Archive of Our Own

Rosho Tsutsujimori's thirtieth birthday began much like any other day.

Or rather, it began any day at the beginning of March, because that was when his birthday was. And March was a strange time of year. The third years classes had already ended, leaving odd holes in his schedule during the school day. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation of the coming holiday and the nerves of the upcoming tests. (No just for the students. He hoped the students all pass, sure, but either way he had to grade the damned things.) And so thoughts about work were already echoing in the back of his mind even as he awoke. He never was great at separating out all the different stressors in his life, as hard as he tried to compartmentalize.

That morning, it was like he could feel the tension in the air even on his way to work, which was strange. Usually, even in the testing season, the atmosphere didn't really hit him until he arrived at school. But today, on the train, there were these odd little mutters he couldn't quite ignore. Rude little things mumbled close to his ears, if not for them—complaints about the other passengers, sleeping poorly, running late…just a couple as he was getting on and off, but enough for him to take notice.

He shook it off and got to school, ready to start the day.

He'd elected not to tell too many people when his birthday was when he'd started work at this school, but even if he weren't a minor celebrity, word about these things always leaked out sooner or later, and there was no avoiding it by now. So he braced himself, smiled when it came up, made small talk about his plans (nothing much, really, he wasn't a huge cake fan, and so on) and then let the subject move on naturally.

It was slightly trickier with his students, though—particularly his homeroom students, who sometimes got really fixated on random details about his life.

In this case, they had the courtesy to wait for morning announcements to be over before making their move…at which point the class representative bounded up to the front of the room and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Got him! Nice timing! Okay everyone, three, two, one…"

The students then proceeded to sing him "Happy Birthday," leaving him even more tongue-tied than usual.

"Glad I thought of this," the class rep muttered as they swayed along to the music. "Next year we won't be in school this time of year, so it's our last chance to wish Tsutsujimori-sensei a happy birthday. Next we just need to get the card—"

Rosho turned to the class rep, confused about why he was talking instead of singing. But the boy cut himself off as he stepped away, waving and returning to his seat. "Happy birthday, sensei! Have a good day!"

A chorus of well-wishes followed Rosho out the door. He decided to leave the issue of a card, or whatever else they were planning, for when it happened. He rather appreciated the warning, though he was surprised to have gotten it.

But dammit, he was supposed to have one more whole year with this class. If he let himself get sentimental now, he'd be dooming himself to twelve months of sentimentality. So he shook it off as best he could and tried to simply enjoy the thoughtfulness of his students.

Because it truly, deeply surprised him sometimes, how kind they could be. He didn't remember being like that as a seventeen-year-old, that's for certain.

He managed to forget about the card by the time the students gave it to him at the end of the day, and he almost teared up again when it was presented to him. The student who passed it over was in the art club, and she gave him a kind smile.

"I hope they don't make you give a speech," she said, her fingers brushing his as she passed the card over. "That'd be asking a bit much, on your birthday and everything. Maybe leave while you can, before they get any ideas?”

Rosho couldn't help wincing, both at the idea of the speech and at the student's frankness. Yes, he didn't love speeches, and he still got in his own head at the start of an embarrassing number of his classes before hitting his stride. But his students had quickly learned not to make too much of his stammering, and few of them ever mentioned it directly.

Still, the advice was probably kindly meant, judging by the way she kept smiling in Rosho's direction as he thanked his students again and sidled out of the classroom.

So, all in all, it was a weird day.

And it got weirder when he gets home and Sasara was in his apartment…

Well, that wasn't the weird part, that was just Sasara. He had a key because Rosho, as he put it when he gave it to him, didn't trust Sasara not to damage either the locks or himself by breaking and entering one day. And honestly, though it would be a little presumptuous to come right out and say it, Rosho wasn't surprised that Sasara had remembered his birthday. If nothing else, Sasara was rarely the type to turn down an excuse for a party, even if it wasn't his party. He was generous like that.

"Let's go, let's go!" he insisted, as soon as the bare necessities for greetings were met and Rosho had dropped off his work stuff. He chivvied Rosho out his front door and his building, and they hadn't gone a block before Rei appeared out of nowhere, falling into step behind them with his large coat hanging off his shoulders and a wink in Rosho's direction.

All of a sudden, it felt like things were back to normal. It felt nice, even. During this time of year, they often only saw each other for division business. Even their late-night drinking gatherings had been thin on the ground lately, as they juggled their division responsibilities with the rest of their lives.

And so Rosho didn't have it in him to grumble at the other two's boisterousness as the night continued. He didn't even protest—much—when the staff at the izakaya they'd stopped by in came over with a special, on the house, wishing Rosho a happy birthday. He barely got by without them breaking into song. (Given Sasara, it wasn't the slightest bit surprising that word of Rosho 's birthday had made it to the staff somehow. Or maybe they just knew it already—it was an establishment the three of them had visited several times, after all, so they were practically regulars.)

No, what made things weird again was what happened after their toast, when Sasara gave Rosho a birthday clap on the shoulder, all but rubbing their cheeks together.

"You look stressed. Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? I didn't keep you out drinking too late last week, right? No, it can't be that…"

Rosho blinked and turned to stare at Sasara, whose voice had gone low and fast and who actually sounded faintly concerned.

But Sasara just grinned and blinked at him. "What's up?"

"No, it's…"

Those words hadn't been directed at him, Rosho realized. They were the low sorts of under-the-breath muttering that Rosho was prone to when particularly stressed, not a question meant for him to answer—though it had sounded like that at first. Sasara wouldn't just smile at him after asking about something like that, after all.

But because he did hear it—even if Sasara didn't mean for him to—Rosho didn't know how to respond.

"How many beers have you had?" he asked instead, eyeing the table in front of Sasara with skepticism. There were a fair number of empty bottles there, but no more than their collective usual. Maybe Sasara was the one who's tired—or maybe it was Rosho, and it had gotten so bad that he'd started hearing things.

He was one year older, after all. Who knew what the side effects of that could be.

But Rosho was pleasantly buzzed, and the atmosphere was still mostly celebratory. Sasara cracked a couple of practiced jokes about drinking like a fish, and the moment passed.

Then, later on, when they'd finally decided to call it a night and Sasara offered a hand to Rosho to lever him out of his seat, it happened again. Rosho was pretty thoroughly soused by that point, so he quickly decided he had to be imagining it when Sasara said, "Your hand's warm."

He still replied before he can stop to think about it, though. "Yeah?"

Sasara raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, what? Did I ask a question? Wow, your face is close, huh. Those eyes are dangerous all up close and personal."

Rosho blinked slowly, nonplussed but trying not to stare too obviously. "…What?"

"That's what I said. I can smell you, agh, we gotta get out before my brain fries like an egg. Rosho's a cast-iron pan to my brain. Or maybe a wok? A takoyaki pan, hah…"

Rosho gave up on not staring, gazing as steadily as he could at Sasara's mouth. It had stopped moving four sentences ago…but he was still hearing Sasara's voice somehow.

Sasara squeezed gently at their connected hands with a soft, "Sorry, my guy, I need my bubble back before I do something you're definitely not ex—"

His hand left Rosho's grip, and his voice—or the voice—abruptly cut off.

Rosho continued staring as Sasara's back as he turned and ducked out the door, waving a hand to beckon Rosho after him.

What the fuck was going on?

It took a few more days for Rosho to understand what was happening. Or maybe "understand" was too optimistic—instead, it took that long for him to recognize the a pattern in the random utterances he was hearing and start to form a hypothesis.

People said the strangest things, unprompted, on the train—as though they thought they're alone in the packed car.

His students shared some embarrassingly frank assessments of his state of being as they rushed to their seats

And Sasara had started saying some truly out-of-pocket stuff, even by his standards.

But Rosho only ever heard these things from people who were touching him…and judging by the way he never saw their mouths moving when they "spoke," they weren't saying the words he was hearing out loud.

In other words…Rosho seemed to have stumbled into telepathic powers.

That was, of course, an absurd hypothesis to put forward. But it was a hard one to avoid, under the circumstances.

And so Rosho tried to test it. Or rather, since "testing" required physical contact, and it felt creepy to go out of his way to touch people, he began gathering data based on incidental contact.

Because whatever was happening was definitely triggered by physical contact with other people, including contact through clothing. It didn't work through more solid objects, like a wall or, indeed, the floor. (He'd have been in real trouble if it did, so he considered that lucky.)

What he heard…well, they really did seem like thoughts. Things people dwelled on in the privacy of their own heads, but ordinarily would not choose to say aloud. Rosho heard these "thoughts" in a voice remarkably similar to the person's speaking voice…though he slowly learned that if he paid close attention, he could distinguish between the thoughts and regular, physical speech.

The most obvious rational explanation for all this was still that Rosho was losing it—having auditory hallucinations, or put more bluntly, going crazy. It was an unfortunate possibility, but not one he could just ignore.

But even a reasonable theory like that left some questions unanswered. Questions like: why such specific hallucinations? Why linked so consistently and specifically to touch? What had made them start, especially since he felt otherwise healthy and not unduly stressed?

The easiest way to disprove that theory—and it needed disproving, before he considered the "telepathy" idea too seriously—would be to prove that the things he was "hearing" were truths that he wasn't already aware of. But carrying out an experiment to test that would, at least ideally, require a willing participant, and Rosho got stuck on that particular issue for a little longer. After all, anyone he shared his predicament with was likely to jump straight to the "crazy" theory, too. And once someone else knew about this issue of his, whatever its nature, it was going to get that much harder to ignore it, as he'd found himself trying to do.

So if he was going to test this, he needed to choose the person carefully. It ought to be someone he could trust—someone open-minded, who would also be willing to help him, whatever the result of his experiment.

Even Rosho, with all of his complex feelings about their past, was aware that the obvious first choice for a confidant was Sasara. And he almost texted him to ask him to meet and talk about it once or twice.

But unfortunately, every time Sasara had hung out with him recently (usually on Sasara's initiative, but occasionally on Rosho's), there had been…incidents. Moments of Rosho hearing things from Sasara that even he would usually hesitate to say aloud.

So either Rosho was making up a massive crush on Sasara's part—in which case he really didn't want to explain what he'd thought he'd heard to Sasara, or…well, the likeliest alternative was that Rosho actually was telepathic, and honestly the conversation he'd have to have with Sasara following that revelation seemed…possibly even more difficult.

Because if Sasara really was thinking those things about him, but had never said them aloud…how would he feel about Rosho already having heard them?

So, no. Sasara must, unfortunately, be removed from the equation. But this still wasn't a problem Rosho could solve without an outside perspective.

So he turned to someone else, someone who he knew did experiments on the regular—and someone who, despite past evidence and overall vibe, Rosho did believe could be trusted.

"I need you to do something," Rosho said, after closing the door carefully behind himself. "Multiple somethings. And please don't ask questions to start with."

The man sitting in the smoky office blinked lazily at him. "All right, sure, I'll play along. What's your first instruction, sensei?"

Rosho nodded, not bridling at the playful words. "I want you to write down three numbers and a name," he said. "Any length is fine. The name shouldn't be someone I know. I'll close my eyes, so fold up the paper when you're done and put it to one side."

Amayado Rei smirked, but acquiesced. Rosho let his eyes fall shut and listened to the scratching of pen against paper on the antique wood of his desk, followed by the smooth sound of creasing paper.

"Done," Rei said, and Rosho's eyes opened. "Now what?"

"Now, don't say anything, but shake my hand."

Rei blinked at him again, but did as requested.

His thoughts—if that was what Rosho was hearing—sounded as laconic and dry as his usual spoken voice, mostly idle speculation about what was happening. Rosho kept his grip firm on Rei's hand as he asked, "Do you remember what you wrote?"

And as Rei nodded, the words slid between them in Rei's voice, just as he'd thought they would. They weren't easy numbers—he'd chosen five-digit monstrosities. Rosho listened through to the end, then pulled out his notebook and jotted everything down quickly, before he could forget.

Then he ripped out the page and passed it to Rei. "Now we just need to check if I'm right or if I'm crazy."

Rei tilted his head, curious, as he took the paper, scanning it. Then he unfolded his own sheet of paper and showed it to Rosho.

Rosho had gotten all the numbers and the phonetics of the name correct—not the kanji, but that made sense. The thoughts—since it really seemed that they were thoughts he was hearing—were audible, and he didn't get images along with the words.

Rosho chuckled nervously as he stared at the two sheets of paper, holding nearly identical information in both of their handwriting. "So it's true. I—I'm actually telepathic."

Rei shook his head. "Incredible. You should try that trick at parties. Bet it'd be a hit."

"Never mind a hit," Rosho asked. "Come on, be a little more surprised, would you? Have you ever even heard of something like this?"

Instead of answering immediately, Rei fixed him with a long, expectant gaze. Eventually he sighed and said, "Would it spoil the fun if I said I did?"

"Spoil the—what exactly do you think is going on here?!"

"You've gained psychic powers, clearly. You know how many people would be over the moon in your position? You could do all sorts of things with an ability like that, you know." Rei's voice was full of mock disappointment. "And yet…why do I get the feeling the next thing you're going to ask is how to get rid of it?"

"Because it's weird!" Rosho waved his arms in his attempt to drive the point home. "It's weird and creepy and I absolutely didn't ask for it! It's already—"

Already made things complicated with Sasara.

Well.

Not that Sasara knew that, hopefully. But what Rosho had overheard was already bad enough. And asking Sasara to stop touching him until he fixed whatever this was would…well…

Asking Sasara to stop touching him would also be bad, that was all.

"Already a problem?" Rei chuckled. "Ah, to be young. But not too young, in this case, I suppose. The big 3-0, right?"

"Huh? Yeah, sure, why?"

"Then you're in luck. This isn't the first time I've heard about a case like yours. What I can say is, it's probably an effect of extended mic use."

"Oh?" That sounded a bit ominous, but it was a relief to think there was a precedent for this somewhere. "So it's not just me?"

"No, but it's not all heavy mic users, either. There are…certain other required prerequisites, as I understand it." Rei shrugged. "But I never quite got all the particulars, so I'll refer you over to someone who knows a little bit more than I do."

Rosho sighed, relieved. If there wasn't a quick fix, at least Rei could get him in touch with someone who might have some answers. "I'd appreciate that."

Rosho hadn't really stopped to wonder at the time exactly who Rei had been talking about, but if he had, he probably could have guessed who it would be.

Jinguji Jakurai finished his exam—a perfectly ordinary intake, but Rosho noticed that Jakurai touched him as little as possible the entire time—and moved on to asking questions.

"So. Amayado-sensei said that you're experiencing involuntary touch-based telepathy?"

"That's right."

"And when did you first realize you'd gained this ability?"

Rosho thought back. "I think…yes, it was right around my birthday." He wasn't completely sure, but the odd comments from his students that day would fit the pattern he'd noticed more clearly later on.

"Your thirtieth birthday?" Jakurai nodded to himself. "That's…surprisingly consistent with the other case I'm familiar with. Now, I have another question that I must ask you in purely a medical capacity, so I'd like to remind you that this conversation will be kept strictly confidential."

"Uh, okay…?"

"Are you currently sexually active?"

Rosho choked on that a bit. "I…uh…n-no, I'm not."

"Have you been sexually active at any time in the past?"

He could feel himself going bright red. "Is that relevant?"

"It is." Jakurai nodded again, apparently perfectly serious.

Rosho tried to reply seriously as well, despite his growing embarrassment. "Then no. If you really need to know, then…I haven't."

Jakurai looked completely unsurprised. "Under the circumstances, that's the answer I was expecting."

"How can that possibly be related to…?" Rosho trailed off, at a loss for words.

"I can understand your confusion. What you are currently experiencing is a rather mysterious condition. I am only personally aware of one other case so far, myself. The three required factors for this phenomenon, as I understand them, are as follows." Jakurai held up his fingers, counting off. "An individual at or over the age of thirty, who uses his powerful mic techniques frequently, and who has yet to have a sexual encounter."

Rosho blinked. "How the heck did you narrow it down to those three things?"

"Investigation, experimentation…and a fair bit of luck, as well." Rei would have smirked after a line like that, but Jakurai just looked as serious as ever. "I hope it hasn't been too troubling for you to endure the thoughts of others."

"What? Well, it's…." Rosho hesitated. It wasn't fine, not exactly, but… "It helps that it only happens when I'm touching people, so it's not all the time. I can deal with it."

"That's good to hear." Jakurai tapped at his keyboard, then fixed Rosho with a surprisingly frank look. "However, am I correct in assuming you'd like to dispose of this new ability as soon as possible?"

"Y-yes."

Part of him did pause, just for a moment—a part of himself he wasn't proud of. Being able to be sure what someone else was thinking…didn't everyone wish for that ability at least occasionally? But no, especially now that he'd experienced it, it was easily as much a curse as it was a blessing, and would stay that way even if he could turn it on and off at will.

After all, Rosho was the sort of person who feared that he already knew what people thought about him. The last thing he wanted was to have an easy way for those suspicions to be confirmed.

"I figured as much. However, the pool of individuals affected by this condition is extremely low, and so it's difficult to draw any detailed conclusions about its development or progression."

"Does that mean you don't know how to cure it?" Rosho asked. "What about that other person? Are they still dealing with it, or did they figure out how to…?"

"Well," Jakurai said. He crossed his ankles, and his gaze slid away from Rosho for just a moment. "The solution, such as it was, in the previous case was what confirmed the relevance of sexual activity. It seems that becoming sexually active can…suppress, if not entirely eliminate, the ability."

That threw Rosho for a loop. "Wait, are you saying I need to have sex?" he demands, voice shrill.

Jakurai didn't flinch, even as Rosho's voice nearly broke with its intensity. "Just so," he said. "Again, it's not a guarantee, but anecdotal evidence suggests that it's one way to dispel the effect."

"Why, though? Why would doing that have any effect on my brain?"

"Sexual activity has powerful psychological and hormonal effects on the human body. While it's unclear what brings this condition about, it seems highly likely that it is a rare side effect of hypnosis mic use, which has its own powerful—and, as yet, not fully studied—effects on the body and mind." Jakurai tapped at his chin, fully in lecture mode. "And the effects of prolonged stress on the human mind are also more powerful than many believe. With such powerful factors are at play, one must eventually accept the thought that some interactions may beggar belief."

"I…guess…" That sounded a bit more philosophical than Rosho was comfortable hearing from a medical professional. "So you really are saying that I need to get laid to fix this?"

"That is the treatment plan I can recommend with the highest probability of success," Jakurai agreed. "Though of course I must recommend that you engage in sexual experimentation of your own free will, with a trusted partner who has undergone screening for sexually transmitted diseases—"

"Right, yeah, of course. I can…" Rosho swallowed. "I can probably figure that out. If I get really sick of this ability. Sure."

"If you believe it will be too challenging, we can seek out other methods—"

"No, it's fine. That's…what I needed to know. A way of dealing with it. Yeah. I should at least seriously consider that option, right?"

Jakurai's expression grew concerned. "I would like to avoid pressuring you to pursue intimate relations before you feel comfortable—"

"No, it's fine!" Rosho insists. "I get it. Really. If I truly can't figure something out, or if you find sort of other miracle cure, I'll definitely come back. But for now…heck, it's at least worth a shot, right?"

Jakurai relented. "As long as you're careful," he said. "If you have any further questions, I would be happy to assist in—"

"Nope! I'm good. Thank you very much for your help, sensei." Rosho stood up. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you to never bring this up with anyone else, right?"

"Patient confidentiality is of the utmost importance, of course," Jakurai assured him. "However your efforts turn out, however, I hope you will be willing to follow up at a later date. I would appreciate the opportunity to gather more data for a case study—fully anonymous, of course—in case this phenomenon occurs to others in the future."

"Uh, sure." Rosho thought he could live with that, as long as it really was anonymous. Though the thought of coming back to report to Jakurai whether he'd successfully managed to have sex was…well….

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it, he decided, and bowed. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course. Please take care."

And then Rosho had a very long and very preoccupied ride back to Osaka on the bullet train to look forward to.

He was staring out the window at the darkening countryside rolling by, trying not to get too mired in his dilemma, when his phone buzzed silently in his pocket.

He pulled it out to see a text from Sasara, inviting him out drinking—well, no, it said that, but if Rosho had to guess, Sasara was likely in Rosho's apartment and wondering why Rosho wasn't.

Can't, he wrote back. Business trip. I'll be back tonight

He then got several complaining texts in a row. As he sat back, waiting for those to be done—he knew Sasara didn't mean it, but once the guy committed to a bit, the only thing to do was to wait for him to wind down.

In the meantime, he weighed Jakurai's information again.

There was a…relatively easy…way out of his predicament. That was the good news.

It just required him stepping very, very far out of his comfort zone.

Do people really just…do that? he wondered. Just have sex, just because?

It was a silly question; obviously they did. It was Rosho who was unused to the idea.

Osaka had a red light district; Rei had successfully dragged Rosho into it before, even. If he'd known this was the problem, he could have said so and spared Rosho the trip, but…Rosho could admit it was the sort of news that was a bit more believable coming from Jakurai than from Rei.

(On the other hand, Rei could have tried to get Rosho laid without saying anything, and Rosho was glad he didn't go that far. Perhaps Rei's manipulative tendencies truly were getting a little bit better lately.)

That left the logistical questions of actually trying it—where, when, with whom. Rosho didn't particularly like the idea of finding answers for those questions, but he liked the idea of spying on anyone he touched even less.

His phone had stopped buzzing, so he picked it up again.

But really, though, is everything okay?
You seem a little off your game lately
maybe I'm imagining it though. You'd tell me if it were something bad, right?

Rosho blinked down at the messages. He hadn't expected the messages to end on a note of obvious worry

But he'd known that Sasara worried about him, hadn't he? Among all the unexpected things he'd overheard Sasara thinking, many of them had been direct evidence of just how much he cared.

So maybe…maybe it was okay to confide in him, at least a bit?

There's some weird stuff going on right now, he typed…and then deleted the words.

He was pretty confident that Rei would go with him to the red light district if he asked—heck, he could probably introduce him to a nice lady who would make this mind-reading conveniently go away, as long as Rosho was willing to pay the associated fees. That could be it. He could fix this tomorrow, if not tonight.

Was it worth making Sasara worry, when this was something Rosho could just solve himself?

Rosho made himself seriously consider the question, weighing the pros and cons.

The fact of the matter was, if Sasara were the one having this problem, Rosho would want to know about it. They were partners and friends, and if even Rei knew about a problem Sasara was having, Rosho wouldn't want to feel out of the loop.

That said…he wasn't sure Sasara be particularly willing to admit to a problem of this nature. The man was fiercely independent, and tended to keep most of the important information about himself on a need-to-know basis…with a pretty high threshold on the "need." Honestly, if he was using Sasara as his model, Rosho would go quietly fix this and laugh about it to himself afterwards. Maybe he'd tell Rei and Jakurai it was fixed, but that would be it.

Did he want to follow Sasara's example, though?

Would Sasara want him to?

Every time Rosho had admitted to his team that he was having trouble, they had jumped in with both feet to help him. Even if they were both terrible about admitting their own struggles, they didn't seem to hold it against Rosho that he was more open about his own. And Rei had already helped him, with remarkable delicacy under the circumstances.

He started typing again—the length of time since he'd seen the message might have been worrying Sasara by now, after all. He was realizing lately how many more things bothered the guy than he'd ever outwardly admit.

Things are a little weird right now, but nothing terrible.
Are you free tomorrow?

There. This topic was too delicate to go into over text, anyway. And the problem would keep for another day or two.

He didn't end up telling Sasara the next day, however.

He meant to. He'd let Sasara pregame-drink in his apartment and then drag him to two or three different bars across town, chattering all the way, carefully not mentioning what Rosho had mentioned yesterday.

But every time Sasara had grabbed his wrist to pull him around a corner, or crowded up against him in the small side streets, or thrown an arm around him as they walked along, he'd heard some echo of: I hope he tells me what's wrong.

It was kind of impressive, really, the way that Sasara just kept smiling around it, but it also made it difficult to actually say anything.

In the end, when it was nearly midnight and they were alone in a smoky corner, he let Sasara lean against his arm and just…listened.

He'd tell me if it were me, right? Yeah, yeah, of course he would. He's been quiet, but when he's pissed, he always lets me know sooner or later. Usually sooner. Ugh, would it be weird to ask? It'd be weird, wouldn't it. Yeah. No, let's talk about something else! Anything! Hobbies? Mics? Oh, there was that routine I was meaning to try out…

So Rosho at least got warning when Sasara went from deflated in thought to standing with both hands on the table, leaning in with a brief intro to an absurd monologue. And Rosho let him play himself out, both out of habit and just because…well, it was just plain fun to listen to him. He was professionally ridiculous, and he never got annoyed when Rosho was a wet blanket, or when his tsukkomi flopped and he couldn't follow Sasara well.

Knowing that Sasara was doing this because he felt too awkward to ask what he was thinking about was…actually kind of cute.

But even knowing that Sasara wanted to know what was bothering him, Rosho couldn't quite imagine admitting that he needed moral support to go get laid. It didn't fit into their dynamic, for one thing, and for another, what if Sasara thought it was a joke? As drunk as he was, it would probably be hard for him not to treat it as one, and Rosho wasn't prepared to handle that level of embarrassment.

And besides…it was a strange instinct, but he kind of thought that Sasara might not want to talk about a topic like that with Rosho. It wasn't like he'd ever opened up to Rosho about his love life either, after all.

And really, given what he'd been hearing, maybe it wasn't that much of a reach to guess that the topic of Rosho sleeping with someone else might not be Sasara's favorite.

So Rosho laughed at Sasara's jokes and let the evening stay light-hearted instead of saying anything.

Rosho had known Sasara for years by this point, even if they hadn't been in contact for all of them. He'd thought he knew him pretty well, but mind-reading added a whole new level of understanding to what made Nurude Sasara tick.

A lot of it wasn't really surprising. He'd always known that beneath the jokes, Sasara was a shrewd judge of character. He'd think about things that Rosho rarely bothered noticing—small, sharp, momentary observations about the people around him. When they walked down the street, he was constantly picking out little details: a date that wasn't going well, a small child fascinated by a passing stranger, a shop that was badly understaffed. A lot of these observations weren't positive on their face, but Rosho could feel Sasara looking for the right spin on them. A helping hand, a kind word, or a joke—and there were many jokes.

If asked beforehand, Rosho might have claimed that Sasara had no filter. This was, he learned, patently untrue. If the jokes that made it out of Sasara's mouth were sometimes egregious, the ones that didn't were worse. Rosho couldn't even laugh, they were so terrible—except he wanted to laugh anyway, because he could also overhear Sasara's reactions to the worst ones.

It was very funny to realize what Sasara went through, subjected as he was each and every day to his own sense of humor.

Besides that, one of the biggest insights Rosho had stumbled into was that Sasara touched him a lot. Rosho had never really noticed it before, but as his new ability tossed random revelations into his life, he realized that Sasara's inner voice was the one he heard the most often, and it wasn't close.

Of course strangers and his students wouldn't touch him so much—that wasn't what was strange. It was that Sasara did, and at the slightest provocation—or with no excuse at all. Rosho had never realized how much of an outlier Sasara was when it came to physical contact. Perhaps over the years he'd just gotten used to it? It was difficult to tell.

But now, of course, it was harder to ignore than ever. Especially because sometimes, when he read between the lines of Sasara's thoughts….

Because he did have to. Read between the lines, that was. Yes, some of the things Sasara thought about Rosho were…remarkable. But even in the privacy of his own mind, there were lines he refused to cross, at least while he was touching Rosho.

He thought Rosho's eyes were a pretty color.

Rosho was such a softie, really, so kind to his students and to random strangers.

Rosho was funnier than he gave himself credit for.

Glasses really suited him far too well.

Rosho didn't realize he was single-handedly bringing sweater-vests back into fashion among the dedicated fandom he didn't even realize he had.

Rosho looked amazing today.

Rosho's lips were really pretty…

All right, maybe Rosho didn't actually need to read between the lines too far to get the impression there was plenty Sasara had never admitted to him where his own feelings were concerned.

In fact, it might even be fair to say that Rosho was being deliberately obtuse about connecting the dots.

But then again…maybe Sasara had those feelings about everyone?

(He didn't. He certainly didn't have them about Rei, who was the other person the two of them spent the most time with. And if Rei wasn't his type, he'd still have had the occasional thought about attractive people in Rosho's vicinity if he habitually thought that way about people…but he hadn't so far. It was always about Rosho.)

(And Rosho noticed that Sasara didn't go around touching everybody else all the time, either. Or making up excuses to spend time together. Or, or, or.)

So. If Sasara had a crush on him—a crush that, judging by the evidence Rosho had gathered so far, he had no intention on acting on—then where did that leave Rosho?

Well, it left him more reluctant than ever to try sleeping with a stranger to cure his little telepathy problem. So there was that.

And if he didn't want to sleep with someone else, then the logical solution was…well.

He didn't want to just sleep with Sasara because of his telepathy either, though. That wouldn't be fair to him.

At least…not if he didn't at least explain the circumstances…?

Explaining was a possibility. He couldn't just ask Sasara out and then sleep with him without explaining what had prompted it, after all, could he? That seemed…underhanded. Dating someone without disclosing his mind-reading powers would definitely be a questionable thing to do.

So, then…if he started with the mind-reading…?

But no. Sasara sometimes said that Rosho was kind, but Sasara was at least equally so, if not more where Rosho was concerned. And since he was braver than Rosho in the first place, h went out on a limb for others without a second thought if he thought he could help.

So if he knew Rosho kind-of, sort-of needed someone to sleep with him, it was easy to imagine him volunteering, no matter how he actually felt about it.

Rosho was a math teacher, and so he eventually figured out that what was needed here was a careful order of operations. A well-constructed proof, as it were.

He decided to start with something only a little bit out-there. The next time that he and Sasara went drinking—sans Rei, because he absolutely didn't need commentary on what he was attempting here—Rosho waited till they were a few drinks in, somewhere relatively private. Then he started the fateful conversation.

"Hey, Sasara. Can I ask you a personal question?"

They weren't touching yet. Sasara was sitting next to Rosho at the far end of a bar, sipping leisurely at his beer. He gave Rosho a curious look, but then smiled.

"Of course, of course! Ask away."

"Do you…" Rosho took a breath. Okay. He'd known this was going to be a difficult topic to broach; he had to just go for it. "Have you slept with a lot of people?"

His voice was quiet enough not to carry, but he suspected his face was red enough to light up their corner of the little smoky bar. He forced himself to keep looking at Sasara, like he wasn't embarrassed as hell to be asking. Like it was just idle curiosity, instead of the opening move of a delicate conversational operation.

Sasara blinked, looking surprised—and more than a little curious. Instead of answering immediately, he raised an eyebrow in Rosho's direction.

Rosho tried not to sweat, but his nerves had to go somewhere—and they went into his foot. He moved it slowly in the direction of Sasara's chair, until they bumped something. Only it must have been the table leg, because he didn't hear anything except Sasara's spoken answer.

"I…guess? A normal number, probably?" A smirk was forming on his lips. "Why are you asking?"

That did set Rosho's teeth on edge, just a little. A normal number? And what number would that be, exactly? Rosho would put "normal" at a big, fat zero—but then, if that weren't the case, he wouldn't be in that particular situation. "Just…curious, I guess. You know, being a famous personality and all…I don't know, does it make it harder? Or easier, or…"

He was rambling, and unfortunately his tongue got ahead of his brain, because Sasara's eye glinted and the corners of his lips turned upwards with a glee that Rosho knew all too well. "Well, speaking of things getting harder…"

Unfortunate as this moment was, it was an opportunity. Rosho threw an elbow in Sasara's direction, and then oh-so-casually left it on the bar just barely within touching distance.

Rosho thinks about sex? Rosho thinks about me having sex? Wow. I shouldn't read too much into that, right? I shouldn't…but damn, I already am, aren't I?

"…I wouldn't say that people are easy, though, that's just rude," Sasara finished, smirk fully transformed into a shit-eating grin. "But really, why do you want to know? Lookin' for advice?"

Sasara didn't always front this hard, Rosho had learned, but occasionally what he said and what he was thinking were almost entirely at odds with each other. Right now, he looked cocky and amused, but the words in his head were telling a different story.

Am I teasing him too much? I don't want to actually piss him off, but man, I kinda don't want to talk about this, either. I mean, it's a little depressing for a guy to not have slept with anybody since—

Rosho moved his arm away just a little too fast, and Sasara blinked at him. But there was a difference between getting a read on a guy and getting the full unfiltered backstory between him and his ex…because apparently Sasara had at least one ex he was hung up on….

Rosho wished he could introduce his forehead to the bar without making Sasara question his soundness of mind. He was going to make things a lot worse for himself if he wasn't careful, here.

"I don't need every sordid story from your love life," Rosho said, subtly answering Sasara's concerns even though he wasn't supposed to know about them. "I guess I was just…wondering what it was like."

Sasara tilted his head. "To be me?"

Here it is. Rosho looked away. "To…s-sleep with somebody. I guess."

There. It was just a mumble, but he'd gotten the words out. It was at least a start.

Sasara blinked at him. "So, wait, have you never…?"

Rosho could feel his face getting hot. "No. I haven't."

"Oh." And then Sasara shrugged. "I mean, it's not all it's cracked up to be, really. Or, I guess it's nice, with the right person, but if both people aren't interested it can get pretty damn lackluster."

All right, that's…not helping.

Rosho wished he were touching Sasara again, but didn't quite want to risk trying it again too soon. "'S not that I'm not interested," he muttered, taking a swig of his drink. "It just seems…hard. I dunno."

"Well," Sasara begin, grinning—

Rosho cut him off. "You already made that joke."

"Boo." Sasara pouted. "It doesn't have to be a big deal, really. It is what you make it, y'know?"

"I…guess?" Rosho was excellent at making things into a big deal, actually. But he didn't say that out loud—it would sound too much like self-pity.

"Is there…" Unusually, Sasara hesitated. Rosho looked up from a sip of his drink to see what kind of face Sasara was making, but his face looked almost normal. Bland, unassuming…maybe a little curious. Also, kind. "Are you thinkin' of someone specific?"

Rosho stared back down at his drink. The answer was yes, but…could he really just say that? When that answer was Sasara, and more for Sasara's sake than his own?

…No, that's not right.

This wasn't just for Sasara's sake. Sure, if he hadn't overhead things that made him suspect that Sasara might be carrying a secret torch for him, it would have taken much longer for Rosho to think about him as a potential partner, but…well.

"Yeah," he mumbled, and that was about all he could manage. He could feel his face burning, and his gaze felt impossibly heavy; he couldn't lift it from between his elbows, where they rested on the bar.

Something warm and steady fell across his shoulders, and Sasara's voice spoke over itself, two sets of words filtering into his ears.

"Well, look at that! I'm happy for ya, a crush can be so much fun! Springtime in the heart of Rosho…it really never is too late! So, can I help? I can help, right?"

I'm gonna support him. He coulda asked anybody about this, and he asked me—that means something, right? That's gotta mean something.

…If I can help make him happy, then I'll be happy too. I'll have to be. I just gotta remember that.

Rosho's throat closed up, eyes stinging. This wouldn't do at all. Sasara was trying to lie to himself, without even trying to share his true feelings?

But then again, Rosho had put him in that situation, hadn't he?

And to think, if not for this power, he might have been foolish enough to take this as Sasara rejecting him. Because if he had to imagine how Sasara would turn someone down, being oblivious and bubbly like this was exactly the sort of response he'd picture.

Sasara wasn't trying to turn Rosho down, though. He just wanted Rosho to be happy. He was trying to protect them both.

Ironically, this was why Rosho might have eventually thought of sleeping with Sasara to get rid of his ability, even if Sasara hadn't had a secret crush on him. Sasara hid his true feelings well with a veneer of jokes and antics, but when it came right down to it, the guy could be just devastatingly good, and Rosho couldn't help but trust him. Even when the rest of the world stomped him down to nothing, he knew Sasara wanted only good things for him. So as long as Sasara was otherwise unattached, even Rosho would have eventually figured out that he was as good a choice to help with Rosho's first time as anyone he was likely to find.

Turned out "otherwise unattached" wasn't the problem, though. Sasara was already attached—to him. Which was its own sort of challenge. If he was going to do right by Sasara…he was going to have to admit something important to himself.

But he was sick of waiting and second-guessing himself, too. It was unfair to Sasara…and under the circumstances, it wasn't particularly fair to Rosho, either.

"'S you."

These words were even harder to push out than the last ones. Rosho begged his stinging eyes not to water, kept himself from blinking, and tried to stop his chin from trembling.

Sasara paused, then put a hand to his ear in exaggerated confusion. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

Rosho didn't dare raise his voice in public for something like this, so instead he leaned into Sasar's space, till their shoulders were touching. It was easier to stare at Sasara's ear than look him in the eye, anyway.

No way, there's absolutely no way, I must've misheard him. Geez, can you imagine if I just assumed that was what he said? Talk about embarrassing, even Rosho would have trouble letting that go—

Rosho took a deep breath, remembered every tip he'd ever learned for stage fright and overcoming his stammer, and murmured into Sasara's ear with care and precision.

"It's you, Sasara. You're the one I want to try with. Th-that's if, well, if you're okay w-with it, I kn-know it's a lot to ask—"

And that was as far as he got. At least he'd managed the important part, he thought grimly as his tongue tried to glue itself to the roof of his mouth.

He pulled away to see Sasara staring at him, uncharacteristically lost for words.

Rosho swallowed. "W-well?"

"Are you…" Sasara shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Really?"

Rosho just nodded.

"That's. Um." And then Sasara was waving his hands. "S-sorry, I'm making it weird, aren't I? I'm not bothered or anything, I'm actually…glad that you asked me, seriously. That, uh, that means a lot."

But he'd leaned back with all the gesticulating, and Rosho couldn't hear his thoughts anymore. And when he looked at the expression on Sasara's face…

He looks like he's about to turn me down.

He was sweating and wouldn't look Rosho in the eye, and when Rosho leaned forward, he just leaned further away. He looked like he wanted to cut and run, actually. Not the response one would expect from somone who was happy about being propositioned.

"C-can, ah…" Rosho blurted, and then fought to keep going. "Can we t-talk about this s-somewhere else…?"

"Yeah!" Sasara said, a little too loudly. "Yes! We should absolutely, positively do that. Erm…your place or mine?"

There was a hint of a smile on his face, suddenly—of course being able to insert a cheesy pickup line would put Sasara at ease.

"M-mine," said Rosho. "I think. If that's okay…?"

"You bet." Awkward finger guns, and then they paid their tab and were off. Rosho couldn't help but feel that everyone was staring at them as they left the small bar, but he'd also faced a real audience enough times to know that he was probably imagining it. The spotlight effect, and all that.

He was trying to fix his telepathy, that was all. By taking Sasara home with him to get lucky. For the first time ever. No big deal….

Yeah, he was absolutely lying to himself. He was so nervous that even without the alcohol he suspected he'd be stumbling as he walked.

They really hadn't had that much to drink, thought, and between the nerves and the fresh evening air, he felt practically sober by the time they'd returned to his apartment. He toed off his shoes without trouble and headed to the kitchenette, pouring out two glasses of oolong tea. He felt the warmth of Sasara passing behind him into the living room, and caught a snatch of thought—he seems serious about—before he padded into the living room, sitting down on the cushion on the side.

Rosho brought over two glasses and coasters and settled down, deliberately just a bit closer to Sasara than usual.

"Sorry to impose so late," Sasara said automatically as he took his glass.

Rosho had thought far enough ahead that at least it wasn't a work night. "I invited you," he said. "You don't have to be all formal."

"Yeah, okay, true." He took a nervous sip, then set the glass down a little too hard. "Listen…"

Rosho waited.

"Did you mean what you said?" Sasara asked. "About…me. And you. Doing…you know."

It was a little bit easier to speak in the familiar quiet of his own apartment. Rosho wondered how long that would last. "I'm completely serious, yes."

"That's…uh. That's good."

"Is it?" Rosho asked. "Are you sure?"

Sasara swallowed. "Yeah, I mean…if I weren't interested, I wouldn't have followed you home, man."

"Okay, but…" Rosho gulped at his own tea, trying to put his chaotic thoughts into words. "Okay. So. I've got a reason for asking, but I can't…or shouldn't…tell you what it is. Yet."

Sasara tilted his head. "O…kay…?"

"I know it sounds weird, believe me. But I'm not lying, either. I do want to sleep with you, and it is because…." He needed to get this out, now, before he could second-guess it. "Because I like you a lot, and I think maybe I have for a long time."

Sasara blinked, and Rosho watched as his whole face went pink. Rosho thought he was probably blushing by now, too, but he couldn't be sure. "Oh," Sasara said. "That's. Well."

"I'm not saying we need to go steady or anything, if you don't want that," Rosho hurried on. "I'm not saying anything about anything past tonight. But, I just…I really want to do this. With you. If you're okay with doing it with me, too."

Because at the end of the day, that was the important thing, the issue he needed to get over already. They were both grown adults, without other entanglements, and they were fortunate enough to care about each other and—apparently—find each other attractive. If all of that was true—and Rosho was fairly sure he now had sufficient evidence for all those points—then there was no reason they couldn't have sex.

QED, proof fulfilled. Argument tied off with a neat little bow.

Of course, human feelings didn't actually follow mathematical rules, so maybe it wasn't that simple. But maybe, if all the parameters were met, that could be enough for one night. Then would come the explanations, and then…whatever came after that.

Right now, he just needed to focus on the next few hours.

"Can…" Sasara played with his glass, tilting it back and forth. "Can I stay the night, after? I can crash in the living room if you want, but…"

"My bed's not huge," Rosho said, "and I can't promise I won't snore. But we can share."

Sasara smiled, and it looked a little wobbly. "I won't hold you to that. If I'm awful in bed, you can throw me to the curb after."

"Even if you are awful in bed," Rosho said dryly, "I don't exactly have a basis for comparison."

Sasara chuckled. "Guess that's true, huh? Damn." He set the glass down and turned to face Rosho. "I still kinda can't believe that, to be honest."

Rosho shrugged. "Why? We both know I'm awkward."

"Awkward, sure, but you're…a really good-lookin' guy, is all. Can't believe I'm this lucky." Still a wavering smile, and this might be the most sincerely he'd seen Sasara smile in a while.

On an impulse, Rosho reached out and took Sasara's hand. Right now, his thoughts were echoing his words exactly.

"I think I'm lucky too," Rosho mumbled. "There's probably so many people who'd want to…but…is it really okay if I…?"

"More than okay," Sasara promised, and leaned forward. "Hey, can I—?"

And then they were warm lips pressed against his own.

The truth is that if it weren't for the telepathy, Rosho might have panicked. He wasn't used to even this much, and if he thought too long about how he was kissing Sasara, of all people, then he was liable to lose his nerve.

But he couldn't think too hard about it, because the mess of words, feelings, and sensations he was getting from Sasara drowned it all out.

This is happening, okay, go slow—he's enjoying it, right? Gotta check, gotta remember to breathe, don't overthink it…

Except Sasara was overthinking it almost as much as Rosho would be if Sasara hadn't gotten there first. So Rosho figured that maybe, just maybe, he should let Sasara do the worrying for both of them just this once. Rosho kept his eyes closed and tried to imitate what Sasara was doing with his lips.

After a few long, awkward moments, he started realizing that this was…actually really nice. Kissing Sasara felt good. Amazing, even. And he wanted to keep doing it, and also to touch more of him.

Rosho leaned forward, nudging the table out of the way as he put his hands on Sasara's shoulders. Sasara's hands found their way to his waist, and his tongue brushed the corner of Rosho's mouth. Rosho let his lips part, and Sasara began exploring the inside of his mouth with a happy little noise that jolted through Rosho's body.

Thoughts didn't vibrate through him in the same way sounds did, he learned. And the thoughts, it seemed, were quieting. Just a background hum of yes, like that, oh he's good at this, yes, yes….

Rosho didn't know what he was doing, but if he didn't stop to think about it too hard, things seemed to progress almost on their own. Soon Sasara was lying back on his elbows, and Rosho was leaning over him, still kissing; soon Sasara plucked off Rosho's glasses and laid them blindly down on the table behind them; soon they were on the floor, legs occasionally bumping the table as Sasara unbuttoned Rosho's shirt.

"We're not doing this on the floor, are we?" Rosho asked when he came up for air. "I've got…stuff…in the bedroom."

"That'll work, yeah," Sasara said, grinning. "I'm just impatient."

And then they were kissing again, legs tangling. Sasara seemed to like being pinned by Rosho, and feeling Sasara's body under him gave Rosho some vivid ideas about the rest of the evening.

From what he was hearing, he wasn't the only one.

Rosho had imagined sleeping with Sasara before, of course, but he'd never quite figured out how Sasara would like to go about it. Fortunately, his ability was giving him Sasara's hopes for the next few hours in no uncertain terms.

I want him inside me already…no, no, breathe, enjoy the moment. Apparently it's gonna happen, I can go with the flow, I can be patient.

Rosho would be lying if he said he'd never imagined that arrangement, but the knowledge that Sasara was imagining it too only increased Rosho's eagerness.

He pushed off of Sasara, looking down at him—his mussed hair, the glint of desire in his eyes, his lips parted as he caught his breath. "Can we…can you show me how to…?"

Sasara nodded, happy and completely earnest. "If I show you how, will you fuck me, Rosho?"

"Yes," Rosho said. He scrambled to his feet, offering Sasara a hand up after him. "Just, uh. We should shower first, right?"

Sasara sighed good-naturedly. "You're not wrong. Is there room in your shower for two?"

There was, and though it was a tight fit, that just made things better.

Sasara's hands were all over him, now, under the spray—sometimes helpful, sometimes touching just for the sake of touch. Rosho pinned him to the wall before they were done washing up, soap slick between them and mouths the same temperature as the steamy air. Sasara found his leg and pushed himself against it, eager.

"Touch me?" he asked. "It'll make things…easier later."

Rosho hesitated. "I've never…"

"Doesn't matter," Sasara breathed. "It's you. Bet I won't last five minutes."

Rosho didn't bother counting, but it was true that with the help of his hand, Sasara was soon gasping a warning, and then the evidence of his enjoyment was sluicing off their bodies and down the shower drain.

"You're a natural, you know," he said between kisses. "That was a great start to the evening."

They held hands on the way to the bedroom, Rosho slapping his light on blindly and reaching for the drawer beside his low bed. He'd made sure everything was clean and ready for tonight, just in case, but he doubted Sasara noticed their surroundings much. By the time Rosho had the pack of condoms and lube in his hands, he was sitting on Rosho's bed, damp and entirely nude, his enthusiasm infectious.

Rosho followed suit and sat beside him on the bed, suddenly shy again. Sasara, as he always did, followed his rhythm.

"You're really prepared, huh," he said, gesturing at the items in Rosho's hands. "Lube and—oh, good, these are big enough." He glanced pointedly down at Rosho's lap. "Here I was worried you'd just grab normal ones."

"Yeah," Rosho said, feeling his flush deepening. "I, uh, checked ahead of time."

"Good thing, too," Sasara said, all appreciation. "Okay, I'll show you exactly what to do with these. This is gonna be incredible, Rosho. Just follow my lead, okay?"

In hindsight, Rosho didn't know when exactly the telepathy stopped. He was too focused on everything happening physically—hands, bodies, preparation, angles, starting slow and then letting things pick up speed naturally—that he lost track of what either of them might be thinking.

Because Sasara wasn't wrong. It was incredible.

All he knew was that when they were finally done cleaning up, Sasara tangled himself up in Rosho like an octopus, nuzzling into his shoulder without a hint of self-restraint—and yet, there was silence.

Rosho glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 2:07 AM. Well, hopefully they hadn't been so loud that his neighbors had overheard anything…he suddenly understood firsthandwhy love hotels existed. Sasara had been plenty enthusiastic tonight, but if Rosho could get him to scream someday…he thought he might like to try that. Quite a bit, actually.

That was a question for another day, though. Rosho was sleepy and satisfied and wrapped up in his brand-new first lover, and everything was perfect.

He looked down at Sasara, his eyes were already drifting shut with a small, honest smile on his face, and decided that the explanations could wait till tomorrow. It was late, and Sasara was a warm, reassuring weight against him, breathing already starting to even out. Neither of them had anywhere urgent to be the next morning. He'd made sure he had the ingredients for two breakfasts in his apartment, just in case, so they could talk things out at length then.

The telepathy problem was solved, and the solution had been wonderful. Sharing the details of the dilemma that had finally led Rosho to this point could wait for at least a few more hours. Although…maybe he'd ask Sasara to be his boyfriend first, just to make his priorities absolutely clear. Rosho thought that there was a good chance he'd get a yes to the question, but he wanted to hear the answer out loud. No more shortcuts, no more second-guessing.

Tomorrow, Rosho was going to lay out his heart to Sasara just as Sasara had done for him, all unknowing, these past few weeks…and then they'd finally be on the same page.