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“You’re the man of the house now.” An elder said to Hikaru.
“You’ve got to stay strong for your mother and make your family proud.”
What does it mean to be strong? Hikaru didn’t have his daddy long enough to ask him.
Strong. Hikaru imagined he’s sculpted in concrete, or stone, or whatever. Like the main dude in his favorite manga. Rigid steel rather than bone; unbreakable sinew like rebar intertwined into his flesh. He could be superhuman, just like his daddy was. Not invincible, but close.
Definitely not invincible, but…
Hikaru knew about expectations. His daddy taught him everything —starting at the tender age of five when fairytales are believable —there was nothing his daddy didn’t divulge to him; Hikaru was aware of the superstitious lore. Knew the stories of the headless corpses and the head-full temple and what that meant. The generations of bloodshed tied to his family name. He was not shielded from the gruesome reality like maybe a boy should be. Hikaru was primed to be strong and independent.
However, there was Yoshiki.
The first time Yoshiki stayed over at Hikaru’s after the funeral, he was no fun at all.
“C’mon, you didn’t even try that round either!” Hikaru growled, slinging his playstation remote across the floor.
Yoshiki folded his legs up to his chest and looked sad. It’s irritating and pathetic. Hikaru crawled over to him and squinted into his face.
“Yer not cryin’, are ya?” Hikaru scoffed.
Yoshiki shook his head side-to-side, his shiny black hair flying furiously. His glassy eyes looked toward the picture of Hikaru’s daddy high up on the wall.
Yoshiki cried. Hikaru imagined him as a soft-bodied jellyfish washed up on the shore. Translucent and misshapen on dry land. He was crying for Hikaru’s daddy, and as the fat tears rolled down his cheeks, Hikaru thought Yoshiki must be crying for him too. It’s weird, and the emotion sat with Hikaru all wrong.
Hikaru reckoned maybe his daddy was kinda like Yoshiki’s daddy too. They were like brothers in an abstract way that makes less sense the more Hikaru thought about it, so he stopped. Hikaru felt his disgust wane.
“Don’t cry, Yoshiki.” Hikaru said, embracing his thin shoulders.
It felt nice to hug Yoshiki, even if he cried anyway.
-
Yoshiki seems to grow up overnight. Yoshiki doesn't cry anymore, at least not that Hikaru’s seen. He’s quiet now; aloof and brooding —well, Hikaru supposes Yoshiki’s always been those things underneath the polish of childhood, but now all the goodness is gone. Maybe he’s finally realized what it takes to be a man in their village. They’ve both begun attending upper secondary school and are on the cusp of adulthood.
What blows the most about the change in Yoshiki’s demeanor is Hikaru has to pry the laughter out of him. He develops a few sure-fire methods, none of which being jokes about girls, Hikaru’s found, which is bizarre, because all of their peers are talking about sex or how they want to have it or with who they want to have it.
It’s okay, Hikaru thinks. He can talk about superficial stuff like girls and sex with his clubmates and then Yoshiki will be there for the more important things. Even if he doesn't smile or laugh as much, Hikaru can compensate by being more likable and funny. Most everyone likes him in class, aside from a clique of upperclassmen in his club that seem to hate his guts.
At least Yoshiki still wants to be around him —actually, Hikaru can't seem to shake him —not that he’d ever want to. Though sometimes his upperclassmen joke about how close he and Yoshiki are, Hikaru knows it's because they’re like brothers.
They don’t get it.
“Did ya see the hickey on Sakamoto’s arm?” Hikaru asks, knocking an aesthetically pleasing stick he found against the trunks of trees.
“Yeah, there’s no way he didn’t do that one himself.” Yoshiki says, blushing sympathetically.
Hikaru dissolves into hysterics, “Holy shit! He was practicing kissin’ on his own?”
“There ain’t no good way t’ do it by yourself,” Yoshiki says objectively.
“Sounds like yer talkin’ from experience!” Hikaru laughs.
“You wish,” Yoshiki mumbles, looking away from Hikaru. “It’s stupid that he tried to lie about it n’ say he didn’t.”
Yeah, Hikaru thinks, what an idiot. The shortcut they took through the woods terminates nearby Yoshiki’s house and it makes Hikaru a little peeved they can’t stay longer, but the sun is setting earlier and earlier as the seasons change. Hikaru passionately stabs the jagged end of the stick into the bark of an unsuspecting tree.
“Yer upperclassmen still on your case?” Yoshiki asks.
“Yeah,” Hikaru sighs, “I’m gettin’ real familiar with the bench. It’s okay though. I don’t mind.”
He does mind.
Hikaru didn’t join the damn club to watch them play football. An idea floats to the surface of his mind, so tantalizing that Hikaru can’t resist it. “Hey, Yoshiki?”
Yoshiki pauses, and turns towards him. His bangs look irritating, long enough to touch his cheekbones and get in his eyes.
Hikaru wets his lips. “How about you give me a hickey?”
A deep shade of pink washes across Yoshiki’s features. He whips around and keeps walking.
“Hey!” Hikaru yells, jogging to catch up.
“That’s a stupid idea too. I can’t believe you’d ask me that,” Yoshiki says in a rush.
“No —hey,” Hikaru corrects, stepping in front of Yoshiki, “it ain’t a big deal! You’d be helping me out!”
“How?” Yoshiki mutters behind his palm, smushed over his own mouth.
“My upperclassmen would take me more seriously,” Hikaru says, twirling his aesthetically pleasing stick between his fingers like a baton. “The issue with Sakamoto is he did it all wrong. If you help me, it’d be a win-win situation. What d’they call that again? Symbios?”
“Symbiosis. And it ain’t nothin’ like that.” Yoshiki says flatly.
“Close enough,” Hikaru says, pointing his stick at Yoshiki’s face.
“It’s not —” Yoshiki hisses, fixing Hikaru with a withering glare. “And how do I benefit from it?”
“I’ll get more popular, and you’ll perfect how to suck.” Hikaru smiles.
“Go die,” Yoshiki says, snatching Hikaru’s stick out of his hands and hurling it into the woods.
“We’ll talk about it later!” Hikaru yells as Yoshiki stomps off.
-
They do not talk more about it later. It seems Yoshiki’s putting extra effort into not talking about it and everyday Hikaru’s side-lined by his terrible upperclassmen. Yeah, Hikaru could suck-up to them. He could use honorifics. He could eat and breathe football until his own merit propelled him into good standing. But all that takes time, and Hikaru won't kowtow to anyone.
After being blatantly ignored in club, Hikaru finds Yoshiki patiently leaning against the shoe lockers. At a distance, Hikaru can tell he’s been growing again from his proportions. Yoshiki’s new gakuran fits his broad shoulders better than his trousers fit his hips. His belt cinches up the slack, bunching up the waist of his trousers into pleats that makes his legs look even longer. In contrast, Hikaru looks like he’s swimming in his gakuran jacket.
Hikaru schools his features so he doesn’t scowl. Without slowing his pace, he snatches the sleeve of Yoshiki’s gakuran and drags him along to the bike rack.
Yoshiki stumbles. “Jeeze, what's eatin you?”
“I was benched fer most of practice t’day,” He says briskly.
“So what?” Yoshiki says, ripping his sleeve from Hikaru’s grasp, “I thought ya said playing didn’t matter and you’d be happy t’ goof off.”
“It’s the principle of it!” Hikaru says, strangling his handlebars, “I’m still part of the team, ain’t I?”
“Why’s it so important that you fit in?” Yoshiki asks.
“What’s it mean if ya don’t?” Hikaru asks in return, “its the whole point.”
“...Ya lost me,” Yoshiki says, throwing a leg over his bike.
Hikaru considers Yoshiki for a second as he smoothly pedals ahead. “Yeah, maybe you wouldn’t get it.”
-
Hikaru invites himself into Yoshiki’s home.
“I haven’t got the new volume yet,” Yoshiki says, thumbing through his manga, “where’d you leave off? Volume seven? You can read it here but yer not taking it home with ya.”
“Ye of little faith,” Hikaru sneers.
“I know how you are.” Yoshiki says, flipping through the clean, crisp pages.
Hikaru wiggles his toes. His socks are kinda damp and his hands feel clammy too.
“Hey, Yoshiki…” Hikaru says, combing his hair with his fingers, “remember what I was asking fer your help with a few days ago —”
“No, Hikaru. I said I wasn’t gonna do it.” Yoshiki says, bowing up.
“Yer the only one who can do it!” Hikaru insists, “yer my best friend —who else can I count on?”
Yoshiki slots volume seven back into its numerical order on his shelf. “…Na, I don’t wanna.”
Hikaru groans, falling to his knees, “It’s not asking a lot! Yoshiki!”
“Enough of the theatrics,” Yoshiki sighs, “I know yer just fooling around.”
Hikaru looks up at Yoshiki, wondering if he could muster up a few crocodile tears when a better idea comes to mind.
“Please,” Hikaru says, appealing to Yoshiki’s sense of superiority by lowering his head to the floor.
“I swear t’ —” Yoshiki hisses, yanking Hikaru upright by his jacket. “Stop it, alright?”
“You’ll do it?” Hikaru asks.
“...if that means you’ll shut up about it.” Yoshiki says.
“Sweet. Okay, so I'm thinking somewhere inconspicuous,” Hikaru babbles, feeling an odd excitement as he unbuttons his gakuran and shrugs it down to his elbows, “where mama won’t see right off the bat would be nice, but I trust your instincts.”
“Right now?” Yoshiki asks.
“Yeah? Did ya have somethin’ else t’ do?” Hikaru asks, raising an eyebrow.
Slowly settling onto his knees a respectable distance from Hikaru, Yoshiki looks to be in pain, hunched and frowning, his hands gripping the loose folds of his gakuran.
“You can’t fuck it up, I promise,” Hikaru adds encouragingly.
Yoshiki shuffles closer, cautiously like Hikaru’s a bomb that needs defusing. One shaking finger hooks into the soft cotton of Hikaru’s plain white shirt and pulls it down. Hikaru looks at Yoshiki’s other hand balled up on his thigh, bracing against whatever strange nerves that seem to be weighing on him.
Hikaru feels Yoshiki’s bangs tickle his earlobe and he wants to squirm.
Yoshiki’s nose and lips are cool against his neck, idle if not for the moist flair of exhalation parting them, causing a buzzing twinge to zip down Hikaru’s spine. Willing himself to remain perfectly still takes all of Hikaru’s concentration as Yoshiki’s hot mouth attaches to his neck. It feels like his body wants to split into halves and curl away from the bizarre sensation. It almost hurts but it also feels…really nice.
The suction breaks with a wet noise. Yoshiki takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Hows it look?” Hikaru says and turns his head. Their noses brush and Yoshiki’s jerking away so fast he nearly falls backwards.
“Sorry!” Hikaru laughs, his heart pounding, “Wasn’t tryin’ t’ give ya a free nose-job.”
Yoshiki’s flushed and unsmiling face dips, a curtain of glossy bangs falling to obscure it. His hands rest elegantly on his lap. “You can check it out in the bathroom mirror, if ya want.”
“Good idea,” Hikaru says, standing on wobbly legs. He nearly falls down the stairs, feeling uncoordinated and overheated. He flips on the dim bathroom light and admires his new hickey.
It’s a pink yen-sized mark, just above the collar of his shirt. Hikaru touches it gingerly, expecting it to be sore but it isn’t. When he leans against the sink to get a closer look in the mirror he discovers he’s half-hard. He didn’t even notice before. Hikaru looks down at himself and then out into the kitchen, where Yoshiki hadn’t followed him downstairs.
-
Hikaru attends club the following day, hoping his neck might be the topic of conversation.
“Hey, check her out!” His teammate says loudly, showing off a picture on his phone.
“She’s pretty cute, but her chest is flat.” Says one of Hikaru’s underclassmen.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Someone gets pushed into a locker playfully. “Yeah, you asshole!”
No one noticed during practice, or even now, as they strip down in the locker room. Hikaru pulls his begrudgingly dry gym shirt over his head and stuffs it into his bag.
“She needs t’ have big ones, or else it’d be like dating a dude.”
“Stop, or I'll throw up!”
“Yer heartless.”
“Man, ya gotta lower yer standards if ya ever want a girlfriend.” An upperclassman says, tossing his sweaty shirt at the kid.
It irks Hikaru, but he supposes the elaborate backstory he’s created for his new fictional girlfriend could use more development anyways. Her height, personality, what she likes to eat, and where she lives is currently undecided and being consistent is crucial when fabricating such a lie.
Him getting a real girlfriend is not out of the realm of possibility, Hikaru thinks, stretching his arms above his head and feeling his abdomen tense. He’s good looking. It’s completely believable that he’d get a girlfriend. There’s plenty of girls who’d go out with him.
Hikaru thinks back to Yoshiki’s question the other day. Why is it necessary for him to be liked? Usually he doesn’t even have to try, but it seems that in the minds of the guys around him there’s an undercurrent of thought that Hikaru can’t quite grasp.
It’s still disappointing that none of his clubmates notice the adorable little bruise, but he can’t be the one to call attention to it.
Maybe it should be more obvious.
Hikaru will just ask Yoshiki to try harder.
-
“C’mon, Yoshiki,” Hikaru switches from coercion to bullying, blocking Yoshiki’s exit from his room.
“You’re being overbearing.” Yoshiki says, his hands making fists like he wants to sock Hikaru in the gut.
“My birthdays around the corner! C’mon.” Hikaru says.
“Yer birthday is in five months.” Yoshiki growls, “and why would you even want that as a present?”
“Whatever —look, ya already did it once! What's one more time gonna hurt?” Hikaru says, laying the charm on thick. Typically, Yoshiki gives into his whims without hesitation, so it's strange he’s being so stubborn about it.
Yoshiki bites his lip. “Fine. Sit down.”
Hikaru does, choosing the bed this time, which is much more pleasant on his knees. He removes his gakuran jacket entirely and tosses it behind him as Yoshiki shuts his bedroom door.
He approaches Hikaru like he’s being led to the gallows.
“And you’ve said I'm the dramatic one,” Hikaru whistles, “don’t act like it’s the worst thing ever, yer hurtin’ my pride.”
“You ever think your pride might be the issue here?” Yoshiki says, cautiously sitting beside Hikaru.
“Na, there ain’t sucha thing.” Hikaru says.
Yoshiki looks down at their legs, as if contemplating the logistics of their positions. He places one knee mindfully outside Hikaru’s without touching, and his left leg dangles off the edge of the mattress. They’re pretty close like this, and Hikaru can smell Yoshiki’s skin.
“Any special requests?” Yoshiki says, almost like he’s trying to be funny but can’t quite manage it.
“Yeah,” Hikaru says, feeling a little lightheaded and somehow hot and cold simultaneously, “make it count this time.”
Yoshiki stares at Hikaru for a moment, his expression is grim as his slate-grey eyes travel the canvas of Hikaru’s throat. Hikaru does similarly, his gaze flits over the features of Yoshiki’s face curiously, unaccustomed to their closeness.
“Stop lookin’ at me,” Yoshiki huffs, turning away.
“Why not? Yer not doing anything.”
“I’m thinking!” Yoshiki flusters.
“It ain’t rocket science!” Hikaru insists but angles his head towards Yoshiki’s bedroom door anyways.
Eventually, Yoshiki finds the appropriate section of skin to suckle. He begins timidly before quickly dedicating himself to the task. Hikaru forces himself to remain statuesque and focuses on the gleam of the doorknob across the room, even as he wants to turn inside-out from the stimulation. Yoshiki’s breathing is shaky but controlled, but the sound of his mouth is borderline pornographic and Hikaru’s face feels feverishly hot.
This is bad, Hikaru thinks as Yoshiki moves to a new spot and starts anew. This one is higher on the neck and Hikaru jolts when he feels teeth raking over his skin.
“Whoa, take it easy,” Hikaru warbles faintly.
“Ya want a hickey ‘r not?” Yoshiki says to Hikaru’s ear and his skin turns to gooseflesh.
Hikaru grits his teeth as Yoshiki inlays his into Hikaru’s neck, holding and sucking what’s sure to be a wicked hickey. His bones feel like they're melting and Hikaru hopes Yoshiki can’t palpate his heart beating wild and fast.
The doorknob is brushed brass, shiny from the friction of hands over time. It has a subtle dent in the curvature from bouncing off Hikaru’s skull a year ago when they were goofing around. He desperately tries to remember that pain, to counteract the arousal that he shouldn’t be experiencing.
Hikaru shivers when Yoshiki’s lips brush at the juncture where his neck joins his trapezius muscle. He imagines it would be satisfying to bite there, since there’s a ridge of soft, chewy tissue to clamp down on.
Every so often, Hikaru will catch Yoshiki wearing his most comfortable shirt that hangs off his shoulder —seams popped by Hikaru after years of scuffling —revealing his neck and thin bird-like clavicles and the papery thin skin that dips into them. Hikaru allows himself to think about how when Yoshiki bends at the waist, the collar of that particular shirt falls open, Hikaru can see straight to Yoshiki’s belly button. Something hot and depraved turns over in Hikaru’s stomach and he squeezes his eyes shut.
Suddenly, Yoshiki’s clammy hand is on the opposite side of Hikaru’s neck, as if to brace him or something and Yoshiki bites him good and hard.
Hikaru gasps unintentionally. Yoshiki sucks sharply and his breath shudders like he’s been trying to hold it. He must be real serious about this one with how diligent he’s being, or maybe it’s punishment for Hikaru making him do it at all, because Yoshiki’s abruptly tugging the tender flesh between his jaws and it strums Hikaru’s nerves so viciously that he flinches. Hikaru jerks, causing his knee to push against Yoshiki’s groin and he becomes soberingly aware that Yoshiki’s turned on too.
Yoshiki’s hands fly to his lap, as if to protect himself, but then the blood drains from his face and he quickly sets backward onto the bed, his breath coming heavy and fast.
They regard one another silently, building tension that feels shockingly polarizing even as their bodies mirror one another. Before Hikaru can say anything to relieve the tension, Yoshiki pivots away from him and hugs his knees.
Well, if it feels good to get a hickey, it must feel good to give one, Hikaru thinks, his mind reeling and unrestrained by the codex of social acceptability. It doesn’t strike him as abnormal or anything —it would be weirder if they had no reaction.
“Woulda never guessed you’d be so good at that,” Hikaru awkwardly flatters him.
“M’ sorry,” Yoshiki says, his voice thick.
It’ll take years for Yoshiki to recover from this level of humiliation, Hikaru thinks. An idea trickles into his brain, so obscene and provocative that it causes the ache in his loins to flair. Hikaru siddles up next to Yoshiki on the bed.
“I ain’t gonna be able to go downstairs like this, so don’t mind me.” Hikaru says, turning lean onto Yoshiki’s back. Their spines slot side-by-side, firm and warm.
The sound of his zipper is horribly loud in the silence of the room. He feels Yoshiki’s torso rotate and look over his shoulder and then correct himself, saying nothing.
Hikaru pulls his painfully hard dick out of his boxers, slightly embarrassed even though Yoshiki can’t see him. Too late to be shy now. Hikaru closes his eyes and touches himself slowly, imagining his faceless girlfriend kneeling before him.
He fondles himself, letting out a small noise just so Yoshiki knows it’s okay. It’s okay to do it like this. Guys masturbate all the time —or at least Hikaru does. Yoshiki probably does too. They do everything else together, so why not do this?
Hikaru’s conjuring up his imaginary girlfriend's facial features when he feels Yoshiki’s backbone straighten and shoulderblade glide underneath his. An elbow bumps into Hikaru’s and rather than pull away, Hikaru keeps it right there. The motion of Yoshiki’s arm jostles Hikaru slightly and there’s no way Yoshiki’s not jerking off too.
He wonders how Yoshiki does it, and the idea makes the backs of his knees sweat. Hikaru strokes his dick faster and sighs, the blazing pleasure makes his body lax and the crown of his head bumps into Yoshiki’s. Hikaru can smell him, along with traces of detergent and shampoo and something molten draws up in his core, a taut line of arousal.
He wishes he could watch Yoshiki, just to see his technique. He’s so quiet, even when doing it. Hikaru imagines Yoshiki’s expression while he does it, all pinched and unhappy looking —no, focused is a better word for that. Yoshiki is always focused on something, it seems. It’s kind of sexy when Yoshiki gets distracted like that.
Maybe it’s Hikaru Yoshiki’s focused on —the thought slugs him in the belly, hot like fire and brimstone —maybe Yoshiki’s stroking him off, attentively watching his face. Maybe it’s Yoshiki’s cheek smushed against Hikaru’s thigh, nose pushed into his pubes and as Hikaru’s hips buck, he’ll —
He forgets about personal space and decency when he orgasms; he throws his back, neck hooking over Yoshiki’s shoulder as he blathers profanity under his breath. His heels dig into the mattress and legs tremble as he comes onto his shirt.
“Holy fuck,” Hikaru says, intoxicated, belatedly catching lazy pulses of semen wants to dribble down onto his trousers and wipes it on his ruined undershirt with the rest of the mess.
After recovering for a second, Hikaru stumbles to his feet and checks the bedspread for any stray jizz. He notices Yoshiki’s gone very still, doubled over with his hair shrouding his face from view.
“Ya okay?” Hikaru asks, adjusting his trousers and belt.
“Will…you grab the tissues?” Yoshiki mumbles.
Hikaru does as asked and stands facing the door, eyes fixed to the doorknob as Yoshiki cleans himself up behind him. The semen on his shirt is drying, sticking the fabric to his abdomen.
He just masturbated in the same room with Yoshiki. Touching Yoshiki while he did it.
Thinking about Yoshiki while he did it.
Hikaru might regret the brother comparison.
-
“What’s her name?”
“Like the hell I’d tell you!” Hikaru laughs and he pulls off his jersey.
“C’mon Indou, don’t be so secretive about her.” An upperclassman scoffs, “not when she’s mauling you like a dog on a school night.”
“We’re not even technically dating yet,” Hikaru says, removing his gym shirt and carelessly inverting it in the process.
“I can’t believe you’re getting ass and I’m not.”
“You can’t?” Hikaru gloats, “I’m pretty cute, for starters. I dunno what your excuse is,”
“How far have ya’ll gone?”
Hikaru thinks about this one, falling against a locker. “Oh, third base.”
“No way!”
“Ya got any pictures?”
“Of course he’s got pictures, probably not of her face!”
“Let’s see ‘em!”
“Tsujinaka-kun is waiting fer you at the shoe locker.” A teammate says as he walks in, “he told me t’ tell you to hurry the fuck up.”
“What a loyal friend, I’d leave ya the second you was late,”
“How’s Tsujinaka-kun feel about all this? I bet you never shut up about her.”
“Probably jealous!”
Hikaru pulls a clean shirt over his head. “I dunno —”
“He ain’t never had a girlfriend, right? Has he ever liked one?”
A small discomfort worms into Hikaru’s brain as Yoshiki’s brought up. He shimmies on his trousers and starts tucking in his shirt. The delicate social balance of offense and defense is a lot like football. A shitty game of keep-away. If Hikaru rouses too hotly in Yoshiki’s defense, it can imply a bias that would undoubtedly intrigue his teammates.
“Yeah right!” Someone cackles.
A couple of teammates laugh, “If Tsujinaka-kun liked a girl, she’d reject him right away. He’s too gloomy lookin’.”
“My mama said his parents might divorce —maybe that’s why he’s so gloomy.” Someone says, and the room collectively hushes into giggles and whispers.
“His parents ain’t gonna separate, ya idiots.” Hikaru chimes in loudly, “and he could totally get a girlfriend if he tried.”
“Bet he’s a prude about it,” Someone says, “seems real straight-laced.”
“Yeah, did you see his face when Keiko-chan flipped her skirt on accident?”
“He looked like he was gonna die!” Someone else guffaws, “I don’t think he could handle a girlfriend.”
The fun is relatively good-natured but Hikaru feels a pang of guilt in his chest.
“Ya’ll might be surprised,” Hikaru mutters, tightening his belt.
-
Conifers hold color as the broad-leaf trees shed their leaves in sheets, standing out in dense swathes of blue-green and shading the naked hillsides from the aggressive winter sun.
Hikaru attempts to duck under the heavy branches, but gets a collar full of stabbing evergreen needles. He twists away from the branch and slaps into another.
“Stop freakin’ out,” Yoshiki says, pulling the branch out of Hikaru’s face.
“I don’t get how you can maneuver ‘round them so easy being so freakishly t —” Hikaru sputters as Yoshiki lets the branch spring back into his face.
“Spatial awareness, fer one,” Yoshiki says, snagging Hikaru’s jacket and dragging him out from underneath the umbrella of despicable needles.
Hikaru brushes himself off, “go’ta hell.”
“Right,” Yoshiki says cryptically, continuing up the incline. He stops, turning to Hikaru. “Are we still following the deer trail? Do ya even remember where this surprise was?”
“Uh, see where the trees are thinned out that ways?” Hikaru gestures vaguely, “that’s the direction.”
“Got it,” Yoshiki says, pausing so that Hikaru can pass him.
Hikaru’s of the opinion that Yoshiki likes to be led, though he’s not said as much. It seems like he’s always waiting for Hikaru to take the initiative. In this case, only Hikaru knows the way.
“What were ya even doing out here alone?”
“I got other hobbies asides from you, Yoshiki,” Hikaru jabs.
Yoshiki mumbles something that Hikaru doesn't hear above the racket of their footsteps crushing leaves blanketing the forest floor.
The trail narrows and ascends the hillside aggressively enough that it begins to feel more like a hike than a casual stroll. He’s surprised Yoshiki’s not scolded him for lying about the level of activity involved in their adventure.
Yoshiki’s been too quiet these days, Hikaru thinks.
“You alright?” Hikaru asks and feels stupid for it.
“I’m fine,” Yoshiki says quickly. Hikaru purses his lips.
Considering they’ve been orbiting each other for the past nine years, whatever's plaguing Yoshiki is probably Hikaru’s fault, despite recent events.
“It don’t seem like it. Ya got something on yer mind?” Hikaru asks, turning to walk backwards so he can face Yoshiki.
Yoshiki blushes. “Stop it —you’ll fall down, idiot.”
“What’dya take me for? I’m half mountain goat,” Hikaru laughs, “C’mon!”
“I don’t really wanna talk ‘bout it.” Yoshiki says, his tone of voice diligently neutral.
So it does have to do with him, Hikaru thinks and frowns.
Yoshiki doesn't know it, but Hikaru needs his stoicism. It’s the unchanging foundation of their friendship. He needs Yoshiki to be predictable. He needs Yoshiki. Who cares if they beat off in the same room? He’ll apologize for that when Yoshiki’s emotionally prepared for it, which may never happen if he keeps this up.
But Hikaru’s not sure when he’ll be prepared for that conversation either. He’s not even grappled with the reality of being sexually attracted to Yoshiki. His skin prickles, uncomfortably warm as his brain ushers lewd images into his mind’s eye. He resumes walking normally to hide his too hot face.
Gracefully, Yoshiki changes the subject. “Saw you playing yesterday. Your upperclassmen finally give ya a break?”
“Yep,” Hikaru says, “my plan worked out perfectly.”
“What…exactly did ya tell ‘em?” Yoshiki asks suspiciously.
“That I got a girlfriend.” Hikaru says.
Yoshiki sighs. “How’re you gonna keep that lie up?”
“I dunno. Haven’t thought that far ahead.” Hikaru says nonchalantly, “got any ideas?”
“I don’t think I’m the guy t’ ask.” Yoshiki says.
“You’re smart n’ stuff,” Hikaru says, “What more qualifications do ya need? Besides, only you know I ain’t dating anyone.”
Yoshiki hums. Hikaru interprets it as tacit agreement.
“So, how do I get a picture of my girlfriend who don’t exist?”
“Just find one online.” Yoshiki offers.
“Feels kinda lame,” Hikaru says.
“Lamer than asking a stranger for her picture to use?" Yoshiki asks.
Both options feel gross to consider. Hikaru worries his lip. The cursory thought of dolling Yoshiki up passes into his mind but is disregarded just as rapidly.
“Ah, whatever. I got time to figure it out,” Hikaru says.
“Ya hear that?” Yoshiki says suddenly.
He twists to look at Yoshiki and then past him in the direction they came from. The lenient sloping hillside seems to preen under golden hour’s crisp sunlight dusting the swaying treetops. The forest turns a saturated orange and purple, cool hues where the shadows wring loose from the leaf litter and stalk between the trees.
“It’s probably nothin’. We’re almost there.” Hikaru says, his brain imagining things shifting in the dim static of dusk.
The direction of the wind changes and Hikaru hones in on the scent of death. They continue following the trail as it skirts around the side of a rocky outcrop tinseled with lichen.
The sika stag is exactly where Hiakru saw it a week prior, antlers fatally wedged in the crook of a tree. Its body is ugly and elongated with horror, somewhat deflated and preserved by the cool temperatures. The smell is gamey and pungent and the damp earth around the carcass is gouged from fear. Its eyes are milky white and sunken into its skull.
Hikaru turns to Yoshiki.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
-
The Indou temple was cool and dry in the summer time, no matter how oppressively hot and humid the weather. Hikaru would sometimes hide there when the village elders came around to speak with his mama, driven out of the house by their commanding voices. He was just a boy, after all, he heard his mama say, so he became just a boy. A silly, stupid boy. Besides, he didn’t want to hear them talk that way about his daddy.
The temple was safe. No one messed with Hichi-san and no one would mess with Hikaru.
He sat on the floor with his flashlight and studied the heads. The light cast upon their wooden countenance in stark, unflattering relief and revealed every small detail carved into the faces. All of them were real, alive people at some point. All of them sacrificed. Hikaru squeezed his fingers around the handle of the flashlight and tried to imagine it; tried to empathetically encompass the great scope of death and destruction caused by one relative. A lonely moth fluttered towards the flashlights beam. Hikaru yawned and wondered what Yoshiki might be doing later.
The flashlight's beam slid from the kind face of an elderly woman and fell onto a young person's face.
Hikaru’s knees scraped on the floors as he scooted closer. It kinda looked like Yoshiki. The eyes maybe? The straightness of the nose? Yoshiki had a penchant for being about as expressive as a chunk of wood, Hikaru supposed. He reached up and touched Yoshiki’s cheek, his fingers smoothly traveled down his polished jaw and to his chin where Hikaru imagined his skin to be more pliant. Rosy. He’d been this close to Yoshiki when he slept over last, just as silent and still as he was here, in the temple. Hikaru held his breath and felt a strange sensation that pricked at the nape of his neck.
Hikaru drew close until his lips brushed Yoshiki’s. Naturally, he’d be shy and closed-mouthed. Hikaru turned his head experimentally and thought of the ways Yoshiki would kiss back. How he would taste. Something zapped pleasurably in his grey matter and rolled across his tongue.
Why did it have to be Yoshiki?
Hikaru pulled away. Dust motes floated lazily into the flashlight’s beam.
What a weird thing to have done.
“Sorry, Hichi-san.”
-
“How…intimate do you want to be?” Yoshiki says.
Hikaru blinks. “Huh?”
“Your pretend girlfriend. How, uh, how intimate are ya’ll?” Yoshiki asks.
“Oh, um,” Hikaru straightens up in his seat, “we’ve gone all the way. She’s a big fan.”
Yoshiki scoffs and scribbles something in his pocket-sized notepad. Hikaru wonders if what he’s experiencing is how being psychoanalyzed feels.
“I think,” Yoshiki begins sullenly, "in this fiction yer trying to create, it’s the most believable that’d you’d have a few pictures of one another.”
“Does that include nudes?” Hikaru asks.
Yoshiki blushes, not looking away from his notepad. “I dunno, sure.”
“I see,” Hikaru says, holding his chin. How in the fuck will he manage that?
“You’d have probably gotten her a gift at this point too,” Yoshiki says, tapping his mechanical pencil against his lower lip, “or exchanged gifts, or somethin’.”
“What type of gift?” Hikaru wonders, “What should I be lookin’ fer?”
“It’s your fictional girlfriend —I dunno what she likes.” Yoshiki mutters.
“Can’t ya be like, a stand-in for her?” Hikaru says, not really seeing the issue with the juxtaposition.
Yoshiki’s face scrunches up. “How am I the best candidate fer that?”
“Well, you have a lil’ sister,” Hikaru says, “n’ thats more than I got, I guess.”
“That doesn’t really mean anything,” Yoshiki says, starting to get annoyed, “I can help ya pick somethin’ but if you don’t know what yer made-up girlfriend likes, it’s gonna be difficult.”
“Does it really matter that much?”
“Yer the one lyin’ about it,” Yoshiki says, “how much does it matter?”
“Shit. This is becomin’ a bit of a hassle, huh?” Hikaru laughs dryly.
“Told ya so,” Yoshiki says, like a fucking know-it-all. Hikaru groans.
“Maybe they’ll all forget about her soon,” Hikaru grumbles, holding his head in his hands.
“Doubt it,” Yoshiki says unhelpfully.
“I thought ya was supposed t’ be helping me —not making me feel like a dumbass!” Hikaru growls.
“Okay,” Yoshiki says sharply, “what’ll help is breaking up with her.”
“No way!” Hikaru slaps his own thighs, “we jus’ started dating! I’ll look fuckin’ pathetic!”
“Hikaru, you lied about gettin’ a girlfriend,” Yoshiki says, “if that ain’t pathetic…”
“Yeah, but it worked!” Hikaru gasps.
Abruptly, Yoshiki breaks into clipped, breathy laughter.
“W-what’s s’ funny?” Hikaru asks weakly, torn between delight and horror.
“Ya really have no issue with being so shallow, huh?” Yoshiki says, “you’d insist on keepin’ up the charade for the attention of yer clubmates until ya can’t.”
Hikaru’s slack-jawed. Yeah, he’s shameless but why does Yoshiki care?
“What’re ya…” Hikaru says softly, “I can’t believe it…yer jealous.”
“She doesn't exist, Hikaru!” Yoshiki says, outraged.
“Then why’re you so mad?” Hikaru shouts, unflinching as Yoshiki snags his jacket collar and yanks him forward over the space between their seats. Their eyes meet for what feels like an eternity and Hikaru pulse jumps.
“I…” Yoshiki seems to abandon his frustration in one long exhale and his hand drops from Hikaru’s jacket. “I shoulda never let ya talk me into this.”
“Into what?” Hikaru asks, reeling.
“Are ya stupid?” Yoshiki asks, but it feels too insipid to be a real insult.
“Is this about us jerking off together?” Hikaru says, lowering his voice to a whisper despite the train being mostly empty, “I’m sorry if I took it too far, I don’t know what I was thinkin’.”
Except he did know what he was thinking, and he did it anyway. Except his fictional girlfriend requires too much effort, but he needs an excuse to have Yoshiki touch him. Hikaru tries to tell himself literally anyone would do, but he’s probably just one of those perverts who’ll fantasize about their best friend every time he’s beating his meat from now on.
Yoshiki’s gaze narrows on his face and Hikaru gives into the urge to look down at his hands, made bashful by the revolutionary thought that he’s not guaranteed to have Yoshiki’s attention, regardless if he’d prefer it over that of fair-weather friends. He’s not promised Yoshiki at all. It makes him feel tender, like the bloated abdomen of the dead stag ready to burst. He’s lucky Yoshiki’s even talking to him. He should change the subject, or defuse the tension with laughter —anything.
“Didya like it?” Hikaru asks impulsively instead, his previously non-existent need for validation voided and the swift desire for clarity overriding it. He glances at Yoshiki from the corner of his eye.
Yoshiki’s face is obscured by his bangs, however color swiftly rises onto his neck.
“Yeah,” Yoshiki finally replies in the tortured way he’s liable to behave when cornered.
Hikaru’s mouth is inexplicably very dry. He unsticks his tongue from his hard palate. “Okay.”
He leans back into his seat, interlocking his sweaty fingers, hoping to project the spirit of calmness as his heart rockets in his chest. So, what does this mean?
“Do…ya wanna keep doing it?” Hikaru asks tentatively. He barely notices the train slowing to a crawl until the brakes whine.
Yoshiki stares at him until it seems like he’s staring through him. Something is swiftly announced over the intercom.
“This is our stop.” Yoshiki stands up, brushing off his jeans and adjusting the strap of his crossbody.
Hikaru watches Yoshiki alight from the train, stopping on the platform to look expectantly at him.
The tiny tourist attraction just south of Ashidori has less unique merchandise than what’s available in Mion, but crossing the boundary to be outside of their awful little village does feel amazing, Hikaru thinks. It’s like he could almost relax and be truly unaccountable. Almost.
They explore the quaint shops together, perusing the local products laid out in neat rows and on teetering displays.
Hikaru thinks about what Yoshiki said on the train. He’s probably right. The best move is to end the sham before he’s found out to be a liar fooling around with his best friend. Honestly, Hikaru could care less about the social pressures and public opinion, however, so it's delicately overlaid with the expectations of his family, which he’s obligated to care about.
He can’t bring himself to shop for his own gift. He starts falling behind Yoshiki, his enthusiasm for the scheme of the century unraveling and dragging behind him. He absently flips through a stack of manga older than he is. Stares at a wall of plushies. Browses a rack of shirts without really looking at any of them.
Hikaru’s stomach growls. He shoves Yoshiki’s shoulder, tearing his attention away from floral embossed stationary. “Hey, are ya hungry?”
“Yeah, grab somethin’, I’ll be back in a minute."
Yoshiki vanishes completely into the crush of people bottlenecked around vendors and shop entrances. Hikaru continues to wander, opting to wait in a short line to purchase meat buns rather than fight the mass of writhing people for anything more substantial.
In the end, Yoshiki’s passively sparing him from yet another terrible idea. Though he’s never shied away from outright and openly condemning Hikaru, this method saves his pride from being shredded to bits. It’s actually pretty considerate of Yoshiki. This way, they can slide right back into their very normal, blasé friendship and disregard the funny-business. Hikaru doesn’t even know what he would do if he had Yoshiki, and wonders if that unpreparedness is mutual.
Yoshiki seems to materialize out of thin air the second Hikaru’s worried about having to hold two meatbuns. He passes one to Yoshiki.
“Thanks,” Yoshiki says. He’s holding a gift bag in this other hand.
“Did ya buy something?” Hikaru asks with his mouth full of scalding hot meatbun.
“Yeah, for Kaoru,” Yoshiki says, flashing Hikaru a glimpse of a glittery purple notebook.
Yoshiki kind of sucks at gift-giving, Hikaru thinks. “I dunno if Kaoru’s destined t’ be a certified weirdo like you —writing everything down by hand.”
“She can do whatever she wants with it,” Yoshiki says, looking towards the train station, “It looks like it might rain. Do you want t’ head back?”
“That’d be fine,” Hikaru agrees, squinting up at the pale, overcast sky. The thick clouds billowing in from the south look intimidating and grey.
On the train, smushed between other passengers and Yoshiki, Hikaru keeps his eyes diligently facing forward.
-
“M’ sorry about callin’ ya stupid earlier,” Yoshiki says unexpectedly outside of the Tsujinaka residence as Hikaru’s about to mosey on home, “will ya hang out for a minute?”
Hikaru glances down the street and then at Yoshiki. “Yeah.”
They toe off their shoes in the genkan and climb the perilous stairs to Yoshiki’s bedroom.
Hikaru drops onto Yoshiki’s mattress, “I’ve been thinkin’ about what ya said, n’ you’re right. The charade is too much trouble t’ keep up with.
“And I shouldn’ta dragged ya into it either,” Hikaru says, tactfully omitting their more risque physical entanglements because, frankly, he’s not sorry about that.
Yoshiki hums, setting the gift bag on his desk and shrugging off his coat.
“Are ya even listening?” Hikaru asks.
Digging through the gift bag, Yoshiki retrieves something and gently tosses it at Hikaru who scrambles to catch it.
“What —” Hikaru says, confused. It’s a keyring with two simple white pompoms dangling from it on fine chains. Hikaru’s expression must be candid because Yoshiki looks away and clears his throat.
“I changed my mind. Don’t break up with her, but don’t date her either.” Yoshiki says, being purposefully vague.
“Yoshiki,” Hikaru drawls, “then what are we?”
“Just say yer friends with benefits.” Yoshiki offers simply, “and she got ya that t’ let ya down easy.”
Hikaru holds up the keychain towards the window's dull light as he ruminates on Yoshiki’s shockingly clever idea. It’s doable, Hikaru thinks, very doable.
“Did ya choose these cuz they reminded you of mince-aniki’s balls?”
“ …yeah.” Yoshiki says quietly.
Hikaru makes a snorting noise, falling backward onto Yoshiki’s bed.
“Friends with benefits,” Hikaru repeats thoughtfully, “I’m sure that’ll go over alright.”
-
Hikaru pulls off his shirt, mussing up his sweaty hair, “I’m serious, that's exactly what happened.”
“I ain’t buying it,” an upperclassman laughs.
“We don’t know —maybe Indou-chan’s a real sexual dynamo?”
“Shut up, Sakamoto!”
“She can’t date ya but she’ll fuck around with ya? Yeah right.” One of his upperclassman jibes. “Ain’t no way your dick is that big.”
“Crazy how personality really is everythin’, huh?” Hikaru smiles, stepping into his trousers.
“There isn’t a chance in hell!” Someone says and his teammates laugh in chorus.
“What was the issue?” Hikaru’s underclassmen asks earnestly, “did ya not like her enough?”
Hikaru blanks momentarily. “Na…I like her a lot. A whole lot.”
“So when ya’ll getting married?” His upperclassman guffaws.
“She’s already been accepted into college, so it’s not gonna be a forever thing.” Hikaru says.
“I knew she was older than you, ya dog,”
“Ya make me sick.”
“Fer real —why can’t I get that lucky?”
Hikaru crams his gym clothes into his bag, “Eh, luck had nothin’ to do with it.”
-
It’s strange how quickly a mind can change; how a thought or opinion forms like soft clay, molded between warm palms. Hikaru recalls how when he and Yoshiki were little they would play at the creek, finding deposits of sticky, silty clay runoff from the mines and would press their fingers into it for the sake of blemishing the smoothness, like they couldn’t bear to see something uniform and untouched.
He wonders if that impulse works the same way with being attracted to people’s bodies. Is there a stretch of Yoshiki’s skin he’s not defiled? Well, aside from any skin above the collar and visible —Yoshiki’s very adamant about that and would probably keel over dead from the onslaught of attention a hickey would bring him —and Hikaru can see the logic in it, but he delights in spinning a yarn. Yoshiki unlatches from Hikaru’s neck with a wet sound.
“Hows it look?” Hikaru asks.
“Ain’t nothin’ special,” Yoshiki replies and licks a broad stripe along Hikaru’s throat.
Hikaru shudders, glancing down at him. Yoshiki’s lean, almost frail without clothing on to disguise him, but shockingly heavy. Hikaru can feel his hip bones cutting into his upper thigh, making his legs tingle numbly from the pressure, but Yoshiki looks too pretty to bully right now. Yoshiki rests his forehead on the meaty part of Hikaru’s shoulder.
“You need t’ wash up.” Yoshiki mumbles.
“Hmm,” Hikaru considers, “ya sound like my mama.”
“Yer so gross," Yoshiki sighs. A hypocrite, seeing as his face is basically shoved into Hikaru’s armpit.
Yoshiki grumbles as Hikaru grabs his face, craning his neck up to kiss him. He’d kissed away the flavor of toothpaste from his mouth earlier, and what remains is all Yoshiki. Propping himself up on his elbows, Yoshiki mollifies Hikaru’s urges. It’s probably not necessary that they kiss —Hikaru almost wishes they could stop, because it’s so overly indulgent and sinful —but it feels so damned good.
Kissing Yoshiki feels like being hijacked by hot, marvelous sensations; driven by unknowable biology and indiscretion. It feels like his unconscious, sprawling disposition aligns, sharp and competent only to be scrambled when Yoshiki pulls away.
Kissing Yoshiki feels like knowing they’re gonna die one day and not be able to do it anymore, so he’s committed to doing it as much as possible. That’s how adults caution drugs: a careless, unstoppable momentum that destroys lives and Hikaru wonders if maybe it’s too late for him. It would be ridiculous to stop now.
Yoshiki inhales into the kiss and Hikaru can feel his dick throbbing against his leg. Hikaru angles his hips up, squeezing one sex-sticky hand between them and even though they’d just got done doing it once already, the intense, raw feeling reignites and blazes through Hikaru’s belly as Yoshiki pushes back into him.
“Woah,” Hikaru gasps, gripping Yoshiki’s forearms.
Yoshiki stalls, lifting his head from Hikaru’s sweaty chest, “you alright?”
“Aw, are ya worried?” Hikaru smiles, his lip stinging from kissing so much, “relax, I’ll live.”
Yoshiki’s already flushed face becomes even ruddier. His thrusts are rolling but controlled, as all his faculties typically are. It’s so stupid that Yoshiki would like him so much, and it feels like his talents are wasted on Hikaru —the do-nothing be-nothing Indou heir. It’s okay, for now. Hikaru’s certain Yoshiki will come to his senses eventually, after succumbing to sensuality.
“That feels really good,” Hikaru sighs, letting his head fall back onto the futon. The simmering wave of arousal feels like it’s boiling his spine soft and bendable, crawling up his back and shoulders like a blush as Yoshiki begins fucking him a little harder.
“Yeah,” Yoshiki says, his eyes are suspiciously glassy but it’s difficult to tell, hidden behind the curtain of his glossy, damp bangs, “it does.”
Hikaru stops touching himself, inhaling and exhaling slowly in an attempt to stave off coming too soon, but everything about Yoshiki fits just right and it’s not liable to be effective either way.
Maybe Hikaru could’ve been stronger —strong like he was instructed to be —and ignored his aberrant, impulsive thoughts, they’d both be better because of it, but Hikaru’s desire is kinetic and bursts past the taut drumhead of caution.
He can’t predict what will happen in the future between them, but what he knows for certain is fucking Yoshiki feels a hundred times better than not fucking him would.
-
“That’s jus’ the thing, ain’t it?” Hikaru says, snapping a moderately-sized branch off of a fallen tree and examining it. “What they’re fightin’ about doesn’t mean anything. They're probably doin’ it because it’s how they communicate.”
“Hikaru, that makes no sense —we’re communicating right now. What happens in my house isn’t even close t’ this.” Yoshiki says, standing a little taller than his usual tall, color high on his cheekbones and hands deep into his pockets. It’s cold enough to see their breath and it makes being outside a little miserable.
“C’mon,” Hikaru grunts, chucking the defunct branch end-over-end into the naked forest, “really think about it. How much has changed since yer parents met n’ fell in love n’ stuff? If they wanted t’ do it in a better way, wouldn't they have done it already? They might jus’ be comfortable as is.”
“I have thought about it and yer wrong,” Yoshiki says, getting agitated, “It’s not real communication. Nothing comes from it ‘cept defensiveness and everybody in the village gossipin’ about it.”
Hikaru so badly wants to laugh at the absurdity of Yoshiki getting argumentative over a discussion about why his parents are always fighting but he restrains himself. He continues hiking the narrow deer trail, relieved to hear Yoshiki’s footsteps trudging through the leaves behind him, still engaged in their conversation.
“Imagine if yer mama just stopped yellin’ one day,” Hikaru wonders aloud, twisting round to look fondly at Yoshiki, “I bet yer daddy would be scared out of his mind!”
“Yeah, he wouldn’t know what t’ do,” Yoshiki says, meeting Hikaru’s eyes, his breath visible like a cloud.
Yoshiki’s close-lipped smile is a real heart-stopper when he’s not overthinking it like he does for photos. A pleasantly warm sensation roams Hikaru’s body and even as he peels his sticky eyes away from Yoshiki to judge another potential branch, it lingers persistently.
They round the rocky outcrop and Hikaru impulsively swipes at a line of icicles formed on the weeping stone, pulverizing them into glass-like shards.
“Don’t break all of ‘em —that’d be a good photo.” Yoshiki chides, patting his pockets for his phone.
“What a loser,” Hikaru sniffs and keeps walking while Yoshiki fiddles with his camera settings or whatever. If it’s cold enough for icicles, maybe they’ll get snow this year, Hikaru muses, peering through the skeleton branches of leafless trees and into infinite dull grey skies.
Around the bend, where the sika stag is assured to be, Hikaru stops short.
The carcass is still present, now thin with decomposition but its moldy skin and matted fur remains intact, creating a weatherbeaten husk around the bones, but strangely…
Strangely, its head is missing completely.
“Think it coulda been a bear?” Hikaru asks as Yoshiki comes to stand next to him.
“A bear would’ve taken everythin’ and dragged it off,” Yoshiki says, crouching to get a better look at the neck of it, “Poachers is my guess…”
Hikaru gazes across the hillside, vulnerable and unobstructed by leafy trees. The hideous browns and grays blend like pointillism to shape kilometers of bland countryside, highlighted by the yolky evening sunlight as it runs liquid through gaps in the dense clouds.
“Yeah, that’s probably what happened,” Hikaru says, wiping his nose on his sleeve.