Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People change. Nothing ever stays the same, and coming to terms with this idea is the first step one takes into adulthood. It’s a struggle, truly. The first time you fail to recognize the person who meant everything—and more—to you for years is an out-of-body experience. It clings to your heart, your soul. It lingers in your future decisions and the way you start to view people. And still, you are also part of that constant change. Nothing molds you quite like time does.

Yet some things tend to stay unmoving. Like Inumaki right now, on the bleachers, staring ahead at the ice rink. The crowd is loud around him—only seven minutes left in the game. Some people are standing, unable to sit still. The last match of the regular season. The stakes are high, the expectations even higher. He doesn’t know a lot about hockey, but he knows enough to understand that if they win this game, for the first time in ten years, their university will be back in the playoffs.

He glances at the scoreboard. The two teams are neck and neck. Four minutes left. Inumaki doesn’t realize his eyes are locked on the center, and he’s biting his nails. Nasty habit. Truly. He tries to keep up with the puck. Two players collide, a third steals it. It’s heading toward the goal. Three more minutes. The player shoots. For a second, it feels like time stops in the stadium. Score.

Inumaki’s side of the bleachers erupts in cheers. The referee blows the whistle. They’ve won. And it’s euphoric.

They play out the remaining three minutes—the opposing team angry, their own drunk on adrenaline. Inumaki’s eyes remain fixed on one player. The final whistle blows. It’s over. The UBC Thunderbirds are announced as the winners, and the team is already celebrating. Inumaki reaches down to grab his bag from the floor. He shoots one last look through the cheering crowd to the ice rink. The center is being carried by his teammates. He pulled that stunt truly at the last minute and delivered them to the playoffs. Inumaki stares at the name on his jersey.

Fushiguro.

He squeezes through the crowd, trying to touch as few people as possible. He’s not a fan of strangers brushing up against him. He barely manages to get out to the parking lot in one piece. Once outside, the chilly air immediately freezes the damp humidity clinging to his cheeks. He pulls his scarf up over his face, hiding his nose in it. Sometimes, he misses Japan. It’s never warm enough in Canada.

Inumaki has lived in Canada for most of his life. His parents were diplomats, always on the move. They relocated here just after he turned ten. He’s in university now—about to finish his second year, majoring in physics, slowly working his way toward becoming a nuclear scientist. So what exactly was he doing at this match?

Well...

It started last Tuesday. He was in the library with a couple of friends, working on a group project, when the season’s matches came up. The only girl in their group—and in their entire class—Lia, mentioned she really wanted to see the game. It earned her a few questioning glances. Inumaki had a ticket. He always did, yet he never went to any of the matches. He was just about to offer it to her when another friend, Matthew, started teasing her.

“Didn’t know you were into sports.”

“I’m curious,” she shrugged.

“About the match or the new center?” Matthew wiggled his eyebrows, and her face heated up.

“Shut it.” She smacked him on the back of his head, and they started bickering.

Inumaki stayed silent. He never offered the ticket. If anything, for a second, he felt awfully possessive of it. Nevertheless, she ended up scoring tickets for herself and her best friend. Inumaki saw them in line—the knot he felt in his throat upon seeing her there could only be explained in one way.

He shakes off the memory. Shuffles around in his pocket for his car keys. When he finds them, he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat. His glove-clad hands tremble as he starts the ignition and turns up the heater. Minus five is truly excessive. You’d think he’d be used to it after all these years. It’s the opposite, actually. Each year feels worse than the last.

He pulls out his phone and finds a playlist. He gets rid of his coat and gloves, tossing them onto the passenger seat. It’s warm enough now. He starts the engine and rolls out of the parking space. On the way home, he drums his fingers on the steering wheel, mind wandering.

Where did they lose it?

Was it in high school? Inumaki remembers the day Fushiguro arrived at their school. Clad in black, a bored expression on his annoyingly symmetrical face, both hands in his pockets, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. The teacher introduced him to the class and asked him to say a few things about himself. Fushiguro just shrugged.

“I’m sixteen, I play hockey, and that’s about it.”

The teacher paused, clearly awkward at the lack of enthusiasm from the black-haired boy, then let him take a seat. The first day didn’t go trouble-free. Inumaki was already rolling his eyes before the class delinquent stood up to challenge the new guy. He ended up with his arms twisted behind his back—Fushiguro looking entirely unfazed as he calmly told the guy never to try that again. Then he let go, sat back down, and went on his phone like nothing had happened.

Inumaki wonders if that’s how it all began.

Fushiguro rose to popularity fast after that. He seemed indifferent to the fuss around him. He was friendly when he had to be. Inumaki never saw him hang out with anyone from class. If he thinks hard enough, he only ever saw him with his teammates once he officially joined the hockey team. Yet, every so often, their eyes would meet. Inumaki hated those moments. Each time, he felt like he’d been caught staring. But in reality, his eyes just always found Fushiguro. Fushiguro, whose gaze was so intense, Inumaki always looked away fast, flustered. He didn’t want to end up with his arms twisted back.

“Can you help me?” Inumaki remembers. It was a Friday afternoon, just before the last class. Fushiguro walked over to his desk, moved his stuff aside, and sat on the edge.

Inumaki stared at him in confusion.

“I’m shit at French. Never learned it before. I need a reliable tutor.” He said it casually. Inumaki needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Sure?” It came out more like a question than an answer.

“Cool. Wait for me after school.” And just like that, he was gone. Inumaki didn’t even have time to protest.

So he waited. Waited until Fushiguro packed up and walked out. He trailed behind him. Made eye contact with Dave, his one and only friend at that time.

“Where are y’all going?” Dave mouthed. Inumaki just shrugged.

“To mine, obviously,” Fushiguro answered instead. Then they left the school. Inumaki scrambled to text his mother: he was going over to a friend’s house, he’d be home a bit later. He worried for a second that she’d be upset, but she just requested his location and sent a heart sticker. Fair enough.

“Umm… the bus stop is that way,” Inumaki said, confused, as they took a left instead of a right at the main entrance.

“Yeah, my car, on the other hand, is this way,” Fushiguro said. And fair enough—they did walk toward the parking lot.They stopped next to a jet-black Lexus. Yup. That makes so much sense, Inumaki thought.

Fushiguro opened the trunk and chucked his backpack on top of a pile of what seemed to be hockey equipment. He glanced at Inumaki, eyebrows raised. Inumaki hesitated, then handed over his own backpack. It’s probably a good idea to get in a car with someone his age... right?

They buckled in, and Fushiguro started the car.

“How long have you been driving?” The question slipped out before Inumaki could stop it.

Fushiguro let out a laugh. Inumaki’s eyes widened slightly. So he can smile.

“Why? Afraid?” Fushiguro smirked.

“No.” A pause. Fushiguro shifted into reverse. “…A little.”

That earned a half-smile.

“Officially? I got my license a year ago.”

“And unofficially?”

“That’s a secret,” Fushiguro shrugged, and he drove off.

He was a good driver. Still, it took Inumaki a solid ten minutes to relax—almost half the ride. They pulled into the driveway of an apartment complex. Fushiguro parked and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Glad to see you survived,” he said, smirking again.

“Very funny,” Inumaki retorted, climbing out of the car.

The Fushiguros lived in a cozy apartment. It felt far more lived-in than Inumaki’s family home—probably because his parents were never around, and he spent most of his free time three streets down at his grandparents’ place.

Later on, it turned out Fushiguro had a god-given talent for picking up languages. Inumaki couldn’t take full credit for the progress, even if he wanted to. One-time tutoring turned into weekly sessions, which eventually turned into casual hangouts. Fushiguro became just Megumi, and Inumaki couldn’t have asked for more than a bag of chips, some incredibly niche anime they’d dug out from the depths of the internet, and being sprawled on Megumi’s bed in his spare clothes.

They were inseparable. The kind of friendship that just sneaks up on you. Even if Inumaki tried, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Megumi stopped being “that classmate” and became “my best friend.”

“Did you invite anyone to prom?” Megumi asked one afternoon.

He was propped up on his elbows, eyes fixed on his phone. Inumaki laid at the other end of the bed, feet against the wall, head hanging off the edge.

He squirmed. “No. You?”

“Nope.”

“That’s a lie. I saw you get asked out three times this week.”

“Yeah—asked out. I didn’t ask anybody out, though.” Still not looking up.

“Are you waiting for the right time? Do you even have anyone in mind?”

Inumaki stared at his jawline. Megumi had always had strong features, but the two years that passed had done wonders for him. He looked… manly. Inumaki still held on to some of his baby features.

“Maybe,” Megumi said quietly, and his eyes met Inumaki’s. There was something unreadable in them. There always was. It made Inumaki feel… on edge.

“Well, let me know if I can help with anything,” he offered. It sounded stupid, but he meant it.

“What about you?”

“I might ask Nora.”

“Nora?”

“Yeah.”

“Why her?”

“It just makes sense.”

Megumi held his gaze for a moment, then hummed and turned back to his phone.

Nora was a year younger than them. She and Inumaki were in the same after-school club: creative writing. She was easygoing, quiet. Inumaki truly wouldn’t mind asking her to prom. As friends. He wouldn’t want to make it weird. Now that he thought about it, he should totally do it. Girls love stuff like that, right?

So he did. He asked Nora after their club meeting on Wednesday. She seemed genuinely shocked. For a moment, Inumaki thought he was about to get rejected—but she hugged him instead, smiling brightly, and started asking questions about dress codes and color coordination.

Truth was: he had no clue about any of that.

He just listened to her unusual, excited chatter and walked her to the bus stop. On the way, he saw Megumi. He waved—but Megumi didn’t wave back. Probably didn’t see him.

Weekend plans got canceled. A shame. Inumaki had been looking forward to watching that horror anime he’d seen inReddit post. But there wasn’t much he could do. Megumi said he wasn’t feeling well. And just when Inumaki was about to offer to drop by with soup from their favorite place, Nora asked if he wanted to go to the mall with her. And… well, he did.

After that, life got busy. Weekend plans faded into the background.

Inumaki remembers prom night vividly—one of the most core-shaking nights of his life.

He picked up Nora in his dad’s BMW. He’d finally gotten his license—after Megumi nagged him for a year straight. They arrived on time, took pictures, made small talk. Nora was just about to convince him to dance when Megumi walked in.

And he wasn’t alone.

Lydia, the cheerleading captain, was on his arm. Megumi’s tie matched her dress. He wore that same indifferent expression he always did—but something about him felt… different.

“You coming to dance?” Nora tugged at his hand.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

Inumaki got up from the table, throat tight. Why wouldn’t Megumi tell him he had a date?

It just felt… like betrayal.

Nora held his hand as they moved through the crowd toward the dance floor. Inumaki’s eyes flicked toward Megumi, now surrounded by people, until it became impossible to justify craning his neck any longer. Then he turned his attention back to Nora—just as the music changed.

“This is my favorite song,” she mouthed, smiling wide.

Inumaki smiled back, though the knot in his throat remained.

They danced for a while. Nora looked flushed, the pink in her cheeks matching her dusty rose dress. Inumaki realized he hadn’t even complimented her choice. He probably should’ve. She’d talked about it for days. It still wasn’t too late.

The DJ said something into the mic, and the upbeat atmosphere shifted. A slow song began. Couples on the floor moved closer. Inumaki looked at Nora—there was a soft smile on her lips. That’s a green light, right?

He stepped closer. They attempted to slow dance.

The first few steps were awkward—he wasn’t sure where to place his hands, and she stepped on her dress twice—but they found a rhythm. Inumaki didn’t mind the way she rested her head on his shoulder, or the light citrusy scent of her shampoo, or the sweet floral note of her perfume.

It was just… okay. Comforting.

Until it wasn’t.

A strange feeling crawled up his spine. He opened his eyes, instinctively raising his gaze—and there it was.

Megumi.

Standing across the room.

Every now and then, a person walking by would block Inumaki’s view, but when the crowd parted again, their eyes locked. Lydia clung to Megumi’s arm, but his focus was fixed entirely on Inumaki. And if Inumaki didn’t know Megumi so well, he would’ve thought he looked hurt. Furious, even. But reality was simpler: Megumi hated formalities like this. Hated people touching him. That was all.

Inumaki gave him a small smile. Before he could catch Megumi’s reaction, Nora lifted her head from his shoulder, her face coming into view. He shifted his attention back to her. She looked hesitant.

The song was ending. Inumaki felt parched. His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

It happened fast.

Nora rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Inumaki froze, surprised.

The song ended. Someone nearby let out a cheer. They pulled apart, both flushed and flustered.

“I’ll find something to drink,” Inumaki said, glancing at Nora. They were back at their table. She nodded, fingers fiddling with the locks of hair framing her face. He turned to leave and walked straight into Megumi.

“Damn, you scared me.”

“I’m stealing your boyfriend for a second,” Megumi said to Nora, and something in the way he said boyfriend made her face flush a deep red. There was a sarcastic undertone, but also something... bitter.

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Inumaki by the upper arm and dragged him toward the doors. Megumi dodged through the crowd, ignoring everyone who tried to stop him to chat—unusual, even for him.

The second the early June air hit Inumaki, it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. Holy shit. He just had his first kiss. What now? How was he supposed to even—

“What was that?” Megumi’s voice sliced through the fog in his brain.

“What was what?”

“You. Nora.”

“Oh.” Inumaki could feel his ears going red. “No idea. I wasn’t expecting it.”

Megumi scoffed.

“You came with Lydia. I’m glad you said yes to her. She was... persistent.” He tried to joke, but Megumi’s face grew more unreadable by the second.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“You good?”

No answer. Just silence and Megumi turning away to face the parking lot. Inumaki hated talking to his back.

“Do you like her?” Megumi asked after a long pause.

Do I like her? Inumaki hadn’t really thought about it. Nora was cool. Easy to talk to. The only girl who didn’t feel like a chore to be around. So maybe that meant something.

“Yeah. She’s cool.”

With that, Megumi turned back toward the building without another word. Inumaki scrambled to catch up.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”

“See you Saturday?”

“Sure.”

They ended up seeing each other much earlier.

Nora started yawning not-so-discreetly around midnight. Inumaki offered to drive her home, and she accepted. They walked to the car hand in hand. The ride was quiet. He dropped her off in front of her house and was about to say goodnight when she didn’t move. She just sat there, fidgeting with her hands.

Right. Idiot.

“You looked beautiful today.”

There. Not too late.

Her face lit up, eyes wide and blue in the dim car light.

“Thank you. So... are we... I mean, I’ve liked you for a while.”

She kept tucking the same strand of hair that kept falling in her face, and it was distracting. Inumaki reached out and tucked it behind her ear himself. The movement brought them closer than he realized.

Kissing her just seemed... natural.

She sighed softly and cupped his face with both hands. The kiss was clumsy but sweet. They might’ve stayed like that longer, if not for the porch light flicking on. Her dad came out.

Nora bolted out of the car, a flustered mess. Inumaki watched her run inside, then leaned back in the driver’s seat.

Wait.

Does he have a girlfriend now?

Once at home, he barely had time to kick off his shoes and ditch his jacket when his phone rang. Megumi.

“Hello?”

“Downstairs,” Megumi slurred, then hung up.

Inumaki rushed to the intercom, double-tapped, and sure enough—Megumi was slouched against the front gate.

“What are you doing here? Your mom’s gonna kill you,” he said, unlocking the gate.

“Your parents home?”

“Guess.”

“Perfect.”

Megumi smelled faintly of alcohol as he passed by.

“Did you drink?”

“Maybe.”

“Great. Since when do you drink?”

“Since today.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

Inumaki headed toward the kitchen, flipping on lights.

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“Home.”

“Awesome.”

Megumi accepted the glass but barely sipped it.

“Lydia?”

“Pass.”

“You didn’t take her home?!”

“Why would I?”

“She came to prom with you, dimwit.”

“No, she didn’t.” Megumi wandered over to Inumaki’s side of the kitchen island.

“I saw you two together.”

“She showed up when I did. Said something about fate. Doesn’t matter. I’m sleepy”

“You want me to drive you home?”

“No. I want to sleep here.”

“At least text your mom—”

“Already did.”

They stood close. Too close. Inumaki went to step back, but Megumi caught him by the shoulder and rested his chin on top of his head. Ha, he’s a bit annoying.

“Take the shower first.”

“Can’t we just shower together?”

“No, that’s weird.”

“We’re both dudes.”

“Cool. Still no.”

“We shower together on my team.”

“Okay? Congrats? Bathroom’s that way.”

Everything felt routine after that. Megumi ran the shower, Inumaki dug through drawers for clothes that would fit him. He tossed them onto the bed, then started unbuttoning his shirt.

Megumi stepped out of the bathroom, steam clinging to his skin, a towel around his hips, another one draped over his head.

“Did you sober up?”

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

Megumi dropped the towel he was using on his hair, then he crossed the room toward him.

“I left clothes for you,” Inumaki said, pointing to the bed. Megumi’s eyes were on him, though. Not the clothes.

“I’m gonna take a shower too.”

He tried to move past him. Megumi grabbed his wrist.

“She kissed you first?” His voice was quiet.

“What—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I... yeah.”

He was yanked closer.

“Figures.” Megumi’s eyes searched his face.

“You’re acting kind of insane,” Inumaki muttered, heart racing.

“I am going insane.”

Then Megumi kissed him.

It wasn’t like with Nora. Nothing shy or uncertain about it. Megumi’s lips were warm and sure and trembling just slightly.

It lit something up in Inumaki’s chest.

He barely noticed being walked backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. Megumi didn’t stop. He didn’t even falter. His hands cradled Inumaki’s face, and the kiss deepened. Urgent. Possessive.

Inumaki gasped for air. Megumi took it as an invitation—tilted his head, and kissed him deeper, tongue tracing along his.

This was not nothing.
This was everything.

Megumi’s tongue finds Inumaki’s, and it’s like a shockwave. Inumaki feels his heart pounding in his chest, breath hitching as the scent of his own body wash—now clinging to something undeniably familiar in Megumi—surrounds him. It envelops him. He feels like he’s melting.

Then it’s gone. Ripped from him just as suddenly as it had swept him up.

Megumi is already on his feet, two steps away from the bed where Inumaki lies panting, stunned. He scrambles upright, and their eyes meet. Both immediately look away.

Inumaki all but runs to the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, pressing his back against it. His pulse is deafening, matching the hum of the bathroom light in an awkward symphony. Why is his heart beating so fast?

Outside, he hears Megumi curse.

Right. This was wrong. That’s why it beats so fiercely.

He half expects Megumi to be gone by the time he comes out of the bathroom. But he’s there, already under the blankets. The window is open. Inumaki dresses in silence. He lifts the blanket and slides in beside him. They don’t touch. He’s not even sure if Megumi is awake.

He turns slightly, facing Megumi’s silhouette. The way the moonlight outlines his figure feels surreal—like a dream.

"You asleep?" he whispers.

Megumi tenses. "I wish I was."

"Why did you tell me you weren’t there with Lydia?" Inumaki knows he probably shouldn’t press.

The sheets rustle. Megumi turns to face him, their eyes locking in the dark. Inumaki’s heart picks up again.

"Because I wasn’t."

"Your tie matched her dress."

Megumi smirks. "It’s just a blue tie. I promise you, I went alone."

"Hmm."

"Toge?"

Inumaki meets his gaze. Megumi shifts closer.

"Please don’t hate me."

"I don’t," Inumaki answers softly.

Megumi reaches out, fingers brushing his cheek. It’s oddly intimate. Inumaki leans in slightly, watching how his hair falls to the side, just barely uncovering his forehead.

His heart aches. A dull, confusing squeeze. Then Megumi kisses him—soft, slow, and tender. Their mouths move lazily, lips barely grazing, and yet Inumaki feels like his heart might give out.

They never speak about it again.

Everything returns to how it used to be. Inumaki ends up dating Nora. It doesn’t last more than three months. Looking back, it had been naive to expect more. With university approaching—across the country—it was always doomed. When they finally call it quits, Inumaki doesn’t even feel sad.

He finishes packing the last of the clothes he’s taking with him. One last look around his room. He expects it to feel... nostalgic. It doesn’t. There’s nothing tugging at him—except the bed. That stirs something. That night.

He never really came to terms with it. With what happened after prom. It was never talked about, never clarified. And now, with both of them heading in different directions, it might never be.

He locks the door behind him.

Outside, he sits on the stairs. He’s an hour early. Most of his belongings were already shipped to Vancouver. His mom arranged everything—it should arrive today, a full two weeks before university starts. He fiddles with the zipper of his suitcase, nerves gnawing at him.

He wishes his parents were here to see him off.

But he’s long since learned not to expect that.

He said his goodbyes to his grandparents yesterday. There were tears. On both sides. He’ll miss them the most.

Then he hears footsteps. Fast ones.

Megumi appears at the gate, panting.

Inumaki stands, surprised. "Let me in," Megumi wheezes. Inumaki unlocks the gate quickly. As soon as it swings open, Megumi pulls him into a tight hug.

"I thought you had camp."

"Fuck the camp," Megumi mutters into his shirt. Inumaki squirms, then gives up. Megumi is too strong.

They stay like that—longer than they probably should.

"When’s the car coming?"

Just as he asks, the cab turns onto the street. "Now."

"Fuck. I hate this." Megumi loosens his grip. Inumaki slips away to grab his suitcase. The car parks as he steps out the gate.

"One second," he tells the driver, who nods and gets back in.

He turns to Megumi. "I gotta go."

"Text me when you land?"

"I will."

"Call me when you get to the dorms?"

"You’ll be busy with your farewell party."

"Fuck the party."

"Don’t be like that." Inumaki tries to smile. It feels fake. Megumi doesn’t smile back.

He just stands there, conflicted. Something flickers in his eyes. Then, abruptly, he cups Inumaki’s face and kisses him. Just a soft, fleeting touch of lips. But it’s enough to send Inumaki’s heart into a frenzy.

The cab ride is a blur. So is the five-hour flight to Vancouver. He moves into the dorm, but for a while, he just exists. A lingering ache in his chest.

It’s probably nothing, he tells himself. They’ve always been bad with boundaries.

Their friendship suffers.

Inumaki starts avoiding Megumi’s calls and texts. Anxiety coils in his chest every time he sees his name. He doesn’t know how to address it. Or explain it.

So he focuses on university. On friends. His roommate, Mark Lee, is his complete opposite—social sciences major, hockey player, resident frat guy, aspiring rapper. Worst part about the latter: he’s actually good.

Mark is also the reason for their first real fight.

See, Mark’s a social butterfly. He lives for Instagram. That’s how a photo lands on his public profile—and by extension, on Inumaki’s very private account.

It’s from a night out. Inumaki, not studying at all, is in a bunny hat, stunned mid-laugh, while Jaemin kisses his cheek. Mark's laughing, Jaemin’s childhood friend Jeno is glaring at the camera. Just a dumb, funny memory.

Then Mark looks up from his phone. "Yo, who the hell is Fushiguro?"

Inumaki perks up. "My friend. Why?"

"He commented, and I quote, ‘Glad to see you’re that busy, Toge.’ Did I just bust your cover?"

Inumaki freezes.

"Sorta. I told him I was too busy to talk."

Mark drops the ball he was spinning. "Ex?"

"What?" Inumaki chokes.

"Hey, no judgment, dude."

"He’s not my ex. Or anything like that.”

"Bro, chill. I won’t judge. Yuta’s bi. Jaemin’s gay. I’m cool with whatever."

"I’m not gay. Or bisexual."

"That’s cool too." Mark shrugs, scrolling again. But Inumaki isn’t done.

"I’m serious," he presses.

"Dude, it’s none of my business. Your phone’s ringing, though."

Inumaki doesn’t check the caller ID. Mistake.

"What?" he snaps.

"I’m sorry—did I disturb your study time? Or are you busy making out with men?" Megumi’s voice is cold, biting.

Inumaki bolts out of the room. Mark watches him go, confused.

"You seriously called me to say that?"

"I’m honestly surprised you picked up."

"Megumi, please."

There’s silence. Then:

"I shouldn’t have called. Good night."

"Wait," Inumaki says quickly. The line is still open. "I’m sorry for lying. I just needed some time."

"You know what? Have at it," Megumi spits before hanging up.

Inumaki stands in the hallway, stunned. His chest feels tight. He walks back to the dorm.

Mark finally asks, "What was that about?"

"I wish I knew."

There’s a pause.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you—" Inumaki hesitates. It’s stupid. "Never mind."

"You good?"

"Yeah. It’s nothing."

"M’kay, dude."

Megumi doesn’t reach out. Weeks pass. The anxiety inside Inumaki only grows. Fall turns to winter, and the first exam season hits. The pressure to meet expectations, combined with Mark constantly whining about hockey season, grinds at Inumaki’s nerves. He just has to survive the next two weeks—then it’s Christmas break. A short pause to breathe. Especially with Mark flying home, leaving the dorm empty. Inumaki looks forward to the solitude. He doesn’t know yet how fleeting it will be.

The day before Christmas, he wakes up to silence. Mark must’ve left early. The door opening and closing barely registered through his sleep. There’s a Post-it on his nightstand with Mark’s messy handwriting: “Don’t miss me too much. Merry Christmas, bro.” He smiles and gets up. He doesn’t check his phone. He should have.

He steps into the cold, heading toward his favorite coffee shop, when he spots a familiar figure. At first, he thinks he’s imagining things. But as the person draws closer, reality hits.

Megumi.

Before he can say anything, he’s pulled into a tight hug. Arms wrap around him. A whisper too close to his ear: “I missed you. I’m sorry.”

He stands frozen.

“What are you doing here?” Inumaki finally asks, prying himself from Megumi’s arms.

“We always spend Christmas together,” Megumi shrugs. Snowflakes stick to his bangs.

“Yeah, with your family. Your mother will be devastated—”

“It was her idea, actually.”

“What?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Where are you staying? How long? What if I flew home and you came for nothing?”

“Woah, slow down.” Megumi lifts a hand. “I texted you at the airport. You never read it. I’m staying ‘til the end of Christmas. Got other stuff to deal with after that. I’m in a hotel five streets away.”

Inumaki blinks. “What if we’d missed each other?”

“I asked your mom. She said you were staying.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Um… coffee?”

“Cool. Lead the way.”

They walk side by side. Inumaki keeps glancing over like Megumi might vanish. But he’s still there—when they reach the café, when they order, when they sit at a table.

“I’m sorry too,” Inumaki says.

Megumi is playing with his pinky. His touch is warm—it seeps through Inumaki like sunlight.

“For lying,” Inumaki continues. “I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“I’m over it. But I appreciate the apology.”

Megumi offers a smile, but it fades when he spots something—or someone—over Inumaki’s shoulder. His expression turns stony.

“Toge!” A cheerful voice. Jaemin.

“Latte for you—I added cinnamon. Americano for you, I guess?” Jaemin shoots Megumi a bright smile. It usually bewitches people. Not Megumi. He’s unfazed.

“Thanks, Jaem. How come you’re working today?”

“Last shift. Then I’m on break too.”

“Not going home?”

“Nope.”

“What about Christmas?”

“Spending it at Jeno’s.”

“He’s staying too?”

“Was supposed to go home. Changed his mind last minute. Been acting weird lately.” Jaemin chatters on while Megumi clears his throat. “Oh, right. Na Jaemin—Toge’s friend,” he adds, offering Megumi a hand and a blinding smile.

Megumi stares at it. Doesn’t take it.

“Don’t be an ass,” Inumaki warns.

“Fushiguro Megumi,” he says, like it’s being pulled from him with tweezers.

“Aren’t you delightful,” Jaemin replies, unbothered. He ruffles Inumaki’s hair before walking away. Inumaki laughs under his breath.

“Friend, huh?” Megumi mutters.

“Yeah.” Inumaki sips his drink. Warm. Comforting.

“Awfully touchy.”

“Not everyone hates it like you do.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You only tolerate it from me and a few others.”

“I like it when you touch me,” Megumi says. Quiet. Steady.

Inumaki swallows. His throat tightens.

“Right. Yeah.”

They talk like nothing’s changed. But Inumaki’s chest feels tight. The kind of pressure that doesn’t come from words.

Later, they walk through the snow. Inumaki rubs his hands together. It doesn’t help.

“Give it to me,” Megumi says, taking his hands and breathing warmth onto them. He rubs them gently between his palms.

“It’s green,” Inumaki mumbles as the crosswalk changes.

Megumi lets go of one hand. The other he keeps—and slips into his coat pocket.

They end up in Megumi’s hotel room. It’s spacious. Clean. The double bed looks untouched. Megumi rummages through his duffel.

“What are you looking for?” Inumaki asks.

“Your present,” Megumi says, pulling out a small wrapped box.

“What is it?” Inumaki reaches for it, but Megumi pulls it back.

“Nope. Not until Christmas Day.”

“That’s stupid.”

“My rule. Or I’m not giving it to you.”

“You’re taller. That’s cheating.”

“Promise me you won’t open it.”

“Fine,” Inumaki holds out his hand. Megumi places the box into it.

“Can I shake it?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Inumaki gives it a shake. No sound. He pouts.

“Can I guess?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No buts. Wanna watch a stupid Christmas movie?” Megumi gestures toward the TV.

“Sure.”

Inumaki places the gift on the nightstand and climbs onto the bed. Megumi follows, remote in hand. His hair’s still damp from the snow earlier.

Inumaki watches him. Wonders what he’s thinking. Megumi turns, about to say something. The sarcasm doesn’t come. Their eyes meet.

He doesn’t know who leans in first. But their lips meet, soft and sure. The TV murmurs in the background, long forgotten.

Inumaki thinks: This is fine. They missed each other in ways they’ll never talk about. So they do this instead.

It doesn’t feel weird.

It’s just the way their friendship is.

Always the same.

Winter break passes in the blink of an eye. Between seeing Megumi off at the airport and greeting Mark when he comes back—with beer and fried chicken (don’t ask how their room smelled after that)—Inumaki busies himself with studying. Exam season passes in a blur, and Inumaki is face-down, becoming one with his mattress after his last test. Mark barges into the room.

“Dude, you won’t believe this shit.”

“What?” Inumaki’s voice is muffled by his bedding.

“We’re getting a new hockey player from Toronto. Coach says he’s a big dog—agencies already have their eyes on him. And get this: he’s a year younger than me.”

“That’s cool, Mark. I’m very happy for you,” Inumaki mumbles as he flops onto his back. Mark is buzzing with energy, and it's infectious.

“Bit of a red flag that he’s switching mid-year, but apparently it's for personal reasons.”

“Who is it?”

“We haven’t been given a name yet. I’ve got a few guesses. We’ll know when the transfer's signed.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is exciting. Once the season starts, you have to come to the matches,” Mark insists, launching into a frenzied yapping session about hockey that Inumaki can’t seem to care about. It reminds him of Megumi though. He’s been MIA—probably busy with exams. Inumaki wonders how he juggles hockey and studies. Hopefully better than Mark, whose grades were... concerning.

Inumaki learns before the first match of the season that the “big dog” player his uni signed is named Fushiguro.

Yes. Fushiguro Megumi.

He stands wide-eyed next to their table as Mark greets him, and Megumi just sits there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m sorry, but… can we talk for a second?” Inumaki’s words are directed at Megumi. He nods and stands, and Inumaki practically drags him out.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m Mark’s teammate.”

“No. At the university.”

“I attend the uni.”

“Why the fuck would you transfer mid-year?”

“No reason.”

“No reason my ass. You wanted to get into Toronto so you could pursue hockey on a higher level. What are you doing here?”

“According to Mark, I’m saving their asses.”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Inumaki doesn’t realize how loud he’s gotten.

“Why are you so upset about it?” There’s a shift in Megumi’s eyes.

“I’m not upset, I’m just—”

He’s cut off by a hand on his face, squishing his cheeks. He shoots a side eye. Of course. Jaemin.

“Toge~!” Jaemin calls his name cheerfully and presses a loud smooch on his cheek. Ah, him and his antics. Jeno is right behind him and yanks Jaemin off.

“Rude,” Jaemin pouts.

“He had a lot to drink. I’m sorry,” Jeno says and extends a hand to Megumi. “Glad you could make it, man.”

“You two know each other?” Inumaki asks, stunned.

“Same team,” Megumi shrugs.

“Let’s head back?” Inumaki says, skipping past Megumi.

“Wait.”

Megumi grips his wrist.

“What’s… what’s with you and blondie?” Megumi nods toward where Jaemin disappeared.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” They hold eye contact. Inumaki genuinely doesn’t know.

“He’s always like that.”

“Aha. Please make him stop.”

 “What?”

“Make him stop. It’s annoying.”

“You can’t just come here and call my friends annoying.”

“Sure I can.” Megumi heads back into the bar. Inumaki trails behind.

The whole night turns into a mess. Inumaki doesn’t know where it slipped up. They had fun. Played stupid drinking games. Jaemin lost all of them. Inumaki lost his fair share too—he’s terrible at holding his liquor. Eventually, they step outside for air. Inumaki isn’t sure how he ended up in Megumi’s jacket. But it doesn’t matter.

Not when one minute he’s holding Jaemin by the waist so he doesn’t fall, and the next, he’s pressed against a brick wall, kissing him. Too much spit. Too much tongue. Inumaki can’t help but think—Megumi is so much better at this.

They pull apart, flushed. They lock eyes. Jaemin is the first to laugh. Inumaki follows. They stand there, shaking with laughter.

“Oh, that was absolute shit,” Jaemin giggles and steadies himself against the wall.

“What even was that?”

“Ah, I don’t even know. I’m sorry for coming onto you.” His words are slurred.

“It’s cool. We can forget it happened.”

“Can we?”

“Yeah. I don’t swing that way.”

“Oh?” Jaemin looks surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing. I could’ve sworn…” He shakes his head. “Jen was right then.”

“About?”

“He said you freaked when Mark assumed Megumi was your ex.” Inumaki grimaces. “Don’t feel bad. Mark can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

They return a few minutes later. Jaemin sits beside Jeno, who eyes him suspiciously. Inumaki sits beside Mark. He yawns. Mark nags him. Megumi’s eyes burn holes into his temple. Inumaki drinks more. Mark helps him back to the dorm.

“Question,” Inumaki slurs. “Truth only.”

“Shoot. Shit, you’re heavier than you look.” Mark grunts, letting Inumaki fall onto his bed.

“Did you or did you not tell Jeno that you thought I was gay?” Mark stills.

“’M not mad.”

“Sorry, dude. I felt really embarrassed about it and needed to tell a trusted adult.”

“Mhm.” Inumaki scoots up.

“C’mon, at least let me help you get your jacket off.” Mark tries, fails.

“Why did you think I was gay?”

“I never said I thought you were gay.”

“You implied it.”

“Well... I knew more about your friend Megumi than you, and I live with you. I figured it was fresh, and you had no one to talk to about it.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Stupid or not, when he left that petty comment under my post, I thought it was confirmed. And then the school switch? Dude. I’ve got a best friend—I love him, but he’d never switch universities just to hang out with me.”

He yanks off Inumaki’s jacket. Wait, what?

“Wait a minute.” Inumaki springs up. Their foreheads collide.

“Dude, what the frick?!” Mark rubs his forehead.

“What did you say?”

“I said I’ve got a best friend, and he’d never switch unis to hang out with me.”

“Why are you saying that?”

“Because that’s what Megumi told Jeno when you were outside with Jaemin.”

“What?”

Inumaki’s stomach turns. He barely makes it to the shared bathroom before he throws up.

He doesn’t retain much from that night. He remembers kissing Jaemin. He wills himself to forget it. It's not one of his proudest moments.

He swears off alcohol. Based on the headache and taste in his mouth, it must’ve been ugly.

Next time they all end up at a gathering, Mark tells the group how Inumaki threw up. Jaemin laughs. Megumi gives him a concerned look. They leave it at that.

They lose the season too. Barely. But they miss the playoffs. Mark is devastated. Megumi is pissed. Jeno is hard to read.

Megumi carried the team.

Inumaki attended most of the matches. He got used to the way Megumi would step out of the rink in winners’ glory, tossing his helmet, searching for him with that excited smile. He also got used to seeing him storm off into the changing rooms, muttering curses.

In the end, all his hard work went down the drain.

They’re walking back to the dorms. Megumi lives in another building. Inumaki just… wants to be near him right now.

They walk in silence. At the front door, Inumaki hesitates.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He doesn’t know how to navigate this.

“Can you come up?” Megumi asks. Inumaki blinks. Is he allowed?

“My roommate’s out for the weekend. I really don’t wanna be alone.”

“Uh… I don’t know if that’s allowed?”

“It’s cool. You just can’t spend the night.”

“Lead the way, then.” Inumaki starts walking.

Their rooms aren’t all that different. Same layout, just a different shade of wood. Megumi’s roommate is tidier—Inumaki notices. He also realizes Megumi never mentioned the guy. Then again, he’d only moved in a few months ago. Megumi drops his bag on the floor, shrugs off his coat and shoes. Inumaki follows suit, handing over his coat for Megumi to hang.

He’s about to speak. He doesn’t get the chance.

Megumi is all over him—mouth pressed hard against his, one arm curling around his waist, the other cradling his face. The breath is knocked out of Inumaki. For a second, he forgets to kiss back. Megumi’s tongue brushes his bottom lip and Inumaki parts his lips instinctively—his heart slamming against his ribs. His fingers reach up, brushing Megumi’s cheekbone. He feels him flinch, just barely, before he exhales into the kiss.

Inumaki knows Megumi needs this. There’s frustration and exhaustion behind every movement. He doesn’t expect to be lifted off the floor. He squirms as Megumi picks him up, but doesn’t resist. Megumi carries him to the desk, sets him down, steps between his legs, and kisses him like he's trying to erase the world.

It’s rough. Borderline violent. Inumaki can barely keep up.

He sighs into the kiss, and Megumi pulls back, just a fraction.

“Fuck,” Megumi breathes, and dives back in.

His hand is on Inumaki’s thigh, kneading the muscle firmly—too firmly. Inumaki shifts in discomfort and then—oh.

Their hips press together.

Heat slams into him. He can feel Megumi, hard against him. There’s no mistaking it. Inumaki’s eyes drop for a second. He sees it. Panic blooms in his chest like wildfire.

This... this isn’t what friends do.

They really screwed up that night.

Inumaki doesn’t know how or when it crossed the line. He remembers the frantic kissing, the way Megumi’s hands knew exactly where to touch. He remembers the moans—soft, desperate, swallowed into each other’s mouths.

Like they’d been starving.

He’s walking home now, past eleven, cold gnawing at his fingers. Images flash behind his eyes. The way Megumi kissed his neck, his collarbones, his chest. The way Inumaki gripped his hair, pulled him closer. The flick of fingers over his nipples.

He doesn’t remember when their pants came undone—just that suddenly Megumi had both of their cocks in his hand. Stroking. Rhythm steady. Grip strong.

He remembers coming first, lips smashed against Megumi’s to keep from making a sound. Megumi came not long after—between them, sticky and warm.

After that, it blurred.

There were kisses. Quiet ones. Soft ones. Then shouting. Inumaki snapped. He left. Slammed the door behind him.

Now, the cold doesn’t compare to the ache under his skin.

They tried to fix it. It never worked.

Eventually, they just let things... fade.

Mark kept asking about it, and Inumaki kept dodging. He pushed through the semester, finished his exams, and flew home without saying goodbye. He hated that Megumi had transferred. Hated himself for agreeing to those stupid French lessons in the first place.

The last stab at friendship came in mid-July.

Inumaki was working part-time at an art center when he bumped into Nora. He braced for awkwardness. Instead, she smiled and invited him out for a meal—for old times’ sake.

He went.

“No, no, I get it now,” Nora laughed, waving off the past like it didn’t sting anymore. “It hurt back then, yeah, but then it all made sense.”

“What does that mean?” Inumaki asked, sipping his beer.

“I mean... you never really connected with me. At first I thought it was me—not enough, you know? But then I realized I was just convenient. The right time. Right place. But you were never looking at me.”

“What?”

“Megumi.”

“What?” Inumaki’s stomach dropped.

“Why are you so shocked—” She stopped mid-sentence. “Wait. Don’t tell me he never told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Don’t do this to me,” Nora groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Did I just yank him out of the closet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.” Inumaki opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand. “But it’s kind of an open secret. Megumi is in love with you.”

“That’s... absurd.”

“Is it, though? He left Toronto after half a semester just to be near you.”

“He did not—” Then something clicked. “Because that’s what Megumi told Jeno—” Oh.

“I thought by now you two would be together. Or... something.”

“Or something... Nora, I’m not gay. I keep saying this—I’m not gay.”

“You kissed me back then like it was a chore.”

“That’s not true!” he said quickly.

“Fine. Then kiss me. Like you mean it.”

He stared at her. She didn’t budge. He sighed, leaned in, and kissed her. Lips soft, lemony from her drink. Her perfume too sweet. His back started to ache from the angle. He pulled away.

He was about to crack a joke—until he saw the figure behind her.

His stomach twisted.

“See?” Nora said, noticing his expression. “Felt like a chore.”

Then she turned. Her breath caught.

“Is that—oh shit.”

Megumi was gone.

“Am I—?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Nora patted his back. “You might wanna fix that.”

“You want me to go after him?” Inumaki asked, hands trembling.

“Unless you want me to drag you to his house.”

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing his coat.

“Leave it. I’ll drop your stuff at your grandparents’. Just go.”

“You’re the best,” he said, already running.

He caught up to Megumi a few blocks down, crashing into his back.

“Can we... talk?”

“No,” Megumi said coldly. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Please,” Inumaki begged. “Just one chance.”

Megumi kept walking. Inumaki followed.

“Just—please.”

Finally, Megumi stopped. Inumaki faced his back again. He hates talking to his back.

“I didn’t realize,” he started, voice rough. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, I thought... I don’t know. I should have known.”

Megumi was quiet.

“I was patient,” he said finally. “I thought you just needed time—to figure it out. I thought you’d find your way back to me. But instead, you let me taste something I could never keep.”

“That’s not how it—”

“And Nora? I understood. Even Jaemin. I thought that’s what you needed to realize.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Please. You two go outside all giggly, come back flushed and lip-swollen? It’s not rocket science.”

“I’m... sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Megumi scoffed. “I wanted too much.”

“No, that’s not—”

“You were right, back in the dorm. This isn’t what friends do. And that’s on me—for thinking I could be your friend. I can’t.”

Inumaki couldn’t take it. Every word was another crack in his chest. He grabbed Megumi, kissed him.

A desperate, silent plea.

It barely lasted a second. Megumi broke it. Held his hand instead.

“Please... don’t do this to me,” he whispered.

And then he left.

Inumaki stood there, heart bleeding out through the tear in Megumi’s voice. He couldn’t even look at him—not when he saw his own reflection in the tears in his eyes.

Inumaki parks the car in front of the dorms. The drive home was hazy. He comes back to an empty building. Makes sense — Mark is probably out celebrating their win.

He checks his messages. Jaemin had asked if he was going to swing by. He types out a short no, wishes them a good time. Jaemin’s reply is almost immediate. Inumaki doesn’t open it. He heads for the shower instead.

He takes his time.

Then he collapses onto his bed and checks Mark’s stories. There’s one of the team with their trophy. He taps like. The next is a short video — Mark jumping on their coach, shouting. He curses him out. Likes that too.

Something catches his eye in the background. He holds the screen still, squints. What—

He quickly reopens his chat with Jaemin.

Na Jaemin 17:11

:(

Inumaki Toge 17:59

You’re dating Jeno????

Na Jaemin 18:02

Busted 😏

Inumaki Toge 18:03

Wtf

I mean congratulations??

Na Jaemin 18:03

🤣🤣🤣

Dont do me like that

Inumaki Toge 18:05

Mb

I was genuinely shocked

Na Jaemin 18:07

How did you even find out

?

Inumaki Toge 18:07

Mark’s story

Na Jaemin 18:09

?

Ah

Ffs

Inumaki laughs and locks his phone. Good for them. Really.

Still, he can’t help but wonder — would they have turned out okay, too? If he hadn’t been so blind. If he’d let himself feel things instead of constantly rationalizing them away.

He sighs.

His fingers unconsciously fiddle with the bracelet on his wrist — the one Megumi gave him last Christmas. He put it on the day he opened it. It never came off.

Looking back, it’s so fucking obvious.

Megumi wasn’t just a friend — not for long. And Inumaki didn’t want to admit how much more it had become. He stares at his phone screen, gone dark now. Is it even fixable? It’s been months.

He can’t forget the last time they talked. The way Megumi’s dark eyes shimmered with tears. The way they linger in his memory.

Megumi always shined — no matter what. He never needed people to orbit him, yet they did. Admired him for his quiet confidence, for the way he followed instinct over opinion.

Letting him fade away hurt like hell.

Inumaki saw him play today, even though he swore he’d keep his distance. But the thought of someone else touching Megumi—being close to him—it makes his chest burn.

It’s greed. He knows it.

"You let me have a bite of something you knew I could never have."

Megumi’s words echo in his dreams sometimes.

So this is what it feels like. Wanting. And not having.

What kind of idiot thinks kissing someone like that was just a way to say the things they couldn’t articulate?

He reaches for his phone. Unlocks it.

Scrolls through so many messages — they really haven’t talked in ages.

His last text is still there. Unread.

Is he blocked?

Probably not. They’re still in the group chat with Mark and the others.

His fingers hover over the keyboard.

I miss yo/
I miss/
I/

He deletes it.

No guts.

But God, he wants to say it all. Instead, he reopens the chat with Jaemin. Sends a short message. The reply comes when he’s already dressed in his winter coat.

Maybe... this night could be about winning.

He arrives at the restaurant Jaemin sent him. Outside, Jeno is smoking with someone named Yuta, he has seen him around. Inumaki hesitates, eyes on them, but locks the car and walks over.

Jeno spots him. Cocks an eyebrow, exhales a cloud of smoke.

Inumaki nods.
“Megumi still here?”

There’s a glint in Jeno’s eye.

“He is, but—”

“Thanks.” Inumaki’s already moving.

He pulls his scarf off as he enters, eyes scanning.

He sees Jaemin first — bright pink hair like a beacon. Then his gaze lands on him.

Megumi’s sitting against the wall, cheeks slightly flushed, head tilted as he listens. Lia is beside him, leaned in close.

Megumi looks... relaxed.

“Okay, before shit goes down,” Jeno’s voice appears behind him, making him jump, “he didn’t invite her.”

“Wha—”

“Just either get your man or get out,” Jeno sighs, grabbing his arm. Inumaki’s secretly grateful. He wouldn’t have had the courage to walk to that table alone.

Jaemin spots them. “Ohhh, you made it!” He jumps up and pulls Inumaki into a dramatic hug. Jeno glares.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeno mutters. Jaemin whispers, “He’s hot when he’s pressed,” before letting go with a devilish grin.

Inumaki barely has time to breathe before Megumi looks up — his stare like fire. Inumaki gulps.

“Oh, you came! Cool,” Mark greets, making room.

Lia eyes him. “Hi?”

“You two know each other?” Mark asks.

“Same major,” Lia smiles, hand falling to Megumi’s thigh.

“Not staying long,” Inumaki mumbles. His eyes flick from her hand to Megumi’s face. “Just wanted to say congrats. You guys were amazing.”

“Yooo, you ended up coming?” Mark cheers.

Megumi still hasn’t looked away. Jaw tight.

“Let me get up for a sec,” Megumi tells Lia. She shifts, hand dragging along his thigh. Inumaki’s stomach turns.

Megumi walks over. Still staring.

Then he grabs Inumaki and pulls him away.

Inumaki hears Jaemin mutter “Yikes” and Lia asking what’s happening.

Megumi drags him outside, into the freezing February air.

“What are you doing here?” Megumi asks once they’re far from the restaurant.

“I came to congratulate my friends.”

“That it?”

“Yes.” Inumaki nods.

Megumi lets out a frustrated laugh. Turns to leave.

“No. Not just to congratulate,” Inumaki blurts, grabbing his sweater. Megumi pauses.

“I miss you.”

There’s silence. Megumi exhales. A little cloud in the cold.

“Toge, I can’t. I told you—I can’t be your friend.”

“I know. I didn’t come to ask you to be my friend.”

“Then why?”

“To... try and win you over?” Inumaki forces himself to look up.

Megumi’s expression flickers—shock, confusion, something else.

“Fuck. Wait here,” Megumi says — and disappears.

What?

He returns moments later, coat on, phone in hand. Lia follows, visibly upset. Megumi says something to her. She stops, then storms back inside. He doesn’t look back.

“How did you get here?”

“Uh. Car?”

“Let’s go.”

“Wha—”

“Now. Please.”

They walk toward the car. Behind them, Jaemin is making obscene gestures. Jeno tries to pull him back, mortified. Mark gives a thumbs up.

Everyone knew.

Inumaki slips. Megumi catches him.

“You good?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t look at them. They’re idiots,” Megumi mutters, still holding his arm.

In the car, Inumaki takes off his coat, tosses it to the back. Megumi stares ahead.

“So you want me to drive you home?”

“Home?” Megumi looks at him like he’s lost it.

“Well... then where?”

“Anywhere there’s not a crowd of dumbasses watching us, so I can kiss you in peace.”

“Oh.”

He starts the engine.

The ride is silent. Tense. Every second feels like an hour. After twelve minutes, he pulls into a quiet parking lot by the beach.

They step out. The stars are out in full. Inumaki leans on the hood beside Megumi.

“I... don’t know where to start.”

Megumi watches the horizon.

“That day,” Inumaki says, voice quiet, “when you kissed me—I thought that was just... us. Our way of saying the things we couldn’t say.”

Megumi scoffs softly.

“I didn’t even consider that I might be gay. Or that we weren’t just friends. I thought everything between us was just how we were. I didn’t get it. I’m sorry, I'm totally not making sense.”

“You’re making sense. Keep going.”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize I love you. And I miss you. And maybe I’m too late, but I needed to tell you.”

He covers his face with his hands.

Megumi gently pulls his wrists down. “Say it to me. Look at me when you do.”

Inumaki gulps. Megumi’s eyes are patient. Reflecting stars.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Megumi hears. Loud and clear.

He cups Inumaki’s face. “I love you too,” he breathes against his lips — and kisses him.

It’s desperate. Soft. Like breathing again. Like returning to earth after being lost in space. Inumaki tilts his head, deepens the kiss. Their tongues meet. It's messy, raw, perfect. When they finally pull away, foreheads touching, Inumaki exhales.

Maybe nothing changed at all. Maybe it’s just the world turning, the way stars shift above. They never leave. The sky just keeps spinning.

Chapter Text

The room is dark, silent except for the quiet sighs they breathe onto each other’s lips. They had stumbled back to Inumaki’s dorm long ago, shedding their jackets and shoes, but they can’t seem to detach from where Inumaki is pressing Megumi against the door. His taller frame hunched over, one hand cupping Inumaki’s face. Their lips slide against each other, wet and soft, until Inumaki’s mouth gradually goes numb. He’s gasping for air, lungs burning, but he can’t break away. It feels like if he does, he’ll lose his grip on reality.

His hands find their way under Megumi’s shirt. Megumi hisses softly at the cold digits tracing his abdomen. His skin is smooth, muscles firm under Inumaki’s touch. It feels so good. So real.

Megumi is the one to break the kiss. He’s panting, flushed, thumbs gently caressing Inumaki’s face. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and when Megumi pushes Inumaki back a little, it almost feels like a betrayal.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Megumi breathes, voice caught somewhere between want, desire, and restraint. Inumaki sees it in his eyes—the same longing he hopes reflects in his own.

He knows what Megumi means. Last time they crossed that line, it ended their friendship. A knot twists in Inumaki’s stomach at the thought. He takes a step back.

“Umm, we can just... see how things go?” he offers. Megumi nods. It’s awkward. But Inumaki can’t say how badly he wants him, how much he needs him. So they ignore the obvious tent in their pants and settle on the bed, a reasonable gap between them.

Inumaki balances his laptop on his thigh, looking for an anime they can watch. He can’t calm down, so he shields his crotch with a pillow. It’s bad.

“What about that one?” Megumi asks, pointing to a familiar title. They have seen this before when they were still in high school, sprawled on Megumi’s single bed. Inumaki clicks it. The nostalgic opening song plays, and he shuffles to get comfortable—while maintaining distance.

Megumi tires of the space fast. He snatches the laptop, props himself against the headboard, and pulls Inumaki between his legs. He tenses up. Megumi sets the laptop back on Inumaki’s thigh. His back presses flush against Megumi’s chest. He can almost feel his heartbeat—steady and calm compared to his own. He feels other thing too. Like the blush creeping onto his cheeks as he realizes what’s pressing against his back isn’t Megumi’s pants. Megumi rests his chin on Inumaki’s head, fingers dancing down his arm to tangle with his own.

“Uncomfy?” Megumi asks.

“N-no.”

“Then relax.” Megumi presses a kiss atop Inumaki’s head, which only makes him tense more. He hears Megumi’s quiet laugh and thanks the gods the pillow stayed put.

Inumaki tries to focus on the show. Really, he does. But he’s squirming, playing it cool—until Megumi lets go of his fingers and pins him against his chest with one hand across Inumaki’s front and the other on his thigh. His lips brush close to Inumaki’s ear.

“I’m trying to hold back here. Stop rubbing against me.”

“I’m not rubbing against you,” Inumaki protests, but Megumi shifts his hips up. Inumaki keeps moving.

“But you are. Stay still for five minutes while it goes away. Please.” The last word is whispered against his ear, followed by a kiss on the tip. Something inside Inumaki snaps.

“Screw this.” He slams the laptop closed, the sudden silence cutting through the room. He hears Megumi breathe in to speak, but he cuts him off.

“What are we doing?” Inumaki asks, scrambling out of Megumi’s lap.

“I was trying to watch the—”

“This is not why you came over,” Inumaki interrupts.

“Nor is it sex,” Megumi says casually. “I just wanted to be with you. I don’t care what we do.”

“But... that’s, I mean, watching a show isn’t...”—Inumaki’s eyes flick to the front of Megumi’s jeans. Megumi doesn’t even try to hide it—“isn’t what you want to do.”

“Toge, we really don’t have to do anything.”

“You don’t want to?” Inumaki’s voice is heavy with hope. That was a stupid question. He can read Megumi’s body, it’s so clear, yet he needs to hear it. The thought makes his head spin.

“It’s...” Megumi sighs. “Do you even know what you’re on about?”

“Yeah, I mean... I wanna do it with you,” Inumaki mumbles the last part. Megumi reaches out to caress his face.

“I know, baby. But it works a bit different with two guys,” Megumi says, scooting closer. This is so embarrassing.

“We’ve done stuff before...” Inumaki’s face burns.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what you wanna do?” Megumi’s tone shifts—suggestive. The answer is yes. But Inumaki wants more than that. He’s not stupid. He’s done research – if you can call browsing the gay tab on a porn site and scarringhimself for life a research. He understands how two men do it, but as scary as it sounds, he wants to... connect with Megumi. In a way only they can.

“Baby?” Megumi taps his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“I wanna do more than just that.”

“Okay. What more?”

“Y’know.”

“That’s not exactly an answer.”

“I wanna sleep with you. There, happy?”

“Just jerking off each other is technic—”

“No. More. I wanna—ah, please don’t make me say it.” He does everything to avoid Megumi’s eyes. His cheeks are burning, and he’s so hard it hurts. He wants Megumi to do something. Anything.

“Please,” he whispers.

Megumi connects their lips, and it’s unlike any other kiss they’ve shared. It’s messy—too much teeth, too much saliva. His hands find Inumaki’s pants, flicking the fly open without warning. Without hesitation, Megumi dips his fingers under the waistband of Inumaki’s underwear and wraps a hand around his length. There’s barely enough space to move his hand properly; the drag is sloppy, wet with precum.

Inumaki moans unashamedly into Megumi’s mouth, trembling fingers reaching to return the favor. He’s so lost in pleasure that he can’t undo his belt, so he settles for pressing a palm against the bulge in Megumi’s pants, moaning at the unmistakable twitch beneath. Megumi grips him harder, jerking him faster. Inumaki’s close—he needs out of his pants, to get his hands on Megumi, to feel their cocks lined up like that one time.

He breaks the kiss.

“Stop, ah, wait,” Megumi breathes, giving him a final stroke—a brush of his thumb on the tip that makes Inumaki shudder.

“You okay?” Megumi asks. Inumaki doesn’t answer. Instead, he rids himself of his shirt and reaches to do the same with Megumi’s. Megumi lets him.

“Off. The rest, too.” Inumaki tugs at Megumi’s belt loops. Megumi takes a deep breath, undoes his own belt, eyes locked on Inumaki as both of them quickly strip their pants.

“Now?” Megumi asks. Inumaki eyes his cock shamelessly, craving to lick the precum glistening on the tip but ignoring the urge. He crawls on top of Megumi, straddling his thighs and lining their cocks together. He tries to hold both in one hand like Megumi did that day. Megumi’s erection is hot against his own.

He drags his hand up, feeling Megumi’s thighs tense under him. He hears a curse under Megumi’s breath, then a hand covers his, guiding his movements. The sight is borderline filthy, the slide wet with precum oozing from Inumaki’s cock. Fuck. He’d be embarrassed if Megumi wasn’t moaning quietly.

He wants to kiss him. So he does. He melts into it so deeply, unaware he’s rocking his hips forward, Megumi’s free hand gripping his hips hard, bruising, guiding. He almost tips over the edge.

He breaks the kiss, stilling his hand, cock twitching at the loss of friction against Megumi’s. He wants more. So much more.

“What’s wrong?” Megumi breathes against his lips, hands moving up. Inumaki has to use all his remaining strength to still them.

“I don’t want to come like this,” he pants. Megumi kisses him, smirking.

“How do you want to come then?”

On your cock, Inumaki wants to say, but he’s not that bold. He tries to kiss Megumi again, but Megumi pulls back.

“Wha—”

“I asked you a question.” There’s a shit-eating grin on Megumi’s face. Inumaki wishes it’d vanish.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The smile disappears, replaced by eyes darker and more intense. With a quick yank, Inumaki finds himself kneeling aboveMegumi, his leaking cock slapping against Megumi’s chest. Megumi’s eyes watch his face, head tilted back. Inumaki grounds himself by burying his hands into Megumi’s midnight black hair.

“Are you sure about this?” Megumi asks, fingers tracing along Inumaki’s thighs, leaving trails of goosebumps. He jerks forward when a finger dips between his ass cheeks.

Inumaki nods, trying to chase away the weird flutter settling in his stomach.

Megumi’s finger drags over his hole. It’s... weird. Just toying. He pushes the finger against the pucker, not hard enough to open the muscle, but enough to make Inumaki want to burst from shame. Vulnerable under Megumi’s intense gaze, Inumaki is about to lean down for a kiss when Megumi brings that finger to his mouth and sucks on it.

Inumaki’s jaw falls open at the sight. Once satisfied with the spit, Megumi brings the finger back and presses harder, letting the tip slip past the rim. Inumaki tenses.

Megumi pulls a hand to the side of his neck and pulls him down into a searing kiss.

“Relax,” he murmurs between kisses, pushing the finger deeper. It burns—not too much—but the dry drag feels intense. Inumaki squirms. Megumi pulls his finger out.

“I’m assuming you don’t have lube?” Megumi asks. Inumaki’s face flushes red.

He scrambles up, opens the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulls out a bottle. He hands it to Megumi, who doesn’t look pleased.

“I... it’s for me when I...” Megumi watches him stutter, eyebrow cocked.

“Ah, you know what I mean.”

“No, elaborate please.”

“You’re an asshole.” He pauses. “For when I jerk off.”

Inumaki wants to die right then and there.

“Ah, fuck,” Megumi curses, yanking him onto the bed. “Show me.” He pops the bottle open and squirts some gel on Inumaki’s palm.

“Wha—”

“Show me how you do it.” Inumaki isn’t sure what that means, so he reaches to touch Megumi’s cock but is stopped.

“No. I wanna watch you stroke yourself.”

Who says stuff like that? But the way Megumi says it, the way he stares deep into Inumaki’s eyes, Inumaki’s hands move on their own, wrapping around his cock, legs spreading a little to grant the other a view.. The gel is cold; his cock twitches at the sensation. Megumi watches intently. Inumaki wishes Megumi would bend over and kiss him to take the edge off.

He whines. It’s a little humiliating.

“Megumi,” he moans, needing him to do something.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Megumi breathes out. He squeezes lube on a finger, spreads Inumaki’s leg further, and brings the finger back to his hole. He circles the entrance. Inumaki stills his hand.

Megumi’s eyes focus on where he’s caressing, and Inumaki drips with want. This time, when the finger slips inside, there’s barely any discomfort. Megumi pushes it all the way in slowly, then pulls out carefully, setting a steady rhythm. His finger brushes against Inumaki’s walls, making his legs tremble and cock ooze more precum. He stops stroking himself, hand just gripping idle at the base of his cock.

“Hurts?” Megumi asks, eyes locked on his.

Inumaki shakes his head.

“Can I add another?”

Inumaki nods. The second finger goes in with some resistance. Inumaki moves his hand still wrapped around his cock to replace the weird feeling from behind, distracting himself enough to loosen around the digits. He doesn’t miss Megumi’s eyes flicker up.

“Another?” Megumi asks.

Inumaki barely nods before the third finger is added. That’s way too much. He chokes on air, reaching out blindly. Megumi meets him halfway, kissing him through it, moving slow and careful.

Inumaki bites down on Megumi’s bottom lip, making him falter. Then Megumi jabs his finger in a little too rough, fingertips colliding with Inumaki’s walls.

Oh.

His back arches at the sensation. A mewl escapes him—it’s like fire licking through his insides. Megumi stills for a moment, then draws back and slams his finger back in.

Inumaki has to take his hands off his cock so he doesn’t come. Megumi fucks him with his fingers; he’s truly breathless. He barely manages to grip Megumi’s wrists, trying to stop him. He wants to tell him to wait, but words dissolve into incoherent moans.

He tries to squirm away, but Megumi holds his hips down.

It’s too much. He takes it as long as he can, a moaning mess. Then the tingle in his stomach becomes unbearble.

“Stop, please, I’m begging you,” Inumaki sobs. Megumi stills instantly, his hazy eyes clearing the moment their gazes meet.

“Fuck, did I hurt you?” He yanks his fingers out, worry flooding his face as he studies Inumaki. He shakes his head, though the room is spinning.

“I want you,” he manages to say, and relief ripples through Megumi.

“Is that why you’re crying?” Megumi asks softly, wiping away tears Inumaki hadn’t even noticed falling with a clean hand.

Inumaki doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches down, finds the bottle, squirts lube onto his palm, and starts lathering Megumi up.

“Uh, we need a condom,” Megumi interrupts. Fuck.

“I have none,” Inumaki says hoarsely.

“Oh,” Megumi responds, uncertain.

“Can’t we just...?” Inumaki trails off.

“It’s not exactly—” Megumi starts, watching as Inumaki lazily strokes him. “Ah, let... let go for a sec, I can’t think,” Megumi mutters.

Inumaki does the opposite, stroking faster, and Megumi looks close to losing it.

“Please?” Inumaki leans in to kiss him, sensing Megumi’s surrender.

Megumi yanks him closer, pushes Inumaki’s left leg against his chest, then lines himself up. It’s a mix of rippling pain and pure bliss when Megumi finally enters him. Inumaki feels every drag, every vein as Megumi bottoms out and stills.

He lifts Inumaki’s leg onto his shoulder and moves with such natural ease it feels like they’ve done this a thousand times.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Megumi breathes, eyes dragging slowly over Inumaki’s body. “You’re taking me so good.”

Inumaki moans, thrusting his hips upward, desperate for movement. Megumi obliges, fucking him slow and deep while Inumaki grips the sheets for dear life. One of Megumi’s hands grips Inumaki’s thigh, the other wrapped around his cock, stroking in sync with his thrusts.

Inumaki’s close, feeling warmth knot into pleasure deep inside. Megumi’s thrusts hit that spot head-on again and again.Inumaki reaches out, clutching Megumi’s hand digging into his thigh. Their fingers intertwine as Megumi picks up the pace, and Inumaki comes undone.

He spills in long, thick ropes onto his own stomach and Megumi’s hand. His orgasm drags out even as Megumi suddenly pulls out, wrapping his cum-stained hand around his own cock and pumping to completion. He comes on Inumaki’s stomach, squeezing his hand tightly.

It takes a while for both to come down. When they do, Megumi lets go of his hand, kisses Inumaki’s palm, then gets up to fetch tissues for cleanup. They kiss afterward. Lazy, slow, lingering.

“Did it hurt?” Megumi asks later, now freshly showered and tangled under the blankets in the small bed.

Megumi smells of his body wash, Inumaki’s face squished against his chest.

“No. It was great,” Inumaki says, raising his head to press a kiss to Megumi’s lips.

The first rays of sunshine paint the horizon behind them.They’d stayed up all night. Inumaki wonders how Megumi isn’t knocked out after winning a match, going out for drinks, and... well, the rest. He makes a mental note to buy Mark beer later. He’s a real one for not coming back to the dorm tonight.

“You never took it off,” Megumi’s fingers fiddle with the bracelet on Inumaki’s wrist.

“You noticed?”

“Yeah. Made me hold on. As stupid as it sounds.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s in the past now.” Megumi plants a kiss on the top of Inumaki’s head.

Inumaki wants to sleep, but he’s too buzzed. He wants to stay awake and soak in every second of having Megumi. It’s stupid, really.

If he’s honest, they’ve always been each other’s. Megumi was always his. The only thing that changed is that now he can face himself and admit it.

Just a change of perspective.

Not a change of heart.