Nokoru's first kiss isn't romantic. It isn't desperate with longing nor is it the suicidal leap off the cliff he had imagined, either. There is no courtship, no knight, no princess, and no white horse. It begins, strangely enough, with a challenge.
It's early evening and Nokoru is still seated amidst rows and columns of paperwork. He has misplaced the second page of a document and is thumbing through recently finished stacks and hastily fanning through others while Idomu leans against the window behind him.
"And you wonder why I found you such an easy target all those years ago," he says dry, idling between boredom and amusement. The blonde remains hunched over the desk and does not turn around to face him, but replies absentmindedly,
"We were twelve, and that was different."
Idomu shrugs and lifts a hand to inspect an invisible speck of dust under his carefully tended cuticles.
More rustling of paper before Nokoru lets out an uncharacteristic, frustrated sigh.
"This is ridiculous," he mutters, dropping a stack of papers back onto his desk. His shoulders sag as he leans forward on his knuckles, blinking rapidly. After a few seconds, the high school division president makes a soft whining sound and collapses glumly into his large chair.
The boy with the wine-colored hair steps lightly forward, surveying the desktop disaster with interest.
"Where's your little secretary tonight?" he asks. "Shouldn't he be helping you with all...", he raises an eyebrow and gestures with a wide sweep, "this?"
Nokoru's voice is muffled, as he currently has his face buried in his hands. "On a date. Let him go an hour early."
Idomu wrinkles his nose. "He's not still dating that child, is he? Because that's just sick."
Nokoru regains a shred of his dignity, lifts his face from his hands, and leans back in his chair.
"Nagisa? No, she left to study in America several years ago. He's been dating Miss Satsuki for several months now."
"Please tell me the age gap is less than five years this time."
Nokoru fixes Idomu with a warning look. "She's in our year, actually."
"An older woman? Impressive," Idomu smirks. After a few moments of amused silence, he adds, "And I'm guessing that Nokoru Imonoyama, the undisputed ladies man of Clamp Campus, is still painfully single?"
"Mm," is the other boy's simple response.
"May I ask why? And don't feed me that garbage about not wanting to hurt a lady's feelings. Please give me more respect than that."
Nokoru stares ahead at the massive council doors. "I just haven't found that person yet", he eventually replies.
"Haven't found "that person" or haven't found the courage to admit it yet?"
There is no malice, only a slightly taunting tease. Nokoru finds a dozen clever retorts and chooses to voice none of them. He picks up his pen and twirls it between his fingers until Idomu, annoyed, spins his chair around. The pen bounces softly off the thick emerald carpet as he finds himself face to face with his friend and former childhood enemy.
"You can't expect your watchdog to read your mind. If you want something, take it."
Nokoru continues to show his disapproval of this conversation through sharp and deliberate silence. He has never voiced his feelings for a certain golden-eyed friend for an unending, torrential flood of reasons.
If he were to sit down and be completely honest with himself, phrases like "hopelessly doomed", "pathetic beyond measure", and "he's just not that into you" would surely come out. He'd admit that he is desperate for his friend's respect, terrified yet always ready to give him away to someone else, and that he has not known anyone who can still make his heart jump and hammer against his ribs with just the suggestion of a smile. Nokoru could go on about how beautiful Suoh's hands are and how his shoulders are both firm and broad, but still soft enough to lay one's head upon for an impromptu subway nap, how the left side of his lip twitches when he is secretly amused, how desperately he wants to brush the hair out of Suoh's eyes when he learns forward beside him to check the paperwork at the end of the day.
But, of course, Nokoru has no desire to babble to anyone about his horrifyingly embarrassing and decidedly more than friendly affections for his bodyguard, secretary, and—most important of all—best friend of ten years now. He has also had no reason to think that anyone has ever guessed these sad longings until now. If anyone should know Nokoru's weak spot, it makes sense that it is Yudaji Idomu.
"For example, I am a great appreciator of fine, beautiful things. It's part of who I am. I don't deny myself certain things just because I'm worried about stepping on a few toes."
At this, Nokoru scoffs. "I've heard a lot about your relationships, Idomu, since you are not exactly discreet in the media. Not all of us have as—how should I say—voracious appetites as yourself. And, by the way, have you ever tried stepping on the toes of a ninja?"
"And so you want nothing?" Idomu presses, a small gleam in his eyes. "I'm betting you have never been with someone before—you've probably never even had your first kiss. And you're just waiting, waiting, waiting for that special someone whose shadow—both literal and figurative—hangs behind you as a constant reminder of guilt and desire. Tell me, Nokoru-kun," he pauses to let the small, patronizing term ripple through the conversation, "how exactly are you less pathetic than me?"
The blonde is still sitting stiffly for several moments before he appears to deflate the smallest degree. When he asks, "Why are you doing this?", it's in a weary voice.
Idomu's lips curled upward, but instead of his usual smirk, it was a kind of amused but not unkind smile.
"I...like you?"
Both boys laugh at this and the rising tension floods out of them, leaving them poorly postured and grinning. The sun is grazing at the tops of the trees, casting wide rays of gold and tangerine across the glass windows. Idomu's hair burns bright in the brilliance, fringing his face with a warm glow.
"What, you don't believe me?"
"No," Nokoru shakes his head and raises his gaze toward the other boy, blinking against the brightness. "I don't. I don't really believe I'm your type."
"Oh, and you presume to know my type?"
Nokoru settles back in his chair comfortably, an analytical expression on his face. He holds out his hand and closes his fingers as he ticks off,
"For your prey, let's call them, I think you fancy those with innocence and who are inherently trusting. You dislike showy girls or boys who feel the need to be ostentatious. You like them to be—pardon my rudeness—stupid or at least dumber than you. Finally, you'd prefer it if they come from modest backgrounds, not from prominent families with much to lose should certain details leak out."
Idomu listens and nods.
"True, true," he murmurs, softly rubbing thumb over his bottom lip. "But," he looks up slyly, "I also happen to have a weakness for blondes with low self-esteem."
Nokoru rolls his eyes, souring slightly. He begins fiddling with the fan that he has pulled out of his breast pocket. When he opens it up, "nice try" is written in elaborate red English.
"You and that fucking fan."
"Mm, me and this fucking fan."
Idomu sighs and runs his hand through his thick hair.
"So, how 'bout it, then? Wanna make out?"
With a snort, the blonde flips the fan around to reveal the words, "HA HA" written in big, bold letters on the other side.
"Hey, I'm serious. You're seventeen and you've never kissed anyone, which is very, very pathetic. And me—I can always use some action. No one has to know. No strings attached." He raises his hands, palms facing Nokoru in a peaceable gesture. "I'll be a gentleman, I swear."
The other boy still hasn't said anything. He fans himself quietly, even though the room is quite cool.
"Nokoru, let's face it: you will, most likely, never be in a serious relationship because you know you'd be endangering the little dear every dainty step of the way. You will never confess your feelings to your watchdog. You wouldn't want to put that kind of burden on a friend so close and so important to you, because you know it would destroy everything. You can't exactly go out seeking any other male-presuming, of course, there are really no females that can catch your discerning eye-either, since that would spread scandal all over the papers and you do have your precious Imonoyama name to upload. Thus, in the end...you...you only have me."
He says the last part slowly, softly, and with blunt honesty. He is faced with silence that ticks on for at least a full minute. In that minute, Nokoru tries to ignore the thrum of the airconditioner and the barely audible sound of Idomu's steady breathing. His brain flips to his unfinished paperwork, the upcoming fall formal, his increasing meetings with Hinoto in the basement of the Diet Building, Satsuki bearing her perfect white smile while Suoh removes her jacket before dinner.
"Fine." Nokoru stands up, tucks his fan back into his jacket.
Idomu stares.
"What, that actually worked?"
"Yes, sure, of course. Let's get this over with." His expression is poised and calm.
They stand facing each other, although Nokoru holds his chin at a slightly higher degree than usual.
"For what it's worth, you are ridiculously gorgeous," Idomu muses, scanning across the landscape of the other boy's features. Nokoru's reply is a breathy exhale and a barely contained eye roll.
"Even if you are completely fucked up in the head," he finishes. "Don't want you getting a big ego or anything."
"Are you going to do this or not?" Nokoru chews out the words, starting to feel irritated.
Idomu's brown eyes narrow. He shoves the young president, who stumbles back until his lower spine connects with the sharp edge of his desk. Caught off guard, his hands fly behind him to steady himself, fingers splayed flat and tight against the smooth coolness of paper. Before he can shoot off an angry response, a pair of lips are pressing against his neck. They are hot on his pulse, which begins thumping then hammering at a fast pace. A slick tongue licks at the tender skin under his jawline causing him to suck in sharply through his teeth.
"Sensitive?" Idomu murmurs. Nokoru simply gulps in reply.
The kiss itself is slow and surprisingly gentle. Although inexperienced, the blonde has seen enough films to know what to do. His eyes close and, although he hesitates for a breadth of a second, he leans softly into the other boy's lips. He's rewarded when Idomu presses back with obvious interest, snaking an arm around Nokoru's small waist and pulling him closer.
It's not bad, Nokoru thinks hazily. Weird that his first kiss is with a young man who tried to destroy his life five years ago, but Nokoru's life is anything but normal. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he rests them lightly on Idomu's back.
Their only warning is a soft groan from the door and a single footstep. When they separate, it's more of a hasty and hard shove from Nokoru than anything dignified or calm. Suoh is frozen in the doorway, fingers still lingering on the door knob, one foot forward frozen in mid-stride. His mouth parts and then closes. He wants to speak but can't come up with one good thing to say. He wants to look at Nokoru, but it's difficult as Nokoru is bright red and attempting to casually readjust his dark tie while firmly avoiding any eye contact.
So, instead of speaking, he settles for turning his own undignified shade of pink.
"Wow, Takamura-kun, next time, you should knock." Idomu is the only one who is completely unphased.
Suoh is still too shocked to come up with a snarky response, choosing instead a simple, "I...I came to pick up my phone. I forgot it in my desk."
Nokoru makes a sudden move—perhaps to flee or perhaps to retrieve his secretary's phone—but is quickly and lightly pushed back. Before he can realize what is happening, Idomu is swiftly striding over to Suoh's desk, yanking the top drawer open to retrieve the phone, and casually continuing over to where Suoh is still standing.
Wordlessly, Idomu presents the phone. He stares at Suoh openly, unblinking and unreadable. Suoh gingerly lifts his phone from Idomu's palm and utters a dry, "thank you", before nodding—eyes still not meeting—at Kaichou and then hurrying out of the room. If he had left any faster, he would have been running.
When Idomu turns back around, Nokoru is seated at his desk, his face lying down in a stack of papers.
"And that," Idomu smirks, "is how you step on the toes of a ninja."