There's nothing more aggravating than being an amateur—than doing your best to walk with new legs, aware that you're near fatally clumsy in your lack of skill as you actively push to just stay upright and not trip.

Midousuji has been distinctly aware of his shaky gait, traversing things that are basically alien to him. But human connection has its distinct results, loathe he is to admit it, when it comes to his racing. But the nature of sex and romance and friendship, more than Midousuji even previously understood on an intellectual, eye-rolling basis, has proved to be more confusing than he could have imagined. It's a little embarrassing that his pandora's box has been his own withered little black heart, and he still doesn't enjoy utilizing it this way. It's like the foreshadowing has been right under his stupid dick this whole time in some fruity little red scrawl of a heart against bright chrome.

Eyes wide and empty, Midousuji barely absorbs the tinny, chaotic beats in his ear pods, head slightly hung as his big body sways slightly along with his large cycling bag. There's a lot on his mind, but he's not letting any of that through, at the moment, in an act to preserve his energy and sanity.

He's going to Italy—tomorrow. And he's booked his flight out through Tokyo. Word's not really out, though some of his cycling friends know—not everyone on his team is great at keeping tight lip. After all, Naruko's on his own team—not a legendarily discreet person. But outside of cycling, Midousuji knows there's a good chance word hasn't gotten out all that far, and there's a similarly decent chance that Ishigaki hasn't heard. Midousuji hasn't been wanting to think of it, because of the strange frenetic pressure it wells him with; makes his limbs stiff and locked, his head hot, his heart racing, his skin balmy.

Midousuji and Ishigaki have been spending time together, here and there. Back when he was a freshman, it was once a season. Then in his next couple years, maybe once a month—with the occasional text or call, no less. Calls became more frequent. And in the last six months, so have their in-person meetings, despite the distance. Maybe twice a month. Especially as Midousuji's anxiety began to grow when he learned Ishigaki had outgrown Kyoto, and intended to stay in Tokyo; that Midousuji had taught him the world was so much bigger than Kyoto, and how Midousuji panicked when that also meant that Ishigaki's world was bigger than Midousuji. The same feeling that caused this baffling anxiety was the same thing that chased Komari into Midousuji's bed, and was the same thing that had made Midousuji decide to fly out from Tokyo instead of somewhere closer, and was the same reason he was on this train right this second.

It almost seems Ishigaki's had a taste of his own medicine, though that's not possible, if Ishigaki indeed doesn't know he's going to Italy. And even if Ishigaki was aware... well, on Midousuji's part, it's not like he's moving to Italy. But it's a long trip, far away, with odd timezones. The coincidence of the timing versus Ishigaki's recent behavior all the same feels silly, Midousuji thinks. How Ishigaki's been so in his grill about spending time together lately... It twists his stomach in equal parts embarrassment and butterflies, which in turn makes him feel nauseated with himself.

His hand twists against the hanging plastic loop used to steady its passengers, the motion squeaking under his glove.

Midousuji's aware of it now, that he desires Ishigaki. And that, in fact, he's been in love with him for a while. He didn't realize it until he worried he might have feelings for Komari—and after contemplative comparison, he realized Komari was actually standing in an embarrassingly large shadow. Worse, Midousuji realized that just before his sexual relationship with Komari tied itself off with a bow. They hadn't been fucking too often, due to the same distance, but it was still at least once a week&madsh;and the sex was intense, not to mention. Going from virginity to that sort of regular fix left Midousuji...parched, to say the least. His quiet moments with Ishigaki have been difficult to bear, which has probably made Midousuji seem terser, and quicker to end their time spent together... Maybe that was why Ishigaki was getting so clingy, and not because he caught wind that Midousuji's leaving for a few weeks.

Midousuji steps off the train at last, and politely moves his big body away from traffic, standing in front of a bench. He's had enough. Enough of this unbearable sexual tension, enough of coquettishly tiptoing around the deplorable reality of having feelings for another person, enough of the unsaid and the anxiety. Midousuji had thought about going directly to Ishigaki's, but being he has his travel bag, as well as his bike, etc... it'd be pretty embarrassing, and annoying, to show up with all his shit if Ishigaki's with his stupid friends or whatever.

After staring at his phone for a bit, he pulls his glove off by its fingertip using his teeth, and sends Ishigaki a message.

> Are you home?
> I'm in your area.

No apologies for the short notice, of course.

> Speak now, or for 3 and a half weeks, hold your peace.