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"So where are you even staying?"
At this point, they're lying with their backs against the cool sand, wrung out and soaked through from splashing each other all afternoon. The sun has just started slipping down past the mountaintops, and the sky's turned orange, bathing everything in a warm glow. It's getting chilly outside, but Shuuji feels relaxed. His cheeks hurt from laughing. He wasn't sure that would happen anymore once he moved to Shizuoka, away from everything he'd ever known. Now that the initial shock has passed, he's glad to have been proven wrong in the most unexpected way possible.
When Shuuji turns his head, Akira's already looking straight at him, gaze unwavering. Shuuji used to find his mannerisms unnerving, but through sheer force of will Akira has somehow managed to weave every one of his weird habits into the fabric of Shuuji's life. Shuuji would never say it out loud, but it's comforting just to see him. That's probably why Nobuta told Akira to come: her last parting gift to both of them.
"Dad sent me off with a credit card and a full bank account," Akira says, turning onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow. "I can stay anywhere I want. It's the 21st century, Shu-u-uji-kun."
Shuuji rolls his eyes. "Okay then. So you're living large in a penthouse suite downtown?"
"Well, no," Akira replies, staring off at the waves cresting along the beach. "I'm at a youth hostel right now, but I'll work my way up there."
"Youth hostel? Surely you can do better than that."
Akira's head swivels toward him again. There's an unholy twinkle in his eyes. "Are you offering?"
Shuuji blinks. "Wait, what? Are you asking if you can stay with us?" It's not like they don't have room in their new apartment. One of the perks of moving out of Tokyo means his parents' salaries stretch a lot better; Koji even has his own room now. Shuuji has heard a lot of sad rock music filter out from behind closed doors over the past few weeks. Still: "Hold on. I'd have to bring it up with the rest of the family first."
"Let's go, then." Akira immediately scrambles to his feet and turns around, wiping sand off his butt and directly onto Shuuji's face.
"Oy, don't just invite yourself over," Shuuji splutters, smacking Akira's knees, "you're so rude," but he's mostly arguing for the sake of arguing. That's how it's always been between them: Akira will suggest something crazy and Shuuji will pretend to protest while going along with it anyway.
The sky is beginning to turn a majestic purple as they climb back onto their bikes, last streaks of sunlight ribboning out between the wispy clouds. Shuuji hasn't quite memorized the best way to get back to their house yet, but there's something nice about taking his time. He likes meandering down narrow side streets and waving at the aunties and uncles peddling their wares; he likes familiarizing himself with the particular sounds and smells of the neighborhood. They stop for fresh fruit at a produce stall a few blocks away, and Akira sticks his head into the grocery store across the way and comes back out carrying ten boxes of silken tofu. When Shuuji sends him a weird look, Akira shrugs and says, "Can't arrive empty-handed."
"Magnanimous," Shuuji says drily. He kicks off on his bike again, mouth twitching as Akira yells and starts pedaling furiously after him.
Their building is part of a block of recently developed highrises, so everything is still pretty sleek and new. The place even has an area to lock their bikes indoors. Shuuji feels a little bad tracking sand and seawater inside, sneakers squishing across linoleum tile, but it can't be helped now. Akira hums and taps his feet against the floor as they take the elevator up. He has to be knocking his bags of tofu into Shuuji's legs on purpose, but Shuuji refuses to grant him the courtesy of a reaction.
The apartment's dark when Shuuji pushes through the front door, even though Koji should definitely be back by now. "I'm home," Shuuji calls, kicking his shoes off and leaving his school bag by the entryway. "I bought a bunch of tangerines."
A minute later, Koji appears from the gloom of the kitchen holding a glass of water, a grumpy look on his face. The move seems to have kickstarted his insouciant preteen phase, but his eyes go comically large when Akira steps out from behind Shuuji and waves. "Kusano-kun?" Koji says, squinting through the dusk light streaming through the windows. "Why are you guys so wet?"
"We went to the beach," Shuuji says, handing Koji the bulging citrus bag. He's shocked enough to actually take it.
Akira sends Koji a peace sign and loads him up with the two bags of tofu as well. The glass of water in Koji's hand wobbles precariously as he shakes his head. "Wait — why are you even here in the first place?"
"Kiritanis aren't the only people allowed to relocate," Akira says cheerfully. He slings a heavy arm around Shuuji's neck. "Who else is gonna keep your brother honest?"
Shuuji elbows Akira in the ribs; he studiously does not think about all the things he should probably be honest to Akira about. "You're lucky, aniki," Koji says, morose again all of a sudden. "None of my friends moved here for me."
"That's because all of your friends are twelve years old," Shuuji points out. Akira snorts. Koji sighs, like the weight of the entire world is resting on his skinny shoulders, and disappears into the kitchen once more.
Shuuji's uniform is still damp, so he grabs fresh clothes from one of the half unpacked boxes in his room and locks himself in the bathroom for half an hour, letting the rush of hot water flush out the last of the January chill. When he emerges in a plume of steam toweling his hair dry, Akira's changed out of his wet clothes and hung them up to dry, as if he owns the damn place. He's also taken it upon himself to co-opt one of Shuuji's larger shirts and a pair of his boxers. Akira must misinterpret the look on Shuuji's face as concern over his general state of cleanliness, because he waves his hand and says, "Don't worry, I'll take a bath later. Actually, let me go run the water first."
"I already did that," Shuuji says, swallowing around the stupid flutter in his stomach and dragging Akira down the hall by his wrist. Maudlin music is streaming out of Koji's room as they pass it. "Since you're here, you might as well help me with dinner."
It turns out Akira's not completely hopeless at chopping vegetables, which makes sense. He's always been good with his hands, helping Nobuta craft the decorations for the haunted house and making keychains with them last semester. Shuuji puts the rice on and busies himself with dicing and seasoning the beef.
Halfway through cooking, when Shuuji's getting ready to add a few blocks of sauce mix into the saucepan of sauteed meat and veggies, Dad gets home from work. "Ah, is it a curry day?" he says, poking his head into the kitchen. "Kusano-kun! What a pleasant surprise."
"Hi~," Akira says. He's the only person Shuuji knows that can make any word that comes out of his mouth sound like it ends with a tilde. "I brought you guys tofu, it's in the fridge."
"How thoughtful," Dad says, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. "Where are you staying?"
Akira, exuding the most angelic aura that Shuuji has ever felt from him, says, "Youth hostel."
"Tsk, that won't do," Dad says, sounding mildly outraged. Hook, line, sinker. "Sleep here tonight, and tomorrow morning we'll go over and get all your things." He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry it's kind of a mess here, we've barely started unpacking and definitely don't have enough furniture, but you can share with Shuuji, right?"
"Of course," Akira chirps. "No need to apologize. We've shared before."
Dad nods to himself as he swivels out again, hand reaching up to loosen his tie. "Stop being so polite, it's fucking weird," Shuuji mutters under his breath, stirring the chunky curry sauce with his spatula.
"An hour ago you told me to stop being so rude," Akira says, grinning cheekily. "So which is it, Shuuji?"
Shuuji doesn't dignify that with a response, and he's temporarily saved from more needling by the jaunty jingle of the rice cooker. "Dinner's ready!" he calls, unearthing some bowls and silverware from a cardboard box. "Kusano-kun, grab the pickled radish from the fridge, will you?"
They eat around the kotatsu in the living room amid even more cardboard boxes, the low rumble of the television winding between them. Akira tries to bait Shuuji into an aggressive game of footsie underneath the blanket and doesn't subside until Shuuji pelts a tangerine at his head.
When they finally settle back down to eat properly, Shuuji asks, "How did Hirayama-san feel about you leaving?"
"I never paid rent and was directly involved in the destruction of his house at least twice, so I'm sure he was glad to see the back of me," Akira says around a mouthful of food. Dad raises his eyebrows and Akira hastily adds, "I promise to be a much better tenant here, though."
"This dinner you made together tastes great, so I'll allow it," Dad says.
"It's just boxed curry," Shuuji protests, but he has to admit it's pretty good. Even Koji, the very picture of disaffected youth, looks like he's ready to lick his bowl clean.
Shuuji shovels another spoonful into his mouth and nearly chokes on it when he feels Akira's foot creeping up along his shin again, intentionally slow. This feels different from earlier, when everyone sitting around the table could just write it off as dumb horseplay. It's much less obvious, and Shuuji's stomach flips when he reaches under the table to clamp a hand around one of Akira's thighs as a warning and Akira grabs it instead. Their fingers intertwine. Akira happily starts using his left hand to eat instead.
What the hell, Shuuji thinks. His next bite of rice eases some of the tightness in his throat, but when he tries to wiggle out of the hold, Akira just squeezes tighter. His palm is warm and dry and broad, and his thumb sweeps slowly back and forth across the knuckle of Shuuji's index finger. They've held hands plenty of times before — to drag each other down the street, and in the lingering moments after a high-five — so it feels totally ridiculous for heat to be rising in his face now. If anyone asks why he's so red, he can just blame it on the kotatsu.
Thankfully, the meal transitions from curry to tangerines in short order. Shuuji disentangles himself to peel a bunch while Koji makes them watch Ultraman on TV. Akira does all the goofy poses with the characters on screen, and for maybe the first time since they moved in, Koji laughs. That's something.
Later, while they wash the dishes and Koji puts up the leftover food, Dad goes box-diving and emerges triumphant with a new toothbrush and set of fresh towels for Akira. "Take the first bath, I insist," Dad says.
Akira blows Shuuji a kon-kiss as he goes, and then does it to Koji and his dad as well for good measure.
Dad gazes after him with a vaguely puzzled expression on his face. "Nice kid, huh? I would never have expected it after that day he punched through all those tiles at the old house."
Shuuji's mouth twitches. He puts the last dish on the drying rack and wipes the sink down before taking his apron off and hanging it back up on its hook. "Yeah," Shuuji says, because it's true, and if there's anything he's learned over the past semester, it's that sometimes telling the truth is the only option. Sometimes it feels even better than lying. "Yeah, he's good."
He's in his room trying to decide if it's even worth it to find the extra bedding when Akira slides in after his bath. His wet bangs are tied up now, and Shuuji flicks the little sprout of hair poking from his forehead. "Stop copying me," he grumbles.
"Why?" Akira says, going cross-eyed as he glances up at himself. "You look so cute like this. I want to look cute too."
Shuuji turns away to hide the stupid smile on his face. "You're not cute at all," he mutters. Akira makes an affronted noise, but he's grinning when Shuuji glances back over his shoulder. "I'm going to go brush my teeth."
The mirror's completely fogged up when he enters the bathroom. He can make out Akira's handwriting in the bottom left corner, though; he's scrawled Nobuta power, chunyuu! in hiragana across the glass. Shuuji snorts softly and shakes his head. It's crazy how the silliest things make him feel more grounded, more like himself.
When he gets back to his room, Akira's already predictably commandeered his bed, nestled into the mattress with the blankets pulled up to his chin. It's still too early to turn in for the night, but with the house in such a state of disarray and Koji commanding the television, there's not much else to do. Shuuji grabs a few volumes of One Piece from one of his boxes and sets them on the bedside table before climbing underneath the covers too, nudging Akira closer to the wall.
It gets warmer faster with two bodies huddling together, which is nice. For a long minute, they just stare up at the low ceiling, the naked glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the smooth plaster. Then, carefully, Akira turns toward him. The rest of the world seems as still and quiet as a pond frozen over for the winter. "Hey," Akira says, breaking the silence, and his voice has somehow lowered half an octave. The sound makes Shuuji's toes curl. "Shuuji."
Shuuji swallows. "What?"
A huff of breath, so close that it tickles Shuuji's ear. "Can you look at me?"
Shuuji exhales through his mouth, shoulders melting into the pillow beneath his head. As he turns, their knees brush together, and just that neutral bit of contact makes his heart leap into his throat. The next moment, they're face to face, their noses centimeters apart, breath mingling in the air between them. Without thinking, Shuuji's gaze drops down to Akira's thin lips, watching them part to make room for the quick dart of his tongue.
This close, it's impossible not to imagine leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Shuuji would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before, not when Akira loves invading his personal bubble all the time. The few nights last semester that Akira slept over, Shuuji would wake up in the morning and stare at his sleeping face for a while, trying not to feel like too much of a creep. It was just easier to look as much as he wanted to when Akira couldn't look back.
Akira's looking back now, eyes steady, like he's waiting for something. Maybe that's why everything feels so intense. Shuuji isn't sure what to say, but he opens his mouth anyway, and what comes out is, "What is this?" his voice breaking. "What are we?"
"We're Shuuji and Akira," Akira says, matter-of-fact, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
"Kusano-kun…"
Akira honest-to-God pouts, which doesn't help anything. "You really aren't going to call me Akira?"
Shuuji laughs, turning his face halfway into the pillow for a moment. He's been thinking of him as Akira this whole time, but there's a difference between thinking it and saying it out loud. "Akira," he tries, voice cracking on the last syllable.
"Ah," Akira says, an unfamiliar expression passing over his face. It takes Shuuji a moment to realize he's embarrassed.
"You asked for it," Shuuji says, laughter bubbling up in his voice again.
"Shut up," Akira says, but he's grinning too. "Say it more so I can get used to it."
Shuuji rolls his eyes, but he says, "Akira," again, sweeter and more obliging just to see Akira's mouth twist with embarrassment again. "Hey, Akira. What are we, really?"
Akira tilts his head, chewing on his lip. "What do you want us to be?" Shuuji furrows his brow and opens his mouth to answer, but Akira reaches up to press his warm palm over his lips. "I don't mean what you think I want, or what you think Nobuta wanted when she told me to come here. What do you want, Shuuji?"
What does he want? So many things — to survive high school, to get into college, to be a successful adult, whatever that means. Most immediately, he would like to kiss Akira very badly. He thinks about the sick lurch in his stomach when Akira told him he liked Nobuta all those months ago, and the equally sick lurch when Mariko asked if he would ever like her, and he realized exactly why the answer was no. There are things he can deny even to himself until Akira's staring him right in the eye, because Akira seems to have a preternatural ability to see right through all of his smokescreens, all of his posturing and bravado, all the easy smiles he gives out like candy.
Shuuji never asks for anything because he doesn't want to burden anyone else with the messy parts of his life — he wants to be the giver and not the taker. But Akira's seen the messiest parts of Shuuji and hasn't come to find him lacking; Shuuji left and Akira followed him across the entire damn country. Maybe it was Nobuta's idea, but no one has ever been able to make Akira do anything he didn't already want to do. That counts for something, right?
In lieu of a reply, Shuuji takes a deep breath, shifts forward, and closes the last bit of distance between them. Akira's lips are cool and dry, a little chapped, and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat before cupping Shuuji's face and kissing him back. Shuuji loses his breath quicker than he anticipated; when they finally pull away from each other, his chest feels tight. "That okay?" he says, high and breathless.
Akira's tongue flicks out across his pink lower lip. "Yeah," he replies, winded too. "What else do you want?
Shuuji's abdomen clenches, warmth and proximity driving his heart rate through the roof. He pushes up on an arm and slings a daring leg over Akira's hips, staring down as Akira readjusts himself to face upward. "You sure about this?" he murmurs. "What if I want too much?"
"Try me," Akira says without hesitation, unwavering, his arms coming up to curl loosely around Shuuji's waist. "I came all the way here, didn't I?"
It's true. Shuuji's relationship with the truth could still use some work, but he sinks down into the circle of Akira's embrace and lets himself relax, mouth melting against Akira's open lips. This kiss is deeper, wetter, messier. As Shuuji shifts, their hips align, and the lazy spiral of pleasure in his stomach sharpens all at once. "Fuck," he hisses, trying to lift away, but Akira holds him in place easily, doesn't let him move. The next tiny shift brings the hard line of Akira's very obvious erection against the inside of Shuuji's thigh. Between one breath and the next, their legs tangle together. Heat licks down Shuuji's spine as he rolls his crotch down, desire and pleasure pooling in his belly. "Akira, you—"
"Yeah," Akira groans, head tipping back into the pillows. The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyelids fall. "Come on, Shu-u-ji-kun."
It's absurd, but Shuuji comes like that, on a laugh and a sigh, smacking Akira's shoulder as he mumbles, "Shut up!" Akira starts laughing too, stiffening beneath Shuuji and clenching his legs around Shuuji's thigh as his back arches, and that makes it better. He's not alone anymore. He hasn't been alone in a long time.
Afterwards, Shuuji flops over on his side, sweat and come making him feel sticky. Akira's panting hard, eyes closed, skin glistening, but his bangs are still in their perky updo. Shuuji flicks the sprout, stretching his toes out toward the end of the bed. He should probably drag himself out to the bathroom, submerge his head in the hot water and clean himself off, but he can already feel exhaustion creeping into the edges of his peripheral vision.
"Stop thinking so loudly and go to sleep," Akira mutters, laughing a little with his eyes still shut, and Shuuji can't argue with that.
Shuuji wakes up first as usual, taking his time uncurling from the tight ball he's folded himself into overnight. Akira's curled around him, arms clenched around his waist, so it's impossible to turn over to look at him without rousing him a little. As Shuuji flips over, Akira's eyes crack open against the dawn light streaming through the curtains. Shuuji pushes past the kneejerk urge to look away and keeps gazing at Akira's wrinkling brow, the slope of his nose, the way his mouth moves as he lets out a jaw-cracking yawn.
"Morning," Shuuji says, voice raspy with sleep.
"Mmrph," says Akira.
"We have to go get your stuff," he whispers. "From the hostel."
"That can wait," Akira groans, but he sounds pleased about it. "It's Saturday. Rest. You deserve it."
"Okay, but you're helping me make breakfast later," Shuuji says, warmth spreading out from the center of his chest.
"Deal," Akira says, rolling on top of him without warning and weighing him down into the bed.
"Get off me, you're so heavy," Shuuji protests, smacking Akira's shoulders, but Akira just burrows closer, nose mashing into Shuuji's neck, so he must know Shuuji doesn't really mean it.