An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Glitz, glamour, and more après than ski: that's St. Moritz to most of its visitors. What more could anyone ask for?
Well, actually, to Søren, it’s just a place to call home for a while. He couldn't really care less about the glitz. He’s here to forget about the career path he’s expected to carve out for himself and focus on what’s actually important: carving it up on a black run.
To Sigve, it's more an annoyance than anything else—a break he can't afford to take. All he desires right now is to make it through this vacation. Then he can let himself crash back in the privacy of his own home, all business affairs neatly closed and sorted. No fuss, no drama, no trouble with his father.
But, as they should both already know, you can’t always get what you want.
“Due to an administrative error”, or any major plot point which is caused almost entirely by bureaucratic fuckups
“Contrary to popular belief” appended to something that’s either really obvious or completely subjective
A character makes an assertion, then cut to the narrator contradicting it (‘“Everything’s fine!” Everything was not fine.’)
First-person narrators who call a specific character by a series of increasingly convoluted nicknames
Unusual narrative euphemisms. I still hold that describing around a curse word is almost always funnier than just using the word.
Establishing character moments which subvert your expectations right from the get-go. The best example is in the Brooklyn Nine Nine pilot, where Jake’s fooling around at the crime scene before revealing that he’s already solved the case.
Montages. Just montages of any kind, for any reason, anytime. I actually think they work better in text form because you can do so many creative things with them.
Side characters with a level of fourth-wall awareness / quasi-supernatural ability which is never quite certain, like the janitor in Scrubs.
Double meanings in narration that take a while to make themselves clear.
Young, ambitious to a fault, precociously successful, family-oriented. It’s not Thomassen but — by god, it could be. Of course, he’s a damn sight nicer than Thomassen, far less bitter and generally less insufferable — but still, Vasch has to shake himself.
Dr. Vasch Zwingli will have to check himself, if he ever wants to achieve cartharsis. That is, if he even deserves it. (Sequel to ‘dragged back, a sleepyhead’.)
“Emil and I might’ve left our parents for the better, but I’m still their son. I need out. I’m sorry, Arthur.”
“You nearly died for a patient, and yet you’re giving up medicine. I don’t understand. How can you do it?”
Dr. Kristian Thomassen never intended to spend his graduate life like this.
“Emil and I might’ve left our parents for the better, but I’m still their son. I need out. I’m sorry, Arthur.”
“You nearly died for a patient, and yet you’re giving up medicine. I don’t understand. How can you do it?”
Dr. Kristian Thomassen never intended to spend his graduate life like this.
“Emil and I might've left our parents for the better, but I’m still their son. I need out. I'm sorry, Arthur.”
“You nearly died for a patient, and yet you're giving up medicine. I don't understand. How can you do it?”
Dr. Kristian Thomassen never intended to spend his graduate life like this.
Tooru shakes his head frantically. “No! I’m not scared of anything!”
Hajime doesn't want Tooru to be afraid--that's what he's there for, silly.
_ _
The grass is damp and their shoes are strewn across the garden lawn. If he squints, Hajime can see his mother chopping up cabbage and celery through the steamed-up kitchen window, occasionally glancing up and out of the window to keep an eye on the two boys in the tree.
“Iwa-chan, I hate bugs!” Tooru squirms away from the jar in Hajime’s hand, nearly falling off his branch.
Hajime frowns at Tooru. How could anyone hate bugs? “But they’re so cool!”
“Yeah, but,” Tooru chews on the ends of his sleeves, “I hate them.”
Well, this was a bit of a problem. “There are lots of bugs in this tree.”
“There are?”
“Lots of bugs! Are you scared of them?”
Tooru shakes his head frantically. “No! I’m not scared of anything!”
Hajime grins. “Not even that scary maths teacher?”
Tooru bites his lip. “No… I’m not… scared of anything!”
“So, you won’t mind if I just--” Hajime starts unscrewing the top of the jar, and Tooru shrieks. Hajime knew it. Tooru always pretended to be brave and scared of nothing, but Hajime saw him close his eyes when they got flu jabs together. (Hajime wasn’t scared, not at all--he just happened to see a really big bird out of the window at the same time. That’s why he shrieked, honestly.)
“I’m a little scared of bugs!”
Hajime nods his head. “I thought so. But there isn’t anything to be scared of, I promise! Look, it can’t hurt you!” He screws the top back on the jar and inches it closer to Tooru, who shrieks again a little, then peers at it.
“It still looks scary, Iwa-chan.”
“Yeah, but loads of things look scary that actually aren’t. And it can’t hurt you. And if it tried to, I’d protect you, promise.”
“Promise?”
“Promise!” Hajime says, and balances the jar on a branch so he can hug Tooru. He means it.
Illumi turns around to look Hisoka in the eye and says, “I think I’m in love.”
_ _
Illumi stands in the window, the evening light throwing half his face into shadow. Hisoka doesn’t bother to announce himself–Illumi know he’s there, and if he wants to look like a poser, he’s not about to stop him.
“Good evening,” Illumi says, without turning around.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Hisoka purrs.
“I have something to discuss with you.”
“Go on?” he smiles.
Illumi turns around to look Hisoka in the eye and says, “I think I’m in love.”
Hisoka nearly chokes. Did I mishear him? I must have done. “Come again?”
“I said, I think I’m in love,” Illumi repeats. His face is completely blank as he says it, only adding to the absurdity of the situation.
“Well, who with?”
Illumi fiddles with his hair, turning away. To hide his face? Hisoka wonders. Surely not, although it depends on his answer– “You, probably.”
Hisoka blinks, and takes a second before replying. “You don’t sound very sure about it.”
“I’ve never been in love before.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Never?”
“Never,” Illumi confirms.
“Well then,” Hisoka says, smiling. “I’m honoured to be your first.”
Illumi shrugs, crossing his arms. “I’m not,” he says. “You’re annoying.”
“Annoying?”
“Annoying, whiny, selfish, arrogant, too loud, too flamboyant–you’d make a terrible assassin, you stand out everywhere. And you repeat everything I say.”
Hisoka grins. “I repeat everything you say?”
“Do you want to die here?”
He chuckles. “Sorry, sorry. But why are you telling me now?”
Illumi shrugs. “I felt it was necessary, since it concerns you directly.” It’s as if they’re talking about the weather–Hisoka is certain that conversations about love are meant to be much more dramatic and emotional than this, yet it’s quite alarmingly dull.
“So you’re not actually confessing to me, or anything?”
“No?”
“I see,” Hisoka says thoughtfully. “It’s just that if you were, I would be unable to turn you down.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
Hisoka takes a step forward, moving closer to Illumi. “Well, you see,” he says, whispering into his ear, “you just happen to be the most attractive and alluring assassin I have ever met.” He’s not entirely sure himself if he’s trying to provoke or seduce Illumi.
Illumi doesn’t flinch, despite Hisoka’s proximity, and Hisoka is almost disappointed at how dull the conversation continues to be. “I would hope that would be because the only other assassin you have met is my fourteen-year-old brother.”
“Well, that certainly plays a part in it. However, I can’t deny I love the idea of being with someone who could kill me at any moment.”
“You’re insufferable,” Illumi says with mild distaste.
“But you love me.”
“You have me there.”
I’m trying to ask him out, Hisoka decides. “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”
Illumi thinks on it for a while, turning back to gaze out of the window. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It’s a date, then.”
_ _
“Incidentally, why do you love me?” Hisoka asks over their dinner–their first ‘date’, if you will.
Illumi shrugs. “Who knows? I’ve never got close enough to anyone else to know what I’m attracted to.” He pauses. “I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that you did get to know me? I don’t think I’d ever be attracted to someone I don’t know well.”
“Well, I’m not complaining, you’re strong and attractive enough when you’re not a pincushion.”
“Are you mocking my abilities?”
Hisoka sips his wine and smiles. “Me? Never.”
Illumi narrows his eyes. “Honestly, why did it have to be someone like you?”
“We could get Akashi to do pretty much anything, with the help of Furihata,” says Kazunari.
It all starts when Shintarou mentions how long it's been since he truly left the office.
_ _
It all starts when Shintarou mentions how he hasn’t been on holiday in years.
They’re at Akashi and Furihata’s apartment for dinner, and Furihata’s talking enthusiastically about their recent ski trip to Switzerland, Akashi nodding and occasionally contributing to his story. Kazunari listens eagerly, asking questions in all the right places with wide eyes, while Shintarou listens in silence.
“The little mountain villages are so amazing, honestly, and the locals were so nice to us,” Furihata enthuses. “Sei speaks better French than anyone I know, so I wasn’t of much use, but it was really stunning.”
“I wouldn’t say you weren’t of use, Kouki, you were very helpful when I wasn’t wearing enough layers on the mountain,” Akashi says with a smile. “Your kisses really warm me up, in all honesty.”
“You know, I haven’t been skiing in years,” says Shintarou suddenly. “I haven’t been on holiday since I left university.”
Kazunari nods. “Same, now I think about it. I went to the beach for a week after my last exams, but I just haven’t had time. I guess it’s because we’ve been working all the time, and our breaks are always spent doing family things, so we never really leave the office.”
Furihata looks at Akashi. “Sei,” he says. “Sei, what the hell.”
“They never asked for specific holidays!” Akashi says quickly. “You’re very welcome to take a holiday, of course, I wasn’t aware it had been so long.”
Shintarou and Kazunari leave the Akashi-Furihata residence that evening with similarly smug faces and a two-months of paid leave, the longest break either of them have had since they were students. Furihata had insisted that Akashi give his marketing and financial directors a paid break, and the CEO could do nothing but nod helplessly in agreement.
“We could get Akashi to do pretty much anything, with the help of Furihata,” says Kazunari. “Dear old Sei is so far up Furihata’s ass that he’ll do anything for him. Furihata Kouki is possibly one of the most powerful men in Japan at this moment.”
“We could get him to fire Kise,” Shintarou adds.
“Rude, Shin-chan! That is not what this power is to be used for. Honestly, if Kise was gone, who would I get expensive Italian shirts from?”
_ _
Kazunari stretches, his fingertips only brushing the cupboard handle. It’s frustrating--he’s so close, yet he’s just two centimetres too short to reach the handle properly. Shin-chan could reach it, he thinks bitterly.
But Shin-chan’s not here. Shin-chan’s at his parents’ house, because apparently it’s ‘good manners’ to inform your family before you leave the country for two months.
Kazunari hasn’t bothered; he called his parents a few weeks ago to tell them he’d be out of the country for a while. They’re used to it, anyway--he goes on enough business trips that Kazunari leaving Japan for a two-month long tour of Europe is more of a relief than anything else. But things are always so much more formal in the Midorima household.
The door to their apartment clicks open, and Kazunari gives up on trying to reach the medicine cabinet in favour of wrapping himself around his boyfriend.
“Shin-chan,” he whines. “I can’t believe you used the excuse of telling your parents to get out of packing, I’ve been doing all the work myself! And I can’t reach the medicine cupboard, and I know I’m going to forget painkillers and then regret it when I have a hangover. And what do I even pack? Like, I’ve never been to Europe, I don’t even know what the weather’s going to be like? Shin-chan, I literally cannot believe you left me at such a crucial point in time.”
Shintarou blinks, absently stroking Kazunari’s hair. “Kazu, I left you for two hours, why does our apartment look like Kise’s office?”
“You left me to pack! You can’t fool me, Shin-chan, I know you hate packing and you’re just trying to get out of it! I know,” says Kazunari, looking at him with wide eyes, “I know all your secrets, Midorima Shintarou.”
“Prepostorous, I would do nothing of the sort,” Shintarou says in between pressing kisses to Kazunari’s cheeks and hair. “Never have I heard such utter rubbish.”
_ _
Europe is pleasantly warm, to answer Kazunari’s question.
It’s the twenty-seventh of May when they arrive at the Charles de Gaulles airport in Paris, and Kazunari knows this because he’s been counting down the days for weeks. They’re doing it the way they would have done in university, had they had the money; their worldly goods are all crammed into large backpacks, and their reservation is not at a five-star hotel, but a five-star youth hostel. They take the Metro into the centre of Paris, and almost get lost in the labyrinth.
(“Youth hostelling, Shintarou? Youth hostelling? Do I not pay you sufficiently? Is this a surreptitious insinuation that I need to increase your salary? I do apologise if that is the case--youth hostelling?”
“Kazunari said I should ‘loosen up’ a little more, and I always have wanted to see Europe properly, instead of the way it’s presented to foreign tourists. Besides, there are beautiful youth hostels in some of these cities.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”)
Kazunari pushes his sunglasses on top of his hair as he stretches and yawns. It’s not as hot as he expected; Paris is warm, but not stifling or really even uncomfortable. France is beautiful, he decides as he looks at the old, elegant buildings as they walk past, but he has no idea what any of the words they’re saying mean.
“French is a strange language,” he remarks. “It sounds completely different to how it sounded when I tried to learn some on my phone.”
“Mmm,” says Shintarou. “I can only say a few phrases, myself.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“‘Parlez-vous espagnol?’, ‘J’aime la natation’, and ‘Tes yeux sont comme la lune--brillantes, claires et vraiment intrigantes.’”
Kazunari stares at him. “Shin-chan, those are literally the three most unhelpful phrases you could possibly have memorised.”
“Let’s just hope they speak English, then,” says Shintarou, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ignoring Kazunari’s mutter of but Shin-chan, you don’t really speak English, either.
_ _
Paris is a blur of sightseeing and nice restaurants. They kiss on the top of the Eiffel Tower, and Kazunari asks an American tourist to take a photo of them together. It’s quite horrifically cliche, but even Shintarou finds himself enjoying the cheesy romance of it all.
(“Kazu, what are you doing?” Shintarou asks when he sees Kazunari with a black beret in hand.
“This will totally suit you, Shin-chan! I nearly got a red one, but then I remembered that time you wore a red coat, and I just--nah. But here, put this on!” Kazunari doesn’t wait for him to reply, but instead puts the hat on his head and takes a photo. “Beautiful, Shin-chan,” he says, and kisses him.)
After Paris, they take a train into Belgium. They spend three days in Brussels, and then four in Amsterdam, where they get another iconic picture--this time, they’re kissing on a canal boat. Kazunari takes a moment to mock John Green, and a teenage girl nearby gives him a glare fiercer than Akashi Seijuurou’s. Shintarou reprimands him, but Kazunari laughs and tells him it was worth it.
From the Netherlands, they go to Germany, and Kazunari insists on visiting the world’s biggest wooden rollercoaster. Shintarou finds out he’s afraid of rollercoasters, and Kazunari finds out he loves Black Forest gateaux. They begin to check their work inboxes less frequently, and Shintarou even goes so far as to turn his phone off for a day. (“Shin-chan, I’m so proud of you!” exclaims Kazunari, finding himself unable to do anything more than put his on flight mode.)
They travel through Germany to Switzerland, and Shintarou teaches Kazunari how to ski. They eat strawberries dipped in chocolate and hike in the spring sunshine. Shintarou falls in love with the waterfalls, and Kazunari falls in love with the mountain goats, and they both fall in love with each other’s enthusiasm.
From Switzerland, they go to Italy, and get very, very drunk on expensive wine and happiness. Shintarou insists on going to a concert, so they buy classy Italian suits that they will barely be able to fit in their bags and go out for the night.
Venice is followed by Vienna, a train journey that has Kazunari sleeping on Shintarou’s shoulder and Shintarou sleeping on Kazunari’s bag. More and more photos are taken, and Kazunari quietly decides that one day, he’s going to live in the mountains with Shin-chan and a very big dog. (Their expensive Italian suits get another moment to shine, as Shintarou is simply unable to pass up the opportunity of seeing a small orchestra perform at a concert hall they visit one afternoon.)
They visit Prague next, and Shintarou’s inner musician continues to sing with joy. They look a little out of place in these ornate concert halls, with their shorts and t-shirts and backpacks and (for Kazunari more than Shintarou) newly tanned legs. Still, Shintarou eagerly goes on, enthusing to his boyfriend about the history and architecture, while Kazunari listens happily and takes an average of six photos each minute.
(“I nearly came to school here,” mentions Shintarou at one point.
“My parents wanted me to study music here,” he replies wistfully. “I’m glad I didn’t, though.”
“Me too, I wouldn’t have met you if you did.”)
They go back through Germany to Denmark, and once again spend the long train journey sleeping peacefully on one another. Copenhagen is stunning, they soon realise, and a world away from anything they’ve seen before. Kazunari insists they do something that isn’t music related (“Don’t get me wrong, Shin-chan, I love the concert halls and the history behind them, it’s just that I think we should take a break from visiting them every other day, y’know?”) and decides that now is as good a time as ever to buy cheap, touristy souvenirs. They go into a shop looking like a average pair of tourists, and walk out with mermaid keyrings and Danish flags hanging from every zip on their bags, and Kazunari sports a “I Bike Copenhagen” t-shirt. Shintarou is wearing a somewhat disgruntled expression and a large, red and white hat. (“I take it all back, Shin-chan, r-red really suits you,” Kazunari says in between laughs. Shintarou stares dully back at him, only causing Kazunari to laugh harder.)
After Denmark, they visit Sweden, and then Norway. By the time they’ve reached Oslo, they only have four days left until their flight back to Tokyo. They put their new suits to good use again, and eat dinner at a restaurant that Akashi Seijuurou himself would be impressed by, then return to their youth hostel, where their cheap, creaky beds await.
Their flight departs from London Heathrow in three days now, and the flight from Oslo to Edinburgh takes up another half-day.
Scotland is once again a completely different experience. The city of Edinburgh is beautiful, and both Kazunari and Shintarou feel they could spend hours just staring at the castle in all its prestige.
When they get to London the day after, with one day and an evening left before they return to Japan, they decide to book themselves into an expensive hotel instead of the youth hostel they had planned to stay in. (“We’ve stayed in hostels for the past two months, it’s not as if we’re really cutting any corners,” says Shintarou, as if to reassure himself.) They can’t really find the energy to go out for a meal, so order room service and swear to eat out the day after.
It’s been a phenomenal two months, they agree.
_ _
Sitting on the banks of the Thames, they lace their fingers together and rest on their backpacks. Kazunari could probably fall asleep there and then, and he’s certainly drifting that way when Shintarou catches his attention.
“Kazu,” he says quietly. “Kazu.”
“Mmm?”
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Kazunari smiles sleepily, squeezing Shintarou’s hand. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“I love you a lot, Kazu. So much.” His tone is sincere, and Kazunari knows he means every word of it.
“I love you too, Shin-chan. So, so much.”
_ _
They return to the office with light shoulders and tanned skin. Everything is in a disarray--or at least, it’s not quite how it’s meant to be, which usually equates to disarray in both of their minds. They’re welcomed back like some kind of heroes, though, and Kazunari never thought he’d be so glad to see his office in his life.
“Wow, nice suit, Takaocchi!” Kise says, his eyes wide. “You’re both so tanned, I didn’t even know Midorimacchi could tan.”
Shintarou’s eyebrow twitches, and Kazunari laughs.
Something registers in Kageyama’s mind as he yells to Hinata, staring down at the paper. A small, red origami heart lies crumpled on his palm.
_ _
Their main problem is a lack of confidence. Both Hinata and Kageyama acknowledge the fact that they act like a couple, are generally thought to be a couple, and know that they see one another as more than just teammates by now--three years of denial is just too long, in their opinion. However, neither of them quite have enough courage and faith in their own abilities to read the other’s feelings, or in Tsukishima’s words, ‘They’re both too stupid to read into anything but a volleyball play.’
Hinata wants little more than to leave Karasuno with another win at the Inter-Highs, fairly good grades and Kageyama as his boyfriend. Kageyama probably wants the same kind of thing, Hinata tells himself, probably. Suga-san tells him he definitely does, but how does Suga-san know? He’s at university in Tokyo, and it can’t be so obvious that he’d pick up on it from Tokyo because Hinata himself would know then. (Surely.)
“Just believe in your instincts,” Suga-san tells him during a Skype call. “If you think he likes you, he probably does. Definitely does, in fact.”
But now Hinata doesn’t know how to tell him. Although, Suga-san offers him advice on that one, too-- “He’s a total secret romantic, right? What’s the most cheesy and romantic way of confessing your undying love to someone that you can think of?” (“Any way,” Hinata replies. “And I’m not sure about the whole undying love part--”) “It’ll definitely work. Trust me!”
(He does.)
_ _
“Hey, Kageyama, could you just hold this for me for a second?” Hinata asks, piling stuff into his arms.
“What the fuck, Hinata? I can’t carry all this, I have my own stuff, take it back--”
“Hold on, I need to grab my bike! Please, Kageyama?” Hinata whines, dragging out the vowels in his words. His bike is chained to a fence a few metres away, and Kageyama stares at it.
“Couldn’t you have carried this just a little further?” He asks, looking over Hinata’s pile of bags and clothing. “Why do you even have so much stuff, anyway?”
“I need it!” Hinata replies brightly, running over to unchain his bike.
Kageyama nods. “Yeah, because that explains everything. Can you please take some of your stuff back now?”
“Sure, give me a sec! Thank you, Kageyama!”
“Don’t mention it,” Kageyama replies, albeit somewhat reluctantly. As Hinata relieves him of his load, he stretches, yawning. A piece of paper flutters to the ground, and he reaches to catch it before it falls in a puddle. Hinata’s already on his bike, starting to pedal away from Kageyama.
“Hey, Hinata, you idiot, don’t you want your--” Kageyama looks at the paper in his hand, “your heart back?”
Something registers in Kageyama’s mind as he yells this, staring down at the paper. A small, red origami heart lies crumpled on his palm.
“Nah,” Hinata calls back, “it was yours anyway.”
Kageyama nearly drops the heart in the puddle again, his cheeks burning. “Wait, what? Damn it, Hinata, that was smooth--come back here, bastard!”
“See you tomorrow, Kageyama! Don’t forget that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are meant to be helping us with English after school!”
Kageyama covers his face with his hands. “You’re so embarrassing, Hinata.” I love it.
_ _
Kageyama Tobio, 20:09: i love you, thank you so much
Tsukishima Kei, 20:10: i really hope you sent this to the wrong number
Kageyama Tobio, 20:10: GOD FUCKING DAMNIT
Kageyama Tobio, 20:57: i love you, thank you so much
Hinata Shouyou, 20:57: i love u 2 <3 (and u should probably thank suga-san not me tbh)
"A cat? Nah," Kazunari replies nonchalantly as he tries to stop his coat from wriggling.
_ _
From the moment he walks in through their front door, Shintarou is suspicious. Suspicious, concerned, and worried. Kazunari rarely comes home after seven, but eight o'clock has been and gone, and there's definitely something off about that. He walks in at twelve minutes past, and Shintarou narrows his eyes at his boyfriend as he shuffles in with a grin and a thicker coat than he left the house with.
"Evening, Shin-chan! I'm just going to go upstairs, okay? I'll make dinner later, just going to take a shower!"
Even more suspicious. "Kazu, are you alright? You're never home this late."
"I'm fine, Shin-chan! Just great, actually, really great. Honestly!" Kazunari laughs, his words growing more and more suspicious by the minute.
Shintarou looks at him, eyebrows raised. Just as he's about to say something, Kazunari's coat moves slightly, and a look of alarm crosses his face as he hurries to leave the room.
"I'll go take that shower, haha--"
"Is that a cat?" Shintarou asks.
"A cat? Nah," Kazunari replies nonchalantly as he tries to stop his coat from wriggling.
"That is a cat," says Shintarou.
"...nah." Kazunari's coat meows quietly.
"Kazunari, your coat is mewing. There is a cat in your coat."
"Nah."
"Kazunari, I am allergic to cats."
A fluffy head with bright green eyes pokes out of Kazunari's coat, and a small paw bats at his face.
"I'll just go upstairs."
Shintarou sighs, and then sneezes.
Kise Ryouta grins at him when he looks up from lacing his shoe and Kisumi swears he is going to die. “Hi,” Kise says. “Are you new here, too?”
_ _
Kisumi is, to say the least, startled when he walks into his university’s gym to see none other than his own celebrity crush and idol and Number One on his To Kiss list.
Kise Ryouta grins at him when he looks up from lacing his shoe and Kisumi swears he is going to die. “Hi,” Kise says. “Are you new here, too?”
“Oh, not really, erm, hi,” Kisumi stammers out. He’s definitely not this awkward normally, is he? Nah, it’s probably just the effects of being in the same room as Kise Ryouta. “I’m Shigino Kisumi, second year, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Kise Ryouta,” says The Kise Ryouta. (The actual Kise Ryouta. As in, the one he’s lowkey been crushing on since he was fourteen. That Kise Ryouta. Did he do his eyeliner? Kisumi can’t do eyeliner like that. Kisumi’s cousin, his eyeliner master, can’t do flicks as majestic as those. Although, Satsuki is more of a mascara person.) He offers his hand and Kisumi wants to kiss it.
“I know,” Kisumi says, then realises what he said and laughs nervously. “I mean,” he hopes his hand isn’t too sweaty oh my god he’s shaking hands with Kise Ryouta he’s touching Kise Ryouta “I’ve seen your name in magazines. I’m a fan of your modeling work, actually. And of your, erm, basketball skills.” Was that too forward? Is Kise going to think he’s just another annoying fan or something? (He is, but that isn’t important--)
Kise’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “You like my work?” A grin spreads over his ridiculously pretty face. “Wow, I’ve never met a fan who isn’t like, thirteen, or--hey, wait, did you say Kisumi?”
“Er. Yeah?” Oh no did he think I wanted him to kiss me I mean he wouldn’t be wrong but did I fuck up I
“As in like, cousin of Momoicchi?”
“Momoicchi--wait, do you mean Satsuki?” What the heck what the hell what is actually going on
“Yeah, Momoicchi!” Kise’s perfect teeth are shown off in a wide grin and it feels Kisumi has just jumped into a non-heated pool in the middle of winter. “Man, she was always talking about you--it has to be you, you’ve got the same hair and everything, and Kisumi isn’t really a common name, and she said you liked basketball as much as any of us, and you’re here, so… Wow, what a small world!”
What a small fucking world indeed. Satsuki knows Kisumi’s university, she knows how much he loves Kise Ryouta, she even gave him posters--oh. That’s why she gave him posters. “Yeah,” he says. “Small world, huh.”
“Anyway, cousin-of-Momoicchi, do you want to get a drink after practice? I know this really cute little cafe not far from here, and none of my high school friends want to meet up with me… Ah, but I’m sure it’s because they’re all busy working, and not because they don’t want to see me!”
I mean, who wouldn’t want to see you. On a more important note, did Kise Ryouta just ask him out? “Hell fucking yes.” Did he just say that out loud?
“Great!” Kise’s voice is really pretty. Oh look, he’s turning around. Damn, his butt is fine. Is he doing something? Oh, right, basketball. That’s why he’s here. That’s why Kisumi’s here. Kisumi should get on with that.
He swears to God that when Kise praises him on his dunk he makes halfway through practice, he’s just going to melt right there and then. Also, he’s absolutely going to murder Satsuki later.
“I ordered a pizza,” says Seijuurou, examining the stranger, “not a sleep-deprived art student in a tight shirt holding a birthday cake.”
_ _
Seijuurou isn’t expecting company on his birthday. It sounds sad, but he doesn’t really want company--and he’s not just telling himself that, despite what Reo might say. He is a man of solitude, after all, and he’s perfectly content with a pizza and his Economics homework on his twentieth birthday; his work isn’t going to complete itself. Besides, the constant stream of text messages that Ryouta and Satsuki are sending him are company enough, honestly.
That said, he’s finished his work by eight o’clock and is trawling through Netflix when the doorbell rings. (He’s not lonely. Really.) If that’s Ryouta, he thinks, his ear may not end up the only place that is pierced.
It’s raining outside, apparently. The person standing in his hallway is drenched, and it doesn’t do much for his already disheveled appearance. There’s a box in his hand, but it certainly isn’t the pizza Seijuurou ordered half an hour ago. On the bright side, this person is definitely not Kise Ryouta.
“I ordered a pizza,” says Seijuurou, examining the stranger, “not a sleep-deprived art student in a tight shirt holding a birthday cake.”
The guy jumps as he speaks, having apparently been staring behind Akashi at his apartment. “I-I’m sorry, Akashi-san, I don’t know anything about a pizza, but I was s-sent here by a guy called,” he glances at his hand, checking a name, “Kieran Ryder.”
Kieran Ryd-- Ryouta. Seijuurou sighs. “Why am I even surprised? Come in, I suppose, just put the cake on the coffee table. What’s your name and do you like coffee?”
“F-Furihata Kouki,” says Furihata Kouki, “a-and I really should go, I’m sure Kise-kun--I mean, Ryder-kun--only intended for me to deliver the cake, and it’s your birthday and I should go--”
“If Ryouta sent you here, the only reason you’re here is because he thinks you would be a good match for me,” Seijuurou says. He goes to make Furihata a coffee, and doesn’t notice the way his guest stares at him as he puts the box down gingerly on a coffee table covered in completed essays. “Besides, it’s raining. You’ll catch a cold.”
“A good match for you? What, as in, r-romantically?”
Seijuurou gives him a deliberately dull look as he hands him his coffee. “Furihata-kun, have you met Kise Ryouta?”
“Yes? I mean, we’re friends? Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”
“Then I’m sure you’re also aware that he’s in love with the concept of romance.”
“Well, yes, but--”
“And I have to say,” continues Seijuurou, looking at Furihata’s shaggy hair, tired eyes and chapped lips, “that this time, I don’t entirely disagree with him.”
Furihata stares at him. “Are you flirting with me?”
Seijuurou laughs at that. “Yes, Furihata-kun. I am indeed flirting with you. You don’t seem unintelligent, you’re pretty attractive, and it’s eight-thirty on a Friday night that I would otherwise spend watching documentaries on Netflix by way of celebrating my birthday. I am sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.”
“No! I mean, no, it--it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. You can keep flirting with me--I mean, you can--I--” he takes a sip from his coffee, hiding his face in his hair, “I really don’t mind you flirting with me.”
“That’s useful,” Seijuurou says in an amused tone. “Would you like some cake?”
_ _
He wakes up on the day after his birthday with pizza crumbs in his bed and his TV still running. Surprisingly, the rest of the evening had gone pretty well for something clearly orchestrated by Kise Ryouta, and Seijuurou held much fewer reservations about having a stranger in his apartment than he would usually, for one reason or another. They ended up watching cheesy sitcoms and eating a pizza that was beyond late in delivery, and he couldn’t find it in himself for once to file a complaint about it as he saw the excitement in Furihata’s eyes.
(“What are you even used to eating?” Seijuurou asks in horror as Furihata inhales his half of the pizza. Apparently, his usual diet consists of instant ramen and very little else. Seijuurou doesn’t know what he was expecting.)
They even had the same taste in old films, they had discovered, as they decided that watching TV until three a.m. was the best way of spending a Friday night.
He has about thirty unread messages (and several images from Ryouta), but he only bothers looking at one.
(08:43) Furihata Kouki: ok but how did u know i was an art student
(09:31) Akashi Seijuurou: i saw you and your work when i went to ryouta’s exhibition. i found “seeing red” particularly riveting, to be honest. it was almost as if you were frustratedly watching this person from afar without properly meeting them. truly intriguing
(09:31) Furihata Kouki: ...do u want to get a coffee
(09:31) Akashi Seijuurou: coffee sounds good
Seijuurou vows never to be so skeptical of Ryouta’s plans again.
