Chapter Text
The orange glow of late afternoon slanted through the dusty window, painting long golden streaks across the worn wooden floorboards of the occult club room. Nakamura Okuto sat where he always did, the darkest corner, leaned against a crooked shelf stuffed with makeshift grimoires, knees pulled tightly to his chest, fingers laced together so hard his knuckles had gone pale.
He could still smell dried sage and chicken blood clinging to his clothes. The last ritual had been a “chthonic prosperity bath” Reiko swore was harmless. Nakamura had only agreed because she’d promised him, eyes shining with borderline religious obsession, one free spell in return. A favor. Anything he wanted.
And now he was there to collect.
Reiko Aokiyama wiped down a grimoire with a black cloth, humming softly to herself. The other club members had already left, Kenta with his crooked sunglasses, Mizuki muttering apologies under her breath, Yusuke carrying the shamanic drum out the door. Only the two of them remained.
Nakamura swallowed hard. His throat felt packed with sand. Just say it. Say it. It’s literally one sentence. I want a love spell. Three words. Three. Why the hell is this impossible?
“A-Aokiyama-senpai…” His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again, staring intensely at his own socks. “About… about that promise…”
Reiko stopped wiping the book. Her dark eyes locked onto him with the sharp focus of someone sniffing out secrets.
“Ahhh.” Her smile spread slowly. “So Nakamura-kun finally came to collect. Knew you would. Your aura’s been insanely dense today. Full of repressed yearning.” She tilted her head. “Well? What do you want? Money? Power? Protection from spirits? Or… something a little more personal?”
Nakamura felt his whole face ignite. His ears had to be as red as the rope they used during the last ritual. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. The words tangled together on his tongue like nervous octopus tentacles.
“I… um… there’s this person… I mean… not just a person… I mean, he is a person, but…” He squeezed his knees tighter. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Hirose is probably outside laughing with his friends right now and I’m in here glitching out like a haunted mushroom.
Reiko tilted her head, then slowly crouched in front of him, the grimoire still in her hands.
“A person,” she repeated. “Someone who makes your heart start speedrunning? Someone whose presence turns your stomach into a nest of black butterflies? Someone you watch from across the room while rehearsing entire conversations in your head, only to never even manage a ‘hi’?”
Nakamura snapped his head up, eyes wide with panic. How does she know that?!
“I-It’s not… not exactly like that…” he lied terribly, voice going embarrassingly high. “I just… wanted… a… uh… attraction spell or something. To… make someone… notice me.”
Reiko let out a quiet laugh, almost affectionate, like she was watching a stray kitten try to act intimidating.
“Nakamura-kun… you are painfully transparent.” She opened the grimoire to a page marked with a faded red ribbon, fingers tracing lines of ancient text. “You want a love spell. A very specific one. For him. That popular boy with the easy smile and enough energy to light up the air around him.” She looked up knowingly. “Hirose Aiki, right?”
The name hit like a punch to the stomach. Nakamura buried his face in his hands with a muffled groan.
“D-Don’t say his name out loud like that…”
Reiko laughed again, genuinely this time.
“Relax. These walls are hiding way worse secrets.” She snapped the grimoire shut and suddenly looked serious. “I can do it. Ancient Eros. Classic spell. It amplifies what’s already there. If he feels absolutely nothing for you, the spell won’t magically create love out of thin air. But if there’s even the tiniest spark, if he just thinks you’re ‘interesting’ or ‘weird in a cute way’, it’ll turn into a flame.” Her smile sharpened. “Maybe a wildfire.”
Slowly, Nakamura lowered his hands. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of hope and fear.
“Amplifies… what’s already there?” he repeated shakily. “And if… if he doesn’t feel anything? Then I’m still just the weird guy who can’t even talk to him?”
Reiko reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder with surprising gentleness.
“Exactly. The spell doesn’t lie. Eros is brutally honest.” Her gaze softened slightly. “But I’ve seen the way Hirose’s been looking at you lately. That curiosity. The way he laughs whenever you do something ridiculous. There’s something there, Nakamura-kun. A tiny little seed.” She smiled. “I can water it.”
Silence stretched between them. Nakamura breathed fast, chest rising and falling unevenly. Images of Hirose smiling, saying “Cool!”, reaching down to help him off the floor, flickered through his mind like scenes from an old movie.
“…Okay,” he whispered at last, almost inaudible. “I’ll do it. The Eros spell.”
“Excellent choice, vessel.” Reiko stood immediately, already pacing circles around the room again, her uniform skirt swaying dramatically. “We’ll need a strand of his hair, a photo, red wax, dried rose petals… and of course, a little of your blood. Just one drop.” She grinned over her shoulder. “Get ready, Nakamura-kun. We’re about to summon desire.”
Nakamura rested his forehead against his knees, heart hammering violently in his chest.
Hirose… if this actually works… I swear I’ll finally talk to you properly. Just… please… feel something too.
Outside, the sky had already started turning purple.
For the next seven days, Nakamura’s entire focus became getting one single strand of Hirose Aiki’s hair without being noticed.
Monday
Nakamura woke up at 5:30 AM with his stomach in knots. Today was the first real day of the mission. He had already collected everything else Reiko asked for: a small photo of Hirose that he printed from the school yearbook page, dried rose petals stolen from the flower arrangement in the teachers’ lounge, and red candle wax melted from a candle he bought at the convenience store. A tiny vial with his own blood (just one drop from a finger prick) sat hidden in his drawer. The only thing missing was a single strand of Hirose’s hair.
He stood in front of the mirror practicing the same sentence for twenty minutes.
“Excuse me, Hirose… you have something in your hair.”
No. Too obvious.
“Hirose, your uniform is messy.” Then reach up casually.
Still bad.
By the time he reached school, his palms were sweaty. He spotted Hirose immediately in the hallway near the shoe lockers, laughing with two friends. Hirose’s brown hair looked soft under the morning light, a few strands falling over his forehead. Nakamura froze ten meters away, clutching his bag strap. His legs refused to move. Students flowed around him like he was a rock in a river. He watched Hirose turn and walk toward the classroom without ever getting close enough.
On lunch break, Nakamura sat at the edge of the cafeteria, Nakamura never ate there. Not really. He sat hunched over a manga he wasn’t reading, eyes glazed across the pages, his real focus locked mercilessly on Hirose’s table. His hands trembled slightly around the edges of the manga. His own lunch remained untouched in front of him, growing cold. When Hirose stood up to throw away his tray, Nakamura jumped from his seat. This was his chance.
Everyone’s looking. They know. They always know what a creep I am.
He walked fast, eyes fixed on the floor, aiming to “accidentally” bump into him. At the last second, another student moved and Nakamura tripped over his own foot. He crashed shoulder-first into Hirose’s back.
“Ah! sorry!” Hirose turned around quickly and caught Nakamura’s arm to steady him. “You okay, Nakamura? That was a big stumble.”
Nakamura’s brain shut down. Hirose’s hand was warm on his sleeve. Up close, he could see individual strands of hair, but his hands were shaking too much to reach out.
“I-I’m fine,” he mumbled, voice barely audible. “Sorry.”
Hirose smiled brightly. “No problem! You should watch where you’re going though.” He patted Nakamura’s shoulder once and walked away.
Nakamura stood there for ten full seconds, heart pounding, hands empty. No hair collected.
His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a condemnation: failure, failure, failure. A cold wave of mortification crashed over him, so absolute it felt physical, as though his skin were tightening, shrinking, trying to pull him inward until he disappeared entirely.
After school, he followed Hirose to the courtyard where the sports clubs sometimes gathered. Hirose was talking with members of the soccer team. Nakamura hid behind a pillar, waiting for a moment when Hirose might run his hand through his hair or lean against something.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Hirose laughed loudly at a joke and did exactly what Nakamura hoped for, he ran his fingers through his hair. A single strand came loose and floated down. Nakamura stepped forward, eyes locked on the tiny hair drifting toward the ground. Just as he reached out, a gust of wind blew it away into the grass. He dropped to his knees and searched frantically for two minutes, but it was gone.
A group of girls walking by giggled at the sight of him crawling on the ground. Nakamura stood up fast, face burning, and ran back inside the school building.
The rest of the week followed the same painful pattern.
On Tuesday he waited outside the classroom after the bell, pretending to tie his shoelace for fifteen minutes while Hirose chatted with the girl who sat behind him. When Hirose finally walked past, Nakamura reached up, but his finger only brushed the air. Hirose was already too far.
On Wednesday during gym class, Nakamura volunteered to collect the basketballs just so he could be near Hirose, who was sweating and pushing his hair back repeatedly. One strand stuck to Hirose’s damp neck. Nakamura stared at it, until Hirose wiped it away himself and flicked it to the floor. By the time Nakamura reached the spot, someone had already stepped on it.
On Thursday he tried the direct approach in the library during study hall. Hirose was sitting two tables away. Nakamura walked over with a book as cover.
“Um… Hirose… you have… something…” His voice died. Hirose looked up with his usual friendly smile.
“Something? What is it?”
Nakamura panicked and said, “Lint,” then immediately regretted it. He reached out, fingers trembling, and barely touched the collar of Hirose’s uniform before pulling back empty-handed.
Hirose laughed softly. “Thanks, man. You’re always looking out for me lately. It’s nice.”
Nakamura wanted to die.
Friday
By Friday afternoon Nakamura was exhausted. Dark circles sat under his eyes. He had spent every free moment thinking about hair. His notebook now had twenty failed plans scribbled and crossed out. The final chance came after classes ended. Hirose stayed late to help clean the classroom as part of his committee duty. Only three students remained: Hirose, Nakamura (who volunteered at the last second), and one quiet girl who left early.
Hirose swept the floor near the windows. Nakamura wiped the blackboard, stealing glances every few seconds. When Hirose bent down to pick up a piece of paper, a clear strand of brown hair fell from his head onto the windowsill.
Nakamura’s heart stopped for a second. He moved without thinking. While Hirose had his back turned, Nakamura walked over, pretended to adjust the curtain, and pinched the single strand of hair between his fingers. He slipped it quickly into a small plastic bag inside his pocket.
He had it.
Hirose straightened up and turned around. “Hey, Nakamura, you don’t have to stay and help. I can finish this.”
Nakamura kept his hand in his pocket, clutching the bag like it was treasure. His voice came out quieter than usual but steady for once.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Hirose grinned. “Cool! Working with you is actually pretty relaxing. You’re quiet but reliable.”
Nakamura nodded, face warm, and kept cleaning until the room was spotless. When they finally left the school together through the front gate, the evening sky was already turning orange. The strand of hair was safe in his pocket. Reiko could start the ritual whenever he was ready.
As they walked, Hirose chatted casually about a new video game and asked if Nakamura wanted to try it sometime. Nakamura listened, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. The fact that Hirose was walking next to him and talking directly to him made his heart beat very fast. He was happy that Hirose invited him to play the game together, but at the same time he felt scared.
He is being nice to me. But he is nice to everyone. This doesn’t mean he likes me in a special way.
“...and the graphics are actually insane this time. The combat feels super smooth. I’ve been playing every night after finishing committee stuff. You should come over sometime this weekend if you’re free, Nakamura. We could play co-op. It’s way more fun with two people.”
Nakamura walked beside him, clutching the strap of his bag with both hands. He kept his eyes fixed on the sidewalk cracks, nodding silently every few seconds so he wouldn’t seem completely rude. His face felt hot. The back of his neck was sweating even though the evening air was cool.
Hirose glanced over at him after a longer silence than usual.
“Hey… Nakamura? You okay?”
Nakamura’s head snapped up.
The light from the setting sun caught in his soft hair, making the strands glow with warm golden edges. A few loose pieces fell over his forehead in that effortlessly charming way, framing his bright eyes that always seemed to carry a smile even when his mouth wasn’t. His cheeks had a light flush from walking, and when he tilted his head slightly in concern, the movement was so natural and gentle that Nakamura’s stomach twisted into knots. The top buttons of his uniform shirt were undone as usual, showing a glimpse of collarbone. He looked warm. Approachable. Dangerously kind.
Why does he have to look like that? It’s not fair.
“I-I’m fine,” Nakamura answered quickly. He looked back down at the ground. “Just… thinking.”
Hirose slowed his steps a little so they stayed side by side. He scratched the back of his neck, looking genuinely worried now.
“You’ve been kinda quiet since we left school. Quieter than usual, I mean. And you keep touching your pocket. Did something happen? Did I say something weird about the game?”
Nakamura shook his head fast. Too fast.
“N-no! The game sounds… cool. Really cool. I want to try it.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He wanted to disappear into the sidewalk. Inside his head the thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning: He noticed. Of course he noticed. I’m acting like a total weirdo again. He’s going to think I’m creepy for staring and then saying almost nothing. But if I talk too much I might say something stupid about the hair in my pocket or the ritual or how I’ve been following him around all week trying to steal one strand like some kind of obsessed
Hirose stopped walking completely. He turned to face Nakamura directly. Up close he looked even more striking, those friendly eyes searching Nakamura’s face, eyebrows slightly furrowed, mouth parted like he was ready to say something encouraging. A small breeze moved through his hair again, and Nakamura had to force himself not to stare at the strands.
“Seriously, man,” Hirose said. “You look like you’re about to pass out or something. Your face is all red. Are you sick? Or… is there something bothering you? You can tell me, you know. I’m not gonna laugh or anything.”
He’s looking at me. Really looking. Like he actually cares. But that’s just how he is. He helps everyone. He defended that first-year last month too. This doesn’t mean anything special.
“I… it’s nothing important,” Nakamura mumbled. He forced a tiny, awkward smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “I just… had a long week. Lots of… stuff. But the game invitation… thank you. I’d like to go. If you’re really okay with me coming over.”
Hirose’s face lit up instantly with that bright, easy grin that always made Nakamura’s chest feel too small.
“Of course I’m okay with it! I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you there.” He reached out and gave Nakamura’s shoulder a light, friendly pat, the same touch he gave to lots of people, but it still sent electricity down Nakamura’s arm. “Saturday afternoon? My place. I’ll text you the address.”
Nakamura nodded, unable to speak for a moment. His shoulder burned where Hirose had touched it.
By the time they reached the corner where their paths split, Nakamura’s nerves were completely frayed.
“See you tomorrow then?” Hirose asked, smiling.
“Y-yeah… see you.”
Hirose waved and walked off, hair catching the last sunlight. Nakamura stood there for a long minute, watching him go, one hand pressed over the pocket that held the precious strand.
He felt excited.
He felt terrified.
They met early on Saturday morning. Nakamura arrived at the club room door with his heart already beating fast. He had barely slept, the small plastic bag with Hirose’s hair burning a hole in his pocket the entire night. When he slid the door open, the usual dusty club room was almost unrecognizable.
The windows were completely covered with heavy layers of deep red velvet curtains, blocking out all natural light. The only illumination came from dozens of candles, tall red ones standing in ornate silver holders, smaller tea lights scattered across every surface, and one large pillar candle burning with a strong, steady flame on the central table. Their warm glow mixed with the deep crimson light. On the central table, Reiko had arranged everything. A large glass vase held several full roses, deep red and creamy white, their petals still fresh. A small antique mirror with a gold frame reflected the candlelight back into the room. Crystals of different sizes and colors were placed in a circle, catching the red glow. Tarot cards were laid out in a specific pattern on a piece of dark red cloth. In the center of it all sat a small silver dish containing the ingredients Nakamura had gathered before: the dried rose petals, the red candle wax, the tiny vial with his blood, the printed photo of Hirose.
This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. If Hirose ever found out I stole his hair and did some love spell on him… he would hate me. He would never talk to me again. He would think I’m disgusting.
At the same time, a desperate kind of hope kept pushing through the guilt. His chest felt tight. Every time he remembered Hirose inviting him to play games yesterday, his heart did a painful flip.
He was nice to me. He smiled at me. He said it would be fun if I came over. But what if none of that is real? What if he only invited me because he feels sorry for the weird quiet guy? This spell… if it works, maybe he’ll really like me. Maybe he’ll look at me the way I look at him.
Reiko stood behind the table, she had a long black cardigan that made her look more like a real practitioner. Her hair was loose and fell over her shoulders. She looked focused and excited at the same time.
"You're early," she said. "Okay, bet. You're serious then. Did you bring the thingy?"
Nakamura stepped inside and closed the door behind him quickly. He reached into his pocket and took out the small plastic bag, handing it to her with slightly shaking fingers.
Reiko took it carefully, holding the strand of Hirose’s hair up to the candlelight for a moment before nodding in satisfaction.
“Perfect. Sit there,” she pointed to the floor “And stay quiet unless I tell you otherwise. This is a delicate task.”
Nakamura sat down. His hands gripped his knees tightly. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. He watched every movement Reiko made with wide eyes. Reiko lit two more red candles, then picked up the strand of Hirose’s hair with a pair of small silver tweezers. She placed it gently on top of the photo of Hirose, right over his smiling face. She added the dried rose petals and a few drops of Nakamura’s blood onto the same photo. Finally, she dripped melted red wax from the pillar candle over everything, sealing it all together.
She raised both hands over the table, palms facing down.
“Eros, ancient god of desire… I call upon you in this golden hour. Hear my voice through the veil. We offer you this token of longing, hair from the one desired, blood from the one who desires, petals of the rose that represents passion. Let your power flow through this working.”
The candle flames flickered although there was no draft in the room. Nakamura’s breathing became shallow. He could not look away. His palms were sweating against his uniform pants. When Reiko mentioned “hair from the one desired,” his mind flashed back to all the embarrassing moments of the week, crawling on the ground looking for that single strand, almost touching Hirose’s hair in the library, lying about lint. He felt disgusting for what he had done, like a creepy stalker from one of the darker BL stories he sometimes read. But he also kept imagining Hirose suddenly looking at him differently, really seeing him, smiling at him in a special way, maybe even getting nervous when they were close.
“Eros! Strike with your golden arrow! Let it fly true and sink deep into the heart of Aiki Hirose! Multiply what already exists between him and Okuto Nakamura. Turn interest into attraction. Turn curiosity into longing. Turn kindness into desire. Make him think of Nakamura when he is alone. Make his eyes search for him in the hallways. Make his heart beat faster when they are close. Eros! Let your arrow fly!” She picked up a thin golden pin from the table and pressed it slowly through the center of the sealed photo, right where the hair and wax had been placed.
Nakamura’s heart was racing so violently he felt dizzy. He stared at the pin, at the photo of Hirose’s smiling face now pierced by gold, at the red wax and his own blood mixed together. A thousand thoughts crashed through his mind at once.
She looked over at Nakamura, her eyes intense in the red glow.
“It is done,” she said. “The arrow has been released. The next few days will show if the seed was strong enough to grow.”
A swirl of bright pink smoke suddenly appeared near the ceiling, right above the center of the table. Both Reiko and Nakamura froze. The smoke was thick, glowing with a soft rosy light that lit up the entire room in a completely different hue, mixing strangely with the deep red of the candles. From within the smoke, a small figure materialized, a chubby, naked baby with curly golden hair, tiny wings fluttering on his back, and a mischievous grin on his round face. He looked exactly like the classic cupid, but his eyes were playful in a way that felt almost evil. He held a small golden bow in one hand and was already pulling back the string with a shiny golden arrow nocked and ready.
Nakamura’s eyes widened so much it hurt. His entire body went rigid. His mouth fell open, but no sound came out. He stared upward in complete disbelief, his heart stopping for a full second before restarting at double speed.
W-what the… That’s… that’s a real Cupid?! No way. This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. I must have inhaled too much incense. This isn’t happening!
The little cupid hovered in the air for a moment, looking straight down at the ritual setup with a cheeky smile. He aimed the golden arrow not at the photo or at Nakamura, but slightly to the side, as if targeting something invisible in the distance. His tiny face scrunched up in concentration, tongue poking out slightly from the corner of his mouth.
Reiko’s voice had died completely. She was also staring upward with her mouth open.
Then, the cupid released the arrow. Fwoosh!
The golden arrow shot forward, trailing bright pink sparks. It flew straight across the room and passed cleanly through the wall covered by the heavy red velvet curtains, disappearing as if the solid wall were made of smoke. There was no sound of impact, no hole left behind, just the faint shimmer of pink light that quickly faded. The cupid let out a tiny, high-pitched laugh, clapped his chubby hands once, and dissolved back into pink smoke. The smoke thinned out and vanished completely within seconds, leaving only the red candlelight once again.
Nakamura remained sitting completely still, staring at the exact spot on the wall where the arrow had disappeared. His face was pale, eyes huge and unblinking. His hands gripped the edge of the chair so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His breathing was fast and shallow, almost panting.
It was real. I saw it. A real cupid. He shot the arrow. It went through the wall. It’s going after Hirose right now. Oh god. Oh god. What did we just do?
His mind was spinning so fast he felt dizzy. A cold wave of shock ran through his whole body, making his fingers tingle and his legs feel weak even though he was sitting down.
Reiko was the first to recover. She slowly lowered the photo, looking between Nakamura and the wall with visible excitement mixed with surprise.
“…Well,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse. “That was… more than I expected.”
“W-what the hell was that?!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “That was the real Cupid!! Did you see the arrow?! It went straight through the wall! Through the wall, Aokiyama-senpai!”
Reiko blinked, then let out a delighted little laugh.
“I saw it. Perfect manifestation! Eros answered faster and stronger than I imagined. This is a very good sign, Nakamura-kun.”
“Good sign?!” Nakamura’s voice went up an octave. He started pacing back and forth, running both hands through his black hair. “That thing looked evil! The way he was grinning… it wasn’t cute!” He stopped pacing and turned to her desperately, eyes glassy with panic. “What if it’s too strong? What if the spell backfires and he starts hating me?! I stole his hair! I mixed it with my blood! He’s going to find out and think I’m a total creep and then he’ll never want to see me again and…” His breathing was getting faster and shallower. He pressed both hands against his face, muffling his words. “I shouldn’t have done this… I shouldn’t have done this… This was a mistake. A huge mistake. I’m going to ruin everything. Hirose was finally talking to me normally yesterday and everything is going to be weird and it’s all my fault!”
Reiko tilted her head, watching him.
“Calm down, Nakamura-kun. The arrow doesn’t hurt people. It only awakens and multiplies existing feelings. You wanted this, remember? You spent an entire week trying to get his hair.”
“I know what I wanted!” Nakamura dropped his hands, revealing a face that was now bright red. “But I didn’t think it would be… real! I thought it would be like… some chanting and maybe I’d feel a little more confident or something! Not an actual flying baby shooting arrows through walls!” He pointed at the silver dish again. “Look at that! His photo is stabbed with a pin! My blood is on it! This is insane! I’m insane! I should go find him right now and warn him or… or apologize or something. But what do I even say?! ‘Hey Hirose, sorry I asked a witch to shoot a love arrow at you this morning’?! He’ll think I’m crazy!”
Reiko crossed her arms, smirking slightly.
“You’re overreacting. Most people don’t get a visible manifestation. This means the spell is extremely potent. You should be happy.”
“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” He sank back down onto the floor, burying his face in his hands. “I’m the worst… I’m actually the worst person ever. All because I’m too scared to talk to him normally…”
Reiko walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice softening just a little.
“Breathe, Nakamura-kun. The arrow has already been released. There’s nothing you can do now except wait and see what happens. You have that gaming session with him today, right? Go and check if it worked, you’ll notice.”
Nakamura let out a long, miserable groan into his hands.
“…I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die today.”
Nakamura checked the address Hirose had sent him three times on his phone before he finally gathered the courage to enter the building. It was a typical mid-range apartment complex in a quiet residential area, a five-story building with beige walls and small balconies. He stood outside the entrance for almost five minutes, adjusting the black shirt he had chosen after staring at his closet for half an hour. It was a simple black button-up with subtle texture, paired with dark jeans. He felt overdressed and underdressed at the same time.
He took the elevator to the third floor, heart hammering harder with every second. The golden arrow from that morning kept flashing in his mind. What if the spell already hit him? What if he’s acting weird right now?
When he reached apartment 305, the door opened before he could even knock.
Hirose stood there, smiling brightly, one hand still on the doorknob. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his brown hair slightly messy like he had just run his fingers through it. He looked happy to see him.
“Hey! You came right on time,” Hirose said cheerfully. “I was waiting by the window and saw you walking up. Come in, come in!”
Nakamura blinked, surprised. He was… waiting for me?
“Th-thank you…” he mumbled, stepping inside. The apartment smelled faintly of fried food and air freshener. It was a normal family home, cozy, with family photos on the wall and shoes neatly lined up at the entrance.
Hirose closed the door behind him and looked Nakamura up and down with an appreciative grin.
“Woah, nice outfit! That black shirt looks really good on you. Makes you look taller or something. Cool style, Nakamura.”
Nakamura’s face instantly heated up. He looked down at his own clothes, fingers tugging nervously at the hem.
“…It’s just a normal shirt.”
Hirose laughed softly and shrugged off the light jacket he was still wearing over his t-shirt, tossing it onto a hook by the door. His movements were casual and fluid, the t-shirt shifting over his shoulders as he moved.
Before Nakamura could say anything else, a girl’s voice came from the living room.
“Aiki? Is your friend here?”
A moment later, Hirose’s older sister appeared in the hallway. Hirose Saho stepped into view carrying a glass of water. Nakamura’s eyes widened in shock. She looked extremely similar to Hirose, the same bright eyes, the same soft brown hair (though hers was longer, falling past her shoulders), and almost the same facial features. If Hirose grew his hair out and wore different clothes, they could almost pass for twins. The resemblance was so strong that for a split second Nakamura’s brain short-circuited.
She looks like him… a lot like him…
Saho smiled warmly, tilting her head.
“So this is the famous Nakamura-kun my brother wouldn’t stop talking about? Nice to meet you. I’m Saho, his older sister.”
Nakamura bowed awkwardly, face burning even hotter.
“N-nice to meet you too…”
Hirose scratched the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed.
“Oi, sis, don’t say weird stuff. I only mentioned him once.”
“Twice,” Saho corrected with a teasing grin. “Anyway, I’ll be in my room. Don’t make too much noise, okay? And there’s snacks in the fridge if you guys get hungry.”
She waved and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Nakamura standing there stunned. His mind was racing again.
She really looks like him. If I saw her from behind I might have mistaken her for… No. Stop. Don’t think weird things right now.
Hirose chuckled and gestured toward his room.
“Sorry about her. She’s always like that. Come on, my room’s this way. I already set up the game. You ready to get destroyed in co-op?”
Hirose led the way down the short hallway, and Nakamura followed closely, trying not to stare at the way Hirose’s white t-shirt clung to his back and shoulders as he walked. When Hirose opened the door to his room, Nakamura stopped in the doorway, taking it all in.
The walls were covered with posters of fighting games and comedy manga. A large corkboard hung above the desk, pinned with ticket stubs from arcades, polaroid pictures of him with friends (including one where he was making a ridiculous face), and a small drawing of a dog that looked like it was done by a child. Gaming consoles were stacked neatly on a low shelf with controllers charging. Empty potato chip bags and half-finished bottles of ramune were scattered on the desk. A big plush Shiba Inu sat on the bed, looking well-loved. The room smelled faintly like Hirose’s deodorant.
“Make yourself at home,” Hirose said, flopping down on the floor in front of the TV and patting the spot next to him. “I pushed the bed back so we have more space.”
Nakamura sat down carefully, legs folded under him. Their shoulders were close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from Hirose’s arm. The game loaded: a colorful action title. Hirose was loud and enthusiastic, shouting instructions and laughing every time they pulled off a combo.
“You’re actually good at this!” Hirose said, bumping Nakamura’s shoulder with his own. “Most people I play with suck at dodging.”
Nakamura’s face warmed at the praise and the casual touch. He nodded, focusing hard on the screen so he wouldn’t overthink how close they were sitting.
After they cleared a stage, Hirose paused the game to grab snacks. While he was gone, Nakamura’s nerves made him speak without thinking.
“Um… this is fun. But… have you ever played Yume Nikki?”
Hirose returned with two bags of chips and handed one to Nakamura before sitting back down, this time even closer, their thighs almost touching.
“Yume Nikki? What’s that?”
“It’s this old game,” Nakamura explained quietly, eyes on the paused screen. “You play as a girl who explores her dreams. There’s almost no dialogue. It gets… very creepy. There are these strange creatures and moments that stay with you. Some parts are genuinely disturbing.”
Hirose tore open his bag of chips and laughed nervously.
“Sounds intense. I’m not really into horror stuff. Like, at all. I get scared easily with that psychological creepy stuff. I’ll watch a comedy horror movie, but actual scary games? Nah, I’d probably scream and throw the controller.”
Nakamura glanced sideways at him. Hirose was smiling, but there was a slight tension in his shoulders. The realization hit slowly: He really doesn’t like horror.
“Not into horror, huh?” Nakamura said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.
Hirose made a face and shoved a chip into his mouth. “That sounds way too judgmental coming from you.”
“It’s not judgmental.” Nakamura paused. “It’s… informative.”
“Informative my ass.”
“So you really scream at games?”
Hirose pointed at him with the bag of chips. “I don't scream.”
“You said you would.”
“I said I might.”
“That sounds like screaming anyway.”
Hirose stared at him for a second, then laughed, a little embarrassed. “Okay, maybe I’m not built for creepy stuff.”
Nakamura looked back at the screen. “Interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that you seem a lot less brave when there are monsters involved.”
“And you seem weirdly happy about that.”
Nakamura finally looked at him fully. “Maybe I am.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“It’s cute,” Nakamura added, deadpan.
That shut Hirose up for half a second. Then he gave a loud, offended laugh and nudged Nakamura’s shoulder. “You’re evil. I was being nice to you and this is how you repay me?”
Nakamura let his gaze drift back to the TV, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “You invited me over. I’m just getting to know your weaknesses.”
Hirose leaned back on his hands, grinning despite himself. “That sounds suspiciously like the setup for you bullying me all night.”
“Maybe.”
“Aw, man.” Hirose shook his head, still smiling. “And here I thought you were the quiet, harmless type.”
Hirose shifted closer on the floor, closing the small gap between them until their thighs were firmly pressed together. The warmth of his leg seeped through Nakamura’s dark jeans. He tilted his head, looking at Nakamura with a new kind of interest, eyes half-lidded.
“You’ve been holding back on me, huh?” Hirose said, voice lower than before. “All this time I thought you were too shy to tease anyone.”
Nakamura’s heart rate spiked. He could feel the heat coming off Hirose’s body. Up close like this, he noticed the faint scent of Hirose’s skin mixed with the fabric softener on his t-shirt. His eyes involuntarily dropped to the way the white fabric stretched across Hirose’s chest when he breathed, then to the exposed skin at his collarbone where the neckline had shifted.
If I leaned in just a little… I could press my face there. Smell him properly. Feel how warm his skin is against my lips…
“I’m not that harmless,” Nakamura muttered, forcing his eyes back to the screen. His voice came out quieter than he wanted.
Hirose chuckled softly, the sound vibrating close to Nakamura’s ear. He didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in even more, resting his weight on one arm so his shoulder brushed Nakamura’s. Their faces were now only inches apart.
“Oh yeah?” Hirose’s tone was playful. “Then what else are you hiding, Nakamura?”
Nakamura swallowed hard. His imagination was running wild. He pictured Hirose pushing him down onto the floor right there, the controllers forgotten, Hirose’s body covering his, that bright smile turning into something hungrier as he pinned his wrists above his head. He imagined the weight of Hirose’s hips pressing between his legs, the sound of Hirose’s breathing getting heavier against his neck, the way those strong hands would slide under his black shirt..
His face burned. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his jeans, but the movement only made his thigh rub more firmly against Hirose’s.
“I… I don’t know,” Nakamura answered.
Hirose’s grin faltered for a split second. His eyes darkened as he stared at Nakamura’s flushed face, then slowly drifted down to his mouth. Hirose’s hand moved from the floor to rest casually on Nakamura’s knee, thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of his jeans in small circles. Nakamura’s breath caught. The gentle stroking of Hirose’s thumb on his knee sent sparks straight up his thigh. His mind kept supplying vivid images: Hirose’s hand sliding higher, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, Hirose leaning in until their lips finally touched, the taste of him, the way he might moan softly if Nakamura kissed his neck.
In one of the BL manga he had studied like a sacred textbook, Kink Strike: Hit on By The Kink Guy, there was a chapter almost exactly like this. The quiet, reserved protagonist had been invited to the popular guy’s room for “gaming,” only for the seme to start teasing him. What started as playful banter on the floor ended with the uke pinned down, breathing hard, while the other guy murmured “You’re the one who provoked me first” right before biting his neck. Nakamura had read that chapter four times, highlighting the dialogue and the slow escalation of physical contact in his secret notes.
No way… This is just like chapter 7. The knee touch. The way he’s looking at my mouth. If this keeps going…
Nakamura’s imagination went into overdrive. He pictured Hirose’s hand sliding further up his thigh, gripping harder, pushing him back against the carpet just like in the manga. He imagined Hirose’s warm breath against his ear, whispering the same teasing lines while slowly unbuttoning his black shirt, exposing his chest, then leaning down to drag his tongue along his collarbone the way the seme did in that one intense panel.
“You okay?” Hirose asked, voice lower and rougher than usual. His thumb continued those maddening little circles, pressing slightly firmer now, as if testing how Nakamura would react. “You went quiet again.”
Nakamura swallowed, throat dry. His jeans felt tighter by the second.
“I’m… fine,” he lied, voice barely steady. In his head, the manga scene continued playing: the seme crawling over the uke, knees straddling his hips, hands pinning wrists above his head while whispering filthy praises.
“You don’t look fine,” Hirose murmured, eyes still locked on Nakamura’s lips. “You look… flushed. And kind of distracted.” His hand finally slid a little higher on Nakamura’s thigh. “Is it the game?”
“…You’re close,” he managed to say.
Hirose didn’t pull back.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I am.”
Hirose’s thumb kept moving in slow, distracting circles.
Nakamura’s mind was a complete mess. His feelings were so raw they hurt. One second he wanted to bolt, stand up, mumble some excuse about feeling sick, and run out of the apartment before he embarrassed himself forever and ruin everything. The next second he wanted to grab Hirose by the shirt and kiss him so hard they both forgot how to breathe. He wanted Hirose’s hand to slide higher. He wanted to be pushed down onto the floor. He wanted to hear Hirose’s voice get rough and desperate. He wanted everything and he was terrified of all of it.
What am I doing? This is too fast. The spell… did the arrow do this? Or was it already like this? I can’t breathe. His hand is so warm. If he moves it any higher he’ll feel how hard I am and then I’ll actually die. I should stop this. I should run. But I don’t want to run. I want him to kiss me. God, I want him to kiss me so bad
His breathing was shaky. His black shirt suddenly felt too tight. He was painfully aware of Hirose’s thigh pressed against his, his hand, the way Hirose was looking at his mouth like he wanted to devour it.
Hirose’s eyes darkened even more. He leaned in slowly, giving Nakamura half a second to pull away.
He didn’t.
Hirose closed the distance and kissed him. Just a gentle press of warm lips, but quickly deepened when Nakamura let out a tiny, involuntary sound. Hirose’s hand tightened on his thigh as he tilted his head, kissing him more firmly, more hungrily. The taste of him was sweet from the ramune he’d been drinking earlier. Nakamura’s brain short-circuited completely. When they finally parted, both breathing harder, Hirose rested his forehead against Nakamura’s for a moment, eyes half-closed.
“…Cool,” Hirose whispered. He pulled back just enough to look at Nakamura properly, a shy but genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, actually.”
Nakamura stared at him, completely stunned, face burning crimson. His lips were tingling. Hirose scratched the back of his neck, laughing softly in that familiar, slightly embarrassed way.
“I mean… you’ve been super weird around me for months, right? Falling into stuff, staring, helping me clean even when you didn’t have to… I thought maybe I was imagining it… and I just… yeah.” He shrugged, still smiling. “Felt right.” He looked at Nakamura with those bright eyes. “So… you okay? Was that… too sudden?”
Nakamura could only nod weakly at first, then managed a tiny, shaky whisper that sounded exactly like his canon self:
“…I thought I was going to die before we did that.”
Hirose let out a bright laugh and bumped their shoulders together again.
“Idiot. You’re not allowed to die. We still have to finish the game… and maybe do that again later if you want.” He kept his hand on Nakamura’s thigh, thumb still moving gently, as if he couldn’t let go yet.
Inside his head, everything exploded at once.
Oh no. Oh no no no. This is real. He kissed me. He actually kissed me. What if the spell made him do it too fast and he’ll regret it tomorrow? What if his sister walks in right now and sees us? What if I taste bad? What if I was bad at kissing and he’s just being nice? What if the arrow makes him obsessed and he starts following me everywhere and everyone at school finds out and calls me a freak who bewitched the popular guy? What if this is all fake and when the spell wears off he hates me? What if I get hard again and he feels it and thinks I’m disgusting? What if I say something stupid right now and ruin everything forever?
Nakamura’s thoughts spiraled faster and faster, a chaotic storm of worst-case scenarios crashing into each other. His hands were freezing cold while his face burned. His chest felt too tight. He wanted to run. He wanted to hide under the bed. He wanted to disappear.
Nakamura stopped thinking. He leaned forward and kissed Hirose.
His lips pressing too hard because of nerves, but when Hirose made a small surprised sound and kissed him back, Nakamura tilted his head and did it again, deeper this time. His hands came up and grabbed the front of Hirose’s white t-shirt without permission. The fabric was warm from Hirose’s body heat. He could feel Hirose’s heartbeat under his knuckles. Hirose responded immediately, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Nakamura’s neck, pulling him closer. Nakamura’s brain kept flashing disaster scenarios even as he kissed him:
What if I bite his lip by accident? What if his sister hears us? What if this is the spell working too strongly and he doesn’t actually want this? What if tomorrow he pretends nothing happened?
But with every second that passed, the flood of catastrophic thoughts slowly lost strength. The constant stream of “what ifs” grew quieter. His focus narrowed down to only what was happening right now: the wet sound of their mouths moving together, the warmth of Hirose’s tongue, the firm grip on his neck, the way Hirose’s other hand had moved back to his thigh and was squeezing it harder. The racing thoughts faded further. There were no more disaster scenarios flooding his mind. No more spiraling fears. His head became clear and empty of everything except the taste of Hirose’s mouth, the heat of his body so close, the soft sounds Hirose made when Nakamura kissed him a little harder, the way their breathing mixed together.
Nakamura kept kissing him, slower now, more deliberately, hands still clutching the front of Hirose’s shirt. His body relaxed against Hirose’s. The only thing left in his mind was the feeling of Hirose’s lips, the warmth of his skin, and the heavy, steady rhythm of their shared breathing filling the space between them.
Hirose pulled back just enough to breathe, lips shiny and slightly swollen, eyes dark and half-lidded as he looked at Nakamura.
“Nakamura,” he said, sounding a little surprised but definitely pleased. “You’re… really bold when you want to be.”
Nakamura pulled back just enough to look at him. His face was burning, lips slightly parted and wet from the kiss. He still had a tight grip on the front of Hirose’s white t-shirt, fingers twisted in the fabric like he was afraid to let go.
“I… I’m not,” he whispered, voice shaky. “I just… couldn’t stop myself.”
Hirose let out a soft laugh, the sound low and warm between them. His hand was still on the back of Nakamura’s neck, thumb gently stroking the skin there.
“Yeah? You sure looked like you knew exactly what you were doing just now.” He leaned in again, brushing his lips lightly against Nakamura’s as he spoke. “Felt good. Really good.”
Nakamura’s breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to steady himself, but his heart was still racing.
“I thought… I thought you were going to think I’m weird,” he admitted quietly, eyes opening again to meet Hirose’s. “Or that I was moving too fast. Or that… that maybe you’d regret it.”
Hirose shook his head slowly, forehead resting against Nakamura’s again. His brown hair fell slightly over his eyes, and he looked more serious than usual, though his mouth still carried that easy smile.
“I don’t regret it. Not even a little.” He paused, then added with a small grin, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about doing that for weeks. Every time you got all flustered around me… it was kinda driving me crazy.”
Nakamura’s eyes widened. His fingers tightened even more on the t-shirt.
“Weeks…?”
“Yeah.” Hirose’s voice dropped lower. “You’re always so quiet, but the way you look at me sometimes… it’s intense. Made me curious. And today, I couldn’t hold back anymore.” He slid his hand from Nakamura’s neck down to his waist, pulling him a little closer until their chests were pressed together. “So… what about you?” Hirose asked, eyes searching his face. “How long have you been wanting this?”
Nakamura swallowed hard.
“Since the first time I saw you.”
The honest answer made Hirose’s eyes soften.
“You’re not weird, Nakamura. You’re… kinda perfect like this.”
Nakamura let out a shaky breath, his hands finally relaxing their death grip on the t-shirt only to slide up and rest on Hirose’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat under his palms.
“I still feel like I might pass out,” he confessed quietly.
Hirose chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against Nakamura’s hands.
“Then don’t pass out yet. We still have time before my sister gets suspicious.” He brushed his thumb along Nakamura’s lower lip. “Unless you want me to stop?”
Nakamura shook his head immediately.
“Don’t stop.”
Nakamura leaned in again without another word and their mouths met once more, this time slower and deeper, the kind of kiss that made the entire world outside Hirose’s bedroom shrink down until nothing else existed except the wet slide of lips, the hesitant brush of tongues that quickly grew bolder, and the shared heat building between their bodies pressed so close on the bedroom floor. Hirose tasted like sweet ramune and salt from the chips they had been eating earlier, his mouth warm and eager as he tilted his head to fit them together better, one hand firm on the back of Nakamura’s neck while the other stayed possessively on his thigh, fingers digging in just enough to send little shocks of electricity up through his black jeans; Nakamura kissed him back with everything he had held inside for months, clumsy at first but growing more confident with every second, hands clutching at Hirose’s t-shirt and then sliding up to feel the solid warmth of his chest.
It was ironic, really, how perfect the moment felt, the kind of scene straight out of the most unrealistic BL manga Nakamura had ever read, the quiet weird kid finally getting kissed by the bright popular boy in his own room, except this wasn’t supposed to happen without divine or rather extremely questionable occult intervention.
Nakamura could smell him so clearly now, that warm summer scent that filled his lungs every time he breathed in, like sun-baked grass after a sudden afternoon rain, mixed with the faint sweetness of citrus from whatever body wash Hirose used and the clean cotton of his t-shirt, the kind of bright, alive summer smell that made Nakamura’s head spin because it reminded him of long days watching Hirose from afar, laughing under the sun, the kind of scent that belonged to someone who carried light with him wherever he went, and here it was surrounding him completely while they kissed like they had been starving for it.
Hirose made a low pleased noise into the kiss and pulled Nakamura even closer, shifting so their chests were fully pressed together, his hand slipping just under the hem of the black shirt to touch bare skin, while Nakamura’s own hands explored the lines of Hirose’s shoulders and back through the thin fabric, their mouths never fully separating for long, trading slow, deep kisses that turned messier and more desperate as the minutes stretched on, saliva shared and breaths ragged.
