Friends
Disclaimer: Not mine.
They could, he supposed, be considered friends. Not 'hey, you wanna go to the movies on Friday night?' friends, nothing that complicated. But if Kaga skipped class to satisfy a nicotine craving the next day he'd often find a copy of notes, penned in Tsutui's neat, regal handwriting, tucked into his desk. And if Tsutsui came to class with a lip that oozed blood Kaga made sure that the responsible one went home with a black eye.
They were friends, but that was too simple.
Friends didn't explain why Tsutsui let Kaga fuck him every other Tuesday in the third floor boy's bathroom, second stall from the right. This was more complex than friendship. Friendship, Tsutsui was pretty sure, didn't usually include getting sucked off in a public place. But whatever it was, that more than friendship but not a damn thing like romance, Tsutsui had yet to name it, Tsutsui found himself in the third floor boy's bathroom every other Tuesday waiting for Kaga with his smoke-scented clothes and dexterous fingers, nails edged in yellow from cigarettes, Kaga, with his clever tongue, wet and rough, because of it.
So they were, possibly, friends in some manner, but friends didn't fuck in the boy's bathroom, pushed against the side of the stall, biting on Kaga's fingers to keep from screaming. But they weren't lovers either, because lovers held hands, lovers didn't get jabbed in the side with the toilet paper dispenser. Lovers didn't have to wait seven minutes after one left before the other one could so they wouldn't raise some eyebrows.
They were, he supposed, just them.