Note: Shin was born in March, so according to the Japanese school system, he's a year ahead of all the other troopers in school. This fanfic takes place during the short break between his first and second year of college.
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A LITTLE SOFT
Eleven thirty. The streets were still alive. Shin adjusted the grocery bags he carried and pulled the hood of his sweater tightly over his head. It would rain soon, and one of his university friends might recognize him. He had managed to convince them that he couldn't go out with them tonight because he wasn't feeling well. Even in such a crowded city, he wasn't going to take the chance.
His destination was an ordinary apartment building. The small lobby was dimly lit and rather cozy. A large doorman sat at his desk, reading the newspaper and blocking the entrance to the elevator hall. He lowered the paper as Shin tried to sneak past him. "Sir? Looking for someone?" he asked.
"Just a friend upstairs," Shin replied sheepishly, throwing back his hood. "I didn't want to disturb you."
"Disturb me?" said the doorman. His jolly voice nearly shook the paintings off the wall. "Why, what else am I here for? It's my job!" He drew out a black binder from under his desk. "What is your friend's name, sir?"
"Hashiba. Hashiba Touma."
The doorman stroked his chin thoughtfully as he flipped through the book. "Hmmm, I don't remember a Hashiba here."
"Tall, blue hair, around my age?" said Shin hopefully. "He moved in about three months ago."
"Never seen him," said the doorman. "Maybe he leaves the house when it isn't my shift. But here he is in the book. Apartment 6-C. Should be the third door on the sixth floor, to your right."
Shin quickly thanked him and entered the elevator hall, wondering if Touma bothered to go to school these past few months, or even left his apartment at all. He doubted it. The university entrance examination was over anyway, and Touma could easily pull a passing grade without effort.
The elevator door opened and Shin politely moved aside to allow the woman inside to exit, but nearly stepped on her dog when he tried to go in because he was so preoccupied with his thoughts. The dog didn't seem to mind, but the woman barked at him until the elevator door slid shut. Shin leaned back against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived.
As he stepped out on the sixth floor, he suddenly realized Touma might not even be home. He knocked Touma's door softly at first. His hope nearly vanished when there was no response, but he put the grocery bags on the floor and knocked again, this time louder. A light ruffling sound came from inside and Shin pressed his ear to the door desperately, praying his hearing hadn't deceived him.
It was definitely Touma, and from the sound of it, he was reading a very large book.
"Touma, it's me! Stop reading and let me in!" When no one answered, Shin sighed and pressed his forehead against the door. "If you don't open the door now, I'm coming in. I'll break the door down if I have to. Don't make me do that."
There was a long pause, then a muffled voice came from inside: "You wouldn't do that."
"How do you know?" said Shin, banging the door with his fist. "Open the door, or I'll do it."
Another pause. He could almost see his friend smiling. "Because I know you, and you won't."
"I can and I will!" Shin looked around frantically. There was nothing on the floor except his two grocery bags and himself. He glanced through the peephole, but it was dark. Realizing that Touma was right about him, he decided to try the doorknob.
To his surprise, the door was unlocked.
A small bed was inconveniently placed near the door. Shin could barely make his way in and was almost beginning to regret his decision to come here. The entire room was stacked with papers and old books. A bookshelf with no books stood in the corner, next to the microwave and unused stove. Empty food cans were scattered all over the place. And in the middle of all that trash was Touma with the book he was reading, a can of some food Shin couldn't quite make out, and an old lamp not too far off.
"How long have you been here?" Shin finally managed to ask.
Touma shrugged, his eyes never leaving the book on his lap. "A few weeks. Did you bring any food?"
"Look at me, Touma," said Shin, ignoring the question.
His friend glanced at him for less than a second before returning to his book again.
"I tried to call you," Shin continued, sitting down cautiously on the unmade bed. "Why didn't you pick up?"
"The wire disconnected," said Touma, jabbing a finger in the direction of the phone. "I must have tripped over it or something."
Shin gave an exasperated sigh and made himself comfortable on the bed. The sheets smelled and felt like they hadn't been washed in centuries, but it was nothing unexpected. He stared at the ceiling for a moment and closed his eyes. "What could you possibly be reading that is so good?"
"Nothing you'd be interested in," Touma murmured.
The room became silent again, except for the occasional sound of flipping pages.
"You really don't know how to take care of yourself," Shin finally said. He reached over and picked up a handful of unopened envelopes from the bedside table. "So how old are these? Are they your electricity bills?"
"Mmm."
Shin browsed though the envelopes. "Hey, you got an acceptance letter from Tokyo Tech. Congratulations!"
"Hmm? Oh."
"Come on, say something. Not everyone's a genius like you," said Shin. He was used to Touma's indifference, but he couldn't help feeling a little hurt. "Is there anything I can do to make you put down that book? Maybe something to eat?"
"I'm not hungry anymore."
Shin decided to go through the grocery bags anyway. "Well, I'm hungry," he said, pulling out several ingredients and a small pan. "If you don't mind, I'll use your stove to make something small for myself."
"Go ahead," said Touma, but by the time he responded, Shin was already cooking something over the stove. Something that smelled really good.
The pan sizzled loudly. Shin smiled to himself and glanced over his shoulder occasionally to see if Touma would look up at the smell of real food. If he was peeking, he didn't show any sign of it, but something told Shin that he was no longer concentrating on his book.
When Shin turned around again, he found Touma standing behind him, staring intently at chicken wings frying over the stove.
"I changed my mind," Touma announced shamelessly. "I'm hungry."
"Oh?" said Shin, feigning surprise. "Well, these are for me. But maybe I'll make more for you if you stop reading that book and clean up this place."
Touma grumbled something incomprehensible.
"What was that?"
"I'm going to take a shower," said Touma, heading for the bathroom. "Does that count as cleaning up?"
Shin smiled again, turning over the chicken with a pair of chopsticks. The golden brown was just starting to appear. "Shower first, and you'll find out."
He watched his friend disappear into the bathroom from the corner of his eye. A rush of water from the showerhead could be heard from inside. Shin secretly wondered how long it had been since Touma's last shower. Then again, he didn't really want to know. After a while, he turned off the stove and looked around for a plate, but couldn't find anything in the house that even resembled one. He thought of placing the pan on the dining table, but there wasn't a table either, so he just left the chicken on the stove.
The book Touma was reading was still lying open on the floor. Probably just another copy of an ancient text, Shin thought. He picked up several of the smaller books and began placing them back on the bookshelf. There were books in Japanese, English, and several other languages Shin couldn't recognize. How many languages could Touma read anyway?
After about twenty minutes, Shin had finished putting away the books and throwing out all the empty cans, but Touma was still in the shower. Shin sat back down on the bed, wondering sadly if Touma had forgotten about the food. The large book and the lamp next to it were now the only visible things on the floor. Feeling a little curious, Shin stood and walked over to it, flipping the book over to read the title.
It was Manyoshu, a book of Japanese poems from the Nara period, copied in its original kanji. Shin flipped back to the page Touma was reading. It was hard for him to understand, but he recognized something about longing and promises. Shin raised his eyebrows in astonishment.
Touma was reading love poetry!
The sound of running water suddenly stopped, and moments later, Touma came out in the same clothes he was wearing before. He seemed much more alive than he had been earlier. "Hey, is this chicken for me?" he asked, coming across the stove.
"It is," said Shin, placing the book back in its original position before Touma could catch him. "But it's cold now. Want me to heat it up again?"
Too late. Touma had already taken a chicken wing out of the pan and begun to eat. "So how have you been lately?" he asked between bites. He placed the leftover chicken bone back inside the pan and picked up another one.
"The same," Shin replied, relieved that his friend still cared about him, or at least had the manners to pretend he cared. "I called Ryo last week and he told me he was accepted into a nice university near his home. Seiji is moving to Kyoto soon to live by himself, and Shuu decided to take a year off before college. I think that would be rather good for him—"
"I asked about you," interrupted Touma, picking up the last piece of chicken. "You always change the topic. By the way, didn't you say you were making the chicken for yourself? Yeah, I had my suspicions about that."
Shin fell silent.
"And now," Touma continued, making his way toward the bed, "you want me to wash my hands, change into a clean set of clothes, and possibly clean up the food…" He stretched himself out on the bed and yawned.
"Don't push me, Touma," Shin whispered.
"…all because you care about me."
Shin smiled grimly, sitting down next to his friend. "I think all that love poetry has gotten to your brain."
"You read it," said Touma calmly, looking up at the ceiling. "So what? I wasn't trying to hide it from you."
"What got you into it anyway?" asked Shin. He noticed it was raining outside for the first time. It probably started while he was cleaning Touma's room and too busy to hear the crisp sound of rainwater hitting the glass windows. A large truck rattled by somewhere on the street and left the city strangely silent.
"You did."
Shin gave a short laugh. "Amazingly enough, I don't read love poetry."
"That's not what I meant," said Touma gravely. "There's something about those poems that reminds me of you. You're like the dependable warrior who always returns home to his wife. Or even more, the wife who waits faithfully—"
"Touma, when was the last time you slept?"
"—for her husband to return from battle. And when he does return, she has everything prepared for him. His clothes are washed and folded; his slippers are still at the entrance, as if he had never even left the house all these years. A delicious meal awaits him on the table, but he's so entranced by her love, her beauty, her sexiness—"
"Touma!"
Unable to hide his amusement any longer, Touma howled with laughter.
"It's not funny!" Shin yelled, hitting him lightly. "You really need to learn how to take care of yourself! We're not in ancient Japan!"
"I don't see why I'd have to with such a faithful wife," said Touma.
To his surprise, Shin stormed over to the stove wordlessly and dumped the chicken bones into the sink. Then, without bothering to wash the pan, he stuffed it back in the grocery bag.
"Shin, what are you doing? Sit back down."
"I'm leaving," said Shin, kneeling on the floor and searching for the phone cord. He found it and reconnected the phone, picking up the receiver to see if it worked and slamming it back down. "There, it's fixed. If you ever need a friend to chat with, feel free to call me, but I'm never cooking another meal for you again."
"Oh, stop being such a prick—"
"I'm leaving!" Shin repeated angrily, picking up his grocery bags and heading for the door.
With an enormous amount of effort, Touma managed to drag himself off the bed and block the exit. "No, you're not."
"Curse you, Touma, learn to respect your elders!" said Shin. He tried to shove his friend aside, but Touma wouldn't budge. The doorknob was just a few inches away. As Shin reached for it, he felt strong fingers curling around his wrist. His bag fell to the floor. Another hand found its way to his chest, shoving him backwards into the bed.
Before Touma could blink, Shin was lunging for the door again. This time, he caught Shin by the shoulders.
"Don't make me hit you!" Shin screamed. "I swear I will if you don't let me go!" But instead of hitting Touma, his legs buckled and he tumbled forward onto Touma's chest. He found Touma's shirt collar and clung onto it, sobbing uncontrollably.
For nearly a minute, Touma stood utterly still. Then, he relaxed his grip on Shin's shoulders and sat his trembling friend back down on the bed.
"Sorry," he muttered awkwardly, looking away to avoid Shin's expression. "I thought you were just kidding."
Realizing that Shin wasn't going to speak to him anytime soon, he took the chicken bones out of the sink and threw them in the trash bin, which was nearly overflowing with empty food cans. Then, he unskillfully tied the garbage bag and left for the garbage chute outside. When he came back, he washed his hands with soap in the bathroom, making sure to leave the door open so Shin could see him.
"Feel better now?" he asked, taking a seat next to his friend.
"No," Shin grumbled. "You just did all that because you didn't want me to pulverize you."
"You couldn't pulverize me if you wanted to," said Touma. "Not that you're physically incapable. You're just a little—"
"Weak-hearted? Thanks for stating the painfully obvious."
Touma sighed, grasping his friend's shoulder gently. "Shin, I thought you were over this. It's okay to be a little soft."
"Soft," Shin repeated, rather firmly. "Another one of your euphemisms."
"Well, yes," said Touma, as-a-matter-of-factly. "But soft means more than weak-hearted. Soft is like the bird's song. Soft is like the spring grass. Soft is like the reflection of the night sky on a peaceful lake. Soft represents all the simplicity in this world."
Shin groaned in frustration, covering his face with his hands. "Touma, just stop it. It's not helping. I'll be fine."
Suddenly, Touma reached out and embraced him stiffly. "What about this? Does this help?"
No, you air-head, Shin wanted to say, but he welcomed the embrace. Long fingers stroked his hair hesitantly at first, then generously. It was quite inappropriate, like everything Touma did, but Shin pushed those thoughts out of his mind. It wasn't every day that Touma showed signs of being human.
But when he sensed warm lips against his own, Shin felt his heart skip a beat and pulled away. "What on earth are you doing?" he gasped.
Touma only leaned forward in response, and their lips met again. He opened his mouth slightly, allowing the tips of their tongues to touch. That was Touma—he didn't quite care what he did or how he did it as long as his point got across.
The kiss was messy and wet, leaving Shin feeling the same way. A scholarly hand brushed his chin.
"I really don't know what I'm doing," Touma mumbled into his mouth unromantically.
Shin cupped his friend's cheeks with both hands and opened his eyes slightly, just in time to see Touma's eyes fluttering shut. For the first time, Shin was in control. He took Touma's hand from his chin and guided it toward the curve of his waist. "Just let the waves carry you, okay? Tonight, we do things my way."
Outside, the rain came down harder than ever. Not a single star could be seen.