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Yahaba is not a procrastinator. He knows what he needs to do, and he does it. He knows what he’s asked of, he always complies. He follows his parent’s wishes. Anything they need from him, Yahaba is a reliable source. He will always be there for anyone. He doesn’t turn in assignments late, he keeps his grades high like his parents expect. He always has enough money. He’s smart, he made it into college that way.
Yahaba sets rules, and he follows them. But the more time he spends with this guy, with bleached hair and piercings decorating his face, the more Yahaba feels the steady rules that he set were actually shackles keeping him chained.
Yahaba had first met Kyoutani when he was getting settled into his dorm life. His roommate still wasn’t here. Which was fine, Yahaba didn’t really care, and at least he got to pick a side of the room and organize everything to perfection.
His parents were there with him. His mom is a small woman, she’s kind-hearted in Yahaba’s eyes. She donates to charities and her laugh is contagious. His dad is a quiet and composed man- more on the serious side. Yahaba thinks that he’s more like his mom in ways. He’s closer to his mom too, his dad had never been absent, but he can’t quite remember the last time they’ve had a deep meaningful conversation together. When he was younger, before he had turned to his mom for everything, Yahaba and his father were close. They would always play together outside and he would hold Yahaba’s hand and comfort him when he cried. Yahaba misses it sometimes but all of that seems more like a dream to him now. You would think that they could have more to talk about but his dad was never talkative, and Yahaba was fine with the silence. It was only natural that they weren’t as close now. Yahaba didn’t mind it though. He loved his parents.
“I think this is it.” Yahaba had said, standing up from where he was crouched down trying to fix something. “Thanks for all the help.”
“My baby is all grown up.” Yahaba’s mom sniffles.
“Don’t cry!” Yahaba says, laughing.
“I’m not.” She says, looking away as a single tear falls down her face.
“I’m still here mom. Just a couple hours away.” Part of the reason Yahaba had chosen to go to this college being that the distance from his parents wasn’t far at all. It was what his parents wanted, therefore it was what Yahaba wanted too.
“Of course, Yahaba! Listen, we will always be here, and if anything happens don’t be afraid to call us. We’ll always be here.” His mom says, clasping Yahaba’s hand in his own.
“I know mom.” He grins, “Thank you.”
“It’s about time to leave, dear.” Yahaba’s dad says.
Yahaba’s mom takes Yahaba’s face in his hands, “May God watch over you and protect you from evil.” She whispers.
Yahaba was raised at his local church. He had grown up falling asleep on his dad’s shoulder during prayer. Had run around the benches after church was over, and his parents stayed after to pray a while longer. He had grown up seeing picture books of the Bible. He had read the Bible entirely by the time he was old enough to understand it.
Yahaba had always found security in his religion, he had been raised with these views and he would die with those views. Everyone is equal. Everyone is God’s children. The only remedy to sin is prayer. Every sin can be forgiven if you just repent. Yahaba had always strived to be a good child of God. To be a good person.
“Amen.” Yahaba whispers, his eyes closed as he holds onto his mom’s hand for a moment longer.
“Amen.” His dad says. He pats Yahaba on the shoulder, before wrapping his arm around Yahaba’s mom’s shoulder and leading her away. They exit the dorm room and the door shuts. Only silence is left in the wake of it.
Yahaba sucks in a sharp breath. This silence is suffocating. He doesn’t like it. He wants noise, and other people here. He’s buzzing with this unspent energy. He wants to talk to someone. He wants to find out who his roommate is, maybe they’ll be best friends!
He sits down on his newly made bed. The frame of the bed groans under his weight and Yahaba can already tell just how much it’s been used. He picks up his phone, deciding to just wait until his roommate appears.
He doesn’t have to wait long.
The door slams open, startling Yahaba who was just getting comfortable. In walks his apparent roommate.
He’s shorter than Yahaba, his hair is bleached, there are piercings decorating his ears. The guy pauses when his eyes land on Yahaba sitting there, watching him.
Yahaba is almost mesmerized. His eyes are set and determined. They’re brown like almonds and round. His lips are full and plump, and a piercing is there, directly on his bottom lip.
This feeling deep in Yahaba’s chest. The feeling that makes his mouth go dry, and his heart speed up, and his hands begin to get clammy. He’s familiar with it- he’s all too familiar with it. But it can’t be. Because this…this monstrous feeling, poisoning his thoughts cannot be what he thinks it is. Because it’s wrong. It’s wrong and it’s disgusting.
Yahaba snaps out of it quickly enough, “Hello, I’m your roommate. My name is Yahaba Shigeru.”
The guy nods and looks him up and down, Yahaba can’t disguise the almost thrill he gets from it, “I’m Kyoutani Kentarou.” His voice is gruff and deep.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Yahaba smiles, it’s wobbly.
“Nice to meet you too.” He throws a large duffel bag onto the bed opposite from Yahaba.
“Do you want help unpacking?” Yahaba asks. He was raised to be helpful. “I don’t mind!”
“No, it’s not a lot of things.”
“Oh.” Yahaba deflates. He needs to do something. Something that will get his mind away from how he’s feeling right now. “Alright.”
The guy pauses as he turns to get more stuff. “Actually,” Yahaba perks up, “Yeah, I could use some help.”
Yahaba smiles and quickly moves with Kyoutani to get more of his things.
They mainly unpack together in silence. Yahaba asking an occasional question with Kyoutani’s responses being short. This simple task of monotony is not doing anything to stop the thoughts coursing through Yahaba’s head.
Kyoutani huffs, trying to get a box open but failing.
“I have scissors somewhere.” Yahaba says, pointing to the drawer behind him.
Yahaba should have just gotten the scissors, because if he did, he wouldn’t have put them in this predicament that does nothing but fuel Yahaba’s newfound sinful desires.
Kyoutani leans over Yahaba, he’s so close to him that Yahaba can feel his warm breath hit his face. He can see the shine of Kyoutani’s lip piercings. Can see the light specks of brown in Kyoutani’s dark eyes.
For a second, a little part of Yahaba imagination slips out of control. He imagines cutting the distance between them. He imagines more and so much more. But those flames of want, get snuffed out by the floods of guilt clouding his mind.
Kyoutani lets out a small grunt and Yahaba’s face flushes completely. Kyoutani pulls away with the scissors in his hands. Yahaba isn’t sure if he’s relieved that there’s space between them or if he wants that to happen again.
“Thanks. I don’t know why this tape is so fucking strong.” Kyoutani mutters, ripping into the box.
“Is that manga?” Yahaba asks, trying to think of something else to distract himself, as he sees the large stacks.
“Yeah, and some other things.”
They get back to unpacking, but soon enough, Yahaba asks another question.
“So, Kyoutani, do you have many friends?”
Kyoutani shrugs, “Not really. I’m not close with anyone like that. I like being alone.”
Yahaba frowns, “Being alone sounds like a punishment.”
“More like a reward.” Kyoutani snorts.
“You think so? I think that there is nothing emptier than having no one to talk to.”
Kyoutani considers this, “Well, I think that if you can’t enjoy your silence by yourself, then you aren’t really ready for anything more.”
Yahaba pauses and then smiles, “I like the way you think.”
They finish, much quicker than Yahaba thought it would take. He lets out a pleased sigh at organizing everything and he sits back down on his bed.
They don’t talk much after that first day of meeting. But slowly and surely, through all the college work pilling up and taking away most of their free time, they began to get closer.
Yahaba found out that Kyoutani has two older siblings and a dog. His mom couldn’t make it with him to unpack because she had work. His dad is out of the picture but Kyoutani had never seemed bothered by it. He likes salty food. He acts more based on gut feelings than logics and reasoning. He’s almost the exact opposite of Yahaba in so many ways.
Yahaba also finds out eventually, that Kyoutani is gay.
It went like this when Yahaba found out.
Yahaba had asked to join Kyoutani on one of his morning runs when he had realized that Kyoutani was always gone early due to it. When Kyoutani had agreed and had to drag Yahaba out of bed the next morning, Yahaba was complaining endlessly but nonetheless, keeping pace with Kyoutani.
“Are you running slower?” Yahaba asks, after a few minutes of Yahaba keeping a steady pace with Kyoutani.
“Maybe.” Kyoutani says.
“Rude! You don’t have to, I can keep up just fine.” Yahaba says, indignantly.
“Liar.” Kyoutani snorts.
“I can keep up!” Yahaba insists.
“Well I just want to run slower today. So it’s whatever.” Kyoutani says. “Come on, when this is over I’ll buy coffee for us.”
The mention of coffee was enough to motivate Yahaba to keep running.
Eventually, after another mile of running, they go to a coffee shop and order drinks before sitting down at a table near a window.
“I don’t know how you do that every day.” Yahaba pants, still worn out.
“It gets easier the more you do it.” Kyoutani’s not even tired. Yahaba wants to roll his eyes.
“Join me tommorow?” Kyoutani asks.
“Nice one!” Yahaba deadpans, “I can’t though, I have a thing for a class that day. And even if I didn’t, I would never want to do that again. It’s torture.”
Kyoutani scoffs, “It was not that bad!”
“It so was! I mean-“ Yahaba gets cut off when a lady brings them their drinks and tells them to enjoy it.
Yahaba places his hands on the mug and sighs as the heat from the coffee warms the mug, in turn warming Yahaba’s hand. He brings the mug to his lips and takes a slow sip. As the hot liquid pours into his mouth, the rich flavors of bitter coffee infused with vanilla begin to flood his taste buds. He loves coffee.
He brings the mug down to the table, realizing that Kyoutani is staring at him, “What?” He asks, self consciously.
“Nothing.” Kyoutani says, snapping his gaze away.
But it didn’t feel like nothing.
“Kyoutani do you have a girlfriend?” Yahaba asks, he knows that whatever variation of an answer that Kyoutani comes up with will only hurt Yahaba. No, not yet. Yes I do have a girlfriend. There is this one girl I like.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Kyoutani says.
Yahaba frowns, “Really?” He’s surprised.
“Yeah, I don’t have a girlfriend.” Kyoutani repeats.
“Yet. You don’t have a girlfriend yet. Just wait, the right girl will come along.”
Kyoutani frowns at his saying, “Guy. The right guy will come along. Because I’m gay.” Kyoutani explains.
Yahaba pauses. Gay. That’s a term Yahaba is very familiar with. Intimately familiar really. He had seen the way his mom would frown whenever she saw two people of the same gender holding hands. Or being affectionate. Had heard her saying that she would pray for them under her breath. So for someone to talk like this. So open about his sexuality, it’s surprising to Yahaba. But it also churns up new feelings inside of Yahaba.
“Is…is that a problem?” Kyoutani asks, misinterpreting the silence.
“No! No it’s not a problem. Not at all.” Yahaba says, snapping out of his thoughts.
Kyoutani seems to relax at that, “Okay, good.”
“Good.” Yahaba smiles reassuringly.
He can worry later about what this means.
As he watches Kyoutani reel his hands back after burning himself on the hot mug and hiss and curse under his breath, Yahaba cannot help but laugh. “You know Kyoutani. If you were a girl, I think I would totally date you.”
Kyoutani pauses, his eyes drifting to catch Yahaba’s own. He said it innocently enough, but it hurts Kyoutani in a way that he cannot describe quite yet. It’s an unknown feeling for Kyoutani, it’s enticing, but also scary. Kyoutani doesn’t want to be a girl, he also doesn’t want Yahaba to find a girl like him. Does that make him a bad friend? What does this mean? He knows the word but he doesn’t think he can actually grasp its meaning, it slips through his fingers each time.
“No girl will ever compare to me.” Kyoutani snorts, opting for humor instead of a heartfelt response.
Yahaba smiles, “No, no they won’t.” He mumbles. The first inklings of love, the seeds planted themselves there. In that coffee shop, early in the morning.
With it being later now, Yahaba tosses and turns in his bed, all of his thoughts can’t help but go back to those three words Kyoutani said. Because I’m gay. The bravery, the courage to be able to say that. So many emotions swell up whenever Yahaba thinks about it. But the one emotion Yahaba can’t continue to ignore is the envy. That burning envy that is now lodged in every one of his thoughts that involve Kyoutani. Envy that Kyoutani can say those words so easily. Envy because Yahaba can never admit it. Yahaba cannot accept that part of himself.
The thing is, Yahaba had liked boys before. He had remembered the light feeling in his chest when his eyes had first spotted a boy with brown hair and green eyes reading a bible. He had also remembered the barely concealed disgust in his moms eyes when he had told her that the boy at church was pretty, pretty like a girl. And at the young age of 12, Yahaba had it instilled in his head that it was wrong. Boys were created by God to fall in love with Girls. Boys were not meant for other Boys. It was an abomination to think that way. And even now, Yahaba cannot help but feel cold, trembling, fear brewing in his stomach at the mere thought of liking a boy. Because he knows, that sooner or later, that feeling will come. And he won’t be strong enough to beg for forgiveness.
Maybe the feeling already has come.
Safe to say that Yahaba had very conflicting thoughts.
School was beginning to pick up, Yahaba found it hard to juggle everything. Study for tests, take notes, make friends, have a social life, get enough hours of sleep. Nothing is ever enough. and on top of that, there is Kyoutani that always takes up the space in his head.
Guilt is a common feeling for someone like Yahaba. Someone who was born a sin. There is a strange sense of wickedness, knowing that no matter how much Yahaba can deny his feelings, they will never truly go away. No amount of prayer will ever be enough to cleanse him of the sin called homosexuality. Called Love.
Yahaba had decided to leave his schoolwork as a worry for tomorrow. The smart thing would be to go to sleep now so he can wake up energized tomorrow. But as Yahaba’s eyes trail up towards the figure lying on his bed, scrolling on his phone; he can’t find it in himself to be smart.
“Hey Kyoutani?” Yahaba speaks up.
Kyoutani makes a grunt of acknowledgment, not sparing Yahaba a glance as he continues to tap away on his phone.
“Don’t you have work? I mean, for all the time I’ve been here with you, I’ve never seen you actually do any work.” Yahaba asks.
Kyoutani places his phone down and sits up, “That’s because I usually get it done quick. Or I do it in between classes. Or when you’re asleep.” Kyoutani shrugs.
Yahaba frowns, “Why when I’m asleep?”
“Because I’m too lazy to do it and I only have motivation late at night.”
“Your sleep schedule must be horrid.” Yahaba muses.
Kyoutani shakes his head, “It’s not that bad.”
The conversation must have seemed over to Kyoutani so he goes to pick his phone back up. But before he can so much as turn it on, Yahaba surprises him.
“How did you know you were gay?” Yahaba blurts out. “Random question. But I’m just…wondering.”
Kyoutani pauses, “Weird ass question indeed.”
“You don’t have to answer, I was just…” Yahaba lets his sentence trail off. Because how is he supposed to finish it? Because I think I might be gay? Because I need to cleanse myself of this sin and I need to know if it’s possible? Because I think I might like you? Because I want to know all there is about you, even the bad things.
“No it’s fine.” Kyoutani clears his throat, “Well, I didn’t suddenly realize I was gay. It was just something that was always there. I was never interested in girls. At least not in the same way the boys in my classes would talk about. I never cared if girls would confess to me. I was just watching a movie with my mom. I remember seeing the two main characters- both of them guys- kiss. And i realized that it’s what I felt. I never thought it was wrong. It just made me realize that it’s what I’ve been missing. What I didn’t feel for girls, it was what I did feel for other guys. My mom had caught me staring. She had told me that…I can’t believe I still remember it.” Kyoutani chuckles, “She had told me that when I find the right person for me, guy or girl, she had to be first one to know about it.”
A bitter taste floods Yahaba mouth. He swallows, and the spit in his mouth feels like a thick syrup. That taste in his mouth is envy. It’s jealousy. A hot burning jealousy. Not at Kyoutani exactly. But at what Yahaba wishes he could have.
He loves his parents, more than words can describe. But their expectation of him, the one where he marries a girl and buys a house and lives close to them, is the one expectation Yahaba knows he will never meet.
Yahaba never had someone to comfort him like this, had never had someone accept him. He had never even been brave enough to say it aloud. Say the three words that make him a sin. I am gay.
Realizing he has to respond, Yahaba musters up all his strength to give Kyoutani a genuine smile, “Your mom sounds like a great person. I’m happy for you.”
There’s a small wrinkle in between Kyoutani’s brows that give away what he’s thinking. But thankfully, Kyoutani doesn’t say anything. He just nods.
“I think I’m gonna go sleep now.” Yahaba says, turning his head away as he walks over to his own bed.
“Goodnight.” Kyoutani tells him.
“Goodnight.” Yahaba repeats tucking himself into bed. He turns his body away from Kyoutani, so he can’t see all the thoughts running through his head that will tell Kyoutani exactly what he’s thinking.
And even as Yahaba shuts his eyes, he knows he won’t get a good night of sleep.
It’s their third month as roommates and they’re both just lying on their beds when Yahaba speaks up.
“Why did you choose this college?” Yahaba queries. Realizing in all of their time together he had never asked.
“Volleyball.” Kyoutani says, “I like to play.”
Yahaba nods, “I did hear that the volleyball team here is good.”
“Yeah, I got scouted for it and decided that I might as well go.”
When the silence becomes too much, Yahaba blurts out another question, “Did those piercings hurt.”
Kyoutani seems surprised by the question and before he can respond Yahaba interrupts, “I don’t mean it in a judgmental way, I’m just curious.”
Kyoutani lets out an amused chuckle, “I didn’t think it was rude. Some of them hurt, others didn’t.”
“Which ones did hurt?”
“Lip piercing probably hurt the most.” Kyoutani says, his fingers ghosting over it.
Yahaba has the sudden urge to feel it too. Guilt quickly drowns that thought out. “They look good.” Yahaba swallows.
“Thank you.”
Why does this guy make me so nervous? Yahaba wonders internally. But deep in his heart, he knows why.
“You’re staring.” Kyoutani says, raising an eyebrow.
Yahaba flushes, unaware that his eyes have not once left Kyoutani’s face, “Ah, sorry.”
“Do you want to touch it?” He asks.
Yahaba freezes. He does. He wants to trail his fingers through all of Kyoutani’s piercings. He wants to ask him all sorts of questions and he wants to get meaningful responses. And he wants. And he wants. And he wants. But he can’t want this.
“No, no I’m okay.” Yahaba says.
“You sure? Because you’ve been staring at my lips-“
“Not your lips. The lip piercing. Don’t say it like that.” Yahaba interrupts, his face heating up.
“Fine, you’ve been staring at my lip piercing for a while now. So you must be curious about it.”
“Well I already asked all the questions I could think of about it…so I’m not curious.”
“Liar,” Kyoutani sighs. He gets up and moves so that he’s now sitting next to Yahaba. And as if the close proximity isn’t already affecting Yahaba, he reaches out and grabs Yahaba’s hand, pulling it up so that he can touch his piercings. Yahaba’s breath hitches.
“This one is called a Vertical Labret.” Kyoutani says, bringing Yahaba’s hand to his lip piercing. Yahaba can feel the cold metal as his fingertips graze it.
“Vertical eyebrow piercing.” Kyoutani murmurs, bringing Yahaba’s hand up to his bleached eyebrows so he can touch it.
“Lobe.” Kyoutani says, moving Yahaba’s hand to the first stud on Kyoutani’s ear.
“Upper lobe.” Kyoutani brings Yahaba’s hand up a bit higher.
“Industrial.” Kyoutani moves Yahaba’s hand to the silver bar piercing the shell of his ear.
Kyoutani sticks out his tongue, revealing the small silver ball. “Tongue piercing.”
Yahaba breathes out softly, “They look good.” Slowly, Kyoutani brings his hand down, but he doesn’t let go.
There is something so oddly intimate about all of this. And the more Yahaba lets this go on, the more Yahaba forgets what he was taught. The more he thinks that this is how everyone should feel. That it’s how everyone is supposed to feel. But Yahaba feels no guilt or shame in this. And he comes across the startling realization that anytime he’s with Kyoutani, he has put his religion second. Yahaba pulls his hand away, when he comes to the realization.
“I could take you to get one.” Kyoutani suggests, closing his now empty hand in a fist.
Yahaba laughs, “No. I don’t think I would like one.”
“How do you know?”
“Well I wouldn’t look good in one.”
“I think you would.”
“My parents wouldn’t like it.”
“Who cares what your parents think?” Kyoutani rolls his eyes.
“I do.” Yahaba responds in a shaky whisper.
“You don’t know if you’ll like it unless you give it a try. Don’t just worry about what others will think. Do what you want.” Kyoutani presses.
In a small voice, Yahaba says, “Are we still talking about piercings.”
“No. No I don’t think we are.” Kyoutani says, his voice level and soft.
Yahaba finally brings his eyes up to gaze into Kyoutani’s. Only to find that Kyoutani’s warm gaze is already locked onto Yahaba.
“Kyoutani?” Yahaba breathes.
“Hm?” Kyoutani hums, his eyes drop down, now focused on Yahaba’s lips.
Yahaba swallows, “I do have one more question, about the piercing.” Gently, he unclasps the necklace decorated with a single Crucifix in it, a sign of his faith, and he puts it in his pocket.
Kyoutani furrows his brows, confused as to where this is going. Even as his eyes trail the pendant, “Ask away.”
Here goes. “When you kiss someone, does the lip piercing bother you?” Yahaba asks, keeping his own eyes steady on Kyoutani’s lips. As his hands leave the necklace and rest awkwardly on his lap, Yahaba cannot find it in himself to care at all about that Crucifix, about what this means.
Kyoutani wets his lips as his eyes snap to Yahaba’s own. “Do you…do you wanna see for yourself?” He croaks.
Yahaba and Kyoutani surge forward at the same time. Yahaba has kissed girls before, he knows how it’s supposed to be. Although he has never felt quite this many emotions bursting in his chest. Kissing girls feels nothing like kissing Kyoutani. Kissing girls felt like a task Yahaba had to check off, but now, kissing Kyoutani feels like the best reward.
Yahaba’s hands cradle the back of Kyoutani’s head. His lips open up when faced with the pressure from Kyoutani’s own lips. Kyoutani’s hand skim down Yahaba’s back, landing firmly on his waist. Yahaba shivers involuntarily. Kyoutani licks into Yahaba’s mouth and Yahaba grabs a fistful of Kyoutani’s bleached hair. This only seems to encourage Kyoutani who kisses him with more fervor.
The answer to Yahaba’s question? It is a tad bit difficult to kiss with that piercing but nonetheless, it’s good. It doesn’t really get in the way. And as Yahaba lets out a soft sigh when Kyoutani slows down the momentum of the kiss. Yahaba does not have it in him to feel guilt for this.
They eventually pull away. A string of saliva connecting them. Of course, the kiss brings so many questions. Are they still friends? Will everything go back to normal? Do they want it to go back to normal? Will it work out? What is Yahaba going to do? What does Yahaba feel? Can he say it aloud?
But now, basking in the glory of finally giving in to one of Yahaba’s deepest desire ever since he first saw Kyoutani, he doesn’t have it in him at all to worry about it.
He will, eventually. Obviously. But for now, this is enough.
It’s been four weeks since their fateful kiss and still neither one of them has said anything. It’s stressing Yahaba out. He’s not sure how to bring it up, not sure if he even wants to talk about it. But he knows he has to. Ever since that (very heated) kiss they’ve gone back to basically strangers. The progress in their friendship has all but regressed. It feels like they’re just strangers sharing a room. They only exchange pleasantries. But the blame for that isn’t on Kyoutani.
It’s really Yahaba’s fault. He had made it a mission to be in his dorm room for as little as possible. He studies in public libraries or coffee shops. He only goes to his dorm to sleep now. He wakes up and Kyoutani is gone. He changes and leaves for classes. Rinse and repeat. It’s the same thing and Yahaba doesn’t really have anyone else to blame but himself. Kyoutani hadn’t questioned it though, he had never tried to catch Yahaba and talk to him, or force him to say something. And Yahaba was grateful for it, because he knows that sooner rather than later he has to accept these feelings. Worse yet, he has to tell someone (his parents). He has to admit it to someone, that he is a sinner, that he will forever be one. That nothing can cleanse him of it, and perhaps worse; he doesn’t want to repent for it.
Yahaba did make a friend though. He had met Watari when it was his second month at college. They had the same class and instantly hit it off when they introduced themselves. It was really only God’s will that made them cross paths so many times. And soon enough, they became close friends. Yahaba had grown comfortable in their close friendship and Watari was kind, he was thoughtful and caring for his friends. And he was very fun to be around.
Watari was also from a similar background as himself. Maybe that’s what made Yahaba so comfortable around him. Except there is a vast difference between the two of them. Watari doesn’t let his religion define everything for him, while Yahaba gets all tangled up in the web of religion and expectations that he finds he isn’t really anything without it.
Watari is Yahaba’s best friend. And friendship is built on mutual trust. So with not many other choices, Yahaba can only count on Watari to support him, and to help him figure out what to do.
Yahaba sends Watari a quick message, asking if they can meet. The response is exactly what Yahaba was hoping it to be.
Soon enough, they’re both seated in the table at the far back of a public library. Watari had obviously been curious about why they were meeting up so randomly, but still he didn’t push. He patiently waited for Yahaba to explain himself. And that’s what Yahaba really enjoys about Watari’s company. He’s doesn’t pressure anyone to speak when they don’t want to and he’s kind to everyone. But the feelings for Watari are only friendly and that’s all they ever will be.
Yahaba wishes that there was no difference in the way he views Kyoutani and the way he views Watari. Because if there wasn’t a difference, maybe then Yahaba would be able to move past it. Maybe he would’ve been normal. Maybe Kyoutani wouldn’t have made him so nervous all the time. But Yahaba, strangely enough, doesn’t really wish for his feelings on Watari to be the same for Kyoutani.
“Wanna talk to me about it?” Watari asks once they settle down in their seats, “Or do you not want to talk about it.”
“I…I want to talk about it.”
“Talk away.” Watari says, leaning back on his chair.
“I like somebody.” Yahaba blurts out. He squeezes his eyes shut, his heart going crazy at just admitting he likes someone.
“…Do I know him?” Watari asks, cautiously.
It was only one simple word, it was asked cautiously and carefully. But God, that one question could bring Yahaba to his knees from the relief he feels. Him. Does Watari know him.
“How did you know?” Yahaba whispers.
“You wouldn’t bring me all the way over here if you just liked a girl….Plus, I had a feeling.” Watari rubs Yahaba shoulder comfortingly. “Tell me about it.”
Yahaba relaxes, “Well…he’s my roommate. He has so many piercings, his hair is bleached, his fingers are rough and calloused, he has this almost angry look on his face all the time that really means he’s just thinking about something. And I-I I’m gay.” He confides.
He waits, endlessly, for the hateful look, the nasty words thrown at him, the rejection, the abandonment. But it never comes. And Yahaba is an idiot for thinking that Watari, of all people, would do that to him.
“Is he a good person?” Watari asks instead.
The memory of Kyoutani’s innocent smiles and endless complains floods Yahaba’s thoughts, “Yes, he is.”
“Then go for it.” Watari encourages, “Because there is nothing wrong with it. There is absolutely not a single thing wrong about it.”
“But-“
“Not a single thing.” Watari interrupts Yahaba before he can build his own argument. “Love, no matter who it’s for, will always be holy.”
A small weight gets lifted off Yahaba’s chest at the advice Watari gives him. “Thank you.” Yahaba says, genuine and sincere.
They stay at the library for a couple more hours, but when it’s finally time for them to head back to their dorms, Yahaba doesn’t try to delay it, he doesn’t try to run from it and set the distance between Kyoutani and him further. He decides to close that distance. Consequences be damned.
Yahaba tentatively opens the door to the shared dorm room. He peeks his head in to see if Kyoutani is sleeping. Much to his gratefulness, Kyoutani is not yet asleep. The familiar feelings of butterflies in his stomach reignites as he locks eyes with Kyoutani. Now or never.
“Kyoutani.” Yahaba greets him with an incline of his head.
Kyoutani grunts but doesn’t quite meet Yahaba’s gaze.
“I think we should probably talk.” Yahaba says after a weighted silence envelops them.
Kyoutani laughs coldly, “Your silence has said so much more than any words ever could.”
Fair. But still, ouch. “Well I would still like to talk.”
“Not much to talk about.” Kyoutani grits his teeth, roughly getting up from his bed.
“You don’t know that.” Yahaba insists, taking small steps towards Kyoutani.
“I do know that I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“Well you don’t get to decide that for the both of us.” Yahaba says. He realizes too late, how it sounds.
Kyoutani narrows his eyes, “You have no fucking right to say that.” He hisses.
Yahaba winces, “Kyoutani, look-“
“We kissed.” Kyoutani says. “Get the fuck over it. Man up, and talk to me. You should’ve talked to me earlier. You know damn well I don’t want a conversation now.”
Yahaba looks down, ashamed by his own actions. “It’s not that easy for me.”
Kyoutani laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s fucking bullshit! And you know it. You can’t ignore me for weeks and then talk to me all of a sudden. I’m not your fucking toy.” Kyoutani rubs the back of his neck, seemingly tired. “Your explanation would’ve been good a few weeks ago. I sure as hell don’t want one now.”
Yahaba shakes his head adamantly, “Kyoutani.” His voice is level, “I would like to explain myself.”
Kyoutani rolls his eyes, “I already told you-“
“Well! You don’t get what you want sometimes. Cry about it. Now, I’m gonna explain myself and you’re going to listen to me. Then you can do whatever you want.” Yahaba shouts, exasperated. He knows that he should give Kyoutani more of his patience, but he can’t find it in himself to do so. He knows he’s being a hypocrite but he can’t lose Kyoutani. It’s a slim chance, but maybe Kyoutani will understand once he explains.
Kyoutani, surprised by the outburst, gives Yahaba a moment of his silence. Yahaba breathes a sigh of relief at the almost willingness to listen to him.
“I have… well, uh- I-“ Yahaba stumbles through his words, not sure how to tell Kyoutani everything he’s been bottling up. Every little emotion, every little action, all of his thoughts, his feelings. His sexuality. Yahaba can barely admit it to himself. But if Yahaba doesn’t tell him, he will lose him.
“For all of my childhood, I have grown up at the church. I could recite bible verses to you endlessly. I could talk about all of the tales and stories- some real, some exaggerated- from the Bible. I could tell you all of the sins. I could recite prayers.” Yahaba fiddles with his fingers.
“I can also tell you that the one sin that has been branded onto me is homosexuality.” His voice is small, a mere whisper that still seems all too loud in the small space they share. “And…and that sin that doesn’t really feel like a sin envelopes me and it’s like this prison that I can’t escape. Because I am gay.” It was scary to say aloud, but it was also good. “And the more I think about it, the more I think that it’s not really a sin at all.”
Kyoutani inhales, it’s a quick gasp for breath. Enough for Yahaba to know that Kyoutani understands now.
“It’s not easy for me.” Yahaba takes a calming breath. “And it’s not an excuse for how I treated you. It’s just an explanation. I understand whatever reaction you may have to that.”
“Do you like me?” Kyoutani asks as he grabs Yahaba’s hand, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“That’s a….difficult question.” Yahaba mutters.
“Yes or No, Yahaba. Do you like me?” He repeats.
“Yes.” Yahaba breathes, “I do.”
“Will that be enough?” Kyoutani rubs soothing circles onto Yahaba’s palms, calming and gentle. “Will your feelings for me be enough.”
“I…I’m not sure.” Yahaba admits. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Kyoutani stops rubbing circles and slowly he lets go of Yahaba’s hand, “We don’t have to be anything. Nothing that you’re not comfortable with. I’ll be your friend. I can be a stranger, I can be the person who will listen to you talk about your problems, I can be there. Whatever you want.”
“Can we just be this?” Yahaba asks, his heart melting at the gentleness in Kyoutani.
“Define this.”
“Friends. Friends who like each other. Who sometimes kiss each other… who sometimes do more.” Yahaba says, his face turning pink.
“Then that’s what we are.” Kyoutani says. Yahaba relaxes and leans slightly on Kyoutani. “Friends.” He says the words tentatively, like he’s unsure.
A bad feeling brews deep in Yahaba’s stomach, but he chooses to ignore it in favor of the joy he feels now that he and Kyoutani are fine- better than fine actually.
There are some things that people don’t say aloud. Everyone has something they wish the could just shout out to the world. The injustice. Their real feelings. The thoughts in their heads that make them seem worthless. The emotions that well up in their throats but never, never, spill out.
For Kyoutani, it would be, I don’t want us to be just friends. Friends who sometimes kiss. I want you to myself Goddamnit. It’s selfish, but I’ve never been known for anything else. I would be yours and you would be mine. I could give you what you want and what you need. But I have a feeling I will never be valued higher than your religion.
For Yahaba, it would be, I am in love. In love with someone of the same gender. And if the God I praise cannot accept me than I cannot accept him either. Hell, and torment, and eternal damnation would be a small price to pay for this feeling that sets my nerves on fire, and makes me feel like I’m floating. But I have to make a decision sooner or later; Is the love I feel for Kyoutani bigger than the comfort I find in my religion?
Yahaba should have known better that to ask Kyoutani to just be friends. To be casual. It’s only hurting Yahaba further, but the intoxicating feeling of Kyoutani’s lips on his is almost enough to make him turn a blind eye on it. It’s been weeks of this arrangement that Yahaba set up. And it has only really caused mental suffering and physical pleasure.
Ever since Yahaba had asked him to be friends with benefits- Yahaba still cringes when he thinks about it- it has only lead to heated make outs in the dark of their rooms and knowing smiles the next morning. They’ve gone back to normal. But Yahaba will not lie, every time that Kyoutani talks to him normally as if just the other day Yahaba wasn’t kissing him, it only confuses Yahaba’s poor love-sick heart.
Do you want to be with me? Yahaba’s heart yells. It goes unanswered, every time.
Today is another one of those days, where Kyoutani doesn’t feel like talking so he just goes straight for Yahaba’s lips instead.
Kyoutani had gone to practice earlier that day, and if that frown on his face is anything to go by, it was not a good day for him. Yahaba doesn’t complain though. He allows himself to be swept up in the tidal wave that is Kyoutani Kentarou.
Kyoutani doesn’t bother with a greeting he just stomps over to where Yahaba is and grabs his face, a bit rough but Yahaba’s not one to complain. He smashes their lips together and Yahaba lets out a surprise squeak before kissing him back.
It’s been weeks since their little arrangement and still Yahaba cannot grasp that Kyoutani could possibly want him too.
“Bad day?” Yahaba asks, in between kisses. His hands search for the familiar weight on his neck, before remembering that he had taken off his necklace, his sign of devotion, and had forgotten to put it back on.
Kyoutani grunts and kisses him harder, his hands now traveling lower, in search for Yahaba’s hips. Yahaba, much like the first time they had kissed, threads his fingers through Kyoutani’s hair, pulling roughly a few times when Kyoutani doesn’t let up.
Kyoutani, with ease, moves Yahaba so that he’s now sitting on Kyoutani’s lap, it’s not a sexual way, not at all. It’s more comfortable, familiar, and Yahaba feels safe like this. Even though the kisses from Kyoutani are getting more urgent and are becoming more teeth than lips. It’s still something that Yahaba likes, something that he’s used to.
Yahaba grabs Kyoutani’s face and pushes him away, “Wanna talk about it?” He asks these questions, as if they’re in a relationship. As if whatever it is that they are is anything more than physical attraction. As if they could ever be more. Because Yahaba knows they can’t, not unless he mans up and does something about it.
Kyoutani pouts, trying to lean in for another kiss even as Yahaba holds him back. “If I did, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Fair enough, but still, I just want to make sure.” Yahaba presses, “Do you want to talk about it.”
“No.” Kyoutani mumbles, pressing soft kisses to Yahaba’s jaw. Yahaba begins to give in, he’s about to pull Kyoutani so that they’re lips can meet again when Kyoutani abruptly stops, “It’s just-“
Yahaba is not frustrated by this. He’s been around Kyoutani enough times to know that when he gets like this, he doesn’t like to talk about it. Until eventually he does. Yahaba pushes Kyoutani down so he’s now lying on the bed. Yahaba moves with him until he’s laying side by side to him. “Tell me.” They both face the ceiling.
Kyoutani fingers never leave their hold on Yahaba’s waist, “I don’t think any of my teammates like me.” He admits.
Yahaba frowns, “If they don’t like you, then they don’t know you.”
“I think even if they knew me, they wouldn’t like me.”
“That’s so wrong! You’re totally likable.”
Kyoutani laughs, “You are a terrible liar.”
“I don’t lie. So everything I tell you is the truth.” Yahaba grins. “You need to give them a chance. Same way they have to give you one too. It can’t be just you and it can’t be just them.”
“I know… it’s still hard though.”
“Struggle is good.” Yahaba reassures.
“But it’s like… they’ve all formed these little groups together and I’m just stuck on the outside watching them. They all have their really close friends, and they’re cordial with others. But I don’t know… they just don’t talk to me.”
“Maybe it’s your face.” Yahaba says, thinking out loud.
“What’s wrong with my face?“ Kyoutani frowns.
“You just seem mad all the time.” Yahaba says, choosing his words carefully.
“No I don’t.” He glares.
“You’re doing it right now.” Yahaba sings. Kyoutani rearranges his features into a more calmed expression.
“There’s this other guy. They don’t really talk to him either.”
“Maybe he’s lonely too.” Yahaba says. “You know his name?“
There’s silence and Yahaba almost laughs, “There’s no way.”
“I know his name.” Kyoutani snaps, “just give me a second.”
Yahaba does laugh then.
“Tsukishima!“ Kyoutani snaps his fingers and his face lights up, “that’s it.”
“Well, you should make friends with him then.” Yahaba suggests, “He might want someone to talk to.”
“Maybe.” Kyoutani mumbles, he turns on his side so that he’s facing Yahaba. His eyes are soft and large as they take in Yahaba’s features. Yahaba also turns so that he’s looking directly at Kyoutani. “What?” Yahaba asks.
“Nothing.” Kyoutani mumbles, but his eyes are yelling something completely different. There are so many words that Yahaba can’t quite decipher. So many mixed emotions in Kyoutani’s every feature but Yahaba still cannot quite place what they are.
“Can we makeout now?” Kyoutani asks, but Yahaba knows for certain, that’s not the thought that was invading Kyoutani’s head. That was clouding his features.
Yahaba, ultimately, let’s it go. “Fine.” He says with a slight roll of his eyes.
They meet in the middle.
The arrangement they made, the one where they aren’t just friends but are definitely less than lovers; it was built on straws and cardboard. It will not survive the rain. It will not survive long. And sooner or later, Yahaba has to either end it, or turn it into something real. A stronger foundation.
It’s the thought that keeps Yahaba up at night and that makes him break out into a cold sweat at the thought of losing Kyoutani and also at the thought of that they may never be more. Yahaba isn’t blind. He sees the painful expressions on Kyoutani’s face when they kiss. He sees the soft sighs and delicateness Kyoutani treats him with. He sees the way his eyes get soft and his mouth opens and closes as he’s rethinking all of his words. Yahaba knows that it is only hurting Kyoutani to carry on like this. It’s also hurting Yahaba.
It hurts Yahaba to know that he is too scared to kiss Kyoutani in public, that he is too afraid of the backlash that he thinks will come his way. That he is a coward, a selfish one at that, for not loving Kyoutani the way he is supposed to- proudly, and publicly. It hurts to know that the one obstacle that truly stands in his way is the same thing he would turn to whenever he had doubts. His sanctuary had become his tomb. But the love he feels- because there is no other word that can truly describe it- is stronger than the comfort his religion once gave him.
The more Yahaba thinks of it, the more he realizes. He doesn’t have to give up Kyoutani just to keep his religion. Same way he doesn’t have to give up his religion just for a chance at love. If God truly is ever-loving, then He will not look down at Yahaba for loving one of the same gender.
“Hey mom.” Yahaba greets into his phone. He was writing something down on his notebook when his mom called to check up on him. Yahaba had put it on speaker and then gone back to writing down notes.
“Hey, honey.” His mom says. Kyoutani snickers at the pet name and Yahaba rolls his eyes, “I haven’t heard from you in a while, I’ve been starting to get worried.” His mom continues.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” Yahaba says, smiling and looking up at his phone, “School has kept me so occupied. I’ve completely forgotten about anything else.”
His mom hums through the other line on the phone, “Not too busy that you haven’t made friends, right? I hope you did.”
“Oh yes, I’ve made many friends.” Yahaba says. “My roommate.” Yahaba says, turning in his chair to send a smile to Kyoutani. Kyoutani rolls his eyes but sends him his own small smile back. Yahaba turns back to his desk.
“Well that’s just great!” His mom cheers, “What about girls?”
Yahaba stomach churns, “No, no girls.” He says, with a faux cheery tone.
“Honey! I’ve been telling you for the longest time, you need to find yourself a girlfriend.” His mom scolds him.
“I don’t know. Maybe girls aren’t for me.” Yahaba suggests, suddenly all too aware that Kyoutani can hear every word.
“What in God’s name are you saying?” His mom laughs, like that was a joke to her, “Of course girls are for you! You just have to find the right one.”
“I just think that-“
“I mean, you’ve heard so many times how me and your father got together.” His mom cuts in, “It was true love. And that’s how it’ll be for you. Just find yourself the perfect girl.”
All the strength seemed to drain out of Yahaba at his mom’s words, “I have to go mom, it’s a lot of work to catch up on.” His voice tired.
“Oh, so early?” His mom sighs, “Well I love you. And don’t forget what I said about finding-“
“I love you too mom.” Yahaba cuts in, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence. “Bye.” He tries to sound cheerful. He hangs up the phone and goes back to scribbling on his notebook.
There’s a silence that seems to speak volume to everything. It makes Yahaba’s skin crawl, it makes Yahaba want to hide from it, from everything. It makes Yahaba want. It makes Yahaba desperate, desperate to know that he is not truly a sin, that what he feels isn’t inherently wrong.
“Yahaba.” Kyoutani says. His voice is soft, understanding, vulnerable even. It’s one word, just a single phrase. But it seems to break down barriers Yahaba didn’t know he had up.
“Don’t.” Yahaba says, his voice wobbly. “Don’t say anything.”
“Yahaba.” Kyoutani repeats, but he’s closer now, Yahaba can feel his presence. Right there behind him.
“No.” Yahaba whispers, “Don’t.” What is he begging for exactly? His face is downcast, his hands are shaking, his breathing is unsteady, his heart rate is accelerating. He has no control. He has no control. He has no control. What is this? What is happening that makes him feel all alone and lost and like he’s going to die. He cannot breathe.
Kyoutani then does turn Yahaba around. Kyoutani is kneeled down on the floor, at eye level with Yahaba who is shamefully refusing to meet his eyes. “Yahaba.” Kyoutani whispers, his hand carefully reaching for Yahaba’s face.
Yahaba cannot breathe.
Yahaba swats away his hand, the touch of someone almost being too much for him to handle right now. “Don’t.” He repeats. They are like this broken record that only repeats certain phrases. A parrot who has only heard a few words, who can only say those few words.
Yahaba cannot breathe. And each time that his useless lungs try to take in oxygen, each time that they fail to do the one job they were made for, it sends Yahaba into deeper despair. Yahaba let’s out a small wretched sob, unsure what is happening to him. A deep part in the recesses of his head tell him that it is his punishment. His sin that he is now paying for. His repentance that is long overdue.
“Fuck….” Kyoutani mumbles, very unsure how to help. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”
Panic attack. That makes sense. A little bit.
“Make…make it stop.” Yahaba begs, rubbing his chest in hard slow circles. It doesn’t help. “Please.” More tears fall down. It’s pathetic, it’s shameful and it’s embarrassing. Yahaba doesn’t like begging for help, but he can’t go through this alone.
Kyoutani mutters words Yahaba can’t hear and then he snaps his fingers, “I saw this in a movie once. Uhmmm, tell me five things you can see.”
Yahaba shakes his head, that’s so not helpful. A part of his brain says. His breathing only gets worse, his hands shakier, his tears begin to fall faster now. He’s taking in gasps of air that will never be enough.
Kyoutani takes Yahaba’s hand in his, “In advance, I am so sorry.” He says. There is a moment where Yahaba is confused, what exactly is Kyoutani sorry for? That moment doesn’t last long.
Yahaba doesn’t see the hand flashing in the peripheral of his vision. He doesn’t really see it, more like he feels it. When Kyoutani’s palm comes in contact with Yahaba’s cheek. When a quick flash of pain erupts onto his cheek, when his face heats up in the imprint of Kyoutani’s hand. He just slapped me.Yahaba thinks.
“Why would you do that?” Yahaba demands, suddenly on top of Kyoutani. It was an adrenaline rush that even somehow got Yahaba to topple Kyoutani over. They’re both on the ground, Yahaba slapping and punching at Kyoutani who just grunts and…takes it.
“What is wrong with you?” Yahaba shouts, slapping at Kyoutani again. It’s unfair really, Yahaba is using all of his unspent energy in Kyoutani like he’s a glorified punching bag. And Kyoutani really was only trying to help. Yahaba pauses. There’s a shift in his tearstained face.
“It worked.” Kyoutani grunts, from where he’s pinned under Yahaba.
Yahaba sits back down, still on Kyoutani but at least not punching him. “It did.” He marvels. Somehow, in between all the gasps for air and the tears and that harsh slap across his face that will hopefully not leave a mark, Yahaba’s panic attack…was gone.
Kyoutani sits up on his forearms, now his face is closer to Yahaba’s. “Are you okay now.” He asks gently.
“I- yeah.” Yahaba whispers.
“Good.” Kyoutani coughs and looks away, “Sorry for slapping you… I just.. didn’t know what else to do.” He says sheepishly.
Yahaba shakes his head, “It helped. Plus, I got you back anyway.” He says, trying to lighten the mood.
Kyoutani smiles at him, it’s tentative and soft, and it’s just like Kyoutani. “I know you probably don’t, but do you wanna talk about it?”
Yahaba shakes his head fast, “No. Not right now.” Yahaba looks away.
“Okay.” Kyoutani whispers, one hand moving to rest on a Yahaba’s waist.
“Thank you, Kyoutani.” Yahaba says, taking a fistful of Kyoutani’s shirt in his hand and bringing him closer, “For your weird ways of helping people.”
Kyoutani bristles, “You’re welcome.?”
Yahaba plants a small, chaste kiss on Kyoutani’s cheek. It’s different from all the rest of the kisses they’ve shared. Though all the other ones are deemed more intimate, this one is the only one that has Kyoutani turning red. This is the only kiss that truly stands out in Yahaba’s memory. Their first kiss and this one. And it’s because they didn’t truly kiss on the lips. It’s different, it blurs the lines between their relationship even further.
“Look at the pretty flower,” Yahaba grins, leaning in closer to the flower decoration on the table.
“Foods coming.” Kyoutani says, as he spots the waitress coming towards them with their respective meals.
“Don’t ignore me!” Yahaba squawks, he then says his thanks to the waitress who smiles, bows, and then leaves.
“I’m not ignoring you.” Kyoutani gives the flower a second look, “It’s called a monkshood.”
Yahaba and Kyoutani are sat at a restaurant. The plates of noodles that they ordered, now the object of their full attention. They grab their chopsticks and spoons and begin to eat in silence. Yahaba’s ramen is topped with lots of vegetables and soft, tender pork. It’s salty and slightly tangy and it reminds Yahaba of winter, and the heater on full blast. Of late December’s and the biting cold.
“Try.” Yahaba says, wrapping noodles around his pair of chopsticks and bringing it over to Kyoutani. His other hand is cupped below the noodles, making sure nothing spills. Kyoutani swallows his own food before leaning in to try the food Yahaba has offered for him.
“Pretty good.” Kyoutani mumbles, once he’s finished chewing, “Mine is better.” He says smugly.
Yahaba scoffs, “Please, mine tastes heavenly.”
“Not as heavenly as mine.” Kyoutani teases.
“Just as heavenly, if not better.” Yahaba rolls his eyes but gives in anyway, “Let me try yours.”
Kyoutani smirks, picks up the noodles with his chopsticks, uses his non dominant hand to cup under the noodles before slowly stretching out to reach Yahaba.
Yahaba takes the noodles in his mouth and hums appreacitvely at the warm broth taste. The noodles are hot, and theres a hint of spiciness and meat in it, complimented by the thick noodles, that only enhance the flavor. It really is good. Maybe too spicy for Yahaba, but good nonetheless. This bowl reminds him of late Autumn, of the promises of Winter and the leaves falling from trees.
“It’s prety good.” Yahaba agrees.
“I know.” Kyoutani smirks. Yahaba rolls his eyes again.
Yahaba does not think about the implications of this. When Kyoutani had asked him weeks in advance- two and a half to be exact- Yahaba has not thought about anything else other than the fact that he wanted to go, he wanted to go so bad that he was once again willing to put his religion second. It wasn’t until later that Yahaba’s brain supplied him with the thought that maybe this is a date. Panic ensuing, of course, but also joy. Joy that even his cruelest thoughts could not tamp down. And now, with them sitting across from one another and smiling lazily as they take bites of each other’s food, as they pretend to be annoyed with the other while at the same time being completely enamored? It almost feels like they’re dating- almost.
“How did you know that’s what its called?” Yahaba queries. “The flower.”
“Elective I take at college, we had a whole unit on flowers. Plus, I think they’re cool.” He admits.
Yahaba snorts, “Such a nerdy interest.”
Kyoutani glares, “It’s not nerdy.”
“Knowing flowers by name? That’s pretty nerdy. How many do you have memorized Kyoutani. If I showed you pictures could you tell me all their names?” Yahaba teases.
“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes.
“Do you know the flower language too?” Yahaba asks in between bites of food. When he is met with silence Yahaba bursts out laughing, “No way!”
“Im leaving.” Kyoutani snaps, making no move to leave.
“Tell me then, what does the Monkshood mean in flower language?” Yahaba asks, a smirk on his face.
“…My love is a beautiful poison.” Kyoutani says. Yahaba can feel the smile fade from his face.
That meaning, that resonates so deeply with every emotion waging a war inside Yahaba. The flower defines everything Yahaba had tried to deny about himself. It brings back endless prayers, tears that never seemed to stop. Everything goes back to this. To his sexuality, to his feelings. From the first time he realizes he was wrong to find boys attractive, to now, faced with a beautiful, selfless, caring guy who will give Yahaba everything he could ever want and more. If only Yahaba is brave enough to accept it.
“That’s a beautiful meaning.” Yahaba says, snapping back to reality.
“It is.” Kyoutani agrees, now finishing his bowl of ramen.
They eventually finish their food, but they sit a moment longer, relishing in the quiet conversations being had among them. Yahaba places his hand down on the table and grins up at Kyoutani, “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For asking me to go with you, I really needed that.” Yahaba looks down at his empty ramen bowl, “Especially after…you know.” His very bad reaction to his mom pressuring him into getting a girlfriend.
Kyoutani puts his own hand over Yahaba’s, “I didn’t do it out of pity, Yahaba.” He says sternly, his hands now rubbing delicately over Yahaba’s. “I did it because I like being with you.”
Yahaba’s mouth dries. To anyone else, that casual holding of hands would mean nothing. But to Yahaba it brings excitement, it brings fear, it brings insecurity, it brings comfort. It’s everything Yahaba’s ever wanted. It’s too much. It’ll never be enough. They’re going too fast. Can Yahaba truly take it? His religious side wants nothing more than to pull away, too scared of what others might think, but the rest of him wants everything else Kyoutani is willing to give him.
But his religious side wins out when he spots the waitress coming over to them, her eyes already zeroing in on their hands clasped together. Yahaba pulls away, quickly, like he’s been burned. His face is guarded now, set into the perfect smile, with no true light behind his eyes. He tries not to look at Kyoutani, knowing that he has only hurt them both. But he gives in and risks a glance towards him. Kyoutani’s eyes are trained on his hand, which is now open and empty, still resting on the table, he eventually pulls his hand back too. There is a harsh line set between his eyebrows, but it’s not from anger. Yahaba knows Kyoutani enough to be able to tell, the face that Kyoutani is making right now is pained, it’s sadness, and guilt. But Kyoutani shouldn’t feel guilty.
Kyoutani pays for the bill without another word. They get up from their seats and leave in silence.
Yahaba’s thoughts are running a mile a minute as he and Kyoutani walk back to their college. He needs to apologize, he needs to ask questions. He needs. He wants.
“Don’t say that you’re sorry.” Kyoutani says, startling Yahaba, “I should’ve never done that in public.” He says the last sentence bitterly.
“I should’ve never pulled away.” Yahaba whispers, “I am sorry.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for.” Kyoutani mutters, even as his eyes say something contradicting.
“Talk to me.” Yahaba pleads, “What’s on your mind?”
Kyoutani doesn’t say anything for a moment. He takes a deep breath, “It’s shitty of me, to want more when you’ve told me from the start how difficult it is for you. But I wish that I could kiss you in public, I wish I could hold your fucking hand out in the streets and you won’t worry about what others think. I wish I could dance with you in public and give you everything you want. But I can’t wish it enough for the both of us.” Kyoutani’s voice cracks on the last sentence and he clears his throat, “I will wait, I will not tire of waiting. Don’t think that I will. I just…I wish-“
“-I wish so too.” Yahaba admits. He cannot make Kyoutani wait any longer, it’s unfair. Yahaba and Kyoutani walk back the rest of the way in silence.
It was a rash decision that has Yahaba facing the steps to his childhood home. A decision based solely when he was full of contradicting emotions. Anger, disbelief, love, contentment, want, desire, regret. All those emotions take up space in his heart, in his head. So much so, that he can barely concentrate in class. That’s where he draws the line. If he loses everything, if he loses the validation he yearns for from others, the approval from his parents, the love from Kyoutani; at least his grades will still reflect what kind of student he is.
It’s a weird way to make Yahaba think that he still has control over his life. Even in high school while his parents practically picked out the kind of future that Yahaba will have, it was only Yahaba himself who could actually control his grades. It was his effort that got him into college. It was all the times he didn’t get any hours of sleep because he had to study. It was when Yahaba had forgotten a part of his speech during an important class, and had texted his parents, begged them to take him home while he hid out in the bathroom. The good and the bad, it was all Yahaba himself, and he will not let anything else affect it.
Or that’s what he tells himself. To be honest, Yahaba had faced such academic pressure at a young age that his mindset was always you will bloom from the stress, or you will break. But now in college, he finds that he doesn’t actually care about his grades. Instead of studying all night, he goes out to eat with his friends. Instead of studying and reading at libraries, he talks with Kyoutani. Instead of getting a good night of sleep for a test tommorow, he spends the night wrapped in Kyoutani’s arms, telling him sweet nothings.
He says it’s because he doesn’t want his grades to suffer, but the truth is he doesn’t want Kyoutani to suffer. He doesn’t want Kyoutani to look at him with such sadness in his eyes, with tight lipped smiles and barely concealed emotions. He’s doing this for Kyoutani. He is undeniably whipped for that guy with piercings and bleached hair. So much so, that he will face his biggest fears. Because he now realizes, he is more scared to lose his chance at love than to be rejected by his religion.
He hadn’t been rash enough to not check his calendar first and make sure that he wasn’t going to miss anything important. He’s only here for the weekend, maybe less if this conversation goes the way his sick mind has been thinking it would; with yelling, crying, getting kicked out, getting denounced, being taken to church to repent. The last one scares him the most. Having to ask for forgiveness for something that he doesn’t believe is wrong, having to face the cruelty of the church goers who believe themselves to be God’s perfect children. Having to see the disapproval, the shame, on his parents faces as he begs for forgiveness. In the back of Yahaba’s head, in the most hopeful parts of his mind, he thinks that his parents will accept him, that they will embrace him and say that he will always be their son. But that kind of thinking isn’t real. Yahaba has to be prepared for the worst, because when the worst does happen, he won’t be disappointed.
He takes the four steps leading to his childhood home. Each step seeming to set his fate even more. With shaky hands he gives three hard knocks and waits. Yahaba counts down the seconds.
One, two, three, four….ten, eleven, twelve… Yahaba gets to thirty four before he hears the door unlock and open. His dad is there, with a small nod of acknowledgement and an even smaller smile expressing his joy, although the creases between his brows shows that he’s confused.
“Hi, Dad.” Yahaba’s clears his throat.
“Good to see you.” His dad nods, “Why are you here?” He frowns.
“I just felt like visiting,” Yahaba explains, deeming now to be a bad time, “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s in the kitchen,” He ushers Yahaba in before closing and locking the door.
Yahaba can smells the faint scent of chicken cooking, can hear the water running, and dishes and cups being taken out. He smiles at the familiarity of it all. He walks into the open kitchen area, he sees his mom with her back turned to him, chopping vegetables, “Honey, who is it?” She asks, still not looking back.
Yahaba clears his throat, “Hi, mom.” His mom let’s the knife clatter as she quickly turns around. A huge grin envelopes her face as she rushes over to greet him properly.
“I am so happy you’re here. But what are you doing here?” She asks, her arms on his shoulder as she brings him down to her eye level.
Yahaba laughs, “I just wanted to see you.”
“You should have told me Yahaba,” she scolds, “I would have prepared a better dinner.”
“I didn’t come here to eat, mom. I just,” He braces himself. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Well we can all talk at dinner, come help me now.” She says, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen.
Yahaba and his mom found a steady rhythm in the work. Yahaba cuts up vegetables while his mom flips over the meats cooking. They don’t talk much, just occasionally tasting the food and saying what it needs. Compared to a lot of the other families Yahab had met at his church that he used to go to, Yahaba himself is held to a different expectation from the rest of them. Other families at the church don’t expect their first born son to help with housework, but Yahaba’s parents never expected anything less. And now, in this environment where everything is comfortable and familiar, Yahaba is finding it harder to say what he truly is feeling. But he has to. And he will.
Eventually, they finish cooking and sit down to eat. His mom blesses the food set on the table and thanks the Lord for it. Yahaba’s stomach does not churn when he heard the blessing. Because as much as the people following that religion may hate people like him, Yahaba will always find comfort in his religion. He likes to think that God will love him anyway.
They eat in relative silence, a few compliments from Yahaba dad here and there. Some questions about his studies and how his grades are. Gossip about the kids at church, events going on in the neighborhood. It all flies over Yahaba’s head. With every bite that he takes of the delicious meal his mom cooked up for him, with every minute that passes by where Yahaba does not face the truth, it all sits inside him, weighing him down until he doesn’t think he can eat anymore, until he thinks that any amount of time will never be enough to prepare him for what he’s going to say.
“Oh right, you said you wanted to tell us something. What is it dear?” His mom asks, giving him a warm smile as she cuts into the meat on her plate.
Yahaba’s heart stutters, fear makes him break out into a cold sweat. Because he can’t back down. He promised himself and he practically promise Kyoutani too. “Right.” He pauses, “I met someone, at college.”
His moms eyes widen and she breaks out into a dazzling grin, “My son! I told you, oh, I told you it would happen. Didn’t I tell you?” She turns to her husband, “He’s just like us when we were his age.” Her tone prideful, as she turns back to her son, “What’s her name? Do we get to meet her. What does she look like?”
Yahaba swallows. As much as he wants to look at anything else right now, he has to watch for his mom’s reaction. He cannot look away. “Kyoutani Kentarou.”
His mom frowns, “But that’s a-“
“His name is Kyoutani Kentarou.” Yahaba repeats, his voice firm.
His mom looks puzzled, “Sweetheart, I think you’re confused. When you told me you met someone, I asssumed you meant someone you like romantically…not a friend.”
“You assumed correct.” Yahaba says, leveling his gaze, even as his heartbeat pounds in his ears.
“But that- oh.” His mom’s face closes off, “Yahaba, you don’t mean that.”
“I do mean that, because I, I am ga-“
“No.” His moms voice is cold, impassive, as if she was talking about the weather, “Yahaba, don’t say nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense mom. It’s how I feel. I…I’m gay.” Yahaba admits. Relief and freedom course through him but the bitter taste of melancholy overshadow it.
“You are not.. not that.” His mom shakes her head.
“Mom, just listen to me-“
“Yahaba.” Her voice is steel now, “What of all the plans we made? The marriage, the kids, the house?”
“I’m in college, mom, I’m too young anyway. But I can still have all that, who I like doesn’t affect it.”
“Of course it affects it!” His mom yells. Yahaba tenses. She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Yahaba, if you ever say such unnatural things again, you will not be forgiven.”
Guilt pierces Yahaba’s heart. “It is not unnatural.” He whispers.
“Men were made for women. Not for other men.” She snaps, looking disgusted.
“I love him.” Yahaba breathes, and as he says it, he realizes the truth behind his words, the weight, but also the excitement- even at a time like this. “It is not unnatural. It will not pass. I cannot pray it away, i cannot pray away the sin. I do not even think it is a sin. Because how in Hell could a sin ever feel so good?” Yahaba’s voice gets louder with each sentence.
“You have been poisoned.” His mom whispers, “I can’t even look at you right now. To think that something so…so.. vile, could be the object of your attention.”
“You are not my son.” She shakes her head.
Tears build in the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to let a single one fall. “Mom, don’t say that. I’m the same person I was two minutes ago.”
“If you dare love another man the way you’re supposed to love a woman i will not be here. To support you, do not expect that from me. You need to see reason. It is wrong.” His mom begins to sob.
“It is not wrong.” Yahaba objects, his heart hurting at seeing his mom in tears.
“It is sin. And it is poison coursing through you. The devil’s words whispering in your head, telling you to sin. Overcome it, Yahaba. I know you can. You are God’s child, you are my child- you can still be that, you just have to beg for forgiveness.”
“I’m not sorry though.” Yahaba admits, “I feel a lot of things, but regret for this is not one of them.”
“Don’t say that!” His mom shouts, “Of course, you’re sorry! Do not let this sin be normalized, do not let it corrupt you. You are God’s child and no child of God could do such a thing that you’re doing to me now. You’re breaking my heart.”
“Do you blame God?” Yahaba raises his voice in return, “He created me like this. Because by your logic, I was always born a sin-“
“No, no!”
“-And I am nothing more than the poison you’ve instilled in me. Nothing more than the poison I was born with. I am sin and if that is all I am to you, if that is all you see in me, then I guess I’m not your son.”
His mothers face turns pale, “Yahaba, be careful of the words you choose. I cannot forgive you for this one.” She warns.
Yahaba let’s a tear fall down his face, “I can’t forgive you either, mom.” He whispers.
“See reason, Yahaba. Do not let this happen. God will not forgive you” She begs again.
“You praise the wrong God if you think that. Maybe your God is created from the hatred of humans, built from the anguish of cries all around the world, thrives off the negativity from it all. But not mine. My God brings light, he smiles and grants miracles, he cares and he shows it, and he will love me, he will not admonish me for falling in love with someone you deem is the wrong gender. Do not fumble God’s words to fit your agenda built on hate.” Every word hurts Yahaba, even as he speaks it, he cannot help but feel guilt for saying these things to his mom. But he would rather die than stay silent a moment more.
“If you do not feel guilty, then you are no child of mine.” His mom says, her face indifferent even as Yahaba turns to leave the house. Even as she wipes the tears from her face and composes herself. He is nothing more than a speck of dust on her clothes now. “No child of mine is a faggot.” Her last biting response. Laced with venom and deep rooted hatred in her every word. It hurts Yahaba further. His mom who refrains from cursing, calling her own son that. It breaks down the last of Yahaba’s defenses, the walls he put up to protect himself, have at long lasts crumbled under the force of her words. A quite sob that he can’t contain slips out from his mask of indifference, but he doesn’t let them see it, Yahaba’s face is turned away, his shoulders set and his head held high as he walks down the halls of his childhood home- for the last time probably.
But before he leaves, he turns to his mom and even though she isn’t looking at him, he knows she is listening, “God will not forgive me, no. Because there will not be anything to forgive. You blame God for the hate in your heart. The hate that you feel when I tell you that I am in love. Does it matter the gender when it comes to love? Is your love for a man greater than the love I feel for a man? How do you evaluate that? You cannot blame God for the sin that you committed; the sin of hate. Perhaps your sin is worse than mine.”
Yahaba will never be able to truly forget. The countless birthdays where he wished on the same thing. To be normal. The fallen eyelashes where he hoped for his wish to come true. To be normal. The shooting stars where he begged for it. To be normal. The confessions, the relentless praying that would all be boiled down to the same prayer, make me normal, please. It is a haunting, wicked way to remind Yahaba of how unnatural and uncomfortable he had felt in his skin back then, and even now too. He may not forget it, but he will move past it. And he has now taken the first few steps towards it.
Yahaba leaves and slams the door shut. He makes it a good three steps before he has to sit down in the steps that introduce him to his childhood home. He sits and he lets gut wrenching sobs escape him. Sobs for the childhood he is losing, for the love from a mother that everyone deserves, for the estrangement that is coming. He mourns his past self, the version of himself that adored his mother, the version that could not imagine life without her.
He furiously wipes the tears away from his face, he tries to choke down the sobs, tries to take calming breaths. He feels the familiar beginnings of a panic attack setting in. And this time Kyoutani is not here to help him. God, how he wishes he was. The old hinges of the door creak open. For a moment, Yahaba wants nothing more than to turn back and see his mom asking for forgiveness, to envelope him in a hug and tell him that she will always love him.
But it’s not his mom standing there. It’s not his mom who would probably be there only to tell him to leave her property. No, instead, it’s Yahaba’s dad who stands uncomfortably behind him.
“Did she tell you to ask me to leave?” He asks, his voice cracking and dry.
“No, no she didn’t.” His dad says, slowly moving so that he is now hovering over Yahaba.
“If you want to tell me that I’m going to Hell, I already know that.” Yahaba mutters bitterly.
Yahaba’s dad groans as he sits down next to Yahaba, shoulder to shoulder. It sets Yahaba on edge, but nonetheless it’s almost comforting also.
“Your mother is a proud woman, she is right about almost everything, but she has her faults. I know that better than anyone.” His dads voice is a deep baritone, it’s soothing as he says the sentence Yahaba was hoping to hear from his mom, “I do not think it is wrong at all.”
“Dad.” Yahaba whispers, a small sob escaping him. There they are, the words of acceptance he had always been searching for.
“You are entitled to love, the same way we all are. Love coming from a man to another man, or a woman to another woman. It all boils down to the same thing. God will not judge you based on who you’ve fallen in love with. He judges your character, your purity, your heart. And if, deep in that heart, you decide that you love a man, that is that. And it is not wrong.” His father slowly rubs slow comforting circles on Yahaba’s shoulder as more sobs escape him.
“I’m scared,” Yahaba admits.
“For every person that disagrees, there will be double the amount that support you. I will support you.” His dad promises, “Fear is normal, but it cowers in comparison to anything else. Do not let the fear define you, do not let it stop you from being yourself.” His dad pulls Yahaba closer so now Yahaba is resting his head on his dads shoulder. Silent tears fall down Yahaba’s face, followed by sniffles. He stays there for a minute, enjoying the physical comfort Yahaba has needed ever since he admitted his sexuality out loud to his parents.
Sitting down in the steps to his childhood home, with his father next to him, Yahaba does not see himself as a nineteen year old with his fifty something year old father. Instead, he sees a young boy crying on his dad’s shoulder when he scraped his knee. He sees a younger version of his dad comforting him and putting a band aid on his knee. He sees the gentleness that his father always had, he had just shown it differently from everyone else. But he is not six year olds crying over a small cut anymore. He’s practically an adult, but he will always need his dad there. Now twice as much since Yahaba doesn’t believe that his mom will ever want to speak to him again.
“You probably made mom mad.” Yahaba says.
“Oh yeah, she’s not gonna talk to me for weeks.” His dad hums. Yahaba chuckles without humor. “I will convince her, as much as I can, to see reason, to talk to you.” His dad says, “I know how much you love your mom.”
“Don’t force her to. It has to be her choice or else it’s not genuine.” Yahaba says, “I think that you’re selling yourself short. I love you just as much as mom, you are what I hope to become.” Yahaba admits. His dad smiles and ruffles Yahaba’s hair, like he used to when he was younger, before growing up turned them distant.
“What’s he like? Kyoutani.” His dad asks.
Yahaba sighs and smiles, “He’s my roommate, he has bleached hair, lots of piercings. He’s nice to me, let’s me talk to him about anything, he opens up to me sometimes, and I do the same-“
“Keep him close,” his dad interrupts, “Don’t let someone like that go. Love him, and love him openly, the way everyone deserves to be loved.” The memory of him pulling away from Kyoutani in public, flashes through his head.
Yahaba nods, “I will.”
Yahaba wipes his tears eventually. He leaves his dad with a final hug before making his way to the subway station. He boards the train that’ll take him to his college. He does all of this with his heart already set on what’s he’s going to do. He sends a quick heads up to Kyoutani that he’s coming back to their dorm soon, asking him to be there to pick him up. Kyoutani, of course, agrees. It’s twenty more minutes until Yahaba sees Kyoutani. And although his stomach churns, his heart quickens as he remembers what he is going to do.
The promise he made to his dad. To love him publicly and openly. Yahaba is going to do just that.
It’s fifteen more minutes now, Yahaba’s leg is bouncing up and down, he’s thrumming with unspent energy and built up adrenaline. He’s nervous, but he’s excited. And yes, his heart will always hold the heavy weight of rejection that he faced from his mom, but soon enough, he will learn to carry it better. The dejection will catch up to him, at random times, much like grief, but it will also fade with time. That is the only thing Yahaba can count on.
Ten more minutes now. Yahaba anxiously checks the time on his phone. Maybe eventually, his mom will come to terms with it, but Yahaba will not count on it, he’s not naive, he knows that the chances of that happening are slim. More than likely, his mom will beg the church to rid Yahaba of all his impure thoughts. To fix him. It’s agony to Yahaba, but he cannot pray his sexuality away. He doesn’t need to be fixed, because there is simply nothing wrong with him. That truth feels like relief to Yahaba who has been living in constant worry ever since he realized what was so different about him.
Four more minutes now. Yahaba knows that his dad is more than enough. Even if his mom never accepts him, even if everyone else makes him feel horrible for liking a man, he knows that there will always be someone to support him. Watari, God how could Yahaba forget? Watari was one of the first persons that Yahaba had admitted his sexuality to. Watari will always support him. His dad will always support him. Kyoutani, of course he will.
Two more minutes now. Yahaba had worried so much about every person that would desert him, that would make him an outcast, that would reject him, or simply hate him; that he failed to remember he has always had people that would support and love him anyway. It’s a quiet kind of support from his dad. An outstretched comforting hand from Watari. And a roaring approval from Kyoutani. And so, so much more, if Yahaba is only brave enough to search for it.
Now, as the train comes to a slow stop and the doors open, Yahaba feels a fresh wave of love and gratitude to all of the people that have stuck by his side through all of it. For Kyoutani for helping him explore this part of himself. For Watari, who was understanding in the way that Yahaba needed at that very moment. For his dad, for defying Yahaba’s mom and showing him the support and acceptance he had yearned for from his mom.
Yahaba steps out of the train, his eyes searching for bleached hair and piercings, for soft brown eyes and a smile that can melt Yahaba. He doesn’t have to look long.
He sees Kyoutani staring down at his phone before, as if knowing that Yahaba is watching him, snapping his gaze up to lock eyes with Yahaba. A small smile tugs at the corner of Kyoutani’s lips. A matching grin is evident on Yahaba’s face as he makes his way over to Kyoutani.
“Hi.” Yahaba breathes, grinning even wider as he’s face to face with Kyoutani. The distance between them barely even noticeable.
Kyoutani’s eyes widen as he notices their closeness, “Hey.” He takes in Yahaba’s features, his face morphs into a frown. He can probably see Yahaba’s tear stained face and red eyes. “What happened?” He whispers. His hand reaches out, like it wants to hold Yahaba’s face. But almost as if remembering, his hand closes into a tight fist and falls down to Kyoutani’s face. Yahaba wants his touch now, more than anything. It breaks Yahaba’s heart to see just how much Kyoutani was holding back- all for Yahaba’s sake.
“A lot of things.” He admits, “But I’m okay now.” Yahaba says. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears but still, Yahaba has to do this. As much as it terrifies him, he cannot keep limiting the love Kyoutani gives him, and in turn he cannot only love Kyoutani behind closed doors.
Both of Yahaba’s hand reaches for Kyoutani’s hand, the one closed in a fist, Kyoutani’s face turns surprised. Yahaba unclenches the fist Kyoutani is making, and he laces their fingers together. Their now interlocked hands rest high up on each other’s chest, each feeling the heartbeat of their partner. Kyoutani’s breathing is fast and without rhythm, but he doesn’t move, he’s too scared to do anything other than take it in, what if it’s gone too soon?
Yahaba squeezes Kyoutani’s hand and smiles, “You deserve the love I was too scared to give you all those times.”
Realization dawns on Kyoutani’s face, “Yahaba,”
“I’m okay. I’m better than okay…I have you.” He whispers meekly.
“You will always have me.” Kyoutani’s voice is softer now, less gruff like before.
It will be this, then, for as long as you’ll let me. Yahaba had thought at the time.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kyoutani asks after a beat of silence.
“Later,” Yahaba whispers, pressing his forehead against Kyoutani’s.
“Later, then.” Kyoutani agrees, his eyes shutting on their own accord.
Yahaba plants a slow kiss on Kyoutani’s lips. It sets Yahaba’s nerves on fire, it lights Yahaba up, it blinds him. It scares him, it terrifies him, it excites him. Kyoutani can feel it in the kiss, the warm gentle feeling that can be described as nothing other than love. He can feel all the unsaid confessions, the unsaid sentences, the words bubbling up in Yahaba’s throat that never made their way out. He hears it all in that kiss, and he accepts it. He accepts every part of him that Yahaba was too scared to show Kyoutani.
Maybe some people did stare. Some may have shaken their heads and muttered prayers under their breath, some may have shielded their kids from seeing what they call sin. But some may have smiled and moved on. Some may have called it love and joy. Some may have looked at them with adoration and awe in their eyes. More than likely, no one gave them a second look, too busy on their own lives to care for something so small compared to everything else. They probably didn’t even notice them; the young couple in love, kissing in a busy train station.
But either way, Yahaba cannot find it in himself to care. Especially not when Kyoutani is by his side.
When they finally pull away, Yahaba is left flushed and red, Kyoutani not doing much better.
“There are some things that I feel like I don’t have to say to you, because I know you’ll understand it.” Kyoutani says, as they begin to walk out of the subway station. His gaze is straight ahead, “You know what I mean?”
“I do.” Yahaba says.
“Like now.” Kyoutani says. “You…you know?” This side of Kyoutani, where he’s not serious and his guard is down and he’s awkward, Yahaba loves it.
Yahaba grins, “Tell me anyway.” He teases.
Kyoutani huffs, rolls his eyes, his face turns red as he stumbles through his words. “You know… I…I…fuck!” Kyoutani groans in annoyance, he can’t get the words out.
Yahaba, deciding to take pity on him, merely laughs. “I love you too.” He laced their hands together again.
“Ew no.” Kyoutani deadpans.
Yahaba shoves him, “Kyoutani.” He scolds, letting go of their hands.
Kyoutani laughs before putting his on a Yahaba’s shoulder, bringing him closer. “I love you.” He says, red faced and a blushing mess.
“I know.” Yahaba says. And although sometimes the physical contact will be too much for Yahaba, he is more than willing to try if it means that he’ll be doing it with Kyoutani. And although the displays of affection will be overwhelming for Yahaba at times, he’s not going to stop. Because Kyoutani is the kind of person that you hold onto tight, the person that you don’t let go of if you know what’s good for you.
Yahaba will not let him go. Not now, that he finally has him. Not now, when he can finally love him proudly like Yahaba had promised himself to do.
Yahaba knows now, love is not just a man and a woman together. It’s also a man and a man. It’s also a woman and a woman. It’s also a friend who never once judged their friend- who instead supported it. It’s also a dad standing up for his son, knowing who he was going to anger and doing it anyway. Maybe, Yahaba thinks, it can also be an all powerful God who will only have love in His heart. And it is definitely Kyoutani and Yahaba, smiling at each other, as they walk to their college campus.