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 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?

[gamanyeah]

"Ah, well, that's good!" Ishigaki answers, an awkward chuckle following after.

Ishigaki's gaze eventually meets Midousuji's, and the other's rigid posture and far away stare is prominent. Much like their last night out, it's another new expression to see: uncomfortable and dissimilar to his usual spirit. If he didn't know any better, he looks almost shy, but Ishigaki feels that it's from not watching himself earlier. He knows Midousuji doesn't like to be touched.

Well, you shouldn't have scared me like that, doofus. Ishigaki thinks. 

Still, his eyebrows pinch together dejectedly with a smile. There's an incessant throb in his heart, telling him he should apologize for being so callous, but to be that direct would be to put Midousuji on the spotlight. They both know they wouldn't want that. 

"Are you okay?" Ishigaki eventually speaks up. "You look... sorta spaced out."

[discarding]

"Hua?"

Midousuji's eyes widen, and he tilts his head, fingertip perched against his chin. He then squints suspiciously.

"Spaced out?"

What does that even look like, for him? He feels like he spaces out all the time.

"I feel fine," he answers in a slow, considerate drawl, like he's thinking about it as he says it. His eyes roll up, and his posture straightens a bit, deciding that's more or less true. He feels less flustered after that initial (literal) impact. Recovered. Resilient! "Maybe you're still just kind of rusty on what it's like to be around my face," Midousuji suggests, putting a deep emphasis on his last words, eyes widening as he playfully (which probably looks scarier to passerbys) sticks his tongue out at Ishigaki.

worlds tiniest tag

[gamanyeah]

"Ah, you're right. Maybe I did misread your face." Ishigaki flashes a warm grin as he watches Midousuji's nearly theatrical display, pleased with himself. It's a different kind of satisfying when next to the thought of Midousuji flustered screeches- one that's only a bit less head turning to those around him- but it's rewarding to see all the same. "If that's the case, I guess I'll have to visit more often."

[discarding]

"Gross," is Midousuji's immediate response, and he sharply turns his gaze away, yanking his mask back up. It's a subtle reaction, but Midousuji's hand tenses in a curling clench around the handle of the bag that contains his bike. Midousuji's heart beats hard, one, pronounced. He wants to suggest he could just move back to Kyoto, but Midousuji isn't the type to encourage people to settle for something mediocre.

Even Midousuji can tell Ishigaki's heart isn't with what's right. Which would be, of course, coming to help his dad at his dad's shop. A fact Midousuji had flippantly ignored with a silly, dramatic roll of his eyes in his freshman year, cemented deep in his mind, now troubling him.

Troubling? Was that right?

"Well... if you don't, you'll only be seeing me pass you in races..." Midousuji peers back at Ishigaki, and begins to walk, or moves forward enough to suggest it, his eyes wide as he tilts his head. "Ryukoku University isn't all that close to Meisou..."

[gamanyeah]

"Ah, I didn't think of that..." As Ishigaki walks alongside the other, his stomach drops at the thought, a sudden feeling of nausea following. If that's the case, would this be as close as he would ever get to Midousuji? It felt like he had barely scratched the surface of opening him up. There was still so much he wanted to know, other sides of Midousuji that he- although unclear to him- wanted to see.

"I won't let that happen." Ishigaki blurts, lips pressing tight into an awkward line when he hears his own eagerness.

Where did that come from...?

His fingers twiddle shyly at his bag's strap as he redirects his gaze. His voice is quiet before he continues, trying to choose his next words more carefully. "I mean- if we meet up half way, it's not that different from what we're doing now... So, I'll make the time."

[discarding]

"Dis—gust—ting!!"

Midousuji's posture suddenly whips back, both of his hands on his face, yanking down on his eyelids as he grits his teeth. His mask gets jostled, and when Midousuji's spine twists, like his waist has a ball-joint, back to... kind of normal, he's still leaned away from Ishigaki—his mask is clumsily yanked back up over his face, eyes rolled with tremendous strain, trying to obscure the subtle touch of heat that's come to his face.

His other hand shoves Ishigaki's face again, and Midousuji reverse-hisses, the sound almost a croak, like a dying man's final inhale through a crushed trachea. Dramatic Bitch rising with a Goofy-Ass moon.

"Do you listen to yourself?! Won't let that happen..."

Midousuji has ejected himself, immediately, upon the tiniest spark, far away from the feeling of relief. He doesn't want Ishigaki to drift away. Midousuji thinks it's strange, though, to hold onto Midousuji like that... Ishigaki had got what he wanted, hadn't he?

—Although...wait.

Midousuji's dark, lightless eyes snap suddenly on Ishigaki, peering down his chin at the older college student.

It was... nationals, right? National championship.

"I do believe you, though," Midousuji says slowly, eyes narrowing. His arm drops in a heavy dangle, beginning to walk again, his tongue descending beneath his mask, and he rolls his neck back and to the side. "You've already demonstrated you aren't easy to get rid of..."

Shit. There it is again. The—the way it feels like he's developing some kind of congenital heart disease. Like he's gonna die on the spot from the same thing that took his mother. But Midousuji knows it's not illness.

"I feel like I did almost everything I could, already."

As they walk, Midousuji's gaze shies away again, and he fidgets the positioning of his bag.

"...Hana...matsu... Maybe..."

Conversational transition? What is that. Don't know her.

[gamanyeah]

"Wah- ow!" Ishigaki flinches, his face harassed once again. Midousuji's reactions still don't quite make sense to him, yet, but he doesn't feel as if what he said deserves that. He hardly said anything. And it's not like he was poking fun at his face this time... Though, as his hand consoles his cheek, he does come to realize Midousuji's recent tormenting didn't feel as intimidating as it used to be. So, if it's not to bully him, is it Ishigaki's sincerity that's overwhelming...?

It doesn't matter, he tells himself, if he's met with flustered screeching or honesty, because what he does know is that the two of them wouldn't be here, now, if Midousuji didn't allow it.

"Well," Ishigaki began, "you have to let me make up for all the lost time, at the very least."

The two of them let some silence lapse between them, for a long enough moment that when Midousuji speaks up again, it catches him off-guard.

"Hanamatsu...?" Ishigaki repeats slowly, the stretch of stillness causing him to reconnect the dots to their conversating. Ishigaki turns to him, eyes over-bright at Midousuji's quiet way of sharing his honest feelings. "Oh- yeah! Hanamatsu! We could meet up there. Yeah."

[discarding]

Truthfully, Midousuji's behavior had become gradually less hostile and intimidating over the years, with Ishigaki. So subtle and slowly that Midousuji himself has barely noticed—it's only since all his confusing feelings centered around his APPARENT? attraction to Ishigaki that's making him more (hyper) aware of how he interacts with Ishigaki. But he's trying not to think about it, too much.

When Ishigaki asserts Midousuji has to let him make up for lost time, Midousuji narrows his eyes, letting out a slow, hissing exhale through his teeth as he glances away again, a shyness mixing with that fluttering, nice feeling—the one that makes Midousuji feel scared half to death.

Ishigaki's distracted, then bright, response, makes Midousuji want to grab and shake his face around again, but he resists. If only he had instincts that didn't incite violent reactions to positive feelings, especially those of adoration.

"Besides being between us, its geography is diverse enough to be sure you aren't rusting as an all-rounder," Midousuji prattles off, desperately pretending he isn't nervous for no very good reason at all. He still isn't looking at Ishigaki, tilting his head. He pauses, then twists his neck to look back at Ishigaki, expression curious.

"Where do you tend to go, around Tokyo?? Found any good spots? Or do you only practice with your team?"

Midousuji's expression twists with mean amusement, the implication immediately obvious: Midousuji is absolutely going to rag on Ishigaki if he doesn't practice on his own, as an individual. But if Ishigaki isn't positive if he wants to be a professional cyclist, then it would make sense he'd be the type who wouldn't burn his every spare ounce of energy on his bike.

[gamanyeah]

"Eh- Well- with my team, most of the time. We ride Yamanote a lot, but I usually let them decide the routes... I don't know Tokyo too well, even now." Ishigaki admits, the questions catching him off guard. Midousuji's judgement has always followed him while he cycled, as if he could always feel his soulless stare burning into the back of his head, but he hadn't thought he would get the chance to update him on his practices, or if he'd want an update, until recently. "It's a lot more work than in high school, but it doesn't feel like anything I can't handle."

"It's underwhelming. They push me, but not like Kyofushi or you did." Ishigaki finally turns his face back towards the other, but is met with a twisted expression reading him that could only be compared to an imp. Wide eyed, he blinks twice, frowning. "Ah. Jeez. Okay, I guess I sound helpless when I say it out loud..."

When did he need someone to hold his hand for him, in the only field of talent he has? It's hard to believe he was ever chosen to be a captain- not that he ever amounted to one much, anyway. Maybe he has Midousuji to blame for his sudden lack of impulsiveness these past few years, but he can't bring himself to do that. He knows that would be too easy of a defense. It's not Midousuji's fault he can't face his own flaws.

[discarding]

Midousuji laughs a little, and when he looks away from Ishigaki now, it’s out of delight rather than his unbearably fond feelings making him want to rip off Ishigaki’s face. Or his own.

“You are a little helpless. You were so bossy when we first met,” Midousuji mentions. It’s been on his mind, lately—the juxtaposition of then and now, between the two of them, and the both of them as individuals. Ishigaki had especially changed, but Midousuji had only really noticed with how Ishigaki was interacting with him. Even with Ishigaki telling him dead to his face that Midousuji had changed him, Midousuji didn’t consider if Ishigaki had been changing as a person. Until now, really—right this moment. Interesting.

Gloved fingers still clawed across his face, Midousuji looks back at Ishigaki, though cheekily and not super directly.

“Not that submission isn’t nice on it’s own,” Midousuji teases, and he stifles another laugh behind his hand, and rolls his eyes up, grinning. Though half of his face is obscured, the rest of his face gives his expressions away well enough.

Feeling emboldened by some control, having a leg up (for what feels like the first time in forever, which isn’t even true) for just a moment, Midousuji leans into Ishigaki’s space as they walk, and he peeks his mask down just a bit, revealing his grin.

“I can push you if you like, Ishigaki-kun.”

[gamanyeah]

He frowns, but Midousuji wasn't lying, Ishigaki had changed. He had become a person who hesitated, who paused and looked at other people before making his own decisions. Midousuji pulled the rug from underneath his feet, completely reshaped him, and then Ishigaki graduated, and now he's left lost.

"Well, yeah. Of course you don't mind submission." Saying that, Ishigaki wouldn't look at him, but Midousuji soon pops his personal bubble, and he's left with no choice.

"What? I- you don't have to do something like that for me." Ishigaki stammers, eyes flickering. "Shouldn't it be the other way around? You're a former kohai. You're younger than I am." Not that there ever was anything traditional in regards to their roles- or more so- anything traditional about Midousuji. That wasn't what Ishigaki cared for, anyway. Perhaps it's his own pride he can't give up.

Ishigaki only has to reflect on their past for a moment, and then sighs, defeated. Yes, Midousuji had always had the upper hand in their relationship, but until this year's interhigh results, it was Midousuji that needed guidance. Had Ishigaki been neglecting his own growth?

"Well... I guess that type of stuff never mattered between us."

[discarding]

Midousuji has some relish in watching the defeated realization play out so blatantly on Ishigaki's face, and he stifles another little laugh, eyes narrowing with impish glee.

"That's right," Midousuji confirms, rolling his eyes away as he sticks out his tongue through a playful smile, mask now clung beneath his chin. "I'm neeeeever gonna care about that stuff. Never! Besides," Midousuji adds, widening his eyes as he looks back to Ishigaki, expression suddenly stonier. "I was thinking about it... Relying on someone...whatever. The strength that can be pulled from it. It's seriously super gross, the nastiest thing ever, but you were right."

Midousuji looks away again, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he rubs his ear, quelling some itch--but it's mostly just a fidget.

"I thought about it for a long time, trying to figure it out. And when I finally understood, I took the InterHigh. The way you rely on your team... I'm sure you work hard, because you like them, but I still think that kind of thing can slow people down. Distract them. Keeping things symbiotic takes a careful balance, I think..."

Midousuji's teeth clack once his tongue furls back in, sort of puckering his lips as he stares hard off at anything but Ishigaki.

"But anyway, it's because of the strength from... that..." Midousuji's expression flattens in a wince. "...that I won. So if you want me to push you, I'll push you. That's a fair transaction, so your stupid guilty martyr nonsense is both silly and misplaced."

Midousuji's incredibly long winded way of expressing his thanks. Acknowledging he was wrong in (most of) his old ways, that Ishigaki was onto something, and extending a favor—probably many favors, Midousuji isn't sure when he'll stop being formally indebted—it's because he's grateful. Even if the process of letting himself be a human being is the worst sensation he's yet had the displeasure of incurring, aside from the hollowing grief impact of death.

[gamanyeah]

The longer Ishigaki listens to the rhythm of Midousuji's low voice, the more his eyes widen, catching in the afternoon's light. Midousuji sounds like he's struggling, but he's heading forward into the right direction- taking the type of steps Ishigaki always wanted but wasn't there physically to see.

"Okay... fine, I'll let you push me." Ishigaki's struggles to keep away a goofy grin, but he manages- he thinks. His face feels hot, and his brain stutters for a moment- every part of him but the legs moving him forward going on pause while his thoughts catch up.

So, Midousuji relied on me...? On my words?

"I feel like I've been waiting to hear you say that for a long time." He finally admits, gaze falling on his own shoes. "I think I already knew all that, though. When you placed first."

Ishigaki is hesitant to continue, but if Midousuji wanted to spit out a confession, then perhaps it was his turn, too.

"I thought what I wanted was to- selfishly, maybe- have some sort of impact on you. Maybe I wanted to show you my thanks too- for carrying our team as far as you did. And it's true, I did want those things- there's a lot of things I wanted to see from you. But... I really just wanted for you to end up..." He pauses, searching for the right word, before his mind lands on something simple. "Happier."

[discarding]

"Gross," Midousuji grinds out irritably, and he (too) vigorously scrubs a hand up and down one side of his face, screwing up his expression in exasperation at Ishigaki's admittance, though in his own way, by Midousuji's parameters, his had been just as so. It feels pertinent to exchange, but that doesn't make it any the less unbearable. This is, Midousuji currently hypothesizes, what keeps bonds from snapping as natural distance grows, pulling and thinning them. Coming to that hypothesis was unpleasant on its own, when Midousuji had indeed decided this, because it acknowledged that he didn't want them to drift.

His instinct still is to think that sentimentality is so useless; feelings outside of thrill instinct and motivation are so useless. But he's seen results too tremendous to dispute it, and the dam is cracking. Midousuji isn't aware of it, how deep down inside, there's a yawning, cavernous, and hungry abyss—he knows, of course, he's empty. That hollow feeling is still there, big as ever as when his mother had passed, but rather than utilizing for his own means, it feels more like now he's trying to fill it. Tentatively, hesitantly, uncertainly. It's a risk, and a gamble; he isn't convinced that it's a sustainable long-term consequence that will be a good one. But Midousuji has to remind himself he is a risk taker; he's recently realized he's afraid of connection, though he hasn't realized that that fear stems primarily from the fear of loss.

But fear is unacceptable. Weak. And so. Here he is. Unbearably uncomfortable, hoping that's just growing pains that will make him bigger, and stronger.

Midousuji knew that Ishigaki wanted that, which was why, for so long, he couldn't stand him—wanting to influence Midousuji positively, even after Midousuji had violently rejected that extended olive branch years ago, was insulting. Demeaning! And most of all, arrogant. But that's how they both were, weren't they? Arrogant, in their own ways. Cocksure.

His eyes widen subtly, hand still kind of unnaturally clawed against his face, when Ishigaki reveals the ultimate and main bullet point (or so it now seems) of his reasons to be so invested in Midousuji.

"I know all that," he says slowly, and narrows his eyes, cogs turning. "Well. Most of that. I knew you wanted to impact me. I used to feel that was such a domineering quality of yours. Suuuper gross." Used to. "You're still gross...more and more. Yuck."

Feelings were gross. Especially positive ones. Ishigaki's feelings, the more Midousuji comes to understand them, are increasingly gross as a result. And so is he. But Midousuji is helplessly starved before those qualities, unaware of how much he needs it—from the right source.

"But."

He pauses, then drops his arm, tilting his head curiously as he faces Ishigaki again as they walk, pointing at himself.

"Ishigaki-kunnn. Did you think—" (see,) "—at some point, that I was unhappy? Do you think I'm an unhappy person?"

Midousuji "can't lighten the fuck up in almost any circumstance" Akira

tfw im LITERALLY? so blown away by how beautiful ur tag is that i dont respond for almost 2 weeks

[gamanyeah]

"I'm sure I am." Ishigaki laughs faintly, unfazed at his taunts- far passed the point of the word 'gross' having any real effect.

He let's a bit of silence fall between them as he thinks of an answer, spaced out after noticing how tight he has to walk to keep up with Midousuji's long strides- mentally comparing his limbs to a grasshopper. "Well..."

And then, a much more serious though occurs: a memory resurfacing of Midousuji unzipping his jersey with his back turned to Ishigaki, hunched over on their clubrooms bench, revealing an overwhelming amount of sports tape tightly wrapped around himself. He remembers how his voice couldn't reach him, how the reality of how severely warped his perception of victory hit that day, and the way Ishigaki's heart sank to his stomach for him.

'Living creatures need more awful conditions.' Is what Midousuji preached to himself that day.

There's wanting victory, Ishigaki knows the importance of the finish line that means so terribly much, but then there's... self harm. And that's only one of many revealing flashbacks that could answer Midousuji's question. That type of thinking is from someone who depends on themselves. No one can do that, and Midousuji has come to realize that much, at the very least. But is Midousuji that unware of why Ishigaki wished for him to connect to others, even now?

"I don't think only being happy when you win counts." Ishigaki finally speaks up, eyes fallen to his shoes as if he's unable to face his own bluntness. "So no, I don't think were happy."

Despite his self improvement, Ishigaki comes to wonder if Midousuji was further away from his intentions than he had thought.

"But now? I guess I can't answer that question." Perhaps he's not poisoning himself over achieving results now- but Ishigaki doesn't know that for certain. Midousuji has been left unsupervised this past year, and with no one he knows to keep Ishigaki updated on that. "Do you think you're happy?"