Chapter Text
After the end of Yatora’s third year at Geidai, he and Yuka spend a weekend at the sea-side inn.
For all that they text regularly, there isn't much time to really see each other. They haven't come here since that first time, but it's fitting at the moment, with all the changes happening in their lives; Yatora, with only one year of university left, and Yuka, who's set to start her new job at a fashion house in Harajuku in a week.
They need this, an escape to a place where the only things that exist were Yatora, Yuka, and the sea.
They spend most of their time at the beach, or strolling through the nearby streets— getting reacquainted with the feel of the other next to them. Yuka fills him in on the cute, former coworker, she'd had a short fling with; about her annoying, next door neighbour; about the stray cat she feeds sometimes.
Of course, Yatora already knows most of this, but listening is hardly difficult—he's missed her. In turn, Yatora tells Yuka about his part-time teaching job; about the long commute to Geidai; and the professor from his Buddhist Theology elective, who never shares lecture notes. And Yuka too, knows most of this already.
They're sitting on the beach when Yatora finally tells her about drunkenly kissing Murai behind a bar, one night after their final exams, and the budding realization that Yatora is far from straight. Murai makes him feel quite bent, in fact— all twisted out of shape like the longest, most intricate fucking bendy straw. He's in deep shit, drowning in the riptide realization of his startling lack of heterosexuality.
Yuka is the first to know, of course she is. Of everyone in the world, he trusts her the most to handle this moment carefully. Still, once all his words have trembled out, Yatora brings his legs up to his chest, wraps an arm around himself, and waits. He doesn't look at her, staring instead at the folding waves.
She knocks their shoulders together. "Oi, what are you so nervous for?"
Yatora chuckles. “I don’t know.”
Yuka leans over to wrap an arm around him, and tucks her chin on Yatora’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, you know. It's good you're figuring this out.”
Yatora knocks the side of his head into hers as response. "I know... thanks."
She gives him one last squeeze before letting go. “So… Yakumo, huh? The one with the back tattoo?”
Ah, Yatora should have seen this coming. It's his own fault for forgetting how insidious his friend can be. What an idiot he is. "No. No. We are not having this conversation."
“Oh come on, I need details Yatora!” Yuka says. “...Is he a good kisser?”
Yatora buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god, stop. ”
“Are you blushing? Oh you are!” Yuka cackles. He really has screwed up, befriending someone as nosy as her. Yatora should have ignored her when she asked him to help move things from the goddamn art club back in second year. Foresight seems like such a wonderful power right now, it could have saved him a lifetime of the pain Yuka seems so keen on inflicting.
“So…” Yuka starts, and Yatora braces himself. “Does Yatora-kun have a boyfriend now?”
“Yuka…” he begs.
“Oh fine. I won't tease, but you have to tell me everything!"
Yatora lifts his head to glower at her. “Really?”
“I promise! Pinky swear! Come on, tell me about him."
Yatora sighs, locks their pinkies together, and starts talking.
Now, Yatora hadn't been completely oblivious to it, but he hadn't thoroughly considered the implications of all his thoughts about men until a few months ago. The catalyst being the day he'd walked into the studio he shared with Kinemi and Murai, and found the latter shirtless, back tattoo on full display, and arms partially covered in paint. And this, on its own, would have been manageable, because it's nothing Yatora hasn't seen before, except Murai had noticed. He'd noticed, and grinned, all insidious and unfairly attractive, and made it his personal mission to torment and flirt with Yatora for the following months until—well, last week, behind the bar. They haven't talked about it.
Yuka, at the very least, respects the solemnity of their pinkie promise and doesn't tease him... at least, not until after he's done talking.
As they walks back to the inn for dinner, she feigns wiping away tears. “Little Yakkun is all grown up now, kissing boys behind bars and then running away from them.”
“Shut up,” Yatora says. “I panicked.”
And Yuka, merciless as she is, only doubles down. Maybe he just needs a time machine, he can fix his mistake from second year— but then again, time travel is always so tricky. Messing with the universe like that never ends well in movies. He doesn't know who else he would tell first anyways.
After dinner, they're laying on the floor of their room, listening to the static sound of the album they borrowed from the inn's owner— Love Trip by Mamiya Takako, Yatora thinks. Save for the music, only the waves outside are making a fuss.
This is one of the things Yatora has missed the most. He’s always had a knack for talking to people, so has Yuka — they’re both sociable, thriving off the energy of the people around them. It's part of what shapes them. With few people though, Yuka being one of them, Yatora doesn't have any need to fill up the quiet. It’s comfortable. For them, the silence says enough.
Yuka is the first one to speak. “Ne, ‘Tora. Did you fall asleep?”
“No. What’s up?”
“You know how you said you’ve been saving up to get your own apartment?”
“Yeah.”
“What if we moved in together?”
Yatora blinks and sits up, looking down at Yuka. “I don’t think your tiny apartment can fit us both.”
“No shit, idiot. I meant like—” Yuka huffs. She waves her hands in the air above, almost hitting Yatora’s face. “Why don’t we get a bigger apartment? My lease is almost up, and the commute from my apartment is awful, if there’s two of us we can find some place better.”
Yatora flops back down on the floor and tries to picture it; picture the two of them living together. He’s struck by how odd it is that it makes sense. Strange, considering that at sixteen, Yatora could never have imagined knowing Yuka the way he does these days, being this close and important to each other. And now he's considering living with her. What are the odds, of this being the route the universe takes, compared to all the others?
Yatora huffs a laugh, bewildered and giddy. “Yeah, okay. Why not?” He says, turning his head to smile at Yuka as she cheers.
The next morning, Yuka wakes him up by way of screaming in his ear, then ushers him downstairs for breakfast.
"Please tell me you won't do that every morning if we live together," Yatora grumbles.
"No promises."
"I hope you know I regret this deeply."
Yuka just laughs.