change in his countenance. “He’s close to his limit,” he says.
“Maybe he’ll finally lose it?” Watarai asks.
“No.”
Watarai hums. “Shame. That would’ve been interesting.”
A brief quietude settles between them, filled only by the distant noise of the crowd and the steady crash of waves against the pier. Watarai then glances sideways, eyes narrowing slightly as he looks past the scene.
“…You’ve got your own fan club today.”
Ohara doesn’t follow his gaze this time. “I always do.”
“Mm, fair,” Watarai shrugs lightly. “Second place looks like he’s been staring for a while though.”
That earns a reaction.
Ohara’s eyes pan across the pier, sighting Ashiya right away amidst the masses of students. He’s standing with his friend Hioki as usual, eating what remains of his onigiri. The second their eyes meet, Ashiya stiffens and promptly looks away.
Watarai watches Ohara now instead of the others, interest piqued. “Are you going to wave or something?”
“No.”
“How cold.”
Ohara’s expression doesn’t change. “There’s no reason to.”
Watarai smirks. “He might disagree.”
Ohara finally takes his eyes off Ashiya, returning to the scene ahead like nothing happened. “He usually does.”
Watarai lets that stew for a moment before pushing off the railing. “Well,” he says, stretching his arms briefly over his head, “at least this trip won’t be boring.”
Ohara says nothing. But his gaze drifts once more, back across the pier, past Sahashi, the crowd, then landing on Ashiya. There’s a brief pause before Ohara speaks again, tone as monotonous as ever. “Hioki’s here too.”
Watarai blinks.
“…Obviously,” he answers, a little too quickly. “It’s a school trip.”
Ohara doesn’t look at him. “You’ve been looking in his direction.”
Watarai straightens slightly, the lazy slouch easing out of his posture. “I was looking at the crowd.”
“No,” Ohara sounds teasing. “You weren’t.”
Silence reigns over crashing waves.
“…You’re imagining things,” Watarai mutters, dragging a hand through his hair again, this time less absentminded.
Ohara hums softly. He doesn’t outwardly smile, but his eyes turning into its famed half crescents says a lot about his amusement. “Am I.”
Watarai clicks his tongue, pushing himself fully off the railing now. “You’re one to talk.”
Ohara doesn’t grace that with another response. Not that Watarai cares, anyway. He exhales through his nose, glancing very briefly across the pier. Hioki is still beside Ashiya but this time, instead of his usual timid posture, he stands a bit more carefree with his hands tucked into his sleeves, listening to Ashiya babble away.
Unassuming. Easy to overlook. As usual.
Watarai takes his eyes off his classmate almost immediately. “Don’t start,” he warns.
“I didn’t,” Ohara replies.
“You did.”
Another pause fills the air. This time, Ohara finally brings his gaze to look at him directly. “Your reaction suggests otherwise.”
Watarai scoffs. “My reaction? What reaction? You’re really imagining things.”
Ohara tilts his head slightly. “That one.”
Watarai stares at him for a second, brows knitting in the slightest before letting out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Oh?”
As if magnetized by some unknown force, Watarai glances back toward Hioki before he catches himself and looks away again. “…It’s not like that.”
Ohara doesn’t ask what “that” is. He doesn’t need to, when Watarai is being this obvious. He knows more about Watarai than Watarai does himself anyway, having been friends with him and Sahashi since middle school. “I didn’t say it was.”
Watarai narrows his eyes. “You implied it.”
“It was an observation.”
“Yeah, well, observe something else.”
Ohara considers that for a moment, but then again, he’s not one to back down. “No.”
“You’re insufferable, dude,” Watarai lets out a breath in defeat, running a hand over his face. “…You and Toma should start a club.”
Ohara glances back toward the other end of the pier, where Sahashi is still very much being a menace. Watarai shakes his head again, but the amusement is still there, lingering despite Ohara’s subtle implications that don’t really make sense.
“Class A, form two lines! Bags to your side!”
“Move forward carefully and don’t block the walkway!”
The ship looms closer now, its shadow stretching over the pier as the first group begins boarding, the wooden planks creaking under the weight of too many footsteps. Ashiya starts to finish the last bit of onigiri in his hand, chewing thoughtfully as he watches the lines form ahead.
“Looks like we’re next,” he mutters. Beside him, Hioki’s lack of response prompts Ashiya to nudge his friend gently by the elbow. “…Oi.”
Still nothing. Ashiya’s eyebrows knit slightly. Hioki’s shoulders have tensed, and it’s barely noticeable unless you know him. His hands are tucked deeper into his sleeves now, posture subtly drawn in, and his expression has gone a little off.
It’s discreet, but Ashiya feels the way his friend’s body promptly tenses and a faint shiver runs through him.
Ashiya glances over. “Woah. You cold, Asahi?”
For some reason, Hioki’s eyes turn to slits. “…oh. That’s why. He’s staring.”
Ashiya blinks. “He’s—who’s staring?”
Hioki doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t need to, because Ashiya follows the line of his gaze across the pier almost immediately. Watarai is leaning against the guardrails with his usual laidback stance, and beside him stands Ohara with his back turned to them, directly facing the sea.
It’s brief. It should be nothing but just a glance across a crowded pier. But then he finds Ohara looking back, and when their eyes meet, Ashiya stills.
The sunlight reflects off the water and hits Ohara’s face at an angle that makes his auburn eyes look warmer than they should—
Ashiya averts his gaze with such lightning speed he nearly breaks his neck. “…Tch. What’s his problem?” he mutters.
Hioki shifts beside him. “So you saw it.”
“Hard not to when he’s staring like that. He’s not exactly subtle.”
That’s a lie, though. Ohara is always subtle, and they both know it. Which somehow makes it worse.
Ashiya glances back again, furtively, but catches that Ohara isn’t looking anymore. He scoffs quietly, tossing the wrapper into the nearest bin with a flick of his wrist. Of course he isn’t. Why would he?
“Whatever,” he mutters. “He’s probably just judging the entire population as usual.”
Hioki doesn’t respond immediately, kind of distracted because Watarai is definitely still looking. But of course, he wills the power to turn away, mild irritation and confusion mixing up. He doesn’t know if Watarai is even looking at them, exactly.
“…Yeah,” Hioki agrees softly, though it doesn’t sound convincing.
“Class A! Move forward!”
The line lurches forward in uneven starts and stops, students shuffling along the narrow path toward the boarding ramp. The noise hasn’t died a bit, chatter stacking on top of chatter, rising against teachers calling out instructions no one fully listens to.
Hioki goes first, diving into the sea of students while Ashiya follows close behind, adjusting his grip on his luggage handle. Behind him, someone mutters, “Keep it moving.”
“Yeah, I am,” Ashiya shoots back automatically, not even turning around. The line moves again and he steps forward— and stops.
There’s something…ominous around the atmosphere, all of a sudden.
That something being someone's presence.
Ashiya doesn’t need to turn around to know. He body grows rigid, face crumpling sourly now that his mind finally processes whose voice it is that has enough nerve to command him to move faster just seconds ago. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Behind him, close enough that he can feel it. Ohara fucking Yamato.
Meanwhile, ahead of Ashiya, Hioki stiffens. Ashiya’s gaze turns up just in time to catch Watarai fucking Tsukasa ambling in front of his friend.
Of course. Of course.
They’re classmates. What were they thinking? It was bound to happen. There isn’t enough room in the entire ship to separate them when all four of them belong in the same class.
Still…that doesn’t make it any less irritating. Ashiya exhales sharply through his nose, tightening his grip on the handle of his luggage as the line inches forward again. Behind him, another set of wheels follows, annoyingly consistent.
“Why him,” Ashiya grits under his breath. He doesn’t have to turn around to know Ohara is likely looking at him like one does to an insignificant little insect. A particularly unpleasant memory flashes back to him, back in freshman year when he overheard a former classmate ask Ohara what he thought of him being his academic rival.
“He’s not even close.” was the jerk’s answer. That had been enough for Ashiya to resent him ever since— resent him, and every comparison that inevitably placed Ashiya beneath the so-called untouchable prodigy.
Up ahead, Hioki’s shoulders are drawn tighter than before. Ashiya knows him and right now, Hioki definitely looks like he’s trying very hard not to turn around and complain to him.
Watarai walks in front of Hioki like he has nowhere to be and all the time in the world, completely unbothered. Hioki’s eye twitches. Just when it doesn’t get any worse being sandwiched between two of the most popular boys in school, the glass-shattering squealing starts.
“Wait…is that them?”
“Oh my god, it’s Ohara and Watarai!”
“Turn around, turn around—”
“I told you they’d attend this trip!”
A tick forms on Ashiya’s forehead, as Hioki tries so hard to drown out the irritating sounds but obviously fails. Girls from other classes are clustered off to the side of the line, phones already halfway out, voices pitched loud enough to break eardrums.
“Watarai-kun looked over—did you see that—?”
“No, no, Ohara-kun—look at Ohara—”
“Stop, you’re embarrassing!”
Click. Someone takes a picture. Ashiya scoffs quietly. “Unreal.”
Hioki hears his friend, but doesn’t answer. He’s too busy drilling holes directly at Watarai’s back. If looks could burn, Watarai would be toast by now.
Feeling the heat of Hioki’s begrudging glare on him, Watarai shifts slightly. Hioki’s grip tightens on his luggage handle. And although his calm expression doesn’t change, the tension in the air is apparent.
“…You’re going to bore a hole through him at this rate,” Ashiya mutters only for Hioki’s ears to catch.
Hioki looks back at him slightly, incredulous. “I’m not—”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Silence.
“…He’s walking too slow,” Hioki adds, like that explains anything.
Ashiya snorts. “Yeah, sure. That’s the problem.”
Behind them, Ohara says nothing. He usually doesn’t, known to be a man of few words, but his presence doesn’t fade regardless. If anything, it feels like hovering now.
Ashiya twitches a little, resisting the urge to turn around because he knows if he does, he would have to see Ohara’s ugly mug laying eyes on him and hear his annoyingly condescending voice. He doesn’t want to put himself through that, no thank you.
He clicks his tongue instead, dragging his luggage forward as the line moves again. The boarding ramp is closer now and the ship looms overhead. The hum of voices swells, layered with the creak of wood and the distant churn of seawater below.
Ashiya exhales, already irritated enough, when familiar voices slice through the noise.
“…I’m saying we need a system, Sahashi.”
Mamiya may sound calm, but he’s actually on the precipice of punting Sahashi into the sea. Ashiya’s head tilts slightly and the corners of his mouth twitch.
“…Oh, this should be good,” he mutters under his breath.
Mamiya stands with his clipboard, standing perfectly straight despite everything. Sahashi is situated across from him like he’s been dragged into this against his will, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing lazily.
“People are already crowding the entrance,” Mamiya says. “If we don’t guide them properly, it’s going to slow everything down.”
“Why?” Sahashi says like he's going to die of boredom. “They’re getting on the ship either way.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Mamiya exhales slowly, like he’s already explained this more than once. “We’re responsible for assisting the teachers. If we don’t organize the flow properly, people are going to bottleneck at the entrance. That’s why you need to get in there and sort them out.”
Sahashi glances toward the ramp where a cluster of students hesitates before another group tries to pass them. It’s as disorganized as can be.
He shrugs. “Looks fine to me.”
Ashiya scoffs quietly as he walks past. “Of course he’d say that.”
Mamiya’s smile is starting to drop. He’s had enough of Sahashi’s nonsense.
“It’s not fine,” he counters, still calm. “If someone trips or drops their luggage, it slows everything down. We need to guide them in batches.”
“And do what?” Sahashi replies. “Hold their hands while they walk up the ramp? You’re creating problems that don’t exist.”
“They do exist.”
“To you.”
Hioki winces slightly. “…He’s really not letting up.”
“When does he ever?” Ashiya mutters.
Mamiya adjusts his grip on the clipboard, knuckles faintly whitening. “You’re part of this council,” he reminds, as a matter of fact. “Act like it.”
Sahashi tilts his head. “Or what?”
“…Wow,” Ashiya is actually amazed Sahashi is still going at it. Is someone paying him to get on Natsume’s nerves or something? “He’s really pushing it today.”
Hioki nods faintly. “He always does.”
The line pushes forward again, forcing Ashiya and Hioki past the bickering duo. Hioki shakes his head. “I don’t know how he deals with that every day.”
Ashiya drags his luggage forward, shaking his head. “And he’s worse today.”
Behind them, a quiet voice cuts in. “He’s consistent.”
Ashiya stiffens, but doesn’t make a move to turn around. Of course Ohara just has to jump into conversations that don’t involve him. “Consistently annoying, yeah.”
“…No,” Ohara retorts calmly. “Consistently accurate.”
Ashiya stops walking for just a moment and glares up at the taller male, prompting Ohara to stop in his tracks as well. The line bumps into him from behind.
“Are you going to move or what,” Ohara tilts his head at Ashiya. The gesture in particular has Ashiya quietly fuming and he tightens his grip on his luggage handle before turning away, mostly in disbelief he even let Ohara get to him in such a short amount of time.
Ahead, Hioki is having his own problems. For one, Watarai hasn’t turned around to initiate conversation, yes, but he’s slowed considerably, and it’s starting to test Hioki’s patience, so much so that he ends up acknowledging Watarai’s existence first.
“…Can you walk a little faster?” he asks, quieter than usual, but still pointed. Watarai glances over his shoulder this time, catching Hioki’s expression. He’s already pissed when I haven’t even done anything yet.
“…I am walking,” he says, tone easy.
“You’re dragging it out.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
Watarai hums, like he’s considering that. “Didn’t realize you were in a hurry.”
“I’m not,” Hioki says quickly. “You’re just slow.”
“…You’ve been staring for a while,” Watarai claims with amusement. If he had the room to move, he’d probably even walk backwards just to make Hioki more uneasy.
Hioki stiffens, hearing the taller’s claim. “I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I was looking ahead.”
“At my back?”
Hioki looks away. “There’s nothing else to look at.”
Watarai huffs a chuckle. There’s something satisfying about trying to push Hioki Asahi’s buttons. “At least, you’re honest.”
Hioki frowns slightly. “I’m not trying to be.”
“Still are.” Watarai turns back around, continuing at the same pace as before and completely ignoring the shorter male’s request to pick up speed.
“…Annoying,” Hioki mutters.
Behind him, Ashiya says at the exact same time—
“…Annoying.”
Two different reasons, same conclusion. And between them, the distance feels smaller than it should.
Below, near the base of the ramp, Mamiya and Sahashi are still locked in the same orbit with nothing resolved, with Sahashi’s presence a constant disruption in a system Mamiya is trying desperately to hold together.
Hioki moves forward with the line, holding onto what little patience he has left like it might slip if he loosens his grip even a little over Watarai being petty as he keeps up with that turtle-like pace of his.
Behind, Ashiya tries not to go insane at the fact that with the ramp being so tight, there’s nowhere to escape the awareness of Ohara directly behind him feeling those unseen eyes boring holes at the back of his head.
Nothing has even begun yet.
And somehow…it’s already a mess.