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Chapter Text

Originally, our drinking group had seven people, but because of Mayama and Minamoto, it has expanded to nine. 

I'm on an outing with Ryouta and Masaya. Worse with horror than Ayato, they've been attached by the hip, attending their shock therapy sessions at the movie theatre. That is, they cry a lot. 

They want to impress Touma and Youji, so even though it'll cause misunderstandings, I let their training happen in secret. 

They've interpreted it as implicit permission to invite me along. I don't mind it. Though I often go outside alone, to ease escape routes, I enjoy socializing in larger groups. It's interesting to see how individuals interact. Insight on their inner lives. Between the lines, behind the scenes, beneath the stage. 3-10 is the ideal range, including myself. A goukon will usually have 5 men, 5 women. 

Additionally, I'm quite fond of 30, a round number, roughly the size of a tour guide group, or a school-sanctioned trip to the beach. How nostalgic. I'd be lying if I said I want to relive the old days of Baseball Club and Broadcasting Club, when I was briefly a color commenter for Takimoto's kendo team, amongst other sports.

The flags didn't stand up until Toujou's confession to Ayato, but I'm not willing to trade away my freedom as a college student. 

Ah, there's a certain charm in lecture halls with hundreds of people. And a train station, star-studded with umbrellas. And street food on a cold and hungry night. After all, atmosphere is important. Anonymity in the city, living at my own pace. 

It seems I'm fine with anything, as long as it's not a 1v1 situation. 

Or when delinquents occupy alleyways where the cats are. That might be divine punishment for cheating on Miiko with strays. My lint roller is a lifesaver. 

In a world where men have a low threshold for love, I can't be careless with appearance. Cat fur can spark a conversation, and if it weren't for the consequences, I'd be happy to chat about Mii-chan. His cuteness is a national treasure. His cleverness is second to none.

I'm careful about Miiko's photos, though, since the last thing I need is someone figuring out my address through a spoon's reflection.

Ayato complains that I'm a clumsy cameraman, cutting him out of sight, but I'm protecting him, one cropped picture at a time. Toujou has countless stalkers. I'm concerned about the student council trio. Didn't Ayato mention a bookstore employee during the summer? My cowardly little brother called me to drive him home, claiming that he could've gotten heatstroke. 

If only Yanagi was my brother-in-law. His admirers are far fewer, and he wouldn't paint a target on my family's back. Not to say that Toujou doesn't have his credentials. 

He captured Ayato, captivated my mother, carried me home when I was drunk, and yet—he is narrow-minded with Misato. Childhood friends never win, unless they were ethereal enough to be confused as a girl, ghost, or a flower spirit. Gap moe, not gap-toothed brats in soldier hats. 

Misato tripped into water canals and lisped about his takoyaki machine at home. Mom still calls him Taka-kun. So does the candy store granny on 3rd Street. Her grandson is Henmi, the Valentine's Day guy, childhood friends with Tasuku.

Maybe Toujou and Misato will mellow out in a few years. Teenagers and their rivalries. I'll tolerate their drama for a little longer. 

For free entertainment. For friendly blackmail. For Ayato's future happiness. For Toujou's fruitful salary.

It's sudden, but I've been driving this entire time, with Masaya and Ryouta in tow. 

To my right, I see a truck destroy itself like an official declaration of a reversible couple, drawing in danger from all directions.

Stop. Reverse. Spin. Return.

I didn't expect to reenact Hollywood after exiting the theatre. The J in J-turn is for Japan. It was invented here, in the heart of Tokyo. 

That's a lie. The J in J-turn is for Just Kidding.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"We've already finished the horror movie of the day. You can open your eyes now, Masaya, the world isn't out to hurt you. Not specifically you, anyway."

"Am I collateral damage?!" He's holding onto the handle above the passenger seat. "That was scarier than the mongoose princess eating the snake handmaiden to create poison for the lion prince's assassination!"

If it was Mayama, he'd draw doujinshi of the mongoose princess and snake handmaiden.

Ryouta cheers, clapping his hands. "Again, again~ We dodged that truck by an eyelash~ A baby eyelash~"

"Who cares about babies, I'm not a baby." Accusingly, Masaya jabs at the air, as if the act of breathing is an assault. "You! In case you've forgotten, we don't have nine lives, you catnip-addict. Don't be reckless. I'm too handsome to die in a car accident." 

Protagonists can rely on their plot armor, but I have to rely on other sources of protection. 

We've deviated from the safest route. Beware of detours. 

No plan survives contact with the enemy, or exceptionally dumb friends, for that matter.

"This is why you're Masaya-ate. If you were a samurai, you'd start fights over an accidental brush of sheathes. You're a tornado in a teacup. A granny could put you in her purse like a toy poodle." 

Saya-ate is also a colloquialism for love rivalry. Ryouta is unconscious of his own genius. Like a color-blind cuttlefish, camouflaged against the sand. 

Masaya is a meteorology major. His ideal career is a field reporter who chases severe weather. It meshes well with Takimoto and Akihito, who trained as first responders during the summer. 

I ignore their squabbling. Should've let them loose in the backseat. Separating them was an exercise in futility.

"Hmm." My eyes flicker to the mirror, then the road. On the outskirts of the love hotel district. Sakita, Kaji, Takaomi, and Riou are busking. Yamazaki has coerced Kakei to cross-dress. One of Nishinoya's customers, an adult movie director, is recruiting Yashiro. 

Mr. Bunny Boy is working hard for his rainy-day fund.

Overall, I try to be nice, and easygoing, and magnanimous. These are essential skills as a member of society. I once took a shortcut to laugh at Hayami. Once. I didn't do it again. That would be petty. 

I support Tachi morally kidnapping Kouji. 

TPO—Time, Place, Occasion—is not limited to fashion.

The public apology was the lesser evil. If I received a private apology, as I had preferred, people might've painted me as the perpetual victim. They might've used it as an excuse to pick fights. But I'm not the underdog, I'm the most comfortable as Mob Character A. I'll appoint Miiko as mob boss.

Kouji regretted involving me into his ex-girlfriend's cheating affair. Only main characters get away with grudges. I should forget and forgive.

I'm forgetful, according to Ayato, Misato, and Hatano. Halfway to the goal.

Isn't it normal to forget someone I helped eight years ago? Hatano is an intense person. Light moments become heavy, plain observations become public announcements, and bonds become burdened by obligations.

Ideally, I'll spoil a modern-minded woman, not be spoiled by an old-fashioned man. 

I love chaos, but not standing at the eye of the storm. I want a steady, selfish story. Something sustainable. I want a sadistic older sister to tell me to shut up.

"Is that Minamoto?" Ryouta sticks out his head. Sticks out his arms, as if he's punching holes in the shoji screen of a haunted house. A click of a button, and he'll be sawed in half by the window. With the mastery of a man who dabbled with a magician's kit in middle school, I slam-dunk the button like Meiji cookies in cream.

"Touma is going to kill you." Masaya is recording Ryouta, his camera trembling from laughter. "Shit, he'll open his chef's suitcase of knives and you'll be horse sashimi. Stalking horse sashimi." 

"I don't want to hear that from someone who blindly followed a horse's ass and got slapped." 

"What happens in SakuraMaji Land, stays in SakuraMaji Land."

"Sure, sure, you didn't spin like a merry-go-round. Sayuri-san said she'll wear a mosquito net at your funeral. Your death, the birth of a trailblazing fashion trend." 

I gradually ease off the gas, the wheels slowing in a gentle stop.

When I reach the red light, I roll down Ryouta's window. No hospitals. It's swarming with handsome volunteers like Aoyagi, the amnesiac high school student who treats Akihito as his role model. Takimoto and Hikari are trying to be happy for their sake. 

If they read BL, they'd understand that their hair colors are incompatible. Boy's Love, not Blond Love.

"Why do you know my childhood friend?"

"Youji invited us to a dart bar." 

"I can't believe that Hara-chan is best buddies with Sayuri-chan. How did it happen? It wasn't that long ago when she cut her hair."

"Her friend Ririna-san recreated Miiko with darts. I'll send you a picture later. It's a masterpiece."

Akihito was also there. He apologetically abandoned us for his part-time job. Heartless. I don't mention his appearance, because he doesn't deserve Masaya's aggravating presence.

Youji had taped Masaya's mugshot to a target. I listened to the GL couple show off their emotional stability. If only their BL counterparts could be a fraction as sensible. They did the advice. I drank the alcohol.

"She wouldn't go for you."

"Obviously. I wouldn't go for someone else's girl."

Two-thirds of the car are selectively deaf, but Ryouta is determined to make it permanent. 

Run away, Minamoto. Run like Mayama, pursued by policemen. 

"Hello Mimi! Hey, that old man over there, silvery hair, with the cool earrings! Honor roll student!! Are you alright, you look like you've been living in the library for five years!!!"

"Hello Kitty, it's Hello Kitty. You can't even get your references right. Who would answer that? You're lucky that Minamoto is a nice guy." Nobody has told Masaya that Mimi is her twin sister. I won't be the first. Last time I checked, Takimoto had nearly cracked.

"My car, my rules," I remind them. "Masaya raised a death flag earlier."

If I ever slip, referring to flags in real life, I have an established history of using that vocabulary, so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary. That's the beauty of ambiguity.

"Would it kill you to be a little more expressive? Man, I can't tell if you're joking or not..." 

Masaya clunks his head against the dashboard. Like a mystery novel, his movement opens the hidden compartment. One of the cat-patterned blankets, tied up in climbing rope, tumbles onto the floor. Robotically, he tucks it back where it belongs.

In a rare show of consideration, Ryouta clips on his seatbelt. Safety first. "Do you think that Minamoto heard me? I can't call him by name. The girls will chase him."

He definitely did. The voice of my heart is diminished when I'm driving. 

"With the way you talk about women, I'd think they were a mythical species from Touma's UMA magazines," I say. "They're not monsters." The reason why Touma reads them is related to his dreams of extraterrestrial cuisine.

"We could make it a quiz tournament. What is Ryouta describing? Worse than charades, riddles, and escape rooms combined." Masaya wiggles his eyebrows. Twin worms gleefully gorging on garden compost. If Youji was a crow, he'd fly away with Masaya's eyebrows. Ca-caw, ca-caw. 

"Sounds like a drinking game." I give the green light to Masaya's idea. Perfect timing. The traffic light agrees.

"Can you persuade Mayama to host it at his house?" Masaya asks. "Or we could meet my place. Or Ryouta's dorm. Akihito's the RA, he can pull some strings."

"Don't annoy him into abusing his authority as a resident assistant."

"I vote against your apartment. It's always messy. Despite your peerless image at school, you're a slob and a slag. If Youji-jiji says so, then it must be true." 

The nickname comes from the time Ryouta watched over Youji's cross-dressing nephew. In an attempt to bond with him, Ryouta showed pictures of himself and the guys in Halloween nurse costumes. Now Yamazaki has a young fanboy. I've seen them in the cat café. 

"I'm not a slag." Masaya doesn't deny being a slob. "If you had your way, we'd be stuck with Touma's living room, and his family restaurant below him."

Two hours. I cleaned with Miiko for two hours. Youji and Masaya couldn't come up with a single lie.

Minamoto didn't run. I didn't think he would, but I tried. Mayama is buried behind a bush. Short-range sniper. He has those obnoxious opera binoculars. Did his normal binoculars break? It's depressing that I described them as normal.

"Tomonami!" 

Ryouta is the type to have nicknames for everyone except his lover. 

Masaya nods his approval. "Turn his name backwards, and it sounds like tomonai for companion. It's cute. Cuter than mine."

"Careful, your competitive streak is showing." I laugh. It's a little much. Cultivating cuteness is more common in men than women think. The main difference is that men try to be cool. As if they're above it all.

"Am I cuter than Minamoto?"

"You're both very cute."

Even though it shouldn't have been possible for Mayama to hear me, his mouthful of leaves is proof that he did. 

Protagonists like Masaya and Ryouta have donated their hearing to fujoshi and fudanshi. 

I pause. Mayama has popped out from his hiding place. Pro-tip: always expect pedestrians to be stupid. One of these days, he'll transmigrate into his manga, meddling with Saruta and Inuo.

"Is spring in the air?" Mayama asks in autumn, while he's dressed for winter.

It's a testament to Ryouta's familiarity that he doesn't flinch from Mayama's abruptness. Masaya flinches, an aftereffect from the horror movie. 

"Masaya has this." Ryouta holds up his pinky, the sign for girlfriend, or in Masaya's case, boyfriend. Surprisingly gender neutral. Then again, I shouldn't be surprised. 

Takimoto, Akihito, Masaya, and Youji know about the relationship between Ryouta and Touma, but they're clueless to the other couples within the group. Touma has tunnel vision. Ryouta is a wild card. He's uncannily sharp at times. I could be wrong, though.

"Besides, it isn't up to societal expectations to decide whether something is romantic or not." 

His wisdom is only surpassed by children. I'll hang it up on my refrigerator. Couldn't have said it better. Flags are self-fulfilling prophecies. If you're pessimistic, they'll happen. If you're optimistic, they might not happen.

"That's what Prof. Yoshito said." To cap his profound statement, Ryouta strokes his chin, pretending to be an old sage. Mayama can lend him an off-color beard, if he's so inclined.

Oh, it was Matsuo's professor. I spoke too soon. 

"For example, if I asked Masaya if he could kiss him, he'd answer no." Ryouta is diving straight into clichés. He continues, "If I asked Minamoto—I mean, Tomonami—"

"No," Minamoto interrupts, much to Mayama's dismay.

"It's been fun, but I'm not risking a fine." I press on the gas pedal, patiently maneuvering around Mayama, who hasn't moved. Leaving him at the mercy of the driver behind me. He probably won't be hit. Probably.

Through the mirror, Minamoto pulls Mayama to safety. 

The rest of the ride is standard. 

I drop Ryouta off at his dorm, then Masaya at Youji's apartment. 

Other than Masaya's death grip on the grab handle, there were no deaths, so I'll consider today as a success. 

Chapter Text

Once again, I can't coax the stubborn Miiko-white mochi out of my canned oshiruko soup.

I consider the ways to crack open a coconut. Modern problems, medieval solutions. Hit it hard and it'll fall apart. There's still some residue from the red bean soup. If I bash it against the brick wall, it might look like a crime scene. Red against red. 

It'll be embarrassing if I didn't have the brute strength to break it. Spent three years in high school, carrying bulky equipment for the Baseball Club and Broadcasting Club, but I can't win against a can. Stain on the wall, stain on the family name. Sounds like something Ayato would say.

I don't want to get my hands dirty, so I'll borrow a spare pair of chopsticks from Touma.

In his chef's suitcase, there's a special compartment for Ryouta, crammed with cheap utensils and napkins.

"Hey, Touma, I'll trade you a piece of candy for a pair of chopsticks."

We conduct our exchange across Takimoto, who has teamed up with Akihito's dad. The become friends after Takimoto advised him that he should go to his yearly check-up at the hospital. Together, they're texting Akihito. It must be tough to tolerate an overprotective father and an overbearing lover.

Unblinkingly, Touma studies his newly acquired candy, as if he's screening a suspicious item at an airport. I'm not offended by his treatment. It's his natural temperament.

Reliving my rainy days in elementary school, I retrieve the mochi from the muddy soup, squirming like a worm on a stick. What was I doing with worms? I wasn't eating them. It was a way to attract birds, which would attract cats.

My teacher told my parents that I was fascinated by food chains, and I could be a scientist in the future. 

Every time there's a family gathering, I hear this story. I've gradually built up immunity, learning how to turn into stone to survive. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for training me to break BL flags. 

"Turkish Calico Marshmallow?"

"It boosts low blood sugar." 

"I'll save it for when I see Ryouta. The spirals are similar to a cat's ear. Half of it is surrounded by dragon's beard candy. The filling is honey, almond, walnut, peanut, pistachio, and pumpkin seeds. It's an unusual intersection between East and West."

"I thought it suited your interest in fusion cuisine."

"You've given more than one piece... Could it be... you're bad at counting?" 

I swallow down a snicker. What Touma lacks in normal humor, he more than makes up for in situational humor. He only talks at length when the subject is about cooking, conspiracy theories, or his boyfriend. 

"A souvenir from my dad's business trip. Nobody else is willing to eat, since it sticks to your teeth, so I'm in a pinch. Please take it. I'll have a heart attack from sugar overdose."

"Miiko is dearly loved by your family."

I raise an eyebrow at Takimoto's non-sequitur.

"You're not willing to eat the candy because they're too cute."

"These are Turkish Calico Marshmallows. Mii-chan is a white cat. I'm completely fine with it."

"You guiltily eat cat-themed food to erase the evidence of your love, because you can't justify buying ten mugs and twenty keychains."

"Shut up, we don't need a second coming of Mayama." I turn away from Takimoto, towards Touma. "How about you challenge yourself to reinvent the candy? It could be cool content for your YouTube channel."

"What."

"Ryouta created it when we were drunk. Congratulations on your success. Despite the irregular schedule, it's been climbing up the ranks."

"Oh, that one."

I sit in a comfortable silence with Touma and Takimoto.

We spend our time under the tree until I have to go to class, Takimoto has to visit Akihito at his internship, and Touma has to shop for his ingredients. 

I'm looking forward to what he'll do with the candy.

Chapter Text

1.) Ryouta & Touma

I watch Mayama walk in the rain without an umbrella, wondering if he has waterproof headphones. Wasn't he wearing sandals? Well, if he wants to waste money, it has nothing to do with me.

He must be a closeted fan of Ayanokyouji Maya. 

Even if I don't pay attention, I pick up information, which is one of the horrors of a BL world. Name, height, reputation, relationships. Mob characters are drug dealers to main characters, except the drugs are curiosity and uncertainty. Love, too, is a chemical.

Mayama, 165 cm, Fine Arts Department. He mentioned that his little sister has this manga. I've never been to his drinking parties. My first impression is... he's bad at blackmail. A+ for effort, easily loses steam when things don't go according to his expectations. A single smile was enough to shake him. 

He likely has an older sister. That was the specific expression of a man who lived with an immovable existence and had never seen someone move. I'm sort of amused. 

"Hey, I like your bag!"

Instinctively, I look down on my bag, Neko Kawaii written in white letters on a black background. The cat has small eyes and a smaller mouth, like Miiko squinting in the sunlight, still sleepy from an afternoon nap. Its ears are a little too long.

Before Ryouta can shout across the room for the second time, I casually hold up my hand as a stop sign. 

Silence lasts for seven seconds. He pretends to swim, sweeping his arms in silly movements. I slide down to the ground, not out of shame, but self-preservation, shielding my face from the splash zone. 

"You're louder than the thunder."

As soon as Touma says this, he's struck by a swinging elbow, swift as lightning. Ah, love is sacrifice. Adding salt and oil on the injury, I go on his cooking channel on my phone, Hokuhokuto Bento. 

Ryouta begins to brag about his boyfriend. Touma is annoyed at himself on the screen, and annoyed that he's annoyed. It's a love triangle with two people. 

One-sided conversations are a familiar occurrence when you're friends with couples. I've finally found a free corner to read. Mayama won't be returning right now, because there's a cooldown for new characters. Time to reread BL manga. The most dangerous place is the safest place. 

"...Where did he go? Wait, did he get hungry and go eat beef BBQ? Without us?! We can't let him eat alone again, I have to avenge Akita-hito for being abandoned in the cafeteria!"

If Akihito is an Akita Inu, Ryouta and Masaya would also be dogs. Takimoto, Touma, and Youji would be cats.

2.) Masaya & Youji

The day after the thunderstorm, I visit our school's Meteorology Society and their outdoor museum. Masaya is teaching children about fossilized lightning. Fulgurites. I take some pictures for Ayato.

"Who here has made mud dumplings? Sand castles? Clay animals?"

One by one, they raise their hands.

"Let me tell you a secret! Mr. Lightning and Mr. Thunder play with dirt too. When they reach a temperature of 1800 degrees Celsius, they can superheat it into tubes. Fusing minerals into rocks, glass, and crystals."

I listen to the serious discussions about superhero fusions. 

"If you're lucky, you might be able to see fulgurites when you're hiking. Sometimes, Mr. Lightning and Mr. Thunder have so much fun, they forgot to clean up their toys! The twin brothers especially like to play on mountains."

With the children I learn that mountains are natural lightning rods. Masaya asks them to name some mountains. Mount Fuji, Mount Eggplant, Mount Hawk. Their answers range from accurate to absurd.

"Scientists can study these cool rocks to collect the secrets of space, magnets, meteorites and more! Since they trap air bubbles, we can trace our steps to ancient times, when air was...."

They're thrilled to time-travel.

Youji is watching Masaya by the pine trees with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. I walk away, as if I hadn't seen him. Not bothering to uncross his arms, Youji beckons me with a 'come here' gesture, and I have no choice but to comply with whatever's his problem.

"Masaya is such a child."

This is an improvement from the indirect hints. Tsundere types are high-maintenance. I've heard Youji's stories about his girlfriend, his friend's girlfriend, his friend's girlfriend's boyfriend. 

While he's being a hot and cold air conditioner, I balance a pinecone on my pointer finger. When the weather is dry, pinecones will open up and wind will carry the seeds to a new home. When the humidity is high, pinecones will close up and cage the seeds. Won't go far in their waterlogged state, fighting in the shade of their parent tree for resources.

It's tough to be a pine nut. The weather prevents them from travelling outside the neighborhood.

Well, I don't think that living in a BL world is bad. It might be that the crime rate is lower, or there might be less reports, since well-intentioned citizens will carry men home. A romantic world isn't that different from a realistic world.

"Everyone has an inner child, including you."

"I have classmates who would pay you to say that to the Law Department Chair with a straight face. 'Everyone has an inner child, including you.' The old man will stomp on your feet with his handmade Italian Oxfords."

"You won't be able to graduate if he holds a grudge."

"I'll add you to the group chat."

"No thanks."

"Even though you're friendly with everyone, you don't have many friends."

I blink slowly. Sounds like something that Youji has been sitting on for a while, not a sudden moment of insight. Shit, I should stay alert for scenarios.

"Quality over quantity."

Losing while not understanding how, he goes through the five stages of grief, two per second. I count them on my fingers. Last stage is anger. Enough anger for an apocalypse.

"Who said that I'm friends with a fucking idiot like you?!"

"I'm being bullied. I need an adult."

I gently place a pinecone on his hands, as if it's precious, and push him in Masaya's direction. The pull of the BL world is pretty convenient. Youji can't curse me in front of children and parents.

3.) Akihito & Takimoto

Time to check the bulletin board in the courtyard. The pinned flyers will fill me in on plotlines and part-time jobs. Tutors and surveys and sports. 

"Oh, it's a cat." 

It takes me an hour to trek 0.25 kilometers across our college campus. Crouching like a delinquent, I clean my lint roller with my water bottle close to the grass. If I hold it high, I'll be hit by a soccer ball. It's important to manage risk in BL and business.

Oh, it's an Akita Inu.

"Why don't you water the flowers?"

"I'll be lynched by the Gardening Club with their shovels and spades."

Akihito laughs into Takimoto's shoulder. An awkward angle, given the height difference between 174 cm and 188 cm. 

"Taki and I are going to see a movie. Want to go with us? I have an extra pair of 3D glasses." 

If it was Touma and Ryouta, I'd tell them no. The straight approach is the least suitable for this couple. Akihito is a shy father who works several jobs for his children, and Takimoto is a stern mother who is stressed about her husband's health. 

When they ignore each other, it's similar to a separated household that can't survive an official divorce, so they stay together. 'Speak now or forever hold your peace.' They don't speak. Their peace is only on the surface. 

I'm usually forced to sit between them when it happens. Be happy, both of you. 

"Maybe another time."

"I see."

Finally, I've found the bulletin board. There are clues on future flags, such as Professor Yoshito trying to recruit students to be a lab assistant with Matsuo. Will he be alright? Without work, Matsuo will have more free time to confess his forbidden love. 

"Ah, excuse me... E-earlier, this poster was looking at you, right? Um, I mean, you were looking at this movie poster..."

It's the protagonist who arrived late to Sakita's drinking party. 

"This one? I was comparing the accuracy of the poster to the actual movie."

"Comparing the accuracy..."

"It was different from what I heard, but it's a funny movie! I'll probably buy the DVD when it's released, because I want to re-watch it with my family. Popcorn tastes better when you cook it yourself in a pan."

"I'd like to look at your homemade popcorn."

Yashiro still hasn't noticed that Mayama is behind the wall.

"Not look. No, what you normally do with popcorn is... eat it like a normal person. Um, uh, I'd like to ask... if you're interested, we could..."

"Here."

High expectations in his hopeful eyes. However, I'm a healthy college student who leaves no leftovers. The taste is overwhelmingly average, so I can't let anybody eat it. Ayato will complain that he's better at cooking than I am.

"Do you have a habit of giving people popcorn?"

Hahaha, it's uncooked.

"If you're hungry, you can ask around to find a microwave. I recommend the cafeteria, or one of the staff lounges for graduate students."

Lounges for undergraduate students are louder. I like them, but Yashiro might prefer a calmer environment. The less bystanders in the background, the higher probability for love. Theoretically, that would be the case, but people fall in love at airports and concerts, so all that matters is the illusion of intimacy. All in all, atmosphere.

"The younger professors are also an option. They're easier to approach and eager to be seen as friendly. Of course, they might be too anxious to accidentally break a rule, because they're new."

They're more nervous than you. I'm being nice, but this is a narrative set-up for you to see someone else in a sympathetic light, then a romantic light. No need to thank me.

"Good luck!"

I leave with a lighter bag and lighter spirits. Mayama lets out a sigh.

"How can I use this as material for my next volume? I've already established myself in the coming-of-age romance genre. A surreal comedy with a suspicious merchant with dead facial muscles is... I'll be scolded by my editor again."

I think that you're more suspicious than me, though.

"If only this was a BL manga world!"

Good luck to you too.

Chapter Text

A business major, computer science major, and fine arts major walk into a karaoke bar...

It sounds like the beginning of a joke. Nishimura is a mob character in a BL world, and he's out drinking with friends because his little brother has been more irritable than usual.

Ayato, Yanagi, and Hatano are in class 3-2. Toujou and Misato are in class 3-1. The official couple is separated by classrooms and career paths, and the student council has started a civil war. In comparison, Aoyagi and Hikari had already stabilized their shaky relationship after short-term amnesia. Only a year younger than Ayato, yet the gap between them is...

Nishimura pretends he didn't see Masaya pour shichimi spice on a strawberry parfait. Never ask his childhood friend for convenience store combinations. She's a beautiful woman, but you can't believe anything she says. Tongue-ripping hell could take advice from those demon twins.

The only one singing seriously is Youji. On the cajón is Takimoto, tapping to the beat. Ryouta tosses a tambourine, an airborne pizza, bitten in a crescent.

If he squints, that white tambourine is shaped like Miiko's head. Cute. Of course, everything about cats is cute.

This bar is different from other bars, because it's a medieval market. Glowing crystals hang from the ceiling. Drinks are potions made by an alchemist, dragon's breath stimulated through dry ice.

By the screen, a suit of armor stands vigil, solemnly wearing a flower crown. Snake-tongued banners depict album covers. The luxurious table has lion paws and a candelabra of microphones. A snowy owl is sleeping on a crooked magic staff, crudely carved with care.

Its ambiance is comfortable, not abused as a cheap love hotel for couples. Talent scouts aren't interested in recruiting idols. Electronic eyeballs swivel in an eerie manner, surveilling the hallways. Sometimes, people can be heard practicing their violin, saxophone, and even operatic singing. One of the regulars is a Black Scottish man who plays steampunk bagpipes, inspired by Howl's Moving Castle and post-apocalyptic SpongeBob.

This business is saturated in nerdery. Not the nerds in BL and GL, shaking glowsticks, solely existing to entertain an imaginary audience. Nerds who are wildly eclectic, eccentric. With collections of traffic cones and harmonicas in cowboy movies.

A mob character can have some fun conversations in here. Customers are friendly, occasionally dismissive, but there's immunity to love, in spaces as interesting as these.

It's not a long-term solution, but a short-term sanctuary.

Manga artists rarely want to draw elaborate backgrounds, and even if they do, their editors will cut it out. It's not cost-effective for a romance genre. Readers care about character dynamics, their dreams and daily lives. The journey is more important than the destination. Or in this case, scenery.

Luckily, Tokyo is ideal for living in conformity. It's the city of counterculture. An average commute time to and from school or work is 70 minutes. There's basically no chance to notice a stranger's insecurities.

In the gardens, tall poppy syndrome, wallflower syndrome, none of them are special. The sheer variety is a shield. Though that depends on the surroundings. Social hierarchy is hell. Small towns have a supportive community, but lack the advantages of a busy street.

Populated by protagonists, the most dangerous place is the safest place.

"Because you're not sitting next to Minamoto and Mayama, you've been talking less. Should we exchange seats?"

Normally, Akihito is soft-spoken, a natural leader, a nervous aura that strangely puts others at ease. Even when stretched thin by internships and chronic illness, he's nice. Not a malicious bone in his body.

He smiles mischievously at Nishimura. This is the beginning of a misunderstanding. Once Akihito makes a move, there will be Takimoto, Youji, Masaya, Touma, Ryouta, Yamazaki, and Kakei.

"If you're willing to defend the phone from our local food critic, then I'll go."

At this, Akihito sits back down, deflated like a dancing air puppet at an auto show. He doesn't trust himself to argue against Touma. As a honor roll student, Akihito is easily suckered into speeches about 100% effort and encouraging improvement. It'll be a repeat of what happened at that bowling alley with beef bowls. Absolutely horrible and hilarious.

If it weren't for Ryouta, Touma would be blacklisted from half the businesses near their university, and a quarter of the cafés bordering Utsumi's campus.

Margaret-kun goes to the same college as Harumi, Miyoshi's lover who hates Kikuchi and hamsters. All he did was borrow notes, not borrow money. Ah, anyway—Ryouta is the type to be adored by children and doted upon by the elderly. Touma, on the other hand, has made a dozen freshman cry at orientation. His tactlessness is a talent.

"I don't need the phone. It would produce more results if I left a review with the receipt."

"Order more, Touma said he'll cover the bill."

As soon as Nishimura announces this, Takimoto calls for five servings of fried chicken. Their coordination comes from high school and their moms bonding at the housewives' association. Touma has no choice but to accept the consultation fee, since they've helped him skip classes. Everyone else is confused. Except for Mayama, who cheerfully explains it to the crowd.

Silent as a ghost, Minamoto exchanges seats with Akihito, sitting on Nishimura's right side. He seems alright. A bit awkward, but not in a bad way.

"Someone's selling your information."

"Just Mayama-sensei showing off his observational skills. He hasn't been spending enough time outside."

"With you?"

"Self-projection. If you want to socialize, then seek him out. It's tough to be the one always taking initiative, isn't it? Even family can be complicated, never mind friends."

"You should stop drinking."

"I can flip a water bottle with a fifty-fifty success rate, so my sense of balance is still there."

"Barely."

Praying, Mayama places his elbows on the MIDI button pad. He steeples his fingers like an anime villain, glasses shining in six colors, as if reflecting soft squares of milk-scented nougat in a candy store. Kakei is startled by the dissonant sound.

Youji and Yamazaki share their muted amusement as Masaya's spoon soars across the table. Isn't his shock too exaggerated? Even manga should have limits.

Out of the non-single people, only Akihito and Ryouta are within hearing range.

"Thank you for being alive, Minamoto-kun, Nishimura-kun. I'm dead but you can hire someone with my assets, so they can continue my work while I peacefully reincarnate as a potted plant... I'll be contributing to the planet instead of art galleries and libraries... It's poetic because I died from a lack of oxygen..."

What's lacking is an air filter for the space between his ears.

"Please find a responsible person to water me when you're travelling. Don't laugh when you feed me rotten fertilizer... If I could be a plant disliked by cats, that would be great, and I don't particularly want a dog to chew on my leaves either, if that's possible..."

"Shut up, you're also alive. Since you're so attached to your career as a children's author, don't die or I'll drown you in dirty paint water."

While it's true that Mayama Masumi has published a popular collection of picture books under a separate pseudonym from his BL manga, Minamoto's summary is suspicious.

Haha, if thoughts could kill, Nishimura would be dead.

Tuning out the tense conversation between the mountain-water pair, the NPC villager scrolls through his phone.

Ryouta holds out the tambourine to Akihito and Nishimura, giving them an anticipatory jingle. Join in, join in, his hand mimes in motion. Just once.

Gently, the latter knocks on it like Ayato's door when he's missing clothes from his closet.

Akihito is annoyed at how affected he is by the aftermath that Nishimura left, but Ryouta has no sympathy for him. Pale eyebrows crease his forehead. Tentatively, an admonishing finger without a target touches the tambourine.

Once again, Ryouta jumps in the air, jamming to the rhythm. His joy is contagious. Masaya's competitive spirit kicks in, challenging Ryouta to a dance-off. Clapping along, Akihito is designated as the judge, anxiety disappearing. Microphones are shuffled. Takimoto switches places with Youji, searching for a song.

Yamazaki has stolen his boyfriend's ID to compare the picture to Kakei's pinched expression.

"You used to be so happy, Yuuji. What happened to you? This young man doesn't look like a misogynistic shitstain with no manners. He could be the obedient boyfriend who buys flowers for his girlfriend's parents and begs for their blessing. On both knees."

One Yuuji has a tsundere cross-dresser, the other Yuuji has a yandere hypnotist with false aphrodisiacs. Three more members and they could sign up for a club.

Smooth as spoiled yogurt, Mayama slides across the seats, settling an arm on Minamoto's shoulder.

"How long has it been since we spent time together?"

Skeptical eye contact. 

Nishimura answers Minamoto's subtle question with a shake of his head. Nobody knows the reason behind that shark-toothed grin. Maybe Mayama should visit less aquariums.

"Earlier, you two were talking about me! Take some initiative!! Take it, I'll give everything to my favorite freeloaders, even my self-eating rice cooker!!!"

Now everyone knows that they've been secretly eating his rice.

A sympathetic sigh.

"Tell me about it. Yamazaki ate my limited-edition ramen in the middle of the night. He didn't properly wash his makeup, so I mistook him as a raccoon."

Karaoke night ended with a newfound friendship between Kakei and Mayama.

Chapter Text

In the hallway, there's a blurry person on a bench, black cord across green-gray tiles, almost as if there's a jump rope patiently waiting by the library entrance. The BL world set up another flag. If someone fell, then it wouldn't be there, so this must be a recent development. 

Everyone steps over the wire, subtly different, slowing down, speeding up, skipping with a secretive smile. Someone steadies himself on his lover's shoulder. 

Takahashi lifts his right leg and right arm, as if practicing a mata-don from the manga he's reading under his breath. It'd be boring to have Yoshino in your hands too soon, but aren't you a little too bored? Be careful of voice volume.

I carry a chair from a nearby classroom. My dad's favorite pro wrestler could directly move the bench, but it's as long as seven or eight Miikos. 

Halfway there, I remember why humans invented the wheel, rolling it through the hallway. Nobody would offer their help when I'm doing nothing. A main character and a mob character pushing a chair together is a comedy skit, not cool at all.

If I held it high above my head, it might be mistaken as an improvised weapon. One incident is enough to create a delinquent from an innocent victim. I don't need that.  

In a BL world, even furniture can be a flag.

"Hey, the power outlet is inconveniently placed, isn't it? You should sit where someone won't commit double suicide with your laptop. When you're done studying, remember to return it."

The freshman blinks like she's tripped over her cord and concussed herself, but at least she's willing to sit in the chair. 

Finally, the road is clear. For future me, who might forget and fall to the floor. 

"N-n-number?"

"Room number is on the chair."

"No, that's not what I..."

I'm already walking away, walking back would be awkward. Since that classroom has no password, it should be alright. Doors don't automatically lock in this building.

There are familiar flowers and stars near the printers.

Mayama scribbling on his notepad could generate a year's worth of electricity for a city. Sparks are flying. He should wear a welding helmet, but the sparks aren't real. Hallucinatory. I should wear a gas mask. 

With a strange expression, Minamoto looks at my phone screen, then the group of girls leaving the library. 

"Don't you want a girlfriend?"

I tap on the printing app. Next is the cafeteria menu. There are categories to sort by allergies and dietary restrictions, but it doesn't apply to me. An anonymous account posted about vending machines on campus. They sell phone chargers.

"Well, I'd write myself a recommendation letter if I could, but it's not easy to date in this economy."

As expected of a handsome man, Minamoto hands over the paper, still hot from the printer. I've seen this in BL manga. The touch-starved love interest sought out warmth whenever he could, weighted blankets and exercising on stairs, stimulating pressure receptors under his skin. 

"You're the type to pay everything digitally, aren't you? When you order food at home alone, you wait for the deliveryman to leave before opening the door."

"Shut up, you have no room to talk. I'm not the one who washed pet treats with his laundry."

"Money spares your life when you're mugged. For other animals, food is currency. If I was planning to visit another country, I'd prepare accordingly."

"Humans are animals, but the way you say it is too natural."

The reason why Ayato prefers a traditional Japanese bento is because his bread gets stolen by birds and squirrels. So young and he has to pay taxes for being the class president's boyfriend. If Toujou becomes a CEO, will that shitty brat be okay? They've already fallen off a cliff.

"Thanks, I really appreciate the commentary. Could you deliver this to Ryouta? He should be in room 106 of the Kinesiology Building. You don't need the stairs or elevator."

"Don't act like a quest-giving NPC."

"That's not too far from the truth. Tsundere that he is, Yamazaki made a treasure map to improve Ryouta's terrible sense of direction, because they both cross-dressed as nurses for Halloween. Mayama-sensei, smile less."

HIs smile stretches from ear to ear, showing his gums like a toothpaste commercial. Despite his appearance, every cell in his body is rotten. To him, that would be a compliment. 

"It's just that 10 is 'to,' and 6 is 'ro,' so 106 is Touma-kun and Ryouta-kun."

"I know, Mayama-sensei. Their books are always being released one after another. If I didn't know better, I'd think that their authors were friends."

"Who says that they can't be friends?"

"If they were, they'd try to coordinate their schedules so they don't accidentally compete with each other."

"Maybe they're rivals and friends and lovers."

"Maybe they share the same editor and it's more eye-catching to release three series in succession. It could be a business strategy. A variety of product lines—"

Minamoto signals that he's having a headache. Mayama and I stop talking, and I seal up my thinking. 

We go to the cafeteria, where Ryouta conveniently picks up the plot-relevant item. I take a picture of proof for Yamazaki. Predictably, he's embarrassed by Ryouta's enthusiasm for the QR code scavenger hunt. 

'There aren't any snacks, so why is he wagging his tail like a dumb dog?'

I think for a minute before texting back.

'the real reward is~ yamakan-chan's friendship~~ is what ryouta said. he has nicknames for everyone except touma'

'Speculation-chan?'

'because yamazaki is smart~~ is what ryouta said www'

'Because I'm so smart, cute, gorgeous & precious~~ I'm going to tell the local cat cafés to blacklist you because you're a cheating bastard. ♡ Girls believe girls over boys. In certain matters, they trust beautiful cross-dressers more than girls.'

'i've only cheated on miiko, my cat'

'The number of times a man cheats is either zero or countless.'

'sorry on the behalf of men who aren't beautiful cross-dressers with 2 ids'

'You could be.'

'no thanks, psych major'

'Let's pop your therapy cherry! I heard on the grapevine that you stole Kouji's ex-girlfriend. He stalked you for a month.'

'2 weeks =/= 1 month. you were there when tachi forced kouji to apologize'

'Are you conscious around me? Sorry, I have a cute, daring & uninhibited boyfriend who begs to be bullied behind closed doors.'

'go brag about him with your other friends'

'You, me, friends? You wish.'

'bye'

Ending the conversation with a cat sticker, I begin eating my beef bowl with kimchi, shichimi, and onion. It goes well with the creamy potato salad. This is the flavor of miso and cheese. Even if there was no meat, I'd be happy to eat rice with the soup alone. 

Come to think of it, I've cooked soft-boiled eggs, but not its opposite. Onsen eggs have soft whites and firm yolks. The fragrance of sesame seeds is...

Ah, this is a BL world, not a cooking manga.

Student discounts are the best. When I enter the workforce, I don't know what I'll do without these benefits. I quickly glance at Minamoto's curry udon and Mayama's spaghetti aglio e olio. Is he internally narrating like he's in an elegant café? All roads lead to yes. 

"Mayama-sensei."

It takes a while for him to stop writing.

"Are you saying my name because you like the sound of it? Normally, there are sentences attached. I've never heard 'Mayama-sensei' or 'Mayama' by itself."

The silence is directed at Minamoto. Time to change topics.

"In high school, I visited college cafeterias to motivate myself for exams, and got mistaken as staff. 'You, with the servant's face!' I didn't know at the time, but that feeling was... cultural shock."

Simultaneously, Mayama's mood lightens and intensifies, notepad on a new page.

"So you went along with it?"

"I pretended to be a tour guide and they paid me 2 Fukuzawa Yukichi's. When I got home, I gave it to my parents, because I thought their reactions would be funny. Money well spent."

Curry udon is eaten with the side of a coughing fit.

"Were your parents concerned about the stranger who gave a minor 20,000 yen?"

I mull over Minamoto's question.

"Whatever danger had already passed, and it was a public university, so they didn't panic after the initial shock. I was probably scolded for a few days."

To the side, Mayama refills the ink in his fountain pen, spilling a drop on a napkin.

"What happened to the man?"

"She was a married woman. I never said it was a man."

"A plot twist?!"

"The national population is made of 51 percent women, nearly 3 million more women than men."

"Yet you still can't get a girlfriend. You should get a boyfriend instead."

I don't bother replying. In the drinking group chat, Touma had to track down Ryouta again, eating strawberries in a genetics class with Tomoya's niece in kindergarten-blue. Extracting DNA was their professor's excuse for a fondue party. Too bad I'm not a biology student.

If I had children and Ayato was nervous about cohabiting with Toujou, would I follow Tomoya's older sister's footsteps? Forget it, I don't have a girlfriend. 

At least I can skip the step of convincing our parents, since they're charmed by their future son-in-law.

"Who are you texting?"

I show Mayama my phone screen. He squints, suddenly shifty-eyed, and I type my guess. 

'mayama-sensei muted our group chat'

"What? What, no, of course not, how could I possibly do that to our dear friends? My phone must be broken, I'll go get it fixed tomorrow, no one will know."

Stone-faced, Minamoto separates every syllable like a line in the sand.

"Shame, on, you."

"But you also muted it???"