Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Shirabu was fourteen, he was sent to boarding school in America – Blair Academy in Blairstown, New Jersey – and promptly learned that the movies got it right.

In first year, his dorm was made up of almost all rich white boys. Considering he was a rich Japanese boy, he related to some of their idiosyncrasies, but some seemed utterly baffling to him. Like the fact that they called their parents by their first names sometimes, or the way they cursed with their parents like they were friends first and parents second.

If he had said half the shit he heard the other boys say to his mother, he would have been dead in the ground as soon as she could catch a flight out.

In his first year there were two foreign students in his building – not his floor, his building; and the building housed at least fifty students. In his second year, he moved to Mason Hall, a co-ed dorm with more than half the foreign student population, and he found that it was more comfortable.

(Even though it did seem like the administration had corralled them together like chickens in a coop because race was all they ever saw.) 

Taichi, another student from Japan and Shirabu’s best friend since his first week, was across the hall from him in Mason Hall. Yahaba, a student from Vietnam and Shirabu’s first year roommate-turned-friend, was two doors down. Kyotani, a student from Korea and Shirabu’s biology lab partner, was three doors down. Watari, a student from Uruguay, was Shirabu’s downstairs neighbour. Kanoka, a student from Indonesia and Shirabu’s first kiss in America before they both admitted their preference for the same sex, was his upstairs neighbour.

Those were just the students in his year. There were others in the years below him, like Kunimi, Kindaichi, Yachi, and Goshiki, and there were others in the year above him, like Ushijima, Tendou, Reon, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and the bane of his existence but still a part of the friend group because he could speak fluent English, fluent Japanese, and almost fluent Spanish even though the man had grown up in New York, Semi fuckin’ Eita.

That wasn’t all of them, but it was most.

Out of the five hundred students that had attended Blair Academy when Shirabu was in second year (junior year), only fifty of those students weren’t from the United States or England.

Shirabu didn’t mind it so much. His parents had said that he should expose himself to all cultures, religions, and races if he wanted to be a doctor. He didn’t argue when they had packed his bags and sent him away; in fact, he had been more inclined to go than to stay.

He didn’t know why but America had always fascinated him; from the first time he had watched a Disney T.V show, he had been interested. He discovered that the food was okay, the people were more accepting of his sexuality in New Jersey than they had been in Japan, and even though nobody sang in the hallways, it was pretty much exactly what he had expected. He liked that.

He liked it.

That was until anime became less of an outlandish hobby and more of a trend.

That was until the movie, Crazy Rich Asians drowned the country with expectations so outlandish that it rivalled even the most outrageous parent known to man (Shirabu’s mother).

Every single Asian student on campus became something of a pariah. They were worshipped, followed, doted on, and, in most cases, harassed. Some of the students soaked it up like a sponge – like Oikawa, who had already had a fan club before the movie had come out because of his volleyball prowess – or like Tendou, who bowed to his adoring stalkers every time he saw them huddled in a corner watching him.

But even they got tired sometimes.

For the rest of the Asian student body, they were tired from the first fucking day.

Semi had a secret hiding spot that only Tendou knew about. Yahaba and Kyotani had taken to literally running from class to class (they were on the track team and got away with it) because girls would wait for them, especially Yahaba, outside their buildings. Taichi wore headphones in the halls no matter how many times he was given detention or sent to the dean.

Shirabu, from his less-than-manly appearance, was dubbed the “smol-boi” and was followed every time he left his dorm building. The girls would fuss and coo and baby him like he was some kind of child, even though he was the smartest in his class with a soccer national championship medal resting on his nightstand.

(And, no, we’re not going to mention that he only played in that final game for five minutes because the regular centre midfielder got a ball to the face and couldn’t play until his nose stopped bleeding. He was drafted into the starting line up the next year and he would make his presence known.)

These girls were ruthless, demanding, and borderline insane. Ever since Crazy Rich Asians had come out, the girls who refused to watch anime on principle became crazy anime girls – but replace the anime obsession with an obsession around unsuspecting Asian men at Blair Academy.

It was a trend to date Asian men that year.

The fact that Shirabu’s parents were absolutely loaded didn’t help matters at all. It only served to play into these white girl’s fantasies about being taken to an Asian country to meet their boyfriend’s rich parents, cause some drama, and eventually marry into a fortune.

Nobody could be trusted. The last time he had trusted a person outside his close-knit friend group (they weren’t really close-knit, they were just in the same boat of harassment) he nearly broke the girl’s nose because she had tried to kiss him in a private study room.

He had ended up yelling “Dude! I’m gay!” when she had still tried to pursue him afterwards, cooing like a mother would at a scared child. The bullying from the boys was honestly better than the harassment from the girls when that rumor spread.

The Asian men of Blair Academy were prizes to be won; trinkets to be bought and displayed. They all begged Watari and Iwaizumi, who are from Uruguay and Argentina respectively and didn’t have such a large problem on their hands (though it was still larger than the white boy’s), to teach them their ways, and finally it was Iwaizumi and Oikawa who found a way to do it.

To free their souls.

To break the curse.

A photo of Iwaizumi and Oikawa kissing under Blair Academy’s historical brick archway during a rainstorm circulated the campus like a wildfire, and, ever since then, Oikawa’s Asian fan club had reduced back down to its normal, volleyball fan club size. Iwaizumi and Oikawa had been dancing around each other for years so everybody knew they weren’t faking it, but during the heat of a particularly bad attack of the stalkers, it gave Shirabu an idea.

It wasn’t a great idea, but it was something.

It was a Wednesday. Shirabu was walking along the cobblestone path between his dorm and the athletics building. He had just been let out of weight training, a required component of soccer practice, when running footsteps echoed from behind him.

He was about to make a run for it himself, because any quick-paced footsteps could either mean a freshman sprinting to a class or a girl in the Kenjirou-Fan-Club – the KFC – trying to catch up with him, but a loud, muscular voice made him hesitate.

“Shirabu!”

One of the only people to call him by his last name on campus and not completely butcher the pronunciation, Mr. Semi Eita, was running towards him with a gym bag slung over his shoulder and a school scarf hanging around his neck.

Shirabu almost ran anyway.

“Hey, wait!” Semi sprinted the last few steps, blocking his path like he knew what Shirabu was thinking. Shirabu would have rolled his eyes, but Semi beat him to it. “Don’t run away, man, we have to talk.”

They did.

That didn’t mean it had to be right after soccer practice when all Shirabu wanted was a sandwich and a hot shower. He was sweaty and tired and cold, and his shirt stuck to his chest like a suction cup, but Semi didn’t care because he was in the same state.

After an incident with a camera phone and Taichi in the locker room in September of that year, no Asian student was safe in the communal showers. That student had been expelled but they were still sceptical.  

“Yeah, whatever. Talk and walk,” Shirabu mumbled into his own scarf. “I want to take a shower and you’re making it harder.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Shirabu-kun.” Semi rolled his eyes so hard that Shirabu wondered if he could see his brain.

And then Shirabu remembered who he was talking to – a brainless music and computer-science student who was only good for translating when Iwaizumi got mad and started yelling in Spanish. Shirabu used to find Semi tolerable; there was something about the dyed hair, thick eyebrows, grey eyes, and long fingers that screamed electric guitar and emo band, and that was Shirabu’s ideal friend/type. It used to be alluring, but then Semi opened his mouth and lost every bit of appeal that Shirabu had ever seen.

“If you keep talking to me like that, I'll scream and alert your fan club of your whereabouts.” Shirabu threatened to do that every day but he, even though he hated the man, would never do such a thing. That would be the equivalent of pushing the man off the tallest building on campus, and Shirabu was no murderer.

Semi flinched like Shirabu’s words had actually burned him, and Shirabu wasn’t surprised; Semi had some of the worst fans. Most of Oikawa’s fan club had transferred to Semi’s when he was seen kissing Iwaizumi, making Semi’s club the biggest, baddest, and bat-shit-craziest of them all.

Even Tendou felt bad about poking fun at Semi for it sometimes, and that man had no empathy about this kind of shit on a good day.

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that...” Semi trailed off and seemed to retreat into himself. Shirabu wondered if the man was genuinely scared of his fan club, like Kyotani and himself, or if he was just tired of them.

Maybe it was a little bit of both.

“Yeah, sorry.” Shirabu tried to sound unapologetic, but that was hard to do when he actually meant it. “What were you going to say?”

“Right, um.” Semi scratched the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous. “I just wanted to... say congrats, you know?”

Shirabu had been expecting it, but he still winced. He and Semi both had been up for a starting position on the team that day. It had come down to a coin toss because the vote had been inconclusive. The coach had rigged it with a double headed coin they all knew he had.

And Shirabu had won.

“I know that we’ve been competing for the same spot since you joined the team, but I just wanted you to know that there’s no hard feelings on my end,” Semi said quietly. Shirabu wanted to gag. He had always been allergic to sappy feelings, and grief was no exception. He could practically see it coming off of Semi in waves. “And I also wanted to say that... um...”

Semi trailed off again, more abruptly than before. Shirabu, against his will, glanced up at the man and saw his face half strewn in horror and half in utter exhaustion. Before Semi could take a full breath to sigh it back out, a girlish, but strong voice called out at them from down the path.

Shirabu recognised it without having to look up.

“Eita-kun!!” The girl, whom Shirabu had never learned the name of, was skipping down the path. One scarf was around her neck, the other was trailing behind her like a ballerina's ribbon. “I think you left this on the field!”

Semi didn’t even bother to glance down at the scarf around his neck, he just turned and started walking away as if he hadn’t heard her. Shirabu, who knew the drill, followed.

Never leave a brother alone in the face of a Top Bitch.

(A Top Bitch is what Shirabu’s friend group (the Asian Student Association plus Watari and Iwaizumi) called the leaders of the fan clubs. They talked the most to their beloved affections no matter what time, place, or activity. They led missions into uncharted dorm territory. They came up with the best excuses to see them and always tried to sit next to them in class. It was them who had the fucking audacity, and they never, ever let up.)

“That’s Annie. We actually went to the same middle school in New York if you can believe it,” Semi started quietly. “We used to be good friends but when I got accepted into Blair Academy, she got held back. We lost touch and now she’s...”

Semi scoffed.

“She’s that,” Shirabu finished for him. Semi nodded.

They could still hear Annie’s footsteps following them. Semi considered making a run for it, but they were still in her direct line of sight. If they ran – and Semi knew that Shirabu would follow him because of the ASA code – they would have had nowhere to hide for hundreds of yards, and Annie would have followed them without fail.

Annie was on the cross-country team. She could easily catch them if she wanted to.

And she fucking wanted to.

“Eita-kun! Can you hear me?!”

Shirabu gagged. If he had been looking at Semi, he would have seen the man smile a bit at the vulgar gesture. Semi was thinking of doing the exact same thing but all his years in theatre had given him more poise in a single pinkie finger than Shirabu had ever had in his entire life.

It was the one thing Shirabu could admit that Semi was better at – public speaking and placating a crowd. It was probably why his fan club was so much larger than everyone else’s; If someone cornered him, and he had nobody else to run to, he would talk. It was in his nature.

It would be forced, but he would do it until his emergency text message to the group chat had been received – which could have been anywhere from thirty seconds to half an hour depending on the time and day.

Semi was a good actor.

It was partially why Shirabu didn’t trust him.

Another reason was that Shirabu didn’t like the way he felt around Semi. He was competitive and reckless. He didn’t second guess himself when challenging Semi to anything – whether that was for soccer or anything else – and that was a whole new kind of weird for him. He had been avoiding it at all costs since he met the man, but it hadn’t exactly worked; almost every week there seemed to be a new competition between them.

“She’ll follow us all the way back to the fucking dorms if we don’t lose her now. She rooms in the South Cottage,” Semi mumbled, minding the volume of his voice since sound tended to carry around that time of night, – as the sun was just setting over the line of trees surrounding Mason Hall, right after most varsity practices let out – especially if there was no wind.

“That’s literally on the other side of campus,” Shirabu groaned quietly. His fan club wasn’t half as crazy as Semi’s. His followed him around the school, taking pictures and sending it to their friends like he was some statue in a museum they all admired, and he had had to climb the brick up to his second-floor room a couple of times because one or two girls had been waiting outside his dorm, but they still weren’t as relentless as the ESS – Eita supporters society.

“I know,” Semi sighed.

“Eita Semi!” Annie had gotten louder. She was no closer, but Semi knew the sound of irritation when he heard it. When Annie got irritated, she didn’t walk away. If anything, she was more persistent. It was insane.

And they couldn’t do anything.

Annie’s last name was Waldorf. She had bought her way in and there was nothing the Asian Students Association could do to get her kicked out – much like the rest of their fan club’s Top Bitches.

“Semi, there’s a corner up here. We should make a run for the trees,” Shirabu suggested. It had worked for him before, but the rustling leaves would be a bit of a problem for Annie’s bat hearing.

Semi seemed to think of this before Shirabu, wincing at the mere thought of the sound like it was crunching bones instead of leaves. “That won’t work. We have to hide somewhere she can’t get into or break off to somewhere she won’t go... like the stables, because she’s allergic to horses, or a dorm room,” Semi explained.

“The stables are back that way.” Shirabu nodded behind them and, discreetly, checked if Annie was still following them. She hadn’t said anything in around two minutes, and he had to make sure.

She was there, wearing her navy, cross country Blair Academy sweatshirt that was too big and a khaki skirt that was too short. If Shirabu had been into girls, like Semi, she would have been attractive in his eyes.

But, alas, he had chosen “the hard way” as his mother had put it.

Was this better than a Japanese high school? Shirabu thought it was better than his time at Toyokuro Junior High, but not by much.

“I’d feel more comfortable if they called me a slur instead of this shit, to be fucking honest,” Semi mumbled.

“I can’t say I disagree,” Shirabu said.

Semi glanced at him, moderately surprised. Shirabu didn’t normally agree with him on anything.

“Is that actually your scarf she’s holding?” Shirabu asked in the moment of awkward silence.

If Semi shrugged, Shirabu didn’t see it. He heard the rustling of Semi’s jacket, but he was too busy looking at a bush and trying to cool down his cheeks to look at the man. He felt extremely hot all of a sudden and had no idea why.

Maybe it was because Semi – and his incessantly warm body – had shuffled closer to him after they had rounded the corner towards their dorm building.

“I actually have no idea,” Semi answered. “I lost one a couple weeks ago. If that’s it, I don’t fucking want it back.”

“You should take it back.”

Semi snapped his head towards Shirabu like he had just stabbed him. “HUH?!” 

“If you take it back, you can burn it,” Shirabu said, ignoring Semi’s predictable dramatics. “And then next time you can take better care of your shit.”

It was a tease – a mean tease, but a tease, nonetheless. The fan clubs hadn’t been opposed to stealing from their beloveds just for an excuse to give the items back. Shirabu had been the victim of a “lost” pencil case, ruler, calculator, and, most recently, lab coat.

When he had received that lab coat back from its thief, he bleached it. The smell still burned his nostrils during his lab lessons, and the washing machine he had used stained the next person’s darks with orange spots from the leftover bleach, but it was better than the flowery perfume that the girl had sprayed on it.

Merciless, relentless, insatiable, not-knowing-that-Shirabu-is-fucking-allergic-to-lavender lookin’ ass girls.

He rolled his eyes at the thought.

“Shirabu, don’t look now, but a couple girls from your class are coming at us.” Semi was staring pointedly at the ground. Shirabu followed his lead.

When the girls from Shirabu’s class noticed him, like vultures to a rotting carcass, they squealed and called out to him like they were best friends. Semi and Shirabu were locked in on all sides except the woods on their left and the lacrosse field to their right. It was a race against the clock, and a race against the crazies.

“Fuck,” Shirabu whispered.

“Woods or the lacrosse field?” Semi whispered back, steadily stepping towards the field. Shirabu didn’t particularly like the woods, but he would have sucked it up if it was the only option. “I didn’t notice if Watari was skipping lacrosse practice today, but it might be our best bet to get out of this.”

“Watari is in his dorm. He sent me a text about dinner a couple minutes ago.”

“Fuck,” Semi echoed.

“Yeah, fuck.” Shirabu didn’t change his course and Semi ended up almost cutting him off, pushing them together shoulder to hip. A zap of static shot through Shirabu’s side, and a wave of uncontrollable shivers climbed his spine like a spider up a tree.

If Semi felt the shiver, he didn’t say anything, nor did he move away.

“Kenjirou!” the two girls from his class shouted. Shirabu recognised one of their voices from chemistry, and the other from physics. He was glad it wasn’t the Top Bitch from his Marine Biology class, but these girls were pretty fucking annoying.

Also, yes, Shirabu took four sciences, not counting astronomy. They were all AP classes, and they were all extremely difficult and fun. He loved them.

Semi sighed and stopped. He held Shirabu’s wrist in a firm grip to stop and turn him. Shirabu couldn’t tell if Semi looked angry or defeated, and considering the situation they were locked in, Shirabu guessed both.

It was what he was feeling.

Among other things.

“Shirabu, if I show you something, do you promise not to tell another soul?”

Shirabu had no idea what was going on. His arm was tingling, and he hated how he couldn’t look away from Semi’s intensely honest gaze.

“Uhh... I guess?”

“Good, follow my lead.” Semi smiled, flipping his personality like a light switch. “Ah, Shirabu! I left my notes in my locker!”

It took Shirabu a second to realise what was going on. Semi was talking loudly enough that all three girls could hear him, but not so loudly to alert every other person in a one-hundred-yard radius. Semi had rented a locker in the drama building at the start of the year, across the lacrosse field. For a plan thought up on-the-fly, Shirabu couldn’t find a fault in it.

“Dude, I told you to check if you had everything before you left today.” For good measure, Shirabu smacked Semi’s arm with his free hand. The other hand was still locked in Semi’s sweaty, shaking grip.

Semi had played hard that day; he was shaking because he was tired and hungry. That was also why Shirabu was shaking and unseasonably warm.

That was why.

No other reason.

“Ow! Don’t hit me!” Semi started to pull Shirabu across the field. Their sneakers squelched in the wet grass and, for once, Shirabu wished that he was in his smelly soccer cleats. “Come on, let’s go get it before the building closes.”

The drama building didn’t close until the last drama teacher left for the night. Since Takeda – one of the theory teachers – didn't leave until everyone’s rehearsal was over, which sometimes extended his hours well into the night/morning, Shirabu guessed they had a lot of time.

The girls didn’t know that though.

They were left standing in their leather flats and white sneakers at the edge of the muddy grass while Semi dragged Shirabu towards the drama building. If Shirabu had been stupid enough to look back at them, he would have seen the vexed expressions on all three of their faces. They had been bested by the men who were supposed to be preternatural to them; like superstars out in the wild waiting to be asked for a picture.

“Look over your shoulder, is anyone there?” Semi asked, almost halfway across the field, shoes effectively soaked. When Shirabu hummed a no, Semi slowed his pace and started veering towards the right. “We’re not going to the drama building.”

“I guessed that much. Annie’d probably know where your locker is,” Shirabu said.

“She’s broken into it a couple times. Got the combination from the office because she volunteers there for extra credit on Sundays. I don’t use it.” Semi sighed.

“Christ.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a couple of moments. Shirabu continued to let Semi drag him across the emptying field, watching the last rays of orange seep into the purpling horizon. It was such a pretty campus, he thought, but there wasn’t much time to appreciate it alone.

“Where are we going?” Shirabu asked quietly.

Semi had led them across the cobblestone path, onto a barely recognizable, dirt track that had turned to slush in the previous day’s rain. Shirabu loved the rain, but he would never love scrubbing his shoes at the end of each day.

“I thought you would’ve figured it out by now, mister AP classes,” Semi answered, half-teasing-half-tired. When Shirabu didn’t dignify the dig with a response, Semi slouched and hmphed like a toddler. He was still holding Shirabu’s wrist, but it wasn’t as firm a grip as before. Shirabu could have shaken out of it if he really wanted to.

He didn’t.

“We’re going to my secret place. Nobody’s ever been there except for Tendou, and he only found it because he followed my footprints in the snow in our first year after my-” Semi cut himself off and cleared his throat. “After I had had a particularly bad day.”

Shirabu blinked in surprise. Semi had never taken anyone willingly to his hideout. He must have been more tired – or more annoyed with Annie and the rest of the fan club – than Shirabu had originally thought.

“Okay,” Shirabu said. “Just don’t murder me.”

“I make no promises,” Semi sent a smirk over his shoulder, squeezed Shirabu’s wrist twice, and finally let go.

It was a relief.

A tingling feeling under Shirabu’s skin was starting to burn almost unbearably hot. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, because that sensation only ever lit up his skin when Semi touched him, but he wasn’t about to dive into his subconscious; he had homework to do.

Deep analysis was for English students and Shirabu hadn’t taken an unrequired English course since his first year.

They walked for a long time, Shirabu thought. It was too quiet, and slippery, lit only by the light on Semi’s phone, the moon above their heads, and the lingering bits of the sunset filtering through the trees. Shirabu had ever been afraid of the dark, but every sound that wasn’t made by them scared him just enough to walk closer to Semi’s side.

If he was going to get eaten by a bear, Semi was going down with him.  

“Here it is.” Semi exhaled a small puff of fog. The long walk had heated their bodies enough to make them shed their windbreakers, but it was still cold enough to condense their breath.

Shirabu looked around and saw what might have been one of the biggest trees he had ever seen, or maybe it was two trees growing around each other. It was a little too dark to see, but Shirabu heard the smile in Semi’s voice and chose to have a little faith for once.

“Where is here?” Shirabu asked quietly.

Semi sighed softly. It wasn’t exasperated, nor was it painful. It was more like a deep, calming exhale. “It’s just a tree, but there are small footholds carved into the trunk that make it really easy to climb, and the lower branches are thick enough that you could lay down and not fall off,” Semi explained.

That same, relaxed, happy voice that Shirabu had heard before was back. It was soothing, Shirabu thought, like a faraway thunderstorm or crashing waves on a cliff or head scratches (don’t judge him, Shirabu liked the small things in life like close physical affection and faraway weather).

“Seems legit,” Shirabu said. He regretted it instantly, but the faint chuckle Semi blew out of his nose softened the blow of embarrassment a tiny bit.

“It is. It’s a good tree.” Semi patted the bark as if it were a dog. Shirabu scoffed out a laugh that Semi seemed too lost to hear. He had never seen the man look so serene, yet so exhausted. They had practised hard that afternoon, but Semi was the kind of man who got energised after a practice like that. This exhaustion had been brought on by something else entirely.

Semi turned off his phone light and slumped against the trunk. He slid down the smooth bark, groaning all the way down like it would make everything that had happened that year go away.

“It’s a good movie,” Semi started. Shirabu sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but not close enough to touch. “It’s not like it’s a bad movie. It won awards, and the Asian representation in modern film is amazing... but...”

“Yeah,” Shirabu sighed. “I wish it was never published too.”

“It’s only going to get worse with these K-pop groups finally reaching America.” Semi chuckled humourlessly.

“Poor Kyotani,” Shirabu said. Semi let out a genuine laugh at that, and Shirabu felt proud of himself for making it happen. He wasn’t sure when he and Semi last had a conversation like this, but he was almost positive that it had never happened.

In the silence, they sat against the tree and brooded.

Shirabu loved his classes. Most of his teachers were amazing, and the school itself was beautiful and catered to his learning style like the administration had dug around in his brain themselves. In Japan, he hadn’t had many friends; at Blair, he had an entire group of them, and almost all of them were tolerable every day. He liked it at Blair Academy.

Was this one bad thing going to ruin his chances at a private school diploma? 

“I wish there was some way to get rid of them,” Semi said quietly.

“Me too,” Shirabu agreed. He had done that a lot that day, – agree with Semi – more than he had ever done in the two years they had been acquainted.

They had met just before Shirabu’s first Asian Students Association meeting in his first year. It could have been compared to a sitcom bit, if you found ruined shirts and angry meet-cutes funny. Semi had been coming around a corner extremely quickly, looking down at god-knows what on his phone. Shirabu had just opened a grape juice box he had purchased from the vending machine around said corner.

Semi was wearing white. Shirabu was wearing yellow. In the end, you could probably guess what had happened. Ever since then, they had been walking on thin ice around each other. It had grown thicker, but the endless competition between them had made them memorize each other’s buttons like the back of their hands, and each time a crack healed, another nail was being held for the hammer.

That night, sitting under the tree and looking up at the endless stars and bright moon, Shirabu thought the ice could have been two hundred metres thick or two centimetres. He couldn’t determine which it was and that scared him silent.

He listened to Semi’s controlled, easy breathing. After a while, he started to match it. A minute after that he had almost suffocated and tried to listen to something else.

“Iwaizumi and Oikawa got it right.” Semi’s voice startled Shirabu after the long period of dark silence. “They figured out a way to be happy and get rid of the girls.”

“Oikawa still has girls,” Shirabu countered.

Semi huffed. “You know what I mean.” When Shirabu didn’t say anything, Semi continued. “Do you ever wish that you had something like that? Something that would make the girls less invasive?”

“All the time.” Shirabu startled himself with his own honesty.

“Thanks for the candour,” Semi chuckled.

“Shut up,” Shirabu snapped quietly.

To have something like Iwaizumi and Oikawa, you needed a good foundation, a friendship to build something on. Good soil to grow your seeds, as Ushijima, the environmental and conservation science man on campus (and Shirabu’s gay awakening in America), would have said.

It wasn’t as if someone could fake it.

They'd need to be good actors (or at least one of them needed to be a good actor), and they’d probably need to know each other beforehand. They'd need a sound set of ground rules, and a plan. They'd need a backstory – something plausible for two boys who supposedly hated each other-

“What if we did that?” Semi asked, so quietly that Shirabu thought it might have been a trick of the wind.

It took five full seconds for Shirabu to fully process what Semi had said. All the while, he had been thinking “is Semi Eita a mind reader?”

“Huh?” Shirabu furrowed his brows and turned towards the man. Semi was already looking at him, hope, embarrassment, and something like desperation in his eyes.

“You heard me.” Semi smiled in a way that made Shirabu’s gut twist. It felt like he had just eaten too much dairy. “It could be the perfect escape plan to get these fuckers off our backs. A lie for a good cause.”

Some of the gurgling in his gut stopped, but most of it remained.

Fake.

He had been thinking it too.

“Nobody would believe it,” Shirabu said. He shook his head.

“I’m a good actor.” Semi smiled. In the dark, it looked like a smirk.

“I’m not,” Shirabu sighed.

“You wouldn’t have to be a good actor,” Semi said. “Bad acting looks like fluster. If you stutter over words and generally freeze if I act coupley around you, it’d just look like you had nervous jitters or something.”

“You really thought that one through.”

“Just came up with it actually.” Semi was definitely smirking. “And-” Semi lit up like a lightbulb. “Not everyone would have to believe it. Only the girls. The ASA know what it’s like, they’d understand.”

Shirabu frowned.

Was he considering it? Maybe.

It would have made his school social life easier. Maybe he would have been able to study outside without a horde of girls watching him from afar, making him feel crowded even if he was sitting alone. Maybe he would have been able to walk to class without getting ogled at. Maybe he would have gotten head scratches.

“There’d need to be rules,” Shirabu said quietly.

Semi made a noise then, like he had never expected Shirabu to even consider what he was suggesting. Little did Semi know that Shirabu had actually been thinking about it before it had been suggested. It made both of their cheeks flare with heat and, all at once, they were thankful for the darkness around them.

It sucked, Shirabu thought. He wished Taichi could have asked him. That would have been more believable – best friends to lovers is a popular trope.

Enemies to lovers is better, his traitorous brain thought.

Another thought entered his peripheral vision, though it wasn’t as treacherous. Shirabu voiced it while Semi was still processing. “Nobody would believe you’re gay. This won’t work.”

Semi blinked back to the real world. If Shirabu had known him any better, he would have said Semi looked hurt. He couldn’t recognise the unfamiliar glint in the man’s eyes, but it wasn’t like anything Shirabu had seen before.

“Shirabu, do you think I'm straight?” Semi asked.

It was Shirabu’s turn to blink. “Everyone does.”

Semi let out a sound akin to a laugh. It was more like a small, sadistic scream. “I’m bisexual. I thought everyone knew,” Semi said candidly. “I don’t try to hide it”

Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Shirabu was about to... scream? Cry? Scream-cry? Shout at the man? Hide from embarrassment? He had assumed Semi’s sexuality from the get-go and had never for a moment stopped to think that he had it wrong.

Damn. He felt like a bad gay.

“I’m in a musical theatre class,” Semi muttered to himself. “I have a Troye Sivan poster hanging in my dorm-”

“Stop mumbling, sorry for assuming,” Shirabu grumbled, flicking Semi’s arm to get him to snap out of it.  

Semi looked like he was in a state of mental crisis, but who wasn’t at Blair Academy. It was a nation that held the ASA, the other forgein students, and most of the rest of the student body at knifepoint. The ruler of the nation was Takeda, who was perpetually nervous but gave a good speech in a pinch.

“It’s fine, I probably should have told you,” Semi said, still muttering.

“We’re getting off topic here,” Shirabu said. “If we do this, there needs to be rules.”

“Honestly, I'm still convinced that you’re going along with this as a joke.”

“This is a joke. It’s going to be fake.” Shirabu whacked him in the chest and felt a small nugget of pride glow in his chest when Semi had to bite his lip to hold in a chuckle. “But I'm not joking about wanting to do it. The girls are bad for me too, and I want them gone. By any means necessary.”

“By any means necessary,” Semi repeated. It would have sounded ominous if Shirabu hadn’t said it ominously himself. It was almost as if their agreement to go all in had started with those four words. Their plan was sparse and careful, but quick and reckless.

Sparse and careful, repetitive and thought-out; that was Shirabu’s narrative 

Quick and reckless, thought out but ultimately impulsive; that was Semi’s. 

Shirabu found himself leaning into it.

By the time they got back to their dorm, Shirabu and Semi had compiled a list of rules. There weren’t very many, but they were extremely specific.  

1. No heavy PDA 

That was simple enough to understand. They weren’t Oikawa and Iwaizumi, who snuck off to make out every free chance they had. Shirabu wanted a way out of the spotlight, and heavy PDA would have pulled them back into it.

2. No seeing other people

Not hard for either of them considering their busy schedules, but it still had to be said. No looking at or seeing other people. Shirabu didn’t have a crush – he had never had one at Blair Academy besides Ushijima. Semi, too, said he didn’t have a crush, and Shirabu believed him.

3. Act like a couple in the hallways no matter who’s watching

Shirabu and Semi knew that some of their fans snuck around the hallways to spy on them – study them and try to gain an advantage on their fellow girls. They had to act like a couple in the hallways even if they were alone, to appease their scheming stalkers and to make sure everyone believed them.

4. Hang out outside of soccer practice

5. Try not to be so mean to one and other

It was true that Semi and Shirabu both had serious anger issues. Semi masked his with a plain face and practised poise but could blow up at any given moment. Shirabu didn’t have an ounce of grace in his body unless he was playing soccer; he had a fast, sarcastic tongue and an even faster wit. It would be difficult, but they had to try to hold back on each other.

6. Acceptable pet names: given names only

If Semi called him babe, Shirabu would have either: 1. killed himself, 2. died from embarrassment, and/or 3. buried Semi alive. He had explained this to Semi, (who was fine being called babe or baby or whatever as long as it conformed to the male side of the gender spectrum) and had gotten a frightened nod in return.

7. Speak in Japanese when trying to hide a topic of conversation

8. Backstory must be memorised

Their backstory wasn’t elaborate. They were out for a walk, they got lost, they fought, they kissed and confessed their feelings for one another. It was plausible since one, they fought a lot, and two, a lot of students had seen them going into the woods the night they had made this plan and hadn’t seen them again until they were getting chewed out by the vice-dean for staying out past curfew.

9. No ass slaps

Semi was a menace. Shirabu wasn’t taking any chances.

10. Head scratches are acceptable.

11. Semi’s love languages are physical touch and quality time.

12. Shirabu’s love languages are physical touch and receiving gifts.

It was strange to read over the list the next day and realise that they were actually going through with this. There was no turning back. Neither one of them wanted to be the one to cry uncle; they were too competitive for that.

Shirabu had tossed and turned all night, fearing the new reputation he would earn himself when they revealed their news to the school. Would he be considered more than just an Asian Boy? Would he be viewed as a person and not just a race? Would he be viewed as a gay man instead of a person? It was frightening.

Semi had also been awake for half the night, but he was writing a short script for a drama class, not just overthinking their arrangement. Don't get him wrong, Semi had overthought everything to the point of suffocation, but he channelled that nervous energy into his writing instead of keeping it locked inside his mind. It was a trick he had learned at his anger management classes.

By the time they fell asleep, it was around three in the morning. Semi fell asleep at his desk, grateful that he hadn’t landed on his laptop keyboard (that would have been a nightmare to clean up in the morning). Shirabu fell asleep in his bed with his legs tangled in his comforter and his fan on full blast.

It was by pure luck that both boys made it to breakfast on time, trudging through the door like zombies ten minutes before the school day officially started. They sat in their usual seats, ignoring each other save for an insignificant greeting, and chowed down on their large breakfasts like all of those American movie characters should have done.

Taichi was used to seeing Shirabu in such a state, but the fact that he had walked into the cafeteria with Semi Eita, had stood with the man in line, and hadn’t argued with him was nothing short of a miracle. He was curious, but he knew that Shirabu was in no condition to be questioned, much less spoken to. His best friend was not a morning person.

Semi usually was, though. It begged the question of why Semi was so tired and why Shirabu was in the same boiling pot. The rest of the ASA noticed, too. If Tendou and/or Oikawa had been there, they probably would have said something, but since Oikawa never ate breakfast and Tendou was in his early morning office hours for history students, Shirabu and Semi were spared the interrogation.

That didn’t mean the others didn’t form over a million questions in their heads, though; all of them varying forms of “what the fuck.”

If Shirabu and Semi noticed the quieter atmosphere, they didn’t say anything about it. The only movement that indicated life between the two of them was the shovelling of food in their mouths and the occasional typing of a text message.

The group didn’t know this, and they were too wrapped up in their own breakfasts to guess, but Semi and Shirabu were texting each other. It started with Shirabu.

Shirabu Kenjirou: we were supposed to sit next to each other. 

Semi Eita: sorry... forgot 

Shirabu Kenjirou: same 

Semi Eita: Lunch? 

Shirabu Kenjirou: I was planning on studying in the library 

Semi Eita: alone?   (￢‿￢ ) 

Shirabu Kenjirou: I'm calling the police

Semi Eita: noooo, baby please! Don't let them take me (シ_ _)シ 

Shirabu hadn’t blushed at that. That was just a figment of everyone’s imagination, including Semi’s when he glanced at the man to see his reaction. The pink dusting Shirabu’s normally pale cheeks was just a trick of the early morning light and his exhaustion. 

Shirabu Kenjirou: come if you want to. I'll be on level three near the biology section

Semi Eita: gotcha  

By the time they finished their breakfasts, most of the table had left for morning classes. Semi, being the stereotypical delinquent Shirabu had always compared him to, had no official classes on Thursdays starting earlier than ten in the morning. They all envied him, but none of them would ever change their course selection to match Semi’s heavy, mismatched schedule.

“Bye,” Shirabu mumbled around a yawn. He had looked at Semi when he said it and had received a smile and a nod in return. They agreed the previous night that they had to act like a couple, even in front of the ASA – it would probably be easier to act like it everywhere rather than just in front of the girls – but Shirabu didn’t have the slightest clue on what that meant.

Did he kiss him? That was too forward.

Did he touch him in some way? If yes, where?

Was there supposed to be an intimate goodbye of some sorts? Shirabu’s only examples of relationships came from movies, manga, k-dramas, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi. He didn’t want to act like some helpless damsel in distress, so copying any one of those was out.

Did Semi expect something more intimate from him? Shirabu wasn’t a very intimate person to begin with. He had kissed two people in his life. Kanoka and a boy in middle school that had thrown him under the bus when they had been caught.

He hated not knowing things. This was one of the only areas where Semi had him beat besides public speaking. His pride was on the line here, he had to do something first, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself and completely screw up.

God, were relationships always this hard?

“Hey!” A low voice caught up to him. He tensed for a moment, always cautious of someone running up behind him, but relaxed as soon as a strong, deft hand slid its way along his elbow. He was just about to worry about why he had recognised Semi’s touch before his voice, but the thought was whisked away when he turned towards the man, finding the bags under his eyes much more prominent up close than they had been from across the table. Even so, he was smiling.

He was also holding a scarf. It was Semi’s scarf.

“You forgot this last night.” Semi extended his arm out, as if he were handing the scarf to Shirabu, but at the last second, he raised the fabric to Shirabu’s neck and wrapped it for him. “It’s windy today.”

There was a high blush settled on Semi’s cheeks – from the cold, Shirabu reasoned, even though the cafeteria was warmer than anywhere else in the school.

“Th-thanks,” Shirabu stuttered. He didn’t care about his pride anymore. That was fucking adorable. To any of the girls watching, it would have seemed like a happy couple sharing a quiet moment after a late night spent together, Shirabu thought.

“No problem, Kenjirou,” Semi smiled at him, brighter than a fresh sheet of white snow baking in the sun, and retreated back to their table.

Shirabu ignored the flabbergasted looks from the remaining ASA members at their table – and his fluttering heart – and walked (read: sprinted) to his first class of the day. He was acting like a little boy whose crush had just given him candy for valentine's day, which was a part of the plan that Shirabu had thought he would have had to fake...

But there was no faking there.

This would be harder than he had originally thought, Shirabu mused. A lot harder.

Shirabu thought that if Semi shot him in the chest, he would have had an easier time breathing. Throughout their study session in the library, Shirabu constantly had to hold his breath to keep from either gasping, or sighing.

A touch of feet under the table, subtle enough to go unnoticed by unfocused passersby, but obvious enough for their fan clubs to catch. Smiles and casual conversation kicked around like soccer balls made it look like they were comfortable around each other when, in fact, they barely knew each other at all. Semi leaning into him when the man was showing him something in his notebook. Head scratches and the subsequent hair pat afterwards.

Semi was good at this game. Shirabu knew it, Semi knew it, the world fucking knew it. The man wasn’t good at math, nor was he good at physics, but Semi knew chemistry like he had written the textbook himself.

It took every ounce of Shirabu’s willpower not to gag when he caught Semi staring at him. It took even more to not roll his eyes every time Semi rubbed his leg against Shirabu’s like they were in some rom-com movie. Shirabu, despite his denial that it was completely untrue, was extremely bad at faking a relationship.

When walking Semi to his afternoon class – ASA must always stick together in the hallways, inside or out, no matter the relationship because it was easier to fend off girls in groups – he teased Shirabu about it.

“It’s cute!” Semi threw his head back as Shirabu growled at him. Shirabu had considered leaving Semi behind on more than one occasion, but that wasn’t very boyfriend-like. “It’s not like you can be good at everything.”

“Shut up!” Shirabu hissed, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

Semi just laughed harder. Somehow, when Semi was laughing, Shirabu forgot to keep the anger furrowing his brow alive. When Semi finally calmed down, wiping the tears from his eyes, he met something that he had only seen a couple of times.

Shirabu’s calm face.

It wasn’t tired or angry or emotionless. It was just relaxed, like Shirabu had slipped into a different world entirely, taking his thoughts and muscle control with him.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before,” Shirabu said, sincere and quiet. 

“I guessed as much.” Semi smiled at him again; a soft, unassuming smile that didn’t have a molecule of teasing hidden in its dimples.

It was Shirabu’s favourite smile on him. He could admit, with very little fight from his inner self, that Semi was marginally attractive; and when the man smiled at him like that, he was almost pretty.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, oblivious to the array of girls watching them like vultures. It was peaceful to finally have a distraction that was not only diverting enough to keep their minds off their ever-present stalkers, but also pleasing. It wasn’t often that they had good distractions.

Normally, it was studying, or something happening that distracted the girls and not them, or even an injury (them or someone nearby). Shirabu hadn’t experienced such a relaxed walk across campus since his first year. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed it until it happened again.

“Thanks for walking me.” Semi started to reach out but something in Shirabu’s face made him pause and retract his hand back. It was nothing serious, nor was it fearful; Semi just hadn’t wanted to ruin the perfect ease that had settled in between them. He knew that if he touched the man in any way, it would have brought him back to earth.

“No problem,” Shirabu said quietly.

“See you at dinner?” Semi asked just as Shirabu was about to turn away.

“Yeah, see you then,” Shirabu answered over his shoulder.

It was the first day, Semi thought, and he might have been a little in over his head.

They carried on that pattern for a week. They walked each other to class, they studied together in the library (read: Shirabu studied, and Semi read for his own pleasure, because he was the type of guy to do that and Shirabu denied finding it attractive), and they started sitting beside each other at mealtimes.

Shirabu never initiated contact and when Semi did, it was very minimal at best. They didn’t hold hands, or kiss, or even lean against each other when they were tired, but Semi did hold his wrist a couple times, and he pressed their thighs together at every available moment. It was enough, they both thought.

Anyone could have seen the obvious change between the two men. They had barely spoken before the night at the tree, and suddenly, they were all over each other in subtle ways.

Their friends had noticed. Oikawa and Tendou had even brought it up, asking question after question about what had changed – were they dating? Were they becoming better friends? Had they kissed yet? Had they gone on a date? – but they had refused to confirm or deny anything, like the menaces they had planned to be.

If their friends had noticed – even the oblivious ones (Kyotani and Yahaba) – then the girls surely must have too. They were always watching and always analysing them; there was absolutely no way that the girls couldn’t have noticed their change in behaviour.

But, after the first week, nothing had changed.

They were still followed. They were still pursued in subtle, but obvious ways by anyone who could catch them alone. They were still watched, whether that was at open soccer practice, in the halls, or even more private settings like study sessions or in the closed gym.

In fact, since Shirabu was hanging around Semi so much, he got a taste Semi’s bigger fan club, and it was so much worse than his. The girls were meaner and less sly with their advances. Everywhere Shirabu turned, someone was waving at Semi or trying to get his attention.

Girls dropped things in front of Semi and picked it up by bending over so lewdly that their underwear could be seen through their tights. They winked at him in the hallway, licked their lips and tried to be seductive. They cheered for him at soccer practice like they were cheering for Messi himself, heedless and unaffected by the coach’s warnings.

Semi let it roll off his back, ignoring it like he had seen it one thousand times. Shirabu found it disgusting and obscene, but the man probably had seen it one thousand times.

Shirabu’s fan club had tact. They studied him from afar most of the time. They were shy and most of them were fascinated by him because he looked like some anime character from Bungou Stray Dogs that they were all in love with. Some of them were tolerable, even, because they couldn’t say two words without getting tongue-tied and that meant that they didn’t speak to him at all, but none of them could be trusted.

It was after a particularly long day of watching Semi ignore girls left and right, with Shirabu right beside him, that Shirabu heard a knock on his door. There were no peep holes, but he made a guess on who it was based on the sound and when he opened his door to his tall, red-headed best friend, he had been right.

Shirabu stepped aside to let the man in, but Taichi stayed stationary in the doorframe.

“What?” Shirabu asked sceptically. Normally, Taichi would have let himself in as soon as the door had cracked an inch. Shirabu was immediately on guard, and the longer Taichi stayed silent, not even looking at him, the more worried he got. “Dude, what’s going on?”

Taichi sighed. If his arms hadn’t already been crossed, he probably would have crossed them there. He levelled Shirabu with an analytical, lazy gaze.

“It’s fake, right?”

Whatever Shirabu had been expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that.

“What?” Shirabu asked again.

“You and Semi.” Taichi finally stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, but leaned against it instead of taking his usual spot in Shirabu’s bean bag chair. “That’s fake, right?”

Shirabu flinched.

“I knew it,” Taichi chuckled. He had never been expressive to begin with but over the years, Shirabu had managed to learn most of the man’s mannerisms. He wasn’t mad, nor was he upset. He might have been surprised, but he was mostly excited about being right. And maybe a little amused. “You could’ve told me, you know. I know how tough it is out there.”

“I wanted to,” Shirabu said flatly.

“Okay.” Taichi tapped his fingers against his arms in the few seconds of silence that stretched between them. Shirabu was just about to ask how he had figured it out before Taichi took a breath and started speaking again. “You’re not very convincing.”

“Huh?!” Shirabu whipped a glare at his best friend, hurt and embarrassed. He thought they had been doing pretty well.

“Dude, you’re fake dating the stud of the soccer team who’s touchy with every single one of his friends. This little innocent act you two are pulling isn’t cutting it,” Taichi stated bluntly. “You’re more intimate with me than you are with him, man. You gotta step up your game.”

Shirabu hmphed, more than a little irritated. Taichi was right, he guessed. The girls hadn’t stopped harassing them. In fact, it might have gotten worse over the last week, if Shirabu was being honest. There had been more ‘accidental run-ins’ with his own fan club members in the previous week than he had had in his entire third year fall semester. It was like they were getting more confident.

Or maybe they realised that they had less time to act now that Shirabu was branching out from Taichi, Kyotani, and Yahaba.

“I’m comfortable with you,” Shirabu defended himself, as if that would help.

“How touching,” Taichi said, a twitch of a smile giving away the pride he took in the admission and contradicting his droning, inflectionless tone. “That doesn’t make it any better that your supposed boyfriend is doing less things to you than I am.”

Shirabu grimaced. “We’ve literally hugged once in the last month!”

“More than Semi’s done.”

Again, Shirabu grimaced. He fell back onto his bed, leaving his legs hanging off the side at an uncomfortable angle, and let out a disgustingly loud groan. All hope of expelling his woes with that one sound was lost when he opened his eyes and found Taichi in his normal spot, scrolling through his phone like nothing had happened.

“We’re not going to start making out in the hallways if that’s what you’re fucking suggesting.” Shirabu gagged at the thought of kissing anyone in public. Semi was no exception to that.

Even if his lips did look soft.

“I’m not suggesting you do,” Taichi said. He was on Vine. Shirabu could hear the faint sound of six second videos and edits from across the room. “It doesn’t have to be vulgar; it just has to be noticeable.”

Taichi might have been right. Shirabu was never going to admit that to the man’s face, but Shirabu thought Taichi knew it even without the admission.

Against his will, and with Taichi monitoring his every move from his peripheral vision, Shirabu picked up his phone and texted Semi.

Shirabu Kenjirou: we’re not being believable enough 
Taichi figured it out.  

Semi didn’t waste two minutes before his reply.

Semi Eita: Tendou knows too.

Shirabu Kenjirou: are we really not being believable?

Semi Eita: Tendou says we’re being too innocent.
he’s not wrong

Shirabu Kenjirou: fuck...

Semi Eita: maybe we can try doing some less innocent stuff

Shirabu Kenjirou: ;-; 911 what is your emergency

Semi Eita: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN 
hand holding and stuff. 
it wouldn’t hurt. 

Wouldn't it?

Even thinking about it made Shirabu feel like he was about to combust.

Semi Eita: we can practice if you want to... 

“What the fuck?” Shirabu muttered.

“What the fuck what?”

Shirabu almost screamed. He had completely forgotten that Taichi was there. In all honesty, he had started daydreaming about less innocent things. He defended with the fact that Semi was probably thinking about it too, but that didn’t make his thoughts any less incriminating.

“Nothing, just texting Semi,” Shirabu mumbled into the collar of his sweatshirt.

“Oh, fun.” Taichi didn’t even look up from his phone but by his tone Shirabu knew that the man was interested. The ways Taichi communicated his feelings (besides rage and utter despair) were hard to spot if you didn’t know him.

“We’re talking about what you think we’re talking about,” Shirabu said.

“I don’t remember asking.” Taichi’s lips twitched into a small smirk.

Shirabu's phone buzzed again.

Semi Eita: can I come up?

Yes.

He didn’t even think twice. It should have said something about his feelings, or maybe his mental state, but as soon as the text came through, his heart jumped into overdrive.

“Should I leave?” Taichi stared at him like all of Shirabu’s thoughts were floating above his head in cartoon bubbles. It wasn’t judgmental, it was just new for the both of them.

“Yeah,” Shirabu said.

If Taichi was shocked by the blunt statement, he didn’t say or do anything to show it. He just stood from the soft beanbag chair, knees cracking like an old man’s, and waved a goodbye before walking out the door.

Shirabu Kenjirou: sure
give me five minutes 

Semi was at his door in two. Shirabu had been debating on whether or not he should brush his teeth when the knock sounded, granting him a distraction from the internal crisis and making him choose the other, quicker option of spearmint gum.

As soon as Shirabu opened the door, Semi let himself in and took a whiff.

“Can I have a piece?” he asked.

Shirabu threw the packet at him, which the man barely caught. “Knock yourself out,” he muttered.

He shuffled towards his bed, unsure of what to do. They hadn’t been alone since the night in the woods – there had been times when they had sat together, but they had never been truly alone. There was always someone watching.

Their dorms were the only safe space besides that fucking tree.

“Nice poster. I didn’t know you liked Three Days Grace.” Semi reached out to flick at the bottom corner of the poster where the adhesive had worn out. It reminded Shirabu that he had to replace the sticky pad.  

“They’re good. One of my favourites,” Shirabu said quietly. He watched Semi try to smooth the corner down, but the poster wouldn’t cooperate. He gave up after his third try and turned around.

“One of? Who’re the others?” Semi smirked at him. It felt like a test.

“AC/DC.”

“Mainstream,” Semi’s smirk widened.

“Def Leppard.”

“Oh, that’s the band with the stripper song, right?” Semi cleared his throat. “Put some sugar on me~ that one, right?”

Shirabu laughed at the abysmal imitation. “That’s the one.”

“Name some others.” Semi took a step closer. Shirabu took a step back and plopped down on his twin mattress. It squeaked under his weight.

“Ledd Zeppelin.”

“Nice,” Semi followed Shirabu’s lead, sitting right beside him on the bed.

They weren’t touching but Shirabu’s entire right side felt like it was burning. “Guns N’ Roses, Black Sabbath, Motley Crue, Iron Maiden.”

“What, no Queen?”

Shirabu grimaced. “If I hear ‘Somebody to Love’ or ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ one more time on the school’s radio station, I’m going to kill myself with the antenna.”

“Your sacrifice will benefit us all, young martyr,” Semi laughed.

“They’d erect a statue of me,” Shirabu played along.

“Your fan club would pray to it every day.”

The noise Shirabu made was a cross between a groan and a gag. “Never mind, I'm not doing it anymore. Suffer or do it yourself.”

“Maybe we can get Oikawa to do it. He'd love a statue.”

Shirabu snorted. “Fuckin’ probably.” He leaned around Semi to grab one of his many pillows, scooched back, and started to set up a small seat for himself against the wall. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it would have been better than sitting on the edge of the bed, or the floor, or sharing the bean bag.

There was a small stretch of silence while Shirabu set up his small area. Semi watched him like he had never seen Shirabu move a day in his life – like he found Shirabu fascinating. It was a little off putting, but once Shirabu looked back at him, Semi quickly averted his eyes.

“Why did you want to come up, anyways? We could’ve had this conversation over text,” Shirabu said quietly.

Semi pushed himself against the wall so he could look Shirabu in the eye without breaking his neck. He crossed his legs at the ankle and didn’t seem to care when their knees touched. Shirabu startled at the contact but didn’t move away.

“I said we could practice. When I didn’t hear from you for a few minutes, I assumed that meant yes,” Semi said plainly.

“Why would silence mean yes?” Shirabu furrowed an incredulous brow.

“You don’t like to voice your opinion when you’re agreeing with me most of the time. If you had disagreed, you would’ve said no right away,” Semi said.

“I-”

“It’s fine. It's not like we have to. We could just hang out,” Semi corrected. “But, if you want to, just so that you’re not surprised when I do it in public, we could practice now and get the first time over with.”

Semi made a solid point. If Semi were to do something too surprising in public, Shirabu could have seen himself pulling away like the action had frightened him. Boyfriends didn’t do that.

But the fact that Semi had figured out his ‘yes and no’ system made Shirabu all the more inclined to stay silent. It might have proved Semi right, because he did want to say that the man was right to assume practice would be good, but Shirabu didn’t care.

“You’re pouting,” Semi chuckled.  

“I am not!” Shirabu gritted his teeth. He hoped his neighbours couldn’t hear them through the walls. They were speaking Japanese, but they weren’t exactly being quiet. Shirabu was liked on his floor because he didn’t make much noise. He had a reputation to uphold, here.

“Yes, you are.” Semi grinned at him and raised his finger to poke at Shirabu’s cheek.

Shirabu gaped at him, smacking his hand away like a pesky fly. Most of the time, Semi was a pesky fly. He had never been close enough to slap while being one, though.

Just as Shirabu was about to catch Semi’s arm with a particularly snappy slap, the man opened his hand, caught Shirabu’s wrist, and laced their fingers together. Even though there was a barely there, high blush on Semi’s face, the man looked elated that he had rendered Shirabu speechless and as still as the statue they had been talking about earlier.

And Shirabu was awestruck. The last noise that had come out of his gaping mouth had been akin to a squeal. His hand felt like it was on fire, and the rest of his body wasn’t faring much better. Semi’s hand was hot, the tips of his fingers were grainy with forming calluses, but the rest of the skin was smooth.

Semi had a large freckle on the inside of his wrist that Shirabu had never noticed before. His fingers were longer and just as thin as Shirabu’s own, but there was a certain musculature to them that reminded Shirabu that Semi played the guitar.

His mouth was open, he could barely take a breath in, and Semi was surely laughing at him. He couldn’t take his eyes off their hands. Semi had pulled them into his own lap and was rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the back of Shirabu’s hand like he was trying to make it more obvious that they were attached together.

“I didn’t think you’d be this dumbstruck by holding hands,” was the first sentence that penetrated Shirabu’s panic bubble.

“I am not dumbstruck, Jesus, you’re so dramatic,” Shirabu muttered, rethinking every choice he had made to get to this point in his life. He didn’t pull his hand away, though. He didn’t think he could have even if he tried. “I was just surprised.”

“Yeah, okay,” Semi chuckled.

Shirabu was a little dumbstruck. His stomach was in knots. He didn’t know how to name what he was feeling, and he hated it, but the warmth spreading across his skin made it worth it.

“We’re holding hands,” Shirabu whispered, not meaning to and regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“I can see that.” Semi squeezed Shirabu’s hand and chuckled. “You blind or something?”

“Shut up.” Shirabu turned away from him. If he had had some control over his hand, he probably would have crossed his arms, but since he didn’t, he played with a loose thread on his sweatpants and tried to breathe.

He had never held someone’s hand. Not like this.

It was strange, he could feel sweat in between their palms, and it felt too hot, but he didn’t want to let go. Semi had given him plenty of opportunity to let go since he had taken hold, but Shirabu hadn’t even thought about it. It was new, weird, comforting, and the last thing he had expected to happen when Semi infiltrated his dorm room.

Ten minutes hadn’t passed since he had walked through the door.

“You okay in there?” Semi tapped against Shirabu’s temple.

“I’m fine.” Shirabu swatted Semi’s fingers away with his free hand.

“You’re shaking.” Semi squeezed Shirabu’s hand again.

“I am not!”

He was. He was nervous. He hated that he was nervous because there was nothing to be nervous about. It was just Semi – the man who had run into him and ruined his yellow sweatshirt with grape juice; the man who challenged him around every corner; his competition for starting centre midfielder; an annoying thorn in his side that always pushed him to get fitter and think faster on the field and in the ASA. There was nothing to worry about.

Except, what if Shirabu wasn’t good enough at this. Semi had experience. He had had two girlfriends in his time at Blair Academy, and was always the dumper, not the dumpee. He never talked badly about them in public because he was respectful like that, and nobody – not even Tendou – could ever convince him to. Semi had been pictured climbing out of a third-floor window in Mason Hall a year before – the third floor was the girl’s floor – and he had smirked at the camera when he saw it.

Semi had spent the night with a girl. He probably wasn’t a virgin. He had held hands probably one thousand times and this was Shirabu’s first.

Goddamnit, maybe Shirabu did have something to worry about. He didn’t like to disappoint people, and he didn’t like to lose.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous, you know,” Semi said quietly. “I’m nervous.”

“Huh?” Shirabu finally turned to him. He was looking down at their conjoined hands like he was trying to solve a murder.

“I know you know I've been with girls... everybody knows. It's not a reputation I'm proud of, but people respect me for it for some reason... but that’s not the point.” Semi sighed. “I’ve never held a guy’s hand. I've never kissed a guy. I've had crushes and stuff, but this is new to me too...”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Semi glanced away from their hands, found Shirabu’s eyes, and smiled shyly. There was some of his omnipresent arrogance lingering in the way he looked at Shirabu, but it wasn’t nearly as present as it was in soccer practice. He was telling the truth. “I’m nervous too.”

“Okay.” Shirabu looked away and, without meaning to, smoothed his thumb over Semi’s index finger. He felt the man twitch, but he didn’t pull away. Neither of them did. Neither of them wanted to. “We’re both nervous.”

Knowing that Semi was nervous let Shirabu relax a little. He wasn’t the only inexperienced one. They were just as inexperienced with boys as the next closeted gay on campus (and Shirabu could name a fucking few too many because they watched him, an uncloseted gay, like his fan club did).

“Yup, just two nervous guys who like boys.” Shirabu could hear the small smirk in Semi’s voice, but it was almost overshadowed by a real smile. He wasn’t looking, but the uptick in his words were evident. It almost made Shirabu smile too.

Instead of smiling, even though he really wanted to, he bit his tongue and said, “Do you want to let go for a second to wipe the sweat off?”

Semi let out a disgustingly loud snort, folding himself in half to shield his face. He cackled into his free hand; it was the sort of sound that someone would have called ugly if they hadn’t seen who it was coming from. The man laughing had the most wonderful smile on his face, a blush settled on his cheeks, and was slapping his leg like that would help him calm down.

Instead of hot or adorable or cute or whatever Shirabu’s traitorous inner voice had described Semi as in the past week, the word beautiful came to mind.

“It wasn’t supposed to be funny! Your hands are sweaty!” Shirabu sputtered around his own laughter, which he was trying, and failing, to swallow down.

Semi only laughed harder at the add-on.

Through it all, their hands stayed locked together in a tangle of fingers and comfort. Shirabu didn’t mind. The sweat wasn’t that much of an issue if he focused on something else, and the way Semi was laughing was the perfect distraction.

When the floor prefect knocked on the door almost five minutes later, saying something about the noise level, they finally calmed down enough to breathe. They drew up a new rule, adding it to the short list they had made a week before.

13. Hold hands often 

And they did.

They held hands often.

Whenever Semi remembered to, he reached out and laced their fingers together like it was something he wanted to do, not something he was required to do to make their fake relationship believable.

At breakfast, they held hands under the table until they got frustrated with eating with one hand – that pattern held for every meal they sat next to each other for. In the hallways, Semi kept Shirabu’s hand in a loose hold until they had to go their separate ways. Whenever they walked anywhere together – to the dorms, to soccer practice, to classes – Semi scooped up Shirabu’s hand and didn’t let go until it was absolutely necessary to.

It was always Semi initiating things, and Shirabu didn’t mind that as much as he thought he would have. Semi had always had perfect timing and grace, and he wasn’t awkward; unlike Shirabu, who hesitated around every corner when it came to romantic gestures.

After a week, Shirabu still blushed when Semi’s fingers so much as grazed his own. He was no less used to the feeling of having his stomach drop out of his ass and fly away as if it had grown wings during the fall, and he definitely wasn’t getting used to the way his cheeks heated to feverish temperatures every time Semi squeezed their palms together.

His heart fluttered when they spent time together. His intestines swirled like he had chugged a milkshake for breakfast. His skin tingled with pins and needles, and his chest swelled with something akin to pride every time they held hands.

And despite all of that, it seemed as though nothing had changed. Shirabu’s fan club had all but fallen off the face of the planet as soon as they had seen him holding Semi’s hand, but that wasn’t out of the norm; they had done that when Shirabu had accidentally come out too. Semi’s fan club, on the other hand, seemed to take Shirabu’s presence as a challenge.

In just one week, Shirabu had had more bad run-ins with Semi’s fan club than his own in all his years at Blair Academy combined.

He was glared at in the hallways. He was whispered about behind hands, whether Semi was there or not. The girls grew more invasive, more conniving, and more bold in their attempts to draw Semi’s attention away.

Semi had to endure cornered conversations, had to turn down offers to be in English lit, drama, and Spanish study groups, and he had had to turn down at least twenty Winter dance proposals (which was more than two months away). Some were public, most were private, and some were even in front of Shirabu himself.

It was like they didn’t even care that Semi was holding Shirabu’s hand. They asked his (fake) boyfriend to the Winter dance like they couldn’t even see him. Simultaneously, he felt like he was back in his first year of middle school, invisible and alone, and his last year of middle school, bullied and glared at because of his sexuality.

He felt disgusting, and Semi didn’t feel any better.

On more than one occasion in that week alone, Shirabu had had to call Taichi to let down the rope from his dorm window because they couldn’t go through the front door. They had to hide in corners, in empty classrooms, in the locker room, or with Takeda (the only teacher who noticed (and believed) their struggles with these girls). It was only getting worse.

By the eighth day of hand holding, and the third day in a row of climbing into Taichi’s dorm through his window just to reach their own, Semi was more than pissed.

As soon as his feet touched the floor, he grabbed Shirabu’s hand and pulled.

“Dude, what the-” Taichi started.

“Uh, Eita-” Shirabu was cut off by Semi yanking Shirabu’s lanyard over his head and unlocking his dorm. Before Taichi or Shirabu had time to say anything more, Shirabu’s door was slammed, his lanyard was thrown in the general direction of his bed, and his wrist had been let go.

Semi paced back and forth from Shirabu’s bed to his desk. Shirabu watched, confused, like he was seeing an animal behave out of character at a zoo. Semi’s breath came in angry pants, his eyes were glued to the floor, as wide as Shirabu had ever seen them, and his shoulders were hunched so high that they almost touched his ears.

Shirabu rubbed his wrist. The skin where Semi had held him was tingling again. It didn't hurt; it had been surprising, but it hadn't hurt.

Semi stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Shirabu rubbing the skin, horror crowding the anger that had previously been glazing over his eyes.

“Shit, did I hurt you? Fuck, Kenjirou, I'm so sorry, I-” Semi slapped both hands over his face and groaned like it physically pained him to breathe.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Shirabu said. Sometimes, when Semi called him by his given name, which was always, a jolt of something like static electricity would squeeze his lungs together. Over the previous week, he had gotten used to it, but sometimes it still made him flinch.

Semi took the flinch he watched through his fingers as Shirabu lying about the amount of pain he was in, even though Shirabu wasn’t in any pain at all. He padded across the floor and gingerly picked up the affected (really, it was unaffected) wrist. His thumbs smoothed over the tendon, his palms squeezed against the knuckles, and Shirabu watched like Semi had never played with his hands before.

He did it often, but this was different. He was gentle, like he was afraid. His fingers vibrated with the anger he was barely concealing but he was still treating Shirabu’s wrist as if it were a sleeping puppy.

“Sorry,” he breathed the tension out of his shoulders. “It’s been a tough week.”

“Fucking tell me about it,” Shirabu muttered. “Also, you didn’t hurt me.”

“You said that already.”

“And you didn’t believe me.” Shirabu tried to catch his wandering gaze, but Semi avoided it like the plague.

There had been a rumour about him in Shirabu’s first year at Blair Academy. Something about Anger Management classes and a violent incident in Semi’s first year. It was just a rumour, but the fear Shirabu saw in Semi’s eyes when the man thought he had hurt him might have confirmed it.

“I’m fine.” Shirabu snatched his wrist out of Semi’s hold and twisted it around to show him that, yes, he was completely fine. He cracked his knuckles, made a fist, and bent his thumb all the way down to his wrist, which had always freaked everybody out, but it seemed to soothe Semi’s intrusive thoughts.

“Yeah, okay,” Semi said quietly.

He still wouldn’t look up.

Shirabu sighed. “I was going to watch a movie and procrastinate my physics homework. Do you want to stay?”

After a pause, Semi looked up at Shirabu through his lashes. Shirabu didn’t know how Semi managed to do it, considering that Semi was two inches taller than him.

“What movie?” Semi asked.

“Beautiful Thing, it came out in 1996. Taichi recommended it,” Shirabu answered.

“I’ve heard of it.” Semi snorted quietly. “It’s super gay.”

“That’s the reason Taichi recommended it. Last week, he recommended Brokeback Mountain.” 

Again, Semi snorted. “Typical.”

He still hadn’t given a definitive answer, but Shirabu decided to take the small smile playing on Semi’s lips as a yes. He slipped his shoes off, threw his bag onto his desk chair, and grabbed his portable DVD player from his sock drawer. Semi followed his lead, sitting on the edge of Shirabu’s bed like he hadn’t been invited to stay.

“Come on.” Shirabu tugged at the sleeve of Semi’s jacket and the man barely resisted the pull.

They sat against the wall, with a pillow behind their backs, the DVD player propped up on Shirabu’s bedside table. The movie wasn’t particularly great, but it wasn’t bad either. Shirabu found it difficult to understand the accents at times, but he found himself missing essential plot points because Semi had taken to pressing their thighs together halfway through the movie.

It was innocent.

“Ugh, woah.” Semi grimaced when the two boys on screen started to make out.  

“Homophobic, are we, Eita?” Shirabu had to look away too.

“You know it’s not that. You can’t even watch it,” Semi said quietly. “There’s too much head movement. They’re going at it too hard. It's like they’re trying to taste each other’s stomachs.”

“Oh, jeez!” Shirabu slapped a hand over his mouth to contain his mortified laughter.

“It’s true! You can see it, right! Tell me you can see it!” Semi exclaimed, his own second-hand embarrassment seeping through and pitching his voice ten octaves higher than normal.

“Just because I can see it doesn’t mean I want to!” Shirabu spoke through his fingers and laughter. The movie was still playing in the background, and all Shirabu could think about was the mashing of the boy’s faces. Semi was right, it was like they were trying to shove their tongues down the other’s lungs – not throats, lungs.

If anyone tried to kiss him like that, he would have slapped them.

Semi wouldn’t kiss him like that, Shirabu thought, and immediately, his laughter stopped. Him and his treacherous, backstabbing, disloyal, double-crossing, two-faced, another-word-for-traitorous brain settled back down to watch the rest of the movie, but he couldn’t focus on it. All he could focus on was Semi.

Semi’s thigh, which was still pressing into his. Semi’s breath, which he felt when Semi leaned in to comment on something about the movie. Semi’s hand, which was creeping closer to his, millimetre by millimetre. Semi.

Eita.

Fucking hell.

When the ending credits rolled, Semi turned to him. He crossed his legs and slouched into something vaguely pretzel-like. Shirabu knew that Semi sat like this whenever he could, but it was still strange to see up close. If Shirabu had tried to do anything close to it, he probably would have broken his spine.

“So, I was thinking,” Semi started.

“I owe Taichi money,” Shirabu muttered to lighten the tensing mood.

“Huh?”

“I bet Taichi twenty bucks that when you think, smoke comes out of your ears. I was wrong, so I owe him money,” Shirabu said flatly.

Semi deadpanned. “Moving on. I was thinking that hand holding isn’t enough.”

“Probably,” Shirabu said after a sigh. He was right, hand holding probably wasn’t enough to get these girls to back off of Semi and Shirabu like they had for Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Both of them didn’t want to start making out in public, but they had to do something more.

“I have a few ideas-”

“No making out in public.”

“Dude, obviously,” Semi said plainly, as if Shirabu stating it had offended him. “I know that sort of stuff makes you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t put you in that position for anything.”

“Such a gentleman,” Shirabu said sarcastically, even though he really thought it was true.

Semi looked at the ceiling like he was asking for a higher power’s help. “So, these ideas. Flowers, hugs, maybe walking with our arms around each other or something like that, and-” he hesitated, glancing around Shirabu’s face like he was trying to gauge his mood. “Cheek and forehead kisses – if you’re okay with it. Obviously, I'm okay with it but if you’re not then-”

The man continued to ramble while Shirabu locked himself in his mind and didn’t come out until he had run every single scenario Semi had suggested forty times over (it took around five seconds). Flowers weren’t in season, so that didn’t make sense unless Semi had access to the greenhouse. Hugs were fine, Shirabu had said so already. He liked hugs when he saw them coming and if he trusted the person hugging him.

His trust in Semi, for a reason that he wasn’t ready nor willing to think about, had grown over the two weeks they had been (fake) dating. He hadn’t noticed the change until he found himself gravitating towards Semi when their fan girls scared him instead of away from Semi and out on his own. It was like he was trying to shield himself, and his subconscious had labelled Semi as protection.

It wasn’t a big change, but to Shirabu, it was practically going from thirty inches of curls to a shaved head. He had never done that with anyone before, not even Taichi.

When he sifted through the confusion that the new trust had brought and found himself actually liking the feeling, it made him want more from the man. Hugs were more.

Cheek and forehead kisses were also more.

They were a lot more.

Semi was still rambling when Shirabu emerged back into the real world.

“Stop,” Shirabu said. Semi shut his mouth with an audible pop and stared at Shirabu like he was the only man in the world. It made him squirm, but he had made up his mind and there was no going back. “I’m fine with it.”

“Really?” Semi asked, a tidbit of hope shining through the sceptical tone.

“Yeah, really.” Shirabu rolled his eyes to avoid eye contact. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

“I know,” Semi said quietly. “Should we practice?”

Shirabu was going to combust and die, and it was going to be Semi’s fault. Why did he agree to this again?

Oh, right, because they were being stalked and this was the only idea that they could come up with because there was a working example of it in their friend group (Oikawa and Iwaizumi). A solid plan for two stupid boys, at Shirabu’s fucking service.

“I don’t see why not.”

It was too late at night for this.

It was 6:00pm.

Semi sat up straight, but his legs were still crossed at an uncomfortable looking angle. Shirabu was in the same position as he had been since the movie started. His feet were going numb, and his lungs were on fire, but the latter wasn’t from lack of movement.

“Okay, we should stand up then,” Semi said.

“Why?” Shirabu asked on reflex.

“I can’t hug you in bed, we’d both fall over,” Semi said, like the answer should have been obvious.

If Shirabu hesitated, Semi didn’t notice because he was too busy untangling his legs.

When they were standing, around half a foot apart, Shirabu noticed just how much of a difference two inches could make. He had to look up at Semi when they stood this close – a physical chin tilt was needed if he didn’t want to look through his eyelashes like some love-struck puppy.

“Okay, how do you want to do this?” Semi asked, as if Shirabu would know. “Do you want to go over my shoulders or you can go under and I can go over, or...” 

Semi trailed off, muttering something more about arm placement.

“How did you hug your ex’s?” Shirabu threw Semi a bone, but all that seemed to do was make his internal dilemma even more harrowing.

He scratched at the barely-there stubble on his jaw and sighed. “They were all much shorter than you, so I usually hugged them around their shoulders and then they hugged me around my torso... but there were times where they would put their arms around my neck and then-”

“Okay, stop.” Shirabu didn’t want the gory details. “The first way seems fine.”

“Alright, whatever you’re comfortable with,” Semi said, like a gentleman but also stepping an inch closer and making Shirabu tense.

It shouldn’t have been so nerve wracking. It was just a hug. Shirabu, only two minutes earlier, had wanted a hug from the man. He noticed that when faced with something head on, he normally froze, but in his head, he was as confident as Semi.

He just had to channel that.

But Semi beat him to it.

Arms were circling his shoulders before he could even plan what he was going to do next. Semi smelled like Calvin Klein cologne, grass, and Downy laundry detergent. It was, at the same time, fresh and artfully constructed. He breathed it in for a moment before raising his own arms to wrap around Semi’s middle.

And then, they were hugging.

It was simple.

Shirabu’s entire front was on fire. Every point of contact, from thighs to hips to chest was burning with fever, but he was more comfortable than he ever had been in his life. Normally, hugs were a chore for him. He stayed in them for as long as he could stand, and then backed away as politely as possible.

Semi tightened his arms ever so slightly, shifting his weight to get more comfortable. As soon as Semi stopped moving, Shirabu tightened his own and turned his head to lay it on Semi’s shoulder.

It felt natural. They felt natural.

They pulled away at the same time. Both of them were warm and when they checked the clock, which had said 6:01pm before they had started, they warmed even further.

6:08.

“Nice,” Shirabu muttered.

“Cool,” Semi said. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Sweet...”

Semi rubbed his hands together and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Do we need to practise walking with our arms around each other? That seems a bit counterproductive since there’s not much space in here.”

“Maybe it doesn’t even need to be done. Our heights would probably make it awkward in some way... maybe we can just put our arms around each other while sitting,” Shirabu suggested.

“Sounds good, sounds good,” Semi said. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“We should sit, then?”

“Yeah, okay.” Semi jumped into action too quickly. Shirabu was right behind him, almost getting kicked in the gut when Semi flipped himself into the corner of the bed. He sat against the padded headboard that Shirabu had installed himself, muttering the word cool over and over again.

It would have been annoying if Shirabu hadn’t been in a similar mental state.

Semi held out his arm. It should have been daunting but after hugging for seven minutes straight and not even realising it, two people begin to get more comfortable around each other.

That, or Shirabu was just too surprised to think twice.

He practically leapt under Semi’s arm. It wasn’t very comfortable. The headboard behind them was too straight and too high to give much leeway, Semi was slouching, and that made it difficult for both of them to find a comfortable position.

It would have been more comfortable lying down, Shirabu thought, but that was a step neither of them were willing to take or think about.

The cramped situation effectively broke the daze they had been under since they had come up for air from the hug, but that spell – the hazy, wonderful, nauseating spell – snapped back into place as soon as Semi retracted his arm.

If the practice was going by the list that Semi had mentioned earlier, there was really only one thing left.

All of a sudden, Shirabu felt like it was too cramped in his room. He missed the spacious room, queen sized bed, and large windows of his room back in Japan. If they had been in that room, Shirabu would have been able to move away from Semi without falling off the bed. If they had been in that room, they could have played music or something, because the walls inside his parent’s house were soundproofed.

“You good?” Semi asked. It sounded more like he was asking himself.

“Yup,” Shirabu answered. “I’m fine. You?”

“I’m good,” Semi said.

The quiet that fell between them was awkward, but not totally silent. Through the walls, Shirabu could hear music, laughing, and talking. There were soft footfalls above him, and there was a shower running down the hall. Semi’s breaths were quiet, but not unheard, shaking on the inhale and pushed out on the exhale.

“How did you do this with your girlfriends?” Shirabu asked softly. The question had helped to jumpstart their hug. Maybe it could have helped with forehead and cheek kisses, Shirabu thought.

“It wasn’t something I thought about,” Semi answered, slow and thoughtful. “I didn’t really do it much because they were so much shorter than me, but if we were hugging, sometimes I'd kiss the top of their heads. It was more of an impulsive decision, I guess.”

Great, well that was no help.

In the movies, Shirabu always saw the man slowly entering for a cheek kiss. There was hesitation – an out for the girl, Shirabu thought – but when the girl didn’t move, the man always pressed it softly to the apple of her cheek and it always earned him a smile when he turned away to leave. Forehead kisses were for after sweet make out sessions or a comforting gesture for a crying person.

Nothing felt right. If Semi had something planned, he wasn’t saying anything. Shirabu wanted Semi to say something. He was better at this even when he was nervous. Shirabu was just an inexperienced junior giving up all his firsts for something fake.

And he liked it.

“Make an impulsive move then,” Shirabu said. It wasn’t firm, but it wasn’t soft either. Semi flinched at the tone, sitting up straight as if he had just been scolded by his old middle school math teacher.

“Um, okay,” Semi stuttered. “We should stand up again.”

Shirabu followed his loose instructions. Semi stood, and soon, they were back in the same positions they had been before the hug, if a little further apart.

“What now?”

“I’m getting to it,” Semi snapped quietly. He wasn’t mad so much as nervous. Seeing Semi nervous had comforted Shirabu when they were holding hands. Now, it just made him more nervous.

He wondered if Semi was nervous because he didn’t want to do this but was playing along for Shirabu’s sake. Or maybe Semi was nervous because he wanted to do it too much and was overthinking everything to the point of indecision. It was probably the former.

“If you want me to stop, just say so and I will, okay?” Semi’s hand twitched at his side before slowly rising to rest under Shirabu’s ear.

Shaking fingers rubbed against his nape, a warm thumb vibrated against his cheek, nervous eyes scanned his face for any sign of discomfort. They found none. They were both shaking so much that they cancelled each other out. It was like they were on the same wavelength; their worlds were vibrating to the same beat and making it seem like they weren’t shaking at all.

Semi leaned in like he was going to kiss him. His eyes almost closed, he glanced at Shirabu’s lips, his breath caressed over Shirabu’s nose, but at the last second, he swerved.

Lips connected softly with Shirabu’s cheek. The hand that held the other side of his face pressed them together. Faint and sweet, blooming with warmth like a flower sprouting from a pile of melting snow.

The seconds passed, and Semi retreated, but he didn’t go far. As soon as his lips left Shirabu’s cheek, they climbed up to touch his forehead in one, fluid motion that left Shirabu breathless. Semi’s hand tilted his chin up like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

They parted and Shirabu felt a draft of cold air wash over his face. It was like a slap, or a bucket of ice water. He shook it off.

“Your turn?” Semi said.

Another bucket of ice water.

“Okay.” Shirabu had only the lamp on his bedside table to illuminate Semi’s face. The blue lampshade made it difficult to tell if Semi was blushing as hard as Shirabu was or not.

He was, but Shirabu couldn’t tell.

Shirabu’s hand rose and placed itself in the same position that Semi’s had. He felt the man’s heartbeat against his palm – quick and stuttering with his breath like it was running for its life. The hair that Shirabu was able to touch against the back of Semi’s head was softer than he had expected it to be. He had expected split ends and bleach fried strands, not something as smooth as silk and as soft as cotton.

He had to raise himself onto his tiptoes to place a quick kiss on Semi’s cheek, to which both of them sucked in quiet breaths through their teeth.

For the forehead kiss, Shirabu acted on something akin to instinct. He had never really believed in God, even though he was raised Catholic, but when his hands moved, he wasn’t sure if it was him who guided himself, or Him.

Shirabu cupped the back of Semi’s head with both hands, pushing his fingers into the strands of grey and black silk, and pressed a lingering kiss right in between the man’s raised eyebrows. He felt Semi relax before he felt hands fall onto his hips.

As Shirabu began to pull away, the hands on his hips stayed. If Shirabu hadn’t been so in tune with the way Semi was moving, he probably would have missed the minuscule pull against the fabric of his sweater. It didn’t move him – Semi hadn’t meant for it to move him, nor had he meant to do it at all – but Shirabu found that he had wanted it to.

They stared at each other for one, two, three seconds before speaking.

“Nice,” Semi whispered. He still hadn’t let go.

“Very,” Shirabu whispered back. He didn’t want Semi to let go.

“Sorry for grabbing you,” Semi glanced down at his hands, not moving them. “It just felt...” he trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Natural?” Shirabu finished.

“Yeah,” Semi nodded. “Natural.”

After a couple more seconds, they both jumped back into the real world like someone had thrown curve balls at their temples. Semi retracted his hands back to his sides, wiping sweaty palms against his loose joggers. Shirabu crossed his arms and started stuttering.

“It’s getting pretty late, and I have a paper to finish.”

“No, yeah, me too,” Semi, equally embarrassed, spluttered.

Shirabu walked him to the door, opened it, and was nearly blinded by the bright hallway lights. They blinked the spots from their eyes only to be blinded by the firetruck red of their cheeks, which served to worsen the colour for both of them.

Semi practically sprinted for the stairs, shouting a small “see you tomorrow” over his shoulder. Shirabu watched him go until the stairwell door clicked back into place.

“A-hem.” Someone sarcastically cleared their throat, and Shirabu almost screamed. Taichi had been watching the entire thing from the bathroom door, which was only two doors down from his. He had a towel draped around his neck and a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

He looked like he was debating whether he should question Shirabu’s intentions or start laughing.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Taichi asked through a huff.

It seemed as though Taichi had picked both.

“Shut up!” Shirabu slammed his door and heard Taichi cackling until the man entered his own room.

Shirabu went to sleep that night with his heart hammering with questions and his mind racing with rushing blood.

The next morning, Semi wasn’t at breakfast.

It would have worried Shirabu if Semi hadn’t missed a breakfast or two before. There was always at least two days a month when Semi would be completely unheard of before lunch. He went radio silent, he evaporated, he dematerialized, and only reappeared when the lunch bell rang, and he could get a warm croissant.

This day was one of those days.

Shirabu missed the protection against the girls (read: he missed Semi), throughout the morning. He typed out at least five text messages, some funny and some questioning, only to delete them directly afterwards. He knew that Semi would be back before lunch, so he didn’t let himself worry too much.

When Semi wasn’t back before lunch, though, even Tendou started to get worried. It wasn’t often that Tendou was outwardly worried about anything, but before the man could say anything, the object of their worries rushed through the door halfway through lunch.

His school bag was flinging behind him like a kite, and he was holding a small, cardboard box like it would kill him if he let go.

“Kenjirou, hey.” Semi, oblivious to the collective sigh of relief the ASA let out when he sat down, slid the box towards Shirabu and grinned. “Sorry I'm so late, there was an accident on the highway, and the early lunch with my dad ran long but I got you something.”

“Wait.” Shirabu held up his hand. “Highway? Why did you leave campus?”

Semi cocked his head to the side like a confused bird. It was so adorable that Shirabu had to physically restrain himself from smiling.

“I thought you knew that I have anger management in the city every second and fourth Friday of the month. Me and my dad make a half day of it and get lunch at my stepmom’s restaurant,” Semi said.

Shirabu had never once been told that, but he nodded along like he remembered. He didn’t want to say he was jealous of Semi getting to leave campus – anger management didn’t sound very appealing, but the rest of it, like off campus food and spending time with family, sounded like a dream to Shirabu. He hadn’t left the state of New Jersey since the summer in between his first and second year, over a year earlier.

“What’s that?” Shirabu nodded to the cardboard box. It looked like a pastry box.

“Open it and find out.” Semi winked at him. He straddled the bench seat and leaned his head on his hand, unaware of the rest of the ASA staring at him like he had grown a second head and two new arms.

That probably would have been more likely two weeks earlier than seeing Semi Eita openly and proudly flirt with Shirabu Kenjirou.

Shirabu tapped at the box as if it were a bomb, and Semi’s smile didn’t fade as he pranced around the thing instead of actually opening it. It was probably because he already knew what Shirabu’s face would look like when he finally did open it.

Surprise, awe, and maybe a little happiness, Semi had guessed.

He was wrong.

When Shirabu opened the box, happiness trumped every other feeling whizzing around in his mind.

“Eita!” Semi blinked when Shirabu looked up at him. Shirabu’s eyes were wide, his pupils were blown, and he had the biggest smile that Semi had ever seen on his face. “This is awesome!”

Their friends had never been more surprised in their lives. They all stared with some form of shock as Shirabu’s grin turned into a beam, and almost all of them gasped when Shirabu wrapped his arms around Semi’s neck and laughed.

Semi chuckled with him. “Kenjirou, it’s just a piece of cake, calm down!”

“You ass, it’s not just cake!” Shirabu pulled away. “It’s red velvet. I haven’t eaten anything off campus in months. Let me have this!”

“Fine, fine.” Semi smiled at him and started to get up. “I’m going to go see if there’s any croissants left.”

“Don’t, I saved you one,” Shirabu sputtered, his mouth full of decadent red velvet and smooth cream cheese frosting. He pushed his forgotten lunch tray towards Semi and gestured to the croissant on the corner, untouched and still warm.

“Ah, sweet.” Semi sat back down again. “Thanks.”

Oikawa nearly fainted when Semi pressed a kiss to Shirabu’s temple. If Shirabu hadn’t been so invested in his cake, he probably would have reacted similarly.

It was the best lunch hour either of them had had in a long while.

Normally, Semi’s anger management classes were disgustingly long and repetitive. Anger management days were anger fuelling days to him, but when he saw the red velvet cake in the glass case at his stepmother’s restaurant, he thought back to the ASA’s last annual graduation sleepover when Shirabu had told everyone that it was his favourite dessert.

Shirabu’s reaction had made his day – it had probably made his week, to be honest. Semi noticed that Shirabu had been doing a lot of that lately. Even when he was grumpy himself, he made Semi feel like he was doing something right.

Unintentionally, this (fake) relationship was doing a lot of good for the both of them.

The way Semi and Shirabu had gone about this relationship had been unconventional. They had started innocently and had gradually worked their way up over a series of three weeks. From the middle of October to the end of the first week in November, Shirabu and Semi’s relationship was public and fake.

On November 11th, Semi’s eighteenth birthday, however, things were private.

(And not so fake, but we’re not going to think about that just yet.)

The public forehead and cheek kisses had been sailing about as smoothly as a twenty-foot lifeboat in the middle of a Pacific storm. The girls in Shirabu’s fan club, as mentioned before, had all but evaporated, but Semi’s were just as ruthless as ever.

Shirabu was competition to them – a hurdle to jump over to get to the final prize. Semi did his best to stay calm as he was tugged this way and that when all he wanted was to sit with his (fake) boyfriend and play slap jack during the one free period they had together per week.

Ever since their movie night they had been spending a lot more time together, too. Semi always made an effort to invite himself over, giving no more than a two-minute notice through text. They would study together (read: Shirabu would study, and Semi would read); they would watch more gay movies, going almost uncomfortably quiet when a kissing (or something steamier) scene would come on; they practiced a few more things.

Hugs from behind. Pressing foreheads together. Slow dancing, because the Winter Dance was looming, and Semi had stated that Shirabu was his date enough times to warrant a neon sign. A lot of hand holding.

Innocent stuff.

On November 11th, however, Semi didn’t show up for morning classes. Shirabu had expected this – Semi had told him that he was going into the city with his father again – but when he didn’t show up for lunch or afternoon classes, Shirabu started to get worried.

“Don’t worry, Shira-kun,” Tendou said during a break in between Shirabu’s second to last and last class, showing up out of thin air and almost giving Shirabu a heart attack. “Semi always takes the day off after a birthday breakfast with the big bad wolf of Wall Street.”

“Birthday?” Shirabu had whispered.

“What, do you not know your boyfriend’s own birthday?” Tendou clapped his hands against his cheeks. “Colour me intrigued!”

“Shut up, Tendou,” Shirabu muttered. He turned away from the man and ignored the loud, hyena calls directed at his back, letting his feet carry him away from his calculus class.

He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. By the time consciousness entered the chat again, he was passing his key card through his dorm building’s front door. It was only after he forewent the stairs completely and started walking towards the second to last room on the first floor that he really stopped to think.

He was skipping class.

His calculus teacher would surely miss his presence in the second row and his eternally raised hand. He would probably report the absence to the dean and Shirabu would have to make up some long-winded story about sickness that Tendou, if asked, would have to back up (which would take a lot of bribery) because he was the last person Shirabu had been seen talking to.

And he didn’t care. The way Tendou had worded it made it seem like Semi was going through something far worse than whatever punishment Shirabu could have been doled out for skipping a class.

It was Shirabu’s first offence, what were they going to do, sue him? His (fake) boyfriend’s father was a lawyer.

He knocked on Semi’s door. When there was no answer, he turned the handle. It was unlocked, but there was no one inside.

Semi’s laptop was open on his desk, but not turned on. His phone sat on his bed, untouched and turned off. The lamp beside his bed was on, but Semi was nowhere in sight.

Shirabu turned to leave, but something in Semi’s closet caught his eye.

A pair of shoes was missing from Semi’s line up. Based on the shoes that Shirabu had seen him wearing over the years, he guessed that Semi’s hiking boots were gone. Also, Semi’s coat had disappeared from the hook behind his door.

Shirabu left with this new information in tow and set off to a new destination after retrieving his own hiking boots and large coat from his room. He crossed the lacrosse practice field, avoided the eyes of teachers, and prayed that the journey he remembered taking almost three weeks earlier was the same journey he was trekking.

It took twenty minutes and three incidents that almost landed his ass in the slush, but he finally saw what he had been looking for. He nearly called out, but he felt that that would have been a touch dramatic. Instead, he walked up to the tree trunk and looked up.

Semi was there, sitting on a thick branch around ten metres up. He had one headphone in, one headphone out. His eyes were closed against the bright sun, his head was tilted back against the uneven bark, and even from all the way at the bottom, Shirabu could see that Semi’s jaw was clenched as tight as it could have gone.

He slapped the trunk. Semi didn’t wake.

“Yo!” Shirabu called.

Still, nothing.

Shirabu glanced around and found the carved footholds in the bark Semi had mentioned. He was around halfway up when he called out again.

“What the-” Semi startled but didn’t sway against the large branch. Shirabu wondered if the man was tied to the branch somehow, or if he just had good balance. “Kenjirou? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know, just skipping class,” Shirabu said casually, as if he wasn’t ten metres off the ground. The branch seemed a lot higher from the air than it had from the ground. Shirabu had never been afraid of heights, but the sturdiness of the footholds did concern him a little.

Semi grabbed his arm to help him scramble onto the branch. Shirabu threw his leg over and was surprised at how wide it was underneath him. It reminded him of a small child sitting on a fat pony.

“Are you really skipping class?” Semi sat up and pulled his headphone out. He looked like he was debating on whether he should give a lecture or be proud. The latter seemed to be winning.

“Yeah. It's just calc,” Shirabu said. He didn’t know whether he should have mentioned Semi’s birthday or not. To be honest, he had completely forgotten. Semi didn’t celebrate his birthday. Shirabu wasn’t quite sure if Semi had told anyone his birthday.

Tendou had most likely gotten it off Semi’s student ID, just like he had gotten Shirabu’s and Iwaizumi’s.

“‘Just calc’, he says.” Semi rolled his eyes light-heartedly, but Shirabu could tell that he was nervous – for Shirabu’s reputation and perfect attendance or for himself, Shirabu couldn’t tell. Either way, he wanted to help Semi feel better.

“Well, it’s not like I'm skipping a biology lab,” Shirabu joked.

“Yeah, Kyotani would have killed you.” Semi huffed a laugh through his nose, subdued and tired. Shirabu had never seen him like that before.

A silence passed over them. Shirabu could hear Semi’s music still playing through his discarded headphones. A light, but chilling breeze flowed in the space in between them and Shirabu saw Semi shiver. He had been out there for a while, based on Tendou’s information.

Semi wouldn’t look at him. Shirabu didn’t think it was because he didn’t want to see him, he thought it was because he couldn’t. He looked ashamed, Shirabu thought.

“Are you cold?” Shirabu, carefully, took the jacket he had tied around his waist and held it out. Semi shook his head no, but the next gust of wind made him retreat into his own coat like a turtle.

“It’s usually not this cold when I come out here,” Semi said as he wrapped the jacket around his head.

“It’s called climate change, not weather change,” Shirabu said.

Semi scoffed into his gloved hand, hiding a small smile. Even though he still hadn’t looked at Shirabu yet, he seemed to be in a better mood than when Shirabu had first arrived.

Shirabu scooched down the branch until he was as close as he could get without sitting in Semi’s lap. If they had been in a (real) relationship, maybe Shirabu might have. He was considering it.

“Kenjirou,” Semi whispered. His voice was almost carried away with the wind. “Why are you here?”

It wasn’t the same question, Shirabu thought. What are you doing here vs why are you here? They were virtually the same if you looked at the sentences logically, with no ulterior emotions, with inflectionless thoughts. But Shirabu thought knew Semi quite well by that point, and he knew that the questions were not the same.

“Tendou told me it was your birthday,” Shirabu answered.

Semi nodded like that was enough. Tendou had always had a loose mouth, but he never did anything that Semi could be truly mad at.

“I brought the cake back. Red velvet again,” Semi said quietly.

Against his will, Shirabu’s mouth watered. “We should go back and eat some, then.”

Semi sighed. “Kenjirou, go back to class.”

A plea, Shirabu thought. It wasn’t very convincing and, even if it was, Shirabu wouldn’t have gone. He thought the best thing to do was to keep Semi company and he had always been too stubborn for his own good.

“Can’t now. It’s almost over.” Shirabu didn’t check his watch, but he guessed that around half an hour had passed since he started his trek to the tree. “All the important stuff’s over anyway.”

That wasn’t true, but Semi didn’t need to know that.

Shirabu knocked his dangling foot against Semi’s. The man flinched as if he had been burned, but he finally looked up.

His waterline was a dull, itchy-looking red colour, and his cheeks were flushed with cold, but otherwise he looked perfectly normal. Shirabu guessed that he had been crying before but had stopped a long time ago.

“Why not stay in your room?” Shirabu found himself asking. He didn’t even have time to second guess the words before they were flowing out. “Why this tree and not... I dunno, warmth?”

Semi smiled, and chuckled wetly. He was stuffy. Shirabu wouldn’t have been surprised if they both got sick the next day. It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, because he’d have Semi in the same boat.

“It’s just a thing I've done since first year,” Semi answered honestly. “I found this tree when I got lost coming back from the first year hike and just started coming back whenever I needed to get away.”

“And your birthday makes you want to get away?” Shirabu asked.

Semi scratched the back of his head nervously. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

They were quiet for a long time after that. Semi leaned against the tree’s trunk and glared at the higher branches, and Shirabu stared at him. They were freezing, Semi was sad, and Shirabu had no idea how to talk about it.

If it was him, he wouldn’t want to talk about anything. Iwaizumi had once told him that he and Semi were two sides of the same coin, different in every aspect but for the way they dealt with difficult things. At the time, Shirabu had taken that as an insult. Up in the tree, on November 11th of Shirabu’s third year and Semi’s fourth, Shirabu thought that Iwaizumi was right.

As always, Iwaizumi would have said.

“Hey, you’re eighteen now,” Shirabu started. “You can legally drink in Montreal.”

In spite of himself, Semi laughed. It wasn’t his normal, time-stopping, hearty cackle; it was just a small expel of a few breaths paired with a soft grin. To Shirabu, it was a beautiful victory. To Semi, it was the first morsel of relief he had been hoping for all day.

It usually took four hours of rock music and six hours alone to finally feel something other than hate, self-pity, and guilt after a birthday breakfast with his father. But Shirabu had managed to pummel that time into a fraction of what it usually was.

Shirabu made things better. He had no idea what he was going to do without him at university. He would have to call him, Semi thought. Maybe they could set up a Skype call sometime -

It didn’t even cross his mind that their relationship might end when he graduated. He didn’t want it to.

When had the denial gone from denying that he wanted to be in this relationship to denying that, at some point, it had to end?

“The cake’s in my fridge. It’s giant,” Semi said softly, an open invitation for Shirabu. He really wanted the guy to take it.

“I would never pass on a free piece of cake,” Shirabu said.

Getting down from the branch was something of a nightmare. Semi climbed down first and had to yell out instructions on where Shirabu should put his feet because he couldn’t see the footholds beneath him. Around a metre off the ground, he missed one and started to fall.

Keyword being started to.

It wasn’t a high fall and Shirabu doubted that he would have actually fallen over if he had been alone, but as soon as his feet touched the ground, Semi’s arms had wound themselves around his back. It was much better than steadying himself, and it gave him an excuse to hug the man.

“You good?” Semi asked, a small hint of surprise evident in his voice as Shirabu leaned into his embrace.

“Yup, I'm fine,” Shirabu answered. “Are you?”

Semi sighed and tightened his arms. He hadn’t been, that was for certain. There was something about his father, and the way he had reacted when Semi had shown the man his university application form. The way the man’s smile had wiped off his face when Semi hadn’t listed Dartmouth even as a backup, or the way he tried to mask his disappointment that no Ivy League schools had made the list with a second beer.

It was always something with him. Semi always had something to feel guilty about. He had never wanted to feel guilty about applying to the university that he had always aspired to go to, New York University, instead of his father’s alma mater.

“I decided to apply for NYU and SCAD today.” Semi tightened his arms around Shirabu’s back. “I want to go into animation one day, I think.”

“That’s awesome, Eita. They're great schools,” Shirabu said. He was glad Semi was opening up to him, even though he hated the thought of Semi leaving him at the end of the year.

The fact that NYU was so close was comforting, though. When Shirabu got his licence, maybe he would go visit.

If Semi wanted that.

“I know, they’re awesome schools,” Semi whispered, realising that his father hadn’t complimented his university choices that morning; he didn’t say anything at all. “They’re both in the top fifty for animation and design in America.”

“Well, they’d be lucky to have you.”

Shirabu hadn’t the slightest clue why he said that. He had never seen Semi’s art or animation skills. All he knew was that Semi was officially registered in the Blair Academy computer science program, but the man took art, theatre, and English classes on the side.

Semi smiled at the compliment regardless. Shirabu felt it against his shoulder and might have let out a small grin himself.

“Thanks, Kenjirou,” he said. “And to answer your earlier question, I'm okay.”

Now. I'm okay now.

By the time they got back to campus, class had been let out and they blended in seamlessly with the other students rushing back to their dorms. Nobody questioned the frosted mud on their boots, but they had to dodge at least three girls.

It didn’t dampen their mood in the slightest. They carried on, ate half of Semi’s cake while watching Semi’s favourite non-animated movie series, Ace Ventura, and blew off all of their homework. They didn’t answer texts or calls, too busy laughing at Jim Carrey’s antics, and forgot the rest of the world existed until the floor prefect knocked on their door for lights out.

Shirabu wanted to stay.

Semi wanted him to stay.

But that was too dangerous a game to play that night.

Shirabu packed up his things, taking one last bite of cake, and threw his plastic-bag covered shoes over his shoulder to carry to his room.

“See you tomorrow,” Semi said, smiling and waving from his bed.

“Yeah, see you.” Shirabu turned the knob, edged the door open, and paused under the frame. “Happy birthday, Eita.”

He was gone before Semi had a chance to say thank you.

The next day, word had gotten out that Semi’s birthday was the day before. Around ten girls from Semi’s fan club were waiting outside the building with candy and keychains. Some of them were shivering, and more arrived as Semi and Shirabu stared in awe.

They were bundled up and ready to run to Saturday morning soccer practice, but with the blockade in front of the building, it was looking more and more likely that they would have to climb out instead of walk.

“I think I'm still sleeping. This has to be a nightmare,” Semi whispered.

“If it’s a nightmare, then we’re having the same one,” Shirabu said back.

“It’s never been this bad before... not with anyone.”

It was true. When Oikawa’s birthday got leaked, he was given the luxury of summer break, but was bombarded with five bouquets of flowers on the first day of school. When Kyotani’s was leaked, around ten cards were shoved into his locker, but nobody actually came up to him. Tendou’s birthday was filled with streamers and sticky notes plastered to his locker, and Ushijima’s had gotten him a tiny soccer ball keychain.

No girl had ever waited outside a dorm building, in freezing cold rain, just to give a man chocolates and small presents.

As if they were being controlled by the same puppet master, Shirabu and Semi turned around and raced back up to the second floor. They slammed against Taichi’s door until it opened.

“I hate you,” Taichi said, flopping back onto his bed.

“Sorry bro. If the first floor windows opened enough for a person to squeeze out of them, we would’ve climbed out there,” Semi said apologetically.

“I wouldn’t’ve.” Shirabu slapped a palm on Taichi’s back, earning a loud groan from the man. “Bullying you is fun.”

“I’ll report you,” Taichi mumbled into his pillow.

“Sure you will,” Shirabu chuckled, patting Taichi’s back one last time before climbing through the window and down to the ground to avoid Semi’s harem.

When they finally arrived at the indoor practice arena, panting and sore from running through the cold with no warm-up, Shirabu took Semi’s hand and pulled to get his attention. It was the first time that Shirabu had initiated physical contact in public; to say Semi was surprised would have been an understatement, but he didn’t have time to be worried about it.

“Drastic measures meeting after practice?” Shirabu wasn’t asking. It was a cry for help. He was glad that he had furthered this relationship with Semi but if he had seen the outcome at the start, he probably wouldn’t have gone through with it.

“More like a miracle measures meeting.” Semi was scared for the both of them. “Your dorm or mine?”

“Mine, it’s closer to Taichi’s.”

“You think they’ll still be there after practice?” Semi asked. Shirabu, instead of giving a verbal sarcastic answer, just raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, what am I saying, of course they’re still gonna be there.”

“God fucking help us.”

Yes, they did have to climb back in. The group of girls in front of the building was smaller than before, but Semi was exhausted and didn’t want to put on his face. Climbing through Taichi’s window was easier (and less draining) than placating a bunch of teenage girls with Asian fetishes.

Taichi was asleep when they climbed back through the window. He hadn’t even raised the rope after they had climbed out almost three hours earlier, and he didn’t wake up when they crashed into the room, knocking over not one, not two, but four of Taichi’s book stacks.

“Should we pick them up?” Semi was already reaching for some.

“Don’t touch them. He'd yell at us more for getting fingerprints on the covers.” Shirabu grabbed Semi’s wrist and hauled them out of Taichi’s room, thanking the heavens that his best friend let them do this on a regular basis.

He was the true saviour of this story, honestly.

They parted ways to shower, change out of their sweaty practice uniforms, and grab a snack. When Shirabu returned from the communal fridge, carrying a yogurt drink and a thermos of tea, Semi was leaning against his door. He was holding the same snacks.

“Hey.” Semi hadn’t even looked up from his phone. It was like he had memorised the sound of Shirabu’s footsteps. Shirabu wouldn’t have been surprised. Music junkies were weird like that. He should know, considering he was one.

“Let the miracle meeting commence, I guess,” Shirabu muttered.

He unlocked his room and, within three steps, collapsed on his bed. Semi was right behind him, though he collapsed against Shirabu’s bean bag chair.

“Why are these girls so crazy?” Semi muttered.

“You tell me, dude. They're your girls.” Shirabu pushed himself up on his elbows. “Mine disappeared after we started holding hands.” 

Semi groaned like he was in pain. He probably was. “Do you have anything? I can literally think of nothing that will get them off our backs. We can’t even fake break-up because they’ll still go after you.”

Yeah, Shirabu thought. That was the only reason they couldn’t fake a break-up.

Semi seemed to realise what he said after Shirabu’s hesitation. “Plus, if we fake broke-up, we’d have to avoid each other for a little bit and I wouldn’t like that at all,” he said.

Shirabu cleared his throat and thanked the gods that his curtains were closed. If not, Semi might have seen the alarmingly bright blush that had slapped itself onto his cheeks. Semi, unbeknownst to Shirabu, was thinking the exact same thing.

“Yeah, me too,” Shirabu said.

In the quiet that followed, both of them grew warmer. It was like they liked each other and were trying to subtly hint at it without actually saying the words. Wow, it’s really funny how things seem to work out like that after forced proximity, physical touch, and gift giving/receiving mixed with misplaced anger and denial.

Semi was thinking about how on earth they were going to get these girls off their backs. That was the whole point of this (fake) relationship, right? To get their fan clubs to back off.

He thought that the only way was to pull an IwaOi – make out in a public place where anyone could take a photo. With that kind of publicity, there would be no denying Shirabu and Semi’s relationship, and the girls would have to leave them alone, just like they had done for Iwaizumi and Oikawa after their picture had been spread around.

But Shirabu wasn’t comfortable with kissing in public.

Semi was trying to think up other scenarios that could work. Shirabu was doing the same, except he was using references. He had compiled all of his memories of the ASA’s relationships – from secret to public to fake to real – to create some sort of plan to get rid of the girls once and for all.

The only ones that had managed to do it permanently were Iwaizumi and Oikawa, but there were some other examples of it working for a couple weeks.

Tendou was seen with his arm around Ushijima, whispering in his ear. Ushijima had smiled and that picture had warded off girls like a small-pox blanket wrapped around a shield in a war full of anti-vaxxers for two weeks.

Reon and his ex-girlfriend were seen walking in the rain. Reon was holding his rain jacket over both of them, but it wasn’t helping. That didn’t matter, though, because they were smiling like idiots. That rumour had spread through his fan club like a wildfire for four weeks.

Again, Tendou and Ushijima put a stop to their fan club’s antics when Ushijima had carried Tendou to the nurse, bridal style, when he had sprained his ankle at soccer practice. That cease-fire was still in effect, and it had happened around the same time that Semi and Shirabu had started ‘dating’.

None of these would work, considering the things Semi and Shirabu did on a daily fucking basis around campus (and the fact that Semi couldn’t carry Shirabu bridal style for that long).

Shirabu dove deeper, and deeper, and deeper, going past the realm of the ASA fan clubs and starting to delve into the soccer and volleyball fan clubs. He foraged through the archives, from A-L before he found a solitary memory of a rumour that made him sit straight up on his bed.

Semi startled at the movement and nearly choked on his drink.

“Do you have something?” he asked, licking his lips clean of strawberry yogurt. Shirabu tried and failed not to track the movement of the man’s tongue.

“Do you remember last year when that rumour about your ex-girlfriend started, and your soccer fan club left you alone for, like, a solid month?”

Thinking back, it was more like the rest of the semester, which was almost three months long. That semester, he had seen Semi studying outside with his back turned to the pathways – the man was open for attacks, and he hadn’t even flinched when someone called his name a little too loudly.

Shirabu barely remembered the luxury.

“I think so?” Semi scratched his chin. If this had been a cartoon, Shirabu imagined that smoke would have been coming out of his ears. “Which one?”

“Marianna.” Shirabu rolled his eyes. Having two girlfriends in one year at a private boarding school with less than six hundred students in attendance and not breaking up a friend group in the process? Unheard of except for in Semi Eita’s position.

“Oh, her.” Semi grimaced.

Yeah, she had been a little insane.

“What about her?” Semi asked.

“There was a rumour about her going around that broke you guys up, apparently, but it got the fan club off your back for the semester,” Shirabu explained. “Do you remember what it was about?”

If Shirabu hadn’t been looking at Semi in real time, he would have missed the man going through all five stages of grief before landing on his final emotion, which was completely flustered.

“U-uh.” Semi cleared his throat, but it didn’t help. “That was... actually she spread it herself to try and get my attention because I was spending too much time with my drama group, even though we had a performance to practice for and she knew that-”

“Eita,” Shirabu interrupted the stuttering rant. “Get to the point.”

“Well, Kenjirou, I'm trying to give a little back story, here.” Semi scratched at the back of his neck. His face was beaming with embarrassment. “She was a little bit crazy, as you probably guessed from the way we broke up-”

She had screamed at him in the middle of the cafeteria. It was in between periods, and not a lot of people had been there to watch, but it had been filmed. Shirabu had seen the video. It made Semi look like a cheating bastard – because that’s what she called him many, many times – but that hadn’t been the case.

Anyway...

“She was a lot crazy, actually, but when I broke up with her, she had done something to top all the fucking weird shit anybody has ever said about me in the ASA fan clubs and soccer fan clubs combined,” Semi said. “At least, that’s what I think, anyway.”

Shirabu was intrigued, now. “Okay, what’d she do?”

Semi sighed. “She paid one of her guy friends to give her a bunch of hickeys and then went around the school claiming that she had gotten them from me, and that we had had sex the night before. I was a virgin at that point.”

That was the last thing Shirabu had expected to come out of Semi’s mouth. His jaw hung open, trying to process what the fuck Semi had just said, but Semi was not done.

“She had hickeys on her neck, boobs, and hips, and went around the school, showing her friends in public places to make sure that everybody noticed,” Semi shivered. “It was awful.”

Shirabu was about to ask how Semi knew where she had gotten them from, but Semi was still talking.

“Obviously, I didn’t give them to her, so I was very confused when guys started coming up to me and slapping me around for banging the, and I’m quoting their exact words here, ‘baddest-chick on campus’. When I actually found out what was going on, I broke up with her on the spot. She told me later that she paid some dude to give them to her, and the guy came up to me a month later and showed me the cash she gave him.”

“Holy shit-”

“It gets fucking worse, Kenjirou.” Semi groaned into his hand. “The cash that he showed me had gotten flagged at the local grocery store when he tried to pay for a snack there because, guess-fucking-what, it was counterfeit.”

“I’m fucking sorry?!” Shirabu’s jaw dropped to the floor. That couldn’t be true. He let out a hysterical little cackle that Semi mimicked.

“Yup.” Semi sank into the beanbag chair and, again, groaned into his hands. If any of Shirabu’s wall-neighbours were awake, the loudness of Semi’s groans probably would have been concerning (for painful and sexual reasons because his neighbours were disgusting), but Shirabu knew that the guy on his left had lacrosse practice until noon, and the guy on his right didn’t get up until noon on Saturdays.

“Fucking insane.” Shirabu sat down next to the beanbag chair and leaned against it, half on and half off Semi’s thigh.

“Yup,” Semi repeated. He reached out to pick at the wet strands of Shirabu’s hair. If he hadn’t done it countless times before, Shirabu would have been startled. “So, hickeys are a way to get the girls off my back. Even Annie cooled it for a few months when that scandal dropped.”

Shirabu hummed.

Hickeys, huh.

He didn’t know if it was Semi’s hand in his hair, or the thought of Semi’s mouth on his neck, but a series of shivers spread through his spine as if he had been tased. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but he knew that it came with an awfully obvious blush and the inability to breathe, so it was a win-lose.

“Should we do something like that?”

“WHAT?!” Shirabu whipped around to stare at Semi but found an equally red face and an equally tingling spine.

Semi didn’t meet his wide eyes. “I’ll take that as a no...”

Shirabu shut his mouth with an audible click. It wasn’t hesitation, it wasn’t a yes, it was an ‘I’m thinking about it’.

Semi’s head popped out of his collar to follow the sound of Shirabu’s mouth closing. He had once made the connection of Shirabu’s ‘yes and no’ silences. He had deduced that when Shirabu didn’t want to do something, he would say so and he would say so quickly. But if Shirabu wanted to do something, he would ‘think about it’ which would eventually lead to a yes, in Semi’s case.

“Um-” if Semi’s face could have gotten any redder, it would have. “Just to be clear, we wouldn’t do the crazy break up...”

‘Just the hickeys’ was left unsaid.

Shirabu made a noise akin to a squeak. It went unnoticed to Semi because the man was too busy remembering how to breathe properly. Yes, Semi had given hickeys, but that was over six months earlier, and that was a girl that he hadn’t liked as much as Shirabu.

It was different with Shirabu, he thought. Everything was different with Shirabu.

Shirabu had never received or given a hickey, but he did know how to think on his feet.

“I have suction cups,” he blurted. He stood up so fast that he gave himself a head rush but paid it no mind on his quest towards his closet. The suction cups were in a box that he hadn’t unpacked since moving to Mason Hall at the start of his second year. It was labelled physio, was around the size of a shoe box, and had flex-bands, heating pads, and small silicone suction cups.

As soon as he pulled them out of the box, Semi breathed an audible sigh of relief. It wasn’t that he was glad neither of them had to give the other a hickey, he just thought that hickeys were for later.

They hadn’t even kissed, for god's sake.

“Who should... uhh...” Shirabu started, not exactly knowing how to say ‘receive the hickey’ without sounding like a twelve-year-old boy.

“You should. It'd be more noticeable on you, I think,” Semi said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Shirabu grumbled, scandalised.

“W-well, I just-” Semi stood and reminded Shirabu that the man still had two inches of height on him. It sucked when trying to win a staring contest. “If I'm seen with a hickey, nobody bats an eye because I've walked into school with a hickey before... but if you’re seen with a hickey...”

“Everybody goes batshit because I've never had a hickey in my life,” Shirabu sighed. It was true. His gosh-darn lack of experience was catching up to him again.

“Yeah, that,” Semi said nervously. He hesitated and scratched his neck – a thing he does when incredibly anxious or embarrassed, Shirabu had noticed. “How do you wanna...” he gestured around the room.

When Semi had given his first hickey, he was on top of the girl, and she had her legs around his waist. It had led to his first time having sex, too. Semi had no idea how to use suction cups, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t proper technique.

He almost choked when Shirabu took off his shirt.

“Dude, relax. We change in the same locker room almost every day,” Shirabu muttered. He threw his shirt on the bed and laid on his stomach, clutching a pillow under his head to get comfortable. “The cups are easy to use but let’s try a place that can’t be seen first just to get an idea of what it looks like, yeah?”

Surprisingly, Shirabu was calmer than he had expected to be. Maybe it had something to do with using suction cups instead of Semi’s mouth.

“This is different, and you know it,” Semi mumbled back, not intending to be heard. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the two silicon cups and hand pump in one hand. He thought that the cups were too round and too small to form a bruise resembling a mouth, but it was better than the alternative.

(Read: less feeling-invoking and nerve-racking and embarrassing than the alternative.)

“Okay, you just put the cup on my back and suck the air out with the pump. It should work. My mom used to do it all the time,” Shirabu said.

“Um, alright,” Semi sounded unsure, but his movements were confident and certain. He placed a small cup just to the left of Shirabu’s spine and held it there while he hooked the hand pump to the top. He then began to suck the air out, watching as Shirabu’s skin began to redden, and swell into the silicon. “Neat.”

“Yeah,” Shirabu said, his voice barely audible against both of their beating hearts. Semi’s fingers against his back, pressing into his skin and gently holding the cup in place, was doing something to him. He was glad that he had chosen to lay on his stomach.

“How long?” Semi asked.

“Around five minutes,” Shirabu said.

“Damn, the other method would’ve taken thirty seconds.”

Shirabu snorted and thought, next time then. He barely refrained from saying it out loud by biting his lip so hard he tasted iron. If he had been on his back, in full view of his (fake) boyfriend, he would have seen that Semi was thinking the same thing.

Oh, to be young and in denial.

“Do you want to put a movie on, or something?” Semi asked after a minute of awkward silence had passed.

“Sure,” Shirabu answered.

Semi, true to his predictable nature, grabbed his laptop and set up Howl's Moving Castle. It was his favourite Studio Ghibli movie (so far, he says) and Shirabu had seen it so many times that he could have written the entire script out by heart. He loved it too.

Time passed quickly during the opening scenes of Howl and Sophie. Semi had moved to sit against the wall, laying his legs on top of Shirabu’s outstretched calves and praying that Shirabu couldn’t feel the feverish heat radiating off of him like sonar.

“Time’s up,” Semi pushed himself up and jumped clean off the bed.

Shirabu followed a second later and felt the silicon cup fall off his back as soon as he stood up. The spot was warm; it tingled against the cold air of the room. When Shirabu moved too fast, it felt tender, like a real bruise.

“How’s it look?” Shirabu asked. He glanced over his shoulder in front of his mirror, but he couldn’t see it no matter how he turned.

Semi hummed as he stared at the mark. He seemed to be in deep thought, and, for some reason, Shirabu thought that was a bad sign. It either looked like a real hickey or not. There wasn’t much else to it.

“Eita-”

“Kenjirou, it looks like a suction cup bruise, not a hickey,” Semi said. “It has clean edges, and it’s lighter in the middle than around the sides. No mouth could ever do something like that.”

Damnit.

“Damnit,” Shirabu grunted.

Was there any other option? He sat on the bed, wound his legs around a long, fluffy pillow and leaned his back against the wall. Semi followed, sitting close enough to touch but not close enough to be touching. He seemed to be thinking the same thing as Shirabu.

What the hell were they supposed to do now?

They feigned watching the movie. It was a good movie (easy to get lost in; good graphics, great storyline, Howl), but even Calcifer, their favourite character, wasn’t enough to distract them from the daunting circumstances they had gotten themselves into.

Neither one of them wanted to back down. It would get the girls off their backs and, despite the denial, both of them wanted to be a part of this – whatever it was.

When Howl sat in his chair, panting and trying to stay conscious, half bird-half human – a scene that always rendered Semi and Shirabu speechless because Howl fucking Jenkins Pendragon everybody – Semi was restless. His leg shook, his fingers tapped against his thigh, he bit into his lip relentlessly.

“Eita,” Shirabu, fed up only a minute into his fidgeting, sighed.

“Sorry,” Semi said quietly.

Shirabu, even though he had been sitting there for quite some time, realised that he had yet to put his shirt back on. He was sitting beside Semi with no shirt on, damp hair, and black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. If he had been more confident about himself, he would have said he looked hot.

Semi thought that Shirabu looked hot, but he’d never say that out loud. Not yet.

“It’s fine. I thought it was going to work too,” Shirabu said. He glanced at Semi to find the man already looking. He almost blushed under the attention, but he tried to force it down. The way Semi was looking at him, though – fixated and analysing and enchanted – made it hard to focus on anything else.

“There are other methods, but I don’t think you want to give yourself a curling iron burn,” Semi averted his gaze and Shirabu found himself missing it. He nearly slapped himself. “The heating pad method might work, but it’ll take too long, and the ice method really hurts...”

“Huh?”

“Me and Tendou tried different methods of giving hickeys after Marianna showed up with so many because I wanted to believe she hadn’t cheated on me,” Semi explained. “I tried the heat method, and it took forever. The ice method worked but it stung like a bitch, and it didn’t stay for very long.”

“Oh, so just normal teenage boy things,” Shirabu muttered sarcastically.

“Shut up, it’s normal by Tendou’s standards.” Semi rolled his eyes.

Shirabu snorted. “You’ve got me there.”

The silence between them then wasn’t so suffocating, but the ‘what if’ hung in the air like a million-dollar chandelier on a piece of dollar store string. Shirabu wanted to, and Semi wanted to; it was just a matter of who was going to break first.

Another five minutes went by where Semi and Shirabu barely paid attention to the movie in front of them. They couldn’t focus; too tuned in on each other and the whereabouts of the other’s limbs to notice what was going down on screen.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Semi asked. Instead of watching the movie, he was watching Shirabu’s knee, which had crawled itself out of its pretzel hold and was resting centimetres from Semi’s own.

Shirabu sighed.

It would be for the greater good -

He really wanted to -

They could just -

Would it make it awkward between them? The hugs hadn’t. The cheek kisses hadn’t. The forehead presses – which had only been done in private so far – hadn't. But hickeys were in another league of intimacy that one, Shirabu had never experienced before, and two, could have started to define their very strange (fake?) relationship.

Two paths laid out in front of them; one to victory and one to despair. The paths were yellow and red, but they were both walking in colour blind. To lift the black and white existence is to choose a path and follow it to the end; only then would the results, and the colours, be revealed.

A leap of faith to either gain a real boyfriend or lose a friend? Or do nothing and hope for a couple of phone calls when Semi inevitably goes off to university?

“We could just...” Leap of faith it was then. “Do it.”

Shirabu heard the gulp of breath enter Semi’s lungs. He didn’t hear it leave until around ten seconds later.

“Are you sure?” Semi turned to him.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Shirabu muttered.

“Yeah, I know,” Semi said. “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Well,” Shirabu glanced at him and found himself unable to look away for a moment. “Now, you’re sure.”

Semi took a deep, stuttering breath. “How do you want to- uhh-” He swallowed and Shirabu fought his gaze as it wandered to the lump making its way down the line of Semi’s throat. “How do you want to sit?.

“I don’t know.” Shirabu hadn’t thought this far. He thought that Semi would have left by now but nope. Semi was still there, and he was willing to go along with Shirabu’s plan because their fan clubs were ruthless and wouldn’t leave them alone. That was the only reason. “You tell me.”

If Semi had any idea on how to give Shirabu a hickey and not make him uncomfortable with the obsceneness that the act required, he would have started already. He was eager, now that he had permission, but he still found himself hesitating.

What if Shirabu doesn’t like it? What if Shirabu is only doing it because he thinks it’s what Semi wants? What if Shirabu is afraid to say he’s uncomfortable because he knows that Semi’s experienced and he doesn’t want to seem weak?

What if Shirabu...

What if...

“Eita.” Shirabu flicked Semi’s forehead. He hugged his knees up to his chest, urging Semi to do the same, and manoeuvred them both until they were sitting side by side. Semi’s hips were in line with Shirabu’s thigh and if he leaned forward and to the left, they would have been able to kiss.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position in the world, especially for Semi-I-always-sit-like-a-human-pretzel-Eita and Shirabu-if-my-legs-are-straight-for-too-long-I-can't-feel-them-Kenjirou, but it was better than laying on each other.

Probably.

“This’ll work,” Semi said, nervous and unable to meet Shirabu’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t know,” Shirabu said. It was a joke, but it only made Semi more nervous. It reminded him of the fact that this was Shirabu’s first time trying anything other than kissing.

Semi chuckled, awkwardly, but the hesitation had ruined the effect even more.

They stayed like that, hip to thigh and silent, for at least a minute, before Shirabu started to squirm. His legs were uncomfortable and if they were going to do this, he wanted to get it started so that he didn’t have any more time to overthink.

After two minutes had passed, Shirabu sighed. “Let’s do this, then...”

Semi flinched at Shirabu’s voice like he had forgotten where he was. Shirabu wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Yeah, let’s,” Semi said quietly. He finally looked up from his lap and assessed their positions. For balance, he inched backwards and placed a hand on the bed opposite Shirabu’s far thigh. When Semi’s wrist brushed the fabric of Shirabu’s pants, they both shivered, and they both thanked any higher powers out there that they had chosen to wear tight underwear that day.

It took a little over a minute for Semi to get comfortable, but eventually, he had situated himself into a hickey-giving position.

“Okay.” Semi wiped his upper lip with his sleeve and licked his lips. Shirabu’s eyes didn’t leave him once. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

“Yup,” Shirabu said.

“Uh-huh, here we go,” Semi stared at his neck. “Any moment now. I’m going to give a hickey. On you. Yup.”

Oh, god.

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” Semi muttered. He started to lean in but stopped halfway there. “We’re doing this.”

“Apparently.”

“Shush.” Semi glared nervously. He was a wreck. It would have been funny if Shirabu had been watching it from an outside perspective, but since he was waiting for something, he was getting impatient.

And Semi had told him to ‘shush’.  

What the fuck?

“Okay.” Semi leaned in a little further, and stopped. Shirabu felt the harsh breaths against his neck and sighed. It was the closest he was going to get, Shirabu thought. Savour it. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Like, one hundred percent?”

“Yup.”

“Totally, positively, sure.”

“As I said before, yes, I'm sure.”

Semi paused, glancing from Shirabu’s eyes to his mouth to his neck. He licked his lips.

“Okay, but just to be absolutely-”

“Oh, my fucking god,” Shirabu pushed his bangs off his forehead and scratched at his scalp until it felt like he was ripping out hairs. He glanced at Semi, who looked somewhat guilty, but ultimately relieved that he wasn’t doing anything yet.

Shirabu had reached a breaking point.

Because Semi was being annoying? Yes.

Because he had been waiting and saying yes but Semi seemed to think that he still didn’t want to? Yes.

Because he was not a patient person and Semi had known this for a while? Yes.

Because he was fed up with the girls? Yes.

Because he wanted to give Semi a hickey? Yes.

“Can I do you?” he asked with more force than necessary.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Semi blinked and sat up.

“Good.” and before Shirabu could chicken out, he was rising onto his knees and leaning across Semi’s chest. He pulled Semi’s shirt collar out of the way, hearing some of the stitches pop, and latched on.

“Holy shit-” Semi squeaked, a hand darting out to Shirabu’s - still bare – waist and holding on for dear life.

“Shut up,” Shirabu muttered against Semi’s neck.

“Yeah, okay,” Semi sighed out.

Shirabu had no idea what he was doing, but from the porn he had watched, and from the noises Semi was making, he thought he was doing a pretty good job. He lapped, and kissed, and sucked at one spot until he could taste pinpricks of iron against his tongue, and then he moved higher.

Semi sighed and held and choked on his breath, and made small, sweet noises of encouragement, holding Shirabu’s hip like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this life.

Five minutes passed, and Shirabu had reached the point of no return. His jaw hurt, he was out of breath, and his face was as red as a tomato, but he kept going. He kept going and was about to move into Semi’s lap – take their relationship a step further without the use of words – but he felt pressure against his hip.

“Ken-Kenjirou,” Semi muttered. He was breathless and the same shade of red, if not deeper. Shirabu stopped immediately, sat back on his heels, and waited for Semi to say something else.

Semi looked conflicted.

Had he gone too far? Shirabu had gotten lost in the moment. Semi’s neck was turning a pretty shade of red to match his cheeks. The marks nearest to his collarbone were already purpling. Shirabu, against his will, swelled with pride.

He had done that. And Semi had seemed to like it.

“Kenjirou.” Semi placed a hand against his own chest and inhaled the deepest breath Shirabu had ever seen him take. “Are you sure you’ve never done that before?”

Shirabu blushed even brighter. Semi had liked it.

“Oh, God.” Shirabu buried his face in his hands, watching the pretty patterns fly across his closed eyelids rather than Semi’s expression. He had gotten lost, and the aftermath – the marks – embarrassed him more than they impressed him. He never thought he could have done something like that, let alone to Semi Eita, of all fucking people.

And it was so obvious. The marks reached Semi’s ear, for god’s sake! There was no way to hide that! Not even a turtleneck and some clever hairstyling would cover it all.

“Woah, uh.” Semi gently reached for Shirabu’s wrists and pulled them away from his face. He scooched closer as he did, resting Shirabu’s hands in his lap before taking one and lacing their fingers together. “No need to be embarrassed.”

When Shirabu glanced at Semi, the man was already looking with a gaze so alluring that Shirabu couldn’t look away from it. They were both dotted with ugly red and pink blushes, nervous sweat, and anxious pouts, but to each other, they were the most beautiful creatures they had ever seen.

“That was good,” Semi said quietly. “It was great even, but you forgot the best part.”

“The best part?” Shirabu tilted his head.

“Yeah,” Semi sent him a soft, shaking smile. “There’s a part that’s even better than this-” he gestured to his neck with his free hand. “-but you have to be confident enough to actually do it if you’re not in a relationship yet.”

Yet.

Shirabu had no idea what he was talking about.

Semi chuckled, nervously, as if he could read Shirabu’s confused thoughts. “Can I show you?”

If there was a shade of red brighter than ambulance lights, Shirabu thought it would have been on his face. He nodded, and slowly felt Semi’s free hand trailing up his arm, again reminding him that he was shirtless, and that the blush had extended down his chest.

Semi’s hand came to a stop against Shirabu’s neck, right under his ear.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” Semi said, leaning in to press a kiss just above Shirabu’s collarbone.

“Okay,” Shirabu breathed, not planning on telling him to stop anytime soon.  

Semi trailed light kisses all the way up to Shirabu’s ear. It was nothing that would have left a visible mark, but Shirabu felt like he was being branded by hot iron.

He breathed out a heavy sigh as Semi inched his lips around Shirabu’s ear and onto his cheek, barely pecking the skin until he had travelled all the way down to the corner of Shirabu’s mouth. He stopped, barely a centimetre away from Shirabu’s lips.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Shirabu's eyes closed on their own accord, and instead of answering verbally, he tilted his chin up, ever so slightly, and felt Semi’s entire body come to life.

Semi closed the last millimetres of distance between them and felt his mind relax. Shirabu’s lips on his was like a dream; a lucid, pliant dream that moved too fast until Semi slowed him down.

He was a fast learner, Semi thought.

Their kiss was closed-mouthed, slow, and tender, and everything Shirabu had imagined it would be and more. He revelled in the small noises Semi made and swelled with delight when he felt Semi smile against his lips, only to use it as an excuse to deepen it further.

Fuck, they had waited too long for this. It was only three and a half weeks, but that was a lifetime when mutual pining was involved.

Shirabu couldn’t stop himself from pulling Semi’s shirt and sending them both tumbling into the mattress, their lips never parting once. Semi groaned and Shirabu swallowed the sound as they fell into each other. In a matter of moments, Semi had straddled Shirabu’s hips, and Shirabu had encouraged it.

“Kenjirou,” Semi pulled away for a second when their hips ground together. “We can’t... not yet-”

“I know, I'm not ready for it yet either. Just kiss me,” Shirabu almost begged him, almost said please, but that pesky, ever-present flicker of pride sitting on his chest stopped him from doing so and fucking Semi’s entire world.

“Yeah, okay.” Semi gave in unsurprisingly easily.

They didn’t stop until Howl’s Moving Castle was playing its ending credits song. Their lips were swollen, the left side of Semi’s neck was a shade of purple that could have been compared to the darkness around the milky way, and Shirabu even had a few marks of his own.

It would have been easy to stop and never speak of it again, to count it as just another practice session, they thought as the last ember on their lips burnt out. If they never talked about it, nothing would have to change, but they both knew that that wasn’t plausible.

Shirabu was an overthinker.

Semi dealt with difficult emotions by turning them into anger.

They never took the easy way out. They weren’t built like that. If they never talked about it, they could have imploded within the week.

Semi leaned in for one, final kiss before swinging his leg up and flopping his entire body down beside Shirabu on the bed. They were in bliss, completely content with the momentary silence.

Shirabu was at war with himself. He wanted to turn to Semi, to see the man’s face, to run his fingers over the marks that he had made, to kiss him again and hope that would be enough of a confession. On the other hand, he wanted to talk about what had happened. He wanted to make his feelings clear, and he wanted to hear Semi’s. He still had no idea why Semi had kissed him, he didn’t want to think about why, but the hope flaring in his chest was encouraging him to ask.

In the end, Semi decided for him. He had always been a little bit impulsive. It had rubbed off on Shirabu in the weeks that they had been together, but Semi would always be faster.

“That was-” Semi hesitated. “Real.”

A bold move for a bold person.

Shirabu liked it.

“Yeah, it was,” Shirabu said back. There wasn’t a trace of question or scepticism in his voice, just pure relaxation.

Shirabu and Semi hadn’t noticed the eggshells that they had been walking on until they were finally given a broom to sweep away the sharp, painful caution that had plagued their relationship since the start. They hadn’t wanted to mess up, for one, but also, they had had no idea how to read each other’s feelings. They had never seen each other so deeply before – yes, they had relaxed around each other, but seeing the other so happy had made them both tense and, inadvertently, cautious.

Neither of them wanted to destroy the carefully constructed relationship and, subsequently, their happiness. It was simultaneously selfish and selfless to glue themselves to the safe zone. Nobody wanted to ruin their own happiness, and talking about their feelings, however small, might have done that.

“So, this is real now?” Semi asked. He had let his hope soar and fly away when Shirabu hadn’t refused to kiss him, but he found himself questioning the man’s motives as soon as they stopped.

Horniness? Or feelings?

“Do you want it to be real?” Unbeknownst to Semi, Shirabu was thinking the exact same thing.

“If we’re being honest here, I've wanted this to be real for a while now.”

Shirabu finally turned to him. He wanted to kiss him again but, for now, he just smiled. It was less of a smile and more of a squint, but Semi understood the crinkled eyes and the small dimples all the same. Shirabu didn’t smile like a normal person, and Semi found that he liked that.

Semi started to lean in again, grinning, when a gurgle stopped him in his tracks.

“Was that-” Semi raised his eyebrows.

Shirabu flushed with embarrassment. “I’m hungry, okay!”

If Semi hadn’t been so high on endorphins, he probably would have cackled. Instead, he pulled Shirabu against him and chuckled into the man’s collarbone, all the while pressing small kisses to his skin. He found Shirabu’s insignificant protesting adorable.

“Come on, let’s go get lunch.” Semi sighed into Shirabu’s neck before slowly raising himself off the mattress. He threw a sweater at his (real) boyfriend and stole a scarf for himself. They were off in a matter of minutes, hand in hand, and ignoring everything around them.

They joined Tendou and Ushijima, Oikawa and Iwaizumi, and Taichi, Yahaba, and Kyotani at their lunch table. As usual, Semi grabbed a croissant and plopped himself across from Ushijima. He held up his hand for a fist bump even though they had seen each other less than three hours earlier.

Ushijima always returned them but that day, he studied Semi until the man retracted his hand back.

“Ushijima? You good?” Semi asked.

It was a valid question. Ushijima was a man of habit. Breaking those habits usually meant that something was wrong.

Ushijima was quiet for ten seconds more, studying Semi with a gaze so intense that it made him want to shrink and disappear. Tendou, who had previously been engaging in his favourite pastime – annoying the ever-living shit out of Oikawa and Iwaizumi – turned to them and raised a concerned brow.

“Wakatoshi?” Tendou poked the man’s shoulder.

It seemed to call Ushijima back to the present world. He blinked his gaze away from Semi to regard Tendou with his usual earnest look.

“I am fine,” Ushijima said. “I was just trying to figure out a way to say congratulations to Semi and Shirabu. Their relationship seems to have progressed out of the initial, fictitious stages.”

Semi and Shirabu gaped at the man. Tendou, too, seemed to be speechless.

Who would have thought that the man who had once said his fan club was annoying not because they followed him around and invaded his privacy, but because they cheered at the wrong times during soccer games and practices, would have figured out that Semi and Shirabu’s relationship was fake until that very hour?

Ushijima transferred his gaze around the table of gawping idiots – some gawping at the fact that he had noticed, and the rest gawping because they hadn’t guessed it at all – like a confused puppy.

“Was this not known to everyone?” Ushijima asked. He looked somewhat crestfallen, like he had just unknowingly revealed a secret that someone had told him in confidence. But nobody had told him this secret. He had figured it out by himself.

“Wakatoshi, how did you figure that out?” Tendou asked, his normal zipping tone replaced with something awestruck.

Ushijima pointed to Semi’s scarf and Shirabu’s high necked sweater.

“The hickeys they are trying to hide,” he said.

Again, everyone’s jaws dropped to the floor. Tendou was falling in love, Kyotani looked like he wanted to die – as did Iwaizumi. The rest of them were somewhere in between anger and barely suppressed manic laughter, but they were silent.

Unsurprisingly, it was Oikawa who spoke up next.  “I’m sorry;” he batted his eyelashes, speaking in a tone that Semi and Shirabu knew meant business. “What’s fucking happening?”

When Semi received a large envelope from NYU on April 11, 2014, the first person he called was his mother. She had congratulated him and had said that she was already looking into on campus housing for him.

The next person he had told was his boyfriend.

Outside of the science building, Semi waited for Shirabu’s late biology class to let out. He was jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, too excited to stand still.

“Kenjirou!” he called when he saw Shirabu exiting the building, Kyotani and Yahaba in tow.

Shirabu’s eyes crinkled at the sight of him. “Hey, I thought we were meeting back at your dorm?” Shirabu hadn’t seen the man all day. He had been in the city for breakfast and lunch, and they hadn’t had time to visit in between Shirabu’s afternoon classes.

“I wanted to see you sooner.” Semi took his hand and laced their fingers together, a habit they had picked up in their ‘fictitious stage’ that hadn’t faded. “I have some news.”

Shirabu had to read the acceptance letter four times before it fully sank in, but when he finally put the piece of paper down, his reaction was priceless.

He hugged Semi until neither of them could breathe, grinning from ear to ear. Even though he was sad that Semi was leaving, NYU had been Semi’s top choice and he was glad to see his boyfriend happy.

And Semi was so happy.

Even though everyone’s collective Asian fetish died over the summer between Shirabu’s third and fourth year at Blair Academy, Shirabu still felt exposed walking to class without a hand to hold.

Semi visited as often as he could, they called almost every day, and they spent Thanksgiving and Christmas together in his college dorm, but it wasn’t the same as having him a flight of stairs away.

But it all changed on May 15th, in the midst of final exams, when Shirabu got an envelope from Columbia University. He had already received acceptances from NYU, Brown, and the University of Tokyo, but he had been holding off from accepting any of them.

He had been waiting for Columbia, his dream university ever since he had visited the campus with his uncle (who had been a professor there at the time) when he was twelve years old.

The envelope was around two feet long, and the first thing that he saw when he carefully opened the seal was a residency application form on official Columbia University stationery. In his senior year, with two exams to go, he had been accepted into one of the most prestigious Universities in America, pending the results of his finals.

It was the best news he had received in a long time.

Columbia was his one and only top choice. All the other schools, even if they were more famous, were barely back-ups. This was all he wanted, and he had finally gotten it.

When Semi had picked up the phone, Shirabu had been a blubbering mess. It had taken more than ten minutes to decipher what Shirabu had actually been saying, but when Semi realised, he too had broken down crying. It was a little more embarrassing for him because he had been outside a library, but Shirabu appreciated the sentiment.

What had started as something fake had turned into the most natural relationship Shirabu had ever been a part of. He loved the man with all his heart.

Shirabu hadn’t chosen Columbia because of the short commute to NYU, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure it brought him.

Only thirty minutes by bike, he thought.

He could definitely do that. He'd have to learn how to ride a bike, but it couldn’t be that hard.

Fake it until you make it, Semi would have said.

And we all know how good they were at faking.