Chapter Text
The “Quarterly Wanger” was apparently a well-known event on campus—though Harua had never been ‘in the know’ in the first place. Euijoo had graciously laid it out for him after the others had left early to start setting up for their performance. The host had graduated long ago and made it big as a singer for some time, but moved to producing and now lived in a large house near campus. He was big in the local music scene and always looking for excuses to throw parties like the good ol’ days, all expenses paid. Maybe also creep on college girls, the jury was out on that, though.
Euijoo assured him it was fun on their walk to the party. It wasn’t like a frat party with the same 20 club songs on repeat and spilled drinks everywhere. It had a bit more of a refined edge, though it did “get rowdy.”
“I’m not saying don’t do drugs if you really want to, but just be careful who you’re accepting them from,” Euijoo advised sagely. Harua wanted this, he reminded himself. This was all part of the experience. “I’m only gonna have a few drinks, so you can find me if anything comes up.” Euijoo clasped him on the shoulder, smiling.
“I’ve never done any hard drugs, and I’m not planning on starting,” Harua assured with a curt nod. That was one way he knew Euijoo was American: only shrugging in the face of discussing hard, illegal drugs. It was so different from Japan. It had taken him years to get over his guilt for eating a pinch of an edible with his friends one summer in high school, sweating bullets that he'd randomly get drug tested for some reason when he returned to Japan.
He supposed he’d been underage drinking for years now and would again more tonight, though. So he wasn’t going to judge anyone else.
When they arrived at the street, it took no time to deduce the location of the party. A purplish glow and thump of music cleaved through the quiet neighborhood, drawing their attention to a sizable Victorian in the middle of the block. The rustic eccentricities of the molding and craftsmanship seemed at odds with the musical hum and pulsating lights bursting through its antique paneled windows.
The lawn was littered with people drinking and talking, and the front door was propped open, fog pouring out, and even more bodies moving within the gloom.
“This is crazy,” Harua breathed. He’d never been to an infamous American house party before. His heart was racing despite the dulling blur of pregame shots.
“Jackson knows how to throw a party, that’s for sure. Come on.” Euijoo took his wrist and tugged him along.
The interior of the house was also classy, with high ceilings and wood panel walls making the entire event feel rather glamorous despite the debauchery of the crowd they pressed into. Right away, Harua was presented with two women making out in the entrance hall, one pushing the other against the wall, hand under her shirt. He looked away. Euijoo seemed unbothered, weaving them through the pack of people without a hitch in his step.
“Harua!” Somehow, despite the large sprawl of the house, they ran into Taki almost immediately. The lights were dark and pulsating with colors like a concert, distorting faces, so Haura couldn’t locate Taki until he was right on him. Taki threw himself at him, picking him up and spinning him around even as Harua protested.
When Taki put him back down, Harua got a full view of his flushed, happy face and drooping eyelids. “You’re drunk already?”
“No!” Taki denied it with a wave of his hand, but it was exaggerated and floppy. “We just pregamed first. Had only a few drinks. Just a little drinky drink.” Taki had turned Harua’s pregame invite down and came to the party with his frat brothers, as he apparently did every quarter for this party. Harua had briefly met some of them in the past, though they clearly didn’t like him—too flamboyant for their WASPy taste, he suspected—and sometimes he didn’t approve of what a bad influence they were, but Taki absolutely loved them. Harua opted to come with Euijoo instead.
“A few is all it takes to get you drunk. You’re a lightweight, idiot,” Harua scolded, cupping Taki’s cheeks between his hands and squishing his face. Taki only giggled. He let him go, and Taki stumbled a bit.
Euijoo was on his tiptoes, surveying. “I’m gonna go find Nico. They’re probably still setting up in the basement.”
“Um, okay, yeah. I’ll stay with Taki for now.” Harua didn’t love being abandoned in this intimidating American drug-using party, but the house wasn’t that big. He could handle himself. He’d done so thus far.
“Just find us downstairs in the basement. The show should be starting soon. I’ll get us good spots.”
Harua sent him off with a nod, holding onto Taki’s elbow. “Where are your brothers?” Had they really let Taki run around unattended? Harua used to keep a hand on him at all times when they went out together. Taki tended to wander and get lost, talking to anyone willing and trusting unconditionally. He’d probably happily get kidnapped if they were nice enough.
“Uuuh.” Taki looked around blearily. “I ran over to say hi, but they were standing, uh, right over there.” Taki finally found them, pointing through the crowd and directly at a man cutting a path toward them. Harua hadn’t met this frat brother yet. He knew because he’d definitely remember him.
The blue light of that particular moment washed over the sharp, clean planes of his face, glittering in a pair of large, downturned eyes. He was tall and broad with muscles, politely shimming between people. His hair was an aggressive bleach blonde and cropped short, not hiding any of his shapely, masculine face or the boyish freckles that flushed across his perfect nose and high cheekbones. He was so handsome that when his eyes slid to Harua, his breath caught.
Harua was suddenly very aware of his rather revealing outfit. He’d squeezed into a torn, cropped, fitted band t-shirt that revealed his midriff, buffered by the name-brand band of his underwear, and then baggy jorts, which hung low on his hips. If his makeup and the jewelry Nico had let him borrow weren’t enough, the outfit surely was putting his sexuality on display. Which is what he wanted, he reminded himself bravely as the man’s eyes flicked over him briefly.
The man's eyes returned to Taki as he finally arrived, grabbing him by his wrist. “Dude, seriously? Sorry, he tends to be way too friendly with strangers,” he addressed Harua with a pinched smile.
“I am not!” Taki protested, speaking entirely in Japanese despite the fact that his frat brother likely didn’t understand. It was a drunk habit of his.
“Oh, uh, I’m his roommate, so I’m used to it.” Harua chuckled distractedly, eyes glued to the man, having to tip his head up to maintain eye contact as he crowded into their space.
“Thank god.” He deflated with a sigh, letting Taki go. “I was worried he was harassing you.”
“Well, he definitely still is.”
“Harua!” Taki whined, going right back to clinging to his arm and peering up at him with big, hurt eyes. Harua rolled his eyes, trying and failing to shake Taki off. The whole time, he was oppressively aware of the tall man's presence, watching them with a grin.
Harua wouldn’t say he had a type—or, well, he cast a wide net—but this man would definitely be it if he did. And here was Taki, making a fool of both of them in front of him.
“He's a lightweight, sorry,” the man said, stealing Harua’s line and helping pry Taki off Harua with a shocking ease. He was strong, the tight fit of his compression tank around his shapely pecs and shoulders corroborating as much. He was surprisingly fashionable for a frat guy, little silver studs glinting in his ears, and the jacket tied around his waist tastefully ratty. He wore something other than basketball shorts and polo shirts, and that was more than could be said for most frat guys, Taki included.
“If you knew he was a lightweight weight why would you guys let him drink so much?” Harua scolded. This guy might be cute, but Taki’s safety took priority. He knew how frat guys could be. The hazing and the general alcoholism.
The man raised a pretty brow, carolling a squirming Taki by putting him in a very effective headlock. “He’s an adult who can make his own decisions. Plus, we’re watching him. He’s in good hands.”
“Clearly…” Harua grumbled, crossing his arms.
The man eyed him with pursed lips. He more humanely tucked Taki under his arm and shot Harua a dazzling smile, defusing any tension with the flash of his white teeth. The neutralizing effect was immediate and shocking, Harua’s brows smoothing out from his glare. “Point taken. I’ll get him some water.”
“Oh.” Harua blinked, unsure what had just happened, but quickly followed after them. He didn’t totally trust him to get Taki the water he needed.
However, where the man could easily cut through the crowd, flowing with them, Harua struggled more. He wasn’t used to this type of party—had never even been to a club—and he felt foreign and prudish and out of place. Especially as Taki and his brother grew further away, leaving him to trail through a crowd of faces he didn’t know in a party he didn’t feel totally invited to.
The man glanced over his shoulder right then, eyes snagging his. He slowed to reach back and grab Harua’s wrist, tugging him along while still steering Taki ahead of him. His fingers were long and wrapped securely around Harua’s wrist, catching him by surprise. Oddly, his nails stood out to Harua, perfectly manicured and shiny under the pulsing light. Was he wearing a gloss?
Harua let himself be tugged along.
En route to the water, their mission was interrupted by random people, men and women alike, greeting Taki’s brother warmly, who, in return, was throwing a wave here and stopping to briefly hug there. He seemed to know half the party—or well, they knew him. Yet he didn’t get too hung up, smoothly walking away and shining with popularity in a way that would have made Harua feel like he was drowning. Who was this guy?
Finally, they must have arrived because the man let him go.
“Don’t move,” he told Taki, holding him by his shoulders briefly to really nail it in. He turned to the crowded, incredibly large kitchen and left Taki with Harua. Harua made sure to hold onto his arm, even as Taki saluted. Maybe Harua should invest in one of those child lishes.
“He’s great,” Taki told him dreamily. If Taki weren’t painfully straight, Harua might have questioned him with how he hummed and laid his head on Harua’s shoulder.
“Who is he?” Harua switched to Japanese as well, not quite out of earshot, but curiosity forced him to seize the moment. His wrist was still warm where the man had held him, eyes following their savior. The man in question had snatched up a new solo cup but was stopped on his way to the sink by someone dapping him up, both exchanging enthusiastic greetings. He was popular.
“Maki. He’s another freshman in the frat. We rushed together. He’s the beeeeest.”
Maki. Interesting. He was expecting Jason or Chad or Zack.
“He’s a freshman?” Harua raised a brow, eyeing the wide shoulders and sharp jaw of the man. What freshman looked that good? Harua had been expecting him to be a junior, at least. Hell, he could be younger than Harua, then.
Taki peeked at Harua. “Oh, I seeeeee,” Taki said scandalously, wiggling his eyebrows at Harua. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the Maki-rizz.”
“The what?” Harua did not want Taki to catch wind that he was interested. He had a way of making these things worse, unable to keep a secret to save his life. Harua was already looking elsewhere, trying to appear nonchalant.
“Maki charisma, dude! He’s already legendary in the frat. Everyone loves him. Turns out no one is safe from his good looks and charms. The handsome bastard. He’s stolen sooo many girls from me, and all he does is stand there and look pretty.”
Girls. Right. Harua had assumed, but it was good to know to dash any hope he might have had. He couldn’t have every pretty boy. He’d learned that the hard way.
“I just think you're bad with women, Taki.”
“No, it’s definitely Maki’s fault. He’s fucking perfect. He’s beautiful and kind and funny…”
“Sounds like you have the crush.”
“Who doesn't? I’d let him make sweet love to me.”
“That’s wonderful, Taki,” Harua said sarcastically, patting his hand. Maki, meanwhile, was finally filling the cup with water as he talked amicably with yet another person. In the crowded kitchen, the light over the sink shone down perfectly on him and him alone, making him glow as everyone turned to him now, watching and chatting and caught in his orbit as he cracked a joke and they all laughed. He didn’t know someone could look so at home in a place like this. Harua, off in the corner with Taki, felt rather small in comparison.
He stood straighter when Maki returned to them, taking his charming smile and the crowd's gaze with him.
“Fuck, he’s hot,” Harua said to no one in particular in Japanese, continuously taken aback by it. Too bad he was straight. Such a waste.
Maki’s eyes flicked to him for a brief moment, the corner of his lip twitching, before returning to his target, forcing the solo cup into Taki’s hand. “Drink,” he commanded simply.
Harua tried not to fawn at his attractively assertive tone. No dick for this long was doing horrible things to him. He resolved to find someone to sleep with soon. For his mental health.
“Thanks, Maki-poo,” Taki obeyed with a cheeky grin.
Harua snorted. “What the fuck. He listens to you?” He lamented. Ten years of friendship and yet Taki folds to his hot frat brother first. (Harua kind of got it, though. He, too, would fold.)
“Because Maki is nice to me. Unlike you,” Taki snapped, shoving Harua lightly. “Oh, right!” His eyes lit up mischievously, returning to English like a flip had been switched. A chill went down Harua’s spine. “I didn’t introduce you guys!”
“Oh, it’s fine, really it's—” Harua waved a hand between them, squeezing Taki’s arm. The man was determined, though. Once he got locked onto something, it was hard to pry him off, like a pitbull clamping down. If Taki wants, Taki does.
“Maki, this is my best friend from Japan, Harua.” Taki slapped him on the chest. “He’s a huge bitch, but I love him anyway. He’s so cool and single!” He winked at Maki.
“Taki!” Harua put his face in his hands, horrified. Maki was clearly a very straight, cool college frat guy, and all Taki was doing was ostracizing Harua. Not everyone was as accepting as Taki was. From Harua’s experience, actually, most of his frat brothers didn’t know what to do with Harua. Foreign and queer and unapologetically himself.
“Harua,” Taki addressed him now, moving to Maki’s side and clinging to his arm like his little girlfriend. Miraculously, Maki was all smiles with his hands in his pockets, deeply amused by his antics. “This is Maki, the hottest guy on campus right now.” Maki raised his brows, scoffing but, importantly, not denying it. Taki plowed ahead. “He’s the only other brother who speaks Japanese.”
Harua’s balked, stomach dropping. “Huh?”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Maki said in perfect Japanese, even hitting Harua with a little head bow instead of an American handshake.
Harua stood stupidly and stared at him, instincts alone forcing him to return the bow.
“I’m half,” Maki explained, all smiles.
“Ah.” Maki. Right. Ma-ki. He sees it now. “Nice to meet you,” he replied, bowing his head again because he didn’t know what else to do.
“Let’s go find the other brothers and head to the basement!” Taki urged suddenly, tugging on Maki’s arm. His ADHD really jumped out at times, especially when he was drunk. “I wanna see the show. Harua’s friends are performing!”
“You know the band?” Maki didn’t budge an inch as Taki pulled at him, a solid pillar of a man. He’d returned to English, and Harua followed suit. Maybe he didn’t know all that much Japanese? Maybe he hadn't understood Harua asking who Maki was or that he thought he was hot. Hopefully.
“I just met them today, but we pregamed together,” Harua shrugged. “They’re fun.”
Something shifted in Maki. He nodded slowly, the corner of his lip twitching down, and his eyes searching Harua’s face. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but Taki was determined to get them moving.
“Wanna join us?” Maki offered, stumbling after Taki. He was surprised by Maki’s sudden invitation when his own best friend had already completely forgotten about him, working up a sweat trying to drag Maki along.
“I have to find my friend,” Harua said apologetically. He meant it too. Maki was nice eye candy if nothing else.
“Ah, ok. See ya, then,” Maki waved at him. Then, cheekily and in perfectly fluent Japanese, eyes flicking down to his feet and back up: “You’re not so bad yourself.”
▴⛛▴
It wasn’t hard to find the basement, but it was surprisingly hard to find Euijoo amongst the growing crowd. The basement was as large as the house’s sizable footprint, and surprisingly high-ceilinged. It accommodated a little bar and a small stage, lights mounted from the ceiling, and scaffolding and speakers perched in every corner. It was perhaps a little more professional than most house party stages, but Harua wouldn’t really know. He could only assume a retired musician would spare no expense to put on a show.
The stage was empty save for the instruments, yet the basement was already busy. People were mostly milling about, seeming torn between waiting for the performance or returning to the DJ spinning the top hits in the living room.
Harua had thought locating Euijoo would have been easy, seeing as he tended to tower over most people, but he was surprisingly elusive. It was only when Harua was ready to give up and go find Taki instead that Euijoo’s round boba eyes popped out over the crowd, waving him over.
“Abandoned Taki?” Euijoo asked as he shoved some sort of mixed drink in Harua’s hand.
“I love Taki, but I can’t stand his frat brothers. They treat me like I have a disease.” Though Maki hadn’t been so bad, he supposed. Where was Taki keeping frat brothers like him locked away?
“The homo disease?”
“Exactly.” Harua sipped his drink and shuddered. Whoever poured it was heavy-handed, the Coke more a suggestion than a mixer. It was doing its job, though, and he felt himself falling back into the pleasant buzz he’d begun to sober up from with the walk and all the excitement.
“Well, we’re not worried about catching it, that’s for sure.”
Harua startled, slow to realize the man standing behind Euijoo wasn’t just a random partygoer. Perhaps it should have been obvious, though. They had a matching vibe. This man was of a similar staggering height and beautiful like a prince, peering at him with an easy-going smile.
“Yudai, this is the friend I was talking about, Harua.” Euijoo tugged Yudai closer.
“Ah, I hear you’re joining JSA?” Yudai asked, grabbing him by the shoulder like they were old friends. “We’re always happy to have more folks.” His energy was like that of a proud mother, his smile beaming down at him. Harua felt a twinge of panic.
“I mean, uh, I’m still deciding,” Harua admitted sheepishly, taking a sip of his drink. He’d agreed to come to a party and said he’d consider JSA. It was a lot to commit to right away, though. He wanted to see if he was even built for this kind of life before joining a club he knew was notoriously party-forward. Also, he’d left Japan for a reason. He almost felt like it might defeat the purpose.
“No pressure!” Yudai held up his hands innocently before crossing his arms. “It is really fun though… We need more Japanese members and not weebs like Juju. He said you need friends, too.”
“Uh…” Harua shot a glare at Euijoo, who at least had the decency to look horrified.
“Yudai!”
“What? I’ve been there too. Especially as an international freshman. It’s hard to find your place abroad. JSA was that for me. I could set my roots down.”
“Hasn’t it been like a decade since you were a freshman?” Euijoo pointed out. It was hard to decipher if he was being cruelly genuine or incredibly dry.
“Okay, wow. I’m not geriatric. I can remember what it was like when I was your age.”
Euijoo yelped and giggled when Yudai pinched his waist, tsking at the younger. The interaction made Harua grin, chewing on the rim of his solo cup. There was clearly a lot of history between them, and the sight of them bickering was rather heart-warming. He suspected this Yudai fellow had that effect on people, completely at ease and welcoming.
“How was Nico?” Harua asked Euijoo.
“He was nervous,” Euijoo told him, batting away Yudai and leaning a hip against the stage, sipping his drink. “I had to kiss him better.” Euijoo jerked his chin to a closed door right off the stage. Some sorta makeshift green room, Harua assumed.
“Really? He didn’t seem like the type to be nervous about anything.”
“As if. He’s a huge coward,” Yudai scoffed.
Euijoo didn’t defend his boyfriend, only grinning. “This is the biggest crowd they’ve gotten the chance to perform in front of. They normally just do little get-togethers. Yuma only put this band together a couple of months ago.”
“They’ll kill, though. Jackson chooses his bands well,” Yudai assured.
“Ah.” Harua looked around at the sea of disinterested, drunk faces. “How was everyone else? Yuma?”
“Yuma?” Euijoo raised a brow, and Harua shrugged. He was curious about the man. No reason to hide it.
Yudai shook his head fondly. “Yuma doesn’t get nervous. I think he was born under a spotlight with a mic in hand. He lives for this shit.”
As if on cue, the lights dimmed, and the chatting fell to a hushed whisper around them. Harua straightened his posture as the band entered, clapping. Niki to the drums, Jo to the keyboard, Nicholas and Yuma to the bass and electric guitar, respectively, at the front of the stage. Harua had briefly gotten to glimpse their stage outfits before, buried under equipment bags and instrument cases, but it was somehow so different from this angle, looking up at them. Their outfits were all variations of black, baggy streetwear. Yuma was eye-catching in his incredibly oversized grey knit sweater, already falling off one shoulder and coming undone where it had been crudely chopped into a crop, revealing swaths of smooth, tattooed stomach as he reached up to adjust his mic. His fingers sparkled with rings the same way the spikes on his combat boots did, winking right at Harua.
As soon as Yuma had his guitar strung around his shoulders, position assumed, the stag lights roused behind them. It was then that Harua realized he had no idea what kind of music they made. He hadn’t thought to ask. He didn’t think he’d care. Now, though, anticipation kept his eyes glued to the lead singer as he strummed out a single cord. The stage lights flashed orange like the rising sun and cast only their stark silhouette to the crowd, shadows streaking across waiting faces. The cord hung in the air as the lights faded once again, and then Yuma put his lips to the mic, eyes closed, and sang.
Yuma’s singing was as unique as his speaking voice, that nasally, high tone as sweet as syrup as it poured through the speakers. The whole room was instantly bewitched into silence. He drew out the first line like a plea:
Why can’t we end this?
Harua was surprised to hear Japanese for all of a second before the music came crashing in. Taking off like a jet, the calm was shattered by a fast-paced, anxious beat. People cheered, shocked. Yuma’s voice rose to an eerie, impressive cry, fraying at the end in a perfectly executed act of desperation before he backed away from the mic. He let the music breathe, fingers expertly flying up the neck of his guitar while he bounced to the intense beat.
While Euijoo bopped his head and danced along, Harua could only gape as Yuma returned to the mic. The song was upbeat and loud but the lyrics were clawing and gloomy, about a dysfunctional love and the confusion of not knowing if it's worth trying to fix or not. Yuma asked over and over again in the chorus if he was the problem or not, Nicholas echoing the plea in harmony. They sang in Japanese, which was a bit unexpected, but it only tugged at Harua’s heart more. He was enraptured by the way Yuma clutched the mic, eyes squeezed shut and voice ringing loud even over the crash of drums. A conduit for the music that demanded the entire room's complete attention.
Yudai was right; he was born for this.
Harua couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered when the song closed, and Yuma opened his eyes, searching the crowd, but taking an extra second to linger on Harua, flashing him a smile as they launched right into the next song.
“We’re Bad Kitty!” Harua finally discovered the name of the band while they took a brief break after a few songs to introduce themselves and gulp down water, everyone’s foreheads glossy with sweat already. “We just released our debut EP. Please check us out on TikTok and all streaming platforms. Except Spotify. Fuck Spotify,” Nicholas said into the mic with a cheeky smile.
Harua wished he’d asked them more before, eager now to learn everything about them. It was clear they were a fusion of j-rock and punk, sprinkling in enough pop to keep the partygoers hooked. It was a fascinating mix of genres, especially as they seemed to blend English and Japanese in equal parts. You had to be fluent in both to even know what they were singing about, but the crowd of drunk college students didn’t seem to care. For Harua, though, it almost felt like they were performing just for him.
And maybe also Yudai and Euijoo next to him, who were singing along to every song like they’d been groupies for years.
Maybe Yuma felt the appreciation and admiration radiating off Harua, eyes never straying from the lead singer right in front of him, because Yuma's gaze kept falling to him as well. Yuma sang about giving everything to a lover—amongst more vivid lines—as his expert fingers danced over the cords of his electric guitar, all while looking down at Harua through his lashes. His lips brushed the mic, leaning into it and never breaking from his sultry half-lidded expression even as Harua blushed.
It was riveting, but also made his skin prickle with awareness. Everyone was looking at Yuma, but Yuma was only looking at him. A performance just for him. Why him?
It’s not like he’s anything special.
By the end of the show, Harua’s ears were ringing, and his heart was still thumping to the beat of the last song, even as it faded with the lights. As soon as it was quiet, Harua became deeply aware of how drunk he was, looking down at his solo cup and realizing he’d downed the whole thing throughout the performance.
Nicholas jumped down from the stage next to Harua and right into Euijoo’s arms, instantly bringing him close, whispering and locking lips. Harua turned away, seeing a bit too much tongue to not feel like he was perving on them. Good for them, he thought with a scoff, noting the cutting jealous looks of some women in the audience nearby. Everyone wanted to kiss the frontmen of a good band.
“So?” Harua startled when Yuma’s leg brushed his hip as he sat down on the edge of the stage, slyly slipping into his personal space. Harua didn’t step back, though, letting them touch. “What did you think?” Yuma’s skin glistened as he tilted his head back to take a big gulp of water, waiting for Harua’s answer with a raised brow.
“Eh.” Harua shrugged and waved a nonchalant hand Yuma’s way. He was easy to tease, scoffing and kicking Harua lightly.
“As if you weren’t drooling the entire performance.”
Harua flicked his bangs out of his face, feeling flush. “Yeah, at Jo.”
“Huh?” Jo said, perking up as he packed up his keyboard. To be fair, the man had been incredible, too. His meekness disappeared as soon as the song started, giving it his all. In all honesty, though, Harua hadn’t given him a fair amount of attention. It was hard to when the lead singer was eye fucking him.
Yuma leaned forward, sweater falling further off his shoulder as he flashed a canine at him. “That’s funny because I coulda sworn you were looking at me, dear.” His eyes flicked to Harua’s lips, lingering. Yuma cocked his head and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Wanna smoke?”
The makeshift green room was quiet when Yuma closed the door, dark except for a lamp. It was a relief for Harua’s ears, the DJ set coming back on throughout the house's speakers not long after the band wrapped up, nearly as loud. Now he could only hear the muffled thump of music and people.
Yuma traversed the couches and liquor-bottle-covered coffee table to the basement egress window in the far wall. It was nearly as big as Yuma as he pushed it open, letting a swell of cool night air into the stuffy room. Harua didn’t realize how hot it had been in that crowd till the breeze kissed his skin, sitting opposite Yuma on the windowsill.
“Wanna share? I don’t know if I’m drunk enough to smoke a whole one yet. Trying to be responsible with my lungs and all that, too.”
Harua just shrugged and put his hands in his lap, watching Yuma intently as he slipped out a cigarette, popped it between his lips, and lit it. He did it with the ease of a practiced smoker, box crumpled and lighter dinged up.
“You guys were really good,” Harua finally admitted. “I really like all the songs. Especially the opening one. It was so raw.”
“‘Mouse’? I wrote that most recently, actually. I got excited to perform it. I’m glad you liked it.”
“It was good. Sad. Personal. Who hurt you?”
Yuma smiled, chuckling lightly as he took a drag. “I hurt myself, I think. I’m prone to making bad decisions.” Their eyes met. The warm lamplight caught one side of Yuma’s face and the bluish moonlight the other, sweat twinkling against his exposed collarbone as smoke curled around his features.
Harua swallowed. “Well, you’re pretty talented anyway.”
“Only pretty talented?”
“Don’t push your luck.” Harua knocked his knee with Yuma’s, sneering at the smug older man.
“Oh, but you make me wanna push, Harua.” He smacked a hand down on Harua’s knee disciplinarily, leaving it there and holding out the cigarette to him.
Harua blinked at it. “I’ve never smoked before.”
“Huh? Why did you agree to smoke then?”
“I thought it was just an excuse…” Harua pouted, rocking forward shyly where he had his hands planted between his legs.
Understanding flashed over Yuma’s eyes. He grinned from ear to ear, cigarette still hanging between them. “Think I’m that easy?”
“Maybe.” Harya had come out to not only make friends but also meet guys. Maybe get laid. So what if that lay happened to be one of the first guys he ran into? Yuma hadn’t been his type right away, but he was undeniably attractive and bursting with personality. Anyone would want even a morsel of shine from a star like that. Maybe Harua was even a bit desperate for it.
Yuma stared at him, face unreadable as he traced Harua’s features with his eyes.
“Wanna try?” He held out the cigarette again, gaze expectant and glinting with something primal.
Harua looked from Yuma to the cigarette pinched loosely between his pointer and middle finger. He licked his lips, then pitched forward and put them around it, brushing up against Yuma’s fingers. Yuma sucked in a surprised breath, holding it steady so Harua could experimentally suck at it, tip sizzling orange.
It tasted like burnt grass and filled his lungs for a suffocating second. He pulled away from it, coughing up smoke. Not nearly as elegant or sexy as Yuma made it look. Yuma made being cool look so easy, and here Harua was… nearly killed by one drag of a cigarette. It broke the spell, letting doubt creep in.
Yuma cackled, popping it back in his mouth so he could clap Harua on the back. Harua looked at him pathetically, eyes watering.
“Sorry,” Harua croaked. He was suddenly blissfully lightheaded, but he supposed that was the nicotine. Through the smoke, Yuma’s face became clear, his pink lips pulled in a smile.
“Do you need water?” Yuma went to get up, but Harua grabbed his wrist, making him freeze.
“I’m ok.”
Yuma looked him over, settling back onto the windowsill slowly. “You want me to kiss you that bad, huh?”
Outside, a group of people laughed, piercing the quiet muffle of distant music.
“Yes,” Harua admitted, breathlessly. To hell with subtitles.
Yuma’s lip curled up at the corner, turning his hand to grab Harua’s wrist where Harua was still holding onto the singer. He yanked Harua closer, meeting him in the middle. Harua hadn’t kissed anyone in so long he was afraid for a moment he’d forgotten how.
However, Yuma’s lips were a bit dry but moved with precious intent. He smelled of musk and tobacco, stinging Harua’s nose but only making his head spin more. He forgot to fret, letting Yuma pull him closer. The hot metal ball of his tongue piercing dragged along the seam of his lips, and Harua relented to it embarrassingly fast, whimpering and eagerly investigating it with his own tongue.
God, Yuma was attractive and electric, and Harua was falling into his orbit fast, aided by the lubricant of liquor and Yuma’s well-practiced, guiding hand. Something about it felt dangerous, though. Maybe it was the spontaneity or the way Yuma made him feel like his prey, pouncing on his bleeding heart with glee.
It thrilled him.
Yuma’s hand traveled up his thigh, shifting as if he might climb into Harua’s lap again, when the door suddenly banged open.
Harua jumped back in surprise, yelping.
Yuma didn’t flinch at all, eyes slowly opening as he rolled his head toward the door and leveled their intruder with a nasty sneer.
“Oh! Sorry! Oh my god!” Jo went to shut the door again, hand over his eyes.
However, Niki pushed past and threw it open again, not paying Yuma or Harua any mind as he dragged the dismantled pieces of his drumset over to its case.
“Hey! Dude! Hello?” Yuma called, balking at the man.
“I’m not leaving my gear out there with a bunch of drunk college students. Sorry.” Niki did not sound that sorry, noisily going about his business. “Find somewhere else to hump.”
Yuma scoffed, slouching back against the windowsill and putting the cigarette back between his kiss-slick lips. “Fuck it went out,” he swore, sighing and looking up and out the egress window. “Fuck.”
Harua ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. Discomfort squirmed in his chest now that the moment had passed, suddenly feeling self-conscious and silly. The way no one blinked at them was rather damming. Just another guy Yuma was kissing. Nothing special.
He slid off the windowsill.
“I’m gonna go get some water.” Harua stared at him meaningfully.
Yuma chewed on his bottom lip before nodding and flicking his cigarette into the pit of the egress window. “I’ll be around, then. When you’re ready.” He winked good-naturedly. Astonishingly understanding. Forgiving, even.
Harua smiled back, shoulders relaxing. “Okay.”
▴⛛▴
Harua found himself in the throes of the house party without a familiar face in sight. Euijoo was gone, but so was Nicholas. Harua decided he’d rather not risk going looking for them. Instead, he braved the frat crowd to check in with Taki and make sure he wasn’t passed out somewhere.
The mission gave him purpose and soothed him as he pushed through an ever pressing crowd of people. The hunt began when he arrived back in the entry hall. Taki was normally most identifiable by his loud voice, but the music was a powerful force, drowning out all other noises. So he instead searched for Maki, who was a tall beacon and would certainly have drawn a noticeable crowd by now with that smile of his.
He wasn’t necessarily looking forward to seeing Maki, not with the cheeky teasing the man had parted ways with. It had been hard to tell his tone over the music, but Harua could only default to mocking. Maki might be cute, but he was a frat guy. He probably thought it was funny that Harua was gay and had called him hot. Nonetheless, he was the easiest way to locate Taki.
The house felt even bigger when Harua was searching every face, winding down halls, and spilling into sitting rooms and backyard pools. Harua mostly went unnoticed, though, keeping his head down and squeezing between people. He supposed it was a bit counterintuitive to his mission of ‘getting out there', but he needed to get eyes on Taki again before he could relax. Maybe that was an excuse, but he was too drunk to be brave.
Thankfully, Taki replied to his text asking where he was with a barely intelligible string of words.
Takiyaki:
Juest beedrom
Up stars
com!
Right. At least he was alive. Perhaps barely, though. Harua shot back a thumbs up, turning on his heels and heading for the stairs to the second floor. Uncharted territory.
The music was quieter here, and Harua zeroed in on them quickly, following the clatter of laughter till he found an open door.
Spread in a sizable circle around the floor of the bedroom was an interesting mix of people. Taki seemed to have lost most of his frat brothers to the beast of the party, Harua only recognizing a few backwards hat going bros amongst the diverse crowd, and, conflictingly, Maki. Maki sat crisscross, leaning back on his hands in a way that really accentuated the shapeliness of his arms. On either side of him was a girl falling over themselves to hang onto every word, one with a hand on his shoulder possessively.
When Harua walked into the room, for some reason, Maki’s eyes flew right to him. Harua braced.
“Harua!” Maki waved him over, smiling. The entire room looked at him, and Harua had to fight the urge to back out. He chose to only acknowledge Maki with a nod of his head, locking onto Taki instead. Quickly, everyone forgot about him and went back to their conversations.
Taki had looked up at Maki’s exclamation, but had been busy making a black lipsticked girl laugh before that. To Harua’s shock, she seemed rather into him, eyes a bit hungry beneath her sharp winged eyeliner. Maybe she liked men who had slightly pathetic energy?
“You found us!” Taki grabbed his hand, pulling him down and into the circle. “We were just about to start a drinking game, you should join!”
Harua tried to pull away, gentle rejections already spilling out, but Taki’s grip was strong. He’d only come to check on Taki, really. He didn’t want to get sucked into some commitment. Then Maki joined in. Of course.
“Come on! Join us. It’ll be fun!” Maki chirped this in Japanese, as if it might convince him more to hear it in his native language. Which, he hated to admit, it kinda did. Maki’s gaze was enticing, eyebrow raised tauntingly, and lip quirked up with his head tilted back. Almost like he was challenging Harua.
Harua squinted his eyes at Maki and glanced at the crowd, not entirely sure if he fit into it, but relented to ease the pressure of so much attention on him. Taki cheered, dragging him next to his side.
“Just one round,” he grumbled, shoulders hunched to avoid touching the burly frat guy on his other side.
“Where do you have to be that’s so important? It’s a Saturday night.” Taki grabbed Harua a cup, pouring him a healthy serving of something clear.
Then it was a confusing blur of American drinking games and poorly taught Japanese ones before he was staring at the bottom of his empty cup. He’d never been very good at drinking games. He didn’t have much experience, honestly.
“Harua finished!” Taki quickly announced before he could hide it, grabbing his empty cup. Harua did not understand what the rules were entirely but he did know, somewhere along the way, he’d lost.
“Fuck! Me too!” Maki tossed his empty cup into the middle of the circle, collapsing dramatically to the floor.
“Ugh, we’re tied for losers!” Someone else said, distraught.
“They can just both do the penalty then?”
“What was the penalty again?”
Harua just sighed, slumping against Taki. He wasn’t too worried, drunk enough that he was sure nothing could shake him. It would probably be something dumb like drinking something nasty or giving someone a lap dance or—
“Let’s do seven minutes in heaven!”
Harua scrunched his brows. “What’s that?”
Maki was making a face, lips pressed together tightly. It couldn’t be good. “Guys—”
“Yes!” Taki was cackling, though, already dragging Harua up to his feet.
“What? Put them together? Oh shit,” one of the frat guys said, giggling. This idea seemed quite novel to everyone.
“Good luck, Maki,” another clapped the man on his shoulder. “He looks feisty.”
Harua flushed. They thought it was funny, whatever it was. This was a punishment for Maki, whom everyone knew and was rejoicing in pranking. Harua was the prank.
“Put him back in the closet!”
If Harua wasn’t so buzzed, he might have snapped, but humiliation settled, uninhibited, deep in his core, rendering him mute. He knew America wasn’t some queer utopia; Americans were as outspoken against LGBTQ issues as they were for them. It stung to experience, though. Coming from Taki’s friends, of all people.
Taki didn’t even seem to notice, either, gleefully pushing across the room where someone waited with the closet door already open. “You get to spend seven minutes with Maki ‘in heaven’—kissing,” he explained, giddy.
“Huh?”
“Dude!” Maki looked distraught as he was dragged over, glaring at his frat brothers.
It made Harua duck his head. Was it really that bad?
Before a proper fight could be had, they were both shoved into the hanging coats, tripping over the shoe rack. The door was shut and locked. Darkness fell over them, leaving them blind and groping.
Harua’s head swam, sliding helplessly back into the coats. A memory resurfaced, then, while pressed between hoodies and leather jackets.
In middle school, he’d worked up the courage to confess to a boy he’d thought had been flirting back, desperate to find someone like himself. To be assured. Accepted. That hadn’t happened. To his confusion, he’d not only been rejected but outed to all the boys' friends. He became a target of the boy whose touches and glances he’d thought had meant something, but that so easily twisted to disgust as he pushed Harua into a gym locker and left him there.
Harua had transferred to the school where he met Taki, not long after that, deciding to never risk coming out ever again. He’d had to hold it all in to survive.
America was supposed to be different. He was supposed to be able to forge a more authentic path, not return here. A fitting finale to a night that was turning out to be a ritual of humiliation.
Through the press of clothes, though, a firm hand found him and pulled him out of the faux fur suffocation.
“You okay?” Maki tugged him back to his feet, steadying him with two hands on his shoulders.
“Yeah,” Harua grumbled, shrugging Maki’s hands off. He tried to back up, but he hit the wall, finding there was nowhere to escape. Not when the man was nearly a foot taller and wider than him.
Maki went for the doorknob at Harua’s hip, knuckles brushing his bare middrift. It wouldn’t turn. “Shit… I’m sorry.”
Harua leaned against the wall, sighing. “Why are you sorry? It's not my first time in the closet.” It was meant to be a joke, but it came out with a strain to it. He cleared his throat.
Politely, Maki still let out a puff of a laugh. “Well, that's… They were being assholes, though. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. They were.” Maki was warm where Harua’s arm was pressed to his, fruitlessly adjusting to try to find some way they weren’t forced together. There was a long silence, the thump of distant music and the cackle of laughter seeping into the closet like a nauseous gas. Harua gave up and let their bodies touch.
“They mean well, they’re just idiots,” Maki defended weakly, shifting.
“I think they mean to play a joke on you by putting you in the closet with the faggot. Humiliate you. You might catch something, after all.” Harua’s eyes were starting to adjust, and he was able to make out the twinkle of Maki’s eyes in the gloom. He glared up at Maki, arms crossed tightly in front of himself. It wasn’t entirely Maki’s fault, but he was here, and one of them, and Harua was raw with frustration.
There was a pause, and then, of all things, Maki laughed. “Well, I’m not sure that’s it.”
“What do you mean?” Harua snapped defensively.
He stood straighter as Maki shifted, planting a palm next to his head and crowding in. He was wearing some sort of cologne, faded from hours of partying, but noticeable enough this close to pleasantly tickle Harua’s nose.
“I think…” Maki’s eyes flicked over his face, and Harua remembered that these seven minutes were supposed to be spent productively. “I think the guys just know my type.”
“You’re type?” Harua was too drunk for this riddle, racking his brain for what women had to do with this. He went rigid, though when Maki’s other hand cupped his cheek, full attention on the surprising firmness of it, how his fingers pressed into the soft spot behind Harua’s jaw.
“I’m not that good at hiding it, but I guess your gaydar sucks.”
Harua barely had a chance to suck in a surprised breath before Maki’s lips were on his. Harua gasped into the kiss, fingers tingling with surprise as he curled them in Maki’s shirt, gently pushing him off.
“You’re gay?” Why was Harua so breathless? When did they switch to Japanese again? Maybe it was the gears in his head breaking down, jammed by his miscalculation. A gay frat boy? It was like meeting a unicorn. So Maki hadn’t been picking on him, but flirting…?
Maki’s chuckle sent Harua’s bangs skittering across his forehead. “Something like that. I just know you’re hot.” His fingers wiggled to the back of Harua’s head, threading in the freshly cut bed of his hair. “And that you think I am, too. I hope?”
“Oh.” Had anyone ever really called him hot before? Not like this. Not someone so out of his league. “You are hot,” Harua affirmed dumbly. “Like, really.”
Maki’s perfect teeth glinted in the dim light as he smiled. “Cool. I’m gonna enjoy our seven minutes then, if that’s okay?”
Right.
Harua answered by getting on his tiptoes and finding Maki’s lips in the dark. They were impossibly moist and soft, clearly meticulously well-maintained, and the perfect vehicle for the intense hunger Maki kissed with.
Maki surged forward, pressing Harua to the wall of the closet with the heavy weight of his body. Where Yuma had been slow and deliberate, Maki was surprisingly eager, hands all over him and lips almost crushing. It was a shock since Maki seemed so well-put-together, especially compared to Yuma’s wildness, yet he kissed with the hunger of a wild animal, especially as the minutes passed. It made Harua light-headed, unsure he’d ever been wanted like this. Wanted ravenously.
“Harua,” Maki panted between them, hands on his waist, and their kiss broken to allow them each a ragged breath. Harua’s hands were on his pecs, gently putting some space between their hips so it wasn’t too obvious how much he was enjoying this. “I saw you with Taki and, fuck, I thought you were really cute. You were kinda mean, but then you said I was hot… I guess I like when pretty boys are mean to me, though.”
It was Harua’s turn to scoff, smiling from ear to ear at Maki’s rambling. “You talk a lot.”
“Sorry. I guess, I don’t know—”
Harua shut him up with a slower, soothing kiss, which Maki sighed into. It was endearing how quickly Maki’s cool boy mask slipped, revealing the eager puppy beneath. It made Harua want to take him home.
That had been his mission, hadn’t it?
There was a knock at the door. “Seven minutes are up!”
They untangled themselves just in time, Harua still straightening his shirt when the door was yanked open. There was a general reaction of teasing elation from the group, their prank gone exactly to plan. Someone dapped Maki u,p and Harua ducked his head, blushing.
He was a little less mad at them now, more curious to watch the way they embraced Maki’s queerness with a disconcertingly ‘dude-bro’ excitement. It was odd and left Harua wondering if maybe he’d been a bit quick to judge Taki’s friends. Or maybe Maki was gay in the ‘right way,’ and Harua wasn’t. More well-versed in American machismo.
“You’re welcome.” Taki slung an arm around his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows. “I can see you enjoyed yourself.”
Harua elbowed him in the ribs, then fixed his hair. “You should have told me he was gay. I had no idea!”
“Oh. I thought it was obvious, sorry,” Taki chortled. “He’s, like, way too well-dressed to be straight.”
“Well, I try not to stereotype. I’ve been burned before,” he grumbled, still trying to shake the memory of middle school. “And you said he steals girls from you, so…”
“Bisexual people exist, Harua. This is the 21st century. Maki just knows what he wants. He usually gets it, too.”
“Right.” Harua ran a hand through his hair, watching as Maki laughed at something his friend said, refusing the shot offered to him. The women who had been clinging to him earlier were gone now. If he could have anyone, why would he want Harua? Maybe wanting wasn’t that deep if it was just for a night, though.
So when Harua said he was tired, he let Maki walk him home—and, well, Taki, too. Harua refused to leave the shit faced idiot to pass out in the bushes, convincing Maki to carry Taki out when he protested. He was delighted by how easily Maki threw the man over his shoulder, bare knuckling it as Taki groaned and moaned, wiggling about to try to free himself to no avail. Maki waited to put him down till they were down the street, and Taki had resigned himself to going to bed, dragging his feet as he followed them. Luckily, their dorms weren’t too far, and Maki was happy to help wrangle Taki if he tried to wander off.
“You’re an international student?” Maki asked, Taki slung over his back, elbows hooked under each of his knees. Much to Harua’s alcohol-soaked brain’s relief, they’d all settled into speaking Japanese. Maki’s Japanese was flawless, but his voice got higher and softer when he was speaking it. The opposite of Harua, whose English was often higher-pitched and a bit uncertain.
“It’s the accent, isn’t it?”
Maki gave him a lop-sided smile, raising a brow. “It’s cute. It’s better than Taki’s.”
“Hey…” Taki grumbled, but it was clear from his heavy eyelids and loose, flopping limbs that he was beginning to crash.
“My dad lives here with my stepmom, so I visited often. Taki… not so much. He was always better in English class in school than me, though. Your English is perfect, are you…?”
“I’m American, yeah. But also Japanese. I have a few citizenships. We moved around a lot when I was a kid. So I speak a few languages.” Maki shrugged smugly.
Harua scoffed. “Show off.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it. Everyone likes it.” Maki nudged him with his foot, his smile brighter than the street lights dotting the quiet campus. Haura had a hard time looking at him. He was way too pretty to be just walking around like this. To be walking around with Harua.
“You’re a lit major, right?”
Harua startled. “How did you know?”
“You don’t think I asked everything about you as soon as you disappeared? I grilled Taki about his cute friend right away.” Not even a hint of shame colored Maki’s face; instead, he seemed rather pleased with himself. Confident and cocky, and definitely always got everything he wanted.
“A-ah, I see.” Harua went to push his glasses up his nose out of nervous habit, only to remember he was wearing contacts. In fact, he’d left them at Nicholas’ place. Where he was supposed to return to after the party. Oops. Instead, he flexed his hands and chuckled and completely forgot how to speak, much less flirt back.
Luckily, Maki seemed to only enjoy this reaction more. “Why lit?”
Harua took the change of topic graciously. “I just really like stories. Before any other art form, we had stories, spoken first and written later. They’re just so painfully, beautifully human. I guess I read a lot, I always have, and there is just no other magic like being transported to another world woven by words alone. It’s liberating and sobering and reflective. They’re so complex, too, and contain so many layers that you might miss if you’re being thoughtless. Authors intentionally and unintentionally imbue all stories with meaning. It’s as close as you can get to being in someone else's head. I want to completely understand every story I read, I guess.”
Maki’s gaze was warm with affection as he stared at Harua, letting a small silence cushion his little impassioned monologue. “I’d never thought of it like that,” he said finally. “I read a lot, too, but maybe too surface level.”
“You read a lot?”
“Don’t act surprised! You’re hurting my feelings! Did you think I’m just some blockheaded jock?”
Harua nodded. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him when Maki gasped in offense. “Most of Taki’s friends are! Okay!”
“Well, fair, but this blockheaded jock has layers… and an obsession with gritty sci-fi novels and, at times, a tasteful romance.”
“‘Tasteful romance’?”
“Okay, maybe not always ‘tasteful’, but fun? Raunchy? Exhilarating."
“I don’t think our book tastes overlap,” Harua admitted with a fond chuckle, cheeks dimpled with a permanent grin. Maki was easy to talk to, oversharing and cracking jokes. It was nice. Almost too nice for a one-night stand. It felt like a waste, really.
“I think we could find common ground.” Maki knocked shoulders with him, exchanging a pleasant moment of heated eye contact.
Harua nodded shyly, clearing his throat.
When they arrived at the dorms, Maki dumped Taki onto his bed like a sack of potatoes. Somehow, Taki only groaned and curled up, falling right back to sleep. Maki sighed in relief when he could stretch out his back, stretching his arms above his head and flashing Harua a nice view of his chiseled abs and wispy happy trail as his tank top lifted.
Harua made himself busy taking off Nicholas’ jewelry, putting it in a neat pile on his desk. Maki made a show of wandering around the room but quickly ended up at Harua’s desk as well, running aimless fingers over the haphazard pile of notes and books there.
“I think you're right. I’ve never heard of any of these books.” Maki kept his voice low, embracing the atmosphere of the unlit, dark dorm. Only the harsh street lights from outside streaked across the floor. Across Maki’s broad torso.
“You’ve never heard of Best Seller Pachinko?”
Maki tilted his head with a smirk, conceding to Harua’s point. They were suddenly very close, Maki’s fingers skating across books and pencils to wrap around the edge of the desk by Harua’s hip. Harua’s butt hit his bed, cornered as he looked up at Maki.
Eyes fell to Harua’s lips.
The kiss came in slow and teasing this time, followed by Maki’s hand on his waist, circling around and splaying wide across his bare lower back. For a tender moment, Harua allowed the kiss, enjoying Maki’s plush lips and the all too unreal treat of being wanted by someone like him.
“Taki’s out cold, but if you want more privac,y my dorm’s just across the green,” Maki whispered, placing a kiss on his jaw. It did sound nice. Harua would be getting what he wanted… right?
Something, though, prickled up his spine. The same discomfort that made him flee Yuma. Unnamed and unwelcome, it made Harua’s brows wrinkle. Was it possible that now that it was within reach, maybe he didn’t want that? To use and be used? Maybe he wanted something else—something more than kisses and one-night stands.
Those were things he’d done plenty in Japan. When that was all he could do.
Harua wanted more.
When Harua gently wedged a hand between them, Maki pulled back, hands still on his hips as he looked over his face questioningly. A bit like a kicked puppy, eyes wide and searching.
“I think I’d prefer it if you took me to dinner first,” he said, flashing an apologetic grimace. He knew most college men—especially this genre—were not looking for something serious, and by ‘rejecting’ Maki, he would likely be closing that door entirely. Which felt like a shame, but Harua had pledged he’d live authentically from now on, so he was going to follow his gut. He could ask for more.
Maki’s eyebrows arched in surprise before he schooled his expression, settling into an easy smile. “Making me work for it?”
Harua just stared at him, quirking a brow.
Maki licked his lips, looking over Harua’s face with a touch of hunger. “Cruel.”
“Tasteful,” Harua corrected cheekily.
“Tasteful,” Maki echoed with a slow nod, dimples making an appearance. “Okay,” he said happily, sliding his hands off Harua’s hips and taking a step back. “Look, I never said I wasn’t already planning on it. It’s just all about the order of events, and I’ll gladly follow whatever orders you give.” Maki took the rejection in stride.
Harua was pleasantly surprised. Maki really was a well-behaved, surprisingly loyal man. Where Yuma had made him feel thrilled and desperate, Maki emboldened him with how eager and, well, easy he was—for lack of a better word.
“Good. Give me your number, then.”
“Deal.”
▴⛛▴
Maki 🐶:
[1:36 AM]
I made it back to my dorm alive, but barely 😔
Just survive long enough to pay for our dinner date, please
You’re so mean…
Keep it up please 🥵
Good night, Maki.
Damn, you’re good 😩💦
▴⛛▴
Unsaved Number:
[1:57 AM]
It’s Nico. I stole Yuma’s phone. Save his number if you want ;)
Couldn’t you have just sent me his contact info?
This is more fun
Plus, he’s totally out cold
[Yuma 🎸sent a photo]
The drool is sooo cute looool
How is he sleeping like that?
Isn’t the armrest digging into his spine and all the blood rushing to his head?
Yuma is part cat.
Yumnyang~
uwu
Goodnight Nico
And hi Yuma :)
[10:14 AM]
What the fuck
Nico is so dead
And so is my back...