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Kuro-chin visits one afternoon, brings a cake, and sits on the most comfortable chair in the living room, the one Atsushi would be sitting on if he hadn’t been forced by Muro-chin to lay on the couch to let his leg rest.
Muro-chin comes and goes from the kitchen, bringing plates, cups, hot water, milk, tea and coffee, pretending not to listen to Kuro-chin as he tells Atsushi about his plans for summer break.
“…so I’m going to drive around for inspiration,” Kuro-chin finishes, taking a sip from his cup of tea.
“Will you bring me something?”
“Wouldn’t you like to go with me?” Kuro-chin asks after a pause.
Atsushi’s about to decline the offer when Muro-chin appears again and, smiling, says, “That’s a good idea. What do you think, Atsushi? Better than staying on the couch for six weeks.”
“We’ll spend most of the time in the car,” Kuro-chin says before Atsushi can speak. “I’ll drive, of course.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I’m leaving in two days. In case you change your mind.”
+
Muro-chin packs Atsushi’s bag without asking and leaves it by the door.
“It’s better for you than spending the recovery time doing nothing.”
When Kuro-chin arrives, he nods in Muro-chin’s direction and Muro-chin smiles, wide, no teeth showing.
Atsushi feels betrayed.
+
“There was a change of plans after I talked to you the other day, Murasakibara-kun,” Kuro-chin says as the elevator descends. “You won’t be my only companion on this trip.”
“Who else is coming? Someone I know?”
“Yes.”
Atsushi makes a mental list of possible people and discards most of them in less than a second. There’s only one person who could drop everything and get on a car with Kuro-chin on just two days’ notice, so it’s no surprise to be greeted by a loud “Murasakibaracchi!” when they step out of the building.
Kise-chin is leaning against Kuro-chin’s car, afternoon sunlight on his hair, wide smile that makes his eyes narrow and his teeth show. He doesn’t look that well, even though there's nothing noticeably different in him from the last time Atsushi saw him.
+
“…and when I saw he’d be passing through where my photoshoot’s taking place, I asked him if I could tag along for a couple of days. It’s a lot more fun than taking a bus, or going on a plane,” Kise-chin says, finishing the explanation of why he’s in this road trip with them.
Atsushi sees Kise-chin’s smile in the rearview mirror. That smile has looked better before too.
“When’s your photoshoot, Kise-chin?”
“In three days.”
He hands Kise-chin a packet of crackers and opens one for himself, mostly as an excuse to ignore the other two men. Atsushi’s sure that Kuro-chin watches him from the corner of his eye every now and then and that he’s also watching Kise-chin through the rearview mirror, and he’s certain that Kise-chin’s watching them as well.
Atsushi looks out the window and pretends he doesn’t notice Kise-chin’s and Kuro-chin’s eyes trying to read everything that’s happening.
+
It’s decided that driving will be split between Kise-chin and Kuro-chin, that they’ll trade places every two hours and that, since the driver must focus on not getting them killed, DJ duty is Kise-chin's for now. His music player contains only k-pop, j-pop and heavy metal.
Kuro-chin’s eyes narrow whenever a new song starts.
+
Atsushi texts Aka-chin to tell him about the road trip. He’s been texting Aka-chin at least once a month since they graduated highschool, updates him on his life and what little he hears about the others.
He doesn’t have an obligation, but Aka-chin had asked (ordered, maybe, probably, who cares?) for news and Atsushi hadn’t seen any problem in giving them.
Muro-chin had commented on it once, and Atsushi had shrugged. Who cared why Aka-chin wanted to hear from them? Maybe knowing things he isn’t supposed to keeps him happy. Maybe he genuinely likes all of them and wants to know they’re fine. Maybe he’s trying to use what little information he can get about them to plan a future without surprises.
Atsushi doesn’t really care why Aka-chin wants news. He’s content, and he likes thinking that Aka-chin enjoys receiving snapshots of their lives.
+
They talk most of the way. They haven’t seen each other in too long to be quiet, and when the stories from the last few months end, they discuss the future, or try to stop Kise-chin from taking pictures of every single thing they pass.
+
“Mido-chin says we have perfect zodiac compatibility” Atsushi announces, looking up from the text he’s just received.
“Who does, Murasakibara-kun?”
“The three of us.”
Kise-chin and Kuro-chin are still acting like they aren’t watching each other, but at those words Kuro-chin’s eyes fix themselves on Kise-chin’s reflection on the rearview mirror, Kise-chin looks directly at Kuro-chin’s profile, and then both of them look at Atsushi, who shrugs and wonders if his amusement can be seen in his eyes, since he’s not bothering to smile.
Kuro-chin smiles, so small it can be easily missed, and Kise-chin laughs, delighted.
+
Kise-chin’s career has been a curious thing since he graduated highschool. He started acting, small roles in dramas, slowly getting more screen-time, then a recurring role, then a secondary one. He’s spent the last four years travelling around Japan for filming, going wherever they want him to go, waiting for his starring role and sending everyone pictures of tourist traps and famous landscapes before returning home, dropping by Atsushi’s home with a huge bag full of local delicacies and stories that neither Atsushi nor Muro-chin care much for, but which they listen to anyway.
Atsushi had asked Kise-chin long ago why he was travelling so much, and he’d replied something about freedom, seeing the world, and many words Atsushi had tuned out because they'd been just the same phrases said in different ways, none of them explaining why Kise-chin always came back to visit everyone, carrying souvenirs and smiles and updates on Mido-chin’s grades, Mine-chin’s new training program or Sa-chin’s new apartment (never any news about Kuro-chin, because he always visits Kuro-chin last).
+
They stop at a gas station.
Kuro-chin walks around the parking lot, stretching his legs, his shadow long under the setting sun while Kise-chin and Atsushi watch him.
There isn’t anything else to look at around here, except maybe for Kise-chin, but Atsushi doesn’t want to do that. Watching Kise-chin would mean having to talk to him about things, like why he decided to spend almost three days in a car with Atsushi and Kuro-chin instead of spending that time doing something he might actually enjoy, which would lead to Kise-chin having to come up with an excuse, even though Atsushi already knows that there probably isn’t anything Kise-chin likes as much as being around Kuro-chin.
Kise-chin watches Kuro-chin, and Kuro-chin darts glances.
Atsushi fantasizes about stealing the car and leaving them in that gas station to watch each other forever, but he doesn't have a driver's license.
Pity.
+
They stop to sleep in a cheap motel by the side of the road. Kise-chin charms the woman at the front desk into letting them use the waffle machine from the breakfast room for a snack.
Atsushi moves Kise-chin out of the way and takes over waffle-making duty, because those machines are treacherous and life’s too short for badly-cooked waffles and having to clean up what spills over, and Kise-chin lets out various sounds of amazement as Atsushi makes perfect waffles, even records the whole process on his phone.
“Can you make extra, Murasakibaracchi? For the lady,” he says, gesturing at the motel’s entrance.
When Kise-chin leaves to give a plate of waffles to the woman, Atsushi looks straight at Kuro-chin and asks, “Why is he here?” hoping Kuro-chin won’t try to elude the question.
“I think he’s confused,” Kuro-chin says, watching the door. “He’s been offered a main role in a new drama, and he’ll have to leave for a long time.”
“He doesn’t want to leave?”
“I think he doesn’t like that he’ll have to stay in one place for so long.” Kuro-chin looks away from the door and carefully cuts one of the waffles into little pieces.
He doesn’t raise his eyes when Kise-chin returns, and Kise-chin doesn’t look at him either, just eats his already cold food while talking about how nice the woman at the front desk is.
+
Kise-chin falls asleep quickly.
Kuro-chin sits on his bed with his laptop and taps at the keyboard.
“Are you writing your novel, Kuro-chin?”
“Just some ideas, Murasakibara-kun.”
“Will I be in it?”
“It’s not about real people.”
Huh. Then, “Will Kise-chin be in it?”
Kuro-chin looks at him over the laptop’s screen, unreadable.
Atsushi doesn’t watch people, but you can’t help to learn some things after knowing them for eight years (or has it been nine years? He hasn't been counting). It seems Kuro-chin had forgotten that.
+
In the morning, they have waffles again. The woman at the front desk isn’t the same one from last night, but she smiles at Kise-chin and circles all the touristic attractions in a map when he asks about them.
+
They’re stopped by the highway police because they hadn’t seen who was driving.
Kise-chin barely contains his laughter at the confused look on the officer’s face when he sees Kuro-chin, bursts out laughing when they finally drive away, and Atsushi laughs too, because it’s been a while since he got to see people not noticing Kuro-chin.
Kuro-chin’s eyes narrow and Atsushi checks his seatbelt is fastened.
+
“KUROKOCCHI, YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!”
Atsushi’s gripping his seat with both hands and keeping his backpack secure between his legs, and he’s planning how he’ll make Muro-chin pay for sending him on this trip.
“Speed is an abstract concept, Kise-kun.”
“WE WILL BE AN ABSTRACT CONCEPT IF WE CRASH!”
“Are you doubting my driving skills, Kise-kun?”
“NO. YES. I’M DOUBTING EVERYONE ELSE.”
“It’ll be fine. I’m an expert driver.”
“I’M SORRY I LAUGHED, PLEASE SLOW DOWN!”
Kuro-chin lowers the speed, but Kise-chin doesn’t let go of Kuro-chin’s seat, which he’s holding on to like it’s a lifesaver.
Atsushi takes a picture, which he sends to Muro-chin and Aka-chin and which Kuro-chin insists Atsushi must send to him as well.
+
Atsushi has never been faced with not knowing what to do; he knows what he likes and what he dislikes, and what he likes better than other things, so deciding is easy.
When he’d graduated high school, he hadn’t wanted to bother with university, so he’d taken the chance to play basketball professionally.
Maybe Kise-chin would look better if he knew what he liked best, but the answer to that is clearly ‘Kuro-chin’, and Kuro-chin doesn’t seem willing to offer himself as a solution.
+
“Is it true that you’ve been cast in a new drama?” the girl asks.
A pair of college students had recognized Kise-chin when they stopped for lunch at a gas station, and they’d all ended up sitting together.
The girl that talks looks at Kise-chin like she wants to eat him, and Atsushi’s a bit worried when she announces she’s going to the bathroom and her eyes linger on Kise-chin.
The girl’s friend blushes and looks away, but she darts glances at Kise-chin whenever he moves, until he tells her ‘I’m staying right here’ and the tension leaves her shoulders.
Next to Kise-chin, Kuro-chin stops sipping his soda and looks in the direction the first girl went.
“You got a new job, Kise-chin?” Atsushi asks later, after waving goodbye to the girls. The first one had refused to eat much, hadn’t stopped glaring at Kise-chin since she returned from the bathroom, while the second one had started talking about basketball and asked the three of them for their picture and autograph, had looked up at Atsushi with admiration and awe and told him she’d pray for his recovery.
“What?” Kise-chin says.
“That girl said you’ll be in a new drama.”
“Oh, that!” Kise-chin laughs. “It’s not confirmed yet.”
Atsushi has seen everything Kise-chin has been in. Not because he really wants to, but because Muro-chin seems to think it’s funny to see him on TV, acting serious and suave, and sometimes Sa-chin texts everyone and they start a group chat and talk about Kise-chin’s acting, the show’s budget, and how they all should definitely meet someday.
“Congratulations, Kise-chin,” Atsushi says after too long.
+
Kise-chin could have had his starring role two years ago if he’d done things right. He and some actress Atsushi should probably remember had dated for publicity, and the break-up had been an ugly thing.
The press hadn’t liked him. The press had loved her.
Sa-chin had managed to get them all to meet up around that time. Kise-chin had arrived late and had sat as far away from Kuro-chin as possible; only to offer to drive him home when Kuro-chin had said he was leaving. Neither of them had looked comfortable, but Kuro-chin had accepted, and a couple of days later Kise-chin was leaving the city for a photoshoot and Kuro-chin looked the same.
They annoy him. Kise-chin keeps trying and trying and trying, and Kuro-chin doesn’t react. It makes Atsushi wonder if Kise-chin really thinks he’ll get anywhere, or if he just doesn’t know how to do anything else.
What would happen if Kise-chin gave up on Kuro-chin? Would he have a more peaceful life?
Talking about peaceful, it’s quiet. The radio’s off.
Oh.
“Kise-chin, where’s Kuro-chin?”
Kise-chin slams the breaks and drives back to the gas station at speed limit.
+
Kuro-chin doesn’t get in the car immediately. He says they need more snacks and makes them walk back into the store, and then informs Kise-chin that he’ll have to pay because he’s the only one that has a job (Atsushi doesn’t count because he’s injured and must be taken care of).
Six years ago - or maybe four or two, perhaps just six months ago - Atsushi might have been able to stand another whole day of seeing them watch each other just with having enough food to distract himself with.
Today, the only evasion technique left is to recline the seat and fall asleep.
+
They wake Atsushi up because Kise-chin has a weird sense of humor.
Atsushi doesn’t understand what’s going on, just realizes he’s being pulled and pushed out of the car and by the time he’s fully awake, they’re standing next to a carousel and Kise-chin’s making puppy eyes at a man who doesn’t seem happy to see a trio of twenty-somethings trying to get on a children’s ride.
Kise-chin gets his way after an eternity of begging, or maybe it feels that way because the merry-go-round is loud and too bright, and then Atsushi’s trying to sit on a bright red lion without moving his injured leg too much.
The song’s obnoxious, but the lion doesn’t seem to be about to break under Atsushi’s weight, so he allows himself to relax. In front of him, Kise-chin’s sitting on a white horse, arms spread to the sides and head slightly thrown back as he lets out a high-pitched, exaggerated cry of joy. Next to Atsushi, Kuro-chin’s on a pink wolf, one hand firmly holding onto the handle on the wolf’s head, the other one holding up his phone to record Kise-chin, a hint of amusement in the corners of his mouth and in the spark in his eyes, and then he turns to Atsushi and says, “Smile, Murasakibara-kun.”
Atsushi complies and makes a victory sign to the camera, then asks Kuro-chin to lend him his phone to take a picture of him as well.
Kuro-chin’s smile is better than Atsushi’s, it’s fond and amused, and it seems to become warmer when Kise-chin asks, “What are you doing?”
+
That night, they decide they can afford a hotel, with enough towels and blankets, and rooms that don’t smell damp.
Kise-chin falls asleep quickly again, Kuro-chin writes, and Atsushi lays on his back, listening to Kise-chin’s soft snores and Kuro-chin’s keyboard, and sends the picture of him in the carousel to Muro-chin, not caring how awkward he looks sitting on the tiny lion.
+
Kuro-chin asks if Kise-chin can take the first driving turn and falls asleep on the back seat just a few minutes after the engine starts, laying on his side, curled up.
Without Kuro-chin as a bridge between them, they don’t have much to tell each other, but it’s nice not to be in the middle of a staring contest.
“Kise-chin, what do you want?” Atsushi asks, pointing at Kuro-chin, when Kise-chin awkwardly maneuvers to take a picture of Kuro-chin without looking away from the road. He could have asked Atsushi to take it, he wouldn’t have minded, and the whole moment feels so stupid that Atsushi needs to ask, because maybe then Kise-chin will stop what he’s doing, whatever it actually is.
“Ah? What do you mean?” Kise-chin gives Atsushi a quick look, smiling like he doesn’t understand the question.
And maybe he doesn’t, maybe that’s the reason he spends so much time travelling. Maybe Kise-chin really doesn’t know what he wants, even though everybody else does, and it’s not that he’s spent the last few years running away from it, but instead has been looking for someone to spell it out. Or maybe Kise-chin knows and he’s just waiting for someone to tell him whether or not he should do something about it.
Atsushi closes his eyes, because if he doesn’t see Kise-chin it’s easier to deal with the urge to kick him out of the car, and says, “You and Kuro-chin. What do you want?”
“I really don’t get what you mean, Murasakibaracchi.”
Sure he doesn’t.
“Kise-chin, you’re boring me.”
If Atsushi was given to meddling in people’s lives, maybe he could point out to Kise-chin that, if he’d managed to annoy him in two minutes, Kuro-chin must have been tired after so many years. But if Kise-chin doesn’t get it on his own, why would he listen to Atsushi? Where’s Aka-chin when you need him?
“I think I want to stop,” Kise-chin says, very quiet, very normal, very believable.
“Then stop.”
“It’s not that easy.”
Atsushi just makes a noise of agreement. Kise-chin doesn’t know when to give up, and Atsushi had thought, once, that he knew how, but then he’d discovered he didn’t really give up as much as he never started, so he can’t really give any advice.
+
They leave Kise-chin in the city where his photoshoot will take place and drive off, watch him wave goodbye with both hands, jumping in his spot and calling after them, promising to visit them when they’re all back home.
Atsushi’s already imagining the basket of food he’ll receive. Since he won’t have any stories to tell about the trip itself, Kise-chin will bring the conversation immediately to the news about everyone else, will ask too many questions about what’s going on in Atsushi’s life, and then he’ll leave to visit Kuro-chin. Then Atsushi will share his food with Muro-chin and spare a moment to think about Kise-chin, who keeps saying he doesn’t want to be tied down, travels and travels and, no matter how far away he goes, insists in coming back to Kuro-chin. That’s a bigger effort than staying.
Not that Kuro-chin’s any better, because he’s never told Kise-chin not to return, but he’s never told him to stay, and then Kise-chin goes on another trip and when he returns, Kuro-chin calls Atsushi to ask if Kise-chin has visited him already and then goes out to buy extra food for Kise-chin, and that’s a bigger effort than just asking Kise-chin to stay. Or leave. Whatever it is that Kuro-chin wants.
What does Kuro-chin want?
Is that why Kise-chin keeps going around, because he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to stay?
+
They stay at a hotel again, and Kuro-chin settles on his bed to write while Atsushi tries to find something to watch, finally settling on a re-run of a drama that Kise-chin was in. Kuro-chin ignores the TV until Kise-chin’s face fills the screen - his voice full of passion as he promises eternal love to a secondary character. He stops writing, his eyes flicking up to watch the screen intently, focused like he only was when he played.
Atsushi turns on his bed, lays on his side to look at Kuro-chin, caught in his staring contest even when Kise-chin isn’t really there.
“What do you want, Kuro-chin?” Atsushi says.
“Stability.”
“What does Kise-chin want?”
“I don’t know.”
“Liar,” says Atsushi, suddenly furious.
Kuro-chin turns to look at him, surprised, hides it quickly but still not fast enough to stop Atsushi from seeing his shame at being caught in such an obvious lie. In this moment, Atsushi hates him and Kise-chin, hates their stupid, meaningless efforts to deny themselves something they want.
Kuro-chin closes his laptop and looks at the TV again, where Kise-chin’s character is dying heroically.
“He’s surprisingly good at romantic scenes,” Kuro-chin says. “I think his new drama will be a love story.”
Atsushi doesn’t throw his pillow at him because he doesn’t throw things. Also because he thinks that’s Kuro-chin’s way of saying that he’s decided something.
+
They drive back to the city Kise-chin’s in and spend two hours trying to figure out where the photoshoot’s taking place, until they consider that Kise-chin probably has a lot of stalker-ish fangirls that might have posted his whereabouts online. A quick internet search takes them to a website dedicated to Kise-chin that has a detailed list of places where he will be, photo manips, and a forum in which teenage girls write stories in which they imagine themselves dating Kise-chin, with varying levels of literary ability and imagination (Atsushi gets dizzy from reading while the car moves, but he was curious about what challenges Kise-chin would have to overcome to prove himself worthy of Saturn’s princess). Atsushi sends the link to Muro-chin and Sa-chin, because he supposes they’ll find it funny.
+
They find Kise-chin signing autographs and taking pictures with some fans. Atsushi wonders if any of those is the one that imagines herself as Saturn’s princess, wishes there was some way to know and tell her that she’s wasting her talent writing about Kise-chin.
Kuro-chin’s car isn’t noticeable, so it takes Kise-chin a while to raise his eyes and see them, and Atsushi isn’t surprised at all when he doesn’t move, just darts glances at them as he talks to his fans.
Kuro-chin isn’t moving either. So much for believing in him.
Atsushi gets out of the car and walks to Kise-chin, who apparently hadn’t expected any kind of intervention from him.
“We’re driving you to your hotel.”
“Oh, okay… Thank you!” Kise-chin says, voice enthusiastic, confusion on his face.
They get in the car and start driving, Atsushi keeping track of how long it’ll be before any of them speaks. They aren’t watching each other, Kuro-chin only looks at the road and Kise-chin looks at his hands.
They reach the hotel without speaking, and Atsushi’s done. Kuro-chin stops the car and, before he can react, Atsushi takes the keys, gets out, and locks them in.
“Talk,” he says, pointing at them. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
He walks away. The car alarm starts, and Atsushi turns to find Kise-chin and Kuro-chin getting out of the vehicle. They freeze when their eyes meet his, and then get back in the car.
Atsushi texts Aka-chin to tell him what he’s done. Then he texts Sa-chin. In half an hour, his phone is full of messages - thanking him, praising him, and promising him presents – from almost everyone who knows Kuro-chin and Kise-chin, including their former teammates from highschool.
+
When Atsushi returns, Kise-chin has moved to the passenger seat.
Atsushi’s polite enough to pretend he doesn’t see how messy Kuro-chin’s hair is or how red Kise-chin’s lips look, and he’s also polite enough the next day not to mention he heard Kuro-chin leaving their shared room around midnight.
+
“…so we’re driving Kise-kun back to Tokyo instead of finishing the trip,” Kuro-chin explains over breakfast.
“Okay,” Atsushi says.
“You don’t mind your trip being cut short, Murasakibaracchi?”
“It’s Kuro-chin’s trip. I didn’t want to come.” Atsushi shrugs for effect, his thoughts already taking him home.
+
They talk on the way back about schedules, Kise-chin’s upcoming trips, about that job offer he’ll take because it pays well and how often he can go back to Tokyo between filming; about Kuro-chin’s studies and his novel; about Atsushi’s matches and how they’ll be there to cheer for him no matter what it takes.
Kise-chin’s leaning forward, his fingers playing with the ends of Kuro-chin’s hair, and he looks better than he has in years.
Kuro-chin’s watching the road and smiling.
+
Kise-chin insists on staying in the same motel from the first night.
The woman at the front desk is the same one from then. She doesn’t comment when they ask for two rooms, and she gives them extra blankets and offers them the waffle machine without prompting.
+
Atsushi doesn’t stay in his room. There’s something about having some serious suspicions of what’s happening in the one next to yours that makes it hard to focus on the TV or try to sleep, so he goes back to the reception, where the woman is reading a gossip magazine.
“Can I make more waffles?” Atsushi asks.
He makes sure to give the woman some good waffles, and he takes his plate outside and sits on the hood of Kuro-chin’s car, watches the night sky and tries to find the poetry and the questions people supposedly ask themselves when they’re faced with infinity, but his mind keeps going back to the recovery time he has left, to Kuro-chin and Kise-chin watching each other for six years without stopping to actually look at each other, to the possibility of international matches and what he’ll eat there to compensate for the terrible airplane food, to Muro-chin back home probably eating with the TV on to feel like he has some company.
He takes a picture of the stars, sends it to Muro-chin and writes ‘ I’ll b home tomorrow ’.
+
“Welcome back,” Muro-chin says, smiling. “How was your trip?”
Atsushi shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” He narrows his eyes at Muro-chin. “Don’t ever send me out like that again.”
Muro-chin just laughs at Atsushi’s glare and Atsushi doesn’t say more, goes to the kitchen and starts putting away all the food Kise-chin insisted on buying for him before they brought him home, leaves what he thinks Muro-chin will like best in plain sight, and makes plans to invite Kuro-chin and Kise-chin over for dinner one of these days.
Maybe he can invite Aka-chin, Mido-chin, Sa-chin and Mine-chin as well.
He’d like that. He’d definitely like that.
So he texts everyone.