Gift Fic for steffilinos

[stormymood.livejournal.com]

A piece of rainbow for steffilinos


Title : Once In This Borrowed Forever
Pairing: Bambi / Bussan, Bambi/Mohko
Rating/Warnings: PG, warning: none, really. Except maybe for the unexpected fluff at the very end.
Summary: “Seriously, you’re a moron,” he grits out, curling his palm into hard fists, and digging his fingernails against his own skin in lieu of swinging his arm and hitting Bussan till his knuckles bleed because he can’t.
Because despite the fact that Bussan is alive now, and not dead like they thought he was when they left him behind the hospital morgue earlier, he’s still dying.
Note steffilinos Kizarazu Cats Eye fic for you, set during (or after) the last episode of the dorama. ^^ I hope this one's okay. After a whole month of reading and re-reading your prompts (and writing about ten drafts based on those), I always end up staring at your "Did I mention that I’d love to read a KCE fanfic?" request and I was like, she really, really prefers to receive a KCE fanfic so why not write her one? The problem was, I have yet to watch the dorama (sorry, Sho-san) so that's what I did first. I'm sorry though, if this isn't what you're hoping for but I do wish you'd at least enjoy reading this. Million thanks to my A for beta reading this for me - this is a better fic because of you, love. Thank you. To J for letting me rant and cry and complain when I felt like giving up, for being there.



+++


He honestly feels like punching Bussan hard on the face right now.

“Seriously, you’re a moron,” he grits out, curling his palm into hard fists, and digging his fingernails against his own skin in lieu of swinging his arm and hitting Bussan till his knuckles bleed because he can’t.

Because despite the fact that Bussan is alive now, and not dead like they thought he was when they left him behind the hospital morgue earlier, he’s still dying.

It’s true. Bussan is still going to die, and no amount of courage or strong friendship bond is enough to change that no matter how much they want to.

“Fuck, we really thought you –“ he stutters with a gasp, voice shaking as he reaches up to roughly swipe the moisture away from his eyes, wondering how he could feel so happy, relieved and sad at the same time; because he is and it’s so fucking weird he’s not sure if he wants to cry or laugh, or both.

Stupid. What a fucking stupid guy, he thinks, pulling a stupid prank and making a special fool out of them, at least more than he normally would and god, it’s so fucking annoying.

Bussan chuckles in response and pulls a cigarette pack out of thin air (there's nowhere to hide it and the hospital robe Bussan is wearing doesn't have a pocket) with a grin, pulling out a stick before offering the rest to him. He stares at it, gaze straying from the cigarette in Bussan’s hand and onto the fucking cheeky grin Bussan has on his face.

He takes note of the fact that Bussan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry,” Bussan says, though he doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic. He sounds tired, though. And maybe a little sad.

“I just thought that since there won’t be any chance to joke about dying next time if ever I feel like it, because I’d probably be really dead by then, I figured - why not do it while I still can?”

He makes a sound that is part-amused, part-horrified as he reaches over to smack Bussan across the head, consciously keeping it light the way he normally wouldn’t, before letting his palm slide from Bussan’s head to the back of Bussan’s neck, and feeling the slight shift of tendons beneath his hand when he cups Bussan’s nape gently. Bussan says nothing and simply remains still; quiet as he takes the cigarette stick and places it in between his lips.

He breathes carefully through his nose and keeps his hand where it is.

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters with difficulty; it sure feels like he is talking through a mouthful of cotton and he’s having trouble swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat.

“Well, yeah,” Bussan agrees, taking his hand and his cigarette back. “I guess I am, huh?”

He laughs mirthlessly, vaguely caring about how wobbly it came out and whispers, “Yeah, you truly are,” before he quickly pulls Bussan into his arms and buries his face in Bussan’s hair.

And if either of them noticed how tightly he is holding onto Bussan, no one mentions it.





“Go home, Bambi,” Bussan says from the hospital bed where he’s been forced to go back to. “Don’t worry, if I’m going to die anytime soon, I’ll make sure to inform you beforehand,”

He snorts and pushes himself up before he leans over, flicking Bussan’s forehead lightly.

“You truly are stupid,” he says.

“You keep on saying that,” Bussan says, with a sort of half smile that makes his chest aches a little.

He gives Bussan a look and wonders why it feels like he’s losing something even though he’s not sure what it is. Or why it’s honestly difficult to look at Bussan now – at the obviously forced smile on Bussan’s face and know that it might be the last time he’d ever see it. It shouldn’t be, he thinks, because he knows it – all of them do – that Bussan’s life is like a bomb that’s been waiting it’s time to go off, but somehow, knowing it might happen anytime, maybe when they least expect it doesn’t make it any less frightening.

“Because you might be forgetting it,” he counters, wishes his voice doesn’t sound as strained as he feels. “I just feel like pointing it out to remind you,”

Bussan grins then turns to his side, his back facing him. “Whatever,” Bussan says, “just go; let me sleep already,”

He gives Bussan a quick once over and thinks about saying something along the lines of please don’t die on me when I’m not looking but he figures that it's going to sound silly, and stupid, and maybe a little sappy so he settles on, “Fine; see you tomorrow,” uttered quietly under his breath before he walks straight to the door.





“He seems calmer,” is what Master says when Ani asks after Bussan. Apparently, Master dropped by to check on Bussan before he checked out his wife and son from the hospital earlier that day, maybe a little after he himself arrived there.

He came straight here from the hospital himself with hopes of finding them, and well, he’s in luck - apparently, since they’re already here. Everyone. Aside from Bussan, that is.

“And he looks healthier than he was days before,” Master adds, then, “and happier, maybe?” He’s not sure if he’s talking about the same Bussan here, because he’s certain those aren’t the right adjectives to describe the friend he spent a few hours sitting side by side with earlier; the same friend who had faked his own death because of baseball.

Calmer, maybe; but happier? He doesn’t think so.

“You guys didn’t go to see him?” Master says.

“I did,” he admits. “I was there for over an hour,” he lies; he was there for more than three, but he doesn’t need to say that, does he?

Ani turns to him. “Really?” Ani drawls, “You should’ve told me. I would have come with you if you said you were going,”

He shrugs. “But they didn’t let him leave yet, yeah?” Master is speaking again, looking thoughtful. “I wonder why,”

“Sensei insisted he stay there for the night for some tests or something, I’m not really sure. And Bussan seems hardly bothered. He said he’s just there because the nurse on duty is hot,”

“What an idiot,” Master comments, but it sure lacks its supposed bite. If anything, Master sounded thoughtful, worried, sad, though it didn't show on his face. He can’t blame him; that was exactly what he felt the minute he walked out of Bussan’s hospital room.

“Well,” he says, lifting his mug and bringing it to his lips. “That’s Bussan for you,”




He finds himself sneaking into Bussan’s house the next day. Bussan is expected to be released from the hospital that afternoon, Sensei said so himself last night. Master will be the one to drive Bussan home.

He should be in school right now, should be doing something better with his time instead of unconsciously giving in to these unusual urges prickling under his skin but he can’t seem to find enough will to do that. He even cancelled on Mohko at the last minute; finding himself trekking the way to Bussan’s house without knowing why.

He stood by the door for god-knows-how-long, unsure of what to say as he watched Bussan’s father do a series of impersonation without actually seeing it.

“Bambi-kun is a good friend,” Kosuke-san tells him once he’s done practicing his impersonation of Aiko-san in front of the mirror. Bambi isn’t sure how long he had been standing there until the older man finally noticed him.

“I –“ he pauses, griping for the right words to say and not knowing exactly what they are. He’s not even sure why he’s here, why he’s even bothering. “Actually, Kosuke-san, I was just going to ask you–“

“Bambi-kun is a good friend,” the older man repeats, gaze lost in front of him. “Please take care of my son. Please,” the older man says.

He doesn’t bother going back there after that.





“How do you feel?” he asks Bussan. It’s the third day after the ‘fake death’ incident.

Bussan shrugs, like it’s a question he is used to being asked. “Okay, I guess,”

He gives Bussan a quick once over and quietly takes note of the fact that he does look okay, marginally better than the last time he saw him.

“You hungry?” he says.

Bussan grins. “For food? Nah. The hospital fed me enough for a week. But if you’re talking about beer –“

“Bussan, you know that’s not –“

“ – hell yeah!” Bussan says, completely ignoring him. He is shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and walking away, whistling under his breath.

He heaves a sigh and follows Bussan with a heavy heart.






They find themselves sitting next to each other in front of Ozzy’s shrine. Bussan immediately starts counting the beer cans carefully piled there (they still don’t know who are putting them there but who cares) before he’s even properly seated.

“Oh, you’ve got five more now,” Bussan says once he’s done counting the cans and quickly grabbing two, throwing him one with a grin. “Bambi will return these later, I promise,” Bussan tells Ozzy-the-stone-figure as he pops the lid open. “Won’t you, Bambi?”

“Oi!”




The silence is deafening.

He fidgets and squirms and feels so much like he ought to be saying something to start a conversation but he’s not sure if there are any proper words and how to even say them without tripping on the words or stumbling on them.

He wonders if being friends with someone for so long gives anyone the right to feel bad in their place if things don’t go as planned or in Bussan’s case, if his life is going to be taken away from him at such an early age.

He wonders if Bussan is really okay with dying, or if he’s just really good at pretending to be okay with dying.

He can’t say so for himself. He feels bad enough sitting here, not knowing what to say or do to even imagine how hard it must be for Bussan.

He’s not even sure if he’s strong enough to hear the answer if he asks.




One hour and two cans of beer later, Bussan stands up. He does too.

“Are we going now?” he says.

Bussan takes an empty beer can and shrugs. “We are,” he says, “separately,” Bussan adds, turning on the spot and walking away.

“Oi, Bussan!”

Bussan raises a hand still holding one of the empty cans and waves without bothering glancing back.

“See you,” Bussan waves, promptly grumbling “and don’t you dare follow me!” before disappearing into a corner.

He stays there, holding the half-empty beer can in hand wondering what went wrong – if it’s something he did or said, or something he didn’t do or say. It’s so stupid and he feels like for the past couple of days, he’d only been having stupid thoughts and doing equally stupid things.

He turns and finds Ozzy-the-stone figure smirking at him. He raises the hand still holding the beer can and mumbles, “Thanks for the beer. I’ll make sure to bring the replacements tomorrow,” before he walks away.





“Is Bussan here?” he asks the moment he steps inside Master’s place. Master shushes him and points at the lump curled on the couch.

“He came in fifteen minutes ago looking drunk and exhausted,” Master stage-whispers when he’s close enough for him to hear without raising his voice. “He asked for a glass of water, for his medicines you know? Then promptly fell asleep afterwards,”

He walks the short distance to the couch and leans over. His heart is thudding unevenly inside his chest as he stands there vaguely wondering what is causing it. His gaze settles on a spot at the side of Bussan’s face before his eyes surveys the gentle rise and fall of Bussan’s chest.

“Bussan?” he calls, softly, vaguely noticing Master as the older man walks away. He holds his breathe and calls Bussan’s name twice. Bussan remains still, curled onto himself on the couch.

It’s when he has decided to reach over and shake Bussan’s shoulder that Bussan shifts just the tiniest bit, burrowing his face further into the couch. Something in his chest rattles as he straightens back up, eyes still glued on Bussan’s face.

Bussan’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek and he’s not at all sure why it suddenly feels like his heart does, too.





He spends the next couple of days inconspicuously tailing Bussan wherever he goes.

He doesn’t realize it until Bussan had points it out rather jokingly.

“Did you and Mohko break up?” Bussan asks, smiling like nothing’s wrong. He pops the medicine into his mouth and drinks from the bottle Bambi has handed over.

He frowns. “No. Why’d you ask?”

Bussan shrugs. “Because you haven’t gone out with her ever since I came back to life,” Bussan says, smiling. He wonders if it’s appropriate to not feel inclined about sharing Bussan’s enthusiasm with regards to his life, or whatever is left of it. “And you keep on following me around, don’t even try to deny it,” Bussan quickly adds before he could even voice out his protests.

“She’s busy with her…. part-time job. Yes.”

“But I just saw her – never mind,” Bussan says.

He scowls; Bussan smiles, handing back the bottled water. “Fine. Whatever,” Bussan says, glancing back to where Uchie is and urging the other man along. “Let’s go practice instead?”

“Bussan –“

“I’m fine,” Bussan cuts in, probably already aware of what he was about to say next. He watches as Bussan throws his arm over Uchie’s shoulders when the other man is close enough, throwing him a wink over Uchie’s head. “Stop worrying about me. It’ll give you premature wrinkles, Bambi-jichan,”

He sighs, feeling rather defeated. But it is actually worse than that time they lost a game because of a fucking hand gesture. The unusual but almost permanently-there ache in his chest increases tenfold, thinking, wondering which is worse: knowing that his friend is going to die or not knowing when it’ll happen.

“Hey, you coming?”

He clears his throat and nods. “Yeah, yeah,”







It’s a little after five when Bussan decides that practice is over. Uchie simply bows and excuses himself, leaving the two of them alone.

Bussan fishes around his jacket for his cigarettes. He wonders if it’s alright to remind him that he’s dying and that he should probably consider quitting if he at least wants to live a little longer, but he knows Bussan will only laugh it off the same way he always does when he says stupid shit like that without thinking.

But it’s not stupid, of course, of course. He’s not sure if anyone will understand how horrible it felt to watch his friend as he took his last breath (despite the fact that, obviously, it wasn’t Bussan’s last, but still), how he could still feel it down to his bones when they wheeled Bussan’s (not-really) lifeless body out of the hospital room.

He wants to but he can’t. Because it sure looks like the last thing Bussan needs from them - from him - is pity and well, he guesses he wouldn’t like it either if it’s him.

So he bites his tongue and pretends not to notice the fact that Bussan is eyeing him contemplatively, opting instead to check out the dirt sticking to his shoes.

“So, how’s it going with you and Mohko?“ Bussan says. He vaguely wonders why Bussan seems very intent on knowing what is happening between him and his girlfriend.

“We’re okay, I guess,” he says. “Why the sudden interest?” he says, jokingly. “It’s not like you to ask about other people’s relationship before,”

Bussan shrugs and looks at him. He swears it’s there again, blinking bright in Bussan’s eyes but it is gone the next time he blinks.

He startles when Bussan reaches over to punch him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s nothing,” Bussan says, smiling again. “I just want to make sure she’s good for you, is all,”

He frowns but returns the smile, because, how can he not? “Thanks, I guess?”

Bussan punches him again, in the arm this time, in answer.







“You want to tell me what’s wrong, Bambi?” Mohko says. He ended up meeting her that night, a couple of hours since he last saw Bussan.

He’s not sure what is happening (or maybe he does, he’s just too scared to admit it), why he feels like everything in his life is out of balance, so he needs to see and talk to someone who he knows is capable enough to bring it back.

He stares at Mohko and is only relatively annoyed at the fact that he can’t quite focus on her even though he wants to. He reaches out and cups her cheek, pulls her into his arms and inhales the sweet, strawberry-scent of her hair, all the while willing the memory of someone who smells strongly of smoke and sweat, away.

“Mohko-chan,”

Mohko curls herself against him, her manicured fingers clinging tightly against the front of his yukata. He holds her, holds her, holds her, wishing her being here is enough to drive the frustrating confusion away. He hopes she is enough, just like before.

Even though it already doesn’t feel that way anymore.





They’re hanging out at Master’s place again when the suggestion is brought up.

“I think it’ll be good,” Master says, “not only for the whole team but most especially for Bussan,”

“Eh?” Bussan counters, moaning in disbelief. “Me? What do you mean?” he whines dramatically, then, “Ah, I know. It’s like our last trip together, right? Sure!” Bussan says with a smile.

Master makes a face and goes to sit next to Bussan, throwing an arm over Bussan’s shoulders. “You bastard, why do you have to say things like that? It’s ruining the mood, see?” Master says.

Bussan shrugs. “It’s the truth,”

“And something that all of us are aware of so if you could kindly stop mentioning it every goddamn time that would be very much appreciated, thank you very much!” he grits, only vaguely wondering why in hell he is so upset.

“Woah there!” Bussan exclaims, hands in the air. “Calm down, Bambi-san, you’re too worked up!”

He ignores him. God knows he wants to do more than ignore him, maybe punch him in the face repeatedly but he knows that it’s stupid and he feels even stupider for getting riled up over something so petty.

But it’s not – none of this is petty to begin with, Bussan dying and acting like it’s nothing is upsetting him more than it ought to. It shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, not when they’ve known this fact long enough to expect it but watching Bussan die that day, then seeing him alive a few hours after had definitely changed a lot of things.

“And anyway,” Ani pipes up, too loud and excited for it to be genuine, and he’s known them long enough to know that Ani is deliberately doing it to wave off the obvious tension hanging in between them. “I’m sure it’s going to be awesome,” Ani says, grinning. “It’s like we’re in high school all over again!”

“Except we’re not,” he retorts, mouth twisting bitterly as he chances a glance at Bussan over his shoulder. Bussan shrugs and picks up his half-empty mug of beer and brings it to his lips.

“Whatever,” Ani says and goes back to his seat next to Master. “I still think it’s going to be amazing,”

“It might be,” Master agrees, “but only if we have Coach to make fun with while we’re there,”

Bussan’s head snaps up so fast, a slow grin tugging at the corners of Bussan’s mouth when he speaks.

“Hey, do you think we can manage to get coach out of jail for a few days?” Bussan asks, like he’s asking something so simple, as if he’s somehow used to breaking people out of prison when he feels like it.

He exchanges glances with Ani, Uchie and Master, before they all turn to look at Bussan. “Oh hell, no,”





“It’s an all-boys camp,” he lies; well the trip isn’t actually one but he doesn’t need to tell Mohko that. He sighs dramatically and opts on using a diplomatic tone despite the obvious annoyance prickling at the back of his neck and vaguely feeling like he’s talking to a seven-year old child having tantrums. “Of course there is no way I can take you with me,”

“But you did before,” Mohko pouts royally, the gesture making the lower part of her face sag. It was cute before but he wonders why it looks far from it now. “You remember?”

Patience, Bambi, he tells himself, breathing in a lungful of air and slowly releasing it. “That was different,” he points out.

“How so?” Mohko insists, stubborn, before he feels her manicured fingernails tugging at the hem of his yukata. “How is that different from now?”

“Because,” he grits, honestly feeling his patience running thin; god, what was that he saw in her again? “We’re all men and you’re a girl, and anyway, isn’t that enough reason for you to understand that I can’t take you with me?”

“No,” she says, all narrowed-eyes and pursed lips. She really could act like a teenage bitch if she wanted to be. “You will take me with,” she adds, stubborn, “or I will break up with you if you don’t,”
He carefully breathes through his nose, zipping his bag shut and hitching it up his shoulder.

“Do whatever you want,” he mutters under his breath and doesn’t even look back, not even once, as he leaves her behind.





“Are you sure he’ll be okay in there?” Master says, worried. He would have asked the same thing if not for the fact that he is also trying his hardest not to snicker at the way Coach is clinging to Bussan for dear life, climbing Bussan like a tree as he cries.

Bussan desperately tries to wriggle free from Coach’s koala cling but Coach is nothing but persistent.

“He’ll be fine,” Bussan huffs, and he vaguely wonders if it’s normal for a son (and his father, for that matter) to agree on something as silly as this.

Bussan had suggested they put his father in Coach’s jail cell as replacement for the time being, while they go on this trip. He thought it was crazy, but as soon as Bussan asked Kosuke-san, Bussan’s father, the older man didn’t even bat an eye and simply agreed as if his son was merely asking for a haircut.

“But Coach won’t be if you’re not going to take him away from me. I swear I’m going to – hey, will you cut it out!”

“Bussan, Bussan, I’m so glad to see you!”

“Well I am not, so kindly take your hands off me before I throw you back in jail!” Bussan yells.

“You’re going to take me back there in a few days anyway!” Coach yells back.

Master takes pity on Bussan and tugs Coach roughly away. “Come on, Neko, let’s get you sorted out before the trip. Man, you smell like Ani after he’s eaten a bucket-full of clams and Uchie when he forgot to shower for five straight days!”

“I do not!”

He snickers, can’t not but his laughter halts to a stop when he looks up and catches Bussan looking.

“What?”

Bussan shrugs and fishes around his jacket for his cigarettes. “Nothing,” he says. “So I heard Mohko wants to come with us,”

He stiffens, remembering the words she said before he left her, the words he left her with- if she had meant it, if he did, too. “I –“

“And you told her no,” Bussan adds, laughing teasingly. “That’s surprising! And very manly, if I may add,”

He honestly doesn’t know what to say, so he simply shrugs. “Well, it is,” Bussan says, “And I honestly wonder why,”

“Why what?”

Bussan eyes him and he swears that unreadable look on Bussan’s face is there again, the one that makes things in his belly tight.

“You never said no to her before,” Bussan says, with meaning, flicking his half-finished cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. “Why now?”

“Oh my god, seriously?” he laughs, though it is mostly to cover the way his heart is racing. “It’s an all-boys sort-of training camp, even if it’s not really but still! And you expect me to take my girlfriend along? Are you insane?” girlfriend, huh.

Bussan shrugs. “If you say so,”

“Seriously,” he says, tasting bile on his tongue and wondering what is causing it. “You have to stop bringing Momo up in our every conversation, it’s kind of creeping me out,”

Bussan gives him a look that once again floors him. “Okay,” Bussan agrees, shoving his hands inside his jacket pockets. “Okay,”





It's pure luck (he keeps telling himself this) that they end up renting the same room they’ve once occupied when they came here years before.

Coach hasn’t stopped crying ever since they got here and Master, Ani and Uchie have resorted to rope the older man for an impromptu visit to the nearest (and probably the cheapest) hot-spring to distract him, urging them – him and Bussan - to follow if they feel like it.

He’s not at all sure what prompts him to stay back when he realizes Bussan has no desire to go out, or why he even bothers. It’s fucking confusing, really.

He watches, quiet, as Bussan waves the others off and tells them he’s too tired (and lazy) to go out. “Take Bambi with you,” Bussan says, gruffly. “I think he also needs to be distracted,” he adds with a grin filled with unspoken meaning, the bastard.

“Fuck you,” he hisses and promptly throws himself to the still unrolled futon placed at the very corner of the room.

Outside, he can still hear Coach’s cries, but the sounds are being drowned out by the loud noises of his heart thumping away in his chest.





Minutes - that sure feels like hours later - he raises his face from where he has it shoved into the futon and squints at the semi-darkness and finds Bussan still seated where he last saw him.

“You okay?” he asks, raising his voice a little.

“Are you?” Bussan returns, expression unreadable in the dark. He shrugs, forcing himself into a sitting position. The room seems to sway when he manages to pull himself upright. “You’re being weird,” Bussan says, like an afterthought, though he doesn’t sound the least bit like he just thought about what he said right then and there. In fact, his tone sounded strained, confused, maybe a little frustrated.

“You’re one to talk,” he bites back, promptly crossing his legs and throwing Bussan a glare from where he is. It’s highly doubtful that Bussan can see him glaring, because even he himself finds it hard to make out Bussan’s face from this distance.

“Really?" Bussan says, sounding incredulous, maybe a little pissed. "So you're saying it's all in my head?"

"What is?"

A beat. "That you're acting like a worried grandmother ever since I came out of the hospital," Bussan grunts. “or more like, you’re acting like a worried girlfriend, it’s hilarious,”

He thinks about it, really, really thinks about it, and snorts. "Is that what you think it is?" he says, biting his lips a little too late.

"Why, should I be expecting something else instead?"

"No," he says quickly, willing his heart to calm down and lowering his gaze to the ground instead of trying his hardest to meet Bussan's own in the dark. "Not really,"





"So what if it's exactly what you think it is?" he finds himself asking a few minutes later, praying that it is dark enough for Bussan not to see how vulnerable he feels at the moment.

It's stupid, really, how weak he feels when he's not even the one who is sick here. He looks at his hands and wills them to stop shaking, wondering if he'll be able to do it by sheer force only. He isn’t.

"I'd say you're an idiot," Bussan says.

He thinks Bussan may be right.





"I'm an idiot because I worry about you?" he bites out, tries covering the obvious embarrassment with anger but it’s difficult. Especially when he knows he’s got no right to be upset.

Bussan says nothing for what seems like a whole minute before he hears him say, "Yes; because you don't need to... because it's not going to change the fact that I'm going to die, sooner or later,"

"Bussan -"

"I don't need it, Bambi," Bussan says, hurried; like he’s thought about this long and hard before he even decided it was worth mentioning. "And I don't need to know these things - feel these things when I don't even know how long I have before I finally say bye-bye to all of you," Bussan pauses here, and he's not sure why he feels like it's somehow his fault that Bussan sounds so upset, so sad, so miserable.

He’s not even sure what the hell Bussan is talking about.

Or maybe he does. Maybe, he's known it long before. Long enough that he'd simply learned how to deal with the truth; hide it underneath his carefully built wall while hoping no one would notice.

"Or if I will even manage to say goodbye, that is," Bussan adds, and this time he does sound so miserable, so helpless, and something in his chest rattles painfully at the sound of it.

He doesn’t realize he is moving until he’s halfway across the room and has crossed the distance between him and Bussan in a heartbeat. He stumbles, crawls on his knees until he is close enough to grab the nearest part of Bussan he can reach - his legs, his arms - before his hands settle on Bussan's shoulders, one of his palms settling against the side of Bussan’s neck.

"Fuck, what are you even saying?"

Bussan curls his fingers against the front of his shirt and shakes his head, his gaze searching Bussan’s face until his eyes settles on Bussan’s eyes. There is so much beneath them that has him gasping for breath without him even knowing why, hand plastered against the warm skin of Bussan’s neck.

"Don't, Bambi," Bussan says, tone filled with underlying meaning and Bambi swears his chest constricts painfully at the way Bussan says his name, at the way Bussan’s eyes are saying so many things his mouth can’t. “Don’t make me say things I might regret later,” Bussan says, hoarse and way too miserable for it to be a joke.

“I don’t know–“

“Exactly,” Bussan agrees and pulls away, his hand on Bussan’s shoulders falling uselessly to his side. “Because that's how it’s supposed to be,” Bussan says before he literally crawls out of the way, leaving him gaping in the dark.





He’s not sure how long he stays there, alone, until the other four literally stumble back into their room half an hour after midnight. None of them seem to notice that he is alone and that Bussan is nowhere in sight.

He watches them pile next to each other in a tangled mess of drunken limbs, amused at how they’re out like a light the moment their backs hit the futons.

He’s out of the door the moment Coach starts to sing in his sleep.





He finds Bussan sitting at the top step of the stairs leading to their room with a half-finished cigarette dangling in between his fingers.

“They just got back,” he says and promptly sits next to Bussan. Bussan shrugs and offers him the cigarette without missing a beat, which he takes without a word.

“I know,” Bussan says, after what seems like a few seconds of silence. “I was already here when they came,” he says, tone tinged with something akin to humor. “they simply passed by me and they didn’t even noticed me sitting here,”

“They’re drunk,” he says.

Bussan chuckles. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Bambi-sensei,” Bussan comments before snagging the cigarette out of his hand again. “So why are you here? Can’t sleep?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “Obviously,” he says, “and you?”

Bussan snorts. It's the kind that didn't even sound the least bit like it. Or maybe he’s just over thinking things. Maybe, it would have been a lot better if he had gone out with the others to unwind or something. Whatever.

When he turns to look at Bussan again, he realizes Bussan is looking at him with something that is a little fierce, a little wild. A beat later, Bussan says, “I couldn’t stand being in the same room with you,”

What the hell? “What the hell?!” he hisses, whipping around so quickly he almost loses his balance, but thankfully, Bussan is there to steady him. An angry growl escapes the back of his throat. He tugs his arm away from Bussan’s hold as soon as he is sure he is safely grounded.

“Bambi –“

“There’s an easier way to tell a friend, or anyone for that matter to get lost, Bussan,” he grits, so damn close to swinging his arm and hitting Bussan hard in the face and managing to catch himself halfway, barely able to restrain himself.

He’s so angry that he can feel his rage thrumming beneath his skin, can feel the vein in his temple throb painfully as he stares at the obviously faked calmness curling at the edges of Bussan’s mouth.

“Just say it,” he dares, so close to throwing the first punch but holds himself; he has to. “you don’t need to act like a fucking jerk everytime I’m near. Just tell me you want me gone and I –“

“That’s the thing,” Bussan cuts in, quick, his voice gentle, his eyes even more so. “I can’t,” Bussan says, then, “I don’t want to,”







He honestly feels a little dizzy. He is sure it has something to do with how fucking confusing Bussan is acting at the moment.

“Bussan, you’re seriously confusing the fuck out of me,”

Bussan shifts his gaze elsewhere. Then, “Did you know I almost fucked Mohko? Before you guys got together for real?” Bussan says, his words barely managing to cut through the buzzing in his ears but when they do, he staggers. The feeling is almost the same as if he was walking on an unsteady ground.

“What?”

“Almost, but then she told me she hadn’t done it – had never done it - despite her reputation and that I would be the first she would do it with and because I knew you liked her, I stopped, then I sent her away,” Bussan says, calmly, like he is simply narrating something he heard from someone else.

“And this is supposed to make me feel better how?”

Bussan raises his head high enough to meet his eyes. “It’s not,” Bussan admits, voice low and unapologetic that he honestly feels like hurling something into Bussan’s face. “It’s not, I just. I want to tell you something,”

“Didn’t you just do that?” he counters, confused.

“No, I mean yes, but that’s not it. I mean, that’s not the thing I wanted to tell you about,”

“Bussan, you are so fucking confusing –“

“I know,“ Bussan pauses here, meeting his eyes and keeping it that way. He suddenly feels so out of his depth, like he's wandering over a dangerous territory and doesn’t know if he's going to be able to walk away unscathed. He feels something close to desperation creep along his spine, especially when Bussan pulls himself upright and reaches over to curl his palm against the curve of his neck.

They’re so close that his first instinct is to move away, but can’t quite manage because the moment he does, his back connects against the wooden staircase, and he is jerking at the sudden pain with a cry.

“Fuck –“ he hisses out a curse, a few more waiting to leave his mouth but aren’t able to because Bussan’s mouth is suddenly there to swallow them, kissing him hard and fast before he has time to react.




The second kiss comes not even two seconds after, far gentler than the first but equally confusing. His first instinct is to bolt, or punch Bussan in the face and then bolt but his fingers ended up clutching the front of Bussan’s jacket tightly instead, like his life depends on it, finding himself kissing Bussan back almost desperately.

Neither of them says anything after that, even after their mouths meet in a series of kisses, even after Bussan backs him against the nearest wall and keeps him there, holding him close and breathing him in.

It’s when they go back inside their room where the others are still fast asleep, find an empty futon and lay next to each other, with Bussan’s face close to his, breathing evenly in his sleep, that he realizes how damn scary it all is.





They don’t talk about it and he guesses its better that way. Bussan acts like nothing’s changed, teasing him when the others are around and tugging him close for a kiss whenever they’re not.

It’s so easy to pretend everything’s fine, when they’re sitting next to each other and the silence is, for once, bearable, familiar. Neither of them seems brave enough to tackle the obvious shift in their relationship, and he wonders if it’s alright to take things as they come and worry about the consequences tomorrow.

But then he finds Bussan’s gaze is fixed on him when he turns, and suddenly the thought of Bussan not being here the next day scares him.

He vaguely wonders if it's something Bussan's always been afraid of.






“Hey, Bambi,” Bussan says. Its two hours past midnight, on their second day there and they are once again sitting next to each other at the top of the stairs.

Bussan really likes sitting there.

He frowns. And maybe his heart does that complicated dance inside his ribcage thinking this maybe it. Bussan is going to tell him how stupid they both are for hiding this thing – whatever the hell this is – from their friends, from his girl-friend, despite the fact he probably doesn’t have one anymore.

“Remember that night when we were here for the first time and we kinda bullied you to tell us who you liked in your class and you said it was Mohko?” Bussan says without pause and cutting him off quickly, tone filled with feigned mirth he would have been completely clueless about if not for the fact that he is looking directly into Bussan’s eyes.

There’s not a trace of mirth in there, only something that vaguely resembles that of the same one he’s used to seeing in the mirror every morning ever since the hospital incident, staring back at him and mocking him.

He bites the insides of his cheeks and instead forces himself to focus on breathing. It’s difficult but he manages.

He nods. “What about it?” he says, though the element of surprise and the fact that this is the first time Bussan has mentioned Mohko’s name again over the past few days is making his pulse beat erratically, his palm sweaty.

He remembers it, of course, of course; so clearly that he finds it a little creepy sometimes that even now, years after, he still remembers everything about that night in perfect clarity. What Bussan was wearing, what position Coach was while he slept and when the others gathered around him, asking him about the girl he liked. But most of all, he remembers the reason why he blurted out Mohko’s name then.

He never admitted it, not even to himself, not even in secret; but now, he guesses his reason was accurately simple: he did it because he knew Mohko liked Bussan, too. A lot. Like a whole lot that it was obvious to everyone, maybe aside from Bussan himself. He told them he liked her because he knew Bussan wouldn’t even think or dare to date her if he knew one of his friends liked her, that was the only possible way to keep those two from getting together and so he grabbed it.

And he was right. Even despite Mohko’s obvious advances, Bussan remained resolutely aloof. The proof of that being Bussan’s own confession about coming too close to fucking Mohko and then stopping himself short of doing that.

But now he knows the reason why he did what he did and looking at Bussan now, it all becomes crystal clear. He didn't want them to end up together because he knew deep down what he wanted, who he wanted and that wasn't Mohko.

It never had been.

Bussan smiles, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes and turns, shifting his gaze elsewhere and mumbling, low and soft, “That was when I realized I was in love with you,” Bussan admits, his voice sounded far away.

His head snaps up, meeting Bussan’s eyes and watching the way Bussan’s expression changes almost abruptly. It’s kind of amazing, really, sitting here and hearing the words he can’t be man enough to admit himself. Something in his chest rattles again as he watches, amused, at the way Bussan’s eyes widens as he belatedly realizes the impact of what he’d said.





The laughter that bubbles out from his throat is surprisingly high-pitched and admittedly, disgustingly girly. Bussan gives him a look that is part-amused, part-annoyed, hand coming up to scrub his face roughly, but even with his own palm covering almost half of his face, it is not enough to hide the embarrassed grin tugging at the corners of Bussan’s mouth.

Bambi finds it inappropriately charming.

“That a fact?” he finds himself asking, his grin so wide he’s afraid it’ll split his face in half.

Bussan huffs. “I’m dying, Bambi,” he says, and the momentary joy is quickly being replaced with fear, by something that is akin to fierce sadness. His chest aches with it but he swallows the urge to reach over and hold Bussan tight. “I don’t need to lie about these things just because I want to fuck with you and play around before I die, on top of everything else,”

He says nothing, can’t force himself to say anything. Bussan continues as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, honestly,” Bussan says, sounding like he is torn between regretting ever opening his mouth and being relieved that he did. “I don’t want to ruin your relationship with Momo when I got no right to want you the way I always have,” Bussan says, and he almost, almost blurts out the fact that he and Mohko probably aren't together anymore, but he holds himself back. “it’s not fair, I know, because you deserve someone who will be there for you till you’re both old and not as hot as you both are right now, but –“ Bussan pauses here and regards him with a smile that is both sad and teasing, and for the life of him, he wonders if he isn’t just as disgustingly in love with Bussan as Bussan had been with him.

He wonders if it even matters.

What he wants to say is Why now, why not before, why only now when we don’t know how long you have, how long we’ll have but all of that seems insignificant now. He can’t think about that without feeling miserable and well, the last thing Bussan needs right now is someone who’d indulge him with his desire to self-destruct.

He won’t be that person. He refuses to be that person.

“ – then I thought I’m gonna die anyway, might as well tell you how much I –“

"I lied," he whispers and chances a glance over at Bussan. "I told you guys was in love with Mohko but I wasn’t. I wasn't. I never was," he says. He's not sure if this is the right way to go, if this is the right time to do this but with Bussan's condition, he is certain now is the perfect time to confess about all this.

"W-What?"

"She likes you," he confesses, voice trembling along with the rest of him. "and I thought if I told you I liked her, you wouldn't think of dating her,"

Bussan gapes. "I didn't - I d-don't -"

"I know," he cuts in, "and it was honestly surprising,"

Silence stretches quite longer this time before Bussan speaks. "But you - you and her -"

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, knowing full well what Bussan is talking about. "It was - it was a mistake," he admits. God, this has snowballed into something horrible and he’s not sure if there’s any way to salvage this – whatever the hell this is.

“So what does it mean?” Bussan asks, hesitant. He wishes he knew, but even now, even after Bussan's untimely confession, he's still not sure where they're going with this or if it's even wise to do this when there are so many things they ought to consider.

But then he looks at Bussan and knows that he wants it, too; he wants it so badly that he'll take whatever he can get, and knows that it will be worth all the pain and the heartaches he knows he'll suffer in the end.

“It means, the feeling is mutual, you moron," he grunts, cheeks burning as he keeps his eyes glued somewhere else. "And you will forgive me if I will never think of saying that again, ever,” he says, an offhand remark that seems wholly out of place with how gently it actually sounded.

He chances a glance to his right and finds that Bussan’s mouth is parted in a gasp, eyes comically wide. It should be disgusting – it is disgusting – but he feels none of it. In fact, he’s so happy that his chest feels like it’s about to explode with all the happiness he could barely contain, willing the thought of losing this – of losing Bussan someday, soon - out of his mind, for now.

It’s inevitable anyway, and there’s nothing they could do about it. For now, they have this, they have each other and their friends and honestly, what could be better than that? He smiles, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath as he digs his elbow against Bussan’s rib.

“Close your mouth, you idiot, “ he teases, sidles closer to Bussan’s side, closer and closer until their thighs are touching. Bussan is still as a rock and is still gaping at him like a lunatic.

He makes a face at Bussan and glances around, then behind them before he leans over and presses his mouth against Bussan’s, soft and chaste.

When he pulls away, Bussan’s smile is wider and surprisingly, brighter.

“Yeah,” Bussan agrees. “Yeah, I’m the idiot,”

He grins. “Yes, you are,” he says, placing his hand on Bussan's and keeping it that way.

He knows it is going to be difficult when the time comes and they have to say goodbye to each other. But for now, he has this - with Bussan's hand in his, warm and there and real.

That is more than enough, for now.