Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are a number of reasons why Okuyasu runs.

For starters, he's good at it. He's been running all of his life; sometimes out of necessity, sometimes to escape. Sometimes it's just to feel the surge of energy as he hits his stride; the addictive quality of the runner's high pulsing through him like the blood in his veins, seeping into every cell of his body until he is nothing but motion and energy and freedom. Running is wind in his ears and the earth under his feet, and as he dashes towards the horizon, there's no need to think, just do. Push his muscles to their limits, feel the adrenaline coursing through him, hear his heart hammer away in his chest: run.

It's an act that's as invigorating as it is simple, so he devotes more and more time to it. First as a hobby, and then a bit more seriously, joining the track club and taking odd jobs to pay for his sports expenses. Growing up in a household where most of their income went to supporting his father's drug habit meant pushing down waves of guilt any time he bought a luxury item for himself ("luxury" being sneakers that weren't falling apart and clothes that actually fit him.) But every time he hesitated, his older brother would either swoop in to give him a friendly push towards making the purchase or, failing that, buy the object for him. There'd been a number of mornings where the younger Nijimura sibling had woken up to a shopping bag hanging from the doorknob of his room, stuffed full of whatever shiny new thing Okuyasu had been hemming and hawing over previously. He would always fly into the living room of their tiny apartment to try and reason with his brother, to tell him that he didn't need it and that any excess money should be tucked away in their savings accounts. Keicho never let him win those arguments, though; he'd brush it off, tell Okuyasu that he'd already lost the receipt and ripped off all the tags and remind him that it was extremely rude to refuse a gift given so willingly.

"If it'll help you, then it's an expense we can eat," he'd say. "Don't worry about it, dumbass." This was always followed by a pat on the head and the offer of his shoulder for Okuyasu to cry on--seventeen and crying like a baby over new shoes, he was so terribly uncool--before he'd finished getting ready for work, telling Okuyasu to have a good day at school as he left.

Sometimes Okuyasu thought Keicho felt guilty about the way they'd grown up. Not that they talked about it--Keicho wasn't the type to waste time discussing feelings--but his actions spoke volumes. Like he'd been personally responsible for not providing the sort of loving environment that TV shows inferred to as normal family life. Never mind that it was in no way his older brother's fault; he had been locked into that same sphere of abuse and loneliness, too. Both of their childhoods had been lived in the shadow of death and an addiction neither of them could control--it was just the luck of the draw that Keicho had been born first. That he'd spread himself thin trying to fill the roles their parents had vacated wasn't something he should've felt any shame over.

If Keicho had let him, Okuyasu would've skipped high school altogether in favor of joining the workforce. There never seemed to be any lack of work in the construction field, and it would mean that Keicho wouldn't have to work himself until he ached, skin baked dark from hours spent toiling away in the sun while he helped keep Japan's transportation systems in tip-top shape. But, much like their arguments over buying Okuyasu new running gear, Keicho would steamroll over any talk of dropping out. Okuyasu was going to stay in school, graduate, maybe even go to college if they could find him a good sports scholarship. Make a life for himself that didn't involve wasting his talents on backbreaking manual labor or menial service jobs.

Be more than me.

Keicho never said it aloud, too hard around the edges to let such a fragile sentiment pass his lips. Besides, they both knew exactly what he meant without the words passing between them. It was too late for Keicho--it wasn't for Okuyasu.

So the younger Nijimura stayed in school. He never missed a day if he could help it and made sure his homework was done even though he struggled through the majority of his studies. And after school he put on the shoes his brother gave him and ran.

When Coach announces that they've got a new student joining the team, Okuyasu isn't bothered by it. They'd lost well over a third of the team when the senior class had graduated and drumming up interest for new members had been an arduous process with scant returns. The club needs new members to ensure its continued existence, so Okuyasu does his best to be welcoming to their newest addition. With any luck, this one will actually stay.

He's a tall boy, a little on the gangly side with light eyes and long hair that flows halfway down his back like liquid gold. Once Coach has finished introducing this Hazekura Mikitaka, his teammates swarm around the young man to pelt him with questions. Everything from where he transferred from (the international school in Sapporo) and what class he's in (he thinks it's 2-B but he missed most of his classes today due to lingering issues with his transfer so he's not sure) to if his hair is naturally like that (yes, it is) and what his nationality was (Japanese, though his mother is American.)

Okuyasu can't lie and say he hadn't been just as interested in the answers to those questions, but Mikitaka is starting to look a little overwhelmed, his eyes darting from person to person as if he couldn't figure out which one to square his attention on. Eventually he settles on Okuyasu, who sighs in return. How can he not help the new kid when he's looking at him like that? It's like he's sending an SOS with his eyes.

Okuyasu folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head back, trying to summon every bit of the street punk charm he's picked up over the years. "Oi oi oi, are we gonna practice today or what?"

Their teammates all turn to look at him and then direct their attention back to their coach, expressions sheepish. Coach just laughs and says he's going to be timing them on their sprints today, so they should start grouping themselves up by year. Okuyasu flops down on the dirt to stretch and wait as the first years file onto the track. Their group is the thinnest at only three members, so there won't be much time for him to kill, but he figures he ought to spend that time limbering up at least a bit. He hadn't earned some of the best times on the team by slacking off.

He's on his back, legs folded together as he rotates them from side to side, when he sees the new kid sit down next to him. Mikitaka is in the process of tying his hair back, but he looks over long enough to offer his thanks for breaking up the impromptu question and answer session. Okuyasu merely shrugs and goes back to stretching. If he had been a bit better with his words, he might've made a quip about Mikitaka being too interesting for their podunk little school. The joke would take him too long to bumble through so all he says is, "It's no biggie."

Mikitaka nods. "Still, I appreciate it."

For the first time since he showed up, Okuyasu stops and really looks at Mikitaka. Now that he's seeing him up close, it's clear that Mikitaka has a little more muscle on him than Okuyasu had originally thought, but he's still pretty scrawny. He wears his gangliness well, though, limbs full of slow, fluid movements that seem simultaneously practiced and effortless, and for the briefest of moments, Okuyasu feels something that almost tastes like jealousy crawl down his throat. The feeling only gets stronger the longer his eyes linger on the thin boy.

Mikitaka is attractive in a way that Okuyasu isn't used to seeing in real life. He's not cute and boyish like his buddy Koichi, or full of bad boy charm and rugged good looks like his best pal Josuke. If anything, Mikitaka reminds Okuyasu of the models that inhabit the overpriced fashion magazines Josuke insists on buying. Creatures composed of sharp angles and spindly limbs, vacant eyes staring out from pale, androgynous faces, their lips parted just enough to hint at the perfect little pearls they had for teeth. Beings that looked more like pretty, broken dolls made specifically to serve the purposes of all that is haute couture than normal humans.

That's the kind of beauty that Mikitaka possesses, even if it is a little rough around the edges and dulled from misuse. There's definitely more life in his eyes, but his smiles seem as far away as those of the ethereal lifeforms that live in glossy magazine spreads. With a little bit of makeup and the right lighting, he would look perfectly at home skulking down a catwalk in Paris or New York or wherever the hell they held all those fashion weeks that Josuke was always yammering on about. (Honestly, Okuyasu had learned to tune it out most of the time.)

It's the shrill burst of Coach's whistle that startles him back into the present. His eyes shoot to the sky like he'd been caught watching something he had no right looking at. Just how long had he been eyeballing Mikitaka? Had he been staring? Had Mikitaka caught him staring? Okuyasu shifts a little, trying to sneak a glimpse at the other boy without being totally obvious about it. Thankfully, Mikitaka's attention is focused squarely on the race, so he sits up to join him in watching the first years take off down the track.

They're a little messy still, their form too loose and their times not as fast as they could be, but they're getting there. Okuyasu cheers for them as they fly to the end of the 100 meters, and he's the first on his feet to congratulate them all on a good run. He gives each one of them a friendly pat on the back as they trot over to Coach to get their times.

It's a little startling when he turns and finds Mikitaka at his side again, even more so when he realizes that he is the one being watched now. Mikitaka smiles, tucks a stray strand of pale hair behind his ear, and asks if Okuyasu is the team captain.

It's flattering, and Okuyasu feels the heat rise in his cheeks even as he tells Mikitaka no. The truth was that they'd tried repeatedly to nominate him for that position, but the thought of being saddled with that much responsibility makes his skin prickle all over, so he'd turned them down every time. Mikitaka seems surprised by this, green eyes blinking owlishly at him, but whatever he was going to say next is lost between them when Coach blows his whistle once more. "Okay, second years! Line up!"

"C'mon, that's us," Okuyasu manages to mutter. He trots onto the track, not surprised when Mikitaka positions himself into one of the lanes next to his. Okuyasu isn't great at making friends--he kinda sucks at the whole first impressions thing--but he thinks he might have lucked out with the new kid, so he chances throwing Mikitaka a grin. That he receives a brilliant smile in return only bolsters his confidence.

He flashes a thumbs up at the other boy, grin widening. "Good luck."

"You too," Mikitaka all but titters back.

The conversation ends there as the rest of their class takes up positions at the starting blocks on either side of them. The opening commands of "on your mark" and "set" ring out over the field and then there's the tweet of Coach's whistle and everything is movement.

It's literally over in seconds--just over eleven, to be exact. To Okuyasu it might as well have been eleven minutes. He sees the exact moment when Mikitaka starts to pull ahead, hears the slap of his sneakers against the track as he overtakes him, and it throws him so violently that he almost trips when he gets to the finish line, coming in firmly in second place. Ahead of him, Mikitaka is slowing to a jog, his ponytail flagging behind him like a victory banner. When he turns back to look at Okuyasu, Mikitaka smiles at him like he is a ray of sunshine come to life, all but beaming as the heady taste of victory overcomes him.

"I beat you?" Mikitaka sounds just as incredulous as Okuyasu feels. The hint of delight that clings to his words, however, is nowhere near the hollowness that has opened up inside Okuyasu's chest. "I really beat you?"

Okuyasu feels like he's going to puke.

"Pouting doesn't look cool, dude," Josuke says when he finds Okuyasu in the locker room after practice.

"Neither does losing," Okuyasu grumbles back. He's hunched in on himself, mid-sulk and not caring who sees it. Today had been one of the worst practices he'd participated in so his desire to pal around was more or less in the toilet.

There are plenty of moments where Okuyasu finds himself thankful for Josuke's friendship. Now, for example. Because Josuke takes one look at the downward slope of Okuyasu's shoulders and the miserable expression on his face and promptly sits down next to him on the bench. Within seconds there's a warm arm slung across his back and a hand clapping down on his shoulder gently. "How much of a difference was it?"

"He averaged about .4 seconds."

"Seriously?" Josuke pulled back a bit to stare at his friend. The hand resting on Okuyasu's shoulder gives him a quick squeeze. "That's not even half a second! You can make that up, no sweat."

Okuyasu hangs his head with a sigh. He'd thought the same thing at first, figuring his loss was just a one-off deal. It could have been that Okuyasu hadn't stretched enough beforehand. Or Mikitaka had a really strong case of beginner's luck. But each time they'd hit the track, Mikitaka came out just ahead of Okuyasu by fractions of a second that felt like needles being driven under his skin one by one.

Nobody seemed to care much that each win was slowly eating away at Okuyasu's confidence; they were too busy being awestruck by the fact that the new kid was consistently outpacing their fastest runner. Any time Mikitaka stepped off the track he was immediately swarmed with questions and compliments, the rest of their team falling all over themselves to get in his good graces. Even Coach seemed impressed, making an appreciative whistle as he averaged out all of Mikitaka's times for the day. In fact, the only person who seemed to be paying any attention to Okuyasu was the one member of the track team that he wanted to talk to the least at the moment. It seemed any time he glanced over in his direction, Mikitaka would be staring back at him with a confused look on his face. Okuyasu figured it was probably just as overwhelming on his end of things, what with the rest of team constantly crowding him, and a something in him insisted that speak up to help Mikitaka regain a little bit of breathing room. It'd be the friendly thing to do. The right thing, even. They were teammates now, right? No need to be a poor sport about coming in second.

That's what he tried to convince himself, at least. In the end, Okuyasu merely averted his eyes and left Mikitaka to fend off the endless sea of questions, and he hated himself a little bit for it.

He'd ended up staying out well past practice was over, running drills and obsessively timing his sprints until his body ached and his lungs and throat felt like they were full of hot coals. Normally running gave him an outlet, a way to escape all the shitty parts of his life. Running was pure. Running was free. And yet, no matter how hard he willed his mind to empty itself of anything other than the feel of the track under his feet, his thoughts--much like the new transfer student--were too fast for him.

The ones that scream the loudest--aside from general frustration at his loss--are for potential scholarships. There aren't a whole lot of them out there for track runners, but Coach had told him repeatedly that as he was consistently the fastest runner at their school, he was basically guaranteed at least one. Okuyasu will be the first to tell anyone that he doesn't have a whole lot of talent outside of athletics, and his academic career is one of barely skating above the pass-fail line. A sports scholarship would be an automatic in; if he's lucky, it could be a way to dip his toes into the world of professional sports as well. In the light of his performance today, he's beginning to wonder if it wasn't foolish of him to pin all his hopes on a dream that could be shot down so easily.

The sad fact of the matter is that he has no faith in his ability to get into a school under his own steam, not to mention stay in long enough to get noticed. Even if he does pass the entrance exams, he has no idea how they can afford a college education on his family's meager budget. He knows that Keicho will gladly offer to support him, but the thought of forcing his already overworked brother into four more years of backbreaking labor makes Okuyasu feel a bit like he's drowning, his chest squeezing painfully and his throat closing tight in on itself. Keicho has already sacrificed so much for him. Okuyasu can't ask this of him as well. He just can't.

From there his thoughts turn into a whirlwind of anxious questions: would they still give him a scholarship if he was only the second best runner on the team? Is Keicho going to be disappointed when he finds out his little brother isn't at the top of his game anymore? Is this his fault for getting so cocky? Has he not been working hard enough? Can he beat Mikitaka? Is it even worth trying?

Another sigh manages to float out of Okuyasu's mouth as he leans in to Josuke's arm, craving the comfort. He knows that admitting any of this is only going to get him chastised for being childish (and rightfully so, considering how he feels like he's about one more piece of bad news away from throwing himself on the floor and howling) but it's been hours and his brain still won't shut the hell up. So he keeps his mouth shut and lets the hurt feelings stew quietly in his belly, hoping the fear and resentment won't boil over where others can see.

It seems that Josuke understands because he only hugs his friend to him tighter. "C'mon, man, it's not the end of the world. You got this."

"I don't feel like I got this," Okuyasu mutters.

Josuke shifts his hand up to muss the sweaty mop of hair atop Okuyasu's head. "Trust me, you do." They sit in silence for a moment, content to enjoy each other's company, and then Josuke is laughing and giving Okuyasu a friendly slap to the shoulder. "For real though, I've seen you straight up make miracles happen on the track. All it's gonna take is a little bit of training and you'll be blazing past him like your ass is on fire!"

That manages to draw a smile across Okuyasu's lips, albeit a short-lived one. He tries to listen to Josuke as his friend spews encouragement after encouragement. He really, really tries. But for all the cheerful words being lobbed at him, Okuyasu can still feel the riptide of his own self doubt yanking at his ankles, threatening to pull him under.

The whispers that lurk in the corners of his mind, the ones that he doesn't even want to chance acknowledging, are telling him that he lost a part of himself today. Everyone's got something they're great at: Koichi is so affable and genuine that he could befriend a rock if he tried. Meanwhile Josuke could talk a drowning man into trading his life jacket for an anchor and make him feel like he'd come away with the better end of the bargain.

And Okuyasu? Well, Okuyasu runs. It's the only thing he really has any skill for, the only part of his life where he feels in control. The only thing that makes him stand out.

Except maybe he doesn't even have that anymore.

He's not sure whether it's Koichi or Josuke who befriends Mikitaka first. He thinks it's probably Koichi; his girlfriend is in the class Mikitaka transferred into, and thus his lunch dates with Yukako meant he had more opportunities to get to know the new kid. But years of close friendship have taught him not to underestimate Josuke, overgrown social butterfly that he is. Either way, Okuyasu isn't entirely surprised when there's a new addition to their group the next day, waiting to walk home with them.

They hadn't talked much since the horror show that had been practice the day before. Honestly, Okuyasu hadn't wanted to talk to Mikitaka; he was too busy trying to mend his bruised pride to care about making friends anymore. Mikitaka must not have received the memo, though, because he seems just as preoccupied with getting to know Okuyasu as their gushing teammates had acted towards him yesterday. Okuyasu thinks that maybe he should be a little more pleased to be on the receiving end of this much attention, but  all it does is make his mood that much more foul.

It's somewhere around the third or fourth iteration of a one-word answer or a shrug in response to one of Mikitaka's questions that he catches Josuke shooting him a look. The kind of look that seems to say 'he's trying to be nice to you and you are being a big fucking baby about this whole thing.' Okuyasu just sniffs and hunches his shoulders. He knows he's being childish about this but every time he looks at Mikitaka's stupid, pretty face, all he can feel is jealousy, worry, and probably his lunch join hands and begin line dancing across his stomach. The less attention he pays to the kid, the better.

Unfortunately, the universe must be dead set on making this an impossibility, because it seems like everywhere he goes, there's that familiar mane of long, pale blond hair and a pair of bright green eyes that seem to follow Okuyasu like they were magnets and he was the North Pole. He sees Mikitaka at lunch, on the way to and from school, and whenever they have track practice. If they weren't in different classes, Okuyasu is pretty sure that he'd be hanging out with Mikitaka more than Josuke, and Josuke is basically family to him. Just how intent on shoving himself into Okuyasu's life was he?

What's worse is that he can't even hate the guy properly. Mikitaka is just too damn nice. He laughs at their corny jokes like they've got a divine gift for comedy, looks concerned when they vent about the bad days and enraptured when they share their hobbies and likes with him, and he always seems to save his most brilliant smiles for whenever he sees them. Sometimes he buys them snacks after school; Okuyasu had tried repeatedly to turn him down but leave it to Josuke's greedy ass to accept the offer for the entire group. Hell, he even offers to help them with their homework because of course he's some kind of freaking science wizard on top of everything else. Mikitaka is like some sort of creature grown in a lab that had been designed to be the most perfect, caring friend in existence, and even though he feels like he should be extremely weirded out by it, Okuyasu finds it hard not to pay attention to him. Because he is just too fucking nice.

It's even worse when they're at practice because Okuyasu is without the buffer of Josuke, Koichi, and Yukako to draw Mikitaka's attention away from him. As much as he'd prefer to ignore Mikitaka in hopes that he'll get the hint and go the hell away, he knows that it'd be a real dick move to do so to his face. So slowly, unwillingly, Okuyasu starts to talk to Mikitaka.

They start on relatively safe subjects: homework, practice, if they'd seen anything interesting lately. He learns that Mikitaka doesn't really watch TV much (his parents had deemed it too distracting) but he likes wildlife documentaries, and he's particularly fond of non-fiction books about space and natural history. Crime stories and medical dramas, however, make him uneasy, and he gets queasy at the sight of blood. Apparently sometimes even hearing an ambulance siren will send him into the sweats. It's so weird, but the admission that perfect little Hazekura Mikitaka actually has such a glaring weakness makes him a little less terrifyingly bright in Okuyasu's eyes, like a little bit of the polish had worn thin.

The first time Mikitaka actually manages to make Okuyasu laugh is when he admits that he believes in aliens. It kinda makes sense, what with his infatuation with the cosmos, but Okuyasu had still thought Mikitaka was a bit more level-headed than that. When he says as much, Mikitaka grins and shrugs his shoulders.

"Even science can't rule it out as a possibility, so who knows?" Mikitaka muses. They're sitting side by side on the dirt while they wait for some of their slower teammates to finish their laps, and Mikitaka has his long, thin legs folded up to his chest and his arms wrapped firmly around his thighs. It's almost startling how a boy that lanky can bend himself into a size so small, but considering the fact that he'd just admitted to believing in extraterrestrial life, it's nowhere near the weirdest thing about him.

Mikitaka is still smiling as he lays his head down on his knees, big green eyes sparkling with mirth. "Maybe they're already among us. I know I'd love to meet an alien lifeform."

Okuyasu snorts and rolls his eyes. "You sure you're not the one who's from outer space?"

He hadn't thought Mikitaka's grin could get any bigger, but the boy is giggling suddenly, eyes nearly shut from smiling so hard. Mikitaka unwraps one arm from around himself and brings up his hand to wiggle his long, slender fingers menacingly in Okuyasu's direction, and when he speaks, his words are unnaturally stilted. "You've caught me, earthman. Now you have no choice but to take me to your leader."

It's the first time he's heard Mikitaka even attempt cracking a joke, and it's so utterly unexpected and silly that Okuyasu can't stop the laughter as it comes rolling out of him. He can barely hear Mikitaka start giggling again under the sound of his own cackling, but when he finally calms down enough to looks over at the other teen, Okuyasu is surprised by the gentleness in Mikitaka's gaze. He's folded back in on himself, but there's a tenderness to his smile that Okuyasu has never noticed before and it's aimed squarely at him. Something about this whole scene makes him feel suddenly self-conscious and though he's not entirely sure why he feels this way, it's still enough to move him to fake a cough and look away.

That's when he begins to realize that things are somehow different when they're alone together. Not in a bad way so much as a really confusing one; he's noticed that there are lots of little changes in the way Mikitaka treats him as opposed to the others. For one, his voice is always a little softer, a little more unsure, as if the mere act of talking to Okuyasu was a risk. There's also the way he's constantly catching Mikitaka watching him, and the smiles that are so soft and shy that it's like they're sharing a secret between the two of them. Okuyasu has never been on the receiving end of this kind of treatment, and it only sends his conflict over how to feel about Mikitaka spiraling even deeper into the depths of confusion.

"You can't change my mind" is what he wants to tell Mikitaka when he catches the other boy treating him this way, followed shortly by "we're not friends." Except he has no idea what to call their weird relationship. It's not a proper rivalry; Okuyasu's antagonism for the other boy is one-sided and incomplete at best, because he still can't hate the kid, no matter how hard he wishes he could. Mikitaka is smart and sweet and a little unsure, and if it weren't for the fact that his very existence was threatening Okuyasu's sole talent, he's sure that they'd get along extremely well. Maybe he'd even welcome Mikitaka into the tight circle of people he considers best friends.

But the fear of being replaced by someone who's ten times more interesting than he is has got him by the throat, so he doesn't offer much of himself and tries not to take too much in return. Trying to build a friendship on that much bitter feeling was a surefire way to hurt the both of them when it all collapsed in a fiery wreck. He just wished he didn't feel like such an asshole about it all.

A person wasn't supposed to resent their friends, right?

He's face down against the carpet of Josuke's bedroom when he lets that little secret slip from his lips. It earns him a jab in the side with one of Josuke's socked toes and an incredulous snort. Josuke assures him that he's being stupid about this, that Mikitaka is too much of a genuinely good guy to try anything underhanded like replacing him, and that even if he was, there was no one who could take his place. It's exactly what Okuyasu wants--maybe even needs--to hear, and yet the ball of anxiety refuses to budge from his gut.

He knows what Josuke's saying is true. His best friend may talk a lot of shit but Okuyasu trusts that Josuke will never lie to him about important stuff like this. He also knows from first hand experience that Mikitaka has been nothing but kind to him, and that holding a grudge against him for the simple fact that he's better than him at something is insultingly childish. That kind of speed didn't just come from nowhere, and any sort of natural talent is wasted if it's not nourished by conviction and hard work. Maybe if Okuyasu wasn't too busy sulking about it all to do something about it, he could start working on closing that .4 second gap that haunts him so much.

He knows all of this, has had Josuke say this to him repeatedly--hell, has tried to tell himself this over and over again--but knowing and internalizing are two very different things. It's so hard to let go of the embers of jealousy, especially when they'd snagged themselves on all the jagged little cavities that insecurity had already bored into him. If only Mikitaka wasn't so… perfect.

If only Mikitaka wasn't everything that Okuyasu wishes he could be.

Five in the morning arrives way earlier than Okuyasu is happy with, and he whines when he's roused from sleep by the harsh screech of his alarm. For a very long moment he considers just resetting his clock and catching the extra two hours of sleep before his usual 7:00 AM wake up. He could always start his new training regimen tomorrow. The next big meet isn't for another month, so it's not like Okuyasu is pressed for time. Yeah, one missed day wouldn't be so bad.

The pessimistic parts of his mind turn out to be early risers, however, and immediately begin to whisper that that's the way a loser talks and it's fine if he doesn't bother upping his training regimen--it's not like he's going to get any better anyway. Okuyasu frowns. It's too early to start picking himself apart, and while he is still ridiculously tired, he's willing to get up if only to get his stupid brain to shut the hell up. With a groan and a punch delivered squarely to his pillow, he manages to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Apparently those two extra hours are what he needs to function like a normal human being because his morning is littered with little inconveniences and near misses. He almost leaves home without brushing his teeth and has to double back into the bathroom to finish the task, getting toothpaste on his tracksuit in the process. The train is quieter than he's used to at this early hour and he's struggling so hard to stay awake against the gentle, rhythmic rocking of the train car that he nearly misses his stop. When he does finally leave the station, he discovers that the donut shop he likes is closed, which leads him to a detour to a convenience store a block in the opposite direction so he doesn't spend the day starving; Keicho was still sleeping when he got up and Okuyasu didn't want to wake him by rummaging around in the kitchen for breakfast. Which meant he also forgot to grab his lunch from the fridge. At least he realizes the last part before he makes to step past the sliding doors of the nearby Owson's.

Despite his hell of a morning, he still makes it to school by a little after six and onto the track before six-thirty. It's a crappy start and about thirty minutes later than he's hoped, but he's determined and the cynical thoughts had mostly shut up, so he drops his bags by the side of the equipment shed and launches into a series of stretches.

By seven-thirty Okuyasu has warmed up, managed to lap the track twice, and is beginning to run through his daily drills when Mikitaka of all people appears in his peripheral vision. Okuyasu has to bite back a groan. He'd been trying really hard not to think about the reason for his renewed training regimen--of course the object of his frustrations would show up before him.

He pretends not to see him.

"Okuyasu! Good morning!"

Okay, so much for that.

"Mornin'." Okuyasu huffs, barely nodding his head in acknowledgment as he continues his exercises. He hopes it doesn't come off too rude. Then again, considering how little Okuyasu talks around Mikitaka, he's sure the other boy is used to it.

As expected, Mikitaka doesn't look fazed by any of this and merely walks out onto the field, stopping just short of the lines of the track. "What are you doing?"

That finally gets Okuyasu to stop. He cocks his head to the side and frowns, arms akimbo as tries to slow his breathing. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Okuyasu waits for a few moments, but it doesn't look like Mikitaka's going to answer the question no matter how much time he's given. He feels his frown deepen. "Don't you know what a carioca drill is?"

Mikitaka at least has the good manners to look embarrassed about it, sparing Okuyasu a weak smile as he shakes his head. "I've never heard of them." There's a beat where Okuyasu is absolutely sure he sees a soft pink bloom across the apples of Mikitaka's cheeks and then the boy is talking again, words sounding a little shaky. "Would you mind teaching me?"

"Like that?" Okuyasu asks, gesturing up and down Mikitaka's form for emphasis. He's dressed in his school uniform, and as nice as the outfit looks on him, it's not really optimal workout gear. Okuyasu's own uniform is still shoved somewhat haphazardly in his track bag, waiting for him to finish with his morning exercise.

The color is definitely still there on Mikitaka's cheeks as he scrunches his shoulders up to his ears and blinks over at Okuyasu owlishly.  "It should be okay, shouldn't it?"

Okuyasu can almost feel the cartoon devil and angel poof into existence on his shoulders. This is the perfect opportunity for revenge, coos the imaginary demon. Look at those big, dumb, clueless eyes--Mikitaka has no idea what he just walked into. Denying him would be easy, and misleading him would be even easier. Use that trust and take him down.

On the other side of this make believe argument, the virtuous voice of his psyche chirps that Mikitaka's trust in him is exactly why Okuyasu shouldn't take advantage of the boy. They're teammates, they get along; it wouldn't take much effort at all to become friends. This opportunity is a golden cornerstone to begin building that relationship upon. Besides, even a loser's got his own pride. If Okuyasu wants to win, he should do it on his own steam--not because he has to rely on sabotaging someone better than him.

The argument-that-isn't is already escalating into something even weirder than his sleep-deprived mind can cook up, so Okuyasu shakes his head and sends the imaginary beings back into nonexistence. All he's doing is confusing himself and making the situation awkward. That and he's realizing that in addition to being incapable of hating Mikitaka, he's beginning to have a hard time saying no to him, too, and boy did he need that newfound weakness like a hole in the head.

Okuyasu throws one last look at Mikitaka and his nicely pressed outfit and hopeful stare and sighs. There's still about forty-five minutes before class starts--if they're quick about it, he can teach Mikitaka the general gist of the exercise and still have time to wash up and change before the first bell rings. Part of him wants to insist that Mikitaka at least throw on his gym clothes first, but that would probably take too long. Besides, if Mikitaka wants to risk getting yelled at for showing up to class in sweaty clothing, then Okuyasu isn't going to stop him. At least he has sneakers on.

"Alright," Okuyasu gumbles, waving Mikitaka over towards him, "I'll show you the basics."

Mikitaka's face all but lights up at the invitation, and Okuyasu has to admit, it's an expression that looks good on him. Then again, even a trash bag would look good on Mikitaka, but Okuyasu is trying to keep positive and it's too early to be splitting hairs. Once Mikitaka has taken his bag off and joined him on the track, Okuyasu sets to work explaining how to do a carioca drill, alternating between showing him the movements and guiding him through manual positioning. A criss-cross movement of legs and hips, fluid like a dance move: right foot over left, skipping to the side, then right under left, continuing on in a line until you get to the end of the rep. Once you're done, lead with your left and do the same thing in reverse.  Swivel your hips as you move and try to lift your knees. Not the easiest of drills to start off with, but helpful for keeping hips flexible and glutes firm.

They manage to walk through a couple reps smoothly, so Okuyasu picks up the pace knowing that Mikitaka will follow along. Step, swivel, skip. Step, swivel, skip. Mikitaka is still a little unsure in his movements, little flickers of hesitation preventing him from being as fluid as they should. Still, he's doing well, and for a moment Okuyasu feels the ever present churn of irritation quiet within his chest, calmed into stillness by the intense look of concentration on Mikitaka's face. How could Mikitaka hate the guy when he was only trying to do his best?

The realization is short-lived because there's a sharp yelp and then Mikitaka is falling to the ground, clutching his calf. Okuyasu drops to his knees immediately and reaches for Mikitaka's leg. Years of pushing himself harder than he should've means he is more than familiar with the signs of a charley horse, to a literally painful degree, so he wastes no time in kneading the spasming muscle with one hand while he helps Mikitaka straighten his leg out with the other, coaxing him to try and stretch his foot back towards his body. He may still be a little confused about how to feel about him, but cramps hurt; bitter feelings can be saved for a time when Mikitaka isn't writhing around making pathetic whimpering noises.

"Man, you're so helpless," Okuyasu grumbles, then pauses to blink. Somewhere along the line his irritated tone had softened into something affectionate on its journey from mind to lips and he had no idea how or why it happened. He decides not to think about it. "I knew I shoulda had you warm up before trying this."

Mikitaka's brows are still drawn together, eyes shut tight and breath a touch more labored than normal, but he manages to shake his head. "It-it's not your fault. I forgot, too."

"Yeah, well, don't make a habit of it."

He'd thrown it as a friendly--if not a little tired--barb, hadn't expected much of a reaction other than agreement or a groan and an "I know." So when he sees Mikitaka duck his head and suck his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on the flesh softly, it makes him pause in his movements. "You do this often?"

Mikitaka doesn't say anything, but then, he doesn't have to; one look at the guilty expression on his face is all Okuyasu needs.

Any lingering sense of affection leaves him in a rush, incredulous anger flooding in to fill the vacancy. "Dude, what the hell! You're gonna seriously hurt yourself if you keep that up!" He groans and reaches a hand up to his head, just barely keeping from pulling his hair in frustration. "It's a freaking miracle you haven't totally jacked yourself up yet."

Blush flashes up across Mikitaka's cheeks once more, going a few shades redder than Okuyasu had seen previously. "Well, to tell the truth, I haven't really been doing this all that long."

Okuyasu furrows his brow, cocks his head to the side. "What, running?" When Mikitaka just nods, he asks, "How long?"

"About a year, give or take a few months."

Okuyasu blinks once, twice. He tries to swallow but his jaw is too loose to manage anything beyond a gawk and his throat feels like it's lined with sandpaper.

A year.

A year.

A year and he's already this fast. Okuyasu had started training in junior high and had only begun to break sprints under twelve seconds over the summer of his first year in high school. And yet the young man in front of him had not only reached his level but surpassed him by a good margin in less than a third of the time.

"Holy shit," is all he can say, the curse coming out like a whisper. He finally manages to get his jaw working after a few false starts and he swallows hard, repeating his words louder but no less shakily. "Holy shit, a year."

The change in his mood doesn't go unnoticed (not that he had the capacity to hide it at the moment--Okuyasu's mind is in the process of crumbling because one friggin' year.) Mikitaka scrunches his shoulders up in what's probably supposed to be a shrug but just looks like he's trying to fold in on himself. He looks at Okuyasu imploringly. "I have long legs?"

"Yeah," Okuyasu says dryly. His hand is still wrapped around Mikitaka's calf and while that fact should probably make him feel a bit more self-conscious, his body feels about an ocean's length away from his mind at the moment. He lets his eyes drift down to the limb in his hand, gives the muscle a pat, and then drags his attention back up to Mikitaka's face. "I noticed."

They sit in silence, neither one sure what to say. Okuyasu sort of feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him, and that maybe he'd like to go lie down in the middle of the track and not think about anything for a while. He withdraws his hand from Mikitaka's leg and places it in his lap, sitting back on his haunches with a sigh. Today was supposed to be different, better, and yet it had all gone to crap so quickly. Maybe he should've listened to the pessimistic whispers after all and just slept in.

"Did I ruin your practice?"

The soft voice draws his attention from the funk it had been settling into in favor of gazing at Mikitaka's face.

His eyes are downcast, head tilted forward just enough for a few strands of hair to slip past his shoulders, gold shining dully in the early morning sunlight. When Mikitaka does look up, it's like he's there but not, a distance in his expression that Okuyasu hadn't seen in awhile. Not since they'd started hanging out more; not since they'd started becoming friends.

Because that is what they are, aren't they? It didn't matter how much Okuyasu pouted or fretted over or fought it. They've become friends. Slowly, awkwardly, stumbling over their feet like newborn foals on shaky legs, casting their first steps into something new and unknown. Friends.

Okuyasu bites back a laugh as he mulls Mikitaka's words over in his mind. Did he ruin practice? Yes. Absolutely. His practice, his day, his life; every one of them had been irreparably altered by Mikitaka's appearance. But he's not so sure if it was a change for the worst anymore.

"It's cool. You can make it up to me later if you want." He shrugs, offers a hand out to the other boy, hoping it'll distract from the way his face had started to heat up. Not for the first time in his life, Okuyasu wishes he was better at projecting the aura of cool senpai instead of panicky dweeb. "I know there's no club today but I don't got anywhere to be after school so…"

Another brief moment of silence, just enough to have Okuyasu biting on the inside of his cheek and wondering if it's too early to begin backpedaling on his offer, and then he feels Mikitaka's hand slip into his. The movement is accompanied by a smile so bright Okuyasu is beginning to wonder if Mikitaka really isn't a sunbeam come to life. He certainly feels like light given flesh as he squeezes Okuyasu's hand, the grip warm and gentle. Cozy, like curling up on the grass for a midday nap after a long run. Looking at Mikitaka's eyes, he can't help but think of the afternoon sun filtering through leaves, verdant green sparkling as the light zig-zagged across them.

When Mikitaka speaks, his voice is like the sigh of the wind, tickling at the back of Okuyasu's neck only to leave goosebumps in its wake. "It's a date."

That tumultuous morning and the long afternoon that followed turn out to be the start of more than just the first shaky steps into a proper friendship. One shared practice turns into two, which turns into three until they're training together daily, alternating mornings and afternoons based on whether track club is meeting that day or not. Sometimes Josuke and Koichi will show up to cheer them on or force them to take a break with the promise of sandwiches and sports drinks. The rest of the time it's just the two of them, running and sweating and pushing each other along.

They still don't talk all that much. Okuyasu's desire to beat Mikitaka and secure his place at the top of the short list for scholarships once more remains a shadow over their interactions, but it's a little different now. Mostly because he's not actively trying to reject Mikitaka's friendship or company or, well, just him in general. Pumping the brakes on his grudge is harder than he expected; sometimes Okuyasu can still feel the tendrils of resentment rise up from the inky corners of his heart, threatening to drag him back into the depths whenever Mikitaka manages to outpace him for the nth time. Those are the days where he pushes himself the hardest, funnelling his jealousy and fear into getting better, being better. Mikitaka isn't the one at fault here--the only one one who can truly spur Okuyasu into reaching new speeds is Okuyasu himself.

And he does, slowly but surely closing the gap between their times. Within the first few weeks of starting their extra training, he's got the margin down to about a steady .2 seconds, sometimes less. He even manages to beat Mikitaka a few times, and the feeling of hope sputtering back to life within his chest is enough to make him feel drunk with excitement. That each of these wins is followed by Mikitaka beaming at him like Okuyasu is his personal hero only makes the feeling sweeter.

He still doesn't have a concrete word for what he and Mikitaka actually are, though 'friendly rivals' is probably the closest. More than training buddies or casual acquaintances but not quite to the level of good friend, if only because there's this… weirdness there, and he's honestly not sure if it's more his fault or Mikitaka's. With each hour spent in each other's presence, Mikitaka's smiles seem to grow fonder and happier and Okuyasu only feels his confusion mount with each one sent his way.

It's kinda obvious that Mikitaka likes hanging out with him; he wouldn't be surprised if the other boy considered them good friends already. But at the same time, Okuyasu can't remember any of his friends or family smiling at him like that before. Not Josuke, not Koichi--hell, not even Keicho. Certainly not his absentee father, and while he likes to believe his mother probably did at some point, thinking about her for too long makes his eye prickle at the edges, so he just doesn't. He switches his train of thought to the person who's the second best thing to his long-dead mother, but even Higashikata Tomoko doesn't look at him the same way Mikitaka does. It's close, but it's not quite right, and the fact that he can't figure this out begins to slowly drive him crazy.

After a lot of thinking with no real headway, he decides to bring it up with Josuke. Working construction means long hours for the elder Nijimura sibling and an empty home, so it's not uncommon for Okuyasu to eat dinner at the Higashikata household instead. Honestly, everyone seemed happiest with that agreement: Keicho didn't have to worry about his younger brother skipping meals, Okuyasu didn't agonize over wasting their budget on takeout, Josuke got more quality time with his best bud, and Tomoko could make sure her son and his friend would stay out of trouble.

(At least, that's what she said to him whenever Okuyasu hinted at his presence being a burden on them. In reality, he knew that her teasing words were mostly for show; Josuke had confided that the house had felt a little extra lonely since his grandfather had passed away last year, and that sometimes he caught his mom lingering in her late father's room when she thought Josuke wasn't paying attention. Having a third mouth to feed again and the sound of laughter in the house seemed to be helping, though, and his mom never looked as sad on the occasions where Okuyasu stayed the night. After that conversation, Okuyasu vowed never to turn down an invitation from Ms. Higashikata ever again.)

They're sprawled in the living room of the Higashikata home, bellies full and thumbs smashing away at the game controllers in their hands. Josuke has managed to wipe the floor with him for a solid five wins in a row before Okuyasu throws his controller to the ground, grumbling that playing Tekken against Josuke is totally unfair because he is a cheater who uses cheap ass moves and fuck you, Higashikata, go eat a dick. Josuke lobs a pillow at him which he catches and throws back just as quickly, and then the next few minutes are devoted to friendly scuffling, each one trying to see who can wreck whose hair first.

After they've realized that there will be no real winners in this war of mussed hairdos, the two of them call a truce and settle down, Okuyasu sprawling across the couch while Josuke moves to fuss with his Playstation. He swaps out the abandoned fighting game for some RPG that Okuyasu isn't familiar with, and as the opening credits sprawl across the screen, Okuyasu lets his eyes unfocus and just breathes.

The Higashikata home has always felt so inviting and warm that it's easy to let his anxieties melt into nothingness like candlewax under a flame. He feels more than sees Josuke sit down with his back to the couch, the other boy muttering to himself about how this time for sure he's going to defeat the boss on this map, and the game blips cheerfully as he navigates the save menu. In the background is the clink of cutlery, the sounds mixing with the noise of the radio show Tomoko likes to listen to as she does the dishes. Currently it's broadcasting a burst of dialogue set to tense music; he thinks it's a commercial for some new drama airing soon but can't quite make out the details. Just as well--he's got enough drama in his life to contend with at the moment.

That's the thought that draws his mind back to Mikitaka. Before he knows it, he's spilling his thoughts aloud, telling Josuke about every confusing smile, every touch that lasted too long. Wondering aloud if maybe Mikitaka was up to something and he just hadn't figured out what yet, and puzzling over what he would want out of Okuyasu when it seems like he already has everything. He's smart, kind, polite, not to mention model pretty. Compared to him, Okuyasu is just an average guy with a subpar brain who could maybe run kinda fast sometimes. Except Mikitaka has him beat on that front too!

He rambles until he's all out of words and can only make frustrated hand motions to try to get the rest of his feelings across. Beside him, Josuke says nothing; the only indications that he's awake are his thumbs manipulating the controller in his hands and the springy animation cycle of his character walking across the screen. The noises from the kitchen had stopped a while back, leaving only the soft tinkling music of Josuke's game to fill the space.

Finally, once it's clear that Okuyasu has tired himself out, Josuke sighs. He pauses the game, leans back, and looks over his shoulder at the distraught teenager behind him. "You want my honest opinion?"

Okuyasu nods.

"I think you're making a big deal out of nothing."

Okuyasu already has his mouth open in protest when Josuke continues talking, bulldozing over his friend's objections. "I'm serious! Think about it."

Josuke shifts on the floor until he's facing Okuyasu and brings his hands up, ticking his points off on his fingers as he speaks. "He's a stranger in a new town, he's kinda weird and shy, and out of all of us, you're the one he has the most in common with. Plus you're, like, the only person on your team who isn't constantly trying to kiss his ass."

Well, Josuke definitely has a point there. A lot of points, actually. Okuyasu furrows his brow. It all makes sense, so why doesn't he feel any less weird about it all?

"And, I mean," Josuke mumbles, his voice whittling down into something breathy and distant, more sigh than words. "You know how people can be around guys like us." He let his gaze drift off to the side, silently bringing up a finger to tap just under his eye. It's a sign the two of them had agreed upon a long time ago, born after fistfights with obnoxious classmates and one too many overly gushing love letter stuffed into Josuke's locker in school, and Okuyasu instantly knows what his friend is trying to get at.

Honestly, the fact that Mikitaka is only half-Japanese hadn't really bothered him, but he figures that's probably because he's so used to hanging out around Josuke and his extended family that he'd become desensitized to it. Okuyasu isn't like most people, though, and it's only then that it dawns on him that Mikitaka's probably facing all the same shit Josuke went through growing up mixed in a country that prided sameness.

Except maybe Mikitaka doesn't have anyone to really talk to about these things. It would certainly explain some of his weird behavior. Though Okuyasu has to admit, Mikitaka's way of dealing with the overly appraising comments and stares is so far opposite from what his best friend does that he can't help but find it surprising.

Josuke wears his otherness like a badge of honor. He know people are always going to look, so he's decided to give them all something worth staring at. He's flashy--from his perfectly styled regent pompadour to his designer clothes and little accessories he decks himself out in--all the way down to his polished Bally shoes. It's the perfect visual embodiment of his stubborn, in-your-face attitude and it works alarmingly well for him. Josuke likes the limelight, wants to draw people to him, craves their love and attention, and he will go out of his way to snatch it, taking everything he can carry and running away with it like a thief in the night.

In comparison, Mikitaka approaches others like a ghost, wanting so badly to take part in normal human life but incapable of making connections for all his strangeness. He's happy to give and eager to please, wanting nothing in return other than to just fit in.

The realization blindsides Okuyasu. Suddenly things make so much more sense. Like the rare occasions where one of Mikitaka's endless questions manage to rile Okuyasu into snapping at him and the way the other boy always shrinks back in response, covering his tracks with apologies and downcast eyes. How he's always the happiest of them all when he treats them to snacks after school, and the way he lingers at school after practice, waiting for the invitations he can't bring himself to ask for.

Where Josuke wants to shine like a lighthouse beacon ushering wayward ships home, Mikitaka would rather be the friendly currents in the night's sea, barely noticed for all their help but happy to be there all the same. All he wants is somewhere to belong. How is that any different from any of them?

Okuyasu hums softly, reaches up to scratch his chin. One of the things that had bothered him about Mikitaka the most was how he could be so stunningly brilliant and yet so totally unsure of himself, but the more he thinks on it the more Okuyasu realizes that it shouldn't have been so frustrating. It's not like he's a stranger to the pitfalls of second guessing oneself. Maybe he shouldn't be questioning Mikitaka's motives when the mere appearance of someone more skilled at his hobby than he had sent him into his own tailspin of self-doubt.

The sound of Josuke's voice brings him back from his thoughts, the other boy throwing his friend a soft shrug. "You're a pretty chill guy--I bet you were the first person he really connected with, you know? Maybe he's just got an especially big soft spot for you."

"Yeah, maybe," Okuyasu says quietly. The buzz of his thoughts is still ringing in his head, threatening to surge up and swarm him once more, but it's like a path has cleared in front of him, showing him a way out of the confusion that had settled in all around him. Okuyasu spares Josuke a thankful grin. It's nice knowing that he can always count on his friend to set his thoughts at ease.  

At least, that's what he thinks until Josuke leans in with a shit-eating grin and whispers, "It's that or he really wants to bone you."

Okuyasu wastes no time in attempting to smother Josuke with a pillow.

There was a time, Okuyasu likes to think, when he was something close to well-rested. Maybe. He's not so sure anymore.

Compared to the late afternoon sun beating down on his back, the bench feels almost cool, and he unceremoniously drapes himself across it like a sheet. He is so tired; so bone-deep tired, sore, and sweaty that even a moment of stillness seems like a reprieve from the heavens. There's no way he can nap, so closing his eyes for a few minutes is the next best thing.

Beyond the field lay the sounds of life bustling around as normal, people enjoying their Saturday. He envies them a little bit. Honestly, Okuyasu isn't sure when the last time he'd had a weekend off was; he’s so busy practicing that he's beginning to feel like he lives at the track. Not that he really hates it, but he can't help but feel a little resentful that everyone else is off enjoying their weekend while he and the rest of the team are pounding the turf at school.

At least the sentiment seems mutual across the team. Their free time always diminished to nothing the closer they got to a meet, and their shared exhaustion had begun to manifest in short tempers and a general air of frustration, too focused to give up but too tired to really focus. All they could do was keep pushing until the day finally came, and then push a little more. Only then can he ease off a little bit and rest.

Okuyasu sighs like he's deflating. As nice as it is, the promise of being able to take a break eventually doesn't really make up for how much he misses spending his afternoons just hanging out and bullshitting with his friends. That Josuke has taken to joking about Okuyasu leaving him for 'another man' hasn't helped his mood much either. Stupid ass Josuke. Why's he always gotta be such a dick about these things?

As if summoned by thought alone, Okuyasu feels something cool and wet press up against his shoulder. It takes him a moment, but he manages to open his eyes, blinking slowly up at the figure looming over him. He can't see the smile on the other boy's face, the sun too blinding over his shoulders, but he can definitely hear it in the gentle lilt of his voice. "Here you go."

Okuyasu looks from Mikitaka to the bottle of water in his hand and then back to Mikitaka. A cool drink sounds great right about now, but that involves sitting up, which involves moving; none of which he's particularly inclined to do at the moment. The most he manages is a tired grunt before closing his eyes again.

There's another nudge with the bottle as Mikitaka giggles and calls his name. It's nice--distractedly, he realizes that he likes the way it sounds on Mikitaka's lips, and that maybe he wouldn't mind hearing it again. When it happens a second time he has to fight to keep the grin off his face.

"Dun wanna move," he murmurs.

"Then should I feed you?"

Now he definitely can't hold back the grin. He shifts his head up and back a little bit, opens his mouth, and purses his lips. His hungry baby bird impression pays off; Mikitaka's giggle transforms into peals of laughter that have Okuyasu chuckling along with him. The water bottle is moved up to his lips and he chases after the nozzle as best he can with his eyes still closed.

Eventually Okuyasu manages to catch the thing between his teeth and begins sucking down water as fast as he can, Mikitaka holding the bottle obligingly. It's cool and refreshing and he has to keep himself from sighing in contentment. How in the hell could he have ever hated this kid? Anyone who was willing to bottle-feed him while he laid around like a lazy ass is a definite keeper.

He chuckles around the nozzle in his mouth. If Josuke could see them now, there'd be no end to the comments about them being boyfriends. To hell with it--let Josuke say what he wants. It's not like there's really a line of people waiting to pummel Okuyasu with love confessions behind the school anyway. "You keep this up and I'm gonna start shopping for rings."

The water bottle is suddenly gone from his lips, but it's the accompanying silence that compels Okuyasu to open his eyes. He's never seen Mikitaka's face take on such a deep shade of pink before, and as charming as it is, it also makes his heart stutter and speed up a little. Shit, was that too much? He and Josuke make jokes like that all the time so he'd thought it was okay but maybe Mikitaka doesn't find that kinda stuff funny at all and--

Okuyasu scrambles into a sitting position, hands jerking in front of him like he's trying to invent a new form of sign language. "Um! I mean! I was just--!"

"Joking! I know. It's, it's alright!"

"Yeah, just palling around!"

"Of course!"

Now they're both red in the face, sputtering out stilted words like two apples trying and failing to argue over who could be more awkward. Luckily, they're saved any more bumbling by the tweet of Coach's whistle and a couple of barked orders for everyone to gather around. Both boys exhale visibly. Never has Okuyasu been more thankful for the excuse of exercise than in this very moment.

The two of them make their way over to the gathering crowd of young runners in silence, though Okuyasu can't help but steal glances at the other teen from the corners of his eyes. The flush is slowly fading from Mikitaka's cheeks but he's chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes firmly set to the ground. Okuyasu huffs, crosses his arms. Should he say something or would that just make things worse? What could he even say? If only Josuke were here; suffering some teasing would be more than worth his friend's ability to cut through all the embarrassing bullshit and put them both at ease. See, this is why Okuyasu runs. You don't have to talk your way down the track.

He’s barely listening as Coach announces a relay race and proceeds to break them up into three teams of four. Being the two fastest people on the team means Okuyasu and Mikitaka are assigned as anchors for their respective teams along with one of the third year students, Fujitani, and the three boys dutifully take their places along the last leg of the track as soon as they’re dismissed. When he looks over to the lane next to him, he and Mikitaka catch each other’s eyes for the first time since that joke that fell flat. He offers an apologetic smile and gains one in return and suddenly everything’s okay. Still a little weird, but that’s normal for the two of them. At least they’re not fumbling over themselves to see who can shove their foot in their mouth the fastest.

"Give ‘em hell," Okuyasu smiles. He raises a fist up between them, and when Mikitaka bumps it with his own fist, he can feel the corners of his lips tweak upwards.

"You, too."

Coach’s voice cuts through their little moment of camaraderie like a knife, startling the two boys back into position. Across the track, the first runners tense and then there’s the blare of the whistle again and the race is on. The boys watch as each portion of the race is completed, their teammates clutching their batons tightly in their fists, rounding the track as fast as they can. Fujitani’s team takes an early lead, but by the first hand-off it’s Okuyasu’s, and by the second it seems like Mikitaka’s team is starting to pull ahead. Mikitaka starts running first, accelerating to speed in no time, but Okuyasu is hot on his heels, doing his best to keep himself equidistant from Mikitaka and his own runner. On the other side of Mikitaka, Fujitani has finally started running as his teammate rounds the last bend.

Two voices cry out "Touch! Touch!" simultaneously from behind them; both Okuyasu and Mikitaka reach behind themselves blindly for the final hand-off. The second Okuyasu feels his fingers wrap around the baton, he’s pumping as much speed into his legs as he can, trying to make up for the split second difference where Mikitaka had managed to complete his hand-off first. He can do this. He can win this race. He’s got this.

His entire world shrinks down to the rasp of his breath, the steady beat of his pulse, and the crisp white of the finish line ahead of him. Don’t focus on the other runners, don’t focus on the yells of his fellow club members, don’t focus on Mikitaka. Just run. Run hard. Push. Win.

The world explodes back into being the second his toes pass the final marker, hitting him with the full force of the late June afternoon. Okuyasu gulps down air greedily as he slows to a walk, and the realization that he has no idea who won flits into his mind like an afterthought. Looking ahead of him reveals neither Mikitaka nor Fujitani further down the track than him. He nearly chokes on his breath. Did that mean...?

Time feels like it’s slowed down as he turns to look behind him, but then speeds up again as soon as his eyes fall on his team mates. Fujitani has collapsed onto his back near the finish line, while Mikitaka is folded over a few steps behind Okuyasu, hands on his knees and struggling to catch his breath. He’s usually not that winded after a run, but then, maybe he’d been pushing himself a bit harder than usual as well. Okuyasu stumbles over to clap a hand on his back. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Mikitaka swallows hard. It takes him a few more moments and a couple of pats on the back before he stands up, green eyes locking on Okuyasu’s face. "I think you beat me that time."

"Yeah?" He doesn’t really believe it, but the thought makes something excited spark to life in the pit of his chest that no amount of adrenaline can account for.

Mikitaka kind of looks like he’s got something else to say, but then the rest of the team is crowding around them and they’re assaulted on all sides by congratulatory shoulder pats for a job well done. Okuyasu rubs at his face to try and hide the embarrassed grin blossoming across his lips. It’s been awhile since they’d treated him like anything more than first place loser. He has to admit, he missed the praise a little. Even if it was kinda weird to have them all babbling at him like that.

The sea of eager faces parts as Coach approaches them, the older man grinning as he looks down at the stopwatch in his hands.  "Nice work, boys! I think you two might’ve managed to pull a tie."

Okuyasu’s jaw drops. Immediately, he turns his attention back to Mikitaka, only to see the same astonishment painted across his feature. Mikitaka blinks a few times, looks to Coach, and when his attention finally returns to Okuyasu, there’s the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. His voice is still a little breathless as he asks, "Really?"

Okuyasu grins and shrugs, already beside himself with glee when he hears the first rumble of confusion drop from one of his classmates’ lips. "What? No way. It was totally Hazekura’s win."

"Right?"

"They were close but I think Mikitaka got it in the end."

He’s still facing Mikitaka so he’s got a front row seat to the way his eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up in distress. Mikitaka shakes his head, eyes flitting around to the other boys and Coach before coming back to Okuyasu. "No, I'm pretty sure it was--"

One of the seniors who had been part of Mikitaka’s team cuts him off with an arm around the shoulder and a laugh. "It was you, man, we all saw it!"

"Yeah! No need to be modest!"

Emboldened, the team sets into arguing among themselves over who had won the relay race, with quite a few of them favoring Mikitaka. At least, that’s what it sounds like. Okuyasu is having a hard time paying attention to any one thing. The laughs and cries of his classmates. The pleading look on Mikitaka’s face. The heat of the sun and the sweat rolling in rivulets down his skin. Everything is just too loud, too much, and the happy, bubbly feeling in his chest stills and dies, joy flash frozen like a pond after a sudden cold snap. Okuyasu desperately does not want to be here anymore.

Somehow, Coach’s voice manages to cut through the cacophony of noise as he addresses the group. "Talk all you want, but contests aren't won off guesses. It’s too close for us to call it anything but a tie. Understood?"

Even with the finality of his voice, there are still a few students poised to argue with their teacher. One voice manages to rise above the rest, slicing through Okuyasu’s defenses like a machete. "Aww c'mon, Coach, you know Hazekura is faster."

Everything goes cold, still. Or maybe it doesn’t and it’s just Okuyasu who’s turned to ice. Hazekura is faster. No modifiers, no "this time" or "for once." Mikitaka is faster, full stop. Anyone who argued against this undeniable fact was just plain wrong.

Okuyasu feels his nails scrape against the aluminum of the baton. It’s like the first day when Mikitaka had beat him but ten times worse because now he knows nobody believes in him. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries or how much of a lead he manages to get on Mikitaka. The rest of the team has decided he’s just not good enough. What was the point in fighting it?

What the hell was the point in any of it?

It’s like his body and mind disconnect, moving on autopilot while his thoughts start doing donuts in his skull. Okuyasu throws the baton hard against the track and stalks off, ignoring the way the group starts to murmur nervously behind him, quiet save for a single, familiar voice, calling his name in a way that doesn’t quite reach him anymore.

"Okuyasu?"

He sniffs, wipes at the tear tracks running down his cheeks, but doesn’t move from his spot on the floor. After his meltdown at the track, he’d ended up wandering around the mostly abandoned school for a few minutes, his feet carrying him around mechanically, aimlessly. When he’d finally come to, he was standing in the doorway of his classroom. From there it was a simple matter of closing the door behind him, sliding down the wall, and letting his frustrations seep out of him in the form of fat, heavy tears.

So what if pouting isn't cool? He isn’t cool, and everybody knows it. No point in pretending to be something he’s not.

Mikitaka calls his name a second time, a little more hesitant than the last, and all Okuyasu can do is sigh and croak out a watery, "What?"

"Are you alright?"

Okuyasu snorts. The fact that he’s huddled in the corner of an abandoned classroom bawling his eyes out should probably be a good indicator that he is most definitely not alright, but then maybe Mikitaka is just trying to be nice. Like always. Like how after the race he’d tried to convince Okuyasu that he might have finally evened the score between them. Just trying to be nice.

He leans his head back against the wall, careful to keep his eyes closed through the movement. It’s not like he can meet Mikitaka’s gaze right now anyway. "I dunno, man, I just had the whole team call me out in front of my face. What do you think?"

"But they weren’t--" Mikitaka catches himself halfway, and then there’s the sound of sneakers shuffling against tile, stopping a few steps from Okuyasu’s left. "Coach declared it a tie, so why does it matter what they think?"

"'Cause it pisses me off, okay!" The words come roaring out of him unheeded, too hopped up on pain to bother filtering his thoughts behind the usual screen of second guesses. "You're interesting and good looking and, like, a million other things! And I'm… I'm me." He lets another sob rattle through him, shoulders slumping as if all the life were draining out of him. Okuyasu draws his knees up to his chest and curls in on himself. Everything is raw and he just wants to hide forever. "Running's all I’ve ever had. And it’s like now I don't even got that."

There’s a long pause. Mikitaka says something under his breath that sounds a bit like "that’s not true", but it’s gone quickly, replaced by words that are steadier, more sure. "I think you've got a lot to offer."

"Don't bullshit me, dude."

"I'm not." Another pause. "May I sit?"

Okuyasu sniffs and shrugs. Part of him wishes that Mikitaka would leave, but the other part is so desperate for some scrap of comfort that he’ll take whatever kind gesture he can get. Real or not, if Mikitaka wants to play at being nice, he isn’t going to stop him. Even fake sugar tastes a little sweet.

They lapse into silence once more as he feels Mikitaka settle next to him, not quite close enough to be touching but well within arm’s length. Yet again Okuyasu finds himself wishing Josuke was here. At least he knows his best friend won’t push him away if he leans into him to cry on his shoulder.

When Mikitaka finally speaks, there’s a slight tremor to his voice, words whispered like a secret. "Do you want to know why I asked to be transferred here?"

The question catches him off guard, so much so that he finally lifts his head to look over at Mikitaka. There’s an emotion he can’t quite parse in Mikitaka’s face; Okuyasu thinks it’s apprehension, but then there’s the exhaustion along with something else, something searching. Like the secret to making everything better is written somewhere in Okuyasu’s eyes and he’s determined to find this key and put it to use. Okuyasu kind of hopes he succeeds.

But the question nags at his attention and he finds himself mulling it over. Some of the story he already knows: both of Mikitaka's parents work internationally, so it had been easy for him to move south for school since he was more or less living alone anyway. They’d never really broached the question of why he’d moved, and Mikitaka never went out of his way to supply that information. To have it offered up to him now when Mikitaka had been so elusive about his reasoning before feels strange. Not good or bad--just strange.

Okuyasu doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. Nods. Waits.

Now it’s Mikitaka’s turn to sigh and lean back against the wall. "There was a track meet last year around this time. I'm sure you don't remember it--it wasn’t anything special. But it meant a lot to me." Mikitaka smiles, eyes clouding over as if looking directly into the past. "That was the first time I'd ever seen you run."

What? That couldn’t be-- He had to have misheard that... right? Okuyasu furrows his brow, searching Mikitaka’s face for any sign that this is some sort of weird joke. But when Mikitaka laughs it’s not a cruel sound, and Okuyasu feels his heart give a sudden jolt. Was Mikitaka saying he moved here... because of... him? Mikitaka continues on, his cheeks warming with color. "Is it too cliche to say that it changed everything? Before, running the track was just something I did when I was forced to on gym days. But watching you, seeing the way you moved through the air like it was as simple as waving your hand. You looked so free, so powerful, and I..."

Another sigh and then Mikitaka is closing his eyes. He draws his hands into his lap, twisting his long fingers over each other, rubbing along the little callouses Okuyasu had never noticed before. Mikitaka is usually so polite, so restrained, that seeing these little signs of human nervousness make Okuyasu still. Whatever he’s going to say, it seems like it’s not going to be easy. Okuyasu decides to give him a push. "You wanted to feel like that?"

"I wanted to be with you."

The words leave Mikitaka’s mouth in a rush only to hit Okuyasu like gale force winds. Wanted to... be with...? What does that even mean? Like friends or teammates or--

Oh.

Oh.

No way.

It’s a wonder that he can hear Mikitaka keep speaking over the thunderous rush of blood in his ears, but he does his best to pick up every syllable, each one a clue in this mystery which was rapidly falling to pieces in front of them. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t...

"I never meant to take away your freedom," Mikitaka squeaks out, refusing to look Okuyasu in the eye all of a sudden. Which is really not helping the whole ’might-actually-have-a-crush’ thing, but then, he’s beginning to think they’re already past the point of no return on that one. "I just thought that if we were on the same team, we could run together and."

Okuyasu swallows thickly. "And?"

He doesn’t miss the way Mikitaka stills, nor does the sad smile escape his gaze. "I thought maybe I could get your attention and that maybe we could grow closer." A sigh, and then his voice is dropping back to the unsure mumble he'd used when he'd found Okuyasu mid-crying jag. "I know, it's a silly daydream, but I just."

He finishes his sentence with a halfhearted shrug, as if there's nothing more to say. Which is fine, really; Okuyasu's still busy sorting through the information Mikitaka had already laid out before him. He's not really sure if he can handle many more bombshells.

Unfortunately, it seems Mikitaka has a few more things on his mind, because he finally lifts his head and looks Okuyasu straight in the eye. "I can quit the team if you'd like. I'm sure I've only made you uncomfortable and I don't want to make things even worse. I'm, I'm really sorry. Really really sorry."

He still has no idea what's going on or what he should do or anything, but the words "quit the team" are a good starting point, so he latches onto them and digs in. "Don't quit. You're really good at running, probably better than any of us. I'd be the biggest asshole on the planet if I made you give that up."

Mikitaka frowns, that strange, lost look on his face again. "But--"

"No!" He's a little surprised at how harsh that comes out and the two of them pull back from each other a bit at the sudden outburst. Still, he's not going to budge on this one. If either one of them deserve a place on the team, it's Mikitaka. "Don't quit, dude. Promise me you won't."

He pulls his right hand up in front of them and crooks his little finger out in offering. Maybe a pinky promise is a little too childish for them, but it's the only thing he can think of to seal the deal.

It looks like Mikitaka isn't entirely sold on staying with the team; Okuyasu is trying not to panic, because damned if he could figure out how to change his mind. In the end, all he can think to do is wiggle his finger and say softly, "Please?"

Maybe it's a minute. Maybe it's only seconds. Either way, Okuyasu doesn't breathe until he sees Mikitaka raise his left hand, hook his pinky around Okuyasu's, and whisper, "Okay."

They mutter the chant under their breaths, vowing to swallow a thousand needles if either one of them defaults on the swear. Each syllable is punctuated with the swing of their locked hands, tying them together by pinky and promise alike. At the end of it, Okuyasu bumps their knuckles together and warns Mikitaka against potential take-backs with an off-hand comment about knowing a place where he can buy needles wholesale. It's dumb but it gets Mikitaka to smile, and that's really all he's looking for.

As if on cue, the two of them separate, sigh, and stretch their legs out in front of them. Okuyasu chances knocking his left sneaker against Mikitaka's right, letting out an unflattering snort when Mikitaka returns the gesture a few seconds later. He's still not entirely sure how to parse the whole confession thing but he thinks he can roll with this. More, he really hopes he can.

Because the fact that he got confessed to by a dude doesn't really bother him. Honestly, Okuyasu had resigned himself to never getting a love letter from anyone the entirety of his high school career. It sucked, and he certainly felt the pangs of jealousy rise up on occasion, like when Koichi and Yukako started dating, or when Valentine's Day came and went, depositing armloads of sweets laden with heartfelt feelings in Josuke's lap, while Okuyasu struggled to earn a handful of chocolates given to him out of obligation. But it was okay. He had his running career to look out for; all the extra practice meant he couldn't really afford to waste time on a romantic partner.

Funny, then, that running seemed to be the way he ended up finding one after all.

Okuyasu screws his lips up, folding his arms across his chest and cocking his head to the side as he thinks. In retrospect, the fact that Mikitaka had (has?) a crush on him makes a lot of their time spent together suddenly way less confusing. The way he had zeroed in on Okuyasu out of everyone, the special treatment, the--okay, all of it. It was like staring at one of those magic eye posters: everything was fuzzy and chaotic but then you stepped back and crossed your eyes the right way and bam, there was an image so crisp, so obvious that it was all but jumping out at you. And just like with one of those posters, now that he saw the truth hidden in the mess, he couldn't convince himself there was nothing there anymore.

His mind whirrs to life running all of their past interactions through this new filter of understanding. When he gets to their exchange earlier this afternoon, it takes all of his strength not to place his head in his hands and groan. So that's why Mikitaka had reacted so strongly to Okuyasu's offhand comment about buying him a ring. It had just been a joke to Okuyasu but to Mikitaka...

He probably wanted that, didn't he?

The more he thinks on it, the more it feels like his brain is squeezing itself into mush trying to pick apart everything they'd done or said to one another. Jeez, he had been so angry at Mikitaka for confusing the hell out of him, but he sure made the poor kid's life a living hell over these past couple of months, hadn't he? Probably still was--it dawns on him that hasn't responded to the actual confession yet. Okuyasu rubs at the back of his neck nervously. He should probably get on that. "So… you like me?"

Mikitaka looks at him, then the floor, then back to him. His face is lit up like a Christmas tree, garlands of red strung across his nose and cheeks and eyes staring wide like great green ornaments, glittering and round. Okuyasu has to admit, now that he's looking at Mikitaka as more than just a friend, the boy definitely has his cute parts. Not that he's entirely sold on it but there's potential.

They stare at each other, faces competing to outdo one another in depth of blush. Just when Okuyasu thinks Mikitaka might actually catch fire from all the heat rushing to his face, the other boy nods.

Okuyasu frowns. "Why?"

It's a simple question, really, but Mikitaka looks so taken aback that Okuyasu is momentarily afraid he's managed to offend him. Instead of the anger he expects to find, he watches Mikitaka's features soften, almost sadden. Like the question hurt him. Maybe it did.

"At first," Mikitaka begins, "I just liked watching you run. Then, as I got to know you, I realized just how great of a guy you are. You were always so easy to be around--I never felt like I had to be anyone but myself when we were together. Even now, knowing how you must have resented me, I can't help but like you."

Okuyasu thinks he ought to say something about how he doesn't resent Mikitaka, not anymore, but the truth is too complicated, so he stills his tongue and listens.

"All I did was cause you trouble, but you still treated me like an equal." Mikitaka lets out a tiny laugh, accompanied by an even tinier smile. "Honestly, I think I only like you more because of it."

There are a million words rushing through Okuyasu's mind, a mountain of feelings trying to muscle their way past his lips to reach Mikitaka. None of them feel adequate, so all his thoughts can do is pile up helplessly, squirming and itching and trying to squeeze themselves into holes they can't fit through.

He feels like he's been nothing but an asshole to the guy. Stomped all over his feelings, ignored him, treated him like an intruder and a thief. And yet Mikitaka liked him. Never stopped liking him.

Still likes him now.

In the end, all he can bring himself to say is, "Okay."

"Pardon?"

"Okay," he repeats, willing himself to continue on without stuttering. Okuyasu licks his lips. "We can, y'know, run together. B-be together. Whatever."

It doesn't feel like a whatever statement and the both of them know it, but Okuyasu refuses to back down for once. Mikitaka had been brave enough to cross the country for the chance to just be around his crush; it was only fair that Okuyasu meet him halfway on this.

Plus the fact that Mikitaka is handsome and sweet and just him sure doesn't hurt any.

Said handsome boy is currently staring wide-eyed at Okuyasu, like he can't quite believe what he'd just said. Which made two of them, really. "It doesn't gross you out?"

"No. But it's kinda confusing. I mean," Okuyasu shifts so he's facing Mikitaka properly and furrows his brows, "You could do better, y'know?"

"I don't think that's true."

"Dude."

Mikitaka's laughter is infectious and warm and so, so welcome after the serious shift in their conversation. "It's not! And even if it were, I don't care about 'better.' You're the one I like."

He's so captivated by the adoring smile Mikitaka is beaming in his direction that he startles when he feels the hesitant brush of fingertips over his own hands. Long, rough fingers glide across his knuckles in feather-light touches, but when he rotates his wrist to capture them, he feels Mikitaka begin to pull away.

Okuyasu won't let him.

"Okay," is what he says as he grabs Mikitaka's hand, feels it slot against his own like a key that's finally found its lock. He tries to fight down the blush but it's useless, so he focuses on the way Mikitaka looks at him with those impossibly big eyes of his. The way his lips struggle to prop up his smile on so much disbelief. The warmth of Mikitaka's hand in his, calloused fingers and all. "It's okay."

It's worth it--one hundred percent totally worth it--for the way Mikitaka nods, head downcast but smile a little more steady. It's worth it for the feel of Mikitaka edging closer to lay his head against Okuyasu's shoulder. It's worth it for the way Mikitaka sighs softly, contentedly, and the way his hair catches the late afternoon sun seeping into the classroom, and Okuyasu would do it over and over again even if he can't believe he did basically accept Mikitaka's confession nor the idea that this means they might actually be a thing now. Like, a real thing. A boyfriends kind of thing.

Ugh, Josuke is gonna have a field day with this one.

"So, wait, does this mean you want to, like," Okuyasu waves his free hand in some sort of fluttery gesture that not even he understands. "Kiss and stuff?"

The blush hits him the second the question hits the air. If it isn't for the fact that Mikitaka's face has taken on a lovely cherry red hue as well, he'd be busy kicking his own ass up and down the halls for just blurting something like that out. God, he is so stupid sometimes.

At least Mikitaka is sweet enough not to call him on his slip-up. The other boy (Okuyasu can't quite use the term 'boyfriend' yet without his brain threatening meltdown) spares him a shy smile and a nod. "Mmm. Do you?"

"I dunno. We could try." He'd meant it as an offer, something nonchalant and easy, but when it rolls off his tongue it sounds a hell of a lot like a question. Maybe even a request.

Oh god, he is going to die.

"Alright."

No, seriously. Call the undertaker because Okuyasu's heart is beating so fast that it's about to give out and then he's going to croak, just fucking keel over and eat it right into Mikitaka's lap and wasn't that a damn shame, dead at seventeen when he hasn't even had his first ki--

"Then... can I kiss you?"

He's dead, that's it. He's already died and transcended into the afterlife because nothing feels real anymore. But it is real, so very real, from the weight of Mikitaka's body to the way he's looking up at Okuyasu through his eyelashes (and wow, how did he never notice how long those things were?) There's this weird strangled noise that floats up between them--it takes Okuyasu a beat before he realizes that it's coming from his mouth. So he clenches his jaw, screws his eyes tight, and nods. He thinks he hears Mikitaka titter, but it's gone too soon, replaced by the sound of cloth rustling and the feel of a hand placed tentatively against his collarbone and oh god this is happening.

He's expecting sparks. That's what the movies always said happened when first kisses were involved. Sparks and fireworks and all manner of electricity charging up and down his body, blasting through him like the Big Bang.

What he gets is the gentle press of thin lips against his own, given to him willingly by a boy who shines so bright that he might as well have come from the sun. There is no explosion of any sort but he can't summon the disappointment because this is so much better.

For someone who's spent so much of his life counting the important moments by fractions of a second, he's a little surprised that he doesn't know how long his first kiss lasts. To be honest, he's still boggling over the fact that it's happening in the first place. Had it been too long? Too short? He really can't say. Did it matter?

"Is this really okay?"

He opens his eyes, blinks at the face a hand's breadth from his own. That's when it hits him that the length of the kiss doesn't mean shit, not when Mikitaka is looking at him like he's not allowed to be doing any of this, but like he desperately wants to get it right all the same. That Mikitaka looks just as anxious about this as Okuyasu feels makes everything that much easier somehow.

"Yeah," Okuyasu says thickly. His whole body feels like it's on fire and his heartbeat is still loud in his ears and he wished desperately that he could be cooler about all of this. But coolness was never his forte, so he settles for a nervous gulp and a shaky smile. "B-but I think you better do it again just to make sure."

Ah, there's that smile that always sends Okuyasu's heart into flips. It looks even sweeter now that he knows the emotions behind it. Mikitaka chuckles. "I'll do my best."

It's great--fantastic, maybe--when Mikitaka leans forward a second time and presses his lips to Okuyasu's. At least this time he has the presence of mind to actually pay attention to all the little intricacies.

Okuyasu has no real gauge for the quality of a kiss, but the feel of Mikitaka's lips on his is nice. Really nice. Not too much pressure, but with a definite presence, and when one of them tilts their head to the side just the slightest to fit their mouths together a bit more snugly, it's even better. Their knees knock together awkwardly when Mikitaka moves to press himself against Okuyasu's chest, but it's not awful. Mostly he's too busy worrying about where to put his hands.

He's still moving them from spot to spot tentatively when he felt Mikitaka reach out for him, placing his fidgeting fingers around Mikitaka's sides. It's like permission and a request all at once, and it makes something in Okuyasu's chest tighten. Mikitaka really does want this, wants him. It's still such an alien concept that it feels like his brain is frying in his skull.

With his gray matter out of commission, he lets his body take control once more. He wraps his arms around Mikitaka and pulls until their chests are flush against one another. Mikitaka is so thin, all bone and muscle, and if it weren't for the fact that he's seen the power and strength in Mikitaka's body first hand, Okuyasu might worry about hurting him from his grip alone. But Mikitaka's not some fragile creature made of glass and bird bones, nor is he intangible like sunlight. He's real and warm and solid as he wraps his arms around Okuyasu's neck, smelling of sweat and dirt and so full of little sounds, chirps of pleasure falling from his lips as they struggle to breathe between kisses.

It's too much and not enough all at once and Okuyasu's head is swimming, torn between pulling back to regain his bearings and pushing forward into this new world of experience to see just how far he can go. So he whines a bit when Mikitaka is the first to pull back, lets himself chase those lips he'd been so thoroughly enjoying. Mikitaka is laughing again as he allows Okuyasu one more quick peck on the lips and then it's, rather regrettably, over.

Though perhaps Mikitaka was just as hesitant to stop kissing him, because he does look at least a little sorry. "I left practice early to come find you. People are going to be looking for us."

Okuyasu frowns. "To hell with them, they're a bunch of assholes anyway."

"Okuyasu."

"Seriously, fuck 'em."

"Okuyasu!" It would sound a lot more disapproving if he wasn't laughing as he called his name.

"Fine," Okuyasu grumbles out. Damn it, now he's never going to be able to say no to Mikitaka. He leans forward just enough so he can rest his forehead against one of Mikitaka's bony shoulders and sighs, hugging the other teen to him. It's not quite as exciting as a kiss, but a hug is still a pretty good compromise. "But I'm not happy about it."

"Understood," Mikitaka replies, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of Okuyasu's neck. He hadn't realized just how much tension he was holding in his muscles until he feels those lovely fingers begin to undo the knots in his back. Okuyasu lets himself go limp, sighing like he can feel the aches float out of him on his breath. This afternoon had been exhausting in so many ways, but in others, it was… good. Really freaking good.

The sound of his name being murmured against his ear is so nice that all he can do is hum in response. "Hm?"

"I'm really happy that I can be with you like this."

Mikitaka's voice had sounded so small, barely more than a whisper, but there was something sure about it as well, like steel wrapped in silk or a secret told in the utmost confidence. Okuyasu grinned even as he could feel the blush reach all the way to the tips of his ears. He tightened his arms around Mikitaka as he spoke, words just as solid as the boy in his arms. "Yeah, so am I."

And to his surprise, he really was.

"Oh my god, you are killing me."

Okuyasu groans and flops back onto the floor of his bedroom, throwing his arms wide as if he can't convey the depths of his outrage without the action.

At his side, Mikitaka frowned. "I didn't invent calculus, Okuyasu."

"But you're forcing me to learn it!"

"Only because I want you to pass." His boyfriend sighs and wedges his pencil between the pages of his textbook. Oh great, here comes the nerd lecture. If there's one thing Okuyasu hates, it's the nerd lecture. "You've got a much better shot at a scholarship if your grades are decent and…" He pauses for a second, then continues quietly, "I want us to be able to run together."

"Dammit, that's not fair! How am I supposed to say no to that?" Okuyasu scrubs his hands across his face, trying not to whine and doing a poor job of it. As much as he can't stand trying to cram his brain full of functions and formulas, he likes Mikitaka way more than he hates plotting a slope. That his boyfriend has decided to use this knowledge for evil (read as: forcing him to actually study) is distressing. "I thought you loved me."

"I do." The soft coo of a response is followed by an even softer kiss to his forehead. This latter action is repeated once more on his mouth when Okuyasu purses his lips in response. "Though I guess we could go for a break. We are a couple of weeks ahead."

Okuyasu drops his hands, eyes shooting to Mikitaka. "What? We're ahead?" The other boy is conspicuously quiet. Worse, when Okuyasu sits up, he realizes Mikitaka is steadily trying to avoid any sort of eye contact. Okay, now he's allowed to whine. "Mikitaka!"

The blond boy is suddenly a flurry of wringing hands and frantic words, eyes looking everywhere but Okuyasu. "I'm sorry! It's just, you've been getting better times than me and we haven't been practicing as much since the meet. I thought that if we got far enough ahead, we could go for a run. You know, get the blood pumping?"

Okuyasu snorts. Staying mad at Mikitaka has always been hard, but it's almost impossible when he's gone all flustered and eager. Which he often is. Apparently under that persona of politeness and shy smiles was the human equivalent of an oversized golden retriever puppy, all clumsy limbs and boundless enthusiasm wrapped up in a shaggy mane of gold. How can he be pissed at him when he's that fucking cute?

Then again, he did just make Okuyasu sit through an hour of unnecessary math. Maybe a little teasing is in order. "If you want to exercise so bad, I can think up a couple better ways we can get our heart rates up."

The joke is a bit flirtier than he usually tries for, but they're an item, so he tells himself that it should be fine. At least until he sees the flush washing across Mikitaka's face, eyes widening like saucers. Oh shit. Okuyasu flounders, flapping his mouth open and shut in an attempt to jumpstart his brain into talking himself out of it and not coming up with much aside from a hell of a lot of stammering. He hadn't--but then, he kind of did and does--but if Mikitaka wasn't ready--!

If Mikitaka's initial reaction had been a surprise, Okuyasu is entirely unprepared for the way his bites his lips, staring up at him through his long blond lashes. "I wouldn't say no to that either."

Okuyasu's brain grinds to a halt so fast it's surprising he can't hear the brakes squeal. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," Mikitaka says, the beginnings of a smile trembling to life on his lips and wow, he really should've made a pass at his boyfriend earlier. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah." Okuyasu gulps, reaching shaking fingers over to push a strand of golden hair behind Mikitaka's ear. "Yeah, I do."

"Me too."

He can't lie and say he hasn't thought about it before--he's a healthy teenage boy with healthy teenage urges, after all--but to hear that Mikitaka's also keen on the idea is like throwing a match on a pool of gasoline. Okuyasu leans forward just enough to kiss him, and when he nudges Mikitaka's shoulder gently, his boyfriend wastes no time laying back on the floor and pulling Okuyasu down onto him.

In the few weeks they've been dating, they've spent a lot of time getting to know each other, finding out what makes one another tick, but their physical explorations hadn't gone beyond a little bit of heavy petting during particularly heated makeouts. Okuyasu had been curious, sure, but there had always been something keeping them from taking that final step. The timing was never right, or they were too burnt out from training or just too nervous in general. People said things changed after you did it; what if it was for the worse? What if it wasn't all that great? What if he sucked at it? What if after what if after what if.

Now that they're actually doing it, though, it's surprisingly easy to shove all those worries into the back of his mind. He's still nervous as all hell, but he can ignore the what ifs when he's running his hands down Mikitaka's sides, the sharp intake of breath he hears in response driving him on. Mikitaka's arms are wrapped around his shoulders and his mouth is open and inviting; there's no room for questions when there's nothing but Mikitaka all around him, pulling Okuyasu to him like he's trying to merge them into one body and making frustrated little grunts when he encounters friction.

And oh, the friction.

Okuyasu lets his excitement get the better of him, pulls Mikitaka's shirt up from where it's tucked into the waistband of his pants to paw at the smooth skin underneath. Being on the same sports team means sharing locker room time, so there's not really much left to the imagination as far as nudity goes. Feeling Mikitaka's body squirming under him, however, is still pretty new and exciting, and he relishes in the feel of him: the soft skin of his stomach, the firm muscle that lies beneath, the ridges of his hip bones and the little goosebumps he can feel rise up under his fingers as he skirts the waist of his pants.

He thinks he hears Mikitaka whine something between kisses, something that sounds a bit like his name, and then there are fingers busying themselves with undoing the buttons on Okuyasu's shirt. They brush against the pulse points in his neck and Okuyasu wonders if his boyfriend can feel the building thump of his heart, wonders if Mikitaka's just as nervous. Okuyasu breaks away to kiss the side of Mikitaka's neck curiously, searching out his heartbeat with his lips and enjoying the way Mikitaka rolls his head to the side to accommodate his exploration with a soft moan.

Which is why they both yelp when they hear the sound of the apartment door slamming shut, followed by a booming baritone calling out, "Okuyasu! I'm home!"

They say "Keicho" and "your brother" in unison, and then Okuyasu groans and rolls off Mikitaka to start redoing his shirt. He has to bite back another groan when he sees Mikitaka hurriedly begin tucking his shirt back into his pants. They'd been so close.

It's not like Keicho doesn't know about their relationship; it was kind of hard to ignore it when he'd come home to find the two of them all but devouring each other’s lips in Okuyasu's room a few days after they'd started dating. For the briefest of moments, Okuyasu had been absolutely terrified that his brother would react poorly, maybe start screaming and yelling. Maybe hitting. After all, Keicho was the only family he had left--just thinking about losing that final connection was enough to make him start hyperventilating. But Keicho hadn't commented on it beyond asking if Mikitaka was staying the night and upon hearing a flustered no from the both of them, had merely nodded and closed the door. Mikitaka had left soon after that in a rush of embarrassment, and dinner had been spent mostly in silence, Okuyasu waiting fearfully for a condemnation that didn't come.

The next morning there had been a shopping bag hanging off his bedroom door which he picked up with shaking fingers. Only to shriek and drop the thing when he opened it to find a box of condoms staring back at him. He was pretty sure his face had stayed in a permanent shade of redness for the rest of the day, though he had eventually shoved the box under his bed and tucked a few of the foil wrapped devices into his wallet. Just in case.

Okuyasu had kind of hoped that today would've been the day he finally put one of them to use, but hell if he's gonna have their first time happen with his brother in the next room. The walls of their apartment are way too shitty and thin for that. He consoles himself that there'll be other times. God, he hopes there'll be other times.

There's a knock at his bedroom door, which is another recent addition to their household life, but apparently Keicho enjoys walking in on his little brother as much as Okuyasu likes being walked in on. A quick glance reveals that, red faces aside, both he and Mikitaka don't totally look like they'd been trying to jump each other a minute ago, so he calls out to the door to let him know the coast is clear. He also doesn't miss the way Mikitaka puts space between them, but then, he's pretty sure his boyfriend is still kinda terrified of his brother. Not that he blames him--Keicho is a titan of a man in just about every way.

Said titan opens the door and greets them both, then asks if they've had dinner yet. When both boys shake their heads no, he announces that he's going to call out to the Chinese place down the street and asks what they want. Okuyasu tells him to get the usual, while Mikitaka tries to argue that he didn't want to impose. All it takes is a particularly strong look from Keicho and Mikitaka's argument falls to nothing, the boy mumbling that he'll have whatever Okuyasu's getting. Keicho nods, tells them not to study too hard, and then is gone with only the soft click of the door shutting to signify that he was ever there.

As soon as he's gone, Mikitaka lets out a breath Okuyasu hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I feel bad making your brother buy me dinner." They'd discussed the whole lack of funds thing once not too long after they got together, and while Mikitaka hadn't said much about it, Okuyasu noticed that Mikitaka was suddenly much more eager to buy him meals when they were together. It was kinda cute, even if constantly having his boyfriend try to pay his way made him a little uneasy.

"It's cool. He knows you like footing the bill when we go out to eat. I guess this is how wants to thank you for that."

"I know, but still…"

Okuyasu scoots closer so he can throw an arm around Mikitaka's shoulder, closing the gap between them and whispering conspiratorially, "Well if you really insist on making it up to me…"

He hears more than sees Mikitaka giggle, too busy trying to nuzzle the side of Mikitaka's neck with his nose. "Your brother just got home."

"I know but, ugh, I," Okuyasu huffs. He's both embarrassed and a little frustrated at the fact that his libido is still running on all cylinders. "Things are kinda. Hard. Right now."

Another breathy giggle and then he feels Mikitaka pull back to kiss him. It's gentle, meant more to soothe than excite, and as soon as they break apart, Okuyasu knows that he's lost the argument. He sighs and rests his weight on Mikitaka's shoulder, defeated. Though it's hard to pout properly when he can feel Mikitaka's fingers begin carding through his hair.

"How about a bet?" Mikitaka proposes suddenly, fingers never stopping in their soothing motions.

"A bet? On what?"

Mikitaka makes a soft hum as if thinking and then continues on. "Coach says we're running sprints tomorrow, right? If I get the best time," and here his voice drops a little, the first signs of anxiety jumping up to cling to his words, making them tremble in the air as they pass between them,  "we go back to my place after practice and finish what we started."

Okuyasu freezes. It's like all the air has been sucked out of the room, or maybe just out of his lungs, and he coughs, forcing himself to breathe. Finally, he manages to squeak out, "And if I get the best time?"

"We do whatever you want."

"That makes no sense--I want the same thing as you!"

"Then I guess one of us better win," Mikitaka hums into his ear, and when Okuyasu finally turns to face him again, he can't help but stare slack-jawed at the mischievous smile on his boyfriend's face. It's not entirely sure, but it's there, augmented by the twinkle in his eyes and the way his nose scrunches up whenever he's really amused. This boy is seriously going to be the death of him one day.

Okuyasu can't quite decide on how to respond to that, so he settles for a bark of a laugh as he tackles Mikitaka to the ground, fingers wriggling along the ticklish skin of his sides. "Just you wait, I'm gonna kick your ass!" The shriek of laughter he gets in response only encourages him in his quest to tickle the very daylights out of his dorky--and surprisingly pervy--boyfriend.

Before Mikitaka had shown up, Okuyasu was convinced that the only thing he had going for him was running. That it was his whole world, his identity, and that everything was okay as long as he had his speed. Building his ego up on such fragile supports meant everything had come crashing down the moment he found someone who could beat him at his own game, and the past few months had been a rollercoaster of fear and anger and a whole host of negative emotions as he struggled to find out who he was and what he was worth. If he wasn't the fastest anymore, then who could he possibly be? The thought had eaten away at his confidence, and he'd resented Mikitaka so much for taking that away from him.

But now, as he tickles the other boy and peppers his face with kisses, listening to Mikitaka's laughter bounce off the thin walls of his bedroom until the room is saturated with the sound of it, he can't help but grin and let himself get drawn into the warmth of this absolute puppy of a boy.

Running is still important to him, still a major part of who he is, but it's not the only part. Because now there's more--somebody who loves him not only for his actions, but for who he is beyond the speed--and as Mikitaka reaches up and pulls him down for a proper kiss, so full of adoration and a promise of something more, Okuyasu finds himself thinking that the track isn't the only place where he can feel truly alive.