An Outsider

He awoke to something warm and furry crawling up his arm. Youji used to be the kind of person that'd push as far as he could, but ever since he dropped Miyo's cat off the couch by accident as it came to check on him, he'd grown wary. In reverse, that is.

Besides, it didn't take long to recognize the creatively confused mass of gray hair. Isao used Youji's arm as a pillow with the rest of his body curled into a ball against the couch. To say it looked uncomfortable would be an understatement.

Should he... shouldn't he...?

Oh, well. With his free hand, Youji nudged Isao's shoulder, to no effect. To say this was uncomfortable would be an even bigger understatement.

"You'll be late for college."

It must've been cloudy, because as if on cue, a burst of yellow invaded an otherwise monochrome living room.

"...never mind. You're probably late already. Come on."

Nothing.

Even though he'd told himself to be nice, sometimes sacrifices had to be made, and so Youji slid his arm back to himself. Isao melted off the couch. At the floor, he groaned, then curled into a ball.

...well, wow. 

Oh, to be that heavy a sleeper; sometimes the neighbor above dropping a spoon woke him up. Youji rolled to nudge Isao's shoulder again, then shake him, then, as he lost his balance, land atop him.

Isao squealed like a dog toy getting squeezed. No other comparison was as apt. Youji, on his part, scrambled to sit up, only to hit his head against the corner of the coffee table so hard it dazed him.

As he held his head, Isao failed to move off him. From under him. 

"Hey, Youji? Um. Are. Are you okay?"

"S... ah, fuck."

"Uh. Do I, uh. Ambulance?"

Youji shook his head. Weird how people shut down if you hit them just at the right spot, even if it wasn't, in the grand scheme of things, any harmful. "Sorry," he mumbled, under his breath. "Just. One moment."

Out of all the ways to reply, Isao chose the way of chaos: "You can take all the moments you want."

And then: "What I mean is that it doesn't bother me."

And then: "That you're, um, above me."

And finally: "Why are you shirtless..."

He noticed, only then, as his senses returned, that Isao had placed a hand on his hair. Gently, his fingers toyed with a strand. Was that intentional, or would he freak out if Youji asked about it? Either way, it helped. "I'm. Your. Sorry." He cleared his throat. "The shirt you lent me didn't fit."

No response.

Youji tried to sit up, but Isao held him in place.

At times, he almost thought he'd finally gotten as grasp of this guy's behavior; most of the time he got proven wrong. Even when Isao said one thing, he did another, as though his hands and voice and brain were from different organisms.

Right now, for example: he held Youji in a similar vicegrip as last night, yet his heart raced in tandem with his breaths. Was that fight or flight? Was he panicking? Was he okay? Should Youji move off him anyway? He couldn't even check on Isao's expression because of how tightly he held Youji.

There was also the matter of Isao's response to as mundane a question as 'something wrong'? He'd just have to get creative about it. "So. Oh, right. You'll be late for college."

No response.

"Good morning?"

Nothing.

He HAD to ask. "Are you okay?"

The fingers on his hair curled.

"Isao? Did I scare you?" It was only upon uttering those words that it dawned upon him that, yes, waking up like that would terrify anyone. Moreover, Isao had no context. Youji didn't dare move again, just in case, and had to elaborate: "I know this looks bad, but I was just trying to wake you up and lost my balance. I promise. I won't blame you if you get angry."

"N-no. No."

"No what?"

"I'm not." He sounded breathless. If he allegedly wasn't mad, then... scared? Which was it? "Um. You... um. I'm. I. Please don't hate me, but. Um. I-it's not my fault. You und. Um. Y-you understand, right? That it's an. A phy. Physical response. I'm sorry. Please."

...neither.

"I'm sorry."

It was Youji's turn to be speechless.

"I'll uh. Close your eyes. I need. Bathroom."

Finally, Isao released him. Youji sat up. To call this whole thing awkward would be such an understatement it insulted the meaning of language itself. Not that it'd never happened before, but—Isao. He could've just made an excuse or something. Anything.

An explosion at the shower startled Youji's embarrassment off him. It'd been the same yesterday. He'd walked under it hoping for the best.

While Isao showered (?) Youji regained his composure enough to head to the kitchen. Forgetting that'd happened would probably be for the best. No problem. He'd just talk as he always did, try to make Isao smile.

The fridge contained actual food this time... kind of. Mostly eggs. A half-empty beer. Was that lettuce...? Half-finished convenience store meals. One of them smelled like Youji felt sometimes. He threw that one away. Anyway, the cupboard had rice, ketchup and salt, among other things: how convenient.

Omelette rice it was.

It was a good thing that Isao took so long, for Youji could take his time cooking. To himself, he sang, even though he knew he sounded like the rotting convenience store meal smelled. Some beer cans lay unopened at the fridge. A morning cigarette would be—

No.

He had to resist.

Just one, though. One was harmless.

Before Isao came... emerged... nah, fuck it, he'd have a couple.

Two cigarettes and a half later, Isao showed up, wearing a shirt with a strawberry talking in... was that Russian? Perhaps they were mascots to some show or something. He could just be projecting when it came to calling Isao's stare judgmental, but.

"So early?"

But then he said that. "Breakfast is ready," was Youji's response. "I wanted to try something else, but again, it's not like your kitchen is brimming with options."

"True."

Isao sat at the table. Youji sat at the table—once he'd set it.

"You've been here twice and twice has someone hit their head. Twice have I been violently woken up. Twice have I seen you shirtless."

Youji knew better than to reply, for some reason.

"Twice have you prepared breakfast, and twice has it been omurice. This time, though, there's no drawings."

"I forgot" Youji said.

"I'm just not gonna go today. To college. It's too late. So. Um. Thank you for the food."

"Thank you for the food."

They are in silence. Usually Youji filled in the silence, but he'd let Isao have some peace. Knowing him, it wouldn't take long before he said something obliviously outlandish anyway. He had ketchup on the side of his mouth. Youji held back the urge to comment on this. To just... get that off with a napkin.

Isao asked, "Do you work out?"

There It was. Youji braced himself for It. He nodded.

"How often?"

"Not as often as I should."

"Oh. Okay. That's fine, though, it's hard to tell. I mean that you don't do it often, not that you do. Work out." He started toying with the rim of his glasses, looking at his half-empty plate. He seldom held eye contact. "So, uh. Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead?"

"Where do you, um. I've been thinking of, you know, working out as well. I just don't know where. It's not that I can't do it on my own, but it's easier if someone else is, um, helping. I think. So I was thinking that maybe we could, uh. Maybe."

"You can come with me next time," Youji told him.

Isao blushed.

Oh, for fuck's sake. "To the gym."

"I know! IknowIknowIknow. Please. Um, anyway, look at this." He lifted an arm to shoulder level. It was the arm of all time. Isao tapped at the skin below his upper arm, which, sure, hung a bit, but it was nothing lifting weights for a few months couldn't fix.

"That's fine," Youji told him, because it was true.

Isao lowered the arm of all time. He'd barely touched his breakfast. "I'm not saying I want to get buff," he continued, "Because... well, no, that'd be nice, but it's probably not realistic."

"You just need consistency."

"Yeah. That's why it's not realistic."

"Eh, we'll see. I usually go in the mornings, but today... tomorrow...? When is your day off again?"

"I go to college four times a week," replied Isao. "I don't really have to stay there after noon, but, you know. People. There's a lot of them on the bus when I get out of class. But. But I could stop doing that if it means going to the gym. With you. So my jeans fit again."

That last part had probably come out without thinking, so Youji obviated it. Instead, he grinned. "Sure."

Isao lit up: Youji had never met someone who encompassed the phrase so well. His eyes widened, posture straightened; at times it felt as though his color came back. "Really? Today? C-can we go today? Before work?"

"Sure, sure."

He'd have to somehow convince Miyo to rent the gym to them, and only to them, for an hour. Then again, it's not like a lot of residents used it at the apartment complex anyway. Youji seldom saw anyone other than, well... Teddy, Yamada and Miyo. Jun hadn't used it since the accident.

Isao took any relevant items to the sink. He washed the dishes before Youji could offer to do it. (Then again, knowing Isao, he'd get mad about it.) "So, uh, Youji."

"So, uh, Isao."

"About this morning."

"Oh no."

"Yeah."

Youji wrongly assumed he'd deleted it from his brain already, but no. There it was. "Shh, Isao, it's fine."

"I just wanted to say that it's not my fault."

"Yes."

"Sometimes those things happen."

"Yes. They do. Please shut up."

"S—"

"I don't hate you and I wouldn't hate you over something like that, just... shut up. Please. Or change the topic."

Was there such a thing as lighting down? Turning the colors off? Isao did that far more often than the alternative. Right. He should've been more gentle. With his phrasing. "It's just that I know you have three hundred boyfriends so I just wanted to ask how you got them like how you choose them what are their requirements I'm not asking this for anything dirty I mean yes I mean no kind of but I'm just asking because. Because. Go away."

Youji rested his cheek on his fist, elbow propped on the table. Idly, he watched Isao's back. "I don't have three hundred boyfriends," he informed. This had a 70% chance of falling on deaf ears.

Isao glanced at him from above his shoulder. "No?"

"No."

Yet it was that earnest look, sweet, raw, that'd taken his breath away the first time Youji saw it, back when Isao was nothing but a poor boy that'd just gotten soaked by some asshole on the street. Youji could've just taken the phone to the local police station, sure, but... police. Yeah. No.

He would've done so, anyway, had the owner not appeared soon.

It'd been the same look when he cooked dinner for Isao the first time, when they talked things out at the stupidly-named coffee shop, whenever Youji did something as small as say 'good morning'. It sounded the same during those rare, precious occasions when Isao laughed.

But then he'd also panic at the sight of Youji alone, so... which was it? "Isao," Youji found himself saying, "You do remember I said I'm interested, too, right?"

Isao nodded so quickly he almost buzzed.

"Well, there you go. That's my requirement, you being you."

"But. You're just saying that because you're nice nice."

There was also the issue of Isao's bizarre inability to see himself as anything good. Youji shook his head, slowly. At least they'd held eye contact for longer than ever before. "I mean it," he replied.

"But..." Isao turned back to the sink. Hopefully, he'd moved the plant off there before doing the dishes. "You have a terrible taste in men."

"So do you."

"No I don't. Shut up."

Youji complied. He smiled, too.