Flowing Upstream
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or the world.
It was hero worship, probably. Guys weren't supposed to crush on other guys, after all, and Sengoku was so much of what Muromachi admired - outgoing and witty and charming. So it was probably just that, he thought, which made his eyes catch on Sengoku whenever the other boy was present. That, and Sengoku tended to be loud. Things were easier to excuse that way. Maybe it was cowardice, but he thought it was a little bit of common sense, too.
Boys didn't like boys, not that way.
It was harder to explain away the little bag of chocolates, each year on Valentine's Day. He'd snuck one in when he wasn't yet in middle school and Sengoku a first year - store-bought chocolates wrapped in soft blue cloth with no name attached. That year had been the first time he'd seen Sengoku play, as well. He'd bought chocolates again, last year, with the same blue cloth and the same blank tag. He hadn't figured out a reason for doing so, yet, and in the end, it went unexplained after all. It was just a phase. Probably.
He'd bought the gift this year, all the same, though the chocolates remained buried deep in his bookbag, ungiven. It was enough that he'd bought them at all, he thought. It was just hero worship, after all, or something - and Sengoku was graduating at the end of the school year anyway. The... whatever it was that he had for Sengoku would go away soon enough, and the less he dwelled on it, the better.
They were walking back after tennis practice, he and Sengoku and Minami, the three of them together. Out of them all, Sengoku had ended up with the most gifts. It was unsurprising, really, because if Minami won chocolates for his kindness, then Sengoku easily surpassed that with his boldness alone. The girls would titter as they crowded around him, not so subtly pushing the bags and boxes in his direction.
In the midst of the small talk, Sengoku sighed, said, "I wonder if she graduated. Unlucky" He and Minami stopped to stare, then, though perhaps for different reasons. "This one girl, she'd wrap the chocolates each year in blue."
Minami smiled at that. "You don't know who it was?" and Sengoku laughed.
"Haha, no, but she must have been cute, huh?" In his mind, Muromachi winced, and suddenly his bookbag felt so much heavier. And maybe the whatever-it-was would go away, and then things would be okay, but maybe there'd be regret there, too. Then, Sengoku was grinning at him, 'Hey, Muromachi, hurry up,' and he rushed to play third wheel again.
The bag ended up in Sengoku's mailbox, blank tag as usual, and he would probably regret that, anyway.
But it was their last year together, after all.