Work Text:
Shin watches Hiyori twirl a pen between his fingers and thinks, for maybe the hundredth time, that he still has no idea why Hiyori is even here.
‘Here’ in general, sort of--in this specific instance, Hiyori is here because this is Hiyori’s house, but why is Hiyori around Shin in general. They aren’t classmates. They aren’t neighbors. Their families don’t know each other--not that Shin’s even met Hiyori’s family. Hiyori just…showed up, really, and didn’t go away, and now they’re friends. It’d be weird to ask why, wouldn’t it?
Then again, Shin isn’t completely sure about this specific instance, either. Shin had mentioned that he wasn’t looking forward to midterms, and Hiyori had offered to help him study, which is a thing friends do, but not really a thing Hiyori does. Hiyori is a lot of things, but ‘helpful’ isn’t one of them.
Case in point: they’ve been studying for ten minutes, and Hiyori hasn’t said a word. It’s been a pattern: Shin reads the English textbook for a bit, writes something down, looks up, and sees Hiyori just. Watching him. Playing with a pen, and looking him directly in the eye, like Hiyori’s waiting for Shin to say something about it. Then Shin looks back down at the textbook and it starts over.
Fifteen minutes, now.
Finally, Shin says, “You need to get better hobbies, Hiyori.” He’s not saying it to be mean; a lot of the time he’s genuinely not sure Hiyori understands he’s being weird. The alternative…well, he doesn’t like to think about that much.
Hiyori smiles like the sun: uncomfortable to look at. “Can’t I enjoy having a friend over?” he says. “I like spending time with you.”
Something very small and quiet twists in Shin’s stomach. He’s had friends before, more or less. The kind of friends you get through proximity, where it’s not really because you especially like each other, but you don’t dislike each other and you’re neighbors or classmates or family friends and that’s basically the same thing as friendship, right? But there’s a world of difference between that and someone enjoying your company just because they like you, because you’re special to them in some way, because they want to be your friend.
Shin never felt particularly wanted until he met Hiyori.
A few months ago, Hiyori dared Shin to drink some sake he claimed he took from his dad’s liquor cabinet; of course Shin accepted, not exactly eager for the drink but still feeling that tiny thrill that someone was paying attention to him. It didn’t taste very good. It was exciting at first, an illicit tingle of doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and he expected the bad taste to not matter so much as the alcohol took effect. He didn’t want to get drunk. Just enough to see if it felt as good as it was supposed to. Just enough for Hiyori to be happy with it.
The world seemed to smooth out a little. Then Hiyori suggested he try a little more, and the world started to feel fuzzy and strange, and Shin’s thoughts started to get mixed up. He thinks he remembers Hiyori offering more. He doesn’t remember Hiyori drinking anything himself. He very vaguely remembers eventually throwing up, and Hiyori petting his hair and saying something that didn’t make him feel any better. He definitely remembers feeling uncertain where he was or what was happening, and a little nervous, and a little scared.
Being friends with Hiyori feels a lot like that.
Shin looks back down at the textbook. He really does need to study, so he should concentrate on that.
After a while, Hiyori says, “How well are you doing at school, anyway?”
Shin looks back up. Hiyori’s stopped playing with the pen, and looks quizzical, now. “I’m okay,” he says. “Classes aren’t that hard if you study.” Some subjects are easier than others, though. Which is why he wasn’t looking forward to midterms.
“And you don’t have anything better to do than study,” Hiyori says mildly. “Still haven’t joined a club?”
Shin shakes his head. “Nothing’s interesting.” Well, the computer club might’ve been fun--but he doesn’t really get along with some of the people in it, so he didn’t bother trying. He doesn’t have any particular artistic skills, and sports are right out.
Hiyori smiles. “None of that stuff’s really important, anyway,” he says. “It’s all just a distraction to keep bored teenagers from getting into trouble. You’re better off not wasting your time on it.”
“I guess,” Shin says, uncertainly. He still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, and sometimes he thinks maybe talking to the other kids more might help him figure it out. Figure himself out, maybe, what kind of person he is, what kind of person he wants to be.
“Besides, that’s more time you can spend with me,” Hiyori says. In the afternoon sunlight through the living room window, his bright eyes seem to sparkle.
Shin musters a small smile. “You’re not the only person in my life, you know,” he says. He has parents, even if they don’t pay that much attention to him. He’s not exactly hated at school, just mostly ignored. And he’s not antisocial, he’s just…not good at starting conversations, and there’s really only one person who bothered to start one for him.
“Aren’t I?” Hiyori says, very mildly, raising an eyebrow.
Shin doesn’t know how to answer that.
Hiyori’s smile widens. Shin looks away.
It’s probably not Hiyori’s fault that he’s like this. Some people are just…weird. Maybe his parents aren’t great, or he’s not used to having a friend, or, well, something.
Being useful is almost as good as being wanted, and Shin thinks maybe Hiyori will be a little less weird if Shin’s there for him. If Shin can just hold out, and not let the little things bother him, everything will be fine, and he’ll have a normal friend and a normal life and be a normal person, too.
“There’s no need to be shy, Shin,” Hiyori says. He sounds delighted, like he’s doing something fun. “Go on, tell me I’m your best friend and you don’t know anyone else like me. Give an inspiring speech about how much our friendship means to you.”
“Why do you have to be like this all the time,” Shin mutters, still looking at the edges of the cushion he’s sitting on. He’s still not trying to be mean, but--it’s a little frustrating. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting, for Hiyori to be better.
Hiyori doesn’t seem to find that worth responding to. “After all, you’re very important to me,” he says. “I wouldn’t invite you over if I didn’t want you around. I know a lot of people, but you’re one of my favorites, Shin.”
And even now, that little twist in his stomach, the part of him that leans too eagerly into the intoxication of being wanted. Taking another drink, just because Hiyori asked him to. Coming over to study, when he knew Hiyori wouldn’t be any help and he’d be better off staying at home, because it feels so good for someone to desire his presence even if the someone smiles too much and says things that make him uncomfortable.
Hiyori rests his hand on top of Shin’s, just a light touch. Shin jerks back up, startled, and sees Hiyori’s eyes start to brighten even more at his reaction. When did Hiyori get closer? He was on the other side of the table before.
“How long have we known each other, Shin?” Hiyori says pleasantly.
“Uh, about a year,” Shin says. Something like that. A little more, a little less. It’s hard to remember specifics right now.
“That long, huh.” Hiyori looks thoughtful. “I think I know you pretty well by now.”
Shin tries to think of anything he knows about Hiyori. Nothing important comes to mind. Hobbies, interests, other friends--what his parents are like, what he wants to do after he graduates, what class he’s in.
As far as Shin knows, his favorite hobby is Shin.
“But I could always know you better,” Hiyori says. His voice is so light, so pleasant. “I’d like to. I’d like to know everything about you. That’s okay, isn’t it?” His thumb skims across the back of Shin’s hand.
It’s the sake all over again. Shin’s heart is beating too fast, he can feel a trickle of sweat on the back of his neck, the twist in his stomach is a lot less eager. It feels like an important question, but he’s not sure what the right answer is. You’re supposed to trust your friends, aren’t you? But you’re supposed to feel safe around them, too. But Hiyori’s never done anything bad, not really, and your friends are supposed to know things about you. But you’re supposed to know about them too. But--
He doesn’t know what Hiyori will do if he takes too long to answer. “Sure,” he says, and tries to keep his voice steady, but he’s not sure he succeeds.
Hiyori’s smile probably has a normal amount of teeth.
“You’re so cute, Shin,” he murmurs, and leans in, and places his other hand on the back of Shin’s head, and kisses him.
Shin closes his eyes on reflex. It’s not bad. It’s just soft warmth on his lips, and fingers in his hair. Butterflies in your stomach are normal, anyway, so that’s what it is, even if it feels a lot less like fluttering and a lot more like sinking. Hiyori’s hand tangles with his, squeezing. He doesn’t feel the same way Hiyori does--didn’t--doesn’t--he doesn’t know what he feels. In movies, if a man and woman are friends, they fall in love; this must be like that. Liking Hiyori wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It’s better than having no one. It’s better than liking someone who doesn’t like him back.
Hiyori’s tongue presses insistently at his lips. He parts them, just a little, and Hiyori dives in, claiming the rest of his mouth. Shin’s chest feels too full of something he doesn’t want to think about. It’s not a nice feeling, and this should be nice, so--this should feel good, he’s going to focus on this feeling good. On the deep-down thrill of being desired. Not on how Hiyori’s fingers in his hair are clinging a little too tightly, or how Hiyori’s barely giving him any space to reciprocate.
He should put his other hand somewhere, shouldn’t he? On Hiyori. Hesitantly, he puts it on Hiyori’s shoulder. If he pushed, how would Hiyori react? Stop? Pull back? Not react at all? Pull him in closer, not even letting him breathe--
Hiyori makes a pleased little hum into his mouth, and Shin lets his hand slip a little farther down, onto Hiyori’s back instead. It’s safer there. No more dangerous thoughts. Hiyori’s other hand lets go of Shin’s and slides around his shoulders.
They’re in an awkward position, sitting on the floor. Hiyori’s off his cushion, knees on the ground, leaning a little precariously. Shin’s half-twisted around. If he shifted position, it’d be easier for both of them, so--he does, a little, shifting so the rest of him is facing Hiyori too. Their knees bump together. It’s still not perfect. Hiyori’s still leaning down, a balancing act that doesn’t seem especially comfortable. Though it’s not like Shin could ask if they could move to a couch--and the easiest way to level it out would be if Shin was on his back, which--which--
--which is what’s starting to happen, as Hiyori pushes forward more and more, closing the distance between them--
Shin manages to wrest his head back and sputter, “Wait, wait,” Hiyori looking at him quizzically.
“What’s up?” Hiyori asks, like he’s asking Shin how his day was.
“I,” Shin starts. He doesn’t know how to say it. His whole body feels itchy and overheated, and his thoughts aren’t quite flowing together. And teenage boys should want this, shouldn’t they? He should be excited, not--this.
Hiyori brushes his lips against the side of Shin’s mouth, just briefly, and again. “You’re fine,” he murmurs. “It’s not a big deal. You like me, don’t you?”
And Shin realizes with a very cold feeling that he doesn’t.
When was the last time he felt happy around Hiyori? When was the first time he felt happy around Hiyori? Not just putting up with it, not waiting for him to change, actually feeling happy, not drained or frustrated or scared. Scared of someone who’s supposed to be his friend--
It’s only the tiny part of him, desperately craving any attention at all, that wants to let Hiyori do what he wants; the part that insists that being wanted in any form is better than being ignored, the part that squirms and shivers and longs. You’ll probably like it, anyway, it whispers. Hiyori wouldn’t hurt you. Just let him do it and then he’ll be happy and he’ll still like you and maybe this is what makes him nicer. Maybe this is a good thing.
None of the words Shin can think of stay on his tongue. Hiyori presses another kiss to his jawline, below his ear, his throat, murmurs, “That’s what I thought,” and it’s almost tender how he lowers Shin further until Shin’s back meets the tatami, and then there’s no space between them at all.
Every kiss lights up Shin’s nerves; being pinned only amplifies them, makes every inch of his body feel like it’s on fire. Hiyori doesn’t weigh very much, but the weight feels suffocating regardless.
Hiyori slots a knee between Shin’s legs and returns to devouring Shin’s mouth. He doesn’t seem to care at all that Shin isn’t doing anything in return. In a tiny act of rebellion, Shin lets his hand drop from Hiyori’s back, both his arms lying uselessly at his sides, blatant in his lack of participation. But if Hiyori notices, he doesn’t say.
After a handful of seconds, Hiyori shifts and murmurs into Shin’s ear, “I want to know so much more about you. How sensitive you are. How much you can handle. How you react when I do this.” His lips drift down to Shin’s neck again, then latch on as he nips at the skin there, hard, making Shin flinch and whimper. Just the words have Shin’s face burning; the sudden flash of awareness that that’s going to leave a very visible mark heightens the shame.
Hiyori lets out a small laugh, and keeps going.
It feels like forever before Hiyori finally withdraws. He’s left a few more eventual bruises, all throbbing, and kisses the base of Shin’s throat before shifting and pressing his hips down hard against Shin’s, grinding them together with smooth, rolling motions.
Shin thinks maybe if he stops thinking, if he lets his mind drift, it’ll be easier. Just fade away from it all. But the pressure and friction keep him stuck, making it impossible for him to pretend he’s anywhere else when his body keeps dragging him back. The haze growing in his head doesn’t distract him, it only traps him in this room even more, unable to even think of anything outside it. Everything is hot and messy and cramped. He feels a little like he’s going to throw up.
One of Hiyori’s hands slides up Shin’s shirt, scraping his nails against Shin’s stomach. “I guess you aren’t ticklish,” he murmurs. “I don’t know how useful that is, but I’ll remember it anyway.”
Hiyori’s fingertips graze across one of Shin’s nipples. The sudden, brief sensation makes Shin inhale sharply. His eyes have been squeezed shut for a while now; he doesn’t want to see any of this, doesn’t want to see how Hiyori is looking at him. Amusedly, or fondly, or that expression like Shin’s an insect he’s thinking about putting pins in--Shin can’t stand to think about it.
Hiyori’s voice, low and silky, is bad enough.
It’s so hard to think straight around Hiyori, sometimes. When Hiyori leans in too close or says something awful like he’s talking about the weather or asks Shin weird questions he doesn’t know how to answer. That’s in full force now, Shin’s mind aching from the strain of every aborted thought. He can’t think. He can’t think. Hiyori’s fingers are slipping past his waistband and he can’t think.
He does whimper again, though, when Hiyori’s hand wraps around his cock. He’s half-hard already, somehow, even through the fear and the blurry thoughts.
“See, don’t act like you don’t want this,” Hiyori murmurs into his ear. “You’re reacting so well. You can admit that it feels good, no one’s going to judge you.”
It does and doesn’t feel good. Electricity is sparking up Shin’s body with every caress, but his stomach is twisting into knots.
Does sex feel like this? Both good and bad? People wouldn’t have it if they didn’t enjoy it. Not that this even is real sex, really. Hiyori’s pulled Shin’s cock out of his pants and keeps stroking it up and down, eliciting more small noises and shivers, and that’s just--fooling around, or something. Nothing serious.
Small, embarrassing noises. It’s hard to avoid making them. Hiyori swipes a thumb over the head of Shin’s cock, and Shin lets out a gasp, loud enough that his face burns and he covers it with one arm.
Hiyori gives a small, delighted laugh. “Shin, you’re so cute I can’t stand it,” he breathes. “Like when you see a kitten and it looks so sweet you just want to squeeze it and squeeze it until it’s a crushed, bloody mess.” He kisses Shin almost gently, almost sweetly, and keeps stroking Shin’s cock.
It’s the sort of thing Hiyori likes to say, so Shin’s almost used to it. But now it just makes his stomach squirm.
Shin dimly registers that Hiyori must still be fully-clothed. Is he going to have to do this for Hiyori, afterwards? He doesn’t want to. But he should, right? Wouldn’t it be the polite thing to do? He might mess it up, though, somehow, even though it doesn’t seem like it’s all that difficult. Hiyori always points it out when Shin’s made a mistake, even when Shin can’t tell what he did wrong. The idea of messing up here, with this, and Hiyori gleefully telling him, makes Shin want to curl up and never talk to anyone again.
Then he wonders if he’s doing something wrong now, and Hiyori’s just waiting for the right moment to bring it up, and he feels like he’s going to be sick.
His eyes start to water. It gets absorbed by his sleeve, so Hiyori doesn’t notice. Hiyori probably did, though; he always notices things Shin doesn’t want him to.
But this time, at least, Hiyori doesn’t comment on it. He just hums softly and runs a hand through Shin’s hair, displacing the beanie. “Hey, Shin,” he murmurs. He’s close enough that Shin can feel his breath on his face. “Minus those lovely noises, you’re being awfully quiet. Nothing to say?”
Shin swallows. His arm is still over his eyes, which helps, a little. He can almost pretend he’s somewhere else. “N-no,” he manages, his voice catching as another wave of pleasure and nausea rolls through him.
Hiyori brushes a kiss just beneath Shin’s ear. “It’s cute that you’re so shy, but it’s a bit rude to not let a guy know how he’s doing, you know?” he murmurs. “I’m doing this to get to know you better, after all. There’s no point if I don’t get any data out of it.”
“What do you want me to say?” Shin mumbles.
“Well…” Hiyori does that thing with this thumb again. “Does this feel good?”
It sends another spike of pleasure. Shin bites back a moan. “Yes,” he mumbles.
“And this?” Hiyori’s other hand snakes back up Shin’s shirt, pinches one of his nipples.
Shin’s face is burning. “Yes,” he croaks.
“And this?” Hiyori’s breath brushes across Shin’s neck, and then he leans down and bites, not very gently.
Shin flinches, and for a second his throat sticks on an instinctive No, because it did hurt but not in a…bad way, but he can’t say that, and his head is churning and his face feels like it’s on fire.
After a few seconds without a response, Hiyori gives another small laugh and says, “I see,” like he’s figured it out, because of course he has.
He brushes a kiss against the spot he just bit and then pulls back. “How about this?” he murmurs, his breath skating over Shin’s groin, and then suddenly his mouth is on Shin’s cock.
Shin can’t help crying out, his hips jerking, and this time the muffled sound of Hiyori’s laughter goes straight through him. The wet heat is worlds apart from just Hiyori’s hand. He covers his mouth with his other hand, desperate to hold back the sounds he can’t stop making.
It doesn’t take very long after that for him to come, his whole body trembling. He blinks back a new round of tears threatening to spill out. Hiyori lets go and pulls back, and now that even the physical sensations are gone, all Shin’s left with is a feeling like worms writhing in his stomach.
“Well, that was educational,” Hiyori says pleasantly. “You can stop covering your face now. I’d quite like to see it, actually.”
Distantly, Shin withdraws his arm and hand. Hiyori has moved off of him, standing up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Hiyori follows Shin’s eyes to his mouth and smiles, says, “An odd taste, but manageable.” Shin doesn’t know how to respond to that.
Instead, Shin glances at Hiyori’s groin. It doesn’t look like he’s even hard.
Hiyori’s smile grows larger, toothier. “Don’t worry, I’m very satisfied,” he says. “Besides, I’m not knowledgeable enough on the subject to fuck you yet. I like to do things properly, after all.”
The yet sends a horrible chill down Shin’s spine. His nausea amplifies, and he wonders if he genuinely is going to throw up.
Moving on autopilot, he adjusts his clothes back into place and stands up, his legs a little wobbly. Hiyori watches him the entire time.
“You probably can’t concentrate on studying now,” Hiyori says lightly. “Sorry about that.”
Studying? Oh, right, that’s why he was here in the first place. Studying with Hiyori, even though he knew that could never hold Hiyori’s interest. He just--he didn’t think this would happen.
The squirming feeling fades, replaced with a drained emptiness. Shin doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to go home, where he can be alone and think about what just happened without Hiyori’s eyes on him.
Though it’s not can be alone, it’s has to be alone, because even if one of his parents is home they won’t pay any attention to him, will just tell him they’re busy if he tries to talk to them, and it’s not like anyone else would listen to him, either--
Shin feels tired and cold and empty and lost, and this time he doesn’t bother trying to hold back the tears.
It’s stupid. It’s not a big deal. It wasn’t even real sex, and most of it did feel good, and he got off, didn’t he? So he must have liked it. He shouldn’t be--feeling like this. He squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs at them with his sleeve, but it just keeps coming.
“Oh, this is fascinating,” he hears Hiyori say, sounding absolutely delighted. “It didn’t physically hurt, did it?”
Shin manages to shake his head. It didn’t, after all.
“So just an emotional overload, then,” Hiyori says thoughtfully. “Would you say it’s in a good way, or a bad one?”
His throat feels clogged; if he tries to speak, he’ll just start sobbing, and the idea makes him feel even worse. Unable to answer, he hunches his shoulders and keeps rubbing at his eyes, desperate to make it stop, to feel normal, to not be reacting so stupidly to something that didn’t really matter.
“Ah, but I’m being a terrible friend, aren’t I,” Hiyori says. He doesn’t sound especially regretful about it. “Shin. It’s okay. You don’t have to be upset about it.”
I know, Shin thinks miserably. That’s why I’m upset. His mind is a feedback loop; he shouldn’t feel bad, but he does, which makes him feel worse, which he shouldn’t.
When he continues to not say anything, Hiyori makes a contemplative sound. Then he hears a few soft footsteps and suddenly there are arms sliding around him, pulling him in. It’s surprising enough that he lowers his arms a little, and when Hiyori presses in further he lets them fall to the side, out of the way.
One of Hiyori’s hands strokes his back. “You’re very important to me,” Hiyori murmurs. “I love humans in general, but you really are my favorite, without question. So even if you feel bad, it’s okay. I want every part of you. Your weaknesses, your failures, the parts of yourself you don’t like; everything about you is precious to me. No one else wants you as much as I do.”
Shin’s shoulders start to shake of their own volition. It doesn’t count as sobbing if you’re not making any noise.
Hiyori stays there the whole time, rubbing Shin’s back and not commenting on the tears soaking his shirt.
When it’s finally done, when Shin feels even more drained, Hiyori pulls back and examines his face. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to Shin’s forehead.
Then he glances down at Shin’s neck. “Oh dear, the marks are already starting to show,” he says. “You can’t go on the train like that. Here, let me get something to cover them up.”
He leaves the room for a second, and returns with a blue scarf. “You might as well keep it, I’ve got plenty and I don’t think blue is really my color,” he says, wrapping it around Shin’s neck. “Besides, I like how it looks on you.”
Shin touches the scarf. It’s soft, and it doesn’t smell like anything. Not that Hiyori really smells like anything, either.
Hiyori pats Shin on the shoulder. “Now, you should get home,” he says. “Maybe you can study better there.”
Shin numbly gathers up his supplies and heads for the door. He doesn’t say goodbye, even after Hiyori trills, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Shin!”
When he gets back home, his mom’s in the living room, but she doesn’t even look up at him. He trudges into his room, puts everything down on his bed. Stands there, for a moment.
Goes to the bathroom, to look in the mirror. He pulls down the scarf to look at his neck.
There’s nothing there.
Shin silently pulls the scarf back up and walks away. He has studying to do.