Chapter Text
I was drinking with my friends at Masaya's apartment, and despite my misgivings, I decided to stay the night.
It was that, or dealing with the ghost Yoshiteru, who had a quarrel with the exorcist Kagami. I acted as if I couldn't see him. No thanks, I'm a VIP customer who's forced to fund their dates. Not a free counselor.
Surprisingly, I was able to fall asleep without any flags.
Akihito shakes my shoulders, and I blearily blink at the sound of harsh, hushed tones in the sunlight.
"You're a difficult person to wake up." Takimoto is tapping his fingers against the table. Tap, tap, tap. The one sign that his tranquility has been interrupted.
Youji takes me by the elbow, tugging like he does when he brings me along to complain about Masaya in a café. Too early for this. "There's a situation in the kitchen. Touma is cooking everyone breakfast."
Did Yoshiteru stir up trouble? I should've added security measures in the corner of Masaya's living room. Cheap ramen packets can substitute for salt. I've tried it.
My younger brother had yelled at me for not throwing away my trash, saying that my shitty instant food is why I'm a chicken carcass. The he compared me to Hatano's successful older brother, who owns two cars and a house at twenty-seven, but has no girlfriend. Ayato needs to learn more creative insults.
By the sink, Touma is staring at a stack of limp carrots, soaking them in water. Beside him is a bowl of chopped green peppers. There is no cutting board. I strongly suspect that Masaya doesn't own one.
"We're having omelets. You... you go crack the eggs. Akihito... you can open the canned mushrooms. I'll salvage what's left in the fridge."
I obediently crack eggs one-handed, scrolling through my phone with my other hand. Touma doesn't comment on it. The carrots are subjected to greater scrutiny. He's intense about the small details, especially when cooking is involved.
"Can't we order takeout?" Calculating the costs, I check the closest restaurant. "I have an online coupon for ramen. Kakei recommended it."
Akihito holds the wine bottle opener. I see that Masaya doesn't own a can opener either. Like his personality, his priorities are scattered in many places. "There's no time." With some hesitation, Akihito says, "According to our shared Google calendar, none of us have important plans today. I called Tokitou to take over as dorm leader while I'm away, because—"
"Why did you make a reservation at a cherry farm?! I was looking forward to a lazy Saturday!"
"I was drunk! You were the one who filled out the forms!"
Thank you for that insanely descriptive summary, Masaya and Ryouta.
They're smart when apart, but when alone together, they tend to encourage each other's stupidity. We try to always have a third person to reel them in. Usually Youji, Touma, or me. Or else Masaya and Ryouta will create a positive feedback loop of ideas that appear fine on paper, until you read the fine print.
I finally recall who Tokitou is.
He's that clingy guy who follows Makoto like a lost child—a royal servant would be more accurate. I avoid the convenience store where he buys popsicles. He acts guilty, as if he's a teenager with a gravure magazine. Is Tokitou reliable enough to be a dorm leader? For Akihito's sake, I hope so.
"Masaya paid with my credit card." Youji distributes disposable plates and forks. Except for his boyfriend, who receives a flimsy knife. Masaya squawks in disbelief. "Whether you like it or not, we're going cherry-picking."
"Why do I get a knife? I apologized. We can pay you back later, Hara-chan."
Giving him a second knife, Youji doesn't even spare a glance. "There is no 'we.' You're shouldering the bill. And you wouldn't have this problem if you had clean chopsticks. When was the last time you washed your dishes? Don't answer that."
"You guys are lucky that I'm so generous." Masaya pouts, though he'll deny it if anyone points it out. "Enjoy fruits of my labor."
"What labor? You rely on pocket money from your ex-girlfriend's uncle. Aren't you ashamed?"
"Sayuri-chan is just a childhood friend. And besides, she cut her hair."
Please use a less obvious euphemism for lesbianism. I guess I don't have to worry, with these guys. The two couples are proud of keeping Touma and Ryouta's relationship a secret, but they're still oblivious to each other.
"Field trip! Field trip!" Ryouta cheerfully chants. How he has the energy this early, I don't know.
Stifling a yawn, I quip, "We aren't in high school." Well, I wouldn't put it past the BL world to throw in a mental age regression trope. I wince at the thought. If it wasn't for Ayato, I might've been recruited to the welcoming committee for high schoolers curious about our college. Aoyagi—the previously amnesiac patient—and his boyfriend Hikaru had attended. I heard about it from Takimoto.
"Road trip! Road trip!"
Touma shields Ryouta's smile from sight, serving omelets with carrots, mushrooms and green peppers. Akihito pours water, offering headache pills for hangovers. Gratefully, I take one. Maybe it's because he's majoring in pediatrics, but he's the most considerate one in our group.
Jingling a key ring, Takimoto says, "Touma's niece dropped off their spare delivery van. There's plastic water bottles and a cooler. I'm driving. It'll be an hour and a half."
Where was this level of coordination during your romantic miscommunications?
Masaya steeples his fingers. It blocks his chin and chest, rending his body language unreadable. A sign that he's messed up big time. "There's been a mistake... I accidentally signed up nine people, but no matter how I look at it... We only have seven."
All heads swivel towards me, eerily in sync.
"What." It's as if they've never seen an omelet with soy sauce. "I'm eating."
"Save us with your social butterfly skills." Masaya claps his hands in mocking prayer. "Dude, please, it's my money on the line. The cancellation fee for two people is killer."
"Who's a fucking butterfly? You're a fucking butterfly."
I mingle with people in moderation. My mom has friends from her housewives' association, and my dad has pen pals from his Tokyo Railway Club. We come from a long bloodline of mob characters. Am I a social butterfly? No, it's just Masaya's tacky flattery. Outside my friends and family, my circles are few and shallow.
"Who would agree on such short notice?" Akihito asks the only sensible thing I've heard today. I should've taken my chances with Yoshiteru. A stubborn ghost can't compete with six stubborn people. Probably.
"...I'll call Mayama and Minamoto while we're in the car."
"Thanks, dude, I owe you one." Masaya slaps my back, and I don't budge a centimeter, far too accustomed to the BL's attempts to trip me into a man's arms.
"Damn, have you been working out? Got a girl?" Ryouta is sneaking a bite from Touma's portion, but he still has time for pointless questions. "Is she the one who sent you Valentine's chocolates?"
"No. To both questions." I didn't know Ryouta saw, since I had pretended that I didn't see the bonbons in my bookbag. The sender is still a mystery. Surely, it's not a woman, so I didn't bother with searching. A slightly bittersweet memory.
"Have some sunscreen. I'd count walking five kilometers to a cat café as exercise," Youji teases, tying his jacket around his waist. Obnoxiously, Masaya is muttering about his thinness.
Aren't you a bit too young to be going deaf? Take your thirst to Twitter.
"It's fine, I have my own." I shake the spray-on bottle. A superior option to suggestively white lotion. Besides, I don't trust their sense of hygiene, because those bastards likely have treated sunscreen as lube. BL plays fast and loose with sexual safety.
Eventually, we pile into the delivery van, which is spacious enough for ten adults.
No one is sitting on someone's lap. This is why I'm friends with them, not troublesome people like Takaomi and Riou. They're always causing drama. They hook up in lockers and in public. Even backstage, before and after their band performances with Sakita and Kaji.
I swipe down to Mayama's number.
As a second-generation fudanshi, he can't resist the allure of gay couples. With Minamoto, it's a hit or a miss, but he's usually with Mayama.
"Are you free right now? We're going cherry-picking... Eh, Minamoto is with you? How convenient... Ask him if he wants to come, Masaya drunkenly paid for nine people with Youji's credit card, and.... Yeah, yeah, he's in a real pinch, help him... What? No, I'm not going to carry your art supplies. We're coming to pick you up in twenty minutes. See ya."
Hanging onto the edge of his seat, Masaya pleads, "Did they say yes? Please tell me they said yes."
"They did. Congratulations, you don't need to pay the cancellation fee." Mayama said yes, and Minamoto is helpless. "Takimoto, you know where Mayama lives, right? All of us visited his house before, but it's been a while."
"I remember," Takimoto answers, his eyes on the road.
From the passenger's seat, Akihito passes a box of tissues to Touma, who wipes his boyfriend's face without a word.
Ryouta is annoyed, but he enjoys the attention almost as much as his food.
I text my mom that I'll be out with friends. She sends a fluffy sticker in reply. It's not a cat, but it's cute. Shares a resemblance to my cousin Tabuchi's Pomeranian, who is shaped like its name, Cookie.
Tabuchi is Ayato's age, and has a little sister named Tacchan. His childhood friend, Kurosu, is a tall and gloomy shut-in, with long bangs obscuring his eyes. A future flag. Additionally, his hometown has famous magical girl cosplayers. Green, Red, Blue, Pink, Yellow, and the ever-elusive Black.
My mom is a fan of them, especially Green, since her face could belong to a female relative of ours. A woman's intuition sure is scary.
Midori's face isn't blurry like most girls, and Tabuchi behaved suspiciously when my dad asked him about his all-boys' academy. There's a local legend of a tree that grants mysterious magical powers. Ah, another soul has strayed from our ordinary ancestry.
We pick up Mayama and Minamoto, and we're on our way to the cherry orchards.