ᴏɴʟʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ
ᛝ A SHOKO IEIRI and UTAHIME IORI AU wherein “normal” was never an option—only something they hide behind.
Chapter 01 – Doesn’t matter (It does)
“Canada’s Shane Hollander. And Russia’s Ilya Rosanov.”
Before the scene could even finish, I reached for the remote and shut the TV off. The screen went dark mid-dramatic pause, like I’d personally offended whatever director thought mixing sports and romance was a good idea. The room fell quiet again, except for the low city hum outside. I dropped onto the couch beside Utahime like nothing happened.
Utahime blinked at me. “You didn’t even let it play.”
I leaned back, tossing the remote onto the table without looking. “I didn’t need to. I already know how it ends.”
“Oh? You’ve seen it before?” she asked dryly.
“Same script every time.” I stretched my legs out. “Two attractive people from opposite sides of the planet hate each other, glare a lot, then suddenly they’re making out like it’s an Olympic sport.”
Utahime gave me a look. “That’s… a very specific summary.”
She crossed her arms. “So you turned it off because you’re a critic now?”
“I turned it off because I have standards.”
“Since always,” I said immediately. I clicked my tongue. “Anyway—” I gestured vaguely at the blank TV. “What’s up with two dudes kissing anyways? It’s not that interesting.”
“You sound like you’re projecting,” Utahime said.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the dark TV, then back to me. Calm. Too calm. “You’re reacting pretty strongly for something you claim is ‘not interesting.’”
I scoffed. “It’s not a reaction. It’s a critique.”
“I’m serious,” I said, gesturing vaguely at the screen like it had personally offended me. “They’re always making it such a big deal. Like, congratulations, two people like each other. Why does it have to be broadcasted—” I paused, searching for the right word.
Utahime raised a brow. “So your issue is the broadcasting?”
“Not the fact that it’s two men?”
I didn’t hesitate. “No.” However, Utahime still didn’t look convinced.
She leaned back slightly, still watching me like she was reading something between the lines. “You just said ‘two people like each other’ like that’s the problem. Not the rivalry, not the drama—just… them liking each other.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s very close to what you said.”
I clicked my tongue. “You’re being weird about this.”
“I’m not,” she said lightly. “I’m just listening.”
“That’s your problem. You listen too much.”
I didn’t answer right away. Didn’t have one, actually. Because the more I thought about it, the more it felt like she wasn’t talking about the movie anymore. And I hated that. Hated how easily she could do that—reach past whatever I was saying and land somewhere I hadn’t meant to show. Like everything I kept vague, everything I brushed off or made smaller than it was, didn’t stay that way when she was around. It said more about me than it did about her. About how quickly my guard slipped without me noticing. How conversations that should’ve stayed light somehow… didn’t. Not with her. Never with her.
I shifted slightly, eyes fixed anywhere but her.
It was stupid, really. The way things felt different when it was just us. The way certain words sat heavier in my chest, like they meant more than I was willing to admit. Like if I let them linger too long, they’d turn into something I wouldn’t be able to brush off with a joke. Something harder to explain. Harder to ignore.
I exhaled quietly, forcing my thoughts back into something simpler. Safer. It didn’t have to mean anything. It was just Utahime.
That was all it was supposed to be.
I was snapped back to reality when Utahime suddenly stood up. “I’m gonna make coffee,” she said, already turning toward the kitchen like the conversation had been neatly filed away.
“Make some for me too,” I added quickly. “Make sure—”
“Only two scoops of creamer and one scoop of sugar,” she cut in without hesitation. “I know, Shoko.”
I stopped. Not because she got it right. But because she didn’t even have to think about it. But I guess that’s the thing about Utahime. She didn’t guess things about me— she knew them. It’s always been like this. Still… who was I to read more into it than what it was? Utahime was like that with everyone. The kind of person who remembered details because she cared enough to, not because they meant anything special. Just a good friend.
How I wish she wasn’t so nice.
“Shoko, what’s on your mind?” Utahime asked, glancing over at me while stirring the coffee.
I stopped myself mid-thought.
“…Nothing,” I said quickly.
The word came out before I even had time to decide if I meant it, which was exactly the problem. It always was with her—she didn’t need me to say things clearly. She just needed me to slip once. From the kitchen, her voice stayed calm, almost absent-minded as she kept stirring.
“You only say ‘nothing’ like that when it’s definitely something.”
I clicked my tongue. “It’s called privacy.”
“It’s called avoidance,” she corrected immediately.
No hesitation. No pause. Like she’d already categorized it somewhere in her head and was just choosing when to say it out loud.
I exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down my face.
“You’re annoying,” I muttered. “Stop doing that. You talk like you already know everything about me.”
Utahime didn’t answer right away. The spoon in her hand slowed, then stopped entirely. When she spoke, her voice was quieter than before—not softer, just more certain.
“I don’t want to know everything about you,” she said. A pause.
“I just want to know what you won’t say out loud.”
The word came out too casual. Too sharp. Like I was cutting the moment before it could settle into anything real.
Utahime didn’t respond immediately. I could hear her set the spoon down in the sink, water running lightly after that. Normal sounds. Easy sounds. Like she hadn’t just said something that made my brain go inconveniently quiet.
“So,” I said again, faster this time, “I made plans.”
A pause from the kitchen.
“…You made plans,” she repeated. “With who?”
I exhaled. “Suguru. Gojo. Nanami.” Utahime didn’t react much, but I still caught the faint shift in her expression at Gojo’s name. “Sounds loud,” she said.
Another pause. Then I added, a little too quickly, “You should come.” That made her stop. She looked like she’d been expecting it—but wanted to see if I’d actually say it properly.
Utahime tilted her head slightly. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Just… so the group’s complete.”
“…So the group is complete,” she repeated slowly.
That one word landed heavier than it should’ve.
I frowned. “What?” Utahime leaned lightly against the counter, arms loosely crossed now. Not pressing. Not accusing. Just patient. “Is that really why you want me there?” she asked. I clicked my tongue again, looking away. “Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m not,” she said simply. “I’m asking.” Silence stretched. Not empty this time. Just exposed. I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
“…It’s just a hangout,” I said finally. “That’s all.”
Utahime hummed softly, like she was considering how generous she wanted to be with that answer. Then she pushed off the counter and walked a little closer. Not into my space. Just close enough that I couldn’t pretend she wasn’t looking right at me.
“Shoko,” she said. My name sounded different when she said it like that.
“Yeah?” I replied, already bracing myself.
“Try again,” she said quietly.
“…It’s really not that serious,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Because you’re avoiding the question,” she cut in.
I let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. “God, you’re persistent.”
Silence settled between us again, but this time it didn’t feel like pressure.
It felt like she was giving me time. Which was worse.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring down at my hands.
“…It’d be better if you were there,” I said finally.
“You’re really bad at this,” she said. I huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
“But you still asked me to come anyway,” she added.
I looked at her. “…Yeah,” I admitted. That seemed to be enough. Utahime nodded once. “I’ll go,” she said.
I blinked. “That easy?” Utahime turned slightly, reaching for the coffee she’d left behind. “It wasn’t hard,” she replied. I frowned faintly. “You were full on interrogating me.”
“I was just waiting,” she corrected. “For what?” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “For you to say something honest.”
“And you almost did.” She added. And before I could figure out what to do with that, she handed me my cup like nothing had changed at all.
I took the cup from her, the warmth settling into my hands in a way that felt grounding—too grounding.
“Thanks,” I muttered, already looking away. Utahime hummed in acknowledgment, like that was enough. It always was, with her. I took a sip, more out of habit than anything, then set the cup down a little too quickly.
“I should… go finish some papers,” I said, pushing myself up from the couch. “Got a few things from school I’ve been putting off.” Utahime glanced at me. Not surprised.
Then she nodded. “Alright.”
So I turned and headed down the hallway, the sound of my own footsteps feeling louder than usual against the quiet of the apartment. I could still hear faint movement behind me—the soft clink of her cup, the rustle of fabric as she settled back onto the couch.
Normal. Everything was normal.
I closed my door behind me with a soft click. And just like that, the silence changed. My room felt smaller than I remembered. Or maybe it was just quieter in a way that didn’t have her in it. I stood there for a moment, staring at my desk—papers scattered, pen uncapped, everything exactly where I left it earlier. Proof of the excuse I had just made.
I didn’t move toward it. Instead, I let out a slow breath and dropped onto my bed, the mattress dipping beneath me as I stared up at the ceiling. The same ceiling. Different silence. My mind didn’t go to the papers. It went back to the living room.
I clicked my tongue softly, shifting onto my side.
The more I replayed it, the more it didn’t sound like she was trying to corner me. It sounded like she was trying to get me to meet her somewhere. Somewhere I kept stopping just short of. I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over my face. She wasn’t anything complicated. She was my friend. That was it. That’s what I’d always called her.
What everyone called her.
But the word friend just felt… incomplete. Not wrong, just not enough. I pressed the back of my hand against my eyes for a moment, like that would somehow stop the thoughts from forming fully. Because once they did, I knew they wouldn’t stay small. And I didn’t have anything to replace them with. I let my hand fall back to the bed, staring up at the ceiling again. “…This is stupid.” I muttered.
I reached for my phone, hoping it would distract me from my thoughts. It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse. The screen lit up, and somehow—unsurprisingly—it was still her. I opened Instagram. Utahime. Her posts, her photos, the same quiet, put-together version of her that everyone else saw. I scrolled past one, then another, not really looking but not stopping either. I switched apps.
TikTok. Still her. Reposts I didn’t remember liking but had watched anyway. Things she found funny. Things she found meaningful. Things that made sense in a way I didn’t bother trying to understand, but still watched through to the end.
Twitter. And there it was. Her account—filled with those long, half-coherent rants that somehow looped back into something thoughtful if you read them twice. Things that didn’t make sense at first glance, but felt… intentional.
I stared at one longer than I meant to. Then another. And then a post about that stupid show.
I frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. “Seriously…” I muttered under my breath. “What’s up with that show anyway?”
I remembered our conversation earlier in the living room.
“You sound like you’re projecting.”
I clicked my tongue softly, letting my phone drop onto my chest.
“…Maybe I was.” The thought sat there longer than I liked. Because the more I turned it over, the less I could deny it. Maybe I was reacting too strongly. Maybe I was making it a bigger deal than it needed to be. But could you blame me? I stared up at the ceiling again, the faint glow of my phone still lighting the edges of my vision. It’s just… unfair
Unfair how easy it was for other people to be so open about it.So loud and so unapologetic. Like it didn’t cost them anything to exist like that and to be seen, to be obvious, to not have to second-guess every little thing. And it pissed me off more than it should’ve. Because I wasn’t like that. I didn’t care about what people thought. Never had. I said what I wanted, did what I wanted, and let everyone else deal with it after. That was how it worked.
So why did this feel different? Why did the idea of being that open feel so… off?
I exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Why am I even thinking of this…” I groaned.
A knock broke through the quiet. “Shoko,” Utahime called from the other side of the door. “Do you want to eat dinner outside?” I stared at the ceiling for a second longer, like if I didn’t move, she’d just… go away. “I’m busy with my papers,” I replied.
“I can hear you tossing and turning on your bed.”
I closed my eyes. Of course she could. I let out a quiet breath, dragging a hand over my face. “…You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re a bad liar.” she said
“…Go without me,” I muttered. “I’ll eat later.”
The way she said my name made something in my chest tighten. I pushed myself up from the bed. “Okay, okay,” I said, louder this time. “I’m coming. I’ll just change my shirt.”
“Take your time,” Utahime replied.
I pulled a random shirt from the hanger, not really paying attention to what it was, just needing something… to do something normal. Something that didn’t involve thinking too hard about why I got up so quickly just because she said my name. I slipped it on, adjusting the fabric absentmindedly before glancing at myself in the mirror.
Nothing different. Same face, same expression. Same everything.
I hesitated for a second.
“…It’s just dinner,” I muttered.
The place we ended up in wasn’t anything special. Just some small restaurant tucked into the corner of a quiet street—dim lighting, a few scattered tables, the faint clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. The kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were already looking for somewhere to sit down. Utahime had picked it. Of course she did. She always went for places like this—quiet, out of the way, easy to disappear into.
We sat across from each other, menus open but barely looked at. I skimmed through mine out of habit, not really reading anything.
“You’ve been on that page for a while,” Utahime said.
I glanced up at her. “You don’t know that.”
I clicked my tongue, flipping the page anyway just to prove a point. “You assume too much.”
That made me pause. “…I do not.”
Utahime didn’t argue. She just looked at me for a second, like she didn’t need to. I looked back down at the menu. “…I’ll just get whatever,” I muttered.
“I didn’t say anything.” She exhaled softly, almost amused.
The waiter came by not long after, and we ordered without much thought—something simple, something easy. The kind of choices that didn’t require too much attention. When he left, the silence settled again. I tapped my fingers lightly against the table, then stopped when I realized I was doing it. Utahime noticed. She always did.
“So,” she said, folding her menu and setting it aside. “You abandoned your papers for this. Thanks.”
She raised a brow. “For dinner.”
The word came out quieter than I meant it to. Utahime didn’t say anything right away. She just reached for the glass of water in front of her, taking a small sip like she was giving me time to take that answer back if I wanted to. I didn’t. Instead, I leaned back slightly, trying to ignore the way the moment stretched just a little longer than it should’ve. “…Don’t read into it,” I added.
“I wasn’t,” she said. “But you always think I am.”
I frowned faintly, looking away. Because that was the problem. She didn’t need to read into anything. Because she just… understood it anyway.
And sitting across from her like this—nothing special, nothing different, just dinner in some random place—it still didn’t feel as simple as I kept telling myself it was.
“…This place is nice,” I said, like that was a normal thing to say.
It came out a little flat, a little delayed, like I was only just realizing I should probably say something. Anything. The silence between us had started to feel too noticeable again, and I didn’t like how quickly my mind tried to fill it with thoughts I wasn’t interested in having right now.
Utahime glanced around briefly, taking in the small, dim restaurant like she was checking something only she could see.
“It is,” she said simply.
I nodded slowly, like that explained something. It didn’t.
It shouldn’t have mattered that she agreed. It was just a place. Just a table. Just dinner. But the way she said it made it feel like she’d already decided this was a good place to be, and I found myself wondering if that included me sitting across from her, or if I was just part of the background that came with it.
“You come here often?” I asked, before I could overthink the question too much.
That answer fit her too well. Simple and controlled. Like she only ever revealed what was necessary, and even then only in pieces small enough to fit comfortably in a conversation without changing its shape too much.
I nodded again, slower this time, like I was trying to make sense of something I didn’t have all the information for. It still didn’t make sense. But nothing about her really needed to be explained out loud for her to understand it. That was the problem. Or maybe not the problem. I wasn’t sure anymore.
The food arrived not long after, breaking whatever thread of silence had started forming between us. Plates set down carefully, utensils clinking lightly against ceramic, the kind of normal noise that was supposed to make things easier. More grounded. More real. I stared at the food for a second too long before picking up my utensils.
“…So,” I said finally, forcing my voice into something casual, something neutral. “What made you pick this place?”
It wasn’t a deep question. It shouldn’t have been. But I still found myself watching her a little more closely after I said it, like I was bracing for an answer I couldn’t predict.
That was it. That was it…?
Simple. No extra explanation offered or needed.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because it wasn’t just about the restaurant. It never was with her. It was the way she chose things like this—quiet places, steady spaces, things that didn’t demand too much noise or performance. Things that felt intentional without ever needing to be announced.
I stared down at my plate, suddenly aware of how much louder my own thoughts felt compared to everything else.
“…Right,” I murmured, mostly to myself.
Of course she picked a place like this. Of course she always did things like that. There was always intention behind her choices, even when she made them look effortless. Even when she made them look like they didn’t mean anything more than what they were. And I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if I was one of those choices too.
I took a bite of food just to interrupt my own thoughts, focusing on chewing, on swallowing, on anything that kept me from following that line any further. Across from me, Utahime ate like nothing had shifted at all. Like I wasn’t sitting there thinking too much.
Like she didn’t already know I was.
✮ authors note: im not sure how many chapters this series will have but just expect slow updates...
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