Turns out there's a problem with the whole Kazunari-and-Shintarou-avoid-each-other plan, and that's the fact that all of a sudden, their schedules seem to have synced up. Four days running, Shintarou ends up taking his lunch about the same time Miyaji-sensei herds them down to the cafeteria. Kazunari spends four lunches in a row embroiling himself in a heated argument with Tomita, debating the relative merits of Waseda and Keio's teams in order to avoid looking at Shintarou sitting at his table in all his solitary glory, pretending that he isn't aware of the fact that Shintarou is watching him.

On the fifth day of this, he runs out of things to argue about, probably to the relief of the rest of their cohort. He also runs out of self-control. Kazunari's down to his dessert when he decides that he'd better do something about this, so he grins at the rest of the table and stands up. "I'll catch up with you later. I've got to go say hello to a friend."

"Don't be late," Miyaji-sensei says, absently, before he remembers that Kazunari is acquainted with Midorima Shintarou. He grins then. "Have fun."

Kazunari doesn't much want to smile back, but he does before taking his tray up to the counter. He tosses his apple from hand to hand as he makes his way over to Shintarou's table. (He really needs to get into the habit of thinking of him as Midorima, but so far he just hasn't been able to make it happen.)

Shintarou freezes when Kazunari approaches his table and pulls out a chair. Kazunari smiles at him, conscious that there are plenty of curious eyes watching them, and sits down. He hooks an arm over the back of the chair and bites into his apple. "All right, Shin-chan, what gives?" Shin-chan is just the right touch for the cover they've concocted, Kazunari feels.

It certainly makes Shintarou wince visibly. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Takao-kun."

The formality is good, or would be if Kazunari believed it was for real, but Shintarou is too guilty around the eyes for him to buy it. He grins at Shintarou some more, trusting that Shintarou will be able to read some of his meaning in it. "This your idea of avoiding me?"

Shintarou's mouth goes so flat that Kazunari figures his point gets across just fine. But what he says is, "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"I've seen more of you this week than I have in a month of working here." Kazunari raises his eyebrows. "That's not strange to you?"

Shintarou's not backing down at all. "Am I supposed to go without sustenance all day?"

Kazunari munches on his apple, studying him; Shintarou's jaw is set. "You shouldn't do this to yourself."

"I believe that is my choice to make," Shintarou says, stiff, and turns his attention back to his meal.

Kazunari bites down on the urge to tell him that it's not just his choice. There's no point in encouraging him, and letting Shintarou know that this is bothering him will only reinforce the fact that Shintarou's strategy is working. "Suit yourself," he says. "What on earth are you drinking?"

This throws Shintarou. He glances at the can sitting on his tray, blinking and puzzled. "Shiruko."

"What, seriously?" Kazunari wrinkles his nose. "Takes all kinds, I guess."

Shintarou purses up his mouth, all prim. "It's good." He lifts the can to his lips to underscore the point.

He does seem to enjoy it, Kazunari will give him that. He thinks about that, as well as Shintarou's taste in cocktails and the wedge of cake on his tray, and draws a few conclusions. "Someone has a sweet tooth, doesn't he?"

"A properly regulated diet and exercise regimen includes allowances for a modest intake of sugar," Shintarou says, sober as a textbook.

"A big sweet tooth," Kazunari decides, grinning. "Never would have seen that one coming, Shin-chan."

Shintarou frowns at him. "There's nothing wrong in indulging oneself occasionally."

"No, of course not." Kazunari slouches lower in his chair. This is getting into dangerous territory; better make sure they don't get into things better left alone. "It's just that I'm having trouble matching serious doctor Shin-chan with an enormous sweet tooth, that's all."

It doesn't really work. Shintarou frowns at him; there's trouble in his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Teasing you seems a little too obvious, even for Shintarou. Kazunari chews on a bite of apple, thoughtful, piecing his answer together. "Told my cohort I was coming over here to pester you, so I'm making it look good."

Shintarou frowns and stabs his fork into his cake. "I would imagine that you've accomplished that."

In other words, he might as well leave. "Yeah, but I only have a few minutes until it's time for afternoon rounds." Maybe he's an idiot and a masochist, but he'd rather spend them sitting across from Shintarou than not. No, he's definitely an idiot. Maybe he'll just not tell Shou-chan about this.

Shintarou looks at him, then past him—probably to where his cohort is sitting. "Your first rotation is in oncology."

Kazunari nods. "Yeah. Miyaji-sensei may be a tyrant, but he's like an encyclopedia. I can't believe how much I've learned already."

Shintarou gives him another long look. "Of course," he says, between one methodical bite of cake and the next. "He's excellent in his field."

There's something else he'd like to say, Kazunari can tell, but he doesn't know what. Doesn't quite dare to press for it, either—as long as he can keep the conversation light, they'll probably be able to get through this okay. Probably. "Yeah, he really is. Keeps threatening to hit us with pineapples, though. What do you figure is up with that?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say," Shintarou tells him.

"Maybe he had a traumatic experience with a pineapple as a young child," Kazunari says.

He spends the remainder of his lunch spinning out implausible pineapple-related scenarios for Shintarou's amusement. Shintarou tolerates this in stoic silence, but Kazunari catches one of his tiny, subtle smiles before he excuses himself and feels ridiculously gratified by it.

No, he's definitely not telling Shou-chan about this. What would be the point? He already knows what Shou-chan would say.


Kazunari tells himself that he hopes Shintarou will do the sensible thing and stop taking his lunches to coincide with theirs, though it's not really true. It would be for the best, which is why he tells himself that he hopes Shintarou won't be there the next time he goes into the cafeteria. And he tells himself that he's exasperated by the fact that Shintarou is there after all, though he's not really exasperated at all. Shintarou can do what he wants, because it's not as though Kazunari plans on a repeat performance of their lunch together.

Then the day of the fish happens.

Kazunari got used to the whole lucky items thing early on, because honestly, the life of a working boy had long since inured him to the bizarre tics and quirks people could have. Really, the only remarkable thing about the lucky items is that Shintarou should be so open about his quirks.

But then Shintarou comes to lunch lugging a large ceramic sculpture of a trout leaping from a stream. People all around the cafeteria stare as he deposits the statue on his usual table and then goes to purchase his meal.

"Where does that guy come up with this stuff?" Tomita asks, full of mirth. "I mean, is he for real?"

"Do you suppose that there's something… not quite right about him?" Kaida asks, and the delicate pause makes her point abundantly clear.

Miyaji-sensei snorts. "We could fill a book with all the things that aren't right about that guy."

"He's not that bad." Kazunari almost doesn't recognize his own voice when he speaks up in Shintarou's defense. No, that's definitely him talking; everyone's attention swivels to him. He thinks fast. "Can you blame him for wanting as much luck on his side as he can get? I mean, think about what he's learning to do for a living."

That gives enough people pause to stop them from laughing, but Miyaji-sensei rolls his eyes. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean he's not still an arrogant prick."

He should let that go. He really needs to let that go—"I never noticed that," Kazunari says. "Hang on."

He doesn't really know why he's doing this, except that he knows that Shintarou really isn't as bad as Miyaji-sensei seems to think he is. It's just not fair to let him trash Shintarou when the guy isn't even there to defend himself. Yeah, that works; this is about justice for Shintarou's good name. Totally. (He is such an idiot.)

Kazunari goes over to Shintarou's table to wait for him. Up close, the trout statue is even more atrocious; Kazunari is honestly a little awed by it. "Hey, Shin-chan, why don't you come sit with us? There's plenty of room," he says once Shintarou gets close enough to hear him.

He's surprised that Shintarou doesn't drop his tray; he gives Kazunari a look that's full of disbelief. "I beg your pardon."

Kazunari scoops up the trout—oof, heavy—and gestures. "Come on, I'm dying to hear where you found this thing. It's amazing." He makes for his cohort's table, fairly confident that Shintarou will come along, if only to get his lucky item back. He drags a chair over from an empty table and makes room for it next to his—Tomita scoots his own chair over obligingly enough, looking amused—and sure enough, Shintarou sits his tray down there. His face is expressionless, but Kazunari can see that he's tense—it's all in the tightness of his shoulders.

Kazunari plants himself next to Shintarou and taps a finger on the trout. "Okay, you've got to tell me. Where did you even find it?"

Shintarou adjusts his glasses and cracks his can of shiruko open. "From a shop near my apartment," he says. "The owner purports to be running an antiques shop."

Kazunari laughs. "What, really? This thing is supposed to be an antique?"

"Supposedly," Shintarou says, his tone dry. He's watching the other people at the table, who are all listening in on their conversation with unabashed curiosity. "I do have my doubts."

"No, really?" Kazunari nudges him in the ribs. "This thing is so ugly that it's beautiful. I love it."

"Your approval means a great deal to me," Shintarou says; his tone is utterly flat.

Kazunari grins at him, because Shintarou's tone doesn't necessarily mean anything at all. To know what he really means, a person has to watch his eyes, and right now they're smiling faintly. "Aww, you say the sweetest things to me."

Which is totally the wrong thing to say, he knows it before it even finishes leaving his mouth. Fortunately, his cohort rescues him. "Is that thing really supposed to bring you good luck?" Ishida breaks in.

Shintarou glances at him and then the trout. "According to Oha-Asa, yes."

Kaida purses her lips. "Has it?"

"Objection," Ichinose says before Shintarou can answer. "You can't measure a thing like luck empirically. Any anecdotes he supplies will be full of confirmation bias."

"So what?" Tomita says. "If you think you're having a lucky day, it makes as much sense to give credit to a fish as anything else."

"What sense?" Ichinose demands. "There's no rational reason to believe in luck. It's completely illogical."

"But the placebo effect does have a demonstrable basis in reality," Ishida says, probably just to wind Ichinose up to further heights. "Maybe luck is the same thing as a placebo—all in the mind. In that case, the fish does bring good luck."

"But that's not quantifiable," Ichinose protests. "It can't be."

"It could be," Kaida says, thoughtful. "You'd have to design the study very carefully…"

"And now we're all the way down the rabbit hole," Kazunari tells Shintarou in an undertone. "They'll be arguing about double-blind studies and control groups for the rest of the week."

"I see," Shintarou says; he looks a bit baffled and overwhelmed by all the friendly wrangling going on around them. Ichinose is already scribbling on a paper napkin while Ishida and Kaida argue over instrument design.

Tomita, meanwhile, leans closer and addresses Shintarou directly. "You never said—has it brought you any luck today?"

Shintarou unwraps his sandwich and swallows a bite from it before he answers. "I'm not sure," he says at last. "Maybe."

Tomita nods at that and settles back into his seat, apparently satisfied.

Shintarou doesn't say much for the rest of his meal—probably because Ishida and Ichinose between them make that nearly impossible—but Kazunari enjoys sitting next to him more than he should anyway, even if he has no idea whether having Shintarou sit with them has really done Shintarou's reputation any good in Miyaji-sensei's eyes. (Miyaji-sensei has been quiet since Shintarou first sat down, though his eyes never stop moving around the table, watching the rest of them interacting.) He doesn't realize the extent of his miscalculation until the next day at lunch, when Tomita waves a hand at Shintarou and points at the empty seat at their table. "What are you doing?" Kazunari asks, even before Miyaji-sensei can speak up.

Tomita continues waving at Shintarou. "I saved him a seat," he says, as though it should be obvious what he's doing. "Don't you feel bad watching him sit alone all the time?"

"No," Miyaji-sensei mutters, but no one pays any attention to that. And it sounds sort of half-hearted to Kazunari's ears, though maybe that's just wishful thinking on his part.

Well, shit, Kazunari thinks as Shintarou veers over to their table. Shit, now what is he supposed to do?

In retrospect, Kazunari can see all too clearly that the whole fish thing was a terrible mistake on his part. It's really damn hard to maintain the proper mental boxes for all the different pieces of his life when two of those pieces insist on overlapping so much. It's impossible to make himself not think about Shintarou once Shintarou becomes a regular feature during lunch—his cohort thinks that the guy is weird, there's no doubt of that, but for the most part they're pretty good-natured about it and admit Shintarou to their ranks in the face of Miyaji-sensei's evident confusion. Shintarou seems just about as confused himself, like he doesn't quite know what to do with their casual camaraderie.

Kazunari tries hard not to think about that, about what it means that Shintarou is so ill-prepared for casual socializing over a meal, but he does anyway. Now that he knows who Shintarou is, who his family is and what expectations are resting on his shoulders, it's easy to figure out. Take one introvert and put him under a lot of pressure to succeed, add in a dose of acute intelligence and subtract a certain amount of social confidence, throw in a dash of isolation and sprinkle the whole thing with a taste for guys and a heavy layer of superstition, and it all comes out to Midorima Shintarou. Maybe no one else can see that, but Kazunari can, because he's had the privilege of getting to know the guy in a place where the normal rules don't apply.

And he can't help putting that to use, turning himself into a buffer between Shintarou and the rest of their tablemates, drawing him into the conversations when he can and covering for him in the moments when Shintarou finds himself at a loss. Honestly, it works well enough to worry Kazunari—surely this can't be good, he thinks the day Shintarou cracks one of his dry, understated jokes and everyone, even Miyaji-sensei (however unwillingly), cracks up. No, it's good—it's good for Shintarou, anyway, good for him to be able to interact with ordinary people in an ordinary way. He's looking better these days, less tired and less strained. Which is just great for him, because Kazunari feels like he's going to fly apart at the seams if something doesn't give.

He's a hell of an actor—he's had to be—but sitting next to Shintarou at lunch without letting on that they're anything more than casual friends is exhausting. No, they are casual friends now, nothing more than that, and the past doesn't matter anymore. Really it doesn't, maybe if he tells himself that enough times, he'll even believe it and stop waking up with the memory of Shintarou's mouth on his and his cock aching and hard. Maybe.

Maybe he should look into transferring to another teaching hospital after all. In the meantime, Kazunari sets his expression in a smile and endures.


It takes longer than he expects before Shou-chan decides to corner him. He declines to be subtle about it and sits himself at the corner of the bar after closing, right where he can pin a hard stare on Kazunari. "So have you started fucking him again yet?"

For a moment, Kazunari contemplates playing dumb. Then he abandons that notion as being utterly futile and slumps over the well. "No. We're just friends."

Shou-chan props his chin on the palm of his hand and frowns at him. "How often are you seeing him?"

Kazunari engrosses himself in wiping things down so that he doesn't have to meet Shou-chan's eyes. "Most days. He eats lunch with us."

"Oh, for the love of—are you crazy?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Kazunari admits. He scrubs hard at a particularly stubborn patch of dried syrup. "I didn't mean for it to happen—our schedules synced up—" Shou-chan's snort of disbelief is magnificently full of derision. "—okay, he started showing up for lunch when we did, and then there was this lucky fish statue and—he just sits with us now."

When he takes a peek, he sees that Shou-chan has removed his glasses so that he can rub his eyes. "Kazunari, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Believe me, I keep asking myself that." Kazunari sets his rag down and braces himself on the edge of the bar. "I've been playing it cool. I'm hoping he'll get over it soon and move on." Shou-chan stares at him. "Look, he has to give it up eventually, because I'm not encouraging him, I swear!"

Shou-chan stares at him, silent for so long that Kazunari begins to squirm. "The only one who's changed anything is you," Shou-chan says. Kazunari squirms some more. "He's still exactly who and what he was before."

It's like Shou-chan thinks that he hasn't been over this himself a thousand times already. "I know." Kazunari goes back to cleaning up. "Why do you think I've been pretending like I don't want to fuck him anymore? He would go for it if I just gave him any encouragement."

Shou-chan sighs. "You're going to break your heart."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's my choice to make, isn't it?" Kazunari grimaces at how sharply that comes out. That's not okay. "Sorry, man, you're just trying to help."

"Starting to think there's no helping you." Shou-chan shakes his head. "Fuck. Guess I'll lay in some booze so we can get you good and shit-faced when it all goes smash."

Kazunari actually manages to smile at that. "You're a good friend."

"Don't say things like that," Shou-chan protests. "You're going to ruin my reputation."

It feels good to laugh and really mean it, for once.

Fuck, but Kazunari hopes that Shintarou catches a clue sometime soon.


Neither Kazunari nor the rest of his cohort really gets what Miyaji-sensei meant about surviving their oncology rotations until Saiga-kun dies. Sure, they lost a couple of patients in the first few weeks of their rotation, but both were older individuals who'd been sick for a very long time. It was sad when they finally slipped away, and not a one of them wasn't sorry to see them go, but in the end it was really just sort of inevitable.

Saiga-kun is different. Saiga-kun is fifteen years old and, when they first meet him, perfectly healthy-looking except for the bruising and the broken arm. He's an athlete, in fact, and popular with his teammates and classmates. His friends are constantly visiting; they bring his homework to him and make reports about their training like a talisman against the horrible specter of the stage four acute lymphoblastic leukemia that is ravaging Saiga-kun's body. Kazunari hears them laying plans with Saiga-kun, plans for the tournaments they're playing in and plans for high school after that, and not one of them seems to believe that Saiga-kun will do anything but beat his disease. Kazunari can't blame them for it; even when his body begins to waste away and turn frail with the aggressive course of his treatment, Saiga-kun blazes with determination and even optimism. He never gives up, not when his body begins to shut down on him, nor even when he slips into unconsciousness for what turns out to be the last time. The kid goes down fighting, and Kazunari can't think of anything more genuinely unfair than when Miyaji-sensei shakes his head and tells Saiga-kun's parents, "I'm so very sorry."

It's not fair for something like this to happen to kids, not fair that they can know so much about the science of cancer treatment and still not know enough to help the ones who need it most. And if they can't do that, then what the hell is the point of it all, anyway?

They're a silent, grim group at lunch—no one wants to talk, or really even eat. They're all just picking at their trays when Shintarou brings his tray over and joins them, as usual. Today's lucky item is not in immediate evidence; sometimes that's because it's a small item that fits into a pocket and others it means that it's a mundane item, like a pair of socks. Today Kazunari can't quite bring himself to care which it is.

Shintarou has grown more comfortable about greeting them; he murmurs his hello as he sits, gets a few half-hearted greetings back, and seems to realize something is amiss. He busies himself in arranging his lunch to his satisfaction; without looking up, he says, "Did something happen?"

"Lost a patient," Miyaji-sensei says, brief and to the point.

Shintarou lifts his eyes from his food at that; his mouth tightens. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that. That's never an easy thing." It may be the longest voluntary speech he's made in one go since he began joining them for lunch.

Miyaji-sensei's laugh is short and grim. "You can say that again."

Of course, Shintarou doesn't; he nods his head and begins eating.

It's a very silent lunch after that. It's only afterwards that Miyaji-sensei addresses the issue. "That guy made a good point," he tells them on the elevator ride up to the oncology floor. "It's never easy to lose a patient. You're always going to wonder if there was something you missed or something more you could have done. You can get angry or depressed about it, but that doesn't do much good. It's better to use that energy on getting better, so that next time, you don't lose." He delivers the speech looking forward, not looking at them. He finishes as the car comes to a stop at their floor and chimes softly. "Now come on and get back to work."

It's not the most comforting speech Kazunari's ever heard, but then, Miyaji-sensei isn't much for warm and cuddly. It does, however, make sense, and that… maybe that helps, a little.

What doesn't make sense is the slip of paper Kazunari finds tucked in his shoebox at the end of the day. It's a note, a phone number and a single phrase: If you would like to talk about it. Kazunari doesn't recognize the precise, elegant handwriting, but he doesn't think he needs to. There's pretty much only one person he can think of who would leave him a note like that, and his name is Midorima Shintarou.

Maybe it's because the day has already been difficult enough, or maybe this is just the last pebble falling into place and precipitating the landslide. Kazunari doesn't know and doesn't care, because he's done. Just done with this, done with his ability to pretend that everything is just fine and that it doesn't bother him to be in close proximity to Shintarou, wanting him and knowing that he can't have him the way he'd like to. He's done, and he's going to end it, this time for good.

He doesn't remember much of getting home from the hospital, which probably means that he's lucky not to have turned himself into a traffic statistic, and he punches the number into his phone with entirely unnecessary force, leaning hard on his anger and frustration to stiffen his resolve.

Shintarou answers after only one ring; his greeting is polite and noncommittal. "Hello?"

"You've got to stop doing this to me, Shintarou," Kazunari says; the words spill out of him in a rush. "I can't deal with this anymore, I just can't."

There's a beat or two of silence before Shintarou says, his tone entirely different, "Kazunari."

He hates the way he reacts to how his name sounds in Shintarou's mouth and the way he wants to lean into the softness of it. "That," he says. "Things like that. You've got to stop it, I can't do this anymore."

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," Shintarou says after a moment. "Will you be a little more specific?"

Kazunari grits his teeth, because none of his neighbors will appreciate it if he starts yelling. "You know damn well what I mean. You have to stop treating me like there could be something between us, because it's killing me to behave like there isn't. I'm never going to be able to get over you as long as you're hanging around being everything I want and can't have!" Okay, so he ends up yelling a little after all. Hopefully his neighbors will forgive him.

He hears the way Shintarou takes a quick breath. "You do still—want—me?" he asks, and Kazunari just knows how he must look right now, the hesitation and uncertainty that are in his eyes and the way he'd be nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose if they were face to face. "Really?"

It's so far from the point that it's not even on the same continent anymore. Kazunari growls with his frustration. "Isn't that what I just said?" he demands. "Fuck, Shintarou, there was a damn good reason why I had to stop seeing you." For all the good it's done him. Though maybe if the universe hadn't been a bastard about it and they'd managed to keep up not seeing each other—well, the universe is a bastard and that's all there is to it.

He hears the way Shintarou sighs then. "I wasn't sure," he says. "I'd hoped, but I wasn't sure."

Kazunari grits his teeth some more, to keep from screaming. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

"No, I'm listening." Shintarou's voice drops. "I always listen."

Great. Just great. Even when he's angry, that does funny things to his heart. Not that it matters. "Then listen to this," Kazunari tells him. "Stop it. Leave me alone. For fuck's sake, have a little mercy on me and stop being so—so perfect."

The silence on the other side of the line sounds almost shocked. "…no one has ever called me perfect before." Shintarou sounds legitimately startled. "Not like that." He sounds like it makes him happy.

Kazunari squeezes his eyes shut and draws a ragged breath, wondering why he'd thought that this conversation was going to go as smoothly as he'd hoped it would. Shintarou isn't good at obeying standard social norms. He's never had to be, not with Kazunari. Time to be as explicit as possible. "Please. I'm begging you. Being around you—all I can think about is all the things I want with you that I'm never, ever going to get to have. I'm only human, do you understand? Eventually I'm going to lose what self-respect I have left, just so I can have the crumbs of your life, the leftovers from what you'll give your family, and I'll hate myself for it. Please don't do that to me, Shintarou. Please, I'm begging you."

He hears Shintarou swallow. "What things?" he asks; his tone has shifted again, turned hoarse and taut. "What things do you want?"

Fuck. Kazunari's never been able to deny Shintarou when he turns urgent like that. He laughs, though it hurts. "What don't I want? I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up next to you, I want a life with you, I want to introduce you to my parents and argue about what movies to watch and trade doing the dishes for getting out of cleaning the bathroom and fuss over each other when we get colds and complain about all your bad habits to my friends even though I really love them, and all of that—I know that all of that is impossible, okay? I know and I still want it, and it's only gotten worse now that I know who you are when you're not patronizing your friendly local gay hooker. But I'm not going to get that, so I want you to give me the space to get over you. Can you give me that? Please?"

Shintarou is silent on the other end of the line for such a long time that Kazunari half-wonders whether they've been disconnected before he speaks again. "All right," he says, softly. "You'll get what you want, Kazunari. I promise."

There. It's done. Kazunari takes a breath; it shudders in his lungs. "Thank you," he says, hoarse, his throat tight and aching. "Thank you for that."

"I am sorry to have caused you this distress," Shintarou says. It sounds like he means it. "It was not my intention."

"Didn't figure it was." Kazunari scrubs his hand over his face. "Look, I've got to get a nap before work, so I'm just gonna say goodbye now, okay? Take care of yourself, Shintarou."

"You do the same," Shintarou says quietly. "Sleep well." He disconnects, and that's that.

"Yeah, sure," Kazunari says, lowering the phone from his ear. "You bet I will."

Even though he doesn't sleep, there's a certain animal comfort in curling up beneath his blankets for a few hours to lick his wounds. At this point, Kazunari will take whatever he can get when it comes to being comforted.