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The room was basked in neon purple, LED lights hung from every corner of the white walls, illuminating the figure basking in a computer chair. Haze settled in the room, swirling around like periwinkle clouds throughout the cluttered space. A neon purple sign salvaged from the annual dorm moveouts hung on the wall. Soft, calming bedroom pop was playing from a dented speaker that’s lasted a decade.
Clothes piled up in hampers in the corner, spilling out onto the icy wooden floors. A nearby round, checkered rug rested snugly in the center of the room. Black sheets hapazardly clung to the king-sized bed. Knick-knacks collected on well-worn black shelves, peering over the room. A set of brainteaser puzzles left forgotten on the corner of a messy desk, a warm study lamp perched over strewn stacks of papers and purple and black pens. A couple of plushies sat unperturbed near a bookshelf, full of textbooks and novels and thick, niche studies.
A flick of a lighter, a deep inhale, a cough, and another puff of smoke drew attention to the violette, shivering at the flush that washed over him. The opaque white bong was adorned with sharpie checkered squares over the glass, tying the room together in an adequately satisfying way.
The oversized black sweatshirt was pulled over his knees, covering the plush checkered pajama pants as his bare feet rested on the lip of the chair. His hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, wild pieces adamantly refusing to comply.
Eyes returned to the ceiling once the trembling calmed. The calm remained through the light intensity flickering between rolls of smoke. It was well past two A.M., the serenity of the night holding the moment gently. He flicked his vision over to the bluette lying on the beanbag that was holding the corner of the rug firmly in place. The other was still staring at the ceiling, tracing patterns that only made sense to him.
He had texted the other late that morning, a simple ‘Meet me at Midnight’. The taller had read, but not responded, yet he knew that the recipient would be here either way. He knew the other wasn’t one to say too much. He’s not sure when this routine started, but hardly found anything in him to complain about it with.
The beanbag shifted beneath the taller as he adjusted, gilded eyes meeting amethyst ones. An eyebrow raised in minute question before dropping as he shrugged his shoulders and looked back up at the black stars that adhered to the roof.
Slightly relieved, he was glad the other never read too far into these moments. It wasn’t often he got to let his mask down, let himself just be. His melancholy let him process his losses he couldn’t regularly. It was admittedly nice.
His mind changed course, thinking about the scrutiny he’d been under from people in their social groups at university. They’d been long fed up with his facade and his lies, moving to isolate him a little at a time. His phone rarely received invites now, opting to remain asleep.
Despite the ostracization, Shuichi always navigated around the balancing act of placating his friends and seeking his company. The first time Kokichi saw how he beautifully moved around each suspicion and worry with ease, his eyes widened in shock and awe. No one had ever put so much effort into getting to know him. It was all so new to him.
Kokichi didn’t know how to describe nights like these, where time seemed to stop and they’re coated in a sticky-sweet memory. It made his fingers twitch in a way he couldn’t control. His high crashed over him as a secondary wave hit and he closed his eyes, enjoying the elevation. Emotions that he rarely let himself feel washed over him, and his eyes flashed with something a little too close to intimacy and safety for his comfort.
He’s never felt like this for anyone before, and he’s scared. He’s scared to fuck any of it up. If he moved his king in the wrong way, it’d be taken immediately, and the game would be over. He’d rather just not touch the piece than risk collapsing the board.
It doesn’t help the situation that he knows exactly what their shared acquaintances would say if he played a perfect game. The damage to Shuichi’s image was too severe to jeopardize. Unlike what his playful exterior expresses, he does give a damn what people say. The thought makes him sigh.
He knew what they wanted from him, if he were to ever cross that line. To be a perfect housewife who makes dinner when Shuichi gets home from his apprenticeship at the detective agency and irons his dress clothes and not lie. He’ll never be able to fill that role, no deal. Kokichi firmly stood against the idea of changing yourself for someone else. He’d rather things just stay as they are, in the neon and smoke and quiet.
Shuichi was where he left him when he closed his eyes, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, cushioned by the bean bag. The soft acid-washed t-shirt and flannel pajama pants were such a juxtaposition to his usual put-together look. It sparked something absolutely triumphant in his chest that the only time he’d seen him relax like this was when they were alone in the dead of the night.
It was endlessly amusing to Kokichi how Shuichi pushed the image of being this pure, upstanding person. He always ridiculed his friends for imbibing at parties or hotboxing their cars. Yet here he was, chewing on another half of a grape gummy that Kokichi had picked up for him the last time he bought from Rantaro.
Shuichi’s face of displeasure at the sweetness almost made up for the warning Rantaro gave him as he handed him the edibles. He asked him if he planned on being with Shuichi, and the terse ‘No’ he provided left him with a ‘Good’ and a smile as Rantaro waved while walking away.
More bitterly, Miu had approached him once and asked him if he was either going to marry Shuichi or bang him and get out of his life. In response, Kokichi got up and left, leaving his lunch at the table.
It made him dizzy every time he walked by a classroom and could hear someone gossip about his history, but Shuichi had never been fond of gossip. If they knew Shuichi any better, they’d have known that early on. He’d rather tune it out, not even listening. Kokichi couldn’t help the vindictive smile that crossed his lips as he walked to his next class, a head rush putting a bounce in his step.
An intense, giddy feeling bubbled up at the thought, and he couldn’t help the dopey grin that broke out on his face. Shuichi, who could be anywhere else but here. Shuichi, who heard his friends repeatedly slander him. Shuichi, who was okay with how things were between them, chose to keep his company. He chose to spend his time with him. He chose to show up at Midnight.
It was almost surreal how alike and dissimilar they were. A push and pull, two magnets with positives and negatives, too close. The dynamic was electrifying. Shuichi giving and giving, and Kokichi taking and taking until suddenly it's Shuichi taking and Kokichi giving. Nothing was stagnant between the two of them, always surprising and never, ever boring.
He knew Shuichi didn’t care what anyone had to say, letting them talk. He didn’t believe a word they said, able to have proof right in front of him contradicting their scathing opinions on the violette. Shuichi was willing to be here, where they’ll likely end up kissing languidly as Kokichi shotguns him smoke and cozy, tangled limbs in the satin sheets. Kokichi was jealous of Shuichi, who so easily was able to put a name to the emotion Kokichi stirred in him. Yet, he didn’t rush. He didn’t push. He met Kokichi as he was, where he was.
Kokichi pushed the thoughts away as he stood and stretched, sweatshirt returning to its usual position on his form. The relieving clicks in his back brought him satisfaction as he walked over to Shuichi and extended a hand, which the taller accepted. Their lips connected gently, Shuichi laughing airily into the motions, walking them back to the bed. They collapsed unceremoniously into the tangle of fabric, and Kokichi knocked his knee into the other’s.
“Hey,” Kokichi whispered, “Does this bother you at all?”
Shuichi pondered for a moment, trying to catch Kokichi’s train of thought in the hazy neon before shrugging again.
“No. Does it bother you?”
“Yeah, a whole bunch!” Kokichi nodded with a small smile, eyes twinkling in the purple lights. Shuichi snorted and pulled the shorter in for another kiss, murmuring against his skin.
“That’s a lie, isn’t it?”
“You got me,” Kokichi said, warmth prevalent in his tone. He closed his eyes as Shuichi ran his fingers lazily through his hair, letting the haze take over him once more.
I got you.
You’ve always had me.