Work Text:
Nanao stares at the box of chocolates in his hands. It’s heart-shaped and red, small, with a pink ribbon wrapped around it. It’s really no different from the other boxes in his locker, his backpack and the extra bag he brought just for today. Except—
Nanao stares at the box, and blinks in surprise. Then he looks up at the girl who handed it to him and said, voice barely above a whisper, “Pl-please give this to Onogi-kun.”
Kacchan doesn’t like chocolate, is the first thing that comes to Nanao’s mind after he finally registers what’s going on. He doesn’t say it, chooses something else instead.
“You should give this to Kacchan yourself,” he tells her gently, trying to give her a reassuring smile.
It doesn’t work; she just shakes her head vigorously, neck almost falling off from the force of it.
“No, no,” she insists. “I-I don’t have the courage.”
She’s a plain girl. Not exactly pretty, but not ugly either. Average height, average weight, short hair. Nanao vaguely remembers her from the first weeks of kyudo club last spring. She was one of the last to quit, and she always hung around the kyudo hall a little longer than the horde of girls who followed Nanao around. And maybe that’s why he remembers her, despite nothing else standing out: she never once tried to talk to him, never once looked at him. Her eyes followed Kacchan instead.
Nanao knows it’s impossible. He knows, but she doesn’t, because the look on her face is one of fear but also absolute hope.
So he nods. The wishful smile he gets in return is almost painful to witness.
*
Practice is an absolute disaster after that. He doesn’t tell Kacchan about the girl and her chocolates, not in front of everyone, not at school. Instead he keeps the box in his backpack, and listens to Masa-san’s instructions, and tries to make his shots, and fails.
“Is something wrong, Nanao?” Seiya asks, after Nanao’s missed for the fourth time in a row. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” he says, grinning a grin he knows doesn’t fool Seiya for one second.
“It’s because it’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?” Ryouhei asks cheerfully, with a voice so excited and bubbly Nanao wonders if he somehow gave himself away.
“What? No!” he rushes to say, blushes, feeling caught.
Seiya gives him a funny look. Minato, distracted by the noise, misses a shot.
“Yes, it is,” Kacchan scoffs. Nanao panics for a second before he adds, “You always get excited because your fans give you loads of chocolate.”
He rolls his eyes while Ryouhei giggles. Nanao sighs, relieved, and tries to cover up by saying “Well, it’d be rude of me not to accept!”
“I bet you didn’t get as many as Seo,” Hanazawa says. They’re not on a first name basis with the girls, which Nanao thinks it’s just weird at this point. They call their coach by his first name. But Ryouhei had gotten all flustered when he brought it up, face red and stealing glances at Hanazawa, so Nanao decided to drop it.
“Oh? How many boxes did you get, Seo?” asks Ryouhei.
“Forty-three,” Seo shrugs. “But I didn’t accept any.”
“I only got thirty-seven!” Nanao exclaims. “She’s a prince!”
Masa-san tells them to stop fooling around after that (“I know the desires of youth are unstoppable, but practice first!” are his exact words), so they go back to shooting arrow after arrow after arrow. Nanao still misses most of his shots, still thinks about the box of chocolates he’s been entrusted with.
He watches Kacchan through the rest of the afternoon. His cousin looks the same as the does every day — steady, focused, angry. Always so angry, snapping at everyone and everything, pushing all of them away except Nanao, and only because Nanao refuses to be pushed away. But not being pushed away is not the same as being let in. Maybe that’s the problem.
After they’re done cleaning up, Ryouhei asks him “So, are you going on any dates today, Nanao?”
“Nah,” he answers, to everyone’s surprise. It’s not for a lack of offers. Ten girls, in fact, were brave enough to ask him out. He thanked them, said he was flattered, and refused. Because he’s still waiting, holding out for the girl who will make his heart want to leap out of his chest, his palms sweat and his cheeks flush. When he finds her, then he’ll go on a date, and kiss her, and hold her hand. For now, he’d much rather go home or hang out with Kacchan and his other cousins, people he already knows and loves.
He and Kacchan walk from school together. The single box of chocolates waits heavy in his backpack, heavier than the bag of thirty-seven boxes he’s also carrying. They don’t talk much, and when they do it’s mostly about kyudo or their families. Kacchan’s house comes up the street first, so Nanao says his goodbyes and goes into the house next door.
His mother tells him to take a bath while she finishes dinner. His sister asks if she can have some of his chocolate, so he gives it all to her, earning them both a scolding about not eating dessert before dinner. He climbs the stairs to his bedroom two at a time, leaves his backpack on the bed, grabs some clean clothes and rushes to the bathroom.
He doesn’t know what to do. He never really does, actually, where Kacchan is involved. All his life he’s been adjusting to Kacchan’s moods — if Kacchan is upset, try to cheer him up. If Kacchan is angry, try to calm him down. If Kacchan is miserable and hurting, pretend he’s not, because Kacchan doesn’t want to talk about it.
His dad gets home just before dinner. They all eat together, talking very little, his sister tired because of the late hour. After, Nanao is getting his Math homework from his backpack when his hand brushes against the box. He looks at it for a good two or three minutes, sighs, and goes next door.
His aunt greets him.
“Hi, Nanao-kun,” she says with a smile. Kacchan is so different from his mother — she always has a kind word, laughs loudly, knows what to say to crying people. She’s Nanao’s favorite aunt, just like Kacchan is his favorite cousin. “Kaito is upstairs in his room.”
“Thanks, auntie,” he nods.
Kacchan is lying in bed with his earbuds in, staring at the ceiling. He glances at Nanao briefly when he pushes open the door, then goes back to the perfectly white paint.
Nanao sits on the bed close to Kacchan’s sock-clad feet. He hesitates for a few seconds, holding the box in his hands and wondering what to do, before he just does it.
“This is for you,” he says, showing Kacchan the box.
Kacchan frowns. “I don’t want your pity chocolate.”
Nanao used to do it, used to give Kacchan some of the chocolate he got on Valentine’s Day because it was just so sad that Kacchan didn’t get any. Kacchan was wonderful, really, it was just that those silly girls couldn’t see it. It lasted until sixth grade, when Kacchan shouted that he hated chocolate and hated Nanao even more.
“No, it’s — it’s not from me,” he continues. “A girl asked me to give it to you.”
The crease between Kacchan’s eyebrows deepens. He turns off his music and takes off his earbuds, sits on the bed to look properly at the box still on Nanao’s hands.
“A girl? Who?” he asks.
“Honda Mayuko.”
“I don’t know her,” Kacchan shrugs. This is a sign of dismissal, a subtle message telling Nanao this is over and done with. But it’s not, it isn’t, not until Kacchan-—
“She’s in class five,” Nanao holds the box out. Kacchan won’t take it, so Nanao places it on the bed.
“I don’t want it.”
“Why?”
Kacchan gives him a dangerous look. Nanao doesn’t falter.
“Because I don’t know her. And even if I did—” Kacchan interrupts himself, mouth shutting with the loud noise of his teeth clicking together.
“Even if you did, then what?”
“Nothing, Nanao,” he hisses.
Nanao licks his lips. When he was little and their mothers asked Kacchan to protect him, people used to think Nanao was stupid. He was unobservant, an airhead, always forgetful. He wasn’t, not really, but he played into it. If that was what they thought, that was what he would be. It’s what he does to this day — pretends to be dumb, just a pretty boy who loves attention. It’s amazing what people will show you when they think you’re not paying attention. Like Ryouhei, with the way his smile turns all soft around Hanazawa. Or how Seiya desperately wants to beat the star boy from Kirisaki. And Kacchan, who, of all people, should have known better, should have known Nanao would figure him out, see him for what he is. Would see his pain, his suffering, and would want to do something about it.
“Even if you did know her, you wouldn’t accept it. You couldn’t,” he says softly, looking Kacchan in the eye. “But you could accept it if it were from a boy, right? Maybe Masa-san?”
For a fraction of a second, Kacchan looks caught, scared, ashamed. He pales, eyes wide and mouth turned down. But then his face morphs into a mask of rage and deep, deep hurt. Nanao tries not to flinch, but he can’t stop his heart from breaking.
“What are you saying— how could you— that’s disgusting!” Kacchan yells. “I’m not gross like that!”
“No, you’re not,” Nanao agrees.
“I’m not a pervert!”
“You’re not.”
“I’m not— I’m not— I’m,” he doesn’t finish, his breathing heavy and erratic, hands balled into shaking fists.
“Kacchan,” Nanao says, with all the kindness he can muster. “I know.”
Kacchan looks like he’s about to cry, and then he does cry, loud and wet, for a couple of minutes.
“I don’t want to be like this,” he spits out in between sobs, angry and so, so sad.
“Hey,” Nanao hesitates, thinks this is my cousin, and he is hurting, how can I help?, reaches out and touches the soft skin of Kacchan’s ankle, just above his sock. “There’s nothing wrong with being like that, you know. Lots of people are.”
Kacchan gives him a doubtful look.
“Really!” Nanao insists. “There’s Elton John, and Ricky Martin, and that actor with the funny show, ugh, three names…”
“Neil Patrick Harris,” Kacchan provides. “But they’re all westerns. It’s easier for them.”
Nanao sighs. “Maybe,” he says.
“I’m scared,” Kacchan whispers, so quietly Nanao almost doesn’t hear him.
“I know,” Nanao answers. He’s quiet for a few seconds, thinking, wondering, hurting. “But you’re not alone, Kacchan. You’re still family, no matter what.”
He means I love you, but Kacchan would probably combust with embarrassment if Nanao actually said the words.
“Thanks,” Kacchan nods, a little choked up, because he knows exactly what Nanao means.
Nanao smiles.
“No need to thank me.”
They’re quiet after that. Kacchan dries his eyes with his sleeve, and Nanao is happy to notice his shoulders don’t look like he’s carrying the weight of the whole world on them anymore.
“You do need to turn down Honda-san tomorrow,” Nanao suddenly remembers. Kacchan grunts, picking up the box. He ponders. “She’ll want to know why.”
“It’s okay,” Kacchan says. “I’ll tell her she’s not my type.”
It’s a little mean, but it’s the truth. Nanao supposes that’s just like Kacchan. So he shakes his head, and laughs, and Kacchan laughs loudly with him.