積ん読

Ukai Keishin, the informational booklet reads, a boy in your year, class 2-1, according to Hirano. She pouts at the division of your attention, your fixation on someone other than her ace player. A slight on her tastes, you suppose, but you assuage her concerns by asking whether she really wants you to crush on him, too. She laughs, the sound light like the chime of a bell before agreeing that, no, it’s better if you don’t like the same boy. The game finishes and she whisks you away to the entrance hall, all for the opportunity to speak with the team before they depart for the bus.

You spot him right away, though it takes him a minute longer to notice you in kind. He speaks with a coach who shares his eyes, his attention glossing over you before coming back, comical in the way he looks around as if he couldn’t believe it was him you were looking at. His teammates notice, guffawing and pushing him, making you laugh at the antics of boys whose lives center around their hobby.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hey, there.” Your smile comes easy, already half-formed by your laughter. “I enjoyed watching you play.”

He scratches the back of his neck, eyes shifting to the side, the slightest downturn to the corners of his lips. “You sure it was me you saw out there?”

As if there are any other players with close-cropped hair and a quasi-delinquent aura to them. “Yeah. You came in and did your job.” And did it well, in your opinion, though you don’t know enough about volleyball for that to mean anything.

“Sure, sure. Don’t see why it’s all that impressive,” he scoffs, though you catch the distinct darkening of his cheeks. There’s a chip on his shoulder, a bit of frustration present, and you wonder whether he wishes he could play more.

Before you can answer, the coach calls them, waving them toward the front. You take the hint, an impending goodbye heralding the end to your quick introduction. He glances over his shoulder before appraising you again, mouth parting like he has more to say.

“Maybe I can find the words later,” you tell him, a quiet promise folded into your words. His lips quirk, not quite a smirk, and you take it as an understanding of what goes unsaid.

It’s easy. He makes it easy—integrating yourself into his life like you’ve always belonged. Little jokes here and there, failed attempts at tutoring that turn into hangouts more often than not, attending volleyball games regardless of whether he plays. It feels like the start of something, the gentle pull of something you cannot see and cannot quantify, not that you pay it much mind.

II.

During the summer of your eighteenth year, Ukai comes by your house for the first time for a study session.

The offer was genuine, his complaints about his grades reaching critical mass the closer he got to the training camps that his grades would preclude him from—apparently the disadvantages of having a grandfather for a coach outnumber the benefits—but Hirano turned it into an elaborate plot of sorts. Still set in her quest for love, you half-expect the call that comes when Ukai arrives. Abandoning him in the genkan, you answer the phone, hearing her hurried apologies interrupted by a fit of giggles, explaining her decision to attend the cinema with Ishikawa instead, away from watchful parents. Ukai overhears, snorting if only because it’s only been a handful of months since she cornered him in the hall, demanding he introduce her to the transfer student in his class. Ishikawa makes her laugh in ways her volleyball player didn’t, satisfying you enough not to make a stink.

That doesn’t stop you and Ukai from placing bets on how long it’ll take before they actually get together.

The television plays in the background, still on from when you were waiting, its chatter constant and distracting. Despite your best efforts, studying gets waylaid, your carefully highlighted and organized notes holding his attention for eleven minutes and not a second more. He shows off his exceptional prowess in distracting you, talking about the few games he plays in before joking about his grandfather, until eventually you both are flipping through the channels, looking for something interesting to watch. Kikujiro is only a couple minutes in and you both argue about the finer details of the plot, the movie apparently a guilty pleasure for you both from when you guys were in middle school.

Hunger wins out in only a matter of minutes, Ukai following you to raid your kitchen while the movie plays in the background, ignoring your continued and futile attempts to get him to return to the books.

At some point, you both grow quiet, comfortable in the silent company of the other as you sometimes do. Kikujiro and Masao sit on the side of the road, with no money and no car, and there’s something about the way Kikujiro encourages Masao to put a tack in the road that tickles you. It builds in your chest as you watch him place it in the street, hoping a car would run it over so they could get it to stop and manipulate the driver into helping them out. The first car passes and they adjust its placement, and the second car hits it, the speakers on the television offering a clean pop! of the tire and you and Ukai split into a fit of laughter at the sight of Kikujiro and Masao sprinting in the opposite direction of the car running off the road. Tears gather in your eyes and part of you thinks it’s less about the movie and more about the company, the way your smile always comes easy when he’s around.

It carries on, Hisaishi’s music providing a lovely score as everything else fades into the background, your and Ukai’s conversation roving over hypotheticals:

What lengths would you go to find a long lost relative? (Probably not as far as Masao, but wouldn’t that be nice?). What kind of relative would make you go on that kind of trek? (Ukai argued that a sibling would motivate him, spoken like an only child who never fought over who gets to take a shower first). Where would you go if you had unlimited funds? (Hokkaido, Kyushu, Kansai, Kanto, Chubu, to keep it simple). What would you want to see? (This question easily turned into a series of mini-arguments over what would make for better experiences).

One thing that arises is a mutual agreement that Miyagi feels too intimate and familiar, not ideal for a proper adventure. It comes before a promise couched in a joke, lighthearted and silly, something that feels almost like an impossible dream—at some point in the future, the two of you will explore more of Japan beyond the tiny corner of it that’s claimed your lives so far.

III.

The first time you have the means to make any sort of headway into your promise is the summer that you’re twenty.

Ukai always shrugged it off when you reminded him of it, telling you it was a joke, even though he always smiled and agreed that it’d be nice to have a proper vacation.

So, between university classes and family obligations, you worked, taking any and all kinds of odd jobs to save up money for a trip. Hirano told you that you were being silly, but Ishikawa agreed that it’d be a fun idea, a road trip across Japan. While the other two brushed you off, you and Ishikawa plotted and planned, working against the naysaying of your other two friends.

Everything was careful and meticulous, the costs detailed as you reigned in your fantasies and focused on what would be feasible. Starting as something monumental, grand, an ideal of a freedom adulthood responsibilities would soon make difficult, you molded it into something tangible, entirely within reach. Hirano and Ukai both scoffed at your idea of traveling to Yamanashi, though Ishikawa wore them down all the same, coming to trust the joint idea to hike the Yoshida Trail of Mt. Fuji. (They ultimately agreed when you and Ishikawa told them you’d cover travel and lodging costs along with doing all the heavy lifting as far as preparations went).

You stand at the edge of the trail on the mountain’s side, the cool of Fujisan’s shadow ebbing away with the rise of the sun that paints the sky. Deep blues belonging to the night melt away for the yellows and oranges of the day until it all turns blinding. There’s still a chill that has settled in your bones, sticking to you as though steeling you against the sweltering heat that will come with the summer day—a promise that the sun will come and kiss your skin again.

Hirano and Ishikawa are ahead on the trail, their voices carrying in the silence of nature, and you turn to Ukai in time for it to rattle against your ribs. A revelation you’re a little scared to have, something you’ve been standing on the cusp of the entirety of your friendship.

In the warmth of the morning sun, with gentle shadows of the eyelashes on his cheeks, your heart thuds, halting and startling, making you buzz.

“This isn’t something you can see in Sendai.” You’re not sure whether your words carry beyond the immediate space before you, voice light and sounding foreign, nerves eating away at you in a way they hadn’t before.

With the quirking of his lips, you smile, involuntary, and he answers, “Eh. A sunrise is a sunrise. We didn’t need to come all the way out here for this.”

His eyes flick to you, landing on the smile that was turning into a playful scowl. It encourages an answering smile, a continuation of your give and take, the natural development of your relationship. Pushing at his shoulder, you scrunch up your face before sticking your tongue out, making him laugh, causing your own.

“Don’t be an ass. You know it’s different here.”

Beneath the vastness of the open sky, a day of adventure ahead of you, and the promise of good company beside you, you believe there’s no way Sendai could compare.

Ukai clicks his tongue in pure obstinance, his smile communicating more of his reluctance to admit you’re right than anything. “Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll drag you along for hatsuhinode and you’ll see that it’s all the same.”

Another promise, but you don’t mind.

As the climb continues, your muscles begin to ache, your once wonderful idea coming to bite you in the ass. Hirano similarly struggled—of you four, she was the one least physically prepared for the excursion—and your decision to slow down giving her a facsimile of grace.

She rests beside you and without so much as a glance says, “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“You like him. Like, really, truly like him. It’s kinda embarrassing.”

Your snort gets muffled with the sound of you rifling through the bag, searching for canteens. “You’re one to talk, pining after Ishikawa all these years.”

She laughs, the sound sounding like the breeze itself, and takes the water you offer. The sunlight plays in her stray hairs, giving her a glowing halo. “Are you saying you need me to set an example?”

“Hah! As if.” Like you, she carries this perfect idea of a confession, a lingering sense of idealistic romance pushed by her crush.

And, as if to prove you wrong, she spends the remainder of the hike by his side, only to confess upon reaching the summit, practiced and polished and definitely out of breath, leaving you in the dust. They leave you and Ukai together for the remainder of the trip, Hirano looking smug whenever you catch sight of her.

It’s not until you’re both soaking in the onsen at the day’s end that she reveals she had always intended to confess, but had hoped to goad you into action beforehand to give her a boost of courage. When you all gather for supper, it stays in your periphery, the constant exciting thrumming of your heart. There’s something in the way Ukai looks at you, a question that goes unasked, and for once you find yourself afraid to seek an answer.

If you’re wrong, if these feelings belong to you and you alone, what good does it do you to speak them aloud other than to potentially ostracize one of your best friends?

IV.

You’re twenty-six when Ukai returns to Karasuno.

In the months leading up to summer, Ukai would head to the izakaya tired and weary, complaining about the contemporary Japanese lit teacher who had taken over his old club. Each time, you smile and nod, staying silent in the face of his constant reassurances that he would not, under any circumstance, return to coach the new team.

(You knew from the moment you met him that he loved the sport too much to ever give it up.

He proved this time and again, dragging along Shimada and Takinoue into the neighborhood association despite their constant bellyaching in high school. Volleyball remained in his heart, almost as though part of his blood, and so, to you, there wasn’t any reality in which he didn’t return.)

The text comes a half-hour before and you’re about halfway done making gyoza when you call for him to let himself in. He lumbers forward, the weight of their loss weighing on his shoulders, the first display of such following the game. In his left hand is a pack of beer, and in his right, an unopened pack of cigarettes. Before you can chastise him, remind him he can’t smoke here, you see him—a haggard edge to him, tender in its nature. It’ll be gone before too long, simply needing someplace to rest before disappearing.

You swallow your words, instead stealing his pack before he can sit down.

The crackling of the food fills the space, the aroma growing stronger in your kitchen—pork and garlic chives making your mouth water. After a bit, Ukai approaches, grabbing the magnetized bottle opener from your fridge. There’s the refreshing crack of the first bottle, then the second, your hand already open and waiting for him to give you your drink.

Behind you, he leans against the counter, eyes unfocused when you look over your shoulder. After a beat, he says, “They were so close.”

“I know.” You remember the late night phone calls, the strategizing he would do, using you as a soundboard even though you could offer little feedback in turn. You remember his excitement, his surprise at their quick growth. But even you know that it would’ve been one hell of an achievement for them to make it all the way in their first tournament together, as unpolished as they were from inconsistent training over the years. Even still, it’s present in his voice, a similar desire to grow with them, to pass along his love for the sport in what little ways he can. “It was good of you to take them to Osuwari after the match. Sensei told me it was your idea.”

“Well, yeah. I can’t let those volleyball nerds miss out on a valuable Karasuno tradition. Besides, someone has to teach them about proper diets for athletes!”

It makes you want to laugh. It’s been years, but you can still hear the reluctance with which he listened to his grandfather’s dietary recommendations if only because it was his grandfather. But if anyone would know better, it’d be Ukai.

“Oh, you almost sounded like a coach for a second,” you tease, taking a swig from your bottle, relishing the smooth citrus notes.

“Shut up, will you? If I’m going to do it, might as well do it right.”

“So you’re deciding to stick around? As Coach, I mean.”

Again, his eyes unfocus, and you wonder whether he’s replaying all his coy reluctance over the months, his insistence that if he did return, it’d only be for Nekoma, it’d only be for the qualifiers. Never accepting the permanence of the position. When his eyes find yours again, a similar resolve as when he made his promise on the side of Mt. Fuji. You’ve known the confirmation that swirls on his tongue, waiting to be spoken into the world.

“Yeah.” Sure, full of inevitability.

The gyoza finishes and he pops open a second beer, his cheeks turning red as you plop the food down in front of him. Instead of joining him, you appraise him, finding no signs of that weight he came in with, only the steady assurance of the choice he’s finally come to accept. It makes you smile, gentle, entirely for yourself.

“You’ll come to all the games, right? Cheer ‘em on?”

Sure, but it’s not quite them you’ll be supporting. Looking up, you find that smirk, a little lopsided and self-satisfied, and you warm, even without the benefit of your food. “When have I ever missed a game of yours, Ukai?”

V.

Ishikawa and Hirano are due to marry in Osaka the summer you’re twenty-eight.

The invitation came, followed by a call from Hirano, apologizing, telling you Osaka was Ishikawa’s idea and that she couldn’t say no. She struggled to believe you when you said it was fine, the perfect excuse to take a week off in August to explore a city you’ve always wanted to visit. Then Ukai called, asking if you could believe them, inviting him to a wedding set so far away. And then you reminded him that the Tokyo training camp would have finished two weeks before, that they would not be involved in any other training camps, that Karasuno summer break would be in full swing, and that it had been three years since he had last taken an honest vacation.

All the tiny day trips you took across Tohoku on stray weekends here and there all came to a halt following his return to Karasuno, not that you could complain. Coaching made him happy, made him smile in ways you hadn’t even realized you were missing. Even still, it doesn’t take much more convincing for him to agree to a week long road trip to Kansai.

It starts with you trying to cram your luggage into his tiny kei car, bothering him about the little yellow warning light on his dashboard that could symbolize any number of things, only for him to brush you off. Two hours into a ten hour drive to Osaka, the rear driver-side tire becomes flat, the car puttering pathetically as he pulls off to the side of the road. The Japanese Auto Federation contact is already pulled up on your phone before he can turn the car off.

“Don’t say it.”

“Say what?” Your thumb hovers over the call button and you decidedly keep your attention glued to your device. (It takes everything in your willpower not to laugh, to ignore the way he slumps forward in the driver seat in your peripheral). “Something the matter, Ukai?”

“I’ll say! We’re still eight hours away from Osaka and we’ve got a busted tire! Why the hell aren’t you freaking out more?”

Truth is, you’re simply glad to fulfill another aspect of your promise, to spend time with him away from the obligations of work and bills. But the part of you that loves to tease him keeps you from expressing any of this, instead calling for help and receiving an ETA of an hour.

The two of you got out of the car, enjoying the warmth of the day while you waited. Minutes ticked by, Ukai feeling too guilty to make for good conversation. (While you pointed out the warning light on the dash earlier, it really could mean anything from a gas cap not being tight enough to low tire pressure. Checking all possible reasons for its presence would’ve taken more time than this hour waiting).

Around the fifty-minute mark, you turn to him, the memory of your first promise lingering in your mind. You trace his profile with your eyes, the line of his nose, the gentle creases from his frequent smiles and shared laughter. “You think someone did us dirty like in Kikujiro?”

“What, you mean like someone put a tack in the road to try and hitchhike?” He knows you’re joking—he has to—but that doesn’t stop him from turning his head in the way you came.

“Yeah. What if it just… stuck so perfectly in the tire that we didn’t know it for a while?”

“I think you watch too many movies. We’re on the expressway. We’d be going too fast for that anyway.” But he smiles that smile while he lights up his cigarette, joining you as you lean against the little yellow car that’s taken you on many adventures before.

Clicking your tongue at him, you gesture for his smoke, a silent request he rarely obliged. “Sure, but you’ve seen it, too. Hell, you knew exactly what I was talking about without having to specify which scene.”

To your surprise, he hands it over, fingers brushing against yours, a fleeting touch that brands you as quickly as a cigarette’s kiss might.

“Got me there.”

Pulling out his phone, he checks the time, the hour almost up. As you take a drag, acrid smoke curling around your fingers, his mouth turns into half a scowl.

“Should we try hitchhiking to get into town and fix it ourselves?” Ukai offers you his pocket ashtray, holding it for you as you tap the cig, letting it gather in the pouch.

“Yeah? How do you propose we get people to stop? They’re going too fast.”

“We could, I dunno… use a tack?” It comes on the edge of your laugh, a tiny chuckle that grows in volume, becomes full-bodied, impossible for him to not join in. He steals back his cigarette as you lean on him for support, fingers digging into his arm.

“We could kill someone like that,” he says between laughs. “Or do you want us to get our cardio in for the day, running away from the scene of the crime?”

“Maybe. It’s been a while since we got up to some shit.”

You stick your tongue out, a playful gesture you’ve done a thousand times before. His smile is slow to fade, eyes glued to the shape of your mouth. The seconds tick down and your heart begins to thunder against your ribs and for a second you wonder whether this is it—

Only for a car to slow and pull in behind you, the JAF offering professionalism and a spare tire.

The following day, you arrive at the wedding without issue. You and Ukai stay close, small laughs and warm conversations keeping you both safe from wandering eyes. In the face of your friends’ love, outpouring and borderline overt, it’s the first time you feel almost painfully single. But then Ukai will crack a joke and nudge your shoulder and that moment by the car replays in your mind and you think maybe you aren’t as alone as you feel.

VI.

In the months following the road trip to Kansai, everything has shifted five centimeters to the left. It’s impossible to describe, difficult to pinpoint, but everything is heightened, your skin buzzing in ways it wasn’t before. The following hatsuhinode trip is no exception to this.

Keishin kept his promise following your trip to Mt. Fuji, dragging your ass out of bed before the asscrack of that first dawn, letting your barrage of complaints and half-hearted insults slide off his back as easily as rain sluicing off his umbrella. Each year, he’d take you to the Taihakusan Forest, this one spot in the foothills perfect for peeking through the trees to look out over southern Sendai and Natori, out to the ocean.

(Each year, he’d drag you through one trail or another, always joking about attempting the climb to Mt. Taihaku despite the frigid conditions. Each year, he’d find himself out of breath a couple hours in, ignoring your laughs as he’d pull out a cigarette when you two reached the car.)

This year, however, he takes you to the ocean. Nagome, specifically, the Yasaka Shrine at the end of the road. He’s quiet in ways he usually isn’t, though exhaustion doesn’t eat at him like it does you. It’s been years since he started tending the land, acclimated to early hours that regularly make you blanch. The drive is mostly silent, sleep clinging to your mind and body like the sticky cobwebs in your garden.

The waves crash against the concrete as you step out, the mist of the sea landing on the skin of your cheeks, this chill almost comforting as opposed to what you’d find at home. Keishin comes to stand at your side, the cold keeping you two close enough that your arms brush against one another. And when the sun rises, its reflection broken upon the surface of the Pacific, you put to thought your wish for the year, something that’s been building in your heart for far longer than this past year.

“So? Ready to admit that the sunrise atop Fujisan is something special?” Another tradition of sorts, the first question you always ask once the sun is fully visible in the morning sky.

He snorts, the sound low and familiar. “Not even a little bit.”

The sky turns the vibrant orange of daidai, the waves following if only for a moment, blues overwhelmed with the brilliance of the sun. Yeah, you could admit this sunrise is something special, too.

“Got a wish for the New Year?” you ask, unable to take your eyes off the ebbing and flowing of the sea, the crashing of the waves against the islets scattered off the coast.

“Yeah, but I can’t tell you.”

The lift of your lips is involuntary, as it so often is with him. “Why not?”

You feel the warmth of his attention as he turns to face you, but you keep your attention ahead, your own wish engraving itself upon your fourth and fifth ribs.

“You gonna tell me yours if I tell you mine?” Your smile turns into a grin, answer tucked inside, visible if not audible. Keishin laughs, the sound almost enough to warm your face. “See? You won’t even tell me!”

“Yeah, cause I want it to come true.”

Keishin’s laugh chimes again, his hand coming up, nudging your shoulder before turning around. “And you think I don’t?”

It grows cold as he walks away, soft steps tapping against the concrete path.

“C’mon. I brought breakfast from Sakanoshita.”

“How generous of you.”

You’re slow to leave, still enchanted by the dance between the sun and the sea, turning after a minute more. He waits for you at the base of the stairs of the artificial bank, expectant but not impatient. The briny scent hangs heavy in the air as you come closer, and you wonder whether this is the year you find the courage to change anything.

VII.

You’re twenty-nine by the time August 8th rolls around, Sendai abuzz with the last of Tanabata Matsuri.

Keishin pulls you along as you still say your goodbyes to Takinoue and Shimada in the izakaya, laughing as he does. The moment you stop pulling against him, he releases you, trusting you to manage yourself while his hand jams itself in his pocket, reaching for his last cigarette. You sway a little, your world still spinning, still blurred at the edges, the taste of sake still sitting on your tongue.

Tanzaku can be found in abundance everywhere, wishes written on colored slips of paper in hopes they’ll come true. It makes you smile, makes you hope, eight months having passed, seemingly no closer to mustering the courage to speak. But if all these people can hope and wish and pray then surely one of your wishes will come true—perhaps yours will, too.

A breeze blows through, hindered and halted by the city infrastructure, weak by the time it reaches you, though the tanzaku bob in greeting nonetheless. Petrichor filters through the air, hinting at an impending storm, punctuating the wafting scents of food—mapo yakisoba and ghoshiki somen and karinto and more—interrupting the way hunger hangs in the air, encouraging people to eat their fill. As you turn your nose to the air, lifting your chin in hopes of catching the promise of rain, you nearly run into something, saved by a familiar hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling you closer.

Keishin shakes his head, gentle and disbelieving, making you feel giddy. The sound of his sigh gets lost in the crowd and you wait for it, the eventual release of your arm to scratch the back of his neck as his eyes shift to the side, tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip before he’ll inevitably smile—because he will. His smiles always come easy when you’re around. You know this because they’ve been affecting you since he first directed it your way after a joke back in high school.

And he does. Smile. Reluctant, full of exasperation maybe, but you know that despite his outward composure, he’s just as buzzed as you. He can play the babysitter all he wants—he looks good doing it, coaching those kids from your old high school—but the truth of the matter is, he’s been waiting for a chance to properly drink, away from coaches and away from Sensei. The two of you weave through the crowd, everyone moving to watch the evening events. Keishin counts on their attention being elsewhere so the smoking areas will be mostly empty.

Sure enough, the closest one is barren, everyone hurrying home or toward the performances. Your mind swims, heart picking up at the solitude, a silly reaction, you think, considering how often you two have done this. This isn’t anything new, tonight isn’t anything special, and yet your heart patters, pathetically so, and you open your mouth, hoping to find some kind of distraction.

Anything.

(It’s a shame, then, that you get hung up on something that’s bothered you since Ishikawa’s wedding, lingering in the back of your mind in the quiet moments when you and Keishin are together.)

“Hey, Keishin,” you ask before you can help yourself.

He glances up, cigarette between his lips as he pulls out his lighter. “Oh, I never like that tone.”

“What tone? I have a tone?”

The lighter clicks a couple of times before lighting, its fluid running low. That first drag is a relief, the muscles in his face relaxing as he closes his eyes, the smoke escaping on his exhale. When he opens them again, they find you immediately, a little playful even as he frowns. “Yeah, you have a tone. You always use it when you’re about to poke me for answers.”

“Poke? I don’t poke.”

“You poke.” Said with a deadpan that makes you rethink the other times you’ve had questions for him.

(You’re coming up empty).

“I don’t think I do.”

“Of course you don’t think you do. You’re not the one getting poked!” Keishin points at you with his two fingers, his cigarette secured between them, the cherry red tip glowing.

Do you really poke? He makes it sound unpleasant. Do you make him feel unpleasant?

In the corner of your eye, he shifts his weight from one leg to the next, taking another drag, his smoke hovering in the air before dissipating. “Fine. Ask your question.”

Turning to him, you tease your bottom lip, turning the question over in your mind, still unsure of how to phrase it. It’s rather personal, you think. Enough that you haven’t asked. (Everyone else has asked, but you’ve always given him grace. It could be that you didn’t want to know the answer, afraid of what you might find out).

“What? What is it?”

You open your mouth only to close it, realizing that you are, in fact, about to poke. “I think… I’m about to poke.”

His smile is instantaneous, incredulous. “See? You poke!”

“You’re being a little silly, don’t you think?” The words tumble in your mouth, knowing that if you’re going to ask, it’s gotta be now. With a deep inhale, you find the courage, digging deep inside you and pulling it forward. (It almost feels like you’re finding the courage to do something else). “Why are you still single?”

Keishin’s smile evaporates, face going slack, slight worry stitching his brows together. “What?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wondering for a while.”

“Does it matter?” The answer comes quick, one of his rare deflections. Usually he’s honest, earnest. It always sticks out like a sore thumb when he’s not.

“I dunno. I’ve just been curious.”

“Why are you curious?”

It’s burned in the back of your mind, watching the younger Hirano sister make eyes at Keishin at the wedding and every time you’ve seen them interact since. Your mother certainly wants to know, having asked several times over the years why you don’t just marry the ‘Ukai boy,’ eventually counting among the many older women trying to set him up. You’ve never asked and it bothers you that you don’t know. Perhaps this is why you’ve kept your affections to yourself.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just… Takinoue still goes out to those singles meet-ups. Shimada’s been in a relationship for a while now. We were there for Ishikawa’s—”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“So touchy.” As he brings the cigarette up to his lips, you step forward, plucking it from his hand, your fingers lingering against his. Maintaining eye contact, you pull back, bringing it to your lips instead. The nicotine calms your nerves. “I’m just… curious. I know the women in the neighborhood all want to set you up with their daughters and granddaughters. They ask me about it all the time.”

Usually this would be the point where he steals his smoke back, but he watches as your lips shape around his cigarette, the intensity of his stare making your skin buzz, a faint electricity humming. Instead, he offers you his ashtray, nearly dropping it before it makes it into your hand.

“They shouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, well, they say you usually don’t stay on the phone long enough for them to ask anymore.”

(Not that you can blame him).

“Because it always turns into an attempt at match-making.”

Part of you wants to laugh, but you continue, not wanting to let him get away with not answering. “Even my mom got on me about it. She tried using me to set you up with Kominato’s daughter.” Among others, but Kominato’s the only one who actually gets on with Keishin.

He steps forward, brows coming together completely, trying to piece it together. “Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know! You ask like I have an inkling as to what she’s thinking half the time.” It’s a lie. You know why she’s pressing, and you’re a little pissed that her plan is… kind of working right now. “She’s always gone on about how you’re such a great catch. I guess she finally got tired of you being single.”

Something shifts behind his eyes, making him lean in. When you take a step back, taking another drag from his cig, he doesn’t follow.

“Well? You didn’t give me any phone numbers.”

Your laughter bubbles up, making you choke on the smoke. “Do you want me to try for her? Here I thought I was doing you a favor.”

His laughter follows, realizing what he implied. (It makes you wonder what exactly was the purpose of his asking). “Please, no.”

“But you haven’t answered my question.”

“You turn people down, too.”

Is it really such a secret that he can’t tell you? That he’s going to turn this around on you?

“I’ve dated.” Keishin’s met a couple of them. He’s listened to you complain about your dates, most happening during your days at Tohoku, but, unlike him, you’ve dated. Unless he’s kept his dates secret from you.

“It’s been two years.”

The certainty of his words makes your breath catch in your throat. “I… didn’t realize you kept such close tabs on me.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s blushing, but it’s dark and the light isn’t the best here, so you’re content to attribute it to something else. His exhale comes a little uneasily and he looks away. “Ishikawa’s been insistent on keeping me up to date on your… dating life, apparently.”

“That’s news to me.” Though not surprising. Ishikawa was always a gossip.

“It’s not like it matters.”

The truth creeps up on you, slow as it crawls its way to your heart. Your mother. Ishikawa. Keishin being… nervous. It sits in the back of your throat. You know it, and yet you’re still afraid to give it form.

Discomfort begins to grow, wrapping itself around your chest, and you do what you’ve always done. With a light laugh, a little dismissive, you ask, “Do you need help? More one-on-one?”

It works, enough to make him laugh, to get him to release the tension in his shoulders. You smile as you finish his cigarette, tucking it inside the red and white pouch, his laugh doing nothing for your overexcited heart. “What the hell?”

“I mean, the younger Hirano makes eyes at you every time she sees you.”

Keishin steps forward, his smile still present as he takes the ashtray. “Does she now?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

His hands lift in surrender, the little pouch tucked under the fourth and little fingers of his right hand, though there’s something gleaming in his eyes that makes you pout. “I haven’t!”

“Please. The amount of times she’s stopped by Sakanoshita since the wedding—”

“Cause you’re keeping tabs?”

Heat flashes behind your cheeks, sitting high on your face before tendrilling down your neck and across your chest. It gets hard to breathe, a weight pressing on your lungs and logically you know it’s the sake, but that doesn’t stop you from getting a little irritated. “So?”

(Yeah, it’s definitely the alcohol. You’re usually not this petulant.)

“So?” he shoots back, the heat of his stare starting to burn.

(At least he’s just as drunk as you.)

“If not the younger Hirano, then—”

“You wanna know why I’m still single?!” This is the closest Keishin’s ever gotten to raising his voice at you, taking yet another step forward, cementing you in place. You wouldn’t even have to lift your hand all the way to touch him.

“Please! It’s what I’ve been asking this whole time.”

“Because of you!”

Time ceases, your heart pauses, your lungs no longer holding air. And then a flame sparks behind your heart, the rapid incineration of kindling you hadn’t realized was there. A memory shakes loose, the frustrated words of your best friend at her wedding, stealing Keishin’s seat after he got up to grab more beer.

I can’t stand this. Watching you two is like watching twin stars, trapped in each other’s orbits. Everyone knows you’ll come together eventually, so why not now?

As he stares at you in similar surprise, not quite believing his outburst, all you can think about is your response to her at the time.

If we’re twin stars and it really is inevitable, you should know that you can’t rush it.

After twelve years… Is this it?

Everything rushes you, overwhelming—the rapidfire beating of your heart, the shallowness of your breaths, the itching of your palms.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Wait—”

His hands raise again, gesturing at you like he’s torn between holding you and shaking you. (You’re not entirely sure which). “You’re so infuriating sometimes!”

“Keishin—” You reach for him, needing something to steady you as everything begins to shift.

“What?”

“What do you mean because of me? You can’t—”

Your hand comes to land on the crook of his elbow, drawing his attention for half a second. “Is it so unbelievable?”

“You haven’t dated anyone since shortly after we left Karasuno.” That would mean that he’s been holding onto this for ten years.

“Yeah. Honestly, I’ve probably been stuck on you since we first met. And what about you?”

“What about me?” Your fingers tighten around his arm as if he’ll somehow ground you when you otherwise feel as though the rug’s been pulled out from beneath your feet.

“Why are you still single? You dated, but haven’t taken anyone seriously since your first year in university.”

“Why do you think?”

“Why date at all if you weren’t going to try?”

Is that the crux of his logic? That it wasn’t worth trying if it wasn’t you?

“Because…” Fuck it. “I was trying to get over you. Thought it’d be better than losing you if I was the only one… feeling this way.”

“Seriously?” He ducks his head, lingering frustrations disappearing.

“Why’d you think?”

Keishin’s laugh begins to unravel the knot that had been forming behind your ribs, making you feel incredibly silly for how this all transpired. But the weight you had been carrying lifts and it feels easy to breathe—easier than it has been in months. “I don’t know. I just thought you had shit taste in dates.”

“Wow, thanks.”

And everything’s back in place, except better. Everything that had shifted five centimeters to the left comes back and it feels like you two are still who you’ve always been. When you pull away, you feel steady. Secure.

“Can you blame me?”

“Yeah, I can blame you. Why didn’t you say anything, you dummy?”

No wonder everyone felt exasperated watching you both dance around what must have been incredibly obvious.

When he steps closer, when your heart hiccups in your chest, it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted is in reach.

“I think you just answered your own question.” There’s tenderness in the way he watches you, unguarded, and part of you wonders whether it’s always been there but you’ve been too blinded to see it.

“What, that you’re a dummy?” You step closer, too, feeling like you two really are twin stars.

“Yeah, I’m a dummy.” He leans in, eyes searching yours before dropping to your lips. There’s an intensity to him, a familiar sort of passion that you always thought you could drown in. “So? What’d’ya say?”

Scoffing, you turn away, playful in your faux disapproval of his segue. “About what?”

“You’re going to make this painful for me, aren’t you?” His hand comes to your jaw, pulling your face back to him and warmth blossoms across your face again.

“Have I ever made anything easy for you?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s too easy to like you.” Fingers shift against your skin, his touch tender as it moves to the back of your neck. With his thumb, he smooths over your jaw, delicate in a way that makes your knees weak. You lick your lips and he tracks the movement, mirroring your smile.

“Oh, now you’re a flirt.”

His chuckle fans against your lips and it feels like your heart is in your throat. “Will you shut up?”

You shift, your lips coming to barely brush against his as you speak, the touch feather light, just a tease. “Will you make me?”

When he finally presses his lips to yours, it feels like an inevitability, soft and sure and familiar like home. He smiles into the kiss, his free hand coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you a little closer, like the space between your bodies is entirely too much. Your hands wrap around his neck, and for a moment you swear you hear the distant fireworks in Nishi park, a second imagined showing to commemorate the end of Tanabata, the reunion of celestial lovers.

You and Keishin aren’t anything of the sort, but perhaps there’s something magical to your inevitable collision as twin stars during the celebration of the Star Festival.