今夜も俺様の美技に酔いな

😂😂😂😂  Ryoma replies immediately. Tezuka swipes his screen to look at his clock app. It reads 9 PM in Germany, 5 AM in Japan, which means Ryoma is awake when he shouldn’t be. Tezuka thinks about saying something, but he isn’t Ryoma’s mother. He puts the phone down and goes to bed early.

He wakes up to a call from Fuji.

“Why didn’t you post any photos?” asks Fuji.

“Do you know what time it is?” Tezuka asks in return. It’s a stupid question. Fuji always knows exactly when he’s bothering Tezuka.

“I’ll be waiting!” says Fuji, and hangs up. Belatedly, it occurs to Tezuka to wonder how Fuji found his Instagram. But his handle isn’t creative, and anyway Fuji has Inui, who makes it his business to know everything the ex-Seigaku members do. He sighs. He might as well get out of bed.

These days, when Tezuka isn’t on the tennis courts, he’s in the kitchen instead. Living by himself has, out of necessity, made him into a decent cook, and after he’s gotten over the first dozen failures he discovers he quite enjoys cooking. There’s little else to do for him in the city that doesn’t require better language skills, and while his German has improved a great deal it’s still not good enough to follow fast conversation.

When he’s making lunch, he remembers Fuji’s call, and he does not want another one at the same unholy hour of night. So he posts a picture of his finished dish.

As soon as he’s posted it, his phone starts to buzz with notifications, and he has to text Oishi to find out how to turn them off, because he knows everyone else will probably laugh at him before helping him. He should really text Oishi first all the time— it’s only that Oishi tends to nag.

He goes for a run, goes to practice, comes back, reads for a bit, and then he finally picks up his phone to look at the comments. They are almost all from fans of his, saying how good it looks, or from friends expressing varying degrees of surprise that he’s remembered to eat lunch at all. Tezuka finds this distinctly unfair; he eats very regularly nowadays.

Then, he sees a comment that reads, Did you make this? The username is ‘childofgod’. There’s only one person with the arrogance to actually use a nickname like that, and Tezuka isn’t at all close to him.

I did, he replies, before he can think about it. He doesn’t answer anyone else.

In the morning, Yukimura has replied: I like to cook, too.

*

Tezuka’s Instagram fills with pictures of food, both from his own kitchen and from restaurants he eats at when he’s too tired to cook. Oishi nags less now that he can see for himself that Tezuka is eating, and Fuji starts sending him recipes instead of weird factoids from the Internet. But Tezuka isn’t going to make fried pickles or boiled goat liver, so Fuji’s recipes are not actually useful. (Maybe he will make something for Fuji when— if— he goes back to Japan.)

Yukimura, however, posts links in his comment section from time to time, and these Tezuka does use. Most of them turn out well, but when he attempts to make the stuffed squid he hits an obstacle.

How do I make squid not rubbery, he asks Kawamura, at his wit’s end.

But I mostly work with raw squid is Kawamura’s unhelpful reply, then he sends a Youtube link to a Korean chef preparing squid, so that’s alright. Tezuka watches the video, experiences a flash of inspiration, and goes to borrow his landlady’s grill.

Mrs. Otto is very good about encouraging Tezuka’s cooking hobby; this time she teaches him how to make a wickedly spicy green chilli sauce that isn’t in the recipe. Tezuka’s mouth is on fire after he taste-tests, but it’s delicious.

This one gets many more likes and comments than he is used to— Tezuka suspects it is because he’s mentioned Yukimura. Unlike Tezuka, Yukimura is fairly prominent on social media, and the people who call themselves his fans are also that much more numerous.

But Yukimura himself does not comment, and Tezuka is at a loss. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said Yukimura’s name. He thinks about asking Oishi, but it’s already late in Japan. No one else would be helpful, except maybe Sanada, but Sanada is prickly on the subject of Yukimura.

He texts Sanada anyway.

Did I do something, he says, apropos of nothing, certain that Sanada will know what he’s referring to.

He’s happy, comes the reply a few minutes later. And he wants to know if you’ll post something that isn’t food for a change.

Tezuka scrolls through his camera roll for something that isn’t food, but there isn’t much not-food in it, besides the tennis, and somehow he thinks Yukimura doesn’t mean tennis.

Eventually, he settles on one of the first photographs he’d taken upon moving into his apartment.

He likes Mrs. Otto’s cat because it reminds him of Karupin, and of Ryoma, and as if Ryoma is reading his mind his LINE pings with a photo of Karupin. He falls asleep to Ryoma sending him more Karupin pictures, and so doesn’t see the new LINE message until he wakes up.

You know, I have a sweet tooth, Yukimura says, with a sticker of a cat licking its paws.

*

Tezuka doesn’t go on a dessert-making spree because of Yukimura, but this fact is (even he secretly admits) highly debatable. They talk on LINE often, mostly about cooking; he’s found a kindred spirit in Yukimura that he hadn’t at all expected. Yukimura sends him pictures of pretty sugary confections that Tezuka can’t possibly hope to make, and Tezuka sends him pictures of cotton candy. Because that’s the limit of his artistry with sugar.

Sometimes, they talk about tennis.

How has your shoulder been, Yukimura asks one day. Tezuka looks at his phone, not sure how to answer. It’s a sign that they haven’t really spoken since high school, because his shoulder isn’t so much a worry now as long as he remembers to take care with it.

Good, he says, stops. He doesn’t know what Yukimura is doing now, but he’s sure it isn’t tennis. He would know if Yukimura was in the tennis world. Everyone would know.

There is a long lull in the conversation, enough that Tezuka makes a pot of tea so his hands have something to do. It’s not that he waits around for Yukimura to reply his messages, usually. This time just feels serious, in a way that other times about crepes and panacotta are not.

When Yukimura eventually replies, it’s not what Tezuka expects, and yet it is completely as expected. We should play a game sometime.

You’re in Japan. He almost makes it a question.

I know.

And then Yukimura doesn’t reply to him any more, and Tezuka goes to exercise until he can’t move.

I said something wrong, he texts Sanada from the gym floor. His head coach steps over him, dropping a towel on Tezuka’s face as he goes. Tezuka lies there, feeling the phone vibrate on his chest and working up the nerve to look at it.

But it’s only Fuji. I heard someone’s favourite dessert is waffles.

Are you talking about Yukimura?

Who else? Fuji sends the same cat-licking-paws sticker that Yukimura had used. We’re gardening buddies.

Tezuka allows himself another long moment of lying on the floor feeling complicated feelings, then gets up before his coach can lecture him. He should go back to not having Instagram. Reading comments is strangely enjoyable, but handling Yukimura is not. He doesn’t know how Sanada does it (Yanagi, he can understand— Yanagi is Inui’s friend, after all).

He resolves not to think about it.

*

His resolution lasts about a day.

“I just wanted to eat waffles,” Tezuka tells the mirror, but even his reflection doesn’t seem convinced. He doesn’t even eat ice cream, and there are five scoops of ice cream on this monstrosity.

His phone dings with a LINE notification.

It’s probably not too sweet for me. It is, of course, Yukimura.

I know, Tezuka types, and doesn’t know what else to say. He sends it. Yukimura is always with Sanada, he should be used to this sort of thing. Tezuka thinks he is more socially competent than Sanada, anyway.

Why do you only post food pictures? Everyone else takes selfies once in a while.

I don’t have much to show, he thinks, or, people have looked at him enough already that he wants something else to be on display for a change. Yukimura probably wouldn’t get it.

I don’t take selfies.

Take a cute one and I’ll come over to eat your waffles.

You are in Japan, he doesn’t say, and takes the picture.

“After then.” Eiji bumps his shoulder against Fuji’s as they walk. He’s glad to have someone beside him. He feels smaller than he thought he would and he forgot to look at the campus map. But they’re here now, no more kid stuff, the best part of their youth ahead of them. “We’ll go to the Interhigh this year!” He’s been longing to say that for weeks.

“Eiji,” Fuji says, touching Eiji’s sleeve. “I’m not joining the tennis club. It’s time for a change.”

Eiji stops in his tracks. He turns to complain to Oishi, but Oishi isn’t there.

+

Inui is in the tennis club, at least. But he’s the only one from last year’s Regulars. Eiji expected Yamato to be there, but he’s retired too and the captain is someone Eiji doesn’t know. He texts the news to Oishi and has to run five laps for not paying attention to the captain’s Very Important Speech, the earliest in the year anyone has ever been punished, at least according to the captain.

First-years have to pick up balls and set up nets and that rankles. National champions should be above that sort of thing. But Inui brings a device that he swears will pick up balls in one-third the usual time and even if that’s not true, he’s so excited about using it, no one else has to deal with the balls.

Everyone else is Eiji and five new boys. Mori, the second year who’s in charge of them, calls Eiji over.

“This is Iwaki.” Mori pushes a new boy forward. “He specializes in doubles too.”

Iwaki looks dumb and his hair is boring. “Hi,” he says. “Let’s go to the Interhigh together.”

“I’m a singles player,” Eiji says.

+

On Saturday afternoon Eiji takes his racquet and goes to meet Oishi. There’s a broken down court about halfway between their houses. Last year Oishi said it was too terrible to use.

He’s there already, sitting on a bench bent over a book, organic chemistry the cover says, but when Eiji calls out, he stands up and smiles.

Eiji vaults over the net and grabs him in a hug. The chemistry book falls onto the court.

“Eiji!” Oishi says, in his chiding-but-not-really-because-it’s-Eiji voice and hugs Eiji back.

“Your hair is so shaggy!” Eiji says. He tugs at it. “Is that your new look?”

“I haven’t decided.” Oishi picks up his racquet and a ball. “How is high school?”

They hit for a while, not a real match, and Eiji tells Oishi about high school, about Fuji’s photography club project and Inui’s Zip-It Ball Tornado and the chicken curry in the cafeteria. About the dare group he’s in with three other boys in his class, how Eiji’s dare was to put dry ice in all the third-year classrooms and how he got all but one finished before being caught.

“What about your school?” Eiji asks. He hits a cross-court forehand more seriously than he means to and Oishi scrambles for it. The court behind him feels lonely without Oishi there instead of across the net but Eiji is a singles player now so he’ll get used to it.

“It’s good,” Oishi says. “Really busy.”

“What’s the tennis club like?” Eiji goes up to the net just so he can watch the Moon Volley sail over his head.

“I’m not in any clubs,” Oishi says.

+

“Let’s go out,” Eiji says to his friends. “To celebrate the first month of Dare Group.”

They all pile out to karaoke. On the way, Eiji messages Oishi to meet them there. “You’ll like him,” he tells the boys. “He’s sings really well.”

Eiji watches the door of the booth while he sings and dances but it doesn’t open, at least not before they’re thrown out for being too noisy, and it’s not until the morning that Eiji sees Oishi’s message, apologizing at 2 am.

+

Oishi apologizes again when they meet for tennis, jumping up from the bench and spilling flash cards everywhere. They have drawings of molecules on them in red and green ink, notes in Oishi’s tiny perfect writing.

“Can’t you get these on your phone?” Eiji asks.

“I remember better if I write them out,” Oishi says, just before he double faults.

“When are you going to cut your hair?”

Oishi rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. “I have to leave early today.”

+

“If you played doubles,” Inui says, “they might let you play in the spring tournaments.” His right hand is bandaged from an incident with the Zip-It Ball Tornado and he’s making backwards facing notes with his left.

“I don’t care,” Eiji says. Anyhow, he’s working on a plan to get the captain to let him try out regardless. The plan is to challenge him to a tennis match and beat him. He’s going to ask for Oishi’s help this weekend so he can make a game plan.

Eiji’s phone chimes and he grabs it from his bag, hiding it behind a book called <i>99 Tricks for Singles Mastery</i> so he can avoid more laps. It’s Oishi, calling, not messaging. Eiji slides his phone in his pocket and runs to the bathroom but by the time he gets there, it’s gone to voice mail.

He locks himself inside a stall and listens to the message. <i>Eiji, I can’t come out to tennis any more. I’m really sorry but I have cram school classes then. Call me when you get this.</i>

Eiji kicks the stall door. He wants to throw stupid Oishi’s stupid message into the toilet but he only got the phone a month ago. He pulls all the toilet paper out into a heap instead and kicks it too like it’s Oishi’s stupid butt.

Then he goes back to the courts and finds Iwaki.

+

Texts from Oishi cover Eiji’s screen for a few days but he dismisses them all. Then they stop. Which is good, because Eiji is busy.

The dare group hide thirty alarm clocks around the classroom but they’re caught and Eiji has to do extra cleaning for a week.

At tennis club, he’s playing doubles every day. Iwaki is okay and their game is getting stronger. He knows a lot of formations and he’s good at sign play, even if he doesn’t know Eiji’s favourite food or TV show or why Eiji can’t hear the word “bubble” without giggling.

Fuji comes by the courts to take some photos. He waves and Eiji goes over to meet him. “Oishi called,” Fuji says.

“Tell him he’s been replaced.” Eiji grabs Iwaki around the neck when gets back to the court and Iwaki stares at him.

+

“Let’s hit some more,” Eiji says after practice is over. He takes Iwaki to the broken down court.

“I thought you wanted to practise,” Iwaki says. “We can’t play here.” He swings his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at school early if you want to work on formations.”

Eiji watches him go. He sits down on the bench and stares at the court. There’s a torn card beside the bench with a molecule drawn on it in green and red.

He picks it up.

+

Eiji is still sleeping in on Saturday when his sister drops an envelope on his face. He sits up and rubs his eyes.

“Someone left it outside the door for you,” she says.

Eiji yawns and turns it over. His name is written on the front in tiny perfect writing. He holds it for one, two, three breaths. Then he tears it open.

It’s a piece of heavy paper, covered in photos. Photos of Eiji and Oishi. Playing in tournaments. Laughing in the school atrium. Out for hamburgers. A practice match against Momo and Echizen. Holding their medals from Nationals, Eiji biting his. And at the bottom Oishi has written: <i>No matter how busy I am, I won’t forget the Golden Pair.</i>

“Stupid Oishi,” Eiji says and rubs his eyes some more to get the sleep out.

+

When Oishi gets out of cram school, Eiji is waiting for him. Oishi’s eyes go wide and Eiji can tell he’s worried he’s going to get yelled at.

“I thought you replaced me,” Oishi says. His hair is parted at the side, hardly styled at all. He looks like a business man.

“I have a new doubles partner,” Eiji says. “But I could never replace Oishi.”

Oishi’s face lights up, match-point bright. Then he frowns, just a bit. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t go out. I’m just busy all the time with school now.”

“I know.” Eiji takes the book bag from Oishi’s shoulder. It’s heavier than he was expecting and he sways just a little as he settles it on his shoulder. “I came to walk you home.”

Oishi smiles and Eiji smiles and they start walking. Eiji tells Oishi about the alarm clocks and Oishi tells Eiji about his inorganic chemistry exam. They pass a vending machine and Eiji buys a can of juice. They pass it back and forth until it’s done.

When they get to Oishi’s house, they stand outside for a few minutes, finishing their stories.

“I’ll meet you next week,” Eiji says.

Oishi takes the bag from Eiji’s shoulder. “Eiji,” he says, “why don’t you call me Shuuichirou?”

He glanced to his superior’s desk, Captain Tezuka, was busy as always answering 3 phone calls at the same time, probably from the administrative authorities, asking them about the progresses on any of the suspicious murderers, or the money, or the above-the-law people. Takashi would bet many of the administrative authorities were also directly tied up with the cases. Everything seemed so covered up, every angle they checked was another dead end. And things weren’t even covered up well; there were gunshot marks, gunpowder traces, even numbered dollar bills that mysteriously appeared in places they should not have been. But every single person those pointed to vanished, or simply had so many lawyers Takashi got a heavy headache only thinking about how difficult it would be to speak five minutes with that kind of suspect.

He took another sip of the coffee in front of him. It was awful, like it was every single day on the Police department, but it helped. Takashi was sure it helped. That it helped him stay up passing through murder files and crime scene pictures. That it helped him pass out after the late nights of hard work, after the long hours of surveillance, which never seemed to make any difference.

The drives to Los Angeles or to Vegas also ended in nothing. All the search warrants came delayed and when they could search the Lo Argento Ghiaccio Casino or the mansions at the Bellacere district in Vegas, there was nothing left there, only smiling employees acting too polite and asking what the police was doing there again, it had been the third time on that month.

A sigh came from his lips; he knew this was going nowhere. Everybody knew this was going nowhere. To distinguish which cops, politicians, judges, merchants, lawyers were already bribed by the mob was a herculean task. And how to even approach that? He couldn’t simply go around the department pointing fingers and yelling. But he had the will to do it. Every time he touched his gun he had the will to just go around the department shouting at those he was sure were being bribed and if it wasn’t for his Captain, he would have done it already.

A voice came from the door; taking him off from his thoughts and making him spill some coffee on the pale blue shirt he wore.

“Kawamura, if you could come to the interrogation 2 room without spilling any more of your coffee, please.”

“Oh, apologies Kikumaru, I will be there in a second.” Takashi answered.

 The red haired man at the door smiled at him in a playful way as an answer and left. Takashi felt bad on suspecting him, but as the new guy in the department and having that almost childish atmosphere around him, he would be the easiest one to bribe. Takashi was sure he would be the easiest to bribe. And the leaked information having increased since Eiji Kikumaru was assigned to the department, and his smiles that looked forced sometimes. Nobody could be as happy as that red-haired boy was, in Kawamura’s mind.

Takashi’s hand unconsciously searched the holster of his gun, holding the gun he would be able to accuse Eiji and stop more information for being leaked. But it stopped mid-way, remembering the Captain’s words to not do impulsive actions. Kaidoh and Momoshiro were hurt because of those impulsive actions. They were the best investigators in the department, now stuck at the hospital with the Police department guarding the place all the time to guarantee no more attempts on their lives. Another sigh came from his mouth, remembering two of his best friends almost died because of this case. It came with the job but it did not stop him for getting angry.

He reached the front of Interrogation Room Number 2 to see the psychiatrist Syusuke Fuji waiting at the door.

“Hello Mister Kawamura.”

“Oh, Doctor Fuji, yes… Hello” Takashi answered the best he could. That doctor was another of the figures Takashi suspected. But he was more… dangerous. Way more dangerous than Eiji. The doctor always carried his empty smile and always had a way to disconcert people around him. It was like everything else others did only amused him. The “Red Dragon” book had been released on the previous years and Kawamura couldn’t stop picturing Dr. Fuji as Hannibal Lecter on his head since he had read it. The impression that man passed always sent shivers down Kawamura’s spine, and the fact he had never been good with horror books made him have nightmares of Fuji as Hannibal.

“Mister Kawamura, I got information that you knew the man on this interrogation room. We do not have any probable cause to maintain him here for more than one hour, so if you could talk with him and discover if he has any information on the cases, it would help me a lot.” Fuji said.

Takashi was sure the hissing he heard after from Fuji’s mouth was the same Hannibal Lecter would do if he was real. And that made him only nod as an answer. Doctor Fuji smiled back and left the small corridor they were in, making Kawamura finally be able to breathe properly again. He hadn’t even managed to process right what the doctor had said, his imagination still playing tricks on him making the corridor lights switch on and off even with the bright light coming from the windows, just to add to the Doctor’s atmosphere.

His hand touched the doorknob for Interrogation 2 room, still too scared to have rational thoughts. The Captain would say he is getting paranoid. But he was sure that Doctor had something going on. He looked at the case notes in his hands, which Fuji had delivered and sighed. It was him again.

Entering the room a known voice came to greet him.

“hmmm, Kawamura anh? So they sent you to talk with me again?”

Akutsu Jin set on the black folding chair in the middle of the room; he didn’t seem perturbed at all for getting arrested again. Takashi knew his childhood friend was involved with the organized crime. It perfectly fitted his character, the rebellious child who didn’t accept orders or advices from anyone. He would be the perfect mobster hit boy. He hoped his friend was not that deep into the mob business. That he had not killed anyone yet.

But this was a common occurrence, Akutsu getting arrested for any minor law breaking offense, and getting released one hour after for a lack of evidence. How evidence just seemed to vanish on those times in San Francisco.

“Hn, are you gonna say something Kawamura? Or just stand there looking at me?” The bleached haired man shouted at him.

Takashi sighed. “What is the offense this time, Akutsu? White weapon carry in mid-city? Aren’t you tired of that already old friend?”

“You don’t have anyone that saw me carrying a weapon, Takashi, and you know it.”

Kawamura could see the other’s patience was already on the end tail of it, and he was not in the mood for having another discussion, or even a fist fight in the middle of the police department.

“I don’t. But a witness that suddenly vanished reported seeing you walking around with a white sword, around 100 centimeters long, on downtown today.”

“But you don’t have the witness anymore.” Akutsu answered.

The tone he used made Takashi scared. Not for his life. But for Akutsu’s actions. Somehow he still held into the glimmer hope that even being a misadjusted man, Jin would not kill anyone. He wanted to believe that.

The next minutes looked like hours. The two of them in that closed small room. Akutsu still sitting on the black folding chair. Kawamura still standing on his back on the door. What a horrible interrogator he was. Couldn’t even extract more than a couple of sentences from his childhood friend. He knew he could do better than that.

But half of his brain did not want to know. Half of his brain wanted to believe his friend was still the same boy that played together when they were kids, growing up in one of the San Francisco most necessitous districts. The Akutsu he knew would not kill a fly. He was a good man, just a bit impulsive and difficult to understand.

The clock ticked, announcing the passing of an hour, signalizing Akutsu did not need to be there anymore. The white haired man stood up standing in front of Kawamura, silently asking for him to get out of the way so he could leave. They looked in each other’s eyes, Takashi looking for his old friend hidden somewhere inside that pale yellow color.

Kawamura was the first to look away. The tension was too much for him. It was like the air had left the room and he couldn’t breathe properly. He left the door, letting the taller man pass. Feeling it would not be long before they saw each other again.

Akutsu stopped by the door and looked back at him. On that moment Kawamura found his friend.

“You should abandon this case, Takashi.”

UR WELCOME

The original poster, username 072065082085, seemed to be a new account with no prior posts. Despite the fishiness of it all and the potential danger of viruses or malware, the siren song of the name Tezuka Kunimitsu (and the rather beguiling thumbnail) proved too much to resist.

MIZUKI

… It appeared to be some kind of game. One of those visual novels, a dating sim, to be exact.

Clicking through the story, Mizuki scoffed at the stilted writing and cheesy dialog. Admittedly though, the rather expertly photoshopped stills of Tezuka were quite something. Mizuki hadn’t realised there were that many non-blurry pictures of Tezuka, who was notoriously difficult to photograph. The music was really terrible though, clearly some inferior royalty-free stuff.

No matter. Mizuki was skilled, Mizuki was determined, and he would get all the Tezuka CGs. He was now down to one final Christmas scene, where he (the main character) was about to present game-Tezuka with a gift to win his love.

Obviously, Mizuki went for the fishing rod. Tezuka’s love of fishing was well-known. He made the appropriate selection, and just about fell off his chair as a giant, zoomed-in image of Konjiki Koharu’s pouty lips congratulated him on ‘netting himself a hot hunk’.

OISHI & KIKUMARU

After inviting himself over to complain at Oishi about not having a girlfriend, eating dinner (and snacks and dessert), rolling all over Oishi’s room and commandeering his computer, Kikumaru downloaded the suspiciously titled file out of boredom, despite Oishi’s protestations.

Ignoring Oishi’s hovering and increasingly strangled exclamations, Kikumaru happily clicked at the game, making whatever choices he thought would net him the girl–no, Tezuka. So weird. But really funny. Tezuka liked cake, right? He didn’t look like the type, but everybody liked cake. Especially Christmas Cake. Kikumaru would give him all the cake. See? He was doing well. Tezuka-buchou was agreeing to meet him for a Christmas date (sooo weird). Still, Kikumaru felt kind of excited. Meeting a girl for Christmas had to be something like that, yeah? So it was practice, sort of. Sitting forward, Kikumaru clicked the option to confess to his one true digital love.

On-screen Tezuka vanished, only to be replaced by cake, cake and more cake.

Hey, this was pretty good too.

ATOBE

This had to be illegal. Atobe should inform Tezuka, mobilize his lawyers, track down this miscreant and sue every stitch of clothing off him.

Atobe downloaded it anyway.

Despite the shoddy craftsmanship and unethical use of Tezuka’s image, this…game…had a certain charm to it. Taking Tezuka out to dinner, discussing fishing bait under the stars, these were all admirable things to aspire to (admirable things that only Atobe was fit to aspire to). Sadly, there was no option to sweep Tezuka into a private jet for a tropical holiday in the Maldives. Atobe settled for inviting Photoshop Tezuka to a classy Christmas ball.

Finally, the in-game Christmas event, where Tezuka would show up in a handsome tuxedo. Atobe selected the option to meet his date at the specified location, only to be confronted with the mind-searing image of the Seigaku coach in a ball gown that looked rather disturbingly like lingerie.

There was no save to reload, no ability to regret his choices and restart the game, only a drooping, poorly-animated heaving bosom barely restrained by pink chiffon. Atobe dry-heaved and unplugged his computer.

FUJI

Ah.

He had known, the moment he downloaded the program, who this was from and what it was for. After all, every one of the edited images originated from Fuji’s private collection (which he didn’t remember ever sharing with the creator, but that was a transgression for another day). The deconvolution was superb, though, better than what he could do on his own. 

Sadly, Fuji didn’t have time to appreciate the finer, un-blurred details of this art. As the CG stills went by, Fuji diligently picked out the tiny cacti embedded within, sometimes one, sometimes two, hidden in the wallpaper, in picture frames or on backpacks. In turn, the dialogue options disappeared, leaving simply a story that marched ever on.

It went something like this.

Tezuka, a cactus fairy, had descended to the mortal realm into the body of a tennis-playing junior high-schooler to learn the meaning of true love.

Despite the amusing (and oddly compelling) premise, Fuji rather thought the story quite lacking. And there were not nearly enough cacti. Still, he smiled when on Christmas Eve, the Tezuka-fairy accepted the meaning of love and dissolved into pink sparkles, transferring his immortal soul into a cactus to repay Fuji for his education in the fine art of confessing one’s love next to a trash can.

He watched the scene fade to the end credits, where there was a little message right at the end:

“Merry Christmas - Inui S

P.S. Sorry for sitting on your cactus. It was an accident.

P.P.S. I promise I bought you a new one.

P.P.P.S. Can I have my notebooks back?”

“Probabilities,” Eiji huffed. “What about the probability that I asked you to come along because I wanted company for the trip?”

“You’ve been asleep most of the train ride,” Inui said. “That’s why I had so much time to do these calculations.”

“See, it worked out for both of us,” Eiji said, grinning impishly. “Don’t worry, Inui. I’ll make sure you have a good time. What else are roommates for?”

“A good time,” Inui repeated, frown deepening. He tapped his pen against his notebook. “Odds are trending towards the fact that you are trying to set me up with someone. Probability ninety-seven percent.”

Eiji leaned over Inui, closer to the window. “Oh look, we’re almost at the station!”

“Don’t change the—” Inui was cut off abruptly as Eiji crawled over him, peering out the window.

“I wonder if I can see Oishi from here,” Eiji said, voice muffled from pressing his face to the glass.

“Eiji, you’re squishing me,” Inui muttered darkly into Eiji’s armpit.

“I can see him!” Eiji shouted into the window. Before Inui could say much on the matter, Eiji was scrambling backwards, uncomfortably jabbing Inui in a few soft spots, before Eiji had finally backed out into the aisle and running down to the exit.

“The train hasn’t stopped yet!” Inui shouted, a bit too late, mostly just out of some instinct to inform rather than any delusion that his words might be heeded. He was ninety-nine percent certain that Eiji would wait for the train to come to a stop before leaping out of the train, though he was at least slightly concerned at that outside one percent.

He sighed as he packed up his notebook neatly into his bag and slung it over his shoulder (as well as grabbing Eiji’s bag, which he seemed to have forgotten altogether in his excitement) and made his way to the exit. He got to the door just in time to see Eiji excitedly squirming, waiting for the doors to open.

As soon as the doors slid open, Eiji was off in a blur, leaving Inui to cautiously follow in his wake. His eyes followed Eiji long enough to see him launch into the air, only to be caught easily by Oishi. The sight was familiar, though Inui knew it had been quite some time since he’d seen the two together; they still fit together like puzzle pieces.

Inui began scanning the rest of the train platform, and just past Oishi, Inui’s eyes caught something that made his entire body stop and stutter while his brain struggled to catch up. A flash of green, the strong, stocky physique, arms crossed as his face remained stoic, perhaps on the verge of frowning…

“Hi, senpai.”

Inui felt a lump form in his throat. (‘Why was that?’ he thought, but buried that inquiry for later investigation.)

“Hi,” he finally forced himself to say, “Kaidou.”

_________________________

The park nearby Oishi’s campus had decorated with dazzling lights that sparkled against the winter snow. Eiji and Oishi looked, as far as Inui could tell, like the ideal couple; walking down the path with their gloved hands interwoven, framed with snow, so close to each other that they bumped into each other with increasing regularity, yet it never seemed to interrupt their stride.

Meanwhile, Inui walked more or less parallel with Kaidou, making sure that the distance between them never came to less than 30.48 cm, which Inui felt was already a tad too close, but gave a good margin before getting into the “danger zone.”

Still, Inui’s insides felt strangled, and he hadn’t quite figured out why yet. Well, that was a lie; he knew why…

He was still calculating though; why had Oishi brought Kaidou with him? Since when had Kaidou been in close enough proximity to Oishi in order for him to orchestrate such a plan? Clearly, Eiji had known… Inui frowned at that. Since when had Eiji, of all people, gotten wind of more data than Inui himself had gathered.

Inui looked over to Kaidou as they walked, and took in his features. They hadn’t changed much over time, getting sharper if anything. He still seemed familiar, after all the years.

Kaidou cleared his throat, but ultimately said nothing.

Inui gave in. “How have you been, Kaidou?”

“Fine,” he said.

That seemed to be the end of it. Inui was almost worried there was a hint of anger there, but Kaidou was never one for words, keeping everything short and to the point. Inui had liked that about him, and he hoped the years hadn’t changed that.

“So you’re… attending college now?” Inui asked.

Kaidou nodded. “Same one as Oishi-senpai.”

“Ah,” Inui said, mentally making a note of it. That explained some things. “So you did well on your exams?”

Kaidou nodded again. “Yes. Thank you for the study guides you sent.”

Inui nodded back.

The truth was, that had been about the last time he and Inui had spoken. Their attempt at dating had been spectacular, in theory, but ultimately fizzled the moment distance factored into the equation. He had tried to keep in touch — emails and texts and chats — but Inui had found he was never very good at that sort of thing. Every time he tried to respond to an email, he’d wonder if his response was lacking something — Did he sound too formal? Too familiar? Should he include some indication of sentiment? — and often something else would pop up that needed his attention more, which would distract him from replying altogether.

Now, there was no way to stall or delay or worry about the tone. Kaidou was here in the flesh, and there wasn’t much Inui could do other than look at him to try to deduce if Kaidou had felt any slight from Inui’s conversational failings.

Inui was still in the midst of thought when Kaidou looked over at him. (The silence must have stretched on for too long, Inui realized belatedly.) Inui froze for a moment — he’d forgotten how Kaidou’s eyes looked, up close and in person — before he looked away, trying to obscure the fact that he’d been staring.

Oishi and Eiji were laughing in the distance at some joke Inui hadn’t been paying enough attention to catch.

“How are you, senpai?” Kaidou asked.

Inui raised an eyebrow at that, looking over at him. “You don’t have to call me that.”

Kaidou’s brow furrowed.

“I mean, it’s not as if we still go to the same school, or…” Inui trailed off, not wanting to further highlight their prolonged separation. “However, I am also fine.”

Kaidou nodded, a tick too slowly. Inui felt like his data models for Kaidou were slowly coming back to him, like muscle memory that was sluggish from disuse, but somehow still ingrained in him.

Kaidou was bothered by something.

The knot in Inui’s stomach got tighter.

_________________________

“How do you do it?”

Oishi looked up, apparently slightly startled by Inui’s interruption. It was getting late as their get-together was winding down. Kaidou had headed back to his dorm room (apparently just a floor below) leaving Inui alone with Eiji and Oishi.

Eiji was dozing off with his head on Oishi’s lap as a movie droned on in the background, leaving Oishi to give Inui an incredulous look on his own. Inui leaned forward with a notebook newly cracked open and a pen spinning between his fingers, just in case.

“What?” Oishi asked.

“You and Eiji,” Inui asked. “You behave exactly the same around each other as you did when we were teammates. But you’ve been at different schools throughout high school and now in college. How have you preserved…” Inui ran out of descriptors, and instead settled for nodding his head at them. “This.”

Oishi stared at him for a moment, as if Inui was mad (a look Inui was used to getting), before he shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, we call and text, and skype each other a lot.”

“I am aware,” Inui said with a nod.

Oishi shrugged. “Well, there’s not much more to it than that.”

“But…” Inui leaned back, not sure what to say.

“Is there something this is about?” Oishi asked. Inui studied his face for a moment, and detected just the hint of a smirk.

Inui looked away. “Why did you invite Kaidou today?”

Oishi chuckled lightly. “I thought it would be nice for you two to see each other again. This is Kaidou’s first year in college, after all, and I got the feeling he was kind of lonely. I figured seeing some old friends would cheer him up.”

Inui frowned.

“Why? Didn’t you enjoy seeing him again?”

Inui looked back at Oishi, studying his — now obvious — smirk. “It was… awkward,” Inui said. “We haven’t kept in touch as well as… you have.”

Oishi’s smile widened. “Well, there’s no time like the present, right?”

Inui looked down at his notebook. He had written Kaidou’s name at the top of the page, then scratched it off, worrying about being too obvious. He had never worried about being obvious before, instead opting for efficiency, but somehow this was… different.

“How could I… I mean how do you know…” Inui’s frowned deepened as he ran into trouble articulating his concern. “After so much time has passed how could we just…”

Eiji yawned loudly from Oishi’s lap, stretching his arms out above him. Oishi moved his head just slightly, as if on cue, to avoid Eiji slapping him in the face. “Inui,” Eiji said, the name slightly garbled in between yawns. “If it’s important, you just do it,” he said. “People don’t just drop off the face of the Earth when you don’t see them all the time.”

Inui’s insides, which hadn’t yet recovered from their awful, knotted state, now suddenly felt like a cold spike had been driven into them. “Oh.”

“But it’s not too late,” Oishi said. “It never really is. I mean, Eiji and I went months without talking in high school.”

“What?” Inui asked, his head perking up. “But…”

Oishi shrugged. “We just didn’t know how to keep in touch. We weren’t in the habit. After all, we used to be right next to each other all the time.”

Eiji nodded. “Sometimes you have to remember how to sync up again when you aren’t face to face.”

“So,” Inui said. “Even for you…”

“It takes practice,” Eiji said. “Just like everything else.”

“Oh.” Inui looked back down at his notebook. “Just like… everything else,” he muttered to himself. He clicked his pen, flipped to a fresh page, and started drawing some straight lines. “I believe I understand. I have some follow up questions though.”

Oishi’s smile seemed only slightly perturbed. “Of course you do.”

_________________________

“Kaidou.”

The rhythm of Kaidou’s sneakers pounding cold concrete stuttered, then stopped, before he slowly backtracked. Kaidou was clad in thick workout clothes, protecting him from the cold; even in winter he prefered exercising outside. Inui was glad to see that at least he still knew this about Kaidou.

When Kaidou had backed up enough to stand parallel with Inui, who was standing bundled in a snow bank next to the path, Kaidou tipped his head to the side. “Senp— I mean… Inui?”

Inui didn’t answer, instead pulling a folded paper from his notebook, and held it out for Kaidou. Kaidou scrutinized it for a moment, before finally reaching out and taking it.

“What’s this?”

“A training menu,” Inui said. “For communication.”

Kaidou unfolded the note, squinting at it.

“One skype call a week,” Inui said. “At least, to start out with. To be supplemented with texts and phone calls of varying frequency, increasing as needed.”

Kaidou’s eyes flicked over the page before looking back up at Inui. “What?”

Inui pushed up his glasses, slowly, struggling to do something other than look away; that would have been easier, but retreat wasn’t an option in order to bring about the ideal outcome. The odds weren’t favorable.

“I’m sorry,” Inui said, after struggling past his hesitation.

Kaidou’s confusion deepened.

“I’m…” Inui fidgeted. “I’m not good at… maintaining communication. It’s difficult to keep tabs on data that you can’t see right in front of you… It’s hard to judge whether your input is still wanted…” He looked down at his notebook, the notes he had taken last night, which had helped him in developing this course of action. “Sometimes it’s less painful to just look the other way.”

Kaidou folded the communication training menu and stuffed it into his pocket carefully. He began taking off his gloves, and before Inui could question it, Kaidou’s hands rested on either side of his face. They were burning hot against Inui’s cold skin.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t make it clear that I want your… input,” Kaidou said.

Inui nearly said something, but was cut off by Kaidou leaning in. Unlike his hands, Kaidou’s lips were freezing. But despite the shock of cold, Inui still savored the feeling of soft lips against his own before Kaidou broke away.

“Was that alright?” Kaidou asked. “Senpai?”

“I told you, you don’t have to call me that.”

“I want to,” Kaidou said.

The next kiss was slightly warmer.

_________________________

Eiji groaned as he flopped into his seat on the train. “This weekend was too short!”

Inui nodded.

Eiji huffed, curling into the seat. “I’m probably going to sleep again. You’re not gonna be grumpy again if I do right?”

Inui frowned. “I wasn’t grumpy, I—” Inui was cut off when his phone beeped.

Incoming Message: Kaidou Kaoru

Hello, senpai. I’m texting you, as your communication training menu specified that I should. I hope your train ride will be pleasant.

Inui paused, a smile growing on his face as he read the text. He began to reply, but as the seconds wore on, he began to realize how quiet it had become. He looked over to see Eiji staring at him, a smug grin stretching over his face.

Inui sighed. “I think I will be able to… entertain myself without you.”

Eiji was still grinning as he closed his eyes. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

               The doorbell rang, and Shiraishi went to the front door to let his teammates inside.  The first of the group to arrive was Kenya.  “You’re a couple seconds early, Kenya!” Shiraishi joked around with his teammate.

               “That’s Naniwa’s speed star for you, always fast to arrive!“  Kenya responded, and the two of them started laughing.  After a couple seconds, Kenya started to look around.  “Was I the first one here?”

               “Yeah.  Everyone else should be here soon.  Probably.”

               “Probably?”

               Shiraishi shrugged.  “You never know with those guys. Especially Kin-chan.  He might get distracted by a takoyaki stand on the way and then end up napping somewhere.“  He chuckled a bit.  Thankfully, that wouldn’t happen this time, since Shiraishi thought ahead and asked Chitose to walk Kin-chan to his place.

               Just then, the doorbell rang again, and Shiraishi opened the door to find that Chitose, Kin-chan, Zaizen, Koishikawa, and Gin all arrived at the same time.  Apparently, they had all run into each other on the way over there, so they all ended up walking together.  The only two missing were Koharu and Yuuji.  Once those two got there, then they could get started with the cooking.

               The team all moved to the living room, so that they could sit down and talk for a bit while they waited for their other teammates to show up.  They all chatted happily for about 10 minutes or so, when they started to get a little impatient.  Kin-chan was agitatedly squirming in his seat.

               Another few minutes had passed, and Shiraishi was about to get out his phone and call them when he heard the doorbell ring.  He let out a sigh of relief as he got up to answer the door.  He opened up the door to reveal Koharu and Yuuji, wearing matching ugly Christmas sweaters.  Each of the sweaters had half of a Christmas tree on it, so when they stood next to each other, the whole tree was formed.  And of course, the sweaters had working lights on the tree.

               Shiraishi hadn’t even given them a greeting when Koharu started pouting.  “See, Yuu-kun! I told you we’d be the last ones here!  It’s your fault we’re late, you know!”

               “But Koharu!” Yuuji sounded desperate.  “Didn’t you say that I should fix the lights on the sweaters before we got here?”

               “Yes I did and it was you who couldn’t figure it out!  I was even telling you how to do it and everything!”

               Shiraishi chuckled softly at their bickering.  “Now now, isn’t it fine?  We’re all here now, so we can finally get started.  Besides, you two were only a little bit late anyway.”

               Koharu huffed and crossed his arms.  “I guess it’s fine.”

               The rest of the team all laughed before they got up, heading to the kitchen so that they could make some cookies.

               Shiraishi pulled an apron out of a nearby drawer and tied it around himself.  It was a white apron with the words “kiss the cook” on it.  “Ah~ Ecstasy!“  That was the signal that it was time to start cooking.

               They were going to start with gingerbread men first.  The plan was to make a bunch of them and then decorate them so that they looked like the Shitenhouji regulars.  It was a good plan, and a good idea, and Shiraishi prepared everything to make sure that it would go according to plan.

               Shiraishi carefully measured out the dry ingredients, and then handed them over to Chitose so that he could sift them together.  So far, so good.  Next was to mix the wet ingredients together.  “Who wants to crack the eggs?” They were doing this as a team, after all.  There wasn’t a point if Shiraishi did everything himself.

               It didn’t even take a second for a hand to shoot up into the air.  “Me!  Shiraishiiiii! Pick me!!” Kin-chan called out while jumping up and down.

               Shiraishi laughed at Kin-chan’s display.  “Alright, but be careful not to get any of the shell in the bowl.”

               “Right! Got it!"  Kin-chan grabbed the eggs from Shiraishi and completely smashed it into the side of the bowl, causing the egg to burst in his hand.  "Ah… oops.  Let me try again!!"  The second egg ended up much like first.  And so did the third egg.  At this point, Kin-chan’s hands were completely covered in raw egg.

               "Hey, Kin-chan, let me try it!"  Kenya took the eggs away from the overly energetic first year.  Kin-chan pouted a bit, but it was fine with everyone else.  They trusted that Kenya wouldn’t make the eggs explode everywhere.  He gently cracked the egg on the side of the bowl, and sure enough it cracked without exploding.  "See, Kin-chan, that’s how you do it.”

               Zaizen looked into the bowl.  “You got a lot of shell in there.”

               “What? No I didn’t!"  Kenya looked into the bowl himself, to see that Zaizen was right and there were a couple pieces of shell in the mixture.

               "We can just pick them out, can’t we?” Koishikawa spoke up before carefully picking out the pieces of the shell.  “See?  Much better.”

               Once the dough was all mixed, the boys cut the dough with gingerbread man cookie cutters.  After all of that, it was finally time to bake the cookies.  “Alright!” Shiraishi spoke up, with the pan in his hands.  “All our hard work has come to this!"  He opened up the oven, and paused for a second before bursting into laughter.

               The other members of the team looked at him, completely confused, as Shiraishi kept laughing for at least a minute.  Kenya was the one to finally speak up.  "Kura?  Are you okay?”

At first, Horio had considered the sheer number of girls in his class a significant disadvantage. The ladies had completely ignored his suggestion for a cute maid café and voted unanimously for butler service. They had intended to sacrifice the boys in the class, but to the charismatic Horio, such sacrifices were merely opportunities. The girls definitely noticed his confidence. Horio knew that he looked good in a suit, his mother had told him so, but he didn’t expect such recognition right off of the bat. Being surrounded by girls was a good thing after all. He was even appreciated to the extent that his efforts were needed not in the café, but to wander the school and advertise.

So it was that Horio put on the suit from his cousin’s wedding and gamboled downstairs. His mother fixed his tie and he was off to school early. He had to be, for his special job involved being there early enough to greet students and guests with the friendly Butler Café sign.

Head held high, Horio embarked on his usual path to school. Even the old woman that he greeted every morning noticed his attire and offered a free mikan to help keep his energy up.

Horio bowed theatrically and promised not to disappoint, if she got the time to drop by the school festival.

After several other such encounters, Horio practically floated toward Seigaku. The sidewalks surrounding the school were decorated in balloons of white and blue. He had to walk around the second year art class’ chalk designs, which offered a description of events and some very cute flowers. He found a clumsy one near the outside with Arai-senpai’s name attached.

“Hehe, wait until the guys see this,” he snickered and used his phone to capture the image. After taking that picture, he kept his camera setting on as he turned to the school. It would be nice to get some pictures of the Seigaku covered in decorations.

Horio looked through his phone and saw something that froze him to the core. If he had met Buchou’s stare with his bare eyes, he might have dropped dead instead of standing there, dumbfounded by the sight.

Why on earth was Buchou wearing a shark kigurumi? And just how did that stare penetrate the crowd of students to lock onto him with such devastating force.

The picture was blurry. It would take someone of Fuji-senpai’s level to capture the rare sight.

Though Horio feared for his hit points and stamina, he manned up to fulfill his duty to the class. When Tezuka bowed formally and greeted the newcomers, Horio bowed even lower with his sign.

As he came up from a bow, he took a peek at Tezuka’s sign. He had been too distracted before to take notice of his captain’s advertisement of…an interactive aquarium photo set in class 3-1.

“Tezuka-buchou,” Horio asked between waves of visitors. “What is an interactive aquarium?”

Tezuka turned to regard him. Unbidden, the Jaws theme song started up between Horio’s ears. Tezuka stared long enough to make Horio think that he really would lean in and bite his head off. Instead, he said, “Please visit the class and see for yourself. Oishi and Kikumaru will be glad to see ichinen attending the display.”

“I-I see…” Horio glowed. A personal invitation from the captain! “Thank you.”

“Aa.”

The captain said no more, but Horio brimmed with confidence. Just a beat behind Tezuka’s voice, his own morning greeting rang out in distinctive nasal tones. Horio stayed until the crowd trickled into the food and craft stands in front of the school. Though Tezuka was famous enough to simply stay in one place, it would take more to get people to an ichinen exhibit. Spirit full of vigor from being at his captain’s side, Horio bowed and pressed onward.

“Ikemen butler café!” he advertised, holding out his sign left and right. “Please come and visit class 1-3 for the most handsome service!” Imagining himself a male siren, Horio called to the attendees over and over. If he could gather his efforts, they would get a lot of visitors.

He wasn’t the only one beckoning to their guests. Among the din, Horio heard Tomoka’s familiar voice calling, “Hotcakes! Very good America hotcakes!!”

Wow, Horio stopped in amazement. Tomo’s English was so good! He gravitated to the sound, eager to sate his curiosity and appetite. At the sight of the stand, he stuttered in laughter. Echizen was standing there behind Tomo, dressed up in a pink apron and kerchief. Kachirou passed him pancakes one by one, and he decorated them with a unique English word written in jelly and whipped cream.

The look Echizen gave him was almost as severe as Tezuka’s, but he had built up some immunity to those golden eyes. Ignoring him, Horio squinted. He recognized some of them: tennis, racket, ball, can, pencil, Karupin, court.

“Oh, you wrote love! How cute, Ryoma-kun!” Tomo turned around to see what Echizen was writing on the next one.

“In tennis, love means–”

“Oi, Echizen!” Horio came in like a hero, interrupting him before he could spoil Tomoka’s idealism. It was important to behave like a gentleman. “What does that one mean?”

He pointed to a pancake that read d-i-c-k.

“Oh, I’d like to try. I’ve been practicing English,” Sakuno said, dressed up in a cat costume because of her class’ neko bakery. Horio thought she looked very cute. He would have to drag Echizen to the display later. Her nose scrunched as she looked at the difficult vocabulary. “Let’s see…d-i-c-k …maybe it is pronounced like…”

It happened in slow motion. Sakuno brought her teeth together to try the word and, in the same split second, Echizen opened up Horio’s mouth by the chin and shoved the entire vulgar pancake inside. While Horio gagged on the mouthful, whipped cream dribbling from the side of his lip, Echizen pushed the love> pancake into Sakuno’s hands.

“Ryoma-kun…” she blushed prettily. Echizen stared blankly.

Horio threw up in a shrub behind the stand.

“You all right?” Tomoka asked, returning Horio’s sign when color returned to his cheeks.

“Of course!”  It was a minor setback to what would be a glorious day. American hotcakes wouldn’t keep Horio from experiencing the school festival to the fullest! “I have to advertise around inside the school, too.”

“In that case, I promised Fuji-senpai that I would check out his art display,” Tomoka said. She opened her phone to see if any of the other ichinen would be available. “Want to come with? You can advertise around the third year halls.”

Puffing out his chest, Horio said importantly, “Definitely. Tezuka-buchou also invited me to check out his class display. You can tag along.”

“I wouldn’t miss that!” the whether or not Horio had invited her was implied. They chatted idly, both stopping to advertise their classes to interested students, as Tomoka led the way through the crowded quad toward the third year building.

A violent shriek from the second year building stopped them short. Instinctively, Horio screamed too. He dropped his sign, but picked it up well within five seconds; no one saw it happen.

When she recovered from the surprise, Tomo laughed. “Momo-senpai said that his class was building a haunted house.”

“Ehh…” Horio scratched his head with the sign. “I don’t think I could be afraid of Momo-senpai.”

“Kaidou-senpai will be in it too,” Tomo pointed out, visibly taking her amusement from Horio’s attempted bravery. His ankles quaked and she grinned. “Don’t tell me that you’re too scared to support your future captain.”

Trapped. He was definitely trapped. “Of course I’m going to go. I’ve been to a hundred haunted houses. You can definitely rely on me to protect you.”

Tomo crossed her arms and said loudly, “No thanks – I’ll get Ryoma-sama to take us through. But he’s on duty for another hour, so let’s visit Fuji-senpai first.”

Horio didn’t have the opportunity to defend his honor. Tomo grabbed him by the back of his suit jacket. Just like a puppy on a short leash, he was brought before his most terrifying senpai.

And said senpai’s art display: a three foot clay figure of his doubles partner, completely naked.

“It’s very….realistic,” Tomo offered optimistically to the pleased Fuji and furiously embarrassed Taka.

Unable to express himself in words, Horio looked up at Fuji, who smiled benevolently and said, “It’s not an exaggeration.”

As a man, Horio was more than a little jealous of Taka-senpai’s physique. “W-what was the topic?” Horio asked.

Taka looked more dismayed than ever. He gestured to the large, glimmering sign obscuring the windows that read: Future Aspirations.

That explained the pretty, painted clay pieces of sushi beside the lewdly detailed sculpture. Though the sushi weren’t as artistically impressive as Fuji’s Tennis David, people gathered intently around the pure design to avoid looking too directly at the intimidating piece. Only the reporter, Shiba, openly took photos of Fuji’s piece.

“Taka-san, you’re so talented,” Fuji smiled. “In art too, everyone wants to enjoy your sushi.”

Horio didn’t think it was possible, but Kawamura flushed more deeply. Tomo elbowed him in the side and he choked on his own nauseous expression. In a hushed whisper, she said, “Don’t make disgusting faces during senpai’s private moments.”

How could the moment be private? At least a fifty people were gathered in the room. Before he could recover enough to vocalize that defense, he was dragged from the room as quickly as he had been brought into it.

“Honestly, you can’t even be polite,” Tomo sighed. “You should be forced to go into that haunted house alone.”

The very idea of being alone in a haunted house with Kaidou-senpai brought out the strong urge to use the toilet. He tried to break away from Tomoka, but she was surprisingly strong, even as she texted Echizen to meet them in the haunted house. Horio peered over Tomo’s shoulder at the message. Though it showed a read receipt, no response came from the sullen freshman. They received positive responses from Kachirou and Katsuo.

At least those two are dependable. You’re so cheap, Echizen, Horio thought mournfully about his fate in the haunted house. “Ha…ha…we still have Buchou’s invitation to take while we…wait for Echizen.”

Thankfully, Tomo agreed with that idea. Horio could save his hit points for now. “Class 3-1 is just down there. I borrowed some cleaning supplies from Oishi-senpai, once.”

Blue cellophane and bright fish-cutouts decorated the windows as they went down the hall. Horio peered through them into the courtyard – the commotion below resembled a fishtank scene, with people busily moving in and out of stalls and buildings. So this was what third years could produce, after two years of festival experience.

“Welcome,” Oishi stood at the door, organizing the visitors into a line. The vice-captain wore a blue fish costume decorated in painted, cardboard scales. When Oishi noticed Horio and Tomo, he greeted them with a smile. “Horio-kun, Osakada-san, thank you for coming to visit the display.”

“We wouldn’t miss it!” Tomo gave Oishi a thumb’s up.

“I ran into Tezuka-buchou this morning and he said that I should go check it out,” Horio bragged, puffing out his chest.

“Ah, so he’s advertising properly then,” Oishi looked relieved. “I felt bad sending him out like that, but it was the only way that we could convince Ryuuzaki-sensei that she needed to stay here instead of…advertise.”

The room did indeed resemble an aquarium; all four walls had been covered in paper and illustrated in truly fascinating detail. Cameras and props had been set up to allow for pictures in different scenes with the characters. Among the magic of the third year display, unfortunately, his eyes stuck on the one unpleasant thing in the room.

“Oh, did you come to take a picture with me, too?” Ryuuzaki asked, fanning her features with a paper shell. She was sprawled over three desks with a majestic ocean castle painted onto the wall behind her. Some sharks would have been more appropriate. “Really, I’m more popular than even I expected.”

Oishi’s smile quivered, but didn’t break. He had more strength than Horio, under the assault of Ryuuzaki-sensei dressed as a mermaid. But the true hero of undying fortitude was Kikumaru the catfish, who bounced right on up to Horio and said, “Sorry, sensei. I asked our cute freshmen to come and take a picture with me.”

The whiskered acrobat winked at Horio, who felt his heart melt.

“I don’t see why we can’t all take a picture together. Naa, Sumire-chan?” Fuji peeked into the room.

They were unable to escape fate. The puddle in Horio’s chest froze over. Hope was lost. As the golden fish pair flanked him, Fuji and Tomo kneeled together in front. At his back, Ryuuzaki-sensei’s chest wiggled against its seashell confines.

“Say chi-zu!” the third year cameraman counted down with his fingers. The apocalypse didn’t come on three, but Kikumaru did usher Horio and Tomo over to the computer to decorate the photo. Minus the trauma, they looked really cool with the blue filter and coral reef mural. Even if Kikumaru put cat ears on all of them, he would treasure the picture with his senpai and the date of the cultural festival.

“You’re looking very smart, Horio-kun,” Oishi said politely. “What’s your class doing?”

“A Butler Café,” Horio held up the sign with pride. “Katsuo is participating, but everyone wanted me to advertise.”

“I see, I’ll have to visit, then,” Oishi said. Fuku-buchou was such a good guy. “Good work, Horio-kun. I’m sure they have many visitors from your sign.”

Horio just about burst in pride. Kikumaru ruffled his hair and teased, “I heard that you couldn’t take ochibi’s homemade pancakes of love.”

Before Horio could gag and correct any misconceptions about Echizen’s love, Tomo interrupted, “We learned lots of new English words from Ryoma-sama. Horio-kun just had a hard time digesting the new vocabulary.”

“Work harder in your studies, Horio-kun,” Ryuuzaki-sensei loomed and Horio feared for his lunch yet again. “Or else you won’t qualify for the tennis team.”

“But Echizen is barely passing Japanese–” Horio tried to say in his defense. Tomo grabbed him with the strength of one thousand Taka-san’s and they flew from the room.

“OH LOOK AT THE TIME, we’ve got to go!” she said, walking so fast that Horio could barely keep up with her footsteps. Once they were out of hearing range, she yelled at him, “Do you want Ryoma-sama to get put on probation?”

“Relax. They’re not going to put him on probation. Besides, if his tennis were put in danger, Echizen would even teach himself classical Japanese.”

Besotted, Tomoka sighed. It was gross. She hadn’t even sighed at him when he showed up to school in this nice suit.

As they returned to the second year building, the screams grew louder once more. Though he couldn’t gather any information by peering at the dimmed windows from the courtyard, the spooky atmosphere suffocated Horio the moment they entered. Tomo hesitated a bit; her grip took on a new kind of strength.

Horio almost wished that he had died via Ryuuzaki-sensei’s bosom ten minutes ago. That might have been a better fate.

“Are you guys going to enter?” a second-year vampire smiled. Horio recognized her from the girls’ tennis club.

“We’ll wait for just a bit longer,” Tomo said. Horio closed his eyes, praying for Echizen to come and save him. Or Kachirou. Katsuo. Anyone.

“Horio-kun!”

It was Katsuo. There was a god. Kachirou joined a few minutes later.

“I wanted to wait for Ryoma-sama, but I think he must be held up at the stand,” Tomo frowned at her message.

“I guess we can’t go in,” Horio said, trying his best to sound disappointed.

“Really?” Tomo continued with a scary smile. Had she been taking lessons from Fuji? “This from the guy who entered a hundred haunted houses and promised to protect me.”

Horio started sweat and didn’t notice his friends shaking their heads.

“Let’s just go in, Horio-kun. Momo-senpai came by the Butler display, so we should really see what his class put together,” Katsuo said reasonably, though he looked a little nervous.

Some friends. They shoved Horio in front of them and entered the line.

The beautiful vampire chuckled and patted Horio on the head. “Ganbatte, ichinen-kun.”

Just like that, Horio felt himself imbued with a new source of light. Such was the power of an older woman. If she really were a vampire, she could feel free to sparkle at him for all eternity.

The haunted house didn’t seem special at first glance. They entered through a gray, ragged sheet to a narrow passage. The second years had used cardboard and cloth to construct something like a maze within their classroom. Horio’s appreciation for the construction flickered with the failing light.

Horio heard heavy footfalls, like his dad stomping around in winter boots. But his father never cast those kind of creepy shadows. The light dimmed and bent, honing in on a single, bloody footprint on the floor.

“We’re going to die,” Horio croaked, backing up into Katsuo, Kachirou, and Tomo.

“Should we turn back?” Katsuo asked.

“We can’t,” Horio shook his head emphatically. The girls’ tennis vice-vampire had told him to do his best.  “We absolutely can’t.”

Despite the eerie music and clumps of hair along the bloody footprints, Tomo pushed to the head of the group to lead the charge. “Of course not, what would Ryoma-sama say,” Tomo said bravely.

Kachirou exchanged a look with Katsuo and murmured, “Probably mada mada dane.”

The new leadership hadn’t lasted long. Tomoka cried when one of her pigtails had swept up a fake spiderweb. Her flailing triggered the next event: a light shining down on a dying message from the ghost student of Seigaku.

Their wails joined the ranks of all those who came before.

With the screams to disguise his voice, a bloody Momo turned to a skeleton Kaidou and grinned, “Oi, it’s our ichinen. Let’s give them a real scare.”

“Idiot,” Kaidou hissed back. “Just do what we’ve been doing.”

“No, no, this will be way better, yes it will,” Momo laughed, rubbing his hands together.

Kaidou couldn’t hold back his annoyance, “Fshhhh.”

Of the conversation, Horio only heard the lingering notes of Kaidou’s hiss rippling through the sheets. “Snakes,” his knees quaked. Clinging to the sleeve of Katsuo’s suit, he said, “Why did it have to be snakes?”

“Enough with the fshhh, Mamushi, we’re a haunted house, not Raiders of the Lost Arc!”

“FSshhh!”

Fortunately, the first years couldn’t quite hear their upperclassman conspiring on the other side of the room. Kachirou shivered, “It sounds like someone’s whispering…we’re not alone.”

A hand dropped down from the ceiling, startling the group.

Katsuo clutched his chest and recovered, “Well obviously, Momo-senpai and Kaidou-senpai are in here with their classmates…”

“If they’re still alive,” a spooky voice said. “Bwa ha ha ha ha!”

In the darkness, the cardboard in front of them crumpled. A flickering, yellow light illuminated Momoshiro’s corpse, covered in blood and sprawled lifelessly on the floor. Horio wondered who would text him now to let him know when everyone was hanging out and correct his form without telling anyone that he had been doing it wrong.

Horio screamed, as did Katsuo, Kachirou, and Tomoka. When another furious wail joined the chorus, the four first years turned to each other and howled again in horror at the mysterious shadow behind the sheet. It had eaten Momo-senpai, and now it was coming for them!

Then, inexplicably, Momoshiro returned from the dead to yell at the moving sheet. “MAMUSHI! You’re not supposed to be screaming here!”

“I didn’t scream!” Kaidou growled, tearing down the curtain to glare at Momo. Somehow, Horio was closer to wetting himself than he was with the appearance of Momo’s dead body.

Getting in his face, the definitely not dead Momoshiro stomped on the fallen sheet and gestured wildly. “You literally just screamed!”

“I didn’t! T-that wasn’t what you did the last twenty times!”

“What, and now I’m not allowed to show a little originality?!” Momo shoved at the Kaidou skeleton’s ribs.

Furious, Kaidou raised his voice, “NOT WHEN YOU’RE LEAVING ME ALONE IN HERE!”

“Oh so that’s how it is – because you’re going to be the captain you’re the one who wanted to scare the first years and leave none for me!”

“THAT’S NOT EVEN TRUE!” Kaidou growled, hands gathering into fists.

The wheels turned in Horio’s head. Before Tomoka, or some other magic filter could stop him, he said, “Kaidou-senpai, were you scared?”

Kaidou, fists of death and all, turned on ferociously Horio, who did maybe wet himself just a little. “I wasn’t scared, I was giving him back up.”

“Back up. With your girly scream?” Momo said, bravely drawing Kaidou’s attention like a champion bullfighter. That grisly death of his might have just been foreshadowing. At least this way Horio had the time to reflect on a nice eulogy.

“MY SCREAM IS NOT GIRLY!” Kaidou surged forward and fisted Momo’s shirt. Just as eager to fight, Momo reached for the matching skeleton patterned bandana.

“…Guys…Maybe we should go,” Katsuo suggested, giving the brawling doubles pair a wide berth as their fight expanded, drawing the rest of the haunted house into the destruction.

Katsuo didn’t need to say it again. The four first years slipped out of the haunted house and took a breather in an adjacent hallway. After a few minutes of hushed panting and letting time catch up with them, Tomoka, incredibly, started to laugh.

Kachirou and Katsuo followed. Before he knew it, Horio was laughing too. He laughed with his friends until his smile just about split his face in two. Though he opened his mouth to speak, it was hard to put his bubble of happiness into words.

“I’m looking forward to next year,” he said finally.

His friends smiled in agreement.

“Awww, isn’t that sweet.”

Horio’s spine straightened at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He only knew the Sumida by the rumors, all of which suggested that he was someone to stay away from. A long legged girl with bleached hair giggled and leaned into Sumida’s shoulder.

“Oh my god,” she said. “The one in the suit with the unibrow. He’s so ugly.”

Though he didn’t feel that he had anything to apologize for, his gaze went magnetically to the ground in shame. He was too embarrassed to even look her way, let alone defend himself.

But he didn’t have to. Tomoka stood in front of him, obscuring any view with her fat pigtails. “Don’t you talk to him like that!”

“Oh, is that your boyfriend,” she drawled, bringing out a rough razor from her pocket. “Don’t you worry, girlie. I’ll shave those brows and pretty him up for you now. Free service.”

Not backing down, Tomoka said, “Why do you even carry a razor with you? Are you really that hairy, jerk?”

Her eyes went wide at the insult. “You, BITCH!”

Horio saw the girl’s arm swing wide to slap Tomoka and it stirred him into action. Even if they were friends, especially if they were friends, he could never let any woman take a blow for him. He had just about enough experience being protected without doing anything.

He pushed Tomoka aside and held out a hand to mitigate the oncoming smack.

It never came. His hand impacted something round.

Without realizing that he had closed them, Horio squinted his eyes open and saw for himself what had everyone silent. Just to make sure his eyes weren’t fooling him, he squeezed the boob in his grip. An incomprehensible squeak escaped from his lips.

“How dare you!” she snarled, leaping back from him. She crossed her arms over her chest and Sumida took over, lunging at Horio and capturing him in like a hostage.

Sumida smelled like cigarettes and Horio’s suit felt three sizes too tight. He fought but it was useless. His friends yelled at Sumida to let him go, to forgive him for the mistake, but at this rate, Horio wondered if he deserved to have his eyebrows shaved off. Then he really would be ugly and even his mother wouldn’t be able to call him handsome with a straight face. He would have to drop out of school to become some kind of hairless monk. And he had been so happy too, attending Seigaku and playing with the tennis team.

This was how it all would end. Though he knew it, he struggled all the same. Because a Seigaku tennis player fought to the very end, he closed his eyes and flailed. And then continued to flail because neither razor nor fist happened to his face, so he must be doing something right.

Until his hand encountered something round. Could he die twice?

When Horio opened his eyes this time, he saw that his hand had fallen on one of Kaidou’s firm pectorals. And squeezed (purely instinct).

“Kaidou-senpai,” he croaked.

Kaidou flushed, presumably with fury. “Let. Him. Go.” The heroic words were spoken with the deep voice and violent rage of a Disney villain. It really was Kaidou. Now that he had a chance of life, Horio noticed that Tomoka, Katsuo, and Kachirou had retreated behind Momoshiro.

“He groped my girlfriend!” Sumida said, definitely not as scared as he should be.

“By accident!”

“She was going to hurt him!”

“I was just giving him a little makeover,” Sumida’s girlfriend approached Momo, attempting to diffuse the situation that was no longer in their favor.

Momo regarded her coolly. “I don’t see anyone on our team that needs a makeover. Do you, Mamushi?”

Kaidou took two steps forward. Sumida dropped Horio and back-pedaled away from the dangerous contender. It wasn’t fast enough. Kaidou fisted the bully’s shirt and pulled him up off of his feet. “No, I don’t,” he said slowly.

“Here at Seigaku, we’re all handsome as fuck!” Momo said, crossing his arms to loom over the girl. “So take your makeovers to a school who needs them. Like Hyoutei.”

Dropping Sumida to let him run off with his girlfriend, Kaidou narrowed his eyes at Momo and said, “Don’t push it.”

“Shitenhouji?”

Kaidou coughed. Momo interpreted that as agreement and slung an arm about the grumpy man’s shoulders. Two beats later, Kaidou removed it and gave Momo a shove for good measure.

“Horio-kun!” Katsuo and Kachirou were quickly at his side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah…somehow,” Horio rubbed at his hair. His suit was now filthy. He was alive, but somehow, he still felt like he wanted to cry.

Tomoka took Horio by the hair and forced him to look her in the eye. “Hey, you were really brave,” she said, with a kind face that brooked no argument.

Horio took a deep and difficult breath. “I feel like I was rescued, again.”

“Obviously,” Echizen said, strolling into their moment. Horio wanted to say that the pink apron diminished his entrance, but really, it didn’t. “Next year, you’ll have two years of experience.”

“…” Horio blinked.

“Echizen! That’s terrible! Isn’t that just another way of saying mada mada dane?” Momo pushed Echizen’s kerchief down over his eyes.

“You really can’t think of anything better to say to Horio-kun!” Katsuo said.

“Ryoma-sama!” Tomoka attempted to pull Momo away from bullying Echizen, but only managed to step on Kaidou’s foot.

“Fshhh….”

It came quietly, without warning or intention. Horio smiled, watching the friends that cared about him. “Hey Echizen! Let me show you how a real man knots an apron,” he pulled himself to his feet and joined in. After all, he had a good amount of experience with aprons. Or he had watched an anime with a maid, once or twice. It was basically the same thing.

~~~

As he put in for a Ponta from the vending machine, Echizen said, “You weren’t going to help, senpai?”

Inui stepped out from a quiet corner and didn’t bother to ask Echizen how he had known. “It wasn’t necessary. Were you?”

Echizen had come to the same conclusion, so he didn’t bother to answer. The Ponta can came down the chute and into Echizen’s waiting hand.

“I was gathering data,” Inui said.

Echizen drank his Ponta and looked at the data player as if to say, and.

Inui simply pushed up his glasses and added, “Seigaku will do well next year.“

***

Niou dreams about the face of a man he is sure he has never seen.

It becomes a thing he expects. He goes to sleep and he dreams of a man with a soft, brown hair, and silver eyes that hide behind thin glasses. He is always trying to catch him, but the man is always out of reach.

He thinks of looking for him, but he understands how ridiculous that sounds. He can’t find a person based on an image he has in his dreams.

He borrows a book from the library for his little brother when he finds him, right there on the back cover. The short paragraph beneath it tells him the man’s name is Yagyuu Hiroshi, and he lives in Yamagata prefecture with his wife and two kids.

The next day he quits his job and takes a train to Tsuruoka, after a quick search on the internet.

He finds the man’s address in the local phone book and it’s only when he is standing on the other side of the street from the house that he realizes this is crazy. So he turns around and rents a room in the cheapest hotel he can find. The bed creaks beneath him, the water in the shower don’t get warm, and the TV is broken. He sighs as he closes his eyes. Coming here was a mistake.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a smoke filled room. The fire is already too strong to escape it.

***

He remembers everything in his next life, and his parents end up admitting him to a psychiatric hospital when he keeps talking about past lives and memories that go beyond his years.

To his surprise, he meets Yagyuu there, six whole years after entering the place for the first time.

“What are you here for?”

The other boy raises his eyes from the book he is reading. “You always ask people that on their first day?” He sounds annoyed, but he closes the book so Niou takes it as a sign he can sit.

“It’s initiation,” he declares. “The veteran welcomes the new guy. Cigarette?” He hands the pack to the other man.

“I don’t smoke.”

Niou shrugs, puts the pack back in his pocket and lights his cigarette. He inhales deeply three times before speaking again. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“Not really.” A moment of silence, and then, “I want to believe that when you die you are finally free from this hell. I’d hate to think I have to be born again over and over.”

Niou says nothing until he finishes his cigarette, and then he stands up. “It’s nice to meet you, Yagyuu-san.”

“I never told you my name.”

Niou allows a soft smile to take place on his face. “I know everything, Yagyuu-san.”

A few hours later, after dinner is over, Yagyuu finds him. “So why are you here?”

“Who knows?”

“They say you’ve been here for a long time.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Yagyuu shrugs. “Everyone.”

Niou lets out a sigh before he says, “I’ve been here for longer than I can remember.” It’s not really true. He remembers the day he was brought in like it was yesterday, but the six years that have passed since then sometimes felt like eternity.

A long silence stretches between them, before Yagyuu breaks it. “I swallowed a whole bottle of Tylenol.”

“How was it?” He doesn’t really expect an answer.

Yagyuu gives one anyway. “Hurt like hell.”

They both snort, and so they become friends.

It doesn’t take long before Niou starts developing feelings for Yagyuu. He isn’t surprised when one day he looks at the way the other boy laughs and realizes that he is in love. He thinks it was meant to be, what with how fate keeps bringing him to Yagyuu in every life he lives.

They kiss for the first time under an old oak tree in the garden of the institution. Niou thinks he couldn’t be happier.

There are no doors inside – not in the bedrooms, not in the showers. It’s supposed to be a safety matter, to prevent suicidal patients from locking themselves and risking their lives.

For Niou, it means he can never get full privacy. It didn’t bother him much until he started dating Yagyuu and wanted a place where they could be together.

One evening, they both claim they don’t feel well and don’t go down for dinner. They get winks and knowing looks from their roommates, but at least they know they have the room for themselves, for at least an hour.

Niou’s only experience comes from memories from past lives, which don’t help very much, so he lets Yagyuu lead the way. He doesn’t care. He thinks he would let Yagyuu lead their entire life together if it meant he got to feel that way all the time. 

“You’re getting out tomorrow?”

Yagyuu nods, and Niou feels something tight in his chest. It’s not fair. Why is it that whenever he finally comes close to Yagyuu, the other man stays out of reach? “Congratulations,” he says, hoping his internal thoughts don’t show.

“I’ll come visit,” Yagyuu promises, whispering the words into Niou’s ear.

Niou nods in agreement, but he knows Yagyuu won’t come. They never come back to the hospital if they don’t have to. There are too many bad memories here.

And he is right – Yagyuu really never comes back. Three months later, Niou dials the number Yagyuu left him before he left. Yagyuu’s mother cries on the other side of the line as she informs Niou that Yagyuu died in a plane crash two months earlier.

Niou thinks fate is cruel.

***

Niou has a strange feeling regarding his new roommate in the dorms, but he can’t place his finger on it. He can’t explain his instant attraction to the boy, or the feeling that he gets when he looks at Yagyuu, like they have met before.

They couldn’t have met before, Niou is sure of that. He wouldn’t be able to forget someone as ridiculous as Yagyuu Hiroshi – with his serious face and ever-so-polite attitude. Niou spilled his tea over Yagyuu’s lap one day, and Yagyuu apologized to him for being in his way. Ridiculous, honestly.

About three months after they meet for the first time, Niou crawls into Yagyuu’s bed in the middle of the night. He is drunk after going out with his friends, and he is horny and hot and he wants Yagyuu. Now.

Yagyuu doesn’t push him away. He lets Niou touch his firm chest, close his teeth around his hard, pink nipples. He doesn’t say anything as Niou moves south and wraps his mouth around his erection, just lets out small, strangled moans. And when Niou finally pushes inside him, he wraps his arms and legs around him and whispers Niou’s name in his ear.

Niou wakes up in Yagyuu’s bed, alone. His head is pounding.

He finds Yagyuu in the small kitchen. There isn’t anyone else hanging around, and Niou doesn’t know if he’s thankful for it or wishes they weren’t alone.

“So,” he says, taking a seat.

“So,” Yagyuu answers. He pushes the orange juice in Niou’s direction.

Niou takes it, and their eyes meet for the first time. It takes a few moments, but Niou smiles. Yagyuu smiles back.

He is a fucking idiot.

Niou has always known he was a moron, but he never realized just how much. He doesn’t think he can ever erase the image of Yagyuu’s hurt face when he sees Niou kissing that girl.

He doesn’t even know her name. One moment he was dancing, and the next she was in front of him, moving her body against his own. Why did he kiss her?

“Wait!” his call is useless – the music is too loud for Yagyuu to hear him. He keeps calling him as he chases him out of the club, not caring if it has no point.

Moments like this always happen in slow motion in movies. You stand and you see every little detail, you know the end is coming.

In reality, it happens in a blink of an eye. Yagyuu runs across the road to the other side, Niou runs after him. The taxi comes out of nowhere. Everything fades to black.

***

Niou has a new neighbor, some quiet guy he hasn’t met yet. The only reason he knows he is there is the singing voice in the shower. He slips and nearly breaks his neck the first time he takes a shower and an unfamiliar male voice suddenly rises from the other side of the wall, singing a catchy pop song.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, clutching his hand to his chest and feeling his heart beating fast.

A few weeks later, he is already timing his showers with his neighbor’s. The loud singing voice makes him smile, and he hums the familiar songs with it, never loudly enough to be heard by the stranger on the other side of the wall.

He can never know what song he is going to hear. One day his neighbor sings some Anzen Chitai hit from the 80’s, and the next he goes for Can You Feel the Love Tonight. And the day after that he sings an Arashi song that Niou doesn’t even know why he knows, but he hums along anyway.

One day Niou waits, but his neighbor doesn’t sing. He checks his watch three times, frowning. His neighbor is always punctual.

For some reason that is beyond his grasp, he checks the hallway outside his apartment – and sees his neighbor for the first time.

The man is sitting on the floor outside his apartment, arms hugging his knees and his eyes staring at the gray wall in front of him through thin, small glasses.

After a moment of hesitation, he steps outside. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

He gets a surprised look in return. “Fine.” Nodding at his door, the man adds, “Key broke inside the lock. I’m waiting for the locksmith.” His voice is smooth and quiet, nothing like the loud, careless singing one. It’s still clearly the same voice.

“Do you…” Niou gestures vaguely towards his opened door. “Do you want to come inside while you wait?” He is annoyingly aware of the way he scratches his head in embarrassment.

“Weren’t you just about to go somewhere?”

“Ah…” How could he explain his weird urge to check the hallway? “No, I… uh… I thought I heard something, that’s why I came out.”

“Oh.” The man stands up. “In that case, I’d love to. Thank you.”

Niou nods. “Niou Masaharu.”

“Yagyuu Hiroshi, nice to meet you.”

Niou makes dinner (he heats up some Chinese leftovers) and asks Yagyuu if he wants to watch anything on TV (they are going to watch the new episode of the new drama that’s airing today but Yagyuu doesn’t know it yet).

Halfway through the episode, he says, “You have quite a taste in music, Yagyuu-san.”

Yagyuu chokes on his food. His face turn a deep shade of red. “You can hear me?”

Niou smirks. “Loud and clear. It’s okay,” he adds when he thinks Yagyuu can’t turn any redder. “I like it.”

The next day, Yagyuu doesn’t sing, even though Niou can hear the noise coming from his shower. He has no other choice, he decides. He starts chanting Bohemian Rhapsody from the bottom of his heart.

After a minute, he smiles as he hears Yagyuu’s voice joining his.

There’s something about Yagyuu Niou doesn’t quite understand, like a string is connecting their bodies together, and every time they are apart Niou feels it, trying to pull him in Yagyuu’s direction. He is not sure he wants to understand that.

Yagyuu waits for him outside his apartment one day. “Go out with me,” he says the moment he spots Niou.

Niou stares at him.

Yagyuu bites his lower lip and doesn’t meet his eye. “Or… not. I’ll see you around, Niou-kun.” He disappears into his own apartment before Niou has a chance to realize what’s going on.

It takes him a few long minutes to finally divert his eyes from Yagyuu’s door and search for his keys. When he is inside, he leans against the door and closes his eyes. “Shit.”

The thing is – Niou isn’t gay, cannot be gay. His parents raised him to believe homosexual relationships were an abomination; his friends used to bully the openly gay kid in his high school; his coworkers always threw homophobic comments into the air. Niou can’t be gay.

Except, there’s something about Yagyuu. And Niou doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

So he goes out and finds a random girl, and he brings her home and fucks her on the couch, and then again against the shower wall, and again on his bed.

The next morning he sees Yagyuu as he leaves for work. Yagyuu has a hard look in his eyes. “Was she good?” he asks.

Niou doesn’t answer. He notices how Yagyuu’s jaw clenches, how his fingers are closed in a fist.

“Fuck you,” Yagyuu spits.

Niou stares at his back as he walks away.

He’s always hated thunderstorms. The loud noises always make him think of explosions.

As he makes his way home that day, his steps quick and his hands clutching his umbrella so the wind doesn’t blow it away, he shrinks every time he hears a thunder. In the end, it’s a lightning bolt that actually hurts him.

Niou has never felt such pain before.

Funny. He never thought lightning was more dangerous than thunder.

***

In his next lifetime, Niou finds Yagyuu in high school. His eyes land upon the brown hair, the silver eyes, and suddenly he is struck with every memory of the other boy from every single life he’s lived so far. His head spins. His breath catches in his chest. His legs feel like they can’t carry the weight of his body anymore.

When he finally feels like he can move again, he makes his way into the classroom and searches for his name.

He watches Yagyuu from the other side of the room, waiting for the other boy to finally look at him and give him some sign that he feels the same thing Niou does, but when he finally meets his eyes, Yagyuu’s face show nothing.

He’s always thought the expression “broken heart” was exaggerated. He doesn’t think that anymore.

Lying in bed at nights, Niou lets himself remember. The way Yagyuu used to look at him and smile with soft eyes; the way his warm body felt against Niou’s; the way his lips fit on his.

He decides to not talk to Yagyuu. He thinks he won’t be able to act normal around him, but he doesn’t want to make the other boy feel uncomfortable.

As the weeks go by, though, he feels his resolution resolving.

One day he asks Yagyuu to explain a math problem to him. Another time, he asks to borrow a pencil. Before winter break, he wishes him a merry Christmas. Those stolen moments feel like a treasure.

On their graduation day, Niou asks to talk to Yagyuu. He leads the other boy to a secluded corner behind the science building, and then he kisses him.

After that, Yagyuu fixes his glasses on his nose and asks Niou to never touch him again. He speaks so kindly Niou almost misses the meaning of his words. When he does get it, it hurts. He thought the feeling he got on the first day of high school was awful. He was wrong. This feels like someone has stabbed a knife into his heart and is now moving it inside him.

Yagyuu leaves.

Niou thinks he should go after him. He thinks he should explain. He thinks if he just said everything, Yagyuu might understand. He doesn’t. How is he supposed to explain to Yagyuu that he’s been in love with him in every past lifetime without sounding crazy?

Three weeks later an earthquake causes Niou’s house to collapse on him. He lies beneath the ruins for hours, long after his body no longer feels the pain. He hopes it ends soon.

***

Niou starts hating Christmas when he is seven years old, when what he asks for Christmas is a red firetruck and what he gets is his parents yelling at each other for hours as he crouches behind his bed and tries to not hear a thing.

The following years, he gets used to celebrate the holiday with just one of his parents. His mother gets to have his siblings and him first, and a year after that they’re at their dad’s. The golden star at the top of the tree always looks so lonely to Niou.

Eighteen years later, he goes out with his friends on Christmas Eve when he sees him – brown hair glued to his head with sweat, eyes closed as he moves his body to the rhythm of the music, mouth slightly opened. He is the most beautiful man Niou has ever seen.

He dances his way across the dancefloor, until he is close enough to tap the man’s shoulder. He gets a look from a pair of silver eyes, beautiful like a jewel, before the man wraps his arms around Niou’s neck and smashes their bodies together.

The music is loud, he can feel the bass echoing in his veins as they move together.

Niou has no idea who initiates the kiss, but not long after they start dancing together their lips are joined and his tongue is deep in the man’s mouth. He touches, and he kisses, and he gets lost in the moment.

“My apartment is not far,” he finally shouts into the man’s ear.

Niou still doesn’t know the man’s name, but by the time he’s done preparing him and starts pushing inside him he’s decided that if he had to choose one sound to hear for the rest of his life, he’d choose the moans he lets out as Niou moves inside him.

Beautiful.

He wakes up in the morning when the man gets out of bed and starts dressing. An irrational panic take over him. For some reason, he doesn’t want the man to go.

“Good morning,” he says, voice hoarse from sleep.

The man buttons his jeans and turns to look at him. “Morning.”

“Stay for breakfast.”

The man shakes his head. “I have some place I need to be at.”

Sitting up in the bed, Niou runs a hand through his hair and tries to force his brain to get out of its sleepy haze and think. The man finds his shirt on the floor and wears it, and then sits on the bed to put on his shoes.

He is about to leave.

“Go out on a date with me.”

The man stops in the middle of tying his laces and straightens his back. He pushes some hair out of his eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Niou repeats. Something inside him relaxes.

The man grabs his phone and saves his name and his number – Yagyuu Hiroshi, Niou reads – and stands up. “Merry Christmas, uh…”

“Niou Masaharu,” Niou says.

“Merry Christmas, Niou-kun,”

“Merry Christmas,” he replies.

He hasn’t felt quite that happy on Christmas for a long time.

Their first date is a mess.

They are being kicked out of the movie theater for making too much noise and there’s a mix-up in the restaurant they made reservations for so they end up eating in McDonald’s instead. They plan to watch the New Year’s fireworks from a Ferris wheel, but the line is too long and they end up looking at the sky while standing in the middle of a crowd at the bottom of it.

Niou doesn’t care. Yagyuu looks happy.

They move in together eight months later. They find a small apartment in the outskirts of Kyoto, and Niou makes it a point to argue with Yagyuu about every single furniture and home décor decision he makes. It’s not that he cares too much – he’d be happy with everything as long as Yagyuu’s there, really – but he loves seeing Yagyuu’s face turn redder as he gets more annoyed.

A month before Christmas, Yagyuu asks him to come to his parents with him. Niou hasn’t celebrated Christmas in years, ever since he was old enough to live on his own and stopped feeling an obligation to be with either one of his parents.

He agrees, and on the morning of Christmas Eve they fly from Osaka to Tokyo. Yagyuu’s parents welcome him with open arms, and he thinks that Christmas isn’t all that bad after all.

“Marry me.”

Yagyuu looks up from his book. “Excuse me?”

Niou turns off the TV and takes his feet off Yagyuu’s lap. “Marry me,” he repeats.

“We can’t.”

Niou shrugs. “We can have rings. We can have a symbolic ceremony with our families. We don’t have to do it in the conventional way.” He takes Yagyuu’s hand in his. “It can be just for us.”

As he keeps talking, Yagyuu starts smiling. First a small, uncertain stretch of his lips, but by the end his smile is lighting his face. “Okay,” he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Niou jumps on his legs. “One second,” he throws over his shoulder as he hurries to the bedroom. He rummages through his socks drawer until he finds an old pair he hasn’t worn in years. He pulls a small box out of it and hurries back to the living room.

“What are you doing?” Yagyuu asks as he crouches in front of him.

Niou smirks. “Got to do it right,” he answers. Raising the box and opening it, he asks, “Yagyuu Hiroshi, will you marry me?”

Yagyuu’s smile becomes even wider. Niou didn’t know it was possible. “Yes,” he replies.

Niou smiles like a fool.

They invite their families and close friends for a small gathering to celebrate their “marriage” on Christmas, four years after their first encounter. Yagyuu’s sister cooks – she is a great cook, Niou sometimes thinks if he hadn’t met Yagyuu he’d marry her for her food – and Niou’s sister takes it upon herself to make a slideshow consisting of the most embarrassing moments of Niou’s childhood.

In front of everyone, they promise each other to always love and cherish each other, to always be there in times of need.

Niou doesn’t hate Christmas anymore. It’s his favorite day of the year.

***

Niou sometimes dreams about Yagyuu, about different lives. Sometimes Yagyuu is his neighbor, sometimes his class mate. A couple times they are both in a psychiatric institution. A few times Yagyuu gives Niou a ride in a red pickup truck. For some reason, one of them always ends up dying in his dreams.

Lucky deserved some type of award…an award for being the stupidest, sappiest movie Kaidoh had ever seen in his life! (And Kaidoh has seen quite a number of animal movies).  Kaidoh was more of a cat person, or at least claimed to be one.

But, after his 5th or so viewing, the movie was honestly starting to grow on him.

Just a little.

Not that he would ever admit it to Momo!

They sat in front of Momo’s television, side-by-side, huddled under a little fleece blanket, too small for them to share properly. Kaidoh’s elbow gently brushed against Momo, causing warm fuzzies to dance in his chest.

Momo lolled his head back, tips of his hair tickling against Kaidoh’s nose. “I wish my parents would let me get a dog,” he said.

“Idiot.” Kaidoh growled, moving his nose away from Momo’s hair. It made him want to sneeze. “Isn’t your sister allergic to dogs?”

“Yeah, so?” Momo quickly retorted. “I can still dream can’t I?”

Momo somewhat absentmindedly scooted himself closer to Kaidoh.  This time Kaidoh didn’t object, and they stayed like that for the duration of the film.

*

*

Being vice captain was supposed to be cool. Not as much responsibility as the captain, but still getting to tell everyone to run laps? What’s not to like? Only after undertaking the position, did Momo realize how many little tasks were involved in leading a tennis team. Every day he and Kaidoh had to stay after hours to write mountains of paperwork, and listen to Coach Ryuzaki’s droning lectures.

How had Tezuka and Oishi made the job look so easy?

Needless to say, by the end of each day Momo was dog-tired. He slumped over, in dire need of a nap and hot meal.

But no! That do-gooder Kaidoh just had to promise they’d clean the clubroom today!

“I’m hungry!” Momo grumbled, kicking an empty tennis ball tube. It made a funny hollow plastic sound as it rolled around on the floor, which Momo found amusing in his exhausted state, and annoyed Kaidoh to no-end.

“Watch it dummy! I’m cleaning!” Kaidoh hissed, spraying the lockers with copious amounts of some type of freakishly green cleaner.  

Momo wrinkled his nose. The air smelled revoltingly refreshing. Was that…peppermint? Yuck! Mint is meant for teeth, not lockers.

“Let’s take a break,“ Momo groaned.  "We’re just going to sweat all over everything again tomorrow.”

Kaidoh ignored the comment, concentrating on meticulously wiping down every locker with a tiny microfiber cloth.

It wasn’t that Momo was trying to skip out on work, although he didn’t believe the clubroom needed to be cleaned more than once a month, it was just impossible to concentrate on anything when your stomach kept growling every 30 seconds like wild hyena.

Seeing that Kaidoh didn’t intend to stop disinfecting the lockers anytime soon, Momo decided to take matters into his own hands. “Imma go grab us some burgers,” he said, lacing up his sneakers and heading towards the door.

“Fshuu,” Kaidoh hissed, with a look like, ‘that’s not on our training menu.’

“Ugh. Fine, salads. Imma go grab us some salads.”

Salad? Yeah, right. Momo still planned to buy a burger, or three. He could scarf them down on his way back without Kaidoh knowing. Hopefully.

*

*

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Kaidoh set a perfectly folded bandana atop the stack of back-up ones he always keeps in his locker. A bright yellow one, pressed and creased so the edges made a tiny point where they met. Finally today’s cleaning was over and he could return home.

Well, as soon as that stupid peach came back…

His eyes shifted from Momo’s tennis bag idly propped against the wall to his watch. 4:50 pm. The school gates closed at 5:00. Momo had better hurry up!

Tick tock Tick tock.

4:51

Tick tock Tick tock.

4:52

Tick tock Tick tock…

Just as Kaidoh was debating whether to leave Momo’s tennis bag or not, the vice captain burst through the doors, every ounce of his body messily dripping with sweat.

The first thing Kaidoh noticed was Momo didn’t bring him his salad, and his breath smelled suspiciously like something ‘not on the training menu.’ But that was to be expected.

The second thing he noticed was that Momo hadn’t come alone…A creamy white dog sat patiently at the door. So round and fluffy, like a pillow pet, even the not-a-dog-person Kaidoh was tempted to give him a hug.

“Found him while I was on the way to pick up our grub,” Momo explained, shoes squeaking along the freshly cleaned floor.

“You stole someone’s dog?”

“No…” Momo looked down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “He doesn’t have a tag or anything. So I thought he was a stray!”

Momo was right, he didn’t have any identification. But, there was a slim chance such a well-groomed, obedient dog was a stray. Right now, someone was probably out there looking for him!

Kaidoh was so deep in thought, he didn’t notice Momo edging towards his locker and rifling through his tidy stack of bandanas.

“With this,” Momo held up a lemon-yellow bandana, “He’ll never get lost again! I’ll spot him from a mile away!”

As Momo begun tying the bandana around the dog’s neck, Kaidoh started to protest, but was cut off by Momo’s excited blabbering.

“Imma call ‘em Alfredo!” Momo declared, burying his face into the crook of the dog’s neck. “Cause his fur is so soft and creamy…like Alfredo pasta! We’re going to be best friends forever!”

Kaidoh tore his gaze from Momo’s radiating grin, focusing instead on a tiny paint chip in the wall. “That dog isn’t yours,” Kaidoh firmly reminded, “Your sister is allergic.”

Kaidoh checked the time again. 4:56. They couldn’t just leave the dog at school, but perhaps if he explained the situation to his parents, his they would let ‘Alfredo’ spend the night.

*

*

Allowing Schubert to be groomed at the Atobe Corporation was a mistake!

As an esteemed Hyotei High tennis regular, Shishido automatically received a discount from the Atobe Corporation’s groomers. Shishido had never taken advantage of the discount, preferring to cut Schubert’s hair himself. However, with prefecturals fast approaching, he hadn’t the time. Before he knew it, Schubert’s beautiful white mane had grown out so long it dragged along the floor like a living mop, picking up whatever bits of dirt and grime lay in its path.

On one of their early morning jogs, Shishido and Schubert ran into Atobe. Upon seeing the dastardly state of Schubert’s fur, Atobe quickly urged Shishido to apply for an appointment with his groomer. Punching in a couple numbers on his cell, Atobe said he could move Shishido off the waitlist and into a prime spot for the following day.

Reluctantly, Shishido agreed.

Atobe promised Schubert would be treated to the same luxuries and amenities his own dog, Beat, was accustomed to. Otherwise it would be ‘inhumane.’ Yet, despite knowing the extent to which Atobe treasured his own canine companion, something felt off.

The morning of Schubert’s appointment, Shishido’s stomach twisted into hundreds of tiny knots, and his mouth was sandpaper dry. Rummaging around for something to calm his nerves, he pulled out his trusty pack of mint gum, only to remember he’d eaten the last piece the previous evening. The sun wasn’t even up, and already the day was off to a rotten start.

Peering out the window, he spotted Atobe’s Canine Companion Limo pulling up from the distance. The Canine Companion Limo was a very… unique car hand-designed by Atobe’s father himself. It looked just like your average white limousine, except that it was covered in paw print decals. Atobe called it classy. Shishido thought it looked like a mangy mutt tread mud all over the vehicle.

As the Canine Companion Limo rolled up to the front, Shishido did his best to shake the foreboding feeling. Nothing will go wrong, he reasoned, walking Schubert up to the car door.

Everything will be fine.  

*

*

But everything wasn’t fine

Just as they were finishing up practice, Shishido spotted Atobe answering a call on his baby blue cell. The baby blue cell was Atobe’s special mobile used only in emergency communications with his servants. Atobe’s egotistical smirk momentarily faltered, replaced by thinly pursed lips and furrowed brows.

Something was amiss.

With a swish of the hand Atobe waved Shishido over. “Schubert has escaped.”

“WHAT? HOW? WHE–”

Putting a hand up to halt Shishido’s annoying chatter, Atobe continued, “Apparently, he was frightened by the blow dryers? Ridiculous!”  Atobe scoffed at the idea of the dog being scared of something so trivial. “Well, there’s no need for you to worry. All 50 of my servants are on the case. We’ve sent out the helicopters. I’ll have him back to you within the hour.”

Atobe didn’t bother to mention how Schubert was wandering around without his collar (the groomers removed it to ensure all hairs would be trimmed evenly). It didn’t matter. His servants were professionals. They’d easily find Schubert with or without identification!

“I can’t believe I actually trusted you with Schubert!” Shishido yelled, resisting the urge to serve Atobe a swift kick in the shin. “I’ll just find him myself!”

Slinging his tennis bag over his shoulder, Shishido stomped out of the school grounds, muttering a couple choice words under his breath. Shishido was so peeved, he didn’t notice the familiarly tall figure bolting towards him.

“Shishido!” The figure, who Shishido quickly recognized to be Choutarou, lunged at him. “You aren’t planning to look for Schubert all on your own are you?”

“Choutarou?” Shishido gripped the taller boy firmly by the shoulders to steady them both. “How did you–?”

“I overheard one of Atobe’s servants telling Kabaji what happened at practice, and I couldn’t stop myself from coming over!” Choutarou looked utterly distraught, as if it were him who’d lost his dog.

A loud snap of the fingers interrupted their conversation, and the duo turned their heads to find Atobe had followed Shishido out the gates.

Oh, brother.

“Ahn. It will be much easier if everyone travels in my vehicle!” Atobe announced, motioning to the obnoxiously glittering purple BMW convertible parked outside the school gates.

No way was Shishido traveling in that!

But, before he had time to object, Choutarou was pulling him into the sparkling convertible. Kabaji was already seated in the back, no surprise, since he always catches a ride home with Atobe’s servants. Atobe sat up front, because he is Atobe. And Shishido, being the smallest person there, was forced to squish into the middle.  

The back seat was really meant for two people, not three growing teenage boys. Wedged between Kabaji and Ootori, Shishido griped a bit, but honestly didn’t mind the excuse to sit half his ass in Ootori’s lap.

Atobe’s chauffeur flicked his eyes to the rear view mirror, “Master Keigo, if I had know you were bringing company I would have taken the limousine.”

Atobe, who was sitting rather comfortably in the front seat, simply shrugged. Not his problem. Shishido wondered how they were planning to fit Schubert in the car when they found him.

But, Shishido never had to have that question answered, as the five of them travelled across the entirety of Tokyo without a trace of Schubert.

If only the former Hyotei teammates had known! While they frantically searched high and low for Schubert, the dog rest safe and sound at a certain Seigaku captain’s house.

*

*

Setting down his pen, Kaidoh opened and closed his hand a couple times to circulate blood flow, massaging his aching wrist. Originally, Momo agreed to come over and help him make the found dog flyers. Instead, he’d ended up eating a second dinner and playing catch around the living room with Hazue and ‘Alfredo.’

But…

Watching Momo skipping around with that goofy grin painted on his face, caused a little happy feeling to blossom in Kaidoh’s heart. They hadn’t taken a moment to unwind like this in a long time; too caught up with tennis. It was nice.

“What are you smiling about?” Momo smirked, nudging him sharply in the ribs.

“I was–” Kaidoh hesitated to give his real reason– “I was thinking about how quiet it will be when you leave!”

“Humpf!” Momo flicked him lightly on the forehead, “Admit it. You like having me over.”

Kaidoh stood abruptly. “Do not!” he snarled, hot breath blowing into Momo’s face.  

“Do too!” Momo puffed his chest out. Kaidoh Kaoru was not getting the upper hand.

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

By this point neither boy could remember exactly what they were arguing about, but neither was willing to let the other win either.

“Not!” Kaidoh huffed, looking Momo squarely in the eyes. Such a brilliant violet hue… his gaze traveled down to Momo’s lips. If he leaned in any closer they might kis–

Kaidoh turned his head away, face flushed. Why did he start thinking about that? “It’s getting late,” he managed to grunt out.

“Yeah, I should get going…” Momo trailed off. His face was red too. All that yelling must have worn him out.

“Wait.” Kaidoh extended an arm out, tugging on Momo’s shirt sleeve. “Meet me in the park at 5:00. To put the flyers out.” Kaidoh nodded at his finished stack of found dog flyers.

“In the morning!?” Momo gasped, wanting to ask if it was really necessary for him to come along. Couldn’t Kaidoh do it by himself?

Kaidoh glared. It wasn’t that early. Besides, if they didn’t get an early start, they risked being late to practice.

“Okay, okay!” Momo gave in, adding, “But, only if you bring Alfredo!” as he slipped out the front door.

“He’s not your dog!” Kaidoh hissed, as the door slammed shut. Whispering a soft, “don’t get too attached,” only once he was sure Momo was out of earshot.

*

*

As the hours rolled by, the glitter car gang realized it was fruitless to continue their search in the dark. Equipped with top of the line night-vision technology, Atobe’s helicopters would have a much easier time spotting Schubert at this hour. Resultantly, Atobe’s chauffeur drove a tired, annoyed Shishido back home.

“It’s your own fault really,” Atobe commented as Shishido and Choutarou stepped out of the glitter-mobile. “What kind of person allows their canine companion to air dry his fur like a simple village peasant dog? No wonder Schubert ran away.”

And then Atobe zoomed away in that dazzling convertible, leaving Shishido to contemplate the fate of his dog all alone.

Well, almost alone.

“You know what I think?” Choutarou breathed, wrapping Shishido in a firm embrace, “I think Atobe feels guiltiest of all of us. He’s just not the best at showing it.”

Choutarou’s melodious voice was so soothing, Shishido could have stayed in those strong compassionate arms until the end of time. As they broke apart, Shishido folded his hands in his pockets, trying not to seem desperate for the closeness he craved.

“It’s late,” Shishido muttered. “Go home. I’m fine.”

But the way Shishido said fine made Choutarou believe just the opposite. The lights were off, and Shishido’s parents were likely already asleep. Especially after Atobe’s little outburst, it didn’t feel right to leave Shishido by himself. So, after arranging his sneakers in the shoe rack, Choutarou walked inside to fix some tea for the two of them. Tea makes everything better.

Shishido kicked his shoes off, aimlessly flinging them against the shoe rack, and rushed after Choutarou. “You don’t have to stay,” he huffed, crossing his arms childishly, “I said I’m fine.”

Choutarou didn’t argue with whether or not Shishido was fine. He simply took a seat on the living room couch and set their tea on the coffee table.  

Slouching next to Choutarou, Shishido mumbled another, albeit less obstinate, “I’m fine.” As Choutarou wound an arm around his shoulder, Shishido curled his fingers into the fabric of Choutarou’s wool sweater, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of Choutarou’s torso.

Few words passed between the two as they sat huddled on the couch. Minutes turned to hours, and the the wall clock struck midnight. Choutarou’s whole body surged with panic. They’d lost track of time! As he rotated his body to bid Shishido goodbye, the other boy slumped face first from his shoulder into his lap. It took a few seconds for Choutarou to clue in that Shishido had dozed off propped against him.

Not wanting to disturb Shishido’s much needed shut-eye, he opted to sit with him another minute, or two. Setting Shishido’s cap beside their half-empty tea cups, Choutarou gently massaged Shishido’s temple, relieved the other boy managed to fall asleep despite the day’s excitement. Feeling his own eyes beginning to grow heavy, Choutarou decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give them rest.

One minute couldn’t hurt

*

*

Shishido awoke with a stiff neck, and a mouthful of hair. Still half-asleep, he sifted his hands though the silvery-white hair blocking the most of his vision, wondering when when Schubert grew so big. He seemed to be human-sized, but that was impossible. Groggily trying to shove him off, Shishido felt a lanky, long arm brush against his spine. Shishido silently screamed, thinking his dog had not only grown bigger but also sprouted another limb!

Then it clicked.

“Choutarou…”

“Mmm..”

“Get. Off. Me.”

“I fell asleep?” Choutarou mumbled through his sleepy daze, still lying along Shishido’s body. Eyes widening as it registered just where he was, Choutarou scrambled up and off the couch.

“I fell asleep!” He repeated, several notches louder this time.

“Shh. You’re going to wake my parents!”

“Parents!” Choutarou wailed, looking to be on the verge of tears. “Mine must be so worried about me!”

“Relax,” Shishido said, giving Choutarou’s hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s not even 5 yet. I’ll walk you home, and you can sneak in through the back before anyone wakes up.”

*

*

Choutarou didn’t appreciate Shishido’s sneaking in suggestion, and was still lamenting how he and Shishido ‘slept together’ 10 minutes into the walk home.

“I betrayed their trust…”

“We didn’t even do anything!” Shishido rolled his eyes. Choutarou worried too much about the little things. 

“But still–”

Choutarou paused mid-sentence, eyes narrowing in on something in the distance. “Shishido, isn’t that Schubert?” He spoke rapidly, motioning to a flyer picturing a fluffy white dog on a nearby billboard.

Shishido tore the flyer off the billboard, hastily skimming its contents. Sure enough, the dog was Schubert! Schubert wearing a tacky yellow bandana, but Schubert nonetheless. Quick as his fingers would move, Shishido dialed the number on the flyer, agreeing to immediately meet up in the nearby park.

*

*

Although they hadn’t even known each other an entire day, Momo was pretty torn up about giving back the dog. He moped about how much he was going to miss ‘Alfredo’ all the way to the park where they were supposed to meet up with Shishido and Ootori.  

Kaidoh heaved a sigh. He’d told Momo it wasn’t his dog, he’d told Momo not to get too attached.

Still, Momo treasured the dog as if he were his own, enraptured by his adorable charm.

When they approached the park, Shishido and Ootori were already waiting for them on a small wooden bench.  Upon spotting his owner, Schubert let out a low whine, and begun quivering from head to tail with excitement. He darted between Momo’s legs, dashing full speed into Shishido’s welcoming arms.

For Momo, witnessing this happy reunion was bittersweet. He’d known from the start the dog wasn’t actually his. Of course he did. Nevertheless, a dull longing pang crept up from his chest to his throat, seeming to get trapped there. He swallowed a couple times, trying unsuccessfully to get rid of it.

“I’m really going to miss Alfredo,” he spoke slowly, giving the dog one final pat on the head.

“His name is Schubert.” Shishido scowled, “And, uh… You can take this back.” Shishido tore off Schubert’s yellow bandana, tossing it over to Momo. 

“Thank you.” Momo gave a half-smile, clutching the bandana tightly to his chest.“I’ll treasure it forever.” Kaidoh decided it was better not to mention that the bandana had originally been his.

With that, Shishido gave a quick ‘see ya,’ turning to leave the park.

The kind-hearted Choutarou, however, couldn’t bear to leave Momo with such a melancholic look on his face. “This isn’t really goodbye you know,” he reassured with a sunny smile that could melt even the steeliest of hearts. “Come over for a visit sometime!”

Shishido choked, shooting ‘a look’ at his soft boyfriend. Schubert was his dog after all! But, watching the way Momo’s face lit up, he quickly changed his tune. “Sure, why not.” Shishido shrugged, back still turned in order to hide the tiny smile that had formed on his face.  

*

*

But now, the New Republic wanted to bring them into the fold.  From where Tezuka was standing, it looked like there weren’t any real disadvantages in joining them, but Hiybos had naturally been a bit resistant. So a full diplomatic envoy was being sent to convince them of every advantage of being in the New Republic.

Tezuka ran through the list again and was absolutely sure he’d packed everything he’d need. He was distracted by a knock on the door; clicking the suitcase firmly shut he went to answer it.

It wasn’t much of a surprise who was there, but it still made Tezuka’s insides turn to goo.

“Hey there, Kunimitsu,” Ryoga said, the usual easy grin on his face. “Ready for your big adventure?”

Ryoga was sort of his childhood friend. He was the son of Senator Rinko Echizen, and Tezuka’s family were heavily involved in politics so the families were very close. Tezuka had the feeling that if either of them had been born a girl they would’ve been betrothed to each other pretty early on.

But they weren’t. Ryoga was a playboy, dating the most beautiful women in the universe and Tezuka… Tezuka was a junior assistant to an ambassador.

“I’m ready to go, yes.” Tezuka said, standing back to let Ryoga in.

“Now you’re in the big diplomatic envoy, girls are going to be throwing themselves at your feet,” Ryoga said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Tezuka nodded unenthusiastically hoping girls would restrain themselves from doing so.

Maybe he should tell Ryoga that he wasn’t interested in girls, that he liked him, but the thought made his insides twist up and he resisted the impulse.

“Mum sent me to make sure you’re ready to go,” Ryoga said, “something about how you’ll be nervous and blah blah blah, you know how she gets.”

“Thank her for me,” Tezuka replied,“ and I’m feeling fine.”

“Are you leaving soon?”

“I was just about to leave for the spaceport,” Tezuka replied. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Sorry, I would but I’ve got a date,” Ryoga said looking genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, “I caught mum looking at old photos again. I wanted a distraction.”

Tezuka nodded, knowing exactly who was in those old photos. The youngest Echizen brother had disappeared when he was five, never to be seen again.  The Echizen family still hadn’t recovered fully and probably never would.

“It’s stupid,” Ryoga muttered, “I barely even remember him and I know he’d dead, but…” he trailed off.

Tezuka wanted to hug him, wanted to hold him close and tell him it was all okay.

“If I find him, I’ll bring him home,” he promised.

“Thanks.” There was a moment more of silence and then Ryoga gathered himself. “Anyway, I’ve got a hot date and you’ve got a flight to catch. We’d better get moving!”

——————————————————————————————-

The sharp knock on the door woke Tezuka. It took a second for him to re-orientate himself in the dirty early morning light dimly illuminating his bedroom. He pulled himself up and slid his glasses on as he tried not to trip on the rug on his way to the door.

He was surprised to open the door to find the ambassador standing outside, looking tired and stressed.

“Ambassador,” Tezuka said, shocked. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Tezuka,” the ambassador said, stepping in. “Please shut all your windows,” he added in a whisper.

Tezuka nodded and pressed the button on the room environment control panel.

“I’ve just jammed any electronic devices in here for a minute,” the ambassador said, pulling a small memory chip out of his pocket. “Take this back to Coruscant. Do not show it to anyone but Leia Organa Solo. Understand?”

“Yes,” Tezuka replied, wondering what this was all about. The last few days had been going well, a bit stressful yes, but nothing to indicate that Hiybos was hiding some massive secret.

“Go in the morning,” the ambassador said. “Don’t look like you’re hurrying away, but go as fast as possible and avoid all guards.”

Tezuka nodded, feeling punch drunk. What was going on?

“Get some sleep,” The ambassador said, patting Tezuka on the shoulder, “and good luck.”

Sleep was the last thing on Tezuka’s mind as he collapsed on the bed and lay there, mind spinning. He stashed the memory chip in his bag before the jamming device had worn off. What was on it? Why had it been entrusted to him? He supposed he must be the most expendable member of the party or the one who’d be missed the least…

How was he supposed to get off the planet without a ship? That thought ate at his stomach as he mulled it over. He didn’t like play things by ear, he liked having a definitive plan in place. The hours ticked by so slowly that Tezuka could have sworn that time was slowing down just to punish him.

He’d already packed all his possessions and they were waiting for him at the end of his bed. He’d also written a note, claiming he was feeling homesick. Maybe it’d work, maybe it wouldn’t, but Tezuka thought it was worth covering his tracks, if only a little.

As soon as it became a sensible time for Tezuka to leave, he gathered up his case and set off, the memory chip now in his pocket, feeling like a lead weight.

The streets weren’t busy, just a few early risers going about their business. There were also a lot of soldiers. That didn’t surprise Tezuka so much, there had been plenty of them around since he’d arrived, he’d put it down to the diplomatic envoy and hadn’t worried about it. He worried now.

But, none of them paid him the slightest bit of attention. He wasn’t a wanted person yet.

Still, he started to panic as he got closer to the spaceport. He needed to find a ship. He’d never hired one before and had no idea how to go about it.

He hovered around, keeping his distance, but close enough to keep his eye on the people around, looking for… he didn’t know what, just someone with a ship

for hire. If only they would walk past holding a sign saying ‘hire my ship.’

Someone bumped into him and he spun around, “sorry!”

The person who’d walked into him -a young woman with stunning golden-brown eyes- glared at him.

“What are you gawping at?” she demanded, her voice lower than Tezuka would have expected.

“Sorry,” Tezuka apologised again. “You look like someone I know.” She had Ryoga’s eyes.

The woman shrugged. “Whatever. If you’re finished staring, I’ve gotta get off this fucking planet.”

Tezuka’s brain snapped into gear. “Do you have a ship?”

“Of course.” The woman rolled her eyes.

“I would like to hire a ship to Coruscant.”

“Would you now?” she replied, a smirk twisting onto her lips. “How much are you paying?”

Tezuka did a quick calculation of his funds in his head. “10,000 credits, half now, half when we get there. I also need to avoid any entanglements with the law.”

“Double that and we’ve got a deal.”

“15,000,” Tezuka said, hoping he could claim this back as expenses.

The woman sighed, “Fine. Do you have any papers - fake or otherwise?”

Tezuka shook his head.

“Okay. I know a way round this.”

She lead Tezuka to a material shop. Tezuka followed in silence and watched as she browsed the shelves.

“I’m Tezuka,” he said as she pulled out a roll of highly decorated red silk.

“Ryoko,” the woman said. “Come on, I need your money.”

Tezuka paid for a long swathe of material and then had it draped over him a back alley by the shop, completely covering him from head to foot.

“Give me your bag,” Ryoko said, Tezuka did as he was told. Then, Ryoko took his

hand and lead him out the alley.  "And don’t say anything!“

He was lead back towards the spaceport, or he assumed he was, he couldn’t see at all through the silk.

They came to a stop a few minutes later in what must have been a queue as they kept moving forwards slowly.

Finally, the reached the soldier at the front of the queue.

“Papers,” he said in a tired, bored voice.

“We’re not going off planet,” Ryoko said sweetly, “Just around to Cyrost.”

“Right,” the guard said and Tezuka cringed at how disbelieving he sounded.

It didn’t phase Ryoko. “What is your ID number?”

“What?”

“Your ID number. The number that you use to identify yourself,” Ryoko said as if the man in front of her were stupid. “I need it so that my madam can launch a formal complaint. This lady is intended for a very important customer.”

There was a moment of tense silence and then the guard snapped, “Okay, okay, go through!”

“Thank you.”

Ryoko lead Tezuka through the spaceport, Tezuka trying not to trip and stumble.

“You dressed me as a prostitute?” He asked as they boarded the ship and the door shut behind them.

“Yeah,” Ryoko shrugged, grabbing the silk off him and folding it carefully. “It’s the easiest way to smuggle people. The guards never both high class prostitutes like you.”

“This coming from personal experience?” Tezuka asked and then turned bright red as Ryoko pulled her dress over her head. He spun around, desperate to give her some privacy.

“A bit,” Ryoko replied, unabashed. “You don’t need to do that, I don’t care about you seeing me naked.”

Tezuka felt himself blush even harder and stared determinedly at the floor.

“Fine, whatever.” Ryoko’s footsteps walked away, clinking on the metal floor.

Once Tezuka was sure she’d gone he relaxed a bit. He’d never met a woman who’d strip in front of a man before; clearly he’d moved in very different circles.

“Hurry up and sit down!” Ryoko’s voice cut through the silence of the corridor. Tezuka followed it and found himself in the flight deck.

Ryoko was already strapped in and, somewhere along the line had found a pair of trousers. Not a shirt though.

“Oh,” Tezuka said.

“What?” Ryoko snapped.

“You’re- well, you’re not a woman.”

Ryoko smirked, “men wear dresses too. Now sit down- not there!” he snapped as Tezuka moved to the co-pilots chair, “I need that to navigate.”

“You do both?” Tezuka asked, strapping himself into a seat behind Ryoko and casting an eye over the instruments. They were cobbled together out of multiple old systems -how they even worked together was a mystery to him and he was suddenly glad he hadn’t offered to navigate.

“Duh,” was Ryoko’s only reply as he flicked switches, pressed buttons and watched gauges. When he was happy with everything, he pressed a button and the ship shuddered violently and fell silent. Ryoko grunted irritably and jabbed at it harder.

“Come on you useless pile of junk!” he muttered after the third aborted start. He banged the top of the console hard and violently hit the button again. The ship shuddered, but now with an underlying whining noise that got louder and louder as the ship came alive.

“Thank you,” Ryoko muttered bitterly, his eyes watching the gauges and dials like a hawk. Once the engine had warmed up -or whatever it was doing- Ryoko rose the ship slowly into the air, hovering out of its parking space.

“The name’s Ryoma,” he said and the gears in Tezuka’s brain started to turn.

Whilst the other ships soared towards the sky, theirs headed out over the jungle. Tezuka would have enjoyed this a lot more if he wasn’t smuggling something off planet, he half expected something to start firing at them.

“Relax, no one’s going to see us leave,” Ryoma said. Tezuka frowned, hoping more than knowing he was right. Ten, maybe fifteen, minutes of flying over the jungle later, Ryoma pulled back on the controls, easing the throttle up further and further as they shot up into the sky.

The ship rattled worryingly as it passed through the atmosphere the purple-blue sky fading away until stars appeared and they were in the blackness of space.

“See, we’re fine,” Ryoma said, turning to grin at him.

Tezuka was about to reply, but he was thrown back against his restraints as something struck the ship.

Ryoma jumped into action as alarms screeched all around them.

“Ship’s working,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell was that!?” His eyes fell on the radar, “why the hell as there Tie fighters here?”

“I don’t know,” Tezuka snapped. “We need to not be here.”

“Sit here!” Ryoma ordered, jumping out of his seat and into the navigators.

Tezuka scrambled over and grabbed the controls as the evil-looking little tie fighters soared into vision. “I have no idea what to do!”

“Anything,” Ryoma snapped as he started plugging things into the navigation system.

Tezuka pushed the controls down and the ship plummeted -not plummeted really, down in a 3D space in a ship with artificial gravity was just another ‘forward’, but he’d think about that later. A barrage of red laser shots bounced off the slowly weakening shields, making the ship rattle and almost uncontrollable.

We’re going to die, Tezuka thought desperately as he tried to do avoiding actions without knowing any. Next to him, Ryoma was growling at his equipment.

“Damn this!” Ryoma shouted, hitting the cobbled together equipment. “Okay, Sorted. Move,” he ordered, pulling Tezuka out of the pilot’s seat and clambering in. He grabbed a lever, pushed it and the stars drew out around them. They were in hyperspace.

“No entanglements with the law, huh?” Ryoma asked, eyebrows raised. “Something you want to tell me?”

“That’s about it,” Tezuka replied, “I’m sure you can work out the rest.”

“You owe me 20,000,” Ryoma muttered, “and all repairs to my ship.”

“Fine,” Tezuka agreed, “how is the ship?”

“Bad,” Ryoma replied. “I think I can keep her going until we get to Coruscant.”

He flicked a couple of switched and the alarms were silenced, the air seemed empty without them. “I need a shower.” He sauntered out leaving Tezuka alone on the flight deck.

The thought that had been ticking away in the back of his brain was now screaming for attention now they were out of immediate danger.

He was called ‘Ryoma’ and no one could doubt that he and Ryoga were related in some way. He’d found the lost Echizen brother entirely by accident.

Now all he had to do was get him back to his family

And maybe Ryoga would look at him differently…

____________________________________________

The ship was made up of mainly a massive cargo bay with a tiny crew quarter tacked on. Ryoma -or one of the ship’s previous owners- had made many modifications to it over the years, so Tezuka wasn’t sure what it must have looked like originally. What none of its previous owners had done was add on an extra sleeping quarters.

There was, luckily, two beds, presumably because the ship was meant to be flown by two people. The sleeping quarters were attached directly to the kitchen/living area and a bathroom came off that as well as a short corridor to the flight deck.

Tezuka didn’t bring up the issue of Ryoma’s parentage for a day or so, it seemed rather forward to be asking that after they’d known each other for less than a day.

But the question kept needling away at Tezuka. He couldn’t believe it was just coincidence that Ryoma looked so much like the people Tezuka’s presumed to be his father and brother! And it wasn’t just looks, the way Ryoma tilted his head when he smirked, the way he puffed out his cheeks and pouted when he was annoyed. There had been many times over the past couple of days when Tezuka could have sworn the man walking up behind him was Ryoga, not Ryoma.

“Do you have any family?” Tezuka asked as they ate rehydrated food.

Ryoma gave him a ‘what do you think?’ look and carried on eating. Tezuka decided to let it drop, not wanting to push it. After all, he could easily take Ryoma to the Echizen’s with the excuse of picking up his money.

“I dunno what happened to them,” Ryoma said quietly as Tezuka was finishing off his meal. “I’ve been by myself all my life.”

Tezuka’s heart felt like a knife had been sliced through it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why? What did you do?”

“I brought it up, I shouldn’t have pried.”

Ryoma shrugged, “don’t be. I’m over it.”

Tezuka bit his lip, the words were coming to his tongue, but he didn’t know if he should say them. Surely he should warn Ryoma, give him some idea of what he was taking them in to? But what if he decided not to go to Coruscant after all and left him stranded somewhere?

He decided, for now, it was best to remain silent.

“Do you have family?” Ryoma asked, snapping Tezuka out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” Tezuka replied, “my parents and my grandfather. They’re all involved in politics.”

“You are too?”

“I’m a junior assistant to the ambassador.”, feeling a slight cringe at the thought given where they were now.

Ryoma smirked, “fancy. What does that mean?”

“It’s a starting position,” Tezuka replied, feelings his cheeks heat up.

“Nice. It’s better than what I do.”

“Which is?”

“Do you really want to know?”

No, Tezuka though, but he nodded.

“If someone’ll pay me to do something I will. Mostly it’s shipping stuff, smuggling, that kinda thing.”

“And sometimes you wear dresses?”

Ryoma grinned, “dressing like a woman is the best way to smuggle things. But, that time I was being a prostitute. If you get the right clients it pays well,” he added as Tezuka turned red again.  "I don’t do it if they don’t pay me properly.“

“It must be more exciting than being a junior assistant,” was all Tezuka could think to say, his training kicking in and taking over his seized brain.

“I’m sure it is,” Ryoma laughed, “less reputable though.”

That laugh, a little higher than Ryoga’s but still so recognisable. Tezuka was struck with an irresistible urge to lean across and kiss him, one that shocked him to the core.

He couldn’t do that! Why had he thought of doing that?

He shifted a little away from Ryoma, but the other man was getting to his feet and didn’t notice.

“We can’t get to Coruscant straight away,” Ryoma said, “the ship’s not gonna hang together for much longer.”

“Oh,” Tezuka replied, his stomach clenching tightly.

“I know a place,” Ryoma said, “it won’t take long, I’ll need money though.”

“You’re going to bankrupt me.”

“You wanted a ship,” Ryoma shrugged, “you still haven’t told me why, I’m not stupid, I know we were attacked because of you.”

Tezuka stared at the table. If he could, he wanted Ryoma to remain ignorant of the truth, if they were captured he didn’t want him to get into trouble as well.

“Whatever,” Ryoma said. “If you want me I’m going to battle with the engine again.”

Ryoma had been spending much of their trip so far in the engine bay, fighting to keep his ship running for as long as possible. It had been hanging over their heads that they would have to stop, if only to get spare parts, but hearing it aloud cemented it.

Tezuka joined him a bit later, to pass tools and be yelled at for not passing the right one. There wasn’t anything else to do on board.

——————————————————————————————-

“Hyotei is the closest place to get parts,” Ryoma said the next day.

“Hyotei?”

“Yeah. You know, that icy one.” Tezuka could think of lots of icy planets besides that one, for how vague the description was.

“I know. I know the prince, we went to school together,” Tezuka replied, rather pleased by the way Ryoma’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Can you get free repairs off him?” Ryoma asked.

“Possibly,” Tezuka said, thinking back to their school days together. Atobe had always been overly friendly with him, he may be able to swing it. Heck, if he played his cards right, he could probably get an entirely new ship.

“I’m going to take us out of hyperspace, the ship’s gonna die if I don’t,” Ryoma said. “It’ll take us longer to get there, but we won’t explode.”

“I prefer not exploding,” Tezuka said and Ryoma laughed.

Once out of hyperspace, the ship needed less on the spot repairs. The hyperdrive was, in Ryoma’s words, fucked. But, with no spare parts there was no chance of them repairing it in space.

Luckily, Tezuka had brought his reading device to keep him occupied as they flew slowly through space. Ryoma lazed around, sometimes wandering off to poke about with some part of the ship.

“It’s not even my ship,” he admitted several days away from Hyotei.

“Who’s is it?” Tezuka asked, knowing he wouldn’t know who Ryoma had taken

it from.

“Fuji, the guy who sets me up with jobs, lent it to me,” Ryoma replied. “It’s more use as scrap so if I don’t give it back it’s entirely his fault for giving me a shit ship.”

“Will he mind?”

“He won’t have a choice.” Ryoma slumped down on the sofa next to Tezuka,

“I’m too valuable to make my life hell.”

“He could put you in debt to him,” Tezuka warned. Ryoma may not be able to see all the trouble he could get in, but he certainly could. They hadn’t talked a lot during their journey -often sharing only a few words between waking up and sleeping- but he’d become fond of the other man. Maybe he was just hopelessly attracted to Echizens.

“And I can disappear,” Ryoma replied as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Space is big and I’m pretty small.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble over me.”

Ryoma snorted, “I can pick up jobs with or without Fuji and ships are easy to come by too. I’ve been on my own all my life, I can take care of myself.”

Tezuka nodded unenthusiastically, “do you enjoy it?”

“It depends. Some jobs are fun, others are hell.”

“How does this one rate?”

“Not too bad,” Ryoma replied, sounding very amused, “at least you’re good looking.”

Tezuka tried to fight down the blush that was forcing its way up his neck, but it was too strong. Ryoma laughed when he saw Tezuka’s cheeks colour.

“You’re cute,” he said, “I don’t meet a lot of people like you.”

“I-” Tezuka started and then shut his mouth when no other words came. He wasn’t used to being flirted with at all, how did people manage it?

Ryoma just leant against his shoulder, “I’m going to sleep.”

“That can’t be comfortable,” Tezuka managed.

“I’ve slept on stone floors,” Ryoma replied, yawning, “your shoulder is nice.”

“Sleep on my lap if you’re going to sleep on me,” Tezuka said, suddenly irritated. He couldn’t understand why Ryoma would pick the most uncomfortable -short of sleeping on the floor- option available to him.

Ryoma looked rather shocked, like he’d expected to be pushed off, not be invited to sleep somewhere far more intimate.

“And get a blanket,” Tezuka added, “I can’t fly this thing and it’s cold in here. I can’t have you getting ill.”

Ryoma blinked and then scrambled away to grab a blanket before settling back down, his head now resting on Tezuka’s leg.

“Thanks,” he muttered, the rest of his body curling into the fetal position.

Tezuka nodded and then returned to his reading as Ryoma fell asleep. He felt rather exposed, being left alone in the ship. It was silly, Ryoma was right next to him, but he was technically in charge of the ship.

He put a hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder, as if that would somehow stable himself. Something warm blossomed in his chest as he watched Ryoma sleep. Asleep, he looked so innocent, like he hadn’t been living in the edges, fighting to survive all his life.

The tug of pity at his heart was useless. What could pity do? It wouldn’t fix anything and he was sure Ryoma wouldn’t appreciate it. What he could do was offer him a chance to be with his family and if he didn’t want it, he would give him his money and let him go.

——————————————————————————————-

“So…What exactly are you smuggling?” Ryoma asked, two hours out from Hyotei.

Tezuka looked up from his case, where he’d been packing, to the door that Ryoma had suddenly appeared at and was leaning against. “I’m-”

“We wouldn’t have been shot at if you weren’t doing something wrong. Tell me.”

Tezuka sighed. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“The Empire will still torture me,” Ryoma argued reasonably, “trust me, I know.”

Not wanting to know how Ryoma knew that, Tezuka pulled out the memory chip grudgingly. “I don’t know what’s on it,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you ask?” Ryoma asked, snatching the chip for Tezuka’s hand.

“It was the ambassador,” Tezuka replied, wondering why he hadn’t asked. There hadn’t been time and he hadn’t wanted to ruffle his boss’s feathers.

Ryoma raised his eyebrows and then laughed, “Let’s take a look.”

“No,” Tezuka said sternly, “give it back.”

“Don’t you want to know what you’re risking our lives for?”

“Yes, but I was told not to show it to anyone.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ryoma said, handing back the memory chip anyway.

“An idiot who’s employed.”

“You won’t be if we get blown up,” Ryoma pointed out. “Anyway, we need to hide that.”

Tezuka nodded, he couldn’t really keep it in his pocket like he’d been doing on the ship. “Where?”

“In your clothes?” Ryoma suggested, “it’s not like you’re going to be walking around naked. Especially on Hyotei.”

Tezuka thought about what he was likely to wear on Hyotei. It was going to be cold -it was always cold-, but he didn’t have a large winter coat and, if they were going to be finding Atobe and theoretically staying with him he’d be inside and look suspicious wearing a coat.

“A shirt?” He said, looking to Ryoma for confirmation.

“Yeah, that’d work,” Ryoma replied, “can you sew?”

“No,” Tezuka admitted.

“Give me your shirt and the chip,” Ryoma ordered.

Tezuka’s cheeks heated up as he unbuttoned his shirt and handed it over. It wasn’t even as if Ryoma was ogling him, why was he feeling so self-conscious? He’d never felt this awkward around Ryoga.

He handed over the shirt and memory chip and Ryoma disappeared back into the living area. Tezuka followed, hugging himself to keep warm in the chilly air in the ship.

“Relax,” Ryoma muttered as he picked apart a seam on the shirt collar, “I’m not gonna do anything to you just because you’re shirtless.”

Tezuka ran that sentence through his head, “but you would try something?”

“If you’re offering,” Ryoma replied, smirking.

“I’m not,” Tezuka said, his heartbeat quickening.

“Shame,” Ryoma muttered, his attention now fully on the shirt collar, pushing the memory chip inside and starting to sew up the hole. “You’re not allowed to lose this shirt,” he said, handing it back, “sleep in it if you have to.”

“Thank you,” Tezuka said, putting the shirt back on. He felt better than the chip was properly hidden.

“What are we going to do when we get to Hyotei?” Ryoma asked. “We can’t march into the castle and demand to see the prince.”

Tezuka had prepared for this. “They do guided tours of the castle. We should join one and then slip away to find Atobe.”

“I can think of lots of ways that can go wrong.”

“I know where Atobe’s bedroom is.”

“So we hide under his bed?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Ryoma sighed. “Fine, it’s not like I have a better idea.”

The late afternoon sun sparkled on the snow blanketing the capital of Hyotei as they landed somewhat violently on the landing pad.

“I think something else has broken,” Ryoma said as the landing gear crunched when it hit the ground. “Let’s go.”

Tezuka really regretted not packing a warm coat as his skin goosebumped when they walked off the ship into the crisp, cold air. Next to him, Ryoma looked grumpy, dressed in a fraying coat that couldn’t have been much protection against the cold.

“Let’s get to the castle quickly,” Ryoma muttered. “I’m so cold.”

It wasn’t hard to find the castle, it towered above the city, looking like it had come straight out of a fairytale. There was a long queue of tourists waiting to get in, on that they joined the end of.

“Why is it so expensive to get in?” Ryoma asked, staring at the prices. “Are the tickets gold plated or something?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Tezuka replied, rubbing his hands together. It was so cold.

Slowly they made their way up the queue, by the time Tezuka got up to the admission booth he couldn’t feel his fingers and Ryoma was shivering. They were being stared at by the other tourists, all of whom had dressed properly for the weather.

“Finally,” Ryoma muttered as they were let into the castle, which was wonderfully warm.

“There’s a tour starting over there,” Tezuka said, motioning to a group of tourists mulling around at the other side of the grand entrance hall. They tagged along on the back of it, neither listening to the guide.

“Where’s the best place to escape?” Ryoma whispered as they were taken into the dining room, the long table all laid out with sparking white china.

“The other side of the castle,” Tezuka murmured back, pretending to be interested in the antique china.

“Right,” Ryoma replied, sighing. “I feel like a peasant.”

“You’re not,” Tezuka assured him.

“I’m sure there are rules of what to wear when meeting a prince.”

Tezuka sighed, “you look great.”

Ryoma picked at the hem of his coat and didn’t reply.

They were guided around the rest of the formal rooms of the castle, being kept well away from the private ones.

“We should slip out soon,” Ryoma said, “I think we’re coming near the end. Know your way from here?”

“I do,” Tezuka assured him.

They hung back, pausing to feign interest in the old paintings lining the walls. Then, as the tour group rounded a corner, they dived down a corridor.

“Lead the way,” Ryoma said.

It was exciting, sneaking around the castle, avoiding guards and staff. Once or twice they were almost caught and it was only Ryoma’s quick thinking, pushing Tezuka against a wall and making his heart beat so fast he was sure it was going to fly out of his chest.

“It’s just over there,” Tezuka whispered as they reached the fifth floor.

“It’s deserted,” Ryoma said, he grabbed Tezuka’s hand, “come on!”

The short distance from the stairs to Atobe’s room was one of the most heart stopping moment of Tezuka’s life. Any moment someone could burst out of one of the surrounding rooms and catch them. But they didn’t. And Ryoma was holding his hand.

“Should we knock?” Tezuka asked when they reached the door.

“Why? It’ll draw attention to us.”

“What if Atobe’s in there?”

“Then we won’t have to wait for him,” Ryoma hissed, grabbing the door handle and pushing it open.

There was no one inside.

Tezuka hurried in and shut the door behind them.

“Want to get under the bed?” Ryoma asked motioning to the large four poster and smirking at Tezuka. “We can pretend to be monsters.”

In all honesty, Tezuka hadn’t expected to get this far. He hadn’t said it aloud, but he had been sure they’d be caught by a member of staff and escorted out before they’d even reached the second floor. Surely the tour guide must have alerted someone that two of their tour members had become lost!

His heart was beating quickly, pumping so much adrenaline around his body that was now of no use that he was shaking. And there was Ryoma, smirking and sparking, joining him in this insane plan.

His feet moved without his permission and before he knew it he was standing in front of Ryoma, his hands resting on his shoulders. Ryoma looked up at him, his eyes watchful but giving off nothing that indicated he didn’t want to do this. He leant down, his lips almost magnetically attracted to Ryoma’s.

The kiss was soft, their lips fitting together like two pieces of a jigsaw. Tezuka had never kissed anyone before and hadn’t known what to expect beyond what he’d read in books. Ryoma’s lips were warm and slightly chapped and fit so perfectly against Tezuka’s.

“I’m sorry,” Tezuka said as they pulled apart. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Ryoma snorted, grabbed a handful of Tezuka’s shirt to pull him forward and smash their lips together.

It was nothing like the feathery soft, light kisses of Tezuka’s kiss or the elegantly dancing tongues of his books. It was hot and fiery and messy. Ryoma’s hands were in his hair, twisting and pulling, as he practically devoured Tezuka’s mouth.

Ryoma caught Tezuka’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulled bag, sliding it between his teeth, his eyes bright and mischievous.

“I’m not sorry,” he breathed, breath hot against Tezuka’s lips. “Want to test out the bed?”

“No,” Tezuka said sternly. “This is not the time nor the place,” trying to fight off the bright red flush on his face and failing miserably.

“You kissed me first,” Ryoma smirked, looking terribly smug.

“We need to wait for Atobe.”

“And until he arrives we can kiss.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Ryoma pouted.

They waited. And waited.

“I’m going to sleep,” Ryoma stated after an hour.

“Take your shoes off,” Tezuka ordered as Ryoma hopped onto the bed. He scowled, but kicked off his boots as he clambered under the covers.

“It’s comfy,” Ryoma said, his voice muffled by the pillows. He sat up, his hair now mused, “join me.”

Tezuka sighed. “I’m not joining you in Atobe’s bed.”

“Boring,” Ryoma muttered, “come here, I need to tell you something.”

Tezuka gave him an exasperated look. Why couldn’t he just tell him across the room? “Fine.”

Ryoma smirked as Tezuka grew near and Tezuka had a feeling that whatever he was going to be telling was not going to be important.

“What is it?” he asked as Ryoma beckoned him closer. He leaned down so that he was inches from Ryoma’s face.

Ryoma’s smirk grew and he brushed a few strands of hair from Tezuka’s face

before kissing him.

Of course this was what he wanted, he thought as Ryoma rolled him over so that they were lying side by side, kissing.

“You’re wearing your shoes on Atobe’s bed,” Ryoma said, trying to sound stern, but not quite able to hold back his amusement.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine,” Ryoma replied smugly, “but you started this kissing thing.”

Tezuka swung his legs off the bed and sat up, just as the door swung open.

Atobe started at him as if he’d seen a ghost and then he ran over, pulling Tezuka into a bone crushing hug.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Atobe cried.

“What?” Tezuka asked.

Atobe clung onto him for a couple of moments and then said, “the envoy to Hiybos were murdered.”

“What?!”

How had that happened? When had it? He’d escaped whilst everyone else had died! All the faces of everyone he’d travelled with floated through his head.

He’d never see them again.

“It was the remains of the Empire of something,” Atobe said, “they massacred everyone from the New Republic.”

Tezuka felt cold, so cold, like ice was freezing his blood. He’d escaped.

“The ambassador told me to leave,” he said quietly, “Ryoma helped me escape.”

“Ryoma?” Atobe asked, finally noticing the man lying in his bed.

“Me,” Ryoma said. “I took my boots off before I got into bed.”

Atobe looked back at Tezuka, eyebrows raised. “Ryoma?”

Tezuka shook his head infinitessimally and Atobe, thankfully, took the hint. Ryoma finding out this way would not be ideal.

“I’m glad he helped you escape,” Atobe said. “So, as lovely as having you here is, why are you here?”

“My ship broke down,” Ryoma said before Tezuka could open his mouth. “We need repairs.”

“Where are you going?” Atobe asked, completely ignoring Ryoma’s existence.

“Coruscant,” Tezuka replied, “I need to get there as fast as possible.”

“I’ll lend you a ship,” Atobe said, “but you have to stay for the night.”

“We have to leave,” Ryoma snapped, unhappy with being ignored. “Don’t we, Tezuka?”

“We do,” Tezuka agreed, wishing he could agree to stay. He missed sleeping in proper beds.

“Nonsense, one night won’t hurt,” Atobe insisted, finally letting go of Tezuka.

“I’ll have the staff prepare rooms and dinner.”

“Can we escape?” Ryoma muttered to Tezuka as Atobe charged ahead with his plans.

“No,” Tezuka replied, “especially not if you want a new ship.”

“We can’t use the state dining room, of course, but I have a modest one in my apartments-”

“Is it modest?” Ryoma whispered as they followed in Atobe’s footsteps.

“Of course not,” Tezuka whispered back.

“So, is he Echizen Ryoma?” Atobe asked after dinner - a dinner which he’d spent antagonising Ryoma until he stomped off to bed. Tezuka was nursing a headache.

“I believe so,” Tezuka replied.

“And you haven’t told him yet?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Tezuka sighed. “I didn’t want him to get scared and leave me.”

Atobe snorted. “Are you in love with him or something?”

“Something,” Tezuka replied. “And I was running for my life.” The cold feeling

still hadn’t left him even though the castle was well heated.

“Once you’ve reached Coruscant you’ll have to come back and visit me,” Atobe said. “I’ve missed you.”

“You could come to Coruscant.”

“I could,” Atobe agreed, sighing and looking at the floor. “My father wants me to stay here though. Learn the ropes or something.”

“I’ll visit then,” Tezuka said. “I should make sure Ryoma’s okay, you annoyed him a lot.”

“He’s fine!”

“Still, it’s late and today has been stressful,” Tezuka said.

“Fine,” Atobe gave up. “Your ship will be ready in the morning. But you have to come back and see me! I haven’t seen anyone apart from court officials and politicians for months!”

“I will,” Tezuka promised.

“And you need to tell Ryoma about his family before you get to Coruscant.”

“I will.”

Ryoma was in bed when Tezuka knocked softly on the door and walked in.

“Who is it?” he mumbled sleepily.

“It’s me,” Tezuka replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Good, I thought it was Atobe coming to strangle me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Tezuka assured him. “I have something important I need to tell you.”

Ryoma hummed to show he was listening and Tezuka was on the verge of telling him. But his body was feeling heavy and his eyelids were drooping, it was too late for important news and there was always time in the morning. Next to him, Ryoma let out a happy sigh and Tezuka fell sideways, unable to say sat up, his eyes sliding closed.

His brain felt so heavy, unable to keep on one train of thought, being tempted into deep and heavy sleep. Tezuka let himself fall, comfortable and content.

______________________________________________________

He woke up lying on something hard and cold. It took his brain a couple of moments to realise that something was wrong and then it tore through the heaviness of sleep and he was wide awake, his heart beating out of his chest.

His eyes protested as he tried to open them, the room he was in was brightly lit and pure white.

“You’re awake,” Ryoma said, he was sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of what Tezuka came to realise was a very small cell. “At least they locked us up together.”

“Who did?”

Ryoma shrugged, “I dunno, I’ve only just woken up. I’m willing to bet on it being something to do with the Empire.”

Tezuka’s hand flew to the collar of his shirt and was relieved to find the small bump where the memory chip was.

“There isn’t a way out,” Ryoma continued, as Tezuka looked around at the blank walls. “I’ve checked.”

“So we just wait?”

“Yep. Our best chance of escape is when someone comes to get us.”

Tezuka nodded, feeling utterly miserable. Even if they did try and make a run for it there was no doubt they’d be recaptured straight away and then who knew what was going to happen to them? They were scuppered.

“I know who your family is,” Tezuka said, looking everywhere but at Ryoma. “I should have told you sooner, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Ryoma demanded, shocked and breathless. “Who?”

“You’re Ryoma Echizen,” Tezuka explained. “You were kidnapped when you were five and never seen again.”

“Echizen,” Ryoma tried it out. “How do you know?”

“You look exactly like your father and older brother,” Tezuka said, his heart lightened somewhat by Ryoma not yelling at him for keeping it secret. “I’m completely sure of it.”

“I have a brother?”

“And and mother and father. Your mother is a senator in the New Republic.”

“So they’re rich?”

Tezuka nodded, finally looking at Ryoma. There were many emotions going on in his face -confusion, happiness, loss, loneliness to name a few- and Tezuka placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer what little support he could.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ryoma demanded, suddenly totally serious.

“Would you have believed me?”

Ryoma thought for a moment. “No,” he admitted, “I would of thought you were scamming me out of your fare.”

“Exactly,” Tezuka said. “I needed to get home and couldn’t risk being abandoned on a random planet.”

Ryoma crawled up next to him, resting his head on Tezuka’s shoulder. “Are they nice? My family.”

“Yes,” Tezuka said, threading a hand into Ryoma’s hair. “They think about you every day.”

“Then we have to get out of here,” Ryoma said, more determined than Tezuka had ever heard him. “I want to meet them.”

“We will,” Tezuka told him. Even if I have to give myself up to let you go free, he thought.

There were footsteps outside and they both tensed, eyes focused solely on the door.

This was it. Their one chance of escape.

The lock clocked and the door slid open to reveal Atobe.

He rolled his eyes when he saw them together on the bench. “Are you coming or what?”

“How?” Was all Tezuka’s mouth could manage.

“I’m here to rescue you,” Atobe said as if that was completely obvious. “Now come on!”

“How did you get here?” Tezuka asked as they slipped out the door and into the narrow corridor. “Where are we?”

“We’re in a Star Destroyer,” Atobe explain as they snuck down the corridor. “My father has decided to become a traitor,” he added darkly.

It was a massive ship and they walked through corridor after corridor. What

was surprising was that no one stopped them. There were stormtroopers, but one look at Atobe and they went back to what they were doing.

“This is weird,” Ryoma said as they walked through a busy corridor intersection completely unchallenged.

Atobe looked back at them, utterly smug. “Are you awed by my special powers?”

They were stopped when they reached the hangers by two stormtroopers who

pointed blasters at them.

“Where are you going?” One of the demanded.

Atobe, completely unphased by the blaster in his face, stepped forward. “We have permission from the Admiral to take a ship,” he said. Next to him, Ryoma gaped at such a bare faced lie.

But, the stormtroopers stepped aside, allowing them to proceed.

Ryoma was now glaring at Atobe’s back, clearly trying to work out how he was doing it. Tezuka, for now, didn’t care. They had far more important things to worry about.

It was obvious which ship they were heading to, the sleek, pointed and silver, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the tie fighters and bulky transport ships.

“We’re going to have to leave fast,” Atobe told Ryoma as they reached the ship,

“it’s up to you and your flying skills to get us out of here.”

Ryoma nodded, “let’s do it.”

“I can’t persuade people across the radio, so it’s all down to luck once we’re on the ship.”

They boarded the ship unchallenged once again. It was very different to Ryoma’s ship, clean and with all the wires and pipes hidden behind wall panels. It also started first time.

Ryoma didn’t comment on the ship, but Tezuka could tell he was impressed as it did everything he asked of it first time.

“They’re suspicious,” Tezuka said, looking at the stormtroopers out of the window as Ryoma started up the ship and started to hover.

“Of course they are,” Atobe replied from where he was lounging in the co-pilot’s chair. “They’re not idiots.”

“No time to hang around then,” Ryoma said, pushing on the throttle and speeding towards the exit. A couple of blaster shots bounced off their shields, but didn’t stop them. Blasters were no problem for this ship, the laser cannons on the star destroyer were a completely different problem.

Ryoma dived immediately, curling under the belly of the star destroyer.

“If either of you were ready, we could do some major damage,to this thing” he said, flicking the steering controls and barrel rolled to avoid the stream of laser fire from the cannon  on the underside of the star destroyer.

“Do you trust Tezuka with a laser cannon?” Atobe asked, looking up from the nav. computer.

Ryoma laughed, “You have a point.”

Tezuka scowled at both of them, affronted. He could work a laser cannon if he absolutely had to! How could they both be so casual as they were fleeing for their lives!

“Computer’s worked out the route,” Atobe said, “ready?”

Ryoma didn’t reply, just pushed the lever forward and they shot into hyperspace.

“That went well,” he said casually, sitting back from the controls. “I’ll trade you this ship for mine.”

Atobe got gracefully to his feet, “No, I’m not trading my wonderful ship for your pile of junk.”

“It’s not a pile of junk!” Ryoma snapped after him as he left the flight deck. “It is,” he admitted quietly once Atobe was gone.

“It saved my life though,” Tezuka said, “I’m fond of it.”

“Did you know he’s magic?” Ryoma asked motioning in the direction of where Atobe had sauntered.

Tezuka shook his head. “He’s always been good at persuading people.”

“You should send him to that Jedi Academy thing,” Ryoma said, “get him out the way.”

“He’d my friend,” Tezuka frowned. “And he doesn’t need any training if what we’ve seen is anything to go by.”

Ryoma gazed out the window at the stars streaming past. “We’re going to see my family soon,” he said eventually.

“You don’t have to,” Tezuka replied, but they both knew that wasn’t true. If he did run away, the family he never met would always be hanging over his head.

“It’s going to be awkward,” Ryoma sighed, getting to his feet. “I used to dream about meeting them -when I was a kid- I always knew what to say, now I have no clue.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tezuka promised, grazing Ryoma’s elbow with his fingers.

Ryoma made a short of shrug motion and walked off leaving Tezuka alone.

He could understand Ryoma’s point of view, how were you supposed to talk to a family you never knew existed? Had he thought they’d abandoned him?

Hated him for some reason? Tezuka had only flashes of what Ryoma had been through growing up and it certainly hadn’t been easy, could he go from living

alone to having a family?

The idea of Ryoma leaving made Tezuka’s insides scrunch up uncomfortably. He didn’t want him to leave.

He got up and followed after Ryoma. He had to find him.

Atobe, lounging around and reading, shrugged when Tezuka asked if he’d seen Ryoma. “It’s not a large ship,” he said, “he can’t have disappeared.”

Ryoma wasn’t in any of the bedrooms or the bathroom, so Tezuka started searching the utilitarian sections of the ship. The cargo bay was empty, which just left the engine room.

It looked just as empty as the rooms before it at first, but as Tezuka stepped in he saw a pair of feet sticking out from behind a bit of engine.

“Ryoma,” Tezuka said, tapping the other man on the shoulder. It was noisy next to the engine, Tezuka had to raise his voice to be heard.

“Oh, it’s you,” Ryoma said.

“I have a spare room,” Tezuka said and Ryoma looked utterly confused. “If you don’t want to live with your family or need some space,” Tezuka clarified. “You can stay with me.”

A whole litany of emotion crossed Ryoma’s face before settling on his familiar smirk. “You’re asking me to move in with you.”

“I’m-” Tezuka felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

“We’ve only kissed three times,” Ryoma continued, pulling himself up on a guardrail on the engine and coming awfully close to Tezuka, their mouths now inches apart. “Maybe a few more times?”

Well, Tezuka wasn’t opposed to that.

Ryoma pecked him softly on the lips and then smiled a genuinely happy smile.

“Thanks for finding me. I’ll be taking you up on your offer.” he patted Tezuka on the cheek and then left.

——————————————————————————————-

Atobe and Ryoma, Tezuka decided, should never again be allowed to be in a small, confined space together. It wasn’t even that they particularly hated each other, it was just their primary form of communication was bickering and it was giving Tezuka an almost permanent headache.

When they finally came out of hyperspace and touched down on Coruscant it was with a sigh of relief that Tezuka walked out of the ship.

There had been time, over the past week, where he was sure he would never see his home again, but here it was, completely unchanged.

There were so many things he needed to do, but first he had a memory chip, now freed from his shirt collar, to deliver.

“You’re coming too,” he told Ryoma, taking his hand. “It’s thanks to you that I’m here.”

“You sure?” Ryoma asked, “I’m not dressed the part.”

Tezuka nodded and tugged him along behind.

It wasn’t hard to get into the senate building, it turned out it was very easy to see high ranking politicians when you were the only surviving member of a murdered diplomatic envoy.

Ryoma sat on the sidelines, looking bored as Tezuka retold his story again and again. Somewhere in the building, Atobe as doing exactly the same.

Finally, they reached Leia Organa Solo and the memory chip was decoded and… it was the information that Hiybos was siding with the Empire. There was nothing on there that they didn’t know already.

“At least you survived,” Ryoma tried later as they left the senate building hours later.

“I did,” Tezuka agreed. “It would have been nice if I were smuggling something useful.”

Ryoma laughed and poked him in the shoulder. “You’re alive and well and found me and you’re pouting that you didn’t find some amazing information?”

“I’m not pouting!”

“You’re sulking! I saw your expression when that information was decoded, you looked like someone had kicked you!”

Tezuka frowned at him. “I’m not sulking. It’s just… It just feels very anti-climactic.”

“So what now?” Ryoma asked.

“I need to see my family. They think I’m dead.”

“I’ll wait by the ship.”

“No, you’re coming with me,” Tezuka said, wondering how they were going to work this. “Or I could take you to meet your family first.”

“You need to see your first,” Ryoma decided, “mine can wait a little longer.”

“Thank you.”

Ryoma shrugged, “come on, let’s get our ‘hi parents, I’m not dead’ talks over with.”

Tezuka was sure his mother was never going to let him go anywhere alone again, or stop hugging him. His father was moved to tears and even his grandfather, who was not one to be overcome by emotions, had hugged him tight, his voice gruffer than usual.

Once she was done hugging Tezuka, his mother moved on to giving Ryoma a rib crushing hug, thanking him over and over again for saving her son.

“What’s your name?” Ayano asked Ryoma, once she’d finished hugging the life out of him.

“Ryoma,” he said, looking painfully confused at why he was being given so much attention.

Ayano Tezuka was a very smart woman and so easily put two and two together. “Kunimitsu,” she said, turning to her son, who was trying to comfort his father

“You’re going to the Echizen’s?”

“We are,” Tezuka replied.

“Send them my regards,” Ayano told him. “And you should hurry along.”

Ryoma hung back more and more as they got closer and closer to the Echizen’s, the tension radiating from his body.

“You’re family is nice,” He said as they reached the building.

“They are,” Tezuka agreed, “as are yours. They’ve helped me a lot over the years.”

Ryoma nodded, but didn’t reply.

“I’m scared,” he admitted as they stood outside the front door.

“I’m here,” Tezuka said. “I always will be.”

Ibu, rather unconcerned with his costume, stood behind Kamio and continued speaking. “It’s rather like cheating. If Santa can really see me when I’m sleeping and know when I’m awake, he should know what I want without a nation of youth lining up to sit on his lap. And if he can see me at all times, I don’t know why he couldn’t just wake me up every so often. I think I would prefer that to the alarm that you bought me last year. I find it disorienting, waking up to that intense pounding.”

“You need an intense pounding, to actually hear the alarm over your own voice,” Kamio murmured, holding the leggings up to Ibu and squinting to determine the fit.

“Are you volunteering, Kamio-kun?” An said, and laughed when Kamio straightened and flushed to match the Santa costumes behind him. An looked very cute in her Mrs Claus suit. It was enough to make any man want to move to the North Pole.

“I appreciate that, Akira, but I’m really not interested. Even if I liked the alarm clock we should probably just remain doubles partners. I would have to deal with that pounding all of the time–”

“SHINJI!” Kamio sputtered. “That’s not what I meant! An-chan, I promise–”

“Would you like the alarm clock, Tachibana-san? It comes with a pounding from Akira,” Ibu said, turning to face Tachibana, who had just emerged from a dressing room.

With an easy laugh and smile that matched his Santa suit, Tachibana said, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one distributing gifts?” While Kamio flailed, sparking away like a ticking time bomb, Tachibana plucked up a pair of antlers and put them on his head. “There – I think these suit you.”

An snapped a picture of Kamio and Tachibana. The photo very much resembled a picture one might find in an old temple treasure house: a transcended monk and worshipful disciple. “It’s true, Akira. You’re fast and your hair can light the way,” she said.

“I’m sorry for not being a redhead,” Ibu pulled the leggings and matching vest from the stunned Kamio. Even after he occupied a dressing room, he went on, “I think that I wouldn’t enjoy lighting up the night anyway. I was never afraid of the dark. My own hair would keep me awake and I wouldn’t be able to give away the alarm clock. Maybe Santa is willing to take gifts as well as give them.”

Seeming to collect himself, Kamio looked from his captain back to An. “As long as they pay us properly so we can get that new equipment, I don’t really care.”

“Yes, it’s quite lucky that we were able to participate in this event – there were many teams that wanted to sign up a day of their time for a donation. I heard that whatever display attracts the most customers will receive an extra bonus.”

“Well, the prize ain’t going to you, that’s for sure. What a sad looking cast.”

Turning toward the familiar voice, the members of Fudomine were surprised to see Kirihara Akaya standing in the doorway. His silhouette was different than usual. The devil Akaya flanked by his senpai might be intimidating on the court, but to see Yukimura, Yanagi, Niou, and Marui all dressed like figurines in a Christmas snow globe rather erased the threat.

“We’ll be staffing the South mall,” Yukimura smiled as he advanced past Kirihara. Somehow, the fluffy red and white Santa coat balanced perfectly on his shoulders and flowed out behind him. Though Yukimura said, “Let’s work together to make this a wonderful Christmas,” his smile said, We’re going to bury you. He was not the Santa that anyone wanted in their house in the wee hours of the morning.

Tachibana stepped forward and stretched out his hand. “We look forward to working with you,” he said.

Yukimura gripped his hand. Tachibana kept it. Their forearms knotted with effort and the two captains smiled beatifically at each other.

“Akira-kun, I won’t spontaneously combust from looking at Kirihara-san,” An poked Kamio sharply in the side. He had been shielding her as if Rikkai’s back line would fire a line of arrows at any moment. “Shouldn’t you make sure we have everyone’s costume instead of standing in front of me?”

“Heh, is that fear?” Kirihara tossed his curls.

“Decency, so we don’t take everything and leave you naked. Nobody wants to see that for Christmas,” An took the list from Kamio and showed both teams her back.

Kirihara growled. Before he could advance, Marui shoved Kirihara’s elf-hat down over his eyes. While Kirihara swatted helplessly, Marui deftly kept out of his reach with little hops and turns.

“I apologize for her rudeness,” Tachibana bowed slightly, though the quirk in his lip suggested he was more amused than embarrassed.

“My little sister is the same way,” Yukimura said with a note of pride. “As for the costumes, please choose without reservation. We’re just here to pick up Sanada’s, as it took some time to find something that would fit him. Won’t you come out, Sanada?”

No one from Fudomine had known that one of the dressing rooms was occupied. Two large feet and bit of shuffling in response to Yukimura’s comment confirmed it.

“Does it not fit, fuku-buchou?” Niou teased, sidling up to the door. He was the only one out of the present Rikkai members not in costume. “Do you need me to zip you up?”

Before Niou could peek into the stall, the door swung violently open. The whole world stopped to witness the sight of the reindeer kigurumi clad Sanada, his muscles pushing the very limits of the fabric.

When even Niou was biting his lip, Ibu emerged from the dressing room to ruthlessly break the silence. “I don’t think that you’re meant to wear a hat under that kigurumi. Though I suppose it might be useful if you’re guiding a sleigh. There’s no sun at night, but the streetlights off the snow might cause some trouble. It could be more useful to wear something like a bonnet, to act like the kind of blinders that a horse might wear.”

Yanagi, the tallest elf among them, patted Sanada’s shoulder. “Not to worry. Our Genichirou is plenty single minded.”

Sanada blinked, his features crinkled with indecision. When it came to Rikkai, sometimes it simply wasn’t worth it to react.

“I’m afraid that we can’t waste any more time here. There’s already a line in front of our booth,” Yukimura said, gaze dealing Tachibana a passing blow. “Three stores deep.

Rikkai’s Captain was assured of their victory on this day, just like any other.

“Come on, Sanada,” Yukimura said, giving power to Sanada’s feet, for it didn’t look like the reindeer wanted to leave the shop.

“We’ll follow you, let that nose lead the way,” Niou teased, swatting Sanada on the bum with a jingle belled glove as he sauntered out. The rest of Rikkai followed, ready to begin their quest for new uniforms.

Ibu broke Fudomine’s silence.

“Akira, I think you have another ten years before you can fill out a kigurumi like Sanada-san.”

“Kigurumi aren’t meant to be filled out!”

“But if you’re a reindeer, you should be able to handle Santa’s weight. In some places of the world, reindeer who can’t perform are made into sausage…I would feel quite sorry for any reindeer cooked by Tachibana-san. And I would feel quite sorry to have to eat it. Please prove your worth, Akira.”

“Tachibana-san! Please allow me to give you a piggyback!” Kamio turned around and squatted, bracing himself for the much taller teen.

Tachibana scratched his hair under the santa hat. “Again, aren’t people supposed to be sitting on my lap?”

~~~

A silly smile on his face, Marui stopped in his tracks in the middle of a busy mall corridor. Busy shoppers made some noise of annoyance and navigated around the stalled teenagers.

“Senpai…” Kirihara questioned. Yanagi pointed out the cinnamon bun stand nestled between Uniqlo and Three Coins. The wares wafted a tempting smell throughout the gallery, forcibly tempting customers from the stores.

“Jackal can handle it for just a bit longer…” Marui wiggled his fingers.

“Are you sure? If you outgrow those leggings, you’ll have to change from elf to Santa,” Yanagi commented. His lips minutely enough to make him truly look like an elf. Only the pointed ears were missing.

The comment didn’t seem to have done any damage. Marui was offended for an entirely different reason, “Red isn’t my color, and leggings WILL expand for cinnamon buns. I believe in spandex!”

“You’re going to turn into a cinnamon bun,” Yukimura chuckled, extending an arm across Marui’s shoulders to gently, but quite firmly guide him away from the sweets.

As they approached the display of lights and fir, the crowd of families thickened. Forcing their way through Christmas miasma, the brave members of Rikkai dodged wayward children and smiled peaceably at the stressed parents who would prefer to be getting on with their day. No one wished to spend a weekend in December in an unmoving line, regardless of the enchanting Christmas construction.

A thoroughly harassed Kuwahara Jackal, who had been passing out candy canes and chatting with children to calm the crowd, joined them at the front of the line. He helped by telling the children to make way for Santa, clearing a path for Yukimura to the empty throne.

“Finally,” Jackal sighed with relief. The antler headband had slipped halfway down his head. “Yagyuu is ready with the camera. I don’t see why all of you had to go to fetch Sanada’s costume.”

“I for one, wanted to see you in your element. Nice work, Jackal,” Marui laughed and gave him a pat, as if he completed an assignment that Marui had given him personally.

In response, Jackal pushed a basket full of miniature candy canes into the arms of the self-proclaimed genius. “And now it’s your turn. Help me hand out those to the people who have been waiting.”

“Yukimura, we should begin as soon as possible,” Yagyuu said, casually holding the all-important camera away from Niou’s prying fingers. The trickster wanted to see if Yagyuu had taken any beautiful selfies while they were away. Giving his partner a pointed look, Yagyuu said, “And you need to put your costume on, Masaharu.”

“Isn’t it cliché, for me to be an elf?” Niou drawled, leaning against the railing.

Yukimura’s peaceful smile sharpened at the edges. “Would you rather work the register as Mrs Claus?”

“I shave for no man, buchou, not even you,” Niou put a regretful hand over his heart.

“Then get on with it,” Yukimura said. The plush, red coat billowed out behind him, a magnificent royal cape benefitting the golden throne and line of worshippers that awaited him. “Let’s check my list, shall we?”

With that, they got organized. Rikkai executed Christmas cheer with the same efficiency applied to tennis practice. Yanagi set the plans, Sanada enforced them, and Yukimura sat, quite literally, upon a golden throne at the very center of chaos.

While most of the children were reasonably behaved, they were still children. The little boy that Marui returned to his parents clutched a fistful of pink hair for a prize. He sighed and fluffed up his bangs. “Hey Jackal, let’s go to Cinnabon after this. I held back because I was worried that without my genius, you’d be overrun with children,” he said, already thinking of his reward.

“It’s more likely that he simply wants to eat two shares instead of one,” Yanagi pointed out, not bothering to lower his voice. The child squirming in his arms clouded the dataman’s usual serene expression.

“Santa!” the girl insisted, clawing at Yanagi to get at Yukimura, who was occupied with hearing a little boy’s list of video games.

“If you don’t wait patiently for Santa, Rudolph is going to bite you,” Yanagi pointed over the little girl’s shoulder at Sanada, who glowered with an intensity to rival the bright red pom pom on his nose.

Shrieking, the girl beat on Yanagi’s shoulders all the way to Yukimura. Santa tried to calm down the precious customer with soothing tones and the promise of gifts; unfortunately, his work was negated by the enthusiastic scowl of Rudolph just behind the throne.

Delighting in the chaos, Niou strolled up to Yanagi and said, “You’re going to be a wonderful father someday, dataman.”

“I’ll devote my life to science,” Yanagi said blandly.

“Senpai!” Kirihara said with alarm, startling some nearby children. The bells on his costume chimed out his anxiety. “You absolutely can’t quit tennis!”

Brows arching slightly, Yanagi asked, “Oh? And what would you do if I did?”

“I would bring you back,” said Kirihara. Quite obviously unsure of how, he blurted out, “My tennis would become so fascinating that you can’t look away!”

“That’s quite the devotion, naah, Kabaji?”

“Usu.”

At the front of the long, thick line of festive families stood Atobe Keigo, flanked by Kabaji and Oshitari on either side. Atobe cut a striking figure in his fur lined jacket and elegant uniform. Hyoutei’s captain couldn’t have blended into the Christmas crowd if he tried, even without Kabaji’s reassuring bulk at his back.

“But I really don’t lose to Yanagi-san in that regard,” Atobe commented, inclining his head minutely toward Kabaji.

Oshitari chuckled. “Still, it’s a lovely confession. We walked in on an opportune moment,” Oshitari said.

“Oi, what’s Atobe doing here?” Marui popped his gum.

Atobe primly double-checked his glorious reflection in a hand-held mirror. Without eye contact, he retorted, “Isn’t it obvious? All 200 members of the Hyoutei tennis club will receive a picture of Ore-sama with Santa this year.”

“We were very bad boys,” Oshitari drawled.

“So it would seem,” Yagyuu smirked.

“Oh no, Fukubuchou,” Niou called to Sanada. “Isn’t this situation like your wife meeting your mistress?”

“Will it end in a six legged tango, or a tragic one?” Oshitari put a hand over his heart.

“Only the end of the dance will tell,” Yagyuu took the picture like the hero he was.

“Niou!” scolded Sanada, red faced and grumpy in his hooded costume. “Atobe, you have to wait in line.”

Atobe huffed and looked vaguely behind him. Then, he said loudly, “I will be paying for all of your pictures today – allow me to go first without protest.”

Despite Atobe’s strange entrance, the crowd cheered at his words. It was worth another minute or two of waiting to get their pictures free of charge.

With that small matter handled, Atobe regarded Sanada with a regal stare. “Now, Rudolph-san, I will have you make use of that nose and escort me to Santa.”

Though Sanada looked very much like he wanted to roll his eyes, he held back and stoically brought Atobe to Yukimura.

Yukimura’s eyes twinkled behind round frames, but it was probably something a little more violent than Christmas cheer. “My, what a big boy.”

“What a puny Santa,” Atobe returned.

Yukimura chuckled, “I don’t suppose that I have to ask if you were naughty or nice.”

“Ore-sama has nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Then you have no reason to fear my lap,” Yukimura patted his thigh in challenge.

As Captain, Atobe could not help but answer. Fortunately for everyone except Sanada, the camera was well manned.

~~~~

Kamio was in the rhythm. Jingle-bells blared through the mall speakers as he hurried back from the storeroom with the requested wares. The replenished supply of candy canes within his basket danced with every step, threatening to jingle-suicide when he went down the stairs. Somehow, he made it back to the tall Christmas tree with no sweet left behind. He smiled to An, who was very comely and in charge behind the register as Mrs Claus. Ibu, Morii, and Ishida were navigating children around the bearded and jolly version of Tachibana. The members of Fudomine thought that it really suited him to sit on a throne and act so saintly to children. Perhaps they could persuade the mall to offer the chair as a prize for the clubroom if they won the contest.

“Sorry to make you wait,” Kamio said. The springy antlers bounced when he bowed his head. “Morii, Ishida. You guys can go take lunch now.”

“We’ll be in the food court then,” Ishida said, clapping Kamio on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince a bit.

“Do you think he touches his mother with that much force?” Ibu wondered aloud. Ishida’s retreating back stiffened. “I thought that would sound as good as do you kiss your mother with that mouth, but it doesn’t quite. Ishida should come back and say something foul to you, Kamio, so I can apply the phrase correctly.”

“There’s too many children around for that,” Kamio scolded Ibu. He traded his basket of candy canes for the kid standing next to Ibu, looking a little lost.

“Ah, next time,” Ibu said, watching Kamio bring his charge to Tachibana. He decided to take the candy canes seriously and distributed them out to the waiting customers. The remaining members of Fudomine happily dedicated themselves to organizing and assisting the children on and off of Santa’s lap. Even as they squirmed and shouted, most of them seemed to have proper awe of Tachibana and his soothing smile.

Until someone didn’t. A familiar, nasally voice came from the back of the line and cut through the Christmas mood.

“Oi, Echizen. You’re smaller than some of these kids – sit on Santa’s lap and pass a message for me, won’t you?” Momoshiro asked. His sister and brother shuffled forward in line without him and craned their necks to see how long until they could visit Santa.

Echizen tilted his head toward the younger kids, who were more eager to meet the big guy, “Ask your siblings.”

“No way!” Momo crossed his arms. “We’re here to escort them properly, not take their precious wishes! I’d be a failure of a big brother.”

“You are anyway.” Echizen’s evidence: the two kids had broken away from line to eagerly take candy canes from Sakurai’s basket. “You’re just here to see Tachibana’s sister dressed up.”

“Well yeah, I MEAN – You take that back!”

“Yadda,” Echizen showed Momo his back, but only went as far as the bench a few yards away from the line.

Ibu had been helping children off of Tachibana’s lap and reuniting them with their parents, but immediately abandoned post at the sound of Echizen’s voice.

“Hey, Shinji, where are you going!” Sakurai called out. When the children noticed his distraction, they took candy canes by the handful and stuffed their pockets.

Completely ignoring the question, Ibu made a beeline for Echizen and promptly sat on the shorter boy. Echizen startled out of his relaxed position and looked at Ibu as if he grew an extra tennis racket for a head.

“Get off,” Echizen shoved ineffectually at Ibu.

“No,” Ibu grabbed the collar of Echizen’s Seigaku polo and fixed him with an intense stare. “I want that roll of grip tape for Christmas.”

The surprise faded from Echizen’s face. He fought Ibu’s passion with a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s already half used, get off.”

Ibu wasn’t ready to give up the ghost of griptape past. The genius’ hands were taking the price out of Echizen’s uniform shirt; did he really even need that griptape, with that kind of power? “Then the second half. And another roll exactly the same kind to compensate. I regret allowing you to take it from me that time, so please do something about it.”

“I don’t want to,” Echizen looked away stubbornly.

Kamio came running to his friend. “Hey Ibu, you can’t be doing this here. We have a job to do.”

“Akira, things like grip tape transcend Christmas. Unless they wish to add it to the three wise men story. They could bring three rolls of grip tape to the child Christ…”

“Oi, Momoshiro. Take responsibility for your kouhai!” Kamio yelled.

“Me?! Echizen wouldn’t convey my wish to Santa, so he can lose his innocence just like that, yes he can,” Momo crossed his arms.

“You’re really not going to do anything about that?”

“Nope! What would you have me do?!”

“Sacrifice your body!” Kamio demanded and pushed Momoshiro toward the tangled pair. There were three screams and a giant puff of fake snow as they tumbled over into the winter wonderland.

Kamio clapped his hands of the matter and said, “If you’re going to be a vice-captain, you have to learn to get things done.”

“…Then what are you going to do about that mess?” Sakurai asked.

“Looks like it’s your turn to sacrifice your body,” Tachibana said, stealing a moment for a drink of water. “Sakurai, please bring up the next family while Kamio cleans.”

“Yes, Tachibana-san!”

~~~~

“Karaage! Please try our karaage!”

In the bustling food court, a cute part time worker advertised her wares to the crowd. Many stopped by to sample the fried chicken.

The woman’s smile flickered when she noticed a white-haired man in a black hat reaching for a toothpick.

“Haven’t I seen you before?”

“Tarundoru,” he said, and slipped away with a piece. A man with familiar, mysteriously opaque glasses followed, and said adieu before she could ask anything more.

“Unfair…” Kirihara seethed, crushing his empty can. Yagyuu and Niou were definitely getting more out of their lunch break.

“The one with the baby stroller was particularly good,” An commented, startling Kirihara from his envy. His frozen expression of mingled surprise and fury prompted her to point toward the destroyed can, “That belongs in recycling.”

“I- I know that!” Kirihara insisted.

While Kirihara tossed the can in question, An approached closer to watch Niou, clad in a beanie stolen from a pouty teen, make a successful fifth attempt.

“I think…the shopkeeper knows,” Kirihara said, refusing to look at An. The Mrs Claus costume was super effective.

“Obviously,” An gestured, defending the intelligence of the young woman. “But what can she say to a customer?”

“Quite well played, there’s no escape now,” Yagyuu said, words smooth and clean as a click of handcuffs. When the pair turned toward his voice, he pushed up his glasses.

Kirihara blinked. “That’s…” he searched for a more manly word than terrifying. “A weird line.”

Glasses taking on an ominous gleam, Yagyuu pointed up at the kissing ball hanging between Kirihara and An. “Unexpectedly smooth of you, Kirihara-kun.”

“WHAT?!” Kirihara looked up at the ball and back down at Yagyuu. Then repeated, “What?!”

“You’re not really my type either,” An crossed her arms and sized up the boy who had once been her enemy.

Kirihara stammered, wavering under four discerning eyes. “I – I never said that.”

Yagyuu pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps I spoke too soon,” he murmured to himself.

“So you’re not too scared?” An asked. She was unable to resist teasing the wound up devil of a boy.

“Scared! I ain’t scared of anything.”

An curved out a hip and lifted a finger to the corner of her pretty, curved mouth; in that dress, it was a battle pose fatal to men everywhere. “So you’re going to kiss me, then?”

The pink of Kirihara’s features graduated to a violent red.

“Could it be, Kirihara-kun, that you’ve never kissed anyone?” Yagyuu said.

“Oi!” Kirihara whirled around to glare at the gentleman. “I’ve kissed hundreds of girls!”

“Hundreds?”

“…Six?” Kirihara tried. Yagyuu looked at his kouhai with pity.

“Is that so?” An said with a giggle. “I’ve kissed six people.” Her particular emphasis on six hinted that the true number might be higher.

Unable to take that defeat, Kirihara said, “I – I could kiss way more people than you. I’ve just never tried.” He crossed his arms, firmly ignoring the kissing ball above them.

“Don’t be so fragile in your masculinity, Kirihara-kun. I suggest that you cede this title to the lady,” Yagyuu drawled. “She seems experienced in these matters.”

“Thank you.” An offered a little curtsy.

“Of course.”

At that, Kirihara seethed at his senpai. Flailing, he insisted, “I’m a great kisser. The best kisser!”

“Unfortunately, you lack proof. Tachibana-chan is more credible. Unless…” Yagyuu looked down his nose, shadowing his face like a proper villain in glasses. “You’re willing to prove it with your body.”

“By…kissing Tachibana-san?”

“Hmm…I’m afraid it will take more than that, since she has quite the count on you.”

“How about this?” An proposed, fingertip aloft in a smooth ah hah motion. “Whomever kisses the most people by the end of this workday is the winner.

“An interesting proposition. Do you intend to impose stakes on Kirihara-kun?”

Playing into Yagyuu’s bullying, she looked him up and down. “I’m not sure it’s fair, at this point. He doesn’t seem very confident.”

Chest puffing up, Kirihara insisted, “I’m confident!”

“If you were to quantify that confidence?” Yagyuu said, a pensive knuckle under his chin.

“When I win, I’ll take you on the best date you’ve ever been on!”

With that declaration of manliness, Kirihara grabbed An by the shoulders and crushed their lips together. While it wasn’t quite gentle, there was a certain charm to Kirihara’s clumsy, defensive front.

However, that charm did not reach Ishida and Morii, who had just entered the food court for lunch hour. They froze, petrified with anger and shock to see the little sister of their beloved captain so accosted.

“Kirihara!” Ishida pushed up the sleeve of his brown reindeer costume and charged. Revealing the guns wasn’t an idle threat for the power player. “You get you hands off of her!”

Kirihara was too dazed to reply with anything except for a rapid series of blinks. He simply stood there until Ishida came at him, fist raised for a one hit KO. The moment awareness hit, Kirihara dodged into Ishida’s space and kissed him too.

The force of impact made it more of a headbutt than a kiss. Ishida’s eyes blew open and he shoved Kirihara back. Both parties were bleeding slightly from the lips.

Licking up his own blood (or Ishida’s), Kirihara turned to An and said, “HAH! I’m winning! Take that.”

An covered her mouth to hide her amusement. It took a moment to gain composure. “Ishida-kun,” she came toward her classmate. “Are you all right?”

Ishida looked too stricken and confused to fight for the virginity of his lips. “An-chan?”

“Thank you,” she reached up to brush blood from his lip with her thumb. “Even though I wasn’t in danger, I appreciate your feelings.” Even though Ishida was still in shock from Kirihara’s kiss, An went on her toes to take her turn. By contrast, her soft, chaste kiss to the very corner of Ishida’s lips seemed to cleanse Kirihara’s violence.

When she pulled back, she soothingly stroked Ishida’s chest. Though the power player looked just about ready to combust, An ignored him to look over her shoulder and grin at Kirihara, “One and one. If you really want to take me on that date, you’d better hurry.”

Kirihara startled out of his rapture. He couldn’t seem to decide if he was experiencing jealousy or the heat of competition. Picking up his jingle-bell hat from the table and shoving it on his head, Kirihara wiped the blood from his lips and said, “I’ll kiss so many people that you’re going to be the one begging me for a date!”

Then, Kirihara disappeared into the crowd with heavy, festive stomps of his belled slippers.

“Don’t worry, Ishida-nii. I’ll avenge your first kiss,” An promised with a disarming smile.

As she set forth in the opposite direction as Kirihara, Ishida remained. Morii poked, shook, and whacked the taller boy and received no response. It seemed that Ishida had reached enlightenment and severed his contact with the physical world.

“I had better tell Tachibana-san about this,” Morii said, and ran off for back up.

Morii ran directly past Niou. The trickster popped the last free sample in his mouth and sashayed over to Yagyuu. When Niou stood directly under the mistletoe, Yagyuu regarded him flatly and took a few measured steps away.

“Come here rude boy, boy,” Niou sing-songed and beckoned with a dirty toothpick.

Yagyuu didn’t budge. “I shouldn’t have tutored you in English.”

Niou grinned and reclined luxuriously against the pole behind him. Tossing the toothpick neatly into the trash, he said, “Marui taught me that one – I wouldn’t be so full of yourself if I were you.”

Yagyuu tilted his head to the side, spilling brown locks in a smooth flow across his forehead. The angle showed off his cool, pointed features. “Full of myself?”

“They both kissed Hadoukyuu boy over you,” Niou leaned into Yagyuu’s space and said slowly, “Dork.”

Yagyuu straightened, glasses going opaque once more. “Your breath is terrible.” Turning on freshly shined dress shoes, Yagyuu showed Niou his back. “Don’t pine too long under the mistletoe. Yukimura-kun is waiting for us downstairs.

It was only when he was a few paces from Niou that a shark-like smile molded his features.

~~~~

Ambushing people under the mistletoe was more difficult than Kirihara anticipated. He had been slapped four times. Abandoned under the mistletoe six times. Kissed on the cheek once. All in all, he had only upped his count by one. And that was because he accidentally crashed a couple under the mistletoe. The long-braid girl had panicked and shoved him into Echizen, much to the annoyance of some pigtailed cheerleader type.

In his defense, Kirihara didn’t believe that he deserved that twist-serve to the face. But he had more important things to worry about, like getting more kisses with a stupid black eye. Like the fact that Tachibana An was burying him. To no surprise, a cute, faux bashful girl under the mistletoe gathered more enthusiasm. Yukimura would have to forgive his afternoon disappearance – he had the honor of Rikkai to uphold!

As he passed the Fudomine display, Kirihara’s eyes stopped on Ibu.

“An-chan still hasn’t come back for lunch,” he muttered, taking money from the customer. He stared off into space through the transaction, ignoring the parents of an adorable toddler. “Morii said that Kirihara kissed her. Maybe she’s still in the bathroom. I hear that girls like to cry in there. And after crying, she might have to fix her makeup. I don’t think An-chan wears too much makeup, though. If she does, I’m very impressed with her natural look. It takes my sister an entire hour to look so natural. I should ask Tachibana-san how long it takes An-chan to apply her makeup, so we can estimate how long she’s been crying over Kirihara. Then Kamio will know exactly how long he should be yelling at him.”

The waiting parents impatiently took the ticket from Ibu and ushered their child forward as swiftly as the occasion allowed. Every facet of their body language suggested total regret in coming to the mall that day.

“Oh, there’s Kirihara,” Ibu said blandly. “Perhaps he came to finish off Ishida. I don’t think I’ve seen him look that pale since the car accident.”

Kamio had been chatting up the sweet little boy to stall for Tachibana, but at Ibu’s words, the he jumped up with urgency. The reindeer was ready to spring into action at any time!

Not wanting to be held up by a scene, Kirihara tried to shuffle quickly through the crowd. But he wasn’t nearly as quick as Fudomine’s Kamio. When Kamio charged at him with all the rage and precision of a bull, he turned to catch the blow. They crashed through the recently repaired display and rolled, destroying prettily wrapped cardboard boxes and sending tinsel flying into the air to sprinkle over them when they came to a stop in the fake snow with Kamio on top, staring down at Kirihara with eyes full of rage.

“I hate this as much as you do,” Kirihara snarled and grabbed the collar of Kamio’s reindeer costume to pull him down for a brutal kiss. There were gasps, and even a shriek, as the crowd beheld the strange Christmas elf and Reindeer pair.

Ibu helpfully picked up a sign with a picture of Tachibana’s Santa on it and held it up in front of the kissing duo. “This isn’t very appropriate for children, Akira. If you’re trying to take revenge, please do it elsewhere. Or in a more appropriate way. You could, for example, gift Kirihara an alarm clock. I feel that would be a good punishment.”

Kamio leaped back from Kirihara into a pile. He touched his mouth and screeched like a tormented barn owl. The antlers had drooped off to the side of his bright red face.

“Why is the reindeer sad, mommy?” asked the kid, nervous for the nice reindeer who had stroked his hair and asked him about his Christmas fun.

Ever the hero, Tachibana stood from his throne. A vision of all that was red, regal, and kind, he kneeled before the little boy. “You’re sweet to be so worried,” he offered him a candy cane. “But it’s all right. The elf just surprised the reindeer with a show of affection, isn’t that right?”

The smile that Tachibana gave Kamio and Kirihara was as terrifying as being across the net from an angry Yukimura.

Red-faced, Kamio bolted up on his captain’s order. Through gritted teeth, he insisted, “Y-yes, Tachi – Santa-san! Everything is all right.”

“Good,” Tachibana’s expression reverted to its peaceful state to regard the small customer. “Now, little sir, why don’t you go and wait with that elf over there,” with a gloved hand, he pointed over to Morii.

Brightened by Santa’s words, the boy nodded and toddled off to wait with Morii, who would get a preview of his Christmas list.

“Now, Kirihara-kun,” Tachibana said, fake beard doing nothing to mitigate the severity of his stare. He glided toward his throne with purpose and sat down. With a pat of his leather glove to the thigh, he summoned Kirihara to his lap.

Kirihara grimaced, mouth stretching wide like a frog’s. “What?”

Though Tachibana was perfectly composed, there was something fierce in his manner that couldn’t be denied. “To determine whether you’ve been naughty or nice.” With as much Christmas cheer as a public execution, Kirihara marched to Santa and purposely sat on the knee he had injure a year prior.

The jolly Tachibana who laughed for the children died abruptly in an onslaught of chilly words. “I’ll ask you once. Why did you kiss my sister? And then go on kiss Tetsu and ambush Akira?”

Though he looked very much like he wanted to run away from the fearsome questions, Kirihara crossed his arms like a scolded child and muttered something about mistletoe and promiscuous girls.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t quite hear that,” Tachibana asked. While Tachibana wore a quietly fearsome expression, Kamio’s face promised open murder the moment that Kirihara left the sanctuary of that lap.

“I’ll never tell!” Kirihara said, deciding on a twisted sort of honor. He might have declared more choice words, but the eyes of cute children and agitated parents gave him pause. “Er…” he looked from the kids to Tachibana. “You’ll just have to guess what I want for Christmas.”

He kissed Tachibana on the corner of the lips and all but ran from his lap, the display, and all of the vocalized shock.

Among the clamor, he recognized a strained shriek, “Get back here!”

Kirihara’s face fell and feet quickened. “Dammit, you speed freak,” he said, and started weaving through the crowd to counter Kamio’s rush. With every maneuver, he was slowed by a stray shopping bag or some bit of a fur scarf that came away in his gnashing teeth. Kamio kept chase and maintained his straight line by running into and tripping over everything and everyone in his path. Even as Kamio plowed over a mannequin, Kirihara simply couldn’t lose him. The damn redhead was just too fast.

As he ducked under an arm and curved to avoid whacking some kid in a stroller, Kirihara noticed that everyone was looking up.

“How romantic.”

“What a beautiful couple under the mistletoe.”

Kirihara looked up, and was paralyzed by the sight of Yukimura and An, smiling and sharing soft, flirtatious sort of laugh under a kissing ball. Tachibana tucked a strand of straight, smooth hair behind her ear and Yukimura stepped closer to the inviting gesture. When Kirihara opened his mouth to call to them, Kamio barreled into his back at full charge, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Kirihara!” Kamio roared directly into his ear.

Before the incited redhead could add his fist to the damage, Kirihara pried a hand free to point above. “We have bigger problems, idiot!”

“Who are you calling an –” Kirihara forcibly tilted Kamio’s jaw up, directing his attention to the real situation. Kamio’s shock made him look like a reindeer stress ball, with his big bug eyes ready to pop right out of his head.

“AN-CHAN HAS BEEN CAPTURED BY RIKKAI!”

As his mind sprinted to completely the wrong conclusion, Kamio’s body followed. He scrambled up. Determined, Fudomine’s vice-captain half-ran, half-climbed the going down escalator. His urgency nearly knocked down shoppers and precious bags packed with goods. A bag of wrapping tissue and ribbon spilled over the side, and blew over to shower all of the people going up.

On the correct escalator, Kirihara cursed and flailed to get the stupid bits of paper out of his hair. “You idiot!” he accused, glaring to the adjacent redhead that was swimming up stream. “Get out of my way,” he ducked under a couple holding hands and elbowed some old lady’s bum on his way to the top.

“Shut up!” Kamio hissed, finally clawing at the level ground. The people lined up at the escalator looked at him funny, but he got up and ran single-mindedly toward An-chan.

An beckoned Yukimura with doe eyes and parted lips. As she touched his chest and went on her toes, Rikkai’s captain raised an elegant hand to sweep her jaw and leaned in for a sweet–

“AN-CHAN!”

“BUCHOU!”

Kamio exclaimed. Kirihara sprinted at his side. They shoved at each other, seeking to throw the other off even as they barreled toward the couple.

It was all very unfortunate.

Though Kamio had clearly intended to only separate the pair, he succeeded in pouncing An to the ground. Whether by An’s maneuvering or Kamio’s clumsiness, their lips knocked together in a rough kiss.

Kirihara blinked his green eyes with shock. He stared down, aghast at the beautiful man attached to his own lips. As kissing Yukimura probably came before the four horsemen of the apocalypse, he sensed disaster before it came.

Sanada grabbed Kirihara by the collar and bodily flung him from Yukimura. “How dare you!” he growled, and made to help Yukimura up.

Unimpressed, Yukimura ignored Sanada’s outstretched hand. He brushed off his trousers and simply said, “Why are you not at the display? Don’t tell me that you assigned Renji to play Santa?”

The speaking look that Yukimura gave Sanada showed how little he thought of that plan.

Sanada shook his head. He opened his mouth to explain but Tachibana, flanked by stern security guards, beat him to it.

“Actually, we’ve been dismissed. Apparently, our members have been tearing through the mall.” Kamio shrunk with guilt.

“And sexually harassing shoppers.” Kirihara looked away and An scratched her head sheepishly.

“Ruining expensive displays and behaving inappropriately in front of children. Terrorizing children,” Tachibana looked pointedly at Kamio and Ibu. Kirihara slowly stepped behind a shameless Yanagi.

“Stealing from the food court,” Sanada growled. Yagyuu pushed up his glasses and Niou looked oh so fascinated by the ends of his scarf.

“It…” Kirihara tried to explain the lot of it, but his mouth was strangely numb.

Sanada shoved at Kirihara’s back. “What are you waiting for? 100 laps around the entire mall, unless you want to be the one to pay for our equipment.”

“For everyone,” both Captains echoed, quite in synch as they seemed to grow large and dark in their costumes, the embodiment of a true nightmare before Christmas.

~~~~

The sun was setting and they were still nowhere near done with the amount of laps they had been assigned. Rikkai and Fudomine ran the same course, grouped with their staggered paces for the punishing march.

But Kirihara still had questions to be answered. It had taken the better part of an hour to recover the use of his tongue.

“Tachibana-chan!” Kirihara called, butting Kamio with his shoulder to run next to An. He ignored Kamio’s indignant shout. “About our contest. I kissed–”

“It’s draw,” An interrupted him. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and she continued, “If you want to ask me out on a date, Kirihara-kun, you had better do it properly.”

She winked slyly and dashed ahead. Despite the Mrs Claus getup, she was quick in her tennis shoes. Before Kirihara could run after her, Kamio gave him a mighty shove on the shoulder, threatening to send him flying on the asphalt. Rikkai’s devil pushed back, and the pair fell behind for their wrestling.

“Haven’t you harassed our team enough for one day! Leave An-chan alone!”

“Shut up you speed freak!”

As he ran by, step for step with Niou, Yagyuu said, “I suppose this would be the opportune moment to say mada mada dane.”

Sighing, Kenya debates whether or not it’s worth it to go on this proposed goose chase. On one hand, it could be something amazing. On the other, it could be that Shiraishi finally figured out how to magically knit the world’s tiniest sweater for Kaburiel. But Shiraishi had said that the surprise was for Kenya, hadn’t he? His chest warms at the thought, wondering what it could be.

The horse turns to retreat back up the stairs, and Kenya’s mind is made up. 

“Expecto patronum!”

A cheetah bursts forth from the tip of Kenya’s wand, long tail swishing as swirls of vapor dissolve into the air. Shiraishi’s stallion has vanished from sight, leaving nothing more than quickly thinning mist in its wake.

Unless Kenya wants to spend all night searching the castle - and he definitely doesn’t - he has no choice but to try and catch it. He points up the stairs, and calls to his patronus to follow the horse, taking off after it as it bounds ahead. The cheetah is fast, but so is Kenya. They don’t call him Slytherin’s Speed Star for nothing.

He was not, however, expecting so many stairs.

Legs and lungs burning, Kenya forces himself to climb and climb running down corridors and across floors only to encounter another flight of winding steps. Up, up, up, and he begins to lag behind, barely able to catch sight of his cheetah’s tail as it whips around the next corner. But still, Kenya runs.

He comes to the door leading up to the top of the astronomy tower, and leans against it, breathing heavily. Of all the places to hide, Kenya thinks, wiping the sweat from his brow. His cheetah waits patiently for him next to the door, sitting primly as it eyes him. He reaches for the doorknob, and it disappears in a puff of silver.

Warm though he may have been from the running, Kenya’s body rapidly cools as he approaches the open-air top. Just before he reaches it though, he pauses for a moment without thinking, smoothing his robes and trying to comb his hair into some semblance of order with his fingers. He frowns as he catches himself. It’s just Shiraishi, he’s seen him sweaty and disheveled often. But for some reason, this seems different.

With a deep breath, he ascends the final stairs.

Kenya’s first thought is ‘cold’. Looking out of the tower, he can see snow swirling in the air, blanketing the edges of the floor and the railings out the balconies. But then he catches sight of Shiraishi, and any thoughts of cold vanish from his mind entirely.

He’s standing in the center of the tower, cast in the soft, ice blue glow of the sphere that levitates above the floor, gently lightly the otherwise dark space. He’s not wearing a scarf, or gloves, or a cloak, and Kenya briefly wonders how long he’s been waiting. If he’s chilled at all, it he doesn’t show it.

Kenya walks toward Shiraishi, taking in every detail, the light flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes light up when he sees him, the way his lips stretch around a handsome smile. Kenya stops just in front of him, waiting.

“So, you found me… I was hoping you would.”

Shiraishi’s voice is no louder than a murmur, but Kenya can still detect the barest hint of shyness, as if he’s holding something back.

He return’s Shiraishi’s smile easily, trying to tamp down the butterflies that begin to awake at the privacy of the moment. “’Course I did. I wouldn’t back down from a challenge like that. Besides, you said you have a surprise for me?”

“Ah, that I did.” Shiraishi pulls his wand out of his robes, and flicks it gracefully at the ceiling. Something small and glowing gold materializes out of the darkness of the high rafters, and Kenya squints, trying to make out what it is. His heart flips.

Mistletoe.

Kenya looks back at Shiraishi, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. But Shiraishi speaks first.

“I’ve waited long enough, I think,” he says, gaze never leaving Kenya’s even as he fights to keep his voice steady. “I like you, Kenya.” Even in the darkness, there’s a visible tint to his skin that has nothing to do with the cold. “I have for quite some time.”

During his life at Hogwarts, Kenya has been confessed to numerous times. But he’s turned them all done. They never felt right, and he never returned the feelings of his many admirers. Because there has only ever been one for him, only one person that he’s felt so strongly for. And until this very moment, Kenya has been convinced that it was the one person he could never have. That Shiraishi would be forever his friend, nothing more.

It takes a moment for Kenya to realize Shiraishi’s confession, but when he does, his eyes widen and his heart pounds. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, but he finally manages to collect himself enough to respond. “Yes- I mean, I do. Like you. I mean. I like you too…”

Kenya trails off, suitably embarrassed at his fumbled attempt to return the confession.

But Shiraishi could care less, looking happier than Kenya’s ever seen him as he closes the distance between them, resting a hand gently on Kenya’s hip. “Can I…?” He whispers, and Kenya doesn’t have to ask what he’s referring to.

“Please.”

Cool fingers curl around the back of Kenya’s neck and he shivers as he leans in, eyes slipping shut.

The press of Shiraishi’s lips against his own is gentle and sweet, warming Kenya to the tips of his toes. He leans into it, resting a hand on Shiraishi’s chest as he sighs into the kiss, enjoying how soft his mouth is, taking only what Kenya is willing to give. For now, the kiss remains chaste, and when they finally pull away, both boys are grinning, the rush of happiness too much to contain. Not that either of them want to.

“Merry Christmas, Kenya.” Shiraishi retracts his hand from Kenya’s neck, instead laying it over the one still pressed against his chest.

Kenya leans in, pecking Shiraishi on the lips, reveling in that fact that he can do that now.

Sure, getting a phone call the previous evening had surprised Kaidoh, but it was mostly just because he didn’t hear from Inui as often as before, now that he attended college and Kaidoh had a team to lead. Not because Inui had called to invite Kaidoh out on Christmas.

It didn’t necessarily mean anything to walk under brightly illuminated paths of light together, passing by countless couples. This was just a friendly outing with an old teammate, that just so happened to be on Christmas.

At least, this is what Kaidoh kept repeating to himself in an attempt to remain calm and keep red off of his cheeks, but his resolve falls as soon as Inui’s gloved fingers reach for his.

“Aren’t you cold?” Inui’s voice is as deep and smooth as ever, and it doesn’t help Kaidoh’s chest from tightening.

“No. I don’t need gloves.” Even if Kaidoh did, the embarrassment he felt throughout his body from being close to Inui would keep him more than warm enough.

“I see. But frostbites are likely in this weather. I wouldn’t want to see your lovely fingers get hurt.” Inui holds the tip of Kaidoh’s fingers as he says so.

“Um. Okay.” Kaidoh doesn’t understand what he means, his fingers calloused from intense training and covered in scratches and scabs.

“Would you like some?” They walk out of the tunnel of Christmas lights as Inui asks, reaching a row of stores.

“I don’t know. I only have enough for food.” Kaidoh stares at the decorated storefronts to hide his reddening cheeks.

“I’m offering. Working as a lab assistant in college pays off quite nicely.” Inui smiles but Kaidoh finds himself at a loss for words, groaning his reply while trying to focus on anything other than Inui’s hand, which was now holding his.

Inui leads them into a store, not letting go of Kaidoh’s hand even as the clerk greets them. Colors and fabrics blend under Kaidoh’s eyes, scarves and socks and gloves spread across wooden walls, Christmas lights providing a cozy atmosphere.

“These ones would provide the most warmth. Furthermore, their stretchable fabric would allow ease of movement and comfort.” Inui points at a pair of blue gloves with his free hand, and Kaidoh takes advantage of his upperclassman’s attention being elsewhere to look at their joint hands.

Kaidoh feels Inui’s warmth around his hand, but it feels unreal still. He thinks of how often he used to feel his upperclassman’s touch across the previous year, their days spent together training, the evenings Inui would watch Kaidoh, and only Kaidoh.

And then Inui graduated, and Kaidoh became their team’s captain. What were entire months spent together became scarce days, occasional visits and outings that almost always included Momoshiro or Yanagi.

But today, it was only the two of them, and Inui was holding Kaidoh’s hand tighter than he could ever remember him doing, and Kaidoh allows himself to wonder if perhaps nothing had changed between them, distance and time apart leaving them as they are.

“I’m fine with any pair you like.” Kaidoh mumbles while gripping Inui’s hand back.

“Oh. These ones, then?” Inui hands him a pair of fuzzy leopard printed gloves with paw pads printed on them.

“Um…” Kaidoh didn’t want to refuse a gift from his upperclassman, but the redness on his cheeks betrays his embarrassment at the idea of wearing these gloves.

“It’s a joke, Kaidoh.” Inui smiles at him while squeezing his hand tighter. He puts the gloves back on their shelf and takes the blue ones he mentioned when they first entered the store. “I think these ones would look good on you.”

Kaidoh nods and follows Inui who’s talking to the cashier already, feeling his chest tighten, not used to people buying him gifts, and even less used to being seen holding hands with someone.

They’re out of the store by the time Inui lets go of his hand, and it’s only to unwrap the gloves before helping Kaidoh put them on. He doesn’t dare look up to Inui’s face as his long fingers slide the gloves over Kaidoh’s hands.

“Thanks.” Kaidoh groans as he hides his chin into his scarf, reaching his hand out subtly, hoping Inui would hold it again, even if he now had gloves warming him up.