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Isagi has a really tough life.
Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Life isn’t all bad. Sure, he had to wake up at five in the morning to catch a shuttle that’s currently leading him deep into the woods. He’s wearing a pair of uncomfortable hiking boots that might give him blisters, and he’s coated in foul-smelling bug spray.
But besides all that, life isn’t all that bad. It’s going pretty well, actually. He graduated fromhigh school with decent grades, got recruited to his future university’s soccer team, and had plans to spend the entire summer playing soccer with his friends, no responsibilities in sight.
Of course, life doesn’t always go according to plan. Isagi’s mother had taken one look at him clambering down the stairs, dressed in the same worn-out jersey he’s owned for years, grass-stained cleats in one hand, trusty soccer ball in the other, and decided Isagi needs to “expand his horizons” before he goes out and “faces the real world.”
This is how Isagi finds himself in the middle of Japan’s Shiretoko National Park as their newest summer camp counselor, instead of the artificial turf of his hometown’s soccer field.
It’s okay, Isagi thinks to himself as the shuttle drops him off at the campgrounds. The scenery before him is beautiful, so he has no complaints there, and he’s only here for a few months. It’ll all be okay.
Then a spider lands on his arm.
And no, everything is absolutely not okay.
Isagi isn’t the biggest fan of bugs, but the one thing he truly can’t stand is spiders, which are technically arachnids. But Isagi isn't about to get technical, especially not when a spider is crawling up his arm.
His eyes widen, his pupils fleeing from the expanding whites of his eyes, and Isagi is actually sure he’s going to die, or scream, or both, because oh god, the spider is about to crawl up his neck. He’s saved when someone materializes next to him in a blur of yellow, plucking the spider right off his shoulder with their bare hands like some lunatic.
Isagi exhales loudly, and he contemplates running after the shuttle to beg for a return trip back to the city when he hears the cheerful voice of his savior behind him.
“The spider won’t hurt you, you know!”
Whipping around, Isagi finds himself face-to-face with bright yellow eyes and a hideous neon yellow bucket hat. Isagi blinks. He’s still filled with adrenaline from having an eight-legged abomination crawling up his body. But he composes himself enough to register that the owner of said hideous bucket hat looks to be another camp counselor around his age.
Bucket Hat Boy has an odd hairstyle, some sort of bob cut with blunt-cut bangs and yellow strands that curve around his ears and the base of his neck. To complete the look, he’s wearing a pair of forest-green overalls over his camp t-shirt, rolled up at the ankles to make space for his chunky hiking boots. It’s a weird look, but Isagi figures people who willingly pick up spiders with their bare hands probably aren't very normal to begin with anyway.
The boy cradles the spider in his palm, practically cooing at the creature as Isagi stares warily, frowning at it like it personally betrayed him.
“I haven’t seen you before. Are you new?” Isagi’s savior suddenly asks.
Isagi startles. “Oh, yeah, it’s my first summer here. As a counselor,” he adds lamely, as if he’d get mistaken for one of the six-year-old campers.
“That explains it!” Bucket Hat Boy says, lifting the spider closer to his face, observing it, and Isagi watches, bewildered. “I’m Bachira!” Bucket Hat Boy—Bachira—says, finally looking up to beam at Isagi, his smile bright enough to make his eyes disappear into crescents.
“Oh, um. Hi,” Isagi replies, a little thrown off by how happy Bachira seems to be, seemingly unfazed by Isagi’s standoffish energy. “I’m Isagi.”
“Isagi,” Bachira repeats, his voice rising and falling, as if he’s singing Isagi’s name to the spider in his hand, and Isagi stands there awkwardly.
“That’s me,” he says, then mentally berates himself because he’s acting really, really lame. Bachira doesn’t seem to mind.
“You must be tired after that shuttle ride! Let me take you to your cabin!” He reaches out to grab Isagi by the wrist, and Isagi stumbles with his bags as he’s dragged forward.
Bachira pulls him through the clearing, past thickets of towering firs and oaks, and towards a row of wooden cabins, one of his hands holding tightly onto Isagi’s wrist, the other still cradling the spider in his palm. “Here we are!” Bachira says when they reach the furthest cabin. “This is you!”
“Thank you,” Isagi says, and Bachira gives him a wink, the tip of his pink tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth. Isagi’s eyes track the movement before Bachira turns and runs off to who knows where with the spider.
Isagi would still prefer to be on a soccer field with fewer bugs. But he thinks he’ll probably be okay, as long as Bachira is around to save him from any future spider encounters.
*
The next time Isagi sees Bachira, he’s at the arts and crafts tent.
It’s about a week into camp, and the activity for the day is friendship bracelet creation. Isagi has been instructed to deliver some extra twine and beads to the tent. When he ducks through the curtain, he’s immediately accosted by a group of hyper children and a chaotic mess of beads clattering all over the floor.
Isagi shifts to the right to avoid being sideswiped by a camper when he’s greeted by a cheerful and familiar, “Oh, it’s you!”
Turning towards the voice, Isagi finds familiar yellow eyes looking back at him. Bachira is sitting at a table surrounded by a group of campers who can’t be older than five or six. The table is definitely built for children, so Bachira’s knees are tucked close to his chest, and his back is somewhat hunched. It looks like it’d be uncomfortable, but Bachira fits into the atmosphere seamlessly, his brightly colored hair matching the colorful beads, his playful energy matching the enthusiastic campers hovering around him.
And then Isagi notices the friendship bracelets.
Bachira has tons of them, taking up both his forearms. A young camper is adding another bracelet to Bachira’s massive collection, tying it around his elbow because that’s the only place there’s space. There’s a line of campers waiting to gift Bachira their own creations, and Isagi thinks Bachira will probably have bracelets up to his shoulders by the time arts and crafts time is over.
“Um, Anri told me to bring some extra supplies?” Isagi says awkwardly, holding up a cardboard box.
“Oh, great! Thank you, Isagi!” Bachira nods, and Isagi finds himself irrationally pleased that Bachira remembers his name. “Can you place it on the table next to me?”
Isagi makes his way over, trying to avoid any stray beads on the floor so he doesn’t slip and crack his skull open, and deposits the box on the table. He’s turning to leave when he feels a familiar grip against his wrist.
He looks down to see Bachira holding onto his arm, beaming up at him. When Bachira smiles, a single dimple appears on the left side of his cheek, Isagi notices, and it makes his smile appear a bit lopsided. It’s kind of endearing. By the time Isagi realizes that he’s been staring vacantly at Bachira’s face, Bachira is tugging him into an empty seat. Isagi all but collapses onto the chair with the grace of a newborn deer.
“You don’t have any friendship bracelets,” Bachira quips, bringing Isagi’s wrist close to his face, like he might find an invisible bracelet there.
“Um, no. I don’t,” Isagi stammers, and Bachira cocks his head to the side.
“We’ll have to change that now, won’t we!” He lets go of Isagi’s wrist, and Isagi can still feel the phantom warmth of Bachira’s palm against his skin.
He tilts his head towards all the bracelets on Bachira’s arm. “You have a lot, though.”
Bachira smiles and lifts his arms, shaking them around so the beads clack together, filling the already noisy tent with even more sound. “I’ve been a counselor here for a few summers, so a lot of the campers know me and like to make me bracelets. I’d give you one of mine, but they’re gifts, and I can’t give away gifts!”
Isagi laughs. “I suppose you can’t." He pushes himself upright. “Well, I have to run some more errands for Anri.”
“Okay. Bye, Isagi!” Bachira calls out, throwing Isagi a peace sign, and Isagi waves back.
*
Later that evening, Isagi is walking back to his cabin when he hears someone yelling out his name. He slants a glance sideways to see Bachira running towards him.
“Isagi!” Bachira shouts, skidding to a stop in the dirt. “Hold out your hand!”
Isagi shoots Bachira a wary look because, god forbid, Bachira puts a spider in his hand. “Why?”
“Just do it!” Bachira says, and he looks so excited, Isagi finds it hard to say no. He slowly extends out his hand, and Bachira deposits something cool and smooth against his palm.
It’s a friendship bracelet, made with glossy yellow and blue beads. Isagi’s name is spelled out in the middle, with two smiley face beads bordering either side of his name. “I made you your first friendship bracelet!”
“Oh,” Isagi says, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he runs his fingers over the smooth beads. “That’s really nice of you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to!” Bachira says, rocking on his heels. “Here, let me put it on for you!” He takes the bracelet and wraps it around Isagi’s wrist, tying a knot with nimble fingers, his tongue poking past his lips in concentration. It’s kind of cute. “There you go!” Bachira exclaims once he’s done, and Isagi examines the bracelet, cracking a smile at the smiley face beads grinning back at him.
“Thank you, Bachira. It looks great.”
The smile Bachira gives him makes something warm blossom in his chest. “I’m glad you like it!”
That night, Isagi slides the bracelet off before stepping into the shower, carefully wrapping it in a towel so it doesn’t get wet, and immediately puts it back on after he dries off. He likes the feeling of the beads against his wrist, and the smiley faces are pretty cute too.
Isagi bumps into Bachira at the mess hall during breakfast the next morning, and he gives Bachira a little wave. Bachira waves back, and his eyes immediately spot the friendship bracelet on Isagi’s wrist.
A smile spills over Bachira’s face, wide enough that Isagi can count his white teeth, and Isagi learns that when Bachira smiles really wide, two dimples appear on his cheeks instead of just one.
*
The next few weeks pass by in a sun-filled blur. A new wave of campers arrives and the camp is at full capacity, leaving all the counselors stretched thin. Isagi only sees Bachira a few times during those weeks, and it’s usually just a quick wave before they’re running off to chaperone a hike or deliver supplies to different tents.
Isagi is starting to suffer from soccer withdrawals, if that’s even a thing. And the surest way he can tell he’s suffering from this ailment is the way he’s overly thrilled when he’s put in charge of the soccer activity during the camp’s annual sports day.
He knows it won’t be the most exciting thing, babysitting a bunch of children as they attempt to kick a soccer ball around. He’ll most likely spend the entire time making sure no one gets a ball to the face. But it’s the closest Isagi has been to soccer in weeks. He’ll take anything he can get.
He gets to work on creating a makeshift field, marking the goals and boundaries in the dirt while other counselors flit about, setting up their own activities. Nagi is attempting (and failing miserably) to set up a volleyball net between two trees, and Chigiri and Kunigami are setting up for a relay race across the way.
By the time Isagi finishes up, the campers have yet to arrive, so he idly kicks the soccer ball around, running through a few drills to get back into the swing of things. He vaguely registers the sounds of footsteps approaching, and before he can even blink, the ball is swiped from under his feet.
Isagi startles, nearly face-planting into the dirt. He whirls around and spots Bachira bouncing the soccer ball against his knee.
“I’m assigned to run the soccer activity with you, partner!” Bachira says with a grin, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sunlight as he kicks the ball back to Isagi.
Isagi stares back with wide eyes. “You play soccer, Bachira?”
“Yep!” Bachira says with a nod. His bangs are tied up with a scrunchie, sticking up on top of his head like a pineapple crown. It sways with the movement.
Isagi feels anticipation seeping through his entire body, from his head to the very tips of his toes, knowing that there’s someone else here who plays soccer. But he doesn’t get to celebrate for long before a gaggle of adorable campers stampedes into the clearing, messing up Isagi’s carefully marked boundaries in the process.
Isagi frowns, and Bachira laughs, giving him a light poke on the cheek. “You didn’t expect these five-year-olds to actually play soccer, right?” Isagi’s shoulders slump, and Bachira laughs again, bright and cheerful in Isagi’s ear.
None of the campers get a bloody nose from a soccer ball to the face, which Isagi counts as a win. But by the time sports day is over, Isagi is thoroughly bummed that no real soccer was played. Bachira, ever observant, seems to notice because he wordlessly kicks the ball toward Isagi, and Isagi glances up, confused.
“You and me, Isagi!” Bachira shouts. “One versus one!”
Isagi looks up so quickly he pinches something. “Ow,” he says, massaging the side of his neck. He gets to play soccer? A real game of soccer? “Think you can keep up?” he says with a smirk, and he watches as Bachira’s eyes narrow with a look of intense concentration, his usual doe eyes transforming into an expression that’s completely new to Isagi.
“I think the question is, can you keep up?” Bachira shoots back, a lilt to his voice, teasing, and it kicks up Isagi’s heart inside his chest.
“Oh, I know I ca—” Before Isagi can finish his sentence, Bachira shoots forward, stealing the ball again. “Hey!” Isagi growls and immediately chases after him, Bachira’s breathless laughter echoing in his ears.
Bachira turns and winks, sticking out that pink tongue again, taunting. “Thought you said you could keep up!”
The way Bachira plays soccer is free-flowing, vibrant, much like Bachira himself. Isagi notices a little too much—Bachira has a toned build, slim and all hard lines, for someone who seems to be made entirely of soft edges, and Isagi finds himself almost mesmerized, tracing the lines of Bachira’s body with his eyes as the other boy runs across the makeshift field.
Bachira’s mouth is wide open in a smile, showing off those dimples on either side of his cheeks. His eyes are wild, and the yellow strands of hair that usually curl around his ears are a mess in the wind. Bachira looks like someone plucked a ray of sunshine out of the sky and turned it into a human being.
Isagi notices too much, and he hates that he does. Because now whenever he sees Bachira, he’ll be thinking about the way his body moves, fluid and strong, and Isagi comes to the conclusion that he’s kind of attracted to this weird boy with his wild smile and even wilder eyes.
By the time Isagi realizes he’s trailing behind, Bachira has already kicked the ball through their improvised goalpost, and he whirls around, waving an index finger at Isagi. “That’s one point for Bachira Meguru!”
His gaze strays to Isagi, who is attempting to act like he wasn’t staring at Bachira like a creep for the past minute. He probably just manages to appear deranged. Isagi clears his throat, willing himself to snap out of his Bachira-induced daydream. “I’ll score the next goal,” he croaks out, and Bachira offers him a grin that’s both guileless and strangely mischievous.
“Show me what you got, Isagi.”
Isagi doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets his feet on the ball and immediately takes off. He hears Bachira’s laughter ringing out behind him, and Isagi thinks that the sound of Bachira’s laughter is starting to feel familiar, almost as familiar as the soccer ball against his feet.
*
Isagi doesn’t know how much time has passed. All he knows is that the score is tied, and whoever kicks the ball into the makeshift goal next is the winner, and Isagi wants to win.
The air around them is humid and sticky. Isagi is covered in sweat and dirt, and his bangs are matted against his forehead. Bachira isn’t faring any better; his shirt is sweat-soaked and sticking against his skin, and his bangs have all but fallen out of his scrunchie.
Bachira pushes against Isagi as Isagi attempts to fake him out, lunging towards his left before immediately going right. But he miscalculates and trips over Bachira’s feet, sending them both sprawling toward the ground.
Isagi lands on his back with a loud oof, and the air is knocked out of his lungs when Bachira falls right on top of him, his elbow landing painfully against Isagi’s chest. Isagi groans, squeezing his eyes shut to get rid of the stars forming behind his eyelids. When he opens them again, Bachira is hovering above him, his bright eyes filled with worry, his brows furrowed.
“Isagi! Are you okay?”
Isagi blinks, feeling the warm weight of Bachira against him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and Isagi is relatively sure he imagines the way Bachira’s muscles tense above him. Bachira’s hands rest against Isagi’s shoulders, his breath warm against Isagi’s cheek, and Isagi is pretty sure his face is turning a brilliant shade of red, tomato, or maybe stoplight. Though if it’s from the game of soccer or Bachira’s close proximity, he can’t be sure.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks.
Bachira shifts onto his knees, face relaxing. Isagi watches in slow motion as Bachira wipes Isagi’s bangs away from his eyes with gentle fingers. Isagi flushes even further, warmth spreading to the back of his neck, and there’s no denying that it’s from Bachira this time. He hopes Bachira doesn’t notice.
Bachira gives Isagi a lopsided smile before pushing onto his feet, holding out a hand which Isagi takes. “Well, I say we call it a draw. Do you agree?”
“Fine. But next time, I’ll crush you,” Isagi says, all fake seriousness, and Bachira throws his head back and laughs.
The sun is starting to set, casting the sky in a brilliant array of oranges and purples. It’s already an hour past their assigned dinner time, and Isagi is exhausted. But he feels good. It’s been a while since he’s been able to play soccer, a good game of soccer, at that.
They head to the mess hall, still covered in dirt and sweat. Some of the staff wrinkle their noses at them, but Isagi is too hungry to care. They eat dinner together at a table in the corner, removed from the main dining area. It’s nice, almost private. At least as private as someone can be in a space like this.
Through their dinner conversation, Isagi learns that this is Bachira’s third summer here as a counselor, which is why he’s so popular amongst the campers, hence all the friendship bracelets. He’s also leaving for university in a few months, and like Isagi, he played soccer throughout high school and will be joining his university’s team.
Bachira hums around a mouthful of overcooked steak, reaching a hand out to play with the friendship bracelet on Isagi’s wrist. Isagi only takes it off when he showers. He’s hyper-aware of Bachira’s warm fingers brushing against his skin.
The mess hall steak is probably the worst steak Isagi has ever eaten. But he’s hungry, so it goes down quickly, and now that he’s no longer starving, all he wants is to clean the sweat and grime off his body. “Ugh, I’m all gross,” he says as they walk out into the cool evening air.
“I know how to fix that!” Bachira chirps, his voice taking on a playful edge, and Isagi looks at him, confused.
“Um, yeah. A shower?”
Bachira shakes his head. “Follow me!” he says, and then his fingers are once again wrapping around Isagi’s wrist.
“Follow you whe—hey!”
Bachira takes off in the opposite direction of the showers, pulling Isagi along with him. He takes Isagi past the camp office and counselors’ cabins and down an unmarked path. They’re technically off camp territory now, and Bachira leads them up a small river, climbing over rocks and weaving through trees before abruptly disappearing into the brush.
Isagi clambers behind to catch up, not keen on getting lost in the woods, and he hears the sound of flowing water.
“Ta-da!” Bachira exclaims, hopping onto a rock, spreading his arms to show off the pond and flowing waterfall behind him.
The sun has already set, and the blue haze of day has lifted to reveal the stars, reflecting off the clear water of the pond. Isagi stares in awe. He never sees stars in the city; there’s too much light pollution, and he hasn’t taken the time to observe his surroundings in the last few weeks he’s been at camp.
Leave it to Bachira to introduce him to something so beautiful.
“This is the Kamuiwakka Waterfalls,” Bachira says, biting his lip against a smile as he sees Isagi’s awed expression. “Amazing, huh?”
“Yeah,” Isagi steps closer. He crouches down and dips his fingers into the water, surprised to find it quite warm.
“It’s technically a hot spring! Hot spring water comes from the side of Mt. Io, an active volcano, and it mixes with a freshwater river,” Bachira says, hopping off the rock so he’s next to Isagi, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Can you swim?”
Isagi frowns. “Yeah, of course,” he replies, a little offended that Bachira even felt the need to ask. Of course, he can swim.
Bachira giggles, honest-to-god giggles, and pushes off Isagi before grabbing at the hem of his t-shirt. “Then let’s hop in!”
“What?” Isagi blurts. But Bachira is already tugging off his own shirt and shoes, placing them on a nearby rock in a messy heap. Isagi diverts his gaze, trying not to stare at how toned Bachira is, no doubt from his years of soccer. “But I don’t have my swim trun—”
Before Isagi can finish his sentence, Bachira is stripping off his shorts and underwear in one go, throwing them on top of the messy pile before dashing straight into the water, dunking his head under the waterfall before emerging chest-deep in the pond.
Bachira ruffles his drenched hair. With water saturating his locks, the brown strands look almost black, and it somehow makes him look a little paler, makes his eyes all the more piercing.
“Come on, Isagi!” Bachira shouts, his eyes glowing bright, wet hair pressed against his neck and shoulders. There’s so much pure joy in Bachira’s face. Isagi finds that he’s unable to say no.
He quickly strips off his clothes, careful to take off his friendship bracelet, and he doesn’t dare look back to see if Bachira is watching him. Isagi steps into the water, pleased with the comfortable temperature, and figures he might as well take the plunge. Holding his breath, he dunks his whole body into the pond, squeezing his eyes shut as the warmth blankets his entire body, washing away the day’s sweat and dirt.
When Isagi finally surfaces, Bachira is nowhere to be found. “Bachira?” he calls out, frowning. He spots a few bubbles floating across the surface, but he doesn’t have time to prepare before Bachira hooks his arms around Isagi’s shoulders, dragging him into the depths and sending water flooding into his nose.
“Bachira, stop!” Isagi sputters when they surface, trying to hold in his laughter so he doesn’t swallow another mouthful of water. Before Isagi can take another breath, Bachira is hopping onto his back, wrapping his legs around Isagi like a giant koala, and they both go down with another splash.
“Make me,” Bachira sings when they find their way back upright on unsteady feet, and Isagi advances towards him.
“You’re gonna pay for that!” he yells. Bachira squeaks as Isagi grabs him by the waist, tossing Bachira into the deeper end of the pond.
They continue to wrestle in the water like a couple of playful dogs. Bachira’s skin is smooth against Isagi’s, and Isagi tries not to think about the fact that they’re both completely bare; only the darkness of the water is giving them any semblance of privacy.
When they make their way back to shore, Isagi immediately turns his back to Bachira, throwing his clothes on as quickly as possible, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to his still-damp skin. Bachira, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind that his entire body is bared to Isagi.
Isagi watches out of the corner of his eye as Bachira shakes his head like a wet dog, dripping water all over his shoulders, and he forces himself to look away. Again, the warm feeling in his chest. It's silly, but Bachira is so different from anyone Isagi has ever known, and he finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about this strange boy.
Their shoes are sopping wet as they head back to the cabins, climbing down rocks and weaving through narrow paths. They pass Bachira’s cabin first, and Bachira turns to smile at Isagi, warm and content.
“That was fun,” he says. Bachira’s hair is starting to get frizzy from the humidity, poofing out in adorable disarray. Isagi reaches out without thinking, smoothing the strands down and prompting a pleased sound from Bachira.
“Yeah, it was,” Isagi replies, and Bachira hums, pressing up against Isagi’s touch like a cat. “Thank you for taking me. To the waterfall,” Isagi says, putting his hands down awkwardly, pressing them against his sides. He tries not to stare at the stray water droplets collecting at Bachira’s left collarbone.
“It’s one of my favorite places. Of course, I’d take you!” Bachira says with a smile, and he turns to unlock his cabin door. “Goodnight, Isagi!” he says with a cheerful wave, and Isagi nods back.
“Goodnight, Bachira.”
That night, Isagi dreams of smooth, tanned skin, bright yellow eyes, and a laugh that makes warmth bubble inside his chest.
*
Before Isagi fully realizes it, he’s spending more and more time with Bachira. They go from only seeing each other in passing to spending almost every waking moment together.
This is the problem: Bachira is everywhere—the way he always hops onto Isagi’s back, demanding piggyback rides around camp like Isagi is his own personal taxi service, or the way he likes to rest his head on Isagi’s shoulder when they’re sitting around the campfire.
Except it’s not really a problem, because Isagi finds that he really likes being around Bachira.
They start dropping in on each other on their days off, offering to chaperone canoe trips, cookouts, and hikes together, saving seats for each other at the mess hall.
It gets so bad that Isagi figures out what Bachira’s favorite flavor of jam is, how he prefers tea over coffee, how he likes using two tea bags instead of one. Bachira, in turn, finds out that Isagi isn’t a morning person and helps shield Isagi from any unwanted early-morning social interactions.
Bachira’s existence seems to complement Isagi in all the best ways. Where Isagi is more quiet and reserved, Bachira is a bundle of energy, riling up the campers while Isagi keeps their group organized. Isagi’s social battery tends to run out of juice about halfway through the day, but Bachira never seems to run out of things to say, filling the silence with mindless chatter.
One thing Isagi hates is the feeling of awkward lulls between conversations, when he finds himself desperately thinking of something witty and insightful to say next. But it’s not like that with Bachira. Bachira seems to notice whenever Isagi is running on empty, and he takes over, pointing out random birds that fly past, or giving Isagi a play-by-play of his high school soccer games, never expecting Isagi to respond. And for that, Isagi is grateful.
Sometimes, when Bachira is talking, Isagi starts to zone out. He knows he should be paying attention, but instead, he watches Bachira.
He’s been hanging around Bachira long enough that he knows Bachira’s gestures by now—the way he pushes his hair out of his eyes with delicate fingers, the way he bites his lower lip when he’s thinking. The way he smiles when he’s talking with a camper, overly animated and expressive, and the way he smiles when he’s with Isagi, bright enough to make his eyes disappear into crescents.
Sometimes when Isagi looks at Bachira, Bachira is already watching him, his eyes focused and intense and gorgeous, and Isagi feels self-conscious under the weight of that gaze.
*
One of these nights, Bachira swings by Isagi’s cabin before lights out.
They’re lying on Isagi’s bottom bunk, watching a replay of last year’s World Cup on Isagi’s phone. The internet is spotty this deep in the woods, and the video keeps lagging, so they spend most of their time talking rather than watching the game.
“Lavinho is a much better striker than Noel Noa!” Bachira says. He’s lying on his stomach while hugging one of Isagi’s pillows, his legs swinging behind him.
“You’re so wrong!” Isagi replies, predictably offended. He’s lying next to Bachira, balancing his phone with one hand while gesturing with the other. He shifts to get a little more comfortable, and their shoulders bump together. “Noel Noa has won more titles!”
“But Lavinho has scored a record number of international goals,” Bachira responds, all sassy smiles and amused eyes, right before he reaches out and pokes Isagi on the side of his stomach, where Isagi is, unfortunately, the most ticklish.
Isagi yelps and nearly flails off the tiny twin bed, his phone flying out of his hand and onto the floor. “You’re asking for it now!” he shouts, lunging toward Bachira, who is currently using Isagi’s pillow as a shield.
Bachira yelps and pushes off the mattress, scampering to safety in the opposite corner of the cabin, giggling and chucking pillows at Isagi while Isagi charges after him.
“Come back here!” Isagi yells, trying to sound menacing, but the wide smile on his face probably has the opposite effect.
Bachira blows a raspberry at Isagi, leading him in circles, laughing and ducking behind bunk beds while Isagi skids after him, adrenaline pumping. Luckily, Isagi’s cabin mates are out, probably still at the mess hall or by the campfire making s’mores. If Barou were here, he’d go into conniptions at the pile of pillows and blankets collecting on the floor.
It’s clearly a losing game for Bachira—there are only so many places he can hide in such a tiny space. But he puts up a valiant fight until Isagi finally catches up, tackling him and sending them crashing onto Isagi’s bottom bunk. Isagi’s shin hits the wooden frame, but that doesn’t stop him from poking Bachira in his side in retaliation.
Bachira wheezes, curling in on himself to protect his sides, and Isagi is delighted to find that Bachira is very ticklish.
“Isagi!” Bachira yelps, kicking his feet out, nearly kneeing Isagi in the stomach. Bachira’s lips parse open in an attempt to yell, but Isagi pinches his hip, and giggles burst out of his mouth instead. “Isagi!” he gasps again, his eyes crinkled in laughter, curved into soft lines.
Isagi loves the sound of Bachira’s laughter, the way it draws out his name, teasing yet full of affection. They wrestle on the mattress, rolling around while Bachira tries to dodge Isagi’s attacks, albeit unsuccessfully. Isagi finally stops when they’re both out of breath, and it’s him who ends up on top, sitting heavy on Bachira’s hips, their faces just inches apart.
He feels Bachira’s breath, warm against the tip of his nose, and Isagi freezes. Bachira smells like the cherry cola he had with dinner, syrupy sweet. They’re very close, and from this angle, Isagi can see Bachira’s eyes clear as anything—can see the expression in them, wanting but uncertain, like he’s waiting for Isagi to make up his mind.
Bachira’s tongue flicks out of his mouth, wetting his lips, and Isagi’s eyes track the movement, watching as the spit makes Bachira’s lips glisten under the harsh cabin lighting. That seems to be the confirmation Bachira was looking for, and he slides his hands around to settle in the sway of Isagi’s lower back, pulling Isagi forward so that their noses are almost touching, and Isagi’s breath hitches.
They’re quiet for a long moment, and then Bachira’s gaze is raking over Isagi’s face before he says, nearly breathless, “What are you waiting for, Isagi?”
Isagi opens his mouth to say something, anything. But words are slippery right now, and they elude his grasp. Bachira is still staring up at him, waiting, and Isagi can’t think too hard about what’ll happen next, or his nerves will fail him. So he decides, screw it.
The dam bursts, and Isagi surges forward. He slightly miscalculates his force, a little too eager, and their teeth clack together. But then Bachira’s mouth is on his, and Isagi squeezes his eyes shut, resting his hands against Bachira’s shoulders while their lips press together.
Bachira gasps against his mouth, trembling slightly under Isagi’s touch, and Isagi momentarily panics because what if Bachira didn’t want this? What if Isagi got it all wrong? Then Bachira’s hands are hot on his shoulders, reaching up to push his fingers through Isagi’s hair, and all of Isagi’s doubts fly out the window.
It’s uncoordinated and a little hesitant, mostly just tight-lipped kisses while their hands roam over clothed skin, but Isagi thinks this is the best kiss he’s ever had. That said, Isagi has only experienced one other kiss in his life, and it was a short two-second peck with his first crush behind his high school’s auditorium. But kissing Bachira is light-years better than that.
Isagi tries to drown in the feeling of kissing Bachira, and Bachira melts against him, tightening his grip around Isagi’s shoulders, enough to be encouraging. Isagi notices the cold tip of Bachira’s nose and his much warmer mouth, the way their lips move together, kind of clumsy, then less clumsy when Bachira tangles his fingers into Isagi’s hair, tilting his head slightly. And then their noses are fitting just right, and—
Bachira nips gently at Isagi’s lower lip, and Isagi draws in a sharp breath, eyes flying open.
“Isagi, are you okay?” Bachira whispers. His eyes are dark and searching, and his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink.
Isagi makes a wordless noise because he doesn’t know how to explain to Bachira that he never knew how badly he wanted to kiss him until he did, and now he never wants to stop.
Before he can say anything, Bachira is grabbing Isagi by the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. “You’re thinking too much,” he says, biting back a smile, and Isagi lets out a tiny chuckle, his breath puffing against Bachira’s cheek. “Kiss me again,” Bachira mumbles, and Isagi has no choice but to obey.
He presses their lips back together, no teeth clacking this time, and Bachira hums, pleased. His hands curve around the back of Isagi’s neck, his lips shivering apart, and suddenly there’s an extra tongue in Isagi’s mouth.
Isagi isn’t experienced at all when it comes to kissing with tongue. It’s wet, and messy, and really warm, but Isagi finds that he doesn’t mind the feeling. He kind of likes it. The way Bachira kisses matches his personality—bright and playful. He giggles into Isagi’s mouth, and Isagi feels Bachira’s laughter as a rumble against his chest.
Now that Isagi has been exposed to the world of open-mouthed kissing, everything feels much more heated. Their kisses get rougher, more eager. It’s clear Bachira doesn’t have much experience either, and they’re a mess of limbs and tongue and spit. But none of that matters, because it feels good.
They kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Isagi loses track of time. His world has narrowed down to just the feeling of Bachira against him and the cute sounds he makes whenever Isagi licks into his mouth.
They’re stretched out against the tiny bed, body to body, skin to skin in some places. Isagi has never felt so daring in his life. He experimentally fits his hand over Bachira’s hip, rubbing his thumb gently across exposed skin, and Bachira lets out a loud whine, bucking his hips up and sending an electric shock through Isagi’s body, like a rolling jolt of lightning.
Isagi’s breath hitches. He involuntarily shifts his hips, seeking that friction again, and Bachira gasps, wrapping his legs around Isagi’s waist. Isagi’s hands roam over Bachira’s sides, feeling the muscles move through the thin layer of Bachira’s sleep shirt. Then Bachira is arching up against him, and—
The door bangs open.
They both give a violent start. Bachira’s teeth accidentally dig into Isagi’s lower lip, and Isagi vaguely registers someone going, “Oh shit.”
They immediately spring apart, or as far apart as they can, given how tiny the bed is, and Isagi whips around to see his bunkmates standing at the door, looking like deer in headlights, attempting to act like they didn’t just witness Isagi and Bachira making out on the bed.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Kunigami says awkwardly, turning his back, and Chigiri snickers behind him.
“I wasn’t—” Isagi stammers, “We weren’t—”
Before Isagi can form an actual sentence, Barou barrels through the door, predictably enraged by all the pillows strewn throughout the cabin. It’s like he doesn’t even see Bachira and Isagi pressed against each other, clearly flushed, their clothing rumpled.
“You better clean up this mess! I’m not doing it for you!” he growls, and Isagi wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“Don’t worry! We will!” Bachira says cheerfully, sliding off the bed. There’s still some pink dusting his cheeks, and his hair is a tangled mess, but he gives Isagi a grin and starts dutifully picking up the pillows.
It makes Isagi feel a bit better, knowing that Bachira isn’t embarrassed by the entire situation, isn’t embarrassed by Isagi. He pats himself on the cheek a few times before moving to help Bachira, actively avoiding the knowing looks being thrown at him by his bunkmates.
When everything is organized to Barou’s liking, Isagi follows Bachira to the door. “Goodnight, Isagi!” Bachira says, turning to press another kiss to Isagi’s lips, short and sweet.
Kunigami and Chigiri make fake gagging noises, and Bachira sticks his tongue out at them, giving Isagi a little wink before he slips out the door.
Isagi tries (unsuccessfully) to hide the smile on his face as he walks back to his bunk. He falls asleep remembering the feeling of Bachira’s lips against his, soft and warm and sweet like cherry cola.
*
If Isagi thought he and Bachira were close before, it’s absolutely nothing compared to the way they are now.
They still spend every waking moment together, which Isagi is secretly relieved about. He was worried things would be a little awkward after, well, everything that happened.
But no, it’s the complete opposite.
They’re still attached at the hip, except now, Bachira links their pinkies together as they walk around camp, swinging their hands back and forth while he chatters away. They still volunteer to chaperone activities together. But now, when the campers aren’t looking, too preoccupied with their papier-mache crafts to notice their counselors sitting a tad too close, Bachira will lean over and give Isagi a quick peck on the cheek.
And even though Bachira is everywhere, it somehow still isn’t enough, because Isagi wants Bachira all to himself. He doesn’t want to share his limited time with Bachira with a hundred other little campers.
Isagi has always been a little selfish.
*
Isagi’s back hits the wall of the musty supply closet, and Bachira crashes against him, crowding Isagi into the corner, kissing him with a fervor that makes sparks explode between their bodies.
They had been putting supplies away after a canoe outing. After the last camper dropped off their life jacket, Bachira was immediately pressing against Isagi, kissing him like it’s as necessary as breathing. Isagi opens his mouth against Bachira’s, nipping gently at his lower lip, and Bachira hums happily, resting his hands against the waistband of Isagi’s shorts, fingers grazing bare skin and sending sparks out against Isagi’s ribs.
Isagi rubs his thumb against Bachira’s jaw and finds himself very much enamored by the high keen Bachira makes into his mouth. They haven’t been able to kiss like this in what feels like weeks, and Isagi suddenly can’t remember what his mouth feels like without Bachira’s pressed against it.
They spend a few long moments just kissing, and for a second, Isagi is embarrassed to admit that he forgets a lot of important things. Like the fact that they’re supposed to be putting away supplies, and anyone could walk into the closet at any moment, and that they actually have to exist in the world, as opposed to just standing in the closet kissing for hours like Isagi so desperately wants to.
Bachira is a good kisser. Isagi thinks he can probably spend an entire day just kissing him.
After a breathless moment, Bachira pulls back and presses a series of shorter, softer kisses to Isagi’s lips. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you again for ages,” he says, his smile brilliant.
Something kicks in the pit of Isagi’s stomach, and he laughs against Bachira’s mouth. “I just kissed you yesterday.”
Bachira pouts, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Isagi’s tank top. “That was such a tiny kiss. On the cheek,” he says. Isagi grins and leans forward a little, like proximity alone might make Bachira kiss him again—and it does, it works. Bachira leans in and kisses him again, still messy and inexperienced, but perfect to Isagi.
“Mmmm, that’s true,” Isagi says when they part, and Bachira's pout grows even bigger, his bottom lip sticking out cutely, and he reaches up and smushes Isagi’s cheeks together between his palms.
“Let’s go to the waterfall tomorrow, since you have the day off,” Bachira says, and Isagi cocks his head to the side.
“But you don’t have the day off,” he replies, voice muffled by Bachira's hands on his cheeks.
Bachira smiles, a sly little thing, and he presses a sloppy kiss to Isagi’s chin before dropping his hands. “I’ll have Barou take over for me.”
Isagi gawks. “And how are you gonna make him do that? Threaten him with a knife?”
“I have my ways,” Bachira says with a wink, pressing one last peck to Isagi’s lips before picking up the last few oars and life jackets off the ground.
Isagi isn’t sure what Bachira’s plan is, but he hopes he’s successful.
*
As it turns out, Bachira’s plan is to bother Barou incessantly for hours on end, following him around and chattering into his ear non-stop until Barou nearly has an aneurysm, vein throbbing against the edge of his forehead as he yells at Bachira to leave him alone, promising to take on his duties for a day in exchange for some peace and quiet.
Isagi can’t relate to Barou, because he’d personally love to have Bachira hanging around him all day and night.
“Did you miss me?” Bachira asks the next day, playful, as they meet for breakfast.
“Not really,” Isagi lies, and Bachira pouts before punching him lightly on the arm.
They make their way to the waterfall just before lunch and set up under the shade of a few tall trees, laying down a dusty blanket they nabbed from the supply closet. Isagi flops down against the fabric, patting the empty space next to him. To his surprise, Bachira grabs at the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head before claiming his seat next to Isagi. “It’s too hot for shirts,” he says with a grin.
Isagi startles and starts to look away, but he figures he probably has free rein to stare at Bachira’s naked torso, now that he’s had Bachira’s tongue in his mouth. His eyes travel down a familiar path, from Bachira’s collarbones to the expanse of tanned skin, and if Bachira catches Isagi staring, he doesn’t say anything.
They unpack the food they snagged from the mess hall—a random mix of sandwiches, gyoza, and onigiri—and Isagi takes in their surroundings. It’s quiet here at the falls, far enough away from the main camp that they can’t hear all the commotion, but not so far of a hike that it leaves them drained.
The pond is beautiful during the daytime, with clear water reflecting off a cloudless blue sky. A breeze, warm and dry, ruffles its way through their quaint little picnic area, and the wildlife around them hums with relentless peace.
Isagi wishes he had brought his cell phone with him so he could take a picture. A picture of Bachira sitting on the faded blanket, his cheeks stuffed full of onigiri, the smooth skin of his shoulders turning slightly pink from the heat, with the beautiful scenery behind him.
Summer looks good on Bachira, and Isagi leans back against his elbows, observing Bachira as he takes another bite of onigiri, his arms waving around as he tells Isagi the story of how he accidentally flipped Barou’s canoe over a few days prior. Bachira is the bane of Barou’s existence, it seems.
Bachira’s chest rises and falls with each breath and word that comes from his mouth, the muscles of his belly tensing whenever he laughs, and his legs crossed and tucked cutely beneath his thighs.
Isagi has come to love Bachira’s smile. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges, the corner of his lips quirking upwards, lopsided. It never takes long—a dumb joke, Isagi pointing out a funny-looking bird—that’s all it takes before Bachira is laughing, both of his dimples appearing at the corners of his cheeks, and Isagi finds it impossible not to laugh as well. It’s contagious.
It’s nice here, with Bachira. It’s very nice, and Isagi finds himself wishing summer would drag on forever so he can keep spending time with Bachira, playing soccer with Bachira, kissing Bachira.
His mind is an echo chamber, repeating Bachira Bachira Bachira.
They spend the rest of the afternoon lying on the blanket, talking, and occasionally dozing off. Isagi wraps an arm around Bachira, pulling him closer, and Bachira goes easily, his head pillowed on Isagi’s shoulder.
Isagi closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Bachira’s voice, threading his fingers absently through yellow and brown hair. It’s hot outside, and Bachira’s bare skin against his side makes Isagi feel even warmer. A little uncomfortable, even. But it doesn’t bother Isagi, because just having Bachira next to him makes him feel happy, satisfied.
“...Isagi?” he snaps out of his thoughts and opens his eyes to find Bachira hovering over him. “I thought you fell asleep!” he says with a laugh. “Am I that boring?”
“Ah, no,” Isagi says, cheeks flushing. “I was just, um, comfortable.”
“Mmm,” Bachira hums. They spend another few minutes curled up next to each other, and then Bachira shrugs out of Isagi’s arms and clambers on top of him, straddling him, and Isagi reaches out to rest his hands against Bachira’s bare hips, automatic. “It’s nice to spend some time alone, just the two of us. Yeah?”
Isagi laughs. “Yeah. Though poor Barou had to be our sacrifice.”
Bachira grins, and it’s just this side of loose, his eyes a little extra bright. He rests his palms against Isagi’s chest, and Isagi has a vague thought that Bachira’s hands are very warm. “Well, we owe it to Barou not to let this day go to waste, no?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Isagi says with a tiny smirk, his grip tightening against Bachira’s waist, and Bachira’s breath hitches.
Bachira’s smile takes on an edge, like a little bit of something dangerous, and then he’s leaning into Isagi’s restricted airspace. “Kiss me, Isagi,” Bachira whispers. And well, Isagi doesn’t need to be told twice.
He gets a hand behind Bachira’s neck and pulls him down. They’re once again a bit too eager, and their noses bump before their mouths meet, but Bachira simply laughs and places his hands on Isagi’s cheeks, nudging their noses into a perfect puzzle fit, setting a slower pace.
They kiss softly, nothing more than a slow brush of lips. Isagi can feel Bachira’s eyes flutter closed, but from this distance, he can still make out the blur of Bachira’s dark eyelashes. Kissing Bachira is as easy as breathing, as easy as Bachira’s hand against the curve of his neck, easy as the soft sound Bachira makes in the back of his throat when Isagi wraps his arms around his waist.
It’s a soft kiss, but thorough. Bachira parts his mouth, and Isagi traces the line of his lower lip with his tongue. Isagi still feels a bit clumsy when it comes to kissing, like his tongue is in the wrong spot, or he’s using too much teeth. But Bachira doesn’t seem to mind, humming against Isagi’s mouth, creating an easy rhythm that Isagi can get lost in.
He feels the warmth of Bachira’s body seeping through the thin fabric of his tank top, feeling Bachira’s smooth skin beneath his fingertips. They kiss for a long time, minutes, maybe ten, maybe twenty. Isagi doesn’t bother counting.
The kiss is messy and sweet, until it’s not.
Bachira slips his fingers through Isagi’s hair, pressing their chests together before grinding his hips down, a hesitant motion, like he’s trying to gauge Isagi’s reaction, and a groan involuntarily punches out of Isagi’s throat.
“Is—Is this okay?” Bachira breathes out against Isagi’s lips. “Are you okay? With this?”
Isagi inhales sharply through his nose. “I—Yeah. Yeah, this is good.”
“Good,” Bachira repeats, his eyes dark, and when he leans down to kiss Isagi again, it feels different, more intimate than any of their past kisses. It sends a shiver up Isagi’s spine, and he tightens his grip against Bachira as he bucks his hips up.
Bachira’s lips fall open and Isagi panics, thinking he’s gone too far. But Bachira urges him on, shifting his own hips down, and Isagi doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sight of Bachira like this, his eyes falling closed, his back arched, or the sound that escapes Bachira’s lips, a loud, drawn-out moan that makes Isagi feel like he’s burning from the inside out.
“Bachira,” Isagi whispers, self-control quickly slipping, and Bachira keens, tucking his face into the crook of Isagi’s neck, his breath coming out in harsh pants.
Isagi loses himself in the feeling of Bachira, hot and overwhelming, and when Bachira bites down against his neck, teeth grazing sweat-soaked skin, a surprised gasp leaves Isagi’s lips.
Bachira’s head immediately shoots up, his eyes wide in apology. “Sorry Isagi, I—”
“It’s okay,” Isagi rasps, reaching for Bachira, pulling him down by the chin, muffling Bachira’s soft moans in messy kisses.
“Isagi,” Bachira mewls, almost nonsensically, and Isagi kisses the words out from under his tongue.
Isagi short-circuits, because he has his hands all over Bachira, and Bachira wants Isagi to touch him. Bachira whimpers, small and soft, his breath puffing out hot against the side of Isagi’s face, and Isagi feels like there’s a supernova exploding behind his eyelids. This is so much more than just kissing, so much more than Isagi has ever done, and Isagi drowns in the feeling.
“Yeah,” Isagi mumbles back as they rock their hips against each other, and Isagi licks a small stripe up Bachira’s neck, tasting Bachira’s skin, salty with sweat.
It takes Bachira by surprise. “Oh,” he says suddenly, and then he’s seizing up above Isagi, biting down against Isagi’s shoulder as he tips over the edge.
Isagi groans as he feels Bachira shift above him, and that’s what undoes him at the end. That tiny bit of movement, that tiny bit of pressure, and Isagi gasps, burying his face in Bachira’s hair.
He hears Bachira giggle against the crook of his neck. It’s a content little sound, and it makes Isagi’s chest feel tight, but in the best possible way. They lie there, sweaty and spent, and Bachira sighs, nosing against Isagi’s neck.
“Wanna clean off in the pond?” Isagi asks, rubbing a hand over Bachira’s back, and Bachira mumbles something inaudible and nods.
When they undress this time, it feels a lot less awkward. Maybe it’s because they just crossed that imaginary boundary. And when Isagi wraps an arm around Bachira to throw him into the water, the feel of their bare skin against each other is already familiar.
They return to their cabins just before dinner to change into clean clothes. When Isagi waddles into his cabin for a fresh pair of shorts, Chigiri gives him a knowing smirk.
Isagi pretends not to notice.
*
Isagi is pretty sure his sense of time is a little messed up, because there are suddenly only two weeks left of camp, and that doesn’t feel right.
It’s nearly midnight when Isagi is woken up by a quiet knock at his cabin. Kunigami mutters under his breath as he staggers towards the door, opening it to reveal Bachira.
“You’re joking,” Kunigami grumbles, and Bachira simply grins and waves, pushing in through the door. Kunigami doesn’t bother stopping him, moving to the side so Bachira can slip in. “Just keep it quiet. Some of us are trying to sleep,” he says with a yawn, and Bachira gives him a two-finger salute.
“Bachira?” Isagi mumbles, still attempting to blink awake, and Bachira slips over and presses a finger against Isagi’s lips, shushing him as he crawls under the covers of Isagi’s bottom bunk.
Shifting to the side, Isagi pulls Bachira closer so they can both fit on the narrow bed, and Bachira tangles their feet together before closing his eyes with a content sigh, his breathing slowly evening out. Bachira’s body is warm, even though the sun has been down for hours, and the brown hairs at the top of his head tickle Isagi’s nose.
Isagi almost thinks Bachira has fallen asleep, and he nearly dozes off again himself. But he feels Bachira rolling onto his side, running his fingers gently over the friendship bracelet on Isagi’s wrist. Isagi opens his eyes, and Bachira blinks at him in the darkness, a corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile. And then he whispers, “Did you know? Chigiri, Kunigami, Nagi, and Reo have been taking bets all summer on how long it’s gonna take for us to date.”
Isagi jerks and nearly falls off the side of the bed. “What?” he rasps. Bachira giggles and presses a palm over Isagi’s mouth, motioning for him to quiet down. “Why? How do you know? What?”
“Probably because we kiss a lot,” Bachira says, and Isagi scoots back a bit so he can properly see Bachira’s face, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window. Bachira is tracing Isagi’s features with his own eyes, gauging Isagi’s reaction.
“Yeah?” Isagi says, somewhat uncertain of how the conversation is going to end.
“Yeah,” Bachira replies, poking Isagi on the nose, and he laughs when Isagi scrunches his face up. “Also, I told Chigiri that I like you.”
“What?!” Isagi blurts again, and Bachira reaches out and slaps a hand over his mouth. “What?” Isagi whispers again, shell-shocked.
“I like you,” Bachira repeats, like it’s the most obvious truth in the world, and he removes his hand from Isagi’s mouth, staring at Isagi with his usual smile, like he didn’t just drop a bomb on him. “Do you like me?”
Isagi swallows. It’s kind of embarrassing to admit, to be honest, exactly how much he likes Bachira. There’s an awkward silence. Behind Isagi, Barou is snoring, and Chigiri is mumbling in his sleep, and Isagi kind of wants to burrow under his comforter and hide so he doesn’t have to admit that he’s possibly liked Bachira ever since he plucked that stupid spider off his shoulder all those months ago.
“Is that a no?” Bachira asks quietly, and Isagi lets out a distressed noise under his breath because, for the first time, Bachira sounds unsure, and Isagi needs to fix this right away.
“I do,” Isagi says, and he finds that it’s a lot easier to be honest when he can’t quite make out all of Bachira’s features in the dark. “I do like you. A lot.”
It’s almost amusing to watch the way Bachira’s eyes light up when Isagi’s words make it through. Or it would be, if Isagi wasn’t so focused on the way Bachira scoots a little closer, reaching out his hand halfway, an open invitation that Isagi chooses to take.
“Good,” Bachira says, his fingers tightening around Isagi’s.
Isagi wants to ask where they go from here. What do they do when camp is over in two weeks, and they go their separate ways? But then Bachira is pressing a kiss against Isagi’s cheek, and then his nose, and then his mouth, and Isagi forgets everything except the feeling of Bachira’s lips against his, chapped and warm from the summer heat.
He feels Bachira’s lips curve into a smile against his mouth, and that warm feeling settles into the space between Isagi’s lungs and stays there, comforting and quiet and more than Isagi could hope for.
“What?” Bachira asks when he pulls back, flushing a little.
“Nothing,” Isagi says, shaking his head, thinking about how he wants Bachira to keep kissing him like that. “Nothing at all.”
*
Isagi hoists his backpack over his shoulders and grabs his bag, lugging it down the stairs of the cabin that has been his home for the past two and a half months.
It’s chaos at the camp entrance, a mix of parents picking up their children, counselors running around to pack their bags, and staff members trying to make sure nothing gets left behind.
Isagi checks his watch. The shuttle that’ll take him back to the city is scheduled to arrive in about twenty minutes, and he peeks inside the cabin one last time to make sure he has all his belongings, waving goodbye to Chigiri, Kunigami, and a disgruntled Barou.
“Isagi Yoichi!” a familiar voice calls out, and Isagi turns to see Bachira running over, wearing the same pair of forest green overalls Isagi saw him in when they met on the first day of camp. “Are you leaving?”
“My shuttle arrives in a few minutes,” Isagi says, gripping the handle of his bag.
After their late-night confessions in Isagi’s bed, they never ended up talking about their post-camp plans, both of them desperate to ignore what the end of summer might bring them. Isagi wants to reach out and take Bachira’s hand. He’s done it countless times before, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed to anymore.
Now that camp is over, are they still a thing? Will their feelings hold up outside of the bubble they’ve been in for the past few months? Does Bachira even want anything to do with him once they leave?
“You’re thinking so hard, your brain is going to leak out of your ears,” Bachira says, flicking Isagi on the forehead, and Isagi frowns.
“Ouch,” he says, rubbing against the sore spot with a finger.
Bachira smiles toothily, tongue poking out from between his teeth, but the way Bachira looks at him suggests that perhaps he’s thinking the same thing. Perhaps behind that unbothered smile, Bachira is also uncertain about where they stand. They’re both quiet for a bit, and it’s clear that Bachira is waiting for Isagi to speak first.
“I’ll see you around,” Isagi says. “Or… maybe not?” he tacks on, which is entirely not what he means to say. He means to say I want to see you again. Or, how can I see you again?
The unspoken end of the question tastes bitter on Isagi’s tongue, tastes like words he should maybe leave unsaid. Bachira scoots closer, close enough that Isagi has to look up slightly to maintain eye contact. Their slight height difference suddenly feels very apparent.
For a second, it looks like Bachira has something else to say. He probably does, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he holds his hand out, palm facing up. Isagi looks down at Bachira’s hand, then back up at his face, confused. He hesitantly reaches out and places his palm in Bachira’s, and Bachira throws his head back and laughs, squeezing their fingers together before lightly smacking the back of Isagi’s hand.
Isagi looks at him, confused.
“That’s cute, Isagi!” Bachira says with an amused glint in his eyes. “But I wanted your phone.”
“Oh,” Isagi says, turning a particularly unflattering shade of crimson. “Well, how was I supposed to know that?” he says defensively before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone, dropping it into Bachira’s waiting hand.
He watches as Bachira adds himself as a contact in Isagi’s phone, Bachira Meguru, with a bee emoji next to his name, and then he steps in close and tucks the phone back into the front of Isagi’s pants pocket. “There you go,” Bachira says, hands resting against Isagi’s chest, and Isagi’s hands automatically settle at Bachira’s hips.
Isagi knows what this is. Bachira has just taken the first step, and he’s leaving the rest up to Isagi, letting Isagi decide where they go from here.
So he steps forward and kisses Bachira, soft and sweet. They don’t say anything, but Bachira’s kisses are confident and sure, like he knows he’ll see Isagi again. Bachira’s fingers tighten in Isagi’s shirt, and when they pull back, Bachira is smiling, his fingers brushing over the yellow and blue beads around Isagi’s wrist.
“Come find me again, Isagi,” Bachira says.
Isagi grins. “I will,” he replies, and when Bachira smiles at him, that two-dimpled smile, Isagi knows they’ll be okay.