Shoko Ieiri x Kento Nanami / Ieiri Shoko x Nanami Kento
(If you don't like the ship, please pass on instead of criticizing it <3 Anyways, it's not just romance - it's subtle signs with banter and an entire night)
> Mild swearing + Satosugu Mentions + Suggestiveness (Only Mildly)+ Satoru's POV at the end
Time flies fast when you’re having fun.
Probably that’s why it felt like time itself had stopped.
The clock had, unfortunately, emitted the unholiest noise known to man and just suicided on the floor (Satoru acted like it happened everyday) and stopped about three hours ago.
About, Shoko reminded herself, eyeing the last bottle of spirit on the squat table. She’d been restraining herself for a while now. She did deserve the last bottle, right?
Of course I do, she reassured herself internally before reaching out, her fingers wrapping around the cold glass bottle. I need something to drink to digest the four bottles I had earlier.
“Just so you know,” Satoru drawled from his perch – precisely, Geto’s lap, where they both lounged at the bed’s feet, long legs tangled in front of them on the plush carpet. “I am not volunteering to drag your ass across the streets if you’re too drunk.”
“In case you forgot, Satoru,” Shoko popped the cap open, swirling the bottle in her hand, “not everyone has the alcoholic tolerance of a grasshopper.”
“I’m supposing the grasshopper is Satoru?” Suguru butts in, fingers tangled in the fine strands of Satoru’s white hair, the other furtively advancing up his side.
“Fuck yeah, I am – this grasshopper’s gonna jump you, Suguru,” Satoru stretched, deliberately hitting Suguru’s nose in the process.
Shoko felt the need to pull a face at them, or call them out, but resisted, tipping her head back and downing the bottle. The alcohol scorched its way down her throat, leaving a trail of heat that settled low in her chest, heavy and warm. She barely flinched.
Sprawled on a bean bag in the corner of Satoru’s room, Shoko flatly watched them both – Suguru’s back against a bedpost, Satoru seated on his lap, play fighting and …
Whatever. She didn’t care that much, honestly. She was dragged here under duress, Satoru dragging her off her bed by her leg when she denied.
Satoru never used to ask – he just declared.
Like when he barged into Shoko’s dorm in pink elephant shorts, shirtless, white hair rogue and eyes piercing with intensity. “Sho-koooo, we’re hosting a sleepover at my estate.”
“Your estate?” She’d raised her brow at his retreating back.
So now, lazing on the pale green bean bag, she was certain that anytime God would look down at them and say, “you still up?” Well, the stars glitched in the inky pools of darkness, namely – the sky, like a bad internet signal, her legs aching yet ears aching even more.
She was certain that anytime now God would look down at them and say, “you still up?”
Well, the stars glitched in the inky pools of darkness – namely, the sky – like a bad internet signal, with each passing second, her legs aching; yet ears aching even more, courtesy of listening to the two’s bickering.
“You could’ve at least tried to look presentable,” Satoru grimaced, procuring a bottle of apple juice out of his ass – or maybe thin air. He appraised Shoko disdainfully, his nose scrunched.
“Yeah, well, not everybody spends ¥50,000 on one shirt that they’ll never wear again,” Shoko rubbed her face, pointedly glancing at Satoru’s oversized designer shirt loosely hung on one shoulder, unceremoniously tucked into satin pajamas that slung low on his waist, the material rippling with each movement like water.
“Well, pretty boys deserve to be treated pretty,” Satoru shrugged, grinning as he adjusted the sleeping mask – on his head, like a headband, instead of his eyes.
“Sucks to be you,” Shoko whistled, toying with the hem of her outsize, plain white, drop-shoulder top, a sliver of her black shorts peeking out from underneath the fabric. “Having to treat yourself because no one else will.”
“That’s why I don’t keep expectations,” Satoru sighed, sipping noisily from the bottle, Suguru cringing visibly.
“What about me?” He whined, tugging on Satoru’s hair fiercely, some juice splashing on his black, long-sleeved Henley, a translucent splotch darkening near the hem of his shirt, a few rivulets streaking down to his grey sweatpants.
“What about you?” Shoko rubbed her eyes, pointedly looking at Geto, who rose his brows at her. And that’s when she remembered – her bag.
She reached out, her arm disappearing into her bag, extracting a slim, squat decanter of liquor. It was pint-sized, honestly – not too little yet not too much.
“Suguru, do you want some?” She offered, extending her arm, the cork popping off crisply.
“No, thanks,” he shook his head, one hand idly tracing patterns on Satoru’s shoulder.
“Gross lovebirds,” Shoko murmured, shaking the bottle vigorously, eyeing the settling sediments in the decanter like stardust in pellucid water.
“I mean, alcohol is not my taste exactly,” Suguru explained, a hint of mischief lacing the subtle grin he gave, “but I wouldn’t refuse if only Satoru had some.”
“Why meeeee?” Satoru whined, scowling at the bottle like it had personally offended him.
“Because you get drunk even after a sniff of the stuff,” Shoko rose a brow, finding herself particularly curious to see the effects of liquor on the “strongest one”.
“It’s not that I get drunk,” Satoru stuck out his tongue at her, “It’s only that I … dislike the taste.”
“M-hm,” Suguru stifled a grin. “You dislike the taste so much you get dizzy and start babbling.”
“You know what? Hey, Shoko, give me that,” Satoru shifted, stashing the bottle of apple juice into Suguru’s arms – precisely, his chest – and reaching out to Shoko, his long fingers wiggling in the air.
“Just so you know,” Shoko leaned forward, handing the bottle of liquor over half-heartedly, Satoru’s fingers brushing hers as they wrap tightly around the icy bottle, “I will not volunteer to haul your drunk ass over to your bed. Or the toilet.”
“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugged, studying the liquid carefully, “I can do it myself.”
Shoko and Suguru’s laughter erupted in tandem, smothering the profanities fluently flowing from Satoru’s mouth, his eyes narrowed.
“So you’re going to drink the entire bottle?” Suguru glanced at him, concern and disbelief lacing his voice.
Satoru paused, glaring at the bottle, chewing on his lip. Then, his eyes shot to Shoko’s, at the smug grin on her face, and he scowled. “It’s not sour?”
“It’s … not sour,” Shoko shook her head hastily, that smug smirk still pulling at the corner of her lips.
Satoru narrowed his eyes further at her. “And I should believe you?”
“Why shouldn’t you?” Shoko blinked innocently, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms, leaning forward on her bean bag.
“Oh, I don’t know … maybe because the last time you filled my shorts with fire ants?”
“It’s not like they bit you,” Shoko reasoned.
“I was lucky I had my infinity on!” Satoru threw his hands up, almost dropping the bottle.
“Unfortunately,” Suguru sighed, earning an elbow nudge from Satoru.
“How did we end up talking about fire ants and death?” Suguru interrupted, holding up a finger between the two.
“Maybe because Satoru’s scared to drink the bottle and has been stalling.”
“I was just calling out the absurdity and cliché-ness of ants in shorts.”
“Yet you still fell for it,” Shoko baldly pointed.
“It’s not like the ants would have communicated to me and went like, “Hey, man, we’re in your pants”. Do you check your shorts whenever you wear them?”
“I am not going to answer that,” Shoko grimaced.
“Yeah, I see the thought process,” Suguru winced.
“So, this precedes the fact that the ‘strongest one’ is reluctant – no, terrified – to drink liquor.” Shoko declared, knowing full well she was adding fire to the oil.
“Who said?” Satoru rose his brows so high they almost disappeared under his hair.
“We all surmised that because you’ve been avoiding the shit for about ten minutes.”
“You’d be laughing on my grave if I died of alcohol,” Satoru glared at Shoko.
“Who dies of being drunk?”
“Who wouldn’t? The stuff is egregious. Sour, rotten and whatever.”
“I’m incorporating ‘whatever’ into my daily vocabulary to address anything I find horrible,” Suguru announced.
“Pity he wasn’t named ‘whatever’,” Shoko eyed Satoru disdainfully.
“If – when – I reach the pearly gates of heaven after a drop of this poison, God asks who killed me, I’ll say ‘whatever’.”
“But you didn’t do suicide?” Suguru smirked.
“Even you?” Satoru whirled around to stare at him with betrayal etched across his face.
“I didn’t say anything,” he held up his hands.
“Bold of you to assume you’ll be witnessing the pearly gates,” Shoko scratched her nose gingerly. “But – enough of dancing about the bush. If you’re a coward, just say so.”
“I wouldn’t have ever invited you if I knew what you’d do to me,” Satoru pouted, shaking his head slowly.
“It’s not a sleepover if you don’t step out of your comfort zone,” Suguru shrugged, his hands resting on the dip of Satoru’s waist.
“You stop preaching,” Shoko flipped him off.
“I have come to the conclusion,” Satoru suddenly announced. “That I’m going to have one shot only. Because even that is a lot.”
“Just one?” Shoko blurted, obviously disappointed.
“The fuck you want me to do? Drink the whole vat?”
“Five,” Shoko declared with finality.
“Two,” Satoru leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
“Fine,” Shoko shrugged, “three it is.”
“No, but three would be about just little than half of the bottle,” Shoko squinted at the bottle, intoning from experience.
“You sure?” Satoru hesitantly prompted, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.
“It’s not like there’s gonna be twelve shots in half of that shit.”
Suguru’s face split into a beam. “You think that’s big?”
Satoru grimaced, scooting away from him (yep, still on his lap.)
“That’s still three – or could be four, if you go through with the half, idiot,” Shoko drawled.
“I won’t feel that horrible in three shots,” Satoru grinned. Which faltered the moment he noticed Shoko’s devilish grin and Suguru’s apprehensive look. “…Right?”
Suguru tousled Satoru’s hair, fingers fisting in the strands as he pulled him closer to his face, lowering his head to murmur in his ear, “You forget yourself easily, Satoru.”
Satoru swiftly pulled away, stammering, his ears red. “I’ll survive.”
“Says who,” Suguru chuckled.
“The lightweightest drinker,” Shoko flipped Satoru off casually, crossing her legs.
“That’s not even a word!” Satoru called out, the drink splashing dangerously close around the neck of the bottle.
Satoru glared at her – though it was devoid of real bite – and then glanced at the bottle. “Here goes, bitches,” he shrugged, and then lifted the bottle to his lips.
Suguru’s hands subtly tightened around Satoru’s waist, staring at the bottle’s mouth and the slowly dwindling drink in it.
“Go faster,” Shoko egged, regarding the bottle distastefully.
Satoru broke away from the bottle with a gasp, his lips slightly swollen. “That’s what she said,” he graced the meeting with the phrase before tipping his head back again, drinking faster this time.
His face twisted and one hand shot up to rest on his chest, pressing circles over the expanse with his knuckles.
“It’s not sour,” Suguru objected, tangling his fingers in Satoru’s hair and pulling his head back with a jerk, narrow streams of dark brown drizzling down his chin as he fought to attach onto the bottle like a suction cap.
Shoko watched with blatant disapproval and maybe intrigue as the column of Satoru’s neck bobbed with each swallow, the movement enunciated with a grimace.
The bottle was stranded near the table’s leg, its meniscus innocently marked in the smack middle of the container. Shoko stared farther in the distance with disinterest, not bothering to spare the other two a glance. Watching them is like watching an eighty-year-old couple have sex.
Shoko started to slowly uncoil to her feet, wincing at the stretch of muscle. She sauntered over to the doorway, gave the making-out couple one last, parting – disgusted – look, and fished her phone out of her short’s pocket. She always liked her clothes with pockets.
Her fingers rapidly flew across the screen, lip worried between her teeth.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know who to call.
She had planned to call them since the beginning of the past hour, as soon as Satoru had hopped about the room, declaring stupid yet aimed confessions and cackled, hopped onto Suguru’s lap, grinned at him lasciviously, whispered something in his ear and went at it like a fucking starved man.
She had mentally made a note to ring them up as soon as possible when Suguru hadn’t refused, instead had ran his hands up the sides of Satoru’s waist, fingers digging in his ass and one hand tight in his hair. Maybe it was because Shoko had egged him to drink, too – but it wasn’t like she’d asked him to drink the entire bottle and eat the other person up. Not my fault.
One sharp exhale, and then the only noises in the quiet ‘estate’ was the insistent, soft beeping sounds of the phone and the wet, sloppy noises and groans and heavy breaths from behind her. Ew.
The hallway was limned in pale, milky moonlight, Satoru’s ostentatious taste evident in the diaphanous material of the flapping curtains, rippling like silk in the scant light, the plush carpets lining the floor and frames, flowers and decorations Shoko might have to sell her right lung and left kidney (and future child) for generously placed across the extensive corridor. The ceiling was a reflective gold, as Shoko craned her neck, finding her half-lidded, insomnia laden eyes staring back at her, a crystal-encrusted chandelier hanging from the-
“It’s night time, Kento,” she slapped her phone to her ear. She was the type to call on speaker – but there were some people for whom she needed to hear clearly.
Of course, only because he speaks good. I mean – because what he says is important and … and there are lessons to learn from him. Right…? What the fuck am I thinking.
“Would you rather I say “good night” and hang up?” His rough, deep voice retorted from the other side. Possibly sleeping. Who cares. Not me. Couldn’t be me.
“You wouldn’t,” she cocked her head although she fully knew even Kento’s guardian angels can’t see her right now.
“You put a lot of trust in me, Ieiri-san,” Shoko bit her cheek at the honorific. There wasn’t any need to address her like that.
Satoru and Suguru would kill her if they knew what she was thinking. Shoko, not wanting respect?
“You can hang up right now, Kento,” she challenged him, placing one hand on her hip, her feet braced apart on the floor, her fingers splaying across her phone.
Silence met her from the other side. Then, a long, heavy sigh, like it was wrenched out from the poor man’s soul itself. “Ieiri-san … Are you okay?”
“Oh, let me suppose. A colleague calls me at three forty-seven in the night when she was allegedly hanging out at her friends’, and sounds exhausted as if they drank out her soul. Is a man not allowed to worry?”
“Am I still just a colleague to you, Kento?” She whined.
“Are you suggesting we be something more, Ieiri-san?” He replied. The sarcasm was evident, lacing the words like frosting on cake – although both of them heard the undercurrent of secrecy concealed beneath the implication.
She could’ve sworn she heard him fucking chuckle from the other side, a low, soft, rumbling sound.
“Kento – can you pick me up?” She dropped the bomb, the actual reason.
And though she expected him to deny; he had literally every reason to. He didn't ask why, where, when - he could cancel, because she knew him enough to value a good routine.
Although his next words had her sucking in a breath.
“Just stay inside, Ieiri-san. I’ll just be ten minutes.”
“Wait – how do you know where I am?”
A painful quiet met her, and her ears only picked up the rough sounds of his breathing, before he quietly said, “I … just know. No more questions. Just stay where y-”
“I am your senior, Kento. How dare you revoke my permission to query you?”
“I am your junior, Ieiri-san. I can always deny to save you from the house of the man I hate.”
“Never knew you had it in you to joke, Kento.”
“Good thing you understood I was joking, Ieiri-san.”
“I could send you a picture if you simply asked, Ieiri-san.”
She bared her teeth, squinting at the phone. How dare he make her feel…
“But isn’t your house a twenty minutes’ drive form Satoru’s?”
“How … ten minutes? Are you-”
“Do not question it, Ieiri-san.”
Shoko had to bite down on her tongue to prevent herself from retorting back and destroying any chance of escape she had. Her finger hovered on the red button, the call silent.
Before there was a crackle.
She waited, listening intently.
“Just don’t focus on them. I can bet my entire salary for three months that Satoru is drunk, and I can bet more than that on the fact that you egged him to drink.”
“One day, you’re going to give me lessons on how to figure everything out while you’re on the other side of the continent.”
“Ah. At least tell me you wore something decent and didn’t pull up in your nighties.”
“Who said I wore nighties?”
“I – Satoru wears those hideous, cotton things.” She found her face burning. Oh, fuck. What was he inferring?
“Well, unlike Satoru, I stand firm in the belief that sleeping in clothes is uncomfortable.”
He cleared his throat. “Take care, Ieiri-san. I’m coming.”
There was a beat of a pause – “It goes against my morals to not give my seniors respect. Goodbye.”
Shoko facepalmed herself hard enough to leave a sting, cursing herself – although she failed to notice that Kento didn’t call her Ieiri-san at the end.
She expected a car to pull into the driveway, the humongous, flamboyant space reserved for Satoru’s and probably his children’s and their children’s cars. Emphasis on cars.
Shoko might have missed him arriving had she not been sitting on the veranda’s lower steps, her bare legs dangling off and brushing the dewy grass, hands braced behind her and the icy winds brushing against her cheek timidly.
Instead of a car, a figure gradually ambled past the stone-path, up to the veranda. The sculpted-by-God silhouette outlined by the moonlight slowly morphed into a more detailed figure, the rough sketch to the shapes and curves, and then the full picture.
Kento pulled off a helmet from his head, running a finger through his hair, the blonde strands set ablaze by the light and tousled – as if he was sleeping. He swiftly pushed the helmet under his arm, long legs carrying him over to her. Shoko could see the gentle frown on his face, his eyes, rendered gilded by the scarce lights pouring out of the inside of the estate, locked on her.
Her eyes inadvertently dropped to his frame, and a sigh of relief (and dismay) pulled out of her as she took in the cream white turtleneck he donned, the fabric hugging each and every curve and muscle of his figure, doing a horrible job at hiding his build yet a magnificent task at seeming modest. A pair of black jeans was set on his waist, held by a belt, and she felt her lips tug upward – “who said I wore nighties?”
He finally reached her, looked her up and down, and then sighed. “I told you to wait inside, Ieiri-san.”
“Well, I couldn’t just listen to them devour each other up.”
“You worded that decently enough.”
“What, want me to say fu-”
“I didn’t say I wanted clarification,” he intervened, although he sounded nervous, unwilling to know the extent of the acts going in full blast inside.
“Makes sense.” She nodded, unraveling to her feet, brushing off her t-shirt and shorts. She looked back at the estate, hands on her hips. “Makes me mad to know they got someone before me.”
Kento chuckled. “I find it unbelievable that you haven’t gotten anyone, Ieiri-san.”
Shoko’s lips warred between smirking and grimacing – his words were complimenting, that was for sure – but he also called her ‘Ieiri-san’.
“I find it unbelievable, too,” she frowned. “But I don’t want to be bound to someone, either. So I guess it’s okay for me.”
Kento nodded quietly, the gears practically shifting in his head. Shoko studied him openly, at the way his brows furrowed and lips pursed when he was thinking, his eyes focused on the distance–
Those amber eyes darted to her, their gaze clashing. “Let’s go. Unless you want to stay?”
“Why would I have called you?”
“As an emotional support buddy,” he shrugged, the words sounding foreign coming from him.
Shoko’s lips parted, jaw hanging open. “I never thought my mortal ears might ever be blessed to hear Nanami Kento himself utter “buddy” in the entirety of my life – especially not under duress.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, though there was no mistaking the slight grin tugging at his lips. He looked at her pointedly before whirling around, one hand in his pocket and the other beckoning her to follow. Muted streetlights hung in the zenith of the sky, faintly illuminating the path ahead.
“Are we going to walk?” Shoko prompted, catching up to him, craning her neck.
“You didn’t come in a car?”
Shoko almost tripped over her feet as the bike came into view. Sleek, shiny, glossy black and as new as the nascent headache blooming in her head. It had just enough space for two people. Shoko couldn’t bring the name to the front of her mind, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. It looked painfully resemblant to a sports bike – could it be a Yamaha? She remembered jokingly suggesting Kento to buy one, when he asked what was her favorite motorcycle.
Kento swung the helmet from under his arm to his hand, dexterously gripping its rim. He glanced at Shoko. “Are you coming, Ieiri-san?”
She paced over to him, hands on her hips, and watched as Kento pulled the helmet over his golden head. He turned to her, only his eyes visible through the dark visor. Something – curiosity, fascination or just straight up idiocy – stirred in her, and she couldn’t fight the urge to –
She reached out and grabbed his helmet from both sides, her lithe fingers splaying over the burnished, rigid surface, and she pulled his face closer to hers.
She practically saw his eyes widen in shock, and maybe he intended to push her away or ground her – but nevertheless, his hands darted to grab her waist, his long, callused fingers tightening on her midriff.
If it were anyone else, they would’ve seen Shoko and Kento’s faces just apart, her hands on his helmet and his on her waist – Satoru would be laughing his ass off.
Their breaths would have mingled if it weren’t for the helmet, her breath fogging the visor. She hastily wiped it away, Kento’s entire body tensing.
But Shoko only focused on what she wanted to do – study the color of his hazel eyes from behind the visor. She grinned brightly, and Kento’s eyes enlarged to saucers. A deep, shadowed amber, barely visible through the dark visor – the pale streetlights suspended above them rendering his eyes gilded.
“Your eyes look darker through the helmet – did anyone tell you that?”
Kento cleared his throat, timidly squeezing her waist to indicate her to let go. “No. Nobody ever told me that.”
“Funny,” she mused, letting go of his head and stepping back subtly. “I wonder why.”
“I wonder too, given that most people do not clutch my helmet and stare into my eyes.” He rolled his sleeves up, fixing his collar before looking at her. “Now if you’re ready…”
“Of course I am. I didn’t call you over from your nude beauty sleep for nothing.”
“I said I didn’t sleep nu- oh, my God – just get on. I wouldn’t have wasted my precious hours of sleep if it were anyone else.”
He swung one long leg over the body of the bike, the vehicle straightening as he sat down, the muscles in his arm flexing. He looked back at Shoko, the light reflecting in his visor, his eyes invisible behind the black screen. Shoko ignored the way her heart actually leapt in her throat – why was this happening? Fuck if she knew.
She slung her leg over the bike, her thighs latching onto either side as she settled into the back. Half of her ass was precariously on the edge, and Kento shifted enough so that she had space to sit. She scooted forward, her hands gripping the back and torso pressed flush against his.
The engine revved to life, a few lights blaring on, and Kento turned his head. “Wrap your arms around my waist real tight.”
“What? Are you going to go fast?” she didn’t listen at first, her fingers wrapped around the cold metal. She leaned to the side to see his face clearly – which she couldn’t, obviously – her hair falling into her eyes obnoxiously. His spine imperceptibly straightened, and he studied at the fall of her hair instead of her face.
“I don’t go slow,” he shrugged, his hand falling from the handle, reaching backward. He leaned over her and tugged on her arm, his long, warm fingers wrapping around her elbow as he pulled. Her hands gave, and he twisted around, wrapping her hand around his waist, her other following suit. Shoko grumbled something (that cannot be mentioned here), and encircled her arms tightly, fingers fisted in the fabric of his turtleneck, cheek pressed against his back and heart thudding in her chest. Her legs brushed his, and he instantly moved his legs to the side, albeit a bit hastily.
Kento said something that would’ve been a warning but it was lost to the wind as his biceps flexed once, and an icy breeze stung at her cheeks before she even knew they were moving.
Her arms instinctively tightened around him, legs pressing in and heart beating hard enough that Kento felt it against his back, though he’d never admit. In a moment, she’d finally left the goddamned place where the two lovebirds were no doubt asleep – or still under the effects of alcohol. She would never have dared Satoru if she knew he tended to be like this when tipsy.
Still, she kept her eyes open, whirring through the rapidly changing scenes and the neon lights and puffing smokes, random peals of laughter and the racket of shutters falling open.
Though there were no rays on the horizon, the palest shade of light blue stained the nadir of the sky, golden yellow spilled across the skyline. Shoko inadvertently straightened, her hands loosening on Kento’s waist, and he went rigid in turn, his head frantically turning to glance at her if she was okay.
But Shoko’s arms loosely dangled at his waist, and as a consequence, dropped below, resting on the fly of his jeans, and Kento jerked. The bike swerved sharply before gaining balance, yet Shoko’s lips were parted as she stared at the view.
They were in the commercial area near the coast, pastel yellows and soft pinks dancing on the water’s crystal surface, foams effervescing near the shores where dozens of oysters and seashells lay, glinting in the artificial streetlights. The water was still as dark as the sky, save for the junction where it met with the sky, the gentle pink and yellow and blue staining the sea.
The sand glimmered, a dark, gloomy grey with sparkles of white in some places, and heavy clouds hung above on the sky.
Shoko’s sleep-laced eyes were wide, the entire panorama reflected in those depths, her mouth slightly open, and Kento couldn’t help but sneak a second glance. And a third.
And when he finally realized it was difficult to ride like this, he cleared his throat.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” he commented, eyes on the road ahead. He glanced over his shoulder for just a bit, greedily relishing in her side profile outlined by the streetlights.
“It’s so beautiful,” Shoko breathed. And she turned to Kento with those dazed, wide eyes that made his heart pang – he couldn’t help it, he just felt jealous and concerned and glad at the same time. Did that mean she seldom saw nature? Why had she reacted like this to a scenery and not him? Did he also help her relax a bit, see the sun and shit?
“I know,” he choked out, turning ahead. His throat felt dry, and he couldn’t help but get the notion that they were calling two different things “beautiful”.
“Because I stopped the bike.”
“Ha. Ha. No, seriously – do you live in the bar’s basement?”
“I wish I did. I wake up every morning to the horrendous sight of my office.”
“If only you woke up to the gorgeous sight of me.”
“You think quite highly of yourself.”
“You’re so difficult to fluster.”
Their voices rang out in the almost vacant street, a few people sneaking by into stores and bars or homes. Kento got off his bike, extending his arm to Shoko – which she gladly took, her cold fingers lacing with his as she hopped down. She retracted her hand, casually setting her haywire hair before pivoting on the spot to see where they’d stopped.
Some shady roadside bar with no ostentatious settings or neon lights. Just some ivy creeping over the marble pillars, the black door designed with random shapes of a dark, honey-gold mirror, OPEN on the hook.
“Are you sure they don’t serve poison?” She quipped, seeing Kento stroll towards the building, hands in his pockets.
“If I’m alive, then they’re not sketchy. Pretty sure I drank their wine instead of milk when I was a baby.”
“Did you know it’s really hard to imagine you as a baby?”
“No, really – did you have these sharp ass cheekbones and this lethal jawline since you were one?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Did you switch bodies or something?” Shoko frowned in exasperation. “Do you even know if you had hair when you were three?”
“Maybe,” he winced, and silently took the punch Shoko threw at his side.
“So why not any illustrious, trustable bar?” Shoko inquired as they stepped into the shop, the door narrow enough that they had to squeeze into each other, Kento’s arm instinctively wrapping around her as they ambled in.
“Because there are a lot of women there,” Kento explained, his pale skin flushing faintly.
“You’re such a gentleman, Kento,” she rose a brow.
He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something else, but decided against it, shaking his head and leading her to the counter.
“You wait here,” he instructed her, his head lowered to her level, eyes boring into hers, hands on her shoulders and voice low, as if explaining to a child. “I’ll come by in a moment.”
Shoko chewed her cheek, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, eyes never leaving Kento’s back as he traipsed over to the counter. She saw him bend slightly to address the short bartender, and noticed his tousled hair a bit too late –
“Oh my god,” someone gasped. “Ieiri?”
Shoko whipped around, not before noticing Kento stiffen, his head slightly turning to hers a fraction.
Shoko appraised the girl in front of her, a fellow from medical college she couldn’t put a name to.
“Oh, hey,” she waved, her hands sweating with the fear the girl will ask her name.
“Do you remember me?” There. The damned question.
“Oh, of course,” she nervously beamed. “Medical College, right?”
“Yes!” She nodded, turning back to gesture to someone to leave before facing Shoko again. “Sorry, my brother’s waiting. I wanted to see how you’re doing nowadays.”
“Oh, a – who’s that?” Her eyes hooked onto something over Shoko’s shoulder, and she had the faintest feeling she knew what the girl was referring to. Who.
“That? Oh, he’s a … friend,” Shoko hastily amended, looking over her shoulder just in time to see Kento at her side with two bottles. He bowed to the girl, who fucking giggled and waved.
“Oh, so just a friend?” She rose a brow suggestively, elbowing Shoko. “You sure nothing else? No … hidden feelings?”
“Oh, my god, no,” Shoko groaned, pushing the girl slightly away. She couldn’t help but notice the girl’s demeanor having changes since she saw Kento. As for him…
He looked as if he wanted to melt into water and disappear through the cracks in the floorboards. “So you’ve never considered-”
“Nope,” she ground her teeth.
“But he’s hot,” the girl frowned, flushing when she made eye contact with Kento. And that made Shoko’s hands itch with the desire to punch some asshole right in the fucking face-
Why was she feeling so … feeling this way just because a girl is trying to hit on, or is interested in Kento?
She mentally shook herself.
“I don’t know,” Shoko shrugged, feeling her throat constrict, “I prefer staying single. Too many perks than to share your dessert with some dude.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” She pouted. “You have good taste – just up your camaraderie.”
“I told you, we’re not dating,” Shoko implied a bit too loudly before pulling at Kento’s arm. Her fingers hooked into his sleeve and she pulled hard, not looking back. “Come on.”
She could feel Kento’s eyes bore into her back, could sense the smirk growing on his lips, which had her clutching his arm tighter.
With a loud bang and a clatter of some glasses, she kicked the door open, hauling him outside and into the frigid night air.
She whirled on her feet, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Kento.
“Don’t tell me you’re mad at me,” he said amusedly, eyes on her face.
“I’m not mad at you,” she narrowed her eyes.
Kento huffed and passed her a bottle of some expensive Cherry Liqueur, shaking his own bottle of some brand of whiskey, foam pressing at the top. “You could’ve said you wanted the bottle,” he observed, strolling off to a bench on the left. A fizzing streetlight hung just above it, the metal bench squat and its paint chipped in random places, a few blades of grass sprouting around its legs between spaces in the concrete tiles of the pavement.
“I could’ve, but I didn’t want to,” she shrugged, catching up to him. “Besides, you would’ve refused.”
“Now why would I do that?” he offendedly shot back.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’ve drunk a lot today?” She shrugged once again, her shoulders almost about to unhinge and roll on the floor obscenely.
“I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t do that,” he chuckled, hesitating. He sat down on the bench, crossing his lean legs in front of him at the ankles, leaning back in the bench and popping off his cork.
Shoko joined him, plopping down on the bench, tucking her legs under her and twisting open her Cherry Liqueur.
They sat in silence, sipping at random intervals, eyeing any passerby suspiciously and then deducing (and bickering about it) what they were doing and where they are going now.
A group of giggling teenagers passed by in nighties and unmatched shoes and puffy hair – they both almost jumped out of the bench in the haste to announce it first.
“You said it wrong. It’s a sleepover, Shoko. Slumber parties are different.”
“Beca – look! That one’s going to office. I sympathize with my brother.”
“Wait – is he your brother?”
The incredulous look Shoko received had her chuckling into her drained bottle. Was it the effect of alcohol, or did she really not just imagine Kento calling her by her name?
Nevertheless, she just bit her lip and stared at the man in a suit, his hair slicked back so hard his scalp must hurt, gel practically shining on his hair. Her eyes darted to his shoes just as he rounded the corner, then twisted over the bench to dispose of the bottle in the bin behind her.
Silence encased them comfortably, Shoko leaning her head on Kento’s shoulder – and for once, he didn’t pull back. Instead, his fingers hesitated – and then tangled in her hair, dexterously yet tenderly massaging her scalp. Her eyelids fluttered sensually, and she groaned, eyes burning as she shut them, breathing in the scent of liquor and fresh air and …
“So …” Shoko murmured, playing with a rogue thread of his turtleneck that poked out from the hem. “Do you really loathe Satoru?”
His hand paused; barely, before he resumed. There was a quiet that stretched out, like he was thinking. She could practically hear the thoughts warring in his head-
Shoko waited, patient, for him to go on.
Sigh. “It’s true, that I don’t respect him. I don’t even view him as a senior. He’s irritating and annoying and too full of himself…”
“But he’s also young,” he continued. “He sometimes gives me … hope, that in this exhausting life, I can … I can feel happier. I may dislike him, but I also want him to feel happy. To live. To experience everything that I never could.”
Shoko’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, eyes burning. Boy, wasn’t this a revelation to tell Satoru. But something about his confidential tone had her discerning that no one else was supposed to know this. That he trusted only her and a few selective others with this information.
She could see his meaning. Satoru was … a lot. A lot of things, sometimes. But he was also hurt and young, caring and bold. Different. Strong. Expected.
So, she just hummed, tugging loosely at the stray thread, eyes closed gently, Kento’s fingers constantly massaging her scalp. Hush cocooned them casually, just two people sitting under a streetlight on some cold ass bench.
“Wait,” she scrunched her nose. “Were you lying when you said you didn’t wear nighties?”
He almost choked on his next breath. “And why did you suddenly bring this up?”
“Don’t change the subject. Do you, or do you not, pose as a nude model in your dreams?”
“That’s one weird way to put it, but yes.”
“You gave in quite easily.”
“What, want me to test you into finding out if I wear something at night?”
“Imagine the questions – I either, (a) wear outrageous fluffy pajamas, or (b) wear outrageously nothing.”
“That … who even made you think everyone sleeps in fluffy pajamas?”
“Satoru has bent my perception of reality.”
He inhaled sharply, his next words quiet and strained. “Satoru? … Do you – feel something for him?”
“No, god, no,” she blurted, shaking her head.
“And nobody can change your mind?” He asked, curious. And maybe, also …
“Nope. Unless it’s some god-sent man who can make me believe in love and men again.”
“I want to read an entire book about your choices and the features of that ‘god-sent man’ to know what your taste is and tease you throughout the rest of your life,” he smirked.
“Sheesh. I thought you were getting romantic but then you whipped out the classic teasing. Like hell I will tell you what kind of men I like. What if I like women?”
“Then I won’t stop coughing whenever some pretty girl passes by.”
“Speaking of pretty girl – have you ever found a girl pretty?”
He chewed on his lip, his eyes darting to Shoko for barely the fraction of a second. “…No. Or maybe, when I was young. But I don’t remember.”
“Did you … do you really see me as a cruel person?”
Shoko sat up, choking. “What? Kento Nanami, a cruel person? Babe, you’re the type of person to apologize to a bird because your car was in the way of its shitting area. The type to say thank you when the automatic door opens on itself for you. The kind to give aftercare after bashing the brains out of you. The type to help you cheat and then worry if cheating is bad. How could you? And I never said you were ‘cruel’.”
“You … you imagined I would refuse giving you something you wanted?”
“That was just – look, you’re cute and handsome and kind and gentle, and … and I love you as a friend. I’ve never been able to discuss this much. Don’t get me wrong – I love my two idiots. But we’re for everything except deep talks; not because we’re bad at it and at empathizing, but because I know both of them have pains too great to be discussed. They’re comfortable with their problems hidden or discussed at intervals, but … you’re the first one I can openly vent to.”
And Kento, damn him, almost broke into the biggest smile – almost. Just like when he almost squealed when Shoko had hugged him. When he’d almost dropped dead when Shoko had complimented him. When he had almost grabbed her and pushed her close to him when she held his helmet.
Just like when he almost throttled Satoru. Multiple times.
So he just softly grinned, patting her thighs. “I know. Thank you.”
“Yeah…” She cleared her throat, feeling heat rise up her neck. Thank the dawn’s darkness, even if it was rapidly brightening.
“So … you said I am handsome? And cute?”
“Yeah. Sure,” she breathed out, finding it impossible to take back what she said.
Just wow? That’s it? Well, he’d done enough socializing for today, she could tell.
So she settled back into his side, cuddling her knees to her chest, head on his shoulder, and Kento’s hand in her hair once again, the steady rhythm matching the wild rhythm of her heart.
The crisp noise of heels echoed fifteen minutes later, and a healthy woman with glowing skin and windburned cheeks, light brown hair pulled into a topknot, a few tendrils framing her tired face, an apron tied around her waist and shoppers in her hand emerged from the opposite side, her heel-clad legs carrying her over to a shuttered store.
Shoko perked up, Kento’s hands suddenly freezing. His eyes were heavy and red – as if he was also sleeping with her. He cleared his throat and sat up, retracting his hand, following Shoko’s line of sight.
“A … a shopkeeper,” Kento surmised.
“A bakery owner,” Shoko corrected.
He glanced at her. “How do you know?”
“She basically lives two houses across from me.”
“So you do know her. That’s unfair advantage!”
“It’s your fault you live in this neighborhood and are unaware of who lives here and what they do.”
“How would I know a bakery woman?”
“Oh Nanami, ever the gentleman, I’m not asking you to jump her or slip into her house at 3 a.m. I’m just critiquing your anti-social personality. She baked me a box of redcurrant pastries when it was my previous birthday.”
“That’s why the bakery was open early on 7 November last year,” he mused.
“Yeah, th – wait, you know my birthday?”
“I…” he faltered. “I know.”
“I like – I like to keep record. Of dates. Of birthdays. Of people.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Shoko nodded skeptically before her eyes caught onto some movement at the corner of the road. She whirled around, determined to figure out before Kento could-
A young couple sneaking across in shadows, headed towards a house’s window – the girl limping only slightly, her clothes haphazard, hair unruly and shirt looking like she didn’t even put her arms through the holes. The boy’s arms scratched, shirt rumpled and jeans unbuttoned.
Shoko cleared her throat, turning to Kento – who looked like he’d just witnessed a capital offense and was about to report himself to the police for not preventing public indecency and PDA.
His eyes were wide and mortified, and his face flushed violently when he caught Shoko’s eye.
“I guess … we understand the answer?”
“God, at this point I’m convinced you have no sense of decency,” Kento sighed.
Shoko cackled, tickling Kento’s neck with her spindly fingers, the other hand assaulting his cheek.
He jerked – “Ow!” And tried to push her away, which she resisted. Then, without warning, he tickled her back – his fingers on her waist, having her double over.
“Okay, okay, sto – stop!” She giggled, clutching her belly as Kento assaulted her neck. He, mercifully, did cease the ministrations.
She stuck out her legs in front of her, stretching them, her black shorts peeking through the fabric of her shirt that rode up to her waist. She then tucked them back in like some mother hen, nuzzling into Kento’s side, her back against the bench and hands in her lap.
The strike of a match had her attention. Kento put a cigarette in his perfectly carved mouth, then lit its end on fire. He glanced at Shoko, gesticulating.
She frantically searched her pockets, to no avail – she’d forgotten to pick up her cigarettes from Satoru’s house. She scowled, looking sadly at Kento. His cigarette twitched as he grinned and pulled out another one.
He shuffled, his cigarette in his mouth, and gingerly tapped at Shoko’s lips. She opened her mouth, and Kento slid the other one into her mouth, her lips snapping shut on it. He then leaned close – too close – and set the other end alive, cherry red and bright yellow issuing from the end.
Shoko didn't address the growing butterflies in her stomach. She wouldn't. Not even when Kento was literally lighting her cigarette with his, not even taking it out of his mouth, its end lighting hers.
She inhaled deeply to douse out the flames in her face and body at large, puffing out the smoke, Kento and her taking breaths in tandem, smoking calmly in the dead of the morning.
By now, a sharp, wan slice of light had pierced the sky, blood red and navy blue, lavender and golden, all swirling around in the vast canvas like some masterpiece, only a few stars winking down at them. The water reflected it all, nature’s mirror, somehow creating the vantage point even more ethereal and breathtaking.
Shoko wasn’t sure if Kento had picked this place specifically. The beauty, the freshness...
The winds here were way colder, breathing down her shirt and plastering to her bare legs, the bench itself like snow.
The sun had only shown as sliver above the vista when their cigarettes broke out of life, at the same time. They both stomped it under their feet (and then on Kento’s request disposed of it in the bin) and then got up, stretching their absolutely sore limbs, cramping slightly.
Even if they hadn’t talked much, hadn’t even touched a lot (they did), Shoko felt like their bond had become … stronger? Over the night.
Kento glanced at her, extending his arm to her. “Let’s go?”
She beamed, accepting his hand and letting him lead her to the bike, watching him pull it on. And when he sat on the bike, the engine revving pretentiously, she couldn’t help but…
But notice that his heart beat faster when she sat, her arms circling his waist and cheek on his back, legs brushing his.
Her and her delusions with the golden boy with a halo around his head whenever the sun rose.
For now, she needed to understand what excuse to provide Satoru and Suguru.
And so she wondered as they both sped off to a place only one of them knew really well.
Satoru clapped hard down on Suguru’s shoulder, yawning wide enough to scare his friend.
“I swear I just saw a fly,” Suguru said.
“I don’t know – one moment it was there, then you yawned like you’ve been holding it in since the Big fucking Bang, and then it disappeared. Just like Ieiri.”
“Yeah, speaking of Shoko – where is she?” Satoru’s brows creased as he surveyed the ground once again. She used to be late – daily – yeah, but not this late.
And especially, class had been real quiet because the smarty pants Nanami wasn’t there. God, didn’t he love to annoy him.
“Do you … think we scared her off?” Satoru grinned, elbowing Suguru.
“Who’s going to tell her we weren’t actually drunk yesterday?” Suguru suppressed a smirk.
“Not me,” Satoru lifted his hands. “I do not want to be the bringer of bad news to Shoko.”
“What news could be this bad that Satoru is hesitant to inform me?”
They both pivoted on their heels so fast that he was certain it got sprained. There she was – those eyebags, the same smile, her hair just a tad bit ruffled, and –
Wait … Whose shirt was she wearing?
She sure as fuck didn’t have a shirt like that: large, blue and warm, the straps of her white shirt showing only barely, when the larger, blue shirt hung off her shoulder.
Maybe Shoko had something to tell them, because he just spotted Nanami pass by – not without sparing her a glance that stayed on her face and on the shirt, looking away a bit too fast.
