Work Text:
Rintaro, unfortunately, is the kind of kid who attracts other kids who don’t know how to shut up. But he was raised ‘right’ and simply lets them yap near him despite desperately wanting to tell them to leave him alone. At least he has a phone to play games on so that he doesn’t have to really entertain them. Being eight sucks. Or, other eight year olds suck.
Speaking of. Another vaguely familiar kid is approaching Rin’s recess spot. So he braces himself by quickly opening a game on his phone.
Then the kid just…sits. Like, a little too far away for easy conversation, but close enough to sense his presence (and hear the sounds of whatever handheld game he’s playing).
Still, Rintaro waits. And…waits. And…then he realizes that he’s just been staring at the blackened screen of his phone for a weirdly long time. He’d gotten so caught up in imagining what kind of game the other is playing based on the faint sounds alone. His hands clutch the phone tighter and then he glances over for the first time.
The other kid is tiny. Face blocked from view by super dark brown hair. The thing in his hands isn’t a phone–it’s way bigger, but not an ipad like the one his little sister watches her dumb shows on. Rin tilts his head curiously.
“What’s that?” he asks.
Quick moving thumbs pause and the game sounds stop, too. The kid’s shoulders hunch toward his ears but he angles his head enough for Rin to catch a sliver of one bright colored eye – except it’s too quick before it’s hidden again by the curtains of dark hair. Then the thumbs launch back into motion and the mysterious game noises and music resume filling the air of their little recess bubble.
“Pokemon.”
Rin’s eyes widen slightly at the soft spoken response. He’d kinda accepted that he wasn’t gonna get an answer.
“Oh. What are you playing on?”
Two wide eyes suddenly trap Rin’s voice in the back of his throat. He’s never seen eyes that color before. Bright amber? No, practically gold, with the way they lighten as the sun drifts back into power from behind a cloud.
“Wanna see?” that same soft voice asks, a bit louder this time.
Rin glances down at his phone before pocketing it and scooching in next to the golden eyed boy. Neither of them talk for the rest of recess. Rin just watches as the other boy sweeps through each battle and levels up slowly but surely. The bunny-like pokemon kind gives the same vibes as the kid playing the game. Rin keeps his smirk small and to himself. It doesn’t take long for the sounds that he’d been listening to before to make sense with the vivid animations, and the music is catchy, but not annoying. He’ll probably be humming some of them later whether he likes it or not. It’s cool, though, and stirs something new to life in Rintaro’s mind.
(At dinner, Rin asks his dad for a Nintendo switch – and not even right that second, but maybe for Christmas or his birthday. His dad doesn’t even look up from scraping rice around in his dish to end the conversation with a firm, “No, video games rot your brain.”)
So Rin settles by sitting with the Quiet Pokemon Boy during recess everyday and watching instead. They’re not even in the same class, so Rin doesn’t know the kid’s name. His parents or another adult has always introduced him; he doesn’t think to introduce himself either. They don’t need each other’s names to talk battle strategies or to sit in companionable silence.
A year passes like this, and then Rintaro chooses his mom over his dad and suddenly he has to say goodbye to Tokyo in its entirety. Including the golden eyed Pokemon Boy.
“Mom is moving us to some place called Hy…ogo?”
“Oh…”
“Do you have a phone number? We could still text or something.”
“No. My mom doesn’t think kids should have cell phones.”
“Oh.”
“I could give you my address and you could write? My dad’s a postman. He can probably make it get to you faster.”
“Cool, okay.”
Rin watches as the boy pulls out a notebook and scribbles out his home address. Signs it Kenma. So his name is Kenma. He doesn’t write a family name down, so neither does Rin. That’s not important anyway, right? Right.
(For his birthday, Rintaro gets the same Nintendo switch that he watched Kenma play on. Pokemon is the first game he downloads, and while he never really played the game himself, he catches on super quickly–definitely from all of those recess hours spent watching the best gamer that he knows.
It’s fun. Winning, leveling up. Helps pass the boredom.
Still…it’s not quite the same.)
- ••
“Kenma! Come go through this box before dinner!”
Kenma closes his eyes and internalizes a groan, knowing that he’ll get a real scolding if his mom hears his hundredth complaint in the last hour and a half. His dad, the bearer of said box, sets it down on his childhood desk before giving his son a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and leaving him to it. Kenma gets to move off campus and live on his own for the first time, but had made the rookie mistake of stopping at home to ask for one piece of furniture – and now here he is for the second week in a row, going through all the boxes of “his stuff” that his mom has been hoarding since, hmm, looks like
since he was fucking born.
Because Kenma is a good son a.k.a. fearful of his mother like all good sons are wont to be.
At least this box is slightly smaller. There’s a couple of old Nintendo DS’s along with copies of game station disks that have collected a disgusting level of dust. Beneath all of that though, there’s a shoebox. Kenma’s brow furrows. He doesn’t recognize the outside, but once he pops open the lid, all the memories flood back. And his face flushes.
Cards. Postcards. Several pokemon keychains. Even more stickers.
He picks up the first postcard and flips it over.
Kenma
What’s your favorite starter pokemon? Or which one should I start with? Are they the same? Hi by the way
Rin
Kenma grimaces as his face heats up more. He rubs a hand over his permanently embarrassed facial expression.
Fuck. He’d totally suppressed just how embarrassing that time in his life was. Asking the other loner kid he sat with during recess if they could write to each other weekly? No wonder his parents weren’t surprised when he came out to them at 17.
Despite the simmering mortification, the nostalgia on the other side of the same coin pokes at him fondly. His first good friend–maybe even best friend. A kid who could’ve laughed in Kenma’s face for asking to hand write to him while he literally was on his own cell phone 24/7. Kenma gently shuffles through the cards, practically two years worth of them, his heart giving in and tightening with affection for that little boy he used to be.
Rin,
The bunny pokemon you said is probably Raboot. Scorbunny is its starter. You think I look like Raboot?
Kenma
Kenma
Got grounded for pretending to cut my sister’s braids off. No phone OR switch for two weeks. And during summer break too?? What am i supposed to do??
Rin
Rin,
Are the twins like in that horror movie? Those are the only twins i know. Be careful. That’s scary
Kenma
Kenma,
One of the twins isn’t so bad, he’s actually pretty cool. The other one is hella annoying but they come as a set, ya know? We share lots of memes. Wish I could send you memes :( when do you get a cell phone again? Haha
Rin
Rin,
‘Ya know’? It’s only been a year and you’re already sounding like them. But I’m glad that the twins haven’t murdered you and your entire family (yet). Still no phone, but I think I’m wearing my mom down.
Kenma
“Kenma, didn’t you hear me? I said–oh! Isn’t that cute?!” Kenma’s mom plops down beside him on the bed. She smiles softly. “I remember when you first asked me if you could write to this boy. Your cute little determined face, I swear you thought I was going to say no.”
Kenma rolls his eyes as she laughs. “You were very good at it, if I remember correctly.”
She pinches his arm and he glares at her. “I could never say no to you for very long! My little prince.” She beams at him while he shrinks under the blatant endearment.
“You never let me get a phone.”
She tilts her head in confusion. “You never asked for one. Actually, I remember asking if you wanted one so that you could communicate with your friend in Hyogo faster. And you said that you were fine, you liked writing to him.”
Kenma’s cheeks flush. Shit, he did say that didn’t he. He tries to hide his face but he could never hide from his mother. But she doesn’t tease him too hard. She pets his hair, tugging a little on the golden tips.
“That’s when I knew.”
“That I was gay?” Kenma deadpans, swatting at her hand. Crows feet crinkle in the corners of her eyes when she smiles.
“ Yes. My kiddo’s first crush.” She sighs fondly. “Your dad forced me not to say anything. Not until you were ready.”
He glances down at the card in his hand. It’s just a silly little paragraph about sharing memes with another kid in his class, but Kenma can now feel the ghost of a past pang of jealousy. Maybe his first feeling of jealousy– ever . But then his dad had said something about how Kenma was probably the only person the other boy hand wrote anything to. That had soothed the uncomfortable feeling he hadn’t had the name for at the time.
Kenma silently thanks every god out there for his father.
His mom gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head. “Aren’t you glad I saved those?” She winks and he rolls his eyes again, but, begrudgingly, he does.
As he closes the box, the fleeting thought of where that pretty green eyed boy is now drifts by slowly, like a fluffy white cumulus cloud on a sunny summer afternoon.
- ••
Kenma takes to the second to back row of the class. He learned early on his first year of college that sitting in the very last row put more of a target on his back than he expected. Here, in the safety net of the second to last row, he can safely melt into near nonexistence.
“Hey.”
Internally, Kenma jumps ten feet straight up like a cat grabbed by its tail. Externally, Kenma’s eyes slowly track to the side and up to the source of the voice. And boy does he have to look up. Pretty light-hazel eyes, a sharp jawline, a soft line for a mouth that’s definitely growing into a smirk the longer Kenma remains silent.
His classmate gestures to the empty seat beside Kenma despite the pool of empty seating literally anywhere else. Kenma’s pulse is starting to pick up after a massive stumble but nods and uselessly shifts his things closer to him. (They weren’t even in anyone’s way; he literally is just sweating as he becomes way too conscious of what his hands are doing.)
Kenma pretends like he’s not having an out of body experience and doesn’t realize that his fingers have been flicking at the well worn Scorbunny keychain attached to his pencil pouch (yes, one of the many old keychains from The Box). It was a very spontaneous last minute thing that he decided on literally that morning. First day back to classes still made him a little anxious and the idea of having the keychain to fiddle with calmed him.
“I like your keychain,” his seatmate says, making Kenma jump again, this time with more of an external flinch.
“Oh,” Kenma forces his hands into his lap and trains his eyes on the keychain, “thanks…”
“Suna,” the guy says, paired with a lazy half smile.
“Kenma,” he responds with a small dip of his head. Something familiar and soft sparkles in the guy’s eyes and Kenma swears there’s a new warmer tone to the guy’s – Suna’s – face as he turns away from Kenma.
“Cool.” Suna reaches out and with long fingers pokes at the Scorbunny charm. “It’s cute. But personally, I think Raboot is cuter. Either way, fits your vibe.”
Underneath the further flustering of one Kozume Kenma under the pokemon themed flirtation from his hot classmate, there’s a deeper familiarity at the other man’s words. Like a forgotten word on the tip of the tongue. The beginning of class starts up before Kenma can reset and focus on racking his brain for an answer to those forgotten words.
“Hey, we should exchange numbers,” Suna says as he slowly packs away his laptop, “solidarity against the ridiculous amount of homework.” He’s not even looking at Kenma but Kenma somehow instinctively knows that he’s being referred to. Maybe it’s wishful thinking with a happy ending. Kenma doesn’t push his luck any further and simply nods before holding out his cell, an empty contact form ready to be filled with, in hindsight, some of the most important information he might ever receive.
“Cool, see ya around, Kenma,” Suna says, the teasing smirk Kenma had just started to get used to suddenly replaced with a fuller, boyish grin that sends a zip of energy directly through Kenma’s second and third rib that only blossoms from there.
Kenma stood there like an idiot in love, smiling dopily down at his phone. He opens his messages to send Suna a quick message with his name so that he has his number, too, only to see that Suna had done that. He’d sent himself a gif of Raboot holding out a shiny red apple. But that’s not what catches Kenma’s attention. It’s the name Suna listed himself as:
Suna (I’ve been in love with you since we were kids) Rintaro.
All those forgotten words suddenly flow back into place and leaves Kenma gasping for air as if he’s breaking the surface tension of some murky memory-like dream.
Rin. His Rin .
Meanwhile, already halfway to his next class with the most smug grin running loose on his face and an embarrassing amount of blush, a certain collegiate level middle blocker is receiving several sticker messages all reiterating the same thing:
Fuck you. (I’ve been in love with you, too.)