18+ Don't Say Nothing If You Ain't Got that Swing

[NightAir]

Summary: Yamada is gay. Sen finds this out (literally) the hard way. And it kind of is a big deal.

Status: Ongoing: Chapter 1 (complete), Chapter 2 (not started yet)

Warnings: Underaged sex, teenage douchebags using bad and derogatory language

 

Comments: Since I was waiting for a response

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, I got kind of into thinking about my own OCs because I GET EXCITED EASILY. and then writing awkward/rushed sex. this is why i need to practice with people

[NightAir]

Chapter 1

 

So the thing is, actually, that Sen has known Yamada for what could be considered a Hell of a Long Time, euphemisms not included. In fact, Sen has known Yamada for so long he actually knows what Yamada's first name is--and it starts with a D and ends with an aisuke. Sen has known Yamada for the longest period of time that anyone could have possibly known Yamada (with great exception Yamada's parents), that it's actually frightening for Sen not to know anything about him. So when Yamada says, "Hey...I can trust you, right," the first thing Sen thinks of is, "Holy shit, the guy's either gotten laid or he's murdered someone, do I want to know?"

 

"No, you can't," Sen replies, because while he's sworn himself to a life of debauchery like those glorified movies you seen about the yakuza, his mom's already crying enough when he walks through the door. Though, it would be hilarious as shit to find out that Yesman Yamada had agreed to bury someone stone cold six feet under. "We should call the police, actually."

 

To his surprise, Yamada doesn't laugh, or roll his eyes. Yamada gives him the biggest glare of all glares, and then turns back to his TV screen. "Fuck you, man." He presses aggressively on the controller and Sen's character gets shot in the head.

 

"Way to ragequit," Sen says, before he realizes that--"Wait, are you pissed or something?"

 

Yamada? Yamada?

 

"Is this about the cake?" Sen asks, as they start a new game. Yamada immediately snipes him and Sen stares at the Respawn count in what is a mixture of confusion and annoyance, especially when the new game starts and Sen's controller vibrates yet again with the stunning PS3 reminder that he's dead. He throws the controller at the floor, whirling on him.

 

"The fuck, man?" Yamada demands, even as Sen grabs the front of his shirt. "You know those things are--"

 

"What is your fucking problem? You're acting like I personally crapped in your bed." Sen demands, incredulously. He tries to search Yamada's face for something akin to actual sense, but to no avail. "Look, I'm--"

 

"You're a fucking son of a bitch," Yamada grounds out, and his fist collides with the side of Sen's face in a way Sen hasn't felt in forever. Maybe like when they were still wearing like cute-collared uniforms and short-shorts and like knee-high socks or whatever the old uniforms were like. The memory of baby-soft knuckles is nothing compared to Yamada's own--just as rough as Sen's own, and slamming right into his cheekbone.

 

Sen punches him right back in the face, hating the fact that there's no real give--the solid resistance makes his knuckles hurt, makes Yamada let out a laugh and spit at his face. Sen wipes it off angrily just to have Yamada lay an uppercut on him, making his head ring and snap back.

 

"Fuck--"

 

Sen isn't taking this shit. Slams his forehead hard against Yamada's own, charges him, grabs his forearms and sends them both pummeling off the couch. Yamada kicks him in an area almost dangerously close to his balls. Sen's wheezing, gripping Yamada's shirt then arms then wrists and slamming his own legs against Yamada's own. They're grappling with each other, punching and kicking and probably going to kill each other, because Sen very damn well is going to beat the shit out of him until he dies, and then beat his fucking corpse some more, because, "What the fuck, Yamada--"

 

And then Yamada freezes, his face losing all of his colour, and he looks petrified.

 

Sen doesn't get it at first. But then Yamada sucks in a deep and heavy breath, and Sen feels something hard and long pressed against the inside of his thigh.

 

"Holy fucking shit," Sen says, and yanks himself back as fast as he can. "Warn a guy before you decide to pop one in his face." And, because Sen isn't completely, hopelessly stupid, he says, "Are you a homo?"

 

"No," Yamada says instantly, trained after so many years of homophobic jokes and all sorts of shit and trash-talking that falls under the categories of "No Homo" and "These are the Things Assholes Do". "Yes. I." His face flames up, he gathers his legs to himself, and he doesn't look at Sen.

 

Sen, who is feeling pretty pissed off right now. The pounding of his heart in his throat from all of the action, the sweat gathering at the back of his neck, the way his breath shudders--holy fuck, adrenaline rush. He can't think straight.

 

"I thought we were friends," he says, and Yamada flinches, but his eyes flash.

 

"Wow, man," Yamada says, and his voice is half--somewhat angry, half somewhat frustrated with a tinge of Gonna Cry. Sen knows the signs, sees them enough in his house that sleeping over with Yamada is usually his default move. Now that he actually knows, though--"Get the fuck out of my house or I'm going to personally wring your neck."

 

Considering Yamada is Yamada and seeing him get pissed is like seeing the rest of the world just burst into flames and burn, Sen has no idea how to act because it isn't supposed to happen for another century or something Yamada actually becomes an old man and finds something he hates about the world outside from People Who Judge His Music, and People Who Diss On His Friends.

 

"You're a little bitch," Sen says just as angry. "Don't you dare cry."

 

Yamada shoots out his leg, catching Sen in the knee and making him keel over in the pain. "M'not--" he says, in between a hand clenching at his side, a shuddering swallow of air in, and a wateriness to his eyes, "--go fuck yourself."

 

He sounds so awful that Sen just decides to kick him in the knee right back and then pull himself back on the couch. "Get off the floor, man," he says, at last, when Yamada doesn't move. "You're not a carpet."

 

After a moment of silence, Yamada does. Sen pays attention more now, watches the way that Yamada slowly crawls up on the couch. They're both the same size because they're still growing, but it's easy to tell how they're going to grow up to be. Sen's thick limbed and broad-shouldered, and what Yamada lacks in biceps, he makes up for by being a rather tall guy with a solid torso. He stretches his limbs, pulls himself up on the couch, and then just curls into the side of the cushion, knees coming up and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

 

See, someone should've taught Sen how to be Sensitive 101, because he has no idea what to do here. He's sitting here just staring at Yamada, and he would actually leave right now because who on earth would want to deal with this bullshit? Between Yamada and his mom, though, Sen will take this over a fucking breakdown at the sight of his own face.

 

He clears his throat awkwardly. Yamada doesn't react.

 

"For the record," Sen says, "So long as you don't want to stick your dick inside my ass, we're cool."

 

At first, Yamada's eyes just flicker up at him. Then, he snorts--a familiar Yamada move that has Sen's shoulders sag in relief. "Don't flatter yourself," he says. "I don't want you."

 

"Tell me I'm pretty," Sen says. It succeeds in making Yamada snort louder.

 

"I guess you're ugly," Yamada smirks, and then he says, "Sen, I'm gay."

 

It's Sen's turn to snort. "Yeah, I got the picture with the entire freakout."

 

Yamada is quiet, then he says, "I've never been with a guy before."

 

"What? You want me to fuck you?"

 

It's a question that just gets blurted out from Sen's mind. The thing with the both of them is that they know Sen says stuff that he means, and stuff he has no control over. Brain-to-mouth filter being incredibly non-existent, and the fact that when Sen's focused on something, he tends not to pay attention to anything else. It

 

"You do not do romance at all," Yamada remarks with a sigh.

 

"Jerk off?" Sen asks stubbornly, as though that is mildly more romantic than fucking. He doesn't know. Romance is something chicks do and guys only do to get laid or something.

 

"First you make me want to kill you, and now you're all up in my face making me want to kill myself, man." Yamada gathers himself back up with the familiarity of Sen's socially inept bluntness, and then just stares at him.

 

"Straight guys do the jerk off thing, right?" Sen asks. "Like that video I showed you last week."

 

"Circle jerk," Yamada clarifies, and then he's a lot closer than he was about five seconds ago. His leg is pressed against Sen's and it is distracting. "And I'm pretty sure you would panic if you held my dick in your hands."

 

"Does it have barbs?" Sen demands, as Yamada gets closer. Wow, it's still Yamada's fucking face, but now Sen's dick is confusing him with a girl. Bravo. "It's a fucking penis. It'll feel the same as mine." He scowls again, at Yamada's shit-eating grin. "Fuck off."

 

"Sounds like a plan," Yamada agrees, and then he kisses him.

 

Sen has no idea where Yamada learned to kiss, or what constitutes a good one. He's pretty sure you're supposed to think of something else other than the fact that, "Fucking tastes like salty chips, how much did you cry," but that's all he can think about, and then he's thinking about how firm Yamada's lips are, how they close over his own non-moving ones really slowly. Yamada's hands fall at Sen's cheeks, but Sen knocks em away and half pulls back his face because this is getting really weird really fast, except Yamada just pushes him back on the couch, crawls in between his legs, and keeps kissing him.

 

Whether or not Sen is aware of whether or not it is a good one, he'll never know. But Yamada kisses open-mouthed and not close-lipped, and then Yamada's using tongue, which--"No, whoa, no, man," Sen blurts out and it kind of comes up jumbled. Speaking when someone is kissing you tends to do that, probably, and their teeth clatter against each other, and Sen's own tongue sweeps against Yamada's, and--"Did you just moan?"

 

Yamada doesn't answer him, hard, as Sen can feel him in between his legs. Yamada is also kind of fucking grinding his hips forward, which, holy shit holy shit.

 

"We're fucking?" Sen demands, confused as to where this came from, but gasping because it feels really damn nice. "Why are we fucking?"

 

"We're not," Yamada says, sliding a hand down Sen's torso in some kind of practiced motion.

 

"You said you never had sex!" Sen accuses. "You did a chick, didn't you! Behind my back!" What the hell, they had a pact! Yamada was supposed to share!

 

"It's called an imagination, dipshit," Yamada replies. "I don't need to fuck a girl to fuck you. You're easy."

 

It's hard to think when Yamada seems like he's in his element. Then again, he usually is. He's an asshole after Sen's own heart with a good conscience and a really good empathy for other people's causes if their name doesn't start with S and end with en.

 

Sen's face turns red and he grabs the front of Yamada's shirt, never mind the fact that the sudden disappearance of pressure against his dick is a tragedy. "You want to say that again, you little turd?"

 

Yamada snickers, and Sen feels like he's been just insulted, but he has no idea or reason as to how. In essence, Sen reacts the only way he can. He slides a hand right down Yamada's own torso, and wills it to smooth down under the waistband of Yamada's track pants. The snickers cut off right away when Sen's fingers curl over a dick.

 

If Sen was a chick, he could understand feeling weird about holding a dick if he'd never had one. But Sen as a guy is more familiar with the feeling of his own cock--fatter in his palm when he's rubbing one out. He slides his hand down Yamada's to get a measure of how long the thing is, and okay, Sen's is not as long.

 

What the fuck.

 

"You go commando?" Sen demands, in an attempt to hide his penis envy.,

 

"Uh," Yamada says, and he's out of words, breath caught in his throat. It's a new look for him, and Sen slides his fist right up, watching Yamada's eyelashes--he's got long lashes and Sen has no idea why he's paying attention--as they flutter. Yamada's eyes close shut and he breathes in a half-whimper, slowly--

 

He's rocking his hips and fucking into Sen's hand holy shit.

 

Sen should be actually getting up and going away. Walking away. Like, he doesn't find or consider Yamada any kind of arousing? Yamada's just fucking Yamada who's an asshole who you can always count on to listen to instrumental music and pay attention to the news. Yamada's neck has a drop of sweat running down his neck and Sen wants to wipe it off, so he does with his hand, even though he has sudden thoughts about doing it with his tongue, and holy shit is Sen gay too, is this a crisis, is--

 

"Does this make me gay?" he demands, hand squeezing Yamada's dick harder. Yamada lets out a guttoral groan and a whimper, bites his lower lip and rocks his hips back and forth, and, "Hey, no, asshole, I'm still rock hard--"

 

Yamada's eyes open and he just gives Sen the most unimpressed look. It doesn't seem as impressive mostly because Sen's got Yamada's cock in his hand, and when he squeezes it and jerks it off about two more times, the bite is whittled away, and Yamada cums all over Sen's hand.

 

"Jesus," Sen splutters, and stares at cum that is Not His on his fingers, and then gingerly leans a bit to the right and wipes it off the carpet.

 

Yamada's looking dazed, face flushed and red, eyes staring straight at Sen.

 

"What?" Sen demands. "Get me off too."

 

It breaks the spell. Yamada rolls his eyes.

 

"Move," he says impatiently, and shoves Sen back down on the couch. Sen's met with the sight of Yamada turning around, his pants at his knees and bare ass in his face (it looks fucking disgusting because his legs are hairy) and then just he pushes down Sen's pants. Sen can tell the moment his cock meets the air because it's straining against the material of his boxers, and then it's not. And then Yamada's mouth slides right over the head and Sen's gasping.

 

"Fuck," Sen manages out. "Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck."

 

Yamada's not a pro. His lips are nice and so is the warm tightness of his mouth as he hollows out his cheeks, but he's just as new as Sen is at this, even though he's done some pretty stellar research. He fucking uses teeth Sen at one point and Sen slaps his ass because he's too breathless to say, "Oi," but it only seems to make Yamada even more determined, and then Sen is gasping for it and then he's cumming right in Yamada's mouth, and Yamada's swallows it all down.

 

"You taste like shit," Yamada says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Sen's chest is still heaving and his mind is blank.

 

"Holy shit," he says, at last. "Sex is great."

 

"Mmhmm," Yamada says, as he leans back on the couch, licking his lips. Sen just stares a him, follows the motion of his tongue, and then stares down at his dick. "You've got a low refractory period, huh?"

 

Sen stares at Yamada's dick, which has rehardened, and then back down at his own, which is as soft as a fucking pillow. "Fuck off," he says, at last, and Yamada laughs.

[NightAir]

Chapter 2

 

Things don't really dial down so much as they dial nothing. Sen doesn't get a name from Yamada about his Big Gay Crush, and Yamada just keeps quiet about it. That's the thing with Yamada; after he's tired or he's gotten what he's willing to put out the energy or care for, he sort of retreats. Sen's grown used to it enough that they've established their own little unspoken set of rules--Sen won't be obnoxious about it or bug Yamada about it after, and Yamada won't bug Sen about coming over everyday all the time to hog the TV or getting in another round of the FPS when they should be outside doing summer things. In fact, as far as Sen is surprised to learn, apart from the fact that Yamada is a homo in the closet and wants a dick up his ass, Yamada's actually the same.

 

Sen would think that wanting to be fucked six ways to Sunday instead of actually being fucked would mean your head's got a few screws loose. He says as much, and Yamada just gives him the most unimpressed look.

 

"Says a lot about how you treat the girls," Yamada says at last, from where he sits back further on his bed. They've moved the PS3 and the gaming to Yamada's room, mostly because Yamada's parents hate Sen, and Sen really doesn't feel like breaking shit in the house.

 

"I treat 'em nothing," Sen says, pausing his game for real, and turning to face Yamada. "Girls pay what guys pay. Nobody's special here, I'm not subscribing to the bullshit."

 

"Right," Yamada says, scrolling through his phone. Prick's been getting the most bitchy attitude these days, and as much as Sen wants to punch him in the face every time he sees or hears an inkling of it, he's way too tired today. Today, Sen just wants to play video games and fall asleep stuffed with junk food.

 

"Fuck off," Sen says, just to hear Yamada snicker. It's their thing, the sort of half-heated half-not exchanges. Sometimes it means something, and sometimes it doesn't. Yamada doesn't snicker though. Sen turns his head to look at him only to see Yamada staring down at the glowing screen.

 

Before Yamada can stop him, Sen's already swiped it out of his hands and scrolled up.

 

"What the fuck--"

 

Sen tosses it back because man, that tone, but Yamada's already fuming, red faced and furious. "Figured I'd see what riled you up." Not that Sen actually could with Yamada sounding like he'd rip Sen's head off his shoulders and throw his body into the river. He shrugs in an apology he doesn't really care about.

 

Yamada clutches at his phone, white knuckles. "Something called privacy, you know?"

 

"Dude," Sen says, "we had sex. We touched dicks. Also, I'm your actual only best friend because everyone's scared of you. I've been induced in the gay, so just fucking tell."

 

"I'm sorry," Yamada says, face getting impossibly redder from the anger, "but what the fuck are you implying?"

 

You can't really get any gayer than this, and Sen thinks that, No, I wasn't, but technically that's not true. "Fag," he says, for lack of any other reason, waiting to get punched in the face.

 

"Fuck you." Yamada kicks him on the knee, before deciding that this is just Sen at his most stupid, refraining from kicking Sen's ass. "Just leave me alone."

 

For some reason, this really pisses Sen off. Sen's got Yamada's back in most fights, and Yamada has Sen's. That's their system, unless they're blatantly ignoring each other or can't stand each other and are bitter to hell about it. As far as Sen's concerned, Sen has been a fantastic best friend. No other kind of straight best friend jerks their gay best friend off and is totally okay with his dick getting sucked by another penis-swinging dude.

 

Sen's been balling for a fight ever since they'd laid down in post-orgasmic bliss the second time (Sen actually did have a bad refractory period, but he'd imagined a flat chest had tits and a hairy ass had hips and pussy, and he imagined a lot of R-rated shit, and got up), and Yamada's been rising to taunts and baits, but not actually doing shit about it. This kind of indecision is pissing Sen off, because there's something changed here, and Sen doesn't like one fucking bit of it.

 

"You're the one who pretty much shoved my cock down your throat," Sen says. "So calm the fuck down."

 

"Your cock tasted like shit," Yamada says, but even now, Sen's getting half-hard about the memory of it. Which is kind of an instinctive reaction. Sen hasn't gotten a blow job before Yamada, but he'd imagined a lot how it'd feel like. Thick plump lips, smudged lipstick, soft, wet and warm and tight right around the head of his cock. He'd imagined it'd be something connected to titfucking, but it doesn't really matter. His dick's making connections between a blow and hanging out on a couch with a moody little bitch.

 

"Blow me," Sen says, because he suddenly wants Yamada to. This is like nine-tenths of fucked up and Sen really isn't paying attention.

 

Yamada just gives him an even more unimpressed look, before shaking his head in disgust. He sits up. "Whatever."

 

"Get me some instant ramen," Sen calls after him, turning back to the TV screen. He wills the boner down in disappointment he doesn't show. "If you're going out, I mean, and not texting your boyfriend to have make-up sex like a pussy."

 

He's pretty sure Yamada's either ignoring him or flipping the bird at him, but Sen really can't be bothered to care. See, the thing is there is a multitude of reasons why or why not they're friends, and a lot of it has to do with the fact that Sen's more of an asshole, and Yamada's more of a reliable guy. As pissed as Yamada is, if Sen asks, Yamada will deliver. And, whatever Yamada's up to, Sen really actually doesn't care.

 

Plus, they're dudes. Feelings sharing is just weird.

 

Sen gets distracted further into the game, especially as it gets more deserving of the heavy-rating on the box cover, but he gets bored without Yamada around to make secondhand commentary about how bad the shooting mechanics, or obnoxious laughing about how badly Sen plays because Sen isn't stealth, he's run in and shoot as he goes. He leans back after tossing the controller to the side, glancing at the digital clock in Yamada's room.

 

He's not really sure when Yamada left, but he guesses it's somewhere around the ten minute margin. Which is weird. Convenience store is around the corner, but unless Yamada actually caught up in wondering if he should pay 100 yen more so that Sen can get decent cup ramen instead of high-maintenance noodle packs, there's really no way he should take that long.

 

Kind of not really feeling the vibe of leaving; it's summer. Still hot outside, even though the time sort of means the sun's coming down so everyone and their mother is coming home from a day of fun. Fun, right. Sen's spent most of the summer cooped up in Yamada's house, and Yamada really hasn't said anything about that, so it must work out.

 

He decides he's going to dish out the classics. He spends time hunting through Yamada's room for the Box--the only thing Yamada can be bothered to be organized about are his video game console and games--and ends up snooping. Not like he cares to; he's only really interested in one thing, but once he discovers where the porn is, Sen is just...curious.

 

So. Gay guy porn.

 

Sen expects a lot of dick in ass, but what he's unprepared for is the brutal onslaught of the fact that these guys are naked as balls and the magazine intends to sexualize it, and some of them have their legs spread wider than Sen's see women do it in porn, and are getting fingerfucked in the ass by another guy. Not a lot of them are skinny guys--some of them actually look like normal human beings and not like skinny ribbed teenagers-adults. Sen's surprised. He'd expect Yamada's type to be pretty much a guy who looked like a girl, but sharp jawlines, muscular pecs and abs, and stubble?

 

Hu...h.

 

He flips through the magazine before he goes to the other one. This one is more of a kinky one--leather stretched all over. This shit BDSM? He finds it hard to imagine Yamada wants to be tied up or anything, and laughs his head off about it before he shoves the porn back where he found it, and keeps looking for the game box.

 

He finds it deep in Yamada's closet (surprising, but unsurprising; they've been stuck on the PS3 for the longest time, and it's not like either of them have the cash to cough up for a PS4), and pulls it out. The PS2 and Mortal Kombat, nice. Sen sets it up, plays a few rounds, and then realizes there's a reason he pulled this out, and Yamada isn't anywhere to kick his ass with an asian chick.

 

Yamada isn't anywhere in the convenience store when Sen checks, still kicking on his shoes in laziness, which is surprising. He pulls out his phone, scrolling past the names to reach "Princess Dickbutt" and calls him. Yamada picks up after the third ring, and Sen says, "Yo, where are you?"

 

"Park," Yamada says, panting. It's unmistakable. He's breathing hard enough into the speaker than Sen hears static. Sen hears shouting in the background, someone's I'm gonna fuck you up, you fucker.

 

"Tell me you're not getting gangbanged," Sen says, as he makes his way there. Cuts traffic, climbs over a wall, jumps over a fence to do it--direct routes are always a lot better. "Because that says a lot about our people than our anime."

 

Yamada hangs up on him--probably for the rape joke which yeah, Sen gets now in retrospect, not cool--so Sen's left to find him on his own. It's not that hard. He follows the sound of fighting, and then once he's there, he just ends up finding a bench, and sitting on it, his feet on the seat and his ass on the wooden seat back.

 

Yamada's only fighting three or four guys, and he looks fine enough. Sen probably should help him, but Sen's good at reading flows, and Yamada's back is all hard angry lines, and he's punching enough to make heads reel back and people fall to their knees. Also, he's kicking the punks down, back to Sen, and unless Sen gets an okay, he's really not gonna risk accidentally getting punched in the face cause he really doesn't feel like putting an ice pack to his face tonight.

 

It's another five minutes, tops, before Yamada stops kicking some of them, and all of the punks--in the lamplight of the park, they look younger than them--are either groaning wrecks on the floor or knocked out. He's breathing hard from the way his shoulders rise and fall, and he's just quiet.

 

No talking.

 

"I forgot you were a mute son a bitch," Sen says, after a while, when Yamada isn't moving, just staring down at the carnage around him. Yamada doesn't really answer him, so Sen waits.

 

If it were another person, probably, Sen guesses, you'd go to see if they were alright. But this is Yamada; Yamada, who the first time Sen met, had been standing over another kindergartener with his hands balled up tight in fists and blood on his knuckles. Yamada, who, over the years, ended up picking fights with anyone who could dish it and dragging Sen into them without even asking first. Yamada, who ended up turning from the best son his mom used to brag about to the neighbours to someone who had been one more suspension away from expulsion in middle school, and Sen had been the good kid. Yamada who had and still has a pretty shitty home life but only stays home because Sen likes playing on his PS3 all the time, and he lets Sen get away with a lot of shit other people don't.

 

If what Sen's been giving all these years is good enough for Yamada to like him better than other people enough to hang out, Sen's not about to change it. Fear factor might have something to do with Yamada's rep. Might have something to do with the fact he won't hesitate to lay you stone cold. Might have something to do with Yamada now bending over and taking wallets and cash and shoving them into his own back pocket.

 

"So what's with the fight?"

 

Sen doesn't expect an answer. Not really. "Didn't have money," Yamada mumbles at last, once he's picked the last delinquent clean. He wipes his face with his bruised knuckles, and then turns to Sen, his face carefully blank. "Forgot to bring it."

 

Yamada delivers. Sen raises an eyebrow. "It's called walking back to the house and grabbing it."

 

Yamada shrugs.

 

Sen rolls his eyes. "How much you got," he asks, after a while. "If we've got enough, you wanna go for beef yakiniku or something?"

 

Yamada doesn't move, so Sen gestures him impatiently over. He spent the whole summer practically planted on his ass, like hell he's gonna walk now. Yamada does after a while, probably still stoked up on the adrenaline, because when he gets near, all he does is pull out the money, shove the bills into Sen's outwaiting hand, and sit down heavily on the seat.

 

Then Yamada buries his face into his hands, which run through his hair.

 

There's a problem here, probably. Sen's...really ill-equipped to handle any kind of breakdown, so he spends it quietly counting half-heartedly, before his interest gets sold. He blows a low whistle. "Dude. Who did you rob?"

 

"I didn't rob them," Yamada says indignantly, but it's half-hearted. He's mad at himself, or whatever. Some kind of psychological bullshit from growing up all the time in a strict household where he punishes himself for losing control. "I didn't set out to do that, you fucker."

 

"Alright, reimbursement for physical and emotional trauma, whatever." Sen folds the bills carefully and slips the cash into his own back pocket, patting it to be sure it's there. He looks at Yamada who's still got his elbows on his knees, and then after a while, says, "Park's empty this time of night."

 

Yamada just nods, breathing.

 

Sen leans back. Feels the cool breeze. The punks on the ground aren't really a nice sight to watch, but when Sen looks up at the sky, the stars are out. Summer's brutal in the mornings, pleasant at night. "Do you wanna go eat?"

 

Yamada's shoulders shrug. Okay. That's a no.

 

"I'm gonna go back to the house," Sen says after a beat. "After I get my ramen. Whatever you wanna do, go do."

 

He hops off the bench, and doesn't really pause. It's true they're best friends, but they're not really linked at the hip. So he's actually kind of surprised--cause there's no precedent for it--when Yamada says, "Do you want to have sex?"

 

Sen's dick is instantly interested, but Sen's mouth is a foot-in-mouth thing. "What, with you?"

 

Yamada just looks up at him, really quiet. There's really none of the animosity or indignant expressions or the judgemental look, and it's kind of both creeping Sen out but also reminding him of a lot of that several month-long period in the first year of middle school when Yamada just didn't talk. Or show up. When Yamada wasn't really anything, just quiet, and never came to class, and apparently got his ass suspended a lot. Sen had gotten tired of coming to homeroom only to have no one to hang out with--because nobody was like Yamada in a way, dealt well with the kind of free-spirited assholery--so he'd left in the middle of first period and gone to Yamada's house.

 

Yamada had looked similar to how he looked now, but more hollow. He hadn't reacted at all when Sen yelled at him, and he just turned around and closed the door. Sen had actually been contemplating to break the door down when Yamada had opened the door again, dressed in his uniform, school bag in hand. Once at school, he didn't say anything or answer, and Sen had been forced to make conversation, and wonder if this had really been worth it, and whether or not he needed to find better friends; only Sen couldn't find better friends because everyone else was fucking vanilla in personality.

 

And that'd been how it'd actually started. They hadn't talked much in the summer after graduating from elementary. They'd been close during classtime, not in the way of friends but because they'd kept each other company a lot in time outs for fighting with each other, and had sat bruised, sniffling, and annoyed. And then probably some shit with Yamada's family had happened, but then it began spreading: rumours. Delinquents getting tossed around. Yamada coming to class with a black eye or his arm in a sling.

 

"Dude," Sen had said, the first time he'd seen that, feet casually on the desk and kind of shocked at how shitty Yamada looked. "Go home."

 

"You said to go to class," Yamada had shrugged, setting his stuff down and sitting in his seat beside him.

 

"Don't you fucking yesman me now," Sen said. "Just go home and don't come back until you're feeling better."

 

It had occurred to him later that the only reason Yamada was still going to school was because Sen told him he had to come. And it'd been weird at first, it's still kind of weird to think about that period of time when Sen had so much power over Yamada. Course, since then, Yamada's gotten...better? Somewhat.

 

Sen's not really sure to do with this.

 

"Here?" he asks, after a beat, because he's not really sure.

 

He's expecting some kind of 'No, my room, you dumbass', but instead, Yamada nods, says, "Okay," and then stands up to unbuckle his pants.

 

Sen has no idea what the hell is going on, but--"Whoa, what the fuck--calm down." He's already there, hand on Yamada's wrist, trying to figure out what's going on. "What's going on?" he demands, when it's clear that he's getting nothing out of Yamada's expression, and it's simultaneously scaring and pissing him off.

 

"We're going to have sex," Yamada says, in a droll deadpan, raising the back syllable intonation to make it clear that, 'What else did you think I was going to do with my pants off'.

 

"You know what?" Sen asks, because he is creeped out, and this is sure as fuck not really Yamada being Yamada right now. "Fuck off. Right now. We're not doing this."

 

Yamada just stands motionless with Sen's hand on his wrist. "Why not?" Yamada asks.

 

Sen shakes it furiously, his hand tightening. "Uh, first of all, not gay?"

 

"Doesn't matter," Yamada says. "It's you."

 

This gay crisis of Yamada's has gone down a completely slipperly slope. "Whatever happened to 'it's not you I want'? Or whatever you said." Okay, you know what. Sen can't deal with this right now. "We're going to your home, right now." Sen is aware his voice is kind of almost panicking, so he forces it to stay level. It ends up making him sound like he's threatening Yamada, voice low. "We are going to play fucking Mortal Kombat, and we're not going to talk about how you're suddenly gonna throw your ass at me. We're not talking about that." He shakes Yamada's wrist tightly. "You got that?"

 

Yamada just nods, and that's when Sen lets him go.

 

"You're not feeling well tonight." Sen says. Tells him. Because that's clearly what's happening here. Sen's not even sure how Yamada got out of that funk in middle school, or what happened to make Yamada like this.

 

"We gonna talk about this?" Yamada asks, after a while.

 

"No," Sen says, stomach clenching. He wants to punch Yamada in the face right now, so he does. Whips out a fist and slams it into the cheekbone. Yamada doesn't even go down--only his face does. Sen is angry and lost and confused and it's just.

 

They play Mortal Kombat, but it's no fun. Yamada isn't into the game, fingers just in motion. He's still kicking Sen's ass, but he's not making commentary, he and Sen aren't ribbing at each other, making obnoxious stories or comments about the character designs or about how Sen is just button mashing instead of using proper combos.

 

Sen says, "I'm going home," with barely concealed anger and the urge to actually kick the living shit out of Yamada.

 

He doesn't, though. He goes home, and Yamada lets him.

[NightAir]

Chapter 3

 

They've fought before, but it's been more of the occasional roughhousing and ear cuffs and arguments and scuffles. It's never been Sen feeling fucking sick to be in Yamada's presence--never thought that could happen, really. Yamada's always been a sarcastic son of a bitch, whiny sometimes and stubborn as fuck; that's half of why Sen gets along well with him. It takes someone to know someone. But this, this is different.

 

When Sen goes home, he thinks about what Yamada offered and the weird feeling it gives him. Uncomfortable, probably. Tries not to really think any more about it because it's bothering him. It's cluttering up his thoughts and the scene from the park is playing over and over again.

 

Sen's stupid and not equipped to deal with a good majority of helping people, but he's got a good preservation instinct and he's a good judge of situations, so he texts Yamada: Call me tomorrow morning so I know you didn't do something dumber than me.

 

After a moment's thought, he adds, Get your head back on straight and go to sleep. Goodnight.

 

It's still weird, the fact that Yamada is gay. It's goddamned weird. Sen isn't going to go in the territory where Yamada fucking propositioned him to have public sex in the park. Somehow that takes on a little more of a trust thing than Sen knows they have in their relationship.

 

No, it's not that.

 

Sen's not sure what it is. He's not going to think about it. Nope.

 

Still got the cash, Sen realizes, when he pats his pockets for his apartment key. He doesn't really know what to do with it; spending it is out of the question as much as he wants it out of his hands as soon as possible. Doesn't make sense, really. It's not even Yamada's money.

 

He hears several people laughing and the clinking of bottles, just as he unlocks the door and opens it to darkness. The stairwell back around the corner is occupied by some of the local thugs that frequent the place, but they've got a deal going on with Sen, who'll warn them if the landlord is near. Sen considers handing it over to them, before realizing it's not really worth it because all delinquents are usually linked.

 

He's kicking off his shoes after he closes the door behind him, dropping them near the doorway entrance. Sen's foot catches on something and he almost trips. The lights take a while to flicker on, but when they do, the whole living room floor has been covered from end to end in piles and piles of garbage and laundry and whatever else hasn't been cleaned up. It looks fucking awful, but Sen's too exhausted to do it tonight.

 

It's easy to forget that his mom's home and that Sen's not living on his own. Until he passes her room, where he can peak in through a sliver in the sliding door to a small figure bundled up in blankets and illuminated by the crackle and sight of the noise from the television, he almost thinks she is gone. That she's finally decided she should leave him and all the memories behind, go back to her family and her uptight parents that she always tells Sen about, who always told her to stay away from problematic guys, who wanted her to have an abortion when they learned she was pregnant at sixteen.

 

"I'm home," he says, sliding the door to her room open for lack of any better thing to say. She doesn't answer him, and Sen doesn't really care, but he says, "Did you eat?"

 

She doesn't respond.

 

"I got money," he says, at last. It won't do anything, but she always reacts to money. Sen's grandparents who disowned her were loaded, is all he knows.

 

"I don't want it," she says.

 

"Well," Sen says. He hates how weak he sounds, how he's instinctively still matching the tone of her voice for tone. He's fucking in high school, he doesn't need to do this anymore. "I don't want it either. So either you take it, or I give it back to Yamada."

 

"Go away." She curls up smaller, this frail, tiny woman who Sen can barely remember raising him. He raised himself. "Just go away and leave me alone." Her voice trembles. "I don't want to look at you."

 

What a goddamned bitch. It's not like Sen wants to look at her either.

 

Her voice is pretty, but it's faint and quiet and mumbly and some days Sen wants to punch his own mother in the face and keep punching until she somehow gets a backbone. It's stupid because who wants to do that? But it's his first instinct, and his own throat clenches up when he glances down and her fingers grasp at the blanket tighter--her wrist is still swollen and purple because she bruises too easily.

 

Bruised because Sen had lost his patience a week ago and wanted her to look at him for once and learn not to see his father's face. He hates himself right now, hates the world, hates Yamada for being such a stupid fucking faggot and forcing him to come home to this.

 

Most days, Sen will slink away. He thinks this has something to do with the fact that he's been losing this battle all his life, and it's part of why he's become such an asshole now. But today, there's something like a fire burning in his stomach.

 

"When are you going to get the hint?" Sen snaps, frustrated, staring at the fragile lines of her back. "You're stuck with me. I can't leave for another four or five years. Just deal with it."

 

She shrinks, as though it were possible, further inside her ball, her back still facing his, her shoulders shaking. "Go away." Her voice betrays her teariness. She's started crying.

 

"Fuck you," Sen says angrily, and he hates it. It feels like she's blaming him, like he's the villain in this when Sen feels very much like this is a life he never wants to live and a position he never asked to be in. "If you're so sad, you would call him. Tell him to come pick you up. Tell him that he has a son."

 

"You wouldn't understand."

 

"Like hell." She's got a goddamned phone number that works, as far as Sen is concerned. If she won't call, if she won't do anything for herself, Sen can't make her. He's tried, but short of actually dialing it for her and holding it to her teary face as he holds her down to keep her from running, there's nothing he can do.

 

Sen leaves her (not that she even says anything or looks at him), and goes into his own room--opposite hers, and slams the sliding screen shut only slightly louder than her sobs, shutting him into darkness until he remembers by muscle memory to reach up and turn on the light.

 

Sen's room, with only a bed, the clothes scattered on it, the books tossed around, the closet with a mountain of shit falling out of it--fuck, he forgot his bag at Yamada's place.

 

His phone's out of his pocket before Sen can even think, and he's dialing for Yamada before he ends the call.

 

No.

 

He runs a hand through his hair frustratedly, staring at the screen, before he decides out of the list of one person whose house is actually safe enough that he won't wake up on the other end of some kind of knife or something.

 

Nakai picks up, just like the wound up stick-skinny dipshit he is. "What."

 

"Hey," Sen says, phone to his ear, back against the sliding screen door, and staring at the contents of his room, wondering about what he should bring with him.

 

"Why are you calling me at..." A small pause where he likely just checked the time. "One in the morning?"

 

Sen grabs a dufflebag from the closet--old as hell thing. One of the last gifts he remembers getting from anyone, from a senpai he admired, once. Then senpai got married. Gross. "I'm crashing at your place. What's the address?"

 

"What the fuck?" Nakai's voice is drowsy. He must've been sleeping.

 

Sen scours for some socks, a change of underwear, and some pants. There's a shirt he's not sure is clean or not, but it passes the sniff-test, so he tosses it in too. Doesn't matter. Nakai has an older brother, Sen can steal his clothes since Nakai's definitely won't fit his.

 

Nakai, who is getting angrier the more Sen is concentrating on something else that isn't him. "You call me out of fucking nowhere? What if I have to be somewhere? What if someone's over?"

 

Jealous dumbass, Sen thinks. Nakai hasn't changed.

 

"What," Sen says, settling eagerly and almost naturally to someone bitching at him. "Your girl's there? Tell her I said hello."

 

"Fuck off, Murano," Nakai bites out. Guy's been a petty It's-Mine-Not-Yours-Fuck-Off brat even in kindergarten, and this shit hasn't changed. "You want pussy, you go ask Yamada."

 

Just the name manages to sour Sen's mood. "Is she there or not?"

 

"No, she's not, but even if she was, you're not staying over."

 

Sen is so fucking done. He stands up, jamming the phone against his ear. "Listen, you little green-faced dipcunt. I ain't making moon eyes on your fucking girl, so you can just suck my asshole, right?" Just. Fucking. "I respect her, alright? She's a good girl."

 

She's also a crybaby. Reminds him of his damn mom, but at least she picks fights with Sen on his assholery instead of letting him feel like he trips nine more steps down to Hell.

 

Finally, finally Nakai catches on. Christ. No fucking wonder Sen liked Yamada better--no. No. Not thinking on that. "What happened, man?"

 

"I just need a fucking break," Sen says, focusing on gathering his duffle together, on how the room is basically symbolism for how much he hates his life and his house and that he would move out in a heartbeat if the cops didn't catch him and bring him straight back.

 

It's not really filled with much, so it's light as hell. It used to hold equipment and sportgear, but Sen doesn't play soccer anymore, and Nakai's part of the team anyway, so obviously that's a no.

 

"Fine," Nakai says at last. "Just don't raid my fridge." And, because Nakai is a little bitch, he says, "Buy me apple juice while you're out. I'm flat broke."

 

"Screw you," Sen is saying into the phone even when he hears the dial tone. "Why the fuck would I buy you piss water?"

 

It's something to do, either way. Nakai is bossy and Sen likes to say he won't, but that's half of why they worked so well up until middle school and Sen learned that you could so totally ditch your childhood buddies and spend the money on other shit, that was a thing.

 

On a whim, Sen goes out to the supermarket near Nakai's house and buys like five fucking bottles with the little bears on them because Nakai likes those kinds but is too chickenshit to be seen buying them himself. Since Nakai has no other friends who knows of his secret except Sen, it means he's probably been hankering for them. Sen is a goddamn blessing in human form.

 

"What the fuck," Nakai says when he opens the door, but it's the happy kind, when Sen plys him with bottle after bottle. You can tell because Nakai's face screws up like he's not sure whether or not to cry or get mad. Nakai would earnestly punch him in the arm if he could, just to express his thanks. "You took so long."

 

"You're welcome, your highness." Sen barely goes through the front door before Nakai shuts it behind him and lets him in. Nakai lives in a regular place with a mom and a dad, a big brother, and a little sister, all of whom are asleep right now. "Do you still have your PS3? I want to play against you."

 

"We're in fucking high school," Nakai shoots back, admiring the haul. Sen wonders if the amount of juice his girlfriend drinks has anything to do with the fact that Nakai, being her boyfriend, can officially steal it and drink it himself on the guise of teenaged boy dumbassery. "Also, it is almost two in the fucking morning. You're not playing just to wake me up four hours earlier than I should be up."

 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" Sen demands, opening their fridge and peering through it. It's a natural reaction at this point, considering, but Nakai shuts the door on him, almost cutting off his wrist in the process. "What the hell, Nakai--"

 

"Dude," Nakai says, and he just looks at Sen. "I'm going to sleep. You can stay on the other side of my bed."

 

"That's gay," Sen can't help but quip, but he follows along without real complaint when Nakai leads the way.

 

He's changed rooms since the last time Sen's been here. Nakai's family isn't that rich, but they're fairly well off and live in a western-style house, a bit like Yamada does. Both his parents work, his younger sister's the top of her class--as Sen remembers from a few years ago, anyway.

 

The hallway draws the passage of time. They've repainted the walls, replaced some of the furniture and nearly all of the pictures with exception of one or two. Some souvenirs line up the bookshelves; Nakai's parents honeymoon whenever they can help it. It's somewhat of a thing.

 

Nakai's room itself hasn't changed though. Obviously it's been cute-ified a bit--perks of getting a girl, Sen supposes--with like small touches of pink here and there, but the bed's still a double and the first thing you see when you enter and turn your head right, there's a desk near the window filled with shit, there are dressers lining up the sides and a closet on the left, and a nightstand right beside the bed. There are still posters of all Nakai's favourite soccer players--and--

 

"Is that mine?" Sen demands, squinting at a poster of Kunishige Kamamoto.

 

"Including a lot of shit you never picked up," Nakai bitches, which is his way of telling Sen he's still mad about them not being friends.

 

"Huh."

 

"Here." Nakai tosses him a jersey--it's a clean one, with Sen's name on it. "That's from middle school. You've probably grown out of it."

 

Sen stares at it. "It looks like it'd fit you," is all he says.

 

Nakai's face crinkles up in a scowl. "Fuck off." When he turns around, Sen catches a hint of red at his cheeks, which--whenever Nakai gets embarrassed or angry, his entire face shows it.

 

"You put it on," Sen says suddenly, not sure how he feels about the sudden rampant gayness surrounding all of two of his "friends".

 

"Look, if you weren't gonna wear it for the four years--I had everything in the laundry--" Nakai almost yells out loud before he pitches a larger shirt at Sen. "Here, this is my bro's right? Go fucking put it on."

 

"You've got a gay ass crush on me," Sen says loudly, pulling his shirt off his head.

 

"I fucking don't," Nakai says in a angry hiss, "Keiko is the one who wears it."

 

Still pulling on Nakai's bro's shirt (which fits about right), Sen stares. "Why the fuck would she do that?"

 

Nakai throws his hands up in the air. "That's it! That's what I want to know."

 

"You have the shittiest taste in girls, man."

 

"This coming from someone who said he respected my girl?"

 

"Hey, I said I respected her, not your taste."

 

"You trying to say my taste is shitty, fuck-buster?"

 

"Fuck-buster? The hell's the story behind that?"

 

Then for some reason, they're laughing like they used to, and Sen feels like there is miles and miles of stuff that he's missed. There's something very easy about being with Nakai; much as he yells and bitches and gets angry easy and has the shortest temper to man, he's the best person to have on your side.

 

"You're alright, right?" Nakai asks. He gets the inside of the bed while Sen gets the outside, just like old times because Sen still takes up half the bed in his sleep. "No one I need to punch, right?"

 

"Dude," Sen says, cushioning his head with his hands behind it, because this is surreal and jumping back to when they were younger, and Nakai was skinnier than he was now, and Sen had been equally skinnier. "You're talking to someone who could benchpress you."

 

"You couldn't," Nakai says. "You don't soccer anymore."

 

Sen doesn't really have a response to that.

 

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

 

Sen rolls his eyes. "Christ, Nakai, if I did, would I want to talk to you?"

 

Nakai kicks him in the shin. It hurts more than it used to. "Fuck off," he tells Sen, and then says, "I miss playing with you on the field. Nobody else can fucking play."

 

"Yeah?" Sen asks.

 

"Yeah."

 

It's dark in Nakai's room, so it's hard to see him at all when Sen looks over. "What?"

 

"What?"

 

"I don't fucking now, but you're looking at me. I can't sleep."

 

"What time is it?" Nakai demands.

 

Sen cranes his neck over, before giving up and grabbing Nakai's phone, bringing it up over his face and turning it on. It illuminates, and there's a picture of Nakai with his girlfriend, laughing with those sticker photo drawings. "Almost three."

 

Nakai sighs and says, "I should've fucking known." Then he rolls over so that his back is to Sen. "Goodnight, asshole."

 

"Sleep tight, ballsless," Sen shoots back, and shifts so that his back is to Nakai's.

 

His eyes adjust to the dark easily, taking in how everything looks. How the blinds are shut just like Nakai likes it, but how shadows are being cast from the streetlights and how cars still driving in the neighbourhood roar past the house. Nakai's breathing has steadied out, evened out, and instinctively, Sen adapts to it.

 

This whole sleepover thing reminds him of the times when Sen would run away from home as a kid, hoping his mom would notice or do something, and figuring out it was just better to go someplace where someone actually liked him. It doesn't feel too much different now, but Sen feels out of place here.

 

Nakai hasn't changed much, sure, and just accepts him in like he's always done. But Sen hasn't spoken to his parents or to his sister or his brother in forever--Sen hasn't kept in contact, and while they've liked him, he's not sure how they'll feel about someone who royally ditched Nakai to hang out with someone else--how that goes.

 

Friends are fucking bullshit, but they're fine so long as nobody else gets involved.

 

Sen falls asleep eventually. It's hard not too; this place is so safe.

 

When he wakes up, he feels groggy, sleepy, and Nakai is plastered to his back, because he's fucking clingy. This is a level of spooning gayness that Sen is not comfortable with if there is a fucking woody digging into his backside, so he peels Nakai off him, and yawns, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. Nakai takes up the warmth that he's left, and Sen scratches his stomach, moving onto wherever.

 

When he opens the door, there's Nakai's brother sitting on the toilet seat with his newspaper open.

 

"Dude," Shunsuke says. He doesn't look all that different either, but Sen remembered him with his hair slicked back and his uniform parted. Now that he's a bit older, and he's got bed head--he looks surprisingly a lot more human.

 

"What happened to the other bathroom?" Sen asks dumbly, but he closes the door anyway. Then he knocks again.

 

"What."

 

In a moment of weakness, Sen asks, "I'm still welcome here, right?"

 

He hears Shunsuke sigh, and then the toilet flushing, and then the sound of running water and soap. When the bathroom door opens again, there's Shunsuke, an entire head taller than him but Sen's exact shoulder width and torso length.

 

"What's this about?"

 

"Nothing," Sen says.

 

"Just--Don't touch my sister," Shunsuke says blearily. "She's got boobs and hormones, and is being generally gross about guys. And our parents have missed you. You're the fourth goddamned kid in the family and the reason there's not another mouth to feed is because you were too damn good of an act to follow."

 

Sen is reminded about why he liked this place so much. Because Nakai's siblings had inevitably been his own. "So, uh...your parents--"

 

Shunsuke snorts. He's got it together. "So why are you here, anyway? Fighting with your mom again?" Sen's face must close off, because Shunsuke raises his hands up. "Look. All I'm saying is that you're here--used to be here--so often that you can live with us. Nakai's had a shitstick up so far his ass ever since you learned how to get better, more independent friends and abandoned soccer that he's unbearable."

 

There's too much that Shunsuke is sharing liberally that Sen would have to pry out of Nakai with a crowbar. It's surreal, someone sharing this much without being prompted or canoodled into doing it, and it's a welcome change. Sen relaxes. "You the reason he's got a girl now?"

 

Shunsuke flashes the grin. "Hell fucking yeah. Straight from a Casanova's mouth. Alright," he decides. "I'm making goddamned breakfast. Go wash your face and brush your teeth and wake up my family."

 

Sen does.

 

The family washroom is decent-sized for a family of five, and there's still the extra toothbrushes kept under the sink. Sen washes his face and brushes his teeth, and he can hear whistling from the kitchen, the sizzle of the pan, and the boil of the pot, even as he spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth.

 

"You wake them up yet?" Shunsuke asks from the stove, as he passes by.

 

"Not yet." He's rewarded for his honesty by Shunsuke clanking up the pots and pans and lids louder, and goes to do it.

 

He opens the door to Nakai's room to wake up Nakai, only to find the room empty and the bathroom door closed, so he leaves it alone. He knocks on Nakai's parents' door, hears two dual sleepy choruses of, "M'up, Shun, donut...don't...yeah..." and laughs.

 

He knocks on Nakai's sister's room, and she shouts, "Stop bothering me already, I'm up, ugh!"

 

He feels--in this place, in this house, you feel so goddamned different. You feel like you always belong here.

 

His phone rings suddenly, and when he checks it, the smile disappears from his face.

 

"What," he says, pushing the phone to his ear.

 

"You said to call," Yamada says. His voice is very carefully neutral.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"That's it."

 

"Yeah. Okay." Sen's waiting for something, but it doesn't seem like they're doing much, but he's--was in a too good of a mood for Yamada to spoil it. "I'll catch you later or something. Gotta give you back your money."

 

"You staying for breakfast, right?" Nakai asks him as he's leaving the bathroom, looking so much more alive.

 

"Yeah," Sen tells him, and Nakai gives him a grin that is so fucking bright that Sen ends up just nodding.

 

"You're not at home?"

 

"Huh? No." Sen readjusts the phone.

 

"That Yamada?" Nakai asks.

 

"Yeah." Before Sen can do anything, Nakai's snatched the phone from him. "What the fuck, man--"

 

"Hey, Yamada," Nakai says loudly into the phone, "Fuck off." Then he hangs up.

 

"What the actual fuck, man--"

 

Nakai just tosses him a look. "You're welcome. C'mon, breakfast."

 

"No, I don't fucking think so," Sen is saying, but before he can get as far as anything, Nakai stops him.

 

"Dude," Nakai says.

 

Sen just stares at him.

 

"I'll give it back after breakfast," Nakai says, like a bitch. So essentially, Sen has two choices. Punch Nakai and then sit the entire breakfast with Nakai's family remarking on how much nicer Nakai looks like with a black eye, or just sit through it and get it back peacefully.

 

Sen thinks about how goddamned long it's been since he's been here.

 

"You learned that from your girl?" Sen demands, at last, letting his outstretched hand drop. He's really not in the mood.

 

Nakai's expression falters, even as Sen brushes past him. "Yeah," he says, a little too late.

 

Sen laughs, even if he doesn't really feel it.