** m o v e 0 1 **
<< y o u j i n>>
7:40pm, IZAKAYA (Pub)
"YOUJIN, LET'S SIT TOGETHER!" Keita drops himself on the couch beside me, smiling from ear-to-ear.
"Suit yourself." I say as I reach for a bottle of beer.
Keita's friends took their own seats on the couch across from us. Bottles of beer and plates of food were served on our table.
"Keita, you always ditch us every time you see Youjin. You like him that much?" Keita's friend, Fumihiro, comments from across us.
Toshiro, another one of Keita's friends, leans forward and stares at the both of us. "Don't say you turned homo, huh? Keita-kun?"
Suddenly, a shiver runs down my spine. I carefully catch my breath.
"The hell, guys? Me? Gay? Don't you feel disgusted?!" Keita makes a disgusted face then bursts into a fit of laughter together with Toshiro and Fumihiro. "I just feel really comfortable with Youjin."
As much as I can, I smile when Keita glances at me.
My best friend from high school, Eisuke, who's also sitting beside me, suddenly hugs me from behind. "Good! Because I will never hand Youjin over to you!"
Eisuke is throwing daggers towards Keita and when I glance at Keita he's looking at him the same way.
They may look like this but believe me when I say they get along... sometimes.
"Guys, enough with this homosexual talk and let's just drink." Misao chimes in while drinking quietly in front of us.
"Right!" Fumihiro and Toshiro cheer.
"Let me pour you a cup." I raise the bottle and pour the beer on Keita's empty glass.
"Thanks." He says in a gentle tone. I smile at him in reply as I pour the beer on my glass too.
Minutes passed and everyone was engulfed with chatting and ranting about our college life. I'm not much of a talker but I enjoy listening and laughing together with them as I silently drink my beer.
Amidst the loud laughter, under the table I feel a big, warm hand gently reaching for my hand. I freeze for a second with the tingling sensation of his skin against mine. Slowly, he laces his fingers with mine as he tightens his grip on my hand. My heart is starting to jump out of my chest but I pretend I didn't care. He then took my hand over his lap. Slowly, carefully, as if he's holding something so fragile. The thought that he's doing this in front of our friends, and trying to hide it from them, makes me even more nervous. I'm scared but I don't want him to let go.
All throughout the night, I have to keep on pretending that nothing is going on under the table between me and Keita.
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**MOVE 2**
< y o u j i n >
KEITA BEGAN TOUCHING ME ONE MONTH AGO.
I honestly have no idea why he's doing it because I am pretty sure Keita doesn't swing that way.
Every time his fingers brush against me, he feigns indifference, as if nothing is happening. So I let myself play along, pretending too, letting his touch linger as if it's not igniting my skin on fire. He never once speaks about it, he never once admits to why, and I never once find the courage to ask.
I remember that night so clearly, like it was just yesterday. Keita and I were on our way to the train station. That night was unexpectedly chilly. I get cold pretty easily so I would always bring a jacket or a sweater with me every time I go out. But that one fateful night, I was running late and accidentally left my jacket at home. My whole body was literally shivering that time and all I could think about was a warm bath once I got back home.
It's only been two weeks since Kieta and I met, yet there's no denying how naturally we just clicked. Around him, everything feels easy and free. We could talk about everything, we would laugh at the same thing, we're two puzzle pieces that perfectly fit together.
That night I found him drunk was the night we met, and it was as if we skipped the awkward beginnings and slipped straight into being best friends.
"Youjin, are you okay?" Keita stops mid-step, his eyes lingering on my face with a flicker of concern shadowing his expression.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit cold."
"Right. It's really chilly tonight." He pauses, leaning closer to me without taking his stare off my face. "Hey, your nose is so red!"
"Really?" I touch my nose.
His lips curled in a playful smile, yet the worry never left his face—in fact, it only deepened. "You're not just 'a bit' cold. Liar!"
I laugh. "You got me. I get cold easily but I'm fine. Really." I assure him.
Keita pulls his right hand out from his jacket's pocket and brings it over to my face. I was caught off guard when he gently brushed his fingers against my cold cheeks. I stare at his face as he inches closer to me. I thought the moment was over when he pulled his hand back. I am preparing myself to laugh it off but then he takes my hand. His hand is warm while mine is shivering.
He let go of a soft chuckle. "Man, you're freezing."
Since that night, whenever Keita and I are together, he always finds some excuse to touch me— a brush that lingers too long or holds my hand. I can never tell what he's thinking. And no matter how many times I search myself for an answer, it feels like one I'm not supposed to find
Does he like me?
Is he gay?
I am painfully aware that to Keita, I am nothing more than a friend—nothing less, nothing more. And yet, despite that cruel truth, I can't explain why he does this… why he keeps reaching for my hand. At times, I try to convince myself it's only because he misses her—his ex-girlfriend—and that seeing me reminds him of her.
After all, we met the very day they broke up. Maybe, in his eyes, I am nothing but a stand-in for what he's lost.
Clinging to my own explanations is better than having none at all. Still, it feels unfair, because every time he touches me, my feelings for him only grow—feelings that can never be good for the fragile friendship we share. I'm terrified that if I tell him to stop, or if I confess what's in my heart, everything between us will shatter. We would never go back to what we were, to what we're supposed to be.
I'd rather stay in this stalemate relationship with Keita than lose him.
Maybe, in the end, I'm the greedier one."
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** MOVE 3 **
< y o u j i n >
It was already past midnight when we finally called it a night. Toshiro had drunk himself under the table, and after losing to Fumihiro in rock-paper-scissors, Misao was stuck with the task of dragging him home. The hours slipped away faster than I realized. It's always like that with these guys—loud, messy, but somehow fun.
"We're taking a cab," Misao announces as he flags one down. "And I'm charging it to this drunkard's wallet."
At six feet tall, with a face that rarely changes expression, Misao looks like the type who wouldn't bother with anyone. But in truth, he gets along with everybody.
"Yeah, serve him right for drinking too much. He's lucky we don't have class in the morning," Keita says, then glances back at me. "You've got class tomorrow, don't you?"
"Ah, yeah. But it's still early… and I'm not that drunk yet," I chuckle, "I could even go another round."
"I know a new bar that just opened nearby. Let's go, Youjin." Eisuke slings an arm over my shoulder, grinning. "Then you can crash at my place after."
"Wait." Keita cuts in, and we both glance his way. "Just reminding you—both of you have morning classes tomorrow."
The corner of Eisuke's mouth curls as he pulls me closer. "Since when did you start acting like our mom, huh, Keita bro?" His voice drips with sarcasm.
"Who the hell are you calling mom?!" Keita snaps back.
"It's fine, right? I wanna come too, Eisuke," Fumihiro says while dashing towards us. Keita looks caught off guard.
"I'd tag along, but I've gotta bring this one home. Maybe next time." Misao waves as a cab pulls up. He carelessly tossed the unconscious Toshiro inside before climbing in himself, leaving us behind.
"Let's get going!" Fumihiro cheers.
"Wait—get going where?" Keita blurts.
"Are you coming with us, Keita? If not, you can head home first." Fumihiro says, dead serious.
Keita's face twists, like he wants to refuse, but something pins him in place. His eyes flick toward me. I give him the smallest nod.
He exhales sharply. "Fine. I'm going! Dammit."
I laugh under my breath. "You could've just said so from the start."
Keita opens his mouth as if to retort, then hesitates, swallowing the words before they escape.
—
The new bar is closer than we expected. It isn't crowded yet, but the low light and hum of music give it a warmth that sinks into me. A waiter leads us to a corner booth, and we order a round of beers. Eisuke slides in beside me, while Keita and Fumihiro take the seats across.
Keita looks at me like a sulking child—brows knitted, lips in a pout. He doesn't even look drunk, but damn… he's too cute for his own good.
"Ah, this place is nice," Fumihiro says, flicking his lighter and bringing the flame to his cigarette.
"Give it a little time, it'll be packed too," Eisuke replies.
"Hey, toss me one," Keita mutters. Fumihiro flicks him the box, and Keita plucks out a stick. The end of his cigarette burns to life, the tip glows red as he pulls in a slow drag. A thin veil of smoke escapes his lips in a slow stream, curling and twisting in the dim light, drifting lazily into the space between us, and for a moment, all I can see is him through that haze.
It's not every day I see him smoke, but every time he does, something in me stirs. My eyes fix on the way the cigarette rests between his fingers, loose yet deliberate. The way his lips close around the filter—soft, steady—before he draws in a breath. He tilts his head back slightly, and the smoke spills out in a slow, languid stream, lingering in the air like a tease before fading away.
I shouldn't think this, but every detail feels unbearably sexy. The longer I watch him, the harder it is to look away. A reckless thought burns at the back of my mind—how badly I want to tug him closer by the shirt, press my mouth to his, and steal that smoke straight from his lips. It's crazy. But watching Keita smoke makes me want things I shouldn't.
As we settled in, the talk drifted from school to girls, and eventually to past relationships. The mood grew heavier, especially knowing Keita had broken up with his girlfriend just a month ago. But he barely said a word— he just sat there, drinking and smoking in silence, his silence weighed on the table, and none of us tried to break it. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, yet he still chose to be here.
"How about you, Youjin? How many girlfriends have you had?" Fumihiro leans in, grinning.
My throat goes dry. Shit. I force out a laugh. "Hmm… I wonder?" I say playfully, but my eyes flick to Keita, and catch him watching me. "I-I've never really been in a serious relationship…"
Fumihiro nearly chokes on his drink. "What? No way! I'd never take you for a playboy, Youjin"
I laugh along with him, though it feels hollow. "I'm not. It's just… hard to find someone who stays."
"You mean you're always the one getting dumped?"
I shrug with a smile that doesn't reach my chest. "Well… you could say that."
The one who's always dumped, huh? The truth is, it's harder than that. It's hard to find someone willing to stay—someone who accepts me for who I am. For guys like me, a lasting relationship feels like chasing after a fantasy.
Eisuke slings an arm over my shoulder, his voice loud and tipsy. "The truth is, Youjin falls in love too easily, and people always take him for granted. That's why now he's too scared to get close. Right, Youjin?"
"Stop making things up, Eisuke," I shot him a look.
"Yeees, yesss…" he slurs, already drunk.
I excuse myself and head to the comfort room, splashing cold water over my face in an attempt to stay awake. It isn't the alcohol that's weighing me down, it's the drowsiness creeping in after a long night. For a moment, I even considered crashing at Eisuke's place.
"How's it going?"
I snap my head up. Keita is leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching me.
"Fine. I'm not drunk… just sleepy." I let out a chuckle, trying to shake off the heaviness in my body.
He lifts a brow. "Yeah? And you've got morning class too."
"I could skip," I joke, though the thought tempts me. "Just kidding. Don't worry, I'll stay at Eisuke's apartment. It's close to campus. You're lucky—you don't have class until the afternoon." Another laugh slips out, lighter this time. Maybe the alcohol really is kicking in.
But Keita doesn't laugh with me. He doesn't say anything at all. He just stares, eyes fixed on me as though searching for something he can't put into words.
"Keita?" I call softly.
His expression shifts, unreadable. "Let's just finish the drinks," he says after a pause. "Then call it a night."
"…Okay?"
***
We wrap up around three in the morning. Everyone looks sober enough to head home. Fumihiro leaves first, disappearing down the opposite street, which leaves just the three of us—me, Eisuke, and Keita.
Eisuke's apartment is nearby, but for me and Keita, we have to take a train—but it's been a while since the last train for the day ran.
"Eisuke, let me crash at your place," I say, knowing he wouldn't mind. I've stayed over plenty of times before. I turn to Keita. "You should come with us too. No trains are running anymore. That's okay with you, Eisuke?"
Eisuke rubs at his eyes, yawning. "I guess it's fine. I don't have the heart to kick you out at this hour anyway. Let's go—I just wanna pass out already."
I chuckle. "Thanks, Eisuke. Come on, Keita."
Keita hesitates, his voice low. "...Is it really okay?"
"Of course it is." I smile, though something in the way he asks makes my chest feel tight.
***
It's only a ten–minute ride from the bar to Eisuke's place. The moment we get in, Eisuke collapses straight onto his bed, leaving me to pull out the futon for Keita and me. I lay it beside Eisuke's bed and grab a blanket from his cabinet. Since I stay here so many times, I already have a pillow of my own tucked away along with a few spare clothes.
"Do you want to change into a shirt, Keita? I've got some here you can borrow."
He glances at me. "Is that okay?"
"Of course. Hold on." I dig into the drawer and pull out one of my soft, worn shirts before handing it over. He takes it quietly, slipping it on without a word.
"The bathroom's over there," I say, pointing to the small door tucked into the corner of the apartment. "Want me to get you some water, too?"
Keita looks around the room before his eyes come back to me. "You're really familiar with this place." His voice carries a hint of amusement, maybe curiosity.
I grin. "Yeah. Eisuke's room feels like a second home to me."
"I see…" His expression softens as silence falls between us, not awkward, just strangely still.
Finally, he murmurs, "Then, let's sleep."
I turn off the lights and slip under the blanket beside Keita. His back is to me, shoulders rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I lay there staring at the ceiling, willing my heartbeat to slow down. He is right there—close enough to touch—but I don't dare. He wouldn't want that. Not from me. I have to stop imagining things.
Frustration knots in my chest. I shut my eyes, telling myself to just sleep, to let this longing die down.
Then something brushes against my cheek.
My eyes fly open, and all at once, Keita is there. Hovering over me. His face is so close I can feel the warmth radiating off him. His eyes roam across my face, slow and deliberate, as if he's memorizing every line, every curve.
I freeze. My throat locks. His expression—intense, almost threatening—makes it impossible to speak his name. In the dark, with only the faintest glow from the window, I can still see it: the hunger in his stare, the tension in his jaw.
My heart hammers so violently I'm sure it'll wake Eisuke. I can't move, can't breathe. I don't understand him, don't understand this moment, nor if this is just a drunken impulse—but all I can think about, stupidly, helplessly, is how close his mouth is to mine.
His breath, warm against my skin, smells of beer and cigarettes.
What is he thinking? What does he want from me? Why now?
The questions are written all over my face, and maybe that's why he whispers—so softly I almost don't catch it:
"Please. Don't ask."
Before I can even breathe, his lips close the space between us.
The shock hits me so hard I forget to close my eyes. His mouth presses against mine, tentative at first, then tugging at my lower lip until I have no choice but to move with him. I don't know what to do—whether to resist or to give in. For a fleeting second I think I'm dreaming. Maybe I want to believe I'm dreaming.
And yet… I close my eyes. And I kiss him back.
What begins soft turns ravenous. His mouth consumes mine, like we've both been starving for this without even knowing it. His tongue slips past my lips, tasting me—beer, spices, the heat of him—and a ridiculous regret hits me for not brushing my teeth before bed. But the thought vanishes the moment his hand slides beneath my shirt.
His fingers trace up from my stomach to my bare chest, leaving fire in their wake. Every touch scatters reason out of me, until all I can do is shiver beneath him. My body burns where he touches me, as if he's claiming pieces of me I hadn't realized I want to give away.
I always imagined Keita would be a good kisser. Now I know—he's better than anything I ever let myself imagine. The kiss is too good, too consuming; a moan slips past my throat before I can hold it back. My head spins.
I want more.
I need more.
Without thinking, my hand moves—sliding down, pressing against his crotch. My breath hitches when I feel him, hard and straining beneath my palm. My heart freezes… and then, as if jolted awake, he freezes too.
The kiss breaks.
Keita pulls away so fast it leaves me breathless, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, his shoulders rigid as he stands. He won't look at me.
"I'll… take care of this," he mutters, his voice rough, before rushing into the bathroom.
And just like that, I'm left staring at the ceiling again, chest heaving, heart refusing to calm.
A laugh, shaky and half–disbelieving, escapes me.
"He tastes like beer and cigarettes."