Aiden and Akira

Chapter 1

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The afternoon air in the university classroom was tense, as if every student sensed something coming. Sunlight filtered through half-open blinds, casting slanted shadows across uniformed legs and crossed arms. Akira Yoshino sat in the back corner of 2E, arms folded, hoodie half-zipped over his uniform shirt, his expression a mask of bored indifference.

“...And you’ll be working in pairs for this one,” Mr. Collins announced, flipping through her clipboard. “It’ll last until the end of the semester. Consider it your final project.”

A collective groan rippled through the class. Akira’s fingers twitched.

Mr. Collins started listing names, and Akira tuned most of it out. Until he heard:

“Akira Yoshino and... Aiden Burton.”

He blinked. The air around him seemed to freeze.

No. Nope. Out of all people…

Akira glanced to the side. Aiden Burton sat next to him, tall, confident, hair gelled with careless perfection. He looked like he stepped out of a skincare ad. Which, knowing him, he probably had. He glanced back at Akira for a moment. Just a glance. Then turned back to face the whiteboard again.

Didn’t even react. Akira narrowed his eyes. He let his head fall on his desk with a thud.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Akira slipped into a seat in the back of the campus library, a heavy book bag thumping beside him. His uniform blazer was draped messily over the chair, shirt sleeves rolled halfway up. The silence was comforting, broken only by soft page turns and keyboard clicks from nearby students.

Then he heard it.

“Yo,” Aiden said, dropping into the seat across from him like he owned the place. “So. Lit project.”

Akira didn’t look up from his notebook. “Mm.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow, leaning back. “You got any ideas? Or are you one of those quiet genius types who just stares and magically writes the whole essay?”

“Shut up.”

Aiden tilted his head, grinning like he wasn’t just insulted. “Why? I only want to make things less awkward.”

“It’s not awkward,” Akira mumbled, scribbling in a neat corner of his notebook.

Aiden gave a breath of a laugh. Then leaned forward, peering at Akira’s notes. “You already started planning?”

Akira shrugged, uncomfortable. “I just started already.” He subtly moved the notebook slightly away from Aiden’s view.

“Fair. You’re really neat,” Aiden said, not even hiding how his eyes scanned Akira’s handwriting. “Your notes. Not, like—y’know, you, necessarily.”

Akira froze. Stared. Rude.

Aiden smirked. “Anyway, what were you thinking of for the theme?”

Akira hesitated. He reluctantly turned the notebook so Aiden could read. “I thought we could focus on emotional repression in Gothic literature. How characters can’t express themselves and it leads to ruin.”

Aiden blinked. “...Hm. I guess that works.”

Akira fiddled with his pen in his lap. He nodded once.

“I can handle visual stuff. Presentation, maybe? Design?” Aiden suggested.

Akira hesitated. Then nodded. Why did he have nothing insulting to say back? Was Aiden’s charm invading his brain?

Chapter 2

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The library’s quiet atmosphere was starting to crack under the weight of Akira’s patience.

Aiden was leaning back in his chair, phone tilted just out of sight under the table, thumbs flying over the screen. Every now and then, he’d grin at something on Instagram or make a face at whatever app he was flipping through. His laptop sat open in front of him, untouched. Pages in his lit book were still crisp, like they hadn’t even been glanced at.

Akira sat across from him, jaw tight, one leg bouncing fast.

“…You haven’t written a single word,” he muttered, eyes not leaving his notebook.

Aiden didn’t even flinch. “Huh? Oh yeah, I’m just checking some stuff. I’ll get to it.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

Aiden smirked, sliding his phone into his pocket with no intention of keeping it there. “You’re doing fine on your own, though. Like, super efficient. I’d just mess it up.”

“That’s not how partnerships work,” Akira snapped, finally glaring at him.

Aiden gave a lazy shrug. “Relax, Yoshi. I’ll pull my weight. Eventually.”

Akira’s eye twitched at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

Aiden grinned wider. “Why not? It’s cute. Like a little dinosaur. Rawr.”

Akira stared at him like he was considering homicide. “You’re not funny.”

“You’re just not used to people with a personality,” Aiden said, mock offended, twirling a pen between his fingers like he was even slightly invested.

Akira’s hand clenched. “You’ve done nothing but scroll through TikTok and annoy me.”

“And it’s going great so far,” Aiden said, full of shameless confidence. “I’m the comic relief. The brains is clearly you.”

Akira slammed his pen down and stood up, chair scraping over the floor. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet space, drawing a few glances.

He leaned forward, voice low, eyes sharp. “I don’t need a comic relief. I need a partner who gives a damn.”

For a split second, Aiden actually looked… serious. Then he sat up straighter, the usual smirk faltering.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, looking away. “You’re serious. Got it.”

Akira sat back. “Just… try, okay?”

Another beat passed. Aiden sighed and finally opened the Google Doc Akira had shared with him. His fingers hovered awkwardly above the keyboard.

“…What do you want me to write?” he asked, not looking at him.

Akira raised a brow. “Start by reading what I already have.”

Aiden groaned dramatically. “Homework during school? Cruel.”

Akira glared.

Aiden raised his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m reading.”

And for once… he actually did.

Chapter 3

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Back home, the world felt quieter.

Their flat in England was small, tucked above a grocery shop with creaky floors and a weird leak in the bathroom ceiling. But it was home. Miyano was yelling at his video game in the next room, and the TV was quietly buzzing with some reality show their dad half-paid attention to.

“Tadaima,” Akira said as he took his shoes off.

“Okaeri, Akira,” Tou-san called back from the kitchen.

Akira had shut himself in his room, hoodie back on, the soft hum of his laptop filling the silence. He'd meant to keep working on the project, he really had, but his thoughts kept circling back to Aiden. Specifically, how the guy spent two hours doing absolutely nothing useful and still had the nerve to make it seem like he was doing Akira a favour.

And the worst part?

Akira couldn’t stop thinking about him.

It was annoying.

Really annoying.

Which is how he ended up typing Aiden’s name into Instagram.

He didn’t follow him. Of course not. That’d be insane. But Aiden’s public profile came up instantly. Full of glowy beach selfies, modelling pics, mirror shots with suspiciously good lighting, and posts of him in football kits, grinning with his teammates like a Nike ad. Most had comments flooded with hearts and thirsty emojis.

“God, you’re so full of yourself,” Akira muttered—but he kept scrolling. Strategic, he told himself. Know your enemy. But then… he just kept scrolling. Kept watching.

Aiden with his siblings, Aiden at the beach, Aiden holding a cat. Aiden looking almost like a real person.

He didn’t even realise how far down he’d gone until—

Double tap.

Akira froze.

His thumb hovered over the screen, eyes going wide as the little red heart blinked into existence under a post from last November. A mirror selfie. Aiden in a hotel bathroom. Shirtless. Smirking. Captioned: “Hotel mirrors make me look taller. Or maybe I’m just built like that.”

“...No. No, no, no—fuck me… AUGH.” Akira hissed under his breath, panic rushing up his spine. He immediately unliked it.

Then a voice called from the kitchen.

“Akira, can you help me with dinner?” his dad shouted.

“COMING!” Akira replied, tossing his phone onto his bed. He bolted to the kitchen like nothing had happened.

Takashi raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he handed Akira a knife and pointed to the carrots. “Chop these.”

Akira focused on slicing. Anything to keep his brain from spiralling. But of course, his dad had to start talking.

“You okay? You look weird.”

“Normal weird, or more weird?” Akira muttered.

“More. Like… stalker-level awkward.”

Akira’s knife froze halfway through a carrot.

Takashi chuckled. “Did you message your crush or something?”

Akira turned red from the ears down. “No?!”

His dad gave him the “sure, buddy” look. “Uh-huh. Well, if you need advice on how not to be a creep, I’m available.”

Akira stared at him, deadpan. “You literally proposed to Mom at a karaoke bar.”

“And she said yes, didn’t she?”

Akira just focused on slicing the carrots again.

But inside, all he could think was:

What if Aiden saw it?
What if he says something?
What if he doesn’t?
Akira didn’t know which would be worse.

Chapter 4

»»————-　⚜　————-««

There was something about the post-practice high that Aiden loved. The smell of wet grass clinging to his uniform, the ache in his thighs after sprints, the leftover adrenaline pulsing through his chest—it all just felt real, like he was grounded for once. He tugged on the hem his jersey with a breathless laugh as he and Lucas walked down the pavement, duffel bags slung over their shoulders.

“Mate, I swear if Coach makes us run one more suicide drill, I’m faking an ankle sprain next time,” Lucas Carter groaned, kicking a rock down the road as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“You said that last week,” Aiden snorted, running a hand through his damp hair. “Still didn’t fake it.”

“Because you guilt-tripped me with that ‘champions don’t quit’ speech,” Lucas said, narrowing his eyes playfully.

“Can’t help it if I’m inspirational.”

“Sure you are.”

They both cracked up as Aiden pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the damage—messages, tags, whatever thirst comment someone left on his last gym selfie.

But instead, his screen lit up with something unexpected.

@akirayoshino liked your post.

That name made him pause.

"...Yo."

Lucas glanced at him. "What?"

Aiden's lips tugged up in a slow, curious smile. “Guess who just liked my pic?”

Lucas raised a brow. “Please don’t say your stalker ex.”

“No, worse,” Aiden laughed. “Yoshino. From Lit.”

Lucas blinked. “The one who hates your guts?”

“The very one.”

Now Aiden was grinning, tapping on the notification. Sure enough, there it was: Akira’s account, a moody-looking black-and-white profile pic, the like freshly stamped on a post from months ago.

“Bro… he was deep in the feed. That’s like November last year,” Aiden said, eyes lighting up with chaos. “Dude full-on stalked me. That’s lowkey flattering.”

Lucas leaned over to look. “Okay but… don’t be a dick about it. He probably tapped it by accident.”

Aiden hummed. “Mmm... or maybe it was fate. Secret crush arc, unlocked.”

Lucas side-eyed him. “You’re the worst. Don’t mess with him.”

“I’m not messing,” Aiden said, slipping his phone back into his pocket, though his grin said otherwise. “I’m just saying. You hate someone all semester, they suddenly like your post? That’s sus.”

“Or he just has fingers.”

“Or he’s secretly obsessed with me.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Please never say that again.”

They finally reached the Burton estate—a stupidly massive white mansion on the edge of town, with a fountain in the driveway and a three-car garage that looked more like a showroom. Aiden keyed them in and they dropped their bags just inside the foyer, where soft jazz was playing (because, of course, his mum had that on 24/7, like they lived in a movie).

Lucas made a beeline for the kitchen. “You got anything not labelled organic?”

“Check the snack drawer. I think there’s still Oreos behind the seaweed crisps.”

Aiden tossed himself onto the velvet couch in the living room, phone in hand again.

He opened Instagram. Just to double-check.

The like was gone.

“Ohhh... deleted it,” he said under his breath, smile widening.

Lucas came back with a granola bar. “What?”

“Yoshino. Unliked the post. Must’ve realised. He’s probably spiralling right now.”

Lucas flopped next to him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Don’t care.” Aiden was already typing something. “Should I text him?”

“Text him what, ‘hey I saw you accidentally liked a post from a year ago while stalking me lol’? You’ll give him an aneurysm.”

“That’s the fun part.”

“Dude. Chill. He already hates you.”

Aiden tilted his head, thoughtful. “Yeah, but I wonder why.”

Lucas raised a brow. “Because you don’t do any work and constantly bother him?”

“Okay, true,” Aiden admitted with a little smirk. “But… I kinda wanna annoy him just a little bit more.”

Lucas blinked, a little surprised by the rare flash of sincerity. “…Are you gonna think this through?”

“I should,” Aiden grinned, pulling out his phone again. “But where’s the fun in going direct?”

“Oh no. What are you doing?”

Aiden tapped into his camera roll, scrolled through a few gym pics, found one where his hair looked especially good, and posted it to his story with the caption:

“some people really be lurking 👀 say hi next time lol”

He hit post.

Lucas groaned as he sank into the couch. He looked over to take a peek. “Ha! That’s actually brilliant.”

“And now we wait," Aiden said omniously.

Chapter 5

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sound of pencil on paper was the only thing keeping Akira sane. The calculus classroom was blessedly empty—just the ticking of the clock and the low hum of fluorescent lights above. The place smelled like whiteboard markers and old floor wax.

He sat near the window, sleeves pushed up, head bent over a page full of integrals and derivative chains. Calculus was his peace. Numbers didn’t ask questions. Equations didn’t judge. And if he focused hard enough, he could almost forget that he’d basically exposed himself as a certified creep last night.

He took a sharp breath and forced himself to focus on the problem set.

Differentiate f(x) = (3x² + 1)(2x – 5)

Easy.

And then,

click.

The door creaked open.

Akira didn’t look up at first. Probably a janitor. Maybe a teacher. Or a student again forgetting his bag.

But then he heard the voice.

“Oh wow. Look at you. Nerding it up all alone like a textbook model student.”

Akira froze. Pencil paused in the middle of writing a word.

Aiden.

He looked up slowly, eyes narrowing. Aiden was leaning against the doorframe in his stupid perfect uniform and that cocky little grin that always made Akira’s blood pressure rise.

“Why are you here? You’re not in this class.” Akira asked sharply.

“Just came to talk.” Aiden stepped in and casually shut the door behind him.

The door clicked louder than it should’ve.

Akira narrowed his eyes. “You came all this way just to insult me?”

“Nah.” Aiden plopped down in the seat beside him and leaned forward, grin sharp. “Came to ask about your little like.”

Akira’s blood turned to ice.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Because Instagram says otherwise. You were deep-diving on my feed last night. Hit like on that old post. Very mysterious.”

Akira’s hand twitched. “It was an accident.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

Aiden leaned back in the chair, arms behind his head. “So you weren’t stalking me?”

Akira stood up abruptly. “I’m not doing this.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Aiden said, still smirking. “It’s not that big a deal. If you like what you see, you could’ve just said so.”

“I’m going to throw my calculator at you.”

“You don’t even have a calculator out—”

Akira grabbed the TI-84 from his backpack and held it up. “Now I do.”

Aiden laughed, hands up. “Okay, okay, relax.”

But then he leaned back in the seat, still smirking. “I just wanted to say… I’m flattered. Really. If you wanted to look at my posts, you could’ve just said something. I’d send you the good ones.”

Akira stood up so fast his chair scraped across the tile. “You’re actually delusional.”

“Maybe,” Aiden said, unfazed. “But you’re stuck in here with me now, so…”

Akira blinked. “What?”

He turned toward the door, grabbed the handle, and yanked.

It didn’t budge.

He tried again. Nothing.

He twisted it harder. The handle spun, but the latch didn’t move.

Click. Clack. Jiggle. Slam.

He pulled harder. Still locked.

“...Don’t tell me,” Akira growled.

It. Wouldn’t. Budge.

Aiden frowned. “Wait, is it stuck?”

Akira glared at him like it was his fault. “Did you lock it?”

“I didn’t even touch it that hard—”

“Of course it’s broken,” Akira hissed, kicking the base of the door. “Because you closed it.”

“Hey, you’re the one who attacked it first.”

“No. No no no. I’m not doing this. I am not getting trapped with you, of all people—”

Akira slammed his shoulder into the door. “Open, you piece of shit—!”

BANG.

“Akira—stop—”

BANG. BANG.

“BRO, you’re gonna break your arm or the door—”

“I’D RATHER DIE IN A JANITOR’S CLOSET THAN SPEND AN HOUR TRAPPED IN HERE WITH YOU—”

He kicked the door. It rattled. A whiteboard marker fell from the ledge and hit the floor.

“Stop—okay—STOP—” Aiden jumped up and grabbed his arm mid-kick. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, psycho—!”

Akira shoved him off. “Get away from me—!”

“I’m trying to help!”

“You’re the reason I’m freaking out!”

Their shouting echoed off the walls.

Both of them froze.

Silence. Heavy.

Akira’s breath was uneven, hands shaking just a little. He backed away from the door, jaw tight, hair falling in front of his eyes.

“I-I need air,” he muttered. “I can’t—I can’t be in here with you. I can’t—”

Aiden blinked, the energy shifting instantly. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. Seriously. You good?”

“Don’t ask me that—”

“I’m serious, dude.” Aiden’s voice lowered. Less smug. More real. “Do you want me to sit down? Move? Not talk?”

Akira clenched his jaw and turned away, gripping the windowsill like it was a lifeline.

“...Just shut up,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Aiden didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he slowly sat back down, this time without commentary.

Akira’s heart was racing. His brain was buzzing, glitching out like an overheating computer. He didn’t like small spaces. He didn’t like being cornered. And he really didn’t like people like Aiden—cocky, loud, unpredictable.

And yet here they were. Locked in. Together.

He pressed his forehead to the glass, counting seconds. Inhales. Exhales. Slow. Methodical. Numbers. Anything but him.

Behind him, Aiden sat quietly. A rarity.

After a long stretch of silence, Akira finally whispered, “You’re seriously the worst person this could’ve happened with.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, softer than usual. “But also maybe the most fun?”

Akira glared over his shoulder.

Aiden raised his hands. “Okay. Too soon. Got it.”

Chapter 6

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Aiden sat cross-legged on the floor of the calculus room, picking at a loose thread on his sweatpants while Akira pretended he didn’t exist three feet away. They were still locked up. It had been twenty minutes.

The vibe was...awkward. Not hostile like usual. Not the quiet fury of someone plotting your demise. Just pure, tense silence. Like the pause between lightning and thunder.

He hated it.

Aiden wasn’t good at silence. Silence meant thinking. And when he thought too much, he started feeling things. Gross.

So, naturally, his brain decided:

Break the silence with something stupid.

Aiden ran a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he muttered, half to himself. “This is getting dumb.”

Akira didn’t even glance at him. “What now?”

“I’m serious.” Aiden stood, dusted himself off, and stretched a little. “I’m literally on the football team. I bench press more than most guys here. I work out five days a week. You really think I can’t open a stuck door?”

Akira deadpanned, “Yes.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“Realistic.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Watch and learn, calculator boy.”

He cracked his knuckles dramatically and approached the door like it was his enemy. Flexed his arms a little. Took a deep breath.

Akira squinted. “Are you—are you flexing right now?”

“It helps with focus,” Aiden replied, absolutely lying.

And with that, he grabbed the handle and pulled. Hard.

Nothing.

He tried again. Braced one foot against the wall, yanked with both hands. The door rattled… and stayed firmly shut.

“C’mon, don’t embarrass me,” he muttered under his breath like the door could hear him. “I’ve got gym gains. Upper body strength. Manhood on the line here.”

“Clearly not enough,” Akira said dryly.

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

He tried again. And again. And then he threw in a shoulder bash for good measure. It made a loud THUD, but the door held fast like it was glued shut by Satan himself.

“I’m not letting this door win,” Aiden hissed, voice now a bit panicky.

He slammed his shoulder into it again. Harder.

THUD.

And then—“Ow. Shit. Shitshitshit—”

He stumbled backwards, clutching his shoulder, immediately crumpling into a dramatic heap on the floor.

Akira blinked. “Did… did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” Aiden groaned, visibly in pain. “I just like rolling on the floor and crying for fun.”

Akira stared. “…You’re so dramatic.”

“I'm in pain!” Aiden shot back, curling around his shoulder. “This is serious. Like—I think I dislocated something. My entire football career is over. Modelling career too. Dead. All because of a door.”

“You said you worked out five days a week.”

“I do!”

“And this is your result?”

Aiden gave him a look. “You're really cold, you know that?”

Akira didn’t respond right away. Just went back to staring at the floor like it owed him answers.

“I don’t do emotions,” he finally muttered. “Especially not around people like you.”

Aiden blinked. “People like me?”

“You’re loud. Charming. Popular. The kind of person who says hi to everyone in the hallway and gets away with everything.”

“…Thanks?”

“Not a compliment.”

Aiden leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. “You really think I get away with everything?”

Akira didn’t look at him, but the vibe said: Obviously.

“I don’t,” Aiden said softly. “I mean, yeah, people see the model stuff. The followers. My family name. But that’s all surface-level. Like… none of that’s real, not really real. Not when I’m home. Not when I’m with myself.”

Akira turned slightly, curious despite himself. “What’s that mean?”

Aiden swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight in his chest. He’d buried this for a long time—behind skincare routines, Instagram filters, and football trophies.

“It means my dad thinks modelling’s a phase,” he said, voice lower now. “That ‘real men’ don’t take selfies or wear sheet masks or post captions with sparkle emojis. My mum loves me when I’m in magazines, not when I’m in a mood.”

Akira said nothing.

“And being bi?” Aiden laughed under his breath. “That was the cherry on top when I came out. Now I’m a disappointment in two languages. My parents all put their hopes on Charlie now, as if I can’t do great things because I’m queer.”

Silence. Not the bad kind this time. Just the stillness of someone listening. Really listening.

Akira looked at him differently now. The sharpness in his gaze had softened, even if just a little.

“You’re a lot more annoying when you’re being honest,” he mumbled.

Aiden grinned, despite everything. “So you admit I’m being honest?”

“Unfortunately.”

For a minute, they just… sat there. Together. Aiden’s shoulder pulsed, Akira’s fingers twitched like he wanted to be doing something else, and the room smelled faintly like whiteboard markers and old textbooks.

Then Akira said, “You really thought you could break the door?”

“I really did,” Aiden sighed. “Football gave me too much ego.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“You did, actually.”

Another pause.

“…You’re not as fake as I thought,” Akira muttered. “Still an idiot, but less fake.”

Aiden looked at him, surprised. “Thanks. I think?”

Their eyes locked. Held.

Something about it didn’t feel quite like hate anymore.

Chapter 7

»»————-　⚜　————-««

So there they were.

Still stuck in a tiny, dusty classroom that smelled like old whiteboard markers and existential dread. Akira was back to doing his calculus in the corner like nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just watched Aiden dramatically injure himself trying to Hulk-smash a school-issued door.

Aiden, meanwhile, was sitting on the floor, still massaging his sore shoulder and feeling thoroughly clown-coded.

Then he remembered something.

Something essential. Something powerful.

Aiden reached into his pocket slowly, dramatically, like it was a movie moment. His fingers curled around the small metal object.

“…You have got to be kidding me,” he whispered under his breath, grinning.

Akira glanced over. “What?”

Aiden held up a shiny, black hairpin between his fingers like it was a sacred artefact.

Akira squinted. “…Seriously?”

“I always carry one. You never know when a hair emergency—or locked classroom—might pop off.”

“You keep a hairpin for… emergencies?”

“Listen,” Aiden said, already standing and moving toward the door again, “some of us have fringes and impulse control issues. Let me have this.”

Akira just stared, expression somewhere between disbelief and concern for humanity.

Aiden knelt beside the lock, hairpin in hand, and studied it like he had any idea what he was doing.

“Do you… even know how to pick locks?” Akira asked.

“Absolutely not,” Aiden said confidently. “But TikTok exists, and I’m resourceful.”

Akira put his pencil down. “So you’re telling me we’ve been trapped in here for this long, and you had a solution in your pocket the whole time?”

“I had a theoretical solution,” Aiden corrected. “Big difference.”

He jabbed the pin into the lock and twisted.

Nothing happened.

He jiggled it.

Still nothing.

“Okay,” he muttered, leaning in closer, “this is a precision art. Like contouring. Or parallel parking.”

Akira crossed his arms. “You’re going to break the pin.”

“No, I won’t.”

Snap.

“…Okay,” Aiden said. “Plan B.”

“There is no Plan B.”

“There’s always a Plan B.”

Akira pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re making it worse.”

“Correction: I’m trying my best.”

“You just broke your best.”

“I broke the pin, not my best—” Aiden stopped. His voice dropped. “Wait.”

He reached into his pocket again. Fished around. Pulled out another hairpin.

Akira blinked. “You have two?”

“I have four,” Aiden said proudly.

Akira looked absolutely done. “What are you, a walking accessory store?”

“No, I’m just prepared for unpredictable scenarios. Like, say, being locked in a classroom with a nerd.”

He kneeled again, this time way more focused. “Okay, serious mode. I’ve seen enough tutorials. I got this.”

“…You just said you didn’t know how to pick locks.”

“Yeah, but this time I believe in myself.”

Akira didn’t reply. Just watched. Curiously. Quietly.

Aiden twisted the pin, moved it slowly, adjusting angles, listening for the tiniest clicks. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration. For once, he wasn’t running his mouth or being a chaotic nuisance—he was actually… focused.

Akira noticed.

And then—click.

The lock turned.

The handle moved.

The door opened.

“…No way,” Aiden whispered.

Akira stood slowly, wide-eyed.

Aiden turned to him with the smuggest smirk imaginable. “You’re welcome.”

Akira blinked, mouth parting like he was gonna say something snarky. But instead, he just let out a breathless, “Huh.”

Aiden held out the hairpin like a weapon. “I’m AWESOME!”

Akira shook his head. “I still can’t believe that worked.”

“Believe it, nerd.” Aiden wiggled his eyebrows. “Now, we’re free. You can go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

He meant it as a joke. Mostly.

But Akira didn’t respond right away. He stepped into the hallway, squinting at the fluorescent lights like he hadn’t seen civilisation in eighty-four years. Then, quietly:

“…Thanks.”

Aiden froze.

“What?”

Akira was already walking away. “I said thanks.”

Aiden blinked after him. His brain short-circuited just a little. Akira Yoshino, king of deadpan and emotional repression, had just thanked him.

Voluntarily.

He stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door, then down at the bent hairpin in his hand.

Was this what… friendship felt like?

He pocketed the pin and smiled.

“You’re welcome, nerd.”

Chapter 8

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Akira sat at the back table of the student lounge, his arms folded, with his phone screen dimmed. His English Lit notes were already out, colour-coded with highlighters he’d stolen from Miyano weeks ago. He’d arrived exactly on time, because punctuality mattered. Especially when he had to work with someone like Aiden Jasper Burton, who couldn’t even keep his ego in check, let alone a schedule.

He checked the clock.

They were supposed to meet up ten minutes ago to start outlining the project. The one their teacher called “an essential semester-long collaboration that will determine a significant portion of your grade,” which—obviously—Akira took very seriously.

He sighed. Loudly.

Where the hell was he?

Right as he considered packing up and emailing the teacher to request a new partner on account of “academic neglect,” Aiden came sprinting through the hallway like a golden retriever who had just remembered he left the oven on.

“Akira!” Aiden shouted, sliding into the room, out of breath. “Okay, listen—I swear I was gonna be here on time, but then Coach texted, and apparently we have an emergency practice session in thirty minutes. I have to go.”

Akira blinked slowly. “So you rushed here to tell me… you’re not staying.”

“No, no! I am staying. For like, ten minutes.” Aiden grinned. “Unless you… wanna walk with me? I can explain the ideas I had on the way. Brainstorm while we walk.”

Akira stared at him.

Long. Unblinking.

“You want me,” he said flatly, “to follow you to football training.”

“Well, I mean—yeah?” Aiden scratched the back of his head. “Not on the field, obviously. Just up to the stadium. We can talk project stuff on the way.”

Akira should have said no. He should’ve. He had other work to do, assignments to finish, and wasting time walking around campus with a hyperactive golden retriever was not part of his academic plan.

Still…

“Fine.”

Aiden blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“I said fine,” Akira muttered, grabbing his notes and shoving them in his folder.

Aiden beamed. Like beamed. Like the sun just exploded in his face. “Dude. You’re the best.”

The campus was quiet as they walked down the main path, Aiden’s sports bag bouncing against his side, Akira’s headphones hanging around his neck like always. Leaves crunched underfoot, a reminder that autumn was sinking its teeth into everything.

“So,” Aiden started, swinging his bag like a sword, “I was thinking for our project, we do a joint character analysis. Like, you pick someone from the book who’s all quiet and deep and dying inside, and I pick someone who’s dramatic and morally questionable. That’s balance, right?”

“…You mean a literary foil.”

“Yeah! That. Whatever that word is. Foil.”

Akira narrowed his eyes. “Did you actually read the book?”

“I skimmed it.”

“You skimmed it.”

“…Yes.”

Akira groaned.

“But hey,” Aiden said quickly, “I got the gist! There’s trauma, betrayal, sad people, themes and whatnot. That’s all we need, right?”

“You’re useless.” Akira looked away, focusing on the sidewalk.

He didn’t want to admit it, but this… wasn’t that bad. The conversation was light. Aiden was annoying, sure—but he had a weird kind of charm when he wasn’t trying too hard. And, if Akira had to be honest with himself (which he rarely enjoyed doing), this was the most relaxed he’d felt all week.

“…You said you had ideas?” Akira asked.

Aiden perked up. “Right! Yeah. So, the foil thing. I was thinking maybe I could write about that one rich, manipulative character—Lord—whatshisname—who lies all the time?”

“Lord Henry.”

“Yes! Him. He’s basically me.”

Akira frowned. “He’s a pretentious narcissist who corrupts everyone he touches.”

Aiden threw his arms up dramatically. “So I’m perfect!”

Akira stared at him, deadpan. “You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you!”

Akira shook his head in disbelief.

They kept walking, the stadium now visible ahead. Aiden jogged a little in place when they reached the gate, clearly trying to hype himself up for practice.

“I gotta get changed and warmed up,” he said, turning to Akira. “But, thanks for coming with me.”

“No problem,” Akira replied.

Aiden nodded and adjusted his bag, then hesitated—just for a second.

“Hey… you wanna come by after practice? Like, I’ll be dead tired, but we can work on the outline properly. I know you have some kind of schedule when something’s gotta be finished and you’ll probably freak out if it isn’t done, so…”

Akira considered it.

Normally, he hated wasting time. But for some reason, the idea of seeing Aiden again later—of hearing his ridiculous ideas and rolling his eyes while secretly not hating them—didn’t sound so bad.

“…Fine,” he said.

Aiden grinned, already jogging backwards toward the locker rooms. “Yesss! See you later, Akira!”

Akira sighed.

He should’ve said no.

He definitely should’ve said no.

And yet, as he turned and walked back across campus, he realised something that mildly terrified him:

He didn’t want to.

Chapter 9

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Akira had seen rich.

He’d seen the inside of luxury department stores, passed by white Teslas with custom plates, even sat in a heated leather seat once during a school-sponsored debate competition. That was rich.

But this?

This was stupid rich.

Aiden’s house wasn’t a house. It was a modern mansion, with those tall black iron gates that slid open with a soft motorised hum and a driveway that probably had its own postal code. The building itself was sleek and angular, all polished white stone and floor-to-ceiling glass windows, tucked behind perfectly trimmed hedges and a manicured garden that looked like it belonged in a lifestyle magazine.

As soon as they walked in, Akira swore he felt his shoes were too dirty to be stepping on the marble-tiled floors. The entryway alone could’ve housed his entire childhood apartment.

“Welcome to Casa Burton,” Aiden announced with a flourish, tossing his duffel onto a nearby bench like he owned the place. “Don’t worry, no butlers or weird British dinner bells. We’re chill.”

Akira stayed rooted near the door, stuck in place. “This place is… ridiculous.”

“I know, right?” Aiden grinned, spinning around once for dramatic flair. “My dad calls it ‘modern elegance,’ or something.”

Akira blinked. “... Right.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Voices drifted in from deeper in the house—faint conversation, the clink of dishes, soft jazz playing in the background like a hotel lobby. “C’mon,” Aiden said, nudging Akira forward. “Let’s go find food and try to avoid my siblings.”

As they passed the massive kitchen—complete with double ovens and a literal espresso bar—they ran into all three of Aiden’s siblings gathered around the island, munching on fruit skewers like they were in a spa retreat.

Charlie, the oldest, sat calmly reading the Financial Times, his shirt crisp and tucked even at home. He gave a polite nod when he saw Aiden.

Julia, the youngest, was curled up on a stool in a hoodie far too big for her, scrolling through Pinterest and silently sipping from a green smoothie.

Then there was Liam.

Liam had the same messy hair and mischievous glint as Aiden, except his energy was less golden retriever and more “cat who just knocked your glass off the table and dared you to say something.”

“Well, well, well,” Liam said, setting down his glass with a little smirk. “Didn’t know we were bringing home guests now.”

“Akira, meet the chaos collective,” Aiden said, dramatically waving his arm toward them. “Chaos collective, meet Akira.”

Julia gave a shy wave. Charlie nodded again. Liam raised an eyebrow.

“Akira, huh?” Liam leaned forward like he was trying to get a better read on him. “You’re the one from his class project thing?”

Akira nodded once. “Yes.”

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s bitter because I’m the cool sibling.”

“You’re the delusional one.” Liam snarled.

“Delusion is just unrecognised brilliance.”

“Okay, Shakespeare.”

“Alright, Liam,” Aiden said sweetly, “I would roast you back, but then I might have to accidentally bring up you and Daniel, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Liam’s face went bright red. “You—! You promised you wouldn’t—”

Charlie cleared his throat. Nicole giggled into her hoodie. Akira blinked slowly, already regretting stepping into this sitcom of a family.

“Anyway,” Aiden said, grabbing Akira’s sleeve and pulling him toward the hallway, “we’re gonna go hide now. Don’t wait up for us unless someone burns down the house.”

Akira was quiet until they reached the stairs.

“…Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Aiden said casually, like blackmailing your sibling was totally normal. “Liam thinks he’s slick, but he’s had a crush on this dude from the drama club for like a year. They’ve been ‘studying’ together for months now.”

Akira raised an eyebrow. “And you just use it against him?”

“Only when he’s annoying,” Aiden smirked.

Aiden’s room was on the second floor, down a long hallway filled with minimalist art and framed football jerseys. His room, like the rest of the house, was massive—but way less pretentious. The walls were covered in posters of football legends, old maps, and Polaroids stuck up with tape. A big window overlooked the backyard, and one corner had an entire gaming setup complete with LED lights, headset stand, and way too many empty energy drink cans.

It wasn’t neat, but it was… lived in.

“This is… messy,” Akira said.

“This is clean,” Aiden replied proudly, tossing a hoodie off the bed and kicking aside some sneakers. “This is, like, the best it’s ever looked.”

Akira dropped his bag on the floor and pulled out his project folder. “We should get started.”

“Damn. No small talk, no snacks, straight to business.” Aiden flopped onto the bed. “You’re worse than Charlie.”

“Who is—?”

“My brother. He’s the one who looked like a disappointed CEO, remember?”

Akira sat down in the desk chair, opening the folder. “Ah… Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Ouch.”

“You’re easily distracted. I’m keeping us on track.”

“Right, right,” Aiden said, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “So… project. You said you liked the character foil idea.”

“I did.”

“I can write about Lord Henry,” Aiden offered. “He’s got that chaotic-neutral flair. I think I am him.”

“You are not him.”

“Let me dream.”

Akira shook his head, almost smiling. “Fine. Then I’ll take Dorian.”

Aiden blinked. “Wait, isn’t he the, like… pretty boy who spirals and goes morally bankrupt?”

Akira didn’t look up from his notes. “I can relate.”

Aiden stared at him.

Akira finally glanced up. “What?”

“Nothing.” Aiden smiled faintly. “Just surprised you’re self-aware.”

“... Haah.”

Chapter 10

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Hours passed.

Somewhere between outlining their analysis and arguing over whether Lord Henry was truly evil or just “a guy with a superiority complex and too much time,” the conversation started slipping into other things. Music. Childhood. Why Akira hated social media. Why Aiden couldn’t stop using it. How VOCALOID was severely underrated. Why calculus was not fun, and why football definitely wasn’t a “dumb jock sport.”

By the time Julia knocked on the door to remind them it was 9 p.m., Akira had three pages of actual work, a can of Monster, and—for the first time in years—the echo of laughter still in his chest.

Maybe he wasn’t sure what he was doing here.

But it didn’t feel wrong.

And maybe that was enough.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

9:03 PM.

Akira looked at the glowing digital clock on Aiden’s nightstand and felt his blood pressure spike like a heart monitor in a hospital drama.

“Oh—shit.”

He practically leapt out of the desk chair, heart rate doing Olympic sprints. His phone had been on silent mode for hours, somewhere in his bag. The screen now lit up with three missed calls.

All from his dad.

Akira’s hands scrambled to unlock his phone, fingers stiff with sudden panic. His stomach did a sick drop that made him feel like he’d swallowed lead.

He hadn’t texted.

He was supposed to text.

Not just because it was polite. Not because of rules. But because Tou-san worried. Because of what happened back in America.

“Hey, you good?” Aiden asked, turning in his desk chair, looking confused but alert. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Akira didn’t answer right away. He quickly opened his messages, typed with shaking hands:

[Akira]: sorry i forgot to text. i’m still at aiden’s working on the project. i’m okay. i’m sorry. please don’t worry.

He hit send, then clenched the phone in both hands like it could ground him.

“Akira?”

He blinked fast, suddenly aware of how tight his chest felt, how hot his face was getting. His ears rang. He tried to breathe.

“I forgot to text my dad,” he said quietly, not looking up. “He called. Three times.”

Aiden shrugged. “Okay. So text him now. It’s not a big deal.”

Akira flinched like he’d been slapped. “It is a big deal.”

Aiden froze at the tone. “Okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Akira said quickly, chest still rising and falling too fast. “It’s just—he hates when I’m out this late. And I didn’t say anything. I forgot. That’s my fault.”

Aiden watched him, quietly, and something shifted in his expression. “Is he strict or something?”

“Not really,” Akira muttered.

Aiden didn’t ask. But he waited.

Akira rubbed the side of his face, biting the inside of his cheek. His voice was quieter when he spoke again.

“There were times in America when I didn’t come home. Or very late. Because people did… things. And he’d think I was—” He stopped, words getting stuck. “Anyway. That’s why.”

Aiden’s whole face softened. “Dude…”

Akira's phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down at the screen.

[Takashi]: Okay, thank you for texting. I was worried. Please be safe and don’t walk alone.

Akira stared at the message. His throat felt tight.

[Akira]: yeah. i promise. we’re just doing homework. i’ll head back soon.

Aiden hesitated, then said softly, “Do you want me to walk you back?”

Akira blinked. “What?”

“It’s late. And if he’s that freaked out about you being out at night... I’ll walk with you.”

Akira stared at him. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. It’s what friends do, right?”

Akira stared a second longer, then looked away. “Okay.”

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Twenty minutes later, they were walking side-by-side under quiet street lamps. Aiden had offered him a hoodie against the cold. It smelled like fabric softener and something a little citrus-y. They’d fallen into step without really talking.

Akira’s breathing had evened out again. The panic had dulled into a simmer.

He could still feel his dad’s worry humming in the back of his head like a dull static. But beside him, Aiden kept glancing over—not in an annoying way, just… checking. Like someone used to looking out for others.

It was weird.

Weird, and kind of nice.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

When they got to the front gate of Akira’s building, he paused. Turned to Aiden.

“Thanks. For walking me home.”

Aiden gave him a soft smile. “No problem. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Akira nodded slowly. “Yeah. Bye.”

“Have a good night, Akira,” Aiden said before he turned around and walked away.

Akira stayed until Aiden was out of view. He touched his face. His cheeks were warm.