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Akira sighs as he steps into the liminal haze of the school hallway. It’s late enough now that the teachers have vanished from campus, late enough that the halls seem dimmer and wider. His footsteps echo in the corridor as he walks, and when he approaches the stairs, he hears whispers clear as crystal in the empty air and pauses.
“Akechi-senpai is so handsome,” a voice says, feminine and unfamiliar. “Look at him! He’s like an idol or something. Why is he still here?”
“Student council stuff, I guess. He keeps busy. He’s almost as serious as Nijima-senpai.”
“Those two are really intense. I mean, I care about school, but geez. Aren’t they rivals or something?”
“Nah, not really. Akechi’s got this weird arch-nemesis thing going on with another third year. I don’t know his name, but I’m pretty sure he beat somebody to death when he was in middle school.” Akira bites back a snort. “In fact, I heard that Akechi-senpai and Nijima-senpai were… you know… a thing.”
Not wanting to hear any more, Akira bites his tongue and rounds the corner, startling the tucked-away gossipers. They’ve both got duffel bags and twirling batons, two dancers milling around in the stairwell after club practice. He walks past without making eye contact, hoping to avoid their gaze, but one of them gasps, whirling into a double-take.
“Wait—that third year,” the girl whispers. She isn’t very good at it; the whisper bounces around the stairwell, and her friend shushes her. “Sorry,” she whispers, still audible. “But that’s him, isn’t it? The delinquent who got Kamoshida fired?”
“Shut up!”
Akira ignores them and walks forward.
“Akechi,” he says. The boy in question whips around, painting a startled smile on his face.
“Hello, Kurusu. I didn’t realize you were still here. Club practice? Or are you up to something?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Rapid fire whispers echo in the stairwell.
“Well, it’s my job to keep an eye out. After all, I’m the student council vice-president. I would hate for one of my classmates to get themselves into trouble—and, well.” Akechi laughs, airy. “I hate to say this, Kurusu-kun, but you’re quite good at getting into trouble.”
Akira shrugs.
“Trouble finds me.”
“You should get better at hiding,” Akechi says, whiskey eyes flashing over the barest hint of a smirk. Akira’s heart flutters. At the same time, the poorly hidden girls break into a chorus of gasps and giggles that fade away as they run off up the stairwell. Akira and Akechi share a look; Akechi rolls his eyes.
“On your way out? We could walk together.”
Akechi tilts his head, blinking.
“Sure. I suppose I should monitor you, after all,” Akechi says. “We have our… what did the girls call it? Our arch-nemesis thing going on.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Rivals, yeah, of course. Foes? Maybe.”
They fall in line next to one another, headed towards the exit. Akira walks slower than he usually does, lifting his shoulders and pushing them back. Despite the effort, he’s not quite taller than Akechi, unless you count the unkempt pouf of his hair.
“Too true. Arch-nemesis sounds a bit gauche, doesn’t it? I’d rather think of us as rivals. Though things haven’t been nearly as heated ever since you got us kicked out of the chess club.”
“Don’t start,” Akira warns. “That wasn’t my fault.”
“Wasn’t it? Hm. I suppose we must have very different memories surrounding that event.” Akechi smirks over at Akira, a challenge in his eyes. The challenge sparks a familiar heat in Akira’s chest. Akira used to assume it was the heat of anger, or frustration, or competition. Eventually, it died down into a friendly warmth. Akira thought he understood the warmth for what it was.
Nowadays, he isn’t so sure.
“I guess we do. Enemies or not, congratulations. Should I expect a wedding invitation soon?”
Akechi raises an eyebrow at him.
“What?”
“You and Makoto,” Akira explains, smirking. Akechi barks out a laugh—one of his genuine laughs, a rare, explosive gem that betrays his otherwise controlled demeanor. Akira preens at the sound.
“Oh yes, right, I heard about that. Someone actually came up to us to ask if it was true earlier today. You should have seen Nijima-san’s face. I thought she might explode.”
“Hm. No invitation, then?”
Akechi elbows him, a soft motion that sends a ripple of fondness rushing upwards through Akira’s head.
“No invitation. Not that I’d invite you to my wedding, regardless. I’m sure you’d find a way to spoil the whole thing.”
Akira bites his cheek, and deep from the most embarrassing pits of his brain, a monster spits out a distressing, urgent thought. I might. Unless, the monster says, it was my wedding too. It’s an absurd thought, a dangerous one, a cognitive banana peel ready to trip his consciousness and send it hurtling into horrible disaster. He sidesteps it.
“I wouldn’t dare. Makoto and I are good friends.”
“Stop,” Akechi begs. “I’m not interested in Makoto. She’s, ah, not my type.”
“You have a type?” Akira asks, heart hammering away at his ribs, begging him to shut the fuck up. “I figured you weren’t into that kind of stuff.”
“I’m not,” Akechi says, words clipped and urgent. “Or—I guess I am. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not the sort of person who would interest a guy like him.”
Akira’s legs weaken for a moment, steps faltering.
“A guy?”
Akechi stops walking, a frown tugging at his lips.
“Is that an issue?”
“No! I’m just surprised, I guess,” Akira says, shrugging. It’s a lie. He’s always suspected, but the verbal confirmation still makes his chest ache and his stomach flip over. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Right. If you say so.”
“Wait,” Akira says, shaking his head as his brain jogs to catch up, “you don’t think he’d be interested? Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Akechi looks away, clutching at the handle of his schoolbag. “Fuck. I’m not—you really are good at making me spill my guts, you know. It’s a talent.”
Akira shifts on his feet, unsure of what to say.
“I get that a lot. Must have one of those faces. Spill away, though, I’m good at listening.”
“There’s not much to spill. I’m too inexperienced for someone like him.” Akechi sighs. “Don’t misunderstand, this isn’t self-deprecation. He’s the suave, bad-boy type. He intimidates people, but I’ve seen the way girls fawn around him. I’m sure he has experience, but I’m… I wouldn’t know the first thing about romance. It never mattered to me, before I realized how I felt.”
Akira’s heart deflates. Right. The suave, bad-boy type, capturing hearts left and right. Akechi would never describe him like that, not in a million years. After all, Akechi knows better, he must. Akira never fostered a delinquent personality, despite the hand the world dealt him. His grades are flawless, his friends harmless, and most of the third-years know by now that most of the gossip isn’t true. Akira knew that he probably wasn’t Akechi’s type, but the confirmation hurts more than he thought it would.
And yet, staring at Goro’s downtrodden expression, he can’t help but offer comfort.
“It could still work out,” Akira says, swallowing bile into his tight throat. “It shouldn’t make a difference to him if he likes you.”
“He doesn’t.” Akechi looks down at the glossy hallway tile. They’ve given up on pretending to walk. “Even if he did, I’d still feel like…” Akechi groans. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t want to be some blushing, stammering idiot, especially not with someone like him. I want to be good, but it’s not as though you can go out and practice that sort of thing.”
“That sort of thing?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb, Kurusu. Kissing, dating, holding hands. Kissing especially. It’s physical, so I’m sure it requires practice.” Akechi pauses, shooting daggers over at Akira. “If you try to lord any of this over me, I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Akira promises. “If I did, I’d be a hypocrite. I’ve never… I mean. You’re not alone, you know. I’ve never kissed anyone before, either.”
Akechi gapes at him—his mouth drops open, his brows knit all the way together.
“You haven’t?”
“We’re teenagers. That’s normal.” Akira frowns, trying not to think about this handsome, worldly guy that Akechi wants to be with. It’s fine, he thinks, it was just a half-formed crush. More of an idea, really. “I get it, though. I wish there was a way to practice.”
The hallway feels smaller and smaller as each word leaves his mouth. A way to practice. They look at each other for a long moment, communicating through their heavy gaze. The temperature rises, and Akira knows that they’re both having the same thought.
“What if—”
“We could—”
“Sorry. You go first,” Akira says.
“You already know what I was about to suggest. But we… shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why not? It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Akira swallows his own protests. “Not if we’re just, uh, improving our skills.”
“Of course.” Akechi nods. He’s leaning against the wall in an uncharacteristic display of nonchalance. “It would be nice to get it out of the way, so to speak. Everyone seems so invested in their first kiss, don’t they? They want spontaneity, but they want it to be just like a movie scene. It’s unrealistic. This way, we could just... do it.”
“Right,” Akira says. His brain runs through a series a worst-case-scenarios, begging him to reconsider. In front of him, Akechi’s parted lips are soft, pink, and a bit swollen from his nervous biting. Akira stares at them, heart pounding. “We could provide feedback to each other,” Akira suggests. “I won’t get offended.”
“Me neither. I want to be good, after all.” Akechi glances up to meet Akira’s eyes, squinting and smirking, crossing his arms. “Better than you, even.”
“Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Tch. Cocky as ever, aren’t you?”
Akira looks around. It’s an empty hall, but they’re close to the gauntlet of windows by the entrance.
“Follow me,” Akira says, walking towards the nearest supply closet. Akechi splutters, but follows him.
“What, are we doing this now?”
“You said you wanted to get it over with,” Akira says, opening the door to the dusty room. Akechi furrows his brow, staring into the doorway. He looks at Akira, clenches his fists—and walks inside. He drags Akira in behind him and shuts them in, plunging the room into darkness.
“There. Now we’re alone. Do you want me to turn on the light?”
Akira breathes in, stepping towards Akechi’s warm body. The musty, damp room smells like untreated wood and chemical disinfectant. But it feels exhilarating, too—naughty, for lack of a better word. It appeals to Akira’s love for trouble. Also, it’s just them. It’s never just them. The darkness amplifies the feeling. In Akira’s mind, there are no shelves, no mops, no brooms or dustpans or school ephemera.
“No,” Akira whispers. “I kind of like this.”
“Me too. It’s right up your alley, isn’t it? You are a delinquent, after all.”
“Sure am,” Akira says, pressing closer. “And I’m about to kiss the student council darling, right here in this broom closet. Seems dirty, huh?”
“Maybe he likes dirty.” Akira’s knees quake. “But that’s beside the point. We’re just practicing. The circumstances don’t matter.”
“Right. Practice.”
Akira can feel Akechi’s breath puffing hot against his face. They’re similar in height, so he won’t have to lean up or down. He only needs to press forward.
“What are you waiting for? Just do it,” Akechi says. “Don’t be nervous. I don’t care if you’re any good.”
“Of course you don’t, you want to be better than me.”
They’re close enough to taste each other’s words. Akira reaches up to place his hands on Akechi’s shoulders, rubbing them when they tense up underneath his fingers.
“Yes, well, I can’t do that if you don’t—”
Akira presses forward.
It’s strange to have someone else’s skin pressed against his lips, softer and warmer than his own when he rubs them or picks at them. His nerve endings adjust to the sensation, and his body relaxes in fractions, hands moving up to cradle Akechi’s neck.
Feeling confident, he slides his lips in search of a more centered position, and the sensation rips down his spine, forcing him to repress a shudder. The feeling isn’t quite sexual, though he imagines it could be, under the right circumstances. It throbs against the chamber of his skull, humming like a chorus of nervous honeybees. It builds with every passing moment; it bubbles up behind his eyes.
“There,” Akira says, pulling away to gasp for breath. “We did it.”
“We did it. Let’s do it again.”
This time, Akechi presses forward, parting his lips in advance and sliding them the moment he hits his mark. Akira chases the sensation, testing the waters, eager to please even though he isn’t sure how. He captures Akechi’s bottom lip between his own, sucking at the soft skin. It slips into his mouth with surprising ease, scraping against his teeth, and Akechi gasps into his mouth and grabs at the fabric of his blazer.
“Do that again,” Akechi says. Akira does, careful to repeat the motion exactly as he did a moment ago. Akechi pulls back with a chuckle. “Not bad, Kurusu.”
Akechi leans in to mimic Akira’s trick with a touch more pressure, and Akira sees stars in the pitch black closet.
“Shit,” Akira hisses, pressing their bodies closer, closer. “Not bad, Akechi.”
Their lips crash and they lose themselves to the messy sea of sensations. It’s clumsy—at times too hesitant, at times too bold—but it’s fun. Akira never imagined that kissing would feel like a chess match or a riveting conversation, but it does. It’s reciprocal, energetic, and it feels like it might never end.
It ends.
“We should stop,” Akechi says, “we’re going to get caught by a staff member.”
“You’re right.” Akira aches to lean back in, but forces himself to pull back, catching his run-away breath. “We should go.”
Akechi opens the door, flooding the closet with light. It stings for a moment, revealing a flushed, disheveled, and thoroughly kiss-bitten face. Akira remembers how he felt before, shoving away that hint of attraction, ignoring the coil of heat in his gut. He’s dealt with hundreds of heart flutters and tamped down thoughts. Earlier, he’d snuffed out a spark of jealousy at the notion of Akechi’s interest in another man.
Now, he stands in the broom closet and thinks—it does feel like falling, doesn’t it?
“I need to run a few errands, so I’ll have to go make myself… presentable,” Goro says. “I’ll see you soon, Kurusu.”
“See you,” Akira says. They share a parting glance, heavy and full of promise, and Goro disappears in the vague direction of the bathroom. As soon as Akechi fades out of view, Akira lifts a hand to his lips. They’re still warm, still tingling, and before he walks away, he marvels at the simple fact that his own touch feels nothing like a kiss.
“This is a terrible idea,” Akechi says, glancing around the corner for the third time. “We’re going to get caught.”
“No we’re not. Nobody uses this bathroom, I used to hide here all the time after I transferred.”
“If you say so.” Akechi grabs Akira by the arm, dragging him into a stall and locking it behind them. The hard plastic of the door digs into Akira’s back; Akechi’s body presses into Akira’s front. There’s not much space, but Akira doesn’t mind. In fact, he grabs the other boy by the waist to pull him in closer. Akechi gasps. “We don’t have much time.”
Akira leans in for a soft, quick peck.
“Any ideas?”
“Bite my lip again,” Akechi says, “like you did yesterday.”
Akira obliges, leaning forward to tease the flesh between his teeth. Akechi chuckles and pulls backwards, tugging his lip out of Akira’s mouth with a soft gasp. He leans back in to mimic the motion, locking his teeth around Akira’s bottom lip and pulling back. The delicate scrape sends shivers down Akira’s spine.
“Oh,” Akira says, “that’s...”
“Good, isn’t it?” Akechi presses him up against the stall, fire in his eyes. “I bet I can make it better.”
Akechi bites his lip again with a bit more force, sucking it, and Akira’s knees shudder. He stays upright, clutching Akechi’s waist like a lifeline. After a moment, he regains his bearings—regains them just in time for Akechi to drag his tongue against Akira’s lip and rip the bearings away.
“Fuck.” Akira tightens his grip, pressing his mouth against Akechi’s with a renewed sense of urgency. He parts his mouth, pressing his tongue between Akechi’s lips with experimental hesitance. Akechi meets the tongue with his own and the both pause, taking in the unfamiliar sensation. After a long moment, they lick into each other’s mouths, sending an iron-hot jolt of pleasure shooting through Akira’s abdomen.
“Not bad, Kurusu,” Akechi whispers, laughing. “You haven’t been practicing with anyone else, have you?”
Akira’s fingers clench and unclench around Akechi’s waist. Practicing. He laughs, shaking his head
“Nah,” Akira says. “Nobody else.”
The air thickens with sudden silence. It makes Akira feel lightheaded, and he doesn’t know what else to say, so he leans in for another kiss. It’s softer than the others, a simple, closed-mouth slide.
“I see. Well, that’s—”
The bell rings.
“Shit,” Akechi says, rolling his eyes. “Time’s up.”
“Time’s up,” Akira repeats. He undoes the latch on the stall, stepping back into the disorienting open air of the restroom. He feels dizzy—maybe from adrenaline, maybe from the sinuous roller-coaster his emotions have been riding.
“You have my number, don’t you? I’ll text you when I’m free to practice again. Feel free to decline if you’re busy. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your studies.” Akechi studies himself in the mirror. He flattens his hair, readjusting his uniform. He doesn’t look debauched, but his lips are a touch brighter than usual, a touch more swollen. The sight forces Akira to bite back the absurd, feline urge to pounce.
“Right. Any, uh, feedback?” Akira gulps.
“Not yet. After all, we’ve only done it twice.” Akechi smiles an innocent smile, eyes squinting shut as though he weren’t just kissing Akira Kurusu within an inch of his miserable life. “We’ll just have to keep working at it. Don’t you agree?”
Akechi leaves the bathroom, smirking as he goes. Before he rounds the corner, Akira sees a dangerous, familiar glint in his eyes, the glint that says, ‘don’t let the softness fool you.’ He’s always enjoyed that hint of sharpness. He used to delight in dragging it out of the other boy, cajoling it into view with witty barbs and teasing. It used to make him want to laugh.
Now, he stands in the abandoned bathroom and thinks—it still feels like falling. When the hell am I going to hit the bottom?
They keep practicing.
For a week, they seem to do nothing but practice. They practice at lunch, in between classes, and after school. When Akira isn’t kissing Goro Akechi, he keeps himself busy by imagining it, wandering around the halls in a dumbstruck haze. His friends tease him for the far-away look in his eye. Akira aches to talk about it, but he doesn’t know how to explain that he’s been practice-kissing the student council Vice President—the guy most people assume he hates—in every empty corner of the school.
This empty corner, in particular, is becoming one of his favorites.
“I want to try something,” Akechi says. Akira can’t see him in the dark broom closet, but he can imagine the determined look in his eyes. “Sit still.”
“Okay,” Akira says, chuckling. “Should I be worried?”
“Maybe.” Akechi’s breath ghosts against his cheek, mouth creeping towards his ear. “I’ve been doing some research. There’s more to kissing than just lips, you know. Humans have dozens of erogenous zones.”
Akira shudders.
“Oh, yeah?” Akira winces at the sound of his own wrecked voice, running his hands up and down Akechi’s sides in nervous anticipation.
“Yes. The ears, for example,” Akechi whispers, close enough for his breath to thrum against Akira’s eardrum. It tingles and burns, sending a shiver of pleasure through Akira’s neck. “They contain hundreds of sensory receptors. Many people find the sensation of a kiss against their ear quite pleasurable.”
“Do they now?” Akira holds Akechi’s hips in place right where they are—any further forward, and Akechi might find out just how pleasurable it really is.
“Yes,” Akechi says, mouth fluttering against Akira’s earlobe. Without warning, he tugs it in between his lips, sucking the sensitive skin and prodding it with his tongue. When he pulls back, Akira shivers. “What do you think? Is it any good?”
Akira growls, grabbing Akechi’s face with both hands and twisting it to the side. It’s difficult in the dark, but he presses forward to find his prize. Akechi gasps as Akira exhales against the smooth plane of his neck.
“You tell me,” Akira says, sucking a gentle kiss underneath Akechi’s ear before trailing up to tug the lobe between his teeth. He’s careful not to bite too hard—they’ve learned that lesson with their lips—opting for a gentle slide as he tugs the skin out from between his teeth.
“Fuck,” Akechi gasps. Their bodies sink into one another, hot and desperate, and for the first time, Akira feels the firm, daunting evidence of their arousal pressing between them. They both freeze.
“We should probably stop,” Akira says, pulling back. “You were right, though. That does feel good.”
Akechi laughs as they pull apart.
“It does. Fuck,” he says again, and Akira never realized that Goro Akechi would be the type to curse so much. In private, he’s even more raw, more intense. It’s no longer an undercurrent, no longer subtext. Akira adores it, aches for it. Akira could drown in it. “You’re so fucking—you drive me insane, do you know that? The practice is working, though. It’s not… it’s not scary anymore.”
“No, it’s not,” Akira muses.
“I never thought it would be like this. It always looked a bit boring, to be honest.”
Akira feels the same. He never thought that kissing would feel so much like a heated conversation or a riveting game of chess, never considered the push and pull nature of the action. It’s not just pleasurable, it’s fun.
“Yeah, me too.”
Although, Akira suspects that maybe the ‘fun’ has more to do with the company than the action itself.
“Maybe it’s just because it isn’t real,” Akechi says, and Akira’s heart withers up and dies, sinking into his stomach like a lead anchor. “There’s not as much stress. We’re just practicing.”
“Yeah, of course. Just practicing.”
Akira opens the door, eager to leave. He can’t bring himself to look into Akechi’s eyes, fearful of what he may find there.
“Oh my god, this isn’t happening.”
“Ah. Pardon us, Kawakami-sensei. We were having trouble finding something.” Akechi flashes her a million-watt smile, grabbing a random bottle of disinfectant from a random shelf. “Thank you for the help, Kurusu-kun, but I must be going. Hayashi-sensei needs this as soon as possible. See you later!”
Akechi strolls away as though nothing happened. Probably for the best, Akira thinks. It might have worked with any other teacher, but it won’t work with Kawakami.
“Okay. I’m not going to think about how calmly he just did that, and I’m not going to think about what the two of you could have possibly been doing in there,” Kawakami says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t get paid enough for this. Just, whatever you were doing, can’t you find somewhere else? Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in? You’re in public, closet or not.”
“We were just—”
“Save it. I don’t care. You’re a good kid, you both are, and you’re both way too smart for your own good,” Kawakami admits, “so there’s no reason I should catch you doing something like this. If I catch you again, I’m not letting you off the hook. Got it?”
Akira nods.
“Good. Go home.”
Kurusu A.: we should probably stop practicing at school. kawakami is onto us
Akechi G.: I was thinking the same. I live alone, if you’d like to come over tomorrow. It’s Sunday, so we won’t be pressed for time
Akira’s heart thrashes around his chest. Alone. Alone sounds dangerous, especially after what happened today.
Kurusu A.: actually i had an idea. we’ve gotten pretty good at kissing. why don’t we practice something else?
“You know, I wasn’t expecting you to take me to a place like this,” Akechi says, looking around at the sleek glass walls. Blue light paints his face, marred only by the languid, floating shadows of fish. “But it suits you.”
“It seemed like a pretty normal spot for, you know,” Akira says, swallowing. His hands feel clammy in his pockets. “A date.”
“Right, yes.” They’re standing a respectful distance apart, careful not to gaze too long into each other’s eyes, careful not to veer into an untoward public display of affection. Still, the aquarium is a prime spot for romance—there are several couples holding hands, several more laughing and subtly making eyes at each other. “A date. Seems like an odd thing to practice, doesn’t it? There’s not much to it. We’re just… at a place together.”
“Yeah,” Akira says, shrugging. “But it’s a date.”
“I wonder what it is about the aquarium.” Akechi looks around. He looks stiff, out of place, unsure. “I suppose the ambiance is nice. Very whimsical. I’m sure it lends itself well to the brainless sentiment of budding romance.”
Blue light continues to dance and swirl around the room. It suits the man in front of him. Akira always knew that Akechi was handsome; everyone says so, drawn in by his soft complexion and feathery hair. But here, now, Akira stands back and marvels at how cute Akechi is. It’s a dramatic complement to the sharp, ambitious edge of his personality. He used to think it was funny, like the spitting and hissing of an angry kitten.
Now, he stands in the Aquarium and thinks—fuck, he’s beautiful. Am I gonna feel like this forever? Will I fall for the rest of my life?
He shakes himself.
“Nah,” he says, feigning nonchalance, “it’s all about the fish.”
Akechi raises an eyebrow.
“Their faces,” Akira explains, taking a moment to mime a fishlike pucker. “They’re puckered. It puts you in the mood for kissing.”
Akechi barks out a hideous, frenzied laugh, covering his mouth to control himself. Akira smirks at him.
“Don’t you dare look pleased with yourself for that. I’m going to do you a favor and pretend it never happened,” Akechi says. “But don’t press your luck. Should we, ah, keep walking through? Or is that not date-like enough? Should we loiter to prolong the affair?”
“Stop thinking so hard. We’re just hanging out.”
“Yes, but it’s meant to be practice,” Akechi says, furrowing his brow. “I want it to be…”
Akechi trails off, staring into the tank. His cheeks burn with flush, eyes wide and searching as though he might find the answer to his problems swimming out with the rest of the fishes.
“Want it to be what?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.” Akechi huffs, rolling his eyes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“If—if we were on a date,” Akira says, heart pounding, “I might tell you that you look nice. Gorgeous, even. Especially your eyes.”
“Oh. Well.” Akechi looks away. “If we were on a date, I might say thank you. I might tell you that you look handsome with your hair pushed back. I like being able to see your face—that is to say, I would say something like that. If we were on a date.”
“Good to know,” Akira says, freeing a hand from pocket-prison to fiddle with his hair. He frees the other one to remove his glasses, sliding them away. “There. How about that?”
“Do you not need them to see?”
“Nah.”
“Of course you don’t.” Akechi rolls his eyes. “Well, if we were on a date, I would—oh, fuck, I don’t know. This is stupid.”
“Would you hold my hand?” Akira rubs his hand on his jeans before offering it, praying that it doesn’t feel too clammy. “It’s fine. Other people are doing it, too.”
Akechi stares down for a long moment. Akira prepares to shove the hand back into his pocket and apologize, but then Akechi accepts, intertwining their fingers.
“If we’re going to practice,” Akechi whispers. “We may as well make the most of it. It wouldn’t do to waste an opportunity like this.”
“Yeah. Of course.” Akira squeezes his hand, relishing in the warm sensation of a hand squeezing back. “Ever the pragmatist, huh, Akechi? I respect that.”
“Goro.”
Akira blinks.
“Huh?”
“That is—if we were on a date, I would—you can just call me by my given name, if you’d like.”
“Goro,” Akira says, testing the word on his tongue. “Feel free to do the same. Do you want to keep going? We’ve only seen half of the aquarium.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
They finish their tour in relative silence, pausing every once in a while to chat. It feels natural, like something Akira’s done a million times; but he knows it must be the first, because his heart won’t stop pounding against the aching cavern of his chest. They finish their tour and exit out onto the street. Akechi—no, Goro—pulls his hand away with a sigh.
“I suppose that’s it, then. Do you want to do anything else?”
Akira bites his lip.
“If this were a real date, I’d offer to walk you home. Would you like that?”
“How chivalrous of you. I’m older than you, you know. Maybe I should be the one walking you home.”
“One month, Goro. You’re older than me by one month.”
“I’m taller, as well.”
“No you’re not,” Akira huffs, pulling his shoulders up. “I just slouch.”
“Then maybe you should stop slouching,” Goro says, looking at him. It feels strange without hair on his face, without his glasses, without his slouch. He feels naked and thoroughly unmasked. But Goro is looking at him like—“Wow. You really should stop slouching. You’d be handsome enough to break hearts, you know.”
Akira shrugs, bile rising in his throat. Right, he thinks, just like the cool, bad-boy asshole you want to be on a date with.
“Thanks, I think.”
Goro laughs, soft and long-suffering, with a roll of his eyes.
“Akira,” he says, testing the word. “Walk me home.”
“This is me,” Goro says, gesturing to the door. “Thanks for keeping me safe on my perilous journey.”
“Rude. Fend for yourself, next time.”
“Next time? Bold of you,” Goro says, smirking. “If this were a real date, I’d have to remind you not to get ahead of yourself.”
“If this were a real date, I’d be kissing you goodbye on the doorstep.”
Goro bites his lip, unlocking his door.
“You can come inside, you know,” Goro says. “It’s still early.”
Akira’s pulse whizzes upwards, perilous and disorienting. Fuck.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Goro blanches, eyes widening.
“Oh? Is something wrong?”
“Goro…” Akira trails off. His body shakes with anxiety and adrenaline, frazzled mind throbbing. “Listen. I don’t want to practice anymore.”
“Ah, I see.” Goro looks down at the ground, still holding his doorknob. His lips pinch together and curl into a frown. “That’s understandable. You don’t have to. We accomplished our goal, didn’t we? We have experience now.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Akira says, “I don’t want to practice anymore. I want the real thing. With you.”
Goro gasps, looking up. His frown slips away, lips dropping open in bewilderment.
“What?”
“I’ve always liked you, even when you drive me crazy. Hell, especially when you drive me crazy. Everything I did, teasing you, competing against you—I just wanted your attention. I love how it feels when we’re together. I know I’m not the—the cool, suave, experienced bad-boy that you’ve got your eye on. I don’t care. We have fun together, don’t we? We could—”
“Akira, stop.”
Akira stops.
“Fuck. I wasn’t expecting this. Actually, I didn’t know that you could say that many words in a row. I’m impressed, but that’s beside the point.” Goro sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. “Akira, you are the suave bad-boy. Alright? I assumed you had experience, and I was wrong. And then we started practicing, and I figured I’d take what I could get.”
“Well, you could get a hell of a lot more,” Akira admits, laughing. “Me? The suave, bad-boy type?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“No promises.” Akira pokes Goro’s shoulder, prompting a laugh. “Goro…”
“Yes?”
“So, if this were a real date—”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
They share a second first kiss on the doorstep, paying no mind to their form or technique. Laughter vibrates against their lips. Their hands fumble as they reach to grab one another, no grace in the motion, but they don’t mind. Goro opens the door to tug Akira inside, and Akira holds Goro in his arms and thinks—you know, falling doesn’t feel so bad.