Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Reo liked to think of himself as a pragmatic person, his practiced practicality always shining through even at his most vulnerable times. Excise the tumour, stitch up the wound. Disinfect, medicate, let heal. His tolerance to pain may be high but there will come a time when he will eventually cave in and break down, mentally and physically. It was only rational that he left before he lost the chance, or worse, the ability to.

And so he left, his first stop being K University Hospital, bundled up in his warmest coat — a deep indigo down coat, zipped up from his knees to his chin. He stood in the dead of the winter night, dark shades of purple blending with the dark street and darker skies. A bag crammed full of clothes and other small necessities was strapped to his back.

Reo squinted against the clinical white fluorescent lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass panels before him, traced the movements of white coats and mint green fluttering about within the walls of the hospital. He couldn’t see any threatening figure, just nondescript faces here and there. Regardless, it wasn’t wise to walk in, especially not then. Not when it was way too soon for him to show his face.

He wondered…No, he shouldn’t. He had to leave everything behind.

So, he left without a word, without a trace, like he never came. A passing phantom disappearing into the night, leaving not any more memory, fond or painful.

He walked, then, letting his legs carry him as his body laid limp upon them. Static filled his head. The tips of his nose and fingers grew icy. Weary, red-rimmed eyes, framed with deep dark bruises, stared at the empty road ahead, unseeing.

Within the blink of an eye, the train station stood before him. The rattling and groaning of metals shook his head, sending his mind spinning far too suddenly that he was afraid he was going to hurl onto his stiff leather boots. Still, he willed himself to keep walking.

Walk. Keep walking. Run, if he had to. As far as he could. He had made the resolve to throw everything away. There was no turning back, not when he couldn’t. There was no where to go back to.

“This better work,” Reo hissed under his breath. His train was departing in ten minutes. He had to hurry.

At first, Reo didn’t see the appeal of the shop. It was pretty, to put things plainly, but plain didn’t do it justice; wooden fixtures a deep orange-brown shade that contrasted with the shop’s brilliant blue banners, letting their colours pop a lot more; a saucer-sized illuminated sign of a blue ramen bowl against a bright white, moon-like background caught Reo’s eyes immediately when his line of sight was pulled upward — it looked like a recent addition, clashing with the vintage visage that came naturally with the aged building, like the street lamp he once saw near the entrance of an alleyway at Gion.

On a normal day, he would have taken a moment to marvel at how cute and quaint the little establishment was. That night, unfortunately, had been too caught up in passionately French kissing the pavement.

A group of jolly gentlemen had jumped on the opportunity to ask him out for a little tango, knives and fists and all. He didn’t have the option to decline, hence the sore muscles…and busted lip…and blood trickling backwards into his windpipe.

What transpired following his head colliding with the hard ground was a disorienting blur. Reo was sure he saw another man join in the fray, entering the scene with a flying kick to one of his assailants’ face. That was the last image he saw before darkness took him into soothing numbness.

The next thing Reo saw was the abyss staring right at him.

“Good. You’re not dead,” the abyss said. Reo screamed — only the sound of a choking frog croaked out from his dry throat. “And well enough to kick up a scene. Shidou, get some water.”

“Get it yourself, man.”

Reo flinched, expecting the shattering sound of glass on a brick wall. Nothing came, as the blond stood by the door caught the flying glass with ease. He had a bored look on his tanned face, the corners of his mouth pinched slightly downwards to mimic a disgruntled scowl, but his eyes remained neutral.

“ Tch. I should report you for workplace abuse, shitty four eyes,” the blond grumbled as he left the room. His words went unheeded by the dark-haired man.

“We looked you over while you were out and thankfully, none of your injuries seem serious.” The abyss nodded towards Reo’s neatly bandaged right hand. Reddish-purple skin peeked from where the wrapping ended. “Even that. Looks fine enough.”

His definition of “fine” seemed somewhat skewed, because Reo was sure he could neither feel nor move his hand at all.

“Something’s broken,” Reo stated, staring at how limp his appendage looked.

“Nah, nothing’s broken. Don’t worry,” the blond from earlier drawled as he walked back into the room, in his hand a glass full of water. He placed it on the desk beside the makeshift cot Reo was lying on, which he realised was actually two dinner tables pushed up against each other and covered with a cloth.

“I deadass can’t feel my hand,” Reo insisted.

“What then, want to go to the clinic —“

“Uh — no. It’s fine. I think my hand’s all fine, actually,” Reo quickly cut in. “Just. A bit shaken up. Thought the worst and stuff.”

“Never got into a fight before?”

Reo stared at him. “I have.”

“Hmm. I don’t think you have,” the blond insisted, lips twisted into a condescending curl.

“I have. Just not often.” And in controlled environments, like the gym he went to for self-defense classes.

“Ugh. You’re so soft. No wonder you lost to a bunch of high schoolers.”

Reo wanted to argue further but pulled back at the last second, thinking better of it. (In his defense, those high schoolers looked more like middle-aged ne’er-do-wells with their tacky, oily dos and creased up leather jackets. Reo swore he was transported back to the 80s when they jumped out from nowhere like that.) Being exposed as a sheltered little rich boy wouldn’t work in his favour in this moment, especially when dealing with this…person.

Antennaed blondie with pink tips, looked as if he walked straight out of an issue of FRUITS from the 2000s, a walking talking neon sign standing in the middle of the dull grey break room. He would do a much better job at squeezing Reo dry, maybe even put some salt to his wound and call up his parents just to extort them for more money. Instead of digging a deeper grave for himself, Reo merely rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I usually get out of things like that before it could escalate.”

“Why? Because you know you’re weak or because you’re too scared to throw the first punch?”

“Listen, I know how to fight —“

“Didn’t look like it when that kid dodged your left hook.”

Reo gasped. “You saw all that and did nothing!?”

The blond shrugged. “Wanted to see how things would go. I was rooting for you, y’know.”

Which meant he also saw how Reo was tripped and took what was supposed to be a jab to his stomach right in his face. Absentmindedly, Reo ran his tongue across his front teeth — all there. Good.

“Bit disappointing, to be honest,” the blond continued, having the gall to look genuinely disappointed.

“Screw you, man. Could’ve stepped in before they ganged up on me for real.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“He was still on his shift. He couldn’t just leave the kitchen when we still had customers,” the dark-haired man finally piped up, all serious. Great, the one person he thought would be somewhat sympathetic and responsible could just be as bad as this punk. “Obviously, we had to wait until our hands were free. You’re welcome, by the way.”

All things considered, these two did save Reo in the end, even if they did spend a good few minutes beforehand watching Reo make a fool out of himself and waited until he was on the brink of death before they lifted a finger. They were also kind enough to let Reo recuperate in their break room as they closed down their shop for the night, kind enough to then check up on him come dawn. The blond brought him a tray of miso soup and rice for breakfast. It was then that Reo realised he couldn’t smell anything at all.

“Your nose is all fucked up. Duh. Anyways, eat this.”

Speaking of which, Reo hadn’t taken a good look at himself ever since the night before. He feared for his poor nose — if it healed crooked, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Thanks for the food,” Reo mumbled morosely. The blond arched an eyebrow.

“Not feeling for miso soup?”

Reo shook his head. “No, this is more than enough.”

“Well, finish that up and be on your way. We’re opening up soon.”

He said that, but the blond didn’t leave. He stayed, watching Reo gingerly scoop spoonfuls of steaming rice and soup into his sore mouth. His left hand shook horribly with each attempt. He stamped down the urge to shove his face right into the bowls instead of making such tenuous effort.

“Unless you’ve got nowhere to go,” the blond then said.

Reo scoffed. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the bag full of clothes? You a runaway?” The blond squinted his eyes as he continues to speak, mostly to himself. “You look a bit old to be one, though. Or are you just homeless? But your jacket looks way too nice…”

“No. I’m a tourist.”

“From where? Akasaka?”

“Hokkaido,” Reo said unthinkingly.

“You don’t have the accent, though. Also, people usually go up north for travel this time of the year. To see the ice sculptures and shit.”

“I’m escaping the frigid winter.”

“To Tokyo?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, right,” the blond said with a disbelieving laugh. It was then that he finally left, leaving Reo to the silence.

It was true, however, that Reo was overstaying his welcome. Any longer and he would be forced to pay the rent he couldn’t pay because his wallet was missing. (“Thanks, you evil children,” Reo thought bitterly). Reporting the theft was a dumb decision when he didn’t want anyone to track him down. Going to the hospital was worse as the doctors would surely notify the very people he was running away from. Reo had to find a place to crash quickly. He had to find a job, as well — how was he supposed to feed himself with no penny in his pocket?

A sigh ripped out from his chest. He felt hungrier than before he started eating.

Reo had meant to leave as quietly and respectfully as he could. Backpack in his right hand and his injured left cradled close to his chest, he shuffled towards the front of the shop where the two workers were busy setting up. They were both hunched over their respective work stations, the blind working the noodle machine while the dark-haired man was drizzling ladles of sauces into a large pot of broth. Steam enveloped their forms, shrouding them in a balmy heat Reo was too wary to step into; he chose to stand by the entrance to the kitchen, rapping his good knuckle on a nearby wooden beam.

A mop of black hair popped out from the cloud of murky steam. Large black eyes bore right at Reo’s soul. The man’s rectangular glasses were perched between the collars of his black button-up shirt.

“I, uh, thanks for taking care of me,” Reo started, bowing deeply. “I gotta get going now, though, I’ve stayed for long enough. Again, thanks for the help —“

“Do you know how to clean?”

Reo blinked dumbly. “Huh?” The dark-haired man didn’t repeat himself. “I mean, yeah. Decently enough.”

“Mop the floors and wipe the tables, that kinda stuff?”

“Yeah.”

The dark-haired man jutted his chin towards the darkened shop, at the chairs stacked atop of the counters and the tables scattered across linoleum tiled floors. The only source light in the sizeable establishment was the orange-tinted lamps in the kitchen; long beams of light streak across the room, thickening steam dimming its luminosity like damp shower curtains. There was a TV mounted on the wall, surrounding it football posters and memorabilia. The place looked more like a sports bar of sorts.

“We’re opening up soon but both Shidou and I have our hands full with kitchen stuff. I need help with wiping down the counter and setting up the chairs. Cleaning supplies are in the break room — first locker from the left. Keys to the doors are on the wall beside it.”

The break room was just a couple of steps behind Reo, right where he had just been. It seemed like a long walk, however, longer than the distance between him and the back door further down the narrow hallway further inside the building.

“Or you can leave if you’ve got something else to do,” the dark-haired man continued to say. “But if you help us with this, I’ll give you a bowl of ramen to eat if you come by again at six this evening. As a thank you for helping us busy bees.”

If anything, Reo was the one who was supposed to thank them. A thick feeling rose up from his stomach, then, crawling up and settling in his lungs, weighing them down. All he had was a bag of clothes and a broken hand, yet the men who patched up his sorry ass were the ones asking for his assistance. Reo thought he couldn’t hit a new low after he played the role of a clingy boyfriend towards someone uninterested in him, or after getting pummelled into the ground by some slick-haired high schoolers.

Being the hand that faced upwards felt shitty. He had always been the hand that gave. Still, Reo wasn’t stupid enough to deny kindness just because his ego screamed at him to do just that.

Fuck feeling ashamed for accepting an offered bowl of warm meal — Reo was done with his folk’s mightier-than-thou mentality. He had promised himself, hadn’t he? The moment he stepped out of those doors, he was just Reo. Right then, he was just Reo, some guy who got mugged and got nowhere else to go and nothing else to do other than be some errand boy at some small ramen shop.

He turned on his heel, slipping right back into the break room, ignoring the cynical part of his brain that told him to leave when he had the chance. The smarter part of him, on the other hand, urged him to utilise these strangers’ kindness. This was a symbiotic relationship — Reo was going to clean the hell out of this shop if it meant getting a place to stay at whilst he got his bearings together, for however long he needed to do this for. He wasted no time in discarding his bag onto the stiff cot in the corner and rummaged through the lockers.

Armed with a bag of cleaning supplies and a wheeled mop bucket filled with fresh water, Reo rolled back into the shop with bullheaded determination. Ignoring a certain blond’s stare, he firstly got to slowly but methodically mop the floor with a single hand. The long handle of the mop rested secure between Reo’s neck and shoulder as he carefully meandered around the room, making sure to wet the mop once in a while and leaving no dry spot as he went.

“Need a hand there?” Reo heard the blond call out from the kitchen. “Because, y’know, you’ve only got one.”

“No, thank you,” Reo said.

“You sure? Looks really hard there.”

“Shidou, shut up and get back to cooking. Let the newbie work — he’s more than capable of doing things himself.”

“Damn, Ego. What a meanie.”

Impressively, Reo made quick work of setting up the shop despite his handicap. The easiest part of his work was wiping down the tables, a task manageable with just a good working hand. Reo wasn’t sure if he did an exceptional job or if it was just passable in his new employers’ — who would’ve thought Reo would become the employee? — eyes, but to him the place looked perfectly spotless.

Snatching up the keys after returning the cleaning supplies, Reo then made work of unlocking the double glass doors at the front. As soon as they swung open, his face stung as the cold February breeze slapped him across the face. He blinked quickly, dispelling the pain. His eyes caught a stray snowflake as it fluttered across his face, then another as it landed on the tip of his stinging nose. Falling snow dotted the blushing skies, twinkling against the blinding rays of the rising sun that beamed across the waking street.

The wind had come again, wiping away the steam that had built up within the shop. There stood the dark-haired man, face as impassive as when Reo had first seen it, and the blond, a cheeky smirk plastered on his face as he winked conspiratorially at Reo.

“Well?” Ego then said, deep monotonous voice cutting through the cold. “Are you going somewhere?”

Reo looked to his right, down the empty street, and saw a long stretch of nothing in his sight. In the distance, he thought foolishly, he could see what was once the castle he lived in. A blink, and the mirage was gone.

“No,” Reo said, turning back to face Ego. “I’ve got nowhere to go. I’ve got no one.” Reo lowered his head, bowing deeply, hoping he looked as sincere as he felt. “I’m really thankful for your help. I don’t want to be impudent but as I have nothing to my name now, if you would let me, I’d like to stay under your care do as long as you’d allow. I promise I would be a useful addition to your shop.”

Lowering his head and begging had always been the one thing Reo dreaded ever since he was young. At this point, though, he didn’t care. He was just Reo now, after all. He had to start somewhere and if somewhere was to be him with his head on the ground, then so be it. He would rise up again soon enough.

Ego placed his hands on his hips as he judged Reo’s clean, right-angled bow. How proper.

“Sure.”

Reo’s head shot right back up. “Just like that?”

“Yup,” Ego replied.

“No interviews? Evaluations?”

“Actually, we’ve been looking for additional help for a while but this guy, ” Ego said as he smacked Shidou across the back of his head, earning him an indignant yell, “scared off every applicant that came. At this point, we’re not picky at all.”

Just his luck. It felt as if the world was finally showing Reo some mercy. It felt too good to be true, to relieving that his chest felt painful.

“Obviously you’re going to have to do some good work around here, or else I’m going to kick you out. We don’t need some useless freeloader.”

“Of course! You can count on me! I’ll do my best, sir!”

Ego nodded. “Alright, newbie. I’ll be counting on you.”

“And I’ll be in your care, sir,” Reo responded in kind. His face ached for a different reason now — his cheeks were sore from how big his smile was.

A new start to his life, away from the ropes of his past. New people who welcomed him readily. A new opportunity to prove to himself and the world his own worth, separate from the failures that tied him down.

Ego nodded firmly. Beside him, Shidou cackled gleefully.

“Welcome to Blue Bowl, kid.”

“I still think it’s a dumb name.”

Shidou snorts. “Right!? But Ego just wouldn’t change it. He said it has a nice meaning behind it.”

“Well, what’s the meaning behind it?”

Reo can smell the money before he sees that stupid grin on Shidou’s face. “Legend has it that he got blue-balled in this very kitchen.”

Without wasting a second, Reo pointed to the little jar perched by the cash register, half full and it’s only two in the afternoon. The only good thing about the shop’s name is the Loser’s Jar. Every person who makes a blue balls joke or comment must pay a thousand yen to the jar. It gives a nice little extra something for both him and Shidou, though not so much for Shidou since he’s the jar’s biggest contributor.

“What’s the point of me paying up if I’m getting the money back anyway?” Shidou complains.

“Wrong. You’re getting half of what you paid,” Reo points out.

“Whatever. I’m still getting money from Ego..”

“How come your terrible money management is worrying me more than you?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

For someone who always complains about being broke, Shidou doesn’t have the initiative to save his money from his own carelessness. It’s always a cycle with him — get paid, get a hole torn in his pockets, bitch and moan, and repeat. Reo’s advices have all been tossed to the bin and Ego doesn’t actually care about how Shidou uses his money, though he always has a comment or two whenever Shidou shows up at the shop with his newest big spend.

“Speaking of, where’s Ego?”

“On a delivery run.”

“Isn’t that your job?”

“Yeah but he said this one’s special. Whatever that means,” Shidou says, not too concerned about his boss’s sudden disappearance. Not that Reo is, because Ego is an adult and can handle himself just fine (as if there even is anything to be worried about), but it doesn’t take out the weirdness behind the lack of Ego in the kitchen.

“Did he not tell you anything?”

Shidou shrugs. “Why would he tell me anything? I’m surprised he didn’t tell you anything.”

Left without telling anyone, huh. Suspicious.

“Do you think he’s actually going to that reunion?” Reo absentmindedly asks.

“Maybe? Maybe not? He hates people. He hates going outside even more”

“Well, yeah…Welcome to Blue Bowl!”

As soon as the customers walked up to the store, Reo straightens up his back and turns on his business persona — it’s time to charm some people into spending money. He fixes his cap so that it only just slightly covers his eyes before stepping closer towards the counters, right beside the menu board. With a subtle kick to the shin, Reo sends Shidou off the the back of the kitchen before he can scare their customers off.

Days at Blue Bowl have been so blissful that it unsettled Reo at first. Instead of scaring him off, Ego and Shidou have somehow enchanted him to stay with their foul tongues and fouler words. Just like how Blue Bowl’s charm was not apparent at a first glance, the odd duo never striked Reo as people he would come to willingly associated himself with. Books cannot be judged by their covers, and Ego and Shidou simply cannot be written off as opportunistic sharks despite how they like to carry themselves.

Now, three years since they first met, Reo still can’t believe he’s living the carefree life he never even bothered to try to imagine before.

“By the way,” one of the customers says then. When Reo turns to address her, he notices she is directing her words at Shidou. “Aren’t you Mr. Ramen Demon?”

Well. About time they brought that up.

At the ridiculous nickname, Shidou beams. His smile is all sharp teeth and sharper edges. “Why yes, that’s me.”

“You look so much cooler in real life!” she gushes. “I’m, umm, a big fan of your content! I really like the small ad you made for Flaming Curry Dra-don!”

Reo resists the urge to cringe at the awful name that somehow won against Reo’s more sensible and straightforward Mala Curry Udon.

While Reo would’ve gone for a brand image that’s more ocean cut and palatable to the public with a hint of quirkiness, Ego’s approach in the unconventional is effective in a marketing standpoint as well, especially amongst the curious youths and the adventurous tourists that they have recently seen more of. Blending Ego and Shidou’s terrible choices in naming their dishes — and the shop, in extension — keeps whatever brave customer that happen to stumble upon them coming. That, and Shidou’s admittedly genius social media promotion.

Franchising the store would be a tad bit more difficult this way, Reo however thinks. Blue Bowl thrives on its uniqueness and individuality; if they were to go down the franchising route, all of their stores would need to be uniform and consistent with their product line. They would need to have a couple menu items they can be known for and not just rely on Shidou’s online theatrics and Ego’s football tirades.

Reo hopes Ego’s Three Chili Shoyu Ramen will take off. That, or Shidou’s Flaming Curry Dra-don. Blue Bowl needs to cement their place in the culinary world before Reo can go to the next step and start pitching in ideas about expanding the business.

“Hard at work, I see,” Ego comments as he walks through the front doors. He’s dressed in his usual dark shirt and pants combo, complete with his favourite bolo tie. Reo can’t understand how he can stand staying in the warm kitchen all dressed up like that. Does the man not need to breathe?

Meanwhile, Shidou is always dressed in ratty shirts he never bothered to fold after washing; he told Reo it’s his fashion aesthetic, the whole ripped sleeves and hem look, but Reo just thinks it’s because he once caught his clothes in some machinery when he worked at some factory and never bothered to replace any of them. (Shidou really should spend more of his money on some clothes, if that’s really is the case.). Reo, on the other hand, looks more presentable than Shidou does, though less laced-up than Ego in his lavender sweater and grey pants — he’s the shop’s server, therefore he needs to look presentable enough for the customers.

The mishmash of fashion styles, the bright sign propped up on the vintage-looking building, football decor against lacquered wooden furnishings — eclectic is a word for it, but Blue Bowl is downright a big pit of playful chaos.

(How would one replicate this distinct atmosphere? Or would it be better to branch off to other areas? There’s the thought of creating merchandise that totally screamed Blue Bowl but Reo would have to conduct market research on that first.)

“Where were you? We got lonely,” Shidou says.

“Somewhere important. I’ll meet you two in the break room during break,” is all Ego says before he slinks back in the kitchen. Deftly, he ties on his bright blue apron and gets to work as if he was never gone. That’s Reo’s cue to head on over to the other side of the counters, where he’ll continue his role as a server.

“A TV crew is coming next week,” Ego deadpans before Reo can even close the break room door. Way to break such important news — immediately, Reo’s brain comes to life, thinking up ways to appeal to the public and increase their popularity beyond the youth circle in Japan.

Shidou narrows his eyes. “For what?”

“To film. What else?” Ego shoots back.

“Yeah but like, for what?”

“A special segment on NHK featuring Manshine City.”

Reo’s eyes widen. Shidou groans, disdain rolling from his tongue like a leaking tap.

“Why not Royale Madrid? No one likes Manshine. They suck ass.”

“They’re pretty good,” Reo defends. “Chigiri’s really good.”

“You only say that because he’s your friend.”

“And you only like Royale because you’ve got a big fat crush on Itoshi Sae.”

“For preparations,” Ego cuts in, “I was thinking of showcasing the newest menu, Shidou’s monstrosity and our healthier ones, flavours that are entirely new and but still enjoyable for foreign customers, in addition to appealing to those who are health-conscious. If the stars like it, their loyal fans surely will as well. Any questions?”

“Me!” Shidou calls out, his hand shooting up. “Why us?”

Ego fixes his glasses. “Our TikTok account.”

Of course, it’s thanks to the TikTok account. Originally Reo’s idea but all of it is Shidou’s execution. From the persona of Mr. Demon Ramen and his kitchen theatrics, even Ego’s occasional hands-only cooking shows. Reo doesn’t want to have his likeness exposed to the whole world, and so has opted to put the largest distance between himself and Shidou’s phone; still, he has managed to also garner himself quite the reputation in the world outside of the Internet — as That Handsome Waiter or That Handsome Cashier Guy.

It’s a greasy feeling, to be known solely for his face, but now that no wealth or prestige is tacked onto his name, that really is all that Reo has going for him.

“Me,” Reo then says, hand shooting up as well. “How many people are we expecting?”

“Around ten at most. Not the whole team is coming — heard it’ll be three or four at most. The rest are filming elsewhere. So, three or four, their manager, plus some people from NHK. Make sure to stock up before D-Day.”

“Any news on who those four could be?”

“Chris Prince is definitely coming. Heard Chigiri Hyoma also planned on tagging along,” Ego recounts. “Not too sure about the rest but it’s highly likely the other players will be foreigners as well — this is, after all, a special program where Manshine players are introduced to Japan. Be sure to be on your best behaviour when they come.”

“Yessir,” Reo and Shidou say in unison.

They’ve handled a larger crowd — ten is child’s play.

Reo’s priority now is thinking of ways to make their establishment and staff more appealing. They should, first and foremost, just be themselves; it’s what they’re known for, their one-of-a-kind presence. Still, with how they’re now trying to appeal to a wider audience, they should tailor themselves to be more palatable. Tone down the sex jokes and unsavoury insults, kind of thing. That’s something he’ll talk to Ego and Shidou about some other day.

Now, as Reo assesses the shop, he takes in the slightly dated decor and — well, the Noel Noa poster is eternal so there’s no need to change that. The Itoshi Sae poster…he’s sure Shidou will kill him before he can even take it down. That’s when Reo notices they don’t have a single poster of Manshine City or any of their players. Embarrassing.

“…Hmm.”

Next is to choose which items from their menu they’ll prepare for their guests. He can leave that to Ego and Shidou, the masters of the kitchen. As for service, he’ll coordinate that with Shidou. All that's left is…Reo himself.

With measured steps, Reo goes and stands by the cash register, mapping out the shop and imagining where each person could stand or sit. He thinks about the roles they’ll play during filming, whether or not the director and producer already have something in mind or they’ll discuss things with Ego beforehand. He’s sure Shidou will steal the spotlight right away — he is the reason Blue Bowl caught NHK’s attention anyway. Ego will definitely be introduced as the owner. Reo…

“…Hmm.”

“See something?”

Reo turns to greet Ego. “Ah, yeah. I think I’ll rearrange the posters, add some new ones.”

“Much needed improvement, to be honest. Wouldn’t want to let Chris Prince down.”

“Do you think he’ll actually cry if he doesn’t see a photo of himself here?”

Ego hums. “Not sure about that, but I’m sure he will once he sees that Noel Noa poster.”

They both redirect their attention to the biggest poster in their shop, plastered right in the middle of the wall opposite to where the TV is mounted. Almost floor-to-ceiling, the snow-haired footballer is posed like the main hero on a film poster. It certainly is eye-catching.

“Think he’ll be okay if we get one just as big?”

“Or maybe the public wants to see Chris Prince cry,” Ego instead says.

“‘The ramen shop that made Chris Prince cry!’ …What a headline,” Reo snickers.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, still admiring the giant poster to their left. It really is big, huh.

“The crew won’t mind if you wear your usual getup for filming. I’ve talked to them about excluding you,” Ego then says. Reo nods mutely. Then, he adds, “Skip out on the day of filming if you want to. Your work behind the scenes will be more than appreciated.”

“I think it’ll be fine,” Reo says. “I’ll just stay out of the frame for most of the time. If I’m not there, people are going to wonder and assume some things.”

“Does it matter? We can always say you called in sick.”

“Well…that’s true.”

“When they come for a survey, I’ll handle them. You just focus on making the place look presentable.”

Reo nods. “Roger that.”

It’s just for a day. How long does a filming take, anyway? Not the whole day, probably. Since it’ll take place in just one spot, it must be a very small segment. No one would notice a missing employee.

“Reo,” Ego says.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be counting on you as always.”

Reo smiles. “Of course, sir.”

n00ne.14:
Guess who’s going to be on TV

jeanboiii:
Who?
It can be anyone lol

n00ne.14:
Some football player
Idk who he is, never heard of his name before

jeanboiii:
Lol ok then 🙃

n00ne.14:
😌
You didn’t tell me you’re in Japan already

jeanboiii:
It was supposed to be a surprise lmao
Ur shop got notified already?

n00ne.14:
Yeah
We had a meeting about it
Imagine my surprise lol

jeanboiii:
Lololol
How’s preparations?

n00ne.14:
[Image]

jeanboiii:
Lmaoaoaoaoaoa
Why do I look like that tf
Sue whoever made that poster
Buy a new one
Eww

n00ne.14:
Wdym you look good

jeanboiii:
🖕

n00ne.14:
Manshine Princess finally visiting Blue Bowl lol

jeanboiii:
Omg I’m such a successful fan

n00ne.14:
All that time stalking our accs paid off

jeanboiii:
Yk I’m ur biggest fan

n00ne.14:
💜
A bit nervous tbh

jeanboiii:
Uk u don’t have to be there, it’s fine
We can hang out after

n00ne.14:
I’m going to be there
With a mask and all that

jeanboiii:
U sure?

n00ne.14:
Yeah, it’s fine
👍 

jeanboiii:
If u say so
Can’t wait to see u

n00ne.14:
Me too
Btw
How’s Nagi?
Is he coming?

Minutes pass before Chigiri replies — not through text but with a sudden phone call. Reo nearly drops the phone into the gutter on his left.

“Hello?” he answers warily. He looks around him, suddenly hyper conscious of the way he speaks. Instinctively, he hastens his steps, hoping to reach home faster.

“You ask about him but not me, huh,” says Chigiri with his usual faux haughty tone. Reo rolls his eyes at his dramatics.

“You’re obviously well enough to be your usual self.”

“Who knows? Maybe I’m heartbroken. Maybe I’m demotivated. Reo, you gotta pamper me more.”

“You’ve got Kunigami for that.”

Chigiri scoffs. “Yeah but more attention won’t hurt.”

“Okay, Princess.”

“Anyways,” Chigiri then says, sobering up a bit, “why’re you asking about him all of a sudden? Looking forward to seeing him?”

Reo cringes, hard. He fixes his black face mask as if anyone is going to catch him with a sour expression in the middle of the empty street. “Just asking. It’s been so long.”

There’s a long suffering sigh from the other end. Reo can visualise the way Chigiri rolls his eyes whenever he’s fed up with something. “After all this time of avoiding even his name like the plague…The Dark Lord’s doing just fine. Nothing really ever happens to him, to be honest.”

Quite obviously. There hasn’t been any jarring news about Manshine’s Ace other than accounts of him wowing the world over and over again.

“I see,” Reo says, keeping his voice light and cool.

“Guess what, though? He’s coming to the filming.”

Keep calm. “Really? Figured he wouldn’t be up for it.”

“Usually, but not even Nagi can turn down free food.”

Reo can see it — the white-haired young man loafing around, not budging to any pokes and punches until the topic of free food is brought up. Still, it’s impressive that he’s willing to sit in front of a camera and talk for more than he would for some bowls of ramen.

Then, the image of him slurping the broth and noodles straight from the bowl forms in Reo’s head. The ridiculousness and plausibility of it nearly made Reo laugh.

“You’re not going to like, be all nervous when you see him, right?”

Reo snorts. “It’s been almost a decade. I’m just curious as to how he’s now.”

“Huh. I thought you’d be more bitter.”

A car honked somewhere down the street. Reo quickly whips his head around to check the situation. The silver sedan is already driving off once Reo spots it. Nothing serious, it seems.

“Why would I be?” Reo asks with an air of obliviousness.

“Because you were so bitter about it before. But then again,” Chigiri adds, muttering lowly, “a lot has happened.”

Within a couple of minutes, he reaches his apartment. Reo makes quick work of scaling the stairs and unlocking his door. The small space is quiet, no signs of Shidou. Even the cook’s side of the room is spotless, just as he left it this morning.

“He doesn’t know about me, right?” Reo asks as he settles on the faded tatami mats.

“I didn’t tell him anything. Do you want me to?”

“No,” is the immediate answer.

“He’s going to get one hell of a surprise when he sees you.”

Imagine that — seeing Reo, of all people, working at a ramen shop, of all places. Not even as the owner, but as a mere server.

“Do you not want him to know?”

“No, it’s fine.” He threw away his pride long ago. It doesn’t matter now that the people form his past sees him like this. It makes him…feel more human.

“What if he tells your family?”

“He won’t. He will never bother. I don’t think he even knows I left.”

“He went to Nagoya the other day, actually.”

…That certainly complicates things.

There are no other reasons for him to visit Nagoya other than to…

“He was pretty pissed when he returned to Tokyo,” Chigiri continues. “He went up to me and asked if I knew. I told him I did. It’s not like I can lie to his face. He’s been ignoring me since.”

“Well, damn. What’s his problem?” Reo nonchalantly says, absentmindedly gnawing on his bottom lip.

“I guess he still cares.”

Now, of all times? What even is his deal?

Never did he make any attempt to reconnect with Reo, even under the assumption that Reo’s life remained uneventful, but now he cares? Now?

“Well, fuck. How kind of him,” Reo hisses.

“I’ll talk to him,” Chigiri hurriedly says.

“No. I’ll talk to him myself. When I see him.”

“I…if you’re sure.”

Reo’s sure. No word will get out form Nagi’s lips — he’ll make sure of it.

The producer and his assistant comes to the shop four days before filming. As explained by them, the film crew will arrive roughly two hours before the scheduled filming time to set up and do a rough once over before the real start.

The first scene will be of the players arriving by van and exiting one by one, looking at the shop in awe. Then, they’ll have a small interview out front with the shop in the background. Next, as they enter, the staff members will be introduced one by one and Blue Bowl will be introduced. The last segment will be of the players taste testing the dishes the staff have picked out, closed off with some small comments and perhaps chatter between the players and staff.

Through the thin walls of the break room, Ego’s voice drifts through the minuscule cracks between cement and paint, not loud enough to disturb the string of sentences the two figures on Reo’s screen are uttering.

Half-lidded, violet eyes intently trace the movement of small lips on thumb-sized faces as if to catch every word that falls out of them. The foreign language is familiar to Reo despite him having not used it in years, seeing no particular need for it. Still, he’s glad he’s fluent enough in it and Nagi is lazy enough to never learn a lick of it that he has to reply in Japanese — this way, he can focus more on those grey eyes instead of the subtitles flashing across the bottom border of the screen.

“It just happened,” a deep voice says breezily, uncaring of the way how the interviewer seems to be getting more and more agitated with each blasé answer.

“…Alright, then. How did you feel when it happened?”

The mop of white hair bows as the kind within it sinks into the state of mind it tries to recall. “Just. Like my heart exploded and all the blood went to my legs and toes. Everything was so automatic.” A shrug, slow and tired. “Before I knew it, we won.”

Ambiguous, in that murky, unsettling way, like plunging one’s hand into muddy waters to grab at gold only to pull out pebbles. The interviewer has collected a basketful of those smooth-edged pebbles. Luckily, Reo managed to grab some two or three golden nuggets back when he was lucky. He decided to give those away; he didn’t have any particular use for them anymore.

“ Fuck, they’re so pushy, ” Shidou growls as he slams the door to the break room open. The phone in Reo’s hands falls through the gap between his thighs as he jumps in his seat, colliding with the tiled floor with a sickening clatter.

“Dude, the fuck?” Reo starts.

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.”

“What’s up your ass?” Reo snarks, not really interested because Shidou’s always pissed at one thing or another. He picks his phone back up, assesses it for any damage. Good for that brute, there are none – otherwise, Reo’s going to make him pay for the repairs.

The interview is still playing on the screen; it seems it has moved on from Nagi’s play to his plans on returning to Japan in preparation for the World Cup. As per usual, Nagi doesn’t seem too excited, as nothing in life seems to, though he does add in some comment about how he misses sleeping on a futon because he can then roll himself up into a wrap — a Nagi sushi, as he calls it, where it’s just rice inside and out.

Reo snorts at the imagery. It’s practically an oblong onigiri.

“What are you watching?” Just like that, Shidou’s prior annoyance dissipates as he sidles up next to Reo, pressing his face right against his. Reo pushes against him, wanting to be left alone, but Shidou is relentless. “Huh. It’s Nagi again.”

“Piss off. I thought you don’t want to hear it.”

“Well now I want to. He’s definitely going to get picked for the World Cup.”

“Of course he is,” Reo states with the utmost confidence.

“Hmm,” Shidou hums as he watches Reo’s stupid confidence. “I hope he gets injured during practice.”

Reo’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Fuck you. I hope you burn your face off.”

“Chill? Why are you so pressed?”

A reply never comes. Reo’s smart enough to ignore Shidou’s nonsense. Ignoring the man beside him, he continues to watch the rest of the interview as he waits for their guests to leave.

“Should we just wear our favourite football jerseys?”

Reo sighs heavily. “For the last time, Shidou. Dress smart. We are not picking a fight with our customers.”

“I’m just saying. They need to know who the next big thing is. And it’s —“ Shidou exclaims as he does a spin and points both thumbs at the name neatly printed on the back of his shirt, “Itoshi Sae.”

They likely already know. It’s not as if the name Itoshi Sae is not known within the football world — if anything, everyone and their grandmother know who he is. Reo has also heard all sorts of stories about the Boy Genius from Chigiri, most of them in the form of bitching and moaning from the redhead after having lost to him over and over again. And now, he has to listen about the elder Itoshi even more from Shidou. Reo is starting to hate the guy.

“Take that off or I’ll throw it away,” Reo says threateningly. He wiggles his finger at Shidou as if casting a nasty spell.

Shidou complies, neatly folding his jersey and placing it back into his narrow wardrobe. Around his feet are piles of clothes he has tried on earlier. Reo spots a black long-sleeved top on top of a pile.

“That one’s nice. Maybe you can wear that.”

Paired with grey ripped jeans, Shidou looks like his usual chaotic self. He’s dressed up but not looking like he tried too much, presentable but not boxed in — it’s a nice look for him. The wide collar of the top shows off his define collarbones and strong neck, as well as accentuating his broad shoulders.

“You like this look,” Shidou states, smirking.

“It’s your nicest look,” Reo says. “You don’t look as scruffy as usual.”

“Scruffy my ass. I dress better than you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Clean this up now, man. I want to set up the futons.”

Cleaning up for Shidou means haphazardly throwing his clothes back into his wardrobe, definitely way too small for the amount of clothes the blond owns, and slamming the door closed so that the inevitable landslide inside has no time to spill out. Once the fatami flooring is visible once more, Reo pulls out the futons from the corner of the six-mat room and lays them out side by side in the middle. The pillows are placed so that to their right is the single window in their room and to their left is the door.

As Shidou burrows deep into the duvets, Reo pulls the string connected to the ceiling light, finally plunging the room into comforting darkness.

Reo turns only to notice a lump in his futon, the one closest to the window. He sighs again.

“Sleep in your own futon. I laid it out for a reason.”

“But it’s so cold tonight and you’re always so warm,” Shidou complains.

“That’s what blankets are for,” Reo says as he kicks the squirming lump. “Move, you leech.”

Finally, a mop of frayed blonde hair pops out from beneath the comforter. Shidou’s pink eyes reflects the moonlight that streams in through the gap between thin, flimsy curtains. He looks eerily similar to a cat on a night hunt.

Reo scrunches up his nose. “Got something to say?”

“A lot, actually,” Shidou confesses.

“Save it for tomorrow, then,” Reo says flippantly. He gets into Shidou’s futon, getting comfortable under the thick blankets, then turns onto his side so that his back faces his roommate.

“Why have you been so pissy lately?” Shidou asks anyway, because Reo’s words has always been just white noise to him.

“Am not.”

“You are.”

“Delusional.” Reo has carefully kept his mask up, literally and figuratively, for the days leading up to the filming. He’s not sure what Shidou is on about.

“You look like you’re not really looking forward to the filming at all.”

With the rustling of heavy duvet, Reo turns to level Shidou with a tired look. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been as enthusiastic as I can be, Shidou. Have you not seen the new decor?”

“Terrifyingly dreadful,” Shidou spits.

“Those posters were pricey.”

“And you didn’t think about getting one of Itoshi Sae?”

“Shidou,” Reo says, “there’s one there already. And you’ve got ten of those in this very room. They’re literally above our heads right now.”

Sleeping in a small room where you are always watched over by Itoshi Sae, Shidou’s Lord and saviour, gives Reo nightmares of getting hounded down by the midfielder.

“Fucking creep. Why are you so obsessed, anyway?”

“No, but that’s beside the point — you just look like you’re expecting something bad to happen,” Shidou explains himself, suddenly and frighteningly quickly sobering up. “Ego’s going to take charge and I’ll be stealing people’s attention. It’s not the first time people brought in cameras to the shop. What’s the use in being despondent like this?”

Despondent…Alright, Shakespeare.

“It’s stress. I’m stressed. Now let me sleep.”

With that, Reo ends the conversation with an exaggerated roll of his body as he turns to face the door once more. Thankfully, Shidou let’s him be this time, probably repulsed by Reo’s sudden bitchiness. Or not.

The futon shifts and pulls and pushes as Shidou worms his way towards Reo. Lean arms snake around until they find their target — they drape lazily over the dip of Reo’s waist, warm and heavy. The heat from Shidou’s body radiates onto Reo’s back.

“Chill, Purple Bun. Just keep your mask on and stay to the side. The cameras’ are going to be too in love with me to care about you.”

Reo presses his face deeper into his pillow. “Whatever.”

He’ll never admit it, not even on his deathbed. Shidou will remain as the nuisance he’s supposed to be for the rest of their life. A warm, comforting nuisance.

n00ne.14:
Have you heard from them btw?

jeanboiii:
Dude, sleep

n00ne.14:
I can’t
What if they know
What if this whole TV thing is one of their stints

jeanboiii:
It’s not

n00ne.14:
How would you know?

jeanboiii:
Because I met with the producers

n00ne.14:
Ok

jeanboiii:
I’d kill for u

n00ne.14:
Same

jeanboiii:
I’d kill u too if u do something stupid

n00ne.14:
Same

jeanboiii:
Now stfu and sleep
Wouldn’t wanna look ugly on TV

n00ne.14:
🤪

A hand snatches his phone from his hand and slides it across the floor. The little gadget bumps against the opposite wall with a hurtful thud.

“Fucking sleep. The screen’s too bright,” Shidou grumbles sleepily, voice deep and hoarse.

“I am,” Reo whispers.

“Sleep or I’ll fuck you.”

“We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Shidou knows that too, which is why Reo’s not too concerned when he starts to sleepily lick up his neck. Sure enough, the blond quickly falls back to sleep, warm breath tickling the nape of Reo’s neck.

The screen on Reo’s phone eventually fades to black. Faint moonlight filters into the room, passing through the semi-opaque curtains. The air is still. His ears start to ring.

Carefully, not wanting to wake Shidou, Reo rolls around so that he faces the other man. He tucks Shidou’s head under his chin, holds it against his too-warm body like a lifeline. Lean arms tighten their hold on Reo’s middle. Shidou’s hair smells of sharp citrus, like the yuzu extract Ego uses.

“So loud,” Shidou murmurs against Reo’s chest. The violet-haired man swallows.

“It’s way too quiet.” He doesn’t dare raise his voice louder than his heartbeats.

“What’s scarier,” Shidou then asks, “being trapped in a sound-proofed room or being stuck in a concert crowd?”

Reo thinks about it, pictures himself in both scenarios, one where his mind runs laps tirelessly around an empty and one where it is overwhelmed by the restlessness around him.

“You underestimate how much I hate myself,” Reo says almost lightly.

“Then you’ll have to find someone you hate more than yourself.”

Pick someone from that crowd. Reo sees strands of plum where the VIP section is. He looks away, turns his head to search the crowd behind him. Stood near where the sea of bodies end is a tall man, his light-coloured hair stained purple by the flashing stage lights. He turns again, this time facing the stage. Pushed against the barriers is a head of wavy brown hair and a gentle smile that can cut diamonds.

Reo opens his eyes. The room is dark.

“I hate you enough,” he says into coarse strands of bleached baby chick yellow.

There’s a chuckle against his sternum. “Good for you, Purple Bun.”

The two employees are huddled close to each other, feeling the bite of the breeze as it sweeps through the streets despite Reo’s down coat and Shidou’s patched-up leather jacket. Reo adjusts his cap back into his head as it’s threatened to be blown away for the umpteenth time that morning; with it right around his head, it also ensures his violet hair is not jostled around from where they are neatly tucked behind his ears.

“Do they even watch TV?” Shidou wonders aloud. “Does anyone watch TV nowadays?”

“Not really. They’re too busy for that. But they’ve got loyal ass-kissers so…well, you know,” Reo says, voice muffled behind his mask and almost too quiet against the whistling of the wind.

“Ooh. Fancy.”

Reo seldom watches the TV, too. The only times he does is at the shop, where they’ll surely play whatever match is being broadcasted at the time. That’s how he’s able to keep track of Manshine City, all their wins and losses, their postgame interviews and others days later.

Seeing the faces of people Reo personally knows on the screen is funny, to say the least. They tend to act all humble or haughty, depending on who is talking, while Reo knows very well how much of a mess they are in person. For example, when Chigiri coolly answered a rude interviewer during a press conference only to immediately call Reo right after it ended, spewing expletives and on the verge of tears from sheer frustration.

He wishes he can actually feel warm anticipation when it comes to seeing them again. It’s too bad that whatever is there is overshadowed by much bigger worries.

“Ah. They’re here.”

Shidou’s exclamation snaps Reo back to the present. Crawling along the road is a familiar silver van Reo has seen days prior. Stepping out from it are people he has been in correspondence with for a while — the puffy-faced producer with a thin-lipped smile and his tired-eyed, hunchbacked assistant. Closely following behind them are two men hauling heavy bags Reo recognised are stuffed with the filming equipments and a young lady dressed comfortably in woollen sweater and skirt, she herself carrying her own large bag.

The producer approaches Reo first and they exchange pleasantries as the others get to setting their stage up. Reo sees Shidou getting pulled aside by the young lady in his periphery; the two disappear into the shop, leaving Reo with the rest of the crew.

That’s the last time Reo truly pays attention to his surroundings; the few minutes as they wait for their guests to arrive goes by in a blur. It’s like watching a film he’s not particularly interested in in fast forward, all the boring bits and even the more interesting ones skipped. He flies through time right towards the plot twist, century’s greatest one, though Reo already knows how things are going to play out.

He’ll stand to the side as Ego and Shidou do whatever they need to do, only stepping in to bring food onto the table the assistant and cameramen have pushed together in the shop. He’ll appear one last time for the ending shot with the players. Then, the filming crew and the players will be in their way, taking Reo’s worries with them.

That’s it. Reo can do this. It’s all easy work.

A hand tugging at his mask pulls him out of his reverie.

In turn, the young lady — the makeup artist, Reo learnt — jumps, startled. “Oh! Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll be keeping my mask on,” Reo says as he fixes it. The top border is tugged right up against his bottom eyelids, the lower border hugging his chin securely.

“O-oh, I see.”

“Where are they now?” Reo hears the producer asks his assistant.

“Right around the corner…or at least they should be.”

“The van is here,” a cameraman calls out from outside. As if the air has been sucked out from the shop, everyone rushes out to greet the stars of the show. With a deep breath, Reo stands and follows them as well.

The van that pulls up is similarly sized to the filming crew’s, but Reo can recognise how much more luxurious it is compared to theirs; his family owns a similar one, an older make but from the same brand. Something twists in Reo’s gut.

The producer and assistant hurries over as the driver hops out and rounds over to slide the side door open. The first to jump out is a tall, well-built blond with an overpowering presence. All eyes immediately zoom right at him, at his bright baby blues and pearly whites. Though dressed casually in Manshine’s iconic tracksuit, his strong built shines right through the thick material, just as his booming voice livens up the still-waking place.

Wow, Reo thinks with heated face, Chris Prince is so much hotter in person.

“Hello everyone! Good morning!” the Englishman greets. He dives in and takes the producer’s hand in a firm handshake. Reo thinks his chiseled jawline serves to brighten up his already blinding smile.

So engrossed is Reo is admiring the superstar that he almost misses when another person good out from the van. Red fills Reo’s vision as a slight-bodied man strides right at him, an easy smile on his pretty face. Reo thinks Chigiri must’ve caught whatever it is that’s infecting Chris because he doesn’t remember his friend looking this good before; he, and everyone for that matter, always known Chigiri is beautiful, but time has been way too kind to him.

“You look well, Red Panther,” Reo says with a cheek-splitting grin. He extends a hand out — Chigiri grabs onto it and promptly pulls Reo into a crushing hug. Though Reo is well taller than him even after all these years, he’s no match against Chigiri’s well-cultivated strength.

“How’s it been? I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Way too long. It’s so good to see you.”

Reo pulls back to carefully regard his old friend. Chigiri’s silky tresses are styled simply, let loose around his slim face and strong shoulders. Like Chris, he too is dressed in Manshine’s tracksuit, though his jacket is zipped all the way up to his chin whereas Chris has opted to show off the jersey underneath.

Speaking of Chris, the man has somehow found the opportunity to take his jacket off and flex in front of a rolling camera.

“Jumped right into it already, huh,” Chigiri comments with amusement.

“Is he usually this…energetic?” Reo asks. There’s no way someone can be this hyper so early in the morning.

“No, he’s usually worse,” Chigiri says. The redhead regards Reo again then, fondness in his eyes. “Pull the mask down a bit. I want to see you.”

Reo does, slowly and far too self-conscious about such a small action. Ruby eyes flit about his face, taking in every little details they can pick out. From the faint shadows under wide amethyst eyes to the beginnings of a crease between short but thick brows, to the faint smile etched on moist pink lips. There’s a fine dusting of red across the tip of Reo’s nose and the highs of his cheeks — he’s always been weak to the cold, this summer child.

“Have you been sleeping well?” Chigiri asks, the start of a scolding.

“I was way too excited last night,” Reo says guiltily.

As if suddenly remembering something important, Chigiri turns and glares at the silver van as if it offends him. The doors are wide open, showing the empty inside, or so Reo thought.

“Still sleeping,” Chigiri grouses. “Wait here.”

He’s gone before Reo can reply, stomping past the staff milling about and straight into the van. Reo looks around, trying to catch someone’s eye, but even Shidou is busy — harassing Chris, who seems unperturbed by the young man’s invasive questioning — so he turns to look at the van once more.

Chigiri has re-emerged. He’s stood by the oper door, saying something to whoever is inside. A figure then crawls out form the backseats, steadying his tall form by grabbing onto the back of the seat to his left, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

“So loud, Chigiri,” a deep drawling voice says, still sleep-laden, undulating softly and slowly like waking waves. Just like how he talks on TV. Just like how he talked to Reo all those years ago.

Reo stops listening, then, even as Chigiri gripes something at the tall, ivory-haired man, who returns the hostility with his own mumbled complaints. He can still hear it — hear him, his voice. It’s a familiar tune he hadn’t forgotten, despite him desperately wishing to before, but he’s glad he never did. He’s glad.

Nagi looks well. Sleepy, but then again he’s always like that. Dreamy quartz-like eyes soft around the edges. Fluffy hair all mussed up, seemingly unable to be tasked down no matter what. The baby fat in his cheeks and around his jaw have melted away but there’s just a way in which he pouts petulantly that makes him look so childlike, that takes Reo back to when he used to whine at Reo for piggyback rides after football practices.

His body has filled out nicely, the tracksuit he’s donning draped well over wide shoulders, unlike how hoodies used to hang like blankets over a wiry frame — he’s been eating and training well, looks so healthy. No lines or wrinkles, no stains on skin telling tiredness. The slight hunch is gone, his posture now rod-straight, dignified.

At some point, Nagi must’ve grown tired of listening to Chigiri and so turns towards the shop. In his line of sight is Reo, stood still, rooted to the pavement, because that’s just what Nagi does to Reo — robs his thoughts and ties his tongue, makes him all stupid but at least they were stupid together. Now, Reo is stupid alone as he keeps watching Nagi, as his face firstly bends into confusion, then snaps into wide-eyed disbelief that makes Reo’s insides twist so hard that his fingers start to tingle. It’s funny — he wants to laugh. He can feel it bubbling up the back of his throat.

“Reo?” Nagi calls out. It stabs him right at his chest, lets whatever has built up there to spill out and drench his shirt.

Reo is glad. So glad.

“Reo?” Nagi’s voice grows frantic. He kicks off, not quite jogging towards Reo but alarmed enough that he reaches him within a handful of steps.

White fills his vision. Reo jerks back, startled, suddenly far too aware of how close Nagi has gotten within a split second.

“Huh?” Reo blurts out dumbly.

“Are you okay?” It’s Chigiri, caught up to Nagi and now standing by him. Worry is more visible on his face, his thin brows knitted together and lips pressed into a thin line.

Reo looks at him, the at Nagi’s not quite blank expression. “I’m…fine?”

Being stared at makes him so self-conscious, enough that he finally notices sticky wetness trailing down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. It doesn’t help that a strong gust brushes against the heated skin of his cheeks, cooling the salty water to freezing. Erratically, Reo brings a clothed wrist up and scrubs at reddened skin.

“Ah-ahaha! Damn, that’s — hahaha! I just got surprised!” He gestures at his two friends to explain himself — Nagi’s still his friend, right? It’s not weird to call him that, right? Reo clears his throat, swallows something salty. “It’s, uh, it’s been a while! You look so good, Nagi! Uh, you’ve grown even taller.”

Up close, he’s a bit overwhelmed by how Nagi seems to tower over him. He thinks there’s only a few centimetres of height difference between them, but still. It could just be how Nagi seems to hovering precariously before him, presence overpowering, hands clenching and relaxing as if stopping himself from full out fidgeting. That, or Reo’s looking too much into it.

“It’s, you know — I didn’t even see you at graduation so, uh…very surprising.”

“…Yeah,” Nagi replies cautiously.

Reo claps his hands as if that will chase away the restless moths gnawing at his intestines. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were coming too.”

“I did tell you,” Chigiri whispers behind a forced cough.

“Oh. Sorry. I —” Nagi looks around, takes note of the unfamiliar people. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Reo blinks. His smile feels too tight. “I work here, actually.”

Grey eyes flit towards the big blue sign affixed onto the building before them, then back to Reo. “Oh. I didn’t know you opened up shop in Tokyo.”

“Oh, no. I’m an employee here. I work as a server.”

“Oh.” Nagi just sounds even more stupefied, as expected.

Then, he turns to Chigiri, face closed off, stone cold. The redhead stares at him back.

“Is there something else you haven’t told me?” Nagi asks accusingly, voice low. Chigiri shrugs his guilt off.

“As of now? No.”

“As of now?”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Could one of you please follow me for a second?” the makeup artist pipes up as she shuffled over towards the trio. “We gotta fix your faces before filming starts.”

“Then, Chigiri —“

Two separate hands plant themselves onto Nagi’s back before he can finish his sentence. In unison, Chigiri and Reo pushes him towards the young lady, who gladly pulls Nagi towards the show and inside. There’s protest, though light enough to not deter the woman.

Reo quickly pulls his mask back up over his face, feeling stupid enough that he kept it down. “Fuck. That’s so embarrassing.”

Chigiri stays quiet, observes Reo as the violet-haired man ensures his face remains mostly hidden behind cloths and shadows.

“But it’s funny,” Reo then says, voice having lightened up. “Nagi looks so shocked just now. I haven’t seen him that way before.”

“If it’s funny, then why were you crying?” Chigiri asks.

Reo purses his lips. From where he’s standing, he can see Nagi sat on a chair as the makeup artist busies with applying some kind of balm all ber his face. As she turns to pick apart her makeup set, Nagi turns just enough to catch Reo’s gaze, only for it to be ripped away when the makeup artists resumes her work. Reo snorts out a small laugh.

Chigiri follows his line of sight, not quite catching what Roe is seeing, not taking in the perfect angle in which a ribbon of sunlight lays over one half of Nagi’s face, dyeing a twinkling eye an ethereal shade of ash.

“It’s the sleep deprivation, I guess,” is all Reo says.

It’s insanity, is what it is. To be so deeply affected by words and actions that should have been forgotten, should have meant nothing in the first place. He remembers resentment, tears and muffled screams, distinctly remembers wanting to take his glass of water and throw it at those disgustingly empty eyes. He remembers that same blank look and the lack of feelings that flooded his heart, remembers the time spent listening to the slow roll of a heavy tongue and thinking nothing of it.

Reo also remembers the first time he saw those half-lidded grey eyes, clouded with loathsome boredom. Over time, the murkiness melted away, revealing small embers flickering within the darkness.

Of all the times he had seen those eyes, Reo remembers the time when those embers grew into burning flames the clearest. He must be insane.

“Good! We’ll take a break now.”

The filming crew disperses away from the tables. While the director looks over the footage with one of the cameramen, the other staff are lining up for their own bowl of ramen, served by Demon Ramen himself. Their guests talk amongst themselves, occasionally pointing at the three separate bowls of ramen before them; probably rating each dish, judging by Chigiri’s thoughtful look.

Reo is leaning against the wall by the entrance, as far away from the commotion as he can get himself. The shop feels and smells warm and he’s half tempted to shed his periwinkle sweater and stand in just his plain white tee, feel the cold autumn air prick his overheated skin.

He underestimated how the day was going to go. The sight of bulky, boxy cameras disturb him more than he’d like to admit. He made sure to never stand before any of them, yet it feels as if there are extra lenses at the back of each of them. With all heads turned away from him, he can feel their eyes staring at him through their skulls.

“Mr. Reo?” At the call of his name, Reo turns and smiles at the producer’s assistant. Not that she can see it, but he hopes the curve of his eyes are apparent enough. “Sorry for bothering you all of a sudden.”

“I wasn’t in the middle of anything. Is there something you need to talk about?”

“The producer’s wondering if you want to appear in a segment. Just a short one at the end.”

Reo smiles wider. “Oh, sorry but I’m too camera shy.”

“It would be a shame to have the last group shot without you. You can keep your mask on.”

Reo looks towards where the producer is still conversing with the cameraman. The man peeks up as if sensing his gaze, only to look back at the small screen.

“I’m sorry but I really would rather not…”

The assistant nods, looking disappointed. Reo might have just made her job more difficult for her, but oh well.

When she scurried back to the producer and relays the information, the large man sighs. He then waves her away with a flick of the wrist.

“Why not?” a deep, smooth voice chirps up. Reo nearly jumps out of his skin when Nagi suddenly materialises before him. He stiffens, wills his legs to stay where they are even as Nagi’s towering figure takes up all the space around him.

“We already agreed I wasn’t going to make an appearance,” Reo explains. Nagi tilts his head, a thing he does often when he can't understand whatever is being said to him.

“Why not?” he parrots.

There’s boisterous laughter by the counters, where Shidou is juggling spatulas as he tells some dirty joke or another. His voice fills up the room, pushing the small bubble Reo has been shoved into to some small corner, nestled under the small shadow of a bookshelf.

He turns back to Nagi, to a look he can’t quite read, and feels his palms start to sweat.

“Chigiri told me you went to Nagoya,” Reo finds himself saying.

Nagi stays still, hands by his side, afraid to disturb the air. “I went to see you. Turns out you…left.”

Reo feels his head grow heavier; he holds it up, fights against the urge to trace the laces of his scuffed sneakers. “Did they tell you why?”

“Your parents said you went to study abroad, but Ba-ya said you guys had a fight,” Nagi recounts. “She said no one knows where you went.”

Right…how should he go about this?

“It’s complicated. I’ll sort things out myself — it’s an issue between me and my family.” Reo says curtly, making it known that Nagi has no place in whatever fuckery happened. “It would be great if you don’t tell my folks where I am. Not even Ba-ya.”

“Why?” Nagi, again, asks, like it’s the only thing he can say. Reo frowns.

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” Nagi says matter-of-factly.

“It doesn’t,” Reo asserts.

“Your family doesn’t know where you are. The guys you were close with don’t know what you’ve been up to. The guys from U-20 don’t know anything. You’re technically a missing person,” Nagi points out, and if Reo is stupid enough to be delusional, he might think Nagi sounds betrayed. Concerned, even. “Chigiri didn’t tell me anything about you. I didn’t even know you moved to Tokyo but somehow he already knew.”

And Reo finds that he cannot say anything to that, yet there are so many things he wants to say. So many, but every single one of them sounds too accusatory and cruel and childish and Reo had been all of those things far too many times to want to play those roles again this time.

Instead, he swallows down the bitter feeling crawling up his throat. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. You didn’t even try to contact me.”

Nagi, for once, does seem to look regretful.

“You didn’t even come to graduation,” Reo adds, despite having sworn just a second ago to not be spiteful. “What was I supposed to think?”

Because what does it mean when your boyfriend ghosts you and flees the country after the biggest fight of the century? Clearly, Nagi didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, otherwise he would have answered at least one of the hundreds of texts Reo sent him.

“Reo, I never hated you.” The softness in the way Nagi says that throws him off, because what is he on about?

“You have a really funny way of showing that,” Reo comments wryly, though without much malice. “Even if you do…or did…I wouldn’t blame you.”

Because it wasn’t as if Reo was the best boyfriend in the world, either. He was difficult; everything about him was difficult. Thinking back on it, it was beyond surprising Nagi stayed for as long as he did when he didn’t have to. (When he never had the intention to.)

“You look good now,” Reo says, and he means it.

“As do you,” Nagi says.

He wonders what Nagi sees in him now, if he still sees him the same way he did or if he’s seeing a stranger; Reo sure feels like one, like a stranger in his own skin.

Nagi steps to the side. He comes to stand beside Reo, a hand’s span of space between then, leaning against the cold wall. They watch the commotion before them, notices how Chris and even Chigiri have somehow gotten involved in whatever argument Ego has started. There’s a party and Reo feels too worn out to jump right into it.

“How’s Manchester?” Not that Reo wants to know; he has heard enough from Chigiri, has visited a couple of times in the past to have memorised the path from his father’s apartment to Etihad Stadium.

“It’s a nice place,” Nagi says. Reo thinks he’s going to just leave it at that, but is surprised when he continues to speak. “It took some time to get used to living there, though. I still miss Japan whenever I have to go abroad, to be honest.”

“Hmm…Never pegged you as someone who gets homesick,” Reo comments. Nagi makes a small noise of agreement.

“Me neither. I don’t know how my parents do it. Being away from home for so long is such a pain.”

Reo almost laughs but stifles it in favour of asking, “Are they still traveling?”

“Last I heard, they were in South Africa,” Nagi says.

“And when was that?”

“Like…four weeks ago?”

“You don’t sound worried.”

Nagi shrugs. “I’ll see them when I’ll see them. In person or maybe at their funeral.”

“Ugh. Don’t say that. That’s morbid.”

Nagi rubs the back of his neck, scratching lightly at the short hairs there. “I think it’s just that they don’t think they’ve got…well no, more like, anywhere can be home if they want it to be. It doesn’t have to be Japan. It doesn’t have to be with me. It’s what I used to think, too, back when I had to leave…I thought England could be my new home.”

Reo tilts his head as he regards Nagi’s solemn expression. “And now?”

There’s a quick movement of Nagi’s eyes before he turns back to watching the party before them. Seemingly tongue-tied, Reo doesn’t think Nagi is going to answer — words were never his strongest suit — but there’s a deep furrow between his eyebrows and a slight downturn of his lips, and dissatisfaction in the way his taps his index finger on the side of his neck, where his pulse is the loudest.

Finally, Nagi says, “Turns out I’m really attached to Japan. I guess I’m a lot more different from my parents that I thought I was.”

Reo is impressed — Nagi has become a lot more sentimental than before, it seems. He can barely remember the rare moments when Nagi would say anything about his parents. The little puppy must be getting old.

“Do you…miss your home?” Nagi then asks tentatively. He watches Reo from his periphery, hand clasped around his own nape.

Reo thinks of a large mansion at the edge of the city, thinks of dense trees, wide cobblestone roads, marble from floor to ceiling. Then, Reo thinks of a steely blue building that pierces the sky, the slow elevator ride to the heavens. Glass walls that gives a perfectly ethereal view of the cityscape, heated floors in every room, a desk framed by bookshelves filled to the brim.

He thinks of the smiling faces of men and women in black suits, the entourage that shadows him with every step. Voices echoing in every room and the cold clicks of mother’s heeled shoes. Faintly, there’s the scent of tobacco slipping through the gaps between his bedroom door, a signal that father is home.

And when Reo closes his book and goes out to greet them, they will smile at him and ask how his day went.

They smiled a lot. He always wondered what was so amusing. Then, it finally occurred to him, when he finally took the time to trace the trajectory of their curved lips — Reo was amusing. A funny spectacle.

“I do,” Reo says with a faraway look.

Nagi has turned his head fully, openly watching the way beads of melancholy fall from Reo’s pores and down his face.

“Then, why don’t you go back?” Nagi asks.

Reo smiles wryly. “It wasn’t really my home. I was just intruding. Besides,” he then adds, “I agree with your parents. Anywhere can be home if you want it to be.”

The producer claps his hands and announces for the commencement of the filming. Reluctantly, Nagi pushes himself off the wall and stalks over to his teammates.

“Nagi.”

He stops in his tracks, and turns with an inquisitive look.

Reo stares at him, tries to conjure something up — he called out to him but he’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t feel…as uncomfortable as he was not too long ago. Somewhere during their conversation, he has once again gotten accustomed to Nagi’s presence. His skin feels a bit too tight but at least his bones have realigned themselves; now, he feels like he can walk right again.

Reo shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s good to see you again.”

“Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Chigiri nodded along to whatever Reo said. Whether he meant it or not, it didn’t matter. The more the inebriated idiot talked, the better he would feel very soon.

“Can you believe it? He skipped graduation and went straight to the airport,” Reo spat. He was all red and wet and so ugly. It was so laughable. If Chigiri snapped a picture of him right then and sold it to some publication, he would die rich.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“It’s not like he had to leave right away.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“That dummy did that do avoid it, I just know it. He’s running away. Like c-coward!”

“Yeah, I bet.”

With wobbly fingers, Reo reached out for a the heavy bottle of whiskey, smuggled straight from his father’s study. Swiftly, Chigiri snatched it away. The cry Reo heaved out sounded like a dying cat.

“Are you trying to destroy your liver?”

“My life’s destroyed already!”

Reo wailed as he crumpled down onto the floor of Chigiri’s cramped bedroom like a used tissue. Body curled up, head rested upon folded forearms, the young heir was the very picture of pathetic. Chigiri resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the brand new theatrics — it was always something new with this kid, always something that threatened to pull his eyes right out of his sockets from how bizarre he could get.

“You’re perfectly fine, you moron,” Chigiri said with a grain of sympathy. “Nagi’s gone and you’re going to go enjoy your fancy university life. You’ll meet better people there.”

“But they’re not Nagi,” Reo protested. “N-none of them are my treasure.”

“Oh, for the love of — then find a new one.”

“But I want Nagi!”

“I thought you said you don’t want to have anything to do with him anymore.”

Reo’s eyes widened, his jaw hung low, as if he didn’t believe he just said that not even a minute ago.

“Ugh. Just go to sleep. No more alcohol for you. You’re not even old enough for it.”

“I’m old enough in England! Bet that dumbass Nagi’s going to get all wasted once he lands there. Pah! ”

Yet, there was Reo, in Japan, freshly graduated from high school, drunk off his ass.

Chigiri had gone to Reo’s graduation knowing something bad going to happen. Sure enough, there stood the purple-haired boy underneath a cherry tree, head knocking upon the sturdy wood. A nasty gash had formed on his smooth forehead, ruining his pretty face, because Reo was still as stunning as ever even when he was covered in tears and snot and slobber as he sobbed for his failed high school romance. It was endearing for a while, until Reo showed up at his front door with his father’s secret whiskey stash and red-rimmed, vengeful eyes.

That night, Chigiri had tucked Reo into his own bed while he rolled out a spare futon he returned from the downstairs cupboard. They stayed together until it was time for Chigiri to leave Reo as well, though unlike that callous bastard he had actually bothered to notify Reo beforehand and left some material possessions and wise words behind to help the forlorn boy through his lonely times.

Reo was still sad, but he had been sad for a while now. Chigiri wondered if he could even remember a time when Reo wasn’t sad, and found that he could — back when Reo was loud and wild, bouncing off the walls with a new idea every second of how to dominate the world with his own genius, when he still believed he would be one of the few that would join Nagi and Chigiri overseas. Yet, there he was, stood solemnly with a thin smile as he bid farewell to his last friend.

He came all the way to Narita, weakly clinging onto his last thread of support until he couldn’t anymore. If Chigiri could, he would bring Reo with him. Anywhere in England would be a much better place for him than Nagoya or Tokyo could ever be.

“Ever been to a mixer?” Chigiri asked.

“Yeah. A few times during first year,” Reo said.

“Well, you gotta go on more when the term starts. Or join a club — K Uni’s got a pretty nice football team, right?”

Reo nodded, the movement lethargic. “I’ll see about that.”

That’s a no, then.

“Are you…seriously quitting, then?” Chigiri tentatively asks. The way Reo briefly glances at the suited men in his periphery tells him all he needs to know. Chigiri huffs. “But you’re going to watch my games, right?”

“Of course. I won’t miss any of it.”

“You better keep to your word. I’m going to quiz you.”

It was the first time Reo laughed in a while, even if the sound was nothing more than a weak wheeze. Still, Chigiri took that as something.

The next time he heard Reo laugh again, the sound was heavy with unexplained pain as he cried through it, and it was when Reo finally came face-to-face with Nagi Seishirou once again. So, can anyone really blame him when he stares at the white-haired striker with contempt, thinly veiled with impassivity, the whole ride back to their hotel?

Nagi, too, levels Chigiri a disdainful look, carefully covered by the pretence of boredom.

At the front, Chris types away on his phone, a jolly smile on his face. It seems he has chosen to ignore the icy atmosphere for once.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nagi says. “I should be the one who’s angry.”

Chigiri raises an eyebrow. “Is there really anything to be angry about?”

Nagi shifts in his seat, only to better stare his teammate and reluctant friend down. “Are you being serious right now?”

“I am,” Chigiri stands his ground. “You get to know what you need to know right from the person. I did my part in keeping quiet as Reo asked.”

Something tilts in Nagi’s gaze as he starts to back down. “Chigiri, you’re my friend too. You could’ve said something.”

“Before I’m your buddy, I’m Reo’s. Between you and him, I’ll always pick his side.” As Chigiri turns to face the front of the car once more, his long hair whips out, almost nicking Nagi by the nose. “Aren’t you glad Reo’s got a loyal friend like me?”

At that, Nagi rolls his eyes but says nothing more. He goes back to slumping against his seat, bringing back up the game on his phone he was invested before Chigiri started telepathically harassing him.

“You better keep your word,” Chigiri then adds. Nagi hums in assent. “I’m serious.”

“I will,” Nagi says. “Damn, you’re so pissy today.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

Quietly, Nagi wonders what it could that he had done earlier but comes up with absolutely nothing.

Once filming resumed following their break, Nagi had kept a respectable distance between him and Reo after Chigiri tried to trip him over twice. The third time, he successfully hopped over Chigiri’s dastardly foot, only to be elbowed in the ribs and dragged away. It’s unfair how Nagi was kept on a tight leash while Chigiri allowed Chris to hog all of Reo’s attention. Reo even laughed at one of Chris’s lame jokes — no one ever laughs at his jokes.

Unfortunately for Chigiri, Reo isn’t as mean as the redhead. He didn’t even bat an eye when Nagi had asked him for his contact information; in fact, he hadn’t blinked at all and looked like he was battling his inner self as he typed in his Instagram account handle into the app’s the search bar.

If Reo had willingly accepted his friend request, that means he is free to talk to him, right?

hoshi46:
hi 👋
its nagi

n00ne.14:
Hey
Good work today

hoshi46:
u too
the food was yummy
🤤 

n00ne.14:
Glad you liked it

hoshi46:
i want more
wanna come over again sometime
lets catch up
when are u free
?

“Fuck,” Reo mutters under his breath.

“Five,” Shidou drones as he washes the dishes.

“Shut the fuck up,” Reo shoots back as he gets back to mopping up the floor around the counter, meandering into the kitchen.

“Six,” Shidou adds.

“And what’s going to happen if you reach ten?”

“I don’t know. Maybe your head will burst and and the explosion will destroy the world.”

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“Seven.” With a little spin, Shidou turns and presses a soapy gloves finger right in between Reo’s forehead. “Poor you. I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure you have high blood pressure.”

Reo slaps the offending digit away. It only serves to scatter the soap suds all over his once pristine hair.

“Why do you look so constipated, anyway?”

Now, how would Shidou respond if Reo tells him he’s considering about mending his broken bond with his ex?

First possibility: Shidou calls him an idiot.

Second possibility: Shidou laughs in his face.

Third possibility: Both at once.

Reo refuses to look him in the eye, mumbles something incorrigible as he weighs his options. Shidou is…someone to him. Not quite a friend like Chigiri is, yet not entirely a stranger. Close enough to comfort each other but not enough to ask what’s wrong. Somewhere along the lines, they’ve made a silent agreement to only get close to each other as their body would allow them, close enough until there’s no space for sentimentality to sneak in between them.

Speaking of sentimentality, Shidou is anything but that. This is the person who laughed at a kid who broke his leg attempting a skateboard trick. Granted, Reo’s predicament isn’t quite as dire as breaking a bone but it sure doesn’t put Reo in a positive light.

Reo clears his throat. “Have you ever had a falling out with someone and tried to fix things much later?”

“Why? You trying to get back with an ex?”

Reo chokes on his spit. “No!? Why would I be doing that?”

“I don’t know. Just a hunch,” Shidou deadpans. From his usual smirk, Reo can’t tell if he’s just saying things or he seriously knows something he shouldn’t.

“It’s a friend.”

“Alright, so your ‘friend’,” Shidou mockingly says whilst making air quotation marks, soapy water trailing down his forearms and dripping down the mopped floor, “is trying to get back with their ex —“

“No! I’m trying to fix my relationship with a friend .”

“It’s definitely not Chigiri so it has to be Nagi Seishirou.” Shidou sucks in air through his teeth. “Damn, you know a lot of famous people, huh. Well, it’s just two people but that’s two too many” He then leans forward, suddenly all serious. “Do you personally know Itoshi Sae too?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to talk about, man. It’s about my friend.”

Shidou hums. He strokes his chin as he leans back against the sink, smearing suds all over the lower half of his face. “I’d say it depends on why you two drifted apart in the first place.”

“What if it’s because of a fight?”

“Yeah well, what was the fight about?”

The words that were already stringed up on his tongue are seallowed back down as Reo slowly lets his mouth slip shut. He mulls it over for a moment, taking the time to reconsider before he reveals too much.

Thankfully, Shidou doesn’t seem too concerned, or cares at all for that matter, as he says, “Whatever, man. Apologise and get over it, since you’re dying to get back with him. People fight all the time — big deal. It’s only bad if no one wants to forgive, forget and be better.”

Of course, Shidou would put things that way, because he doesn’t have the full picture of what happened…not that Reo plans on telling him anyway. Still, what he said does make sense.

Reo fishes his phone back out and swipes at the screen until it returns to the messages between him and Nagi.

Act normal, Reo decides to tell himself. Apologise and get over it. It doesn’t look like Nagi’s holding anything against him, at least that’s what Reo deduced from their conversation earlier; then again, Nagi’s not the kind of hold grudges — that would be Reo.

And it could just be that Reo’s the only person here acting too uptight about this whole thing. Before they were anything else, they were best friends — it’s comforting to see that Nagi thinks that, is willing to look past the disaster that was their romance (Reo) and try to mend their friendship.

Yeah — not his ex-boyfriend. This is his ex-friend. Someone who was very dear to him. Someone who he once shared a dream with, back when things were simpler and cleaner.

n00ne.14:
Come over to the shop sometime
Until when are you staying in Japan?

The glaring white light of Nagi’s phone screen is suddenly in front of Chigiri’s face. Disgruntled, the redhead clicks his tongue.

“Reo invited me to his shop,” Nagi says in triumph.

“Yeah. Great.” Chigiri sounds neither thrilled nor displeased. Not that it matters what he thinks, because Reo has just invited Nagi to meet up again, which means he can meet Reo again without Chigiri hounding him.

hoshi46:
until WC maybe
so for a long time

n00ne.14:
…Did you just shorten the World Cup as WC?

hoshi46:
too long to type
-,-

n00ne.14:
Lmaooooooo
The shop’s pretty empty before and after lunch rush hour
Or you can come close to closing time

hoshi46:
ok
c u
👋 

n00ne.14:
Yeah, see you
👋 

Reo almost tossed his phone into the bin once he sends that dumb emoji.

“Fuck.”

“Eight.”

———