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Junes Topsicles: Natural Fruit Flavors. 24 count.
It’s summer on Souji’s lips.
And it’s summer on his skin, and where Yosuke’s hand’s mingle with his hair. It’s summer outside this dark cool corner of the bookshop Souji lingers in far too long while Yosuke itches to spend time somewhere a little more lively, a little more summer, you know? There’s a sun behind the part of Souji’s cloudy bangs where sweat clumps the hairs together. There’s heat in that quiet smile. The smell of fresh-cut rice straw from the fields on his breath.
This is what Yosuke thinks about when they kiss, briefly, behind the tallest bookshelf. And then Souji’s lips are moving again, no longer sugar-sweet beneath his, and Yosuke’s world narrows to that simple sentence. He chuckles and grabs Souji’s wrist and drags him out the door. To the bright heat of the town with nothing to do but get lost in his boyfriend’s eyes.
It’s summer when Souji kisses goodbye.
Not forever, no Yosuke wouldn’t let that happen so easily. University’s next session—the start of the third year for each of them—is nothing new. But Souji’s kisses are a last-spring-break brand of new. A new that only came to be after years of close calls and excuses because you can’t just ask your partner in crime-busting out on a date. There’s rules about these sorts of things, a bro code, if you will.
Yeah, yeah. Souji laughed at him, too, shoulders shaking and squinting in the sunlight.
Junes Box Fan: No assembly required. 1 piece.
It’s six days later and hot enough to die without the clear skies and humid air piling it on. Lugging his clothes up three flights of stairs has Yosuke all kinds of sweaty he’d rather not think about.
Too late.
His shirt sticks to his back, forcing him to yelp when the dorm fan sends a freezing gust his direction. Yosuke tosses his laundry on the bed and sways dangerously. All will to get his paper started melts away until he flips open his phone, finds a single heart in his messages, jumps to his feet, and dials Souji’s number. Even over the haze of the phone line, Yosuke can hear the smile in that hello. Souji listens to each rambling sentence without interrupting. Because he’s the best, okay? The best listener ever. But this time he’s also playing the star student as he catches a weakness in Yosuke’s argument and reminds him to check his sources, for once. They hang up, and Yosuke falls asleep smiling. That paper is, weirdly enough, done a whole twenty-four hours before deadline.
Two weeks later, Yosuke’s moping about morning from beneath the last reasonable blanket on his furnace of a bed. Why does the sun hate him so? Why do his professors hate him even more, with their seven A.M. classes and low-light auditorium lectures? Do they think he isn’t going to snooze? He smashes his open palm into the bedside table a few times before he hits the shape of a phone. Yosuke flips it open. It’s immediately on the inbox with prtnr on the top. The screen greets him with his last whats up with u? and the responding Nothing much here. Above both messages is a clock, oops, and he’s already late. Yosuke snaps the phone shut and wiggles into some socially acceptable clothes. By the end of the long, tardy-filled day, there’s an invitation to call humming through his phone, and Yosuke weighs the pros and cons of how to handle the summer heat. Shutting his window means less humid air but more awkward, musty, dorm smell everywhere. Humidity it is.
Right away Souji makes the mistake of asking him about a new song he’d been hearing on his college station’s midnight show, how he’d thought Yosuke might like it. Had he heard of it?
Of course he had, because “—the song just overflows with sound, you know? They keep layering vocals and bass and topping it with reverb until it becomes something else. It’s like the rhythm unravels, because you lose the melody underneath it all. But then you start hearing something else! I mean, doesn’t that sound sick?”
“Mhmm.”
“But that’s not the end of it. Then they start pulling the whole thing apart again, bit by bit. So like a guitar riff fades away, then one of the vocals, and then more. Like that. And suddenly all the parts have pulled back and you’re hearing just one big chord. It holds for like seven seconds, then they all play the same notes, then it’s gone. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s incredible.”
“Mm.”
Mouth open, Yosuke is just about to go into the album’s transition tracks when the quiet over the line pricks up the hair on his arms. “I’ve been talking this whole time, huh? Sorry, man, I didn’t even notice.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “How’s your week been going?”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“So…anything on your mind?”
“Nothing much. I’m glad it’s the weekend.”
“Oh, for sure.”
Pause.
“Hey, you know I like to hear from you,” Yosuke figures it’s worth being clear, “right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, man. Don’t talk my ear off,” is all it takes to steal a laugh from over the line so pretty that he can feel the nervous sweat break on his brow. Handsome boy, pretty laugh, Yosuke’s not making it out alive. He knows it as his own smile spreads across his face.
All of a sudden, it’s one month later and Yosuke is multitasking. He’s got five minutes to eat the toast dangling from his teeth and to finish reading this textbook chapter. Instead he looks at his last three texts and finds they’re all from him to Souji. Maybe he’s busy? That sounds reasonable, but he can’t ignore the whispers in the back of his mind.
hey, Yosuke types, r u mad at me?
The numbers on the clock get treacherously close to lecture time. Yosuke trades staring at the screen for throwing a scarf around his neck and runs out the door with his book bag trailing.
Later, Souji texts back a No, just away from my phone. Sorry.
u dont need 2 b. But Yosuke feels how his thumbs pause over each key. At least Souji can’t see that from two prefectures away. He has homework to do, anyways, and a project due at 11:59 PM. And then there’s that thing he promised to do for the study group. And—
And next thing he knows it’s the time of the silent inbox all over again, a communication drought that reminds him too much of those desperate days in Inaba.
hey partn—How many times is he going to start a message like that? Delete, delete, delete.
thinking of u—That’s so cliche.
i miss—Too clingy.
do u have time 2—Clearly not.
Pen in one hand, coffee on the desk, Yosuke thinks better of it all and empties out the message field.
As the world loves to watch him suffer, Yosuke is struggling to yank a sweater over his head at the exact moment his phone vibrates itself off the desk. He’s on his hands and knees, fishing from the space between the bed and the wall when he sees it: Missed Call: prtnr.
Yosuke hits redial.
“Hey!”
“Hey.”
“It’s,” Yosuke sits back on his knees and rubs the back of his neck, “good to hear from you.”
Souji’s voice flickers over the line. “Even better to hear from you. I miss you.”
Why is the AC on? Where was it when it was actually hot? “It’s been a bit.”
“Yeah, my schedule got away from me. And then I didn’t know how to start the conversation again.” Yosuke bites the inside of his cheek. Maybe he needs more than this sweater. Souji continues, “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“I don’t know.”
Yosuke tugs at his sleeves. “Whatever.”
And when Souji calls him again exactly one week and two hours later, Yosuke can’t stop his shiver when he asks “You don’t have anything to say?” Because it’s been twenty minutes and Souji’s handed over nothing but one-word answers. Yosuke doesn’t know what’s going on in his classes, in his life, let alone in this this bare-branched landscape between them. “I’ve got to go read something. I’ll call you back.” Another week out, that is.
True quiet goes like this: No calls, no texts, no nothing from anyone who isn’t asking him about when their finals study group meets next. Even Yosuke’s mom is out of town and out of service, as absolutely embarrassing as that is to admit after the whole “I’ll be fine” argument he made. For hours at a time, Yosuke can almost convince himself that there’s nothing outside his dorm. Worse, he’s taken to burying himself under blankets. Blankets! In the room that just a few months ago was smothering him.
He swears under his breath. Did this place miss the memo about insulation or something?
It’s then, hunched over his desk with a blanket cape holding back the weather, that a lone hum thaws the night. He looks down at his phone, a tiny light that falls over his cupped fingers. Flipped open, there’s one, worthless less than three “heart” from prtnr staring back at him.
Yosuke scoffs and flips the phone shut hard enough it snaps on the desk.
Junes Pocket Hand Warmers Value Pack: 20 count.
Box. Shelf. And again Junes Pocket Hand Warmers Value Pack: 20 count until Yosuke is punching out for the end of his shift. Holiday staffing is always rough; it almost makes him miss working the regular times of year. Restocking’s not so bad, though, he runs a hand over his face while he throws an extra hand warmer from the break room into his pocket. And it’s an easy way to get some cash between terms, not that he’d ever admit that his dad was right. The parking lot is dusted with snow. His car’s no different, and it takes a minute to shove around snow until it’s clear. If he were smarter or less stubborn, maybe he’d go back in for a shovel. But it’s not that bad.
Until the car refuses to start. Yosuke throws his head back into the seat with a whine and cracks open the hand warmer for some much needed comfort. Then he’s opening the hood of the car. It’s not smoking, so that has to be a good sign.
“Hey.” And Yosuke jumps, aiming to smash his head against the underside of the hood until someone yanks him back.
It takes a moment to observe the new additions to his surroundings. The grocery bag that isn’t his at his feet. The warm, gloved hand on his back. The silver eyes.
“Do you need a ride?”
The one and only Seta Souji at his side.
Yosuke snaps his eyes back to the engine. “It’d be better if I could jump-start my car,” he grumbles. One more glance at Souji almost has him saying something stupid, so he crosses his arms like that will keep the words in his mouth.
Souji turns his smile on Yosuke and all his bite start to part like clouds. Gross. “We can do that.”
What? “N-no. I couldn’t—” But Souji has already pulled the jumper cables out. He hands the clamps to Yosuke and Yosuke stares at them like they’re about to turn into a talking bear at any moment.
“It’s red to red and black to black,” Souji clarifies.
“I know that.” It gets worse. Souji walks up to the dead battery, places his hand on Yosuke’s—not now, blush, sunburned is not in this season—and connects the cables one at a time.
Observing Yosuke’s ice statue impersonation, Souji stays in place. “You’re going to have to take your hands off.”
“You first.”
“Sorry.” Souji steps back.
“I, uh, no. Don’t be.” Wait, wait. The cold air creeps back over Yosuke’s wrists. “It’s cool, dude.”
The mumble doesn’t reach Souji, already back in his boxy old truck and pull it close enough to connect the cables. Once Yosuke has them in place, he waves Yosuke out of the way. When it’s clear he idles his engine. Against that little voice in his head named Self-Preservation, Yosuke makes his way to Souji’s side and asks “So, why are you here?”
“I’m with my family for winter break.” Souji turns the key in the ignition. “You?”
“Same. As always.” Not for the first time, Yosuke finds himself baffled at how Souji does this. The shortest sentences known to Inaba, the guarded looks, the damn silence. It’s no small part of the longing, looking at Souji and wishing he was even a third as collected as him.
Souji counts seconds in taps on the dashboard as the old engine sputters and purrs.
The old engine sputters and grumbles. Toying with a loose thread, Yosuke feels the words hot on his lips before he can stop them. “I missed you.”
“I can’t hear you.” Souji has to speak up over the old engine.
He needs a deep breath, then. The engine stops and—
“I missed you!” Yosuke shouts over nothing, announcing to the entire Junes parking lot if not all of Inaba.
They share a flustered look.
Yosuke decides to grimace at his feet instead. Zipping up the coat when he notices the visible puffs of air wobbling from his every breath. He rubs hands over the coat sleeves to stop his shaking.
“I did, too,” Souji whispers. “You kind of disappeared, Yosuke.”
“You did it first.”
Souji gets that blank look for all of two seconds, that face where Yosuke imagines him carding through possible responses. “I did?”
Yosuke looks in those pretty, pretty—shut up—eyes and finds nothing but sincerity.
“You sent me one word answers. Like all the time! And, and,” God, it’s hard to gather his thoughts after not seeing Souji in this long. Yosuke waves his hands like it’s going to make the message clearer. “And when we talked it was the same thing.”
“Yosuke, I don’t hang out quietly with everyone.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not. Usually I don’t talk a lot because I like to keep other people talking. Then they don’t have to see me, really. You know?” No, Yosuke thinks while glaring at Souji’s shoes. “But I like to be me around you. Me is just quiet.”
Then, nothing. Souji starts up the engine once again. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Silence. “We can check your battery now.”
Dragging his feet through the cold, Yosuke stumbles into the car and leaves the door wide open, his hands turning the key on autopilot. He’s trying to focus on literally anything other than Souji when his heart rebels again. I like to be me around you echoes through his head. The car jolts to life and Yosuke’s head jerks up in surprise, eyes locked on to Souji’s as he leans into his steering wheel. Thank you, Yosuke mouths. The light hits Souji’s hair at a new angle when he nods back, all silver glare against the windshield.
Relieved, Yosuke watches as Souji walks back to pick up the groceries next to Yosuke’s tire. “You’ll need to actually get the battery changed soon. This charge won’t be reliable.”
Something clicks into place in Yosuke’s head. “Wait. You’re really bad at this.” This time, it’s Souji who’s sunburn red. Yosuke backpedals as much as he can between cutting off his frozen laughs. “I mean you just went back to talking about the car. I mean. I mean it’s nice that you’re not all perfect.”
Souji leans into the side of the car with a smirk like a spark. “I’m not?”
Laughter spills out of Yosuke faster than he can stop it. “No way, dude. You’re bad at all this word stuff, but you’re so much better than me at, like, doing things. Like saving my ass with the car. Or knowing when I want a hug. Or sending me a—oh.”
The realization forces him to look away from Souji’s face. Instead Yosuke reaches for his hand, slipping the hand warmer into Souji’s pocket. The engine hums beneath them and Yosuke traces a heart into Souji’s knuckles. The chill in his cheeks is replaced with summer sun the moment Souji’s fingers twist against his, reaching, holding tight.
“Want to come over for dinner?”
The snow drifts by Yosuke’s sun-bleached hair, the uniform polo wedged under his coat collar, the summer-scented bookstore receipt crumpled in his pocket. With his free hand. Yosuke points at Souji. “We’re talking about this. With words. We’re figuring out this long-distance thing.”
Souji laughs. “Over dinner?”
Yanking him down by the collar, Yosuke presses yes into a sweltering kiss.