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sweetinsaniiity · 3 months

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My Life For Hire

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - frat boy!san x college!Y/N ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜/𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 - switched bodies!, plot with smut, cursing, betrayal, enemies-to-lovers, semi-funny, San is an !ass, but so are you, bickering while having sex, love-making, sweet sex (no rough fucking this time, ya nasty people), blowjob, name-saying kink, permission-asking, creampie, no protection (do NOT do this!)◄ ► 𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - MDNI, mentions of extreme violence, childhood abuse, body disfigurement (via burn marks), fighting scene ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 18.1K (+ bonus scene!) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - Choi San was a man you harbor great loathing for. He betrayed you out of nowhere, and it cost you your whole life. You were ready to hate him for the rest of your life, until both of you were forced to work together after switching bodies, and then San claims he never betrayed you. How long will you pretend to be each other until you two get caught? ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - Hello again <3 I wanted to publish this sooner but I wasn't feeling well so I had to take a bit of a break. This is definitely not my best work since this genre isn't my strongest suit. This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent Ateez in real life. Join the taglist here. Title from A Day To Remember ◄

"So is anyone attending that party at the frat boys' dorms?"

I took a deep breath through my nose, hoping that the gesture would calm me down and not let my frustrations get the best of me.

Hyolyn, a close friend of mine, latches on my arm. "Our Y/N works a little too hard," she pouted. "You should come with us."

"You know I can't," I sighed. "It's not that I don't want to either, my finals are around the corner and I can't slack off."

Of course I wanted to go, just like the other normal people my age, and in college, no less. I wasn't the studious type nor was I someone who cared too much if my grades tanked, but I do want to graduate at least.

The cafeteria wasn't the ideal place for me to glance at my notes every now and then, but hey, the sooner I finish this, the sooner my life gets a bit easier and smooth sailing after.

"Ugh, can't they keep it down?" another friend of mine, Seolhyun, grumbled. She was the pretty but nerdy type, it made her charming. "I'm trying to study here, Professor Byun will literally fail me..."

I took an apprehensive glance at the far corner of the college cafeteria, and I couldn't help but be annoyed as well, and soon it became even rowdier when this particular group strolls in and creates more noise pollution.

"You fuckers be ready for the party tonight!"

"Beer pong anyone?"

"Everyone better attend and be ready to fuck things up!”

They were Ateez, a bunch of immature frat boys that took pride in annoying the living daylights out of everybody they encountered. They were loud, boisterous, and rambunctious.

I tried to get back at my sad excuse of a lunch - by that, I meant soggy veggies, gamey meat, cold soup, go figure - and my boring class notes, but the hairs at the back of my neck stood up. That's how I knew someone was watching me.

And I was right, someone was, or rather, someone was murdering me with their eyes.

Choi San.

He was seated at the far corner of the cafeteria along with the rest of cronies, leaned back a little comfortably on his chair with his arms crossed, and glaring at me with such intensity, and not participating at the rowdiness of Ateez.

"What the hell are you looking at?" I stared angrily.

He seemed to get the message. He shrugged his shoulders and glared harder. "What are you looking at?" he scowled.

I scoffed, the grimace clear on my face. "Can you guys keep it the hell down?" I mouthed at him wryly.

I gripped my pen so tight in my hand I'm surprised it didn't snap off. Oh, how I wanted to rip that menacing smirk off of his face. "What are you going to do about it?"

I stared at the way he licked his bottom lip then poked his cheek with the same tongue. He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting for the comeback that I always delivered to him, but not today, Satan. He looked at me with so much contempt, I was forced to look away.

"Guys, I have to go," I packed my stuff hurriedly in my satchel with a tight smile. I heard my friends complain under their breaths, I can't tell them but that the reason is that, mainly, I was avoiding San.

He was still staring at me with that nasty smirk he's always had. I had to resist the urge to march over to him and gouge his eyes out with a spoon.

Staring became our only form of communication for a couple of years now. It was a contest between us, and winning came with a reward - the satisfaction of seeing one of us falter.

San tilted his head curiously as he watched me pack my things. His eyes were unblinking, they were harsh enough to see directly right through me. Perhaps it was the way he looked at me that gave his intentions away.

I wasn't going to give in to him. I sneered at him, unwavering as I slowly walked towards the cafeteria's exit.

I grimaced when I realized I had to pass him in order to do so. Curse him, I thought bitterly. I'm fine, I just have to ignore him---

"Oh, oh, oh no," I panicked when I accidentally tripped on something and began falling straight to the ground face down.

This was it, the end of my social life, and the end of my reputation.

"Careful. You don’t want to fall on your face, do you?"

This was my nightmare personified - tripping and falling directly in San's arms. I sighed deeply, forcing myself to look at him as he held my waist a little too tight for my liking.

"Unhand me, you swine," I hissed, grabbing onto his arm and pushing it away.

San clicked his tongue mockingly. "I help and this is what I get in return? You wound me." He leaned close to my ear and whispered something soft enough for only the both of us to hear. "I get it. You've always acted like you have a stick up your ass."

I scoffed blaringly loud enough to catch pretty much everybody's attention. It was embarrassing, but my anger towards San prevailed.

"I'm sorry, were you dropped on your head as an infant?" I snapped. "Or were you just born stupid?"

Ohhs and a couple of laughs were heard across the cafeteria. His friends stared at us in amusement. San had a devilish grin on his face, but I knew him. The way his eyes glinted with something dangerous - he was angry.

"This isn't over," he growled lowly.

With that, I turned away from and left not only the cafeteria, but the university in general to head back to my dormitory. San always bought out the demon in me, and I was exhausted.

In the end, I decided to go to that party, even though one of his frat buddies, either Wooyoung or Mingi, hosted it. Needless to say, Hyolyn and Seolhyun were over the moon. I decided to get ready the moment the sun went down.

"You fool," I muttered, staring at the picture frame I always had on my table. I paused from getting ready and stared at it for a while.

It was San and me, grinning widely at the camera without a care around us. One glance and it was like we were in high school again, before all the dumb decisions and before we both drifted apart.

It's been four years since then and I will never get over the loss.

The party was unfortunately a blast. As much as I disliked San and his cronies, they sure knew how to throw a good one. The mingling bodies made it a little difficult for me to move around.

"Having fun?!" a boy in my class, Haechan, raised his voice so I could hear him from the loud music.

"Sort of!" I laughed loudly.

I was loosening up, maybe it was the alcohol, but nonetheless I moved my body to the rhythm of the songs that played in the background, chugging my beer from time to time. It was honestly fun, I haven't really gone much because I really did try to concentrate on my studies.

Suddenly, someone hastily grabbed my beer cup and sloshed it on the floor. "Hey!" I shouted.

I was being dragged roughly across the room, through the sea of drunk people and vomit, outside the house the party was. I groaned when I was harshly shoved against the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I laughed contemptuously at San's pissed off face. "What?" I scorned. "I can't attend parties anytime I want now?"

San looked royally pissed. He had always been the intimidating bastard, and he'd always hated the disrespect I gave him.

"You?" San sneered. "You hate parties. Did you come here to embarrass me further? Haven't you had enough?"

My heart suddenly hurt as I stared at San's disdain, and I mourned the loss of my best friend all over again. We were everything to each other, until we just weren't.

San's eyes softened, and they mirrored the same loss I mourned for. It was always like this.

My eyes flashed with anger, I glared at him and showed him how mad I was. "Get off your high horse, Choi San. I'm not the same person I was years ago."

Something cold crossed over his face; touched the corners of his eyes and glossed over them like sharp winter frost. He let out a snort, but chose not to reply. He behaved like always until it made me crack.

I was angry and frustrated that he ruined my mood, and I was getting back at him for this. “Your group of bastards irritate me, you know?"

San laughed and shook his head. “Bastards like us are born out of passion, aren’t we? We are everywhere,” he jeered.

I smirked. He always hated it when I talked shit about Ateez. “I can’t say I particularly hate your little group—“

“No? How tolerant of you.”

“—-just you, San.”

San stares at me. “You hate me that much, Y/N?"

No, I thought, I hate them from stealing you away from me and you for going along with them.

“Yes.”

His brows shot up with the revelation and I stared at him with my heart racing. I haven't been this close to him in years. I scrutinized him - he was the most handsome in my eyes, but now more so that he'd matured. One thing that never changed was he always dyed a section of his hair blonde.

I hated that piece of hair. It always garnered him the attention he never deserved.

A searing smile curled at his lips and he chuckled in amusement. "I suppose the feeling is mutual," he smirked. "You feel tough because of your boy toy, what's his name? Jaemin?"

"That's none of your business," I gritted my teeth. I was pissed, Jaemin has been nothing but good to me.

He sneered at my annoyed stance. "Are you fucking him?"

"No!" I denied faster than I'd like. I rapidly shook my head at his accusation. Embarrassed, I tried to avert my eyes from him.

San chuckled lowly. "Go home," he said, but it sounded like a threat.

"Careful now," I chuckled without humour. "People are going to think we like each other if you keep cornering me like this."

Sans arched a brow at my defiance. He clenched his jaw, the irritation slowly getting to him. "Why?" he sneered. His fingers mockingly brushed against my arm. "You like playing hard to get?"

"Ugh! You are insufferable!"

"And you are a feisty little bitch," he snapped.

"Are you fucking serious?" I cursed, moving slightly to try and get away from his presence. "You're the absolute worst, I swear to God."

"I wish I gave a fuck," he sighed with a mocking laugh.

I was about to retort something dumb, something so stupid he'll have no choice but to let me go, when the loud cracking of the thunder interrupted us. It amplified the rain that accompanied me and San's childish argument.

Taking the chance, I pushed him off and tried to storm off in the rain to my car. I wasn't in the mood to party anymore. "Let me go," I said firmly when San stopped me by holding onto my arm.

"Don't be a kid," he rolled his eyes. "As much as I'd like to see you drenched and suffering, wait the rain out for a little, then you can fuck off."

I angrily shook my arms off of his grip. "Talk to the wall," I hissed.

"I'm serious, it's slippery out there," he nagged, following me when I began to walk off, but hesitating when the rain hit him. "Come on now, Y/N."

I flipped him off. I noticed his eyes grow dark, I recoiled a bit, but chose to go on. The rain was strong, but I managed to walk off, and then the inevitable slipping that San had warned me about came in time when I accidentally stepped on mushy grass.

I screamed, flailing my arms stupidly like it would break the fall, and break it did. Except that the real reason was because a pair of arms had broken my fall.

I stared at San's wet form holding me. "Are you okay--" he began speaking, but he too, had fallen victim to the slippery slope we were in.

I cursed as we both tumbled along and San let out this guttural groan when I fell directly on top of him. I didn't register it at first, but I felt something very soft land on my face...

"Mmph!" I whimpered. To be specific, something on my lips.

San and I looked at each other wide eyed, not moving as we were too shocked to do so when we realized that our lips had met.

Then came that dizzying sensation I had never, ever felt before in my entire life when San pulled away in daze. Before I could even register the fact that San and I basically kissed, albeit by accident, I started to lose consciousness.

"You're so disgusting you literally make me sick with a single kiss,"San slurred, his eyes slowly fluttering close like mine as he held onto me tightly.

I buried myself in San's arms, scared and confused to what was suddenly to the both of us. Did someone spike the drinks?

"Likewise," was the last thing I blurted out before both him and I slumped on the ground as the world started disappearing from both of us and fainting.

There was nothing, for a moment, at least.

And then it came, in the darkness, that wonderful dream I loved dreaming about. I dreamt about it so much that I subconsciously knew I was dreaming.

The vibrant, hectic space was bursting into life. To my right, the espresso machine sputtered slowly, its sounds resonating through the air, every now and then pausing to gasp some air whilst liquid gold flowed down to be served into a cup.

"A cappuccino for you, my lady," San teased as he gave me my cup and then sat opposite to me. "And a latte for me."

It was a beautiful summer bloom, with the busy college applications looming over us. I'm surprised that San and I even had time to hang out.

"Are you really coming with me?" I frowned. "You don't have to, Sannie. I can always visit you overseas, you know that."

San clicked his tongue. "That won't be necessary," he smiled, that cute dimple he had popping out from his cheeks. "I already rejected the offer, we'll be in the same college."

Guilt crept its way into my heart at San's excited stance, and of course, he takes notice. He grabs my hand and massages it gently.

"I'm serious, Y/N, it's okay. I'd rather be with you than be alone somewhere else," he said. "I...don't think I can live without you there."

I bit my lip apprehensively. "I don't want you to give up your dreams because of me," I whispered.

He shook his head. "I'm not," he assured. "What's the point of achieving them if I'm without you?"

"What am I going to do with you, Sannie?" I giggled.

I'd loved him the most when he did the thing - dancing - he was most absolutely passionate about. It was when his eyes twinkle despite the absence of emotion on his face. They were alive in the lights, burning with the motivation to succeed as if he has been through so much and more.

And when he glances at me the same way, it was when I felt loved the most.

I woke up in a cold sweat, my breathing laboured and intensive. Fresh tears started to well up in the corners of my eyes at that dream, for it was the last time I would ever call San my best friend.

Or rather, the love of my life.

I laughed bitterly to myself. That ship sailed a long, long time ago. At this point, I was in love with the memory of how he used to be - the sweetest, kindest man. Now he's just a cocky douchebag.

I sat up on the bed, and it was when I realized that I was in an unfamiliar room. I looked around, my heart beating a little too fast for my liking, and my head pounding really, really bad.

Odd, I thought. I'm not a lightweight, this can't be a hangover.

I panicked when I heard the bedroom door jiggle and a voice rang from the outside. "San, are you awake?"

I screamed bloody murder when the door opened and tried to cover myself up. I cannot be seen dead or alive within a ten mile radius with San. "Ahh!"

"Ahhh!" the other person screamed as well.

"Ahhh!" I screamed back.

"Ahh! Why the fuck are you screaming, San?! God, my ears are busted..."

San? I gritted my teeth in annoyance under the blankets. Why wasn't he saying anything? I swear if I get my hands on him I will wring his neck.

"San? Are you okay?"

I paled when I felt the blanket suddenly pried from me. All the excuses and scenarios in my mind on how to excuse myself and maybe bribe this man into not telling anyone I was in San's bedroom.

But nothing. The person that took the blanket away from me was none other than Jung Wooyoung, San's closest friend. The familiarity in his eyes when he looked at me was creeping me out a bit. Or maybe he was just used to San having women over. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Get up, man. It's almost 10, I saved you some food earlier," Wooyoung spoke, looking at me expectantly. When I didn't reply, he frowned and touched my forehead. "You okay? You look sick."

I recoiled from his touch, and his frown turned deeper. "A-Are you talking to me?" I asked, squeaking pathetically when I realized that my voice wasn't my voice.

It was deep, rich, and it sounded a whole like San's.

Wooyoung cackled loudly. "Are you still drunk?" he jokingly hits my shoulders. "Unless there's another San in the room, then yeah, I'm talking to you."

An oncoming panic attack makes my heart beat erratically, the fear automatically bombarding my brain. The intense worry was overriding the rational part of my brain, not that there was anything rational about this.

I slapped myself hard, hoping to wake from this nightmare that I was in, but nothing. Wooyoung stares at me like I grew two heads. "Yeah, you're definitely still drunk," he mumbled.

When Wooyoung left the room, I got out of the bed so quickly that the blood rushed to my head fast and rendered me dizzy, but I didn't care. I ran to the big mirror at the corner of the room and stared at myself - or San.

"No, there is no goddamn way, this cannot be real," I muttered to myself, the mania and craze scattering my thoughts and making it impossible for me to think. "Oh my God, what the hell did I do wrong to deserve this?!"

Broad frame, toned arms and chest, almond-shaped eyes, white-stripped bangs, this was San. I brought my hand to touch my face, it was smooth, something I knew my skin wasn't. When I waved my hand dumbly in front of the mirror, I yelped when San's reflection looked back at me and did the exact same thing.

But wait, if I now San, where is the real San?

"I'll be right back!" I screamed at nobody in particular, trying very hard to appear normal when I rushed downstairs, tripping on a few steps, with a newfound vigor. The blush on my cheeks were still evident when I changed into San's clothes with my eyes closed.

It was hard because I would sweat when I'd accidentally touch what technically was his skin, but I can't just panic and mope around doing nothing. I have to find my own body.

"Ya! Don't slam the damn door!" I heard someone scream when I hurriedly ran out of the Alpha Tau Zeta frat house. It was probably Park Seonghwa. Rumour has it that he was a neat and clean freak.

I stumbled like a fool as I speed walked my way towards my own dorm house where hopefully San with my body was in. I cursed under my breath when I tripped again, barely catching myself. Curse San and how big he is!

How did this happen though? Was magic a real thing in this life all along? It didn't make sense, what kind of sick God was playing with our fates like this?

With no time to lose, I opted to jog and I was pleasantly surprised when I realized how easy it was to jog right now. But it wasn't me, San's body was the one with the insane stamina and strength to do so.

When I reached my dorm all the way to the end of the campus, I wasn't even panting or sweating. As I tried to make my way inside, the friendly security guard stopped me from walking further. It was something I appreciated living here, the safe security, but now I'm a little annoyed about it.

"Your name and who are you visiting?" the guard asked.

I cleared my throat apprehensively. "Y/N, ah, m-my name is Choi San and I'm visiting L/N Y/N."

It unnerved me to hear myself - San - talk and it was even more unnerving not to say my own name and use San's right now.

"Nope," the guard shook his head. "Miss Y/N did not put your name as a legal visitor for her."

It took a lot in me not to snort loudly in contempt. Of course I would never put San's name down. I never wanted to see his face near me ever again when I started living here.

I was about to appeal and try to sneak away, when I saw a familiar form by the doorway. My eyes widened when I saw myself seething and shaking with anger. Is that what I look like when I glare at San? I suppose no wonder he hates me.

"You," I hissed. I cringed when San stared back at me, maybe my face and body, but those eyes belong to San. It's definitely him in my body.

I marched over to him, ignoring the protests of the guard and dragged him into my room in a hurry, not caring if we both looked weird.

"Can you not treat me like a ragdoll? You're hurting me!" San barked, but not doing anything but following. It was weird hearing my own voice talk to me like this.

"Ah," I uttered sarcastically. "Now you know what I feel like when I tell you."

San glares at me and I had this urge to just submit, but I carry on. "Don't be a pussy, San."

It was true. San had a habit of grabbing onto my arm when he wanted something, especially now that his only goal in life was to drive me to my grave.

While me and San - or more like, San and me - were having the death march towards my room, the uncomfortable stares of the people we passed were undeniable. Everybody knew San and I hated each other, it wasn't necessarily a secret, so seeing us together was such a treat.

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Sometimes I forget how shallow people can get. Is this the fame that San got everyday? Every stare was a mixture of confusion, awe, and lust.

"You can't just go out like this!" I screamed at a confused San when I closed the door behind me.

"Like what?" he asked. God, it felt weird to hear myself like that.

"That!" I incredulously said, hastily pointing at the nightgown San currently had on me. "You're basically naked, I'm basically naked!"

San rolled his eyes, plopping on my bed with a heaviness that annoyed me. "I tried putting on a bra," he mumbled, his ears red with embarrassment. "Don't look at me like that, I swear I did! How the hell do you women live with that thing? I couldn't breathe!"

I stared at him wide-eyed, a sudden thought infiltrating my mind and making me extremely nervous. "Did you, uhm," I stammered ridiculously. San lifted a brow to stare at me. "Did you look?"

He was confused at first, but when the realization dawned on him, his face reddened too. "No!" San boomed, clearly flustered at the accusation. I deadpanned at him. It was so fascinating.

"Contrary to your popular belief, I'm not like that," he scoffed, staring straight into me. "And you know it. I could say the same to you, though."

It was my turn to scoff at his ludicrousness. "Please," I sneered. "The little worm between your legs isn't even worth snooping at."

San crossed his arms with a dirty smirk on his face. "I suppose that's how I know you didn't look."

"Wha--oh," I faltered when I realized what he was talking about. He cackled when I threw a pillow at him. "You're disgusting," I spat.

Everything dawns on me all once now that we've talked a little and are in the comfort of my own room. Thank the Gods I insisted on having my own back then, or this would've been more of a nightmare than it already was.

We didn't say a word to each for a moment, lost in the discernment that we had actually really been switched - that this wasn't a joke and something had happened between us that we had no idea about.

I swallowed the lump that began to form in my throat. What if this was permanent? This could potentially destroy my life, and as much as I am upset with San, I don't wish to ruin his life, either.

I gasped softly when I felt my hand being massaged softly. "Calm down," San murmured. "We'll figure it out."

What was supposed to be relaxing, turned out to be nauseating for me. It's been so long and he still remembers what calms me down.

"This place is surprisingly nice," he said, looking around my room. "Who's paying the rent?"

"I am," I shrugged.

His grip on my hand tightens ever so slightly. "Your mom doesn't?" San asked in contempt.

I looked at him through his narrowed eyes. I can tell that there was no malicious intent behind the question, rather, he was sad. My chest pangs, it had that angst we both had when we were younger.

"As if," I scoffed weakly. "You know how it is, San..."

His eyes switched gears from contempt to cold anger that wasn't necessarily directed towards me. "Mark my words," he snarled. "One day, I will scrap that stepfather of yours, I swear to God, I'm going to--"

"You will do no such thing," I hissed angrily. "And how? Look at us, we're not in our real bodies right now! I don't know if it isn't obvious enough, but I'm not exactly the strongest bunch out there."

"That's not true," San dismisses.

"You don't get it do you? I'm so frustrated and I want to pound my hands on the floor like a toddler!"

"I get it, Y/N--"

"And it had to be you of all people! God, it's so easy to be cruel with you right now but I'm not like you---"

"Can you just shut your trap for once and let me think of what's happening?" San snapped, letting my hand go roughly.

In my panic, a stupid idea pops in my head. "It was the kiss wasn't it?" I blurted out. I grabbed his (my) shoulders frantically. "We can just kiss again and it will undo itself!"

His eyes widened comically when I leaned down and crashed my lips against his. When nothing happens, I kiss him over and over again, until he pushes me off of him.

"What the hell are you doing?!" San squeaked. It dawned on me what I had just done and I blush hard. The only time I got to kiss San was when I did it myself from his body. What a sad way to live.

"You act like I wanted to do that," I fretted, trying to change the topic. My brain exploded when I saw him lick his lips slowly and his throat bob up when he swallowed. "That's your brain thinking for you, really? N-Not that you ever used it," I stammered.

"It's called being rational," he sighed. "Something you're not."

"Wow, look who's talking," I scoffed. "Spoken like a true asshole, you don't even know what's going on."

"You really are a cunt, aren't you?" San insulted. "Can you just please listen to me for once?"

"Last time I did that, I was abandoned."

San paused, a flash of regret flashing through his eyes. He knew that I saw, but he made no effort to hide it, so he does what he does best - deflect blame.

"Ah, yes. You say that as if you were the first one to feel it, Y/N. What other insights have you bought me today?"

"I wonder if you're the worst person I've ever met. I hardly recall, but horrid people really do stand out, do they?" I rolled my eyes.

San sighed deeply, clearly frustrated. "Look," he began rubbing my temples. "We're going nowhere here, how about we research for now?"

He pointed at my bed where my laptop was. "We can use that for now. Do you have class today?"

This was how it was between him and I. We'd be fighting like cats and dogs then we'd work together temporarily to solve a problem. "No," I shook my head as I sat on my bed to grab the laptop. "I'm off for four days. Professor Lee is sick."

"Okay, good. We have the same professor," he sat beside me. My heart lurched when I felt the bed dip with the weight. "You want to use that or list information?"

"Paper," I mumbled, handing him the device. "You've always been better at technology."

It was the truth. He hummed in response, typing up stuff I barely even knew to begin with. "What was the last thing you remember last night?"

That was a good question. "I-I don't remember," I trailed off. "How did we both get home?"

"I was awake enough but not for long. I don't remember who took me, but I know Mingi took you home with what's her name, Saeyeon?"

"Seolhyun," I corrected. I felt my throat constricting with the newfound information.

What San really meant was, 'I fought to be awake until I saw you safe.’

"I'm surprised your bunch didn't leave me stranded out there," I scoffed.

To my surprise, San smiled lightly. "They're not what you think," he said. It left a bad taste in my mouth, but I suppose I respected the love he held for them.

And then we were silent. We brainstormed and tried to research every little thing about our case. It was genuinely frustrating and disheartening, most of the things we found ranged from the supernatural to just pure fallacy.

Our case was purely unique. That or nobody who has experienced it documented it for the world to see. I don't blame them, I wouldn't believe anyone unless I was certain it was fiction.

"What's up?" I asked San, who kept staring at me while I wrote every detail he told me to. Maybe all the anxiety and nervousness I held was because of the way his eyes held me a prisoner.

"Nothing," he shrugged. "It's just that we haven't been in the same room for a long, long time."

I held his stare with a curious look in my eyes. He was right, I hadn't even thought of that. "What exactly are you thinking?"

"That I'm glad it was you," he answered with raw honesty. "This situation isn't ideal for the both of us, but I'm less terrified because it's you."

A puzzle piece of my heart once fell down, because it knew it never belonged there anymore. San left, he didn't belong with me anymore. It struck a nerve, what he just said, because I felt the exact same way - it was either him or nothing.

I nodded, holding my breath because if I didn't, I would say something I will regret. "Did you find anything?"

The small smile on his lips faded, but he nodded despite his feelings. It broke my heart to downgrade my expectations of him. "No," he cleared his throat. "Move in the frat house for the time being with me."

I raised a brow at his suggestion, but on the inside, my heart wanted to leap out my chest and onto San's hand. "Why?"

"I can't stay here, your roommates will notice," he explained. "And you can't stay alone in the frat house. They might look and act like idiots, but they're the furthest from it. They will know."

As much as I hated to admit it, San was right. "Where am I going to stay though?" I frowned.

"In my room. You sleep on the bed, I'll take the floor. We have extra futons," he shrugged nonchalantly.

I agreed immediately. I packed whatever essentials I need and some clothes enough to last me a while, because something is telling me that we're going to be like this for a while.

I left a note for Hyolyn and Seolhyun, saying that I'm going to stay with a friend for now because they're in trouble. Hopefully they don't sense that it's San.

"Don't get any ideas though," I mumbled when we both reached the front door of his frat house. "We're not friends."

He smirked as he rang the doorbell. "Wow. What's got you questioning our friendship?"

"I'm not questioning our friendship, San. I'm denying its existence."

San was about to retort something stupid, when the door suddenly opened. I had to stop myself from drooling at the sight in front of us. It was Kang Yeosang.

"Sannie?" a shirtless Yeosang appeared from the doorway. I knew he was handsome, but goddamn. "Why are you ringing the doorbell?"

I felt a sharp jab to my side, it was San elbowing me. "Uh, h-hi, can I s-stay here with him--her!" I stammered pathetically.

Yeosang stared at me like I was crazy. "You live here, San."

Fuck.

Before I could incriminate myself further, San grabbed my arm and began pushing past an even more confused Yeosang. I heard him - me - curse under his breath when we reached the living room.

Everyone was in there, I mean literally every single one of them, Ateez, were just lounging. They all turned to us with a mixture of shock and bewilderment. I get it, though. Me and San being together in one room without fighting was a miracle in itself.

"Don't ask!" San shouted as he dragged me into his room. It must have been because all they see is a tiny woman dragging a bigger man.

When he closed the door behind us, he laid it all out on me. "Seriously, Y/N?" he hissed. "Yeosang got you panting like a bitch in heat?"

"What can I say?" I taunted him. "I appreciate a hunk when I see one."

"You're lucky it wasn't Jongho," he seethed as he arranged the extra futon he was referring to on the floor. "Jongho would've literally chewed you out on the spot for acting weird."

I didn't bother replying. How was I supposed to tell him that he has been the only guy I've seen shirtless before?

We decided that tomorrow is another day, hopefully back in our respective bodies, and we can discuss tomorrow about our next move. For now, we will sleep.

It was comfortable, at least for me, I was in San's bed wrapped up in his scent. I shamelessly inhaled his pillow deeply, God, I've always loved his scent even before and especially now. I sighed, not being able to sleep despite being comfortable. He's matured now, both in looks and the way he acts.

After an hour or so of just thinking, sleep crept up to me, until it didn't.

"Y/N?"

My mind didn't register what I was hearing until San repeated my name over and over again. I got up and saw him already sitting down on the bed. "San? What's up?" I asked groggily.

"Can you help me? I-I'm scared," he stuttered, shaking his leg a bit. I guess some things don't change, San always does that when nervous.

I turned the lampshade he had on so I could take a better look at him. He was pale and genuinely scared. My heart started to hammer against my chest and I grabbed his hand out of reflex.

"Sannie?" I gently asked. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I-I think I'm dying," he professed. "M-My stomach h-hurts bad..."

Well, that woke me up completely. "Come again?" I blinked repeatedly at him.

With shaking hands, he pointed at the floor and at first I didn't see it, but when my eyes focused, I saw what appeared to be droplets of blood.

"Sannie," I called out. "Stand up for me, I need to look at something."

He did as asked and I sighed. As expected, the crotch area of his pajamas had blood on them. For the first time in a while, I felt bad for him.

"I'm sorry," I apologized genuinely. "I didn't know I'd be having my period so soon."

San's face drops in realization and relief when he hears that it was only technically 'his' period and he wasn't bleeding randomly to death. "Seriously, though?" I teased. "You had a sister and a mother, how could you not know?"

"You had me and male friends but you technically didn't know how it felt peeing from a dick," he snapped.

"Touché," I chortled. I stood up from the bed and put a soiled shirt of mine on the bed and guided him to lay down on it. "I'm gonna go back to my dorm to get some pads for you," I mumbled.

"No need," he groaned. "Ask the first person you see downstairs. We have them on stash somewhere for people who visit."

I raised a brow at that. "You got so many bitches come over, you have feminine products on standby?"

San narrowed his eyes on me. "I told you," he gritted his teeth. "We're not like that. Hurry up, please. I think I'm going to throw up."

I laughed on the way out of his room. I want to leave him to suffer honestly, but unfortunately, I'm not like that. It was satisfying enough for a man to experience how difficult periods are for women.

I went back to the living room since it was the only place I knew for now, and I wasn't surprised to see it empty except for one man - Jeong Yunho.

The senior law student sensed my presence and turned to look at me in surprise. "You're still awake?" he asked with a smile.

"I could say the same to you," I laughed nervously, hoping to appear normal by joking around. As far as he knows, I'm San. "D-Do you know where the pads are?"

I was expecting him to be disgusted and make a nasty joke about it, after all, most men are, but no. He nodded with a hum. To be fair, Yunho was well known on campus to be a gentleman, but still.

"We're out of them," he sighed. My heart dropped low in my stomach when he said it, but then he continued. "I'll see if I have some in my room. Come with me."

"In your room?" I asked flabbergasted as I followed him.

"Yeah. Yeni usually leaves hers here in case of an accident," he mumbled, rummaging through his unsurprisingly organized room. "I'm assuming Y/N had hers?"

I nodded slowly. Yunho acknowledged me with another hum. "You can ask Seonghwa for the stain remover. Check the balcony."

My mouth dropped in surprise. Yunho is talking about periods like it's the most normal thing in the world! While it is, frat boys are the last people on Earth to be totally fine with it!

"Here," Yunho handed me a couple of pads. "Goodluck, man."

When Yunho left, I was still frozen on the spot. On campus, Ateez were the typical party boys that ruled and were worshiped by everyone. There were many who disliked them, including me, but have I misunderstood them?

We'll see. Maybe it's only Yunho. I traversed through the whole house, careful not to be too loud since it was past midnight, and the balcony wasn't actually too difficult to find. I blushed when I saw a serious looking Seonghwa only wearing a tank top while he was buried in a mountain of books.

"Yunho?" I heard him ask without looking in my direction.

I was extremely nervous at this point. What if I say something and he'll catch on and figure out that I'm not San?

"N-No, it's me," I whispered. God, pretending to be San was a lot harder than it seemed.

He pauses from reading and looks up at me. I gulped when his sharp eyes hit me. From a distance, even on campus, Park Seonghwa had always looked intimidating to me, and right now, I wanted to bury myself in the ground with his scrutiny.

"San," he drawled with a small smirk. He glances at the pads on my hand. "You need the stain remover."

I nodded, not daring to say a word. It was unsettling, the way he looked at me as if he could see right through me. "Well?" Seonghwa asked in a tense voice.

"W-What?" I stammered.

"You bring the girl that hates your guts without me and Hongjoong's permission, you don't have anything to say about that?"

I bit my lip apprehensively. I'm going to strangle San the minute I get the hell out of here. "I-I'm sorry," was all I could say.

He sighed deeply. "I'm sure you have your reasons," he mused. "I don't mind her, I quite admire her spirit. She doesn't conform to the status quo and doesn't worship us mindlessly for no reason."

I didn't know if I should be even more terrified now or flustered with the compliment. "However," he continued. "Hongjoong is different. He's a little upset you're not standing up for yourself when she badmouths you. You're lucky he's at his internship abroad."

"It's not like you don't know I hate her as well," I blurted out before I could stop myself, but it was too late. I won't be scrutinized here when San hates me more.

"You do?" Seonghwa was puzzled. "But I thought," he sighed. "Whatever, you'll figure it out. Run along, stain remover is in your bathroom. I cleaned it earlier. I'll buy some ice cream for her. Did you get the warm compress?"

I was flabbergasted. "What?"

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. "For her cramps, you half wit. No wonder she hates you."

I thought nothing could shock me anymore than Yunho's kind attitude, but Seonghwa cleaning the bathroom? And he's pretty nonchalant about periods too! How in the world are they so normal about this? Of course I knew what warm compresses are!

And these are exactly what I told San when I came back to the room. Telling him that they ran out of pads was embarrassing, and apparently the pads I got were for when Yunho's cousin comes over, and the interaction with Seonghwa.

"Are you scared of Hongjoong?" San asked. He looked too amused for my liking.

"I'm more scared of Seonghwa, to be honest," I shrugged. "Put this blindfold on, I'm going to undress you."

San blinked at me, but did so anyway. It felt damn weird technically dressing myself. We got into the shower and San surprisingly wasn't making lewd comments, but I can see the blush rising up on his cheeks. It was my body, so I knew how it functioned.

"Seonghwa looks intimidating because of the way he carries himself," San said as I took my pajamas off of him. "I remember being more terrified of Hongjoong when I first met him. His tongue is sharp---can you be careful? It's ticklish."

"You know I'm ticklish," I mumbled. "Sharp how?"

"In a sense that he doesn't have to stick a knife in your chest to kill you," he chuckled. "How long do I have to wear these?"

"I'll let you know if we have to change it," I replied with my own blush. It felt so damn weird changing San, but technically it was my body I'm putting clothes on. But still, maybe I should just let San see my body?

I shook my head apprehensively, my face getting redder and redder because of how ludicrous my own thoughts were. No way I'd let him see even if it was hard.

"This feels so fucking weird," he whined as he kept adjusting himself. "It feels like I'm wearing a diaper!"

For the first time since we had switched bodies, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at his claim. San looks at me weirdly before laughing out loud as well. My heart didn't hurt this time, rather, I felt it healing.

"Usually, I'm a tampon person," I wiped an imaginary tear from my eyes. "But I don't think you will appreciate something inside you."

San's cheeks look like tomatoes at this point. "Yeah, you're right," he mumbled. "Thanks for the compress, it feels better."

I glanced at him shifting uncomfortably on the floor, tossing and turning to find the perfect sleeping position, but to no avail.

I sighed. "San," I called out. He took a peek at me. "Sleep here for now," I said, patting the side of the bed softly. His eyes widen into saucers. "Please."

He stayed unmoving, contemplating whether I was being serious or not. I don't blame him, this is the gentlest we've both been to each other since four years ago. When I scooted to make some space, he had resolved and decided to lay down next to me.

"Thanks," he groaned in pain after. "So this is what you guys go through every month?"

"Mhhm," I mumbled. "I'll help you."

"Why?" he smirked. "We're not friends, right?"

I pretended to be asleep so I could avoid him. I hope he can't hear how loud my heart is beating right now. He gave up and fell asleep himself. I can feel his body heat next to me, searing hotly. We used to sleep in one bed when we were younger, so what makes this one any different? I had no idea.

Soon enough, I didn't have to pretend to sleep. Then, I had another dream...

I winced in pain when San dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball on my lips. "Please, Sannie, it really hurts," I cried.

"Shh, just bear with it okay? I don't want it to get infected," he hushed, his brows furrowed in concentration mixed with a little bit of displeasure.

"A-Are you mad?" I squeaked.

"No. Stay still."

"But you look mad."

He sighed, his hand caressing my cheek. I lean into it, hissing in pain once more. I forgot I had a bruise there as well. He cursed under his breath.

"I'm not mad," he confessed, his fingers lightly tracing the bruises, both old and new, across my face and neck. "At least not at you."

I gasped lightly when planting a small kiss at my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin longer than it should. "I'm so sorry, Sannie."

"Stop," he warned. "I never want to hear that from you." He plants another kiss on my bruised cheek. Suddenly, the pain wasn't there anymore. "I'm going to kill them, Y/N, I swear I'm going to," he growled.

I held his hand and gripped on it. Tears started falling from my cheeks and his eyes softened. "I-I'm fine, please don't," I begged. "He's just stressed, that's all--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, enough of that bullshit!" San roared loudly, slamming his hands on the table. I whimpered loudly at the sound. "He's supposed to be your father, Y/N, and look at what he's doing to you!"

"I know, San, please," I wept.

"You have to report this, Y/N, I don't want to see you in a morgue one day," he pleaded. "If your mom had still been alive..."

His voice cracked towards the end. I pulled him towards me in a reassuring hug and we cried together as good friends did. "Live with me, Y/N, I'll take care of you," he implored in a way that broke my heart into little pieces.

And just like before, I have to tell him that I can't. "My stepfather will find me," I sobbed. "I can't let him hurt you."

That night I slept in San's room, on his bed while we talked all night about our dreams, with all the love and appreciation I never got with my own family.

The bloody period, figuratively and literally, was over and me and San took a break from all the fighting because even though I laughed at his pain, I did feel bad. My cramps often left me unable to walk sometimes.

I have to say, it wasn't all that bad. I have found utmost joy in opening jars that I wouldn't usually normally have in my real body. I can also reach higher places now and experience my feet touching the floor whenever I'm sitting down. In turn, I had to laugh at San's experience. He's so used to being big and strong and he's experiencing the opposite of mine.

"Can you stop pouting and act normal?" San hissed at me. "You're going to ruin my reputation like that—stop fiddling with it!"

"I'll just replace it with something else," I protested with an edge to my voice. "Seriously, it looks stupid."

San glared at me while fixing his jeans, my jeans, on him. "It's just an earring," he rolled his eyes dramatically. "I wear what you tell me, you don't see me complaining, do you?"

I sighed, annoyed. "Fine."

"Why? I can't do fashion?" he raised a brow at me.

We set out to leave my dorm this time. We've perfected our routine somewhat, by nighttime we go to the frat house, but by dawn we leave to go to mine before everyone wakes up. It was flawless because my roommates barely stay, the last thing I want is for people to think me and San live together. At least on my end. Surprisingly, Ateez has been very hush-hush about it.

"You tell me," I scoffed as we both walked towards campus. "I take it's the same reason you always dye your bangs blonde."

San paused from walking, stiffening as he stared on the floor with a faraway look in his eyes. I frown, looking back at him. He was already staring at me seriously. "Meaning?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. "What else?" He waits expectantly. "Come on, you know why. Do you not hear and see the other girls flocking and moaning your name repeatedly when they see you?"

He narrowed his eyes. "So basically, what you mean is I do it to pick up some pussy."

I was taken aback by his vulgarity. "Is there any other reason?"

"I don't know, have you ever seen me entertain a girl?"

I stop and all is quiet, hardly even a breeze around us. I bit my lip, deep in thought. He was right, there were obviously playboys but San's name was never involved in it.

He smirked, and I had to stop myself from cringing. Did I look that dumb when I did it? "So tell me," I dismissed.

"Let's just keep the peace, shall we?"

Taking a deep breath, we walked in the common area, the hallways, and the moment we did, people started talking. It was a horrible symphony I've heard over and over, but never before towards me. What would you do if fire and ice started acting as if they went well with one another?

"I didn't take you to be a philanthropist," I muttered, deflecting the whispers and the stares. The stares I got as San was good, but the stares that San got as me were the opposite, and he was taking it well.

"Well, we didn't necessarily get along that well, didn't we?" San smirked. "We still don't. Anyway, let's summarize what we researched so far before we get in class."

"Nil, zilch, nada, zip. Nothing except that it might be a curse," I sighed.

"Do you believe in that?" San frowned.

"It's a bit too late not to," I laughed sarcastically. "We're not in our respective bodies."

"Right. Do you remember what happened that day?"

"It was raining, we were fighting, then accidentally kissed, then boom."

San stared at me, amused at the blush on - his - my cheeks. "We kissed again," he smirked. "Never really undid it, so that's out."

"This was a bad idea, we can't talk here," I shuddered at the stares directed towards us.

Suddenly his phone rings, and he frowns when he sees the caller ID. "It's Mingi," he sighed. "Pick it up."

I took the phone reluctantly. "What should I say?"

"Just go with whatever. He just looks rough but, Mingi's harmless," he assured. "Oh, and call him Mangi."

I raised a brow. I can't imagine the daunting Song Mingi being called by a cute nickname. "H-Hello? Mangi?"

"Oh, Sannie!" I was surprised how deep Mingi's voice was on the phone. "It's game night tonight before Thanksgiving, you in?"

"Yes?" I squawked out when San stomped on my foot. This brat!

"You sound unsure?" Mingi chuckled on the other end. "Figures. You've been with her lately. Finally, you learned how to have some balls. How is she anyway? Haven't seen her since that night."

I raised a brow. I decided to ignore that, it must be fraternity lingo. "G-Good, a little frazzled, but good."

"Good to hear. Well, tell her we all wish her good luck at the finals. I'll see you."

"Wait--oh damn," I trailed off when Mingi hung up. "What do we do?"

San took his phone back and patted my shoulders hard. I glared at him. "What else? You go," he smirked. "I have an exam to take, do I?"

I pushed his hand away from me. Here we go again. "Choi San, I've been studying my ass off for the very exam you're going to take for me," I hissed. "If you fail, I swear to God I will sell my soul to Satan just so I could live longer than you and shit on your grave when you die."

He cackled very loudly. "Oh my, that was a good one," he grinned. "Easy peasy, I'll take care of it."

"San, I'm being serious, please."

"I am too," he retorted, clearly offended. "You think I can't handle it? My major is harder and you know it."

"Biology and Economics are two very, very different things," I rolled my eyes. "You think this is peanuts?"

"Yeah, what did you major in? Stupidity?" San chuckles sardonically. I was about to slap his arm but then I stopped when I remembered that for now, I'm not a woman - that meant I would be a man hitting a woman. San seemed to realize it as well and smirked dirtily in my direction.

"I'll definitely fail you---"

"San!"

"Go to the frat house," he shrugged. "And pack your things after."

"Why? You're kicking me out?" I sarcastically asked.

"No," he scoffed. "Thanksgiving at my parents. You up?"

I paused, my features softening. I haven't seen his parents in years, the only people who actually cared for my well being and helped me when I needed it the most. I was forever grateful to them.

"Which car?" I asked.

His face lit up and I had to smile a little. "You wanna drive?" San smiled back.

The smile I was holding back showed itself at the question. I nodded enthusiastically. San remembered. When we were younger, driving was the only thing that relieved my stress when my stepfather abused me.

"What the hell are you looking at?" he hissed when I zeroed in on someone I saw walking from behind him. "Hurry before Mingi calls again!"

"Hold on, my senior is approaching, please act normal," I glared at him. "Or I will skin you alive."

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” he rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re going to give us out!”

And just like that, we were back at our old ways of bickering. A really good friend of mine, Jeno, approached me with the cheeriest smile on his face while San and I just walked aimlessly around the campus.

"That's him? Seriously?" San snapped. "Wasn't that the guy who had been crushing on you since freshman year?"

"How the hell did you know about that?" I stared at him accusingly.

"Word travels fast," he shrugged, clearly annoyed. Then, he had this devilish grin on his face.

"Don't you dare, Choi San, don't you fucking dare---"

"Hey, Y/N!" Jeno finally jogged to both of us, panting a bit to catch his breath. He turns to me and nods slightly. "San."

"I'm sorry, what's your name?" San asked Jeno with that innocent look I used a lot on him.

My eyes widened and the world stopped for a moment. "Uhm, don't you remember me?" Jeno laughed nervously. "It's Jeno?"

"Nah, I could have sworn it was something dumber than that," San grinned mockingly.

Both Jeno and I gasped in shock at San's antics. I grabbed him before he could incriminate the both of us further. "Ah," I interrupted. " I hate to cut this short, but wow, I forgot we had to hurry and leave, haha."

"Yeah, you do that," Jeno trailed off in a daze.

I dragged San rather harshly, not caring if the people around us thought that I was manhandling a poor woman, yeah, my ass!

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" I screamed at him. "You can't just act like that when you don't like someone?"

San looked at me mockingly. "What, you like him, is that it?"

"Are you for real?!" I gritted my teeth. "Why are you dead set on ruining my life? Ugh!"

"I don't have an ax to grind with you though," he grinned.

"No, San. You just want to bury it in my back!"

I walked off and he followed me while he laughed his ass off. God, we were such a ticking time bomb together. Soon enough he was able to catch up to me, and before we knew it we were pretty much at the frat house at this point. We kept bickering and bickering, our taunts borderline offensive at this point.

True to his word, Mingi did call back just like San predicted. "This isn't over!" I glared at him.

With that, I put all my trust in San and went running to the frat house. I collected all the nerves I had stood strong in front of the door.

Truth be told, my heart was pounding extremely fast. Even though they seemed kind so far, that was when I - technically San - was here. Now it was just going to be "just the boys".

"Hey, there he is! The man of the hour," Mingi beamed, ushering me inside where food and drinks lay all over the living room.

"What's all of this?" I murmured, sitting beside the only person I knew so far - Wooyoung, since he would pester San - me - a lot, and for absolutely no reason, Yunho.

"You've been acting weird since you passed out that night," Yeosang shrugged. Cold sweat dripping from my scalp, did they know? I laughed nervously.

"What the hell is going on?" Yunho started. "Seriously San, are you okay?"

"Y-Yes, why do you ask?" I stammered, my heart beating a thousand miles per hour. The room felt small, like it was closing in on me.

"Something's wrong with you," Yunho narrowed his eyes. "It's like you're not you, for some reason."

I was nauseous at the remark, and I have never ever felt the urge to throw up like I was feeling right now. Were we and San that bad in acting?

"You don't talk to me anymore either," Wooyoung frowned. It was the most serious I've ever seen him. "Is it her?"

My chest felt like it might explode from all the questions getting thrown at me. It clicked all of a sudden - did they plan this "game" night just to pry? Did they know?

"Listen," Seonghwa sighed, reaching over to pat me on the shoulders. "Let's solve this before Hongjoong comes back. Tell us, San, do you have a problem?"

"No, I don't I swear!" I remarked a little too enthusiastically than I wanted to.

"Relax, we're not mad at you," Seonghwa frowned. "Mingi, tell everyone what you noticed."

The deep-voiced, criminal justice senior student cleared his throat. "The fact that you and Y/N come back late at night when you think no one is awake?" Mingi smirked. "Or is it when both of you leave at dawn when you think nobody is awake?"

This is where me and San fucked up. Of course everyone would notice, Mingi was the son of a renowned detective, Yunho was a law student, Seonghwa took sociology, Yeosang and Wooyoung were just damn observant. Jongho, I don't interact with that much.

"Is college getting too hard on you? Affecting your mental health?" Wooyoung thoughtfully asked.

Yeosang shook his head in amusement. "It's alright, we know you're pussy whipped."

I blush in embarrassment. San? With me? Impossible.

"I mean I get it," Wooyoung cackled with that annoyingly loud screech of his. "She's the talk of the campus right now."

My brain shut off immediately. Me? My eyes slowly widened with the thought of San doing something that will embarrass the living hell out of me. "W-What? Why?"

"Oh, you haven't heard?" Yunho raised a brow. "Your girl did a little too well on her finals. Who said it, Woo?"

"Changbin," Wooyoung chimed in. "He supervised the presentation and written exams." He teasingly wiggled his brows. "Said it reminded him of how you talk, it's like you guys switched bodies for a day or something."

I froze at that comment, my face twitching in an attempt to stop myself from falling apart at the moment.

I looked around and sighed in relief, it was just a joke. That was a close call. I’m literally sweating out of my pores. I tried to distract myself by listening to their banter, and soon enough, everyone forgot about me.

Except for one person.

Choi Jongho kept zeroing on me with an expression I couldn't pinpoint. I knew that he's aware that I noticed, yet he didn't look away. It was like he was dissecting me alive with his eyes and studying the composition of what made me, well, me.

I tried to brush it off, San did mention that Jongho was the atypical maknae - he didn't revel in being the youngest, rather, he would exercise its power and use it against everyone. If he wasn't staring at me like this, I would have found it cute.

"Ya, Mingi, stop clowning around and pass the food," Yunho rolled his eyes.

"Seonghwa is nearer!" Mingi blurted out.

I laughed when the dragon-looking elder raised a brow and everyone was suddenly friendly again to each other.

"Going home for Thanksgiving?" Yeosang asked curiously. I nodded, not wanting to say a word in case I gave myself away. I put food in my mouth so I have an excuse.

As much as I hated to admit it, but I understood why San chose them over me. They were fun to be around, and it was the type of friendship that extended outside college; it was the type you'd have forever.

Suddenly, the door opened and we all turned around to see San - technically it was my body - standing by the doorway. It got silent as everyone stared at him as he slowly went upstairs. I saw the pain in his eyes and I felt awful because he couldn't join in.

"Y/N, don't go."

It was Jongho. "There's plenty of meat for everyone. Come."

My heart swelled. That was technically San in my body, but in extension, it was like Jongho was asking me to join. I felt relieved, they never really talked to "me" like that, just the occasional greeting.

And just like that it was back to normal. I can tell San was happy, meat was his favourite food after all.

I dropped my chopsticks. They clattered on the table and no one seemed to notice. I looked at the meat, and then San, and then Jongho, who was already staring at me with a blank look in his eyes.

My eyes widened when he smiled, genuinely smiled, at me. He mouthed something I quickly understood because San said the same thing to me.

"I'm glad it was you."

I felt like crying when we finally reached San's parents house after a couple of hours driving. Nostalgia hit me hard as I stared at the door, a symbol of hope I had when I was younger.

"Let's take it easy here, okay?" San knocked on the door a couple of times. "I don't want my mom suspecting anything."

"As long as you don't piss me off we're good," I rolled my eyes, fixing my outfit even though I have to pretend to be San anyway.

"I can't help it," he chuckled. "We have to figure out how to survive, I suppose. Plus, it's only 2 days. You got something?"

"Yeah, San. High blood pressure."

San laughed really loud. "I love your comebacks," he drawled. "It turns me on--"

He was interrupted when the door suddenly opened before I could smack San. There stood the person who took care of me the most, smiling with tears of joy in the corner of her eyes.

"Oof!" San exclaimed when his own mom hugged him - me - instead.

"Y/N, my dear, I'm glad San," she glared at me, thinking I was her son. I had to stop the urge to laugh. "Finally bought you home! Oh, it's been so long!"

"L-Long time no see, Mo--Mrs. Choi," he nervously laughed, glancing at me for help. I pretended that the floor was suddenly interesting.

"Come along, both of you, I prepared so much food," she beamed, grabbing both of our hands and leading us inside the house. I loved how she always reached out to me first even after all these years. I knew San didn't mind either.

We exchanged greetings with his father, who also stood by me, and his sister, a friend I had when San was busy. Even the most mundane things felt so normal to me here. Finally, after so long, I was finally home.

When we were seated at the dining table, my soul felt at peace when I sat in my original seat. They cared for me so much, they designated a chair for me. It's a shame San ruined everything.

"So, biology treating you, kiddo?" Mr. Choi smiled at me while he put some meat on my plate. "Eat up, son."

"Wonderful. Graduating this year," I replied. I kept my answers short even though I had so much to tell. It was just how San was.

Mr. Choi put his hand on my shoulders and I couldn't help but smile at it. Granted, he thought it was his son, but still. I'm going to take all that I can get. He mentions how proud he was and I couldn't help but revel in it.

Dinner was pretty fun, the most I've had in years. We just fell into the rhythm, not caring about what will happen to both of us in the future.

"So, Y/N, any news I should know between you and my Sannie?" Mrs. Choi beams, wiggling her eyebrows in a teasing manner.

San continues eating, and I clear my throat. He looks startled and I point my eyes sharply at his mom. "I'm sorry?"

Mrs. Choi giggles like a teenage girl looking for gossip. It was honestly so cute. "Anything going on between you and San?"

San heaved a long sigh. "No, Mom, nothing is," he grumbled silently.

I choked on my food, and everyone's utensils clattered on their plates. This idiot!

He noticed everyone looking at him with wide eyes. "W-What?" San cowers a bit at the attention. As if lightning hit him, his own eyes widened and he started to wave around like a fool as he realized what was up. "No, no, wait, it's not--"

Mr. Choi hits my back proudly and I choke more. "That's my boy! Finally, we knew this would happen!"

We couldn't even put a word in, Mrs. Choi was already tearing up and sniffling and hugging San. He gulped when I glared at him hard. Communication by staring does wonders for both of us. "Oh, finally, my babies are together," she sniffled.

And that was how we both ended up in his room together despite protesting that we shouldn't.

"You blithering idiot!" I laid it all on him, and pulled his - my - hair hard. Now I get why people do it.

"Ow!" San screamed furiously. "Stop! You ungrateful bitch that hurts!"

"You slipped, how can you slip?!" I screamed.

He got pissed and reached up to pull my ear down in his direction. I yelped in pain. "That's my mother, how can I not miss?!"

"Your mom thinks we're dating! Are you okay with that?" I pushed him down rather aggressively. He glared at this 'you-dare-use-my-own-strength-on-me' look.

"It's fine. That's where it will end anyway," he shrugged, plopping on his bed lazily.

"No. I'd rather gouge my eyes with a spoon," I scoffed, but on the inside, I was screaming in confusion.

He raised an offended brow up. "Goddamn it, if you think I'm unattractive just fucking say so."

"That's the problem, San. I think you're alarmingly attractive."

A dark look passes through his eyes. It's crazy that even though I was looking at my own eyes, it looked so much like San's instead. Before I could take back what I said, I was pulled harshly towards the bed. I yelped when the bed came in contact and my breath stopped when I saw San hovering over me.

"So, you think I'm hot?" San smirked.

I tried very hard not to look in the eye, focusing on the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"I think you're insane," I laughed nervously.

"You know what?" San whispered. "Maybe this weird shit happening to us wasn't so bad after all."

I completely stopped breathing when he leaned down to my ear, the same ear he pulled earlier. "We would've graduated and never saw each other again."

That was true. All I ever wanted was to move on with my life, and I was prepared to do it without San, even though it would have killed me.

"You betrayed me," I whispered back, my voice cracking with all the emotions I hid from him all these years ago. "You gave me back to that monster. Look."

With a shaky hand, I pulled the dress I made him wear on my body to reveal a badly disfigured shoulder. It was ugly; disgusting. The skin was mangled with burn marks and had darkened in time. Unshed tears started to pool in the corner of my eyes as San's jaw tightens.

"How could you do this to me?" I questioned. It was the same question I asked him four years ago.

He adjusted the dress back on his shoulder and held my hand on his. He put it against his lips and kissed it so tenderly, I barely felt it. "I am so sorry," he sighed. "You will understand one day."

My brows shot up in confusion. This was the first time I was hearing this. "What do you mean?"

"Why don't we sleep for now? We'll talk tomorrow?"

I frowned, angry, and I wanted to be angry, but I was too tired to be angry at him because there was no point in feeling so. I knew he was changing the topic and even if he pretended to be fine, it was the fine details - the ticking of his eyes, the quivering of his lips, the slight breathing pattern change, the dilation of his pupils. He was extremely angry.

I gulped. "San--"

"Please," he pleaded, his voice barely audible from my ears. "Can we pretend for one night that nothing had ever changed between us?"

He wiped one lone tear that escaped from my eye, and for the first time since it had happened, I cursed the Gods for switching us callously. I wanted to feel his arms against mine, his soft breaths hitting my skin as he shielded from every trouble that dared touch me.

But no. I was San for now, and he was me.

The air was tangible, one wrong word and the little bubble we had wrapped ourselves will pop. I laid on the bed with San giving my head little pecks here and there.

"You know," I began. "I never got to thank you for getting me an A++ on my finals."

He chuckled from above me. "They told you before I came back, didn't they?"

I hummed in response, but not saying anything back. Once again it was silent, the only thing we could hear was our breathing. Dare I say it was the most comfortable thing I've ever heard.

"Y/N?" San suddenly asked. When I didn't respond he continued. "What if one day, you find out that everything you knew was a lie?"

I tensed against his hold. I wasn't expecting a question that deep right now. "Is this about why you left me?"

"Answer the question."

"I don't know, Sannie. It depends on the lie," I responded. "I don't even know you anymore."

It was his turn to tense. It was a mirror of his anxiety. He cleared his throat rather loudly. "There's a lot about you that you don't know, Y/N."

"Like what?"

He taps my nose with his finger before they go up and fluff the blonde piece of hair he had. "For one," he smirked. "I don't dye this. I have poliosis. Haneul has one too, she just dyes hers dark."

I was at a loss for words, dumbfounded at the revelation. "What?" I almost screeched. "You never told me this!"

He tucked me inside the blanket, almost lovingly, just like I used to when we were younger. "The world is cruel to people like me who are different, I didn't want you to think I was a freak," he shrugged and I felt my heart breaking into pieces. "I'm so sick of seeing my failures in your eyes."

My chest exploded with a million emotions and it hit me - I still loved him. I was in love with him then, and I am still in love with him now.

"San," I spoke with uncertainty, looking deep into his eyes.

There was so much I wanted to say. Falling in love with him was easy, it was admitting to myself how hard I fell. When he asked what if my life was a lie, he didn't know that I was the one lying to myself. I suppose he never noticed, and I could ask him, but what's the point?

For now, we were here, and I was glad.

"Where are we going?" I asked nervously when San lead to an unfamiliar route from the road we were supposed to take. His hold on my hand loosened and I felt him shaking.

"Just a little bit, we're almost there," he cryptically said.

"I'm so excited," I giggled. "Are you excited?"

"Y-Yeah, I am," he replied. I frowned, maybe he was just as nervous as I was.

We finally ran away, San had finally taken me away from my monster of a stepfather who did nothing but destroy me as a person, but guess what? He will never succeed.

That is, until I saw his red car parked in the far distance, the moonlight shining on it as if it was mocking me.

"San?" I croaked, halting my steps. I knew I wasn't seeing things, that was him. "San!"

I felt him pull into my hand and when I wasn't moving, he forcefully pulled me until we reached that dreaded car. I was a crying mess, especially at the thought of my only friend betraying me.

"San, please, don't do this to me," I begged over and over again, reaching to him pitifully when my stepfather grabbed my hair roughly and pushed me into his car. "San, please!"

He stood there, watching as we drove away. I pounded on the back windows, hoping he would snap out of whatever it was that urged him to do this, but nothing. He just stood there, until he was no more.

"Sit properly, you whore!" I heard my stepfather scream.

"Let me go, you demon, just let me go!" I screamed.

"Shut the fuck up, yeah?" he snarled, taking the cigarette from his dirty mouth and extinguishing it on my exposed shoulder.

Now that I think of it, he was acting extremely odd that day. Even if it had been that long already, I knew he wasn't himself. That was four years ago, surprisingly, the abuse did stop. The broken bones and repetitive bruises had healed over time. That rat knows he can't beat me into submission anymore since I was in college now.

Suddenly, his phone rings and when he glances at the caller ID, he curses loudly. "Fuck," he gulped. "It's Hongjoong."

My heart dropped to my stomach. I've been a squatter in the frat house and I've never interacted with the one and only Kim Hongjoong. "I thought he was overseas?"

"Not anymore, I guess. I'll handle it," he murmured. "Hello?"

“Ah, Y/N. Fancy talking to you.”

We froze, cringing hard. San just mindlessly answered the phone, forgetting that he was in my body with my voice. Hongjoong continued before San replied.

"Dare I say that the owner of this phone is with you since you have it?"

"Yes," San coughed. He quickly covered the phone and turned to me. "See what I mean? He's sharp-tongued," he hissed. "Are you back?"

"Interesting. Listen, I got nothing against you, sweetheart, you'll get your turn soon. Pass the phone to San."

Oh, he was pissed. San blabbers, "But--"

"Now."

San reluctantly passes the phone to me. "H-Hello?" I stammered.

"Choi San, do you take me as stupid?"

My eyes widened, dread filling my body. "N-No, not at all."

"Yeah? You think I didn't know you were sneaking around at night and morning? Come home. We need to talk."

"B-But--"

"I know your schedule. You didn't even say goodbye before Thanksgiving. I'm warning you, San. I'm at the airport and you better be back before I do, or else. Drive safe."

Unfortunately, we had to cut that trip short by a day. It was hard to tell his parents, but the assurance of me and San being "together" seemed to make them happy.

"You have to fix this before it gets too far," I frowned at San while we walked back to the frat house. "I don't want to break your mom's heart."

"I will figure it out," he rolled his eyes.

I snapped. "Which means you'll let it slide and hope they'll forget! You owe me, Choi San, you screwed me over with Lee Jeno too!"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Y/N!" San glared harshly at me. "He just wants to get into your pants!"

There was still one day left of vacation so there was nobody around the campus to hear both of us scream at each other's ear. It wasn't until San stopped talking and walking all together when I realized that something was wrong.

And something was very wrong indeed.

"San," I gasped in total shock.

There, in front of the frat house was the red car that I rode every time I had to go to the nearest clinic from all the abuse and trauma I had to endure during my early years. We can both hear my stepfather arguing loudly with none other than Seonghwa, and he was both looking for me and San.

"For the last time, I don't know where they are!" Seonghwa screamed, the anger and authority rolling off of him even from a distance. "And even if I did, I would never tell you."

My stepfather smirks dirtily. "Watch your mouth, boy, I could knock you out right now," he spat.

"I'd like to see you try--stay in the damn house, Yeosang. Tell Hongjoong to hurry up," Seonghwa rolled his eyes, crossing his arms haughtily at my stepfather.

"Get him the fuck out of here then," Yeosang growled. I was stunned, I have never heard him so angry before.

My stepfather seethes in anger at Seonghwa and Yeosang's insubordination. If there was one thing he hated, it was when someone else had the upper hand.

San protectively puts his body in front of me to protect me, not that it mattered, he was in my body; my weak body.

I held onto San for balance. We weren't supposed to be back today and Seonghwa knew it. "Stay with me, okay?" San whispered. "We're going back in the car, watch your step."

But it was too late. I accidentally stepped on a drying leaf, and its crunching sound as my foot hit it reverberated all over the empty campus grounds. I was shaking at this point, the fight between me and San long forgotten when Seonghwa and Yeosang stared at us in shock from the distance.

"San, I'm scared," I whimpered pathetically.

"I'm going to handle this, okay?" San assured me, but even I could hear the tremble in his voice.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my lovely daughter?" my wretched stepfather cackled evilly as he started to walk towards us.

Here was the monster that ruined my life, standing in the very place I was expecting him to pop out the least, in the flesh. There was something so profoundly evil about him, he was so rotten to the core that I was surprised he hadn't started decaying from the inside.

"I am no daughter of yours," San seethed, still shielding me from behind. I shook his shoulders hurriedly in panic. I whispered, terrified, that he hated it when I backtalked.

Even after all these years, years I spent on campus because I refused to go home even on vacations, I was still utterly terrified of this man. When Seonghwa tried to approach us, I shook my head vigorously.

"No?" my stepfather smirked. "Being in this dump has taught you to be disobedient, yes?"

I screamed when he aggressively slapped San square in the face, something I knew hurt since I've been the target of that for years. My heart stopped when I completely forgot that San was in my body, and that body was weak.

"Wake up, please, wake up, don't leave me again," I sobbed as my stepfather laughed at my pathetic attempts to wake up San, who was clearly disoriented from the powerful backhanded slap.

"Choi San, was it?"

I flinched when I realized that he was referring to me. "My, you have grown into a fine young man," he cackled like a maniac once more.

He went down to my level to whisper. "You good for nothing bitch," he whispered sadistically. "I thought I told you I'd kill her if I see you with her again?"

What if one day, you find out that everything you knew was a lie?

"You were always like a little tick that sucked the innocence out of my baby girl," he mockingly declared. "Well, not anymore."

He was about to try and carry my body out - San - but I stopped him, courage suddenly filling my lungs. "What the hell do you want from us?" I growled aggressively. "Haven't you taken enough for me?"

He raised a brow at the declaration, and I knew I slipped, but I didn't care. "You gave her to me willingly," he scoffed, red in the face. "Pathetic, one word from me saying I'd be 'better' and you believe it?"

What if one day, you find out that everything you knew was a lie?

"What?" I felt my heart breaking to tiny little pieces once more.

My bastard stepfather laughed mockingly in my face. "This college rubbish has ruined her. I will marry this slut to a business partner of mine to expand," he spat. All the blood rushed to my head when I heard this. "Out of my way, brat!"

In one swoop, my body was in his arms and leapt up to try and grab San out of his grip. Once more, I thank God that San worked out and was strong enough. "You sick, sick, son of a bitch," I seethed, an anger I never let out before.

He faltered for a moment before kicking me on my leg, but he was never going to win. He laughed and temporarily dropped an unconscious San, who was again, in my body still, on the dirty ground.

"I should have killed you a long time ago," he sadistically remarked.

We fought right there and then and for a moment, I had the upper hand. My wounded childhood was the one spurring me on as my fists pounded on him repeatedly as I straddled him. Each punch on his clownish face as he lay on the floor felt like a win.

Until it wasn't. In a twist of events, he had managed to flip me over when I got too emotional and straddled me instead, his sick grin widening as he tried to blow a punch. A burst of adrenaline went through me and I held his fists to stop him from punching, struggling since at the end of the day, this still wasn't my body.

"I'm going to have fun ruining your face, pretty boy," he grinned maniacally, blowing punch after punch and so far, I've been avoiding them.

But that can only last so long. I was slowly getting tired and tired and he did manage to hit me once. Stars flooded my vision and I gave up. He was about to punch me again, his fist up in the air and going down and I just waited for the impact to happen.

It never came.

I could have cried when Hongjoong came just in time and pulled my stepfather, who was extremely shocked, away from me. It happened so fast, my stepfather was now fighting Hongjoong and I took that opportunity to crawl towards my body while whispering San's name.

"Easy there, buddy..."

I felt myself being lifted up and I got nervous at first, until I saw Mingi's face above me as he was trying to lift me up from the floor. He put my arm across his shoulders and we huddled close to San's body.

"Now!" I heard Hongjoong shout and I looked up just in time to see Yunho deliver a punch, himself, and it managed to knock my stepfather out cold on the ground.

"Holy shit," I heard Yunho mutter to himself. Who knew that the gentle giant had it in him?

"Wooyoung, go get her," Hongjoong pointed at San, his voice tight and tense. It was an authority I have never, ever felt on anyone before and it honestly made me a bit more terrified of him than all of the Ateez members combined.

"The rest," he panted tiredly and began to walk inside the house. "The rest, get that motherfucker inside and tie him up on the chair, I don't fucking care which."

It was about time anyway, it started to rain all of a sudden and we all made a big run for it inside before we got soaked.

Once Wooyoung carried my body and laid it down on the couch next to where Mingi had placed me, Hongjoong lay it all out, screaming at the top of his lungs with an anger that could have made the Earth tremble and shake.

"I'm gone for a couple of months and this is what I come home to?" Hongjoong shouted, the sound of it so loud it rendered us speechless. My God, he was terrifying. "Nothing to say?"

"I mean, nothing big," Jongho muttered, "It's just that--"

"I'm hearing excuses, Jongho," Hongjoong sarcastically laughed as he banged his hands on the table. "I don't want to hear it. You're the temporary leader, Jongho, what happened?"

I was surprised. All this time, I thought it was Seonghwa. Jongho sighed deeply. "Well, we can start from the beginning," he shrugged, turning to look at me. "Y/N? Who the hell is that?"

"Yes?" I replied almost instantaneously in a panicked state. "Oh, my stepfather--I mean, I don't know!"

I was met with the most surprised stares and the heaviest of gasps. I covered my mouth quickly with widened eyes when I realized what I just did. Jongho crosses his arms and smirks.

"I told you so," he gloated.

We hear a series of groans and I quickly help San get up and sit up properly on the coach and he was as surprised as I was when he noticed everyone staring.

But most of all, I was terrified of Hongjoong. "Well, I'll be damned," he clicked his tongue. I frowned at his lack of surprise.

San sighs heavily. "You guys know, don't you?"

"Wait, hold on a minute," Wooyoung interrupted, waving his hand around. "So all this time when I've been showing you cat videos, it was you?"

I nodded sheepishly, suddenly uncomfortable with all the stares. I can literally hear everybody's gears turning as they internalized all the events that happened during the last few months.

"This is ridiculous," Seonghwa remarks, narrowing his sharp eyes. "How do we know that this isn't some prank?"

Then it starts. Mingi's cheeks reddened when he realized that he has been shirtless a lot of times with me. Yunho laughed when he remarked that he had been wondering why San had been suddenly interested in gaming with him.

"Wait, wait," Yeosang interrupted the ruckus with a loud laugh. "So, San was the one with the period that time?"

"Shut up," San seethed when everyone burst out laughing like maniacs. He points to me accusingly. "You should have seen her when she had the morning wood."

My cheeks were up in flames when I remember when I felt that painful sensation down there one morning; it was painfully hard, sticky, wet. Everybody laughed for a minute straight when me and San started selling each other out, and we looked at each other out.

As usual, one person wasn't saying anything. "How did you know?" I asked a smirking Jongho.

He hesitates, contemplating if he should tell me. "Because it happened to me, as well," Jongho shrugged. "Though not as long as you guys."

All hell broke loose at that statement and the million question was - who did Jongho switch temporarily with?

He glances at someone in particular, and follows his line of sight. "No way, there is no fucking way," Seonghwa cursed. "You?"

"It was last year," Hongjoong shrugged, sitting on the couch lazily. "Lasted for only three days though, I'm not sure why you guys haven't returned yet."

"I don't believe it," Seonghwa narrows his eyes at me and San, and then Jongho and Hongjoong. "Proof or I’m kicking everyone out."

I shrunk. Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from the sociology major.

Jongho has this devilish grin on his face. "Remember last year when we all went to that all paid expense getaway?" he laughed. "Surely, you don't think he..." he jutted his thumb at a seething Hongjoong. "...would plan that in the middle of nowhere?"

Another type of hell broke loose at that, but I was at a loss for words. I had nothing to prove myself for. San and I haven't spent the last few years together. "I...I don't know," I admitted. "I can't prove it."

"I can."

Everyone looked at San expectantly. He had this forlorn face, and I got nervous. Something tells me that I wasn't going to like what I was going to hear. "It's about that asshole over there."

He pointed at my stepfather, who was still knocked out. He was tied tightly on a rickety chair. I saw everyone's face tense when San said it. I stared at him, all the hurt that I had buried within me coming out in waves and I had hoped that San was just making it up. The look on his face confirmed that he was not.

"S-San?" I whispered, the betrayal hitting me for the second time. I looked at each and everyone of them. "You all know something."

I stood up from the couch angrily, everyone's eyes on me as angry tears started falling from my eyes. "You left me that day, gave me up like I was some trash you didn't want!" I shouted at San. "You made me believe that you were finally saving me..."

"Y/N, please calm down, I can explain," San begged, hugging my waists hurriedly. Well, thanks to his own strength, I managed to break away. "Y/N, please..."

Both Wooyoung and Yunho stood up to comfort me by holding my hand and rubbing my back soothingly. I couldn't push them away, they were always nice to me. The others just stared at me with pity in their eyes.

I felt the world slowly crashing down on me. I must look stupid, but nobody had ever asked why it had protected me all these years. "And you!" I angrily pointed at Hongjoong and Jongho. "You knew about me and San's predicament!"

Jongho sighed, his eyes softening. "I'm sorry, I really am," he apologized. "Hongjoong and I have been working on it."

Hongjoong rubbed his temples. "Everyone, to your rooms. Now. Jongho, stay."

Everyone that passed me offered me consoling words, and that they were sorry. It was just me, San, Hongjoong, and Jongho left.

"I offer my apologies to you sincerely," Hongjoong began, facing my body as he spoke. "Although I can't say I'm too pleased with you, I understand your predicament."

"What the hell does that mean?" I scoffed.

Hongjoong raised his brow in amusement. "It's not really a secret that you hate Ateez, my dear, and in turn..." he gestured to San. "Him. Can I tell you a small secret?"

"Go ahead," I frowned.

"We are a peaceful group," he began. "The parties were a front for all the charity we do here."

I was surprised. He gestured at the big mirror at the wall and I stared at it. I gasped when he told me to look harder. It was a two way mirror. "A secret room?" I asked.

Hongjoong nodded. "I didn't want anyone randomly coming in and out of here, it was the best we could do. The feminine products were usually what the party people left behind."

It all made sense in my head - how people just worshiped them wherever we went, some of them with admiration, how San always defended them and how he absolutely hated it when I talked shit about them.

"As for your switch," Hongjoong cleared his throat. "We don't know why or how it happens, and honestly? We never dug deep into it, so unfortunately in that area, I'm afraid we can't help you."

My heart sank at his words. "So, we're going to stay like this forever? How did you guys turn back?"

"Hongjoong and I were arguing last year," Jongho started. "I'll spare you the details, let's just say it almost tore this group apart."

I saw San's brows lift up in surprise. Jongho continued. "I don't remember who, but one of us lowered our pride, and then the next day? Poof." Jongho gestured with his arms. "We were back."

"That's it?" San was spiteful and so was I. "We've pretty much solved our issues and we're still like this. You two never thought to look into it further?"

Hongjoong and Jongho looked at each other. "No," Jongho said. "Something out there that has this immense power and isn't meant to be questioned. You think whatever was out there playing with us will suddenly yield and listen?"

"Are there more of us out there?" San asked dreadfully.

"Yes," Hongjoong confirmed. "It's a secret we'll keep, however. Just like we'll keep yours. I'll talk to the boys. And as for this son of a bitch?"

He glared at my stepfather. "Leave it to me."

This was too personal. I got up and left the house in entirety despite everyone's protests from behind me. I swung the door open forcefully and ran out to the soaking rain aimlessly. It reminded me of that night when San and I switched as I looked up to the sky. There was also thunder looming up.

Where do I even begin? I cried as I walked aimlessly trying to find a way out of the campus. I only realized that the rain was cold because of all the adrenaline rushing out of me quickly and I stride forward, screaming and howling.

"Y/N, wait!"

I turned around and it was San, drenched just like me with the most gut-wrenching expression on his face. Tears free falled from his eyes, like the rain. "Let me explain, I'm begging you, please," he pleaded with all his might.

I slapped him, the sound of it louder than the thundering rain. His lips quiver and I almost gave in right there. "How can I ever trust you?!" I screamed at him.

He kneeled on the gravel, something I know would have bruised my knees, and looked up to me with the most forlorn expression. "Please, don't shut me out," he wailed. "My heart won't be able to take it."

It was just us, rain soaked in the melodramatic scene unfolding right in front of us. "You gave me to him, San!" I sobbed pathetically and tried my best to shove him off of me. "He ruined my life!"

I ripped him off of me and tried to run away, but I stopped when he hugged me from behind and buried his face on my back. His wails broke my heart to a million pieces. He began muttering something that I couldn't understand.

"Speak up before I get angrier!" I shouted. My tongue was a sword I'd sharpened because I was so sick of getting. "There was a time I'd lay down my arms for you, San--"

"He said he would never hurt you anymore if I gave you back to him!" he screamed.

Everything stopped at that moment - there was no wind, no tears, raindrops that fell stopped in time - it was just me and San. "Please, Y/N, please just listen to me--"

"I can't think of anything worse," I scoffed. "You think I believe you?"

"I swear!" San sobbed. "He said he'll kill you and find you if you don't return, Y/N..."

He turns me around and grabs my face in his hands, staring deep into my eyes as more tears fall from my eyes. Everything hit me all at once, the beatings did stop but I thought it was because I went to college and he couldn't touch me.

"I should have been stronger for you that time," San wailed, leaning his forehead against mine. "There was never a day I didn't regret it."

We sobbed in each others arms as we got rained on, shivering like leaves, but we didn't care.

"Why didn't you tell me?" my voice cracked. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I don't know, Y/N, I don't know!" he wept, desperately clinging onto me as I tried to get away from him. "I thought I was doing what was best for you..."

The moment I realized that I had misinterpreted his actions, his words, all of him for those years, that moment was when my heart broke even more.

"Do you hate me that much, San?" I bellowed. It was the good kind of breaking; the type that led to healing and new ways onward.

"I don't, but I don't like you like that," he whispered. Sometimes, the loss of words would have said more.

His quivering lips landed on my forehead. "Because I love you," he confessed.

MY heart soared, but I wasn't going to let him in. "You left me, San. You were all I had then you were gone!"

"You loved me?"

"That's all you heard?" I scoffed.

"What about now?" San asked hopefully. "Do you still love me?"

I laid all the truth out. "I don't know," I admitted. It was still raining at this point. "When you left, I had decided back then that our futures were different, even though we grew apart, and you know what I hate?"

I laughed sarcastically, tears falling from my eyes again, and I probably looked crazy. "I still held you above others. I still loved you even though I had nothing, no safety, no rights, no place to go, and no one to call to get me out of the hell I was placed onto."

San grabbed my chin and tilted it upwards. "No," he whispered. "You never stopped loving me, please don't say you loved me."

We have always been like this, I realized - a ticking time bomb. It was worse now, especially now that we were older and the way San was looking at me, I knew that we were destined to explode.

"I can't let you go," he said, holding me closer. "I'm never going to let you go. I will always hate myself for letting our love die."

He held gaze, and it could have burned me with how intense it was. He was bitter, those eyes held loneliness. "I know forgiveness is not your strong suit," he whispered.

"San," I cried.

"There was a point where I wouldn't know what to say if I had you," he chuckled remorsefully. "Forgive me."

I guess these were our final days separated and I can say without a doubt, nothing ended the way I thought it would. Both of us leaned together and our lips finally met and it felt right, as if our souls had been intertwined a long time ago.

And then we felt it - that hot, familiar, searing pain that passed through us, only this time, we didn't pass out.

When I opened my eyes, I was looking through San's uncertain ones this time. The real San. I looked down at my body and lifted the small hands I knew I had instead of San's big and rugged ones.

"Oh my God!" I screamed ecstatically, jumping up and down happily. "We're back, San, we're back!"

"Thunder and forgiveness," San laughed sweetly. "Who would have thought?"

"I'm freezing though," I giggled, finally letting go of all the pain and suffering. "My dorm?"

San smirks mischievously, and I screamed joyfully when he lifted me up in his arms and started running hurriedly out of the rain. We missed being in our bodies so much that we reached my dorm in record time with San kicking the door down so harshly that it might have been broken, but we didn't care.

We kissed each other as we hurriedly took our clothes off, not breaking our lips. This is what I wanted, I craved for him - his scent, his warmth, and just him as a person.

I giggled when San bit my lips, each gentle bite giving pleasurable zings of electricity straight down there. I clenched my legs together as San pinned me by the wall, holding my arms up as he grabbed my hands and pinned them as well.

We broke the kiss to take a big gulp of air and the longest, deepest stare followed. "I love you," San whispered, this time giving me the slowest, sweetest kisses against my lips. "I love you so much."

Tears flowed from my eyes and through my tears I whispered back. "I love you too. Now fuck me before I go insane."

His eyes widen and he throws his head back and laughs out loud, his cute dimples showing on his cheeks. "Hold on," he laughed. "I've had your body for months yet this is the first time I've seen it. Let me admire it, please?"

I blushed, embarrassed by the way he says it. He laughs at my predicament. "San, come on..."

"As my princess commands," he smirked, leaning down on my ear. "I'm going to make you scream."

"San," I moaned softly when his hands slid down and gently squeezed my naked ass.

"Oh, I know you already feel good," he groaned. "Are you sure you want this?"

I nodded and he sighed. "Tell me now," he said softly. "I'm not going to be able to hold back."

I gave him a shy smile, and went on my tippy toes to give him a small peck on the lips as my hand reached between his legs and began pumping his already hard cock back and forth slowly, teasing him and relishing the small grunts he was making.

"You like that?" I asked him softly.

"Mhhm," he groaned deeply. The way his face contorted into pleasure was sending me. "Keep going..."

I continued playing with his length - which by the way, definitely wasn't a little worm. He was above average; not too big, but definitely not small either. It was perfect and I loved it regardless. I couldn't hold back a shudder as I felt him buck his hips sensually over and over again on my hand.

He was confused when I suddenly stopped, his eyes glossing over something dark when I kneeled down until my face was eye level with his cock.

"Baby," he croaked when I looked up at him. "You don't have to."

"But I want to," I smiled impishly at him. His self-control was tethering almost close to the edge when I leaned forward and pressed my lips onto the tip of his cock.

"Oh, fuck," his deep growl resounded as he reached out and ran his fingers through my hair as I bobbed up and down his shaft, my cheeks hollowing as I tried hard to let my tongue slide underneath. I groaned against him when I felt him twitching inside my mouth.

The only thing sounding in the room right now was soft, sensual noises along with my gagging and San's grunts as I went faster, and faster. That is, until San pulled out all of a sudden. He groaned when he saw a trail of precum dripping from my mouth onto the floor.

"As much as I loved you sucking my soul through my cock," San laughed, pulling me up and pulling me close to him. I moaned softly when his eyes turned dark and predatory. "Can I fuck you?"

He didn't even let me finish, he began kissing me once more, this time, it was driven by lust instead of sweet surrender. His hands weren't idle either, he slid them up my tits and I moaned against his mouth as he squeezed them. He was gentle, yet persistent.

The kiss lingered for a moment when we both backed up until I landed over my soft bed with San going on top of me. Suddenly, anxiety hit me when his eyes started roaming around my body.

"Don't do that," I whispered, covering my body with the blanket. "I'm broken and bruised, not exactly sexy, isn't it?"

He smirked softly when I nervously laughed. It was true; all the permanent scars that never left my body and marked me in ways that will forever haunt me. I didn't want him to be turned off.

"What did I tell you?" he asked softly, his hand reaching out and lovingly tucking a strand of my hair behind my ears.

My heart thudded against my ribcage as I curiously looked at him. He placed a sweet, chaste kiss on my forehead before he spoke out. "I told you I loved you, didn't I?" San smiled fondly. "That means I love all of you."

"Since when?"

He pretended to think about it, thoughtfully putting a hand to his chin. I laughed and jokingly clicked my tongue at him. I guess this was what love was; the way he was able to ebb away all my discomfort and assure me, make me believe, that I was fine. I loved him so much, it hurt.

"I don't know," he admitted. "One day, I just got mad whenever I imagined you slipping away from me." He kissed me again. "Angry whenever I'd think of someone claiming these." He kissed me once more. "Bitter whenever I'd think of someone else having you instead of me."

"Is that why you talked to Jeno like that earlier?" I rolled my eyes playfully and swatted him across the chest.

He rolled his eyes and nipped my lips almost painfully. "I would appreciate it if you didn't bring another man's name while I'm about to fuck you."

"So do it," I blurted out. "Fuck me."

He narrowed his eyes on me, long gone was his self-control. "You asked for this," San growled.

He gripped his stiff cock in between my already spread legs. I raised my ass to meet my wet hole against it, desperately moaning his name out. "Hurry up," I whined helplessly.

San looked me in the eyes as I felt him stroking and positioning himself along my throbbing cunt. He slid agonizingly slow inside of me, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact with me, until he completely bottomed out. We both moaned out at the delicious feeling of each other.

He would tease me with soft thrusts as I dug my nails on his back. "I knew you'd feel good," he exhaled sharply. "Fuck."

I unconsciously squeezed him and all his self control left him. He began thrusting slowly at first, and then picking up the pace when we both found our rhythm, little moans of pleasure escape us as we fucked each other.

"San, please!" I screamed, feeling every inch of him against my walls. My desperate moans made him rock against me faster, and harder.

"Louder, baby," he growled as he pistoned in and out of me. He leaned forward down my neck, biting and sucking on the soft flesh, its sound combined with the obscene slapping of skin against each other nearly undid me.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," San's low moans reached my ears and his tongue tickled it as well, even nibling on it and sending an unexpected burst of pleasure through me.

I bucked my hips up to meet his fastening thrusts. "Sannie, oh, just like that--"

I screamed when he slammed roughly down on me. "Say that again," he growled against my neck, the demand of it sending pleasurable tears in my eyes.

"W-What?" I managed to ask in between his invasion.

"Call me that again," he grabbed my hips and pulled me tight against him. "I'm begging you, baby, I need it."

"Sannie!" It came effortlessly anyway as I shook beneath his strong body and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Again," he grunted, pounding into me as our passions rose higher and higher.

"Ah, Sannie, please," I cried out, thrusting my hips hard to meet his as I felt a familiar tingling sensation down my core and soft bursts of whimpers came out of me as he ground against me.

"Again, Y/N, again, fuck..."

"Sannie!"

This wasn't fucking - as cheesy as it may sound, we both knew that it was the both of us giving each other the love we couldn't for all these years. It was such an intimate experience and connection, even though we were going roughly at the same time.

"Again!"

I'm not usually one for domination and submission, but with him, I'll do anything. I know he won't hurt me.

San leans up a bit and he groans as he watches his cock go in and out of me. "God, you're so wet, babygirl," he smirked at my fucked out face. "I didn't even need to finger you..."

"Can you just keep fucking?" I snapped.

He laughed like the little demon he was, it turned me on so much, and he thrusted harder. "You really can't help acting like an ass even though I'm inside you, huh?"

I grinned. "It's not going to change."

San began going in and out faster and faster, his thrusts building in speed and power. I gaped, screams of pleasure filled the room, as San's throaty rumble of pleasure gave way as his thrusts became sloppier. I knew he was close.

"I'm going to cum inside you, oh fuck, can I cum inside you?" San's moans were getting more and more high-pitched.

"Please!" I begged, digging my nails on his back.

He hammered himself into me, each thrust a jolt of burning heat as my own orgasm started to approach, and when San felt it, he began doing so more relentlessly. "S-San--"

It was a toe-curling orgasm, one I haven't felt before. San growled in my ear, saying my own over and over like a prayer, as I felt him shake, then wail, and then gasp. I moaned when I felt ropes of warm cum spurt into me over and over, again and again.

His thrusts subsided and he pulled me into a tired and tender kiss, our lips lazily against each other, and then we laughed hard at what just happened. Something tells me we were going to be alright.

𝙱𝙾𝙽𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙴:

It turns out we didn't need to correct San's parents, after all. Imagine how pleased Mrs. Choi was when we told her we were making it official.

"Ready to go, babe?" San lovingly asked as he fixed the collar of his dress shirt. When he struggled to put on his tie, he sheepishly smiled at me.

"Need help, tough guy?" I smirked, standing up from the couch and making my way to San. "Kiss me first."

He didn't waste any time and gave me a kiss that rivaled every poet's work and it spoke volumes about the passion we shared.

We broke off and laughed at all the complaints and protests we received from the entire group. Ah, I suppose I'm part of their little group now and we were currently in the frat house.

"Ugh, Lord Almighty, you two are disgusting," Seonghwa rolled his eyes, clearly disturbed. "Decency is not a concept known to both of you, is it?"

He walked over to me and San and pulled him away from me. "I'll fix it," he referred to the tie. "Before you two start dry humping."

"Rude," I glared jokingly.

"Kind of miss when you two hated each other," Mingi grimaced, plopping next to a snickering Yunho, who said. "Right, there would be none of..." He pointed at me and San accusingly. "...that."

"Jealous of the lack of love in your lives?" San questioned. Mingi and Yunho looked at each other and blushed. "Or not."

Suddenly, a glass of delicious looking smoothie was shoved in my face. It was Wooyoung, who was giving me a pointed look. "What's this?" I frowned, inspecting it.

"Breakfast shake," he shrugged. He patted my back. "No time to eat before you guys go. Good luck, hmm?"

"Thank you," I grinned. "You were an unexpected friend."

"Unless the smoothie gives you diarrhea," Yeosang chimed in. I laughed when Wooyoung turned red and he was about to shout when we all heard Hongjoong yell from outside the house.

"Oi, loverboy! Get in the car before me and Jongho drive off and you'll be walking!"

"Alright," Yeosang pulls me into a small hug. "Goodluck, okay?"

"Give us good news, okay?" Seonghwa smiled tightly while he ushered us out to Hongjoong's car.

I giggled like a schoolgirl when San opened the door for me and I sat beside Jongho in the back, who rolled his eyes dramatically at us while making gagging sounds.

It was hilarious how me and San, hopeless romantics, got stuck with Hongjoong and Jongho, the non-hopeless romantics.

"Nervous?" Jongho asked me while Hongjoong and San walked through what to do when we got to our destination.

I unconsciously touched the marred, disfigured cigarette burn on my shoulder, and it didn't escape Jongho's attention. "Don't," he pursed his lips tightly. "Don't let him win."

San and I decided one day that everyone needed to know everything from the beginning - how San and I were childhood friends, my abusive stepfather after my mother died, San being threatened by him, all of it. The night that I cried in San's arms was also the night that I gained seven more friends.

"I know, I won't let you guys down," I assured. "Thank you for doing this, both of you, you didn't have to."

Hongjoong looked at me through the rear mirror with concern. "You didn't see what we all saw that day," he tensely said. "I was driving home excited to see everyone, and what did I see?"

He paused to collect his thoughts. "A big man beating San to death and an unconscious girl on the ground while the rest tried to scramble outside. Do you have any idea how I felt when Jongho told me your bodies were switched?"

"Being witnesses to the trial is what we want, believe me," Jongho said.

Tears started forming in my eyes. My stepfather ruined everything for me - my life and my childhood specifically. I lost a lot of time with San and I'm so mad that I lost out on these wonderful people. Better late than never, I suppose, at least we're here now.

Sooner or later, me and San were holding hands outside of the courthouse. I didn't want to do it, but Wooyoung and Yeosang were the ones that convinced me the most that I should press charges against my stepfather. San also decided to press charges for blackmail. Mingi called his brother to arrest him, and Yunho's father was kind enough to represent me as my lawyer.

"Like what you see?" San smirked when he noticed me ogling at him. He smiled at me mischievously. "Maybe we can...do some stuff when we get home."

I playfully slapped his arm. "Pervert," I rolled my eyes. "You do look good though, I love your hair like this."

"You do? The blonde isn't jarring?" San asked, obviously anxious about it the natural blonde piece of hair

"Nah," I fixed his hair a bit for him and he revels in it. He loves getting his hair touched, at least by me. "Maybe we could dye the blonde like a teal blue for a change if you want."

"Sounds good, babe," he agreed. We giggled a bit before we had to become serious again.

We both stared at the daunting courthouse in front of us. "It's anticlimactic, huh?" San kissed my hand lovingly. "The ending, at least."

"It's better this way, I guess," I shrugged.

When we switched bodies back, we pretty much never talked about it ever again, just like Hongjoong and Jongho never did.

"How so?" San wondered.

I smiled at him and pulled him close to me so I could give him a tight hug. "Those days we spent apart were hard for me," I whispered. "But we grew separately and now we're better together because of it."

San held my face tenderly in his hands and stared deeply into my eyes. "Having you back means the world to me," he spoke. "Just do me a favour this time, okay?"

I looked at him expectantly. "Stay," he smiled. "Please stay with me, promise me."

"So as long as you don't leave me again," I answered with a bittersweet smile on my face. "Let's do this."

I loop my arm on his and he seemed pleased. "Let's," he laughed, then leaning so we could share one more sweet kiss before we faced the world together.

In his kiss are years I know we'll spend together and the sweetness of the love we'll share as days go by. In his kiss, I am home.

457 notes · View notes

mangoisms · 2 years

Text

superposition ━ miyuki kazuya in which miyuki isn't the fool in love with his childhood best friend. it's you.

━ completed

━ wc: 27k

━ warnings: none

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

You met Miyuki Kazuya when you were eight-years-old. You didn’t know how to feel about him.

You were introduced to him simply because he was the same age as you and you happened to live a few houses down from each other. It had been an attempt to get you to socialize more, as the move from your home country had severely jarred you. Here you were, in an entirely different city and country with strange new customs and environments. The small, eight-year-old you didn’t like it very much.

The move had all been done in favor of the bakery your parents ran, recipes based on traditional dishes you grew up with. The bakery was right next door to your home and always seemed to be busy. Your father was almost always there, running around, making sure customers were happy while your mother played the entertainer.

They must’ve gotten tired of having to split their attention between you and the bakery because that morning before the bakery opened, she dragged you into the yard, where a short boy with brown hair and glasses waited.

“This Miyuki Kazuya. He lives down the street with his father. Go on, say hello,” your mother tried to coax you out from behind her legs, but you stayed there stubbornly, the fabric of her skirt balled up in your small hands. Your strength was no match against hers, though, and she pried you off her skirt, leaving the two of you in the yard of your house alone.

The boy peered cautiously at you. You realized he was smaller than you and relaxed slightly. Smaller kids were easier to deal with, right?

“Do you know how to play baseball?” he asked suddenly, watching with wide, amber eyes.

You pursed your lips. “Not really. It’s hard.”

Miyuki blinked in surprise. “Hard? No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you countered stubbornly.

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Can you throw a ball?”

You stopped, confused at the sudden question. “Of course I can,” you huffed, now affronted. What kind of question was that? Who didn’t know how to throw a ball?

“Then you can play. Come on, let’s go. I left my glove at my house.” He turned and began walking down the street, not bothering to wait for you.

He was annoying, you thought, but you were a little curious, so you followed him down the sidewalk to a two-story home a few houses down from yours, right next door to a factory.

“Wait here,” he instructed then dashed into the house, giving you no time to protest. You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. Who was this boy? He was so demanding and know-it-all. And you barely knew him, who was he to tell you what to do?

While you were tempted to not listen to him, you stayed there, waiting impatiently for him to return. You glanced around. The factory next door had the sounds of work going on, but you couldn’t see anything and the windows were far too high for you to see. You squinted to read the sign. Miyuki Steel. Did his family own a business, too?

You looked back to the door as he dashed out of the house, baseball glove and ball in hand. He held up a hand, signaling for you to wait as he ran to the factory and popped his head into the doorway.

“I’ll be home in a little while, Dad!”

There was no audible response, but he turned back around anyway, walking back towards you. He tossed you the ball, which you clumsily caught with a scowl on your face.

“Does your family own a business, too?”

“My dad,” he corrected. “He makes machines. It’s cool.”

That was kinda cool, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you agreed.

“Are you gonna work there, too? When you’re grown-up?”

“No way. I’m gonna be a professional baseball player.” He turned to grin arrogantly at you. “Hey, hurry up. We need to get a good spot at the park.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you muttered, mood souring quickly at his bossiness.

Miyuki shrugged. “That’s what catchers do for their pitchers.”

“I’m not a pitcher,” you protested, following him reluctantly across the street after you glanced both directions, something he’d totally failed to do before crossing. “I wanna be a doctor.”

“That’s boring.”

You scowled, stopping on the sidewalk and dropping the ball unceremoniously onto the ground. “I don’t want to play, then.”

“Fine, then.” He continued walking towards the park, barely sparing you a glance.

You stood there for a second, casting a glance at the baseball still resting at your feet, then at your house that was quite a ways back. Squinting, you could see the bakery right next to it, the door swinging open and closed as people entered in quick succession. You recalled your mother’s words before Miyuki came over.

“Honey, please . . . Try to make some friends, okay? Kazuya is a good kid. He’ll grow on you.”

Initially, you’d been confused. Shouldn’t she have said something like ‘you’ll like him’ instead of that? But now, you understood. He was infuriating.

Yet, you remembered the loneliness of the first few days, stuck inside the house with nothing to do. Your older sister was always in her room, not willing to play with you. Apparently, she’d outgrown you, which didn’t make much sense. Sisters were always there, weren’t they?

Then, there was the situation with your parents and the bakery. On top of that, they were also preoccupied with your mother’s pregnancy. Rather, your father was constantly worrying about her, even though she was only six months pregnant. The baby only came when she was nine months pregnant, so why was he so worried about it?

You frowned, staring at the red stitching on the baseball. Miyuki’s bossiness . . . Well, it could be something you worked on, right?

You picked up the ball and ran after him.

“Wait up!”

You decided that he may not be the ideal friend, but he was there, and that was all that mattered.

Your younger brother was born two months later in the winter of December on a particularly cold day. By then, Miyuki had stuck to your side like a parasite, always asking for you to pitch to him, always asking for you to help him out if he ever got scraped up. And you did it, not necessarily because he was being annoying about it — which he was, but you were beginning to grow immune to his pestering — but because it was fun.

(Well. Disinfecting bloody knees wasn’t fun, but the cringe you’d get out of him when you poured hydrogen peroxide over the cut was always satisfying. Served him right for running around like an idiot.)

For your little brother’s one-month anniversary, friends and family were invited over. Aunts and uncles preened over you (“You’re growing up so fast!” and “You look exactly like your mother!”). It was horrible, so you managed to sneak Miyuki in and made a getaway to your room to play video games.

As you walked down the hallway, his attention was grabbed by your little brother currently napping in his nursery. (You didn’t understand why the party still went on even while he was asleep. This was all for him, wasn’t it?)

“He’s not that cute,” Miyuki muttered as he looked over the bars of the crib.

You nodded somberly. “He isn’t. He looks like a wrinkled grape. Mom said that’s just how little babies look, though.”

“So, you looked like that at one point, then.”

You scoffed. “So did you.”

“Of course I didn’t. I was a cute baby.”

“Sure.”

He reached out to tug on a piece of your hair and you batted his hand away with a scowl. “I won’t pitch for you anymore,” you said warningly.

“Fine, fine,” Miyuki snickered. “Come on. I wanna play Mario Kart today.”

You two snuck out of the nursery and into your room to play games for the rest of day, at least until he had to go home. Or until your mother discovered him.

Your name is called, just as your mother opens the door, in the middle of saying, “— come downstairs we’re all going to have din —"

She stops, blinking in surprise at the sight of Miyuki on the floor. “Hello, Kazuya.”

He stood up quickly and bowed.

She smiled, but it looked strange. “Would you like to join us for dinner? Perhaps you want to invite your father as well? Oh, does he know you’re here?”

Miyuki nodded but didn’t say much after that. You took over.

“He’ll stay. You should invite your dad, too. If he’s not working.” Both of you knew the answer to that, but your mother was still watching you two interact, a curious look in her eyes.

“Well, you know where the house phone is. Come down in a few minutes, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shut the door. You look down at him. “Working?”

He nodded. “All day.”

You shrugged, pulling yourself off your bed. “That’s okay. You can be with us.”

“Let’s play catch afterward.”

You rolled your eyes as you two exited the room. When you passed your brother’s room, the crib was empty. You could hear your family members cooing downstairs and figured he must’ve woken up.

“Thought you wanted to play Mario Kart?” you huffed as you walked down the stairs.

“I changed my mind.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not a compliment.”

For the last few years of elementary school and your first year of junior high, you two were joined at the hip. Junior high also meant that Miyuki was getting serious about baseball. He’d received his first catcher’s glove from his father for his birthday that year. Not that using the one from the school hindered his performance anyway.

Being on the team meant he constantly got into fights with the older boys, so you slowly transitioned from cleaning up scrapes he received from rolling around to bandaging and icing bruises he received from fights.

You’d been making your way to the baseball field to catch Miyuki. You’d already heard of his loss from the other students part of the medical club and worried about his well-being, but when he dashed up the hill, he was grinning widely. Your eyes immediately went to the cut on his face.

“Where’d you get that?” You asked, gaping as he ran up to you, baseball gear over his shoulder.

“Never mind that. I can’t believe you missed today’s game. It was so good.”

“Miyuki, didn’t you guys lose?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Their catcher outplayed me!”

You surveyed him carefully. “Did you get a concussion?”

“What — No, I’m fine,” he shook his head, his cap moving precariously with his rapid movements. “You’re not listening to me right now. He was some foreigner, I heard his dad was in the Majors here after coming from America.”

“And this is good because . . . ?” you trailed off, confusion clear in your voice.

Miyuki’s grin turned competitive. “I finally have a challenger.”

You scrutinized him for a few more seconds, long enough for his grin to fade and for him to fidget under your gaze. Finally, you clicked your tongue in disapproval. “Is everything a challenge to you?”

“How else am I supposed to be the best?”

You scowled. “Maybe not get hurt? Also, how did you get that cut? Are you the boys beating you up again? They better not be.”

“I tripped and fell on my way up here.” As usual, he looked utterly unashamed. You had to wonder: did this boy even feel shame? You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning on your heel, setting off for the school.

“Dummy. Come on, let’s go.” You didn’t wait for him, knowing he’d keep up with you without any protests.

“Those fights were never my fault, either,” he disagreed. “Age doesn’t matter on the field and I was just saying it like it is.”

You rolled your eyes, though you agreed. You’d never been fond of the way his older teammates pushed him around; even if Miyuki could be painfully blunt sometimes, you didn’t think there was any reason to get violent with him. And even then, sometimes he didn't even need to say anything for them to get pissed off.

You really didn't like his teammates.

He never fought back, either; said everything should be resolved on the field. You agreed, but the other boys would never think like that. They’d only continue to beat him up because they felt insecure, or he said something about their performance — something that was probably true. He could be brutal but he wasn't cruel.

“Also,” he continued as you two reentered the school and walked to your locker where you held a first aid kit (specifically put there because of Miyuki), “there was a scout there today, from Seido High School.”

You unlocked the locker, rummaging through it for the kit. “And?”

He told you about his encounter (you snorted when he recalled her comment about his height) with her and when he was finished, leaning against the locker as you tended to his cut, he looked thoughtful.

“You think he’d go to Seido?”

“Who’s this kid again? Do you have a crush?”

Miyuki puffed out his cheeks, glaring slightly at you. “No way. He’s my competition. I can’t like the enemy that way!”

You laughed, reveling in this brief moment where you were the one annoying him. “Alright, alright. I don’t know, Miyuki. Seido’s a good school, I think, especially if you wanna get serious about baseball.”

“Should I go?”

You pressed the gauze to his cheek, shooting him an apologetic look after he winced from the pressure. After, you began cleaning up and putting the kit away again. He was awaiting your answer still, watching you with analytic eyes. You shrugged.

“It’s up to you. Seido’s a powerhouse school, so I think you’d be fine, especially since you’re so damn competitive. I just thought you meant you’d challenge him from another school, assuming he went to Seido,” you told him honestly. “But also, we’re barely first years.”

He nodded, but he still looked thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

You shut your locker and shoved him forward, making him stumble on his feet.

“Hey, what was that for?” he yelped indignantly, catching his balance and readjusting the bag on his shoulder.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you replied. “Hurry up. You need to shower because you stink and my mom wants to try out a recipe with you.”

“You’re picking up too many of my habits,” he said, mock-disapprovingly, as you put on your backpack again and fell in step beside him.

“Is Miyuki Kazuya admitting he has flaws?”

“Never mind. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In your second year of junior high, your brother turned four-years-old. You also finally hit fourteen, along with Miyuki. With that, many changes came. Odd changes. Body changes. You wouldn’t lie. It was weird.

The counselors seemed to notice the sudden plight you all had. Girls stuck closer to each other, gossiping about boys and the like. Boys were suddenly coming in wearing heavy cologne, trying their hardest to appeal to others. You thought it was stupid. So did Miyuki.

That didn’t mean you two were exempt from the mandatory conversation with the counselor about the ‘changes in your body’ and the ‘strange way you may be feeling,’ whatever that meant. Truth be told, it was almost scarring.

“Tell me, have you noticed a change in your feelings to other boys? Perhaps even girls?”

You blinked demurely. “Not really.”

The counselor wasn’t satisfied, her lips turning down for a split second before she fixed into a proper smile. “No to the girls?”

“No to both of them,” you corrected politely. “I don’t really notice or care about those sort of feelings. They’re not necessary.”

“Not . . . necessary?” She asked, confusion as clear as day on her face.

You shrugged. “That’s what my older sister says.” Your elder sister had graduated high school last year and stayed home to help out with the family business, apparently finding some happiness in the kitchen baking pastries. You weren’t so keen on staying here, at least not in this part of Tokyo.

Your mother and father would probably have you stay back happily, too. As your third and final year of junior high grew closer, teachers and parents were suddenly awaiting your decision on a high school. You wished they’d just leave you alone.

“Alright,” she conceded warily. “But what do you think?”

What did you think? Now, that was the million-dollar question.

You shrugged again. The counselor was beginning to look annoyed.

“Well, regardless of that, you should know that some of the . . . urges you may get aren’t things you need to act on.” . . . Wait, what?

You stared at her. “Uh . . .”

“I’m sure you know what sex is —”

You blanched. “Sensei!” That was what this was about? No, you already knew about that, probably too much. The other girls in your grade hadn’t hesitated on divulging private details about their close encounters with other boys and it was far too much information you ever wanted to know about anybody else. You didn’t judge on what they were doing, that’s not it, it’s just — too much information.

“I already know about that stuff,” you hurried out, feeling your face begin to heat up. “A-And I know I shouldn’t do any of that until I’m older. I know.”

She scrutinized you and you wondered if this was what Miyuki felt like whenever you gave him that look. If so, you were going to stop. It felt like she was seeing right through you.

Finally, she sighed and nodded. “You have a good head on your shoulders, so, I trust you’ll know what to do if you’re ever faced with something like that. Remember, though, you can always say no to unwanted advances, alright?”

You nodded firmly, finding familiar ground. Yeah, your father had given you that particular talk, too.

“Girl or boy, you always ask consent and they should, too. Don’t be afraid to say no and don’t be afraid to get out of there if they don’t agree.” You weren’t a pushover. Hell, you couldn’t be one if you had to deal with someone like Miyuki. But even he seemed more aware of the kids that were suddenly looking at you with renewed interest.

“They ought to keep their eyes to themselves,” he’d muttered, stepping around to your other side to block you from the wandering eyes of a group of third years.

You only sighed, burying your nose deeper into the book on medicine you’d been obsessed with at the time. Oh, you could definitely take care of yourself and if need be, fight for yourself, too, but if Miyuki was willing to be your defender for now, who were you to deny him? It wasn’t like you doubted your ability to defend yourself. But he was already there and you weren’t going to waste that opportunity. Basic strategy in your opinion.

“Alright, then, we’re done here. Send Kazuya in, won’t you?”

You nodded and scrambled out of your seat, desperate to get out of that situation. Your face still felt irritatingly hot but you ignored it. You exited the office, spotting Miyuki in the waiting area, a sports magazine in his lap.

“You’re up, Miyuki,” you said, stealing the magazine off his lap, much to his chagrin.

“Hey, I was reading that —” he made a grab for it but you stretched your arm behind you, holding it at a distance. He stood up and you were momentarily surprised, stunned if you were being honest. So surprised you let him pry the magazine out of your hands.

“There’s a good article in here about the catcher that the SoftBank Hawks just recruited, I want to take a picture of it. You have your phone?” He held out his hand expectantly and you had the briefest of common sense to hand your phone over to him. His fingers brushed against yours and you pulled back, as though you’d been electrocuted. He didn’t notice.

You stared at him. When . . . When had he gotten so tall? Only last year he’d been the about the same height as you, if only a few inches taller, but it hadn’t been noticeable. When you’d been kids, you’d always been the one taller than him, but you kept growing and seemed to have stopped now.

Miyuki, though . . . He was easily five to six inches taller than you. What would that be? Five foot nine? Maybe even five foot ten? When had this happened? Was this recent? Or had it been gradual and you just hadn’t noticed?

“I’m gonna need to use your phone later to read this. Thanks. Hey, what does she want, by the way?” He’d handed you your phone back without glancing back and set the magazine back down on the coffee table, but once he’d turned around, he stopped and frowned at you, saying your name. “You good?”

You snapped out of it. “I’m fine, sorry. Just got distracted.”

“With what?” Of course. Miyuki Kazuya never knew when to drop something. He eyed you with barely-hidden suspicion.

“It’s nothing. Have you gotten taller recently?” Curse your loose tongue. You couldn’t help it, though. You had to know.

“Have I . . . ? Oh. Yeah,” he grinned, looking smug now, but there was something different because now you had to look up at him. It felt weird. Strange. “Five foot nine and half, last time I checked. Had to donate almost all of my pants. What about you?”

You scowled, your strange feelings disappearing as quickly as they’d come. “Shut it. Hurry up before Otsuka-sensei comes out here and beats you up.”

His obnoxious laughter followed you out of the main office. “She wouldn’t! I’ll see you in class, don’t eat lunch without me!”

You paused to look back at him. “What if you take too long?”

He grinned in a way that irritated you. “Guess you’re not eating lunch!”

You scowled deeply, swallowing down the curse words you felt compelled to throw at him, only holding back because of the receptionist currently eyeing you two in disapproval.

Prick, you mouthed.

He winked. Bastard.

Saying others didn’t have high expectations of you would be a lie. You were one of the top students in your grade, well-known for taking excellent notes and passing all your exams. Of course, others merely assumed you were just naturally intelligent, but it didn’t work that way.

There were far too many times when you had to split time between working register at the bakery and studying for a test. And many more times when you had to turn Miyuki down for some time to yourself. Honestly, though, you were sure you’d have run yourself into the ground if it hadn’t been for Miyuki’s pestering sometimes.

“I need to study, Miyuki,” you grumbled, switching between reading your textbook and taking inventory behind the counter. He was leaning over it, glove and baseball in his hand with his hat worn crookedly as per usual.

“You’ve been studying for the past three days. A break won’t kill you.”

“It might.”

He huffed petulantly. “You’re ignoring your best friend in favor of school? How cruel.”

You sighed shortly. “Don’t pull that.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sure your little brother would be more than happy to pitch to me —”

“You realize he has the arm strength of a toddler, right?”

“Or maybe Mei would be willing to do it. He has been begging me to catch for him recently . . .”

“Narumiya . . .” you grumbled out, mood souring further. Narumiya Mei was from downtown Tokyo, living it up in the more expensive districts at his junior high where he dominated as the ace. Apparently, Miyuki and Narumiya had gone head-to-head during a game in the first semester of your second year and Narumiya liked Miyuki’s style of catching, even though your junior high’s team had lost phenomenally.

“I’m sure he won’t mind taking the train here . . .”

You clicked your tongue, flipping to the next page of your textbook. “Miyuki, you and I both know you can’t handle him for long periods of time. It’s literally impossible.”

He cracked a genuine smile. “Give him more credit.”

“No,” you refused stubbornly. Narumiya could be so condescending sometimes. The first time you’d met him, he hadn’t hesitated to throw an insult at you and worse, Miyuki hadn’t felt the need to defend you from it. That had been your first serious fight.

“Yes, Miyuki, I can defend myself, but I hardly knew him. Why couldn’t you step up for me? Just that once?”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends defend each other, especially best friends, so what the hell?”

“If that’s all you’re going to talk about, I really don’t want to play with you, then.”

You had thick skin. You had to, being friends with Miyuki and all. And okay, fine, you were hurt when he had dismissed you so easily. Sure, maybe you were making this a bigger deal than it should’ve been, but nothing had quite hurt as much as it had when you learned that he’d went to catch for Narumiya after you had abandoned him. (Or rather after he’d abandoned you.)

Your older sister had been pissed to find you sniffling about it later on that day, vowing to kick his ass. You only barely managed to restrain her. Miyuki wouldn’t like someone else coming to speak or fight on your behalf. You both were mature enough to discuss it. Or so you hoped, anyway.

One week of no contact between you two had you almost caving and giving into him, but to your pleasant surprise, he approached you first. More specifically, he’d taken the painstaking time to jump the fence into your backyard and toss pebbles at your window until you finally opened it, almost taking a well-aimed pebble to the face in the process.

Of course, he didn’t outright apologize. Instead, he’d asked: “Can we play catch?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“It is,” he agreed, then held up his glove and ball. “Please?”

You’d sighed, turning back into your room to change out of your sleeping clothes into something more suitable for going out in the muggy July night. It was easy to sneak out, your parents and siblings all fast sleep and immune to any quiet noises you might’ve made on the way out. Miyuki was waiting for you on the sidewalk in front of your house when you exited; you shut and locked the door quietly behind you.

Silently, you two began the trek to the park down the street. You found yourself tensing whenever a car would pass, ducking your head to hide your face. When the third one came round, you finally spoke. “What exactly am I breaking curfew for, Miyuki? My parents would kill me if we got taken home by a police officer.”

You lifted your head once the car was out of sight and turned to look at him. He had a pensive frown on his face. “I . . . I’m sorry.” He didn’t make eye contact with you. (In the present day, you distantly wondered if he’d been taller than you at the time, too. He had, but only by a few inches, not as tall as he’d been during the talk with the counselor.)

You were speechless. Miyuki Kazuya didn’t . . . apologize. Quite honestly, you were beginning to think you had made a bigger deal out of it than necessary. But perhaps that had been a trick on your own part, anything to try and talk with Miyuki like normal again. Up until now, you two had been close, though baseball was starting to take up a lot of his time and the medical club at school had begun helping third years find good high schools with medical curriculum programs so you were constantly staying after school.

He continued to avoid your eyes. “I should’ve defended you. You were right. Mei was being an ass and you don’t deserve that. Only I can be mean to you.”

The last part almost sounded like a defense mechanism, a way to stop this conversation from becoming too heavy. You appreciated it more than you thought you would.

You elbowed him in the ribs. “Is it physically impossible for you to say something nice?”

“Yes.” Miyuki nodded unabashedly. You scowled, but there was no heat behind it.

“Fine, I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too. I did kind of make a big deal.”

He shook his head, adamant now. “I was being a dick. You were right.” He looked at you, a little more meaningful. He elbowed you back. “Now, come on, I’ve been missing my favorite horrible pitcher.”

“Keep saying stuff like that and I won’t pitch for you.”

His laughter echoed off the houses, his eyes looking golden underneath the tawny glow of street lamps —

“— attention to me. Hey!”

Tan fingers snapped in front of your face, making you jump as you were abruptly brought back to the present. Right. Studying, an annoying Miyuki (as usual), the impending end of course exam for your English class. You regained your bearings, finding a frowning Miyuki in front of you. The furrow of his brow told you he was concerned.

“Sorry. Just got lost in thought for a little while,” you chuckled, a little embarrassed. Despite yourself, you noticed how the warm glow of the setting sun accented the golden flecks in his eyes, which were studying you seriously. You tried for a reassuring smile, but he clearly didn’t believe you.

He called out to your mother. “I’m going to be taking her out for a few! She’s been working hard!”

You gaped at him and barely managed to slip a bookmark into your textbook before he shut it and slid it underneath the counter. Your mother popped her head out of the kitchen, smiling in that perceptive way of hers.

“Of course, Kazuya. Be back by six. You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and bring something to your father if he can’t make it.”

He grinned at her, in that charming sort of way he always did for your mother and older sister. “Yes, ma’am!”

You sighed, taking off the bakery apron and reaching for your own baseball cap. You both had gone to a SoftBank Hawks game for his twelfth birthday and bought matching caps for it. It was one of your favorite memories.

You didn’t truly care for baseball — definitely not like he did — but it made him happy, so you never really minded playing a good game with him.

By no means were you a legitimate pitcher, and as you two grew, you worried that your horrible pitching would hinder his performance since you didn’t provide a true challenge, but he had constantly said he liked playing with you for fun.

“Competitions are fun, too,” he’d agreed with your initial argument. “But I don’t have to be strategic or hard-working with you. It’s always been better with you.”

You weren’t sure you believed him, as you’d see the way his eyes lit up whenever he was out there on the field, hitting home runs, calling pitches (honestly, baseball was the perfect sport for him to show off his bossiness; you always pitied the pitchers assigned to him).

But, as you two walked to the park, you listening to him ramble about some baseball game, you figured he’d been playing catch with you this long, hadn’t he? That had to count for something.

Third year meant picking your high schools, pulling all-nights to study for entrance exams and most importantly, keeping up your grades — all the while dragging a reluctant Miyuki right behind you.

“What if you can’t get a scholarship? What if you do get one but it’s only for baseball? They’ll really be paying close attention to your grades then, you know,” you’d lectured him for the umpteenth time since the first semester began. “Having good studying habits won’t hurt you.”

“Yes, it will,” Miyuki grumbled petulantly from his spot next to you on your bed, laying down with his arm tossed over his face. You rolled your eyes, picking out a pencil to use for your assignment that you were about to do.

“You have no problem swinging three hundred times a day but when it comes to notes, what is it? You can’t read now?”

“I’m illiterate.”

You climbed over his legs to retrieve your notebook from your backpack on the floor, then threw it onto his stomach, making him jump at the sudden impact. You climbed back over to your spot against the wall. “Read those. I dumbed it down for you.”

“Thank you!”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. He was a real loser sometimes.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the sound of your little brother’s laughter from downstairs. He was probably watching one of his kid shows again. When the bakery began to get busier with the new school year, TV had become a fixation for him, a surefire way of keeping him in one place.

You unfolded your legs out from beneath you, resting them over Miyuki’s legs. He didn’t protest. Not that he ever did, really. Much to your pleasant surprise, Miyuki could be incredibly affectionate, always wanting to maintain physical contact with you. Whenever your class was taken on long field trips, his head always found your shoulder, though you knew it had to be uncomfortable for him because of the height differences between you two. He frequently draped an arm over your shoulders, if only to lean heavily on you and cause you to stumble — much to his amusement.

It was strange. He’d done those things often when you were kids, and they’d only increased in frequency as you’d gotten older, but . . . Why exactly were you noticing? Who cared? Miyuki sure as hell didn’t.

Maybe it was because sometimes, on those long field trips, when the hum of the engine, the feeling of his warm body next to yours put you to sleep in an instant, you’d wake up with the phantom warmth still lingering, finding yourself missing it. Or when you couldn’t help but notice the pleasant scent of something sweet and a little spicy whenever he’d lean on you and it’d be so overwhelming — his weight, the warmth, the scent — that your knees felt a little weak.

You pressed your mechanical pencil harder onto the page, finding your heart beating at what seemed like an unhealthy speed. That wasn’t good. Why was your heart doing this now? All you’d been thinking of was Miyuki.

“The heart should always be beating steadily. The only time it doesn’t is when you’re high on adrenaline, you’re exercising, or —”

“What about when you have a crush, Miss?” You couldn’t recall who had asked that, but it had probably been some annoying underclassmen. A few of the other kids present giggled while the upperclassmen rolled their eyes.

The nurse smiled indulgently. “Or if you like someone.”

“Have you thought about what high school you’re going to?” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your internal strife. You almost breathed a sigh of relief, desperate for that distraction. You turned your attention back to your assignment since you’d neglected that, too. Then, you realized what he was asking.

“Not really.”

You had.

Miyuki hummed quietly. You could see him glancing at you in the corner of your eye.

You wrote down the answer to an equation. “You?” you asked.

“Sort of . . . I think I might head to Seido.”

You couldn’t say you were surprised. That guy — Chris, you’d learned his name was — had really gotten Miyuki going, a “potential rival” to keep him on his toes.

“Oh?” you asked, feigning surprise.

“Yeah. I got an offer from them. Full ride for academic and baseball.”

“Studying pays off, doesn’t it?”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a school in mind already,” he said, ignoring your jeer. He laid the notebook flat across his chest and turned his eyes up toward your ceiling. “What have you been doing in the medical club all this time?”

You snorted. “Helping the last third years get into good high schools. I don’t know, Miyuki, I just haven’t really thought about it that much.” Now, you were blatantly lying to him. Oh, you’d given high school a lot of thought. The idea of going somewhere far away — such as Hokkaido — detested you, and you knew Miyuki would love it if you’d go with him to Seido. In fact, any moment now —

“Why not Seido? They have a great academic program, you know. They’re always in the top ten national rankings every year for academics.” He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but you could hear — and understand — the message under his words. Let’s do this together.

Your grip on your pencil tightened. The idea of being away from him was painful.

But was that the best idea?

You managed to stave off his questions, only promising to tell him your choices when you managed to find a few good schools. He left after dinner, taking a plate for his own father and your notebook, promising to read them. (You didn’t believe him.)

When you went back up to your room, you went over to your dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. It was the one with undergarments — one that Miyuki would never touch since he knew what was where. You brushed aside the articles of clothing and took out the thick envelope.

Mimayama School for Medicine and Science

It was in Kyoto, a huge campus that spanned an entire block and was the height of a skyscraper. It was a well-renowned school, one that had perfect statistics and scores in all subjects. The ideal high school. But it didn’t have a baseball program. Not to mention that there was a three-hour train ride from here to Kyoto.

Your grip on the envelope tightened, denting the thick cardstock. The fact that you’d been invited there was something to celebrate, but you hadn’t told your parents, having managed to steal the envelope before they could see it.

Maybe you would’ve celebrated if you lived a different life. One where Miyuki wasn’t there.

You felt guilty for thinking like that, but your sister’s words echoed in your head.

“Don’t allow feelings to influence important life decisions. Don’t think about those sorts of things. You don’t need them.”

You’d been a first year when she’d said that to you, strangely enough. It’d been the same thing you’d repeated to your counselor during that horrible conversation about puberty. And you’d firmly believed it, though there was one exception.

Don’t let others influence your feelings. Except Miyuki.

He was your best friend, after all. You’d be cruel to not feel anything.

What were you going to do, then?

Your answer seemed to come sooner or later. More specifically, the day Miyuki got into a fight.

It had been a cool October day, baseball season already over for Miyuki so he had no choice but to hang around the campus after school while you went to your regular club meetings.

The meeting had been adjourned earlier than usual so Miyuki wasn’t leaning against the wall like he usually would. The last text he’d sent you said that he was in the library, so you began walking over there. As you neared the doors, you passed a few girls, talking rapidly to each other.

“. . . fight. That’s so weird, I’ve never seen him lose his temper.”

“I know! He’s almost always antagonizing someone else, I can’t believe Tanaka was able to get Miyuki so riled up.”

You froze and turned to them, recognizing them as a few fellow classmates.

“Wait, what happened?” You stepped toward them, drawing their attention. They became fidgety and sheepish under your eyes, avoiding eye contact.

“Um . . . Miyuki got into a fight with Tanaka a few minutes ago outside the library.”

What?

Miyuki didn’t fight. He couldn’t fight. Well, no, you were sure he had a few good moves on him, especially since baseball kept him in prime shape and there were his unfortunate experiences with his more violent seniors on the team but they were long gone. Since he was a third year now (and considerably taller and more muscled), no one would dare to mess with him. Especially because he’d proved his worth on the field, that he had a right to say the things he did. It’s just that you knew he hated being at the tail-end of those confrontations. Having to take the hits, while refusing to say anything to any of the adults because they wouldn’t do anything. The violence of it. Violence has no place in baseball, he’d once said. Anything someone needs to say can be done on the field.

More than that — he couldn’t fight without risking expulsion. It would look horrible on his record and — he wouldn’t be able to go to Seido.

“Why?” you recovered quickly, not caring that you were being demanding now, probably too harsh if anything.

“We don’t know . . . We just heard it from some other kids.”

“Where is Miyuki now?” He probably wouldn’t answer your texts. If anything, it’d be exactly like him to hide this from you.

The girls shared glances again. “Um, I think he went to the boy's bathroom by 3-B.”

“Thanks,” you told them shortly, then turning on your heel and heading towards the hallway for third years. You made the decision to not retrieve your first aid kit. You’d lead him back to your house instead. He didn’t need to be around the school with visible injuries.

Once you were at the boy’s bathroom, you hesitated. What were you supposed to do? Could you go in there? Would he allow you to even see him? Maybe you could wait. He had to come out eventually.

You leaned against the lockers next to the wall, wondering what on earth happened. Even disregarding his dislike of violence and the huge risk that comes with fighting, like those girls had said, he wasn’t someone who got riled up easily. He was the one riling people up. But the fact that it’d been Tanaka made some sense; Ichiro Tanaka was the asshole in your class, always finding someone to pick on, always making unwanted advances on girls.

Miyuki may be an asshole in the sense that he could pick you apart and annoy you to death, but he had honor. (Plus, he’d never shown any interest in any girls or boys in your class ever.)

You rubbed your forehead tiredly, pulling out your phone to text your mother that you might be home earlier than usual. Just as you’d sent off the text, the door to the boy’s bathroom opened and Miyuki stepped out, his backpack slung over his shoulder, still not noticing your presence until you’d reached out to tap his shoulder.

You could see him tense, muscles stiffening. He was hesitant to turn around and you were about to call him out on it, but he turned before you could say. Your eyes widened as you took stock of his injuries.

“Are you okay?” you gasped, any thought of scolding him thrown out the window at seeing the busted lip, the cut on his temple, and the blossoming bruise on his cheek. A quick glance at his hands showed you the cuts on his knuckles, though they were only on his left hand. You knew he caught and threw with his right. At least he’d had that foresight. “What happened?”

He avoided your eyes. “I may have gotten into a fight with Tanaka.”

You huffed, glad to see he was acting normally. Well, as normal as Miyuki could ever be.

“No shit. I know that part already — though I don’t know why — but what did Tanaka do to you?” There was the underlying question in your words, one you wouldn’t outright say because it would probably appease him. Did you win?

Miyuki picked up on it anyway, smirking but then wincing at the pain he was probably feeling on his lip. “I won.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You — I can’t believe you. Come on, let’s do this at my house. We don’t need someone seeing you.” You two began walking towards the exit. You shot him a worried glance. You couldn’t imagine the potential repercussions this could entail. You didn’t want Miyuki to be stuck here. You wanted him to leave, to go to Seido and become the best damn catcher to play high school baseball.

As if sensing your thoughts, he spoke. “No one’s going to say anything. Tanaka’s looking for a volleyball scholarship at some school in Hokkaido and his lackeys have their own scholarships they need to worry about, too. It was an unspoken agreement.”

You sighed heavily. “I don’t want you to throw away your chances at a good baseball career, Miyuki. Especially not over a fight, which, speaking of, is very unlike you. So, regardless of that . . . what on earth happened?”

He stayed silent. You pursed your lips and led him to your house. It was easy to sneak past the bakery, where your parents and older sister would be preoccupied with the dinner time rush. The house would be empty, too, since your little brother was over at a friend’s house for a playdate.

You ushered him up to the bathroom on the second floor, dropping your bags off in your room beforehand. You shut the door behind you and locked it for good measure, then opened up the window to let some fresh air in. Miyuki was still silent, appearing introspective. For once, you were unable to find out what he was thinking.

You made him wash his face and hands first, taking his glasses and setting them on the counter behind you so they wouldn’t get wet. Once he was finished and resituated on the closed toilet seat, you began tending to his wounds, first going back downstairs to grab an icepack and wrapping it in a towel so it wouldn’t be too abrasive against his face. You worked on disinfecting the cuts on his knuckles, which weren’t too bad. You had one hand cupping his, the back of his hand facing up as your fingers pressed against his palm to spread out his hand.

He grimaced at the burn of the hydrogen peroxide but didn’t say anything. When you moved to wrap up his knuckles, you closed your hand around his fingers, trying not to focus on how the calluses rubbed against your skin. You moved on to the gash on his temple, murmuring a soft “sorry” when he winced from the burn. He had to keep his glasses off, but his eyes were on the floor.

You’d been applying an ointment to the cut when he spoke again. “Tanaka said something . . . Something I’m not repeating.” You paused, your eyes briefly flickering to his bandaged hand in his lap that clenched into a fist. “I couldn’t let it slide. I know . . . you know how I feel about fighting but . . . it was about you. And I’m not going to let him, of all people, talk about you like that.”

He sat up straighter, his eyes meeting yours. You froze, golden irises searing into you in a way that made your heart race. The lack of glasses made it all the more intense, your stomach doing flips in nervousness.

“Miyuki . . .” you muttered, feeling your face heat up. “I —”

“Don’t say you don’t want me fighting because of you. I did it because you’re my best friend and no one gets to speak about you that way. No one.”

Miyuki was passionate about baseball. About his cooking. About the SoftBank Hawks. But never about you. Yet, here he was, speaking so strongly that you felt a little weak at this display of anger and . . . touched.

You pursed your lips, breaking eye contact with him to turn to the sink and take out a bandaid to put over the cut. You carefully covered the wound then took out another disinfectant wipe to use for his lip. You actually hesitated before you started your work, but it had to be done.

You brushed his chin with the back of your hand, avoiding grabbing it. He turned his head up with no qualms, but his eyes stayed on your face. You attempted to disinfect the cut on his bottom lip, but it proved to be more difficult than you thought. It could also be because your heart was racing and your face was itchy with heat. You swore silently and grabbed his chin with your hand to better clean.

You hated this. Here you were, close to his face, staring at his lips as you cleaned them. At least you had an excuse to stare, though.

You caught your train of thought and almost swore out loud. Where was that even coming from? When had you begun thinking of him like that? Yeah, Miyuki was good-looking, almost unbelievably so, but it wasn’t anything new. So why now?

You realized far too late that you’d stopped moving the wipe on his lip, the white cloth blossoming red from the blood still leaking. He winced from your grip and you wrenched your hand back, uttering a soft “sorry” again. You turned back to the sink to grab the ointment, only squeezing out a small amount so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

With shaking hands, you pressed your fingers to his jaw to angle his face once again, concentrating on anything but the feeling of his smooth skin underneath your fingers. You spread the ointment over the cut, trying your best to be gentle but also ensuring that it wasn’t showing.

In a desperate attempt to distract yourself and to break hold from the heavy atmosphere you’d found yourself in, you lifted your head to look at him again, but before you could even think to speak, the look in his eyes made you stop. Your brain short-circuited at the look he was giving you, whether it was on purpose or not, you didn’t know. You stood there frozen, still invading his personal space for the most part.

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped. His eyes looked warm underneath the light coming in from the window, casting shadows over the curve of his nose, making him look so much more older and — and handsome.

Then, like a warning siren, your sister’s voice echoed in your head.

“Don’t let feelings cloud your judgment.”

You sighed shortly, the loud noise shattering the moment. “Honestly, Miyuki.” You shook your head, turning around to toss the q-tip into the trash along with the other used supplies. You heard him make a surprised noise at your sudden movements.

You picked up his glasses off the counter and handed them back over then took a few steps back, leaning against the wall opposite to him, putting a respectable amount of distance between you two.

“I appreciate what you did,” you said, managing to keep the shakiness out of your voice. He’d put on his glasses again, his eyes now impossible to read. “But, god, I don’t want you to not be able to go to Seido . . . That is where you decided to go, right?”

He shrugged. “Probably. Don’t worry. I mean, I don’t regret what I did. Not at all. But I do understand what you’re saying and I’m not planning to make this a regular thing.”

You scowled, feeling the atmosphere around you lighten up. “I sure hope not. You don’t need to be batting with cut up knuckles like that, you dummy.”

“I know,” he said quietly, before trying for a smirk, though it came out more like a pained grimace. “Besides, you’re here to fix me up, aren’t you?”

You huffed, turning your nose up at him. “You’re so annoying, Miyuki.”

“Thanks.”

“Shut up.”

But even as he began talking about the studying he’d managed to accomplish before he’d left the library and ended up face to face with Tanaka, you thought about your plans for high school. These feelings . . . Whatever they were, they weren’t needed. Not right now. Not right before you two were picking out your high schools. You couldn’t allow them to cloud your judgment.

At the same time, though, going to Seido with him . . . That seemed amazing. Another three more years seeing him, going through all the high school experiences, cheering him on at baseball games, it was all too dangerous. Far too dangerous.

It was dangerous because here you were, at risk of feeling something more than platonic feelings for a boy you’d known since you were eight, where you already know your feelings will never be returned.

First semester of your third year wrapped up quickly after that. With the start of your second semester, you received many offers from different schools all over the country. Your parents and sister were proud.

“That’s our girl,” your father had grinned, reaching out to ruffle your hair, much to your displeasure.

“Hey, make sure you choose a good school,” your sister said, giving you a severe look. You fixed your hair, not meeting her eyes.

“Wherever you want to go, honey, we’ll support you.” There was a heaviness in your mother’s tone, as though she didn’t want you to go far. You’d gotten an offer from the high school in this area, but you weren’t satisfied with the curriculum. Staying here would mean ending up like your sister (no offense to her, of course, since she was happy). You wanted out of Old Town Tokyo.

Miyuki had gotten a lot of offers, too. Schools everywhere wanted him as their catcher. The powerhouse schools, like Inashiro, Teito, Seido (of course), even several schools from Hokkaido. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make it as a pro. You were proud.

But he was set on Seido, and he was pressing you for your own decision, too.

“I have to start planning. It’s going to be busy when we start up,” he’d told you, trying to convince you to spill which schools had sent you offers.

“I’m still thinking,” you’d lied. “But if you really want to know, I’ve gotten one from Sakurazawa High.”

“Oh, I know them. They’ve lost in the first round of the West tournament for like, twenty consecutive years.”

You shot him a glare. “Is that all that matters?”

He chuckled, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender. “They have great academics, don’t they? But, you know . . . I’m fairly sure that Seido is equal in terms of national academic ranking . . .”

That was another thing. You knew Miyuki wouldn’t ever hold you back, just like you wouldn’t hold him back. It felt like some sort of crime to ever try and stop him from pursuing his interest in baseball and vice versa for him and your desire to be a doctor. But you knew, just like he did, that Seido was a powerhouse school in both academics and athletics. Going there wouldn’t hinder your performance nor his. Not to mention, you two would be together, right?

Except, it sounded horrible. The past few months had been stressful, because not only did you have to deal with the looks your mother was giving you about choosing a school way outside of Old Town Tokyo, but you also had to stave off the counselors who wanted your decision, along with Miyuki. Then there were your feelings for him. You weren’t sure what they were, but you knew they weren’t good. They were the type of feelings to inhibit you.

You couldn’t be a good friend to Miyuki if all you were thinking about is how much you wanted to hold his hand and have him tuck you under his arm like so many other couples did. If all you thought about was how happy he looked whenever he was talking about baseball or talking about Seido and competing for starting catcher. If all you thought about was how pretty his eyes were and how handsome he looked whenever he genuinely smiled.

You weren’t being a good friend. And you needed to fix that.

That night, you mailed the application to Mimayama. Two days later, you received your acceptance letter.

“Mimayama? That’s so cool!”

“Wow! You’re serious about being a doctor, aren’t you?”

It had meant to be a secret. You’d only wanted your family to know and no one else. You’d tell Miyuki when you had to. Preferably right before he left to Seido, or maybe when he was there already. Clearly, that had been too tall of an order.

You’d notified your counselors of your acceptance and subsequent admittance into Mimayama, much to their happiness. Apparently, no such thing as student-to-administrator confidentiality existed because your homeroom teacher found out immediately and after publicly congratulating you, a group of girls had approached you, gushing over your acceptance.

Luckily, not many people had been there yet, though a few of your other classmates had eyed you curiously. Miyuki was running late, something or another about sleeping in. You didn’t know — didn’t care, since that meant you had time to do damage control.

“Listen,” you began, trying to look as serious as possible. The girls leaned in eagerly. “Keep it to yourselves, alright? Don’t tell Miyuki or anyone else. I don’t want to start unnecessary rumors. It’d be horrible if people thought I was boasting about it.”

They nodded, agreeing immediately. “Of course! But why not tell Miyuki?”

They were looking harder at you now, more analytical, more perceptive. It reminded you too much of your mother and sister. You came up with a quick lie.

“It’s a surprise for him. I’ll be telling him later on. We’re going to different schools —” those words left a bitter taste in your mouth and a numb ache in your heart “— so I’m trying to prepare, you know?”

They soaked it up. Of course they did. Miyuki was popular with girls and they’d always wondered about your friendship with him. Saying all this to them was probably enough gossip to last for the rest of the year.

“Totally! We’ll be quiet, promise!”

You smiled at them, glancing over at the door just as Miyuki stepped into the room, looking like a total mess. The girls turned back around and began whispering to each other, sending occasional glances towards him then to you.

You ignored them in favor of watching him shuffle over to the desk in front of yours. He collapsed dramatically into his seat, laying on top of your desk instead of his own. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you done?”

“I’m tired,” he muttered. “Exhausted.”

Now a little concerned because a tired Miyuki wasn’t a good thing (though he was absolutely adorable), you leaned forward. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

He lifted his head and you clicked your tongue at the circles underneath his eyes. His hair was messier than usual, leaving you to contemplate whether or not he’d actually brushed it. “I was finishing the application to Seido. Mailed it off this morning.”

“When was the deadline?”

“Tomorrow.”

You rubbed your forehead, exasperated. “Miyuki . . . You’re so lucky you don’t have baseball anymore.”

“Not until next year.” He yawned and you tried your best to not think that he looked so adorable all sleepy and tired. This was a bad thing. He needed his sleep. “It was worth it. Hey, Mei wants to talk to me today after school. D’you want to come along?”

You pursed your lips. Well, you still weren’t fond of Narumiya, even after he’d begrudgingly apologized to you. He was Miyuki’s friend — sort of — and you’d wanted to lead Miyuki straight to his house so he could take a nap after school. This would just have to be done before, then. “Sure, but after, we’re going back to your house and you’re taking a nap.”

He grinned lazily at you. “Thanks.”

You turned away, ignoring the burn in your cheeks. “Whatever. Try not to fall asleep in class.”

He did end up falling asleep. And of course, you covered for him despite your earlier words. You had to wonder. If these feelings weren’t there, would you have done it? You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as you two made your way to the park. (After school, you’d dropped off your bags at his house since his was closet and began towards the place that Narumiya wanted to meet up at.) He yawned again, something he’d been doing frequently today, and you decided yes, no matter your feelings, you would gladly take cover for him.

Maybe that was where the problem had started.

Miyuki had always been the best in baseball, striving to work hard and prove himself, calling for aggressive plays and focusing even if something hadn’t gone his way. Despite his tendency to laziness when it came to exams and such, he was a diligent student.

In some ways, you wanted to be like him. Charismatic and charming when it counted, quick-thinking in difficult situations. After all, that was how doctors needed to be, right? They needed to be decisive, no hesitancy in their movements. You had someone’s life laid willingly into your hands and you couldn’t disappoint.

Had this admiration planted the seeds for your feelings?

You didn’t know and you didn’t have time to think it over as you came to the park. You fell a little behind as you realized there were other boys present, all from different leagues, though you knew they were part of Narumiya’s friend group. If Miyuki noticed you partially hiding, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Well, well, what’s with the gathering of the all-stars?” he asked, announcing his presence to them, in that conniving way of his. The boys turned to him, a few curious eyes glancing over to you, but you resolutely stood silent with your arms crossed, not offering your name. Thankfully, Miyuki didn’t offer to introduce you either.

He began listing off their names and leagues (you wondered briefly how he knew that, but of course, if it was baseball, it was important). When he finished, hands still casually in his pockets, he turned to Narumiya. “Did you call them all here, Mei?”

Mei grinned. “Yeah. And you, Kazuya. If you come with me, I can form my ultimate team.”

You raised your eyebrows. Well, you were surprised at this turn of events, but it wasn’t exactly far from something Narumiya would do. Miyuki laughed, sounding surprised as well.

“I don’t really care if you’re not the catcher, but Narumiya wants you,” the one named Shirakawa said, probably trying to help Narumiya convince Miyuki but it just sounded like he was bored and would rather be somewhere else.

“Inashiro invited you, too. Right, Kazuya?”

It was strange. You’d never been the possessive or jealous type. Miyuki had his fangirls — of course — but he’d never paid attention to them. Hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name made you tense. Miyuki, you could understand — he called everyone by their first name, whether it was welcomed or not and you’d been calling him by his last name for as long as you could remember, more by habit now rather than respect. He’d never asked you to call him by his first name, either, so that’s the way it’d always been.

But here was the ever-so-condescending Narumiya Mei, speaking so casually with your best friend. It made you uncomfortable, but you pushed that away. This wasn’t the time nor place.

“So, why don’t we make the ultimate team together? If we all get on the same team, we could take nationals.” That was what this was about then. Barring your brief discomfort at hearing Narumiya call Miyuki by his first name, you felt a little proud that even such a self-centered pitcher like Narumiya and the others knew how valuable of a catcher that Miyuki was.

“Inashiro’s coach has a lot of experience under his belt and they have the best equipment in Tokyo. It’s a great environment, too,” Kamiya added.

“Not to mention, you won’t have to play against Narumiya. You’re in, too. Right, Miyuki Kazuya?” Shirakawa, as much as you hated to admit it, had a point. You’d seen Narumiya pitch. He was head and shoulders above a lot of the pitchers in your year. That was probably why he was so arrogant. But the guys made it sound like Miyuki would actually be averse to going head-to-head with Narumiya, when in fact —

“I’m sorry, but I already got an invite from Seido a while ago. I can’t join you guys.” His hand came up to his neck, a sign that showed he was a little uncomfortable being cornered by so many.

“What? Are you being serious right now?”

Narumiya stood up from his crouch. “Seido, huh? They’ve only gone to nationals once since their old coach quit. Compared to what Coach Kunitomo has achieved, Coach Kataoka is just way too green.”

You shifted on your feet, turning your eyes back to Miyuki. He scratched his neck in a shifty movement. It was coming any moment now. “Well, it’s not really about that,” he began. “Inashiro’s a team with a bunch of all-stars like you guys, right? So . . . I want to face you as an opponent.”

Of course. While the others were visibly shocked, you bit back a small smile. You’d seen it coming from a mile away. Sure, Narumiya could probably prepare a team to take nationals on with Miyuki and his other friends, but Miyuki wasn’t like that. He didn’t want the easy out. He wanted to work for it. You recalled his words from first year, after his loss against that second year catcher, Chris.

“How else am I supposed to be the best?” How else, indeed. There would be no better way than to face Inashiro than on a different team, still at a powerhouse school with a competent team where Miyuki would fit right in.

“Are you stupid?”

“Oh, you’re too kind.”

“It’s not a compliment!”

“Kazuya.” Narumiya didn’t look too surprised. Well, you could give him props for trying. “I’m gonna ask you one last time —” and for being so annoyingly persistent as well.

“Sorry. No.” Miyuki didn’t sound too apologetic.

Narumiya looked a bit irritated and his eyes shifted to you. “You’ll regret it, Kazuya. Is it because of her?” He calls you out, by your first name. “Are you going to Seido as well?”

You glared at him. “I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name, Narumiya. And let it go.”

Shirakawa and Kamiya snorted as an affronted look passed over Narumiya’s face. “Hey, you’re always so mean to me —”

You turned your nose up, ignoring him. He didn’t know when to quit.

Most likely in an attempt to defuse the situation, Miyuki took a step back and said his goodbyes, then turned around and guided you away from the park.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he confessed when you two were a reasonable distance away from the park, well on your way back to your own neighborhood. “But it was a very Mei thing of him to try.”

“Exactly what I thought,” you agreed. “He is right, too, you know. You’d probably be able to take on nationals without any problems.” Miyuki opened his mouth to protest but you elbowed him in the ribs, continuing with a small smile. “But I know. Challenger. I get it. It’s a surprisingly level-headed decision coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” You coughed to hide your snickers at the look on his face.

His house was empty as usual, his father most likely next door in the factory working on whatever project that needed to meet its deadline soon. You’d never asked about Miyuki’s mother, but you never had to. You’d seen the picture frame of a handsome, younger Toku Miyuki and a beautiful women standing next to him, a small bundle in her arms, standing in front of the factory. It didn’t take a genius to know that his mother had probably passed when he was younger.

Upon the entrance to his room, you went to his drawer where some casual clothes of yours were kept — purely for practical reasons since he had his own clothes in your dresser, too, along with many sweaters you’d kept. When you came back from the bathroom, he was already sprawled out on his bed, changed into comfortable clothing.

You went to take a seat in his desk chair, but his tired voice stopped you. “Hey, what are you doing? Come here.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You two had slept in the same bed when you were kids every now and then, but it had stopped when you’d gotten older. Well, you had gotten more aware of it every time you had shared a bed — of him right next to you. Evidently, he’d never cared because he had no problem taking a nap whenever he crashed your room.

You climbed over him so you were next to the wall. His bed wasn’t big, only a full-size, so it was enough for you two but no more than that. He stretched, yawning quietly. You hesitantly laid down next to him, facing him with a reasonable amount of space between you two. He turned to face you, blinking sleepily as his face was pressed into the pillow, probably putting the edges of his glasses into his face uncomfortably.

“You’re gonna break your glasses,” you muttered disapprovingly, reaching out to pluck them off his face. He squinted, readjusting to the absence of his glasses as you leaned over him to place them on the nightstand. You made sure that you didn’t touch his body as you did so.

He hummed quietly, drawing up the blanket to his waist. You abstained from it. He radiated enough body heat on his own, plus your internal temperatures were always high when you were in close proximity with him.

“You never said.”

His sleepy voice brought you out of your thoughts. Miyuki was clearly having a hard time staying awake, so you indulged him. “Said what?”

“Where you’re going. When we saw Mei. You didn’t deny it, but you’re not going there, are you?” His eyelids fluttered and you found yourself enraptured with the way his eyelashes just barely ghosted his cheeks. “I’m not going to be mad if you don’t, if that’s what you think.”

You tensed. He scooted closer to you. “I . . . Well, Seido’s a great school, Miyuki.”

His eyebrows furrowed, his eyes finally shutting, but he didn’t drift off. “You’re confusing.”

“What . . .?”

“I don’t want to hold you back from a good school. That’s what you deserve, especially for putting up with me this long —” your heart broke just a little at that admission. Did he think he was a burden to you? “— so I won’t be mad. Just tell me where you’re going.”

“I . . .” I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you why. I’m leaving, not because it’s a good school, but because I need to leave you. I can’t be around you. If I tell you now, I just might back out and go somewhere near you. “I’m still weighing my options, to be truthful.”

He hummed again, a sign he was still listening, so you pushed on. “I got an invitation from Oya, too, in East Tokyo. They’re a public school and they have a good academic program. If I remember correctly, they went to Nationals five years ago.”

“Not bad,” he mumbled. “Make a decision soon, though. I take it that means you’re not going to Seido, then?”

You were surprised that he was still managing to make logical conclusions despite being on the verge of unconsciousness. “Yeah, probably not. It would’ve been great to be with you, though,” you lied. It wouldn’t have been great. You would’ve suffered from your unrequited feelings, having to see him make it big in high school baseball, watching the entire nation fall in love with him.

He nodded, eyes still shut. “That’s okay. Just tell me where you’re going soon, okay.”

“I will.” Another lie. You were on a roll today, weren’t you?

He drifted off after that. You knew when he’d fallen asleep because you could feel the bed dip as he became dead weight, utterly relaxed, his breathing deep and steady. Your eyes roamed his face as you become more relaxed, finding comfort in being so close to him.

That fight had left an unnoticeable scar on his temple, usually hidden by his glasses, then the cut on his lip had healed up finely so there was no trace of it — at that point, your eyes lingered too long on his lips — and the cuts on his knuckles weren’t that noticeable either, probably something he could blame on his gloves.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as he shifted even closer to you. You had nowhere to go, your back pressed against his wall. You sighed quietly, shutting your own eyes to take a nap of your own. Whatever. These last few months were ones you had to treasure because the likelihood that you’d see him during high school was little to none. Really, the chances of him wanting to see you would probably make it even lower.

You fell asleep, weighed down by your decisions and restless for what the future might hold for your friendship with Miyuki.

(Those thoughts really didn’t bother you when you woke up lying on his chest and he had his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You were mortified, though.)

Graduation from your junior high had come and gone with no problems. You were in the top ten, sitting comfortably as number two while Miyuki sat as number ten; you weren’t surprised by his rank, by any means.

You’d avoided packing your own things, too. You would need to be in Kyoto by April 10th. They started the school year much later, for whatever reason, but it just meant that you’d be seeing Miyuki go off on March 28th, three days before the first day of school. And you’d managed to avoid telling him your final decision.

It all seemed to be catching up because the walk to the station was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Miyuki had said his goodbyes to his father and your family, your little brother strangely sad at the disappearance of his “Miyu.” (A nickname that had you rolling in laughter when he’d come up with it and always managed to make Miyuki’s face turn red.)

His train would be leaving in ten minutes. You both sat down on the bench at his platform.

“So,” Miyuki prompted. “Which is it?”

When you looked at him, his eyes were hard. He was irritated. Rightly so. You’d been dancing around your own leave for several months now and here he was, about to leave to Seido and he still didn’t know. You’d briefly contemplated allowing him to stay mad at you. Let him blow up. Perhaps it would give you the shock you needed. But he didn’t deserve that.

You sighed softly, guilt eating away at your insides. “Mimayama.”

You felt him tense up beside you as he made a strangled noise. “In Kyoto?”

You nodded, turning your eyes to the ground. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds and you clenched your hands into fists, ducking your head lower.

“That’s a good school.” His voice was leveled, cool and indifferent. Somehow, it hurt more than having to hear anger. “They’d be stupid not to accept you.”

You hummed softly.

He sighed shortly. “I don’t — what the hell? Why did you . . . What did you even gain from that?”

There it was. You turned back to look at him, then balked at the hurt on his face. “I . . . didn’t want to worry you.”

“You worried me more by not telling me,” he replied shortly. “That’s so far away.” Are you going to be okay?

That was more than you deserved. You’d been such a shitty friend for the past two years. Here he was, still trying to be a good friend.

You tried for a smile. “It’s not Hokkaido or anything, Miyuki. I’ll be fine. And I’m sorry . . . I just — I didn’t know. I don’t know.”

He stared at you. You met his eyes head on. You had to show him that you’d be fine. This was what you needed. You had the reckless urge to transfer back to a school here in Tokyo, if only to be close to him, but it was muted. Doing this was for the best of your friendship.

“I’m still mad.” Understandable. “And I’m leaving now. Baseball starts up immediately so I won’t have time to talk to you, especially since you’ll probably be busy with school, too. Solving this won’t be as easy as it was when we still lived here, you know.”

Would it even be solved?

“We’ll figure out a way,” you said, despite yourself. Something had changed. Your distance in your friendship had been noticeable. A child could notice. Whether it had been conscious or unconscious was up to debate. Evidently, though, it had hurt Miyuki and that was the last thing you wanted.

. . . Right?

You were moving all the way to Kyoto for the sole purpose of burying those feelings for him. Focusing on school. Rebuilding . . . Rebuilding your friendship. Right, that’d been a priority, too. But could it be done? You’d messed up.

“Well, let’s not spend our last few minutes together arguing or mad at each other.” Miyuki’s voice brought you out of your thoughts. He stood up, holding out a hand for you. You accepted, trying to imprint the feeling of his calluses and the way his palm felt against yours into your mind.

He wouldn’t give up on your friendship, though, would he?

The train pulled in, the draft carrying stray pieces of your hair, hydraulics hissing loudly as it eased to a stop. You were stunned as Miyuki pulled you in for a hug. It was tight, almost painful, but he was so warm and that sweet and spicy scent was overwhelming you in the best possible way that you couldn’t help but hug him back just as tightly.

“Don’t forget about me over there,” he murmured into your ear, warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. You suppressed a shiver.

“I-I won’t.”

He stepped away, sighing softly as the doors unlocked and popped open for the cabin in front of you. He picked up his bag. “I’ll see you later. We’ll talk.”

You nodded. He hesitated to leave, a strange look passing over his face as he fought with himself over something, but then it was gone just as quickly as it had come. He turned away and there was something foreboding about seeing him walk away from you. A cold feeling blooming in the pit of your stomach.

This wouldn’t be the last of him. You’d go to school in Kyoto, get over your feelings and rekindle your friendship with him. Things would get better. They would.

They had to.

Interlude: start

Miyuki wasn’t sure what was going on.

You’d been distant for the last few months, clearly having something on your mind and he’d waited patiently for you to come to him. But you never did.

Instead you sent him off, finally telling him where you were going. To the Kyoto Prefecture, of all places. Was he mad? Yes, and he sort of had a right to be.

He had to wonder. Had all those times he’d pestered you for your answer, had you lied to him? Applying to Mimayama and getting accepted wasn’t a last minute choice. Prestigious schools like that always had application deadlines earlier than other private and public high schools.

So, why hadn’t you told him?

It was something that plagued him for the entire train ride to Kokubunji, even when he made it to Seido High and received his dorm number.

Had you . . . figured it out?

He’d tried his best to hide his feelings and he felt that he’d been largely successful. You’d acted normally as you would and this felt like too much of a secret for you to hide if you knew. You weren’t one to hide what you were thinking, especially when it came to him. But falling in love with your best friend wasn’t normal, was it?

He couldn’t help himself. He’d never say it, but you’d stood beside him for the past six years, you were always so supportive, so patient even when he didn’t deserve it. So how could you even possibly begin to feel the same way? He wouldn’t openly admit this either, but he had more flaws than he had strengths.

Sure, he was . . . conventionally attractive and he was great at catching, but what else was there? It wasn’t like he’d be the type of guy to shower you with gifts or anything. Compared to so many other people, he wasn’t good enough.

He sighed heavily, continuing to unpack his things. His roommates were two third years but they were out, probably practicing. For once in Miyuki’s entire life, he didn’t feel the urge to practice.

Despite himself, despite wanting to give you the benefit of doubt, he wondered, had you attended Mimayama in an attempt to run away? From him?

Immediately, he felt guilty for thinking that way. Mimayama was an excellent school within itself, one you’d thrive in. He couldn’t be so selfish to assume that you’d gone there just to avoid him. You were trying to get a good curriculum. He was trying to get better in baseball. You both had your own agendas.

It wouldn’t be like you to allow your feelings to influence your decisions. Especially when it came to such an important decision.

His previous question came up again. Why wouldn’t you tell him? Were you scared he’d be mad? Or were you trying to protect yourself from something else? Did you think he’d try to convince you to stay?

His frown deepened. Well, that was a good question. Kyoto was so far away . . . If you’d stayed in Tokyo, it would’ve been easier to see you but now that you’d be all the way in Kyoto, the chances of seeing you were slim to none. You’d probably only see each other during winter break.

Regardless of that, though, he was sure he wouldn’t have tried to stop you.

Did a small (or very large if he was truthful) part of him want you to go to Seido with him? Yeah, but things don’t always work out. Friends don’t always get to stay together. Apparently, you had realized that sooner than he did and taken advantage of it.

But your reluctance to tell him was what had gotten on his nerves. He deserved an answer from you. (Right?) One that hadn’t been last minute, one where you two could discuss it. One where he could begin to make plans to see you, arrange methods to talk during the school year. But here he was, sitting on the barren side of the dorm with no real plans to see you again until December, irritated at you.

Until he had a proper answer from you on why you’d done it (because he deserved that too), he’d give you the space you needed to sort out your thoughts.

Besides, come April 10th, there would be three hundred miles between you two. Space would come easily.

Interlude: end

Things seemed to be fine for the first few months. You and Miyuki kept up moderate contact, calling and texting when you were able. There would be odd bouts of absence on his part, something he’d blamed on baseball practice and you could understand. As far as you knew, Miyuki had been able to secure the position as starting catcher with little to no problems. The way he felt about it was a different story.

“Chris . . . He injured his shoulder. He was removed from first string. I took his place.”

You pursed your lips. “That stinks. I’m sorry, Miyuki.”

Going to Seido to get that spot as starting catcher had been Miyuki’s main goal. And he’d already achieved it within three months of being there.

You knew he’d wanted to go toe-to-toe with Chris to properly fight over the spot. It probably didn’t feel too good to have it conceded to you.

“Starting catcher is starting catcher, I guess. There’s nothing I can do about it. Just have to get to Nationals and win.”

“You can do it,” you said, putting as much encouragement into your words as possible. You absently read over your textbook, waiting for his reply.

“So . . . You must have come up with a good reason for not telling me about going to Mimayama, right?”

Surprised, you dropped your pencil, his words catching you off guard. You hadn’t necessarily forgotten about his promise to figure things out between you and you were fully prepared to apologize, but explaining why was an entirely different ordeal.

You had been silent for too long, because he sighed shortly on the other line. “Come on. Did you think I’d be mad? That I’d try to stop you?”

You tried to think, tried to formulate an adequate answer. Would lying save you? Could you continue on in your friendship after lying to him about it?

“I just . . .” You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t expected him to bring this up. But of course, in classic Miyuki fashion, he would want to catch you off guard. Make sure that you wouldn’t be able to lie. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” he scoffed. “It’s not that hard.”

You bristled. “Well, damn Miyuki, you said you wouldn’t have gotten mad and maybe you wouldn’t, but look at you now.”

“I have a right to be mad now,” he replied waspishly. “You lied about it for how long? How many times had I asked you? I know Mimayama has the earlier deadline for applications because it’s a private school. You made this decision and you didn’t tell me about it. I thought we told each other everything. I mean, that’s what best friends do, right?”

“Since when have you ever cared about how other friendships function? You’re only doing this because you’re mad. You’re not thinking straight.”

Miyuki laughed suddenly, in a callous manner he’d never used with you. “I’m not thinking straight? Well, we both know the answer to that,” he sneered. “Me and you are best friends just like anyone else, but now that I have a genuine problem with you lying, suddenly I’m the one who’s needlessly comparing ourselves to other people, right? I’m the wrong one here, yeah?”

“I didn’t say you were,” you disagreed. “It was just — I don’t know. I didn’t tell my family for a long time, too.”

“I get it. It’s a personal decision. But lying to me about it is where I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to!” you snapped, finding yourself fed up with his attitude. “It was . . . a personal decision, just like you said. I had to come to terms with it myself, too, you know.”

It wasn’t a lie, by any means. The day after his fight and after you’d filled out the application, you had stood by the mailbox so long, envelope in hand, the next door neighbor had come out to ask if you were okay.

“You could’ve told me that you’d made a decision. I was worried you’d end up stuck there with how much you were pushing it away. I would’ve respected your boundaries, you know.”

His voice had quieted considerably and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. Did it mean he was calm now? Understanding? Or was his anger and hurt phasing him so much he couldn’t muster the energy to be loud? You hated this. You hated not being able to see his face, being able to gauge what he was feeling. Relying on his tone was getting you nowhere.

“I . . . know.” Maybe it’d been irrational, but your decision had been the one thing he hadn’t known about. You could be so weak when it came to him. If he even knew that you had made a decision, it felt like he already knew where you were going, as though he could see right through you.

You and Miyuki could read each other like the back of your hands, unwillingly or willing. You knew his ticks, his dislikes, his fears, and vice versa. Alongside your feelings, the choice to attend Mimayama had been one of the few things you’d ever kept from him.

“Then why do it? That’s all I’m asking for. That’s it. Just an explanation and we can be done here.” He sounded almost desperate. It was disconcerting. Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t desperate; he didn’t beg. He was above that. But his voice —

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling shakily. This was too much, it was all too much. You’d regret it later on, maybe, when you finally got your head back on but you couldn’t stand it right now. He couldn’t know.

Under no circumstances could he know that you were in love with him.

“I can’t do it.”

Miyuki was silent, for one, two, three seconds, then —

“I guess we’re done here.”

You tried again. “Miyuki, I — ”

The call ended abruptly as he hung up first, not even sparing you a chance to talk. You stared at your phone. Maybe that was what you deserved, though. You weren’t being the greatest of friends, but you just wished he would let it go. Why was it so important? Did it truly both him that much? Regardless of whatever it was, he wasn’t going to be letting it go anytime soon — that much was apparent.

The abrupt hang-up had hurt a lot more than you thought it would. (You certainly wouldn’t admit it out loud, though.) Miyuki wasn’t exactly the gentlest person and he could be mean, but he’d never been that way with you.

Something told you that this was only a small dose of what he could do, that he wasn’t completely shutting you out. Not yet.

You tossed your phone behind you, not minding the rough thump that came after. You dropped your head onto your textbook, sighing heavily. There was the slightest of stinging behind your eyes, but you shook it off, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. It wouldn’t do well to be crying. Dinner would only be in thirty minutes and you didn’t want to explain to your classmates why it looked like you’d been crying.

You dug into your nails into your palm, the pain relieved you from the burn in your eyes. The urge mercifully passed.

You sat back up, taking a deep breath. This would have to be dealt with later, you promised yourself, turning your eyes back to your textbook in a vain attempt to start your assignment again. All you two needed was space, some time to cool off and regain your bearings. Then, you’d solve this.

You didn’t solve it.

Baseball took up a handful of his time, so when you sent a wary text to him three weeks after your phone call, you didn’t receive a reply back. You then found out that that exact day, Seido had been at a game and had won, qualifying them for quarterfinals. Of course he wasn’t going to reply. He was probably busy basking in that afterglow of victory.

So you let it go.

But then, Seido was eliminated. You got that news from your classmates, a girl who apparently had a cousin attending the opposing school. When you’d asked, she had said proudly, “Inashiro.”

It felt like too much a cruel joke. But when you returned to your dorm and looked up the game, sure enough, Inashiro had won. The game had been four to three. Narumiya was their star — their ace. If you hadn’t had any real reason to dislike him before, you certainly had one now. You sent an apology to Miyuki, trying your best to be comforting.

His reply — albeit cold — had been relieving. Things weren’t as bad as you’d thought they were.

But then he didn’t contact you for the rest of the summer. And that was where the space between you two grew. It wasn’t only physical anymore — he’d stopped contact with you completely.

Summer passed and you descended into autumn, where temperatures dipped and the trees began to lose their leaves.

There was still no contact between you two.

You sent him the occasional message, just a random update about this or that, fooling yourself into thinking that he was just busy. The fall tournament was coming up and if they made it, they’d have a spot at the Spring Invitational. It was another chance for Nationals. But your messages stayed silent, save for the messages coming from your family.

Seido lost during the semifinals at the fall tournament; you sent him a text.

i’m sorry about the fall tournament… you guys played a really good game. text me back when you can.

Maybe he felt your desperation, somehow, through the screen and even though hundreds of miles separating you two.

You sat up abruptly as the little words underneath your message changed from Delivered to Read. You waited, your heart racing in your chest. But no message came.

You tried to rationalize. He’d just lost. Their ticket to Nationals was a pipe dream once again. He wouldn’t be up to talk immediately after, right?

It sounded foolish, even to yourself.

As though your problems with Miyuki weren’t enough, you got into an argument with your mother.

She had apparently believed that once you graduated high school, you’d come back home to work in the family bakery. That was the last thing you wanted to do.

Summer break had been an awkward affair because of it. You had envisioned summer break as time away from working and from the stress of high school, but your mother had other plans.

You were forced to be the cashier, much to your displeasure. Your father had patted your shoulder consolingly, while your older sister told you to stop complaining so much. Your younger brother — already seven-years-old — could only giggle at your predicament while he went to his friend’s house to spend the night. You were almost envious at his freedom.

You had no idea if Miyuki was back in the neighborhood since he wasn’t taking the time to answer your texts. You knew that if he had come back, he had no business to be outside of his house, either, so you decided that you would probably never know.

The fifth day of summer break started bright and early with you on the cash register. It had been slow, though, the heat of the sun discouraging people from walking out and about. The wall-length windows of the bakery did nothing to hide the sun, either, and the air conditioner was mostly focused on the table area rather than behind the counter.

The heat had started to make you sleepy but before you could actually doze off on the job and piss off your mother, the bell above the door rang, signaling a new customer. You straightened up, trying to blink the sleepiness away.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to try too hard, because the newest customer turned out to be Miyuki Toku.

“G-Good morning, sir. What can I get for you today?” Your voice was steady, thankfully.

He stared up at the menu, dark eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed behind his glasses. He was dressed in work clothing, grease staining various spots, a black baseball cap tucked over his hair. It was no wonder Miyuki himself was so handsome. His father was a handsome man for his age, the only sign of his age being the lines around his mouth and forehead, and the slightest hint of grey in dark brown hair and in his stubble.

“Two coffees and three sweet rolls,” he finally said, his eyes flickering to you.

You dropped your eyes, hurriedly ringing up his total and scribbling down the drink order to hang up for your sister to do. His eyes were the exact same shade as Miyuki’s. Of course they were, they were father and son, but it . . . made you miss Miyuki even more.

You handed back the money and grabbed some wax paper to pull out the sweet rolls from the display case of pastries. As you put them into a paper bag and folded it up neatly, he lingered near the pick-up counter. You wanted to ask him if Miyuki was back, but would that give you away? Maybe he already knew of the fight, if Miyuki had told him, but that sounded far-fetched. Miyuki wasn’t that open with his father.

You glanced around the bakery; all the customers were satisfied at the moment and nobody was waiting in line. You glanced back at Miyuki's father. He was looking over the display case with uninterested eyes. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“I-Is Miyuki back in the neighborhood?” you asked before you could lose your nerve, handing the paper bag over to him then stepping back behind the cash register, as though it could protect you from any unwanted questions.

He seemed surprised that you were speaking at him, brown eyes widening briefly before he cleared his throat. “No. He’s still at Seido. The coach keeps them for summer break.”

“Oh.”

That sucked, but knowing Miyuki, he was probably using that off-season time to get better.

“Have you been speaking to him?”

Now, you were the one surprised. When you looked back up, he was watching you with scrutinizing eyes. It reminded you so much of Miyuki that you had to avert your eyes. “Not really, sir. We’ve just,” you cleared your throat, “he’s busy. I’m busy. Our schedules don’t line up very well.”

“Mimayama, right?”

You looked back at him, furrowing your eyebrows. How did he know?

“Kazuya told me. That’s a good school,” he paused awkwardly, but before he could continue, your sister called out his order.

He picked it up and lingered in front the counter, shifting awkwardly before finally saying, “Well . . . keep in touch with him.”

You barely had time to get out a ‘have a good day.’ Did he know of your fight? There was no way that Miyuki could’ve told him, right? And if he did, then why was his father so nice? You knew Miyuki wouldn’t mince words and he probably wouldn’t hold back if he was talking about your argument.

“Hey.” You jumped as a wet towel smacked your back. “Stop looking so sad. It turns people off.”

You scowled, turning around to face your older sister with an insult on the tip of your tongue, but it died quickly at the semi-serious expression on her face. You both stared at each other for a few seconds before she slapped the wet towel onto your shoulder again.

“Loser.”

“Shut up!”

It was his birthday. He was officially sixteen-years-old.

You typed out a quick message. Maybe your conversations were beginning to be made up of your outgoing texts and nothing else from him, but you weren’t going to abandon him on his birthday. (Though, a small mocking voice in your head told you he had an entire team to spend his birthday with.)

You’d sent the text and went to put down your phone on your desk, but to your pleasant surprise, it buzzed a few seconds after, signaling a text.

It felt almost too true to be good. You unlocked your phone quickly, fumbling for the messages app. But when you clicked on his name, the message waiting for you wasn’t what you’d expected.

Error 1404. The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. For further inquiries, please contact —

Had he blocked you?

You tried again, but the message continued to pop up in reply to every text you sent.

You stopped trying, the words of the text seeming cold and callous, almost taunting.

Was he this petty? You had never believed him to be petty. Cruel, sometimes, sure, but never petty.

You tried calling. It rang two times before an automated message picked up.

“We’re sorry, but the person you are trying to reach is — ”

You hung up. This couldn’t be a coincidence. But why . . .?

You scrubbed your hands over your face roughly, feeling the familiar burn behind your eyes. Nothing was seeming to go right for you. Sure, you were at a school where you were put to work, but you were fighting with the only friend you had, with your mother about your choices for the future, with yourself over some stupid feelings.

Had it bothered him that much? Was this something to end your friendship over?

Evidently, to Miyuki, it had been.

December and January marked record-breaking lows with surprisingly heavy snowfall. You stayed on campus, burrowing in your room through the beginning of December to study hard for exams. Winter break brought you back home, where your sister had staged an intervention, surprisingly enough.

“What’s the deal with you and Miyuki?” she asked suddenly one day, when you two were in the kitchen at your home, making dinner for that night.

You continued your work, undeterred and unaffected. “What do you mean?” you asked tiredly.

She reached over to swat the back of your head, gaining a glare from you.

“Don’t glare at me, brat. You’ve been all mopey since the summer. I know something is going on,” she huffed, giving you a glare of her own.

You were prepared to shrug her off, turning to her to tell her off, but she was wearing that expression again. The one you’d seen during summer break after your run-in with Miyuki’s father. She looked serious. You hesitated.

You’d been dealing with this all on your own, with no one else to talk to. You definitely didn’t have Miyuki — not that you’d tell him about it, anyway — and certainly not your parents. Your mother would probably disapprove of your feelings since Miyuki wasn’t the type of guy to settle back down in his hometown and your father would disapprove because this was someone after your own heart.

Your sister was the next best thing.

That was how you found yourself telling her about the argument, about his lack of communication, and because you couldn’t avoid it, about your feelings for him.

She remained silent while you spoke, a pensive look on her face. When you finished, you shifted nervously on your feet, glancing at her in the corner of your eye.

“This is because of me, isn’t it?”

You blinked. “What?”

She paused from cutting up a vegetable, laying the knife down on the cooking board and turning to look at you. “What I said to you when you were in junior high. About focusing on yourself and not letting others influence your decisions.”

“I guess . . .” you murmured, agreeing reluctantly because you didn’t want her to blame herself for it. Luckily, that wasn’t what happened.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, grabbing the dish towel and hitting your shoulder with it. She tossed it back onto the counter before turning to you. “An absolute idiot.”

“What the hell — ”

“You played yourself, kid! I get it. These feelings are scary and new but running to Kyoto is not the answer!” she hissed urgently, looking annoyed.

Your hackles were raised. “You literally said — ”

“I know what I said, you fool! You had good intentions, but look where that got you.”

You winced. That was fair.

She groaned loudly. “Did it ever occur to you that you were letting your feelings influence your decision when you decided to go to Mimayama?”

You stared at her, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“For as smart of a kid you are, you’re kinda dumb when it comes to feelings.”

You scowled at her. “Feelings are dumb! It’s easier to memorize algebra equations than it is to handle what I’m feeling!”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen to me. I understand that you thought putting distance between you two and lying to him about your choice would help, but you were blinded by your own feelings. In your desperation to forget, you made a rash decision. I know Mimayama is a good school and worrying about your education is worthwhile, but are you even happy there?”

You stilled. “Happy?”

“You’re hopeless!” she bemoaned.

“Hey, it was your advice! Don’t get mad at me,” you protested, unwilling to take all the blame for this.

She grimaced. “Fine. I’ll take half. But it’s redacted as soon as we fix this.”

You balked. “Fix this? No, there will be no fixing here. I’m going to suffer the consequences of my actions — and partially yours — for the rest of high school and that’s it.”

“You don’t even know if he feels the same,” she pointed out.

“He doesn’t,” you said firmly. “Why would he? After everything I’ve messed up on, I refuse to let him know. It’ll only make things worse.”

“It’s called taking a risk,” she muttered, finally turning back to finish chopping up the vegetables. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“We’re not even talking to each other anymore. I think,” you grimaced. “I think he blocked me.”

She paused mid-slice. “I’m going to murder that boy.”

“No, you will not!”

“This is better than homicide,” your sister muttered gleefully as you two watched your mother wrap up a plate of food. “So much better.”

Your mother faltered in her actions briefly, having heard your sister’s words, then resumed quickly. She was probably used to it.

Your little brother was waiting impatiently by the door, some action figure grasped in his tiny hands.

“One of you take that to the Miyuki’s. It’s a holiday gift. Dress appropriately!” With that, she left the house, your younger brother following after her, the door shutting firmly behind them.

“I’m not taking that,” you said immediately after. It’d been several days since you had told her about your problem and she hadn’t brought it up since. Maybe for good reason, too. You had time to think over what she said.

Her question about whether or not you were even happy at Mimayama was . . . conflicting, as much as you hated to admit it. What did it matter if you didn’t like it? It was a good school, one that would boost you ahead. It was giving you experience in the medical field, experience you couldn’t receive at a regular high school.

But at the same time, there were regular high school experiences that you were missing out on. Mimayama rarely had dances or anything of the sort, typically hosting an end-of-the-year banquet for the third years to congratulate them on their progress, but that was the extent of their dances. They had no sports programs, save for a volleyball team that was in sore need of motivated players and a better coach. All the students were always so competitive, constantly fighting for the top rank, making passive aggressive comments about grades. It was tiring.

It also made you think. Had Mimayama been the best choice?

“You don’t even know if he’s back,” she countered, drawing you out of your revere. “Pretty sure all the sports teams had one week less of winter break than regular students.”

“I don’t care. I’m not — ”

You stopped as you heard voices outside. It was your mother, very distantly. She was saying something, but the words were muffled by the door.

Your sister pushed you away to go towards the front window that overlooked the yard, peeking through the curtains. She gasped, making you take a wary step forward, but before you could ask her, she was turning around, grabbing your wrist and dragging you upstairs. You allowed her, figuring it was a lost cause to try and stop her.

“What’s going on?” you grumbled. She turned into your parents’ room, yanking you over to the window that overlooked the street.

You both kneeled on the ground under the window and she pointed up at it, grinning.

“He’s here,” she said in a sing-song voice that made you want to cover your ears.

You cautiously looked out the window, at first finding nothing to look at, but then your eyes latched onto the figure currently taking his bags out of a taxi’s trunk. Your heart kickstarted in your chest. Miyuki.

It was a bit far away, but you could recognize him anywhere. He looked taller, lean with muscles he didn’t have before. His skin looked tanner, too, no doubt from all the time he’d have spent in the sun. He was dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, looking far too good for someone who probably just threw that on without giving it any thought.

You dug your nails into the windowsill. A small, childish part of you wanted to run downstairs and out the door to tackle him into a hug. You were craving the feeling of his arms around you and feel his usual tight, almost vice-like, grip. You bit down on your lip.

“You look like a love-struck fool,” your sister whispered, sounding awed. You shoved her, making her wobble precariously from her crouch, then fall over, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

You continued to stare out the window, and you were grateful for your hyper-fixation on him, because you were able to catch the slight movement of him turning his head towards your house. You fell away from the window, the curtains fluttering back to their place.

“What?” your sister grumbled, rubbing her elbow. “That hurt, you know.”

“I don’t care,” you muttered. “He looked. If he saw me, I’m going to die.”

She scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.” She laid down on her side, propping up her cheek with her hand, shooting you a cheeky grin. “So? You wanna give them the food, now?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? Why not?”

You shot her an irritated side glance. “Seeing him doesn’t make me want to ‘try things out,’ as you say. What part of ‘we’re not talking anymore’ do you not understand?”

She scowled. “So, you’re giving up?”

You looked away. “I guess so.”

It was silent for a few seconds before she huffed quietly. “Well, I’m not. Stay here. I’m gonna give them the food. When you hear the door close, look out the window, but stay hidden.”

You stared at her as she got to her feet and left the room. This . . . couldn’t be good.

Nonetheless, when you heard the door shut from downstairs, you peeked out the window again. You caught sight of her walking down the sidewalk, her jacket and beanie on to fight against the freezing cold, the dish cradled in her arms. At that point, the taxi was gone and you suspected Miyuki had retreated into the warmth of his home.

When she walked up to the house and rang the doorbell, she sent a furtive glance to you, making brief eye contact before turning back forward. The door opened and she looked surprised for a split-second before schooling her expression into one of ease. You squinted, trying to make out who she was talking to.

She took a half-step back and you finally saw that it was Miyuki who’d answered the door; he leaned out of the house, nodding and saying a few things before accepting the dish with a gracious bow. Your sister returned it and turned around, walking back towards the house.

You dropped away from the window, making sure to fix the curtains carefully this time, then dashed out of the room and down the stairs. You didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds before she was entering the house again, letting in a burst of icy air. Once she had locked the door and began taking off her shoes, jacket and beanie, you cleared your throat.

“Well?”

She looked at you, grim, and you prepared yourself for bad news, but then she said, “He’s cuter than I remember him being.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She shrugged. “You two would be cute together. His looks cancel out any ugliness you have.”

“Again. That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

She sighed. “What do you want to hear, kid? I don’t know . . . He seems more mature now. Are you two really fighting about this as bad as you say?”

You glared at her, irritated that she was doubting your words just because he seemed ‘more mature.’ “I have no reason to lie. It’s not like you’ve ever liked him that much, anyway.”

“That’s true,” she murmured. “But he made you happy, so that was all that mattered to me. He’s not doing that for you anymore.”

You toed the edge of the carpet with your foot, avoiding her eyes.

“If you’re truly incessant on not making up with him, then find something that makes you happy,” she continued. When you glanced at her, she looked serious again. You decided you didn’t like that look on her face. She coughed.

“If not, I refuse to see your mopey face around here.”

“Comfort me or insult me! Pick one, dammit!”

As much as you hated to admit it, your sister had a point.

So when you returned to school, you tried to find something that made you happy. Either an end goal, or even another friend.

You found that continuously telling yourself to find something made things a little bit better. You didn’t think about the absence Miyuki had left you. You thought about ways to raise your grade or make the other kids mad about your success.

You even found a friend — a quiet girl in your class who was pretty low in the class rank named Arakawa Akemi. You didn’t care about the rank stuff too much. (Only when it could be used to make your snobby classmates angry.) If anything, had she been in a regular high school, she probably would’ve been top of the class.

So, your first year ended with a secure friendship and excellent grades. Your relationship with your mother had gotten better, mostly because of the shining commentary that all your teachers had about you and your behavior during the afterparty of the third years’ graduation ceremony, where students, families and parents mingled. Your sister was annoying as ever — though a bit proud — and your brother was merely happy about seeing you again.

You knew, when your second year started up in full force, that your friendship with Miyuki was gone at this point. He hadn’t seen you at all during winter break and didn’t make an attempt to contact you at all. You hardly ever saw his father, so you couldn’t ask him about it, either.

You were sad at this realization. Almost seven years of friendship flushed down the drain. And the worst part was that your feelings hadn’t even faded with that.

After the Spring Invitational, Miyuki had gotten . . . famous. He was known nationally, media calling him the ‘catcher of his generation.’ Known for his aggressive plays, people loved him. When you’d seen the magazine with an article about him in it, you were proud.

Despite his lack of communication, you were still proud that he was doing what he loved. And he was good at it. You could never be angry about him doing well in what he loved.

When you’d seen his picture in the magazine, your heart still beat like crazy and your stomach still did flips. You hated it.

Even without almost a year of no contact, you were still infatuated with him.

You found yourself busier than you’d anticipated when second year started up again. You were required to put in volunteer hours at a hospital, so you’d found yourself preoccupied not only with homework, but work from the hospital as well.

The busy schedule was good; it helped you keep your mind off things, especially when the Summer Tournament started up and Seido blazed through the first rounds, then qualified for the quarterfinals. They were constantly making news articles, something or another about their new first year pitchers that were blowing competition away; usually those articles had companion editorials about Miyuki and how quickly he was improving. You tended to stay away from those.

You felt guilty for avoiding the games as much as you did, but at that point, there was no real need for you to keep up. It wasn’t like Miyuki would be calling you afterward to ask for your opinion on it.

The way you saw it was that if there was no Miyuki, then there was no need for baseball, either.

Unfortunately for you, however, your classmates happened to be avid baseball fans, so when you came to class the Monday after the weekend of the finals, you weren’t surprised to hear them talking about it.

“ . . . what messed up their game.”

“Yeah, after that deadball, there was no way they were getting their momentum back.”

“It’s all that first year pitcher’s fault. Sawamura, right? If he hasn’t fallen apart, maybe they would’ve been able to continue.”

You listened curiously, only brought out by a nudge to the arm. Akemi was giving you serious side-eye. “You could look it up, you know, or even ask,” she murmured.

“Look what up?”

She elbowed you again.

You sighed, leaning forward to tap on the shoulder of your classmate sitting in front of you. He turned around, his eyes widening at seeing you interact with him.

You gave him a polite smile. “Are you guys talking about the finals of the summer tournament for West Tokyo?”

“Yeah. Between Seido and Inashiro.”

You sat up straighter. You hadn’t realized that it’d be between them, but of course, it made sense for them to be the finalists. Two of the three baseball powerhouses in West Tokyo.

A queasy feeling had settled in the pit of your stomach, but you pushed on.

“Who won?”

“Inashiro. Their ace, Narumiya Mei, was a complete monster but honestly that first year pitcher — Furuya, right? — was insane . . .”

You sat back, staring at the plastic of your table. Akemi hummed softly and leaned to show you her phone. It was an article, presumably on the game. You read the headline.

Seido loses to Inashiro by 4-5

The article was detailed, filled with baseball jargon that you didn’t bother trying to decipher. You latched onto a few pieces of important information; Seido batters unable to get a hit off Narumiya for the majority of the game, the deadball by that first year pitcher Sawamura Eijun in the bottom of the ninth inning and Seido’s ultimate loss. You sighed heavily.

“Great.”

Akemi shut off her phone, watching you carefully. “That’s it?” she asked quietly.

You’d told her about everything that had happened between you and Miyuki. Mostly as a precursory warning that apparently, you could be dumb when it came to your friendships; you’d try to be better with her, but fair warning and all that. Though, you had to give credit to yourself, since your errors were really because of your feelings and while Akemi was pretty and very kind to boot, Miyuki still held your heart.

But that was it.

You shrugged, pointedly looking away from her. “What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can talk to him anymore.”

Akemi said nothing else on the matter, looking forward when the teacher entered and started up class. And you didn’t bring it up again, either. But you still had to sit through the excited murmurs of your classmates, biting down the urge to defend Seido whenever someone would badmouth the team for whatever reason. (At that point, you were irritated with yourself. You didn’t even know anyone on the team except for Miyuki. Why should you feel the need to defend them?)

The majority of summer break — wherein you stayed at school for extra classes — was filled with talk of Nationals, mostly about Inashiro blowing through the rounds until the finals, where they ended up as runner-up. For the half of the last week of break, you headed back to Tokyo, where you visited your family and managed to avoid working in the bakery under the guise of needing to study (which you actually did need to do).

You knew Miyuki wouldn’t have been back, probably training with the rest of his teammates. When you passed his house on your way to another café to study at (since you’d probably be roped into doing some form of work if you went to your own), you pointedly avoided looking at his home and the factory.

It was time for you to move on.

Despite your best efforts to hide behind the menu, Narumiya’s face lit up upon recognizing you.

He grinned brightly; there was less baby fat on his face than you remember. He looked taller, too, adding to his maturity.

He calls you out — by your surname, thankfully. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle if he called you by your first name. You’d probably walk straight out of the café . . .

“It’s so good to see you! How are you?”

You sunk in your chair as other customers glanced at you, irritated. Narumiya was unbothered by their glares, taking a seat across from you even though you hadn’t invited him to do so. He was just as annoying now as he’d been two years ago.

“I didn’t say you could sit down,” you said, annoyed.

“We need to catch up!”

“We don’t.”

He grinned. “Have you gotten meaner over the last few years?”

Your grip tightened on the menu briefly, but you took a deep breath, turning your eyes back to its contents. You would ignore him for however long you needed. He would get the message sooner or later.

“Are you meeting Kazuya here? I’ll wait with you. Maybe he and I can catch up, too.”

“No,” you replied stiffly. “I’m here to study in some peace and quiet.”

You looked at Narumiya over the top of the menu, then glanced pointedly at your bag sitting in the third seat between you two. He followed your gaze and made a small noise of dissatisfaction.

“How boring. Do you keep up with him?”

You studiously ignored him, turning the page of the menu.

“Is that a no, then?”

You continued to ignore him.

He huffed petulantly. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re still mad about what I said? I was some annoying first year brat in junior high. I’ve changed.”

You looked over the menu again, eyebrow raised in doubt.

“I have!” he protested.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Can you please leave now? I need to study.”

“Study for what?” he frowned, then. “What school do you go to? Shouldn’t you be on break?”

“You’re asking too many questions.”

“Then sate my curiosity and answer them!”

You huffed this time, finally surrendering to your fate. “Fine. I’m going to Mimayama right now and I took extra class over summer break. We always have homework.”

“Mimayama, huh?” Narumiya looked at you closely. “All the way in Kyoto?”

“Yes.” You turned back to the menu, but your head was beginning to ache from switching between squinting to read the small text and looking up to Narumiya. Or maybe that was just Narumiya . . .

“Is that why you and Kazuya haven’t been talking?”

“I didn’t say anything about that,” you said, feeling a frown form on your lips. “It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Come on! When’s the next time we’re gonna see each other?”

“Never, hopefully.”

He pouted. “You don’t mean that. Come on! Tell me about it. Who would I even tell?”

“Your friends. Your sisters. Miyuki.”

Narumiya laughed, but it sounded forced. “As if I still talk to him too.”

You looked at him this time and he had a bitter smile on his lips. He suddenly looked tired — worn out. You couldn’t imagine from what, though.

His smile tightened. “You’re not the only one with problems.”

You pursed your lips. “Evidently. If you listen, I’ll listen too.”

He frowned, looking away, clearly not liking the prospect of airing out his vulnerabilities.

“It’s a fair exchange,” you added before he could refuse. “And I’m the last person to judge, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t judge even you, Narumiya.”

He grumbled. “At least call me Mei.”

You did your best to offer advice but he waved you off.

“I’m doing it because it was fair and I needed to vent. Don’t worry about me. I’ll deal with it.”

You eyed him disbelievingly. “I have no problem helping you, either . . .”

Another lazy wave of the hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I’m fine. Now, what’s the deal with you and Kazuya?”

Mei leaned forward, unabashedly stealing a fry from your plate. You two had ordered your meals before Mei dove into his problems concerning pitching, the team, and the first year catcher he had to deal with now.

You listened intently, finding yourself sympathizing with him, much to your own surprise. You knew, rationally, Mei had his own problems — of course, he was only human — but for him to be this open, you appreciated it. It made you feel at ease. Maybe Mei wasn’t as bad as you’d painted him to be.

You pushed your plate to him, appetite having disappeared, but he pushed it back toward you, pointing at the food with an intense expression on his face. “Eat.”

“I can’t talk and eat at the same time,” you pointed out.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you with narrowed eyes. “You can take breaks and eat.”

“Is the famous Narumiya Mei worried about me?”

“Never mind, you can starve!”

You smiled slightly and launched in your story, punctuated with breaks to eat or drink some water. Mei listened to all that you had to say, only interrupting to ask a question to prompt more details. He didn’t seem to judge, but you couldn’t tell for sure; his facial expression stayed composed throughout your talk.

When you finished, you found yourself suddenly conscious of his eyes on you. You squirmed a little in your seat, poking tentatively at the cold fries on your plate. You looked back up when he sighed, slouching in his seat.

“We both can’t catch a break, can we?”

You snorted. “No kidding.”

“If it makes you feel any better, if I was in your place, I might’ve done the same thing. I mean it’s not the right choice, but solidarity or whatever.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, evading your glare. “It’s fine. We can actually do something about your problem.”

“You know, we can also do something for you too — ”

He waved you off. “I’ll deal with it eventually. But you . . . We can do something here.”

You didn’t like the look on his face, the conspiratorial smile on his lips beginning to grow as you shook your head. “N-No, definitely not. Besides, why would you want to help me? I’ve been pretty mean to you these past years . . .”

Mei shrugged. “That’s how most of my friendships start.”

You sighed. “Regardless, I’m not — we’re not doing anything about it. I just told you to vent. We’re finished with that.”

“You’re giving up, then?” he asked, unintentionally echoing your sister’s question from last year.

“I . . .” You frowned. “If it’ll save me the heartbreak, then I guess so. He’s not even — not even talking to me, Mei. His message is loud and clear.”

“Well, he’s dumb. You and I both know that. Why should you listen to him? You have to try.”

“I can’t.”

“You don’t want to,” he corrected. “What do you have to lose? Your friendship is already in shambles, you’re going to school all the way in Kyoto so you won’t have to see him if it goes rotten and it’s not like you two live that close. Maybe telling him will fix things.”

“And what if it makes it worse?” you asked sharply. “I’d rather we leave it like this.”

“Assuming for one moment that he doesn’t feel the same — ”

“He doesn’t.”

Mei ignored you. “ — then telling him will yield the same ending to your friendship as it did before. Except now it’ll be official. It’s a better way to break things off, anyway.”

“I have no business to mess his life up like that,” you said stubbornly.

“You want to reconcile, don’t you?” He suddenly asked, scrutinizing you.

“What?”

“Reconcile with Kazuya. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But it’s not that easy. He’s going to want an explanation and he can be cruel. He’d probably make you choose between him and not explaining.”

You avoided Mei’s eyes. He was right. Miyuki wouldn’t accept you with open arms. He’d be affronted and demand an explanation. Rightfully so.

“So, what? I don’t tell him and we break things off or I do tell him and my feelings aren’t reciprocated so he breaks things off all the same to save us from the awkwardness?”

“Or you somehow manage to reconcile but still keep it to yourself. It’s unlikely, though. I wouldn’t be surprised if this bothered Miyuki. You’d probably do him a favor if you told him,” Mei finished, lacing his fingers together on the table.

“A favor,” you snorted disbelievingly.

“Now,” Mei continued, ignoring your tone, “let’s say he does have feelings for you. Which he does. Honestly, did you see the way he’d look at you when we were in junior high? It was gross.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mei rolled his eyes. “Because you’re just that unattractive or what?”

You shifted, uncomfortable. “I don’t deserve him.”

“Shut up.”

You blanched. “You — ”

“You and Kazuya are perfect for each other. That sounds like something he’d say about you, too. I’m not here to listen to you depreciate yourself. I’m here to help.”

You softened as he aimed a displeased frown at you. “Thanks, Mei,” you said, truly meaning it.

“You’re welcome. I’m great, aren’t I?” he preened, a happy grin replacing the frown. “Now, assuming he liked you — which he does — he’d want to know if you felt the same. So, telling him maximizes the possibility of reconciling your friendship. Plus, maybe you get a boyfriend out of it, too.”

“Boyfriend!”

“Obviously. That tends to be what happens when two people like each other.”

“Don’t get sarcastic with me, Narumiya Mei!”

Mei’s words left a significant mark on you.

You left the cafe thinking over the possibilities (sparing no thought to the homework that hadn’t been completed). But the thought of confessing seemed . . . strange. Could you be so forward to actually go after Miyuki and tell him? He’d probably avoid you as much as he could.

You weren’t looking to make a fool out of yourself, either, so you certainly didn’t want to try going to Seido. Going to his house and cornering him there seemed to be your best option, but the next break where he’d be home was Christmas and that was four months away. That was okay; there was plenty of time to work things out.

But it also gave you time to back out.

You chose not to discuss this with Akemi, knowing she’d encourage you to tell him as well. For now, you just wanted to make your own decision without outside influences (excluding Mei since you’d made the unfortunate decision of giving him your LINE account).

The rest of August was split between school, Akemi, Mei and your deliberations. Mei constantly kept you updated on the start of the fall tournament, finding every chance to talk about Miyuki — which led to Mei’s usual declaration of taking Nationals next summer. You continued to mull over the decision of telling Miyuki, always finding yourself becoming anxious at the notion of facing him again.

At the same time, you missed Miyuki. If things didn’t go well, at least you’d spoken to him one last time.

It was a decision that demanded great thought. No one was going to have a part in influencing your choice (not even Mei). You couldn’t half-ass it or do it on the fly. You needed to have some organization when it came to deciding.

The call was what threw your entire plan off its axis.

You’d been in the middle of composing a text to Mei, demanding to hang out since he’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth following Inashiro’s loss to Ugumori. You knew it had to do with those problems he’d told you about in August and you weren’t going to let him deal with it alone.

It was almost funny how much your friendship with Mei had grown in such a short time. While he could be unruly, irritating and arrogant, he seemed to have a softer side when it came to you, toning down his need to get a rise out of someone. It reminded you of Miyuki, but you shelved that thought quickly. It was a comparison that had no reason to exist.

Dutifully ignoring the review for your English class on your desk, you’d been in the middle of typing out a word when your screen changed from the conversation between you and Mei to the call screen. You eyed the number warily. It was from Tokyo, but it wasn’t one you recognized. Your thumb hovered over the decline button but you huffed and answered it. If it was a telemarketer, you could nip them in the bud right now before they got the idea to call you back.

“Hello?”

“Er, is this — ?” The voice on the other line proceeded to give out your full name.

“Yes, this is. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

“Uh . . .” Another person on the other end said something, but it was too quick for you to grab onto. “I know that, Zono! Shut up!”

Your frown deepened. “I’m . . . hanging up now.”

You went to pull away but the guy spoke again, hurriedly. “No, no, hold on! My name is Kuramochi Yoichi, I’m the shortstop for Seido’s baseball team.”

What the hell was a player from Seido doing you? You glanced at the calendar mounted in front of you, finding the words Seido vs. Yakushi final @ 1 marked down for today. So, the game must’ve been over then. Didn’t these boys have better things to be doing right now?

“How’d you get my number? And what’s the reason for calling me?” you asked, trying to sound as polite as possible. You were a bit irritated, though.

“You know Miyuki, right? Miyuki Kazuya?”

“Unfortunately.”

Kuramochi coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Right. Well, he sort of mentioned you today, before we went to the hospital, so I figured I should give you a call — ”

“Hospital?” you interrupted sharply. “Why are you going to a hospital? Did something happen? Was he injured?”

“Eh, he was but it’s not too serious. I think. So, yeah, he said to not call you otherwise you’d ‘kick his ass for getting hurt’ so I thought why not? Let him suffer a little bit for trying to hide his injury.” Kuramochi sounded nonchalant about the entire thing, so maybe it was okay, but you were still confused.

“Explain.”

“He was tackled at the plate by a pitcher from Seiko High in our semifinals and trust me, he wouldn’t have said anything unless someone else had noticed. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed, but if they did, they didn’t say anything. I told him . . . Well, I told him not to fall apart until after we’d won,” Kuramochi admitted sheepishly. You pursed your lips in disapproval.

“If he showed any sign of bringing the team down, I’d tell the coach but he didn’t for the most part. Unfortunately, another one our teammates noticed and brought everyone’s attention to it so the coach knew by the middle of the game.”

“Did he continue to play? Or was he benched?”

“No, he played the entire game. Miyuki’s our cleanup, too, so it wasn’t a bad move — ”

“Are you discounting the fact that he struck out a few times?” the other guy on the other end of the line asked.

“Shut it,” Kuramochi snapped. “It was better for our team morale, too. That bastard is aggressive. We might not have won if he’d been benched.” Then he coughed, seeming to suddenly realize that he’d called Miyuki a bastard with you listening. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you muttered tiredly, rubbing your temples to stave off the incoming headache. “So, what? He was taken to the hospital?”

“Yeah. We got here like fifteen minutes ago. He was . . . pretty out of it. Probably from the pain. We’re waiting for him right now. But, uh, I guess I called to see if you’d like to come and see him. Don’t worry about his father, I know someone else took care of that already.”

“Where are you guys?” you asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Tokyo General.”

“And how did you get my number again?”

“Miyuki’s phone.”

Kuramochi must’ve copied the number from Miyuki’s and into his own. You were surprised that Miyuki had even kept it. You sighed heavily, turning back to the conversation. “You do realize we don’t even talk anymore, right? Has he even told you about me?”

Kuramochi was silent for a few seconds. “Not really, but he’s always closed off. I did notice the lack of conversation for you on his messages, though. I don’t know, I just thought I’d tell you. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to see him, but as soon as we get his room number, I’ll text you from this number.”

“That sounds fine. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem. Sorry for bothering you, though.” He hung up quickly before you could reply. You dropped your hand holding the phone into your lap, staring at the calendar. You had two finals this coming Monday and you needed to study. But was this your chance?

The way that Kuramochi has phrased it . . . It sounded like Miyuki was joking about it. In his pain-induced haze, had he forgotten about the ruins of your friendship and joked about you? Or was he conscious about what he’d been saying?

It was all so confusing.

You gritted your teeth at the oncoming headache and stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. You packed up your notebooks that you needed for studying, grabbing your wallet as well. A quick search told you that the next train to downtown Tokyo would leave in thirty minutes. You bought your ticket, sending a silent mental apology to your father who’d see the purchase and probably freak out.

The dormitory wasn’t too lively, meaning you could make your escape unnoticed. You notified the resident assistant of your leave — one of the teachers for your year — and she let you off without much problems, only stressing for you to be back before curfew tomorrow. After boarding the train with no problems and sending Akemi a message about your impromptu leave, you dove into your studies but found that you couldn’t concentrate. You had too many worries, too many thoughts.

This was going to go very well or very horribly.

After the three-hour train ride from Kyoto to Tokyo, you arrived at the hospital at six. You had met Kuramochi in the lobby of the hospital and he led you to the in-patient wing.

Kuramochi was an interesting individual. He was stiff, overly-polite in a way that said he was trying too hard. He probably felt uncomfortable actually seeing you in person.

“Does he have to stay overnight?” You asked, fingers tightening over the strap of your bag. When studying had escaped you, you obsessed over what sort of injury he could have. Was it sprained ribs? Had he torn a muscle? Or was this worse?

“Eh, only one night. He kicked up a fuss about it but we pointed out that he’d fainted from the pain. Better safe than sorry,” he explained as you two stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button for the second floor.

You looked at him sharply. “He fainted?”

Kuramochi grimaced and nodded. “Like I said, he was pretty out of it. He’s fine now. Conscious and all that.”

“What about his father?”

Kuramochi reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Said he’d come tomorrow.”

You sighed softly. Yeah, that sounded like him.

There was a soft ding as the doors slid open, Kuramochi stepping out and briskly leading the way. His cleats were loud against the tiled floor, disturbing the quiet environment of the second floor. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You made it to a room but just as he’d lifted a hand to pull the door knob, you stopped him.

“Wait.”

He looked questioningly at you, his hand paused in the air. “What?”

“I don’t think this was a good idea . . .” You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, swallowing thickly. Your heart was beating like a drum in your chest and you had the ridiculous thought that everybody could hear how loudly it was beating.

Kuramochi scanned your face and he became serious, seeming to sense that you were genuinely doubting yourself.

“Whatever happened between you two,” he said, hushed. “It’s fine.”

“It was my fault,” you mumbled. “Why we stopped talking.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. But I don’t know your story. Listen,” you looked at him, finding him meet your eyes earnestly. “Now is the best time to fix it. Whether it goes well or not, I don’t know. But at least you tried, right?”

What do you have to lose?

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “You’re right.”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Thanks.”

Kuramochi stared at you, then nodded to himself, as though he’d just realized something. “It makes sense now,” he mumbled under his breath, making you frown.

“What — ”

He opened the door before you could ask what he’d meant and you instinctively jumped behind him as several voices floated out of the room.

“Ah, Kuramochi. Is everything okay?” a woman asked.

“Yeah. Just had to pick up one of Miyuki’s visitors,” he replied, staying in the doorway, probably sensing you hiding behind him.

“Is it — ?” another voice asked, sounding like the one you’d heard on the phone.

Kuramochi didn’t respond, simply stepping into the room, leaving you standing in the doorway for everyone to see.

There was only another guy your age in there and he looked utterly panicked at your presence. There was an intimidating man as well, dressed in the Seido baseball uniform — the coach presumably — and then a woman standing next to him, dressed in formal clothes. You turned your eyes to the hospital bed, but instead of meeting those familiar brown eyes, you were met with his bowed head, his eyes averted to his legs. You noticed his clenched fists on his lap and felt your heart drop to your stomach. He was angry.

You bit your lip then bowed to the two adults, introducing yourself, “I’m an . . . old friend.”

The two adults looked at Miyuki for confirmation. The air was uncomfortably tense. You saw him sigh minutely before he nodded.

With his confirmation that you weren’t some stranger trying to sneak in, they introduced themselves as the coach and scout of Seido; the other guy introduced himself as the Zono you’d heard from the phone before. You accepted them politely, but a stifling silence ensued afterward.

You snuck glances at Miyuki in the corner of your eye. He had raised his head, but his eyes remained on the white wall in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, we should head out, then. Miyuki, will you be okay here?” Takashima asked, turning to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

His voice had dropped since junior high, but he still sounded the same. Just like the Miyuki you once knew. Except he sounded tired. You felt guilt bubble in the pit of your stomach, knowing you were probably going to stress him about more.

One by one, they all exited the room. Kuramochi had hissed something to Miyuki before he left, sending you a nod of solitude. When the door finally shut, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. You shifted on your feet awkwardly. The silence was absolutely unnerving. You briefly considered just fleeing and never coming back, but that would be too cruel. Why should you show up abruptly then leave just as suddenly?

Yet, Miyuki still hadn’t spoken.

You took a deep breath, ignoring the racing of your heart, preparing to say something — anything.

Miyuki beat you to it. “Why are you here?”

Hurt pierced your heart. You faltered at the cold tone in his voice, the apathy, the indifference. Miyuki raised his head to look at you and any remnants of a response flew out of your head. He had matured, baby fat disappearing from his face and leaving someone else behind. Miyuki had grown into his looks. Those familiar brown eyes that had often glowed with mirth were hard, almost unrecognizable, burning into you with searing intensity.

You fidgeted with the strap of your bag, dropping your eyes to the floor. “Kuramochi called me. Said you were here so I — ”

“You thought you could come and visit like we were ‘old friends?’” Miyuki finished for you callously.

You dropped your head, trying not to let his words affect you. He was angry and Miyuki never spared his words much thought when he was angry. You certainly deserved his ire, anyhow. You’d been such a shitty friend.

You took a deep breath. “Not really. I know I haven’t been a good friend to you. I just thought . . . I don’t know. I thought you deserved to finally hear an explanation from me, but like I said before, it . . . might not be something you want to hear.”

Miyuki didn’t say anything else, turning to look at the window. You took that as your cue to continue, dragging a chair over to his bedside. You managed a reasonable distance away from the bed, dropping your bag onto the floor with a sigh.

“It’s taken far too long for me to explain myself. I understand if, even if you know, you’ll want to go our separate ways, though my explanation sort of ensures that you probably won’t want to talk to me, anyways.” You glanced up at him and he was still looking out the window, but his eyebrows were furrowed now. He was troubled.

You pushed on, dropping your eyes to your lap. “My reasons weren’t entirely for educational purposes, but I think you’ve picked up on that already, right? It was . . . Well, it was partially because of my sister’s advice, I guess. She didn’t say to leave because of you or anything, just that I had to prioritize my education when it came to picking a high school.”

You’d raised your eyes to his face and saw him raise his shoulders, the furrow of his eyebrows deepening in a way that told you he was ready to protest. You continued speaking before he could. “Seido is a great school. Looking back on it now, it probably would’ve benefitted me as much as Mimayama has. Plus,” you dropped your eyes back to your lap. “You would’ve been there, too.”

“What’s your point?”

You flinched at the sharpness of his voice. It cut deeply, making you feel small and insignificant. Still, you ventured further.

“That was the problem,” you mumbled. “You’d be there and I’d be with you. She — my sister — said not to let my feelings influence my decision. At this point, I’ve clearly missed the mark that she was aiming for. I just,” you paused, leaning forward to brace your elbows on your knees, rubbing your forehead tiredly. Your heart felt like it was going to break free from your ribs.

“I wanted to go to Seido with you. But if I did, I would’ve picked that school because I was in love with you. So, I went to Mimayama because I thought that by leaving, I could get rid of these feelings and we could continue to be friends.”

Finally saying it felt so relieving, like the pressure on your chest had lifted and you could breathe freely. The constraints of your secret were gone. But that left you to deal with the aftermath.

You didn’t raise your head as the silence seemed to echo, broken only by the occasional voice outside the room and the ticking of the clock. Miyuki still hadn’t said anything.

Your liberation ended with the cold revelation that no, he didn’t feel the same and you’d ruined your friendship permanently.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling a few tears slid down your cheek. You rubbed them away roughly, though fresh ones replaced them immediately. Your chest and throat felt constricted, making breathing steadily a little difficult. You heard the sheets rustle as he moved.

“Why are you crying?” Did your ears betray you or had his voice softened? He still sounded tired as hell, but he didn’t sound irritated. If anything, his tone was almost exasperated.

You brushed away the fresh set of tears but they just kept coming. Was this two years of pent-up frustration coming to the surface? Or was it because of the imminent end of your friendship?

“I just ruined my friendship,” you muttered, sniffling. It didn’t look like your tears would be stopping anytime soon, so you decided to save yourself the embarrassment; you stood up then grabbed your bag and stood up quickly, covering your face with your arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — ”

“Wait,” he called quickly. You stepped back as you heard the hospital bed creak then a soft ‘fuck’ reached your ears, making you drop your arm away from your eyes.

Your eyes widened once you saw he had sat up and shifted, moving to stand up in front of you. “Don’t get up, you’ll hurt yourself more!” You put a hand on his shoulder, trying pushing him down, but it was all in vain. The strength he had gained over the years — and more recently as the cleanup for Seido — was no match for your own. He stood up and you found yourself trapped with him in the space between the chair and the bed.

You froze. With this proximity, you could lean your forehead on his chest; in fact, you could almost feel the warmth he radiated. You dropped your eyes immediately. Funnily enough, your tears were quickly drying with this new distraction.

Miyuki pried your fingers off his shoulder and your heart fell to your stomach, but instead of dropping your hand, he clasped your hand between his own. His grip was tight and unyielding. The message was clear. You weren’t going anywhere.

(And to be completely honest, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.)

You saw his chest lift and fall as he sighed, the warm air brushing over the crown of your head, tickling stray pieces of flyaway hair. There were too many things going on at once. You felt the coarseness of his palms against your hand, callouses rubbing against the skin roughly, the distinct scent of a generic detergent brand printed on the cotton t-shirt he was wearing. But it was all so Miyuki that you couldn’t complain.

Being this close, hearing his steady breathing, he was here. That familiar comfort you’d always found with him was slowly returning and that was dangerous. You didn’t even know if he still wanted to be your friend. But maybe . . .

“You’re right,” he finally said.

“About what?”

“About ruining our friendship.”

You flinched, taking a step back and running into the chair. It scraped loudly against the floor. Well, then. At least that had been solved, right? You felt the tears that had dried begin to well up again, the hurt piercing your heart like a knife once more. You tried to pull your hand away but he was too strong for you.

“Miyuki — ”

“I don’t want to be your friend if you feel like that.”

Your mouth quivered. “I get it, you don’t need to — ”

He released your hand but before you could step away, his hands were cradling your face, tilting you towards him. You had no choice but to look at him. You inhaled sharply, feeling exposed underneath his gaze. But more than that, his eyes held an unspoken tenderness that hadn’t been there before. His thumbs gently brushed away the stray tears that had escaped.

“I’m not . . . good with this,” he said. “But I don’t want to be your friend because I — ” He stopped, almost seeming to pout at his lack of articulation. You had an inkling to what he was trying to say, to what he was hinting at and it made your chest tighten, made your palms sweaty and your heart race.

“Why?” you blurted out, feeling like you had to know why he would chose you, out of all people, and also because you weren’t sure you could deal with the implications of his words so soon.

Miyuki looked genuinely confused. “What?”

“After all I did . . . Not talking to you . . . Honestly, I understand why you blocked me — ”

“Blocked you? I never blocked you,” he frowned.

“I — Your number didn’t work when I tried to text you for your birthday last year,” you clarified. “No call, either.”

“Oh. Oh.” He seemed to understand and winced, a guilty expression passing over his face. “I got a new phone a few days before that. I broke my old one — ”

“How do you break a Nokia?”

He grinned, tugging on your cheek playfully and your heart skipped a beat at the sight of his grin, so warm and full of mirth. You felt like a little thirteen-year-old again, experiencing the first adrenaline rush of your feelings.

“My teammates broke it,” he corrected. “Dad got me one, said it was partially a birthday present, too. I got a new phone number but I . . . Well, I never texted you my new number. I had yours, I just didn’t . . .” he trailed off and the happy bubble you two had found yourselves in popped.

It hurt, but you understood. Miyuki was the type to need to know — he needed to know why you had avoided telling him for so long, why you wanted to go all the way to Kyoto for school; he was analytical in every aspect of his life. You weren’t going to be excluded from that particular quirk.

But you also wondered what would happen now. If his terrible word phrasing from earlier said anything about it, Miyuki seemed to think of you as more than a friend — but it had been two years since you two had spoken or even interacted face-to-face.

“Hey.”

You blinked, refocusing on him. He was frowning, eyebrows furrowed as he squished your cheeks together. You struggled in his grip, feeling a scowl quickly form on your lips. “Your hands are probably filthy, stop that — ”

He sighed and dropped his hands from your face, stepping back to lean on the hospital bed fully. You were . . . disappointed at the ensuring distance, no longer finding his natural warmth at your disposal. You chided yourself; Miyuki had an injury. He shouldn’t exert so much energy. You weren’t sure about the extent of his injury, exactly, but if he had fainted from the pain, then it had to be worrying, right?

You scrutinized his appearance, too caught up in your worries to be shameful. At least that was one thing that never changed. (And would probably never change.)

“You should sit back down, Miyuki.”

Miyuki huffed softly. “It’s just an oblique muscle tear on my right side. And I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“I know.”

“And hey,” he caught your attention again. “Why do you always call me by my last name? Even Mei calls me by my first.”

You shrugged, shifting uncomfortably at the sudden question. “I don’t know. It was just a thing I always did. Besides, this is Mei we’re talking about.”

He snorted. “That’s true. Wait,” he frowned at you. “Since when do you call Mei by his first name? This is just unfair.” He pouted a little and you huffed.

“I’m relieved to see that you haven’t changed, and well, we’ve sort of . . . become friends.”

“You know we lost our ticket to Nationals because of Inashiro, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you’re going to Koshien Stadium now, aren’t you? It’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

“Mei and I are friends, I guess. He was the one who encouraged me to — to talk to you. Try and rekindle our friendship.”

“What exactly did he say?”

You pursed your lips, narrowing your eyes at Miyuki. “Why do you want to know?”

Miyuki shrugged carelessly. “Mei’s the type to incite action in someone else. Would you have come if you hadn’t spoken to him?”

You made a choked sound of disbelief. “You’re assuming — ”

“You said you were in love with me, didn’t you?”

The abrupt reminder of your confession was like a slap to the face. You shut your mouth silently, feeling embarrassed at being put on the spot like this.

Miyuki looked thoughtful. “Whatever he said must’ve resonated with you. I imagine your sister had a hand in this, too. She doesn’t like taking the blame, does she?”

You were worried about nothing, apparently. Miyuki seemed to remember all your ticks now as he had two years ago. In fact, just being with him for these past few minutes have been refreshing. It was like coming home.

Miyuki huffed softly at your lack of response. “Look, I . . . I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What are you — ”

He says your name lowly, cutting you off short.

There was an edge of rawness in his voice, a vulnerability that you hadn’t ever heard before. You swallowed your response, watching him tentatively as he dropped his head, turning his eyes to the ground.

“These last few months were difficult. Did you know I was made captain? The, uh, previous captain — Yuki — nominated me, of all people. You know how I am. As you might imagine, we had a few clashes, but things are coming together now. I mean, we won. Can you believe that?” Miyuki laughed, but it was cold and brittle.

You didn’t like how depreciating this was turning. He may’ve asked for your silence, but if all he was going to do was put himself down, then you would put a stop to it.

As if sensing your climbing ire, he looked back up and the anger simmered, fading to a dull roar as you met his eyes. There was a warmth in there you hadn’t ever seen before.

“We got through it. We’re here now. Things are looking up. This damn injury . . . It’s just a speed bump in a long road. But through it all, I kept going back to you. You never left my mind. I,” he paused again and dropped his eyes, seemingly embarrassed, “I missed you.” It came out like a mumble, a hesitant admission; expected for someone as emotionally closed off as Miyuki.

But you found it charming. His inability to respond in closely social situations, in times like this that were intimate. You knew him well enough to know what he was saying.

“So, I’m sorry. For ignoring you. For prying when it wasn’t my place. For being an asshole about it all, really.”

You took a deep breath. This was it. “I’m sorry, too. No matter what, you deserved to know the truth.”

“Well.” It sounded like Miyuki disagreed as he reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “It was a deeply personal reason.”

You snorted. “No shit.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve always felt the same.”

You froze.

There it was.

Your heart was going into overdrive once again and you found your breath stolen from you when he lifted his head to make eye contact with you. There was still that warmth in there that hadn’t been present before. But maybe it had always been there, you had just never seen it. Miyuki was a master at disguising his emotions and you supposed you couldn’t ever have idealized the concept of him having feelings for you to be able to actually notice it.

“And I think,” he continued quietly, “that we’re not ever going to be the same again. But that’s okay. So, let’s start off with you calling me by my first name, yeah?”

The air left your lungs in a rush and before you could even think to manage an agreement, he lifted his hand to your cheek, settling warmly on the curve, thumb brushing gently over it. He pushed forward and you knew, you knew where this was heading. You didn’t stop him. You weren’t sure you wanted to. Sure, there might’ve been some things that still needed to be discussed but you had settled your battles for the most part.

So when he asked, his voice soft in the tenderness of the moment, “Can I kiss you?” You found it a little hard to keep standing straight, so why wouldn’t you have leaned forward on him — totally mindful of his injury, of course — and met his lips halfway.

There might’ve been a number of things that ruined it for anyone else — having to watch his right side constantly so you didn’t hurt him, the bookbag still weighing heavily on your shoulder, keeping an ear out for the nurses and doctors — but there were other factors that made it perfect for you.

The warm and firm press of his mouth on yours, easily consuming all your senses with everything that was Miyuki Kazuya but retaining a gentleness that was also him. Always making sure you were comfortable. And the way his other hand had easily fallen to your waist to keep you in place was your anchor, powerful tendons of his arm underneath your palm that kept you from falling into the sea.

It was strange. He was both all-consuming and anchoring.

He shifted, angling a little more to slant his lips over yours, deepening and taking you down to the depths of the ocean. You followed willingly, reciprocating eagerly if only to prolong this experience. But the growing burn in your lungs was going to be a problem soon.

That was okay. He was back in your life now, wasn’t he? Miyuki Kazuya wasn’t a stranger, he wasn’t a friend; he was something more, a fixated presence in your life that caused you both immense happiness and irritation. No one was perfect, you knew, but even with all his faults and flaws, he came pretty damn close.

And he was right, too.

You had sort of ruined your friendship, though you supposed it was on his end, too. This was a two-way street, after all.

But as he pulled away, breathing a little faster than usual, his lips beginning to swell, you didn’t find yourself mourning the end of it. No, as he caught his breath and leaned forward again to claim your mouth, you found yourself looking forward to what he’d bring.

Your future was firmly entrenched with his and you wanted it to stay that way.

#fair warning i wrote this when i was in my. sophomore year. in 2019. LOL #its not bad! im actually quite fond of this fic #particularly of my characterizations. mei especially. he grew on me while writing it #its been up on ao3 since 2019 i just thought that since i'm posting dogfish here #i might as well throw up my other oneshots #the shorter content basically. long stuff will be posted strictly to ao3 or wattpad #daiya no ace x reader #daiya no ace #ace of diamond #ace of diamond x reader #miyuki kazuya #miyuki kazuya x reader #miyuki #moss writes

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