Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a while, things had found their rhythm.

It wasn't perfect, far from it, but in Okarun's world, 'perfect' was never on the table anyway. What they had instead was something that felt.......lived-in. It was something that stuck.

School days, where Okarun half-dozed through lessons he barely understood and sneaking glances at Momo every time he would ask permission to go to the restroom. The strange, supernatural mayhem in some days as well, spirits, aliens, monsters, curses, that had become their second curriculum, whether they'd asked for it or not. And somewhere in the cracks between all that chaos, they carved out little rituals that felt almost like normal life.

Momo's house was the center of it. It smelled faintly of tatami mats, miso soup, and whatever new snack she'd pulled out of her stash. The TV in the living room was always on, playing some drama or variety show that neither of them paid full attention to, because bickering about the channel was half the fun. Momo sat cross-legged on the floor, munching through rice crackers like it was a full-time job, while Okarun hunched beside her, pretending not to care when she stole his share.

For Okarun, those evenings had become a quiet sanctuary. Not because they were free of strangeness....after all, it was Momo's grandmother's house, and the old lady who really didn't look old, never let them forget the conditions of this strange arrangement, but because it was theirs. 

A strange little bubble where they could laugh, argue, and forget, for a few hours, the things that waited outside.

Okarun thought, 'Yeah. This isn't so bad.' Peaceful. Familiar. Safe.

......Until the doorbell rang.

And then—

Ding-dong.

The sound of the doorbell cut through the room. Not loud, but sharp enough to jar the fragile calm they'd been wrapped in.

Momo froze mid-sentence, chopsticks still in hand. "Huh?"

Okarun raised an eyebrow. "You expecting someone?"

She shook her head quickly, almost too quickly, then remembered her condition. Her grandma's deal and yes, she was watching her right now. If she wanted a uniform, if she wanted her to buy clothes, she had to act.

Properly. Play the part.

"Right. Right, the act...." Momo muttered under her breath, then straightened her back and put on a robotic tone that made Okarun snort behind his hand. She padded to the door, adjusting her expression like slipping into a costume, and pulled it open.

The second she did, her whole face changed. The bored facade dropped, replaced with startled wide eyes. "Jiji?!!!"

The word burst out of her, too shocked to be anything but real.

And in that single exclamation, Okarun felt the floor shift beneath them.

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- - - - - - -

"Jiji?!"

Momo's voice pitched higher than she intended, cracking with a mix of disbelief and alarm.

And there he was, standing in the entryway like he'd been waiting for this exact dramatic moment: tall, lean, with a kind of lazy athleticism in his posture. His hair was just messy enough to look intentional, his shirt untucked, and his grin, god, his grin, was too wide, too practiced, as though he'd perfected it in the mirror before stepping inside. He didn't walk into the room, not really. He performed it, striking a ridiculous pose with two fingers raised in a peace sign, head cocked at a jaunty angle like he was auditioning for the lead role in his own comedy sketch.

Okarun blinked. Once, then twice.

'What.....the hell was this guy?'

Momo's grandmother broke into laughter before either of them could find their words. A deep, warm sound, delighted in a way Okarun had never heard from her before. "Well, if it isn’t Jiji," she said, clapping her hands together as though she were greeting a celebrity. "It's been years!"

Okarun's gaze darted to Momo. She wasn't laughing. Her face was frozen, mouth caught halfway between a smile and something else....something stiff, something uneasy. He recognized that look; it was the one she wore when she didn't want her emotions read.

He opened his mouth to ask, but her grandmother beat him to it, words slipping out casually, almost playfully, but carrying the weight of a stone dropped into still water.
"He's Momo's childhood friend....and her first love."

The words detonated in Okarun's head.

'First love?!'

It landed like a sucker punch, knocking the air right out of his lungs. He jerked, eyes wide behind his glasses, every neuron in his brain short-circuiting. 'Her first love. Her first love. Her—' The phrase looped, jagged, like static chewing at the edges of his thoughts.

And then, Jiji looked at him.

Not at the room. Not at Momo. No, directly at him. A long, unbroken gaze, so steady it made Okarun's skin prickle. Jiji's face was unreadable at first, the kind of blank slate that made you second-guess what he was thinking. Then his expression cracked into that grin again; bright and disarming, the kind of smile that took up too much space, like a flare in the dark.

"Yo, Momo!" Jiji called, waving like he was greeting her across a football field instead of a few feet away. His voice was loud, confident, dripping with familiarity. "You haven't changed at all." His eyes flicked briefly to her grandmother, and with mock-serious reverence, he bowed. "And Auntie, you're as beautiful as ever!!"

Momo's grandmother smiled, chuckling as though he were her own grandson. "You really are a genius, Jiji."

Jiji laughed, full-bodied, as though he believed it too, and then with unnerving ease, his attention snapped back to Okarun. Okarun stiffened, his shoulders drawn tight, and jaw clenched. 'Why's he looking at me like that?' The grin, the energy, the familiarity, it was too much. It felt like this Jiji wasn't just in the room; he was consuming it, bending the air around him.

Momo, clearly flustered, cut in quickly, her tone rushed and uneven. "Okarun, this is Jiji. And, uh....Jiji, this is Okarun. He's....my friend.”

Friend.

The word should've steadied him. It should've been a shield. But instead, it cracked something. His chest tightened, heat coiling behind his ribs. 'Just her friend. Her first love is standing in the doorway, and I'm just......her friend.'

And then, without warning, a warmth closed around his hand.

Okarun startled, almost jerking back, only to find Jiji gripping his hand in a firm, easy shake. His palm was warm, steady, his touch bold in a way that brooked no hesitation. Jiji leaned slightly forward, grinning down at him with his eyes squeezed shut in that strange, almost theatrical way, as if opening them might make the moment too sharp.

"It's nice to meet you, Okarun!" Jiji said, tone as bright as a summer noon.

Okarun froze. His ears flared red, his pulse jumped, and his words tangled in his throat. "Y-yeah.....same here." The stammer betrayed him, no matter how hard he tried to sound even.

But beneath the surface, past the handshake, and past the smile, there was a buzzing tension in his chest he couldn't name.

'Why did it feel like something had just shifted? Why did it feel like everything had just gotten a whole lot more complicated?'

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For Okarun, life had finally settled into something steady. Something almost normal.

Momo. Aira. Him.

Weird as it looked from the outside, it worked. Aira's loud, chaotic energy, Momo's sharp-edged patience, and him.....awkward, trailing along, but finally finding his rhythm somewhere in the middle of it all. School, snacks, squabbles, stupid little routines. For the first time in a long while, he could breathe without waiting for the next supernatural disaster to punch him in the gut.

It wasn't perfect. But it was theirs.

And then, Jiji walked in.

Like a rock tossed into calm water, ripples spread before Okarun even knew what had happened.

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It started small.

He slid into their little circle like he'd been rehearsing for it.

At the table, Jiji sat back in his chair, posture loose, grin glued to his face as if the world itself was one long inside joke. He talked too much, laughed too loud, gestured like he was performing but no one seemed to mind. Momo, though flustered at first, slowly adjusted, snapping at his dumb jokes only to bite back laughter a second later and every time she hid her smile behind her hand, Jiji would lean just a little closer, like he'd earned a point in some private game.

Even Aira, queen of skepticism, professional weirdo-detector, folded faster than Okarun expected. She met Jiji's antics head-on, copying his absurd poses, throwing his jokes back with her own. Their laughter filled the room like they'd been doing this for years.

And Okarun......watched.

He sat off to the side, fiddling with the edge of his glasses, his knee bouncing under the table. He told himself it wasn't a big deal. He told himself this was fine. It didn't matter.

But when Jiji leaned back in his chair, throwing out some ridiculous line that made Momo snort and cover her grin with her sleeve, something twisted in Okarun's chest. Sharp, sour, and uncomfortable in a way he couldn't shake.

'So this is Momo's first love.'

The thought gnawed at him, looping endlessly. Her first love. It had weight. Permanence. It wasn't like those fleeting crushes people joked about. No, it was the kind of phrase that dug under your skin and whispered: you'll never be first, not in that way.

He tried to reason with himself. Tried to push it down. He and Momo weren't......anything. Things between them were still messy and undefined, but he knew there was something between them. Still, he had no claim to be jealous. None. But every time he looked up, there was Jiji. Sliding seamlessly into the space Okarun thought they'd carved out for themselves.

And worse—Jiji kept looking back at him.

It wasn't hostile, not exactly. Not even unfriendly. But it was steady, curious, and amused. Like Okarun was some kind of puzzle piece Jiji was figuring out where to slot in. Every time Okarun caught his gaze, he found that infuriating grin waiting, eyes squinted just so, like Jiji knew something he didn't.

At one point, when Aira and Momo were mock-wrestling over some snack Jiji had tossed onto the table, Okarun looked up and sure enough, Jiji's eyes were on him again. A beat too long and too sharp.

The smile curled.

"Yo, Okarun," Jiji said suddenly, leaning forward just enough to close the space between them. His voice cut clean through the noise of Momo and Aira's bickering. "You always this quiet, or just shy around new people?"

The words hit Okarun like a spotlight. His back went rigid, his fingers tightening around his drink. He coughed, nearly choking on the sip he'd just taken, heat rushing to his neck. "W-what? I'm not shy! I'm just—just listening, that's all!"

Jiji's chuckle rolled out, low and easy, as if Okarun had just proved his point. And then, smooth as anything, he dropped it.

“Cute.”

The word snapped through Okarun's brain like a live wire.

He whipped his head toward Jiji, eyes wide, ears blazing red. "Wh—" But Jiji wasn't even looking at him anymore. The man had already leaned back, tossing himself casually into the next joke with Aira, grin unfaltering, as though he hadn't just detonated a small bomb between them.

Okarun sat frozen, hands fisted tight in his lap. His pulse pounded, too fast, too loud, echoing in his ears. He felt unmoored, unsteady, like the floor beneath him had shifted an inch sideways.

What the hell was Jiji's deal?

And beneath all the confusion, beneath the indignation and the heat flooding his face, there was something worse. Something he didn't want to name yet. A prickling awareness that burned at the edges of his chest.

Because the truth was, it wasn't just Jiji's words that got under his skin.

It was the way they made his heart skip.

Chapter Text

The library wasn't usually Okarun's kind of place. It was too quiet and too orderly......every cough or shuffle of a chair felt like a spotlight. But today, he needed it. Rows of shelves stretched endlessly around him, dust motes swirling in the soft gold sunlight cutting through high windows. The scent of old paper and polished wood grounded him as he wandered the aisles, fingers trailing along worn spines.

He wasn't here for homework, or even the regular stuff Momo might nag him to read. No. His eyes scanned the section until they landed on the small, tucked-away corner he always gravitated toward.

Paranormal studies. Alien encounters. Books that straddled the line between science and conspiracy.

It wasn't exactly 'scholarly,' but after everything that had happened in his life, he couldn't just ignore it anymore. He wanted to understand more. Needed to.

Okarun's gaze caught on a particularly heavy volume, Unclassified Sightings of the 20th Century. His pulse quickened. 'This one.' He reached up, stretching onto his toes, fingertips just brushing the edge of the spine.

"Almost....got it—"

His glasses slipped down his nose as he strained higher, fingertips barely grazing the spine of the book he wanted. The shelf seemed to mock him, towering over his small frame.

"Almost.......there...." he muttered under his breath, tiptoes wobbling, and one hand clutching the edge of the shelf for balance.

The book shifted. His fingers curled desperately, but in the same instant, his foot slipped.

And then—

"Ah—!"

The floor seemed to drop beneath him, until a hand caught him firmly, an arm sliding around his waist. Strong fingers pressed against his side, grounding him and steadying the world that had tilted too fast.

Okarun froze, every muscle locking, his breath caught halfway in his throat. He was acutely aware of the warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt, the secure grip that held him upright and his heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough he was sure it could be heard.

"Whoa there."

The voice brushed against his ear, low and teasing, the faintest curl of laughter tucked beneath it. Close. Too close.

"Didn't peg you as the type to risk your life for UFO research."

The words jolted him back to awareness. His eyes darted sideways, and there he was.....Jiji, standing so near Okarun could see the slight curve of his smirk and the way his bangs shadowed his eyes.

Okarun's face flamed red instantly. "Wh-what the—?! Don't just—!"

Jiji chuckled, pulling back only slightly but leaving his hand steady at Okarun's waist, as if daring him to push it away. In his free hand, he plucked the elusive book off the shelf with ease, holding it up between them.

"This what you wanted?" he asked lightly, tilting it toward Okarun. His eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement.

Okarun snatched it, clutching it against his chest like a shield. "I-I could've gotten it myself!"

"Mm," Jiji hummed, unconvinced, leaning lazily against the shelf now, eyes lingering a fraction longer than necessary. Cute, he thought, though the word never left his lips. Instead, he let a teasing grin spread. "Sure looked like you were about to go flying, though."

"I wasn't!" Okarun barked back, hugging the book tighter.

For a beat, Jiji only stared, eyes glinting with something unreadable; half amusement, half.....something heavier. His smile softened, just slightly.  Instead, he tilted his head lazily, voice dropping lower. "Relax, I'm messing with you. Don't get so worked up, Okarun."

Okarun's jaw clenched. He wanted to snap back, but the words stuck in his throat. Why was it that every syllable Jiji threw his way rattled him like this? His chest was tight, his pulse uneven, and the warmth at his waist, where Jiji had steadied him, still lingered like a brand.

"Shhh!" The librarian's sharp hiss cut across the room, startling them both.

Okarun ducked his head instantly, mortified, while Jiji just smothered a laugh behind his hand, shoulders shaking.

As he finally strolled off toward the exit, he glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes caught Okarun's for a lingering second, that smirk tugging wider, though behind it, there was an unsettling warmth that made Okarun's stomach flip.

Then he was gone, leaving Okarun standing alone in the aisle, clutching the book like a shield, face burning.

"What the hell is his problem....?" Okarun muttered under his breath, though the harder question, the one he refused to face, echoed louder in his chest: 'Why does my heart feel like it's about to jump out of my ribs?'

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- - - - - -

Starting that day, it was like the universe had decided to play some kind of sick joke on Okarun. No matter where he went, no matter what corner of the school he tried to escape to, he always seemed to cross paths with Jiji. Maybe it was because Jiji was in Momo's class, or maybe because he had this way of just appearing wherever he pleased, but still......why him? Why always him?

That afternoon, the after-school rush had transformed the school's tiny snack corner into complete chaos. The narrow counter space was buried under trays of buns, bottled drinks, and candy. Students swarmed shoulder to shoulder, voices raised in overlapping orders as coins clattered against the counter. The air smelled faintly of fried dough and cheap chocolate, sweet and overwhelming.

Okarun shrank at the edge of the crush, his coins clutched tightly in his palm. The press of bodies was suffocating. Every shove pushed his glasses down his nose, every jostle reminded him of how small he was compared to the crowd. His stomach growled, but the thought of pushing through all those people felt impossible.

'Ugh, I hate this....' He grimaced, shifting from foot to foot, debating if a snack was really worth the humiliation.

But then, an arm slid suddenly, casually, around his shoulders. The weight was firm, solid, and warm against him. Okarun stiffened, the heat flooding his face before he even registered the voice.

"Make way, make way," Jiji's baritone cut through the noise like a blade, easy and commanding. The crowd actually moved. Students stepped aside as though he carried some invisible authority, their complaints drowned out by his presence.

Okarun's eyes went wide, his breath catching in his throat. "H-hey! What are you—?!"

But Jiji didn't answer. He just steered him forward with that same lazy confidence, holding him close in a side-hold that was far too protective to be casual. His stride was steady and his grin infuriatingly relaxed, like he owned the entire snack corner.

"Don't get squashed, Ken," he teased, his breath brushing against Okarun's ear.

Okarun's chest tightened. His entire body felt overheated, like the world had narrowed down to the weight of Jiji's arm. He tried wriggling free, but the taller boy's grip was too solid and too unyielding.

. . .

By the time Okarun realized what had happened, they were already at the counter. With a single flick of his wrist, Jiji slid his own coins across the surface. He didn't hesitate nor did he even glance back at Okarun as he ordered. Not long, two packs of snacks were bought in smooth succession.

Then, just as easily, he pressed one into Okarun's hands. The gesture was so casual, so seamless, it almost felt rehearsed. "Here," Jiji said, his grin widening. "You looked like you were starving."

Okarun blinked down at the warm packet in his palm, completely caught off guard. His ears burned, his throat tightening around words that wouldn't come. "I-I didn't ask you to—!"

But Jiji had already unwrapped his own, biting into it without a care, his sharp jaw flexing as he chewed. His laughter rumbled low, careless, but his eyes lingered a second too long on Okarun's face. He drank in the sight of him; flustered, indignant, and cheeks flushed bright red. Cute, Jiji thought again, the word slipping through his mind unbidden.

Out loud, all he said was, "You're welcome."

Okarun bristled, hugging the snack to his chest as if it were evidence of a crime. He tried to force a scowl, but his lips trembled, betraying him. His pulse wouldn't calm down, no matter how hard he tried.

'Why does he keep......doing stuff like this?!'

The thought wouldn't leave him, and was only echoing louder with every beat of his heart.

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- - - - 

Okarun hated this part of the school.

The back stairwell was always too quiet, too empty, perfect cover for jerks who thought shoving him around was the highlight of their day.

"Oi, glasses freak," one sneered, his palm slamming against Okarun's chest, pinning him to the wall. The impact rattled his glasses down to his nose. "Think you're hot shit just 'cause Momo talks to you?"

"Yeah," another snickered, circling like a hyena. "You're nothing but a scrawny little bug. Don't get cocky."

Heat surged to Okarun's face, his fists curling tight at his sides. He wanted to hit back, wanted to scream, to lash out, but the weight of memory held him down. All the times he'd been cornered before, all the times he'd walked away shaking and humiliated. His stomach twisted. That old, bitter powerlessness was still there, choking him.

He could just transform. The thought cut through him like lightning; he had the strength now. One flicker of that otherworldly power, and these guys wouldn't stand a chance. He could end it in an instant.

But he didn't.

Because deep down, he knew what that meant. Those powers weren't for this.....not for petty schoolyard scraps, not for bruised pride. They were weapons, sharp and devastating, meant for curses and monsters, not for people. Not for classmates whose worst crime was being cruel and stupid.

If he used them here.....what would that make him?

The image haunted him: their faces twisted in terror, blood, broken bones.....he could do it, but the thought of becoming the kind of monster that hurt people just because he could made his chest ache. He wasn't that. He didn't want to be that.

So he stayed frozen, trembling, his nails biting into his palms, the fight clawing inside him with nowhere to go.

And then—

"What's this?"

The air shifted. The bullies stiffened, their bravado faltering as their heads whipped toward the voice.

At the end of the hall stood Jiji. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets, broad shoulders relaxed, but his gaze.......his gaze was sharp enough to cut steel. The usual easy grin was gone, replaced by something cold and dangerous.

"Picking on someone smaller than you?" Jiji's voice was calm, disturbingly calm. "That's pathetic."

"Tch, mind your business!" one of the boys snapped, though his voice cracked, his eyes darting nervously as Jiji started forward. Step by step. Slow. Heavy. Like a predator giving prey one last chance to run.

They didn't.

The first punch came too fast to track. Jiji's fist buried deep into the first bully's gut, the sound of expelled air echoing down the stairwell. The guy folded instantly, gagging, yet still continued to hit Jiji, he got a few clean strikes but was quickly parried by Jiji, earning a big bruise on his eye.

The second panicked and swung wildly. Jiji caught his wrist midair, twisting until the boy cried out, his knees buckling and with a shove, Jiji slammed him back against the lockers, the metal ringing like a drum.

The stairwell went silent except for the bullies' ragged breaths and groans. Jiji leaned in, his voice low and lethal. "Still think you're tough?"

The sneers evaporated. They scrambled, dragging each other down the hall, spitting weak curses but never daring to look back. Their footsteps faded, leaving nothing but the ringing in Okarun's ears.

Okarun swallowed hard, his chest heaving. He'd seen Jiji smile, tease, and pose like an idiot.....but this? This was different. This was raw, violent, and dangerous.

And then he noticed it, blood, thin and red, sliding from a scrape at Jiji's temple. His knuckles were a bit red too, the skin raw from impact.

"Y-you're hurt," Okarun blurted before he could stop himself.

Jiji finally turned, and just like that, the predator vanished. His grin slid back into place, crooked and warm. "Nah, it's nothing. You should see the other guys."

Okarun's throat tightened. Relief tangled with frustration, making his voice shake. "Idiot! That's not 'nothing'!"

Before Jiji could protest, Okarun grabbed his wrist, smaller fingers curling tight around the bruised skin, tugging hard. "Come with me."

Jiji blinked, startled at first, but then, he let himself be dragged. His long strides easily matched Okarun's quick, furious ones, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he watched the smaller boy stomp ahead, cheeks flushed with more than anger.

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The room was empty, too quiet, except for the faint creak of the door as Okarun pushed it open. Dust floated lazily in the sunlight streaming through the blinds, the smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.

"Nurse isn't here," he muttered, guiding Jiji toward the cot with stiff shoulders. "Sit."

Jiji obeyed easily, dropping down on the mattress with a soft thud, his long legs sprawling like he owned the place. Okarun turned away quickly, rummaging through the cabinet for the first-aid kit. His fingers fumbled on the latch, the metal rattling far louder than it should've.

"Oi, oi," Jiji drawled, his tone light, teasing. "No need to fuss. I've taken worse hits."

"Shut up," Okarun snapped back before he could stop himself, whipping around with gauze in hand. His glasses slid down his nose as he knelt in front of Jiji, his scowl sharper than usual. "You're bleeding."

Jiji blinked at him, then smiled. 'He's actually mad.....for my sake?'

Okarun dipped the gauze in disinfectant, his hands trembling as he dabbed carefully at the cut on Jiji's temple. His brow furrowed, mouth tight with concentration. His touch was gentle, too gentle, as if he was afraid Jiji would shatter beneath his fingers.

The sting made Jiji hiss softly, but he didn't move. He just sat there, watching. Watching the way Okarun's lashes trembled, watching the faint blush crawling up his neck, and watching how hard he tried not to meet his eyes.

The silence stretched, thick with things neither dared to say.

Finally, Jiji broke it, his voice low, deliberately casual. "You know, you don't have to go all nurse mode. I'll survive."

"You're so reckless," Okarun muttered, almost under his breath, but loud enough in the stillness of the room. He pressed a bandage against Jiji's temple, his hand lingering a moment too long. "What if they hurt you worse? What if—"

He cut himself off, realizing too late how much had slipped out. His throat bobbed, his face turning crimson.

Jiji tilted his head, his grin softening into something smaller, warmer. "You were worried about me?"

Okarun's heart lurched, panic sparking. He snapped the kit shut with a loud clack, the sound sharp in the hush of the infirmary. "I-I was just...... it'd be a pain if you collapsed or something,...that's all."

"Mm." Jiji leaned back on the cot, one arm tucked behind his head, looking completely at ease. "Sure, sure."

But his smile lingered, softer than usual, his eyes tracing every jittery movement Okarun made; the way he avoided looking at him and the way his fists clenched as if to stop the trembling.

Okarun turned sharply, pretending to busy himself with putting the kit away, his shoulders hunched. His cheeks burned hot and his chest too tight. He hated that Jiji could see through him so easily.

'Why....why do I feel like this?'

Behind him, Jiji's voice broke the silence again, quieter this time, almost thoughtful. "You're cuter when you're worried, you know that?"

The words slammed into Okarun's chest, his whole body jerking. He spun halfway around, ready to snap, but the look on Jiji's face stopped him cold.

The grin was still there, yes, but his eyes were softer than Okarun had ever seen.

And that...............was worse. Much worse.

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- - - - -

Next Day

Okarun slipped out of class, the volleyball tucked under his arm, his steps echoing faintly in the near-empty hallway. Everyone else was still crowding the main grounds, voices drifting like distant static. He exhaled, savoring the quiet. It felt rare....finally, a moment without chaos.

At least, until a voice cut through the stillness.

"Yo, Okarun!"

Ken flinched, nearly dropping the ball. He spun on his heel just in time to see Jiji jogging down the corridor, hand lifted in an easy wave, his hair bouncing with each step. His energy seemed to fill the whole hallway, like he'd dragged the noise of the outside world in with him.

Okarun clutched the ball tighter. "W-What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Jiji said breezily, sliding into step beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Just saw you walking alone." He leaned down, grinning so wide his teeth flashed. "What, you don't like company?"

Okarun sputtered, adjusting his grip on the ball. "I didn't say that!"

"Didn't have to." Jiji chuckled, his voice deep and lazy, and it made something skip in Okarun's chest. He kept pace effortlessly, his longer strides forcing Ken to quicken his own steps.

Trying to ignore him, Okarun turned his head away, muttering under his breath, but Jiji wasn't about to let him off easy. With a swift, careless motion, Jiji flicked the side of Okarun's glasses.

"Oi!"

The frames slipped down his nose, making Okarun yelp. He nearly fumbled the volleyball trying to fix them. "Don't touch my glasses!" he shouted, voice higher than he meant it to be.

Jiji laughed, unbothered, his grin sharp with mischief. "Relax, man. You're way too uptight."

"You—! I'm not uptight!" Okarun snapped, cheeks heating as he shoved his glasses back into place.

Jiji tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, studying him like he was some puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. Then, with a slow smile, he said, "Yeah, you are. You're like.... always on edge. It's funny."

"Funny?!" Okarun's voice cracked, and his whole face went red. "How is that funny?!"

Jiji's chuckle rumbled low in his chest, closer this time, so close Okarun could feel the warmth of his shoulder brushing against his own. "Because it's cute."

Okarun froze. Again. He blinked rapidly, stumbling over his steps, the volleyball nearly slipping from his hands. His ears burned so hot it felt like steam might come out of them.

Jiji didn't press further. He just let the silence stretch, his grin softer now, almost unreadable. But the damage was done, the word 'cute' replayed in Okarun's head like a curse, echoing louder and louder until he couldn't even hear his own thoughts.

The sound of Jiji's laugh lingered under his skin, heavy, warm, and impossible to shake off.

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. . . . 

The storage room door creaked open as Okarun slipped inside, relieved to escape Jiji's relentless presence. The smell of dust and old varnish clung to the racks of volleyballs, nets, and gym mats stacked high.

He set the volleyball down, breathing in the quiet. Finally, peace—

Except Jiji followed him in like he owned the place.

"Need help carrying all this?" Jiji leaned against the doorframe, his tall frame filling it completely. His grin hadn't faded; if anything, it had sharpened. "Kinda a lot for one guy."

"I can handle it," Okarun said quickly, hugging another ball to his chest. His pulse was still hammering from earlier. 

Jiji stepped closer, brushing past racks of equipment with that casual grace of his. "Don't get so worked up, Ken. Seriously, you're like a cat with its fur standing on end."

"I'm not!" Okarun shot back, but it came out weak. He backed away instinctively, only to bump into the wall of lockers behind him.

Jiji noticed, and his smirk deepened. He was about to say something else, Okarun could feel it, when voices floated in from the hall.

"---Hey, isn't the equipment room open?"

Okarun's stomach dropped. Panic flared instantly. If someone saw him cornered like this, with Jiji standing too close, with his face still burning red, he'd die.

Without thinking, he grabbed Jiji's wrist and yanked him sideways.

"Oi—!" Jiji barely had time to react before Okarun shoved them both into the nearest open locker. The metal door clanged shut, plunging them into darkness.

Okarun's heart thundered like it wanted to break out of his chest. The cramped space pressed them together, chest to chest, and ther was no room to even shift. Jiji's breath fanned hot against his ear, steady but amused.

The locker door rattled faintly as Okarun held it shut, knuckles white around the handle. His chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts. The metal walls felt like they were closing in, heat collecting fast in the tiny space.

Jiji didn't move back. Couldn't. His body pressed flush against Okarun's, the solid weight of him inescapable. Every breath made their chests rise together and fall together. Too close. Way too close.

Okarun could barely think past the pounding of his own heart. He was aware of everything; Jiji's warmth bleeding into him, the brush of his thigh against his own, the faint rasp of Jiji's breath grazing the shell of his ear.

"....Seriously?" Jiji's voice was a low rumble, vibrating through Okarun's ribs. His lips were so close, Okarun swore he felt the ghost of a smile against his temple. "You stuffed us in a locker?"

"Shhhh! Shut up!” Okarun hissed, though it cracked halfway through. He pressed himself back against the cold metal, desperate for an inch of space that wasn't there. His glasses slid down his nose from the movement, but he couldn't lift his hand to fix them; both were braced against the locker door.

Jiji chuckled, the sound dark, rich, and far too amused. It rolled through the narrow space and wrapped around Okarun like smoke. He shifted slightly, just enough to press closer, his voice dropping low enough that Okarun felt it more than heard it.

"You're shaking," he murmured, the words brushing hot against Okarun's ear. "What's got you like this? Scared they'll find us.........or is it something else?"

Okarun's breath hitched, a tiny gasp he couldn't swallow. His whole body went rigid. He wanted to deny it, to snap back, but the words stuck like a lump in his throat and the worst part, no, the most humiliating part, was that Jiji could feel it. The tremor in his chest, the way his pulse raced, and the way he hadn't pushed him away.

"I-I-Idiot!" Okarun squeaked, the sound more of a whimper than he meant. His face burned so hot it felt feverish, sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

Jiji's grin widened in the dark, unseen but undeniable in his tone. He dipped his head lower, close enough that his nose brushed the edge of Okarun's hairline. His breath spilled warm down the curve of Okarun's throat.

"Damn...." Jiji muttered under his breath, the teasing edge softening into something hungrier. "You really do sound hot when you're flustered."

Okarun froze, his heart lurching violently at the word. Hot. He wanted to shove him back, scream at him, anything, but all that escaped was a broken little sound caught between protest and plea.

Outside, the footsteps grew louder, voices drifting right past the door. Okarun held his breath, every muscle tensed. Jiji stayed utterly still, except for the subtle press of his fingers against Okarun's hip, anchoring him and grounding him. His grip was light, casual, but it made Okarun's knees weaken in the tight space.

After a few moments, the voices faded and the footsteps retreated down the hall.

. . .

Silence fell again. But Okarun didn't breathe easier. If anything, it was worse now; alone in the dark with Jiji's hand on him and Jiji's body pressed so firmly against his own, the air was heavy with something unnamed.

Slowly, Jiji leaned back just enough to look down at him. Even in the dark, Okarun felt the weight of his gaze, sharp and focused, burning right through him.

"Relax," Jiji whispered, his tone maddeningly steady. "No one's gonna find us."

Okarun wished he could. But his body refused to listen. His lungs stuttered, his pulse raced, and every nerve screamed at the unbearable closeness.

Because deep down, he knew the truth: he wasn't trembling out of fear anymore.

And Jiji knew it, too.

Every breath he dragged in was thick with Jiji's scent: clean soap, sweat, and something sharp underneath that made his stomach twist.

Jiji tilted his head, lips brushing dangerously close to Okarun's ear as his voice dropped, low and husky, deliberately slow, "You know....if someone did open this locker right now...." His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against Okarun's ribs. "....they'd think we were doing something naughty."

Okarun's breath hitched, his face burning hotter than ever. "S-Shut up! Don't say weird things like that!" he whispered frantically, wriggling against the narrow space, but there was nowhere to go.

Jiji only pressed closer, his chest flush to Okarun's, the locker door creaking faintly under the shift of their weight. "Weird? C'mon, Ken....admit it. You thought about it."

"I did not!" Okarun squeaked, voice cracking in panic. His glasses fogged from the heat, and his knees nearly buckled as Jiji leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, slow, deliberate.

Then—

Click.

The storage room door swung open.

Okarun froze solid, every muscle locked. Voices and footsteps entered the room, two students chatting casually as they rummaged through the shelves.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, if they opened this locker—

He tightened his grip on the handle, sweat slicking his palms, holding it shut like his life depended on it. His whole body trembled, panic surging like a tidal wave.

But Jiji? Jiji was calm. Too calm. In fact, he was smirking. 

"Relax," Jiji whispered again, his lips grazing Okarun's temple this time. The faintest brush, infuriatingly soft. "You're shaking again. What if they hear you breathing this loud?"

Okarun bit down on his lip to stop the sound threatening to escape, but that only made Jiji's grin widen. The footsteps drew closer and one of the students muttered, "Weird, I thought I heard something over here...."

Okarun nearly died on the spot. His lungs burned as he held his breath, praying to every deity he knew. Jiji leaned in even closer, pressing his mouth again right next to Okarun's ear, voice dripping with wicked amusement.

"Kinda thrilling, huh? Hiding in the dark, pressed up like this...." His breath fanned hot down Okarun's neck. "....wonder what you'd do if they did open the door."

Okarun's whole body jolted, his heart slamming against Jiji's chest. His fingers clawed tighter at the handle and his face was a feverish red. The other students finally grabbed what they needed and shuffled out, the door shutting behind them.

. . .

The silence that followed was suffocating. Okarun's lungs gave out, and he sucked in a sharp breath, shuddering hard. Jiji chuckled, low and satisfied, his lips brushing just under Okarun's ear as he murmured, almost too quiet to catch, "See? You liked it."

The words curled like smoke in the tiny space, hot and heavy against Okarun's ear. His entire body went rigid and his heart slammed again. That smug voice, that closeness, he couldn't take it.

"I did not!" Okarun squeaked, louder than he meant, his breath hitching as Jiji's chest pressed tighter against his. The locker felt like it was collapsing around them, suffocating him in heat and scent and that infuriating grin.

Jiji tilted his head, lips brushing so close to Okarun's jaw it almost counted as a kiss. "Then why are you trembling, Ken? Why's your face burning up like this?"

That was the last straw.

"SHUT UP!"

Okarun shoved at Jiji's chest with both hands, bursting the locker open. The metal door banged wide, rattling against its hinges, and Okarun stumbled out into the storage room. He bent forward, gasping for air, one hand clutching his chest like he could physically hold his heart down. His face was a blazing red, his glasses fogged and slipping down his nose.

"Y-You—!" he stammered, spinning around, pointing at Jiji with a trembling finger. "Don't say weird stuff like that! Idiot!"

Jiji stepped leisurely out of the locker, utterly unbothered, stretching his long arms like he'd just woken from a nap. His grin was slow, wolfish, and it made Okarun's stomach flip. Gods, how much he wanted to punch this jerk.

"Relax, man. I'm just teasing."

"That wasn't teasing!" Okarun snapped, voice cracking, his face still burning so hot he wanted to bury it in the nearest pile of gym mats.

Jiji tilted his head, eyes glinting with something sharper than mischief. "Mm. Maybe not."

That made Okarun's knees wobble. He spun away instantly, clutching the volleyball he'd left on the floor, desperate to hide his expression.

"Ugh, you're so annoying!" he barked, storming toward the door. But his voice was thin and shaky, betraying just how rattled he was.

Jiji only chuckled behind him, low and satisfied.

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- - - - - - -

Back at Momo's house, the air was deceptively calm. The tatami creaked softly under their steps and the smell of tea was faint in the room as Grandma shuffled past with her usual quiet authority.

"Momo," Grandma uttered, her tone casual yet firm. "Get ready. You'll be heading over to Jiji's house."

Okarun nearly choked on the sip of tea he hadn't even swallowed. "Wh-What?!"

His voice cracked embarrassingly loud, and he slammed his cup down a little too hard, splashing tea onto the table. His heart skipped, then stuttered into a wild rhythm. Momo....going to Jiji's? Alone?!

Momo blinked at him, tilting her head slightly, her lips parting as though she had only just realized how that sounded. "Oh....right, I didn't get to tell you yet...." She rubbed the back of her neck, sheepishly. "Grandma said I should go help with the ghost problem at Jiji's place."

Okarun's eyes widened. His chest tightened like he couldn't draw in air properly. He wanted to argue, to say 'No, no way, you can’t go there alone!', but the words stuck like thorns in his throat.

Then Momo turned fully toward him, her expression softening. "Actually....." Her eyes met his, curious but hesitant. "Do you wanna come with me?"

Okarun's breath caught.

"I mean....I was going to ask earlier, but everything's been so hectic, partly because of the Nessie and the Serpo Aliens. It'd probably be better if you were there too, right?"

The warmth in her voice tugged at him like a rope. He should've thought it through, weighed the dangers, and asked the practical questions, but he didn't.

He just nodded, sharp and immediate, almost too fast. "Y-Yeah! Of course. I'll go." 'Of course I will, no way I'm letting you and Jiji be alone together. Not happening! Over my dead body!'

Momo's lips curved into a small, relieved smile. "Thanks, Okarun." Her gratitude only made his stomach knot tighter. He pressed his palms against his knees under the table, trying to keep them from trembling, but his cheeks were already warm.

That was when he felt it.

....A weight. A stare.

He shifted slightly and sure enough, Jiji was already looking at him from across the room. Sitting with one leg casually stretched out and an elbow resting on his knee. His gaze was sharp but unreadable. Not mocking.....not exactly friendly either. Just....steady, like he was seeing straight through him.

Okarun froze.

Their eyes locked, and the air between them thickened. Neither of them said a word, but Okarun's pulse went wild. Memories of the locker flashed like lightning: Jiji's laugh, his voice, and the unbearable closeness....and now here he was, staring at him like he knew.

Okarun tore his gaze away, then immediately glanced back, only to find Jiji hadn't looked away at all. He was still watching, calm but with that faint upward quirk of his lips, like he was enjoying every second of Okarun's fluster.

The silence stretched too long.

Finally, Momo's voice cut through it, exasperated. "Um.....what are you two doing??

Okarun jolted like he'd been electrocuted. "N-Nothing!" he yelped, waving his hands far too defensively. His glasses slid down his nose again in his panic. Jiji chuckled low, leaning back against the wall with infuriating ease. "Just looking," he said simply.

Okarun's face went scarlet. He couldn't tell if Jiji meant the ghost business, or....something else.

Momo blinked at the both of them, suspicion flickering in her eyes. ".....Weirdoes," she muttered, shaking her head as she turned to gather her things, and Okarun buried his burning face in his hands, while Jiji only smirked, his gaze never quite leaving him.

Chapter Text

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Jiji laid on his futon, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the old wall clock, each second dragging by like a drip of water against stone. Midnight had long come and gone, yet sleep refused to touch him. It hadn't for nights...............not since that night.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. His chest felt heavy, the shadows in the corners of his room pressing closer than they should. Sometimes he thought he could still hear it; the faint echo of screams, of the accident, of everything he tried not to remember. He told himself it was just the creaks of the house, but deep down, he knew.

The ghost.

It never let him rest.

Finally, with an irritated huff, Jiji pushed the covers aside and padded down the hall. His throat was dry, his lips parched, so he made his way to the kitchen, the wooden floor cool against his bare feet. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and was halfway through drinking when he noticed movement at the corner of his eye.

The bathroom door opened with a soft click.

Okarun stepped out, rubbing his eyes, hair mussed, glasses slightly askew. He yawned so wide his shoulders lifted, then blinked groggily at Jiji.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither moved. The silence was thick, the kind that hummed beneath the skin.

"......Can't sleep?" Okarun asked, his voice soft, low, almost too casual, but Jiji caught the undercurrent. He knew.

Jiji only nodded once, the glass still loose in his hand. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him as Okarun padded farther into the dimly lit living room. Jiji set the glass down with a muted clink and motioned toward the couch.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Jiji asked, tone light but eyes too alert for the hour.

Okarun shrugged, sinking into the opposite side of the couch, knees almost brushing Jiji's. "Just......thinking."

A simple answer and a lie, both of them recognized.

Jiji leaned back, head tipped slightly, watching him with that unreadable calm that made Okarun itch beneath his skin. Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time, not entirely.

"You know," Jiji murmured, staring at the ceiling, "Momo snores like a chainsaw."

Okarun snorted and regretted it when Jiji's grin appeared, proud and warm and unfairly charming.

"See? Laughing helps," Jiji teased quietly.

Okarun rolled his eyes, hugging a pillow to his chest; a poor shield against how close they were sitting, how late it was, and how every breath felt shared.

The night stretched on. Words wandered. They talked about school, about weird supernatural people they'd met, about UFOs, which Jiji leaned into with a curious spark in his eyes, adding his own theories, his own whispered what-ifs. Okarun found himself smiling without realizing it; it felt good, sharing something he loved without being laughed at.

The night kept pulling them along, soft and slow.

At some point, they drifted from the couch to the floor.....pillows scattered, legs stretched out beside each other, shoulders almost touching. The light behind them cast everything in a warm haze, the kind of light that turned simple moments into secret ones.

Time felt strange, too fast and too gentle....and then—

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'How did we end up here?'

Okarun sat frozen on the edge of Jiji's bed; knees too close, the mattress dipping just enough to tilt him toward the boy beside him. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, soft and silvery, painting the sheets in a glow that felt far too intimate, as if the universe itself had leaned in, holding its breath.

He tried replaying the night in his head, but everything blurred together; laughter on the couch, shared stories, the warmth of companionship lingering like a secret between them.

Then Jiji had mentioned his room was warmer.......

And now, here he was.

Jiji watched him with that calm, easy patience that never failed to make Okarun feel seen, too seen actually. His knees brushed Okarun's again, a feather-light contact, but it felt like a spark.

"I didn't think you'd actually come," Jiji murmured, voice dipped low enough to vibrate in the quiet.

Okarun gripped a pillow like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "I-I only came because you said it was warmer! That's-that's all." His glasses wobbled dangerously as he sputtered. "It's practical. Purely practical. I'm not—"

Jiji's smile curved slow.....soft......unfair. "Relax," he said gently. "I just didn't want you to be alone."

Okarun's chest tightened, a stuttered, unsteady beat.

'Why does he say things like that? Why does it feel like he means them?'

Jiji shifted slightly, his hand settling palms-down on the blanket, close enough to Okarun's that their knuckles almost grazed. One small move, one tiny decision, and they'd be holding hands.

The air pressed warm and heavy around them, too much quiet and too much closeness. Okarun swallowed hard, shifting....but not away.

Jiji exhaled, a slow, thoughtful sound. Then, with a tone so casual it felt like a trap, he spoke, ".....Still kinda cold, actually."

Okarun blinked. "Huh?"

Jiji leaned just a fraction closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath teased Okarun's cheek.

"Well," he started, eyes dropping briefly to Okarun's lips before flicking back up, "from a rational standpoint.....sharing body heat makes the most sense."

The pillow slipped from Okarun's hands and thudded softly to the floor.

. . .

His pulse jumped. His brain short-circuited. And Jiji, bold now, or maybe just tired enough to be honest,  brushed their knees together again, slower this time.

"Only if you're okay with it," he added, voice a velvet thread.

Okarun should've said something. He should've pushed Jiji away. He should've demanded space, asked what the hell he thought he was doing....He knew all of that. But his body refused to move.

His throat felt locked, his chest too full. Every rational thought in his head was tripping over the next; scrambling in panic and heat and something dangerously close to want.

'What am I doing? This is-this is Momo's childhood friend. This is the guy she used to like. This is—'

Jiji's thumb brushed a slow arc across his wrist and Okarun's breath shattered. All at once, every nerve in his body screamed closer, and that terrified him more than ghosts, more than aliens, more than anything he'd ever fought.

His lips parted, a trembling inhale, and somehow his head moved once. A tiny nod, barely there. But it was all Jiji needed.

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Jiji didn't move at first. He simply watched Okarun like he was waiting for him to change his mind, to pull away. But Okarun didn't. He couldn't.

The mattress shifted when Jiji scooted closer, and suddenly the space between them evaporated. Their shoulders brushed, their thighs aligned, and every point of contact lit up Okarun's nerves like static caught under skin.

"So," Jiji murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "warmer?"

Okarun nodded, though his breath hitched halfway through. "Y-Yeah. A little."

A soft laugh slipped from Jiji, warm, low, and dangerous. "Only a little?"

His hand lifted, hesitating for just a heartbeat. Then it settled against Okarun's forearm, steady and gentle,  but strong enough that Okarun's lungs forgot their job.

The tension didn't just thicken, it coiled as if something alive.

"I seriously don't get you...." Okarun muttered, trying to look anywhere but Jiji's eyes. "You act all cool and teasing one second, then....then you say stuff like you care."

"I do care."

Three words. Too sharp and too straightforward. Okarun's heart stumbled and before he could even reply, Jiji leaned in, slow and deliberate, until Okarun felt the warmth of his breath ghost across his ear.

"You smell different when you're nervous," he whispered.

Okarun's spine snapped straight. "Wh-What—what does that even—" But Jiji wasn't done. His nose brushed lightly against the side of Okarun's neck; a barely-there touch that felt like fire.

Okarun's breath caught in his throat, strangled and desperate.

Jiji inhaled, soft and curious, as if he was learning something secret just by being that close.

Warm air spilled against Okarun's skin as Jiji exhaled, and Okarun squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the bedsheets.

"Jiji—" his voice broke halfway, "st-stop—"

Jiji drew back just enough to meet his eyes.

"You want me to stop?"

A brutal question, then a fragile pause.

Okarun's lips parted...... no words left his mouth, but only a trembling inhale and Jiji smiled; not teasing now, but something deeper. Something hungry.

His fingers slid down Okarun's arm, then paused at his wrist, thumb circling gently, like asking one more time: Are you sure?

Okarun swallowed and that tiny movement exposed the column of his throat again.

Jiji noticed.

He leaned in, slower, closer, lips hovering just above skin....

The tension didn't just snap, it coiled around them, pulling tighter and tighter, dragging them toward each other like a current too strong to fight.

Jiji's breath ghosted over Okarun's cheek, hot and slow, each exhale landing like a pulse against his skin. Okarun hadn't even noticed Jiji's hands moving until they were already there: large palms resting at his waist, fingers curling in just enough to make Okarun's stomach lurch.

It wasn't rough. It wasn't shy either. It was.....a claim. A question. A warning.

Okarun's lungs stuttered. He could feel the heat of each fingertip through his shirt, like Jiji had branded him at the hips.

'How did those hands get there? And why didn't he move them?'

Jiji leaned in a fraction, close enough that Okarun could see the faint crinkle at the corner of his half-lidded eyes, hear the steady, slow inhale he took as if he wanted to memorize the moment.

"Still cold?" Jiji asked again, voice low and dangerous, like a dare wrapped in velvet. Every word brushed too close and ever so intimate.

Okarun swallowed hard, his brain blanking under the burn in his veins.

"M-Maybe...." The word creaked out of him, thin and trembling, "....a little."

Jiji's lips curved, slow and knowing as if he'd been waiting for that exact answer.

"Still only a little? That's not good." he drawled, an undercurrent of mischief lacing his tone.

Okarun couldn't look away, not from his eyes, not from the way that smile tilted. He tried to speak, but all he managed was a pathetic nod.... a helpless concession.

That was when Jiji's smirk shifted deeper, the kind that carried promise.

"Then...." His fingers pressed just a little firmer into Okarun's waist, guiding and inviting, "....come here."

The room shrank, the air thickened and Okarun felt gravity tip....not down, but toward Jiji....like he had always been meant to fall exactly this way.

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A beat of silence stretched, charged, trembling, and sweetly unbearable. Jiji didn't move at first. He just breathed Okarun in.

Slow and deep. Like he had discovered something he wasn't ready to let go of. His nose brushed the curve of Okarun's cheek, the corner of his jaw, hovering close enough that Okarun felt every exhale as a warm ghost on his skin.

Okarun's pulse stuttered.

He didn't know where to put his hands, what to do with the sheer intensity of being noticed like this. Not just seen. Not just touched.

Scented.

Jiji's breath hit the spot just beneath his ear, and Okarun shivered.

"You smell like trouble," Jiji murmured, voice threaded with a roughness Okarun had never heard from him before. "And I can't decide if I hate that or want more of it."

Okarun's fingers tightened on Jiji's shoulders without permission from his brain. His thoughts had already melted into pure instinct.

He shifted, just a little. A tiny movement, but it drew him flush against Jiji's thigh and that was all it took.

Jiji's inhale broke; sharp and guttural. A low sound escaped him, halfway between a groan and a curse, buried against Okarun's skin like he was trying to hide it, yet couldn't stop himself.

Okarun froze, breath caught somewhere mid-chest.

Jiji's grip flexed at his waist, not pushing him away.....but holding him there. Holding him still. His forehead pressed to Okarun’s temple as he tried—failed—to collect himself.

"Oka...." Jiji said, voice raw, "do you have any idea what you're doing to me....?"

Okarun swallowed, heat spiraling through him so fast he swore he could see stars.

"I-I just—moved," he whispered, helpless.

"That," Jiji breathed, leaning in again, "was the problem."

He nudged his nose along the line of Okarun’s throat, slow and savoring as if he was mapping scent and pulse and softness and every reason he was losing control.

Okarun's hands slid from shoulders to the back of Jiji's neck, clutching without meaning to, pulling him just a little closer, like gravity had taken sides.

Jiji's groan rumbled again, lower this time, like it came from somewhere deep.

"Keep doing that," he warned gently, dangerously, "and I'm not going to stop at just keeping you warm."

The world narrowed to heat.....To breath. To two people who had stepped too close to turn back and Okarun—heart in freefall—didn't want to. He didn't know what this feeling was but it didn't feel bad. Okarun didn't trust his voice anymore. Every sound he made seemed too revealing, too close to the truth of how badly he wanted to stay right where he was.

He could feel Jiji's heartbeat. Not through sight, not through imagination, but through every point where their bodies touched. Steady at first....then tripping over itself the longer Okarun lingered.

Jiji lifted his head just enough to look at him again.

His eyes, dark and blown wide, searched Okarun's face like he needed to memorize this moment, too. Every flutter of lashes, every shaky inhale, every soft part of him that leaned in without hesitation.

Okarun felt stripped bare under that gaze.

Exposed.

Wanted.

He parted his lips, maybe to speak, maybe just to breathe; he wasn't sure,  but Jiji caught his chin with the gentlest touch of his fingers. Two points of contact. Light. But it held Okarun exactly where he needed him.

"Hey," Jiji whispered, voice unsteady in a way that sent electricity pulsing through Okarun's veins, "look at me."

Okarun's eyes dragged upward and the second their gazes locked again, heat flooded him head to toe. Jiji was close enough that their noses brushed, close enough that the smallest movement would seal the space between them forever.

That's when Jiji's restraint slipped again. His hand slid from Okarun's waist to the small of his back, pressing him in, slow but undeniable until there was no question of space left at all. Their bodies fit together like this was the only arrangement the universe had ever planned.

Okarun's breath hitched. His spine arched just slightly to meet that touch, his fingers curling reflexively into the fabric at Jiji's collar. His knees wobbled, and Jiji felt it and steadied him by holding tighter.

"Jij—"

That tiny sound was all it took.

Jiji's breath stuttered hot against Okarun's cheek.

"God, Oka...." he muttered, words slipping out before he could guard them, "you're driving me insane."

Another beat,  thick, breathless, inevitable.

Jiji leaned in, more firmly this time , his lips finding Okarun's cheek first.

Not rushed and not clumsy. A slow, claiming press; warm, reverent, terrifying in its tenderness. Okarun's knees almost gave out.

Jiji didn't let him fall.

He angled closer, his nose brushing down toward Okarun's jaw, following the racing pulse there in a line that felt like fire and promise. The scent of Okarun pulled him in all over again, a deep inhale like he couldn't help needing more.

"Tell me to stop," Jiji breathed but his hands....his body....his trembling control said he was praying Okarun wouldn't.

Okarun's answer wasn't verbal. His fingers slid into Jiji's hair , slow, trembling, and held on. Jiji exhaled a shaky laugh, strained and half-wrecked, "Okay," he whispered.

And he tilted Okarun's head just a fraction, enough—just enough—to bring their lips achingly, devastatingly close.

One breath. Two. Every atom in the world waiting to see what would happen next.

And Okarun.....didn't pull away.

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Just when the moment was on that razor-thin edge,  that final breath away from tipping into something irreversible—

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

A sharp knock sliced through the air. It hit like a bucket of ice water.

Okarun jolted first;  panic firing through him before he even understood why. His whole body snapped backward, hands leaving Jiji like he'd been shocked. The space between them that had once felt suffocatingly small suddenly felt dangerously large.

Jiji blinked, stunned by the sudden distance.

"Oka—?" he started.

But Okarun wasn"t listening. His heartbeat was in his ears, too loud, too fast, too everything. He stumbled away, almost tripping over his own feet as he lunged for the door.

His fingers fumbled with the lock.

Click.

The air behind him stayed thick with the ghost of their almost-kiss. But Okarun didn't dare look back. Couldn't. His face burned too hot, like Jiji could still see every unspoken thought written there.

He yanked the door open.

Momo stood outside, entirely unaware of what she had interrupted. Her expression was open and casual, not even a flicker of suspicion in her eyes.

"There you are!" she said, relieved. "Turbo Granny's back and being extra creepy, we need to move. Come on!"

Okarun nodded too fast. "Y-Yeah! Sure! Let’s go!"

His voice cracked. He winced. Momo didn’t notice, she was already turning away down the hall.

Jiji finally stepped up beside Okarun.....slow and he wasn't sure how close he was allowed to stand anymore.

"Oka...." he murmured under his breath, barely audible, "you okay?"

Okarun stiffened. He didn't answer. Didn't look at him. Didn't breathe until he was several steps behind Momo, putting her between them like a shield.

Jiji's chest tightened at the sight, at the sudden distance carved into space where closeness had just existed. His fingers curled at his sides, the warmth of Okarun's body still lingering on his palms like a secret he wasn't sure he was allowed to keep.

They followed Momo out, urgency in the air, mission waiting. But for Jiji....the real emergency was the retreat written in the line of Okarun's shoulders: Avoidance. Fear. And something Jiji couldn't name but felt all the way down to his bones.

He tried catching Okarun's eyes, once, then, twice.

Nothing.

Okarun wouldn't look at him. Wouldn't even walk near him. Every step they took forward....was another step Okarun took away from what almost happened.

Jiji swallowed hard.

A quiet promise tightening in his chest: This isn't how our moment ends.

But for now?

Okarun kept his eyes on the floor and pretended that his heart wasn't still racing from Jiji’s breath on his skin.

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The next morning, Jiji walked into the kitchen to find Okarun already there....except Okarun took one look at him and nearly leapt toward the fridge.

"Morning," Jiji tried.

Okarun made a noise that might've been a greeting or maybe just a strangled squeak while he buried his whole head into the cold storage like it was a new life plan.

Jiji leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting....but Okarun refused to turn around. He just stared very intently at a carton of milk like it held the secrets of the universe.

- - - -

Later, Turbo Granny demanded they train. Normally, Okarun and Jiji sparred side-by-side.

But, that day was not today.

Okarun volunteered, quickly, to partner with Momo.

Jiji raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"It's.....better strategically!" Okarun blurted.

Momo looked between them, confused but went along.

While they practiced, every time Jiji moved closer, Okarun shuffled two steps away. Smooth for anyone not paying attention.

But Jiji was paying attention. Too much attention.

His chest tightened with every inch Okarun refused him.

- - - 

That evening, Momo suggested they watch a movie together. They all sat on the couch. Okarun squeezed himself into the corner; maximum distance from Jiji.

Jiji sat down anyway. Near him. Close enough their knees brushed.

Okarun shot up like he'd sat on a needle.

"I-I'm gonna get snacks!"

"You already brought snacks," Momo pointed out.

"I'm.....getting more snacks!"

He fled.

Momo blinked after him. "Is he okay?"

Jiji didn't answer. His throat was full of frustration and ache.

- - -

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It went on like that.

Avoid, retreat, then escape. Every time their eyes almost met, Okarun turned away, cheeks red, hands shaking,  like he was terrified of what he'd feel if he didn't.

And Jiji?

He was done watching the distance grow.

So he waited and picked the moment perfectly.

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Okarun sneaked down the hall, trying to slip past Jiji's room like he was avoiding a ghost.

Too late.

The door opened. Jiji stepped out, blocking the hall with one arm against the wall, the other hanging loose by his side.

Okarun froze.

His voice came out thin. "Ex-Excuse me—"

"No,” Jiji said softly. Not harsh. Not angry. Just tired. "Can we talk?"

Okarun looked anywhere but at him.

"I.....I don't think—"

"Oka." Jiji stepped closer, voice cracking on the plea. "Look at me."

Okarun didn't.  Couldn’t.

Not until he heard it: a hitched breath.

The tremor of someone trying too hard not to fall apart.

Okarun's gaze snapped up. Jiji’s eyes were glassy, barely holding back tears. Beautiful and miserable. The sight hit Okarun like a punch. He was weak to this. Pathetically weak.

Jiji tried to smile and failed. "Did I......do something wrong? Because one second you were right there with me and the next...." His voice thickened, breaking, "it feels like you’re disappearing.'

Okarun's heart twisted into knots.

It felt like gravity reversed, pulling him straight back toward the boy he'd been running from.

'Jiji...." he whispered.

Jiji wiped at his eyes too fast, embarrassed, turning his face away like he didn't want Okarun to see how much this hurt him.

That only made it worse.

Okarun stepped forward, instinct quicker than thought, lifting a hand toward Jiji's cheek before he even processed the motion.

He barely brushed skin when Jiji flinched, not from fear, but because even that tiny touch wrecked him.

Okarun's voice came out raw.

"I—I never wanted to avoid you," he breathed. "I just....didn't know what to do."

Jiji finally met his eyes again. Puppy-dog eyes. Red-rimmed. Hopeful through the hurt.

Okarun melted on impact. Every wall he'd thrown up........fell. Okarun swallowed hard, Jiji waiting, searching his face like every second might decide everything between them.

".....I liked it," Okarun spoke again, more certain this time. "Too much. And I didn't know what that meant........what you meant."

Jiji's breath caught and Okarun, because he couldn't help it, looked away for a moment.

His mind dragged him back....

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FLASH BACK (EARLIER THAT DAY)

Okarun had rushed to Aira's place before his courage died.

He didn't name names. Didn't dare. But his panic was obvious when he cornered her at the sink while she washed fruit.

"A hypothetical," Okarun started, way too stiff. Aira raised an eyebrow without looking at him. "Okay.....hypothetically.

"So....if you were.....with someone. And it—your heart.....got all weird." He flailed a hand near his chest. "Like it's sprinting ahead of you and you didn't hate it but it scared the hell out of you...."

Aira paused, set the apple down, and was now paying attention.

"And you suddenly r–realize you might want to do it again. Be that close again. And maybe take it further. But if you do, everything changes. And you don't know if you're allowed to want that. If they want that."

He spoke so fast he barely breathed.

Aira crossed her arms and leaned against the counter.

"And this 'someone'..... is a friend?" she asked.

Okarun nodded, small and guilty.

"Okay. Then listen," Aira said plainly, eyes steady on his, "Some friendships change, and they don't break. They evolve. They turn into something better, if both people want it."

Okarun's stomach twisted.

"But what if one does and the other.....doesn't?" he whispered.

Aira gave a soft, almost sad smile.

"Then it hurts," she answered honestly. "But running from it hurts worse. Because then you lose the friend and the chance."

Okarun's breathing stilled. Aira placed the apple in his hands, gentle, almost grounding.

"If it's real, Okarun," she said, "you'll know. Because even if you push them away, you'll still feel pulled back to them."

His fingers tightened around the fruit.

"And the only way to find out," she added, "is to stop hiding."

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PRESENT

Okarun inhaled shakily, returning to the present, to Jiji's tear-damp lashes and the silent ache that lived there.

"Aira said.....he murmured, "that friends can.....change. If they both want to."

Jiji nodded once, too fast, hope sparking in his expression like a fire catching oxygen.

Okarun's hand stayed on his cheek, steadying both of them.

"I'm sorry I avoided you," he said, voice thick and honest. "I was scared of ruining everything."

Silence. Close. Heavy. Then Okarun whispered, barely brave: "We're....friends, right?" The question trembled, not because he doubted the friendship, but because he was terrified it might not be what Jiji wanted.

Jiji's chest rose sharply, like that single line nearly brought him to his knees.

He moved closer, just a fraction, enough that Okarun could feel the warmth of his breath again. His fingers brushed Okarun’s wrist, a soft hold, asking permission to stay.

"Ken....." Jiji whispered back, voice breaking in the tenderest way, "We're friends...."

A beat.

"And I want to be.....so much more than that."

The world stilled. Okarun's pulse roared. All that distance he'd tried to build..... was gone in an instant; drowned by the way Jiji looked at him like he was gravity itself.

Okarun inhaled and stepped closer. He didn't even think, he moved.

He wrapped his arms around Jiji's shoulders and pulled him close in a sudden, desperate hug. Jiji stiffened for just a heartbeat, surprised, then melted right into it, face pressing into Okarun's shoulder like he'd been waiting weeks for that single embrace.

Okarun's voice was small but bright against Jiji's ear: "Okay.....let's be more than friends.

Jiji's breath stopped. His hands slid slowly up Okarun's back, holding him like something precious. He pulled back just enough to see Okarun's face,  eyes soft, lips parted and leaned in, heart pounding, ready to close that tiny space between them—

"Let's be best friends!" Okarun blurted, stars practically exploding in his eyes.

Jiji froze.

Like a computer that just hit a fatal error.

Okarun beamed, completely unaware of the emotional whiplash he just delivered.

"This is my first best friend ever!" he declared with the enthusiasm of someone discovering a new planet.

His cheeks glowed pink; his excitement so pure it hurt.

Jiji stared a moment too long.

Not at the words, but at Okarun's lips still curved in that bright smile that was killing him.

And then........ he laughed.

A tiny puff of disbelief first, then a helpless stream he tried to smother against Okarun's shoulder. He sounded a little unhinged, a little heartbroken, but mostly lovesick.

"B-Best....friends," Jiji managed, voice jumping an octave from how tight his throat had gone.

He hugged Okarun again, arms wrapping fully now, like he could hide inside him. Okarun thought the laughter meant Jiji was just happy too and he grinned, throwing his arms around Jiji's middle and rocking them both side to side.

The motion pressed them together more. Too close. Way too close. Jiji's nose brushed the slope of Okarun's neck.

He inhaled.

Then inhaled again, slower this time and everything inside him short-circuited. Okarun smelled like warm laundry fresh from the dryer. Like summer sun clinging to cotton......like peppermint gum he always chewed when he was nervous.

Jiji swallowed, heat rolling down his spine.

"You smell good...." slipped out before he could stop himself;  quiet, hungry, and reverent.

Okarun jolted, not from fear, but from the heat that shot straight up his neck and bloomed bright red across his ears. He ducked his head a little, embarrassed yet secretly delighted.

Right.

Of course Jiji would notice that.

Friends noticed things like that.

Friends hugged like this........

Friends breathed each other in..........

Friends smelled each other......................

Okarun fully believed every bit of it, because his brain had no reference for close friendship that wasn't a little overwhelming, a little electric. So he didn't question it. He just melted, thinking this was absolutely one of those 'normal friend activities' he had been missing out on his whole life.

Jiji, however—

His fingers curled slowly into the back of Okarun's shirt; not possessive, but terrified. Terrified of how much he wanted to hold on. Terrified that if he loosened his grip even a little, Okarun would drift away again.

"You really do....."  Jiji murmured, eyes shut tight like the moment might disappear if he opened them. His forehead brushed Okarun's neck, breath unsteady. "You smell.... dangerously good."

Okarun's heartbeat fluttered.

Dangerously must also be a friend word, he guessed.

His arms tightened, because that was another friendship thing, right? Hug tighter if your friend likes it.

Jiji almost groaned, almost,  because that small shift pulled Okarun flush against him. Warm chest. Soft shirt. The faint peppermint scent now burned into his senses.

He tried to breathe slow, but Okarun's proximity made it impossible and he just held him, long enough that it hurt in a good, devastating way.

Because to Okarun, this closeness felt like discovering what having someone meant.

But to Jiji......This closeness felt like losing control of the feelings he had tried so hard to hide.

Okarun believed this was friendship.

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Jiji prayed it wouldn't always stay that way.