for gamanyeah

[discarding]

For months, Midousuji had pushed himself as hard as he could.

Physically, of course, but there were other limits to experiment with. Less comfortable, less familiar. Midousuji Akira has never been against doing whatever he has to to win, including fighting dirty—deploying sabotage, instigating physical harm, forcing himself beyond his own limits to the point of injury time and time again... but included, a stone unturned, was what Midousuji had considered to be unfathomable. The worst thing—the thing he scoffed at and mocked the most. Connections with other people. Deriving strength from them.

Funnily, the person who Midousuji would be, traditionally, most apt to ignore, had instead somehow became the one person he found he'd listen to—quietly, without acknowledgement, but it came to that none-the-less. Someone whose presence he could sense even when he was out cold, and sometimes, someone whose voice would leak around and into the crevices of his mind like sticky, honey-sweet and vile ichor in that same state.

Ishigaki told Midousuji what his weakness was, and initially, Midousuji could barely recall. And once it came around to him, turning in his brain, his blood boiled with anger—because Ishigaki—always there, persistent, whether Midousuji wanted it or liked it or not—not only because he trusted Ishigaki's word, but because his advice and criticism were from such a place of human standard that Midousuji couldn't relate to. Couldn't understand. Who could he rely on? For whom could he possibly find inspiration to pull? How was tying your strengths into the wills of other people, with emptier weight and less stake in the game, supposed to make you stronger?

But Midousuji, nonetheless, toiled towards this goal, and hated every second of it—it was like breaking his every bone by hand himself, and splinting, forcing them to regrow incorrectly. And through the entire process, his thoughts furiously turned, burning around Ishigaki. He hadn't even realized that Ishigaki, at that point, had been his most trusted resource; the source of what would be the deciding factor to his goal.

What he was relying on.

And, in turn, what gave him strength; Midousuji's eyes were wide, almost in disbelief when he'd not only passed the finish line in first on the third day of the 43rd, and, Midousuji's final, Interhigh. By his own merits, to no one's surprise, of course including Midousuji's, he'd taken a victory for Kyofushi in the first day, dominating the sprint course. Midousuji had always placed well. But with that missing piece finally in place, mind and body numb and buzzing, Midousuji had taken the final victory he'd so sought after. The victory that was his make or break—the piece to be taken and settled, to determine if he'd continue as pro, and to in turn, some day, work towards Tour de France.

It was true that Midousuji had struggled, with success, to put more trust in place of his team, still strictly trained and regimented as ever... but primarily, he'd been pulling because of Ishigaki. With his head stuffed to capacity with thoughts of him. Inadvertently, though it nauseated Midousuji to acknowledge it, Ishigaki had been the reason why he pulled, and had been the one who shaped Midousuji to his final form. The victor.

Kyoto Fushimi had talked amongst themselves about their surprise regarding Midousuji's reaction—the look of disbelief. And it did seem strange—Midousuji was confident, and self assured. But they misdiagnosed the nature of his surprise. It wasn't the victory itself, but more its reason.

And that reason was Ishigaki.

Once passed finish, Midousuji's arms fell heavily after his triumphant, ecstatic posing, his elbows bruising against the handlebars of his bike. In disbelief, his head hung, jaw slung slightly open, his lungs burning as he panted heavily through a dry, sore throat, watching as his sweat pelt his shaking arms. He was spent—empty, totally drained, as always, since he always pushed himself to or past his limits... but there was something else present that day.

Midousuji felt he could barely walk, though it was more than exhaustion—he managed to get over his stupified shock with a snap of his teeth (after some time of his team wondering in hushed, worried mumbling if he was okay, having expected he'd be more excited for their win), all grins after that. And to his surprise, though he didn't want to belabor the fact, he was proud of them, too. Also a bit of an unusual feeling—but Midousuji was able to assuage his nerves about it, because evolution was the only way to ensure victory. This just wasn't a form he was used to. They were just feelings he'd never felt, before.

And that numbing, preoccupying buzzing in his head about Ishigaki didn't cease that night. Midousuji barely slept, staring off into the darkness aimlessly for hours, despite his exhaustion. It carried on that way for weeks, actually.

Here and there, days and nights, Midousuji had found himself distantly fussing about it. Ishigaki was in Tokyo, and he'd soon be graduating. He might have returned to Kyoto, at that point, and Midousuji felt queasy at the way the thought made his heart stutter and his stomach lurch, unable to recognize it as a sort of excitement inspired by hope. He just quantified it as what he could understand: a gross distraction. His instinct to things like that, given that they're 1) uncomfortable, and most unforgivably, 2) distracting, had always been to amputate them at their inception. Keep his heart cold and comfortable, but he knew now that wasn't beneficial to his growth.

Yes, evolution had gotten more of his attention and care as a goal than growth, and in this time frame after the 43rd Interhigh, Midousuji realized this. Emptily, distracted, Midousuji went through the motions of his graduation, of exams, and realized without that amputation, to rid himself of the preoccupation... there had to be some kind of action. With Ishigaki. His unexpected trump card, and unexpected resource of strength. The person who'd earned his respect. Midousuji had initially been dismissive of him, since he seemed so standard on the surface—someone beautiful to the point of being unremarkable, someone charming, sensitive, and all the rest of Midousuji that he holds in contempt as the antithesis to his own design.

But gradually, Midousuji realized other things—that no matter what, whether he likes it or not, Ishigaki can, and will, see Midousuji. And since his late mother, no one else ever has. Not only did Ishigaki see Midousuji, but he persisted in pursuit of Midousuji's benefit. Not only all of that nonsense, but Ishigaki was actually sharp. He was analytical, and Midousuji finally realized, at the end of the day, he couldn't argue with Ishigaki's logic; they both wanted the same thing, and they both, disturbingly, had similar versions of the same perspective.

Strangely, it's come to the point where Ishigaki just makes sense. Which is why Midousuji is currently in his fourth week of hissing through his teeth, smacking his head against walls, rubbing his dry palms excessively in speed and force across his face, screaming—whenever his mind works itself up into enough of a frenzy about it. About him. This is compounded by the gradually dawning realization that after all that realization, the occupying of his head...

If Ishigaki doesn't go pro, or if Ishigaki doesn't decide to stay in Kyoto, what reason is Midousuji really going to have to see him again? The real answer is that you can hit people up you like for any reason and hang out with them and that's acceptable and normal, but Midousuji is in such unfamiliar territory around that concept, and also so disgusted by himself for it, that this plain, basic social knowledge is completely out of his reach for consideration.

He's thought about it, of course—but he doesn't know how to broach it, much less what his own feelings around it even are. Even looking at Ishigaki's name in his contact list just sends him into a fit, so there's just simply no progress to be had there.

So... instead, not that Midousuji thinks it's a better idea to just... lurk around Tokyo, like some skittish ghoul deadset on haunting what he doesn't comprehend to be his object of boyish infatuation. Midousuji is clumsy, and more than simply standout—he's aware he has no scope of stealth. He's tall enough to stand out in a crowd, distinctly broad-shouldered, and with a face and expression so uniquely vacant and haunting that there's probably only one other person with the same features, being his genetic contributor who he's never met.

So Midousuji keeps distance, peering from behind walls or things like poles, trying to keep his posture low in a hunch where his height may be too conspicuous...

His intention was to meet up with Ishigaki by chance, having some vague idea of his usual haunts and habits from social media (of which Midousuji has vague, blank accounts, and no activity)... but then, having seen Ishigaki, confirming his brilliant, strategic thinking, Midousuji was immediately so overwhelmed by nerves and disgust that he couldn't just approach Ishigaki. He hadn't thought about how to pull it off as incidental. And honestly, having no idea of how to pull that off, Midousuji had thought he could just assertively approach him without such pretense...

...but all at once, just immediately, so uncharacteristically, every ounce of his nerve had left him.

Midousuji doesn't recognize himself, and it's Ishigaki's fault. Midousuji squints resentfully at the back of Ishigaki's head, tucked behind a phone pole semi-conspicuously, partially obscured with the addition of other visual clutter that can be expected on the busy streets of Tokyo, near Ishigaki's apartment. To which he's never been. But he knows the area, based on stalking observation.

How gross... So gradually, reaching inside of Midousuji, so subtly manipulating his insides that Midousuji didn't even notice, changing him... He feels a little angry about it, but knows he can't be ungrateful; he got what he wanted, which was victory.

So what else is it, then? What is he doing?? What exactly does he want?

Stupid Ishigaki.

"Groossssssss," he exhales slowly in a low, almost inaudible rasp.

Comments

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki steps out of his apartment, coffee gripped in his hand, unmindfully making his way down the stairs. The noise of cars and taxis flying past in the distance is deafening, and his head throbs. It was finals week, and with the aid of caffeine and cold showers between cramming, he managed to make it through another night.

A car alarm going off near the neighboring building snaps him back to reality for a moment. With heavy eyelids, he scans the street in front of him. Sometimes in desperation, like in this moment, he finds himself searching the crowds in Tokyo in hopes to find a face- architecture- anything he could recognize. But there was nothing. Not a single sense of familiarity. For a city so overstimulating he couldn’t help but feel that it was, to him, lifeless.

There wasn’t any striking scenery passed the surrounding buildings he could spot- his apartment was too low to the ground to get any breathtaking views. Back in Kyoto it was recognizably surrounded by mountains, making its winters unfriendly and summers unbearable, but at very least, it was scenic. The air isn't sweet here either like home was. It smells of prominent gasoline, body odor and fried food.

He had no idea when his train of thoughts started to become so negative. It was just a tough week, he told himself. Just another tough week. Is this what it’s like being an adult?

He takes another sip of his canned coffee. It's lukewarm and sour.

“It’s okay, you’ve endured worse,” he thinks to himself, taking in a long breath and fixing his posture. “You’re almost done with school. You’re bettering your future! Hayato and Fukutomi are going through the same thing. Tokyo’s not the same, but you’re not alone. This is how it should be. Yeah... just endure it. Endure it.”

After a moments pep talk- something Ishigaki found himself doing on the daily- he continues walking. Nonchalantly checking his phone’s notifications, recalling what he stayed up all night teaching himself, how his bed his waiting for him once this is all over with, thanking whatever higher being aligned the stars for him not to have practice today... A passerby interrupts his thoughts by bumping into his side- he looks over his shoulder at their offended expression- but he’s not coherent enough to do anything but smile awkwardly. They walk away, and Ishigaki stands there, his eyes catching a vague figure in the distance not too far from his apartment complex. He squints.

Their eyebrows lifted, and he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, as if he had just spotted a yokai. Which, one would think, with seeing eyes that hollow and wide, and a complexion that looked like it had never seen the sun. Despite the other being hidden away- if that's what they were attempting- they had a frame so odd but undoubtedly acquainted him of home. Broad shoulders and thin hips, making their form triangular, accompanied by a pose that looked just as stiff as his face...

“Midousuji...?” Once the gears in his head started to finally turn, the words left his lips at that same moment. In Tokyo? How long had it even been since they spoke face to face- months? A year almost...? His pulse picked up- blood rushing to his ears- and he steps forward with an arm raised. "Oi, Midousuji!"

[discarding]

Midousuji's every horrible fiber and cell locks and tenses, his posture becoming (more) rigid, yanked out of his slouched posture as his eyes fly open wider yet, his teeth setting in a hard clench as he sucks in a shrill, croaking gasp. He's been spotted. Of course he has!! How could he be so stupid?? What is he doing?!

Midousuji turns suddenly to flee, but is simultaneously so distracted by seeing Ishigaki in the flesh for the first time in so long—that Midousuji actually just ends up turning with an awkward abruptness like he skipped a few frames per second, his speed and carelessness resulting in him smacking his head against the very pole he was hiding behind, resulting in a strangled squawk. Midousuji stumbles backwards, clutching his forehead, and he lifts his head just as abruptly as he'd hit his head in the first place, screaming as he kicks at the pole angrily.

Yep. Productive redirection of that energy. And a welcome distraction.

But, unfortunately, self awareness finds Midousuji again as he's awkwardly hunched, still clutching his forehead. Hesitantly, at a complete fucking loss at what to do or to say, Midousuji turns his head slowly to face Ishigaki from his hiked, bony shoulder. The way his head turns is like that of an old ball joint doll, its round hinge grimy and in need of a clean.

"...hhHHH."

Okay, well. That's the best he can do at present, apparently.

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki takes a deep breath and winces at that, utterly unprepared to see Midousuji so... out of character, almost. Midousuji was confident and- not graceful exactly- but each movement he made had a reason behind it, and it was usually to intimidate. But the way he expressed himself was always honest in the end, much like now, so he couldn't be too surprised. 

On very rare occasions Midousuji would do something disproportionate to the usual- tripping over equipment, stuttering during his speeches- but none of the other team members dared to bat an eye. Ishigaki treasured those slip ups, though. It reminded him at the end of the day, Midousuji was human. Something no one else wanted to admit. 

Ishigaki holds down an awkward laugh as best as he could, giving Midousuji a moment to recollect himself before heading over.
 
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. It's just... nice to see you." He admits, attempting to steady his voice as to not seem as eager as he really was. "Are you okay?"

[discarding]

"..."

Midousuji's eyebrows furrow incredulously, hands finally leaving his red forehead, jaw dropping as he scowls in confusion.

"Haaa??"

How was that a normal reaction? Even Midousuji knew what he was doing was weird, and inappropriate—but it also felt like it was his only avenue available per his limitations...Which probably wasn't true, but honestly, Midousuji doesn't know his own ass from his hand in these situations. His chest flutters, stomach twisting in a way that's nauseating, thrilling, and frightening at the same time. His response to that tight, strange feeling is to exhale heavily from his nostrils, turning his head away with a hard scowl as he edges his lightless irises to the corners of his eyes, staring at Ishigaki in a way that would appear aloof to the untrained eye. To those who know Midousuji well enough, of course, it's not just dismissive; it's actually just shy.

"What are you so worried about starling me for?" Midousuji can't admit directly that Ishigaki should be worried for himself, since Midousuji was...stalking him... But maybe that's not perchance so obvious at this juncture. Maybe Midousuji was passing through, and wasn't sure it was Ishigaki that had caught his eye!

...Unlikely...

Why did he do this? Fuck. He has to escape.

Then Ishigaki says it's nice to see him, and Midousuji's pupils contract to near pinpricks, his scowl deepening hard enough for the cords of his neck to pull and protrude, and he feels a sweat break out across his flesh, subtly, here and there.

"Nice...t-to—?" to see him? What?

Midousuji turns his head away abruptly; his spine suddenly bends at a forcible angle away from Ishigaki, yanking down both of his eyelids, eyes rolled upward as his knees buckle akimbo.

"Grosssss...!! Gross, Ishigaki-kun!! Agh!"

Midousuji rubs his face, huffing heavily, and seems to calm down a bit, because he stops screaming, or moving frenetically. But, he's frozen in place, bent in that same awkward, severe pose. He feels like he can't even look at Ishigaki. He's too brilliant; too radiant. Too bright, too sparkly. Since when did it get like that? Did something change, or Midousuji only just come to notice? His heart is racing, like his life is under threat. And it really feels like it, too. He's not positive he isn't gonna die.

"...Of course I'm fine. I just—I wanted—I..."

Wow. He can't even say it. He can't even get close.

[gamanyeah]

"I know, I know. I just didn't know when I'd get to see you again." Ishigaki admits.

Midousuji's accent was oh-so-comforting, and despite him putting on a show in front of Ishigaki, he finds his shoulders relaxing at the familiarity  As much as he would like to think Midousuji had matured as a third year now, he still liked making everything as dramatic as possible, didn't he? 

Bewildered that what he thinks he sees is Midousuji's ears flushed a nice shade of pink before he hides his face away, Ishigaki's heart twists up, giving a few off-beat pumps that almost make him dizzy. Was he that embarrassed? That was new, he thought, but he quickly tucked that fluttery feeling away for another time. If Midousuji thought what he had just said was gross, well, then what he actually felt would be revolting.

Ishigaki lets Midousuji stammer for a moment as he redirects his own thinking elsewhere, hoping a reply would come, but it never does.

"Ah," Ishigaki says, his thoughts clicking together finally, "you're here to check out Meiso aren't you? 

midousuji: thank you for this pass to be a shithead

[discarding]

Didn't know when he could see Midousuji again...

Midousuji blinks behind the shield of his thin hands. That makes sense. Midousuji of course feels similar, and Ishigaki probably has no idea that Midousuji wants to see Ishigaki, so it's not like Ishigaki knows he can just contact or approach Midousuji directly without some purpose behind it. And wouldn't you know? Ishigaki has opened up an opportunity with his next question for Midousuji to reveal just that: to go no, I actually just wanted to be near you, that some outside factor doesn't need to be the facilitator...

...so of course, naturally, Midousuji doesn't do that, though it does pop to mind. But like hell if he's going to admit something so vulnerable. Something so gross. Especially when Midousuji doesn't fully understand it himself! The opportunity Midousuji sees as presented is a convenient out; an escape from the panic that had become onset from being put on the spot about something he (somehow) wasn't prepared to deal with.

He lifts his head, fingertips at his chin, slightly pulling down his lower lip as he blinks at Ishigaki.

"Yes," Midousuji lies easily, and immediately. "Meisou."

He tilts his head, straightening up a bit, the ruse giving him the confidence he so direly needs to not spontaneously explode on the spot. His eyes narrow a bit, and because the ruse feels more characteristic for him in general—like if this was anyone but Ishigaki, this would of course be the case, and it's easy to imagine, to slip into the role—and his head slowly tilts to one side. Midousuji's finger hooks his mask, pulling it under his chin. A complete recovery, like Midousuji didn't just make a total clown of himself by slamming his forehead (still a little red) into a the pole he was (badly) hiding behind.

"After all, you may be leaving soon, but I'm just about to enter university, and I intend to compete." Midousuji grows a slow, sneaky smile, looking mischievous. Yes. This makes sense more than the reality, being that Midousuji was drawn to Ishigaki's physical presence out of overwhelming gratitude and appreciation he doesn't know how to quantify or parse. He does...at some point...want to talk about the 43rd Interhigh; his victory achieved. Ishigaki had come to see Kyoto Fushimi race, and had seen Midousuji's win. That bore a hole in Midousuji as well, the fact preoccupying him and frenzying his mind and feelings like all the other things. Ishigaki always came to oversee his former teammates; now, there'd be no familiar faces. Those of Midousuji's years were the last one. "Meisou is a well repudiated team, especially having absorbed one of Kyoto Fushimi's among the ranks of Hakone titans; it's important to get a bit of an edge."

Midousuji's fingers daintily cover the straight lines of his teeth framed by his impish smile, shoulders hiking with a childish, light laugh.

"Though I'm not sure how quickly you'd sell out your team's secrets, especially since you aren't quite done yet... That'd be pretty naughty of you. Who is Ishigaki Koutarou-kun more loyal to: Kyoto Fushimi's Midousuji Akira-kun, or his nice pals from Meisou~?"

Re: midousuji: thank you for this pass to be a shithead

[gamanyeah]

"You as competition...?" Ishigaki thinks out loud, his expression softening as they manage to get a conversation rolling, and Midousuji slips into his customary routine. "Well, I guess that is worrying." 

Meisou a worthy component? Of course it would be, but... to hear it out loud- it was nice. Ishigaki grasped at that compliment, if that's really what it was. That intention was doubtful, but it didn't hurt to pretend, did it? Even if Ishigaki was unsure if he had ever gotten through to him- if there was an impact on the other's life- or if Midousuji's success was from his talent and that alone. But for Midousuji to think of the team Ishigaki helped build these past few years, maybe that was enough to satisfy his own desperation. 

"You make it sound like I can't say no to you." And he was half right. If this were a few years ago Ishigaki wouldn't have ever been in the position where he could decline his request. He cursed himself for even having to give a second thought to that question.

Ishigaki, in the midst of being teased, notices that his own neck is craned up more than he remembers it ever being. It was clear Midousuji was towering over him. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that he had grown... he wasn't that 15 year old boy anymore, but jeez- hadn't he been tall enough? He shifts his gaze- being unable to bring himself to make eye contact with being tantalized on top of that, but he continued on.

"I can show you around, but that's about it. I mean, with what you already achieved this year, you might not have much to worry too hard about, right?" 

[discarding]

"I was hoping that was the case," Midousuji responds too bluntly with an airy, drawled cadence, smiling meanly with his squinting eyes down at Ishigaki. Yes, Midousuji's always been fond of Ishigaki's obedience—but particularly, because Ishigaki didn't fear him. Ishigaki had grown to respect and understand Midousuji, and so when he obeyed Midousuji's bullying whims, it was either simply out of a desire to accommodate, or because he was seeing eye to eye with him. Either prospect have been looong enjoyed by Midousuji in ways he probably hasn't fully bothered to unpack, just yet...

When Ishigaki brings up the Interhigh, Midousuji pauses, smile dropping—but it comes right back, and he giddily snaps his neck to the side, his hand cupping the lower half of his face.

"Oh, I'm not worried..." Midousuji glances back at Ishigaki, delighted to the pit of his stomach and the tips of his fingers. He feels revitalized, somehow; invigorated by Ishigaki's proximity, Ishigaki's indirect subservience, and praise. It's funny, how it's like a rush—one that makes him feel warm. A little over-energetic.

This wasn't at all his original intention in coming here, but Midousuji had no intention besides...just...being around Ishigaki. So: he's winning.

"Well, lead the way then," Midousuji croons, extending his long neck in Ishigaki's direction.

"Your continued service is appreciated adoringly, Ishigaki-kun~ Still such a good boy."

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki only turns around and makes a few steps towards his previous destination before his mind processes that, and his posture tightens. He feels nerves flutter around in his abdomen and- well- maybe somewhere a little lower too.

"....... Right." Was all he could manage. 

What the fuck was that?

Ishigaki doesn't dare to speak any more than that, afraid he can't without stammering or without his voice cracking like a prepubescent boy.

There was no reason to stiffen at his words, he knows that. His mind was just in the gutter, he tells himself. This is nothing new. Ishigaki following orders- enduring the abuse for the betterment of their team- that that was their thing. Maybe the time spent away from each other, living around normal human beings, made him forget that. Midousuji's turn of phrase would sound different out of context to anyone, right? Yeah... that was it.

Ishigaki continues walking, clearing his throat before his awed silence carried on too much longer.

"So," he begins, desperate for a change of subject, "what do you plan to do once you're out of high school? I assumed you'd become an athlete."

[discarding]

Normally, Ishigaki doesn't bat an eye to Midousuji's taunts. The faltering is peculiar to Midousuji, such that it makes Midousuji twist his neck to tilt his head, curiously hanging his finger at his chin as he fixes his unblinking, lightless eyes on Ishigaki.

Well, it made sense, Midousuji supposes, squinting a little bit. People change... and it's not like they see each other all that often. But the idea of Ishigaki becoming a different person without his scrutiny makes his blood boil. It's strange to find himself deciding that's such an unacceptable reality...

It couldn't have been so much, could it?

Midousuji's eyes roll up, his lips shifting to make kind of an odd lemon shape around his teeth, contemplatively pulling his skin from the weight of his hand rested against his chin. Midousuji had been changing, after all. It wasn't natural feeling, though; all of Midousuji's changes and growth always felt so willfully onset, like he had to deliberately shape himself... Not like other people, who just did it by their nature. Maybe.

Midousuji finds himself staring at the back of Ishigaki's neck, his eyebrows raising inquisitively, finding himself increasingly curious about Ishigaki.

Then (thankfully?), he's jarred out of his thoughts when Ishigaki begins inane, neurotypical small talk. Midousuji rolls his eyes, his tongue flopping out of his mouth as he makes some guttural noise of complaint.

"Obviously," Midousuji answers, tugging his mask back up once his tongue is properly stored in the confines of his terrible mouth. "That's been the plan since I was 9."

And it would be a laborious endeavor, but that was life anyway. And besides, though it took a long time to start to make anything but a piteous wage as a pro road racer, Midousuji could get there quicker than others. Because of talent and hard work, yes, but because he wouldn't have to juggle some shit j-o-b awarded by his degree at the same time. There had been a reason Midousuji had been so frugal, his whole adolescence—he had to get good fast so he could make a decent wage, and protect as much of his inheritance as possible. He wasn't yet due to inherit it, but he would be soon—and he had to plan carefully. But he knows his mother would want for him to chase his dreams, even if his reasons for chasing them aren't all that healthy. Not that Midousuji's so self aware.

"Get some dumb degree to appease my family, then dedicate myself to going pro."

Midousuji turns to Ishigaki again, his long, slow strides finally putting him at pace with Ishigaki. He peers down at him, his heart doing a funny, nervous leap, anxious regarding the answer he might get to his coming question.

"What about you? You're nearly at the end of another road yourself."

Probably, before Ishigaki graduated, they'd only have a couple of races together as college athletes. The idea of Ishigaki as an opponent instead of an assist is strange, but kind of exciting.

[gamanyeah]

"Figures. But still, that's good to hear." Ishigaki grins, eyes fixed at the other's gestures when he speaks. The confidence in his voice is reassuring considering how much Midousuji ties his mental health into cycling. When he thinks back to the second day of their last Inter High together, the younger one curled up lifeless in the corner of their club room, his heart sinks, and maybe that's the reason why he can't shake that feeling that he can't leave Midousuji unsupervised. 

It's a difficult staying side by side with the starting rush of morning commute, but he sticks close enough, his shoulder almost brushing against Midousuji's as he continues onward. Silence stretches between them as he ponders his question. 

"I don't know actually," Ishigaki eventually admits. Going to school for his family's sake hit close to home. It's what they wanted, it's the socially acceptable choice- reminded others more than himself that he was going somewhere in life. It was what he was supposed to do, but it didn't fill any voice in his life. Cycling was his best option, but when next to a child prodigy like Midousuji, that dream feels inadequate. 

"I got options. I miss Kyoto, I want to go back. But... I can't stay there forever." He continues, shifting his gaze elsewhere. Here Midousuji was with a future so bright, and Ishigaki two years in with nothing to show for. "Not a lot of job opportunities, you know? Running my dad's shop just seems like too easy of an option. And it doesn't make all that much..." 

[discarding]

Midousuji's glance distracts again, sticking to Ishigaki's shoulder, sensing where they nearly touch. Absent mindedly, he stays staring at that spot, listening to Ishigaki as he speaks. His eyes eventually roll up, thinking on his words.

"You can do pro anywhere," Midousuji says, feeling something in him twist uncomfortably. More of that flighty, nervy feeling. Probably because Midousuji is pushing an obvious bias—and not because of cycling itself. He stares directly at Ishigaki again, his imposing figure leaned somewhat in his direction as they walk, though he's not intentionally putting on pressure. But his eyes widen, just a bit. Midousuji wants Ishigaki to stay pedaling—he wants him to go pro, because he desires that continued overlap of purpose. But Midousuji, even for his manipulative streak, is also honest; besides, that kind of psychological warfare was mostly for races themselves...

"But, pro cycling doesn't make a lot of money either, at first. It takes time. If you're a slave to your passion, it would work well for you—but to be honest," Midousuji goes on, tilting his head a little. "—lots of entry level jobs for people fresh out of college are similar. A tenured grind for a reward.

"In my opinion, there's not much money to be had anywhere right at the gate unless you chose a prestigious field specifically for its income. So, Ishigaki-kun...I'd say..." Midousuji's teeth snap, from behind his mask.

"It depends where your heart is."

gives u the worst reply in the world ^_^

[gamanyeah]

Where my heart is...?

When he glances up again, he's met with Midousuji's deep, lightless eyes. Ishigaki searches his face, as if it would give him the answer either of them were looking for, but his shoulders slump, defeated.

"I guess I don't know where that is." Ishigaki is thankful, though, for receiving an answer so- in his perspective, at least- thoughtful. Midousuji was most likely just stating what he felt was obvious, and a ping of guilt builds up in his chest for depending on the other for an answer so plain.

"You're right, though. And I don't have a lot of time to left to decide." He attempts to shift his tone of voice to something more light-hearted. "Hah... Maybe I've just been slacking without you telling me what to do all the time."

[gamanyeah]

"Pointless, huh?" Ishigaki chuckles at Midousuji's reflexive 'gross' in response. He's unsure what is and isn't disgusting to him anymore. Maybe it's any experience foreign to him, but taking his flat reply at face value is just as believable.

"It's not for everyone, but I think if anyone needs to learn to relax, it's you."

--

Ishigaki lay's a towel gently on the growing stack next him. Their club's laundry room is empty, so quiet that his thoughts grow loud, and he finds he was right to dread being left alone with them.

Nothing went wrong today. It's another day ending with friendly critiques, patting each other's backs, words of endearment.

Though newly he finds that feels incomplete, almost, when next to the thoughts of his last year of high school. It's true that he's enjoying himself, that he's sharpening his talents and forming new relationships. It's much like his earlier days- racing alongside Ihara, Tsuji or Nobu- before Midousuji arrived. There isn't anything wrong, necessarily.

But this feeling, although nostalgic, was not... exhilarating. There isn't anything leaving him uneasy, confused. Nothing to improve him in ways he didn't know he needed. No one here with talent enough to daze him with.

Not a hand grasping his cheek- humiliating him- making him second guess himself, and in return, receiving Ishigaki's undivided devotion.

Ishigaki's eyebrows furrow, he sighs. Did he like how Midousuji had such control of his thoughts? These past few weeks he's been losing his will to fight against that question. Before their run in, it felt like he was finally learning to, not let go, but... separate himself. To trust Midousuji had been taken the right path. And he does trust Midousuji. He is on the right path. But...

How annoying.

Ishigaki then finds that he's grasping the towel in his hand hard enough that it needs refolding. He tosses it to the side, pulling out his phone- the screen bright in contrast to the dull lighting of the laundry room. Midousuji's contact page was already pulled up when his screen unlocks.

He wonders why he's become such an indecisive person since his time in Tokyo. Since when was sending a text message difficult? Weeks had gone by, but there hadn't been an excuse he could give to send one.

Is wanting him by his side enough?

...

Ishigaki begins to type:

Hey. We haven't cycled together in awhile.

He presses send.

"Well," he says aloud to himself, "the worst he can say is no."

[discarding]

Midousuji is collapsed in his room when he receives the text, empty, body aching and buzzing, having barely survived his shower before collapsing on the futon he'd wisely set up before his last round of training. You'd think for all the empty-headed gazing, almost meditative, that Midousuji did, he would be more of a relaxed person. And with how hard he works. But as Ishigaki and many others have found, Midousuji betrays standard logic in many ways.

His eyes roll towards his phone, then away, staring back up at the ceiling, mouth slightly open. He debates ignoring it, as is often his won't, especially given that he's so physically depleted, picking up his phone sounds like a chore.

But distantly, in the back of his mind, like an anxious, burrowing worm, the idea that it might be Ishigaki makes him unable to put it out of his mind. So after about a minute, Midousuji, blank-faced despite the huge swell of irritation that goes through him, slowly turns his head towards his phone. And just as slowly, with a tired arm, he plucks it with his forefinger and thumb securely, poking at his screen to wake it back up.

It is Ishigaki.

The fluttering in his belly that follows makes Midousuji startle, and he drops his phone on his face with an undignified scream, scrambling his long, tired limbs. Then they all collapse at once, and he grumbles, rolling onto his belly as he lays his phone flat. Anxiously, hands folded in front of his chin before it, Midousuji's eyes widen, biting his lip as he peers over the message so he can properly read it.

Then he tilts his head, narrowing an eye. What the hell? What was the strategy of this stating the obvious?? What was Midousuji supposed to do with that?

He rolls his eyes, thinking, then texts back,

What, are you trying to invite me for a ride??

Be more direct, Ickygaki-kun

His tone betrays his feelings, which he can't worry about because he can barely even decipher them, as seems to be usual since winning Kyoto Fushimi's win at the Interhigh. At their onset, anyways. There's always troubling clarity, later. Those feelings, that tickle and agitate his senses, give Midousuji perturbed ...theories—concerns—about what's going on. Certainly, how he does away with those feelings to be rid of their nagging, swelling presence contributes to that. It's like those feelings guide his hand with resignation more than consent, and then his mind blares into a blaring, seering white—then back to nothing. Empty, and then sleep.

Gross.

Midousuji slaps his phone away, spinning it off the futon and onto the mat of his floor, and presses his forehead against his futon, folding his hands then over the top of his head as he groans at himself.

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki thought he had crossed the imaginary line his anxiety created, the few minutes passing stretching out wide in his own world, but then his phone buzzes. He regains his composure at the message on his screen, lips turning up into a smile.

Oh. It was that easy? Ishigaki thinks back to their last messages. He thought that then, too. You would think with how blunt, simple, and too-the-point Midousuji is, he would know if Midousuji actually thought his presence was bothersome, but... Their last meet up went well enough, and the time before that too. Ishigaki stares at the message as he realizes he's just a very, very dense man, and he has Midousuji to thank for helping him notice that.

"I should put more faith in our... Friendship?" Ishigaki thinks, "Yeah. That's what this is now."

That thought has the smile on his face grow brighter, and he rereads the text. He notes the nickname given to him, and a quick breath shoots out of his nose before he laughs quietly to himself.

Yes lol. I'm inviting you to a ride.

Although he's thinking with a clearer head than beforehand, and he he's been let known that Midousuji didn't mind the two hour ride here, he does, however, take note of the effort put into visiting him.

I can come to Kyoto this time if you want.

[discarding]

Midousuji peeks up from his hands when he hears his phone buzz, then makes a strange, high pitched but gravelly sound of frustration, grinding his face back into his pillow, fingers yanking at his hair—it's since collapsed from it's plasma-ball uni stage into a shaggy affair not too dissimilar from when he first joined Kyoto Fushimi, though he's at least point cut the bangs a little shorter to keep it out of his eyes. But right now, he just wants to tear it all out.

His heart thuds heavily, teeth pinching a mouthful of the fabric, resentful and embarrassed of his fitful internal reactions. He can't just respond to Ishigaki's texts right away... Doesn't want to seem eager. He needs to maintain some air of being aloof where he still can. It's bad enough that they're spending time with each other with no particular ulterior motive... or at least, that's what this would be.

In theory.

Midousuji raises his head, eyes half lid and rolled up, looking exasperated. He extends his arm to snatch his phone back up, and his eyes widen with eager curiousity the second his phone's in front of him again. He drops it, typing up his response with both of his extended index fingers as his phone lays flat before him again.

sure, that's fine by me. Wouldn't be bad to see how your form's shaped up, if at all, since you're an opponent now

Midousuji bites his lip, eyes wide and staring to nothing in particular as he tilts his head, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his cheek. Then he snaps his gaze back to his phone, and gets back to typing.

when do you wanna do this or whatever

[gamanyeah]

Rude. Have more faith in me! 😤

Midousuji wasn't wrong to doubt his talents. At the pace Midousuji was going, Ishigaki's skill level has more than likely stagnated in the past few years in comparison. But he didn't have to remind him of that at the least. 

He huffs, and his eyes glance at the screen again. Opponents? The thought raises his brows, and he thinks of the void lingering in his mind this week. Not being able to grow beside Midousuji like the rest of his team, never getting the chance to carry him across the finish line, to not follow those little dreams- it hurt, almost- and maybe he never would receive the same satisfaction he had in their school days together. But racing against him opens a new door: a future he could see with Midousuji in it.

With that on his mind, Ishigaki stops his pouting and continues typing.

Is tomorrow ok?

Ishigaki's anxiety creeps up on him, but the text had already been sent. Tomorrow? Really? There wasn't a way to hide his eagerness with that. The free time he's had since the semester's end must have gotten the better of him.

Oh well. He's waited long enough, right?

[discarding]

I am rude. stupid

Midousuji hates that he can't suppress the subtle grin that comes persistently despite his flustering, and he tucks his head to muffle a laugh against his futon, then rolls his head onto his cheek, tongue lolling out onto the fabric as he pokes away another reply. Midousuji takes it as the opposite—it'd be normal to perceive it as over eager, but to Midousuji, it's like Ishigaki's been meaning to make plans per his availability and put it off until the last second, or something. But Midousuji doesn't doubt Ishigaki's fondness of his company—its root, of course, Midousuji has no idea of.

yea if its after 3, I should be done with training and cramming

So laaaaaaast minute. Who's rude?? lolol

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki makes a displeased face. His first thought is "No, you doofus, I just want to see you. Is it that hard to believe?" But he soon stops those thoughts in their tracks, reminds himself who he's talking to, and he can then see the backlash clearly in his head. Midousuji is giving him an opening to only embarrass himself further, and he should have expected it.

But... He doesn't want to lie. His thumb hovers over the send button on his screen for a few moments too long before finally pressing down. Maybe if he's casual enough, there won't be anything to dissect out of it.

lol if that's how you wanna interpret it. Where do you wanna meet up?

[discarding]

??? Am I wrong??

Midousuji's eyes widen as he lifts his head, his mouth lowering and thinning a bit in surprise. He tilts his head with genuine curiosity, and that funny little flutter ripples through him again. It makes him swallow. Pressing on that will make it too obvious that Midousuji gives a shit in any capacity, so he moves past it for now.

i can pick you up at the train station around 4

Midousuji's eyes widen, gazing without focus to nothing again, one of his hands coming to absently push at a lip, then tap its nail on his teeth, listening to the strange, inconsistent and hard cadence of his own heart. Is he excited? For the plans? Or because he's just texting Ishigaki? What is this?? Is this normal? Is this how people act when they're—

When...they're...

Midousuji's eyes fall to his phone, and his stomach seizes with a twist of icy dread, realizing he hasn't been timing the spaces between Ishigaki's texts and his responses. That's not too weird. If Midousuji were pretending to be distracted, it would be reasonable to tie the bow around that ruse as Midousuji's settled to...keep an eye on his phone? Fuck!! Why does even that feel desperate!?

Midousuji turns his head to tuck his face against his futon again with a hiss of dismay, eyes tightly closed, and he pulls his hair with an awkwardly positioned clawing of his hand.

"...attracted to someone," Midousuji grits out slowly, tersely.

How did this happen? How did it come to this? From where it started... Is he really attracted to Ishigaki? Does that mean he has some kind of interest? Sexual, obviously, but doesn't that bely intent? Midousuji wants to think he isn't trying to spend time with Ishigaki just because his dick suddenly has an opinion about it. This is already bad; he's already gross for this. But he'd be worse than gross, if it were like that.

"Gross," Midousuji groans, rocking his head side to side, teeth ensnaring the cloth again. "Gross, gross, groooossss!! Pyaaa! I hate this! I hate it... I'm so gross..."

And here he was. Inviting it. Inviting it!! If he was desiring nearness because of something like that—nevermind that pulling someone closer at all was horrifying—maybe it's better to cut away. To pull off. Leave it behind!

...But Midousuji feels like he owes Ishigaki, somehow. Ishigaki got him that win. Even if it that had somehow triggered some vile stirrings within him. But what favors is Midousuji doing for Ishigaki, this way? If he's being drawn to Ishigaki by his dick, of all things? Which of course, isn't the case... but it's the most obvious symptom, and the easiest to admonish.

More than owing Ishigaki... Pulling away because of some kind of connection... That was falling into comfortable, easy, efficient coping. Not ones that were going to make Midousuji stronger. It went against what Midousuji had learned from Ishigaki, so slowly he'd barely noticed its onset and inception.

Midousuji grits his teeth, then drags his phone closer.

Ishigaki-kun, he prompts, then immediately feels a terrible well of blood-curdling anxiety. He immediately thinks of how to dismiss that addressing, trying to undo his every step, like someone walking backwards in a small circle and trying to sweep away their footsteps at the same time, forever.

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki chooses to ignore Midousuji's question, partially for hoping that silence is the answer he needs, partially for not having the will to admit to it. Maybe, selfishly, it didn't matter now that he received the answer he was looking for out of the conversation. Satisfied, he begins to type:

Ok! I'll see you then.

--

The bag feels light enough hanging off his shoulder, but its size is awkward to manage in a train bustling with people on the start of a weekend's afternoon. It's chilly even inside the train with fall creeping up, and he thanks himself for wearing sweats over his cycling jersey.

Ishigaki's fingers absentmindedly open his phone for the time as he leans back in his seat. It had only been fifteen minutes since he last checked, and he sighs in humiliation. He wants to put blame on that fact he's glad to come back to his hometown after a long semester, which is true, but he knows himself better than that. It's Midousuji that's caught in his mind, and Ishigaki finds that increasingly difficult to deny as the minutes turn into hours.

He eventually decides that denying he's excited to see Midousuji on a train ride to see Midousuji was... stupid, and he takes the solitude he now has time for to reflect on that. Midousuji's mannerism, his magic way of thinking, even his haunting appearance- when there was no one to compare to Midousuji, of course it's rewarding for someone so unique to be a part of his life again. Ishigaki could even compare him to an exotic animal. One that would run away if he allows himself to slip, but somehow, one way or another, Ishigaki was learning to- not tame, that's not what he wanted- but coexist with that animal.

After all, this eccentric nearness from him was something he's yearned to be rewarded with since the beginning.

Those realizations trigger a rewarding, fluffy feeling in Ishigaki's chest, and he now wonders why he would want to dismiss that sentiment at all. He forces himself not to smile stupidly in public. ( Straightly! As one does when thinking of a friend. )

Eventually, Ishigaki feels the train come to a slow stop. He continues to sit, letting the other passengers ahead before stepping out.

Ishigaki stretches his arms wide, yawning, letting his eyes roam over the station. Without the crowds, it's much more spacious than Tokyo's, and the air smells of a familiar sweetness in the distance. Even without a crowd to pick Midousuji's long stature in, he's finding it difficult to spot the other.

Maybe he arrived early? Or is Midousuji running late? After a ride that long, he's too impatient to wait for an answer, and he pulls his phone out to dial his number.

[discarding]

Midousuji blinks when Ishigaki ends the conversation, or so he sets into queue. Maybe he wasn’t clear that he was prompting for a question, but Midousuji, in immediate retrospect, appreciates that misunderstanding. He chooses not to respond to Ishigaki’s confirmation, and rolls onto his side, eyes wide as he absently pulls on his lower lip, fingerips resting idly against the straight lines of his orderly teeth. It’ll give him time to know how to phrase his question, should he get the gumption to ask so impulsively again. He had no idea going in, with that prompting—just the weary, reactionary curiosity. Midousuji blinks again, slowly, and backhands his phone away again, his knees raising as his chin tucks towards his collarbones.

It’s a bit beyond his usual schedule, but Midousuji eventually falls asleep. And in his dreams, even more incomprehensibly, his head is full of all of the same.

————————-

Midousuji is always punctual. So is the same for Ishigaki’s arrival—despite the anxious, and agitating nature of the feeling that encloses Midousuji tight, it’s easy to dismiss per the design of that consistent trait of his, non-contingent to Ishigaki in particular.


But!


He is not about to haunt expectingly around the train cars. No, that would be gross—Midousuji instead, despite his consuming presence and tall posture, sits hunched at a bench, his knees widely spaced to accommodate the long length of his legs. But it’s the timing that eventually makes Midousuji lift his head, and not because of any indication of Ishigaki’s arrival. The humiliation of standing too early glues him to his seat for a couple of minutes, staring bleakly, forward, without focus. But sitting there forever is just as bad, so eventually, slowly, like his joints are rusted, Midousuji comes to a stand.

Funnily, Midousuji spots Ishigaki before Ishigaki spots him. His irises detract somewhat in size, and he feels that charging, warm feeling surge through him, the energy uncomfortable as it is invigorating, which causes Midousuji's hands to anxiously curl into tense fists for the way that the tingling uncomfortably seers to his fingertips.

Midousuji drags his lumbering gait forward, surprisingly silent despite his imposing posture, and he leans, innocently, into Ishigaki's space from behind, pulling down his mask with a careful hook of his finger.

"Ishigaki-kun," he prompts again, peering at him owlishly, doing well to ignore how his heart rate tries to escalate for the similar scent of Ishigaki's products.

He's close. It's nice.

[gamanyeah]

Ishigaki recognizes the voice immediately, but its suddenness causes a reflex to let out a bewildered yell, a few octaves too high. He backs up, and the uneven weight of his bag swings, almost causing him to lose his footing, but he finds himself caught into a wide, boney frame instead.

Blinking, he looks up, and his eyes are met with much rounder, lightless ones. His mouth forms a tight straight line as his eyebrows pull down together. An odd mix of relief and annoyance waves through him.

"Oh my god," Ishigaki breathes out, humiliated. His body relaxes into the other's, but his fist is still grasped tightly on his own jacket. "Don't do that."

As Ishigaki gives himself a second to recover, heart beating loud in his ears, he realizes their nearness, and his posture stiffens. He abruptly steps forward, giving themselves a good few feet apart, then turns to face the other. He knows Midousuji doesn't like to be touched. But there's no one to blame but himself when he's popping Ishigaki's personal bubble as much as he does, so the guilt doesn't linger long.

"So, uh," Ishigaki says quietly, then clears his throat. "I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?"

[discarding]

Midousuji answers Ishigaki's clumsy, graceless reaction with a naughty smile—his mischievous nature is the only thing that saves him from exhibiting true, fond delight, equal parts entertained and endeared.

Until, that is, Ishigaki suddenly sort of collapses on him. A little. That definitely wipes Midousuji's smug expression clean off his face, and his heartbeat stutters awkwardly. No color arises to his face, but all the same, he feels the same effect. Close. Ishigaki's cologne. Warm. Midousuji's fingers twitch, and his mouth waters.

Wordlessly, though he'd normally shriek a long-winded sonnet of his aggravation (maybe), Midousuji's frozen, his jaw uselessly falling open, closing, then opening again after a hard swallow. He almost gets the reflex back to grasp the side of Ishigaki's face, and to shove his head back hard, to force his body backwards for the sake of saving himself injury—but Ishigaki steps back himself. Midousuji's the one left knotting his hand against his shirt in a tight, desperate fistful, his eyes wide.

"...No," Midousuji answers hollowly, gaze still unfocused. But he blinks, his eyes shyly finding Ishigaki. He'd approached with such confidence, and somehow, Ishigaki had winded that out of him completely.

Midousuji doesn't like it.

But it makes him curious, too.

How dangerous.

"You're on time... I was two minutes early."

How is it that he wants Ishigaki to come back in that same way just as badly as Midousuji wants to run from him?