Chapter Text
"Winner gets to decide what the loser does for a day. How's that sound? Too daunting?"
"Shut up, dude. I'll own you at this!"
Go Fish is supposed to be easy.
"Any threes, Mr. Maruko?"
It is easy. Easy as hell to win against all of Gaku's younger siblings, at least.
"Ug-g-gh...! C'mon, man!"
So how the heck is he getting whipped over here?
"Another four-of-a-kind, it seems." Ima sets them on the floor before peering over to the space in front of Gaku, one book compared to Ima's six. "Yi-i-ikes... Didn't you say you were good at this?"
"I am," Gaku hisses. Tightens the grip on his paltry number of playing cards with a grimace. "I am, Ima. You... You're just—"
"Cheating?” Ima asks, fluttering his eyelashes. “You shuffled the cards after me."
"—Lucky. You're...freaking lucky."
"Mh-hm." Ima raises his eyebrows, absentmindedly bending the edges of one of his cards. "You know, it's still not too late to start a round of Heads-Up Poker."
"Forget it. You'd actually cheat at that crap, I know it!"
"Don't assume the worst, Mr. Maruko!" If Gaku didn't know any better, he'd assume the look of betrayal washing over Ima's face is anywhere close to genuine. He might even feel a little bad about it. "Although, wouldn't losing to a cheater be a little less embarrassing than losing...like this?"
Yup. He might feel bad. And he's constantly reminded of why he doesn't.
"Well—"
"It's your turn."
"—I... Uh..."
Gaku's words die in his throat. He closes his mouth, opens it to get the last word in, and loses all his gusto at Ima's impatient expression. Damn.
...Okay, fine. He'll clutch this. The universe's looking out for him, obviously. That's how he managed to juggle 17 jobs, school, and putting food on the table for 20 hungry brats. That's how he still has all his limbs after getting chewed up and spit out and torn apart by stupid-ass invaders. It's the Law of Relativity or something. What goes around comes around. And Ima's luck is about to run out!
"You got any—any twos?"
"..."
In the span of one second, Ima glances over the cards in his hand, his pupils constrict, and he locks eyes with Gaku, face nearly split apart with the thinnest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.
"Go Fish."
And Gaku realizes, in that microinstant, that the universe turned a blind eye today.
Gaku paces the entire length of his bedroom, corner-to-corner-to-corner, feet barely visible under the ocean of half-empty chip bags and discarded soda bottles. He digs his teeth into his handkerchief, canines latching onto the fabric and ripping another hole he’ll have to sew up later.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.
It’s not his fault he lost the first time. Ima’s room had some bad vibes. All those pictures of Kako were freaking him the hell out—he, like, wasn’t even in his right mind. And it’s not like he could’ve brought it up without a knife in his stomach.
“You can't just say it's over and done with after one match, y'know? B-Best two outta three! In the Rec Room!”
Ima seemingly thought about it. Brought a finger to his lips, tapped it a few times as he glanced at the ceiling. Ima made a weird face after catching Gaku staring; some nasty thing between a sneer and a scowl.
“Sure.”
And he lost again.
“One more time,” Gaku rasped, face nearly blue. “In the Cafeteria, or the Courtyard, or that classroom on the 3rd floor…!”
At that, Ima actually hesitated. Crossed his arms and bounced his foot a little, face infuriatingly unreadable.
“Okay.”
And he lost again.
Gaku had held his face in his hands, eyes slammed shut to try and stop himself from crying. He's not a crybaby. He wasn't gonna throw a temper tantrum. Losing some card games isn't the end of the world.
But.
“What, Mr. Maruko? Don't wanna go again?” Ima stood behind Gaku, casting a shadow over him. “You don't want to try just once more? No all-or-nothing bet? Maybe we should take it outside the academy this time.”
Ima might've been smiling, or frowning, or neither of the above, but his tone made it abundantly clear he was over the moon. Gaku accepted that he's better off constantly guessing what's up with Ima than knowing off-rip.
Gaku opened his eyes just a peek, only to see Ima had retreated, the sunshine peering from the window no longer obfuscated.
“We'll talk tomorrow.”
And tomorrow came.
And Ima wasn't at the Cafeteria. Swallowing his anxiety, he asked Kako about it.
“Why do you want to know? You're gonna rub your wussiness off on Ima if you stand around him for too long.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, I'm no wuss…?”
“...Well,” Kako frowned, clearly frustrated that Gaku was still breathing. “I don't know why, but I saw a vision of Ima…ugh, knocking on your door.”
“K-Knocking on my door…?”
She nodded thoughtfully, only for her expression to be replaced with utter loathing. “If you stole something from him, I'll—”
“Come on, already! Do I look like a thief?!”
“...”
Thank God she didn't answer that.
Why did he have to make a bet with Ima? A b-e-t, a wager, a promise!? It's not like Gaku would've abused it if he won, he's not that kinda guy. But Ima is. Ima totally is. It's not even funny. And Gaku just had to lose. Not once, not twice, but three ‘effing times. That's gotta mean triple the shit he's gonna have to do, right? Or one thing that's triple as bad? Is that how you say it? Damn it, he can't make heads or tails of anything right now, not when Kako's stupid vision made it clear that Ima isn't gonna just forgive and forget. He's not the type, anyway. He'd hold a grudge until hell freezes over, for crying out loud.
Gaku flops on his bed with a groan, sick and tired of his brain thinking so much with nothing to say. Ima once quipped about how his head was full of air—clearly not. It's just full of crap. What would he even have asked for had he won? He doesn't even know.
Maybe he'd make Ima wear a dress or something. That'd be something to snort at. But…not really. It'd be funny if Takemaru did something like that, but Ima's pretty thin and lithe as is; he'd probably pull it off and make Gaku look like a dick. Even if his face is sorta masculine, some makeup could soften all that up. Make him look all dainty. It’s not like he needs that, like a little too much frosting on a cake, but how would Ima react…? Gaku huffs at the thought, scratching around the waistband of his underwear.
He'd make Ima walk around with a full face of makeup. Have to pull some excuse out of his ass when his sister and Takumi, and everybody else with working eyes look at him weird and ask what the heck he's doing. For once, Ima would be the one all red-faced, whether from anger or embarrassment. It doesn't matter. And then Ima'd be in his room, still lookin’ like a girl, with no power over the situation, and Gaku would—
Ding-dong!
Just his rotten luck.
Wait, wasn't he supposed to knock on the door?
“I did. Many times, actually. Too much wax in those monkey ears of yours, Mr. Maruko?”
“Whatever, man. Laugh it up.”
“I will, if you don't mind.” With that, Ima slips into Gaku's room without invitation, making a show of scrunching his nose at all the trash on the floor.
“Don't even start, Ima. You've got no right—”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda. Close your jaw for a second.” Ima shoves a paper bag in Gaku's hands. He closes his grasp on it selfishly, feeling the weight of the inconspicuous thing on his fingertips. “This is for you.”
“Wh—”
“I went through the trouble of writing detailed instructions, too. You couldn't mess it up if you tried—Oh, it's right there. That neat little pamphlet.”
“Wait—”
“I hope you're familiar with what a douche is, yes? Since you're so much more educated than I am, Mr. Upperclassman. Well, even if your sex ed class didn't teach all that, you'll get the hang of it.”
“I'm not a—”
“I should be on my way now. Someone needs to keep an eye on Kako; can't be too safe with all these bad influences lingering about!”
“Hold on—”
“By the way,” Ima finally pauses. “I'll know if you don’t do it.” He leans forward, getting on his tiptoes to pinch at Gaku’s cheek. “I’ll know.”
Ima’s gone just like that, leaving nothing but a dumb paper bag and a sting on his face. Gaku fiddles with the material in his hands, eyebrows furrowing as he contemplates whether he should look inside. He’ll have to eventually, gotta rip the band-aid off at some point (the irony of the band-aid on his ankle is lost on him).
So he opens it. Digs around without looking and pulls out some….thing. Something. A thin tube on the top and some toilet plunger-looking doohickey on the bottom. He squeezes it experimentally and feels a burst of air from the tube’s opening. What the…?
Alright, time for item number two. Something shaped like a tire plug, but thinner at the bottom and fairly thick going up. Not that thick, though. It’s made entirely of silicone and painted in a striking red color. Damn, it kinda looks like his eye color (the irony of this is also lost on him). Gaku twirls it around in his hands but can’t parse its purpose.
Then there’s the folded sheet of paper lying still on the bottom of the bag. Gaku grips it tight and yanks it out, crumpling it in the process. Under is a bottle of some clear liquid—probably some of Yugamu’s experimental drugs. That freak. He unfolds the handmade brochure and skims through the text, not absorbing a single thing written, before deciding to start from the top of the page.
I did not call you a douche. I know you were thinking it.
You still are one, though.
Piss off, Ima.