Chapter Text
Twigs snapped under the weight of Kei’s boots as he maneuvered the uneven forest floor as he followed his friends, one hand holding his phone that was currently lighting up the path in front of them. His other hand gripped the strap of his backpack that held the bottle of expensive wine he took from his parents cellar.
The night air carried the earthy scent of pine and damp soil, the distant thump of bass from the hidden clearing already vibrating through the trees. The woods loomed ahead, branches interlocking like fingers against the star-scattered sky. He had tried to dress down - really, he had - but standards were standards, even for a bush party he had only agreed to attend after weeks of relentless pleading from his Grey City circle. Dark designer jeans hugged his long legs and his shoes were clean leather sneakers, discreetly monogrammed but still unmistakably high-end, chosen because anything more casual would have just felt wrong.
His friends were laughing too loudly, already buzzing from whatever they’d snuck from their parents’ liquor cabinets earlier in the night, their voices carrying through the darkness. One of them - Minseok, whose father owned half the marina - clapped Kei on the shoulder with a grin.
“Come on, man. Keep up or you’re going to fall behind and get lost.”
“Baby’s first bush party,” another teased causing them all into erupt into laughter.
Kei rolled his eyes but didn’t complain. Inside, his stomach twisted with a mix of curiosity and quiet dread. He had never been this far from the manicured streets of Grey City after dark. This wasn’t the perfectly lit, groomed jogging paths near his home.
Kei’s phone flashlight caught the shifting silhouettes of branches ahead, but the glow was no longer swallowed by darkness. Instead, it met resistance from the warm orange light leaking between the trees. The path widened abruptly, roots smoothing into trampled earth as the forest opened up like a reluctant curtain.
The space was larger than he’d expected - a rough circle of packed dirt and sparse grass, ringed by towering evergreens that stood like silent sentinels. At its heart roared a large bonfire, flames licking high into the night sky, sending sparks spiraling upward in frantic golden arcs.
High school students from both sides of the river milled about in loose clusters. Some lounged on fallen logs dragged close to the flames, their legs stretched out, bottles balanced on knees or passed hand to hand. Others stood in tight circles, heads bent in conversation or thrown back in laughter. A fold-up table had been set up near the edge of the clearing, where a group was playing some chaotic drinking game involving stacked red solo cups and a ping-pong ball that kept bouncing into the dirt. The music came from a portable speaker propped on a stump, bass-heavy tracks pulsing.
Kei’s friends found a spot on the outskirts of the main crowd, close enough to the fire to feel its heat but far enough to claim a little space. Minseok dropped his backpack with a theatrical sigh and unzipped it, revealing the pilfered bottles they’d smuggled from well-stocked Grey City liquor cabinets - expensive vodka, a bottle of aged whiskey, and a few cans of craft beer.
“To surviving senior year,” one of the boys declared, raising a bottle in a sloppy toast. The others echoed the words with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Kei joined in, lifting his own plastic cup after it was hastily filled, liquid sloshing warmly against the rim. He clinked his cup against theirs, the sound sharp and hollow compared to the crystal glasses he was used to at home.
The party pulsed around Kei like a living thing as he trailed after his friends as they wove through the crowd. Minseok led the way with the confidence of someone who had done this a dozen times before, slapping shoulders and exchanging half-shouted greetings with people Kei barely recognized - faces from the public high school that existed in a completely different orbit.
They ended up at the fold-up table where the drinking games were in full swing. Kei’s friends pulled him into a round of beer pong, their voices loud and insistent. “Come on, Koga! Show these guys how it’s done!” one of them yelled, shoving a ping pong ball into his hand. Kei aimed with the same precision he brought to tennis serves and debate rebuttals, sinking a few shots that earned scattered cheers and backslaps. The alcohol warmed his veins, loosening the edges of his thoughts and for a handful of minutes, he allowed himself to blend in.
But the novelty wore thin quickly, the shouts grew repetitive, the jokes louder and cruder, and Kei felt the familiar restlessness creeping back in. The heat from so many bodies pressed close together started to feel suffocating rather than exciting, and the constant press of noise began to grate against the quiet order he usually wrapped around himself like armour. His friends were deep into another game, barely noticing when he slipped away with a murmured excuse about needing air.
The night air had turned cooler, a crisp bite sneaking in that made the skin on his arms prickle beneath the thin fabric of his short sleeves. Kei rubbed his hands together once, feeling the slight chill settle into his bones, and scanned the clearing for a quieter spot. His gaze landed on a thick fallen log near the edge of the fire’s glow, its bark rough and weathered. It looked solid enough, and blessedly unoccupied.
He plunked himself down with a quiet sigh and leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, and let the bonfire’s warmth wash over him. Heat bloomed across his face and chest, chasing away the chill and leaving a pleasant flush in its wake and for the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction. He watched the fire dance, the way the logs shifted and collapsed in on themselves, releasing bursts of orange light that painted the faces of nearby revelers in shifting hues of gold and shadow.
His head felt pleasantly fuzzy, the edges of his thoughts softened by the heat and the liquor so for a few indulgent moments, Kei let his eyes drift shut, blocking out the flickering chaos of the party. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could almost pretend he was somewhere else - somewhere quieter, where no one expected perfection and feelings didn’t have to be hidden behind polite smiles.
When he opened his eyes again, the world swam back into focus and a plastic water bottle, slightly crinkled and glistening with condensation, was dangling directly in front of his face. Kei blinked, his gaze traveling up the arm holding it until he met the face of the boy offering it.
The stranger was his age, with a stocky build that spoke of physical discipline rather than casual sports. A fresh black eye bloomed darkly around his left socket, the skin swollen and purplish, while a busted lip split but scabbed at the corner of his mouth. Despite the obvious damage, the boy’s expression was calm, almost amused. When he noticed Kei staring, he raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge and gave the water bottle another little shake, the liquid sloshing inside.
Kei hesitated only a second before reaching out and taking the bottle. Their fingers brushed and a small spark of something unnameable shot through him. He twisted off the cap and brought the bottle to his lips, suddenly aware of how parched his throat felt. The water was cool, almost shockingly so, and he drank greedily, chugging the entire contents in long, desperate swallows. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the bottle was empty, the plastic crinkling in his grip as he lowered it.
“Thanks,” Kei said, his voice a little rougher than usual as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling strangely exposed under the other boy’s gaze.
The boy just nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. “You seemed like you needed it,” he replied.
For once, Kei didn’t overthink the next words.
“I’m Kei,” he offered, extending his hand in a gesture that felt both formal and oddly intimate in the middle of the clearing.
The boy looked at the offered hand, then back up at Kei’s face. A faint, crooked smile tugged at the uninjured side of his mouth, careful of the split lip. He clasped Kei’s hand in a firm, warm grip - calluses scraping lightly against Kei’s smoother palm.
“Fuma,” he said.
Their hands lingered a beat longer than necessary, the fire crackling between them like a witness. Kei felt the first real flutter of something deep in his chest - curiosity and intrigue.
Fuma released his hand and nodded toward the empty bottle. “You good now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The plastic bottle crinkled softly in Kei’s hand as he lowered it to his lap, the empty weight of it suddenly feeling awkward. He cleared his throat, the sound quiet against the crackle of the bonfire and the distant swell of laughter from the party. He glanced up at Fuma.
“So… do you live in this part of town?” Kei asked.
Fuma nodded once, his eyes flicking toward the trees that bordered the clearing before returning to Kei. “Yeah. Born and raised.” He paused, the corner of his uninjured mouth twitching. “You obviously don’t.”
Kei felt heat rise in his cheeks, a flush that had nothing to do with the bonfire’s warmth. He nodded, looking down at the empty water bottle for a moment, his fingers tracing the ridges of the plastic. The contrast between them felt suddenly glaring - his designer sneakers still suspiciously clean despite the trek through the woods, the expensive watch glinting faintly on his wrist.
“Is it that obvious?” he asked, a hint of self-conscious embarrassment colouring his tone.
Fuma huffed a short, genuine laugh. Without waiting for an invitation, he dropped down onto the log beside Kei, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.
“Pretty much. Most guys from your side don’t show up unless it’s for a dare or a checkbox.” Fuma shifted on the log, turning slightly toward him. The movement brought their knees closer, almost touching. “So, why are you here tonight? Doesn’t seem like your usual scene.”
“I… don’t really know,” Kei admitted after a moment. “My friends dragged me. Said I needed to loosen up… so, trying to live a little, I guess.”
Fuma hummed. “How’s that going?”
“Overrated so far.”
“Yeah, well. You picked the worst beer and the coldest log. Rookie mistakes.” Fuma laughed.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Kei couldn’t help but laugh too.
He kept stealing glances at Fuma’s face, the bruises impossible to ignore up close. The black eye had swollen enough to give the left side of his face a lopsided, shadowed look, while the split in his lower lip still looked tender. It should have made Fuma look dangerous or unapproachable, but instead it only heightened the raw, unfiltered energy radiating from him. Kei’s fingers tightened around the empty plastic bottle in his lap as curiosity finally won out.
He cleared his throat again. “What… happened to your face?” Kei asked, nodding toward the injuries with a careful tilt of his head. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Fuma lifted a hand to touch the edge of his busted lip with the pad of his thumb, testing it absently, before letting his arm drop back to rest on his knee. “This?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the black eye and split lip. “It’s nothing serious. Got lazy and caught a punch during a fight.”
“Fight? Like… boxing?” Kei’s eyes widened slightly.
“Boxing, kinda yeah, but these days it’s more MMA style. You know, mixed martial arts? Keeps me out of trouble… sort of.”
“That’s supposed to keep you out of trouble?”
Fuma shrugged, smirking. “Depends how you define trouble.”
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Kei asked softly, his dark eyes tracing the bruise around Fuma’s eye again. “Getting hit like that… over and over?”
Fuma’s crooked smile returned, careful around the split lip, but there was a spark of pride in it now. “Yeah, it hurts. But honestly, in the moment, pain in the last thing on your mind. You’re usually so pumped up on adrenaline and too focused on the next move to get caught up in the pain of it all.”
“Do you fight professionally? Should I be looking out for you on TV?” Kei teased.
Fuma chuckled. “Not yet. I train at a gym downtown. Coach says I’ve got potential, but I need to stop leading with my face.”
“Sounds like good advice,”
Fuma nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You should see the other guy.”
Kei arched a brow. “That bad?”
“Nah,” Fuma said, grinning. “He’s fine. I let him win.”
Kei gave him a flat look, and Fuma laughed again.
They fell into conversation after that, the words coming easier than Kei had expected. They started with school - safe territory, even if the divide between them yawned wide. Kei mentioned the advanced classes and the debate team, keeping the details light, while Fuma talked about the public high school’s chaotic hallways and how he spent most of his afternoons at the local gym instead of study hall.
As they talked, the night grew colder, the crisp edge of autumn air slipping past the fire’s protective glow and brushing against his exposed skin. Kei’s shirt offered little defense against it and goosebumps prickled along his forearms as an involuntary shiver ran through his tall frame, making his shoulders tighten.
Fuma noticed immediately and without a word, reached for his worn flannel shirt layered and shrugged it off in one smooth motion, revealing the simple t-shirt underneath that clung to his broad shoulders. The flannel was faded gray and black plaid, soft from countless washes, carrying the faint scent of smoke, and laundry detergent.
“Here,” Fuma said, holding the flannel out toward him. “Put this on.”
Kei hesitated, his dark eyes widening slightly at the unexpected offer. The flannel dangled between them, sleeves swaying in the firelight. It felt too intimate somehow.
“No, it’s okay,” Kei replied quickly, shaking his head even as another shiver betrayed him. “I’m fine. Really. The fire’s warm enough.”
Fuma leaned in a little closer on the log, their knees fully touching. “Bullshit. You’re shivering like a leaf. Take it. I run hot anyway. You’ll freeze before the night’s over if you don’t.”
Kei bit the inside of his cheek, feeling the flush creep back into his cheeks. The refusal sat on his tongue - years of training to never appear weak, never accept anything that might imply need - but the cold was sinking deeper now, and Fuma’s gaze made it hard to look away.
After a long moment, he reached out and took the flannel. Their fingers brushed again - longer this time, Fuma’s callused warmth lingering against Kei’s smoother skin.
“Thanks,” Kei murmured as he slipped the flannel on over his shirt, the fabric enveloping him immediately. It was slightly too broad across the shoulders for his leaner frame, the sleeves a bit long, but the residual heat from Fuma’s body wrapped around him like an embrace.
The other watched him settle into the shirt, satisfaction flickering across his bruised face. “Better?”
Kei nodded, pulling the flannel a little closer around himself. The chill retreated, replaced by a deep, quiet warmth that spread through his chest.
The fire continued to crackle and pop but the alcohol, the long walk in, and the weight of the evening were beginning to catch up with him. A yawn escaped Kei before he could stop it, his jaw cracking softly as he raised a hand to cover his mouth with practiced politeness. His eyelids felt heavier now, the edges of the world softening into a pleasant haze.
“I think it’s time for me to head home,” Kei said quietly, glancing sideways at Fuma. His voice carried a note of reluctance he hadn’t expected.
The log beneath him suddenly felt too comfortable, the company beside him too compelling to leave behind so easily. But he pushed himself to his feet anyways and scanned the clearing with a slow sweep of his gaze.
The party had thinned out somewhat - groups had broken up, the music from the speaker had quieted to a lower volume, and several people were now sprawled on logs or leaning against trees in various states of intoxication. His eyes finally landed on Minseok, who was laughing loudly near the fold-up table with a fresh cup in hand. Kei made his way over, weaving carefully between scattered bodies and empty bottles.
“Minseok,” Kei called, stopping beside him. “I’m heading out. You coming?”
His friend turned, his face flushed and eyes bright with drink. He waved a dismissive hand, grinning widely. “Nah, man. I’m good. The night’s still young but I think I saw Takashi head towards the cars a couple minutes ago.”
Kei nodded, swallowing his mild irritation. He seriously hopes their designated driver didn’t leave without telling him. The woods loomed dark and tangled beyond the clearing’s edge, the rooted and rocky path they had followed in now swallowed by shadow. He wasn’t exactly sure which direction the parking lot lay since the trees all looked the same in the low light. He stood there for a moment, hesitating, the flannel sleeves brushing against his wrists.
Fuma suddenly appeared beside him again, his frame reassuring in the firelight. “I can walk you through the woods. It’s easy to get turned around out there if you don’t know the trails but I know the way back to the parking lot.”
“Are you sure?” Kei asked, his tone softening with genuine appreciation. “I don’t want to pull you away from the party.”
Fuma shrugged. “Come on. Let’s get you back to that fancy house of yours.”
The trees finally thinned out on their walk, and Kei and Fuma stepped from the shadowed path into the gravel parking lot. The area was dimly lit by a few scattered lampposts, their yellowish glow barely cutting through the darkness. A handful of cars and trucks sat at haphazard angles along the shoulder of the old service road - some dented and dusty, others gleaming under the faint light. Kei’s friends brand-new sedan stood out immediately among them, parked crookedly exactly where he had left it hours earlier. Relief flickered through him as he started toward it, Fuma walking quietly beside him.
But they got closer, Kei slowed. Through the fogged windows, two figures were tangled together in the back seat - his DD and someone else, hands roaming, mouths pressed close in a heated, oblivious embrace.
Kei stopped a few feet away, letting out a long, quiet sigh. The sound carried equal parts exasperation and resignation. Of course. The one night he actually needed a reliable ride home, and this happened. He rubbed the back of his neck, the fabric of Fuma’s flannel shifting against his skin.
“Great,” he muttered under his breath. He pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up his face in the darkness. “I guess I’ll just call a cab…”
But the moment he unlocked his phone, reality hit him like a cold splash of water. His wallet. He had left it on his vanity at home earlier that evening in his rush to leave with his friends - too distracted by the novelty of sneaking out to a bush party to remember something as basic as identification and cash. No wallet meant no payment, and his parents had strict monitoring on any charges that might appear on the family accounts. Calling a cab wasn’t an option tonight.
“Shit…” Kei groaned, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Fuma asked, stepping closer.
“I don’t have my wallet, I forgot it at home which means I don’t have a way to pay for the cab.”
“I can give you a ride,” Fuma offered simply, nodding toward an old, reliable pickup truck parked a short way down the lot. “My truck’s right over there.”
Kei turned to him, surprise flickering across his features. “You haven’t been drinking?”
Fuma shook his head, the black eye and busted lip making his expression look even more straightforward in the low light. “Nah. Not tonight. I’ve got training tomorrow morning - early session at the gym. My coach would kill me if I showed up hungover.”
Kei hesitated, weighing the offer. Accepting a ride from a boy he had only met a couple of hours ago - a fighter with bruised knuckles and a black eye no less - felt like stepping even further outside the carefully controlled boundaries of his life. Yet the alternative was walking the long, dark road back toward Grey City or waiting around awkwardly until his friends decided to leave.
He glanced once more at the fogged-up sedan, then back at Fuma’s patient face. A small, grateful smile tugged at Kei’s lips, softening the perfect lines of his features.
“Okay,” he said softly. “If you’re sure. Thank you.”
Fuma nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in that crooked smile. “Come on. I’ll even let you pick the music.”
“Fine,” Kei said, sighing. “But I’m picking something terrible on purpose.”
“If it’s country, I’m leaving you on the side of the road.”
The old pickup truck rumbled to life with a deep, guttural growl that vibrated through the seats. It was clearly ancient with faded red paint chipped along the hood, the dashboard cracked in several places, and the suspension creaking loudly as Fuma backed out of the gravel lot. Every shift of the gears produced a concerning metallic clunk, and the engine made occasional sketchy knocking sounds that made Kei’s shoulders tense. He sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his designer sneakers looking absurdly out of place on the worn floor mat littered with empty water bottles and gym tape.
Fuma, however, drove with complete nonchalance, one hand loose on the steering wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. He seemed utterly unbothered by the truck’s protests. “Don’t worry. She’s tougher than she sounds.”
Kei forced himself to relax against the seat, exhaling slowly. “Just start driving toward the east end of town to start,” he instructed as the truck pulled onto the dark service road, headlights cutting through the night as the woods fell away behind them.
As the miles ticked by, the conversation drifted naturally from the party to music. Fuma flicked on the radio, and after cycling through a few static-filled stations, they landed on an alt-rock playlist. To Kei’s surprise, they kept finding common ground like bands Kei had discovered through late-night headphones sessions when his parents thought he was studying, songs that spoke to the restlessness he could never voice aloud. Fuma knew every chorus, drumming his scarred knuckles lightly against the steering wheel in time with the beat.
They debated favorite albums, argued playfully over which tracks hit hardest, and laughed when they realized they both secretly loved the same underrated indie artist whose lyrics were all aching longing and quiet rebellion.
The shared tastes felt like another small bridge spanning the wide river between their worlds. Kei found himself leaning forward slightly in the seat, more animated than he usually allowed himself to be, the flannel sleeves slipping down over his wrists as he gestured. For once, he wasn’t performing perfection. He was just talking with someone who listened without calculating what it might cost him.
Eventually the truck crossed into the east end of town, the landscape shifting from dense woods and rural stretches to wider streets lined with increasingly expensive homes. The streetlights grew brighter and more frequent, the houses larger and set farther back from the road behind wrought-iron gates and perfectly manicured hedges.
Kei straightened a little, giving more specific directions now. “Take the next left at the light,” he said, pointing ahead. “Then stay on this road for about two miles. We’ll pass the big stone fountain on the right and that’s the entrance to my neighbourhood.”
Fuma followed the instructions without comment, though Kei caught the way his eyes flicked toward the opulent houses sliding past the windows - the sprawling estates with their three-car garages and perfectly lit driveways. The contrast between Fuma’s noisy, battle-worn truck and the quiet luxury surrounding them felt suddenly stark.
“Park here,” Kei pointed to a spot a few houses down from his own. “Just in case the car backfires or something. I don’t want my parents waking up and catching me sneaking back in.”
Fuma nodded without argument and eased the truck to the curb, killing the engine. The sudden quiet inside the cab felt intimate, broken only by the low tick of cooling metal and the faint music still drifting from the speakers. Kei unbuckled his seatbelt, hesitating for a moment before turning toward Fuma.
“Thanks again for the ride. And for the water earlier. And… everything.” He began shrugging out of the flannel, the fabric sliding off his shoulders with a soft rustle. “Here, let me give this back to you.”
Fuma shook his head, one hand lifting from the steering wheel in a gentle refusal.
“Keep it,” he said simply. “The walk up to your house is gonna take a few minutes. You’ll get cold again without it.”
Kei paused, the flannel half-off his arms. His cheeks warmed with a slight blush, the colour rising unbidden and impossible to hide in the close confines of the truck.
“Okay,” he murmured, slipping the flannel back on and pulling it a little tighter around himself. “Thank you.”
He opened the passenger door and stepped out onto the smooth sidewalk, the cool night air brushing against his face. The blush lingered on his cheeks as he closed the door with a soft click, turning back once to offer Fuma a small, genuine smile through the window. The other boy lifted a hand in a casual wave, his crooked grin visible even in the low light.
He turned and began the long walk up the street toward his family’s sprawling mansion. Behind him, the old truck idled for another few seconds before pulling away, its noisy engine fading into the distance as Kei disappeared into the shadows.
He moved through the darkened house like a shadow, his footsteps silent on the polished marble floors. The massive front door clicked shut behind him with barely a sound, the security system’s soft beep confirming it had re-armed without protest. The moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door, the full weight of the night hit him. He reeked of thick smoke from the bonfire clinging to his hair and clothes, and the lingering sweetness of booze on his breath.
His parents would notice in an instant if they caught even a trace of it tomorrow morning so Kei stripped quickly, bundling his clothes into a tight ball and shoving them deep into the bottom of his laundry hamper. He then grabbed clean pajamas and headed straight for the en-suite bathroom.
He washed his hair twice, letting the expensive shampoo chase away the wild, smoky scent of the woods. The steam filled the marble-tiled room, fogging the mirror as he lathered his face and ran his hands over his arms and chest, trying to erase every trace of the bush party.
When he finally stepped out, skin flushed pink from the heat, Kei wrapped a towel around his waist and stood dripping in front of the sink. His reflection stared back - sharp cheekbones, dark eyes still slightly glassy from the alcohol, hair falling damply across his forehead. On the marble counter, Fuma’s faded gray-and-black flannel lay folded where he had set it earlier. He picked up the flannel, pressing it briefly to his face before catching himself.
The blush from the truck returned, heating his cheeks again. This was dangerous and reckless. His parents would lose their minds if they knew he had spent the night talking to a Sunshine City boy who fought for fun. Yet Kei couldn’t bring himself to stuff the shirt into the hamper with the rest of his clothes. Instead, he slipped it on over his bare torso, the oversized sleeves swallowing his arms, the hem hanging loose past his hips. The fabric felt impossibly soft against his clean skin, still carrying just enough of Fuma’s scent to make his pulse stutter.
Kei turned off the bathroom light and padded back into his bedroom. He climbed into the large, perfectly made bed and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the distant glow of the city lights filtering through expensive curtains. Kei pulled the collar of the flannel closer to his nose, breathing in the faint remaining scent, and let the quiet longing settle deep in his bones.
- 🥊 -
Fuma leaned against the low concrete wall bordering a dry fountain, the stone cool against his back despite the mild day. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips, the bitter smoke curling upward and mixing with the lingering taste of greasy pepperoni pizza he had wolfed down ten minutes earlier.
Taehyun and Nicholas lounged nearby, two of his regular training partners from the Sunshine City gym. The late morning sun filtered weakly through the scattered clouds, casting a pale light over the central plaza in downtown Havenwood. It was one of those neutral zones - neither fully Grey City polished nor Sunshine City grit - where office workers grabbed quick lunches and high schoolers killed time between classes.
“Coach is gonna ride our asses if we’re late again,” Nicholas muttered, though there was no real urgency in his voice. He accepted the cigarette Fuma passed him, taking a slow drag before handing it back.
Fuma shrugged, exhaling a thin stream of smoke toward the sky. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Plenty of time.” His black eye from the bush party had faded to a faint yellowish bruise, and the split lip had healed into a small scar that tugged when he smiled. The past few weeks had blurred by in a pattern of early morning training sessions, afternoon classes he only half-paid attention to, and the occasional late-night sparring.
He took one last deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs alongside the lingering taste of pizza and tobacco, and crushed the cigarette out under the heel of his boot.
“Alright,” he said, straightening up from the wall. “We should probably head back before Coach hears we were out here slacking.”
Taehyun groaned dramatically but pushed himself to his feet, while Nicholas simply nodded. The three of them had only taken a few steps away from the plaza wall when the low, polished growl of an engine caught their attention. A shiny new black SUV that was gleaming under the midday sun like it had just rolled off the dealership floor pulled smoothly up to the curb near the edge of the plaza. The doors swung open, and a group of boys in crisp private school uniforms spilled out, laughing and shoving each other.
Fuma’s steps slowed, then stopped entirely. There, stepping out of the back seat with effortless grace, was Kei.
He looked immaculate. The dark navy blazer of his uniform sat perfectly tailored across his broad shoulders, the fabric smooth and unwrinkled even after what must have been a full morning of classes. Beneath it, the white dress shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar, the knot of his striped tie precise and centered. His charcoal pants fell in clean lines down his long legs, ending just above polished black dress shoes that caught the light with every step. Not a single hair on his head was out of place, the dark strands were swept back neatly, framing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and his jaw.
Fuma couldn’t look away.
“Damn. Private school parade.” Taehyun whistled low under his breath.
Nicholas chuckled, but Fuma barely heard him. His gaze stayed locked on Kei, heart beating a little harder than it should have. He watched as the boy from the party paused mid-step, the laughter dying on his lips. A genuine smile that showed his perfectly white teeth appeared on his face and he waved towards where Fuma stood.
“Yo, that one’s cute,” Nicholas spoke.
Fuma glanced at him sideways. “He’s way out of your league.”
Nicholas snorted. “And not yours?”
“Yeah, Fuma, you really think that wave was for you? He was probably swatting a fly away.” Taehyun laughed, Nicholas joining in.
Fuma gave them both a glare. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Bullshit.”
“I met him at the bush party a few weeks ago. I even drove him home,”
Taehyun immediately started laughing. “Dude. He looked at you like you hung the damn moon. What the hell did you do to that pretty boy to make him look at you like that?”
“Shut up,” Fuma said as he leaned back against the concrete wall, arms crossed over his chest, trying to ignore the way his stomach flipped.
Nicholas wasn’t letting it go. “Nah, for real. You gonna chase him down or are you just gonna stare at the pizza place like a lovesick puppy all afternoon?”
Taehyun grinned wider, already hopping onto his skateboard. “Bet you ten bucks he’s thinking about you right now. ‘Oh no, the scary fighter smiled at me -’” He pushed off hard, attempting some cocky trick he’d been practicing - ollie into a feeble grind along the low curb. The board flipped cleanly at first, but his back foot slipped on the landing. Taehyun went down hard, arms windmilling as he crashed onto the pavement with a loud thud and a string of curses.
Nicholas burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. “Every single time, man! You never learn!”
Fuma kept watching Kei and for a moment, it looked like the taller boy was going to follow his friends inside the shop but instead he pauses at the door, talking to one of them. His friend gives him a weird look but nods, heading inside without him. Kei, however, turns on his heel and walked straight toward Fuma.
Fuma straightened, heart kicking up a notch despite himself. Taehyun and Nicholas had gone quiet, watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement as Kei stopped a few feet away, close enough that Fuma could smell the faint, expensive cologne clinging to him.
Up close, Kei looked even more untouchable: tall, handsome, every detail polished to perfection. Yet those dark eyes held the same quiet spark Fuma had seen by the bonfire.
“Hey,”
“Hey. Didn’t think I’d see you again.” Fuma answered coolly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to hide the way his knuckles had tightened.
“I didn’t think I’d see you,” Kei said, laughing softly. “Small town, I guess.”
Fuma’s friends glanced at each other, sharing a look, but none of them interrupted. Maybe they sensed something just a little different in the way Fuma was looking at him.
“You doing alright?” Fuma asked, and it sounded casual, but the way he said it made Kei’s throat go tight.
“Yeah, things have been… fine. You?”
“Still getting punched in the face for fun. You know, the usual.”
Kei laughed and shifted his weight slightly, the polished black dress shoes scraping softly against the pavement. “I just wanted to thank you again. For the shirt. And the drive home that night. I… appreciated it. More than I probably showed.”
“No problem. Looked better on you anyway.”
A faint blush colored Kei’s cheeks. “Can I… get your number?” he asked, the words coming out a little hesitant, as if he knew how risky they were.
The request surprised Fuma. A Sunshine City fighter and a Grey City heir exchanging numbers in broad daylight felt like tempting fate, but the pull was too strong to ignore. He pulled out his phone, already unlocking the screen and handing it over.
“Here. Type it in.”
When Kei was done, he handed the phone back and Fuma glanced down at the new contact.
“You’re not even gonna add an emoji?”
Kei lifted a brow. “Would you prefer a heart?”
Fuma looked up, grinning. “I mean, if it’s on the table…”
Kei just rolled his eyes and turned to walk back toward the SUV.
“Text me,” he called over his shoulder, not quite looking back.
“You sure?” Fuma asked.
Kei paused at the edge of the sidewalk, glancing at him, that same blush still clinging to the tops of his cheeks.
“Yeah. I want you to.”
Then he slipped into the driver’s seat, his friends catcalled him lightly, but Kei ignored them as he stared the engine with a smooth purr that sounded nothing like Fuma’s old, noisy truck. The black SUV pulled away from the curb, gleaming under the sun, and disappeared down the street.
Taehyun finally broke the silence with a low whistle. “Damn, man. Didn’t realize you were pulling from the upper crust these days.”
Fuma didn’t look at them. He was already thumbing open the messages app, typing with one hand as the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.
“What’re you doing?” Taehyun asked. “Don’t tell me you’re actually texting him.”
“Yup.”
Nicholas blinked. “You serious?”
“Rich boy like that?” Taehyung added, incredulous. “Come on, man. You’re not even in the same tax bracket.”
Fuma didn’t even glance up. “Good thing he’s not dating my bank account.”
That shut them up for a second.
He finished typing and hit send before he could overthink it.
[Fuma]
hey. this is fuma. don’t save me under something dumb.
A second later, he added:
[Fuma]
unless it’s “coolest guy you ever met at a bush party” or something. i’ll allow that.
Then he finally looked at his friends, pocketing his phone.
“He’s cute,” Fuma said simply. “I like him.”
Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get your heart stomped.”
“Yeah,” Fuma said with a shrug. “But maybe not.”
- 🥊 -
The bleachers were packed with students screaming, marching bands echoing across the field, drums thundering and cheerleaders flipping through the air like confetti. The entire town turned out every year for the Thanksgiving game, a clash between prestige and grit: Kei’s elite prep school versus Fuma’s scrappy public team.
Cheers erupted in waves from the home-side bleachers where Kei sat surrounded by his classmates, all of them in jackets and matching school scarves, laughing and shouting encouragement at the players below. Kei smiled when expected, nodded along to the conversations swirling around him, but his mind kept drifting elsewhere, specifically to the steady stream of texts that had passed between him and Fuma over the past two weeks.
It was non-stop late-night messages about music, stupid memes, quiet complaints about training and schoolwork. Kei had casually mentioned he’d be at tonight’s game, half-joking when he asked if Fuma was going. Fuma’s reply had been immediate and blunt: “Wouldn’t be caught dead at a school event.”
But when Kei’s gaze swept across the field to the visitor-side bleachers, scanning the sea of rival school colours, he saw him. Fuma sat near the top row on the opposite side, chatting with the same friends from the plaza.
Kei tried to keep his expression neutral, but a small, private smile tugged at the corners of his lips anyway. He pulled out his phone, thumbs moving quickly across the screen.
[Kei]
thought you said you wouldn’t be caught dead here.
He hit send, then risked another glance across the field. Fuma’s head tilted down almost immediately as he checked his phone. Even from afar, Kei could see the faint smile break across his face. A moment later he looked up, eyes locking onto Kei’s across the brightly lit distance. He raised one hand in a small wave.
Kei slipped his phone back into his pocket, the roar of the crowd swelling around him as the home team scored another touchdown, but he barely registered the noise. He turned to his friends with an something about stretching his legs before slipping away.
He descended the metal steps of the home bleachers, the cold November air nipping at his cheeks. Crossing behind the end zone and circling the field felt exposed, every step carrying him further from the safety of his own side. A few people gave him odd looks - whispers rippling through small groups as the tall boy in the crisp private school scarf and jacket walked purposefully toward enemy territory. Kei ignored them, chin lifted, dark eyes fixed on the opposite bleachers. The last place he should be heading. But it was the only place he wanted to be.
He started up the visitor-side steps without hesitation. The metal clanged under his polished shoes. People parted for him instinctively, a human wave shifting aside. Some muttered comments he couldn’t quite catch; others simply stared. Kei didn’t care. His gaze stayed locked on the figure sitting near the top row.
Fuma looked up as Kei approached, and the moment their eyes met, a smile spread across the fighter’s face. He was slouched comfortably in his dark clothes, elbows resting on his knees, looking completely at ease.
“Hey, stranger,” Fuma said as Kei stopped before him. “Decided you missed me?”
“Or maybe I just wanted to see my school’s team win from another perspective,” Kei replied.
Fuma laughed before elbowing Nicholas hard in the ribs without looking away from Kei.
“Move down,” he hissed.
Nicholas groaned but scooted over anyway, making room on the cold aluminum bench. Fuma patted the newly freed spot beside him.
“C’mon. Sit.”
Kei lowered himself onto the bench, their thighs pressing together immediately in the tight space, the contact startling through layers of fabric. Kei kept his posture straight at first, but the chill of the night air was already seeping through his pants.
Without warning, Fuma reached across and ripped the thick gray blanket right off Taehyun’s lap. Taehyun yelped in protest, but Fuma ignored him, unfolding the blanket in one smooth motion and draping it over both their laps. It was worn and soft, trapping their shared body heat beneath it instantly.
Fuma leaned in slightly, shoulder brushing Kei’s. “There. Better than freezing your ass off.”
Kei let out a quiet breath, the warmth spreading pleasantly up his thighs. He glanced sideways at Fuma, the proximity making his pulse jump before glancing over at his other side where Fuma’s two friends were staring at them.
“These idiots are Taehyun and Nicholas. We train together at the gym.” Fuma jerked his chin toward his friends.
Taehyun grinned, offering a lazy two-finger salute. “Sup, rich boy. Nice scarf.”
Nicholas gave a small nod, his expression more appraising than mocking. He pulled a small metal thermos from the inside pocket of his hoodie, unscrewed the cap, and held it out toward Kei without a word.
“What’s that?” Kei asked, eyeing it warily.
“Something to help warm you up,” Nicholas told him, shaking the canister.
A strong, antiseptic smell hit Kei’s nose causing him to grimace.
“You brought alcohol to a school game?”
“I’m not playing, and my school’s policy is a joke. Besides, it’s Thanksgiving weekend. It’s practically tradition.”
Kei blinked at the offering. Then he shrugged and took the thermos. He brought it to his lips and took a solid swig.
The cheap hard liquor hit like fire - harsh, burning, with a bitter aftertaste that made his eyes water instantly. Kei winced hard, coughing as he lowered the thermos and handed it back. The alcohol spread heat down his throat and into his chest, far rougher than anything he’d tasted at the bush party or stolen from his parents’ cabinet.
“God,” he rasped, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. His voice came out a little hoarse from the burn. “That’s… awful.”
Fuma let out a laugh beside him, the sound vibrating through the blanket and into Kei’s side. Nicholas smirked as he took the flask back, while Taehyun barked out a loud laugh.
“Welcome to Sunshine City hospitality,” Fuma said, still grinning as he nudged Kei’s knee under the blanket with his own. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Either way, it keeps you warm.”
Kei shook his head, the wince slowly melting into a reluctant smile as the cheap liquor continued to warm him from the inside.
The flask made its slow rounds beneath the shared blanket as the game rolled on, the cheap liquor burning a warm trail down Kei’s throat with every cautious sip. He winced less each time, though the harsh bite never fully mellowed. Fuma passed it to him without ceremony, their fingers brushing under the heavy fabric every few minutes.
Taehyun and Nicholas kept up a running commentary with loud jeers when the rival team fumbled, exaggerated groans when penalties were called, while Fuma’s voice stayed lower, closer to Kei’s ear, pointing out sloppy plays or muttering sarcastic observations that made Kei’s mouth twitch with suppressed laughter.
When the home team scored, Kei joined in the cheers half-heartedly at first, then with more genuine enthusiasm as the liquor loosened something in his chest. Fuma shouted for the visitors with surprising volume, elbowing Kei lightly whenever their team made a decent play.
Kei’s thigh stayed pressed firmly against Fuma’s the entire time, a constant point of contact that sent quiet sparks through him no matter how loudly the crowd roared.
The final whistle blew with Kei’s school pulling ahead by two touchdowns. The home-side bleachers erupted in victory, but on the visitor side the mood soured instantly with groans, muttered curses, and scattered boos rippling through the stands.
Kei shot to his feet anyway, unable to contain the rush of triumph. He raised both arms in a wide, uncharacteristic cheer, waving them above his head as the scoreboard confirmed the win. “Yes!” The word burst out of him, bright and unrestrained, cutting through the grumbling around him.
A few dirty looks were thrown his way from nearby rival fans, sharp glares and muttered insults about “arrogant Grey City pricks” but Kei ignored them completely, still smiling wide as he turned toward Fuma.
Fuma stood up beside him, the blanket pooling at their feet. Even standing, he had to tilt his head back slightly to meet Kei’s taller gaze, the difference in their builds stark under the bright stadium lights. Fuma was grinning, his eyes fixed on the taller with open amusement.
“You’re really celebrating in enemy territory?” Fuma teased. “Bold move, pretty boy.”
“I told you I was coming to watch my school win,” Kei giggled, still smiling.
Fuma’s grin widened, his hand brushing lightly against Kei’s under the pretense of picking up the fallen blanket. The brief contact lingered a second longer than necessary.
The four of them began making their way down the bleacher steps amid the thinning crowd, Taehyun and Nicholas trading playful insults about the game while stealing glances at the unlikely pair walking side by side. Kei stayed close to Fuma, the victory still buzzing in his veins, the secret thrill of standing openly next to the Sunshine City fighter making his chest feel tight.
The crowd streamed out of the stadium like a slow-moving river and Kei walked alongside Fuma, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they descended the last set of bleacher steps and moved toward the parking lot. Taehyun and Nicholas trailed just behind, still trading jabs about the game, the empty flask now tucked safely back into Nicholas’s hoodie pocket.
The parking lot was a chaotic sea of headlights and car horns. Students from both schools milled around, some already blasting music from open trunks, others climbing into vehicles with exaggerated sighs or whoops of celebration.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
“Kei! Yo, Koga! Over here!”
Kei turned his head. A group of his Grey City classmates stood clustered near one of their shiny, new car, waving him over with impatient gestures. Minseok was practically bouncing on his heels, already hyped for the after-party.
Kei slowed to a stop, the group coming to a natural halt beside him. He looked back at Fuma, Taehyun, and Nicholas and a moment he hesitated, the invisible line between their worlds stretching taut in the cold night air.
“My friend Jihoon’s throwing a party tonight,” he said, glancing at Fuma. “His house is huge and his parents are away for the weekend, so it’s gonna be obnoxious. You guys should come.”
Taehyun’s eyebrows shot up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, exchanging a quick look with Nicholas. Fuma, however, stayed quiet for a beat, studying Kei with those unflinching eyes.
“You sure about that?” he asked, “Your friends might not exactly roll out the welcome mat for guys like us.”
Kei held his gaze, the flush from the liquor and the cold still warming his cheeks. “I’m sure. I want you there. And that’s all that matters.”
He waited, heart pounding harder than it had during the final minutes of the game, while his Grey City friends continued calling his name from across the lot, their voices growing more insistent. The invitation sat between them - an open door across the river that had always kept them apart.
“Okay,” Fuma nodded, ignoring Taehyun and Nicholas’s cheers from behind him. “Text me the address?”
“I will,” Kei gave a wave goodbye before jogging off to where his friends were waiting.
Fuma, Taehyun and Nicholas head towards Taehyun’s beat-up silver sedan. Fuma slid into the back seat, the familiar scent of old fast food wrappers and gym bags greeting him. Nicholas took shotgun, already texting his sister about grabbing them some booze. Taehyun cranked the engine, which sputtered once before roaring to life with its usual unhealthy rattle.
Fuma’s phone buzzed in his pocket almost immediately. He pulled it out, the cracked screen lighting up with Kei’s name.
Taehyun glanced at him in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raised. “Got the address?”
“Yeah,” Fuma replied, leaning back against the worn seat.
“Perfect, let’s go stop by my house. My sister says she'll get us some stuff.”
By the time they started heading towards the house party, an hour had passed since Kei had texted Fuma. Nicholas shook his head, amusement clear in his voice.
“This is gonna be interesting. Grey City victory party with three Sunshine City delinquents showing up. You think they’ll have security checking IDs at the door?”
“Probably not the kind we’re used to,” Taehyun snorted, pulling out of the lot and heading east. “More like butlers asking if we want our coats checked.”
The drive wasn’t long. They were already deep in the east end, where the streets widened and the houses grew larger with every block. Manicured lawns rolled out like dark carpets under the streetlights, and expensive cars lined the curbs.
Taehyun slowed as they approached the street Kei had told them. The house was huge - easily as big as Kei’s family home, maybe bigger. A sprawling white colonial-style mansion with black shutters and tall columns at the entrance, set back behind elegant wrought-iron gates that stood open for the night. Multi-coloured light spilled from every window, and the driveway was already packed with vehicles. Music thumped faintly from inside, bass-heavy and celebratory, while groups of well-dressed teens lingered on the wide front steps and across the perfectly trimmed lawn.
Fuma let out a low whistle as Taehyun found a spot on the street a little ways down. “Damn. This place is massive.”
Nicholas leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “You weren’t kidding about the east end. My house could fit inside this one five times.”
Taehyun killed the engine and turned in his seat, grinning. “Remember, no starting fights unless they start it first. And try not to steal the silverware.”
Fuma rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the nervous energy buzzing under his skin. “Let’s go,” he said, opening the car door.
The heavy front door of the mansion swung open to a wall of pulsing music, and the overwhelming scent of spilled beer. The three boys stepped inside and immediately felt the shift, like they had crossed into an entirely different world.
The foyer alone was bigger than their living rooms, with gleaming marble floors, a sweeping staircase, and crystal chandeliers that cast soft golden light over everything. Groups of well-dressed Grey City students filled every visible space - laughing too loud, red solo cups in hand, some already dancing in the massive living room visible through arched doorways. Designer clothes, perfect hair, and effortless confidence surrounded them. Fuma, Taehyun, and Nicholas suddenly felt painfully obvious in their hoodies, worn jeans, and scuffed sneakers. A few heads turned in their direction, eyebrows raising, conversations dipping for a moment before resuming.
They lingered awkwardly just inside the door, unsure where to go, the noise and energy pressing in from all sides.
A tall guy in a Grey City football jersey - broad-shouldered and clearly a little buzzed -pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of them, sizing them up with a skeptical look.
“Who do you guys know here?” he asked, voice carrying over the music with a hint of challenge.
Nicholas opened his mouth, a smartass reply already forming on his tongue - “Your mom invited us, actually” - when a familiar figure suddenly appeared out of the crowd like he had been waiting for them.
Kei moved fast, cutting through the sea of bodies with surprising determination. Without hesitation, he threw his arms around Fuma’s neck in a tight, enthusiastic hug. Kei’s taller frame folding around Fuma’s shorter one for a brief, electric moment.
Fuma caught the clean scent of Kei’s cologne and the faint trace of whatever sweet drink he’d been having, his heart slamming hard against his ribs at the unexpected closeness.
“Fuma,” Kei said, voice bright and genuinely happy as he pulled back just enough to look at him. His dark eyes were sparkling, cheeks slightly flushed. He kept one hand lightly on Fuma’s shoulder. “You came.”
Kei turned to the other two with an easy, welcoming smile, still standing close enough to Fuma that their arms brushed.
“Taehyun, Nicholas - thanks for coming,” he greeted them warmly, as if they were old friends instead of near-strangers from the bleachers.
The football player in the jersey blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden display. Kei turned to him with calm authority.
“They’re here with me,” he said simply, leaving no room for argument. “They’re my guests.”
The football player shrugged, muttering something under his breath about “whatever” before wandering back into the crowd, the tension dissolving as quickly as it had appeared.
Kei let out a small breath of relief, his hand still resting lightly on Fuma’s shoulder for another second before he dropped it. The blush on his cheeks deepened just a touch as he looked between the three of them, suddenly aware of how bold the hug had been in front of everyone.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the main living room with a tilt of his head. “Let’s get you guys something to drink that doesn’t taste like paint thinner. The kitchen’s this way.”
“We brought our own,” Nicholas raised the six pack of cheap beer his sister had gotten them.
“I should have told you, this isn’t a BYOB. There’s plenty of stuff to go around,” Kei laughed before waving towards a long marble island in the massive kitchen, where bottles of every kind were lined up like soldiers. “Help yourselves. There’s better beer in the cooler over there, some decent vodka, whiskey, and a bunch of flavored coolers if you want something sweeter. Mixers are on the counter - soda, juice, whatever.”
Taehyun and Nicholas didn’t need to be told twice. They moved straight for the beer cooler, grabbing cold cans with appreciative nods. Fuma followed more slowly, his attention still half on Kei as he picked up a can of lager and cracked it open.
Kei stayed at the island, mixing himself another drink by pouring a generous amount of vodka into a red Solo cup, adding cranberry juice and a splash of lime from a small bowl. He stirred it with a straw, then took a sip, his eyes flicking up to meet Fuma’s over the rim of the cup.
Kei had changed into a fitted black button-down shirt that hugged his tall, lean frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal smooth forearms. The top two buttons were undone, showing just a hint of collarbone and a gold necklace underneath and he had clearly put effort into his appearance tonight: a touch of subtle black eyeliner smudged around his eyes, making his already striking dark gaze look even more intense and magnetic under the low party lights. His hair was still neatly styled but with a slightly tousled edge that suggested he had run his fingers through it more than once.
The four of them lingered in the kitchen for a while, drinks in hand. Kei introduced them to a few of his friends who wandered over - Minseok, who gave the Sunshine City boys a slightly wary but polite nod, and a couple of girls from the tennis team who seemed more curious than judgmental. The introductions were brief but surprisingly smooth. Taehyun’s easy humour quickly broke the ice, and soon they were all laughing over stupid stories from the game and exaggerated complaints about coaches and teachers.
As the night deepened, the group migrated toward the living room where drinking games had started. They joined a round of beer pong on a long table set up near the windows. Kei proved surprisingly competitive, his precise aim from years of tennis serving translating well to the game. Fuma was loud and aggressive in the best way, trash-talking with a grin. Taehyun kept trying over-the-top tricks just to make everyone laugh, and Nicholas played with confidence, shrugging towards the crowd every time he sunk a ball.
After a game of 2 v 2 where Kei’s ball bounced once, teetered on the rim… and missed by a hair, he and Fuma accepted the defeat with pride, shaking hands with Taehyun and Nicholas, the new victors.
Kei threw his hands up in exaggerated defeat, letting out a dramatic sigh.
“Unbelievable,” he declared. Then, without warning, he let his tall frame fall backward dramatically into Fuma’s chest, arms flinging out like he had been mortally wounded. “I need some fresh air. This loss is too much to bear.”
Fuma caught him easily, strong arms wrapping around Kei’s waist to steady him. The taller’s back pressed against his front for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“Come on,” Kei murmured, straightening up but immediately grabbing the other boy's hand. His fingers laced through Fuma’s callused ones without hesitation, the touch bold in the middle of the crowded room. “Let’s go.”
He tugged Fuma through the throng of bodies, ignoring the curious glances and a few raised eyebrows from his Grey City friends. Taehyun catcalled something teasing after them, but Kei didn’t look back. They slipped out the back doors onto the wide wooden deck, where string lights twinkled overhead like stars caught in wires. A handful of people lingered outside - some smoking, others nursing drinks and chatting in small clusters - but the energy felt lighter away from the pounding bass inside.
Kei didn’t stop there. He kept Fuma’s hand firmly in his and led him up a short flight of stairs to the upper patio, a more secluded area tucked above the main deck. It was quieter here, the music muffled to a distant thump, the lights dimmer and softer. Only a few scattered outdoor heaters stood ready. Kei reached over and flipped two of them on with a soft click. Warm orange glow bloomed instantly, pushing back the November chill.
He finally released Fuma’s hand - reluctantly - and dropped down onto the wide outdoor couch, the cushions soft and inviting. Kei patted the spot right beside him, looking up at Fuma with a small, genuine smile that carried weeks of hidden longing.
“Sit with me?” he asked softly, voice quieter now that they were away from the crowd.
Fuma settled down beside him without hesitation and Kei leaned back against the cushions, turning slightly so he could face the other boy more fully. Fuma leaned back against the cushions, one arm draped casually along the back of the couch behind Kei. He took a slow sip from his beer can, then glanced sideways at the taller boy.
“So,” he asked, “do you always go to parties like this?”
Kei let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft and genuine. He tilted his head back slightly, staring up at the string lights for a moment before answering. His fingers played idly with the hem of his shirt, a small nervous habit that Fuma was starting to notice.
“Sometimes,” Kei admitted, “These parties with my friends… they’re actually fun. Loud, messy, a little stupid, but real. You know, people laugh too loud, drink cheap beer mixed with expensive vodka, and no one’s keeping tabs on who said the right thing or wore the right outfit.”
He shifted closer on the couch, their shoulders brushing. The subtle eyeliner made his dark eyes look even more striking as he met Fuma’s gaze directly.
“But the ones my parents drag me to?” Kei continued, his tone turning drier, almost bitter. “Those are god-awful. Stuffy business galas and charity events in hotel ballrooms. Everyone in tailored suits and evening gowns, smiling like their faces might crack if they stop. You spend the whole night making polite conversation about stock portfolios and university applications while waiters serve tiny plates of food that you can eat in one bite and cost more than most people’s weekly groceries. No one says what they actually mean.”
Kei’s expression softened as he looked at Fuma, the contrast between the two worlds clear in his voice. “Tonight feels different... better, and I think it’s because you’re here.”
The words slipped out and Kei’s cheeks warmed slightly, but he didn’t look away.
Fuma took another sip from his beer, then set the can down on the small side table as he turned more fully toward Kei.
“What’s your family actually like?” he asked, “You talk about the business parties and the pressure, but… what are they like when it’s just you guys at home?”
Kei went quiet for a moment. He stared out into the darkened backyard, fingers tracing the chain of his bracelet.
“I have an older brother,” he started softly. “He’s nine years older than me. He already has his own family like a wife, a kid on the way. He moved out years ago, so now… it’s just me under the microscope.”
He let out a small, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “My parents monitor everything. Every grade, every activity, every person I talk to. If I get anything less than perfect on a test, if I show up to a gala with even one hair out of place, or God forbid I say the wrong thing in front of the wrong person… they act like the entire family’s reputation is about to collapse.”
Kei’s shoulders tensed but he kept his gaze fixed on the string lights rather than on Fuma.
“To them, image is everything. Reputation is currency. They don’t care how I feel or what I actually want - only how it looks from the outside. I’m supposed to be the perfect son. Smile in public, never raise my voice, never show weakness. Emotions are for other people. Messy feelings are… inconvenient.”
Fuma listened without interrupting, his eyes on Kei’s face. The contrast between them had never felt bigger - Kei in his carefully chosen party outfit, carrying the weight of an entire family’s expectations on his shoulders, and Fuma in his simple hoodie, raised in a loud, messy Sunshine City home where love was loud and emotions were never hidden.
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken longing. Fuma’s hand rested on the back of the couch, close enough that his fingers could brush Kei’s shoulder if he shifted even an inch.
But then Kei shifted on the couch, closing the small gap between them until their thighs pressed firmly together and his shoulder rested lightly against Fuma’s.
“Sorry, I'm rambling but I want to know more about your family. You know so much about mine now. Tell me about yours.”
Fuma exhaled slowly, leaning in a little.
“There isn’t much to say, really,” he began. “I’m an only child. No siblings to fight with or share the spotlight with. Just me.”
He paused, staring out into the darkened backyard for a moment before continuing.
“My mom’s a nurse. She works night shifts at the hospital - long ones. She’s usually gone by the time I get home from training, and I’m usually asleep by the time she gets back in the morning. We pass each other like ships sometimes, but when she’s home… she’s loud. She hugs too tight, cooks too much food even when we don’t have money for it, and she’ll stay up talking with me if I need it. No matter how tired she is.”
Fuma’s smile appeared, small and fond. “My dad’s a blue-collar guy. Construction, mostly. He travels all over the country for bigger jobs for sometimes weeks at a time. When he’s home... he’s actually the one who taught me how to box. He’d wrap my hands himself when I was eight and too angry at the world. Told me to channel it instead of letting it eat me alive.”
He shrugged one broad shoulder, the movement brushing his arm against Kei’s.
“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. But I was raised with a lot of love. Loud love. The kind where they yell at you because they care, then hug you right after. There was no pretending and no masks. If I was angry, I was allowed to be angry. If I was happy, I got to be happy. They never made me feel like I had to earn it by being perfect.”
Fuma turned his head to look directly at Kei, their faces close enough now that he could see the faint shimmer of the string lights reflected in the other's lined eyes.
“It’s messy sometimes,” he added quietly. “But it’s real. They love me even when I fuck up. Even when I come home with a black eye or get suspended for fighting.”
The ache in Kei’s chest deepened, a longing for the kind of freedom Fuma described and to feel everything without fear of ruining an entire family’s image.
Kei’s hand moved almost unconsciously, resting lightly on Fuma’s thigh under the warm glow of the heaters.
“That sounds really nice.”
Fuma's own hand shifted, callused fingers gently covering Kei’s where they rested on his leg.
“I wish I could be as genuine as you are.” Kei suddenly spoke.
Fuma blinked, confusion flickering across his features. His eyes searched the other's face, brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean? You’re not fake, Kei. Not even a little.”
Kei let out a small, soft laugh, almost shy. A genuine smile curved his lips, the kind that reached his eyes and made the party makeup look even more beautiful in the warm light.
“It must be because I’m around you,” he murmured, the words slipping out with quiet honesty. “When I’m with you, it feels so natural to be myself. Like I don’t have to perform or calculate every word and gesture. You make me want to stop hiding.”
Fuma’s hand tightened gently over Kei’s where it rested on his thigh. Their faces were already close - close enough to feel each other’s breath, close enough to see the faint flush on Kei’s cheeks and the way Fuma’s crooked smile had softened into something raw and tender.
Slowly, they both leaned in.
Fuma tilted his head just slightly, and Kei met him halfway. Their lips brushed together in a tentative kiss - soft at first, almost hesitant, as if testing whether this was really happening.
Then the kiss deepened and Fuma’s free hand came up to cup the side of Kei’s face. Kei’s fingers tightened on Fuma’s thigh, pulling him closer as the kiss grew more certain.
The string lights twinkled overhead and for those few precious seconds on the quiet upper patio, the vast divide between Grey City and Sunshine City dissolved completely.
There was only Kei and Fuma - two boys who had found each other across an impossible line, hearts pounding in sync as they finally gave in to the pull that had been drawing them together since that first night in the woods.
Kei’s lips were incredibly soft, almost plush against Fuma’s, with a faint stickiness from the sweet cranberry drink he’d been sipping earlier.
Fuma’s hands were rough from years of throwing punches but they cupped Kei’s face with surprising gentleness. His thumbs stroked slowly along the sharp line of Kei’s cheekbones, the contrast between rough skin and smooth, flawless complexion sending sparks through both of them.
Kei made a small, involuntary sound into the kiss, leaning further into Fuma’s touch. One of his hands slid up to rest against Fuma’s chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie. They kissed again and again. The string lights above them blurred into soft halos, and the distant party noise faded into nothing more than background static.
When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, Kei let out a soft, breathless giggle. His cheeks were flushed, the subtle black eyeliner slightly smudged at the corners from the heat and closeness, making him look beautifully undone.
Without a word, Kei curled into Fuma’s side, tucking himself against the stockier boy’s body. He rested his head on Fuma’s shoulder, one arm draping loosely across his waist as he nuzzled closer.
Fuma shifted to accommodate him, wrapping his arm around Kei’s shoulders and pulling him in tighter. The patio heaters kept them warm, and the wide outdoor couch felt like the safest, most private place in the entire world.
They stayed like that for a long while, cuddling quietly under the twinkling string lights. Fuma’s fingers traced lazy patterns along Kei’s upper arm through the thin fabric of his black button-down, occasionally brushing over the exposed skin at his collar. Kei’s breathing gradually slowed, his body relaxing fully against Fuma’s solid frame.
Every so often, one of them would shift just enough for their noses to brush or for Fuma to press a gentle kiss to the top of Kei’s head.