#muhwrites

“Shut up, you’re being too loud!” Arakita looks around the office lunch room. Thankfully no one had walked by the door. He didn’t want anyone to overhear them talking and get mistaken for a fan. Damn, why does Kinjou make him feel so self-conscious? “Besides, it’s not like I actually gave my number to him or anything.”

It was then Machimiya stops laughing.

“You didn’t? Why?”

Arakita shrugs. “First time I’ve ever really talked to the guy. I don’t know, felt weird.”

“The guy saves your life and you can’t even give him a few digits?”

Arakita leans back. “Can you please swallow your damn food before talkin’?”

“Whatever” - Machimiya swallows - “what I’m saying is that’s a pretty damn huge perk to have a superhero on speed dial and you say no. What happens to life attempt number five?”

“It’s not gonna happen if I’m careful.” Arakita points a finger at Machimiya when he opens his mouth again to speak. “And I’ve been more careful than I ever have been in my whole damn life.”

“Why do you have such a thing against this guy?”

“I don’t really,” Arakita says. At least not anymore. He stabs his chopsticks into his lunch. “I don’t know how I feel about him.”

Heels click into the lunch room as their co-worker walks in to have her break. Thankfully Machimiya has enough sense to know to stay quiet on the subject now it was no longer just the two of them, but he’s still giving Arakita a toothy grin.

Arakita grimaces, and shoves the rest of his lunch into his mouth to finish it.

“Anyway, I’m going back to my desk.” He looks at the clock on the microwave. “We got four more hours to go.”

Arakita covers his face with a pillow and groans. It’s almost midnight, and if he can’t sleep now he knows he’ll feel tired when he gets to work in the morning. But every time he closes his eyes he ends up cringing.

I should probably get back because of work and all.

Liar. You little – big – liar. It was a Friday. Arakita can only feel so lucky Kinjou didn’t call him out on his bluff when he could, once at the dinner table and the second time on the porch as he was leaving the house. Maybe he should have went in on the Saturday and put in his full eight hours so he wouldn’t feel like such a phony. He can’t believe this is the second time Kinjou has made him lose sleep.

He’s been left thinking about it still while eating breakfast, or typing away at his desk, and in instances like right now in line at the grocery store. His little basket of vegetables and ready-cooked meals and soft drinks, he wants to throw it into the air from frustration. Why does he always remember the stupid things? But he’s an adult, Arakita tells himself, he’ll keep his composure and eventually this weirdness will pass, hopefully after tonight when he stuffs himself full of his favourite foods and falls into a calorie induced sleep. What time is it anyway?

Arakita checks his phone. It’s not too late, there probably will still be sunlight when he gets home. He puts his phone back into the pocket of his trousers, and when the lady at the register greets him he looks up, says hello, and –

Shit.

He made eye contact with Kinjou in the other line again. Is it weird to look away right now? Crap. He did it a bit too fast to be considered casual. Now what will he do? Arakita fumbles with the change in his hand when he gives it to the lady, grabs his grocery bag, and makes haste for the exit. But then he stops at the sliding doors, takes the receipt he shoved into his pocket, and tries to flatten out the crumples. He’s still in his work clothes, maybe there’s a pen somewhere on him still. When he finds it he puts the receipt against the wall and wants to yell as he writes.

When Kinjou walks out the door Arakita gets right in his face.

“Here,” Arakita almost yells it. Almost. He deserves some points for self-restraint.

Kinjou takes a step back.

“What?”

Does he really have to say it out loud?

“It’s my number.” Arakita offers the crumpled receipt to Kinjou. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it anymore.”

Really, Arakita doesn’t know which would be the better option at this point.

Kinjou has recovered from his surprise, and his hand motions forward. He almost takes the slip of paper but hesitates before he can touch it.

“Are you sure?” Kinjou asks.

“I’m positive.”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

“Take it.” Arakita grabs Kinjou’s wrist and drags it toward the receipt. Kinjou’s eyes grow wide. “Take it before I change my mind.”

When Arakita blinks the paper is gone and in Kinjou’s hand instead. His own hand is left outstretched still in the position as if it was holding onto something. Damn, that was fast.

“Thank you,” Kinjou says. He’s still wide-eyed.

“Don’t mention it.” Really. Please.

Arakita straps on his helmet and jumps on his bike. The weather is sure hot today, it’s not his cheeks burning. That wasn’t awkward at all. Now he can go home and have dinner. Really, it’s not like Kinjou is going to actually call him after that. Arakita starts to pedal away.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Kinjou yells after him.

When he was walking down the hall toward the kitchen area Arakita darted his eyes around Kinjou's home but found there were no framed newspaper clippings, no medals or keys to the city, or fan mail stuck onto his fridge. He did notice one thing though that alluded to his heroic deeds – a framed picture of Peak Spider, Human Bullet, and Kinjou all smiling with their arms around each others' shoulders. He's heard about those guys before; Peak Spider moved his base of operation overseas indefinitely, and Human Bullet stayed in Japan but moved further north. He wouldn't have ever guessed Kinjou has superhero friends with how private and out of that world he seemed to want to be. Did they still keep in touch?

“Would you like some water or tea?” Kinjou asks.

“Uh, tea. Please.”

While Kinjou moves around with comfort and ease, Arakita's back is straight stiff against the chair. Why couldn't he have posture like this while at work? The home itself is inviting, but knowing that it belongs to Kinjou makes Arakita feel unsettled. He fiddles with his fingers, taps them on the edge of the table, and scratches an itch on the back of his head. Kinjou puts a cup down in front of Arakita along with some milk.

Arakita looks up at Kinjou.

“Ah, sorry,” Kinjou says, “this is the only tea I have left right now.”

“What is it?”

“English breakfast, given to me by a friend. Apparently it's a good brand.”

He sees Kinjou's eyes dart quickly to the photo in the hallway. So they do keep in touch.

Arakita pulls the cup across the table closer to himself, and adds a bit of the milk to cool it down. Kinjou sits across from Arakita, puts two plates down on the table and opens the cake box. Arakita's face starts to burn, he didn't plan on sticking around when Kinjou opens his gift.

“Thank you for this,” Kinjou says.

“Yeah.” Arakita says, sinking down into his seat. He watches the steam rising from his tea until he notices a slice of cake appear beside his cup.

Kinjou takes a bite from his own slice.

“This is good.”

Arakita can't really tell when he takes his own bite. He's not quite focused on the food and only notices its sweetness on his tongue. For once in his life Arakita wants to make small talk if only to cut through the awkward quiet around them. It was quiet enough that he can make out the words being spoken from the television, and hear the clatter of their forks against the plates. He's even conscious of the sound of his own chewing, and Arakita wonders if Kinjou can hear it too, so he slows down his bites. Find something to say, Arakita thinks. He looks around and notices a book on the kitchen table.

Kinjou notices and saves the day again.

“Do you like to read?” Kinjou asks.

“Uh, not really. Haven't read a full book since university.” He takes a sip from his tea. “I like comics here and there though.”

“Interesting. Which ones do you read?”

“Manga. Some western ones too. Stuff like that.”

“Which one do you like better?”

“Depends on my mood.” Is he in an interview? Arakita sure feels like it. Instinctively he reaches up to adjust his tie, but realizes he wasn't wearing one at all. He fiddles with the collar of his shirt instead. “Anyway, what book are you reading?”

“This one right here is about a man whose character is misunderstood by his neighbours because of the way he lives life.” Boom. Right on the money. Arakita takes a long sip from his cup and doesn't even care that he's burnt the tip of his tongue in the process. “It's like a societal satire, because everyone sees him as an oddball because he's so honest, while everyone else has a dirty secret.”

“Sounds fun.”

“If you're ever interested I could lend you the book.”

How is Kinjou so good at carrying a conversation? In comparison, Kinjou must feel like he's talking to a brick wall. Arakita attempts to add something to the conversation that wasn't a simple reply.

“The comics I read, they got one guy who comes back from the dead to get vengeance. This other one is superhero stuff that's pretty cool.” Ah shit, Arakita thinks when he sees Kinjou smile lightly at that. He tries to correct himself. “I mean, it's not bad. The art and story-telling is good, that's what makes the comic good. Not because of, y'know, the heroes and powers crap.”

Kinjou is still smiling. Now instead of being boring Arakita thinks he's said too much. When he looks closely at his face, Arakita notices Kinjou's eyes are green, and his pupils are not quite human, more oval instead of round. Kind of like a snake.

Arakita clears his throat before speaking again.

“Anyway look at the time, I should probably get back because of work and all.” He rises from his chair. “Thank you again for inviting me in. Er, and for all the other stuff.” The cake. The tea. The whole saving my life thing. That's a weight off his shoulders now.

“Anytime,” Kinjou replies. “Let me walk you to the door.”

On the front doorstep, before Arakita has a chance to sprint back home and think about how awkward this mess has been and lose sleep over it, Kinjou says his name.

“Yeah?” Arakita replies.

“I'm sorry to bring this up, but you seem the type to land into a lot of unfortunate situations.”

Arakita rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “Just sometimes.”

Why is Kinjou bringing this up now? Aren’t they supposed to part ways and never talk again? Except maybe at the grocery store, saying hello to each other, that was the exception.

“Do you know how to defend yourself?”

“What?”

“Self-defense. Do you know it?”

What is he gonna say? Fighting? Yeah, I've gotten into some scraps in my life. I've seen some shit. I've fought sure, but not defended. Is he really gonna tell that to a damn superhero though?

Arakita settles on an answer. “A bit.”

He feels it in the first high-five with Tadokoro, the first tentative handshake with Makishima. It’s a deep shiver and then Kinjou smiles; that’s how he knows he can trust them. Tadokoro is competitive and loud while Makishima is observant and reserved – and they’re both good people. He places that trust in them throughout his first year of high school, transforming from strangers to friends and eventually into teammates during his second year at the Inter High.

The sun is hot, his legs feel heavy, and he’s not about to give up - not even when he feels a tug on the back of his jersey and he finds the sky blends with the ground in a swipe of blue and green, then grey and red. It hurts. Right there. On his side.

He cries the first night home, angry with himself that he couldn’t fault Fukutomi, not after he feels that same sensation creeping into his skin the way it had with Tadokoro and Makishima during the fall. But he eventually learns to accept his decision to not hold a grudge and continue on with his life, so when Fukutomi comes to Chiba with a formal apology the rest of his regret disappears when he realizes he hadn’t been wrong to live and let go. While Tadokoro gets upset at him for forgiving so easily, Kinjou can’t bring himself to be mad at such an honest person.

He’ll just build a stronger team next year. And so will Fukutomi. It’s part of their agreement. As his third and final year of high school begins he places that same trust he gave to Makishima and Tadokoro into three odd first years, ones who carry determination, support, and a whole lot of heart. It works.

Sohoku wins. Kinjou finds himself crying again at an Inter High competition in a medical tent, and Naruko is jumping up and down on the bed, screaming Onoda’s name loud enough that even Kinjou tells him to calm down.

Then Izumida walks up to Kinjou, his shoulders and back stiff, and sticks his hand out.

“Congratulations,” he says, even with the disappointment in his voice evident.

Kinjou wipes his tears away with his left hand as he sticks out his right, taking Izumida’s hand into his own and giving a firm shake. The feeling in his hand is there and Kinjou smiles knowing that he genuinely means his words.

“Thank you.”

When they release their hold Izumida returns to his seat, and then Kinjou turns his gaze toward Arakita still lying down on the bed. When they make eye-contact Arakita looks away, pretending that he hadn’t watched them. But it would be rude not to acknowledge him after that, so Kinjou stands from his chair and walks toward him.

“You have a very strong team,” he says.

Arakita stops staring at the wall and looks at Kinjou’s outstretched hand. Kinjou knows he’s reluctant and is hurting from the sting of loss, but after a few seconds Arakita reaches over anyway and gives his hand a shake. Then Kinjou holds his breath, feels a strong sensation – the most intense he’s ever felt – and is stunned.

He’s never experienced this before.

“You can let go of my hand now.”

Arakita’s voice brings Kinjou back to the moment and he loosens his grip, realizing that he had begun to clench down on the other’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Kinjou says and lets go.

Arakita gives him a suspicious look and slowly, gently lowers his arm back to his side. Then he quickly returns to looking at the wall.

Kinjou hasn’t felt that with anyone else. He has encountered friends and classmates, strangers and family, and can’t remember ever feeling that sensation with anyone before or after. He thinks about it a lot and wonders what it means. But he’s thankful for this gift and for all the people he has added into his life because of it.

He does, however, learn its meaning – but it’s not until months and months later after meeting Arakita for a second time at university. Their encounter was at first was a surprise, and it became friendship, until Kinjou kept thinking about him, then he learned that Arakita kept thinking about him too, and now they are here.

Kinjou is warm underneath the blankets and Arakita is here next to him. For being in the city, outside is snowing quite a bit and they can hear the wind whip past the window.

He feels Arakita shifting on the bed.

“Are you alright?” Arakita asks. “You’re being quiet.”

“I’m just thinking,” he answers. Kinjou believes he still would have fallen for Arakita without his gift, just it would have taken him more time to realize it. The feeling from touching Arakita’s hand for the first time is similar to the one now slowly burning in his chest, but instead of a quick pulse up his fingertips and into his bones he knows it’s here to stay.

Arakita huffs, brings one of Kinjou’s hands down to his lips and kisses his palm. He drags his arm around his body, curling it over his chest and pushes up against Kinjou further.

Kinjou is good with his hands, Arakita thinks as a gasp leaves mouth. Kinjou is really, really good with his hands. Especially now, with one gripping the side of Arakita’s hip and the other moving up and down the length of his cock. He doesn’t remember how he ended up like this, palms against the wall and Kinjou pressed up against his back, curving into each other, but his thoughts become muddled and he forgets again when he hears Kinjou’s breathing hitch. Arakita’s belt was unfastened and hanging loosely from the waistband, jeans unzipped, threatening to completely fall onto the floor with every grind back.

“Kinjou,” Arakita breathes his name against the wall, hips slanting forward when he feels a thumb brushing over the head, slicking precome over the pad of a finger and then across the length of Arakita’s cock, his hand moving up and down quicker. Kinjou slides his tongue up along the side of Arakita’s neck before placing a firm kiss to the side of his jaw.

Arakita is trying to remember.

How was it that they ended up like this? He wants to say they’re under the influence – but of what? He can’t blame it on the alcohol when they’ve had nothing to drink. He wants to blame it on the heat of the moment, but the desire has been long crawling underneath his skin, rattling Arakita’s bones. He just didn’t know Kinjou felt it too.

Kinjou's hand moves away from his hip and sneaks under and up his shirt, his open palm moving over the skin of Arakita’s stomach until it stops at his chest. His hand is more than warm, and just a little rough – working hands, then Arakita feels fingers rubbing and rolling his nipple.

“Does this feel good?” Kinjou asks.

Now the air is feeling heavier, and it’s a little harder to breathe.

He has to lean his forehead against the wall, needs more support to keep his legs from giving out under him. Kinjou is still grinding his own erection against his backside. Arakita’s jeans are threatening to fall down his narrow hips any moment. He’s panting against the wall, and in a second of clarity he hopes the drywall isn’t so thin that his neighbours can hear.

It’s coming back to Arakita a little bit more now.

It started as soon as they walked through the door. Kinjou is getting too use to treating Arakita’s apartment like his own home. He kicked off his shoes skewed and scattered across the ground, leaving a hazardous walkway for Arakita, who tripped and would have almost fallen if he hadn’t slammed his fist against the wall for support. Apologizing, Kinjou came darting back and promised not to do that again.

Fifteen minutes later they’re still here by the door, by the wall. How did an apology turn into this?

“Arakita.”

Kinjou’s hand is moving south again. It drags away from his chest, and Arakita almost wants to grab his wrist and keep him there – he won’t admit out loud that’s where he likes fingers on him playing the best – when it goes back to his hip. Only this time he’s not holding him still, but Kinjou is tugging down Arakita’s jeans and briefs further until it falls to the floor around his ankles, the buckle on the belt making a thud against the floor, and Kinjou’s hand begins to run up and down between Arakita’s thighs.

His skin remembers everywhere Kinjou has touched him, where Kinjou has kissed and nipped and marked leaving a sensation in their wake. He’s moving his hands in rhythm with each other, one still pumping Arakita’s cock and the other making Arakita’s legs tense and shake as it teases and just like that he feels a twisting in his stomach, a spark down his spine and he can almost –

“Wait. Just, wait.” It takes Arakita all his willpower, but he manages to remove a hand from the wall and lightly push Kinjou back. “Fuck, Kinjou” – he’s trying to explain himself without sounding desperate –“not like that.”

“What do you mean?” Kinjou’s voice still sounds low with want, but there’s a hint of concern. His hands, once so confident in their skill mapping out the muscles and bones of Arakita’s body are now retreating to his sides with uncertainty. But that isn’t it.

Arakita turns his head and his eyes trail down. He can see the outline of Kinjou’s erection pushing up against the front of his pants, ignored this whole time.

“Take off your pants,” Arakita demands, kicking his jeans to the side and spreading his legs apart.

For a moment it looks as if Kinjou was prepared to ask another question, but it takes a second for the demand to ring through his brain before his eyes grow dark again. His confidence is back, like it was never gone, and his hands fly to the front, unzipping his pants and exhaling deeply relieved sigh when his cock is finally free from its constraints. He takes that one step he was pushed back in to close the gap between him and Arakita again.

“Are you sure about this?” Kinjou asks. He is running his fingers up the curve of Arakita’s spine.

“Do it before I change my mind.”

It’s a lie, just a scare tactic to make Kinjou move faster. Arakita has been thinking about this for a while now ever since he’s been packing a condom into his wallet (just in case, just in case). It’s not a secret, most other guys he knows carry one, and when Kinjou picks it out from his own wallet Arakita laughs. He wasn’t one of those guys Arakita knew.

“Were you expecting this?” Arakita asks.

“No but”– he grabs a second foiled package from his wallet, coats the contents onto his fingers –“always prepared for it.”

It was Arakita who cracked first. He remembers now that it was him who kissed Kinjou. When Kinjou was busy stammering apologies for kicking off his shoes haphazardly Arakita was not impressed, but waved off the incident because he didn’t actually fall. They eventually laughed it off, and Kinjou’s body was so close to his own when he tried to help Arakita up from his almost doubled over position. Then he leaned forward and brushed lips with Kinjou, drawing back almost immediately when he realized his mistake. But then Kinjou’s lips found Arakita’s own again, Kinjou’s lips found the skin on Arakita’s neck, on his collarbone, the shell of his ear. Then Arakita was turned around and made to support himself against the wall.

Arakita feels a finger slip inside him. Then two. He inhales deeply, focuses on Kinjou rubbing small circles at the base of his spine.

“Let me know how you feel,” Kinjou asks.

“I’m fine.”

When Kinjou’s fingers are gone there’s the sound of a second wrapper being opened, and then something thick is pushing up against him.

“Last chance,” Kinjou says. “Are you sure?”

Arakita pushes back and nods.

Then he can feel Kinjou’s cock pushing into him – slowly, slowly – every inch going deeper until Arakita feels Kinjou’s hips flush against him.

“F-fuck Shingo,” Arakita whispers, he always wanted to say his name like this, and he feels hands tighten on his hips. Damn, did Kinjou hear?

He begins with shallow thrusts, his thumbs rubbing small circles on the sides of Arakita’s hips. When Arakita begins to put his own weight into it and pushes back, wanting to feel hips slam harder into him, Kinjou takes the hint but he doesn’t go faster, he goes harder, pulling out his cock further to thrust in deeper. He’s building up a rhythm that has Arakita’s legs shaking, his fingers scrambling against the wall.

“S-Shingo,” Arakita gasps. He doesn’t care that Kinjou can hear him anymore. He brings one hand down from the wall and begins to stroke himself. His nerves are alight, his toes curling, and he hears Kinjou’s breath coming out shorter and faster.

“Yasutomo,” Kinjou says. His fingers are kneading into Arakita’s muscles, holding onto the sharp jut of his hipbone. He’s close just from listening to Arakita tumble his name from his lips between the moans, and Arakita’s voice raises as he tightens around Kinjou’s cock.

“I’m –” Arakita doesn’t finish his sentence, just pumps his hand faster and out of synch with Kinjou’s thrusts until his vision flashes a white hot and he’s coming.

It doesn’t take long after for Kinjou to feel the rush, and he comes deep, hips flush and stuttering against Arakita. He chases the pleasure for a few more seconds grinding against Arakita, then he slackens his grip and pulls out. They don’t speak, not for a good minute, until they both come down from their high. Then Kinjou kisses the back of Arakita’s neck.

“Are you alright?” Kinjou asks. Now that the heat is gone from clouding his mind, he wonders how Arakita might be feeling.

There’s a small pause before he responds, “I’m fine. Just tired.” Arakita laughs weakly. “Hell, how did we even end up like this?”

Kinjou looks toward the door and sees the shoes still scattered around.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not that. I meant this. I didn’t even know you, y’know” – he swallows – “liked me, I guess.”

“I do.”

“Well you made that obvious. Look at all the steps we skipped and went straight to action.”

“Two steps back then. Let’s have dinner.”

“After some sleep.”

Kinjou nods. He’s beginning to feel tired himself.

Arakita switches the bag in his hand from his left, to his right, then to his left hand again. He had bought a simple shortcake not from the grocery store where Kinjou would be able to tell which aisle it was located and the price, but from a bakery in the heart of the city. It had taken Arakita a good ten minute debate at his own kitchen table to decide whether he should have wrapped the cake container in something nicer or just bring it in the plastic bag when he realized it was pointless to waste time and brain cells on. It was just a simple thank you, he didn’t need to put flowers or hearts and ribbons on the thing. It’s not like he was trying to impress Kinjou.

If you don’t do anything to apologize maybe next time he’ll just let you die. Machimiya’s words play again in his head.

Just get it over with.

Arakita takes in a deep breath, inhales the humidity of the evening air. The sun isn’t down quite yet, and he hopes to get home before it becomes completely dark. And if Kinjou is as apathetic toward him as he was that day, this exchange will be over quickly.

He switches the bag in his hands one more time before knocking on the door and immediately regretting his decision when he hears footsteps approaching not a moment later. Maybe he could have written a thank you, taped it to the cake box and left it there, running back to his house before Kinjou could answer the door. Or maybe he could have –

“Hello,” Kinjou says when he opens the door.

Crap, Arakita thinks. Too late. He’s not good with emotions and heartfelt speeches, so even if he has rehearsed it in his head about twenty-three times before coming here the words are stuck in his throat anyway.

Kinjou is still staring at him and Arakita wonders when he’s going to slam the door in his face for taking too much of his time. But the cake would spoil sitting at home, he wouldn’t be able to crack open the box much less look at it if he were to run then. What a waste of money.

He musters up the will to speak somehow, even with the knowledge that this isn’t going to end the way he rehearsed.

“Hi,” Arakita responds.

“May I help you?” Kinjou asks.

Arakita offers a nod before offering the bag.

“Uh, this is for you.”

Kinjou looks confused. “What for?”

“Helping me out those last few times.” He nods again, and feels an embarrassed flush creeping up into face. “Thanks, I guess.”

He probably sounds so lame. He probably looks lame as hell too. Arakita’s hand is left hanging outstretched holding onto the bag, but Kinjou hasn’t taken the gift. He’s trying to send a message, repeating take the bag take the bag in his mind and hoping that was in Kinjou’s list of superpowers, the power to be influenced by telepathy.

Instead of doing what Arakita had hoped – which would be to accept the gift and part ways in a civil manner with some of Arakita’s pride still intact – Kinjou’s expression softens.

“Thank you,” he says. “Would you like to come inside?”

Hell no, Arakita thinks. Don’t make this any more awkward than it already is.

Arakita musters up a smile that shows too much of his teeth, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes either.

“It’s alright. I just wanted to give you this as a thank you.” He brings the bag up higher between them, insistent. His palms are feeling clammy. He doesn’t know if Kinjou is genuinely thick-skulled or just giving his own form of punishment outside of the legal scope; he’s not a villain, just a bit of an asshole. Does that really deserve this much penalty? Whatever it was, it’s making Arakita feel more and more regret for having his life saved this many times.

Kinjou doesn’t give him a choice when he opens the door to his home wider and moves out from the doorway.

It’s been months now since he has been attending Hakone Academy and everyone around him seems to be accustomed to the routine of life here, but for Arakita it always felt like the first day. He walks through the door and is met with strangers, faces he has tried before to make familiar but every attempt ends with their turned backs. So he runs – he’s been taught to never trust strangers anyway – and always finds himself back at the bench.

He’s claimed the area now as his space. A retreat. It made him feel safe even if Arakita only managed to remember the stupid things here but that just meant it was no different than crawling into bed.

Why am I like this?

Since Arakita has been coming here he has always been by himself. It was too far from the school building for most students to even know about it, and if they did too out of the way if it ever crossed their minds. But today he’s surprised to find his spot on the bench already occupied by a stranger, and Arakita hesitates. He isn’t use to seeing anyone here before him except for the odd one or two students wandering past. He decides however to continue forward with slow, gentle steps so he doesn’t scare off his trespasser.

It wasn’t enough, and alerted to his presence Arakita ends up staring into eyes that refuse to blink.

“Hey,” he says. The cat’s ear prick upward but its body makes no signs of moving so Arakita takes another step closer. He reaches out a hand. He makes another attempt, softens his tone when he feels his first greeting sounded too rough. “Hey.”

Its head is almost at his fingertips. Arakita can already imagine the softness of its black fur against his skin, but then it turns away and jumps off the bench, strutting away in the opposite direction. The cat stops to look back only once before continuing through the bushes.

And that was it.

What was that about? He wants to yell at the cat – like at everyone else you know – but stops short when he realizes his fist had been squeezing and flattening his lunch. Instead Arakita looks behind himself, wondering if someone else must have frightened the cat, and then he’s reminded why he has chosen this spot when can see no one else. So he takes back his usual seat on the bench, unwraps his melon bread and stares out through the fence to the other side.

In class he looks out the window and tries to see a flicker of a tail moving underneath the bushes, and scouting through the trees when he’s walking to the dorms he wonders if they’ll ever cross paths, but all he sees are blackbirds.

He thinks about it later that night, what he’s done wrong, and of a million different excuses – none that makes sense, but he believes them anyway – why he’s meant to be alone.

Then in a few days’ time Arakita is surprised to see the cat again after believing he had scared it off. This time it’s not on the bench but standing just in front of him closer to the bushes. The cat’s tail hits the branches as it waves in the air and yellow eyes never parts from his own. He’s heard before that cats are smart creatures, and Arakita pats the space beside himself wondering if the cat would take his offer.

It does.

As it moves closer something inside of Arakita seems to feel warmer, somewhere in his chest – but it’s cut cold when the cat instead turns past him and down the concrete path. It runs into another bush and he can see the branches bouncing in place from where it has gone.

His hand is still placed down on the bench seat beside himself, but he moves it off when he realizes he hasn’t opened the packaging to his melon bread yet.

He’s been watching the bushes for a sign of movement, but there must be a small hole in the fence because for the rest of the lunch period it never comes back. How lucky, Arakita thinks, if he could wish himself smaller to the size of a cat he’d do the same.

What’s wrong with me? He’s not even fit for the animals.

This time he doesn’t feel the need to lash out, Arakita is getting use to the feeling of being alone. He thinks.

Then the third time he sees the cat it’s underneath the bushes. He watches the cat watch him eat, but Arakita doesn’t try to coax it out, or talk to it, or touch it. He has run the scenario a hundred times before he sleeps, all the different ways to reach out to the cat, but the version in his mind always ends the way he wants it to. He’s afraid that reality is different. So he does nothing.

Then for the first time since their encounters the cat breaks eye contact and turns away from Arakita. Its ears prick up, and he soon hears footsteps coming down the concrete path. Then there are voices. And now their faces are visible. It’s two boys he recognizes from class.

Arakita doesn’t think they notice him. They continue to talk and laugh, slowly coming toward him. His eyes flit back to the cat, who is now looking back at Arakita and away from the sounds.

They’re closer.

Arakita can see the dark pinstripes on their uniform.

They’re even closer.

He can read the crest on their jackets.

They didn’t seem like bad people, only friendly if a bit shy, from Arakita’s seat at the back of the classroom.

Maybe –

Just maybe –

They make eye contact.

“Hi.” Arakita says.

And then –

And then the laughter stops.

They look away and down, and he can hear the rhythm in their footsteps pick up until they’re unseen and away. His courage is gone, and Arakita wasn’t even aware that his heart had lifted until he feels it sink. Now he feels stupid all over again and wonders when this cycle will break.

It has always been like this. Whenever Arakita reaches out a hand no one seems to take it. When he tries to speak no one answers. They’re in their own little groups  - but they at least have somebody - and he can only watch from the outside. How does everyone make it look so natural?

Then there’s a rustling as the cat appears from under the leaves. It looks down the path, and when Arakita thinks it’s about to run away again it hops onto the bench. Arakita is wary until the cat steps forward to brush up against his arm. Then he’s allowed to feel the fur on its head. The cat purrs under his touch.

He’s heard before that you should never pet a feral cat, but ones that are strays can still remember what it’s like to live with contact. He wonders if this one is just missing a collar or missing a friend. Free or abandoned - no one ever stays.

Arakita wants to smile, but he feels too tired.

If, however, someone were to open his practice journal and ignore the progress notes and instead look inside the margins they would see Kinjou was very vocal about his feelings. His nose would be buried in the pages and his pencil to the paper looking like he was he was always studying, but it’s really just him trying to figure out why he likes Arakita so much. He’s putting down what Arakita is to him, like excitable and competitive but there are so many words written that he hasn’t been able see a pattern. So if all objects fall at the same rate how come it only feels like Kinjou hit the ground?

When they go out with friends Kinjou finds himself upset if Arakita picks a spot away from him, and as they part ways he wonders how Arakita doesn’t even bother to glance back once after goodbye. He wants Arakita’s attention enough that sometimes Kinjou finds himself baiting him just to try to get a reaction. To Kinjou, it feels like his affections seem the type that would be found on a schoolyard, but secretly wishing that someone would notice you the way you notice them was better than pressing gum into their hair or pushing them off their bicycle because you didn’t know what to do about it.

He does feel a little immature – it’s his first time, please be gentle – about his crush. Writing in journals and wanting to share the same seat and wondering how much Arakita thinks about him, is it as much as Kinjou thinks about Arakita? Even by accident? When he’s not around? Arakita feels distant, so if two objects are separated from each other the weaker the force of attraction will be, why does it feel like Kinjou’s heart only grows fonder?

When Arakita laughs it’s invasive and loud. He’s foul-mouthed, and taunting on the road – sometimes directed at Kinjou. There’s no reason his heart should beat faster or for a sudden bout of self-consciousness, until something reminds him that Arakita is also honest and loyal and actually quite soft inside.

If their hands touch Kinjou wishes that a glove didn’t divide their skin from contact. When they say goodbye Arakita’s eyes disappear as he smiles. When they’re beside each other Kinjou considers how much smaller Arakita is from his bones and his muscles to his eyes and his lips. So if the object with the greater mass is supposed to attract the object with less, how come Kinjou feels like he’s the one being pulled in?

He still hasn’t figured out why. All the facts and figures couldn’t explain, and all the dictionaries couldn’t describe. He’s well acquainted with the phrase opposites attract, but if that was the case Kinjou thinks he would have felt like this many times before. There has to be some logic to why Arakita was the outlier. He thinks about it before bed, in class, and during practice it was exceptionally hard when Arakita was right there and messing with his reason and turning it into feelings. If he manages to clear his mind for even five minutes from thinking about Arakita, Kinjou considers it a victory for his brain until his heart swells again, and he can’t help but glance back at him or see only Arakita in the crowd just over the horizon.

Maybe he’s applying the wrong rules like adding numbers before multiplying them. Or maybe his calculations are off, because one plus one should equal two but he’s still left at one. Kinjou doesn’t understand where he went wrong. So if the law of gravitation is universal, how come he’s the only one being affected?

Some days Kinjou feels he may be close to an answer. He has been careful to distract from thoughts about where Arakita was or what he was doing or what – who – he was thinking of. Kinjou supposes he hasn’t been trying hard enough to control his emotions because it’s quite easy when he really tries to focus on something else like his textbook – yes, of course it’s a very interesting read. It’s almost been an hour without thinking of him. Maybe it was just a phase.

It’s fine the first time, accountable to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The second time is a little debatable. The third time is just tiresome, the fourth time though – that’s just embarrassing. Arakita has encountered him enough that he thinks Kinjou recognizes his face now. And after Kinjou jumps out to grab him from getting crushed between the front of a car and a pole line, he looks down at a shocked Arakita – still clutching onto his groceries – in his arms.

“Hello,” he says.

Hello.

Hello of all things. Not to ask him if he’s hurt. Or to tell him not to worry. It’s hello.

That drives Arakita a little insane that they’re on such friendly terms already. Hell, probably even on a first-name basis, and if it continues at this rate he expects they’ll get married soon.

“Oh my God, are you hurt?” A woman asks, and the sound of her concern brings him back to the present. She runs up to touch his cheek. She dropped her bag of groceries on the side of the road for him. He sees apples rolling. What a nice lady, Arakita thinks.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks to” – he clears his throat – “thanks to Kinjou.”

“Thank God.” The woman clasps her hands to her chest. Before she runs off she says, “I’m going to go check on the driver. Thank you Kinjou, you saved his life!”

Kinjou Shingo. Snake boy wonder, local superhero. With an unnatural ease he can navigate his surroundings, create venom from his saliva, and has super strength and agility. It’s no wonder he was able to react in time to grab Arakita from the clutches of death again, and again, and again. Twice from falling objects, once from a dangerous slip that would have led him over the rails, and now a moving vehicle. Arakita thinks he has a superpower too and it’s called misfortune.

Superpowers weren’t common, but it happened enough that it was nothing to be shocked about. Any other hero could have saved Arakita, but it just so happens that Kinjou was always around because they live in the same area and shops at the same grocery store.

Arakita wants to muster up the gratitude to thank him but he can’t. It’s not that he isn’t thankful, it’s that he has said it too many times and after the first two rescues it kind of lost its charm. There’s only so many different ways to say thank you without becoming a broken record. So Arakita’s become a little jaded.

Instead he pats Kinjou’s shoulder affirmatively.

“You’re pretty fuckin’ fast,” he says.

“Glad to be of service,” Kinjou responds.

He’s been asked before why he hasn’t joined the ranks of other full-time heroes. With proper training his powers and intelligence were more than enough. But Kinjou answered that he didn’t want to do it for a living; he would rather live as normally as possible, so he kept his status to only part-time and to the area instead of across the country or even world-wide like some others. It’s also why everybody just calls Kinjou by his name instead of Snake Boy or Python Man or some equally exaggerated title for his superpowers. He never made – or needed – a code name.

The man in the car steps out with the help from the woman. He’s visibly shaken but unharmed. A group of bystanders begin to form.

Arakita pats his shoulder again.

“You can let go of me now.”

“Are you sure you can walk?”

“I’m fine,” Arakita replies, “I never got hurt in the first place.”

“Right.” Kinjou puts him down and waits for a moment for Arakita to prove that he can stand on his own two feet. Satisfied he says, “I’m going to help the others now.”

“Go.” Arakita waves him off. “Do whatever it is you heroes do.”

“Save people?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Kinjou points at him.

“Look both ways before crossing the street, and always make sure you’re paying attention to your surroundings.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling – I’m an adult.”

“Good,” Kinjou says, “that means you don’t need another reminder.”

He runs off. Arakita wants to yell at Kinjou you asshole! or something equally insulting, but saying something like that to your life saver would be in bad taste. So Arakita grumbles but brushes it off, and looks inside his grocery bag to make sure everything was alright. Damn, he thinks when inspecting the egg carton, not a single one cracked. Kinjou’s good.

Police cars have finally appeared. An officer is talking to Kinjou, and he points in Arakita’s direction. The officer nods, thanking him, and begins to walk toward Arakita with a notepad. He sighs. Arakita just wants to go home, but he’s stuck playing the victim and he didn’t even get hurt.