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Bubaigawara's idea of a fun birthday involves paintball.
Coincidentally, Touya's idea of the seventh circle of Hell involves the same thing, but he still checks yes on the birthday invitation and steels himself for the inevitable anti-glamour when the day finally arrives in mid-May.
It's the usual crowd: him, Toga, Shigaraki, Iguchi, Hikiishi, Sako, Kurogiri, and the birthday boy himself. There is, however, a stranger in their midst.
A compact, well-built stranger with a disarming smile and bright blond hair, but a stranger nonetheless. He's chatting with Iguchi when Touya rocks up, so either he’s extremely personable (unlikely, especially considering how picky Iguchi is about meeting new people) or they’ve met before. Touya doesn’t know when that might have happened, because everyone he knows has codependency issues that frequently ruin his life, but Touya certainly would have remembered a face like that.
On account of his Being Late to Everything disease, Touya doesn’t get the opportunity to know what this guy’s deal is. He’s heckled immediately upon his arrival for showing up fifteen minutes after their agreed meet time, forcibly shoved into a hideous camo jumpsuit, and given a rundown of the rules, which essentially boil down to ‘Don’t Aim For The Face’ and ‘Don’t Kill’. Like Touya has any control over that.
Bubaigawara takes the blond stranger for his team. Touya’s stuck with Toga and Iguchi. He wishes, desperately, fleetingly, that someone would put him out of his misery.
He is, unfortunately, still alive and kicking when they’re unleashed into an outdoors arena, full of fake plants and tank replicas that have no place in downtown Musutafu. Bubaigawara’s sharing his birthday party with a group of snot-nosed little boys, so Touya keeps being threatened by cackling eight year olds while simultaneously trying to stop Toga from shooting herself in the foot with her own gun.
She figures out the controls after a moment, but she only figures them out with her gun pointed right at Touya’s thigh. The bruise is going to linger.
“You suck at this game,” she tells Touya, pouting as her gun jams again. Her fault for insisting all her paintballs had to be red. The guys working behind the counter had to take her whole gun apart to reload it. “You’ve got paint all over your leg.”
“That’s your fucking fault,” Touya snaps, the red splatter dripping down his jumpsuit. “And you’re meant to be on my team.”
Toga just shrugs and skips away into the fake bushes, humming something ominous-sounding with her gun slung over her shoulder.
Touya’s finally alone, for a moment of beautiful, blessed peace. He can hear the ruckus all around him, because it’s not a big arena, and from the shouts ricocheting nearby he has reason to believe that Hikiishi’s being soundly defeated by the eight year olds. Shame. She was one of the least annoying people Touya knows.
He debates seeking out one of the tanks and seeing if he can kick back for the rest of the session, hidden in a hollowed out shelter somewhere, when heavy footsteps approach at a rapid pace.
Bubaigawara bolts out of the bushes directly opposite Touya, skidding to a halt when he realises he’s stumbled right into enemy territory. Touya lifts his paintball gun. Bubaigawara raises his arms in panicked surrender.
“You can’t shoot me, I'm the birthday boy!” Bubaigawara cries, arms waving either side of his head. “Go on, kill me, I’d like to see you try!”
“Who's the blond?” Touya asks, the barrel pointed directly at Bubaigawara’s heart. There’s probably a less dramatic way to ask. Touya doesn’t care to be overheard, though, and if he asks now, Bubaigawara will have forgotten Touya ever wanted to know by the time the adrenaline flushes from his body.
“You can’t shoot him either! I hope he dies!”
“Just tell me who he is.” Touya’s sweating in his rented jumpsuit. The camo isn’t doing him any favours.
“Never met him. He's a friend from college!” Bubaigawara says. “Me and Iguchi used to hang out with him.”
Touya's about to go in for the kill when he feels the ricochet of a paintball, straight to his ass. He whirls around and the blond guy is standing there, gun pointed at Touya. Touya can’t see his eyes behind the protective mask, but he’s grinning.
“Talking about me?” he asks.
“You fucking wish,” Touya snaps, hair sticking to his face and ass smarting. Without tearing his eyes away from the stranger, he pulls the trigger and hears the yelp as he makes contact with Bubaigawara.
“Come on, birthday boy,” he sighs, turning his back to the stranger. His stare prickles on the back of his neck, but Touya just forges forward and grabs Bubaigawara’s arm, pulling him towards the elimination zone for their mandatory time out.
Touya’s team loses spectacularly, but he’d be hard-pressed to say that he’s that upset over it. He may be able to admit that he probably didn’t pull his weight. Bubaigawara practically jumps for joy when he hears the results, though, and as long as Bubaigawara isn’t in one of his mopey sulks, Touya can deal.
After, when Touya dumps his splattered jumpsuit into the trolley and does his best to fix the hair slicked to his face with sweat, the stranger, who is still as irritatingly attractive as he was before they embarked on the worst game ever, falls into line with him.
“I’m Takami,” he introduces himself. “Takami Keigo.”
Touya slides his gaze over to him, eyes catching on the faint splatter of paint on his jawline. Yellow, like his eyes. Takami is looking right at him, head tilted ever so slightly so he can look Touya in the eyes. “Touya.”
“Cool,” he grins. “See you around, Touya. Hope you don’t bruise too badly.”
Touya watches him head out, snagging goodbyes from Bubaigawara and Iguchi as he goes, and narrows his eyes.
His ass really fucking hurts. There’s not a lot of muscle or fat back there; the paint probably went through to bone. He’s not going to check the bruise on principle; he doesn’t need to know what kind of mark has been left behind.
Just before Takami exits the building, the door swinging open into the diluted May sunshine, he turns back. He pins Touya with his gaze and salutes, a two-finger touch to his forehead that is so insolent that Touya has to grind his teeth together to stop himself committing a violent act. Takami smirks, like he knows what Touya’s thinking. He disappears after, the light swallowing him right up.
“He was handsome, wasn’t he?” Toga asks casually, sidling up beside him. Her fingertips are stained red.
Touya doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Can we get started already?” Touya asks. He’s sweating on top of his already existing sweat patches. This August is unnecessarily warm, and Toga just had to choose to do something outside for her birthday.
“We’re one short,” Toga says.
Touya scans the heads milling around the mini golf course entrance. “No we’re not.”
“Ah – wait. Keigo!” she calls. She waves, far too enthusiastic.
Touya doesn’t turn around, but Takami shifts into his eyeline anyway.
The summer’s been good to him; he has a tan, his hair impossibly blonder than before. He smiles easy at the assembled group, muscles visible in his tight t-shirt.
“Hey. How’s your ass?” he asks Touya, brazenly unembarrassed.
“Never better,” Touya replies, smiling sweetly. He knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. Takami doesn’t seem disquieted by it. Instead, his eyes flicker down, lightning fast, before re-focusing on Touya’s face.
“I’ll say.” Takami smirks. He turns away. “Happy birthday, Toga! Lemme pay for your game.“
“Oh, my,” Toga says, one hand splayed to her chest. She flutters her eyelashes. “What a gentleman! Take notes, Touya.”
Touya raises his arms in wordless disgruntlement. Takami winks at him when Toga turns her back, before helping her distribute mini golf clubs.
Touya and Takami get shunted to the back of the group; Touya’s up last because he has bigger and better things to worry about than getting the upper hand on an 18 hole mini golf course of all places, and Takami keeps slithering to his side, like a fly to Touya’s rotten fruit.
The rubber handle of Takami’s golf club is red. The metal shaft catches the light as he trots over to the tee, lining up for the first hole of the session.
Much like his pinpoint paintball accuracy, Takami takes to mini golf like it’s as natural as breathing while Touya saunters behind, not caring enough to try and not trying enough to care. Takami keeps scoring in 2 hits or less, and Touya’s lucky to get it in 5, his speckled golf ball rolling everywhere but the fucking hole.
Takami’s a good sport about it, making soothing comments when Touya hits the ball too heavy-handed, like Touya’s a child about to throw a tantrum if he doesn’t win. It makes Touya prickle, but Takami’s unbothered by the retorts slathered under Touya’s biting, honey-sweet tone, taking them in good cheer as he continues on his hole-in-one streak.
By the time they’re halfway round the course, Touya’s burgeoning temper has soothed to a more manageable apathy, and he has it in him to offer something more than just an insolent comment.
“So, what do you do?” Touya asks, droll. This is adult behaviour – making excruciatingly uncaring small talk with strangers. It seems like a step backwards, considering Takami basically murdered him during paintball, but he supposes even dead guys have to pretend to care about other people’s jobs.
“I’m a personal trainer,” Takami says. He lines up to take his shot, assuming the putting position.
“I can tell,” Touya mutters under his breath, eyes flickering down Takami’s stance.
“I heard that,” Takami sings, calculating the angle of his swing. He isn’t embarrassed in the slightest; in fact, he hits the ball with a satisfying crack and turns to face Touya without watching where it ends up. His teeth are very straight. His smile is dangerous.
“What about you?” There’s something humoured in his eyes. The overhead sun turns his hair to glimmer. “Wait, lemme guess—”
He gives Touya a probing once-over that feels entirely too invasive and somewhat smarmy. “Definitely a businessman.”
Touya rolls his eyes so hard that he swears they’re going to follow the golf balls right down the putting green of Hole 9.
“Tattoo artist.”
Takami gasps. The sarcasm oozes out of his pores. “No!”
Touya knows that the tattoos on his face are bending with the force of his insolent scowl. “What gave it away?”
“Just a hunch,” Takami says, eyes roving Touya’s face, like he’s finally allowed to look with the confirmation that all of the art is in the job description. “You wanna give me a free tattoo?”
“In your fucking dreams,” Touya says. “You think I can go around giving out free tattoos when I have to pay for shit like this?”
“How about a bet?” Takami says. “I win, I get a discount. You win, I won’t bring it up again.”
They stopped keeping count around Hole 3, once Toga and Sako no longer wanted to wait for the stragglers at the back and jumped ahead, but despite that Touya knows that there’s no chance in hell he’s coming close to winning.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Touya asks. The black rubber of his golf club is scorching his hand. He tries to lean on it, but considering the club only comes up to his mid-thigh, he ends up half-hunched over, looking at Takami through his eyelashes.
Takami just smiles, serene. “No bet, then?”
“Go hit your fucking ball,” Touya says.
Takami trots off, swinging his mini golf club with an easy confidence, the shaft twisting in his palm. Touya watches his ass as he goes.
It goes the same way around each course, around the winding fake turf, the tunnels and obstacles and dips. Touya lags behind, spends more time watching Takami than watching where he’s hitting his ball.
Takami keeps staring right back, unafraid of the confrontation. The others have sped way ahead, far enough away for their conversations to be only buzzing background noise. Touya’s taking his time, Takami trailing around with him, so Touya’s the only one witnessing Takami’s irritating talent for hitting balls in holes and, unfortunately, his resulting arrogant confidence.
Takami slings his golf club over his shoulders at the end of Hole 14, resting his arms over each end.
“See that?” He grins. “Hole in one.”
Touya hits his ball in the winding stream separating the greens and soaks his whole forearm trying to fish it out. Takami’s laughing at him when he returns to the tee, so he wipes the slimy water on Takami’s shirt and shoves him off the Hole 14 course.
At Hole 18, Takami crouches down to read the sign. Everyone else has long dispersed, floating off to the café by the mini golf greens while Touya straggles behind like a lame horse and Takami practically babysits him.
“Apparently the average score for this hole is 5.” Takami whistles lowly. “Hard number to beat. Wanna go first?”
Touya eyes the course. He’s fuzzy from the heat. “How chivalrous.”
It probably makes Takami feel like a gentleman, to let Touya go first. Maybe he’s just standing back to laugh at him, scrutinise his form. Maybe he’ll ask Touya to pay for his personal trainer services.
“Your form could be better,” Takami says, as Touya prepares to hit the ball.
Touya falters. He squints back at Takami, the sun in his eyes. “Do you really think that’s top of my list of priorities right now?”
“Well, you’ve been slacking so far,” Takami jokes. “Thought I'd at least give you a fighting chance.”
Touya ignores him. He scores an 8. Takami gets it in 4.
“Ah! One below par.” Takami has the gall to act surprised. “I think they call that a birdie.”
Touya wipes the sweat from his forehead.
“Okay, birdie,” he says. He dips into a mocking bow. “You fucking win. Are you gonna rub it in?”
“Dunno,” Takami says. He pokes Touya with the end of his golf club. It leaves a chalky mark on his shirt. “You into that?”
Touya leaves him on the green, laughing at his own comment.
“Birdie,” Touya greets him next time, in a pottery studio filled with the wash of winter morning light. Fuyumi sits opposite him, deep in conversation with a girl Touya has never met but has been told is called Rumi because Fuyumi texted him with something as close to a threat as she can manage, warning him not to be rude.
“Hi,” Takami says. He’s wearing a very ugly hoodie. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s my sister.” Touya points. Fuyumi continues to ignore him, laughing at something Rumi says that surely can’t be that funny. “It’s her birthday.”
“Huh,” Takami says. He points at Rumi. “That’s my friend.”
“Right.” Touya sinks down into the little wooden chair at the table, the only free one being next to Takami, and it’s only then that Fuyumi notices him.
“Touya!” she greets him. She pushes her glasses up her nose. “I was worried you got lost.”
Touya shrugs, a what-can-ya-do sort of gesture like he didn’t purposefully show up late. “Traffic.”
Fuyumi smiles at him, the secret sort of smile where she knows he’s lying but accepts it anyway. She does her best to push past his sharp edges. It probably helps that she used to see him cry all the time; she can’t be intimidated by his painted over facade when she knows what lingers underneath.
Fuyumi flutters her hand in Rumi’s direction. “This is Rumi, my, er…”
“Hey,” Rumi, Fuyumi’s er, says. Her beanie doesn’t disguise the long swathes of white hair spilling over her shoulders. She doesn’t look put-off by Touya’s probing stare, which normally tends to work.
“And this is Takami!” Fuyumi jumps in. “Rumi’s friend – I thought it might be nice for you to have some company, too. I didn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Hi,” Takami repeats. He grins. “Nice to meet you.”
Touya rolls his eyes. He tells Fuyumi, “We’ve met.”
Fuyumi looks between the two of them like she can’t quite figure it out. “Oh, that’s – unexpected? But good! Saves us some time. Touya, do you want to go and pick out something to paint?”
Touya picks a vase, white and clean, in the hope that he can give it to Fuyumi as a late birthday gift when it’s ready. He’s an artist, he knows he can make it look good, and Fuyumi’s definitely too busy making moony eyes at her guest to notice what he’s creating.
He’s busy tracing out a pattern on the clean surface, drawing the blossoming teardrop shape of lily petals over the surface, the stems swirling around the base.
Takami leans over once Touya’s begun painting, paintbrush dipped green. When Touya shoots him a look, he beckons for Touya to meet him halfway. He frowns when Touya doesn’t comply, instead leaning further to cross the distance between them.
He pauses when he sways close to Touya. “You’re very warm. Jesus.” He lifts a hand, hovering it over Touya’s forearm, where he’s pushed his sleeve up. “You’re like a heater!”
“Is this what you came over here to tell me?” Touya asks blandly. He doesn’t pause his painting, eyes narrowing as he paints the thin line of a lily stem around the base of the vase. It’s not the first time someone’s commented on how hot his internal temperature runs, but it’s certainly the most vulnerable he’s felt after the matter.
Takami shakes his head and leans in impossibly closer.
“I think,” he says, voice a quiet murmur in Touya’s ear, “my best friend is fucking your sister.”
After pushing past the feel of Takami’s breath ghosting the shell of his ear, Touya hears the words and nearly breaks his vase. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Just look.”
Touya chances a look up, where Rumi is sitting with her chin hooked over Fuyumi’s shoulder, her hands sliding down Fuyumi’s forearms as Fuyumi paints flowers onto her bowl. Rumi whispers something in Fuyumi’s ear. Fuyumi flushes, but her answering smile is a little sly.
Touya’s grip tightens on the vase. Takami elbows him and waggles his eyebrows.
“Don’t talk to me again,” Touya says. Takami shrugs and returns to his work, unbothered by Touya’s attitude.
Takami picked out a mug, and he’s painting little red birds on it. Touya doesn't want to admit that they’re cute. They’re ugly blobs, misshapen and uneven, but Takami is painting with his tongue slightly poking out of his mouth in concentration and Touya likes the look on him.
Takami’s concentration can’t be that focused, because he nudges Touya again only moments later. Touya doesn’t look at him; he looks straight across the table.
Rumi’s hand disappears beneath the table. Touya can’t see where it lands, but Rumi’s bicep tenses as she squeezes. Fuyumi jumps.
Touya’s vase shatters on the floor of the pottery shop.
“Whoops,” Takami says cheerily.
Touya buries his face in his hand, the other gripping his paintbrush hard enough to snap. He’s not that upset about the vase, but Takami is looking at him wide eyed like he’s sorry for him and his sister is currently being fondled mere feet from him, so he needs a moment.
“Don’t say a word,” he says through gritted teeth.
Takami purses his lips together, but his eyes glitter.
Touya chances a look at the other two again; Fuyumi and Rumi didn’t even flinch at the sound. They’re staring into each other’s eyes, swaying much closer than is appropriate for a pottery studio on a Sunday morning. There are children here. Touya is here.
Takami is nothing more than gently amused by the situation. He wolf-whistles as Rumi brushes a strand of hair out of Fuyumi’s face.
“Do you think this is funny?” Touya hisses. “That’s my sister.”
“I think you’re funny,” Takami says. “And cute.”
“Shut up,” Touya says. He elbows Takami in the ribs. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
His face is burning. He pushes out of his tiny, cramped seat to pick something else to paint, kicking the shards of pottery beneath their table before someone comes over to investigate. Fuyumi will just have to settle for a plate.
When he chances a look back at their table, Takami waves at him, fingers waggling. Touya’s scowl deepens. His shoulders rise further up to his ears.
Why is Touya the embarrassed one here? He’s way better at painting than Takami is. Takami’s third wheeling even harder than Touya is, because he’s here on Rumi’s invitation. His hoodie is ugly.
He mostly avoids Takami’s gaze for the rest of the morning, grumbling half-assed quips to Takami’s smarmy comments. He can only breathe when they’re finished, leaving their painted pieces on the table for someone to take away and glaze for them. Fuyumi and Rumi painted matching bowls. Yuck.
Takami and Rumi leave together, with little slips that tell them when to collect their finished pieces. Rumi blows Fuyumi a kiss as she leaves, and Fuyumi wraps her cardigan more firmly around her body as the embarrassment sets in.
“She’s just, um, a friend,” Fuyumi says, face pink.
Touya, watching Takami go, just hums. Sceptical, but for once, he thinks it’s better not to shove.
The next time Touya sees Takami, it’s over the lip of the trash can that he’s being sick into.
“Don’t say a word,” Touya grits out as Takami’s shadow falls over him. Cold sweat beads at his hairline. Somewhere behind him, gleeful screams travel through the air as Touya’s arch nemesis, the double looped rollercoaster, goes through its next motions.
“Rough day?” Takami simpers.
“Fuck right off.”
Takami laughs, but he does hold out a crumpled water bottle to Touya, one that Touya snatches away like he’s never had a drink in his life. Touya’s resigned to looking stupid by the time he swills the water around his mouth and spits into the trash can, droplets spattering up the black liner.
“You know, your friends seem to enjoy a lot of different things to you,” Takami says conversationally, as Touya finally straightens, his stomach much lighter. “Not one for roller coasters?”
Touya shrugs. Sako’s birthday means he gets to do what he wants. The man’s, like, forty, so he probably doesn’t have much longer left. If he wants to go out on a roller coaster, Touya’s not in a place to stop him.
“They like me for my darling personality,” Touya replies.
“I get it,” Takami says. “I do too.”
“Stop joking around,” Touya says.
“I’m not,” Takami says, earnestly honest.
Touya squints at Takami. “Well, fuck off.”
“Ooh, I’m quaking with fear,” Takami says. “Are you gonna be sick again?”
Touya determinedly wipes the back of his mouth with his hand. He shakes his head. There’s nothing left in his stomach to bring up, but if Bubaigawara and Sako try to drag him on another roller coaster they’ve got another thing coming.
“Cool. I’m not a huge fan of roller coasters either,” Takami says, and Touya can’t shake the feeling that he might be fibbing. He lets it slide, though, and benevolently allows Takami to settle into the lie. “Wanna go on the big wheel together?”
Touya hates heights almost as much as he hates sitting in a tiny metal car that throws him around at 80 miles an hour. He doesn’t tell Takami that. He has something to prove, probably.
“Sure,” he says, resigned to his fate. He straightens up to his full height, using the extra inch to loom over Takami. “But you’re paying.”
Takami grins, pearlescent. “Fine by me. Let’s be quick, though – I wanna catch the sunset!”
The big wheel is one of those clanking, ancient ones, with open seats that only fit two people in at a time. Touya slides in beside Takami and tries to breathe through his nose as they’re locked in by a metal railing, the only thing stopping them plummeting to their deaths.
When the wheel starts moving, Touya’s stomach stays behind on the ground, which is probably better for today’s propensity for throwing up. Takami oohs and ahhs as the wheel brings them up and up and up, the ground falling away beneath them.
The wind picks up almost as soon as they leave ground level, the car rocking back and forth in the breeze as they ascend. Touya doesn’t fucking like that at all.
Their car screeches to a halt at the top of the wheel, quivering above the carnival ground.
“Wow!” Takami says. He leans over the railing, the car tipping forward as he goes. “Look at that! Everything’s so small! Hey, I think I can see our friends.”
Touya can’t see that far. Everything down below is just a smudge. Maybe the panic is turning him blind. Maybe he’s trying not to commit the sight to memory in case this really is the last thing he sees before he dies.
“I really appreciate that they keep inviting me to their birthdays,” Takami says, filling in Touya’s silence. “I only really knew Bubaigawara in passing during college, since he was a little older than everyone else, but it probably helped that I knew Iguchi, too. Say, why didn’t you invite me to your birthday party?”
Touya winces as the car wobbles again.
“Because I don't like you,” Touya says through gritted teeth.
Truthfully, Touya spent his birthday drinking wine alone on his kitchen floor and then passing out at 8pm. He doesn’t do birthdays, and the only reason his friends even knew he gained another year was because they stole his ID when they were out drinking one night, years ago, and took the information from there. Touya wants to know what traitor let that piece of information slip to Takami so he can find them and skin them. It was probably Toga. He’s been looking for a new reason to kill her.
A gust of wind shakes the car from side to side. It creaks as it moves, and Touya clings onto the rail, knuckles turning white. The cold of the metal bites into his hands, slick beneath his palms.
“Hey,” Takami says. “Are you okay?”
“Fucking peachy,” Touya says, jaw still clamped tight. He grips the railing harder, but with his eyes roving over the carnival below, people reduced to specks, he’s really being seduced into the idea that he’s going to perish up here.
“It’s fine,” Takami says, embarrassingly gentle, like he’s soothing a spooked animal. “It’s okay, see? It’s super safe.”
The car rocks again. Touya wishes he prepared his will before this. Takami’s hand settles on the railing beside his, and he hooks his pinky finger around Touya’s. Touya wants to shove him off, because the touch feels really quite nice, but he’s frozen with his hands cramped around the railing.
“Sometimes I wish I was a bird,” Takami sighs. “I love being up high. You wanna know why? Everything feels so small when you’re up high. All of your problems seem so irrelevant when you’re up in the air. I feel so calm right now. I know it can be pretty scary, actually, but it’s quiet up here, too. Well, apart from me, but if you listen, can you hear it?”
Touya can hear it, the soft blanket of distance muffling the sounds from below. It’s just him and the cool, clear air and Takami’s voice in his ear, talking low and quiet. Touya tunes out the content of the words, just focuses on his voice, the cadence of it.
As he talks, Takami’s fingers creep further onto Touya’s hand, covering him with his warmth. When the car starts to move, circling to the ground again, Touya only feels like he’s 70% going to die, compared to earlier’s 100%.
It’s not Touya’s best work, but the sunset’s almost nice. The fear of death is abating. Takami’s fingers run over the back of Touya’s hand, tracing the tendons, soft and slow.
When he’s not running his mouth, Takami’s bearable.
Takami shifts beside him, his thigh pressing into Touya’s. “Ya think anyone’s ever gotten nasty in one of these things?”
Touya retracts his statement. He retroactively wishes the wheel took him out while they were at the top.
Touya’s resigned to it now.
“What are you doing here?”
Beneath the ultraviolet arcade lights, Takami’s straight, white teeth glow almost blue.
“What do you mean? Shigaraki loves me,” he says.
“Toga tampered with the Facebook invitation,” Shigaraki interrupts as he passes by, a bowling ball clutched in his hands. He’s wearing his stupid gloves, the ones with only half of the fingers on them because they make him better at bowling, or something. Touya doesn’t know why he has to be here when Shigaraki goes competitive bowling with his weird online friends every other week, but at least those freaks weren’t invited.
Touya fucking hates bowling, mostly because Shigaraki can’t get enough of it. Anything Shigaraki loves can’t be that good.
“I love bowling,” Takami says, as he joins them at their lane, rented shoes in hand. He pulls off his shoes, tucks them under the bench. His socks have little ducks on them. Touya stares as he pulls the bowling shoes on, lacing them tight.
When they’re halfway through the round and Takami’s just scored two strikes in a row, Touya thinks he can understand why Takami loves bowling.
“You have to be cheating,” Touya says.
“Nope,” Takami says. “Just talented.”
Touya scowls at him and bowls a 5.
Takami’s next turn ends in another strike.
“3 in a row,” he announces triumphantly. “They call that a turkey.”
“I’m sensing a theme, birdie,” Touya says.
Not only is Touya resigned to Takami showing up at all of his friend’s gatherings, in the periphery of birthdays and celebrations, he’s also resigned to being completely shown up. He doesn’t have it in him to fight it anymore. Takami’s better at him than everything.
He watches Takami enthusiastically high five Iguchi when Iguchi scores a spare, defeating a nasty split, smile stretching his face open. He gleams in the competition, cheers enthusiastically no matter what anyone else scores. Everyone else is drawn to him, circling him like they’re caught in his orbit, but Takami keeps flitting back to Touya’s side regardless.
“I thought you’d be better at this,” he remarks as they hang back, watching Hikiishi send her ball down the lane with a mighty clatter.
“What about me makes you think I’d be good at this?” Touya asks. The dim blue light of the bowling alley is making him sleepy.
“You seem angry,” Takami says. “It’s a good way to get anger out.”
Touya scowls, and then realises he’s proving Takami’s point, so he smoothes out his facial features. He tries for a smile that’s saccharinely fake.
“Who, me?” he asks.
Takami snorts. “Yeah, you. Don’t worry about it, though. I like ‘em a bit rough around the edges.”
“You a masochist?” Touya pokes.
Takami shrugs. “Are you? It’s actually amazing how bad you are at everything we’ve played. Are you sure you’re not just pretending to be bad because you like being shown up by me?”
Touya trips him up on the way to his next turn. Takami walks it off like it’s nothing. When Touya steps up to bowl after, Takami trails his hand down Touya’s spine and Touya loses his grip on his bowling ball, only just avoiding dropping it on his foot. Dirty fucking tactics. Touya determinedly doesn’t look at Takami as he scoops up the ball. He scores a 3.
Touya comes dead last. Takami comes second only to Shigaraki, but Shigaraki is an outlier and should not be counted, so Takami technically wins.
“Good game,” Takami tells him afterwards, patting Touya on the shoulder. His touch lingers, hand sliding down Touya’s arm. Touya doesn’t quite manage to shrug him off.
The bar is familiar, but the reason they’re there isn’t. Truth be told, they never really need a reason, but Toga was insistent that this time was special.
Toga got a promotion at work, or maybe it was a demotion, so now they’re out celebrating or drowning their sorrows; Touya doesn’t know and doesn’t care, he’s just been itching for a drink all week.
Takami is there, but Touya almost hoped he would be. He feels more settled at their local rundown bar. It’s practically a second home, so without the promise of foreign territory he thinks he might actually be able to make it through an interaction without being shown up by him.
He needn’t have worried, because by the time he arrives, Takami’s already worked himself into a bit of a mess.
“You’re so fucking drunk,” Touya says, almost amazed, sliding into the seat next to Takami’s. Takami is sitting with his arms and head pillowed on the sticky wood of the tabletop, hair spilling out around him like a halo. Touya wants to run his hands through it. He determinedly keeps his hands around his glass, focusing on the way the coldness seeps into his palms.
“No,” Takami says, and then giggles.
Touya scans the table in front of him. “You’ve had half a beer.”
“It’s strong,” Takami whines.
“Are you actually 12?”
“No! I’m…” he pauses, counting absently on his fingers. “I’m 23. How old’re you?”
“Oh, so you’re a little baby,” Touya says. “I’m 24.”
“I’m not a little baby,” Takami pouts, which doesn’t do much to negate Touya’s point. “I’m legal.”
“Legal for what?”
“Sex and murder.”
“Uh-huh,” Touya says, a smile curling onto his face. “You like those things?”
Takami shrugs, a movement rendered clunky by the fact that he’s lying half over the table. “I like one of them more than the other.”
He looks up at Touya, something decidedly sleazy on his face.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Touya says, instead of following him down that particular rabbit hole.
“I don’t feel embarrassed,” Takami says. He manoeuvres his beer to his mouth while still horizontal in a move that shouldn’t work by wont of gravity but he somehow manages to pull off. The laws of physics are kind to him. A little bit dribbles out of the corner of his mouth when he’s finished but he just wipes it away mindlessly.
He stares at Touya for a moment, his gaze probing. Touya stares back, and when Takami doesn’t make any move to speak, he raises his eyebrows in a silent well, what are you staring for?
“Hey,” Takami says.
“What?” Touya replies.
“Hey,” Takami repeats. His eyes flicker over Touya’s face again. “Do you like me? I’ve kind of been super into you since the day we met.”
Touya searches Takami’s face for the hint of a lie. Watching the watcher. There’s nothing in there, no deception or façade in it, but Touya pushes back with a joke anyway because he’s not quite prepared for the honesty.
“You’re telling me you were going for romance when you shot a paintball at my ass?”
“Well, I did hope you’d read between the lines,” Takami says.
“I’m not so good at subtle,” Touya says. “Tell me to my face, coward.”
Takami rolls his eyes, but his smile is still present. He sits up, swaying into Touya’s side. He rests his chin on Touya’s shoulder, the bone digging into the flimsy muscle there, and just looks at him, eyes wide and open.
“Will you go on a date with me?” he asks. “Just the two of us, with none of our friends around?”
“I’ll accept, on one condition,” Touya says.
“Yeah?”
“No paintball. No mini golf. No pottery painting. No amusement parks. And, for the love of God, no fucking bowling.”
“That sounds a lot like five conditions to me.”
“It’s one,” Touya says impatiently. “We go on a date and I get to choose the location.”
“Sure,” Takami says easily. He leaves his perch on Touya’s shoulder to sink back onto the table. He pillows his head in his arms, hair flopping over onto the wood again. He smiles up at Touya, all soft and pliant. “Now?”
Touya scuffs a hand through Takami's hair, finally giving in to the temptation to muss it up. He smoothes it back down afterwards, absently combing the strands back into place. Takami leans into his touch. “You think this is a perfect date?”
“I’m easy to please,” Takami says.
Touya snorts. He continues to stroke Takami’s hair, petting it absently. Takami makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes sliding shut. When Touya pauses, his eyes flicker open again, irises almost transparent in the light of the bar.
He doesn’t get to finish the thought because Toga throws herself down between them, chattering about shots and going to the club after and who cares if it’s Tuesday, Touya, aren’t there more important things in life than a job? which clues Touya in pretty quickly to why they’re at the bar tonight in the first place.
Touya just watches Takami, watches the way the vulnerability in his face smoothes out as he talks to Toga, switches into a much more neutral amenability. Toga keeps elbowing Touya in the ribs as she gesticulates, so Touya eventually just shoves her away.
Takami snorts as he watches her go.
“Again,” Takami says, “I don’t know how they’re friends with you.”
“Neither do I,” Touya says. “Through no choice of my own.”
“Well, I’m glad they are,” Takami says. He pokes at Touya’s arm, at the heat of his arm exposed in his short sleeves. His hand lingers, the skin cool, soaking in Touya’s heat. “And I promise I’ll never take you bowling or mini golfing or paintballing or whatever else it was.”
“That’s a big promise, birdie,” Touya says.
“Nah.” Takami sways into sitting, unable to remain still, resting his chin in his palm. Touya doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, like there’s something worth being looked at. It must be the low alcohol tolerance making him deluded. “Easy promise. You free Friday?”
Bubaigawara’s birthday is coming up soon. Touya could leave it at that, slip away until the inevitable reconvening at mutual friends’ birthdays. Leave this open and wanting, leave Takami boxed into the ‘mutual acquaintance’ category.
“Yeah,” he ends up saying. “I’m free Friday.”
Takami’s subsequent grin is brighter than any Touya’s seen so far, nicer than the smiles he wears when he’s winning. Eyes on Touya while the others cause a ruckus around them.
“I’ll let you pick the place,” Takami says.
“Thank fucking God for that,” Touya replies. “I’ll finally get to show you up.”
“Go on,” Takami says, smile sliding closer to a leer, chasing that competition high. He leans in again: a dare. “I’d like to see you try.”