A/N: I hope the names don't bother anyone too much. No one is an OC, and this is pretty easy mode for figuring out who is who. I hope the weather is better than this where you are.
Home
Fragment One: A Stifling Day
Masahiro dragged his palm over his forehead lethargically, feeling the damp strands of his bangs starting to stick up. He grumbled as he continued prowling the hallway. The doors all looked the same, with some random, illegible papers stuck to them. He assumed they were supposed to indicate who belonged in which room, but the characters on them were so scribbled they meant virtually nothing to him. In the unimaginable humidity, all he wanted at the moment was to get out of this damned hallway with its annoyingly patterned carpet. He swore the bright, jagged lines were making him dizzy. He was only thankful that he had opted to ignore the large suitcase his caretaker had conscientiously prepared for him in favor of his usual backpack. So what if he only had a few pairs of clothes? It beat lugging that thing through this heat. Unless it meant his caretaker showing up at his doorstep a few days later with the luggage and a few extra wrinkles on his forehead, that is.
He'd been told his room assignment before, possibly by said long-suffering caretaker, but everything in his head was blurry at the moment. Entering university came with an overwhelming amount of new information, most of which Masahiro had not deemed important enough to dedicate precious brain cells to. Sadly, he must have not reserved enough for his room number.
Two hundred… something, he recalled. The door before him sported a paper with scrawled names just as unreadable as the rest. He squinted at it. Maybe it was just because he'd spent half of his life abroad in his father's homeland, but this hardly looked like Japanese to him in the first place. He knew how to read, for Christ's sake, and this was something else entirely. One of the characters, at least, he could identify as from his last name. If only he hadn't been in his mother's family register; being the one person with a foreign name might suck, but at least he could have found his forsaken college dorm room.
"Close enough," he growled, done with hesitating. He kicked the door carelessly in the hopes that his roommate had already arrived and left it unlocked. Considering he was the only one still in the hallway, it seemed likely enough.
True to his expectations, the door swung open upon impact with his foot.
What he hadn't expected was to see a half-naked person seated at one of the desks inside, running a brush through their long and frankly stunning brown hair. Masahiro jolted, considering making a run for it. But no, it was far too hot for that. In the next instant the room's occupant turned towards him, eyes wide, and he saw from the bare chest that no, he had not just walked in on a dazzling maiden. With his luck, Rapunzel here was probably his roommate—and just as male as he.
Opting to ignore the surprised gaze, he crossed the room to the opposite side and threw his backpack down on one of the beds.
"Um," he heard from behind him, along with a clunk that he assumed was the hairbrush hitting the wood of the desk.
Masahiro waited through a moment of stifling silence before turning back to his roommate, his only visible eyebrow quirked. "Yes?"
He saw the other's face twitch just slightly, probably with suppressed irritation. Great. The ones who tried the hardest were the most fun to piss off.
"Good afternoon," the boy started properly once eye contact was somewhat established. To Masahiro's surprise, he stood up and dipped into a bow, which sent his locks rushing forward over his face. "My name is Takemura Genjirou Yuki, and I am now beginning my first year of university at this fine institution…"
Masahiro could hardly believe what he was hearing as this guy kept rambling, his head still bowed. And, what kind of Japanese person had a middle name? "Hey," he barked.
This Yuki or whatever looked up at him, his back still bent. His wide eyes matched the warm color of his hair almost too well. He must have at least dyed his hair to do that. Masahiro knew it was a trendy thing among girls to try to force their dark hair to take that chestnut color, but he had hardly heard of a guy dedicated enough to do that. With such long hair, it must have been unnecessarily expensive as well. Masahiro's head hurt just looking at this doofus. There was simply no other word to describe this guy.
"Pardon me?"
From the look of confusion on Yuki's face, he gathered he might have been speaking English or something. He sighed. Didn't this whole country take the language all through high school? Was "hey" really too high level?
"You don't have to bow or anything," he answered, neglecting to bother explaining himself. "No need to be so formal, if we're going to be roommates."
Yuki's brow furrowed, but he straightened. For the first time Masahiro noticed that he was pretty well muscled for a smaller guy. He hadn't been staring, of course, nothing too interesting about a guy without his shirt-but now he couldn't help but wonder what he'd be like in a fight. "Actually, I don't believe…" he trailed off, glancing aside and away from Masahiro's face. Maybe he'd noticed the whole eye thing. Masahiro was used to such averted gazes by now. "I don't believe we are going to be roommates."
"What?" Masahiro snarled, his arm swinging to pose in an aggressive gesture before logic could have its way with him. "You got a problem with me?"
"No!" Yuki practically exploded, his arms flailing and hands waving to emphasize his point. "I simply…"
Before he could finish, they heard the sound of the door once more flying open as a laughing voice drifted in from the hallway. "You already getting rowdy in here, Yuki?"
Without dropping his combative stance, Masahiro turned to the intruder, who had gone ahead and strode in without invitation. His dark hair was tied up into a ponytail, which swayed low over his broad shoulders. He was tall, probably a good few inches over Masahiro himself, much to his distaste. And Masahiro hardly prided himself on his fashion sense, but he had to say that this guy had truly atrocious color coordination skills. His maroon purple shirt simply didn't match a single thing about his appearance. Regardless, he was sporting a goofy smile and swinging a rucksack behind him.
"Sir Keiichi," Yuki practically shouted, shocking Masahiro out of his glowering inspection of the stranger. "My apologies, I had absolutely no intent to be disruptive!"
"'Course you didn't," this guy, apparently Keiichi, spoke warmly, mussing up Yuki's hair with his free hand. "And don't call me that! Just Kei is fine."
"Right…" Yuki answered, his brow furrowed just slightly. Whether it was due to the mess his bangs were becoming or because of the nickname being imposed upon him, Masahiro personally didn't care to guess.
Masahiro decided right then that this guy would forever remain Keiichi to him. Although, hopefully he wouldn't even need to talk to him again.
"Great." Seemingly satisfied, Keiichi ceased patting Yuki's head and turned to the other occupant of the room. "Who's your friend?"
Masahiro scoffed.
Yuki appeared confused until he followed Keiichi's gaze, at which point his lips sunk into a troubled frown. "He didn't introduce himself," was his reply, and Masahiro almost laughed that of all things, that was what he was caught up on.
Still feeling somewhat reluctant, he shut his eye and took a deep breath. "Date Masahiro," he spat out. "And what are you doing here?"
Keiichi only looked surprised for a second before chuckling. "Well, I live here."
It had taken a good half hour of irritation before Masahiro would acknowledge that the paper outside did indeed read "Iida Keiichi," and even then he maintained that whoever had such chicken scratch handwriting was the one at fault, and not himself. And many years later when Yuki remained fond of reminding him of their meeting that stifling day, he could only blame it all on the heat. Keiichi had laughed for days after they'd discovered that Masahiro lived in a different building, but it hadn't stopped them from running into each other constantly. In fact, they'd formed something of a reluctant bond over the year Keiichi remained there. Yuki would still laugh, remembering his antics, but something burned in Masahiro knowing that they'd been left behind despite how much Yuki cared for him. He'd shown Yuki so much affection so very casually, and left without any urgency to find his "next home," as he'd put it.
This burning feeling had nothing to do with himself, of course.
