Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Mikage Corporation library was usually dead quiet after class, just the way Reo liked it. Polished floors, sleek lighting, and walls lined with more knowledge than most students ever touched. He liked the peace. The calm.

Nagi never came here, of course. Too boring, he'd say.

So Reo came alone.

The library wasn’t Reo Mikage’s usual lunch spot.

Too quiet. Too slow. Too full of people who didn’t recognize him.

Which, today, might have been exactly what he needed.

Nagi had decided to nap through lunch again, claiming his “legs felt like clouds,” whatever that meant. So Reo, bored and restless, wandered through the second-floor corridors until he ended up here, fingers idly trailing along the book spines.

He had his routines. Certain shelves he visited when he felt restless, and his usual seat, near the sunlight. It gave him the best view of the courtyard and the least chance of being interrupted.

But today... someone was in his spot. The third table by the window.

And that’s when he saw him.

A boy with dark hair and soft features sat cross-legged in the chair, a thick book of classic literature cracked open in front of him, the boy completely lost in his own world, entirely absorbed. The sunlight filtered through the window, catching on the edges of the page and casting dappled light across his face. He looked still, quiet, like a painting come to life.

Reo blinked. He recognized almost every face in the school, being a Mikage made that inevitable, but not this one.

And that intrigued him.

He made a show of walking past. The boy didn’t even glance up. No reaction. No flinch. Just… absorbed. Like he belonged there, regardless of who noticed. As if the world didn’t matter while he was reading.

Reo smirked.

“You always sit here?” he asked.

The boy finally looked up, blinking once, slowly, like waking from a dream. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, deep and calm.

“Ah. Sorry. Do you want the seat?” His voice was low. Gentle. But not weak.

Reo waved him off. “No. It’s fine,” he said, sliding into the chair across from him. “You new?”

The boy tilted his head slightly. “Not really. I just don’t usually eat where everyone else does.”

Reo tapped his pen against his lip. “Huh. Avoiding the cafeteria chaos?”

A faint shrug. “Something like that.”

Reo studied him. The dark hair. The clean uniform. The way his fingers rested against the spine of his book, not tense, not fidgeting. Just present.

“What’s your name?” he asked finally.

The boy hesitated, but not from shyness. From consideration. Like he was deciding whether it was worth the trouble to tell him.

“Isagi Yoichi,” he said finally.

Reo smiled and held out a hand. “Mikage Reo. Pleasure.”

Isagi looked at the hand for a second before shaking it. His grip was firm, but not forceful.

“I know,” he replied calmly.

Reo raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you?”

Isagi tilted his head, expression unreadable. “You're kind of hard to miss.”

That earned a chuckle from Reo. “Guess I am.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying Isagi with a curious glint in his eyes. “You always bring a book like that to lunch?”

Isagi looked down at the cover. It was an old edition of No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai.

“Sometimes. Depends on the day.”

Reo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And what kind of day is today?”

Isagi paused, then gave a small smile. “Quiet. Peaceful.”

Reo's grin widened. “Not anymore.”

And then he noticed the lunch. A ridiculously cute lunch.

Reo blinked.

Three rice balls stacked in perfect formation. A rolled omelet shaped like a heart. Little pickled vegetables lined up like they were in a military parade. A thermos of soup, still steaming beside him. And a toothpick flag planted in one of the onigiri.

Who the hell packs food like that in high school?

Before he even realized it, he was staring. And couldn’t help but ask.

“That yours?” Reo gestured to the bento with a slight grin.

Yoichi blinked. “…Yes?”

“It’s really cute.”

Isagi froze. Then flushed, taken a back, his hands awkwardly shifting over the lid as if to shield it, but failed to do so.

He looked down at the lunch like it had betrayed him.

“It’s just food,” he mumbled.

Reo laughed and slid into the seat. “Relax. I meant it in a good way. You made it yourself?”

“…Yeah.”

“Even the little flag?”

A long sigh. “Yes.”

Reo bit back a smirk. This was fun.

He then leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So what’s in the thermos?”

Still slightly pink, he shifted the thermos toward Reo with a sigh, as if surrendering to the inevitable.

Isagi opened it without a word. Soup. Miso with tofu and scallions.

Reo nodded approvingly. “You’re kind of a housewife, huh?”

“I will kick you,” Isagi said, rolling his eyes, cheeks pink.

“Ouch,” Reo pressing a hand to his chest with mock offense “That was a personal attack.”

Then he laughed again, delighted.

Isagi watched after Reo’s antics with a look that hovered somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

Then he took a bite of his rice ball, hiding a faint smile.

Reo watched, chin still resting in his palm.

This wasn’t how his lunches usually went, but he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

“I bet you alphabetize your books, too,” Reo teased. “You’re the kind of guy who cleans his room before anyone even visits.”

Isagi lifted an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Says the guy who treats sports like a clothing rack.”

Reo blinked. “A clothing rack?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Isagi raised an eyebrow. “Basketball in elementary, then tennis, track. fencing. I even heard swimming, once, then volleyball… And now soccer.”

A beat. Then Reo laughed. “Okay, wow. You do know who I am.”

“I read things,” Isagi said simply, popping a piece of rice into his mouth.

Reo leaned back, grinning. “Okay, guilty. I like trying things. I get bored fast. I used to think the problem was the sport, not me.”

“And now?”

Reo shrugged. “Soccer stuck. There’s something about it. Feels like there’s always another level, you know?”

Isagi hummed in agreement. “Soccer’s alive. You can’t control everything.”

Reo pointed at him with his chopsticks. “Exactly. In tennis, if you’re better, you win. In soccer, even the best can lose. You need vision. Chemistry. Chaos.”

“And ego,” Isagi added.

Reo’s grin widened. “That too.”

“Most people play soccer to win,” Reo said. “I play to create.”

“…You sound like a midfielder.”

Reo smiled, almost pleased. “That obvious?”

Isagi smirked faintly. “A little.”

They lapsed into a comfortable pause. Isagi picked up his rice ball again, and Reo watched him out of the corner of his eye.

“What about you?” Reo asked. “Always played forward?”

Isagi nodded. “I like the goal.”

“Figures.”

Isagi tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve got that quiet sniping energy. Like you’d wait for your moment, then end someone.”

Isagi looked at him, unimpressed. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

Reo flashed a grin. “Definitely.”

Isagi rolled his eyes, the exaggerated kind that clearly meant, 'You’re ridiculous.'"

And Reo, watching him now, was sure of one thing:

This wasn’t going to be the last lunch they shared.

Reo then leaned back a little, eyes tracing the ceiling like he was trying to string thoughts together. “That’s why I stuck with it, I think. Soccer feels more like… people. Messy, unpredictable, impossible to control. It’s not clean. Not safe. But when it works—”

“It’s beautiful,” Isagi finished without thinking.

Their eyes met for a second. Then—

Reo smirked. “Told you. You do have a poetic side.”

Isagi rolled his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Reo tapped his chopsticks thoughtfully against his bento. “No, but seriously, there’s beauty in how people move on the field.”

“Soccer’s like fashion, you know? Everyone’s wearing the same thing, but it’s how you wear it. How you move. How you style your game. Some people play like mannequins. Others—”

He gave Isagi a pointed look. “—play like they’re the runway.”

Isagi snorted. “That’s the most Reo thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fashion is art,” Reo said solemnly.

“Your wardrobe gives me headaches.”

“You looked, though.”

“Not voluntarily.”

Reo laughed. He didn’t remember the last time someone talked to him like this, with dry honesty and zero greed and fear. It wasn’t rude, it was refreshing.

“You don’t smile a lot, huh?” he said after a pause.

Isagi blinked at that. “Should I?”

“You’d be cute if you did,” Reo said, only half-joking.

Isagi narrowed his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“But still here.”

A pause. Then Isagi sighed and, very quietly:

“...Unfortunately.”

Reo leaned back, triumphant. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Their conversation slowed after that, easing into a comfortable silence filled with soft page turns and the occasional click of chopsticks. Reo didn’t try to push more. He just watched the boy read and eat, completely at ease in a world of his own.

He liked this version of lunch.

The bell rang sooner than either of them expected.

Reo stood up first. “Same time tomorrow?”

Isagi looked up at him, expression unreadable.

Then—

“…Sure.”

And that was all Reo needed.

He walked out of the library grinning like he’d just won something.

Maybe he had.

Chapter Text

Reo didn’t go straight to class after lunch.

He took the long way, down the hallway that circled the school courtyard, where the sun filtered through the trees like a filter over a memory. He told himself it was for the view. The calm. The air.

But really, it was because he needed a few more minutes to think.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“…Sure.”

That one word replayed in his mind like a well-placed pass, the kind that loops around defenders and lands exactly where it’s meant to go.

He hadn’t expected Isagi to say yes. Not because the guy had been rude, he hadn’t. But there was a distance to him. A quiet sort of poise, like his mind lived somewhere just slightly out of reach.

And yet… he’d said yes.

Why did that feel like a win?

Reo smirked to himself, slipping his hands into the pockets of his tailored uniform blazer. Custom Italian fabric, hand-stitched, the kind of thing no one in school could afford unless their family name carried weight.

And Reo? His name was the weight.

The Mikage Corporation had a building on every skyline in Tokyo. Financial holdings in six countries. His parents weren’t just rich, they were empire-rich.

He had two private chefs at home, a walk-in closet that still made him roll his eyes, and a sleek black car with tinted windows that waited for him after school every day like a loyal pet.

But none of that meant anything at that third table by the library window.

There, it was just Bento Boy and a book. A smile that rarely appeared. A voice that cut through the air not with sharpness, but with calm.

And somehow, that was more interesting than anything he’d worn, bought, or driven in weeks.

-----

Back in class, Reo didn’t take notes.

The teacher’s voice was a flat drone in the background, distant, like hearing something underwater. Formulas scrawled across the board, chalk squeaking under tired fingers, but Reo barely registered any of it.

Instead, he found himself sketching. Loosely. Absentmindedly.

His pen tapped against his notebook once… twice… then started to move. Not with intent. Just motion. Loops and lines that spiraled into shapes. First, a simple square bento box. Then a pair of chopsticks. The loose curl of steam coming out of a thermos. He shaded it lightly, absentminded.

A triangle next, an onigiri.

He paused.

His hand hesitated… then continued.

This time, slower. He sketched the side of a face, not clearly, not deliberately, just loosely. A suggestion. Dark hair. Downturned lashes. Soft lines that weren’t soft in the usual way. They were quiet. Gentle. And, annoyingly, familiar.

He frowned and flipped the page.

“You’re acting weird,” a voice mumbled beside him, muffled by a hood pulled halfway over silver hair.

Reo turned. Nagi Seishiro was slumped at his desk like a dying cat, cheek squished against his arm, eyes half-lidded with lazy curiosity.

“Oh, Nagi,” Reo said dryly.

Nagi didn’t lift his head. “You’re drawing in class. That’s new.”

“I draw sometimes.”

“No. You show off sometimes.” Nagi’s voice was flat but not unkind. “This is different. That page looked personal.”

Reo scowled. “You looked at it?”

“You flipped it too fast not to,” Nagi muttered. “Was it porn?”

“What, no!” Reo whispered furiously.

“…Then what was it?”

Reo stared at the blank page in front of him. He tapped the corner of his pen on the paper like it might summon an answer.

“It was just... something I saw.”

“Must’ve been a good something.” Nagi yawned. “You’ve been spacing out since lunch.”

“Do you have to analyze everything I do?”

Nagi shrugged, finally sitting up just enough to give Reo a better look. His hair was a mess. His collar was half-popped. He looked like he’d been dragged through a laundry cycle and had somehow fallen asleep during the spin.

But those half-lidded eyes were still sharp beneath all that laziness.

“Is it a new crush?” he asked, voice low but teasing. “Are you in love, Reo?”

Reo scoffed. “It’s not like that.”

Nagi blinked. “Huh. So it’s worse.”

Reo threw a mechanical pencil at him. Nagi didn’t dodge. It bounced off his shoulder and clattered to the floor.

He didn’t blink. “I win,” he whispered smugly.

Reo groaned and dropped his forehead to his desk.

It wasn’t love. He knew that. It was just… interest. Curiosity. Maybe obsession.

Okay, yeah, maybe obsession. The good kind, though.

The kind that made you come back for lunch at the same time just to see if someone was still sitting by the window. The kind that made you remember the exact angle of their smile, or the way they packed orange slices like they were prepping a care package for a goddamn anime character.

It wasn’t serious.

It was just a distraction.

A quiet, blue-eyed, bento-making distraction who had no idea how annoying he was.

But still, Reo turned the page again.

And started sketching, again.

This time, he didn’t stop.

The final bell rang, it echoed across the polished courtyard as students spilled from the gates in waves of noise and motion, and the golden light of late afternoon filtered through the school gates, softening the sharp lines of the world.

Reo slung his bag over one shoulder, already spotting the familiar black car idling near the curb.

His steps were measured, almost detached, as he approached the familiar black limousine waiting by. The vehicle gleamed in the setting sun, sharp, sleek, and absurdly clean. It waited in silence, like a panther on standby.

And beside it stood Gran or as Reo called him Ba-ya. Dressed in a tailored gray suit with understated gloves and a discreet earpiece, Ba-ya bowed the moment he saw Reo.

Nagi trudged beside him, dragging his feet and yawning so hard his voice cracked when he said, “Your driver’s early again.”

Reo rolled his eyes. “Ba-ya's always early.”

“Good afternoon, Master Reo. Master Nagi,” he greeted calmly, his voice soft but practiced. “I trust classes went as expected.”

Reo gave a half-nod. “Routine. Nagi’s with me.”

“Of course.”

“Yo,” Nagi mumbled, sliding in without ceremony.

“Home, please,” Reo said, brushing a hand through his hair.

“As you wish.” Gran said smoothly, opening the door with practiced ease.

The two boys climbed in, the door closing with a gentle hiss behind them.

Inside the limo, the cabin was warm and soundproofed, lined with soft leather and dark wood panels. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh upholstery.

Reo leaned back, loosening his tie. A soft chime buzzed on his phone.

> 1 New Message – Ba-ya

Reo blinked. Then glanced at the partition.

“Ba-ya. You’re texting me now?”

Ba-ya’s voice came calmly through the speaker. “Simply a reminder, Master Reo. You have the board luncheon this Saturday. You’re seated next to the South Korean ambassador’s son. Navy would be an appropriate choice. I’ve had your suit pressed and tailored accordingly.”

Nagi blinked at him. “Your butler remind you?”

“He does everything,” Reo muttered.

“Why, Ba-ya?”

“I started it when I was five. It stuck.”

“Lame,” Nagi said, stretching out like a cat across the seat.

Reo stared out the tinted window, ignoring him.

Ba-ya’s voice returned through the speaker. “Would you like your usual evening prep delivered?”

Reo paused. “...No. Not tonight.”

“Understood.”

Later that evening, Reo sat in the cavernous silence of the Mikage family dining hall.

Twin chandeliers sparkled above, casting sterile light on the long, gleaming table. Silver cutlery lined up like glass teeth. Three perfect courses sat untouched in front of him, plated like a painting: foie gras in a reduction glaze, imported steak cooked rare, a delicate soup, and a red wine he was technically too young to drink but always served anyway.

He stared at it all for a long moment.

Then pushed the tray aside.

The kitchen beyond was quiet. Spotless. A museum of untouched appliances.

Reo rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands, and stood in front of the rice cooker. He scooped the warm grains carefully, salted them, tried to press them into a shape like he remembered.

The seaweed was stiff. The rice stuck to his fingers.

The triangle came out uneven. Lopsided.

So he made another.

It came out worse.

Still, he ate the first one. Slowly. Sitting alone on the marble counter, legs dangling off the side like a kid who didn’t belong in the house he grew up in.

A little too salty.

But not bad.

His mind wandered, to chopsticks crossed over a napkin. To oranges cut into tiny stars. To the flag in an onigiri, standing like a tiny declaration of care.

To Isagi Yoichi, who read quietly and said little, but somehow seemed to say everything.

“Cute,” Reo had said.

“Please don’t call me that.”

But he kept thinking it.

And maybe, Reo thought, if he ever made a bento that neat, quiet and careful and made with his own hands, he’d want someone to look at it the way he looked at Isagi’s, like it meant something.

Chapter Text

The next day, Reo didn’t even pretend to hesitate. He went straight to the library.

It wasn’t like he’d planned to. It just... happened. His legs had a mind of their own, apparently. Nagi had skipped again, which Reo half-expected. But what he didn’t expect was how curious he still was about that quiet boy with the literary lunch and the unsettling calm.

When he entered the library, there he was. Same seat. Same posture. Same book, though a different one today. Another classic, Reo noted absently, eyes drifting to the worn paperback.

Isagi looked up just as Reo approached. Their eyes met for a second longer than necessary.

Reo smirked. “Hey, Bento Boy.”

Isagi blinked once, unimpressed. “You're calling me that?”

“Absolutely.”

He pulled out the chair and sat down without asking. Isagi didn’t protest. Which, Reo figured, was permission enough.

Today’s bento was different.

Still neat, still clearly homemade, but this time it was a pair of onigiri with salmon filling, slices of orange cut into little star shapes, and a tamagoyaki that looked suspiciously more square than the last one.

“You made that too?” Reo asked, leaning closer.

Isagi nodded. “Yeah.”

Reo raised an eyebrow, eyeing the careful folds of tamagoyaki. “Do you always cook like this? What are you, someone’s retired housewife?”

Isagi’s gaze was flat. “Better than relying on a private chef to make my meals.”

Reo chuckled, clearly amused. “Touché.”

Isagi took a bite of his onigiri and chewed slowly, eyes drifting back to his book like Reo’s presence didn’t faze him at all.

That only made Reo more curious.

He leaned his arms onto the table, head tilted slightly. “So, do you make this stuff every day?”

“More or less,” Isagi replied. “It’s cheaper. And I know what I’m eating.”

“Practical,” Reo murmured. “Kinda rare these days. Most guys just shovel down whatever’s cheapest and fastest.”

Isagi didn’t answer that, but his chopsticks moved with quiet purpose, lifting a small wedge of egg, dipping it lightly into soy sauce. Each motion was precise, unhurried.

Reo watched, fascinated despite himself. “Did someone teach you?”

“My mom used to, when I was a kid,” Isagi said simply, not looking up. “Then I just... kept going.”

“Huh.” Reo smiled. “Bet she’s proud.”

Isagi finally looked at him, blinking slowly. “You always talk this much?”

Reo placed a hand over his heart. “Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”

That earned him a sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still letting me sit here, so who’s really the problem?”

Isagi huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, but didn’t deny it.

Reo leaned back in his chair, content to just watch him eat for a moment. The light from the window hit the side of Isagi’s face, soft and clean, with that dreamy sort of stillness that never looked staged.

There was something magnetic about it.

Something real.

“What’re you reading today?” Reo asked, glancing toward the book cover.

“Snow Country,” Isagi said, lifting the paperback slightly for him to see. “Yasunari Kawabata.”

Reo squinted at the title, then shrugged. “Never heard of it.”

“I figured.”

“That a dig?”

Isagi just turned a page. “An observation.”

Reo grinned. “You’re fun when you’re mean.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I already have.”

Their back-and-forth quieted again, the silence not awkward but comfortably threaded between soft bites and page turns. Outside, the afternoon sun cast lazy beams across the library’s tiled floor. Dust shimmered like static in the air.

Eventually, Reo broke the calm again, his voice softer this time.

“You always eat alone?”

Isagi looked over, surprised by the question. “Usually.”

Reo tilted his head. “Why?”

There was a pause. Isagi tapped his chopsticks together once, thinking.

“I guess I just like the quiet,” he said. “Less... pretending.”

Reo’s smile faded a little, not out of sadness, but understanding. Something about that hit close to home.

He nodded. “Yeah. I get that.”

For a while, they didn’t speak again.

But Reo didn’t leave either.

When the final bell rang, Isagi packed up neatly, the bento box disappearing into a cloth wrap, folded with the same care he’d eaten with.

Reo stood with him this time.

They didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t make plans.

But Isagi paused before walking off.

“…Same time tomorrow?”

Reo blinked, then smiled, wider than he meant to.

“You’re stealing my line.”

Isagi didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed.

Then he left.

And Reo, he stood there for a beat longer than necessary, heart doing something weird in his chest.

Yeah, he was coming back tomorrow. No question about it.

...

They continued meeting like that, day after day, week after week. The library became their unofficial place. A quiet spot tucked between dusty shelves and half-forgotten classics, where time moved differently and words meant more when they came slowly.

Reo found himself drawn to Isagi’s quiet strength. The way he smiled with his eyes more than his lips. The careful way he handled his bento box, wrapped in cute cloth, as if every fold and pick was an extension of thought.

One afternoon, Isagi showed up with a double-layered bento, more elaborate than usual, meticulously prepared. Tamagoyaki swirled into perfect heart shapes, meatballs glazed and sparkling, rice shaped into tiny bears. It looked like something from a cooking magazine.

Reo stared. “You made this?”

Yoichi blushed slightly. “I like cooking.”

Reo grinned. “I like eating.”

Isagi cleared his throat and nudged the top layer toward him.

“Here,” he said, not quite meeting Reo’s eyes.

Reo looked down at the offered box like it was an alien artifact. “What’s this?”

“To eat,” Isagi said, voice calm, but his ears were turning pink. “I just… happened to make too much.”

Reo arched a brow, fighting a grin. “Are you sure you happened to make too much and not because you wanted to give it to me?”

Isagi sniffed, deadpan. “Oh please. You give yourself way too much credit.”

Reo broke into a laugh, bright and genuine. “That sounded exactly like a yes.”

Isagi rolled his eyes and went back to eating his half. “Take it or leave it, Mikage.”

“Oh, I’m taking it,” Reo said, already digging in, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the first bite. “Holy crap, this is amazing.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Reo looked at him, cheeks puffed, then slowly chewed and swallowed like an obedient child.

Isagi didn’t smile.

But the corners of his eyes crinkled just a little.

And Reo saw it. Felt it.

God, he thought, watching the boy turn back to his book like nothing had happened.

He really was falling for this boy.

The next morning, Reo found Isagi waiting by the front gate.

It was rare to see him here, usually, he just drifted in and vanished to wherever he liked to hide until class started. But today, he stood there awkwardly with his bag slung over one shoulder and a neatly wrapped bento box in his hands.

Reo slowed, blinking in surprise. “Yo?”

Isagi looked up. His cheeks were already pink.

“I can’t go to the library today,” he said, voice a little stiff. “Group project. We’re meeting during lunch.”

Reo tried not to look too disappointed.

Isagi held the box out toward him. It was wrapped in soft green cloth this time, tied with a little knot that looked too perfect to be casual.

“So… I made this. For you. Since I won’t be there.”

Reo stared at it for a second before reaching out to take it. Their fingers brushed.

“You sure this isn’t a bribe to keep me from sulking all day?” Reo asked with a grin.

Isagi’s eyes flicked to the side. “It’s not that.”

Reo laughed and tucked the bento into his bag carefully, more carefully than he did with most textbooks.

“You better survive your group.”

“I make no promises.”

Then Isagi turned and left, fast, like if he didn’t disappear immediately he might regret it.

By the time lunch rolled around, Reo had all but memorized the weight of the box in his bag.

He unwrapped it at his desk in class, expecting to just eat in peace, maybe listen to music, maybe sketch in the margins of his notebook like usual.

But the moment the lid came off, everything changed.

“Oh my god,” someone said from the next row. “Did you make that?”

“Dude. That’s artisan-level stuff.”

“No way. Reo-kun? Cooking?”

Another girl near the window whispered with a dreamy sigh, “That’s the kind of lunch you get when someone wants to be your wife.”

“Or husband,” another said under her breath, nudging her friend.

From the back of the room, a girl leaned forward, eyebrows raised. “Mikage. Blink twice if someone is trying to marry you with food.”

“Forget marriage,” a guy groaned, “I’d just like someone to remember I exist.”

The bento was just as ridiculous as always, mini flower-shaped sausages, egg stars, broccoli arranged like a tiny forest, rice molded into perfect hearts. A small container of fruit jelly. A folded napkin printed with cats.

Reo blinked.

Damn. Isagi really had gone all out.

He hadn't even gotten to his chopsticks before half the class had drifted over.

“Wait, who made this?”

“Did your mom do it?”

“Is this from your chef?”

Reo raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”

“Then who?”

Reo took a deliberate bite of the heart-shaped rice. Chewed slowly. Swallowed.

“A friend.”

And for some reason, saying it like that made his chest feel weirdly full.

The room buzzed with curiosity.

“A friend?!”

“Wait, what kind of friend makes you this?”

They continue the questioning, bypassing Reo.

“Wait, wait, what if it’s a secret lover?!”

“Maybe it’s his fiancée,” a girl said, clearly joking, but the room ran with it anyway.

“Reo’s engaged?? At seventeen???”

“I knew he was hiding something.”

“Rich boy romance drama arc unlocked.”

Another student leaned in, wide-eyed. “Just tell us already!”

“Yeah, Reo, answer us!”

One brave voice finally blurted, “Do you have a girlfriend?!”

Reo calmly swallowed another bite, then replied with a casual shrug, “Nope.”

A collective gasp.

The question dropped during lunch, loud enough to earn the attention of at least two nearby tables. A chorus of gasps and murmurs followed like clockwork.

“No way, then who the hell is making you lunches like that?!”

“Man, I wish someone would make me a lunch like that.”

“That’s not just lunch, that’s a love letter in a box.”

“Dude, is that tamagoyaki shaped like a star?”

“Bro, even the oranges are cut into flowers!”

The girls whispered. The guys poked around his desk, making exaggerated noises about the lunch box.

They hovered near Reo’s desk, gawking like it was on display. One poked at the neatly arranged side dishes like it was evidence of witchcraft.

Another dramatically sniffed the air and declared, “I think I just fell in love.”

“Seriously! I’d die for heart rice.”

Reo just smiled and kept eating. Something warm and stupid was blooming in his chest.

He wondered if Isagi would ever believe how much this stupid little bento made his whole day better.

And somehow, he hoped the next one would come with a flag that said: ‘Made just for you.’

From the corner of the room, one of the girls sighed dramatically. “Ugh, I swear, if a guy brought me lunch like that, I’d marry him on the spot.”

“Same!” another girl chimed in. “He even cut the fruit into stars. Stars, guys.”

“I can't even get my boyfriend to text me back,” someone muttered.

“This is romantic-coded,” a girl said, pointing her chopsticks like a weapon. “Don’t lie, Reo. You’re totally being wooed.”

One of the boys let out a groan. “Man, I’d kill for a lunch like that.”

“Forget killing, I'd sell my soul. With sides.”

“I bet it even smells good. I can smell the miso from here.”

Reo just kept eating, unbothered on the outside, but lowkey glowing on the inside.

He imagined Isagi’s face if he could see this right now. He’d probably roll his eyes. Call him dramatic. Probably a flat stare. Maybe a sigh. Maybe he'd mutter something like “It’s just lunch, Mikage.”

But maybe, Reo thought, picking up one of the cat-printed napkins with a soft little smile—

Maybe he would secretly be pleased.

“Can I have a bite?” one of the guys suddenly asked, eyes glued to the onigiri. “Just one. Please. I skipped breakfast.”

“No way,” another boy chimed in. “That looks too sacred. Like if I touched it, I’d offend the lunch gods.”

A girl leaned over two desks, hands clasped like she was begging. “Reo-kun! Just a little egg star? I’ve never seen food look that happy before!”

“Trade you half my karaage,” another said, already holding out her boxed lunch like an offering.

Reo raised an eyebrow. “You all have food.”

“Yeah, but not like that,” a boy whined. “Yours looks like it tastes like feelings.”

“I bet it smells like nostalgia and first love,” one of the girls swooned dramatically.

“You don’t deserve that bento,” someone muttered. “Give it to someone who truly appreciates cute things.”

“I do appreciate cute things,” Reo said smugly, taking a slow, dramatic bite of the onigiri. “That’s why I’m eating it.”

A collective groan echoed through the classroom.

Someone dramatically collapsed onto their desk. “Ughhh, if I die hungry, just bury me in that lunch box.”

Reo, finally cracking a smile, covered the bento protectively with the napkin. “Nice try. This masterpiece is all mine.”

The bell rang moments later, but students still lingered around his desk, whispering and joking as they filed out.

One girl passed him on the way to the door and said with a grin, “Whoever made that lunch for you? You better hold on to them.”

Reo blinked, momentarily caught off guard... momentarily thrown by the honesty of it.

Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips, softer this time.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

And with that, he folded the napkin neatly, packed the box with the same quiet care Isagi always used, and tucked the whole thing back into his bag like it was something worth guarding. Precious. 

Because, in a way, it kind of was.

Chapter Text

That night, back in their shared villa, Nagi lay upside-down on Reo’s bed, swinging his legs lazily over the edge like a bored cat who’d wandered into the wrong room and hadn’t quite decided if it wanted attention or a nap.

“So,” Nagi began, sounding bored but unmistakably curious, “who’s Bento Guy?”

Reo paused mid-brushstroke of his hair in front of the mirror. The question was unexpected, but not entirely surprising.

“What?”

“The one our classmates were curious about,” Nagi yawned, stretching his arms out until his sleeves slid down to his elbows. “Everyone was talking about it after lunch.”

He rubbed one eye, then blinked slowly. “They said the bento was cute. Like, absurdly cute. Even I heard about it. And I wasn’t even there.”

Reo rolled his eyes. “Don’t be annoying.”

“I’m not. Just wanna know,” Nagi said, flipping over onto his stomach with a muffled thud. He grabbed Reo’s spare pillow and shoved it under his chin. “You even smile when you eat now. It’s weird.”

Reo snorted. “You’ve never seen me smile before?”

“Not like that,” Nagi replied flatly. “You look like… I dunno. A cat that found the warmest sunspot.”

He added, “Didn’t know you had someone feeding you.”

His voice was muffled by the pillow, but Reo still caught the words. He tossed a pillow directly at the back of Nagi’s head.

“Idiot,” he said, laughing.

Then, returned to brushing his hair, slower now. He said nothing else. But his reflection in the mirror looked like it was thinking too much.

Nagi made a half-hearted sound of protest, but didn’t toss it back. Instead, he buried half his face in the pillow and mumbling something about “food” and “lunchbox” like it was some rare buff he’d missed out on in real life.

Eventually, the room dimmed, lamplight turned off, and the soft hum of night settled between them. Nagi’s breathing evened out quickly, as it always did. The boy could sleep through a typhoon, Reo thought.

But Reo didn’t sleep right away.

He lay in his own bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes open as he stared at the ceiling. The soft scent of miso and soy still lingered faintly on his fingers. A trace of warmth clung to his chest. He could still feel the brush of Isagi’s fingers against his when he handed over the bento that morning. Still hear the quiet, almost embarrassed voice saying, “I just… happened to make too much.”

He could still taste the tamagoyaki on his tongue.

It wasn’t fancy. Not chef-level. But it was… thoughtful, like someone had actually seen him and made something because of that.

Reo smiled to himself.

It was soft.

Sweet.

Different.

And he didn’t mind it at all.

In fact, he wanted another bite.

And maybe… just maybe… he didn’t want to share.

Not even with Nagi.

He tried to brush it off, call it a passing crush or a fluke of good cooking, but the way Isagi looked at him, the careful way he packed those bentos, the quiet steadiness in his presence, it wasn’t nothing.

It was intentional.

And more than that, it was starting to matter.

He closed his eyes, heart thumping a little louder than usual.

He didn’t want to admit it out loud, not yet, not even to Nagi.

But—

He like this so called Bento Boy.

A lot.

And the thought didn’t scare him.

Not one bit.

...

The next day, Reo showed up at the library before lunch even started. He wouldn’t say he was eager, exactly. But maybe a little… anticipatory. He wandered the hallway with a wrapped bento box in hand.

Yesterday’s.

He told himself he was just returning it. Just good manners. That was all.

His steps were quieter than usual, as if the hush of the shelves asked for it. He scanned the tables near the windows first, sunlit spots Isagi sometimes claimed, then the corners, then the seat by the second pillar where they’d last talked.

Empty.

He told himself he wasn’t disappointed.

Then, just as he turned to check near the back—

He bump into Isagi.

Isagi stood there, clutching something behind his back. He glanced up, surprised. “Ah... Reo.”

Reo held up the bento box. “Figured I should return this before you think I’m trying to keep it hostage.”

Isagi blinked at the box, then at him, seemingly caught off guard, as though he hadn’t expected Reo to bring it back so soon, or maybe at all.

A faint puff of breath escaped Isagi’s nose, half laugh, half sigh.

He didn’t take the box immediately. Instead, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out something else from inside, a new bento, freshly wrapped, this time with darker cloth and a little stitched tag with his name in the corner.

He handed it to Reo.

Reo paused. “Is that...”

“Yeah.” Isagi offered it to him. “For you.”

Reo blinked. “You made another?”

Isagi looked a little sheepish, scratching his cheek. “I wasn’t sure if you liked the sweet stuff yesterday, so I… tried something else.”

Reo took it carefully, brushing his fingers against Isagi’s on purpose this time. “Thanks.”

Reo held the new one carefully, almost like it was something fragile.

Then Isagi added, “I can’t stay long. I just wanted to hand this to you before I head back.”

Reo looked down at the bento in his hands. “You’re not staying?”

Isagi shook his head. “Still on that group project. We’re finishing up today, so it’s kind of a crunch.”

“You could’ve just texted me or something.”

“I could’ve,” Isagi said. “But then you wouldn’t have had lunch.”

Reo stared at him for a second.

“You’re kind of dangerous, you know that?”

Isagi blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Reo muttered, fighting a smile. “Thanks. I’ll eat it.”

Isagi finally took back the old box, their fingers brushing again. “Cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

“Same place?”

“If I survive.”

Then Isagi turned to leave, but after a few steps, he paused. Like something just occurred to him.

He glanced back, tilting his head at Reo with that soft, unreadable gaze of his. “We don’t have each other’s numbers.”

“Oh. Right.” Reo blinked. “We… should probably fix that.”

Reo reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling slightly, then pulled out his phone and held it out.

Isagi then reached out, gently, and took Reo’s phone from his hand. His fingers brushed Reo’s for a second longer than necessary, and then—

He began to type.

Slowly, quietly, with the sort of concentration Reo wasn’t used to seeing over something as mundane as contact info. The way Isagi stood, sunlight catching in his hair and eyes focused on the screen, it felt oddly dreamlike. Like he wasn’t just entering a number, but leaving a trace of himself behind.

Delicate. Calm. Ethereal.

Reo almost forgot to breathe.

“There,” Isagi finally said, handing the phone back with both hands, like it was something important.

Reo looked down at the screen.

Yoichi Isagi — xxx-xxx-xxx-xx

No emoji. No fancy name. Just plain and simple.

“Thanks,” he said, a little too soft.

Isagi gave him a small nod, his voice low. “Now you won’t miss lunch.”

Reo teased, grinning. “Or a chance to annoy you.”

Isagi rolled his eyes, but it didn’t carry any real irritation. He turned, lifting his hand in a quiet wave as he started back down the hall, slipping like he was never there at all.

Reo watched him disappear.

…He’s kind of pretty, isn’t he?

It wasn’t the kind of pretty you said out loud, not like the models in his dad’s magazines or the kids who tried too hard to look effortless.

Isagi’s pretty was different.

Subtle. Unbothered. Like he hadn’t even noticed it himself.

The way his lashes were darker up close. The curve of his neck when he leaned over a book. The way his mouth moved around words like he was tasting them first.

It wasn’t obvious.

It just was.

And now that Reo had noticed—

Well.

Now he couldn’t unsee it.

He looked down at his phone, still open on the contact screen.

Yoichi Isagi.

Nothing fancy.

Just a name that suddenly felt a little more important than it had ten minutes ago.

Reo shut the screen off, slid the phone into his pocket, and let his fingers linger at the hem of his uniform jacket, fidgeting with nothing.

Pretty, he thought again.

And smiled, just barely.

He was so, so screwed.

Then he looked down at the neat little bento in his hands, darker cloth, stitched name tag, careful folds.

The kind of thing you don’t just give to anyone.

And suddenly, returning it didn’t feel like such a chore after all.

From the other side of the library, Nagi peeked out from behind a bookshelf, head tilted, watching. A strand of hair fell across his eye, casting a soft shadow, but he didn’t bother to brush it away.

“Hmm…” It slipped out like a passing thought, barely there.

Nagi leaned against the wall with his arms folded. He shifted his weight to one leg, looking like he had all the time in the world.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, he just hadn’t left yet. And now that he was here, he didn’t really feel like moving.

One brow raised lazily as he watched the exchange in silence. His stare was quiet, unreadable, but fixed. His eyes followed every movement.

“Weird,” he muttered, gaze lingering on Reo’s faint smile. Noticing the softness in it felt like spotting something rare in the wild. There was something weirdly warm about it.

Then he turned and walked off down the hallway, pulling his hood up. His steps were slow and steady.

“Guess Bento Guy’s legit.” The words slipped out like a shrug, trailing behind him into the stillness.

Chapter Text

The hallway was quiet as Isagi walked away, the echo of his own footsteps the only thing keeping him company.

He pushed the thought away and made his way back toward the fourth-floor study room where his group was already gathered. The moment he stepped inside, the energy shifted.

Seven pairs of eyes flicked toward him, some casual, some too casual.

“You’re late,” Rin said flatly from his seat by the window, eyes not quite meeting his.

“By four minutes,” Hiori murmured without lifting his head from the open book in his lap.

Kurona was already halfway through an equation on the whiteboard. “You missed the part where we argued over whether Bachira’s handwriting should be classified as modern art or a medical emergency.”

Bachira beamed, unbothered. “Art is subjective!”

Kunigami grunted from his corner, arms crossed, textbook unopened. “About time you showed up.”

Isagi blinked, but didn’t comment. He moved quietly to the open seat near the end of the table, between Nanase and Chigiri, and set down his bag.

Chigiri didn’t say anything, but he shifted slightly, giving Isagi more room than necessary.

Nanase handed him a highlighter. “We saved the easy stuff for you.”

Isagi gave him a small nod, murmured a thanks. He didn’t notice how Nanase’s eyes lingered a bit longer than usual.

He pulled out his laptop, the corner of his bento still peeking from inside his bag. When he opened it to the right page, Bachira leaned across the table.

“You smell nice today, Isagi,” he said cheerfully, like it was the weather.

Isagi blinked. “Huh?”

Bachira just shrugged, head tilted, curls bouncing. “Smells like something soft. Like rice and... maybe eggs? Miso?”

Isagi flushed a little, nudging the bento further into his bag. “It’s just lunch.”

“Smells like you cooked it with feelings,” Bachira teased.

“It’s homemade?” Kurona asked casually, not looking up from his notes.

Isagi rubbed the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

No one said anything right away.

Then Hiori murmured, just barely audible, “Someone’s lucky.”

Rin didn’t comment, but his pen scratched a little harder against the page.

Chigiri flipped a page too fast and had to go back.

Nanase, very quietly, adjusted his chair an inch closer.

They all went back to working, eventually. The room filled with the soft shuffle of paper, the low hum of laptop fans, and the occasional sigh of frustration from Kunigami.

But the air felt… strange.

Not heavy. Not tense. Just—

Noticed.

And Isagi, entirely focused on calculating word count for their report, didn’t even realize he was at the center of it.

Didn’t realize how Nanase peeked at him from under his lashes.

Didn’t see the way Hiori’s pen paused each time Isagi shifted in his chair.

Didn’t catch Chigiri stealing glances when he thought no one else was looking.

Didn’t see Kurona’s mouth press into a faint line as he scribbled notes harder than necessary.

Didn’t hear the way Rin’s page-turn sounded a little too sharp.

Didn’t notice how even Kunigami, gruff and distracted, kept looking like he wanted to say something but never did.

And especially didn’t realize that when Bachira smiled across the table and said, “You really do smell like a warm kitchen,”

—none of them laughed.

Isagi just shook his head and muttered, “You’re acting weird.”

The others chuckled, murmured back to their books, voices low, fading back into the rustle of paper and the quiet hum of studying.

Isagi glanced out the window, just for a second.

Sunlight spilled over the sports field below. Somewhere across campus, Reo was probably opening that bento right about now.

He wondered if Reo would notice the difference in seasoning.

He wondered if he’d find the note tucked under the chopsticks, folded into a cat-shaped origami, with a single word written in tiny handwriting:

Enjoy.

Isagi looked down at his screen.

Focus, he told himself.

But his fingers lingered at the edge of the table. Slow. Still.

Because even if it didn’t look like it, he was smiling.

Quiet. Small.

But real.

And he didn’t quite know what to do with that yet.

But behind every page, every glance, every too-careful breath—

They were all thinking the same thing:

Who made Isagi smile like that?

And why did they kind of wish it had been them?

...

Back in the classroom, Reo returned to his desk with the bento in hand, cloth still perfectly folded, corners tucked with care. He walked in a little slower than usual, and though he tried to keep his expression neutral, there was a softness around his eyes that hadn’t been there the day before.

He hadn’t even pulled out his chair when the first question landed.

“Oiii, Mikage! Another one? already?” someone called from across the room.

“No way, is that the same bento guy from yesterday?!”

“What’s in it this time? C’mon, open it! let us see!” added a second, leaning halfway out of his seat.

“Bro, I swear if it’s cuter than yesterday’s, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Wait, someone said there was a flag yesterday?? Like, a little cartoon?? Was that true??”

By now, half the class had turned in their seats. A couple students were leaning over their desks, some outright standing just to get a better view. Phones were discreetly angled in his direction. Someone whispered, “It’s a love bento. This is what romance looks like. I’m witnessing history.”

“Yesterday’s looked cute, was it good?” said another, eyes locked on the box like it was forbidden treasure.

Reo gave a lazy shrug, lips twitching upward. “Dunno,” he replied coolly. “Haven’t opened it yet.”

But the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He looked like someone trying, and failing, not to seem smug.

He sat down, placed the bento on his desk like it was something worth being gentle with, a secret he didn’t feel like sharing. The chatter didn’t stop. If anything, it swelled, more classmates craning their necks or sliding over under the pretense of grabbing books or asking for a pen. As the others leaned in, curious and whispering.

“Shhh, he’s opening it!”

Reo ignored them all.

With deliberate fingers, he began to untie the cloth. The knot slid free with a practiced ease that made a few people raise eyebrows. He didn’t rush. Didn’t perform. It wasn’t for them.

The scent hit the moment the lid came off, warm, rich, savory. The kind of scent that made you feel full just by breathing it in. This time, the top tier held carefully rolled tamagoyaki again, fluffy, golden, with a darker edge like it had been browned with extra care. Beside it sat thin slices of grilled salmon, arranged like puzzle pieces, garnished with a sliver of lemon and a curled sprig of something green.

But what drew everyone’s attention, Reo’s include, was the rice ball.

It wasn’t plain.

It had a tiny flag stuck into it. Hand-drawn. A little scribbled face, crooked and cartoonish, with stars for eyes and a stupid grin. The kind of thing you couldn’t buy. The kind of thing someone had made, just for him.

His chopsticks paused mid-air.

“That rice ball has a face!” someone exclaimed.

“Is that salmon heart-shaped?!”

“No way, look at the tamagoyaki spacing. That’s love, right there.”

“He’s got it bad,” one girl whispered with an exaggerated sigh. “That’s not just lunch. That’s devotion.”

Reo stared at it for a long second. Then he laughed quietly under his breath, a soft exhale of disbelief and something dangerously close to being flustered.

A loud whistle broke the moment. “Damn, Mikage! You’re actually spoiled!”

“Who’s cooking for you, man? Wife? Husband? Secret butler?”

Another shouted from the back, “C’mon, just give us a name!”

“Wait, hold up, is this the start of a shoujo manga?!”

“Did he blush? Guys, I think he’s blushing.”

That wasn’t just lunch.

That was attention.

Care.

Maybe even a little affection.

It wasn’t perfect. The salmon was slightly uneven. One of the egg rolls had collapsed inward a bit. But that’s what made it real. Someone had tried. Thought of him. Gotten up early for this.

And he didn’t have to guess who.

He took a bite, lips parting around the tamagoyaki. The texture was warm, still somehow soft despite sitting in a box all morning, and just a little sweet.

It tasted like something you wanted to keep all to yourself.

Someone whistled from across the room. “Damn, Mikage, your girlfriend’s got skills.”

Another voice joined in, more teasing. “Or boyfriend? We don’t judge.”

Reo didn’t look up. He just chewed slowly, eyes still fixed on the food.

Then, without missing a beat, he replied:

“Something like that.”

And the classroom exploded into noise.

But Reo didn’t explain.

Didn’t add anything else.

He just kept eating, slow, calm, savoring every bite like it was a secret only he got to enjoy.

Because in a way, it was.

And if his heart was beating a little faster than it should, if his face stayed just a shade too warm through the rest of lunch—

No one had to know but him.

And maybe…

Isagi.

“NO WAY.”

“GUYS, HE CONFESSED!”

“HE’S OFF THE MARKET?!”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE.”

“THE RICH KID HAS A MYSTERY LOVER?!” someone practically shrieked, standing on their chair like they’d just witnessed a proposal.

“Wait, was that a love flag? Did anyone get a picture of the flag?!”

“I SWEAR I SAW A HEART-SHAPED SALMON—CONFIRM OR DENY, MIKAGE!”

“Whoever it is, they’re making gourmet-level bentos and drawing custom flags?? That’s love language in every dialect.”

“No no, wait, what if it’s a secret relationship?! Like, forbidden love?!”

“I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT YESTERDAY. I SAID IT WASN’T JUST A PHASE.”

“WE NEED A NAME. WHO IS IT? JUST GIVE US A NAME!”

“Reveal the Bento Maker! REVEAL! THE! BENTO MAKER!”

Someone in the back of the class began pounding on their desk like a drum. Another started chanting, “MIC-KA-GE! MIC-KA-GE!” as if they were rallying a crowd for a love rally.

A third was already scrolling through their phone, whispering, “I need to start a fan account right now, MikageBentoLove. That’s the handle.”

Another just laid their head dramatically on their desk and muttered, “This is the bar now. If my future partner doesn’t feed me like this, I don’t want it.”

Through all of it, Reo sat calmly at his desk, eating in deliberate silence.

But the flush at the tips of his ears betrayed him.

And the small, unstoppable smile at the corner of his lips?

That said more than any confession could.

Chapter Text

Reo expected to have the library to himself again, just him, Isagi, and a quiet lunch. It had become their thing. Their ritual. Reo didn’t realize how much he looked forward to it until it was almost lunchtime and he was already halfway to the second floor.

What he didn’t expect was Nagi Seishiro trailing behind him.

“You’re actually coming?” Reo asked, raising a brow.

“Nowhere else to nap,” Nagi yawned, stretching his arms. “It’s boring out there.”

Reo sighed but didn’t stop him. Honestly, he figured Nagi would take one look at the shelves and bolt for the exit.

But when they reached the table, and Isagi looked up with a nod of acknowledgment, Nagi didn’t leave. He didn’t even hesitate. He slid right into the seat across from Isagi, dropping his cheek into one palm and staring blankly at the bento laid out between them.

Reo watched, stunned. Isagi opened today’s bento, a beautiful tiered box of tamagoyaki, grilled mackerel, rice with furikake, and a single umeboshi in the center like a red sun.

Nagi blinked slowly at the tamagoyaki.

“Want some?” Isagi asked, casual.

Nagi didn’t speak. Just reached out and plucked a piece. He popped it into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

Reo stared, still waiting for Nagi to make some snide comment. Instead, Nagi paused mid-chew.

“...Why does this taste warm even though it’s cold?”

Isagi laughed softly. “Because it’s made with care.”

Nagi blinked at him. “You’re weird.”

“Says the guy who eats like a raccoon,” Isagi said with a grin, clearly teasing.

Reo’s eyes narrowed just slightly. Was that a joke? A compliment? A charm spell?

Nagi tilted his head at Isagi like he was a particularly curious math problem. “Did you make all this?”

Isagi nodded, taking a bite of rice. “Yeah.”

“Every day?”

“Pretty much.”

Reo leaned forward quickly. “He makes it for me, actually.”

Isagi blinked. “I just bring extra.”

“Oof,” Nagi muttered, deadpan. “Tragic.”

Reo whipped around. “Hey!”

Then, Another beat.

“…Can I have more tomorrow?”

Nagi asked, voice calm but eyes lingering a little too long on the egg rolls.

Reo slammed his chopsticks down. “You don’t even like tamagoyaki!”

Nagi ignored him. “This one’s soft. It tastes like… sunshine.”

Isagi blinked, clearly unsure if he was being praised or insulted. “I guess. Sure.”

Nagi leaned back in his chair and looked at Reo. “He’s kind of cool.”

Reo frowned. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Nagi then ignored him. “Can you teach me how to make this?”

Isagi looked up, mildly surprised. “You want to learn?”

Nagi shrugged. “Maybe. Just curious how you made an egg taste like a hug.”

Reo nearly choked on his soup.

“Sei,” he hissed. “What happened to ‘I don’t care about lunch’?”

“I didn’t know it could taste like this,” Nagi mumbled, poking another piece with his chopsticks.

Isagi just smiled faintly and went back to reading. Unbothered. Perfectly calm. As if this wasn’t turning into the weirdest accidental love triangle in school history.

Reo glanced between them. Nagi, wide-eyed and fascinated. Isagi, completely indifferent to Nagi’s attention. And himself, somehow caught in the middle, holding his chopsticks a little too tight.

“You can’t just keep showing up,” Reo muttered.

Nagi leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “I go where the bento goes.”

“That’s my bento,” Reo said.

“Then I guess I go where he goes,” Nagi replied, jerking his chin toward Isagi.

Isagi snorted. “You two are weird.”

But he didn’t say it unkindly.

That made it worse.

...

Moments after Nagi disappeared, somewhere behind the manga shelves, whether to nap, hide, or stalk today’s snack, Reo finally leaned over the table toward Isagi, who was folding the empty bento cloth back into a neat square.

“So,” Reo asked, voice low, “did you finish your group project?”

Isagi glanced up, fingers still pressing the last crease flat. “Mostly. We wrapped up yesterday. Kurona’s presenting, which means we’ll probably get full marks.”

“That’s good.” Reo leaned back, trying not to sound too obviously relieved. “So no more last-minute drop-offs?”

Isagi smirked a little. “Was that inconvenient?”

“No,” Reo said too quickly. Then corrected, “I mean… kind of. But also not.”

Isagi didn’t press. Just tucked the cloth away, all clean corners and calm eyes, as if nothing about this conversation was strange. As if Nagi hadn’t just tried to third-wheel his way into Reo’s unofficial love story.

Reo frowned slightly, tapping his chopsticks against the empty box. “You know he’s serious, right?”

“About what?”

“About you. The food. Learning how to cook.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s, like, peak affection in Nagi terms.”

Isagi blinked. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not,” Reo said immediately.

“Right.” Isagi’s tone was infuriatingly even.

“I’m not!” Reo repeated, stabbing a piece of leftover pickle.

Isagi just smiled faintly and stood.

Reo watched him silently for a beat, then muttered, “Just… tell me when you’re free again.”

“For what?” Isagi asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Reo’s fingers stilled. Then he looked up, a small, crooked smile pulling at his lips.

“For bento,” he said. “Without an audience.”

Isagi tilted his head, considering that. Then nodded once.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll bring extra.”

And before Reo could respond, Isagi turned and walked away, quiet, unreadable, like always.

But Reo was already grinning. Because this time, he’d definitely get there first. Even if he had to drag Nagi back to bed himself.

...

The next day, Nagi showed up again. Reo groaned the moment he saw his white-haired friend slouching through the library doors with all the subtlety of a cat stalking prey.

“Do you even know who he is?” Reo asked, gesturing to Isagi like presenting evidence in court.

Nagi blinked. “No.”

Reo nearly exploded. “You don’t even know his name and you’re eating his food!?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nagi said, deadpan. “I’m not picky. Plus, it tastes good.”

Meanwhile, Isagi from across the table, just took another sip of miso soup and shrugged.

Reo sighed deeply. He wasn’t sure what was more infuriating, the fact that Isagi was completely unaffected by Nagi’s sudden obsession, or that Nagi was treating Isagi like some sort of culinary puzzle he needed to solve.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Reo had found him first.

Isagi, for his part, just kept showing up with two-tiered bentos. Quiet, careful, and maddeningly hard to read.

By the end of the week, Reo had a full-blown Nagi crisis.

“I swear,” he muttered to himself as he glared at the two of them laughing quietly over some inside joke he wasn’t part of, “this was supposed to be my peaceful place.”

But as Isagi glanced up and caught his eye, offering him the smaller tiered box without a word, Reo felt his frustration melt just a little.

He took it. Sat down. And told himself tomorrow, he’d get there first.

He just had to beat Nagi to the bento.

Again.

The school bell rang, sharp and final.

Isagi glanced at both of them, then stood, brushing a few stray crumbs off his pants, and slipped the empty bento box back into his bag.

“I’m heading to class,” he said.

“You’re leaving already?” Reo asked, glancing up with a faint frown.

“Student rep stuff,” Isagi replied. “Lots of it.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Reo asked.

Isagi paused at the edge of the table. Then he adjust the strap on his bag, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“…Maybe,” he said at last.

“See you tomorrow” Nagi said bluntly.

And then he left.

The moment the door shut behind him, Nagi took another sip of tea.

“Reo,” he said calmly.

“What now?” Reo muttered.

“I like him.”

Reo nearly dropped his chopsticks. “What?! I bet you didn’t even know his name, even now!”

Nagi shrugged. “Still don’t.”

Reo gaped.

“I just know his food tastes like something I want to eat again,” Nagi said simply.

Reo groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh my god. You’re impossible.”

Nagi leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Nah. I’m hungry.”

Reo stared at the door where Isagi had disappeared and sighed. He looked like he aged five years on the spot.

This was going to get messy.

Really, really fast.

After a while, he muttered.. half to himself, half to Nagi:

“His name is Yoichi Isagi.”

Nagi blinked. “Huh?”

Reo stared at him, jaw tight.

He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to.

But the idea of Nagi, of anyone, reducing Isagi to just “that guy with the bento”

He couldn’t stand it.

“…Yoichi Isagi,” Reo said it again, through clenched teeth. “His name,” he snapped, glaring. “So stop calling him ‘that guy’ or ‘bento.’

Nagi raised a brow, looking faintly amused. “Yoichi, huh.”

He let the name roll over his tongue once. Twice. Then smirked, slow and satisfied.

“Nice name.”

Reo rubbed his temples. “You better remember it.”

“Hard to forget something that tastes that good,” Nagi replied, and Reo swore he felt a vein pop in his forehead.

“You’re talking about the food, right?”

Nagi just gave him a look that made it infuriatingly unclear.

Reo buried his face in his hands.

This was a disaster.

And it was only just beginning.

God help him.

Chapter Text

The next day, Reo rushed, with an urgency he rarely allowed himself to show.

He skipped stopping by his locker. Skipped chatting with the underclassmen who always seemed to find him during break. Skipped the hallway glances and casual stroll, only to arrive at the second-floor library and feel his stomach twist into a knot.

Too late.

Nagi was already there, slouched in the usual corner, with an unreadable expression.

Worse, he was already sitting across from Isagi, chin in hand, while Isagi opened the bento with quiet ease, like this had been planned. Like they’d done this before.

Reo hovered near the entrance, just for a second. Long enough to see Isagi laugh at something Nagi said.

Laugh.

And not his polite, closed-mouth kind. His shoulders shook a little. His eyes softened.

Reo hadn’t seen that version of him in days.

He walked over with a smile that felt too tight around the corners.

“Yo,” he said, slipping into the seat beside Isagi.

“Hey,” Isagi greeted, voice warm but not surprised.

“Already started without me, huh?”

“I was hungry,” Nagi said simply, plucking a rice ball from the box. “Besides, I got here first.”

Reo’s smile twitched. “Lucky you.”

Isagi, oblivious as ever, handed Reo the smaller tier. “I saved your favorite.”

Reo’s chest eased just a little. He accepted it, fingers brushing Isagi’s for a breath longer than necessary.

Then Nagi poked at one of the rice balls with the end of his chopsticks. “Did you make these look like pandas?”

Isagi coughed. “What? No.”

Reo glanced at them. …They did kind of look like pandas.

“Cute,” Nagi said. And the worst part was, he meant it.

Isagi turned faintly pink and mumbled something about “not on purpose.”

Reo took a slow breath. “So. What were you two talking about?”

“Games,” Nagi said. “He sucks at rhythm ones.”

“I do not—”

“He has no sense of beat,” Nagi continued, unfazed. “It’s funny.”

Isagi laughed again, half-defensive, half-resigned. “I was distracted!”

“You lost five rounds in a row,” Nagi said.

Reo blinked. “You’ve played games together?”

“Only once,” Isagi said.

“Twice,” Nagi corrected. “That first one didn’t count. I was sleepy.”

Reo stared at them. Something in his chest curled. Tighter.

“Oh,” was all he managed.

The lunch break moved like syrup after that.

They chatted, about food, games, soccer drills. Nagi asked if Isagi ever used milk in his tamagoyaki. Isagi said no, but he’d try. Nagi said it might taste like clouds.

Reo said nothing.

Because every time he opened his mouth, Isagi would laugh at something Nagi said first. Or answer one of his questions. Or tilt the bento toward him like they’d already settled into a routine.

By the time the bell rang, Reo’s lunch was gone, but his appetite hadn’t returned.

Isagi stood, stretching his arms overhead with a soft exhale.

“See you guys,” he said, offering a quick glance, before turning to leave.

“Tomorrow?” Nagi asked. He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it out loud.

Isagi paused mid-step, glanced briefly at Reo, then nodded with a quiet certainty.

“Sure,” he replied, his voice barely above a murmur.

...

*Next day*

By the time Reo reached the library the next day, it was already too late.

The bento box was open. The egg rolls were half gone. And Nagi was sitting exactly where Reo usually did, across from Isagi, leaning forward on his elbows, watching him eat like he was observing a science experiment.

Reo froze in the doorway, eyes narrowing.

‘He came this early…?’

Nagi didn’t even glance up as Reo approached, sipping from Isagi’s soup thermos like it was his own.

“You’re kidding me,” Reo muttered.

Isagi glanced up and nodded. “Hey. You’re late.”

“I’m on time. He’s early,” Reo hissed, jerking a thumb at Nagi.

Nagi finally looked up, cheeks full. “There was egg. I got hungry.”

Reo slid into the third chair with a sigh. “I’m not even surprised anymore.”

He reached for the remaining rice ball, only to find an empty divider. His fingers curled around nothing.

Nagi blinked at him, deadpan. “Oops.”

He didn’t even try to look guilty, just chewed lazily.

Reo’s eye twitched. “You little—”

He was halfway to lunging across the table when Isagi intervened.

“Want mine?” Isagi offered, already holding out a second onigiri wrapped in a napkin.

Reo paused, looking at it. It was warm. Made fresh. Handed to him like it was no big deal. Something in his chest tightened, confused by how soft everything felt.

“…Thanks,” he mumbled.

He didn’t meet Isagi’s eyes, not trusting his expression to stay neutral.

Nagi leaned back. “You get your own one? Huh. Not fair.”

He tilted his head like a bored cat, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Not fair? You just ate my lunch!”

Reo gestured wildly at the empty container, as if the evidence proved a crime.

“It’s not yours if it wasn’t labeled.”

Nagi yawned, completely unbothered, like this was a routine exchange.

“Nagi!” Reo's voice cracked halfway between outrage and disbelief, but it only made Nagi grin.

Isagi rested his cheek in one palm, watching the two of them bicker across the table. His lips twitched at the corners. Honestly, he didn’t mind. Their rhythm was weird, but kind of entertaining. Comfortable, in its own chaotic way.

“So, Isagi,” Nagi drawled, leaning his chin into his palm. “Do you play anything?” His voice was lazy, but his eyes sharpened with a flicker of curiosity.

“Soccer.” The answer came easily, it was the only thing he knew.

“Oh?” Nagi perked up a little. “Reo too. You any good?” There was a faint lilt of challenge beneath the casual tone.

“I’m okay.”  Isagi gave a modest shrug, his gaze held steady.

“Better than Reo?” His mouth curved, just slightly, testing the waters.

Reo snapped. “That’s not the point—!” He glared at Nagi, cheeks flushing in disbelief.

Isagi laughed, soft but amused. “Maybe.”  It was quiet, as though teasing without trying to be.

Nagi hummed. “Nice.” He tilted his head, considering, he’d found something shiny.

Reo stared at him. “Why do you sound impressed?” Suspicion curled in his chest like smoke.

“Because I like smart people,” Nagi said bluntly. “And people who can cook. And people who don’t talk too much.”

He looked at Isagi.

“…You’re three for three.”

Reo practically choked on his rice ball. He coughed so hard his whole body lurched forward.

“Can you not flirt with him in front of me?!” His voice pitched, strangled by secondhand embarrassment.

Nagi blinked. “I’m not flirting.” He said it with the calm of someone genuinely confused.

He turned back to Isagi, head tilted. “Am I?”

Isagi stared at him blankly. “…I have no idea.” He blinked, unsure if this was some kind of test.

Reo groaned and buried his face in his arms.

Isagi passed him a napkin. It landed softly by his elbow, a silent truce offering.

After lunch, the three of them lingered by the library doors, none of them quite ready to leave.

“Thanks again,” Isagi said, slipping his box back into his bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Reo smiled, recovering. “Obviously.”

But Nagi leaned closer to Isagi, unreadable gaze steady. “Tomorrow… can I bring something too?”

Isagi blinked. “Huh?”

“I’ll make lunch.”

Reo nearly screamed. “You can’t cook!”

Nagi shrugged like it didn’t matter. “I’ll try. For Yoichi.”

Isagi blinked again, then gave the tiniest, softest smile.

“…Alright.”

Reo’s soul left his body.

...

That night, Reo lay on his bed, staring at his phone, thumbs furiously typing.

He and Nagi didn’t sleep in the same room due to some last-minute business stuff came up at home, so they’d just ended up apart for the night. 

[Group Chat: “Lunch Weirdos 🍱”]

REO:

> Nagi, you’re not seriously considering bringing lunch right?

NAGI:

> I am

REO:

> Why?? You haven’t even used kitchenware before, especially to cook something 

NAGI:

> Well, i opened a cup ramen once

REO:

> That’s not cooking, that’s hydration. 😤 Also, I don’t trust you near a stove. You once thought a whisk was “a weird spoon,” you called a peeler “a skin destroyer,” and you even called a spatula “the flippy thing.” You literally thought oiling a pan meant using hair oil. So, how are 'you' making lunch?? Be serious, Nagi.

ISAGI:

> Don’t fight. Don't worry Reo tomorrow i’m making enough... I suppose 

REO:

> Stop you're enabling him

NAGI:

> Nice

ISAGI:

> 😅

...

By the following morning, a Tupperware container sat in the middle of the table, in their usual spot.

Inside it: something that might’ve been food. Or… an abstract art piece in the shape of a bento.

Isagi sat in front of it, chopsticks paused midair, expression unreadable.

Nagi, beside him, looked very pleased with himself.

Reo halted in his tracks. “You didn’t actually let him cook.”

“I did,” Isagi said slowly.

Nagi nodded. “I made egg.”

“…That’s egg?” Reo leaned in, peering at the vaguely yellow… substance.

“It was,” Isagi offered carefully. “At some point.”

“It’s protein,” Nagi said, chewing a mouthful. “It counts.”

“You’re eating it?!” Reo looked scandalized.

Isagi shrugged. “He made it for me. I didn’t want to waste it.”

Reo stared at him like he’d grown two heads. “That’s not food. That’s a dare.”

Nagi poked at another side dish. “These were supposed to be sausages shaped like octopus.”

“They’re just… sausages, a weird one at that,” Reo said.

“Yeah. I got bored halfway.”

Reo sighed, dropping into the seat beside Isagi. “I need to test you for taste bud damage.”

But Isagi smiled faintly, nudging a clean bento box toward Reo. “Don’t worry. I brought backup.”

Reo opened it, and there it was: his favorite again. Perfectly rolled tamagoyaki. Rice, still warm. Seasoned vegetables.

He stared down at it, then glanced sideways at Isagi. “…You really made both?”

Isagi laughed lightly. “Someone had to be responsible.”

Reo looked away, but his ears turned red.

Nagi, meanwhile, was still chewing his experimental lunch with the slow indifference of someone immune to consequences.

“…It’s not bad,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally eating undercooked egg.”

“It’s cooked now. In my stomach.”

Reo gagged.

Isagi just shook his head, quietly amused, then offered Nagi a water bottle like it was the most normal thing in the world.

They ate like that, Nagi destroying his own food, Reo side-eyeing him over every bite, and Isagi laughing quietly into his napkin.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was theirs.

And tomorrow?

They’d probably do it all again.

---

The following day, Reo showed up early.

Ridiculously early.

Fifteen minutes before the lunch bell, he was already seated at their usual table, textbook cracked open for show. His leg bounced under the table. He didn’t even realize it until he caught himself checking the clock again.

He wasn’t nervous. He just didn’t want to repeat this past week's ocurrance, Nagi being early.

The bell rang. Doors opened. Feet shuffled.

And then, there they were.

Nagi strolled in like he owned the place, hands in his pockets, posture half-asleep. Isagi walked beside him, relaxed and smiling faintly, holding a cloth-wrapped bento in each hand, and a third tucked under his arm.

Reo’s heart sank. His stomach dropped.

Nagi flopped into his now-usual spot without hesitation, while Isagi set all three bento boxes onto the table like it was routine.

“Hey Reo,” Isagi greeted, voice calm.

“You made three?” Reo asked, voice tight.

Isagi lifted the third bento with a casual shrug. “Well… yeah, made an extra one since he always shows up anyway. Besides, Nagi’s cooking is... somewhat unpredictable.”

“Yeah,” Reo shuddered, “thanks for sparing us a repeat of that disaster.”

Reo grimaced slightly, the memory of yesterday flashing back.

Nagi gave a slow blink, then took the box nearest to him and stared at it like he wasn’t sure what to say. For a moment, it looked like he might not say anything at all.

Then, 

“…Thanks,” he muttered. His voice was quiet. Almost shy.

Isagi just gave a quiet smile and opened his own lunch.

Reo tried to laugh it off. “Great. You’ve officially been adopted.”

“Cool,” Nagi said, already opening the lid.

But Reo could feel something heavy settle in his chest. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just… something sinking.

Isagi had folded the napkins differently this time. Nagi’s had a tiny doodle of an egg with a smiley face.

He made that for him.

Reo stabbed his rice a little too hard.

They ate in their usual triangle, but today it felt different. Like someone had redrawn the lines. Reo kept glancing at the way Nagi poked curiously at each part of the lunch, asking Isagi about the seasoning or how he shaped the tamagoyaki just right. And Isagi, he answered with soft chuckles and subtle pride, like it made him genuinely happy to be asked.

Reo barely tasted his own food.

Lunch passed in awkward little bursts.

Nagi, in his usual offbeat way, made a game out of naming the shapes Isagi had made with the rice: a bear, a cat, something he claimed was a penguin. Isagi laughed. Actually laughed. A soft, unguarded sound Reo had only heard a few times, and never in response to anything he said.

He tried to join in. Really, he did.

But every time he spoke, it felt like he was interrupting something.

By the time the bell rang again, Reo had barely touched half his food.

Later that afternoon, the final bell rang, Reo wandered the hall longer than necessary. Maybe to cool off. Maybe to delay the inevitable.

Reo had to stop by the faculty room, and when he passed by the main gate window, he saw them.

There they were.

Isagi and Nagi, walking side-by-side toward the school gate, a little too close.

Not talking. Not laughing. Just… walking.

Close.

Comfortable.

Something in Reo’s chest twisted hard.

Then, he could see Isagi saying something, laughing.

Nagi looking at him like he was trying to understand a puzzle that didn’t frustrate him for once.

Reo watched them until they disappeared past the gate.

Chapter Text

He cornered Isagi after club, just outside the locker room.

“Hey,” Reo said. “Got a sec?”

Isagi blinked at him, still toweling his hair dry. “Sure. What’s up?”

Reo hesitated. He hadn’t meant to blurt it. He really hadn’t.

But then it slipped out: “What is he to you?”

Isagi blinked again. “Nagi?”

“Yeah.”

Isagi tilted his head, confused. “A friend? Why?”

Reo stared at him. Mouth dry. Heart loud. And for the life of him, he didn’t know what answer he’d been hoping for.

“…No reason,” he muttered, backing away. “Just wondering.”

Isagi didn’t press. Just nodded, slow. “Okay.”

But Reo didn’t feel okay.

Not even a little.

That night, the group chat was silent..No new doodles. No photos of onigiri bears. No dumb Nagi one-liners.

Just Reo, staring at the blank screen, typing.

Deleting.

Typing again.

Then finally sending:

> Tomorrow… don’t wait for me

The “read” notification popped up.

No replies.

Just silence.

And Reo, curled under his blanket, staring at a screen that didn’t blink back.

*****

Reo didn’t show up to the library. Not that he was sick. Not that he was busy.

He just didn’t go.

Instead, he sat on the rooftop, bento unopened, watching clouds drift behind the netted fence, pretending the wind was why his eyes stung.

He had told them not to wait.

So they didn’t.

Downstairs, in the quiet of the library, Nagi unwrapped his bento without a word. He didn’t ask where Reo was. Isagi didn’t bring it up.

They sat in the space Reo used to fill.

It should’ve been peaceful.

But Isagi looked at the empty third chair more than once.

“…He’s not coming?” Nagi asked around a mouthful of fish cake.

“I guess not,” Isagi replied, staring at the folded napkin he’d still packed for Reo out of habit. A rabbit this time. Purple ink. A little tilted.

Nagi chewed slower. Then set down his chopsticks.

“I don’t think he hates you,” he said.

Isagi blinked. “Huh?”

“Just thinks you’re gonna leave him behind.”

Isagi stared at him. “Why would he think that?”

Nagi shrugged. “You’re warm. And cool. He likes you. But I think he feels like he’s losing.”

“Losing what?”

Nagi didn’t answer. Just went back to his rice.

But Isagi’s chopsticks stayed still for a long time.

...

Reo came back the next day. Kind of.

He hovered by the library doors for a full minute before pushing them open.

They were already eating.

Again.

Nagi was sitting closer today. Their arms almost touched.

Isagi looked up and blinked, then offered a soft smile. “Hey.”

Nagi glanced too. “Thought you bailed.”

Reo forced a grin. “Nah. Just… busy.”

He dropped into the chair and reached for the third bento box. It was there. Waiting for him. No rabbit doodle today.

Just plain.

Safe.

Unlabeled.

Reo picked at the rice, trying not to listen as Nagi asked Isagi something about seasoning ratios and soy sauce blends.

Trying not to care that Isagi was laughing again.

He used to make him laugh like that.

Used to.

After school, they all left at different times.

Reo lingered. Let them go first.

When he reached the hallway, he found Isagi alone, tying his shoes.

“You’re not with him?” Reo asked before he could stop himself.

Isagi looked up. “Nagi? Nah. He left early.”

Reo hesitated. Then, quiet: “Why do you let him sit with us?”

Isagi blinked. “Because he wants to.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“I didn’t ask you to sit with me either,” Isagi said, calmly. “But you did. And I liked it.”

Reo looked down. The hallway was too quiet. “I just… I thought it was our thing.”

“It still is,” Isagi said. “If you want it to be.”

Reo swallowed hard. “I don’t want to share you.”

Isagi smiled. Small. Sad. “You don’t have to.”

Reo looked up. “Then why do I feel like I already am?”

Isagi didn’t answer.

And that silence said everything.

That night, Reo typed another message.

Not in the group chat.

Just one-on-one.

To: Yoichi Isagi

> sorry for acting weird just… don’t stop making bento

He hit send.

It was read.

But no reply came.

Not that night.

*****

Nagi had never really been one to care about people. Not in a deep way. Not in the stay with me way. But he was starting to care about how Isagi looked when he chewed. How his eyebrows lifted slightly when he found something delicious. How he said things like, “this turned out better than I expected” and smiled like he wasn’t used to being proud of himself.

Nagi didn’t know how to deal with that. So he started showing up earlier. Just to see if Isagi would smile at him first.

That day, Isagi had packed sakura mochi for dessert.

“I tried something new,” he said, sliding the little box across the table. “Hope it’s not too sweet.”

Nagi picked one up with his fingers, holding it gently, like it might fall apart if he breathed wrong. He took a bite.

Chewed once.

Twice.

Stopped.

“...Huh.”

Isagi tilted his head. “Too weird?”

“No,” Nagi said quietly. “Tastes like spring.”

Isagi blinked. “That’s… nice?”

Nagi looked at him, eyes unreadable. “No. It’s you. You taste like spring.”

Isagi choked on his tea.

From across the table, Reo, who had just arrived, catching exactly that moment, froze in the doorway.

“What the hell did I just walk into?”

Nagi didn’t even blink. “A compliment.”

Reo looked like he wanted to throw his bag through a window.

Lunch was quieter after that.

Isagi didn’t know how to respond to being called “spring.”

Nagi didn’t elaborate.

Reo… tried to pretend it didn’t bother him.

He failed.

Badly.

Later, when they were cleaning up, Reo reached for the bento cloth and folded it too hard. Too sharp. His fingers were shaking.

Isagi noticed.

“Reo,” he said gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Reo said. Then added, because he couldn’t help it, “You don’t even notice, do you?”

“Notice what?”

“That you’re becoming someone’s favorite part of the day.”

Isagi blinked. “Yours?”

Reo laughed once. Bitter. “His.”

Isagi paused, eyes lowering. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Reo looked at him.

“I want you to notice me first.”

"..."

---

That night, Nagi messaged Isagi first.

NAGI:

> you make lunch taste like a memory

ISAGI:

> …are you drunk?

NAGI:

> no I think I like you

Isagi stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

He didn’t reply.

Not yet.

But his heart beat louder than it should have.

And in another room, Reo stared at the ceiling.

Wondering when he stopped being the first person Isagi thought of when cooking.

The following morning when Nagi walked into the library, it was already quiet.

Isagi was curled over a book, fast asleep. His cheek rested on a half-finished worksheet, hair falling into his eyes. He looked peaceful in the way only tired people do, soaked in sunlight, still warm with effort.

Nagi didn’t say anything. He just stared for a moment, lips pursed. Then, without a sound, he placed a grape juice box and a pack of senbei on the edge of the desk.

He sat down across from Isagi like always, eyes half-lidded, posture slouched, but still alert in his own drowsy way.

Reo arrived two minutes later.

He took one look at the scene, the snacks, the stillness, Nagi’s place across from Isagi, and exhaled.

He didn’t say a word either. He slid into the third chair. Crossed his legs. Sat in the silence.

Eventually, Nagi spoke, voice flat. “…We like the same guy.”

Reo didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”

“Gonna fight me over it?”

Reo leaned back, arms crossed. “…Nah.”

Nagi glanced sideways. “Why not?”

Reo shrugged. “Because if we fight, someone loses. And I’m not ready to lose him.”

A pause.

Nagi tapped his fingers on the table.

“…Same.”

They sat there, both watching Isagi sleep.

The quiet stretched.

Then, Reo said softly, almost to himself, “He doesn’t even know.”

Nagi smirked faintly. “Maybe that’s better.”

Reo looked over. “So what now?”

Nagi took a slow sip from a can of milk tea. “…We share.”

Reo blinked. “You serious?”

“I get Mondays, Wednesdays, and his tired afternoons,” Nagi said flatly.

Reo snorted. “Fine. I get bento lunches, and days when he’s smiling for no reason.”

Nagi tilted his head. “What about weekends?”

“…Split ‘em.”

They stared at each other.

Then, slowly, Reo held out a hand.

Nagi looked at it.

Shook it.

No tension. No anger. Just mutual, bitter fondness for the same sleepy-eyed boy.

Later, Isagi stirred.

He blinked, groggy, reaching for his bag.

And found the juice box. The senbei. 

And… two tiny sticky notes.

> “Eat this or I’ll be annoyed.”

– Nagi

> “And drink this or I’ll be more annoyed.”

– Reo

A soft but strange way of caring (juice + senbei = affection).

Isagi laughed softly, barely awake.

“…Idiots.”

“Thanks… both of you.” he murmured.

From behind a shelf, two distinct voices echoed back in perfect, half-muttering harmony:

“Tch.”

Two voices.

One beat.

In perfect unison.

---

The End.

Chapter Text

It came out, of all places, during a convenience store run.

They’d just finished a group project at Nagi’s place. The air still smelled like instant ramen and late-night focus. Reo was bored, he kept flipping his phone open, locking it, and doing it again. Nagi was hungry, and he’d been staring at the onigiri shelf for five minutes, unable to make up his mind. Isagi wanted gum, specifically the minty kind.

So now they stood in front of a row of canned drinks, half-sleepy and fully distracted. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a dull, dreamlike glow.

“Hey, what day is it?” Isagi asked casually, squinting at the receipt.

“Wednesday,” Reo said, yawning. He blinked like the word itself tasted wrong in his mouth.

Nagi froze. “Wait. Wednesday?” His hand stopped mid-reach, hovering over a tuna sandwich.

Reo blinked. “Yeah, why?” His brow furrowed, confusion sinking in. 

Nagi slowly turned to Isagi. There was a dawning horror in his eyes, the kind that crept in when you realized you'd forgotten something important.

“…Why are you here?” Nagi asked, eyes narrowing.

Isagi frowned. “Because you asked me to come over and help with your essay?” He held up his phone like proof, as if that could undo the weirdness in the air.

“No, I mean, on a Wednesday.” Nagi’s voice dropped, barely above a whisper, like saying it too loud would summon fate.

Reo widden his eyes. “Dude.” There was accusation in his tone, one that carried months of suppressed chaos.

Isagi tilted his head. “What’s with you two?” He looked genuinely puzzled, clearly confused to whatever's happening, as if he's the only sane one in a fever dream.

Then Nagi looked at Reo. 

And Reo looked at Nagi.

And in that second, the unspoken pact rose from the ashes.

And in perfect synch, they said: “We made a deal.” As though it was the most natural thing in the world to declare.

“…What kind of deal?” Isagi's voice dipped slightly, unsure whether to be curious or terrified.

Reo groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, don’t get weird about it—” Even as he said it, he knew how utterly weird it already sounded.

“We decided to share you,” Nagi interrupted bluntly, his delivery was so flat. 

Isagi just stared. “…What?” The soda fridge behind him hummed louder, reacting to the absurdity.

Reo winced. “It’s not as creepy as it sounds—okay maybe it is, but it’s mostly practical.” He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing practicality made it worse, not better.

“You were confusing,” Nagi added. “We both liked you, so we split the time.”

“Like a custody arrangement,” Reo muttered. His ears were a little red, but he refused to look away.

Isagi gaze flicked back and forth at the two.

Then blinked again. His brain needed to reset to process all of it.

“You’re serious?” Isagi’s tone was flat, as if they’d said gravity was optional.

“Dead serious,” they said together, too in sync. 

Silence.

Then—

Isagi started laughing. It broke the tension like glass cracking under soft pressure.

It came from that space between disbelief and something dangerously close to fondness.

Not a big laugh. Just a tired, amused one. The kind that slipped out without trying. Like he was too exhausted to be mad. Or maybe… touched.

“You two are so weird,” he said, shaking his head. There was no venom in his voice, only affection disguised as exasperation.

Nagi blinked. “You’re not mad?” For once, his voice wavered with something like doubt.

“Should I be?” Isagi met their eyes.

“…Kinda?” Reo’s voice cracked on the word, unsure if he was hoping for yes or no.

Isagi smiled faintly. “I’m not a rice ball, you know. You can’t just take turns having me.” But there was a twinkle in his eye that said he didn’t really mind.

Reo scratched his cheek. “Yeah, well… we know. But it worked.” His grin was sheepish, like a kid who got caught but still passed the test.

“Until today,” Nagi muttered. He glanced down, suddenly unsure if the game was still on.

Reo turned to Isagi. “So. If you had to choose—” His words came out slow, hesitant.

Isagi cut him off. “Nope.”

“Huh?” Reo flinched, thrown by the speed of rejection.

“I’m not picking.”

He grabbed a melon soda and turned to the counter. The can hissed faintly, cold and certain in his grip.

“You two worked it out without asking me,” he said over his shoulder. “Now deal with the consequences.”

Nagi and Reo stared at him as he walked off, cracking open the drink with a smirk. That smirk carried the quiet arrogance of someone who had just flipped the board.

“…What does that mean?” Reo asked. His voice was a mix of fear and awe, like he'd lost control of the script.

“I think he’s winning,” Nagi mumbled. Because somehow, without ever making a move, Isagi had all the power.

--- 

Back in school the next day, Isagi sat between them again at lunch.

One bento from Reo.  One snack pack from Nagi.

He didn’t say anything.  Just ate quietly.

Until he looked up with a soft, amused expression and said:

“If you’re gonna share me, at least label the food. I almost drank Nagi’s weird milk thing.”

Reo grinned. “You remembered which one was mine?”

Isagi shrugged. “You use plum rice.”

Nagi leaned closer. “But he ate my egg first.”

They glared.

Isagi just kept chewing.

And smiled.

It started the same way it always did.

Lunch break.

One bento from Reo. A drink from Nagi.

And Isagi, eating quietly in the middle.

Older now. His hair slightly longer, posture more relaxed. The tired lines under his eyes never quite went away, but his smile had gotten softer. Like he’d stopped trying to fight the way things were and just… leaned into it.

He still wasn’t dating anyone.

But everyone knew better than to ask why.

Because during lunch?

He was flanked.

Reo on the left, still dramatic.

Nagi on the right, still sleepy.

They didn’t argue as much anymore.

They didn’t need to.

There was a rhythm to it. Something practiced. Something understood.

But something… undeniably strange.

“Yoichi,” Reo said one day, passing him a pair of extra chopsticks. “You’ve been staring at that sandwich like it offended you.”

Isagi blinked. “It’s egg salad.”

“So?”

“It tastes like betrayal.”

Reo grinned. “I’ll make you something better tomorrow.”

Nagi leaned over, rested his chin on Isagi’s shoulder.

“Just eat the bread part,” he mumbled. “I’ll trade you the egg.”

Isagi sighed. “You two still doing this?”

“Doing what?” they said, simultaneously.

“This…” he gestured between them. “Whatever this triangle thing is.”

“You mean lunch?” Reo said innocently.

Nagi yawned. “Or feelings?”

Isagi flushed, cheeks tinged pink. “Don’t say it so casually.”

Reo leaned in, elbow on the table. “You never stopped us.”

“I didn’t ask you to start,” Isagi shot back, but there was no heat in it. Just… confusion. Long-held confusion, stretched over two years.

They ate quietly for a few seconds.

Then:

“Yoichi,” Reo said, voice quiet now. “Do you ever think about choosing?”

Nagi didn’t interrupt. He was staring at the back of Isagi’s head, unmoving.

Isagi didn’t answer right away. He picked up a piece of rice, placed it gently on his tongue.

Chewed. Swallowed.

Then, he answered slowly, “…Sometimes.”

Reo exhaled. “And?”

Isagi turned, looking at them both. Earnest. Nervous. Completely, heartbreakingly honest.

“What if I wanted… both of you?”

The silence was so loud it felt like a punch.

Nagi blinked slowly. “Like… split days again?”

“Or,” Reo said, “do you mean emotionally? Because that’s messier.”

“I don’t know what I mean,” Isagi admitted. “Just, whenever I think about it, I feel like I’m supposed to choose. But if I did…”

He looked down at his hands. “…I’d miss the one I didn’t pick.”

The two boys stared at him.

Then stared at each other.

And without a word, Reo passed Nagi a rice cracker. Nagi took it. Bit it in half.

And nodded once.

Reo turned to Isagi. “Then don’t choose.”

Isagi looked confuse. “Wait, what?”

“Would it help?” Reo asked. “Would it stop us liking you?”

“No,” Nagi said. “I’d still want to kiss you when you talk with food in your mouth.”

Isagi nearly choked. “Nagi—!”

Reo grinned at the comment. “He’s being honest. For once.”

And in that strange moment, between laughter and fear and something like warmth, Isagi realized they’d been waiting for him.

Not for an answer.

Just a moment of clarity.

And now that they had it?

They weren’t running.

That afternoon, they sat on the rooftop. No words. Just sun and quiet and the three of them, side by side.

Isagi leaned back on his hands. “…We’re really doing this?”

“Looks like it,” Reo said, lying down with a sigh.

Nagi rested his head in Isagi’s lap. “You’re warm.”

“Don’t get used to this,” Isagi muttered, blushing.

“I already have,” they both said in unison. 

Chapter Text

People always ask me what I see on the field.

Patterns. Gaps. Weaknesses.

I can read playstyles, habits, tempo like flipping through pages of a book I’ve already studied a hundred times.

But in real life?

There are no arrows. No highlights. No mini-maps.

So I didn’t notice it at first.

The way Reo always peeled the skin off the tomatoes in my bento.

The way Nagi stopped yawning whenever I looked tired, like his laziness was contagious and he didn’t want me to catch it.

The way they never sat beside each other, always around me. A triangle drawn out of habit.

I thought they were just close.

Or maybe I just didn’t want to see it.

Because the moment I did…

I realized I didn’t want to lose either of them.

Not Reo, with his bright eyes and ridiculous loyalty and infuriating charm.

Not Nagi, with his sleep-heavy voice and offhand sweetness and impossible closeness.

It didn’t feel fair.

To them.

To me.

But love doesn’t work like a field.

There are no rules.

No formations.

No clear win.

So when they looked at me like that, like I was something worth fighting for, something worth sharing. 

I didn’t run.

I just leaned in.

Even now, in university, when we’re all busy and the lunches are messier and our group chats are full of chaos, I still think about it.

About how it started.

About how Reo smiled too wide when I remembered his favorite rice.

About how Nagi gave me his last shrimp tempura like it meant nothing, when we all knew it did.

About that juice box and the senbei I found beside my library book.

About the time I asked: “What if I wanted both of you?”

And they didn’t flinch. They didn’t ask me to choose. They just stayed.

These days, people ask me what I see off the field. I don’t always have the answer.

But when I look across the table, and Reo’s arguing with Nagi about chopstick etiquette while Nagi’s stealing my lunch and pretending not to care, 

I think I know.

I see two people who never gave up on me.

Who made space.

Who waited.

And somewhere between all the bentos and bad jokes and little silences, 

I fell for them.

Both of them.

And yeah.

Maybe that’s not traditional.

Maybe we’re figuring it out as we go.

But it’s real.

And it’s mine.

(Time skip) 

Now in their Mid-20s. Shared apartment. No label. No need.

The morning was quiet.

Not silent, because silence didn’t exist in a household where three boys in love (and denial) shared a kitchen, but quiet in a lived-in way.

The kind of hush that follows routine. Familiar. Warm.

The smell of coffee drifted through the small apartment. Not too strong. Just how Isagi liked it.

There were three mugs on the counter:

One black and chipped (Nagi’s),

One obnoxiously gold with a crown handle (Reo’s),

One plain blue with a tiny soccer ball charm on the handle (Isagi’s).

“Did anyone feed the plant?” Isagi called, half-yawning.

“It’s plastic,” Reo answered from the bathroom.

“Oh.”

From the couch, Nagi raised his hand. “I watered it anyway.”

“…Dude.”

Shrug.

Isagi padded into the kitchen, hair messy, hoodie oversized. Reo came out with a toothbrush still in his mouth, shirt unbuttoned.

“Hey,” he said, foam in his mouth. “You stole my charger last night.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

Isagi pointed at Nagi. “That was him.”

“I did,” Nagi said from under the blanket he brought into the living room. “It was closer.”

Reo groaned.

Isagi smiled into his coffee.

They weren’t official. Never had a label. Not even back in high school when the three-way deal had become a joke no one laughed about anymore.

And yet—

There was only one toothbrush cup in the bathroom.

A set of three towels hanging together.

A drawer in the kitchen with receipts from all three of their favorite takeout places.

A bed that used to be Reo’s, until Nagi kept falling asleep in it. Until Isagi started crashing there too.

Now it was just… theirs.

Too many limbs. Too much warmth.

Some nights, Reo would pull Isagi closer and mutter, “Tell him to stop stealing the blanket.”

And Isagi would whisper, “You tell him. He’s awake.”

And Nagi would mumble, “You’re both annoying.”

But none of them moved away.

That morning, Reo took a sip from Isagi’s mug just to annoy him.

Isagi smacked his arm. “Mine.”

Reo grinned. “Possessive.”

“You share me, not my mug.”

“Bold of you to assume I do either.”

From the couch, Nagi added, “Can I have a sip?”

Isagi sighed. “Yeah.”

Reo blinked. “Why does he get one?”

Isagi smiled. “Because he asked nicely.”

Nagi smirked behind his blanket.

Reo groaned.

Isagi sipped again.

It was normal.

Ridiculous.

Intimate.

Unlabeled.

But theirs.