18+ Super Buddy Bros

[NightAir]

Summary: How Daisuke and Sen meet for the first time, and more.

Status: Ongoing

Warnings: teenage douchebags using bad and derogatory language (in narration too sorry), violence, and underaged sex (for future chapters, and I don't go lower than 15/16)

 

Comments: Okay, so some of you guys might recognize Yamada and Sen from

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. It's been hard for me to grasp Sen's voice again (which sucks, and why I don't really like Chapter 3 of that), but even back then I was trying to write something else in this verse from Yamada's point of view.

 

So this is basically another go at their relationship from another angle. We can consider this an AU, in all honesty. They'll eventually get to sexing, but this is gonna be an epic love story (hopefully), that I like (because development, friendship!!! dumb asshole friends arguing and fighting and then hooking up or something). Yeah, basically.

 

Daisuke is Yamada's first name, just in case that ain't clear. I already have quite a bit of this story typed out, so y'know, yeah

[NightAir]

i.

On the first day of preschool, Daisuke learns to curl his fingers into his hands into fists and keep his thumb on the outside, so that if he punches, it hurts. One minute he’s nervous, quiet, fidgety because his mom isn’t here anymore and there’s a stranger in charge in an apron and he’s surrounded by too many other kids, and the next, he’s pushed over another kid and he’s slamming his fist over and over again into their face.

 

A second kid—Sen, as Daisuke learns later—is the one yelling into his ear, “Hey, no! Not allowed,” trying to pull him off and almost succeeds.

 

A few seconds later, Daisuke is roughly separated from the first boy who’s screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. Daisuke himself is as quiet as death as the teacher gives him harsh words and tells him to stand in the corner.

 

On the first day of preschool, Daisuke’s mom gets a call from the director telling her that she needs to come and pick up her son.

 

--

 

It’s a mishap, the first day. They’re willing to let it go only after Daisuke’s mom pleads with them, but even then, they’re going to be carefully watching Daisuke for any other incidents. Another thing like that, and Daisuke is out. Nobody’s really sure what happened anyway, but they advise his mom that all that anger in one child is a bit of a concern.

 

It’s not anger. Daisuke’s never been angry, that’s the thing. His mom doesn’t understand it either; because he’s shy (not shy, just quiet, tends to listen more than he speaks) and kind of unsure about things, doesn’t really have a lot of friends, and comes running to her if he’s ever troubled. Even Daisuke’s not so sure why he snapped, why suddenly he felt out of control and why things happened like they did. He can’t explain it to his mom, who’s angry and disappointed, but who asks him if the other boy started it. Nobody started, he tells her, it just happened.

 

It just happened.

 

It just happened like how Daisuke goes to preschool the next day and all the kids are staying away from him, and Sen is his seat partner, and Sen takes one look at all the bandages on Daisuke’s knuckles, and says, “I want a Saiyaman bandaid too.”

 

It just happened like how the next person Daisuke punches (five days later, to be exact) is Sen, and Sen punches back, and it’s both their faults and they’re both taken out of class and both of their moms are called, and yet they’re still both in class the next day.

 

And the next.

 

And the next, next, next.

 

--

 

They’re not friend-friends. But they’re something other than friends. Sen just does whatever he wants and Daisuke just tends to follow because he doesn’t really have any other bright ideas of his own. Sen’s full of imagination and kind of really stupid ideas, but they’re exciting ideas, so Daisuke just complains and does them anyway. They end up with scrapes and bruises and a lots of cuts and gashes, time outs and loss of playground privileges, but Daisuke always has a story to tell his mom, and Sen never seems to get tired of bugging him.

 

Sen is popular in the class. He’s loud, he’s always got his hand up and raised for the teacher, and he’s always goofing off. Daisuke becomes a bit popular too by extension. If the other kids get annoyed by Sen’s loudness, they’re comforted by Daisuke’s quiet. If they think Daisuke’s kind of stilted, they’ll hop over to Sen. It’s like there’s this little deal going on in between the two of them. Sen will get the ones who want to have a good time, shouting and aiming imaginary guns. Daisuke will get the ones who want to just sit down and talk or play house.

 

“That’s stupid,” Sen tells him. His cheeks are chubby and his eyes are a bit too far apart, and he’s got that face that Daisuke's mom tells him that will grow up to be either pretty handsome or pretty weird. Daisuke stares at him, trying to predict which one.

 

“Your face is stupid,” Daisuke says. “You’re going to grow up ugly.”

 

“Just like my soul,” Sen agrees, and Daisuke laughs.

 

--

 

Daisuke asks him, “You don’t fight?”

 

It’s the last day of sixth grade—they don’t even hang out anymore for crying out loud—but they’re still holding ice packs to bruised cheeks and sitting sullenly in front of the principal’s office. Daisuke doesn’t even remember who threw the first punch anyway; just knows that the other kids who were having a problem with Daisuke got away scot-free.

 

“Uh, just did,” Sen replies, and rolls his eyes. He’s changed since the first day of preschool; his cheeks aren’t chubby, and he’s been beginning to show signs that he’ll grow up attractive. He’s not pretty—not like Nakai who’s half and half and it shows with long lashes and natural blond hair—but he’s far from plain. His eyes aren’t as obnoxiously far apart anymore. Maybe it was because the size of his face just needed to grow up with his eyes. Plus, he punches better, as Daisuke’s cheek can attest.

 

“But you don’t fight,” Daisuke repeats, because that’s weird. Packing a punch that hard when you haven’t done it a million times over. “That was your first actual fight?”

 

“Are you deaf?” Sen demands, annoyed. He’s got a shorter temper these days, something Daisuke thinks will turn out something fierce. “I said I did. We just did together. The two of us.”

 

“For fun, I mean.”

 

“Do you fight for fun?” Sen shoots back, and then rolls his eyes again. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“I don’t fight for fun,” Daisuke says defensively, lowering the icepack. All of the accusations that had come from adults his whole life—he’s tired of it and he doesn’t need any more to get him expelled. He’s tired of his mom’s disappointed look, and his dad’s inevitable lectures.

 

“Wow, so sorry. Did I hit a nerve?”

 

“I’m going to kill you.”

 

“Get your head out of your ass, Yamada.” Sen glares. His tone is biting, sharp—for all the years that Daisuke has occasionally seen him in the hallways, Sen’s been loud, rude, and obnoxious. Not threatening, even with the black eye Daisuke had given him earlier, but clearly it’s a different story now. “I didn’t say you did. It was a rhetorical question, so sit the fuck down and fuck off.”

 

“Are you talking to me?” Daisuke demands. “I don’t think I like your language.” The kind of coarse language only the kids he usually fights, coming out of Sen’s mouth? Then again, maybe that’s the kind of language Sen uses all the time, and since they don’t hang out anymore, Daisuke just doesn’t know about it.

 

As Daisuke’s mulling over whether or not it’s worth giving him a black eye to prove a point, Sen straightens and looks at him with his eyes wide. “Yamada, you don’t swear? You should try.”

 

“Fuck off,” Daisuke says, deciding Sen’s annoying and more trouble than he’s worth.

 

Sen just grins, smile disarmingly bright, as though Daisuke’s his favourite person in the world.

 

Daisuke decides to re-evaluate.

[NightAir]

ii.

 

It’s rough in middle school. Daisuke’s parents are going through the divorce, and it’s not like anyone in school actually cares about Daisuke anyway—he’s just another body at a desk and a name on in the markbook. Sen’s in his homeroom class, but the summer when Daisuke thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to have that idiot as a friend, he never showed up once at the playground. It’s not like they made plans or anything, but Daisuke’s hopes and dreams are shot down by realities of adults and having no real escape routes and that fucking sucks.

 

His name starts getting big. He goes to school to fight friends of people he’s beaten years ago, names and faces that kind of just blur together. He comes home to a house that’s loud and full of his parents screaming at either him or each other, or he comes to home to a house that’s quiet because they’re both working and he’s old enough to order takeout or whatever the fuck with the thousand yen bills on the counter.

 

The divorce has been in the works since Daisuke was a kid. He has no idea why it’s been getting so bad now, but he assumes it has some idea of which one of them is going to take custody of him. It’s no real magic; Daisuke wouldn’t want him as a kid either. Suspension in the works, probably getting expelled soon. Who the fuck knows or cares.

 

Daisuke’s days evolve to skipping school entirely and hanging by the park, smoking, wasting money at the arcade and staying home and playing video games when he feels like it. He’s tired, always tired and he really doesn’t know what to do with his life, what he thinks he’s doing except all the stupid shit he probably will look back at years from now and wonder about it too.

 

He dyes his hair blond after a while too, on a whim, and decides to keep it. He contemplates getting his ears pierced or even a tattoo—when one day, someone knocks on his door and won’t stop knocking.

 

“Go to class,” Sen says, the moment he sees Daisuke’s face. He looks different now, taller, and scowling. He looks pissed off like he wouldn’t hesitate to beat Daisuke up and drag his limp body to school with him. A hint of a thrill pumps through Daisuke’s veins for some reason, before he tampers it down because Sen’s no more different than anyone else. “Are you listening? Go to class or I’m going to kill you.”

 

Daisuke closes the door on him.

 

--

 

Whatever happens, Daisuke’s not sure of it. But he goes upstairs, puts his uniform on, and grabs the school bag he hasn’t touched since the first two weeks of school. He’s not really thinking, just does it automatically. Pants. Shirt. Jacket. Runs a hand through his hair and thinks that he could just not. But then he goes downstairs again, kicking on his shoes.

 

Sen looks surprised when he opens the door again, but he nods in approval.

 

“Good,” Sen says. And then: “You’re doing this everyday yourself, by the way. I ain’t going to pick you up like some sort of chick. Let’s go.”

 

--

 

The way to school is quiet. Sen doesn’t talk at all; it’s a bit before lunch, and he doesn’t have his bag. Daisuke observes him in the meantime, takes a look at how scraggy Sen’s hair is, how he doesn’t look too different from grade six as a grade seven, but how he carries himself is different. There’s a swagger in his walk, now. He’s more self-assured, but then again, it’s hard to think of a time when he wasn’t.

 

“I hate this fucking class,” Sen says, when they go in. It’s not even break, and the teacher’s in the middle of lecturing, but Sen just strides in. He walks to the corner desk, sits down, and says, “Carry on.”

 

Daisuke’s still at the door, just waiting to be called in, and everyone else is waiting too.

 

Sen’s face colours, red in a combination of anger and embarrassment. “Yamada,” he says, “Sit the fuck down or I’ll drag you here, so fucking help me.”

 

In all honesty, Daisuke could grab a chair, throw it at his face, and walk out right now. He’s got enough punks on his ass ordering him around, thinking they can tell him what to do.

 

He doesn’t though.

 

He goes in, sits down in the empty seat beside Sen, and watches Sen’s approving nod. Something inside of Daisuke stirs at that, bubbles and just clenches.

 

Sen’s not a good student; far from it. He makes obnoxious comments not even under his breath, cat-calls and wolf-whistles, and is generally that one person that stops everyone from learning. He leans his chair back so that only the back two legs are on the ground, and when the teacher asks for volunteers to read, Sen just shrugs.

 

By the time the class is over, Sen’s navigated his feet to the top of the desk—namely, Daisuke’s desk. Daisuke looks at them pointedly, and then looks at Sen.

 

Sen raises an eyebrow. “Problem?” he demands, and there’s an edge in his voice. An I fucking dare you, go start trouble.

 

“Your feet are on my desk,” Daisuke says.

 

Sen just looks at him. “So?”

 

“Get them off my desk.”

 

“Nope.”

 

Daisuke scowls at him. “Fuck off, Murano.”

 

Sen laughs, and then does, and then gets out of his seat, hands in his pockets. He claps Daisuke’s shoulder as he passes by. “C’mon. I’ll buy you lunch because I’m such a nice guy.”

 

Daisuke follows.

 

--

 

Standing in the middle of the cafeteria line, with Sen chattering nonsensically about shit and bitching about other stuff, Daisuke feels some semblance of normal. He feels like this has always been his life, like this is why people go to school outside of the lessons and the grades. Sen swings an arm over Daisuke’s shoulder, and tells him what to order, and when Daisuke does, he gives the biggest grin.

 

And that’s really nice, for once, for someone to do that.

 

--

 

They become...friends. Actual friends. Sen’s there when Daisuke’s parents finally go through the divorce and Daisuke takes it badly—not that Sen knows much about it asides from the black eyes and the splints and the casts and whatever—but Sen’s there the long hours it takes hanging out with him at night when Daisuke doesn’t want to go home, and Sen fills in the silences enough for the two of them in a way that Daisuke never feels forced to contribute if he doesn’t want to.

 

Sen doesn’t really ask about where Daisuke gets hurt; it’s not like it was a secret, but Daisuke is...grateful, because with Sen, you just do whatever he wants to do. You don’t have to think about something for yourself. And that’s good. That works.

 

Sen’s the type to find his own amusement in doing things, and Daisuke finds himself dragged along for the stupid ride where they heckle a stranger for his cigs and Sen’s all brash and no tact and surprisingly the delinquents that would sooner try to mug Daisuke are all loud and laughing and offering them both some lights of their own. Daisuke wonders about the idea of hanging around with the wrong crowd—but it’s the first crowd he’s been in for a long time that hasn’t tried to gang up on him and beat the shit out of him, and Sen’s having no problem with it except that after a few weeks, he decides he hates smoking.

 

“I am broke as fuck and I ain’t about to turn my ass crime now,” he declares to the delinquents. “As such, Sayonara, bitches.”

 

Their new friends take offense to it right away, but Sen just says, “I deserve a goddamned Good Luck On Your New Vanilla Life party for having to put up with your sorry ugly faces this entire time,” punches some shoulders, and everyone just laughs and tries to make Sen promise at least he’ll keep in touch. “No, I’m not going to, so piss off. Yamada, say goodbye.”

 

Daisuke has no fucking idea how Sen does it, but the day Daisuke walks out of delinquent association by Sen’s side, the day people start leaving Daisuke alone. Oh, there’s fights of course, yeah, but not every day. Once in a blue moon. There’s some measure of respect with Sen. It’s like Sen himself is an anti-magnet for trouble, the solution to the madness and restlessness and the nights Daisuke spent on his bed staring up at the ceiling and wondering about his life.

 

Daisuke is half-way jealous and half-way grateful.

 

--

 

The gay part comes along when Daisuke realizes there’s a reason why his dick doesn’t really give so much of a twitch when the guys at the school decide to start something a little called subscription sharing. The magazines are 18+, so everyone just ends up pooling a little money in so one kid’s older brother can buy it or something. It’s the stupidest, most scam-worthy thing Daisuke has ever heard of.

 

In their class, everyone (with exception of the girls) pools in a hundred yen each for a year’s subscription, and then shares the spoils. Daisuke doesn’t want it, so he doesn’t think twice about it until a month after it’s begun, when Sen’s at his house, and Sen pulls out a magazine whose cover depicts a naked girl in a very revealing position.

 

Daisuke feels uncomfortable as Sen settles back against his pillows and flips through it. Sen’s blasé enough about it that it’s not...creepy weird. But still uncomfortable.

 

“Dude,” Sen is saying, turning the magazine lengthwise. His face turns a very interesting shade of pink, so Daisuke focuses on that instead of the picture, even as Sen turns the magazine around to show him. “Do you think these are natural?”

 

“Nah,” Daisuke replies, not taking his eyes off him. “Probably implanted balloons.”

 

“Way to kill a boner, Yamada,” Sen snorts, and then brings the magazine back to him. “Fuck, this is fucking gross. There are pages that are stuck together, are you kidding me?”

 

“If you put that magazine on my bed, I will beat you up,” Daisuke threatens. Sen just laughs, and Daisuke almost grins as they settle back into silence.

 

Sen squints his eyes at the picture, ideas formulating into thought. “I dunno about you, but on a scale of 1-10, minus cum-sealed pages, I could get into this.”

 

“Holy shit. Keep your hands off your dick in my room.”

 

“No homo, bromo,” Sen laughs, and then flicked through a bit more before he eventually loses interest. None too soon. Daisuke is too fucking glad for it, even as he catches sight of Sen’s pants—half-hard. “Let’s play Tekken.”

 

“Go to the washroom and wash your hands first,” he says, trying not to freak out about the fact that Sen just got aroused in Daisuke’s room.

 

Sen rolls his eyes, puts the magazine down and swings his legs to the edge of the bed. “Get hand sanitizer, bitch, and I just might.”

 

“You come to my house with that attitude?” Daisuke demands, and Sen laughs and lumbers to the washroom too to get himself straightened up.

 

It’s later, after Daisuke just stares at the magazine that Sen fucking left on his bed anyway, and actually just...opens it up to take a look because his curiousity is killing him, that he thinks that something is wrong with him. There are naked girls in various positions, and they’re attractive, yeah, but. Nothing.

 

He’s supposed to feel something, right? Want to do something?

 

Sen snorts in his sleep, and Daisuke’s head whips around, heart pounding in his throat. But all he sees is the moment when Sen’s hand suddenly reaches lazily up the hem of his shirt and scratches at his stomach.

 

Daisuke’s seen Sen scratch his stomach loads of times. He doesn’t understand why suddenly, but there’s a sudden stifling intimacy to seeing it in his own house, when Sen is asleep, where around the bare slip of skin is a happy trail leading down under the waistband of Sen’s pants. A jut of hipbone peeks out. Daisuke traces it with his eyes and swallows.

 

When Daisuke moves to gingerly put the magazine back inside Sen’s bag, he’s hard. Not half-hard, not like how Sen got when he was looking at the girls. But full on hard.

 

Daisuke swallows, closes his eyes, and panics.

[tomoe96]

More please ^^ can't wait xD I like it so far keep up the good work ^^

[NightAir]

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This chapter's dedicated to you for waiting it out. *salutes*

iii.

There’s nothing wrong with being gay. He knows that, objectively. But he’s done with fighting, he thinks. He’s done with standing out, being different. He’s gotten into fights for less, but he knows the horror stories because he’s heard people talking shit all his life.

 

If there’s one thing that teaches you anything about how something will be received, it’s at school. People talk. Teachers. Students.

 

One guy got his desk trashed. Uniform stolen. Indoor shoes chucked in the incinerator at the back of the school. They poured a bucket of water over him and locked him in the bathroom in his underwear. What else they did, Daisuke doesn’t know, but he ignored it. You did that.

 

Plus, it didn’t have anything to do with him at the time. None of his business.

 

There are a whole lot of other conflicts and issues that Daisuke doesn’t think he’s ready to deal with, asides from the cold feeling in his stomach of denial. Desperation that maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he isn’t gay.

 

Maybe.

 

--

 

It’s a lot easier to hide it than he thinks. Sen only notices if Daisuke acts out of the ordinary, so if Daisuke sneaks the looks when Sen’s back is turned or if Daisuke looks out of the corner of his eye, then that’s fine.

 

It’s not like he looks on purpose; his eyes wander, and it’s Sen who catches them.

 

Daisuke can live. He can hide this.

 

But it doesn’t mean it’s easy, when the one you realize you’re fucking gay-crushing on is Sen.

 

--

 

“That’s so gay,” Sen is saying, laughing at something on Daisuke’s TV. He says stuff like that now and again, and always. He spills out stupid shit he thinks out of his mouth like it’s a waterfall, and sometimes it’s funny, but this time, Daisuke has a mini-heart attack before his hands clench into fists and his teeth grind.

 

“Can you not say that?” he demands. His skin is crawling, half-convinced the accusation is geared towards himself. Even though he knows it’s not.

 

It feels awful, to hear that from Sen.

 

“What?” Sen says, distracted. He doesn’t pay attention, and Daisuke used to admire him for that, but now Daisuke hates it.

 

He hates how lackadaisical Sen is, how carelessly he throws his words around. He hates that Sen said that shit with that tone of voice, like he’s not even aware of the power that one word possesses, how much he’s implying it’s to be the lowest of the low, something to make fun of.

 

Daisuke hates him.

 

Sen should be easier to talk to about shit like this—he’s practically Daisuke’s best friend at this point. He comes over to Daisuke’s room to play his games because Sen doesn’t have shit like that at home, he told him. He comes over every day after school and most days he stays over because he can’t be half-assed to go back. He talks to Daisuke about what he thinks about the stupidest shit, like banana pancakes and the fact that some kid in class is probably lactose intolerant. But it’s so hard now, now that Daisuke has something to say, for him to say it.

 

Having Sen’s confidence is like a bomb. It’s dangerous, just like how Sen’s mood is, and Daisuke should be alarmed or surprised or furious about how much he’s come to rely on his company. On Sen’s goddamned approval, like Daisuke can’t think for himself.

 

He wants to tell him. He’s about to, honestly, but then a million scenarios come crashing down in his mind about how this whole thing will end up.

 

Sen might be furious, spit on him, and call him names. Sen might be awkward, and stop coming over at all. Sen might find a new best friend, and Daisuke will be left behind, all because he couldn’t keep his stupid sexuality crisis bundled up tighter than a safe.

 

Daisuke can’t do this. He can’t lose Sen’s trust, Sen’s company. He remembers what it was like to live aimless and angry, and it’s grounding to be with Sen. It feels like he’s somebody, like there’s purpose.

 

“Whatever,” Daisuke tells him. His voice catches, but Sen’s not exactly good at reading that, so he doesn’t even bother. “Just don’t talk. I want to hear the TV, not you.”

 

Sen shrugs, shoots him a curious look, and crunches on the snacks a lot louder.

 

--

 

After, they’re sleeping, Sen on one side taking up space, and Daisuke crammed up into the corner. It’s how they’ve been sleeping for years, even when Daisuke’s bed has been replaced with a larger one a while ago. That’s not what’s bothering him now.

 

He turns his head to look at Sen, who’s sprawled out, head lolled back against the pillow. Sen, who sleeps easy at a drop of a hat.

 

Sen who doesn’t know.

 

Daisuke wishes he’d told Sen.

 

--

 

He will, he decides. He’ll tell Sen.

 

--

 

Yeah, right.

 

--

 

It gets easier in high school at first, though you’d think it’d be harder. At least, easier to hide, anyway. Less people know them personally, so they won’t be able to catalogue the way that Daisuke looks at Sen, or how Daisuke’s eyes follow other boys’s faces, their features. They think this is just how Daisuke is, a watcher, not a speaker or a doer like Sen, and that’s perfectly fine.

 

Daisuke just doesn’t let himself show; he can look, but only for a bit. He can’t touch, though it’s not like he wants to anyway. Sen grabs him enough, man-handling, arm around Daisuke’s shoulder, warmth pressed against his side. That’s all he needs, for a while.

 

But then he starts wanting. Daisuke doesn’t play sports, but Sen does. Sen, in fact, has been on a team as long as since forever. He comes over to Daisuke’s house sometimes straight after practice, cleats hanging from their shoelaces from his dufflebag, and sometimes Daisuke goes to watch their soccer matches before he thinks it’s a terrible idea.

 

Daisuke has to watch boys his age kick a ball from one end to another. They get sweaty and hot. And when they get sweaty and hot, they strip their shirts, and Daisuke has a front-row seat of how the sweat trails down their body, about how Sen has a fucking tanline of all things, how three boys are definitely going to the gym to lift weights if their pecs are anything to go by, how just—

 

He stops going. Other than that, high school is okay.

 

In high school, their reputations of past, never mind Daisuke’s, don’t really get brought up either. With the occasional person from middle school trying to pick a fight—Daisuke was strangely productive then—there’s not much else.

 

Except there’s Nakai, of course.

 

--

 

There’s a period of Sen’s life that Daisuke really doesn’t know much about. Nakai and Sen used to be thick as thieves—they used to be best friends, a position that Daisuke now holds and Nakai doesn’t.

 

Whatever happened in between that, to cause the rift, that’s something Daisuke doesn’t know. He just knows it happened in middle school, once Sen badgered Daisuke to start attending again. Whatever used to be between them got broken, and Daisuke had only ever caught glimpses of Nakai’s sullen face, the sharp glare he’d send to Daisuke every once in a while.

 

Nakai and Daisuke don’t get along. It’s fine. Daisuke didn’t want to be friends with a self-entitled little half-shit anyway.

 

As for personal matters, Sen doesn’t talk about his own, and it’s unspoken that Daisuke doesn’t bring it up either. If Daisuke wants comfort, he’ll have to find it somewhere else, he knows that.

 

It means that when shit happens for Sen, though, Daisuke is usually one of the first to know—long after it’s happened, or right in the front row seat.

 

--

 

"Nakai's here again," Daisuke says, and Sen grunts in response. "He looks pissed." A quick glance at Sen, who is still staring intently at the magazine. "Sen. He's coming closer."

 

Daisuke's sitting on his desk while Sen's chair has been deliberately angled away from the direction of other people, so only he can see the brunt of all of that anger on Nakai’s face. This is the kind of anger people have when someone’s going to get the shit beaten out of them if they push it.

 

In all honesty, Daisuke has not seen something like that directed at another person in years. And even then, middle school anger was what it was; frustration at the world, exact hate about other human beings. It was never anything like this that Nakai wears.

 

This one is pure molten fury.

 

"Fuck," Sen says, dropping any pretense of being engrossed when Nakai stops right in front of them. He looks up from his magazine to stare at the wall, not even looking at him. “What the fuck do you want, Nakai?”

 

The glare Nakai is sporting is enough to make Daisuke’s hackles rise. “People are saying you quit the team,” Nakai spits out, but asides from that, he’s not doing anything.

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“Did you?”

 

“Probably.” Sen looks back down at his magazine and turns the page. “That’s generally what happens when you hand in your club resignation.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Don’t really feel like it anymore.”

 

Nakai looks as though he’s been slapped. “Why?”

 

Sen raises one shoulder and drops it. “I dunno. Don’t want to practice, don’t want to train, don’t want to play, you take your pick.” He’s so nonchalant. Daisuke’s already minutes away from exploding from the tension in the air himself, because Nakai looks like he’ll drag Sen kicking and screaming down the hall to the locker room. “Yamada, stop.”

 

Daisuke jerks. “Sorry?”

 

Sen is looking back down at his magazine now, leaning further down into a slouch in his chair. “You’re making me feel like I want to run screaming from the room. Don’t do that. If you want to go out for some air, just get up and go.”

 

Nakai isn’t saying anything, but his eyes are dark and still on Sen.

 

Daisuke looks back at Sen. “I just—“ he starts, and then. “Do you want me to stay?” He’s not even sure what he wants to do. Whether or not this is Sen’s dismissal.

 

In all honesty, it’s the first time this has ever happened. A bubble of panic fills him, though he’s not quite sure for what exactly.

 

“Whatever, dude.” This is when Sen shrugs his shoulders. “I just know Nakai hates you. You want to stay, Yamada?”

 

“I—” Daisuke begins, and then breathes. Nakai’s gaze is sharp on his, and Daisuke can feel his hands folding into fists.

 

He could, he knows. He could fight Nakai now and he could beat him.

 

“No,” he decides at last. He slides off the desk. “I’m gonna grab something from the caf. Do you want anything?”

 

“Strawberry fucking milk,” Sen says immediately, turning the page of his magazine. “Get apple juice for Nakai.”

 

Daisuke waits, but there’s nothing more, so he nods.

 

“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Nakai is saying, as Daisuke leaves.

 

For a moment, Daisuke wonders when he became the glorified butler. But when he glances back from the doorway at Nakai and Sen, all he knows is that there’s tension now in Sen’s shoulders, and that maybe he should’ve stayed after all.

 

He goes.

 

--

 

When he comes back, Nakai is sitting where Daisuke was sitting, and he and Sen are talking. Sen’s body language is completely different than it was. It’s no longer tensed, but loose. His shoulders are shaking; he’s laughing. Nakai looks like he doesn’t have a stick up his ass anymore. He’s grinning hard, and telling Sen something that makes Sen slam the table and burst out laughing even harder.

 

In ten minutes, Nakai was able to get Sen to relax. When Sen gets angry or agitated, all Daisuke knows how to do is wait it out until Sen changes the topic.

 

When Daisuke draws near, Sen’s wiping a tear off from his eye. “Oh man,” he’s saying, and his expression is sated, his mouth quirking up naturally, even as he glances up at Daisuke. “You shouldn’t have left, man. Nakai just told me the—”

 

“They ran out of strawberry milk,” Daisuke is forced to say, even when he slams the apple juice on the table. There’s an awkward pause.

 

Sen makes a face. “Ugh. I’ll drink from yours. What’d you get?”

 

“I only had enough coins for two,” Daisuke says. “Which means you owe me, Nakai.”

 

“Tomorrow, whatever,” Nakai says, making grabby hands. Sen hands it over—and for some reason, Daisuke feels ill seeing it.

 

“Sen,” he says.

 

“What up?”

 

“I’m gonna go.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” Sen waves him off. “Catch you later.”

 

When he closes the classroom door behind him, Daisuke feels like punching someone in the face.

 

He settles for punching the wall instead.