Morning in Aoi's vacation house felt too bright for how heavy the air was.
Suki stared at the ceiling for a long time before he moved. The beams were painted white, a string of paper stars dangling from one corner, slowly turning in the faint draft from the window. He'd hung there last night too, heart pounding, replaying the same sentence on a loop.
Can you not cling to me so much in front of everyone? It's embarrassing.
Ryuzí hadn't shouted it. He hadn't even said it cruelly. Just flat, tired, sharp enough to cut.
It still cut.
Suki rolled onto his side. The futon next to him was empty—blanket folded back, pillow slightly dented. Ryuzí was already up.
Of course he is. Perfect, disciplined, emotionally constipated bastard.
The thought should've made him smile. It did, a little. But the smile folded in on itself when his chest squeezed.
He pushed himself upright and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Okay," he muttered to himself. "We are not being dramatic. We are being mature. We are… letting him have space. Because he's still getting used to people. And we are not going to sulk like a rejected golden retriever."
His reflection in the wardrobe mirror raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Shut up," Suki told it, and went to find his hoodie.
⸻
The kitchen was already busy.
Aoi stood at the counter with her hair half-tied, coffee in one hand, pan in the other. Haruto hovered beside her in his socks, chopping fruit with a focus like he was defusing a bomb. Kenji was at the table peeling clementines and singing horribly off-key. Miyako sat opposite him, wrapping leftover bread in cling film, eyes a little shadowed but mouth soft.
And at the stove, in one of Aoi's spare aprons, was Ryuzí.
Suki stopped in the doorway for half a second.
Ryuzí was flipping tamagoyaki with the kind of precision usually reserved for exams. His expression was calm, his sleeves rolled up, forearm muscles tense as he worked the pan. He looked… annoyingly, disgustingly attractive.
Suki pasted on a grin.
"Good morning, campers!" he declared, pushing into the room like a burst of confetti. "Did everyone sleep like responsible, non-ghost-summoning citizens?"
Kenji brightened. "I dreamt I was a fried shrimp."
"Of course you did," Suki said. "You give off tempura energy."
Haruto blinked. "…What does that even mean?"
"It means he's crunchy on the outside and soft and emotionally undercooked on the inside," Suki replied.
"Rude and accurate," Kenji said.
Aoi glanced up at Suki, eyes narrowing just a little. "You're loud early," she observed.
"I'm always loud," Suki said, breezy. "It's my charm."
He moved closer to the stove, hovering near Ryuzí's elbow. "Whatcha making, chef?"
"Tamagoyaki," Ryuzí said without looking at him. His voice was neutral; not cold, not warm. Neutral.
Suki's grin wobbled for half a second. "It smells amazing."
"Don't crowd the pan," Ryuzí murmured.
"Ouch. Rejected by the pan," Suki said, aiming for light. He backed off a step and leaned his hip against the counter. "Need help with anything? I can be useful. Occasionally."
"You can set the table," Ryuzí said. Still not looking at him.
Aoi's gaze flicked between them, sharp. Haruto's knife paused for a heartbeat.
Suki clapped his hands together. "Yes, sir," he chirped. "Table setting is my passion. I was born for this."
He grabbed plates and chopsticks from the cupboard and moved to the low dining table. Kenji watched him, head tilted.
"You okay?" Kenji mouthed.
Suki flashed him a double thumbs-up and an exaggerated wink.
Kenji did not look convinced.
"Hey," Suki said loudly, redirecting. "Kenji. Remember yesterday when you tripped over air while trying to impress Miyako?"
Kenji spluttered. "I did not— it was a very aggressive floor."
Miyako hid a smile behind the plastic wrap. "You almost died," she murmured.
"See?" Suki said. "The floor wanted you dead. It's destiny. Tragic romcom death."
Kenji groaned and dropped his face to the table. "Why are you like this?"
"Factory settings." Suki set down chopsticks. "No refunds."
He was talking too fast, he could hear it. Filling every space so nothing else could slip in. So he wouldn't think about the way Ryuzí hadn't once glanced over, not even to smirk or roll his eyes.
It's fine. He's tired. He cooked breakfast. That's how he says sorry. That's… something.
"Food's ready," Ryuzí said at last, turning off the stove.
They gathered around the table. Suki intentionally plopped down next to Ryuzí, hip brushing his. Ryuzí didn't move away, but he didn't lean in either.
Aoi sat on Ryuzí's other side, Haruto beside her. Kenji and Miyako sat across, shoulders almost touching but not quite.
"Thank you for cooking," Aoi said. "Again."
Ryuzí shrugged. "Habit."
Suki bumped his shoulder gently. "Your habits taste good."
That earned him a small, reluctant huff—almost a laugh. Suki filed it away like a victory.
"Okay!" Kenji said, clapping once. "Last breakfast of freedom. Later, we return to the cruel world of homework, teachers, and cafeteria mystery stew. Let's toast with miso soup."
Haruto lifted his bowl solemnly. "To not failing the next exam."
"To no more surprise hiking," Miyako added.
"To Aoi's terrifying organization skills," Suki said.
Aoi raised an eyebrow. "Terrifying?"
"Inspiring," Haruto corrected quickly.
Aoi nodded, satisfied.
Ryuzí took a sip of miso, then said quietly, "To… doing this again. Someday."
Everyone looked at him.
His ears went faintly pink. "The trip," he clarified. "Not necessarily here. Just… together."
Suki's heart did a strange thing—like it tripped, fell, and scrambled up again. He grinned, genuine this time. "Aww, listen to him sounding like he likes us."
"I said 'someday,' not 'soon,'" Ryuzí muttered.
Kenji pressed a hand to his chest. "I'll treasure it anyway."
Suki laughed with everyone else. For a moment, it almost felt normal again.
Almost.
⸻
They spent the next hour cleaning.
Aoi moved through the house with a checklist. "Kitchen wiped. Tatami swept. Futons folded. Towels in the hamper. Haruto, can you—"
"Already folded the blankets," Haruto said, carrying an armful.
Aoi softened. "…Thank you."
He flushed. "It's not much."
"It is," she replied simply.
Kenji and Suki had been assigned balcony duty. Suki shook out futon covers; Kenji wiped railings half-heartedly.
"So," Kenji said casually, "are you going to tell me what's up, or are you going to keep pretending you're auditioning for 'World's Happiest Clown'?"
Suki almost got tangled in the cover. "Rude."
"Accurate," Kenji said.
Suki sighed dramatically and leaned on the railing, looking over the trees. The mountains sat in the distance, hazy and blue. "It's nothing."
"You suck at lying."
"It's… really nothing. Ryu just…" He made a vague gesture. "Got annoyed yesterday. Long day. People. You know how he gets."
Kenji's brow furrowed. "What did he say?"
Suki pulled a face. "He just… told me to stop clinging to him in front of everyone. That it was embarrassing."
Kenji stared. "He said that?"
"Not like—yelling." Suki rushed to defend him. "He was just tired. And I was being loud. And probably annoying. And he hasn't had, like, friends-friends in a while, you know? He's still getting used to it."
"Still," Kenji said, "that's—"
Suki threw an arm around his shoulders. "Hey. Don't be mad at my boyfriend, okay? I've got that covered."
Kenji snorted despite himself. "You're allowed to feel hurt."
"I am feeling mature," Suki declared. He puffed out his chest. "Mature people use their words, and their words are: 'It's fine, he's trying, I'm trying, we're both disasters, but sexy.'"
Kenji gave him a look. "That is not what mature people say."
"Have you met me?" Suki said.
Kenji hesitated, then asked quietly, "Did you tell him it hurt?"
Suki's stomach twisted. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want him to feel guilty for… being overwhelmed," Suki said, picking at a loose thread on the futon cover. "He spent years alone. Suddenly he's got a loud boyfriend, a chaos friend, a terrifying Aoi, a sunshine artist, and a secret trauma girl. That's a lot."
Kenji blinked. "… 'Secret trauma girl'?"
"Miyako," Suki whispered. "You've seen the way she spaces out sometimes. Something happened. I don't know what. But she's trying too."
Kenji glanced back through the glass door, where Miyako was folding cushions in the living room. His expression softened. "Yeah. I know."
"So," Suki said briskly, slapping the fabric, "I will not add 'whiny boyfriend' to his problems list. I will just… be less clingy. For a bit. Give him space. Let him come to me."
Kenji studied him. "Do you want him to come to you?"
Suki's grin cracked around the edges. "…More than anything."
"Then maybe don't pretend nothing's wrong."
Suki shrugged. "I don't know how to tell him without sounding like I'm demanding cuddles."
"Just say, 'It hurt,'" Kenji suggested. "He's not an alien. Probably."
"Debatable," Suki said. But his fingers tightened on the railing.
He looked over at the driveway, where Ryuzí was loading bags into Aoi's family van with Haruto and Aoi. His posture was neat, movements controlled. He didn't glance up.
Suki exhaled. "Later," he said. "I'll talk to him later."
Kenji patted his back. "If you chicken out, I'm telling Aoi."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
Suki groaned. "I hate you."
"You love me," Kenji said.
Suki sighed. "…A little."
⸻
They crammed into Aoi's van for the drive back to the station—bags piled in the back, leftover snacks in a plastic bag at Suki's feet.
Aoi drove with familiar confidence, eyes on the road. Haruto sat in the passenger seat, quietly adjusting the navigation app. In the back row, Kenji and Miyako sat shoulder to shoulder, arguing over a playlist. That left the middle row—for Suki and Ryuzí.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then slid in next to him. "Hi," he said, a little too bright.
"Hi," Ryuzí replied, fastening his belt.
The air between them felt… thinner than usual.
Suki bounced his knee. "You packed my charger, right? Because if my phone dies on the way home, I might spontaneously combust."
"It's in your side pocket," Ryuzí said. "I checked twice."
Suki's heart did that stupid squeeze again. "You're a blessing."
"Debatable," Ryuzí murmured.
Silence.
Finally, Suki cleared his throat. "Hey, um… about last night—"
"It's fine," Ryuzí said quickly.
That stung more than it should've. Suki laughed weakly. "Right. Totally. Super fine."
"I was tired," Ryuzí added after a second, eyes on the headrest in front of him. "I shouldn't have snapped."
Suki's chest loosened a fraction. "It's okay. I was being… a lot." He waved a hand. "You don't need to apologize for being honest."
Ryuzí's hands tightened on his knees. "That's not— I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," Suki repeated, softer, trying to save him from his own discomfort. "You're still getting used to all this. Us. Them. Everything. I get it."
He smiled, and it almost reached his eyes. "I'll tone it down a bit. No more octopus-mode in public."
Ryuzí flinched. "That's not what I—"
Aoi's voice cut in from the front. "Seat belts, idiots, we're moving."
The van rolled forward. Conversation snapped like a thread.
The rest of the ride was filled with Kenji and Miyako's bickering over playlists.
"No ballads," Kenji declared. "We are victorious. We need victory music."
"Not your dumb anime openings," Miyako replied. "You'll get too excited and hit your head on the window again."
"That was one time."
"Twice."
"Details," Kenji grumbled.
Haruto smiled faintly and suggested something soft, which Aoi approved. Suki laughed in the right places, chimed in with teasing, kept his voice light.
But the words he wanted to say—to Ryuzí, specifically—never made it past his teeth.
⸻
The station platform felt like stepping back into a less forgiving world.
They stood in a loose circle near the ticket gates, luggage at their feet, the city's noise pressing in on all sides.
"Well," Kenji said, clapping his hands together. "We survived. Group trip: success. No one died, no one threw anyone into a river, and Aoi didn't abandon us in the woods."
"Tempting," Aoi said under her breath.
Haruto smiled at her. "Thank you for inviting us."
She ducked her head, a rare pink touching her ears. "It was… better than I thought it would be."
"Wow," Suki gasped. "Did Aoi just say she had fun? Someone write this down, it's historic."
Aoi sent him a withering look. "Don't push it."
Miyako hugged her jacket closer, eyes skimming over the crowd. Every time her phone buzzed in her pocket, her shoulders twitched, but she didn't reach for it.
Kenji noticed. "Hey," he said quietly, nudging her. "If it's spam, block it. If it's important, you don't have to deal with it alone. If it's your secret billionaire sugar parent, I demand equal allowance."
She huffed out a laugh. "You're exhausting."
"You like it," he teased.
She didn't answer. But she didn't step away either.
"Okay," Suki said, clapping once. "Valedictory speech time before we disperse. Who wants to go first?"
"No one," Aoi said.
"Majority rules," Suki said. "And I'm the majority."
Ryuzí sighed. "Please don't."
Suki grinned wider. "Too late. I just wanted to say—" He looked at each of them in turn. "This was… one of the best weekends I've had in a long time."
Kenji put a hand to his heart. "Wow. Our disaster clown is sincere."
Haruto's expression softened. "It was… really good," he agreed quietly. "Being… together."
Miyako's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "Yeah," she said, almost to herself. "It was."
Aoi cleared her throat. "Don't get used to it. We still have midterms."
Kenji groaned. "Way to kill the mood."
"That's my job," she replied.
They laughed. It felt a little like a promise.
One by one, they peeled off.
Haruto and Aoi left together, heading toward the bus stop. Kenji offered to walk Miyako home; she hesitated, then nodded. That left Suki and Ryuzí, bags in hand, standing at the station exit.
For once, Suki didn't immediately loop their arms.
He adjusted his backpack strap. "We should… go," he said.
"Yeah," Ryuzí agreed.
They started walking.
The city was noisy and familiar—the bakery smell, the cicadas whining too loud in the cold, the faint buzz of traffic. Their footsteps fell in near-synchrony, but there was a gap between them that hadn't been there before.
Suki shoved his free hand into his pocket. "So," he said casually, "back to school tomorrow. Excited to see the classroom again? Smell the chalk dust? Hear our homeroom teacher mispronounce memes?"
"No," Ryuzí said.
"Same," Suki said.
Silence stretched again. Suki chewed the inside of his cheek.
Okay, you coward. Say it. Just say it.
"About yesterday," he blurted. "When you… said that thing."
Ryuzí's shoulders tensed. "I said it was fine."
"I know," Suki said quickly. "And I keep saying it's fine, and I want it to be fine, but it's… it's also kinda not fine? A little? Maybe?"
Ryuzí stopped walking.
Suki stopped too, heart in his throat. "I'm not— I'm not mad," he rushed. "I swear I'm not mad. I just… I want to understand what I did wrong so I can not do it again?"
"You didn't do anything wrong," Ryuzí said.
Suki blinked. "…Then why—"
"I was overwhelmed," Ryuzí said, looking away, jaw tight. "Everyone was laughing and loud and looking and I just… I felt like they were watching us. Watching me. And you were… all over me, and it felt like—like I couldn't breathe."
Suki flinched. "Oh."
"I shouldn't have taken it out on you," Ryuzí added quickly. "It wasn't your fault. It's just… me. Being messed up."
"You're not messed up," Suki said automatically.
"I kind of am," Ryuzí said, a humorless huff. "Normal people don't panic because their boyfriend is hugging them in a living room."
Suki frowned. "Okay, first of all, screw 'normal.' Second of all, you could've just… told me that? Instead of saying I was embarrassing."
"I didn't say you were—"
"You said, 'Can you not cling to me so much in front of everyone, it's embarrassing,'" Suki recited quietly. "My ears work, unfortunately."
Ryuzí winced. "I… didn't mean you were embarrassing. I meant… I felt embarrassed. Of myself. I don't—" He broke off and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm bad at words."
"No kidding," Suki muttered.
Ryuzí's shoulders hunched. "If you want to… slow down, or take a break, or—"
"Hey." Suki stepped in front of him, blocking the path. His heart was racing, but he forced himself to hold Ryuzí's gaze. "I don't want a break. I don't want to slow down. I just… want us to not accidentally stab each other with words."
Ryuzí stared at him. "I'm… sorry," he said again, the word rough and quiet. "I keep… hurting you without meaning to."
Suki swallowed. "It did hurt," he admitted, voice small. "A lot. I kept thinking… 'Wow, maybe I really am too much. Maybe he's embarrassed to be seen with me.'"
"I'm not," Ryuzí said immediately. "Suki— I'm not embarrassed of you. Ever. I'm…" He exhaled. "I'm scared."
"Of… me?" Suki asked, trying to make it a joke and failing.
"Of losing this," Ryuzí said, hand flexing helplessly between them. "Of people talking. Of you getting hurt again because of me. Of… messing everything up. When I think about people looking, I remember—"
He cut himself off. The shadow of his old school flashed in his eyes.
Suki's chest squeezed. "…Your old school."
Ryuzí nodded once.
"You think if you're seen… happy with me," Suki said slowly, "they'll… what? Start it all over again?"
Ryuzí's silence was answer enough.
For a moment, Suki just looked at him—this boy who could face down exams and rumors and his own nightmares, but still tripped over the idea of being allowed to be loved loudly.
Then Suki exhaled. "Okay," he said. "Okay. I get it."
Ryuzí's head snapped up. "You do?"
"Not fully," Suki admitted. "Because my trauma is… of a different flavor. But I get that the living room last night wasn't just a living room to you."
"It was… a crowd," Ryuzí said. "Even if it wasn't."
"And I was… a lot in that crowd," Suki said.
"You were you," Ryuzí said. "And I like you. I just… freaked out."
Suki's mouth quirked. "You're allowed to freak out, you know. I'm not going to revoke your boyfriend license because you got overwhelmed."
"I still shouldn't have snapped," Ryuzí said stubbornly.
"No, you shouldn't have," Suki agreed. "But I also shouldn't have decided to pretend it didn't hurt. That's… on me."
Ryuzí frowned. "Why?"
"Because I keep doing this thing where I put your feelings in front of mine and then they trip over each other," Suki said, fidgeting with his zipper. "I was so busy thinking, 'He's trying, he's scared, don't make it worse,' that I forgot I'm allowed to say, 'Hey, that stabbed me in the heart a little.'"
Ryuzí's throat worked. "…You are allowed," he said. "You should. Or I'll just keep… being an idiot."
"You're not an idiot," Suki said softly. Then, after a beat: "…You're a little dense."
"That's fair," Ryuzí said.
They stood there on the sidewalk, schoolbags at their feet, traffic humming past like background static.
Finally, Suki took a breath. "So. Can we try again?"
"Try… what?" Ryuzí asked.
"Next time you feel like you can't breathe in a room," Suki said, tapping his chest lightly, "grab my hand. Squeeze twice or something. It's a code. I'll back off, or drag you outside, or start a dumb argument about fries to distract everyone. But don't… stab me if you're drowning."
A slow, reluctant smile tugged at Ryuzí's mouth. "A dumb argument about fries."
"It would work," Suki said. "I'm passionate."
"I know," Ryuzí said quietly. "I like that about you."
Suki's cheeks warmed. "You… do?"
"Yes." Ryuzí hesitated, then reached out, fingers brushing Suki's. "And I don't want you to… 'tone down' for me. I just want to… learn how to exist beside you without panicking."
Suki's breath hitched. "We can… learn together," he said. "You figure out the panic. I'll figure out how to not immediately assume you hate me whenever you're quiet."
"I don't hate you," Ryuzí said, almost offended.
"I know," Suki said, smiling. "My brain just likes drama."
Ryuzí snorted. "Clearly."
Suki squeezed his fingers. "So. Are we okay?"
Ryuzí looked at their joined hands, then at Suki. Something softened in his eyes—like ice thawing. "We're… trying," he said. "And I want to keep trying. With you."
It wasn't poetic. It wasn't grand.
It was enough.
Suki's smile turned bright and a little wobbly. "Good," he said. "Because I'm sort of in love with you."
Ryuzí's ears went red. "You 'sort of' are?"
"Okay, fine, fully," Suki said. "Tragically. Hopelessly. Stupidly."
Ryuzí squeezed his hand back. "Same," he muttered.
Suki's heart flashed stupid fireworks. "Say it properly."
"No."
"Ryuuuu."
Ryuzí sighed. "I'm in love with you," he said quietly. "Happy now?"
"Very," Suki said. He rocked on his toes for a second, then leaned in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to Ryuzí's mouth—nothing showy, nothing the world could sink teeth into. Just a small, private promise on a public street.
When he pulled back, his eyes were shining. "There," he said. "Evidence."
Of what, Ryuzí almost asked. Of us, Suki would've said.
Instead, Ryuzí just laced their fingers together properly and started walking again. "Come on," he said. "You still have to unpack, and you left half your clothes in my bag."
"Ah, yes," Suki said. "My evil plan to merge our wardrobes is working."
"You already wear my hoodies."
"And you love me in them."
Ryuzí didn't deny it.
As they walked, the distance between them finally closed—not just in inches, but in something deeper. The day wasn't magically fixed. There would be other sharp words, other misunderstandings, other trip wires.
But for now, Suki squeezed Ryuzí's hand and thought:
We're learning.
And that, he decided, was enough to start with.