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1.
Someone is lighting fireworks. Seishirou is awake before he realizes, the darkness of the ceiling indistinguishable from the darkness behind his eyelids. He should see who it is. On three: One, two—
Seishirou lifts his head just enough to squint out the bedroom window. Some primary school kids are setting them off, giggling all the while, heads pressed together. Just looking at them makes Seishirou’s bones ache. His head collides with the pillow, a crick in his neck for the effort. One hand grabs at air until it comes in contact with the string for the blinds. Pull. The sound mutes somewhat. That same hand grapples for his phone as it comes down, preserving what little energy remains.
The screen hurts Seishirou’s eyes, and the time hurts his feelings.
In four hours he would have to get out of his bed, walk to the bathroom, brush his teeth. Slip on his school uniform over his boxers and undershirt. Find something in his kitchen to eat. Chew. Swallow. Repeat, if he’s unlucky. Socks, shoes, backpack. Ten things before he even makes it out the front door.
The groan dies in his throat.
Is this living? Counting the moments between seconds? It doesn’t seem right, but Seishirou doesn’t know enough about living to be sure. What he knows about living amounts to this: sleep, eat, school. Fill the time in between with the least bothersome things possible. Exchange school for work at some point. Live, laugh, die.
That doesn’t explain the drive some people have. The urgency with which they run through life, the desperation that pushes their bodies to the breaking point. It doesn’t explain movies, art, music. It doesn’t explain anyone and why they do anything.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand it. Seishirou drifts back into sleep without realizing.
2.
Mikage put his number in Seishirou’s phone. It hadn’t crossed his mind that was what Mikage was doing earlier on the staircase—disoriented by the annoyance of being deprived of his games temporarily. Yet there it is, in the notifications at the top of the screen and nestled in his contacts.
Mikage Reo: Nagi! I’ll pick you up tomorrow! 7 AM okay? and pack cleats!
i dont have any, Seishirou messages back. That’s that. He places his phone down, yawns. Summons the energy to brush his teeth. Brushes his teeth. Summons the energy to walk back to his room. Sits on his bed, one new text. Seishirou blinks.
Mikage Reo: whats your size
It takes Seishirou a moment to remember what they were talking about.
nagi: 11
Mikage Reo: your favorite color?
Another strange question. Do people really have favorite colors? Seishirou looks around his room for inspiration, meeting only white, black, and darker black. He types in the first color that comes to mind.
nagi: purple
Mikage Reo: no, well match! try again
So bothersome. Seishirou eyes Choki on the windowsill.
nagi: green
Mikage Reo: tada! ill have them delivered to the school
Rich people truly live different lives, Seishirou thinks. He responds with a sticker of Bonobono giving a thumbs up. Now they were definitely done. Seishirou turns his phone sideways and begins booting up a game when another notification pops up.
Mikage Reo: what r u doing?
Seishirou stares. What is he doing? Immediately he receives another message.
Mikage Reo: dont feel like u have to answer if youre busy!
Seishirou is busy, and he doesn’t feel like answering. Or at least he shouldn’t. Instead he finds himself typing a message.
nagi: playing dbd
nagi: dead by daylight
Mikage Reo: oh ive never played that
nagi: its a survival horror game
nagi: idk if ud like it
nagi: i have a couple of rare skins
Mikage Reo: may i see?
Seishirou takes a screenshot.
Mikage Reo: oooh anime skins
Mikage Reo: surprisingly cute of you
Surprisingly? Seishirou knows first hand he’s cute. His mother said so.
nagi: im cute
Mikage Reo: he says while playing a game called ‘dead by daylight’
nagi: horror can be cute
Mikage Reo: teddy bears with their eyes gouged out?
nagi: nah
nagi: it makes sense that you don’t like horror
Mikage Reo: hey! what does that mean!
nagi: …
Mikage Reo: dont just send dot dot dot!
nagi: oxo
Mikage Reo: stop avoiding the question!
They text all night. Seishirou wakes up to banging on his door, phone dead and pressing indents into his cheek. He slides into Mikage’s limousine, munching on the onigiri Mikage shoves into his hands, and wonders if this is what having a friend is like.
3.
This is what Seishirou knows about life: sleep, eat, school. Football practice. Bicycle rides. Convenience stores. The specific stickiness of a half-melted popsicle. The tender texture of a handkerchief on his hand. How loud laughter can be when it’s right in front of you.
How beautiful some laughter can sound.
Reo stops his full-bodied giggles to tuck his handkerchief into his bag. Lilac splotted with orange cream hanging out of the zipper, drifting in the breeze.
“Well what did you think was going to happen?” he asks. His voice rises above the slosh of rushing water, the hum of people talking. The river that maps the bicycle path winds right past Seishirou’s apartment, but he never noticed the sound it makes; lap swish lap. It was nice. The second nicest thing he hears right now.
“I swear, a quarter of the time we get these you let it melt all the way down to your fingers,” sounds the first nicest thing. Hmm, Seishirou thought. They walk in relative silence before Seishirou remembers to look at Reo’s face. Eyebrows raised. He’s waiting for a response.
“I forgot about it,” Seishirou answers. Reo rolls his eyes but he’s smiling.
“How could you have forgotten about it?”
Because the sun is setting behind you and you blend into it, Seishirou doesn’t say. Because I focus so hard on remembering the sound of your voice I don’t always hear what you’re saying. Because my heart is beating like we’re still at football practice. Because I count the moments between seeing you. Because today feels like it was plucked from a different person’s lifetime.
“I was thinking about something,” Seishirou does say.
“About what?” Reo asks. This time Seishirou does not respond, content to walk beside Reo as he pushes his bike. Reo huffs the huff he huffs when he knows Seishirou isn’t going to indulge him.
“So mysterious, my treasure,” Reo teases, voice light and annoyance-free. It’s kinder than he can remember voices being towards him in recent years. A voice from his childhood.
Seishirou read about the ‘springtime of youth’ in books growing up. It seemed romanticized then; a fantasy now. Seishirou knows things like that don’t really exist. Youth was too conceptual, undefinable; there was no high uniquely associated with it.
“One sec,” Reo says. He dumps what remains of their popsicles into a passing garbage pail, swinging a leg over the seat of his bicycle. He pats the spot behind him. “Get on!” he says.
Seishirou knows the springtime of youth doesn’t really exist. But if it did, he thinks it might feel like this.
4.
It’s been a while since Seishirou had a friend. And while his social skills leave much to be desired, even he knows it’s in poor taste to masturbate to them.
And yet.
If pressed, Seishirou could lie, say he didn’t mean to picture Reo—his image just popped into Seishirou’s head, unbidden, unwanted.
In reality, Seishirou knew he was going to do this as soon as Reo dropped to tie Seishirou’s cleats earlier that day. The sight of purple hair bobbing between his legs sealed his fate—Reo is too kind, too lovely, to have his good intentions warped like this, but Seishirou is not as kind and lovely and good-intentioned. Seishirou is in his room, face down on his comforter, pumping his cock with more energy than he usually expends in a week.
He pictures Reo liking it. He pictures him, smiling and pretty, perfect posture even on his knees. Long fingers push up the folds of Seishirou’s school pants, smoothing it up and down his knees.
Let me take care of you, Reo says. Seishirou nods furiously into his bed, rucking up the sheets. Reo’s cheeks are red and so is his tongue when he sticks it out. Seishirou has never had a blow job, but he knows enough, and he knows it would be amazing if it was Reo giving it to him. Reo’s perfect at everything. His cock sits on Reo’s tongue, in his mouth, poking his cheek, and the grip Seishirou has on his dick becomes brutal.
What would Reo do? Would he like it? His hair is so silky. Would he want it petted, or pulled? Seishirou can’t decide. In his mind Reo likes everything he does, loves it. He loves to serve Seishirou.
It’s fun spending time with you, he said on the practice field that afternoon. Now he’s gazing up at Seishirou with that same look in his eyes. Adoration, Seishirou wants to say. He feels adored, wanted, by the nicest person he’s ever met.
I’m made for you, Reo says. I love you, Reo says.
Just the way you are, I love you.
There’s a lot of things Seishirou is unsure about. Life, friendship, youth. If he’s doing any of it right, or at all. It’s hard to name the feelings he's experiencing at any point in time.
But this one he’s sure of right away. This one is lust.
5.
Reo’s underwear slides down his legs and pools at his feet. Seishirou’s bare ass sticks to the vinyl of his desk chair, crinkling as he shifts.
It’s the first time he’s seen Reo naked. It’s the first time he’s seen anyone naked; faceless boys on porn websites and old men in public baths notwithstanding. Not that it mattered; Seishirou doesn’t think anyone’s been naked like how Reo is naked. His skin is unblemished, luxurious, expensive looking. His dick is half-hard. And Seishirou has felt Reo’s dick in his hand, knows it by texture alone, mapped it out shyly underneath bedsheets on school nights. But he’s never seen it in the light of day, dappled sun striping the room as it bled through blinds. He’s never seen Reo like this. Balancing on one foot, the other shifting its weight from his heel to the bend of his toes, arms tucked behind his back, crimson flush stretching from ear to ear. That arched look to his brows. Reo’s expecting him to say something, Seishirou realizes. Ah, how to capture the depth of what he’s feeling right now.
“Cool,” Seishirou settles on.
“Cool, he says,” Reo mumbles. He steps out of his underwear, toeing the fabric away; cute ankles, strong legs, thick thighs, hard dick. Reo should never wear clothes, Seishirou decides. His eyes are beginning to throb and Seishirou remembers to blink. When his eyes open Reo has already crossed the room, clambering onto the chair and bringing his legs to rest on either side of Seishirou’s. Thighs touching. Dicks framed. Seishirou’s hand large enough to grab both of them if he wants to.
But that’s not what they’re here for today.
Reo swallows. Seishirou brings his eyes up just in time to see Reo flit his own down. His face is red. It looks painful, Seishirou thinks; like a sunburn. Reo’s lips are pursed.
From this angle, Seishirou can’t really see where he’s going to.
Well.
His nails dig into the armrests. Where he’s going to put it in. He knows there’s a process to this. They did the research just yesterday, in this very room, except then they were leaning against the backboard instead of squeezing into this tiny chair, heads together and refusing to make eye contact while watching two men go at it on Seishirou’s phone. Reo needs to be—to be prepped, stretched out, because while Reo is by no means a small man, to Seishirou he’s tiny.
“Do I need to—“ Seishirou starts to offer, but Reo’s already babbling.
“Um, so, I thought it would be easier if I already did. That part. So I took care of it.” Seishirou feels that slight stickiness on his legs now, originating from where Reo is sitting. His throat becomes very dry.
“Hm,” Seishirou says. And no one has been able to read him before, no one has bothered to even try, but in that one exhale Reo picks up on his disappointment.
“I thought it would be easier,” he repeats, pushing lilac strands behind one ear. Seishirou nods. That’s so like Reo—putting efficiency and Seishirou’s comfort first, recommending Seishirou sit in a favorite chair while Reo did all the work, coating his fingers in lube and fondling the most hidden part of his body—
“I’ll do it next time,” Seishirou says, and he means it as a question, but it comes out a command. Reo gulps.
“Okay,” he whispers.
“The rest of your firsts are mine,” Seishirou continues. Reo shudders, full body, and Seishirou can see the hairs on his arm rising. Seishirou looks up and down, preparing for what comes next.
“What should I—”
Reo kisses him. His hands haven’t shaken that rich boy softness, long fingers loose and cupping his jaw. It isn’t dirty, or intense; just the press of lips on lips. Like Seishirou is fragile. Treasured.
Reo leans back with little more than a precious smacking noise.
“You don’t need to do anything,” he says. “You’re perfect just like this.” Seishirou can only stare. Adored, he thinks. I adore you.
Reo squeezes out what remains of their lube. It squelches into his palm and Seishirou flushes at the noise.
“This might be cold,” Reo warns, and he touches Seishirou’s dick.
Algebra, Seishiro thinks. Eating crabs. Eating crabs while doing algebra. Seishirou conjures the least erotic things as distraction because Reo’s touch was not fair. Every time they do this, Reo’s soft and sticky hand lights up nerves Seishirou is sure he didn’t have before, reaching higher and higher heights of pleasure. Seishirou stutters a groan and Reo’s hand flinches, drawing back.
“Okay, I’m going to l-lower myself down now,” Reo stammers. He pulls himself up, hovering over Seishirou’s dick, poised and ready. He guides Seishirou’s dick and—
“Ah—” Seishirou chokes and Reo freezes.
“Sorry, wait a second,” he gasps.
Seishirou waits. The tip of his dick is held tight, warm and moist and just sitting there, and Seishirou knows this would be the best feeling ever, if he could only move, if he could only sink into that heat.
“Reo—“
“Just, I know, o-oh my god, I’m serious, ahh fuck—”
Seishirou grits his teeth.
“Ok, ok, let me—“ And Reo slides down another inch. A strained “fuck” punches out Seishirou’s chest. He lolls his head back, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Sei, baby—” Reo babbles, and he’s bouncing, the meat of his thighs slapping against Seishirou’s lap. He looks up, and the visual is too much—paired with the snug fit around his dick, everything felt hot and wet and right.
Reo jolts like he was shocked. “Oh, oh, Sei, just um—“ Reo holds onto the armrests, rolling his hips, trying to get Seishirou to rub against that same spot.
Seishirou remembers to hope it feels good for Reo, watching him chase his pleasure. It feels so so so good for him, like making a home in Reo’s body, getting tucked into bed, his brain receiving shock after shock of pleasure as his dick slid around Reo’s insides. It was, it was just so nice, it felt so good, Seishirou always wants to be pressed into Reo, he feels surrounded by him, embraced, adored—
Seishirou is coming before he realizes.
“Ah, ah, Sei, did you come?” Reo asks between bounces. He did. Fuck.
“Fuck,” he groans. Reo’s breathing warbles.
“It’s ok it’s ok it’s great,” he assures. Reo’s hands slide over the armrest, groping for Seishirou’s, and Seishirou flips his own over so his palms meet Reo’s and squeezes.
“God I made you come, I made you come, I feel it—” Reo continues to babble. Seishirou grunts because he can feel it too—his overstimulated dick now sticky with lube along with his own come.
“Can you just—” Reo bites his lip. Seishirou waits for orders.
“Sei touch me,” and it lacks its usual authority, drooling out between spit-wet lips, breathy and pleading. But Seishirou knows his response by heart.
“Yes boss.” So Seishirou touches him.
Reo yelps, high and startled, trimmed nails digging into Seishirou’s deltoids. It doesn’t take much before Reo is coming too, spurts reaching up to Seishirou’s neck. Seishirou sighs, stickiness dribbling onto his thighs as Reo pulls himself off to sit on his lap.
“You made me come,” Reo says after several minutes of panting and he pushes Seishirou’s bangs out of his eyes. Seishirou doesn’t know what Reo sees there, doesn’t know why he’s getting praises when Reo did all the work, doesn’t know just in general, what’s going on, what country he's in, what his name is.
But Reo looks into his eyes and must like what he sees because his smile makes Seishirou go stupid. Seishirou doesn’t need to know anything. He’ll have an empty head for the rest of his life to see that smile.
“You look fucked out,” Reo says. If only he could see himself, Seishirou thinks. Next time they do this, Seishirou will push him against a mirror, forcing Reo to see the mess Seishirou makes of him.
“Woah. What an intense expression. Should I be worried?” Seishirou shakes his head no, choosing to wrap his arms around Reo and bury himself into his chest rather than respond. Reo laughs and it vibrates through Seishirou’s body.
Someone is lighting fireworks. This time, Seishirou knows the culprit. He still doesn’t understand everyone and why they do anything, but he knows love, and the rest can follow.