#hihiwrites

Omi and Nachi used to be the same height. nachi uses this as a fact in every argument they have. Both of them know that this fact is rarely relevant but it happens anyway

If you’ve seen Haikyuu, these two had a Tendou and Ushijima dynamic the first few times they met. By this I mean “frowny boy and his friend who smiles and is just as dangerous.” I also mean chaos starter and chaos enabler duo

Both of them often wear chain belts. Omi tried dog tags for a while but he stopped (he says he stopped bc Nachi kept calling him a soldier to humor him, but honestly he just lost interest)

That’s when they started to wear matching bracelets

There’s an inside joke within the gang that Nachi has a “better butt,” but Omi has a “better chest.” Only Omi knows about it (and he knows it's true so-)

Omi feeds them outside!! He makes them dinner bc some of them can’t make their own food at home. You can’t miss dessert with Omi either: most of the time the gang has lollipops, ironically after their more intense fights. They don’t actually know it’s from Omi though ,, 

They often visit convenience stores at like 3am to find more snacks! Omi’s good with any flavor but he saves the saltier flavors for Nachi and the rest. At that time, he experimented with cooking new foods, and DIY chips were one of his first projects

Like Juza, Nachi has a resting bitter face, but he smiles really easily. Omi’s is more neutral, but he needs to exert actual effort to keep a frown on. Both of them still intimidate people anyway, so it’s not a problem

Since Nachi got the idea of a gang from a manga, he often thinks of certain scenarios in terms of how they’d play out in a manga, much like Muku. Except in this case, those scenarios usually feature action.

Cut to him trying to act out cool fight scenes when their gang just started out, to him flinging one-liners at leaders of enemy gangs. Omi just lets him do it, sometimes joining in

Ex. Fighting back to back with him to replicate “that one panel from this issue! C’mon Omi!”

Not a lot of people can tell, though. Those who can won’t say anything, either—that guy reciting one liners from time to time also runs West Tokyo, so don’t even bother

Speaking of motorcycles, they got their bikes together. Nachi often gives his bike affectionate nicknames, while Omi’s more on maintaining his bike and just getting things done. Nachi sometimes pats his bike like it’s a pet just to piss Omi off 

Nachi: you’re scaring the baby

Omi: what baby

Nachi patting his bike: :(

Omi, sighing: what can i do to help

Some of their members take out their bikes’ mufflers to make them louder, much to the expense of the bikes themselves. The two leaders allowed this at one point, but later on it got annoying

Instead they hoot when they race through certain areas, often mimicking wolves’ howls when approaching another gang’s turf to announce their arrival

One of the only times they’ve fought was nachi going “you’ve grown up too fast, didn’t ‘ya?” once they realized they hit their growth spurts. omi didn’t speak to him for four hours. After that nachi had to get him a smoothie or smth and then they talked it out. COMMUNICATION >>>> 

Last but not the least:

Nachi has minor super ultra easy mode-itis, in that he thinks of something and (usually) succeeds at executing it. At one point he dared himself to drink fifty cans of soda, and he did, somehow. Anything he tries, he excels at, and that draws lots of people to him :)

Nachi’s usually a very laid-back guy, only being sarcastic and blurting out random jokes and ideas around omi. Omi’s honestly piled with responsibilities, so Nachi takes it upon himself to make him relax when they’re out together. This usually means pushing Omi’s buttons, though, often to the point of pulling off their best stunts yet

Ex. “I bet I can run my motorcycle over the river.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Wanna bet?”

Spoiler: He gets his motorcycle over the river

King behavior

○○○ This isn’t the funniest way to wake up.

Blast sound effects from Itaru’s game resound in your room. Blinking sleep from your eyes, you approach his desk. His screen’s brightness is way too high, and you shield yourself from it with an arm.

“Itaru… what time is it?” Itaru jolts in his seat. you assume your voice woke him from focusing on the game. He whips his head around, looking for the source. Surprisingly, his eyes light up upon seeing your face. You’ve heard about him snapping at others interrupting his games, something he’d been working on.

"Well. It’s not a good time to be awake, that’s for sure.” He bounces his leg on his swivel chair. A look at his computer clock says it’s two in the morning.

Itaru runs a hand through his hair when his eyebrows raise. “Did I wake you up? Sorry about that.” You nod, stepping forward to pat his shoulder. “It’s alright.” Itaru clenches his jaw. “You should get back to bed.” “Yeah, but you’re not there with me,” you yawn. He grins. “One more level?” Hearing that, you let out a small sigh. “Okay.” “Yes! ” He squeezes your wrist and gets back to his computer. “Just give me a minute.”

You wait a bit, but he doesn’t say anything else. You turn back to your bed and get settled in the blankets, still cool from the air conditioning. Lying down, your pillow is pleasant against your head, but the dip in your shared mattress is another reminder that Itaru’s still busy. Tracing shapes with your leg, you place your hands on your stomach, thinking.

Today, you wanted to tell him you loved him. You’d been together for a while now. You took the time to see his plays, encouraging him to pursue something he liked, even getting him pizza to tell him he’d done a great job. He made sure to be around for your hobbies and meet your friends. Eventually, he introduced you to his company. You enjoyed their presence— they liked you too, judging by how they practically jumped you and blurted out questions, some questions making Itaru blush until his neck, telling them to knock it off.

Laughing gently at the memory, you figured now was the right time to tell him. He just needed to be within reach. You’re not sure when that would happen though, at least right now.

You hear the click of Itaru closing his computer for the night (was it even night anymore?) “Finished.” You let out a “hmph” and turn in the other direction, smirking. Unfortunately, he foils your efforts to sneak away, plopping himself on the bed. He hugs a pillow and sighs. “(Name), have you considered getting a body pillow for us?” You snicker. “Why? Am I not enough of a pillow for you?” It’s his turn to be quiet, and you assume he’s blushing. “Aww. Is it too late in the day for banter?” He retaliates by moving near your back, tickling your side. Itaru laughs when you shout in shock. “Hm, guess not.”

Now, you’re having fun, but thoughts of confessing still remain in your mind. “You’re quiet again,” Itaru whispers, his knees knocking against your legs. “And I know you’re not asleep.” He pauses. “Is something wrong?” You open your mouth to answer, but he cuts in.

“Okay, I’m going to make a promise so epic there’s no way you can refuse. How about I don’t go near my computer for the time being?” You shift your arm down, covering yourself in thicker blankets and ignoring Itaru’s tugs on them. "Who’s to say you’re not going to play again later?” He snuggles his nose at your nape. “Promise I won’t?” You snort and Itaru chuckles. “Next stream’s scheduled for tomorrow. I’m free all night. Remember, (Name), that flexibility is one of my many attributes.”

“Uh huh.” You look around the room. Only the monitors’ light cuts through the darkness, but you see Itaru’s form as he toys with your hair. You feel him smile against your shirt. “Here’s an idea.”

He must tell that you’re squinting at this, so he tries another tactic. "Player two,” Itaru coos, his breath tickling your ear as he wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a break with me.”

You budge a bit, letting him under the covers. “I’m listening.” “Let’s play a game.” You groan, Itaru relishing in that and lacing your fingers together. “No gadgets, I swear,” he laughs. “Itaru, keep this up and…” He slips a leg under your calf. “Does that mean you won’t help me with my pulls anymore?” You laugh. “Depends on how fun your game is.”

He makes a face. “Alright. Game start.” He projects his voice, like he’s on stage, and you laugh at that. “Would you rather… watch me play for hours, or play with me?” “You already know the answer to that. I’ve done both dozens of times, remember?” “Hm. Point.” Itaru pouts.

Your turn to ask. “Would you rather not lay a finger on your phone for a day, or eat week-old pizza? From your… second favorite pizza place?” He taps a finger to his chin, pretending to think. “Not lay a finger on my phone, for sure.” You try hiding the amusement coloring your voice. “Hm? Didn’t expect that from you, Itaru. Week-old pizza doesn’t sound too bad.” “Hear me out. If you think about it, I can lay a toe on my phone. You just said no fingers.” You turn around to slap his shoulder, making him chuckle.

You exchange questions for a few more minutes until Itaru sits up. “Just remembered something,” he says as you sit up with him. He gets out of bed again, and you’re about to pout until you realize he’s reaching for something under the mattress. To your confusion, he takes out a box about the length of his arm. He smirks. “Check this out.”

He removes the cover, and you peer inside. In the box sits a lava lamp. Itaru lifts it out, placing it on your bedside table, his hold on its weight suggesting its quality. As it's switched on, you realize that the lamp’s bubbles are shaped like hearts in different sizes. You gasp. Looking at Itaru, you realize that he’s smiling wide.

“Corny, right?” You shake your head in a “no.” “Listen,” he starts, taking your hand. You swallow, unsure of where this was going. “I’m sorry for not spending more time with you. There’s an event right now, and I’m working harder on it than I’d like to. I spent too much on the last event, so now I’m getting my butt kicked.”

You smile and you can’t stop. “My point is,” Itaru plays with your hand, assuming it’s not the time to explain his strategies, “I got this so you could remember how I felt.” He scratches the back of his head. “I hope there’s no hard feelings.” “No, no. Thank you, Itaru.” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. All this talk about feelings is starting to make you feel choked up. Was this your chance to tell him? You opt to kiss his cheek and he chuckles. You’re pretty sure he’s blushing, but it’s a bit too dark to tell.

“Ah, this is my favorite feature,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around you. He uses his other arm to press a button on the lamp. You didn’t notice it initially. “Oh, I…”

As the lamp changes colors, it softly plays a few musical notes. Listening closely, you start to realize that the notes sound familiar. “Yup, it’s exactly what you think it is.” Itaru chuckles to himself. “It’s the soundtrack from that game you really like. Got the music box built in, custom-made and everything.” Your eyes widen in disbelief, while Itaru smiles and checks for more reactions. “Itaru!”

He smiles even wider, eyes twinkling. “What do you think?” You lean on him a little more. “I love it.” He hums quietly, closing his eyes, laying his head back down on the bed. He gestures for you to go with him, and you follow suit, your head nestled in the crook of his arm. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

You lay there for the night in a comfy silence, growing heavy-eyed from the lamp’s music. A few minutes in, you muster up the courage to say it. Placing your arm around his chest, you pull yourself closer and nudge your face by his side. “Love you,” you whisper quickly, barely hearing it yourself.

Your room is cool and quiet. Itaru’s chest softly rises and falls, and you assume he’s fallen asleep. Weird. He’s usually the later sleeper between the two of you, if he even sleeps at all. You turn your gaze down for the most part, accepting you’ll have to try again in the morning.

You wait to look up at Itaru’s face: his lashes lift in the dim light. His eyes meet yours and you suck in a breath. His eyes are wide, and you assume he finally heard you. You start to shift your body away, but you hear him laugh softly, turning you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, trying to frown but getting betrayed by your blush.

“You okay?”  Omi’s question almost stays unanswered while you gather your bearings, your name faint on his lips as he furrows his brows in concern. You clear your throat to face him again.

“I’m fine.” You look him and down. It takes less time than it used to, given your practice of looking over a six-foot-tall man again and again. 

The light robes hug the form of his torso a little too well, fastened by a sash around his waist. Omi’s sleeves pool by his sides as he puts away his umbrella, shaking raindrops from his head. 

He turns to you—are those fox ears in his hands?—and smiles, not the only person happy to see the other. Tiny scarlet stripes outline his eyes, and the gold of his eyes is starting to bewitch you.  

It gets worse when you look a little lower. The fabric of his inner shirt pulls just right at a keyhole. You glimpse at the space left for his chest and look away like you haven’t seen it before. The knot tied at his neck doesn’t help either. 

There’s a ghost of a smirk on Omi’s face when he smiles again. Unfortunately, he’s caught on. 

“See something you like?” Tease, you think, walking closer to him.

“Welcome home.” His smile is wider this time, placing a kiss on your head.  “You didn’t answer my question, love.”

Okay, maybe you can let the dam break every once in a while.  Laying your head on his shoulder, you let out a long exhale.  “You look great! Like, really great. I can’t look at you properly for more than a second.”

He chuckles, a rumble in his chest that you can feel on your skin. “Thank you. I’m glad I look good to you.” “To me? You look good to everyone!” You splutter. Your fist lightly beats at his collarbone and Omi barely budges. 

Strong arms hug your waist, tugging you closer to him, and you wrap your arms around his neck to keep stable. He runs his nose along your jaw, warm breath easing by your ear and prickling your nape. You’ll have to make him prepare snacks as punishment. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

———

“I think it’d be nice to hold you,” Omi chuckles. He pretends to not notice the blush blooming on your cheeks.

“Uh, sure,” you mumble wittily, swaying your ankles in the water, “What makes you think that?” 

At dawn, the breeze is cool at the pier, but the wood under you is surprisingly warm. Luckily, you had your swimsuit on today, camera and notebook beside you to check on the sea life. As you stand up and reach for the ropes at your side, its bristles tickling your skin, you feel a strong hand close around your forearm.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Warm honey-toned eyes smile up at you, and you find yourself wanting to pass out right then and there.

“Easy does it.”

Omi helps you step down into the sea with him until you finally plop into his arms.  You don’t know how to fall into the water with grace, exactly, but the merman seems to pay it no mind. To your relief, he laughs a little, eyes crinkled up in what you hope is delight.

As Omi keeps you in a firm hold, arms around your waist, you’re dangling in the water, motionless as the currents brush past your legs.

“You’re so cute,” he says, laughing quietly as your hands settle on his broad shoulders. Your mouth presses into a thin, wobbly line. There’s no way he’d say that unless you’d been seeing each other for a while, and you feel yourself blush harder.

“You haven’t answered my question,” you murmur, trying to avoid his gaze. To your horror, Omi softly cups your face and turns it to look at him.

It looks like he’s smiling to himself. You assume he is, because sharp teeth glint under his lips as he holds you close.

“I mean,” he starts, curiously bashful as he hoists you up so you’re face to face (earning an “oop!” from you). “Holding you just feels fun. I like it.”

“I don’t know how to process that, Omi.” 

You came to the beach to study the ocean, but you didn’t expect to get to know the locals this closely. Much less a local who shows up only as you dip under the water to look at coral. Much less a local who has a shark’s tail and fins, scars running up his body, and a bright smile, and oh no he’s attractive why is this happening to me.

Needless to say, you’re not too sure how merfolk show affection.

“Aww, come on. Trust me a little bit?” Omi teases. 

He takes a moment, working up the confidence to nuzzle your collar. 

“I like having you close like this. I know you’re safe that way, you know?”

“Point taken,” you nod, “it’s calming.”

“Besides, it’ll help you study.”

“More like the opposite.” You’re about to laugh, but Omi takes your hand and presses his lips to it and now you want to burst. Looking up at him means seeing his torso, too, and that doesn’t help at all.

“Ah… we need to get you a shirt.” You mumble, hiding your face in his neck. 

You feel his chest rumble to match his laugh. 

“Yeah? What’s a shirt?”

Omi knows exactly what a shirt is.

You lightly smack his chest. His laugh bubbles out even more, even louder, making you laugh brightly in return.

“Omi, seriously.” You try to rasp something out while you catch your breath. Concern flits in his eyes as he peers at you, lifting you slightly above the water.  

“I’m not drowning. It’s okay.” You pat his shoulder, your other hand resting on his cheek. The last thing you want right now is to startle him.

Waves lap at your legs as he melts into your touch. You’re glad he’s reassured, swiping your thumb at the scar on his chin. 

The both of you settle there for a while, warming water curling around you.

“Sun’s up.”

As you get out of your daze, Omi beams at you, how you look in the light. 

He’s not sure how humans react to seawater, but you mentioned something about skin wrinkling. He guesses you needed this special type of clothing to stay with him for longer, and he blushes at the thought. You also needed this weird ointment— sunscreen, he thinks you called it— that wasn’t too different from the lotions some of his fellow merfolk would use to stay smooth and avoid burning. He winces at the thought.  

Omi never really paid attention to skincare and all, so he should probably take a page out of your book for this one. He tries not to smile, remembering how you’d remind him to take care of himself, marvelling at the scars he’d try to hide sometimes. It’s not like he could— at that point, after all he’d done, the lighter colored lines curved all around his body. And even if he thought his hands were too rough, you’d take them in yours, run your thumb across his knuckles.

Ultimately, he remembers the shock in your eyes, seeing him underwater. It’s not his first time seeing people from other than his species, but it was most probably yours— judging by how you spluttered and how he had to rescue you from sinking.

By the time you recovered on the shore, you had to let the truth about mermaids’ existence sink in, pun intended. The one in front of you was wide-eyed, not used to seeing a human up close— at least a human he wasn’t picking a fight with, which you would later learn was an old hobby of his. (Oops.) 

You even remembered explaining what “research” was to him, watching his eyes widen as you asked to touch his tail, pointing out how much he could help with that. Obviously, you wouldn’t let any harm come to this new friend of yours, and you assured him that your crew wouldn’t either. You vibrated with excitement at how a fairytale creature was living and breathing right in front of you (and was really cute, but you wouldn’t tell him that just yet). 

It was during that time of silent study that he tried hiding a cough, clutching his side, and you realized it was your turn to take care of your rescuer. 

As the sand warmed beneath you both, you found yourselves meeting almost every day at the same spot. What started as introductions to each other’s worlds led to you learning about each other as people. Question and answer sessions turned into showing him human books and hearing his stories. If your third time washing your picnic mat was any indication, spending time there was suddenly a relief. At the same time, Omi’s friends teased his visiting the surface more often, packing shells he hoped were “someone’s favorite.”

That wasn’t his favorite part, though.

An especially bright ray of sunlight glares at you and you swat at the air, squirming.

Omi chuckles, and you hum in interest. 

“What’s so funny, mister?” 

He smiles down at you, raising a hand from carrying you to cup your cheek again. “Like I said, you’re really cute.”

The look on your face must also be funny to him, because his smile is wide, fully proud of what’s glinting under his lips. He murmurs your name, “I’m serious!”

“Ah, uh, thank you,” you sputter, feeling warmth in your cheeks and seeing him trying to stifle a laugh.

Being like this in his arms is convenient for him, apparently— he uses the opportunity to gather you in a tight embrace.

“This isn’t too tight, right?” You wrap your arms further around his neck, waving your head in a quiet no. At the warmth of his hug, you definitely needed the support.

“You too.”

“Huh?”

“I mean! You’re cute too!” You squeak, looking up at him. Big mistake— Omi softly presses his forehead on yours, nose almost bumping yours before he pulls away.

“Thank you.”

A beat passes, and you hear the ocean all over again.

“My favorite part was confessing, you know.”

It takes some time for you to close your mouth. “What?”

“Telling you I liked you. A lot. That was my favorite part of meeting you.” He shakes his head. “You’re my favorite human.”

You really wish you don’t look like a blown-up puffer fish right now. 

“Itwasmyfavoriteparttoo!”

You snap your lips closed, and you frown at Omi’s easy, amused grin. 

“Come again?”

“I liked it too! I couldn’t stop thinking about it!” You sound like you’re arguing, proving some point in a debate, and your voice shakes with laughter at that.

“Also thank you for holding me!” you yelp, and Omi gives his most recent smile for that morning. You hope you get to see it more from now on.

“Wouldn’t want you slipping.”

The fins in place of his ears flutter a bit. You’re about to ask what’s wrong but notice the warmth rising to the tan of his cheeks. Add flustering a merman to your list of achievements.

You feel yourself moving with him, realizing he’s gliding to the side. The tail under him shifts in the water as he plants you on a nearby rock. 

“There’s a merman like me who sells potions nearby.”

You tilt your head, wondering where this was going.

“I think he can give me legs for a bit. Harmless, I swear,” he holds his hands up as you begin to protest.

“Gaining legs was never really a problem for us, I promise.” “I guess the stories I’ve heard weren’t the most accurate,” you say.

“That’s why you’re the scientist.”

The water is pleasant against your leg, cooling as it hits the rocks crusted with shells beneath you. Omi hoists himself up next to you, elbow bumping yours. The sea has his hair hang damp against his forehead, dark brown under the sun.

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, voice fond like the crabs around you are listening in. “Is there no potion I can take? How do you know it’s safe?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.” He shrugs.

“Again, trust me a little.” There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, and you squint. “Some of us already work on the shore, if I’m being honest.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

Omi snickers as you gawk at him. Merfolk walking on legs, on land, crossing paths with unsuspecting people. At this rate, they could even be at the aquarium or in your crew.

“I’m not surprised,” you tease, crossing your arms. “One of my coworkers is suspiciously good at swimming.”

“Uh huh.”

Omi waves his tail in the water, pointed fin stirring up invisible lines around smaller fish. “I want to see you more.” 

You scratch your nape. “I’ve always wanted to show you around the boardwalk. I think actually talking to people is a nice change of pace. You’d like the crafts they make up here,” you say, remembering the objects he’s tinkered around with underwater. He deserved better equipment.

“It’s a date.” He smiles. 

You find yourself smiling back this time. “I’d like a date.” 

As you open your door, Omi looks like he’s about to fall over. He wears a simple jacket and pants, arms full of ingredients and legs swaying a bit. He’s a tad paler than usual, but you can’t tell for sure. Just after he knocked on your door, you had finished cramming a week’s worth of projects, quickly shuffling papers away and keeping your pencils before meeting him. You assume he’d been practicing for his play as well, all the while juggling work and school. “Hey.” He gives you a weak smile. “Hi. You okay?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him. Given the circumstances, that was more to stop him from wobbling than to hug him. “I’m fine.” He kisses the top of your head. That leads you to squawk in surprise, to his amusement.  Still hugging, the both of you continue a weird waddle into your dorm. He’s cold, fresh from walking through the grocery store. “I got the eggs.” He moves an arm to brightly present an egg carton. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll have an omelette ready.”

You nod, but you see his arm waver from carrying a simple carton. “Ah, I can carry it.” You reach up and take it to the kitchen, Omi following behind you. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to have a hard time. Besides, I’m the cook tonight.” Ever since Omi started coming over, the kitchen’s been stocked with ingredients for him. You were used to instant noodles and takeout, but after a long conversation, you agreed to let him teach you how to cook more decent meals. 

Omi walks over to the hooks on your wall, grabbing an apron with his name on it. He chuckles as you tie it behind his back. You’d have to ask him how to sew patches into it sometime. He quickly approaches your counter, takes a bowl, and cracks the egg yolks into it. You wait for him to continue, but he seems to be standing motionless. You peer up at him and you see his eyes flutter. “Is something wrong?”

Omi blinks back into reality. “Sorry. I just need to focus more.” He grabs a fork, but you catch his wrist before he starts whisking, earning you an “ah” from him. “Wait a second, please,” brushing the back of your hand on his forehead. “Your forehead’s hot.” “That it is,” he says, not moving from his spot in the kitchen. “So,” you continue, gently placing the fork down, “you should rest.” “I could whip this up real quick. I don’t want to waste any food, you know?” “Omi, I’m very sure you have a fever right now. Please stop?” You see him loosen up as he nods. There’s a weird feeling of guilt on him while he takes the apron off. “I hope this doesn't get me in the hospital,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “Too expensive.” “Hey now, no one said anything about the hospital.” You touch his arm. Knowing him, he’d only want to see a doctor if it was absolutely necessary. Had you gotten at least a scrape, though, he’d rush you to the clinic right away. That was one of the things you’d learned early about Omi, and you were willing to go through that as much as possible. You cup his cheek. “And even if you needed to go, I’d come with you.” He sighs, finally resigning from the food. “If you say so.”

After you lead him to your bed, which wasn’t too far away given the size of your dorm, you rush to the bathroom for a towel. Wringing a wet towel between your hands, you run back to find Omi sitting at your bed’s corner, tapping his leg on the floor. You take a seat to him. “Um. Scooch over, will you?” “Oh, of course.” He moves closer to the edge of the bed, patting the middle so you could reach the pillows. You pat the middle as well, but he doesn’t budge aside from laying his legs on the mattress, sitting up straight like a Lego. “Omi, you’re supposed to be the one resting today.” He grimaces at that. “No, no, I’m fine just staying here.” He picks at his nails. “I should at least make you a snack,” he says, getting up before you lightly push him back down.

Had you known Omi for a short time, you wouldn’t expect him to pout, especially when you consider his first impression for most people. But his expression at the moment was unbelievably close to sulking. “Please, you’ve been waiting for so long.” He takes your hand. “How was your day?" “Well, my thesis-- Hey, don’t try and change the topic! You need to stay here and relax!” “I didn’t mean to change the topic.” He frowns. You sigh. “You’re sick, Omi.” You get up and head to the kitchen. “I’m going to make tea and you can’t stop me,” you call out. “Stay put for me?” You take his silence as permission and get to work.

"Also, can we deliver something for dinner?" You hear a long sigh before him saying "Yep!"

You fish out the calming tea-- chamomile, you remember him mentioning-- and briskly mix it in a mug he’d bought for you. Man, you really should practice this when he’s not around. It’d be embarrassing to screw this up while he’s sick. You walk back to your room and hand him the tea. It’s warm in his hands, and you see his cheeks flush as he takes a sip.

His eyes widen and you panic. “Did I screw it up--” “You didn’t make tea for yourself?” You must look pretty frazzled with the way he’s holding your arm, like he’s trying to calm you down. That wasn’t the goal right now, and it was shaking you up further. "I just really wanted to help you, I guess. I’m sorry.”

He laughs quietly. “You don’t have to apologize.” He holds your wrist softly, and you wonder what happened to his attitude a moment ago. “We can share it.” He shows you the cup, half full, before saying “No, nevermind, it’s probably not a good idea.” You both sit in silence before you snort and take the cup, setting it on the desk by your bed. You take a blanket and pat it onto his lap.

“How’d you even get sick in the first place?” you say, trying not to sound nagging. You doubt that he’d think that, though. Omi adjusts the blanket on him. “Erm,” he says wisely, “I haven’t been getting the most sleep lately.” “And how much is that?”

Omi pretends to look around the room. He purses his lips. “Mmmmmm four a night.” “Hours?” you ask. He gives you a wry smile. “Omi??”

He raises his arms like he’s under arrest. “Does it help if I was awake for school?” “No?” “Also, I was meal prepping for the theater?” “No!” He shrugs in defeat. “I promise I won’t be sick for long. I can cook dinner in a while like always, no sweat.” “It’s not about the cooking,” you grumble. “You’ll get worse for wear at a pace like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Omi.” You make a point by poking his chest. He plays along and plops his back down on the mattress. 

“Why do you keep me around?” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. You frown and lightly punch his arm. “Please don’t make jokes like that.” He snickers. “Alright, alright.” There’s a hint of gratitude to his words. Omi closes his eyes and finally lays his head down on the pillows. It’s relieving, seeing him this relaxed for once. You try storing this image in your head (for safekeeping) as you dab a fresh towel on his forehead.

“Thank you,” he breathes. Your cheeks warm. “You take care of everyone around here. It’s the least I can do.” As Omi opens his eyes to look at you, he smiles fully, and it scrunches up his cheeks. He takes your hand. “It means a lot.” While you don’t think he intends this, you now want to implode.

Omi gives your hand a gentle tug. “C’mere.” Welp, it was a good thing you both finished your assignments.

You move to the side and try to wriggle your way up to Omi’s eye level. You two joked about his height before, but you didn’t expect to take so long in moving up the mattress to meet him. It’s soft. Laying there, he smiles again, and his eyes resemble honey in the light. You’re starting to feel a bit woozy. It’s warm under the covers, especially with his fever, but not too stuffy. He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. "This okay?” “Of course it’s okay, it’s you,” you murmur, letting your foreheads meet. Omi chuckles weakly, like it’s too good to be true, and you move his head to lay on your chest.

Dai’s running like he’s never run before.

Like how his friends warned, stepping on the Wolves’ turf was a terrible idea.

The streets in Tokyo are lit yellow, blue, and red that evening, but they’re blurred in Dai’s eyes. The river beside them, separated from the road by a fence, flows quietly, masking nothing. Dai can hear himself panting, the stomps of his team following behind him. His boots slip on the asphalt and he’s lucky to catch himself.

What was their leader even gonna say once she heard about this?

Dai whips his head around frantically. His other members’ eyes are wide with fear. They’re stuck.

They all turn a corner to lose the people chasing them, heaving.

They’ve covered enough ground, he thinks, until he hears screeches from tires and hoots from their rival gang. Amid the chorus of their engines revving, some of them mimic wolves’ howls, whooping with laughter as they skid to a stop.

They’ve caught up.

One of the Wolves’ leaders, Nachi, laughs the loudest.

He takes off his helmet and sets it aside, boasting a shock of bright green hair. He stands out from most of his gang, members dark-haired and dressed in leathers.

“Okay,” Nachi drawls, slipping off of his bike in one go.

He looks everyone over. “I’ve got you here today to hear part of my script reading. If you like it, you can tell me. If you don’t like it, then you can run before we catch you.”

The Wolves behind him flash their teeth at that, grinning.

Dai backs up until he sticks to a brick wall, crinkling with posters and dried gum. Some of his teammates still stand, while others are startled into falling.

“We’re not scared of you,” one of them says. “Our leader’s gonna know any minute now. She runs this part of town.”

“Really? What’s her name?” Nachi asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Chiyo—"

“Ah. Say, Omi, didn’t we break her arm here a week ago?”

Dai and his friends gulp.

One of the taller members slides off his bike and ambles to where Nachi stands. Next to Nachi’s bright hair and smiling face, this guy looks plain besides his build. He scowls at Dai and the rest.

“I remember.”

The taller one, who Dai assumes is Omi, looks at his partner, frowning.

“What did you wanna do?”

"Try something new, that’s all.”

His voice rings out as the gang gawks at him in confusion.

Nachi reaches into his jacket and takes out a printed-out script, clearing his throat.

“A monologue from As You Like It, by William Shakespeare. Act two, scene seven, line one hundred thirty-nine."

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

Nachi takes two steps forward. The other members scramble further away, their backs pressed to the wall behind them.

Nachi’s gestures and position change as he speaks. He brings his arms out during certain phrases.

“They have their exits and their entrances,”

He controls his voice with ease, shifting his facial expressions and moving from one word to another.

“And one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

In the minutes that pass, it happens smoothly, like he’s practiced it many times before.

"Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything."

"...Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history, is second childishness and mere oblivion,"

He swipes at his face.

Dai's friends look on, but Nachi doesn’t say anything more.

“So? How was that?”

Everyone else looks like they’re stunned into silence.

“Nachi! That was awesome!” yells a silver-haired boy to Nachi’s left.

“Thank you, Ryo,” he says before he smirks at Dai's friends.

“Well? Any feedback?”

They’re quiet.

“No?” Nachi mutters, raising a brow that makes them flinch.

One of Dai’s fellow members pretends to cough.

“Your emotions were nice, I guess.”

What the hell was going on?

“Okay, I’ll work on that. Anyone else?”

Nachi’s holding back a laugh.

“You kinda freaked me out during that last part," another member squeaks.

"Got it. It was intended, I’ll give you that."

No one talks.

Dai speaks up from his crouched spot by the wall.

"You could take some more pauses."

Nachi looks him dead in the eye. “What makes you think that?”

Dai swallows. “Makes it easier for us to get the story. I think.”

Nachi stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Alright. Thank you all for cooperating,” he calls out.

“Now, I’m going to count to three.”

He backs up until he’s in line with the other Wolves.

“If you’re not gone by then,” he chuckles, “well, you know what’s comin’.”

“One.”

Dai and his team shoot up.

“Two.”

They scatter in all directions.

“Three.”

Street’s empty.

Near midnight, the streets in Tokyo are still lit yellow, yellow, blue, and red, shining on two lumbering boys. No other Wolves or motorcycles in sight. One has a lollipop in his mouth; the other is silent. The river still masks nothing.

Still quiet, too, save for bikes’ engines.

Omi barks out a laugh, and the rest of them join in.

"Care to tell me what that was all about?" Omi asks.

Nachi takes a breath. “I just thought it would be interesting.”

“Huh?”

“If you do something different, people remember you,” he shrugs. “Plus the Wolves found it fun.”

“No, no. I get that.” Omi frowns.

“But you don’t just pull… speeches out of thin air like that. Things like this need a lot of effort.”

Nachi faces him, lollipop pinched between his fingers. “You’re right. They do.”

Nachi makes jazz hands at him. “Acting.”

“If word of me pulling that stunt comes out,” he continues, picking at his bracelet, “Then I’ll make sure people don’t come after them.”

Omi crosses his arms.

“‘S long as I’m here, no one lays a finger on the Wolves. Or on either of us. Listen, it’s not about rumors.”

Nachi doesn’t answer, so Omi stops walking.

“Hey.” Omi punches his shoulder.  “I’m serious. I won’t laugh at you if you’re into that stuff. The others won’t either.”

Nachi allows himself a wry smile and slings an arm around Omi’s shoulders.

“Well, I have your support. That counts for something.”

Omi beams at his best friend.

Trash cans clang from a nearby alley. The both of them come to a halt.

“Was that a cat?” Nachi asks.

Omi cocks his head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

Dai stumbles out from behind the wall, nursing a bruise where he must have hit a trash can. His eyes land on them.

“I... I was just on my way home,” he yelps, breath catching in his throat.

Omi squints. “How much did you hear?”

“Nothing. I swear.”

“Let me take care of him,” Nachi says, stepping forward and rolling his sleeve up.

“Nah.” Omi catches his friend's arm.

“He can send a message back to Chiyo.”

His voice is light, saying that, like he isn’t threatened in the slightest.

“Let me make this simple.” Omi sets his eyes down to Dai's level.

“Because I’m not an asshole, I'll let you go for now.”

Dai’s frozen in place.

“I take it your house isn’t far from here?”

Omi's face doesn't change as Dai nods, trying his best not to stammer.

“Try not to show your face around here again. Then we’re out of your hair.”

Dai tightens his jaw and runs off til he’s out of sight.

“Omi!! You gotta teach me how to do that sometime!”

Ryo runs up to them, catching his breath. Two, then three, then five more of the Wolves follow behind him on the road.

“I thought you all went home.”

Ryo wheezes. “We wanted to see you before heading back!”

Omi grimaces at that, rolling his eyes.

“Suit yourselves. I just don’t want you to start something stupid and then regret it.”

Ryo’s eyes sparkle. “Do you have more lollies?”

“What.”

Ryo smiles until Omi sighs and pats his pockets, searching for something, finally fishing out lollipops.

“It wouldn’t kill you to have a salad every once in a while.” Omi grunts, shaking his head. "If you idiots don’t take care of yourselves, I swear I'll—”

"You'll what?" Nachi teases.

His partner smirks. "I'll blow all your houses down."

"That was the lamest thing I've ever heard."

"Go jump in the river."

"If you ask nicely, maybe I will."

Nachi shouts an "OW!" as Omi shoves him.

The rest of the gang snickers.

“Where’d you learn to make those lollipops anyway?” Nachi asks.

“My mom taught me.”

Omi smiles, looking at them all. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh.” Nachi purses his lips and pats his friend’s back. “Teach us how to make them?”

"I guess."

As the others crowd around them, Ryo tugs at Omi’s jacket.

“Nachi could do another one of those script things.”

“Script readings, Ryo.”