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“You’re acting strange.”
“I’m always strange, what are you on about?”
Ritsu’s face crunches together into a grimace. “No, I mean, like. You look pale. Actually.”
Shou rolls his eyes away. Takes another spoonful of rice into his mouth. Flickers his gaze briefly to a nearby bush about five feet away in time for a butterfly to perch on a flower.
Ah, geez.
Has Ritsu always been this way?
All caring and shit. Nice. Sweet. Or… something, he doesn’t know.
But Shou figures that should be a given. Ritsu’s supposed to care. Granted their current status, it’d create more problems if he didn’t.
Oddly enough when Shou’s stomach churns uncomfortably, he knows instantly that this has nothing to do with lunch.
“Do you have a fever?” Ritsu asks again. “You got caught in the rain last night, didn’t you? Told you you should've borrowed my umbrella on your way back.”
Before Shou can even try for a coherent reply, the shadow of Ritsu’s hand already moves into his periphery, aiming for his forehead…
And Shou instinctively swats it away.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he gags, only to later sink into a cocky grin for recovery. “Geez, do I gotta deal with your doting from now on, too? Like I don’t get enough of that shit from Fukuda.”
Ritsu’s eyes had flown open at the slap, stunned still, but the surprise quickly sees itself out as soon as Shou pauses to grab a chicken piece from his lunchbox, consequently guiding his chopsticks in the direction of Ritsu’s closed lips in lieu of his own.
“Now say ah. Stop changing the subject, killjoy.”
“You don’t have to baby me, Suzuki.”
“I promise, it’s really good.”
Ritsu quirks a brow. “Cooked it yourself?”
Shou can only huff. “You be the judge. Ain’t telling you anything ‘til then.”
And the conversation briefly ends like that.
Ritsu yanks back his lips only slightly in some bizarre attempt to keep anything of his mouth from touching the chopsticks directly. Done in such a manner that, if he had to exaggerate it any more, it would spark a small semblance to a braying horse.
Which really isn’t a mental image Ritsu’d like to hear about, so Shou doesn’t say anything regarding the subject, though this feels like a time he usually would.
Ritsu’s already chewing modestly behind a hand when he frowns again and grumbles, “What are you smiling about?”
Shou has to expel a hot breath of air through his nostrils to keep himself from grinning even wider. “Nothing.”
Ritsu doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry further.
“So?” Shou elfishly implores as soon as he swallows. “Whatddya think?”
“How do I say this without hurting your feelings too much?”
“Wow, compliment me like a normal person every now and then, would ya?” he says good-naturedly, very eagerly flapping his chopsticks open and shut like a beak at him. A playful threat to gouge out an eye if Ritsu dares get close. He isn’t afraid to date a half-blind man. “Personally, I think I deserve only the highest praise.”
And Ritsu simply scoffs, irked by the blatant narcissism, but the small tug at the corner of his mouth as he looks away suggests otherwise. “You’d wish, wouldn’t you?”
It’s comfortable like this.
Sitting here to waste the single hour they have between morning and afternoon classes. Getting disturbed by not one bypasser because they’ve exclusively chosen the spot to be hidden (bless the architect who thought putting benches in the old school gardens was a good idea). Laughing and throwing caution to the wind because God forbid anyone else see Ritsu beam the way he does now.
And Ritsu had never been much of a people person, a fact Shou fancies and prides himself in knowing, because Ritsu has never taken to showing any sort of emotion amongst the myriad of crowds he mingles with if not neutral.
So making him laugh is… well.
Least to say, Shou treats it like he would an ancient World War II medal.
And Shou doesn’t remember when he’d imprinted on the idea—who in their right mind bends over backwards to protect a smile that obviously doesn’t need protecting?—but he may as well have wrapped it up in cotton wool and bubble wrap for safe measure.
That’s basically the gist of how Shou figured out that he may have liked Ritsu more than a normal amount.
By some insane amount of luck, it turns out the feeling was mutual.
Which came off as a big shock to Shou when he found out because he figured Ritsu would’ve had standards at least, but it’s been about a week since then and things have been smooth-sailing so far.
Surface level anyway, but Shou isn’t about to bother Ritsu with a problem this early.
His gaze lowers to his Tupperware, to the last few chicken bits he’s yet to nibble on, to the chopsticks in the comforts of his right hand, and then suddenly the new addition of Ritsu’s fingers entering his view, reaching over to rest over the back of his palm.
Shou’s vision tunnels.
He flinches, would have jumped back if he hadn’t been anchored to his seat by the lunchbox on his lap, and in the adrenaline of the fight-or-flight, Shou searches for Ritsu’s eyes with a panic as if the latter had raised a fist to punch him. The shock must be written across his face and as contagious as he imagines it to be, because Ritsu quickly retracts his arm back to his aide.
No winter nor hailstorm has ever given him a feeling of frost this rapid, and for seconds he doesn’t count, Shou can’t feel his fingers, lost to the harsh and biting cold. His arm is numb, getting number, a little too much for comfort.
Both of them stay frozen for what seems like forever, but Ritsu is the first to thaw. “I-is everything alright?”
A sour taste settles upon Shou’s tongue.
He swallows it down, pays it no mind, or so he puts in the effort to try. He brushes it aside for a moment to heave a shallow laugh through his nostrils. “Yeah. Sorry. You… startled me.”
Ritsu only stares at him, waiting until Shou turns to look back before he deadpans, “You haven’t heard one thing that came out of my mouth, have you?”
The shift in the subject makes it easier for him to ignore the added weight in his heart.
Shou’s lips finally break into a crooked smile, eyes darting back and forth between Ritsu and the fourth floor of a distant building peeking over from behind him. Whatever passable excuse he conjures in his head doesn’t come out, but instead: “‘Course I heard. And not just one thing!”
“Uh-huh.”
“ Everything, yep.” Shou makes a gesture as if he were trying to flatten out the layer of air in front of his chest. “Everything.”
“You’re really out of it today, aren’t you?” But Ritsu dismisses the idea with a wave before he can give Shou the chance to deny. “Forget it. Just finish off whatever’s left of your bento. Bell’s gonna ring in twenty minutes and I refuse to run cross-campus just to jog up four more flights of stairs.”
Shou pushes down the gas expanding in his chest when he wriggles his brows at him. “You know, it might be easier for me to finish this off if you feed me.”
“Alright,” Ritsu acquieces blandly. Shou almost does a double-take to make sure he heard that right, until: “Starve, then.”
Shou can’t say he isn’t amused.
He jerks back his torso to feign a gunshot injury. A theatrical hand finds its way above his heart to keep his fictive blood from dribbling out the fresh wound. “You don’t have a single romantic bone in your body, do you?”
Ritsu simply rolls his eyes, holding a huffy expression long enough until he can swallow.
“Get a girlfriend if you want to be pampered that badly, Suzuki.”
“Eh, but I already have you!” The words fly out of his mouth before he can’t even think about it. “You sure you wouldn’t mind if I cheated on you? Oh! But what would the village elders say? We’ll have scandals tarnishing the family name!”
“Family name my ass,” Ritsu parrots sharply, shoving at his side one more time as Shou dissolves into silent peals of laughter. A tinge of pink dusts his cheeks despite his defiance, but Shou doesn’t call him out on it, in fear of Ritsu returning the favor. “God, please just keep eating. I can’t be late for class.”
“Yes, wife.”
“Fuck off.”
And Shou simply snickers under his breath until he chokes.
* * *
Shou’s in bed that evening staring at the ceiling. Mind too tired, too full, a stark contrast to his right hand which now sports a gaping hole Shou just can’t see, but it’s there, he feels it is, and it’s nothing less bothersome.
There’s a dull ache in his chest to boot. It’s been lingering there like a freeloader since noon. Hours of deciding he’d wait it out, and it simply never went away.
Shou implicitly laid the blame on his share of assignments during club. It made for a good lie. There couldn’t have been a more convenient excuse for the stage crew’s scenic painter to fall ill, and sure enough, it was his free ticket to getting out early.
He really wasn’t feeling like it today, wouldn’t have done him any better if he stayed regardless. Summer festival’s in a little less than a month either way so that’s a little reassuring. He has time. More than enough really.
Which is probably why he’d let himself waste over two hours into nightfall, tossed haphazardly on his sheets…
Reflecting.
Shou chuckles to himself.
It’s stupid to be thinking this much. It doesn’t feel like he has that many thoughts to begin with. And if anyone asks him now about what he’s been poring over this whole time—and two hours would have brought him through two subjects, God knows how long Shou’s actually been here—he still wouldn’t know what to say.
Shou recalls bits and pieces of tonight. He’d watched the ceiling turn from a rich shade of summer yellow to pitch black. He’d thought about how his wallpaper peels off at the far right corner, probably should do something about that.
Oh. He also thought about doing physics homework (don’t laugh). Given what he’s been up to since getting home, yeah, it’s been going great.
He doesn't reckon Ritsu would mind lending him a couple answers in the morning, though of course, Shou expects “not minding” to come with another earful.
You're a senior already, Suzuki.
Get your shit together, Suzuki.
Shou almost smiles.
Ritsu’s so… Ritsu. The guy’s probably planned the next ten years of his life and color-coded the entire catalog, labeling details here and there with categories Shou hasn’t even heard of. And forget the future, present him is doing fantastically well in whatever he lays his hands on—student council, academics, sports…
Shou would have added romance to his list, too, but based on the guy Ritsu's seeing, he decides maybe not.
Honestly. Ritsu's number of admirers surely must have multiplied at least by a threefold since hitting high school. The ocean has never been this full of fish.
And not to be self-deprecating or anything.
But what does Ritsu see in him?
Shou is torn from his train of thought when his phone suddenly blares to life, lighting up a small portion of the room with the bright white of the screen. Shou sluggishly reaches for it. Maneuvers. Turns the device to face him. Reads the name.
He answers the call without hesitation. “God, you’re so in love with me.”
Shou’s voice was much louder in his head, he imagined himself to come off more confident, more assertive. He hadn’t expected himself to croak, but it doesn’t seem like he can crank up the volume either.
At least he can say the boogeyman under his bed can rest easy.
Shou’s too out of it to fully commit to a more upbeat version of himself—he doesn’t feel quite like Suzuki Shou: Resident Crackhead Who’d Once Set Off The Building Fire Alarm. (Ritsu looked like he would have eaten him alive that day. Good times.)
Right now he’s more Suzuki Shou: Dead Tired.
Eh. Ritsu would just have to deal with it. Lethargy, voice cracks, and everything that comes with the package.
“Can’t leave me alone for two minutes, can ya?” Shou adds in a singsong. A tad too hoarse for his liking, he even winces when his cords strain, but other than that he pays it no mind. “You could pay to be a bit more discreet, Rits.”
“I’m just checking in on you,” Ritsu clarifies sternly. Amused beneath the high-and-mighty facade, Shou can tell, though there’s no way he’d never admit it. “Stop assuming you’re that special, it’s distasteful. Even I’m getting embarrassed on your behalf.”
A smile spreads across Shou’s face.
“Aww, I love you, too,” he drawls. “So you’ve been looking for me? You’ll have to live without me at some point, you know? I won’t be around to take care of you forever.”
Ritsu barks out a dry and humorless laugh. “Hilarious. I’m not here for games. Freshman rep was doing his usual rounds today, caught word that some guy Suzuki from the production had to leave early over breathing problems. I’m assuming that’s you?”
“The walls have ears,” Shou wistfully notes.
Ritsu heaves a heavy sigh.
“You’ve spent most of the day with me. You couldn’t have bothered to tell me there was something off with you?” He pauses to click his tongue, a razor-sharp edge in a single beat that strikes Shou’s core straight through like an arrow. But it doesn’t feel bad.
It doesn’t feel bad at all.
“Then again,” Ritsu grumbles, “I probably should have been able to tell. God, I already thought you were running a fever, but I just didn’t—”
Ritsu cuts himself off with a sigh. “How are you feeling now, then?”
Shou has to briefly pull the phone away to keep Ritsu from hearing him suck in a breath.
“Fine,” he says quietly. Not afraid, he knows what fear is, and Shou isn’t scared of him or anyone. It’s just… different at the moment. And he doesn’t have a name for it yet. “There’s just some small pressure now. O-on my chest. But nothing serious, yeah.”
The edge in Ritsu’s clipped tone mellows when he asks again.
“What’s this I heard about paint inhalation?”
Shou lifts a brow. “Paint inhalation?”
“That’s what they’re speculating. Like that’s not bad enough, I’m also getting fire from admin. Teachers expected an investigation to be conducted as soon as possible, so now it’s a whole issue on protocol. We found that—”
“Hold on, how are you getting in trouble because of me ?” Shou frowns. “You’re not even part of the drama club. Doesn’t make sense. You know, for an education system they don’t sound very educated? It’s a shame.”
Ritsu heaves out another breath so heavy and leaden Shou’s diaphragm practically spasms for him. “Day in the life,” he mutters half-heartedly. “Anything bad that happens to the student body, especially now that pretty much everyone’s preparing for the festival, the council’s probably to blame.”
“They can’t give you enough shit, can they?”
“Tell me about it,” Ritsu wearily agrees. “I don’t remember running for president slash scapegoat, but I can’t say I didn’t expect this either.”
Shou purses his lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Ritsu pauses to hum. “Right, but enough about me. Just… tomorrow. If you’re ever coming back to club, we’re sending out a memo to move backstage production outside the gym for better ventilation. Thought you’d like to be the first to know. I’m drafting the notice right now.”
Shou takes a moment more to rethink his reply. His multitude of options lay bare before him, just awaiting the go signal in the shape of charisma and a beaming facade, but in the end the only thing Shou’s lips can move for are the words: “Yeah. Thanks. Appreciate it.”
They exchange goodbyes shortly after, it comes as bland as it goes, and he lets Ritsu end the call.
Shou doesn’t move. Not yet. He doesn’t bother. His eyes are trained on the sheer nothingness of the ceiling as the void opens from the center of his palm, stretching to paint every crevice black all the way to the tips of his fingers.
He closes his eyes. It’s not any different from when he’d kept them open.
A word for this feeling… ambition perhaps?
But Shou knows ambition. And ambitions would imply pursuit.
Ambition meant seeing the fragments of his broken family glued back together with molten gold. Ambition meant tearing down terrorist organizations, assembling rebellions thriving on unadulterated loyalty and moral good, and even bathing a whole house in gasoline and burning it all to the fucking ground.
Ambition doesn’t explain the inexplicable urge for his right hand to furl, later balling into a tight fist, frustrated about its own lonesomeness and the deprivation of its missing pair.
Ritsu’s voice only echoes in his skull and jolts the ice that shelters his heart. A bitter reminder of today’s events piling on each other like weight on his ribcage.
Right. This was never ambition to begin with. If ambitions meant he was about to go out of his way to grab a hold on a much hankered objective, then this is…
Shou rolls on his stomach to bury his face in his pillow.
Longing. As pathetic as that sounds.
At the back of his mind, he still wonders what would have happened if he hadn’t reacted as excessively as he had when Ritsu tried holding his hand.
The notion alone floods his cheeks with heat beneath his shell of skin, and Shou simply curls into a ball.
* * *
“Slowly.”
“I got it, Rits,” Shou whines, dropping the table from his end a beat before Ritsu does. “I’m not going 80 miles an hour, quit getting your panties in a twist.”
Ritsu only frowns.
“You know you don’t have to help me move shit,” Shou continues, hopping to sit on the tabletop. He jacks his shoulders up before letting them fall back down in a comical shrug. “I’m pretty capable, ya know?”
Ritsu crosses his arms, jutting his chin heavenward once as if to size him up. “I’m not hearing this from someone who had to be sent home early yesterday.”
Shou rolls his eyes to look away. “You’re doting on me again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Can’t I be genuinely concerned about a friend?”
There is no edge to Ritsu’s tone—it’s the farthest thing from anger or demand, and oddly enough that’s the part that jolts Shou awake and recaptures his attention. Ritsu simply stares at him, beckoning, challenging him to a battle of gazes, and Shou quickly surrenders because he can’t stand the plain softness of both his voice and his expression, it’s almost unfair.
The silence befalls them just like that.
Neither of them try to break it just yet, waiting for another group to finish up moving an entire board of plywood—Shou imagines that to be part of the backdrop, woodwork soon to be touched by the construction team no less—and watching them re-enter the gym without sparing a glance down their direction.
A mannerism Shou's familiar with, because no one in their right mind would ever dream of getting caught procrastinating by the head of the student council himself. Having Ritsu here means no one else around them can exchange a few words without whispering, in some irrational fear of being heard.
It's almost funny.
But there's absolutely nothing else that can accentuate a private conversation better, because as soon as he and Ritsu begin to parley, everyone immediately (and discreetly) plays the role of a spectator.
Which is a problem in and of itself for a multitude of reasons, but among the top:
One, Ritsu doesn't enjoy anyone poking their nose in his business, or the unnecessary attention. Ironic for someone who's done nothing but garner attention his entire life, but Shou can understand the exhaustion and the inherent need for him to live life hiding from the limelight.
Two, it might bode well for both of them if their week-old relationship's announced in their own time. They've always been on the receiving end of speculations since God knows when, and Shou's been able to waiver it all off as an inside joke whenever someone asks.
Saying that now, it'd be flat out lying.
Not that Shou wouldn’t take it as an option anymore. He’s just being a little economical with the truth, so to speak.
The first second they're alone together, Shou takes the chance to scratch at the back of his neck, eventually easing into gentle massages, then into one tight squeeze to relieve the pressure accumulating in his fingers.
“You can be concerned,” he finally replies, “but I don’t need it from you, alright? I don’t need to be pitied, and especially not by you.”
And Shou sighs, once, just to expel the burning sensation from his system before trying for a smirk to recover. “Literally just… piss off and bother someone else, won’tcha? If I’ve got shit to do, I’m pretty fucking sure you do, too.”
As if to prove his point, the chatter from inside the gym behind them swells, echoing and bounding off the walls and right into Shou’s ears. If he concentrates hard enough he’ll make out yells demanding for scissors amongst the amalgamation of actors rehearsing scripts.
Ritsu’s gaze flutters toward the exit door they’d both just passed through to get where they are now. Shou figures he’d argue something about the paint cans they still have to transport, the brushes, the rollers, and every single piece of propwork awaiting their respective colors and design.
But Ritsu only hums in thought and nods. “Right. Sorry. I thought I’d… never mind.” He faces him again. Clears his voice and straightens. “But in case anything bad happens, you know where to find me. I’ll be more than happy to help.”
Shou tosses his head back when he groans, leaping off the table to shove Ritsu to wherever direction that isn’t toward the gym. “Just go, oh my God, quit being so damn obsessed with me! I’ll be fine, okay?”
Ritsu doesn’t look back when he walks off, returning to whatever he should have been doing in the first place.
Which is good.
He doesn’t have to see Shou bang his own head on the table they’d just brought out.
Both his palms may as well glow from the borrowed heat of Ritsu’s back, right where Shou roughly pushed him away. It’s this warmth that briefly stays, only up until the void Ritsu left on his right hand eats it up, and Shou stills, helpless, watching it quiver from its own emptiness.
And Shou hates it, he hates it, he hates it so damn much, it’s driving him insane .
Will ripping out his own skin help, he wonders. Is that the only way he can get rid of this? This— this —whatever this is.
It’s stupid.
And it’s stupid because it’s shallow, and it’s petty, and Ritsu could flick him once on the forehead and Shou still wouldn’t be able to say he doesn’t want more.
And Shou… should be comfortable by now.
Can’t I be genuinely concerned about a friend? Ritsu’s voice asks.
“That’s the thing,” Shou mutters under his breath, withdrawing from the support of the tabletop and rubbing what should be a bright red spot across his forehead.
“You’re not just a friend, dumbass.”
* * *
Shou’s mother would cradle him even at age six.
She would do it often, too. Sometimes to lull him to sleep. Sometimes to calm him down. Sometimes for absolutely no reason at all. She’d sit Shou on her lap, and Shou would press his ear to her chest, listening to her heartbeat intently, eagerly, like it were a bug he was about to catch and can’t risk scaring away.
“Do you know what that means, Shou?” she asks gently.
“It’s like a drum,” he answers. His world had once been awfully small.
“It is, isn’t it?” And there, she laughs, Shou doesn’t know why she does, but he pulls away from her chest to look up and mimic the curve of her lips when she softly adds: “It also says just how much I love you.”
This, to Shou, is brand new information. Hearts for all he knew were just the double tear-drop shapes he’d color in with red for art class (sometimes he’d cheat and color some green). To know there’s so much more to tie back to something so simple, he beams even brighter as he re-glues his ear to his mother’s sternum.
Love.
He’d fall asleep like that, with his mother running her fingers through his mop of hair, the soft humming of her voice and the loud thrumming of her full, unadulterated affection, spilling forth warmth and nothing but.
Which is why, when the dream falls apart, the one thing that makes Shou near-stand to attention is the fact that there are real fingers threading through his hair, grazing gently against his scalp and leaving a ticklish buzz as it goes.
Shou doesn’t take time to relish in the feeling.
He strikes the hand away, panicked as he snaps up to a proper sit, and his eyes lock on to a too astonished Ritsu’s. Shou doesn’t know how the hell he’d taken the seat in front of him, or when he’d started doing this in the first place, but whatever escalates in his chest quickly combusts within his system, and it surges like incendiary through his bloodstream.
“Dude,” Shou growls, “oh my God, ever heard of personal space? Jesus.”
Shou hadn’t meant to blurt it out, definitely hadn’t intended on it being that loud either.
But he doesn’t feel remorse as he watches Ritsu’s shock slowly turn into fear, taking about five seconds to process Shou’s words, and another five to realize he can still move. His cheeks don’t fill with color.
Ritsu simply pales to a ghastly shade of milky white.
His gaze is apprehensive, scared stiff, spooked like a small animal—it flickers to each and every corner of the classroom, to every direction until he runs out and ultimately decides looking down is his safest bet.
“Sorry,” Ritsu whispers. “I just wanted to wake you but I—I wasn’t… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. ”
His words barely make it to his ears. The excess rage that crawls beneath Shou’s skin makes it hard to care.
The desks around them are mostly vacant, as far as his periphery would be as kind to provide. It takes a bit of a stretch to find them, but somewhere to their far right, a couple of their classmates had sidled their desks together to enjoy lunch face-to-face. Another group had nestled themselves along the back wall.
And here he is, hissing at Ritsu the minute he comes to.
Shou remembers dozing off around third period.
Eugh. He hadn’t slept a wink last night. Kept tossing and turning and thinking.
Judging from how this morning’s going so far, Shou figures he’s about to spend later this evening doing the same exact thing.
The traces of Ritsu’s fingernails still linger at the top of his head. Shou has to furiously ruffle his hair in some sorry attempt to exorcise the memory. Forget the rising temperature in his cheeks, forget how he’d practically melted under his touch, forget every strand that stood on end because these are goosebumps triggered by a feeling farthest from disgust.
A part of him wanted to yell at Ritsu again. Tell him to keep his fucking hands to himself because it shoudn’t be that hard. Make another scene because Ritsu won’t be able to stand the unwarranted attention.
Because at least, in the moments that Ritsu was too busy ruminating about what he’d just done wrong, Shou didn’t have to face the part of him that yearned to close the distance between them.
And maybe for once in his life Shou doesn’t have to feel disgusted with himself.
Because right now he doesn’t even feel like he’s mad at Ritsu.
Because Ritsu hadn’t even done anything wrong.
But Shou hates him, he despises Ritsu’s kindness and warmth and openness and compassion and everything that he is if he isn’t perfect, and it’s all because Shou can’t even pretend to be alright if he tells himself otherwise.
A quick survey around the room just to check if there’s still anyone watching on with great interest, and when Shou finds none, he figures Ritsu should be able to move again.
Shou sighs as he gets up, pushing past the apology and tossing his head to the direction of the exit. “Come on. Grab your lunch bag and let’s go. Can’t tarnish that stupid punctuality record of yours, can we?”
* * *
Ritsu doesn’t lay another finger on him again. Not at the end of the day, not the next.
It’s even a relief that they’re still together for most of their customary activities like lunch and walking home, but anywhere they go Ritsu keeps a respectable distance, careful not to touch him, always at least a yard away. All means of trying to grab his attention can only get as close as hovering a hand over his skin.
And Shou sits through all of it with a heavy heart.
It’s his fault, he knows. It’s why he doesn’t complain.
At least… not aloud.
Lunch the next day, Shou figures Ritsu would have recalibrated over the evening and maybe things would go back to normal, but lunch rolls around and they’re sitting on either end of the bench still.
Ritsu even goes through the extra mile of putting a bag between them to make it seem less obvious. It feels like a safety precaution.
Shou doesn’t enjoy the treatment, he doesn’t enjoy the electricity in the air every time they’re alone together. This drags out for so long he even manages to piece together an apology. For yelling. Getting mad.
But his voice dies in his throat before he can even try.
It’s almost as if Ritsu had known he was about to speak, because out of the blue, he clears his voice and takes the shot Shou doesn’t.
“I told my brother.”
Shou stupidly blinks at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence because there should be more, but Ritsu doesn’t even look his way. “Told your brother,” he repeats. “To—”
Shou’s voice cracks and cuts him short.
Which honestly would have been less awkward if only Ritsu had spared a laugh. But of course, the universe can’t be that kind.
A cough into a fist later, Shou tries again. “Told him about… what?”
“Us,” Ritsu says simply, like it answers the question and everything else to follow.
“Us,” Shou parrots, pretending to understand.
Ritsu finally sighs, more tired than angry, clicking his tongue in such a manner that roughly translates to: Do I really have to spell this out for you?
"Us getting together."
The surprise is an arc of energy that fries Shou’s brain to char in an instant—his breath hitches, his bento almost topples off his lap, his spine actually judders, and his tongue finally loosens:
"We're still together?"
And with those words, Ritsu finally swivels his head his way, only to shoot him a look so cold he could have frozen the Atlantic. "Do you not want us to be?"
Shou's eyes fly wide open in alarm. "What? No."
"No like you want us to break up?"
"No —I meant like no, I'm… I’m happy we're together." Shou’s voice falters into something softer, getting milder and all the more temperate as he descends from the height of his panic. He sighs again, slides his lunchbox over to the care of whatever’s left of the free space on the bench, he runs a hand down his face to gather his bearings.
“Things were just… weird. It just felt like we weren’t. Still. Y’know. Together and stuff. I-I was afraid. You couldn’t even talk to me. Or look me in the eye. So.”
Ritsu cocks a brow, unimpressed.
“Wouldn’t you have reacted the same way if you’d been yelled at without explanation?”
Shou glances at him uncomfortably.
Whatever it is of Ritsu—his voice, his eyes, his tone—it washes over him like a bucket of ice water. Caught somewhere in the momentum, unthinkingly Shou's jaw unhinges, drops open on instinct, because if Ritsu needs him to explain he will, he's more than happy to say what the hell's been going on, but the sound refuses to come out. His apology lodges itself like a frog in his throat, painful and restricting and it burns him up inside with a steady crackle.
Shou has to look away again, seeking comfort in the insignificance of a fallen tree leaf.
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.
He hadn’t meant to be angry.
And never once had he ever imagined hurting Ritsu the way he had.
Shou knows he was never really built for this crap. It’s why when the regret crashes in uninvitedly, when Ritsu stops talking to him altogether and when the silence becomes unbearable, Shou found it easier to accept they’d ended things.
It hurt, yeah.
But it didn’t come off as a surprise.
For nights Shou wondered how long it would take before a genius like Ritsu would come to see how stupidly depressing it is to be dating him. Be with him. Stay with him.
Soon, probably.
But he decides maybe he isn’t smart enough to figure it out today.
Because Ritsu holds two chopsticks in his direction, guiding a cut omelette roll towards his mouth. He’d inched much closer to him when Shou hadn't been looking, doing away with his bag, and reclaiming his old spot right next to him with cat-like stealth.
“Open up,” Ritsu orders. “My arm’s getting tired.”
And Shou understands this isn’t the time, he can read the room perfectly well, but the idea strikes him in a lightbulb moment and his lips move quicker than his reservations—
“Piece of advice,” Shou jests bashfully, “you could pay to be a bit sweeter when you say that.”
A raincloud may as well have thundered above Ritsu’s head when his face downturns rapidly into a grimace. “Oh, for the love of God, just eat the fucking thing.”
“What? I’m just saying—”
“Shou.”
And Shou stiffens, face falling, heart pulsing on either ear.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ritsu forces a smile. “Why don’t we talk about it some more, then?”
Shou has an answer in mind, but the very second he opens his mouth, Ritsu shoves the omelette in with a triumphant grin. “Eat.”
Shou whines with a muffled voice, something along the lines of: Cheater.
But Shou busies himself by hastening his chewing instead.
Because Ritsu’s already rummaging about his bento and preparing to feed him another.
“Am I ever getting an explanation for yesterday?” Ritsu asks out of the blue. His voice is gentle. Tame. Lacking its usual edge, it’s almost unfamiliar.
Shou swallows. Eyeing the next omelette with anticipation as Ritsu lifts it to his lips. “You startled me,” he lies. “That’s all there is to it.”
He takes the egg roll into his mouth.
Ritsu raises his brows expectantly. “Why’d you sound so mad, then?”
Swallow.
“Got carried away.”
Egg roll.
“Really?” Ritsu implores softly. “You’re sure it’s not because of something I did?”
Bullseye.
“It’s not,” Shou lies again. He hopes his voice doesn’t tremble along to the panic blaring in his skull. “If it’s something you did, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Ritsu’s eyes briefly narrow, suspicious still, though one shake of his head later, he relaxes and says nothing more to debate. “I’ll trust you then.”
Shou offers him a small smile, hopefully more reassuring than nervous, but it takes too much energy and it falls through as quickly as it had appeared. In a bout of quick thinking, Shou throws his mouth open instead, snapping his fingers once for the theatrics and sake of clever disguising. “Egg.”
Ritsu’s face downturns for a scowl, eager to complain, but it breaks apart almost immediately when he turns to his Tupperware. It takes nearly every ounce of Shou’s willpower to restrain himself from visibly melting.
“You know, for the record,” Ritsu begins as soon as Shou starts chewing, “you’re not as cute as I romanticized you to be.”
Shou rolls the comment off his shoulders. “Well, what can I say? Exceeding expectations is like second nature to me.”
And like that, the threads of Ritsu’s self-control come loose and fall altogether, paving way for a snort, a smile, an unnecessary need to still look away, and a weak jab as if it would keep Shou from seeing.
“God, you’re such an idiot.”
When Ritsu’s ears turn pink, Shou reckons his do as well.
He wonders how Ritsu could be so open like this, because he makes it seem so easy.
And he wonders if he could ever do the same.
* * *
It's Thursday afternoon when Ritsu visits him at club again.
Shou had been in the middle of spray painting when he skirts around the far corner of the gym, waving at him as a signal to release the cap, and Shou quickly obliges. Nearly drops the can, too, in the process of intercepting him halfway. He yanks down the mask he’d fashioned out of a handkerchief once he stops a foot’s distance from him.
“Small question,” Shou starts, “is the mask really necessary? I can smell the paint either way, it’s ridiculous.”
Ritsu grimaces. “It’d be in your best interest not to get sent to an infirmary tonight. I don’t want more paperwork, Suzuki. Where's everyone else?"
"Rehearsal." Shou stabs a thumb at the gym. "Had a couple free hands here so I told them to come help out inside, so now "—he wriggles his brows—"you can have me all to yourself. Aren't ya lucky?"
When Ritsu scowls again, Shou prepares to ride along this trend with a jesterly quipping—any fun, good-natured joke that happens upon him like it were the will of the gods. He’d been on cloud nine since he and Ritsu made up. It took them about a day to slide back into their old dynamic, but today he can feel himself finally fitting into his own shoes again.
So his mouth opens, ready to speak, but his voice dies in his throat when Shou gets close enough to realize Ritsu’s eyes are…
Wet. Glossed over and lined with a reddish hue.
The surprise must have shown on Shou’s facial features, because Ritsu leans over to the side, a little too grandiose and animated to be taken as normal, taking a good look at his work table from behind him. “Nice dragon head.”
Quick and eager to change the subject. Maybe a bit too much.
Shou follows his lead, twisting and swivelling around for a glimpse when he remembers what he’d been doing just moments prior. Even from this far away, the interlocking pieces of cardboard glimmer with wet grey paint, leaving trails of a lighter shade running down like mascara from the groove where the dragon’s eye should be.
Shou hisses under his breath. He takes a mental note to even that out later.
“Yeah, thanks,” he mutters. Shou quickly spins back around to face him. “But, you. Are you… holding up alright? You look a little—”
“Fine. Just tired. Don’t mind.” Ritsu fans a hand as if to disperse the thought.
He doesn't want to talk.
Alright, then.
Shou brushes it off.
Ritsu heaves a sigh before he can continue. “I got a favor to ask, though.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you have time after this?”
“Not sure,” he shrugs, “but I can make some. Need me for something?”
Ritsu briskly averts his gaze as soon as Shou asks. “I was… actually wondering if I could borrow your notes from class.”
The corner of Shou’s mouth twitches. “How bad of a position are you in to be coming to me for notes? Me. Really? After you told me my handwriting’s too poor for Your Majesty’s liking?”
Ritsu’s face scrunches together in mild embarrassment. The crease between his brows is an unspoken: Shut up. “I never said that.”
Shou naturally doesn’t listen.
He feigns a large and comical gasp, drawing a breath so deep he can feel himself well up with crocodile tears. “You don’t have any other friends, do you? Oh, you poor thing!”
Ritsu runs a tired hand down his face.
“Alright, you made your point pretty damn clear, you can stop making fun of me now. Are you helping me or not?”
Shou rolls his eyes away. The guy can’t take a joke. Sheesh.
“Where are we heading?”
Ritsu probably hadn’t anticipated for Shou to say yes, because his face falls for a split second, though it’s gone before Shou could think of the right words to poke fun at it. “You don’t…” Ritsu pauses to clear his voice. “You don’t actually have to stay with me. You can just let me take them home. I’ll give them back tomorrow morning. Promise.”
“Like I’ll actually let you do that,” Shou playfully derides. “What if I wanted to study tonight? I’ll come to class empty-handed!”
“Study?” Ritsu repeats in disbelief. “You can’t even flip through one page to review for finals.”
Shou shrugs again. “Change is the only constant in life. What if I said I wanted to become a better student? Hm?" He crosses his arms. "How ‘bout that?”
The way Ritsu's eyes light up immediately sends Shou to shut his lips tight and needled closed. A beat passes, then two, three. And Ritsu blinks himself awake as if he just realized he forgot to reply.
“Anywhere quiet would do,” he says. Quiet, getting quieter. “I-I just have to get work done today.”
Ritsu tugs his uniform sleeve back to catch a glimpse of his wristwatch, and another tired sigh escapes his lips. “I gotta go back." When he returns his gaze to Shou, his voice is louder. Stoic. Ritsu resets himself into work mode.
"Drop by the office once you’re finished here.”
Shou can barely refrain from rolling his eyes again. Drop by the office —he makes it sound so formal. God. What a nerd.
“Got it, boss," Shou salutes. "See ya."
Ritsu had already turned on his heel to go, but Shou still heeds the instinct that lifts his hand to offer a weak wave.
It takes him a moment to realize he hasn’t stopped smiling, and Ritsu at this point had long vanished completely from sight, and whatever that had brought his lips to curve is the same thing that sets his entire face aflame.
It feels like a date.
Shou returns to his table, shakes the can again, over and over and over, a finger atop the valve and at the ready as his mind spins with thought. But he doesn’t muster the strength to draw out the color.
He doesn’t stop shaking the canister.
Dear God, it's a date.
* * *
“I don’t know why I still listen to you,” Ritsu grumbles, but even then his eyes are still trained on the notebook he scribbles on. “Library would’ve been a better choice.”
“Why?” Shou jeers derisively after a quick bite down at his straw. “Because they have slushies there now? Six whole vending machines? An entire onigiri shelf from floor to ceiling?”
“Because it’s becoming more and more evident to me that public decency isn’t enough for you to shut up,” Ritsu deadpans, finally snapping his head up only to shoot him a look, tired and annoyed and all in all fed up. A beat passes, emphasized by the drone of a distant air conditioning unit, and with Shou not even budging an inch, he casts his gaze back to his class notes at the click of his tongue.
"At least there,” Ritsu continues begrudgingly, “it was more for rules than etiquette."
"Like I give a crap about either," Shou scoffs. Not even a heartbeat later, he proceeds to slurp with the loudest volume he can muster out of his cup if it means it’s grating on Ritsu's ears.
The expression he wears tells Shou he's already won.
"I specifically asked for a quiet place, and literally anything would have done—"
Shou cocks a brow. "This place is pretty quiet, what do you mean?"
"Oh, is it?" Ritsu derides sharply. "It's hard to tell when my companion's spent the last ten minutes sucking on his third slushie like it's his last meal on earth."
Shou can only blink at him. Fidget with his cup. He actually has no idea what's happening.
Is he that upset over the slurping? Shou’s been doing that for the shits and giggles. All, of course, deliberate and done with a sound mind. More or less to help alleviate the atmosphere.
Didn’t think it’d actually get on his nerves.
Ritsu only sighs when Shou's reply never comes. "Suzuki, I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today. And it sure wouldn’t hurt to play by the rules every once in a while.”
Shou creases his forehead.
Play by the rules?
He has to stifle a laugh. Ritsu’s beginning to sound a lot like the guidance counselor from grade school, and Shou’s spent enough hours with them to know.
Seriously. The hell’s going on?
“Eh. I’ve got principles, see? And it’s not like I can’t be like ya, all saintly and law-abiding and all that jazz. Bet it must be so nice being the headmaster’s favorite kid for a day, but”—he shrugs, pausing to drum his fingers in two waves on the table and sighing fondly—
“I don’t think I can get my head that far up his ass.”
Ritsu’s frown is much deeper than what Shou remembers from the last time he looked up, but he doesn’t say anything more.
“Seriously. You’re real pissy today, aren’t you?” Shou goads. “Did something happen at club—?”
“Nothing happened at school,” Ritsu blatantly cuts him off. “But I’m interested to know what’s happening to you.”
Shou’s eyes briefly pop a little more open while he waits for the surprise to run its course. The panic builds like a rock in his chest, but Shou swallows it down as best as he can.
“Me?” he repeats like he hadn’t heard it right the first time. “What are you on about?”
“Your behavior,” Ritsu answers simply. In so few words, he’d managed to crush Shou’s entire being flat with the weight of every syllable he voices, and Shou has to swallow to extinguish the flames spurring at the back of his throat.
“Why are you being so difficult right now? Did I do something to you? Did I hurt you?”
Ritsu shakes his head. “I didn’t want to talk about it yet but I just—I don’t understand what’s changed. If it’s something I've done, just… tell me. I thought I was pretty fucking clear on that.”
It takes nearly all of his energy trying not to frown.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Shou lays out. And at the snap of his fingers, he puts on the face of a character, folding his arms behind his head and shrugging like he’s just taken the biggest weight off his chest, because he can't actually deal with it yet.
Jesus. What's this guy on about?
Shou had imagined a lot more things to go wrong this afternoon, because there’s never going to be a perfect first date (Shou had just about enough first date horror stories from Yahoo Answers, thank you very much), but he certainly didn’t see this coming.
For one thing this seems like it’s his fault, which might be true, but why?
“I’ve always been like this,” Shou adds, still trying for an easy smile against the confusion knitting his brows together. “What, like—have you been missing out on the last five years?”
Something flashes across Ritsu’s face when Shou replies, but it’s gone before he can get a better look.
“Right,” he mutters. “That settles it, then.”
Shou quirks a brow, face falling to give way for pure confusion. “Settles what?”
But Ritsu doesn’t give an answer.
He shuts his notebook so abruptly a page gets caught in a fold, and Ritsu knows it, and Shou knows he does because it’s impossible for him not to have heard the crisp when the paper crinkled, but he’s too irritated to do anything about it. The sound slices through the wintry air between them like a cutting edge blade, sharp and unhesitating and all levels of agonizing.
“You’re leaving?” Shou asks again. He doesn’t know how he finds his voice, though he manages with an extra strain.
Ritsu doesn’t even pretend there’s anyone in front of him.
Shou actually feels himself shrink as if he could dodge it, but the anxiety is much faster and all-encompassing as it infuses itself in his bloodstream, twisting and churning in his stomach like he were struggling with a rich meal.
In one swift motion, Ritsu shoves the notebook back into his bag—haphazardly tossing his pen after it—and before long he has the strap over his shoulder.
“Since your idea of fun runs solely on insulting me,” Ritsu finally says, “you must feel very pleased with yourself right now. I, for one, hope you’re very happy, Suzuki.”
The words drop like shrapnel to the bottom of Shou’s lungs. Piercing their way through the muscle, and cutting through any wall of flesh that keeps them from reaching his intestines.
Shou produces both his palms in an earnest gesture. He takes about half a second more to recompose himself, just to make sure his voice doesn’t break mid-conversation because he knows it will. The blizzard that swirls between the two of them offers no assistance whatsoever, and beneath the tabletop Shou’s legs already bounce and tremble from the growing cold.
“Whoa, I’m sorry, alright? It’s nothing personal, I was just messing around—”
“Yeah,” Ritsu cuts in disdainfully, “you can do that without being a dick to me, can’t you?”
Now he’s done it.
Shou doesn’t even know what to say.
Ritsu grants him a final kindness by excusing himself, and Shou’s gaze merely follows his back as he turns to leave, walking out the door, and disappearing down the street.
Shou’s abandoned notes sit desolately on the emptied tabletop.
* * *
Ritsu doesn't talk to him at school.
Which is fine.
Because Shou doesn't talk to him either.
He'd already spent the rest of the night poring over what he would do the day after. A part of him counted on Ritsu just talking to him like normal—they got through last time, didn’t they? Maybe he was over it. Maybe he realized it wasn't even a big deal. Maybe they could both move past yesterday and forget it ever happened.
Granted, of course… Shou doesn't even know what happened. He just understands that this is his fault, that he probably offended Ritsu, and now Ritsu refuses to speak to him.
So Shou tests the waters, passes Ritsu's seat before homeroom (he's exactly two seats behind him, it's not weird, this is his usual route), making sure to keep an eye for any reaction in his periphery. But neither of them bothers to acknowledge the other with a customary hey or even a simple nod.
Shou settles into his chair with a huff. Waits a bit longer. He watches the back of Ritsu's neck like a hawk, practically drilling holes that grow all the more abysmal, leaving irreversible puncture wounds in their wake.
Ritsu doesn't turn to look.
He eventually tucks his head into the comforts of his folded arms, hunching over his desk, taking the opportunity for a nap.
Huh. An impressive feat to see Ritsu this way, practically an Eighth Wonder given how he barely slows down for anything. But sure. He's regularly tired even if he's too proud to admit it.
Shou still waits until the bell rings. Turns out it's the only thing Ritsu lifts his head for.
Their teacher comes in just in time for everyone at class to finish scrambling back to their seats, and Ritsu takes the lead to stand, the red band pinned around his left arm he carries with poise and dignity. As usual.
"Rise," Ritsu commands. As usual.
Everyone obliges. As usual.
"Good morning, Sensei." He bows. The class bows. And then, altogether: “Good morning, Sensei.”
As usual.
And it’s actually only then that it hits him like a truck:
Wow, Ritsu really doesn’t need him, does he?
It’s almost like… everything’s fine. He's functioning just fine. Speaking the way he should and carrying out duties the way that he should.
Meanwhile Shou had to spend the entire night raking his brain for anything he might've done wrong, simmering in guilt. Thinking, and always thinking.
Seeing Ritsu so unaffected in contrast pinches his heart.
Screw it.
Shou isn't losing to him.
* * *
The hours go smoothly for Shou. First period passes at the snap of his fingers, followed curtly by the second… Shou remembers school to come dreadfully slow, it’s never this quick. And maybe because for the first time in his life he's actually paying attention.
It’s… fun. Kind of. In a way, yeah.
There’s a weird rush of adrenaline that comes when he gets called by his teachers. When his classmates turn and listen to what he has to say. When the answer he gives is correct and is explicitly praised for being so. The minute he sits back down, Shou’s legs are bouncing under the desk, succumbing to the jitters he tries his best to hide.
In the heat of the moment, his first instinct nearly gets him to try and catch Ritsu's eye, wanting so very badly to grin and ask aloud, "Are you proud of me?"
Shou has to dig his fingernails into his arm to stop himself.
And it's with that same arm that he raises his hand not even ten seconds later.
"Oh, wow." The surprise in Tsukishima-sensei's eyes reflects his own, maybe even the rest of the class who'd now shifted to a deafening degree of silence, because all Shou can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "Suzuki-kun's very participative today, isn't he?"
Shou grinds his chair when he gets up to stand, chuckling as he receives the chalk from her with a similar bravado. "Ah, now don't get all sentimental over me, Sensei. I'll get all teary-eyed here!"
Soft laughter erupts around the room, the occasional swell of good-natured noise that Tsukishima-sensei has to pipe down with friendly shushing. Bodes well for his ego, Shou isn't going to lie, but right now it means nothing to him.
His legs move of their own accord, it should be a normal pace from an outsider’s point of view, but the fist Shou tucks inside a pocket quivers, unhelped when he passes the front row and rounds Tsukishima-sensei’s table.
He looks back, once, unthinkingly gravitating to Ritsu's assigned seat and—
Maybe for a moment they lock gazes.
Shou's first to look away again, not even giving himself enough time to study what his face meant to say. All he gathers is that Ritsu's indifference had done nothing but stick out like a sore thumb.
Right.
That's the only reason why he immediately caught his attention. He’s easy to spot because he doesn’t wear the same face as everyone else. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Shou isn't going to fall apart over Ritsu.
Well.
At least. Ritsu doesn't have to know.
Shou steps up to the blackboard, runs through the word problem in his mind one more time, and at the very first line he writes, the chalk simply snaps in half.
* * *
Shou’s lunch was a three-step plan: get out of the room, grab a soda from the nearest vending machine (there was none, he had to compromise with a couple milk drinks instead), and get back lickity-split.
He spends the rest of his free time on his phone. And five minutes before the bell, not that Shou had been paying attention or anything, Ritsu comes back to the classroom. Beelining for his seat. Sliding his bento into his desk compartment.
And for a fraction of a second, he looks back at Shou.
His gaze must have stayed longer, it probably lingers, bearing with it an expression he might have understood, but Shou will never have to know.
Because Shou deliberately turns away.
He faces the window on the far wall, watching the blue sky with no particular interest, only gazing far for the sake of looking busy. Two crows pass his view. And a little to the left, that distant cloud looks like an old man sitting on a toilet.
Shou does anything to keep his brain from wandering back to Ritsu.
Because it’s become more and more apparent that Ritsu does just fine without him, so Shou isn’t obligated to care.
The only thing that rips him free from his trance is the ringing of the bell, filling the ambience with the sound of his classmates scampering back to their respective desks, then with the addition of Miyagawa-sensei’s voice from podium, instructing: “Alright, alright, everyone pipe down. Class rep, let’s start with the greetings.”
The classroom falters into a pin-drop silence. Anticipating.
“Class rep?” Miyagawa-sensei asks again a heartbeat later, looking around expectantly as he fixes his glasses.
Shou doesn’t have to turn to know what was going on, because everyone’s eyes, including his own, had already navigated their way to center column, front row.
Two seconds pass, three, five… Miyagawa-sensei eventually has to bend forwards to get into eye level and coo:
“Earth to Kageyama-kun.”
And immediately Ritsu bolts out of his seat as if it had spontaneously caught on fire, and the entire classroom explodes with laughter. Shou can admit to having contributed a smile, albeit small, but it disappears completely when he catches Ritsu’s hand trembling before he rests it on his nape.
And at that moment Ritsu’s pulse was his own—raging in his chest, his head, even his stomach for all he knew.
Shou bites his teeth together to keep them from chattering.
On the other hand, two seats away, Ritsu has his head dipped the entire time Miyagawa-sensei hushes the room.
“I’m sorry.”
Miyagawa-sensei all but laughs, waving the notion off with a blithe hand. “Don’t mind, don’t mind. Go on, then. Let’s get class started with a greeting.”
Ritsu heaves a heavy sigh, haphazardly turning once to face the class and miserably announcing with a tired and strained smile, “You heard him. Everybody, rise.”
A few more snickers run across the room, and the chairs shift in no orchestration whatsoever, and by the time everybody’s back in their seats, Shou can’t keep his eyes off the back of Ritsu’s head.
* * *
Shou had successfully clambered up to Ritsu’s balcony without alerting anyone other than the neighbor’s guard dog (and it didn’t leave him alone until five minutes later when a street cat happened to walk past the property, and suddenly the dog was off its merry way).
Now that he’s here, it begs the question:
What’s next?
Shou… actually doesn’t know.
In addition to the barking he had to sit through, Shou dawdles for at least another minute longer, pacing back and forth, staring down the glass doors and the mint curtains behind them, as if somehow they’d all magically open.
Like it can’t get any worse, Ritsu’s lights are closed. The guy’s probably downstairs having dinner with his parents.
But Shou tries his luck anyway.
If Ritsu’s there, great. If he isn’t, then oh, what a shame! He’d be so disappointed, very, definitely, truly, madly and deeply—but oh well, guess it’d be time to go home. How utterly depressing.
He has to swallow down the taste of bile permeating his tongue.
Please be at dinner.
Shou reluctantly raises a hand to the glass pane, lining his knuckles to the surface, and very lightly, he starts to knock. Once. Twice. On the third count, he whispers Ritsu’s name under his breath.
He knocks a little louder—he wishes he could turn around now and leave—and a few more knocks—Shou’s fingers are visibly trembling and he tells himself it’s the cold summer wind.
“Ritsu,” he calls quietly. Shou pauses to draw a sharp breath through the thin partition between his lips, and he knocks again. “Are you—?”
The curtains whisk open in one swift motion.
Once Shou’s eyes readjust to the shadows of his bedroom, he instantly fixes his gaze on Ritsu’s glare, barely visible through what little light the streetlamp down the road has to offer, but the message is loud and clear:
Shou isn’t welcome here. Ritsu wants him to leave. It’s a language that needs no translation.
And Shou had loathed this entire visit for a reason, he almost obliges and turns to go, but the door unlocks with a full-bodied click and it slides right open.
Ritsu simply steps to the side, jerking his head toward the cloak of darkness behind him.
“In,” he instructs gruffly, almost as if he’d just woken up from a nap. His eyes are downcast. “You’re shaking like a cat caught in a downpour. I know you said you don’t need me pitying you, but you sure get out of your way to make it so damn hard, don’t you?”
Shou takes a deep breath.
“Thank y—”
“Shoes.”
“Right, sorry. My bad.”
Shou drops his bag, drops to the floor after it, untying his laces when he usually doesn’t bother and it’s been well over half a year since he last did. “Question, how long have you—”
Shou clears his throat. “How long have you known I was out there…?”
“Since the second you arrived,” Ritsu answers flatly. “You were all over my curtains like the shittiest shadow puppet play I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh.”
Shou’s almost too embarrassed to get back up. But he manages, still, with whatever willpower he has left, stringing along his bag and shuffling awkwardly to Ritsu’s study table like he’s never been here before. He doesn’t even sit.
Instead he heavily leans against the wall parallel, letting go of his knapsack to cross his arms over his chest.
Across the room, Ritsu goes to flick the lights on. It sends Shou’s retinas on another run for their money, but Shou doesn’t loosen his tongue, not even to wince or complain. Doesn’t make it hurt any less either way.
“Couldn’t bother to change before coming over?” Ritsu asks, probably to mock him but it’s too bland to qualify as derision. He pads his way back over to Shou, only to stop and settle on the edge of the bed instead. A safe distance from him. Maybe a little overdone.
A bit more of this Shou might actually have to clarify he isn’t about to throw hands.
“I haven’t gone home yet,” Shou confesses quietly.
“It’s near seven in the evening, Suzuki,” Ritsu stresses like it isn’t obvious enough. Angry, he tries to be, but it lacks so much of that reverberation to come across as so. He winds up sounding like he were merely grumbling to himself. “Christ, it’s a student violation to be out this late, you must be out of your mind—"
“Might just be.” Shou has to remind himself to breathe. Looking away, down at Ritsu’s shirt, his sweatpants, the floor, then to the desk right beside him, before ultimately returning his gaze to Ritsu. “I did just wait hours on end at the council office for someone who apparently never even showed up for club. And despite getting shooed away by the council VP, stupidly I waited at the school gates in the off chance someone was still in-campus.”
Shou shrugs. “Turns out they weren’t.”
Two beats pass before Ritsu can huff a sigh out his nostrils. “That makes two of us, then,” he murmurs, looking down to fiddle with his thumbs. “I waited for someone to show up for lunch, I couldn’t even eat without him.” They lock eyes, and Ritsu purses his lips into a tight line. “He never came.”
The mental image floods Shou’s head. The idea of Ritsu sitting alone on a bench made for two. Waiting, looking up at the sky, hoping, thinking.
Shou’s stomach flips uncomfortably. His right hand had never felt this empty since the day Ritsu tried holding it, and the apology he put together the other day makes its presence known in the shape of the lump in his throat.
Shou opens his mouth. He wants it out, he wants his guilt acknowledged as much as every little thing he'd been doing wrong, every thought and every idea before they eat him up from the inside.
But the sound never comes, it never comes, and Ritsu sees the way his lips part, and he sees how they seal again as pathetic of a sight it must have been.
And Ritsu smiles.
"I'm sorry."
Ritsu’s voice is small. Brittle. As if any louder the cracks of his composure would continue to spread invasively, until it shatters into pieces so fine he can't pick them up—Shou isn't a stranger to the sensation, though he certainly could live without it.
And Shou going through it is one thing. Seeing Ritsu struggle so much he can't hide it is a different matter altogether, and all Shou can do is miserably shift his weight between his feet.
Perfect boyfriend material.
“Ignoring you,” Ritsu starts. “I-it was never intentional. I just didn’t know what to tell you, and I didn’t think I was ready to talk to you yet, and it dragged out for so long I… God, I don’t know.”
Ritsu sighs again, runs a hand through his hair, then down his face, before ultimately deciding to rest it on a hip, while another rubs circles on a temple. "I might have… overreacted. The other day. And it was never anything you did”—Ritsu gestures to him—“I-I was just…”
Another sigh. Ritsu briefly buries his face in his hands.
“I was having a rough enough day,” he mutters. “Things were piling up at club, I was getting overwhelmed, and I just dragged you into this whole mess because you were close to me, and I shouldn’t have—I really shouldn’t have.”
The silence creeps in as soon as Ritsu stops talking, waiting, again, for Shou to butt in and open his mouth, but the latter’s frozen in place with his lips sewn shut. If there’s disappointment in Ritsu’s eyes, Shou doesn’t see, and Ritsu simply takes the chance to crawl into bed, lying supine to face the ceiling, fingers interlaced and resting gently on his chest.
They hold gazes, still, for the longest minute of Shou’s life, it feels like forever, only coming to a full stop when Ritsu looks away to continue.
“I didn’t even need your class notes,” he confesses beneath a breath. Sniffling once when he breaks into a broken smile. “It was a dumb excuse to get out of work and spend time with you. Clearly, that plan went great. Now I have more work than ever before, and one less boyfriend probably.”
“You—” Shou has to pause to lower his volume, clear his voice another time, and when Ritsu scrutinizes him with his gaze, Shou instinctively turns away.
Yeah, no, he really can’t say the next few words to his face.
His legs move of their own volition. Slowly but surely approaching the bed as Shou reaches for his voice again.
“You—I-I mean, I’m not… really sure just how many boyfriends you actually have,” Shou begins quietly, finally sinking his weight into the mattress opposite Ritsu’s side. “I’m hoping it’s just one. B-but. You know. You… you haven’t lost me.”
He slides a folded leg atop the sheets. Shou’s hand immediately stands to attention to draw warbled circles over his pants. “Can we—?”
They make eye contact. Almost immediately, Shou’s confidence flickers, he turns away again, to the far wall where Ritsu's mother keeps his medals on display. He takes another deep breath. Lets it out slower than he had inhaled.
“Can we just… leave the god awful assumptions to me?” Shou quips. Wisecracking doesn’t work the same way when he can barely tap into his usual charisma, this entire conversation is uncharted territory and Shou has never been so afraid to speak.
But at the same time he’s also never felt more courageous to do so.
Shou scratches at the back of his neck, gracing Ritsu one look and holding it for three seconds. And three seconds extends to four, four extends to five.
“It’s uncomfortable seeing you steal bits and pieces from my personality. I thought being stupid was my thing.” Shou shrugs. “I didn’t say we could share, did I?”
And Ritsu laughs a wet laugh, one Shou near-instantly regrets causing, because never before had it been rubbed in his face that Ritsu was this close to being moved to tears. He wonders if Ritsu had actually been like this the entire day. Always at the brink of bursting, always on the edge and near falling, barely managing to keep himself together for long.
"Stupid, he says," Ritsu whispers, "yet I've never seen him so present in class for the last five years I've known him."
His eyes flutter to the ceiling. A habit Shou's become too familiar with to not know.
Ritsu's trying not to cry.
And in that moment Shou releases his hold on his inhibitions, thoughts racing and adrenaline pumping and his heart barely catching up. His face burns, he tries not to think about it, because otherwise he'd never grow the courage to get around to do it.
Shou finally opens his arms.
And time slows down to a halt.
A tear still falls from Ritsu's eyes, but the one thing that keeps him from spiraling into a full breakdown is the confusion that imbues itself in his expression. Ritsu gets up, slowly, reeling himself into a sit to get into eye level. "What are you doing?"
Shou has badly wanted to look away, but he steels himself, he does his best to maintain eye contact, Shou's determined. He isn't wavering.
Even if the longer he holds this position the more he wants to die.
He plasters on a smile, not knowing much else how to cope, his unmasked embarrassment in all its glory bubbling to the surface, bringing a rosy color to where Shou's blood gathers beneath his skin.
"I—I don't know," he whispers. Heaving a breath in lieu of a proper laugh.
Shou can't feel his fingers.
But when Ritsu briskly throws his legs off to weave around the bed, Shou stands to intercept him, and wordlessly, it happens.
Shou had agonized about being in this position, going over it too many times to count in a span of three seconds as he waited for Ritsu to approach. He'd wondered where his arms would go, how he would twist about, if they would ever accidentally hit each other's elbows and ruin the moment entirely.
Contrary to anything he'd been bracing himself for, the hug happens spontaneously. Shou can't even remember most of how it started, just the looming shadow of Ritsu's figure coming closer and closer, and Shou's eyes simply close of their own accord.
“You’re stiff,” Ritsu notes, chest reverberating with Shou’s entire being, heat seeping through his clothes, and Shou doesn’t have half the heart to complain.
Of course he was going to be stiff as a plank, though. As embarrassing as it is to be called out for it.
Shou had plainly wrapped his arms around whatever of Ritsu he could easily grasp, and blindly his fingers perched on his back, cautious and careful, ready to rip themselves free and disengage the very minute Ritsu said so.
Shou hadn’t reckoned it was going to be that obvious.
“I don’t do this a lot,” he quietly admits.
“I always thought you hated it.”
“It?”
“Being touched.”
Shou doesn’t realize he hitches his breath until he has to let it go. For a fraction of a second, strength flows to the tips of his fingers. Healing. Compelling. Releasing. He takes another shaky breath. “It’s… it’s actually the other way around.”
“But you seemed so upset when I did it.” Ritsu’s pout transmutes well into his voice. “I played with your hair once and you looked like you could have skinned me alive.”
“I wasn’t ready for it, alright? Sue me. But I don’t… I don’t hate it.” Shou averts his gaze out of habit. “Everything just feels so new.”
“So you just mean to tell me you’re touch-starved…?” Ritsu’s voice falters, petering off into a huff—a stifled laugh, no less—maybe a tad too haughty and proud for comfort. Shou nearly takes offense.
But out of the blue, Shou feels Ritsu’s whole body relax. It slumps against him, perhaps not heavily as limply, but just in the way he would have pictured a person to melt, quite like candle wax incessantly teased by a dancing flame.
And Ritsu does just that, his face in the crook of his neck, breathing against his skin and leaving Shou tingling at every nerve ending.
“God, you’re so annoying,” Ritsu whimpers. “And here I was, thinking you’d regretted going out with me.”
The last words ring a bell in Shou’s skull.
He doesn’t even realize his fingers had dug into the back of Ritsu’s shirt until moments later but even then he’s past the point of caring.
Shou wants him, every inch of him, every touch, every loving gaze and every affectionate reply. Selfishly he had ached and craved and yearned to be loved as long as he can remember, and it’s here, it’s all finally here, nestled in his arms and filling the air he breathes with his scent.
Caulking every hole that had opened within Shou with warmth and nothing but.
Because beneath what they can see, their hearts pound against each other, discordant and inconsistent, hammering to different melodies but playing the same song.
This is all too much for Shou.
His brain floods with a warmth he can’t control because control had long slipped from his grasp. But he buckles, he can’t pull away. Ritsu’s hold is tight, getting tighter, and Shou soaks it all in with no restriction.
Ritsu’s loyalty, Ritsu’s dedication, Ritsu’s acceptance, and everything that he is because he’s perfect, and Shou in stark contrast isn’t, and the guilt stirs within him like white hot, caustic fluid.
Shou’s mouth opens before he even realizes what he has to say.
“I’m sorry.”
Ritsu stills as he lets the silence pass through like a breeze that hefts the curtains.
“You don’t have to apologize for this, Shou.”
“It’s not…” Shou rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue and bundles Ritsu’s shirt when he balls his fists. “It’s not about the hug, jackass.”
“Oh.”
And there, Shou feels it, Ritsu’s gentle pull as he tries to retract and break free, but whatever strength Shou has left, he unthinkingly holds Ritsu with. Tethering him to his person, and deafening him with a message his mouth could never nail louder.
Not yet.
It’s impossible for him to not have noticed Shou’s tugging him back into position, and Ritsu all but slightly lifts his head.
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t…” And when Shou’s voice fails, he counts to three, burrowing his face in Ritsu’s shoulder briefly before withdrawing half a second later. “I don’t want you looking at me. When I say it. Do you mind—?”
“No,” Ritsu answers quickly. His hands lower to the small of Shou’s back, he squeezes him once. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me to. What did you want to talk about?”
Oh boy. It’s showtime.
Shou has to blink to keep his eyes dry.
“It’s… I spent the entire morning, making sure I—”
He heaves another frustrated sigh, only to breathe in more of Ritsu straight after as if he’d have to lose him the next day. A beat passes. Ritsu shifts his head to his direction, anticipating the rest of the sentence, waiting and saying nothing to implore.
Shou runs his tongue between his teeth.
“I made sure I wasn’t going to show you. Or anyone. Just… how I reacted after yesterday.” He swallows the gob down his throat. “Thought to myself I wasn’t gonna fall apart and all that crap. Occured to me a little later that maybe you were. And there I was, right behind you, not even five feet away. Acting like I didn’t give a shit because it was payback.”
“I’m sorry for not showing up for lunch,” Shou finishes softly, choking up at the last syllable. “And for yelling. And pretty much every other thing I’ve done wrong since last week. That… wasn’t cool of me—I’m sorry. Really. I am—”
“You don’t owe me any apologies, Shou,” Ritsu hisses. “You don’t owe me anything actually.”
Shou does his best not to throw back his head and groan, thankful for the shift in the overall energy of the room. “Pretty sure your shitty ass boyfriend has to compensate somehow. I owe you a lot.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
And Shou had been too caught up in the banter to realize that Ritsu instigated the withdrawal. It doesn’t hit him until he realizes he’s swimming in Ritsu’s eyes, until he realizes Ritsu’s eyes weren’t even supposed to be accessible to him in the first place, had they remained in an embrace.
Neither of them back away for once, even as Shou blinks himself back awake, but the moment is short-lived because Ritsu’s hands settle upon his cheeks, catching his jaw across his palms and alighting his thumbs well beneath Shou’s eyes.
“Fine,” Ritsu acquieces sharply, harriedly even, as if he were trying to catch his breath, sparing him a click of his tongue and a second’s worth of a scowl. “Compensate, then.”
Shou’s first kiss is soft. Sweet. Fast.
Immediately interrupted because the epiphany of what Ritsu had just done dawns on him late, and Ritsu practically leaps back in horror. “Wait, I-I didn’t mean to—”
Shou simply looks at him like it had been the stupidest thing he’d heard all day.
“Mean it this next one, then.”