Just One Cheque

     It all started with a question, simple as it was:

     “Is there a problem with your cheque, Sir?”

     No, there was no problem with the cheque, at least not directly. A single piece of transfer paper, neatly sandwiched in a leather sleeve. It read accurately to their order: two cups of coffee, one iced, one steamed, and two identical slices of cake. The amount in yen made sense, rounded up to the cent for an easy split. Both Yuta and Shinjiro had planned it all before even ordering, so in theory, there was no problem with the order: a drink and a dessert each, two items per the two people.

     And yet, there was only one cheque.

     “I’ll get it,” Shinjiro broke the silence after a heartbeat too many. Seemed that he wasn’t very keen on talking either, but was willing to bite the bullet. Yuta watched awkwardly as his friend reached to fish a card out of his wallet.

     “I’ll give you cash at the dorm,” Yuta was quick to say, “I was planning on doing card as well.”

     “Sorry, did I…?” The waitress trailed off, eyebrows furrowed. She looked surprised, for some reason, “Were you planning to split the payment?”

     “We were–” Yuta started.

     “But it’s no trouble at all,”  Shinjiro said, more gentle than he had any right to be, “My treat. Don’t worry about paying me back.”

     “Are you sure?” Yuta felt himself sinking into the chair. Shinjiro nodded with a subtle smile.

     “Oh,” the waitress said one, then again, as if for good measure, “Oh! That’s my bad! I’m really sorry. If you wait for me some five minutes, I can bring back separate cheques if you want–”

     “No need,” Shinjiro cut her off, “We should get going, anyways. And again, it’s no trouble.”

     “Still– So, so sorry,” The waitress bowed her apology, then croaked out an embarrassed, “I– I assumed you were a couple is all.”

     Now it was Yuta’s turn, to breathe out an “Oh.”
     
     He guessed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, considering the spot they had chosen to dine in: The Chagall Cafe. For Yuta and Shinjiro, it was a small haven through the bustling halls of Paulownia Mall, perfect in every way for a myriad of reasons– most importantly the proximity to the dorms and the quiet afternoons. The drinks and baked goods were pretty high quality as well, and on rainy days like these, they were the perfect way to study for a midterm exam.

     Shinjiro had been the one to introduce Yuta to it, more than a year in the past. The chocolate cake had come highly recommended, and once Yuta had tried it, he had been hooked. The textured cafe walls, the blue sofa chairs, and the marble floors, all were as familiar and comforting as Shinjiro himself. Yuta considered it his favorite spot in town to pass the time.

     And he wasn’t the only one. Perhaps it was the chocolate cake as well, perhaps it wasn’t– but lots of students held the small establishment in similar regards. The Chagall Cafe was a popular couples’ spot. It wasn’t rare to see lots of couples sharing treats on first and recurrent dates alike. Until that moment Yuta had never considered that, by mere presence alone, Yuta and Shinjiro could give the appearance of fitting into that category.

     The blonde wriggled where he sat, struggling to keep himself still. The awkwardness was still palpable around the room, and the waitress’ embarrassment was very poorly hidden. Still, the thought of the misunderstanding wasn’t heavy on his shoulders. On the contrary– there was a warm feeling blooming inside Yuta’s chest. He gave Shinjiro a small, sheepish smile, inviting him to laugh it off.

     If Shinjiro noticed, he didn’t smile back.

     “No harm done,” he said instead, with an unreadable expression. He was holding the leather sleeve, his credit card snug within it, “Please if you could do the terminal. And add a ten percent.”

     The waitress kept apologizing almost the entire time she ran Shinjiro’s card. Her face was pink and flushed– Yuta hoped her blush would distract Shinji from his own.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

     “I need to talk to you,” Shinjiro stated, blunt as he ever was.

     He stood in Yuta’s doorway, still wearing his uniform despite the time on the clock. It had been a couple of hours since they returned from the Mall– why hadn’t Shinjiro changed into house clothes already?

     “Shinji–” Yuta started shoulders tensing up. As members of SEES, when things got serious within their line of work, they got ugly. Atlas rumbled something in the back of Yuta’s head.

     “Everything’s okay,” the man cut him up before Yuta could finish his sentence. He tended to do that, act as if he could read Yuta’s mind, “I just need to talk to you.”

     “... right,” he said as if he had been expecting that answer.

     Shinjiro had acted strange ever since their return to the dorm. The walk from Paulownia was usually ambiance by casual conversation. The weather was pleasant enough for chit-chat, with the signature warmth of Summer softened up by earlier rain. As with everything around Shinjiro’s presence, there was an easiness to the way Yuta started a conversation, talking about everything and nothing all the same.

     To Shinjiro’s credit, he had participated in the dialogue, but his response time had been off. His eyes kept wandering, hands tucked into his pockets,  mind somewhere else. Maybe he was tired, so Yuta hadn’t pressed. They said goodnight, had mentioned something about the upcoming school day, and parted ways into their rooms.

     Maybe Yuta should have pressed, if this midnight visit was any indication.

     “Do you want to come in?” he asked, stepping aside to make a clear pathway toward his room. Clean, as Yuta liked it, except for the mythology books sprawled across his bed. Light bedtime reading, he liked to call it.

     Shinjiro seemed to ponder over the question for a second. He had been inside Yuta’s dorm room countless times before, yet he almost looked uncomfortable with the possibility. Despite his earlier reassurances, the expression on his face only heightened Yuta’s nerves.

     “Come in,” he decided, and it was no longer a question. Whatever this was, it was weighing on Shinjiro more than either of them expected, and Yuta knew how valuable privacy would be for that, “Please, Shinji.”

     The nickname came out easy, familiar as it was. Shinjiro must have thought the same because slowly, he relented. Yuta followed him with his gaze from the doorway, closing the door behind them. He had expected Shinjiro to take a seat where he usually did, close to the foot of Yuta’s bed, but the man remained standing.

     “Is everything okay?” Now it seemed important, to verbalize the question.

     “Yes,” Shinjiro answered with a sigh, “I just wanted to apologize.”

     “... apologize?”

     “For what happened in the cafe,” he paused as if bracing himself for something. Yuta didn’t speak, so he added,  “What the waiter said. I’m sorry.”

     The whole cheque thing? Couldn’t possibly be the fact that they paid on one card. Yuta, still confused, went through the entire interaction in his head. There was nothing Shinjiro had done or said to make him uncomfortable. despite the waitress thinking they were–

     “Oh,” Yuta mumbled, for lack of a better word. That expression seemed awfully popular that day, “No, you don’t need to apologize for that.”

     “I do,” Shinji insisted. He was quiet, but stubborn as ever.

     There was a blush creeping up Yuta’s face, triggered by a sudden realization. Just like that, words started pouring out before he could help them, “I mean, I don’t mind. No harm done, and I appreciate your handling the situation! I’m just bad with words, but it didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was a silly misunderstanding is all–”

     “No, Yuta, you don’t get it,” Shinjiro interrupted with a snap, and he sounded angry. Might have spoken louder than the man expected, because Shinjiro’s shoulders cringed and recoiled with fight or flight. And yet he continued talking, “I owe you an apology. You don’t deserve– you don’t deserve that.”

     “Wait… sorry?” Yuta mumbled out.

     Shinjiro opened his mouth to continue, but no sound came out, as if suddenly running out of steam. Instead, he looked more tired than ever.

     For longer than they should, they stared at each other and did nothing else.  Yuta felt himself grasping at straws, still very much lost on how the conversation had come to be. Shinjiro was now dead silent, his anger having left just as fast as it had arrived. The whiplash of the cold shoulder stirred something uncomfortable inside Yuta’s gut.

     “Again,” Shinjiro said after a while, “Sorry.”

     With a heavy sigh and a dropped gaze, he turned to leave.

     Tripping over himself, Yuta rushed to catch onto Shinjiro’s hand, “Wait, please–”

     “Yuta–”

     “Why are you apologizing?” He was hurrying to pick up pieces of their conversation, but Yuta couldn’t help but feel he was missing at least half the context, “Because she thought you and I were dating? It’s no big deal. I mean–”

     “Yuta,” Shinjiro’s response was careful as if he was considering his words, “Because she thought you and I were dating.”

     Realization hit Yuta like a brick to the head. He thought back to his friend’s silence on the walk to the dorm, to the way he had been distracted by his thoughts. That small misunderstanding at Chagall, mundane as it was, had acted as a catalyst of sorts.  

     Because Shinjiro didn’t have a problem with them as a couple, but with himself as a partner.

     Shinjiro Aragaki held a presence that, when entering any room, was hard to ignore: Stoic expression, defensive poise, and voice low, dangerous. At Gekkoukan High, he was regarded as a delinquent– though the exact reason why was still up for debate. Some claimed it came from his looks, hair always disheveled, hiding his gaze. Others faulted his demeanor, quiet enough to be borderline apathetic as if the people around him were not worthy enough to hear him speak. Rumors as to why spread like wildfire, crazy theories, wrongful assumptions, impossible to avoid.

     Yuta considered himself oblivious in social settings, but even he had caught wind of the gossip. It was merciless in its attack, with a power born through misinformation that fueled nothing but hatred. Hatred of Shinjiro’s peers, labeling him as an outcast. Hatred of society at large, deeming him a criminal–

     A hatred Shinjiro felt for himself.

     That was the worst part. True or not, Shinjiro had started to believe them. Yuta had once been entrusted with Shinjiro’s past, his ball and chain, and everything had started to make sense. There was a wall he put around himself, a sight that he let others judge him based on.

     Yuta could see right through it, of course. They had known each other for the better part of three years, and their relationship had grown with every second. Classmates and friends, within Gekkoukan walls. Founding members of SEES, and fierce allies while exploring the Midnight Hour. Partners in everything but name, confidants at a level deeper than Yuta had ever experienced with anyone else. Their relationship was based on trust, on being comfortable around each other, and overall, on lowering those walls put up for the outside world. When it was Yuta and Shinjiro, no one else mattered– and that is how Yuta had gotten to know Shinjiro on such a personal level.

     He was unwavering in his kindness, regardless of what others thought of him. Selfless, loyal, but strong enough to lead. Attentive, caring, reliable, and always willing to lend a helping hand. Yuta’s life was plagued with a constant fear of unbalance, but Shinjiro faded it away– It was impressive how calm he felt when around him. His presence was like a blanket, warm and steady around Yuta’s shoulders. Ever since becoming Shinjiro’s friend, since knowing the true him, Yuta had sworn he’d be the same for him. He’d fight whatever he needed to to make Shinjiro feel safe.

     Easier said than done, of course. Especially when Shinjiro’s biggest enemy seemed to be himself.

     “This is stupid,” Shinjiro said, and it was then that Yuta realized he’d been lost in thought, failing to give him an answer. The silence made him cringe harder than it had before, and if Shinjiro’s expression was any indication, he was just as uncomfortable.

     “Not stupid,” Yuta scrambled to amend, “Shinji, there’s– I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it. I, uh. Like guys, so. I’m not– ”

     “It’s not that,” Shinjiro waved the statement off. A dismissive response, considering Yuta was coming out for the first time, but neither of them seemed too preoccupied with that, “People shouldn’t assume you like people like me. ”

     “Shinji,” Yuta deadpanned, voice going dry, “it was just one person–”

     “For now,” Shinjiro stated, firm in his argument, “Do we really spend that much time together that people are starting to talk? It was a waitress– And then what? Someone in school, who will make your life hell? We are in our last year of high school– how will this affect your reputation if you want to get into college?”

     “What does that have to do with this?!” Yuta squawked out.

     “Everything, Yuta. I will not let my reputation tank yours. And that’s final. It’s not fair to you, Yuta. You don’t deserve something like that. You don’t deserve–”

     Even unsaid, ‘Someone like me’ hung heavy in the air, and Yuta could not do anything to stop it.

     The blond shook his head, panicked with the way this conversation was going. They were going in circles, and so far, Yuta hadn’t managed a single productive argument to make a dent in their conversation. For your own good, was what Shinjiro was promising. How good could a pain like this be?

     “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he insisted, gritting his teeth in an attempt not to sound upset, “Shinji, listen, there is nothing wrong with you.”

     Shinjiro had the nerve to laugh.

     “Get serious,” Yuta suddenly snapped, frantic. Silence fell heavily around them, and it felt horrible as it clung to his skin.

     “... maybe we do spend too much time together,” Shinjiro finally said, squeezing Yuta’s hand, signaling he was letting it go, “You don’t deserve to be treated like me.”

     Yuta felt like his heart was being squeezed, too, “I’m not afraid of any of that, okay?”

     “I am,” the man growled, running a hand through his hair. His beanie came along with it, leaving his bangs a tangled mess, “I can’t have you being hurt because of me. All I do is hurt people.”

     “I don’t care about being hurt,” Yuta insisted.

     “There is no reason to, Yuta. There’s no reason for you to suffer because of me. I care too much about you.”

     As if that was a proper end to the conversation, Shinjiro turned on his heel and headed towards the exit. Like hell– Yuta’s body acted on instinct, knowing this had become a race against time. As fast as he could physically move, his back was slammed against the door, body protecting the doorknob.

     “You can’t do this to me,” he said, voice watery, “You can’t leave with that. I need you to understand, I don’t–”

     “Kawada–,” he started, voice dangerous. The false bravado of a wounded animal showing teeth, “Get out of my way.”

     He was losing him. The more steps Shinjiro took toward the door, the more his friendship was slipping off of his fingers. The thought of losing what they had felt worse than any wound he had ever received, threatening to slash a rip in his heart Yuta would never be able to fix. He couldn’t lose Shinjiro, his best friend. His–

     “I like you,” Yuta blurted out. The implication of that statement hit him like a train, but there was no noticeable change in Shinjiro’s expression– maybe he didn’t realize them, maybe he didn’t care.

     “You’re my friend,” he dragged that last word, as if it physically pained him, “Of course you like me. And I’ve done nothing to deserve that.”

     Yuta felt like laughing. This was intrinsically Shinjiro at his core– to face a personal, problem, so painful and raw that it was shaking him to this extent, and immediately thinking about protecting others. But Yuta didn’t need protecting. He didn’t need to be Shinjiro’s priority, not like this– because damn it, Yuta was witnessing Shinjiro’s spirit fizzle out with self-doubt, and no amount of Yuta’s desperate talking seemed to do the trick to fix it.

     Because Shinjiro just wasn’t listening.

     Suddenly, he could see the answer to his conundrum, clear as day. And oddly enough, for a man whose life was always tethered to the edge of anxiety, he felt calmer than he had in months. Three seconds, of deafening silence. Two steps, to break the distance. One single leap of faith–

     And Yuta would make him listen.

     Personal space was something sacred to someone like Yuta. Physical things had an order and a place, so it was no wonder he was uncomfortable when people decided against it. A too-sudden slap on the back, an awkward side-hug, an impromptu handshake– Yuta avoided contact with others like it was the plague. He often saw the expression of personal bubble being thrown around like a metaphor, but it made sense to him as a literal, though intangible thing. Whenever he found himself too close for comfort, something inside him would burst, and a sense of anxiety would clog his throat and numb his body. Yuta’s space was his, and anything but was sacrilegious.

     Of course– and as he often was– Shinjiro was the only exception. There was no hesitation as Yuta broke Shinjiro’s bubble, considering proximity a necessary asset in his plan. Yuta charged forward with the same ferocity as he did in battle. The impact tumbled Shinjiro back, but his reflexes were as solid as Yuta counted on– instead of falling to the floor, Yuta found himself being steadied, then within hair’s length from his friend's face.

     “What the–”

     “No, you don’t!” Yuta barked, tired of being talked over. As his hand struggled to find a place to hold onto, he settled on grabbing Shinjiro’s cheeks and squeezing. The man stared back, that cool and collected mask shattering through sheer confusion. Dumbfounded, sure. But finally quiet.

     “I like you,” he declared, more confident than he ever had been in his entire life– Or at least, that’s what he hoped he did. It was hard to know what his voice sounded like when all Yuta could hear was his heartbeat, drumming in his ear.

     Shinjiro stared back, blankly, as if he had forgotten how to speak. Yuta squeezed his friend's cheeks harder, and pressed on,

     “More than a friend, I like you. I’ve liked you for years. And it’s not because of anything you did– Rather, it’s not because of something you did or didn’t. It’s because of who you are.”

     “Yuta–”

     “Let me finish,” Yuta barked out. He was determined to see this through, “You are the kindest man I know! You’re interesting, you’re kind, you’re smart– you are also incredibly handsome– but what’s most important, you make me feel comfortable. My life is stupidly unpredictable, but you make it predictable– in the best of ways! You make it secure because no matter what’s going on, I know that I can count on you–”

     You always listen when I need to, you always make me laugh, and you make me feel safe. I know you would never hurt me, and you wanna know why? You wanna know my reason? I would go to hell and back for you, Shinjiro Aragaki.

     “Yuta.”

     “I said let me finish! You always listen when I need to, you always make me laugh, and you make me feel safe. I don’t care about people say, because I’m proud of you. I’m proud of being seen close to you, of being close to you. And I’m not scared! I know you would never hurt me, and you wanna know why? You wanna know my reason? Shinjiro Aragaki, I would do anything for you. You have no idea how much I lo–”

     Shinjiro did not, in fact, let him finish.

     Yuta froze when their lips brushed together, ghosting warmth breath over their skin. He leaned forward in instinct, a resounding yes to a question that had not been asked. Yuta had never kissed anyone before, but he found the moment to be as pleasant as people described it.

     Up close, he could smell Shinjiro’s scent– coffee and chocolate, still clinging to him like a stubborn perfume–and it was so sweet that Yuta felt the need to melt into the embrace. Shinjiro’s hand made its way around Yuta’s neck, both to steady the blonde and to hold him in place. There was a certain type of hesitance from Shinjiro’s touch as if he was scared Yuta would push him away. A silly thought, Yuta thought in delirious amusement. He was too drunk on the taste of Shinjiro’s lips to want anything but.

     The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity, a moment tailor-made just for them. By the time their lips parted, and the two had caught their breath, Shinjiro was looking straight at him for the first time that evening– and Yuta found a warmth that wasn’t there before. The ice from their previous conversation, weighing heavy on both their shoulders, had finally melted away.

     Yuta felt proud. A selfish thought, in a way, but a euphoric one nonetheless. So long, had Shinjiro been a presence of comfort in Yuta’s life. He was proud to return the favor– a space space, for his safe space.

     “Oh,” was the first thing Shinjiro said.

“Yeah,” Yuta couldn’t agree more, “Oh.”

     “For someone so quiet,” Shinjiro commented with a smile, “You sure talk a lot.”

     “Uh, well, I…” Yuta said, choking on his words. Would have come up with a more eloquent answer, if not kissed stupid, “I meant every word I said.”

     Shinjiro reached to brush his thumb across his lover’s cheek. A small, affectionate gesture, that had Yuta’s legs turn jelly all the same.

     “Are you sure about that?,” Shinjiro asked, out of hopeful, genuine wonder.

     So Yuta steadied himself with a breath in, breath out. Shinjiro’s gaze meets his, and his heart is right there, just for him.

     “Never been more sure of anything,” Yuta declared, and the words were as true as the love between them.

     Shinjiro sealed Yuta’s words as a promise, kissing him again. It was short and sweet, more a peck than anything, but Yuta did not care. There it was again, chocolate and coffee. Maybe he’d drag Shinjiro to Chagall more often, to keep that smell forever.

     Absentmided, he found himself saying, “By the way, I still owe you for the cheque.”

     Shinjiro laughed at that. A rare little treat, to hear him laugh, that Yuta was determined to treasure.

     “I said to not worry about it.”

     Yuta stuck his tongue out, “Fine, then I’ll pay next time we’re out.”

     “Sounds like a date to me,” Shinjiro’s smile widened.

     “Yeah,” Yuta smiled too, “It’s a date.”