The door closed on a too-silent house. It shouldn't have felt too silent. Weeks would go by without occupants within, and even when they were home, hours would stretch on without words passing between them. Hours where they wouldn't even see each other. The halls too long and the floors too wide- there was seldom unintentional contact created between those walls.

But as Taka watched Raimon's wide, bowed shoulders disappear past the gate to the waiting taxi, the silence was unfamiliar. Heavy. Oppressive.

Irrationally, he was angry. Angry and confused and without answers. He'd been so certain that talk at Umeda had been enough. They had shared something and for a few enjoyable hours, Raimon had been… Raimon. Anger mixed with inner turmoil had Taka burning with the desire to cast blame, point fingers- just, in some way, obtain a response to the whys in his head. With eyes flashing and body taut, Taka rounded on his father. His father with his heartbroken expression. His guiltless expression.

"You just had to push, didn't you?" Taka snapped irritably. Masaru stared at him, had the gall to even look baffled. As if he were the innocent party.

"Tak, what are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" the livid footballer repeated incredulously. "You, poking your nose in other's business where it wasn't invited. Your insinuations and jokes and bullshit," Taka spat. For a moment, a matching anger flared in his father's eyes and Taka felt smug with victory.

Masaru closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before speaking, "Taka, whatever I may or may not have implied, I never pushed any boundaries."

Taka scoffed in disbelief. "I noticed all those weak excuses not to come with Raimon and me. Leaving us alone, calling him son-in-law, your irritating looks. Raimon may not be a genius, but that doesn't make him an utter simpleton. You made him uncomfortable."

"I did no such thing!" his father retorted sharply. Masaru held up his hands, mouth in a tight line and a dark scowl on his face. "Monta is a good kid and he would have told me if I crossed a line."

"Of fucking course you crossed a line!" Taka shouted.

"Watch your mouth."

"I'm twenty-one years old, Father, please stop talking to me like a child! Stop butting your nose in my business while you're at it. I may be bisexual, but that doesn't mean you get to set me up with whoever you want and perhaps even ruin a friendship I consider important!" Taka railed, throwing up his arm in useless gesturing. He wasn't normally one for such theatrics and he dropped his arm with a start. The disconcerting reaction was swiftly forgotten as he glared his father down.

Even bushy-bearded and dark-eyed, Masaru just couldn't intimidate Taka into submission, especially not at his own level of self-righteous outrage.

"Whatever happened with Monta had nothing to do with anyof that, Taka-"

"How would you know? In between the forced dates you didn't think I noticed and your ridiculous matchmaking schemes, where did you have the time to even ask him? He shut me out, Father. Raimon has never, not once in the five years I've known him, shut me out like this. And it's your damn fault!" Taka seethed, hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

Masaru's shoulders slumped and whatever offense he still had left him in a low exhale.

"I swear, Taka, I never meant to push him away. I didn't think he noticed, though I'm not surprised you did," Masaru admitted wryly, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Taka 'tch'ed, pissed and still bristling. "Did it ever occur to you that he's straight? You might have ruined it, Father. One of my best friends, you might've just chased away with your crap."

He spun on his heel and strode towards his room. Masaru hurried after him, thundering footsteps on Taka's heels.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going back to Tokyo."

"What?! You still have an entire week before you need to go," Masaru exclaimed, hurt laced throughout the surprise in his voice. Taka didn't allow himself to flinch at the sound, not physically nor in spirit.

"I can't even look at you right now," Taka replied tonelessly. Then, he slammed his bedroom door behind him and locked it with a loud, satisfying click.

Masaru could rot outside his door for all Taka cared at that moment. Not after the fuck up he'd caused.

…there wasn't any other explanation. Right?

…

Tokyo air was heavy and humid and smoggy that summer. For some reason, it felt claustrophobic. Tokyo had almost been his freedom, almost as much as the gridiron under his feet. Today, though, words on the page swam and blurred, and nothing sunk in. With a disgruntled sigh, Taka cast aside his book and stared out his dorm window. Fortunately, Taka had chosen a dorm that remained opened during breaks- since he'd normally remained on campus for the majority of his vacations- and it hadn't been that difficult to return to his private dorm as if he'd never left. How unfortunate in comparison that his brain couldn't return to its usual state of tranquility. A state of being he'd perfected since high school.

But just as it had been in high school, it was Taro Raimon that disrupted his finely-tuned serenity. He'd used the metaphor of a pebble in the ocean with Raimon, but for such a small man he somehow managed to effect the tide that was Taka's unruffled calm.

Almost a month had passed since he'd come back to Tokyo, yet Taka was no closer to solving his problem. He still had no idea how to approach Raimon, what to say or how to apologize, or even if he should. Should he even acknowledge aloud something that had obviously offended his friend so badly he'd run away? Would pretending as though it never happened in the first place be a better tack?

Not that it mattered, because in the past weeks, Raimon had not sent a single text or attempted a single phone call. That last text mocked him from his inbox:

Raimon r u ready 4 a MAX awesome time!1! Osaka or bust bro!111!

Taka's lips pinched tight and he tossed his mobile to the bed with a huff.

Who knew it'd unravel so quickly, he thought, rather melodramatically he couldn't hep but admit to himself.

Taka got to his feet, running his hands through the thick mane of hair sticking to the back of his neck. He really should get it cut… but Karin and Raimon had both been horrified the few times he'd mentioned it aloud in front of them.

"No, man, bro, c'mon, I'm telling ya, he'll want to see me!" bellowed an outraged voice outside the dorm. Taka turned to the door, frowning in disbelief. There was no way that could be…

"It doesn't matter, you need to sign in and call the room. You can't just barge up the stairs!" objected a harried, desperate voice- that was definitely one of the students who worked the desk.

"Watch me!"

The door shook in the doorjamb, the thud of a foot ringing throughout the room. Taka's eyebrows shot up as he fought the urge to smirk and sigh. The usual accompaniment to the energetic man outside. He was already striding to the door, hand rising, as the Saikyoudai student and Raimon shouted over each other.

"Lemme go! I'm tellin' ya, he's my friend. Don't make me tackle you! I'm an amefuto player, damn it!" Raimon snarled, blacks eyes gleaming under lowered, thick brows. Taka leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, and watched the two college students tugging Raimon's arm like a tug-of-war rope between them.

"He's telling the truth," Taka pronounced calmly.

The college boys in the hallway squawked in shock, neither having noticed the door opening in their tussle. Raimon recovered faster and tugged his arm free.

"See, I told ya," he sneered at the Saikyoudai boy, making an obscene gesture with his hand.

"Raimon," Taka sighed. Raimon crossed his arms over his chest, eyes shifty and ears ruddy at the tone.

"Whatever. Look, lemme in before this guy doesn't believe you," Raimon demanded shortly.

Taka gestured towards his room with a nod of his head. "Of course." He wondered if the relief sounded as obvious as it felt.

Raimon stomped past him, sending a glare over his shoulder at the last minute. The other student outside groaned and stormed away, obviously fed up. Taka stepped into the room and shut the door. When he turned, Raimon was already pacing up and down the length of the floor, huffing and puffing and steaming as he was wont to do.

"May I ask what brings you here?" Taka asked coolly. He pulled up his desk chair and sat back, one leg crossed over his knee and one eyebrow arched. It took supreme strength of will not to tap his foot agitatedly against the ground and therefore give away his impatience.

"Ha! Max hilarious, bro-"

"Don't call me-"

"You know exactly why I'm here!" Raimon accused, his index finger pointing in Taka's face. He'd have to cross his eyes to see it, Raimon had come so close. The silver-haired man just raised his other eyebrow in response. Raimon snorted bull-like and paced away. "I had to hear from Sena you were back! Through Mamori-nee! And that you had a fight with your dad!" Taka's eye twitched, but gave nothing else away. Not that Raimon even bothered to look over. "Jeez, what the crap, man?! Why didn't you text me and let me know you came back almost the next day!? I thought you were staying in Osaka all summer!"

Raimon finally finished his railing, large hands dragging through his hair as his chest heaved in too-rapid breaths. Taka exhaled softly and leaned forward, elbows bracing on his knees and eyes meeting Raimon's squarely.

"Why have you not sent me a text these past weeks?" he returned quietly. Raimon startled at that, rocking back on his heels. His eyes went shifty again, his face paling drastically. Concern fluttered in Taka's treacherous chest. How was it so much easier to forget his anger for Raimon than for his own father? Why was it easier to just feel hurt rather than fury when facing Raimon? "Why did you leave and act so strangely, Raimon?"

The younger man flinched away and Taka rose as worry overtook him. What in the world-He froze, his hand dropping, when Raimon stumbled to the far side of the room, looking everywhere but Taka and desperate to evade any contact.

Whatever hurt Taka had felt before was nothing compared to this.

"Shit, I shouldna come, I'm sorry, shit," Raimon muttered, grabbing at his head with his hands and pressing inward at his temples. "I just- your fight with your dad- you never fight- but, this was a bad idea. I gotta go."

"Taro Raimon, don't you dare walk out of this room," Taka snapped. He was done questioning what he or his father had done wrong. Raimon's breath shuddered out of him, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. "You will explain your actions right now, or so help me, I will wring it out of you."

Raimon jerked his head up, eyes wide and pupils pinpricks. He looked… terrified.

"Whatever it is, is it worth our friendship?" Taka asked, gentling his tone and shuffling forward. He kept his hands raised at his sides, trying not to spook the shorter man into bolting. "If my father was inappropriate, I talked to him-"

"Hey, whoa, wait, what?" Raimon interjected, his features twisted up in bewilderment. "Honjou-sensei? Inappropriate? Like… wait, you think your dad hit on me or something?!" he outright squeaked in horror.

Taka narrowed his eyes, but Raimon just gawked at him, speechless at the wrong assumptions.

"Ah… I suppose I'll have to apologize to him," Taka groaned, rubbing his hand down his face wearily.

"That's what you and Honjou-sensei fought about!? You thought he came onto me?! Are you high?" Raimon spluttered.

"No, I did not think he made advances," Taka retorted, dropping into his chair. "I fought with him because I thought his matchmaking nonsense had caused you discomfort," he admitted with another low groan. "He was right. You didn't even notice."

"Matchmaking? Your dad?! You and me? What? What the hell is going on?" Raimon exclaimed, hands thrown up in the air and eyes wild.

Taka side-eyed him, hard. "That's exactly what I want to know. If my father's unsubtle attempts to force us into romantic situations went right over your head, what in the world upset you?"

"Bro, dude, I didn't- He did what? Geez, he couldn't've just said- it's not like I needed the help- Oh shit." Raimon face drained of blood so fast Taka swore he saw him wobble.

But he was too busy staring at Raimon, his mouth dropped open and his own eyes wide. If someone had walked in and slapped him with a 2x4, he probably wouldn't have been as surprised.

"What did you say." Taka croaked.

"N-Nothing! Nothing at all! I'm just- yeah, I'm going- your dad's nuts tell him he's a nut job totally straight no homo bro right going gotta go, bye!" Raimon gasped out in one long breath, racing towards the door and wrenching it open.

Taka was on his feet, the flat of his hand slapping the door closed so quick that Raimon jerked into the wood with a grunt and a thud.

"Say that again."

"I didn't say nothing," Raimon growled, voice muffled by face full of wooden door.

"You… All the staring-" "Shit." "-all the avoiding and silences and awkwardness, everything you did… was because you have feelings for me?" Taka said incredulously.

Raimon's hands against the door convulsed, then curled into fists, knuckles pressing into wood. But he didn't look up or speak.

"Taro Raimon, if you are half the man I know you to be, you will look at me right now and answer honestly. Do you have romantic feelings for me or not?" Taka demanded harshly.

…

Monta inhaled sharply, his breath whistling through his gritted teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was turn and look at Taka now. He felt about three inches high, fifteen, and stupid. So fucking stupid. Not just for the way he'd slipped up and spilled his secret- like a fucking moron- not just because of that. No, it also because of the disappointed incredulity in Taka's voice. It was just so idiotic. Having the feelings in the first place, freaking out as badly as he did, all of it! This was going to ruin everything- everything they had. No way was anything good going to come of his tangled mess of… of emotions he still didn't understand.

"Can we go back to your dad hitting on me?" Monta muttered against the door.

Silence waged a war and… lost. Taka slumped over him, their shoulders brushing, as he thumped his forehead against the door and began to laugh. Uncontrollable body shaking disbelieving laughter.

"No, please God, no," Taka wheezed painfully.

"It's a lot friggin' easier," Monta grumbled irritably. This was not a laughing moment, damn it.

"It'd be easier to deal with my father, who's twice our age or more, making inappropriate sexual advances than admitting you-"

"Okay, it's gross, shut up!" Monta snapped, turning around at last and glaring at Taka's chest. "I like you, okay? The way I thought I liked girls. I didn't geddit then, I don't geddit now, and I'm confused, all right? I ran home like a sissy 'cause I couldn't…I couldn't think… I can'tthink," he blurted it all out at once. For a moment, he felt nothing but relief. As if a huge burden had been lifted off his shoulders and he was so much lighter.

In that moment of utter relief, he did something utterly stupid. No surprise.

He looked up too soon… and saw the pity flash in Taka's eyes.

Something cracked in Monta's chest and he knew that whatever those feelings were, however confusing they were, they were big. Really fucking big and important. And he was going to lose something amazing before he even got to try.

Taka's mouth opened, his face that careful neutral mask, but Monta did not want to hear it. In fact, it was the last thing Monta would ever want to hear.

"No, fuck you, don't you fucking say anything!" Monta snarled, shoving his palms against Taka's chest. The Bump technique came so easily to him, he hadn't even realized the power he'd put into that until the taken-off-guard Taka was flying across the room. The back of his knees hit his bed and he went down hard on his ass onto the mattress. "I don't want to hear it! Whatever bullshit fancy words you're gonna say to make me feel better. I'm leaving, and don't you text me or call me unless it's about anything else!" Monta ordered, his hands shaking- no, his whole body was shaking. His eyes were burning and he reached up to scrub at them with the back of his wrist.

"A-All right," Taka murmured. So softly, Monta could barely hear it.

He ripped open the door and flung himself outside. Only to wheel back in and raise a finger in Taka's direction. With red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, he snapped, "Call your dad and say sorry, you idiot," then he slammed the door and …

Got the fuck outta there.

…

"I like you, okay? The way I thought I liked girls. I didn't geddit then, I don't geddit now, and I'm confused, all right? I ran home like a sissy 'cause I couldn't…I couldn't think… I can't think."

His eyes were warm and light.

No, that's wrong.

His face got closer, hair brushing over shoulders and sliding over his chest, and the silky, wispy weight of it had Monta's breath catching. It tickled both sides of his face when Taka leaned in close, smooth, cool cheek glancing past his own. Breath rushed over his ear, hot and shiver-inducing, wracking down his spine. But he couldn't move. His hands wouldn't lift, no matter how desperately he told himself to go for it, to sink his hands into the soft weight of that silver hair that slid over his goosebump-covered arms.

This isn't how it went.

"I've always been more adept at thinking," conceded the low, soothing baritone of Taka's voice. Monta's throat constricted and his mouth ran dry, so terribly dry. "So don't think at all."

"I… I could do that," Monta admitted, licking at chapped, burning lips.

No, I didn't say that.

He felt his eyes shutter closed, air whooshing out of him as if he'd been punched in the solar plexus. Hands were braced on his shoulders and that warm breath fanned over his mouth.

Just a little closer.

Alittlebit closer, please.

Monta flung himself out of sleep, sweat running down his face. His thrown away blankets flew into the air and settled over his spread out legs. Panting and gasping, Monta stared into the darkness of the night as his trembling hands twisted into the sheets. Gradually, the mugginess faded into something too wakeful and his face began to crumple. His eyes squeezed tight under eyebrows pulled down low, and his teeth gritted so hard they squeaked, bared by lips drawn back too tight. Then, his shoulders pulled taut and his spine bowed, until he was curled into a loose, shuddering ball, face in his hands. Sweat was slick and slimy against his palms and sliding down his back. Between his bow-legged knees, Bonnkun mewled in sleepy, offended protest before bounding away for a bed that wouldn't flail or wiggle. Monta barely even noticed.

He was too busy cussing a fierce, angry bluestreak in his mind. At himself. At being so fucking stupid. For… for pining, that's what it was called, right?

When you get so hung up on someone every time you fall asleep they're there? When you pick up your phone because you thought about them- but your last conversation flashes in your head and it cuts into you as deep as when it actually happened? When you miss them all the time and over the stupidest shit? When you catch a difficult pass, or your cat was extra cute that morning, or you finish a book they recommended ages ago, that you totally forgot they gave you, and you just miss them?

Everything led back to him.

A sound worked its way out of his choked up throat, but he refused to call it what it was.

It was sweat, not tears.

"You only cry when it's painful," Monta whispered to himself desperate. "You only cry when it's painful, you idiot. Shut up, sh-shut up, it's not painful. This isn't painful."

The sweat on his face was hot, sliding over his skin like fire and burning his eyes, his nose, his chapped lips.

"It's not painful. It's not. You only cry when it's painful, so stop crying."

He flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Despite all sense- not that he had much anyway- that stupid scene replayed in his head. With a different ending every time, leaving his heart too tight in a chest that felt ripped open. He dropped one hand to the sheets next to him and stared over at it.

Not even his dreams did he get to hold Taka's hand.

(His eyes aren't burning. Yours are.)

…

A plate appeared in front of his face.

Monta blinked sluggishly, barely moving his head from where it rested on the heel of his palm, his elbow braced on the table and his arm holding up his hand. The blurry substance on the plate finally became scrambled eggs and toast with way too much butter. Just the way he liked it. His stomach rumbled angrily at him.

A glass appeared next filled almost to the brim with orange juice, extra pulpy.

Then, a banana was laid next to the plate, and a napkin with a fork.

"Whassit?" he slurred. He stretched his neck just enough to look up and see Sena and Riku staring down at him.

Concern was etched into their faces-

-pity flashed through light brown eyes-

-and Monta winced, looking down to the plate.

"School starts up again next week, Monta-kun," Sena said hesitantly.

Riku added in, "You've been a fucking wreck even at practice. I think you missed, like, half your passes, man."

"Not important right now, Rikku-kun," Sena hissed, jabbing his elbow into Riku's side. The linebacker flinched and swatted Sena's arm away.

"Of course it's important. This numbnuts monkey here wants to get drafted into the NFL. He can't get lazy in his third year," Riku retorted firmly. Sena gnawed on his bottom lip.

The gnawing and the scowling from his roommates worsened when he didn't jump to offense at being called a monkey. He just didn't feel like it.

His hand felt heavy and slow, but he lifted it and dragged the orange juice closer. Drinking, eating, blinking- he did it all slowly and listlessly. As if he couldn't be bothered to do anything he wanted to do. It wasn't like he wasn't hungry or thirsty.

He was just so… tired.

Monta sighed gustily as he set down the empty glass and pushed away the empty plate.

"I'll be fine, guys, but thanks," Monta told them at last, breaking through their quiet bickering. They jumped guiltily at the realization they'd almost forgotten he was still in the room- although he was still the subject of their argument.

"Monta-kun, if you need anything," Sena started, stepping forward and bracing his hand on the table. Riku stepped up to Sena's side with a firm nod of agreement.

"Yeah, Monta, whatever you need."

The receiver shrugged mutely with a lame attempt at a smile before shuffling away.

He would be. Any day now. Once he could sleep a whole night through, or stop tossing and turning with humiliation hours before his eyes even closed. Once it stopped hurting so much. It was stupid anyway. Hurting this much over a what if he hadn't even been sure he wanted answered! So effin' stupid. He and Suzuna had been something. Something pretty great for more than a year! They'd kissed and held hands and one time she even let him touch her boobs. It had been great! But… when they broke up, it had sucked, but it hadn't sucked this much. It had been so easy to slip back into being friends after a few weeks awkwardness that had been simple to hide.

Monta leaned against the balcony railing, forearms pressing into the weak, hollow metal. It creaked beneath his weight, not that he cared much. It had held up far heavier burdens. The sunlight was hot on his face, the sweat beading his skin a fresher kind of sweat than the cold film he'd woken with. Fresh sweat that cleansed away the traces of gross from that night and made his muscles ache to run and jump and catch.

That was probably a good thing. First time he really felt like moving in a while.

Monta slumped down and lay his chin on his crossed arms. His brows crashed down, scrunched low over the bridge of his nose, and his mouth down-turned. He wasn't just feeling ready to go run around on the gridiron. He was… was feeling… furious.

Furious for moping around and doing nothing. Dreams and whining and having friends try to stage interventions he didn't even listen to? He was better than this. He'd done this when he was fifteen! He wasn't fifteen anymore, damn it. He was an adult. And Taka was his friend.

He didn't need to be scared of his friend because he wanted to hold his hand or go on dates or get in his pants- ohkay, stiiiill weird thinking that out loud.

But he did. He wanted to get in Taka's pants. Monta stood up abruptly, leaned heavily on his hands on the railing, and shouted,

"I wanna get in Taka's pants!"

"Whoa, Monta. Too much information," Riku retorted form the couch. The volume on the TV turned up.

Sena ducked around the corner of the hallway curiously. "Did I just hear Monta-kun yelling?"

Monta spun around and pinned his fierce gaze on Sena. "I wanna get in Taka's pants," Monta told Sena firmly.

Sena blinked and slowly flushed red. "I-I'm g-glad you d-do? G-Good job f-figuring it out?"

"Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?" Riku asked, sounding utterly bored and unimpressed. But listening despite how loud the volume was.

"I… I don't know yet," Monta muttered, frowning again. He scratched at his nose.

"You could just tell 'im."

"I think that's a good idea, too! B-But maybe with different words…" Sena suggested weakly.

Monta pursed his lips, then shook his head. "Nah, you know what? Last time, it just kinda slipped out-"

"Wait, what slipped out?" Riku asked in fascinated disgust.

"This time, I'm gonna take it by the balls!"

Sena murmured with a wince, "That's poor word choice, I think…"

Monta's nostrils flared and he stomped towards the door. "I'm going right now!"

"Wait! Pants! Monta-kun!"

Monta stared down at his boxers and tank-top sleep clothes, and his ears went hot. "Oh, right. AFTER the pants, I'm going to max confess to Taka. Like a man!"

"Like a man," Riku drawled, a lazy fist thrusting into the air, eyes now on the TV screen.

Monta rushed towards his room, eyes flaming and heart thumping wildly. He had a real confession to make, with his eyes up and his dignity in-fucking-tact. He deserved to say everything he wanted, how he wanted.

What did he want to say? What exactly was he feeling?

Fuck if he knew, but Taka was gonna listen and like it. Like him. No way would he let Taka turn him down like this. No way.

A/N: Just one or two more chapters left! Hahaha, I hope Monta didn't give you emotional whiplash this time around.