11. Yata was the one who started fights
"Tch." Yata scowled at one of the resident douche bags who were eyeing his baseball bat. "You want something?" His grip on the bat tightened as his eyebrows knitted together, his knuckles whitening. "What? Nothing to say?" He hadn't really used his bat for violence, but he was pretty prepared to.
The guy gawking at him had greasy blonde hair and an inability to grow proper facial hair. His chin was patchy and it made Yata want to puke. "Well?" he demanded, tapping his foot impatiently. "If you ain't got anything to say, quit staring like a jackass." The guy opened his mouth, but at this point Yata was sick of waiting for an answer. He'd been on edge lately and was itching for some stress relief.
His baseball bat collided with the guy's shin with a solid sound, sweeping him to the ground. Not wasting another second, Yata brought his foot down on the small of the guy's back, evoking a satisfying grunt. He raised his bat in both hands, ready to crack it across the guy's shoulder blades. Unless it was a life or death situation, he'd probably never actually go for a guy's head.
"Are you done?" Fushimi asked, appearing out of nowhere. He wore the same bored expression he always had, grocery bags dangling from his arms. Yata's bat froze in midair, giving the pathetic guy just enough time to scramble to his knees. "Let's go," Fushimi commanded, prodding Yata with an elbow.
"I'm not done here!" Yata argued, kicking the guy in the side and knocking him to the ground again.
"Yes you are," Fushimi snapped, already walking away. His patience had been running thin lately too, and all he really wanted to do was go home. He didn't have time to stand around waiting for Yata to finish beating the shit out of some random loser who'd looked at him the wrong way. If his friend wasn't coming with him, he'd just leave him there. He couldn't even pretend he was pleased when Yata kicked the guy one last time and jogged to catch up with him.
12. Fushimi's bedroom was the hottest room in his house
The ceiling fan was spinning slowly, creaking with every rotation. The air it created wasn't even close to being cool enough, but it was already on the highest setting, so Fushimi didn't bother trying to do anything about it. He lay on his bed flat on his back, arms folded behind his head with his eyes closed. He heaved a sigh. He was glad it wasn't raining, but the warm weather made him feel unmotivated. It was midday and he had no plans to move.
His desk sat by the open window, the edges of the curtains blowing in with the faint breeze and grazing the piles of textbooks stacked on it. But he usually didn't use his desk to actually study. He did most of his studying sprawled on the bed or on the floor, where he could easily roll over and fall asleep if he got bored.
His glasses sat by his phone on his bedside table. Without them, he felt uncomfortable, maybe even slightly vulnerable, even in the moments before sleep. His phone buzzed irritatingly against the hard wood, but he ignored it. It's probably just Yata with another dumb joke. He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. It continued to buzz for a moment, so he figured he'd better answer.
"Notes for the test..?" he mumbled, frowning and echoing his friend's rushed words. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Sorry, Yata. You're on your own. His limbs were heavy and he just wasn't in the mood to think, let alone get up and look for his notes. Forgetting he was still on the phone, he groaned agitatedly at his ceiling fan, willing it to move faster.
13. Yata's bedroom was always messy
"What's up?" Yata asked his friend, perched on the very edge of his bed. His sheets were a mess and his pillow was lying forgotten on the floor – somewhere. He ran a hand through his tangled hair, staring absently at the blank wall opposite.
The curtains were drawn, sealing in the cool air and protecting his room against the relentless sunlight. He stood in a stretch, moving between the piles of various things he'd dumped on the floor. The lights were off and everything was blurring into the shadows. He almost stumbled over his school bag.
"Oh," he replied to Fushimi's comment about the fucking heat. "Yeah, I guess it is pretty hot." Hot enough that Yata was only wearing his pants and a loose tank top. They both remained silent for a moment, but they both knew the other was still on the line. Yata kicked his sneakers under his bed, struggling to find something else to say.
"I heard a joke the other day-" he began. Fushimi's line went dead.
14. When they had the money, they ate lunch together
They'd already been waiting for 20 minutes when the bowls were finally placed on the bench in front of them, steam wafting up invitingly. Yata immediately broke his chopsticks apart with great enthusiasm, and began stuffing his face. "So, who's paying this time?" he asked, his voice muffled from his mouth being half full of noodles.
Fushimi rolled his eyes, taking a more delicate approach to eating. When he was hungry, you didn't get between him and his food, but that didn't mean he didn't use his manners. "Apparently I am," he sighed. I always end up paying.
Every time they ate out, they always ate at the same ramen bar and they always ordered the same thing. As a result, the chef knew them all too well and they were able to get almost as good a discount as the staff. Fushimi tried to ignore the faint slurping noises Yata was emitting as he drained the broth from his bowl. He had to admit though, the ramen was good.
While Yata and one of the waiters enthused over baseball cards – Really? Since when were baseball cards considered cool? – Fushimi forked out the money for the meal, leaving his wallet alarmingly empty. He huffed, suddenly irritated despite his full stomach, and kicked Yata's stool out from under him. "You're going to have to reimburse me," he said slowly, the gleam in his eye leaving no room for arguments.
But Yata, being the dumbass he was, decided to try and argue anyway. Using the chair as a crutch, he hauled himself to his feet. With an unnecessarily loud voice and clenched fists, he rebutted, "You're the one who-"
"Take it outside, boys," the chef interrupted, dismissively waving his hand at them. He really did know them all too well.
Fushimi sighed, his hand reaching for the fabric of Yata's shirt. He secured a hold on his collar and proceeded to drag him outside, not even sparing the chef an apologetic glance. "Do you want us to get banned again?" he asked quietly, dumping his friend on the sidewalk.
"No," Yata grunted as his butt hit the kerb. A couple of months ago, he'd started a fight in the ramen bar, dragged Fushimi into it, and they both ended up breaking a couple of tables and a window. On top of being banned from setting foot near the shop for five weeks, they'd also had to pay for the damages. "But you said you'd pay."
Stubborn as ever. Fushimi smiled thinly. "And now I'm saying you're going to pay me back."
15. Yata hated getting his hair cut
When he was much younger, Yata's mother had cut his hair for him. It was short enough that it hadn't mattered if she'd made mistakes (which she often had). But since starting middle school, she'd decided she wouldn't let anyone but a professional hairdresser come near his hair with a pair of scissors. She said people would judge him for it. Not that he really cared.
It was always a pain in the ass to get his hair cut. He had to call ahead, make a booking, sit in a chair for half an hour. And he could never fully get across what he wanted done. He always choked on his own words, blushing and sinking into the stiff-backed chair, ending up paying the woman too much considering how little she'd cut off.
Yata was on the way to a hairdresser's appointment, ambling down the street, stalling for time. He figured his baseball bat would be an unwelcome sight in this part of town (especially since he'd had trouble cleaning that last bit of blood from the grip) so he'd opted to leave it at home, now feeling strangely naked without it. I guess this is how Fushimi feels without his glasses.
He sat uncomfortably in the hairdresser's chair, his hands fidgeting with the cord of his headphones. The woman behind him ran a comb through his hair, laughing and saying something that he didn't quite catch. A shudder ran down his spine. He didn't really like people touching his hair at all. He stuttered out half a sentence, blushing until his cheeks almost matched his hair colour, and gave up. She can do whatever she wants. But he had the feeling deep in his gut that he'd regret that later.
Staring wide-eyed into the mirror, Yata let out a strangled cry about fifteen minutes later. The hairdresser took a step back, trying not to skewer him with the scissors when he stood abruptly. "What..." What the fuck did you do to my hair? He'd never considered himself fussy about things like this. That was more for girls. But...his hair.
Grumbling the entire way home, Yata wanted to hide his face – no, hide his entire head, in shame.
A/N: So many inaccuracies, but I don't think I even care anymore. AU where they actually gave a shit about school kind of? Thanks to the people who favourited!