Murayama knew from the beginning that it's not going to be easy.
But he didn't expect it to feel this humiliating.
Standing still in front of Chiharu, Murayama could only stare at the boy while trying, very hard and desperately, to string together proper sentences instead of throwing punches or sprinting away like a true coward.
“Murayama?” Chiharu called, brow furrowed with what seemed like... concern.
Murayama held his gaze, not saying anything, just hesitating. Then he inhaled deeply, hesitated again—
“Muraya—”
“Give me Cobra-chan's phone number,” Murayama blurted out and instantly regretted it. But it's too late for him to run away now and if it really did get him Cobra's number in the end, then he'd gladly suffer a few more minutes of this absolute mortification.
Chiharu looked at him as if he's about to get punched.
Murayama felt like he's about to explode.
“Eh? Why?” Chiharu finally spoke after what felt like hours, eyes as wide as tennis ball.
Why? Murayama knew the answer to this one. He'd practiced saying it times and times again. Had had it on repeat in his head over and over again. “I want to consult him on motorcycle.”
Chiharu blinked and Murayama couldn't tell if the guy bought his reply or not. But then Chiharu said, with a rather innocent-looking face, “Ah, I see. Motorcycle, huh... Well, you can ask me about that, too. My knowledge might be limited, but I can at least recommend some good beginner motorcycles to you.”
And Murayama panicked inside. This wasn't what he'd imagined a few days ago. He'd expected a hesitant okay or a definite no for an answer. Was ready for it even. Not this. Plus, Chiharu's offer didn't sound the least bit interesting to him. He didn't want his help. He just wanted Cobra's phone number, that's all.
Why was it so hard for him to get?
“Such kind of useless thing, I don't need it.” Seeing that his plan had failed, Murayama promptly left without any more word and left behind a dumbfounded and hurt Chiharu.
*
Murayama believed it's a good thing indeed that he didn't tell Furuya and Seki where he was going, or else a completely unnecessary fight might've broken out between them and Sannoh Rengokai, particularly Yamato and Noboru, if he's not mistaken. But especially Yamato.
Because the way Yamato was glaring at him at the moment would without a doubt have triggered the two idiots into a fist fight and Murayama did not need that right now. All he needed was just Cobra's phone number.
“Murayama. What do you want, huh?” Yamato asked, frowning. Noboru simply looked on in silence as the event unfolded before him, curious and slightly wary.
Murayama stared dumbly at them, mind blank. Truth be told, he's not as well prepared as his previous attempt with Chiharu when he came to the garage. He knew where his legs were taking him when he left Oya High School, knew what he's going to do when he arrived at Sannoh's territory, knew what he wanted to say when he headed over to Asahina Garage. After all, it's the best chance ever. Those guys were Cobra's best friends. Surely, they had his phone number. But then again, it's Yamato. Murayama's positive it wouldn't be easy for him to get it out of that beanpole. If anything, him asking for Cobra's number would only make Yamato suspicious of him, guaranteed.
Murayama sighed. Anyway, he's just glad Cobra wasn't here.
“What? You wanna fight?” Yamato spoke again when the silence prolonged, standing up and taking a few steps forward, one hand still holding the spanner.
He knew he should play it cool, wave it off, leave or something, but no. Murayama just had to be aggressive and retort. “What? Can't I come here?”
“Huh? This is Sannoh's territory. You Oya High kids have no business here.”
“So what? Just because this is Sannoh's territory, can't I just stroll around? What? Did your father build this whole town? Did he own this whole region?”
“What did you say? Oi, Murayama, don't bring my father into this. I'll kill you, you bastard.”
“Try me, then. You think I'd be scared of you just because you're tall? Here. Punch me in the face. Come on. Don't be shy.”
“Murayama, don't test my patience. I don't have any interest in fighting Oya High.”
“Really? But I see you gripping that spanner tightly. Gonna hit me with that? Such bad taste.” Shit. This wasn't going anywhere near what he'd planned to. But his stupid mouth wouldn't stop running.
And neither did Yamato's.
The squabble continued to escalate as they drew closer to each other, one step at a time, bodies burning with intense irritation, fingers clenching and unclenching, a daring look on their faces and a bunch of insults spewing out of their mouths, each sounding fancier and more vulgar than the previous ones until they finally stood within one another's personal spaces and—
It was the Noboru guy who stopped them from starting what would be the pettiest fight ever.
And Murayama was secretly thankful to him.
But in the end, he didn't get Cobra's phone number, didn't even get to ask for it in the first place, and simply left the garage empty-handed.
Damn it.
* *
It was surprising, to say the least, for him to bump into the Noboru guy on his way back from work. Murayama tried, very hard, to think of all the possibilities that could bring him to this situation but failed. Could it be about the other day when he barged into Yamato's garage? But he thought it's already resolved when Noboru himself stopped them both from swinging their fists.
Then why?
Not sure how to react, Murayama simply stared at the other man with narrowed eyes until Noboru nodded his head in greeting and smiled.
Murayama stilled for a moment before he nodded back, hesitantly.
“Do you have some time to spare?” Noboru asked after a while. “Can we talk?”
Murayama didn't know why he'd agreed to that, but here they were, in a ramen shop, sitting across one another, two bowls of ramen — one miso and one shoyu — on their table, steaming and appetizing. Murayama blinked. Well, he supposed he'd agreed to this because of the free meal.
“So,” Noboru spoke after a long moment of silence. Murayama looked up at him. “Murayama, is it? I'm Noboru, in case you don't know me.”
“I know you. You're the guy who worked with Kuryu for a while, right?” Murayama noticed the way Noboru had flinched at the mention of the organization's name. “I heard things. This town's not that big.”
“I see... Then, that's good. We're not really strangers to each other.” The apparent anxiety seemed to belie Noboru's smile.
“What do you want?” Murayama asked, going straight into the topic as he picked up a pair of chopsticks, nearly perfectly broke them into two, and began to stir his steaming ramen.
“Oh, that. Well, it's about the other day. You know, when you came over to Yamato's garage.”
“Huh? We didn't beat each other to death, though.”
“I know. I stopped you guys before that can happen. It's just that... I'm curious.” Noboru looked him in the eye and Murayama sensed something not necessarily bad, but not necessarily good either. “Why did you come to our place?”
Murayama froze. He didn't know this Noboru guy that well, but he sure got guts. Murayama remained quiet for a good few moments before saying, “Huh?”
“Well, it didn't seem like you're just strolling around Sannoh. The way you walked into the garage, you seemed like you had something in your mind. Like there's something you wanted to say to us... well, that's what I think.”
And he thought right. Murayama did go in there with a purpose.
“Am I wrong? Was it something else, then?”
His grip on the chopsticks tightened. This was his chance. Murayama could see it. The possibility of getting Cobra's phone number was highly likely with Noboru compared to Yamato. Plus, the guy seemed nice and easy to talk to. Steeling his heart and schooling his face into a cool expression, Murayama cleared his throat, threw aside his inhibition and finally said, “I... Well, I want to ask for Cobra-chan's phone number.”
Silence ensued for what felt like hours before Noboru said, “Eh?”
And Murayama had a strong urge to flee from the ramen shop right away. But he rooted himself on the chair and fixed his gaze on Noboru, face as impassive as he could manage considering the current level of his panic.
Noboru blinked several times, maybe to make sure he didn't listen it wrong. “You... You want Cobra's phone number?”
A beat of silence. “Yeah.”
Noboru blinked again, then slowly nodded his understanding. “Ah... Is that so? May I ask why?”
“I want to consult him on motorcycle,” Murayama answered automatically.
Something flashed in Noboru's eyes, or maybe it's just his imagination. But then, a small smile graced Noboru's face. “I see... You're really serious about that, huh? But, uh, sorry. How do I put this... I can't give you his phone number.”
Murayama refused to acknowledge the breaking of his heart. “Hmm?”
“It's not that I don't trust you or anything. It's just that I don't feel comfortable giving someone else my friend's phone number without their permission.”
Murayama thought a bit. That... makes sense. “Hmm, sounds fair.”
“That's right, why don't you ask Cobra himself? I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you his phone number if you ask nicely.”
Somehow Murayama sensed mockery in the guy's last few words, but reluctantly ignored it. After all, Noboru was right. That's what he should've done in the first place actually. “Well,” Murayama said and left it at that. There's no way he's letting this guy know how much of a coward he actually was. He still had face and dignity to save.
But Noboru's gaze on him was too long than strictly necessary, it's irritating and nerve-wracking. Murayama was about to ask what his problem was when the man leaned forward, smiled a smile Murayama found concerning, then said in a low voice, “Don't worry. I'm open-minded, and good at keeping quiet, too.”
“Huh?” He frowned, but Noboru simply smiled some more, told him to eat the ramen before it became cold and soggy, and then began to dig into his own.
The rest of the day went by with Murayama trying to decipher the meaning behind what Noboru said while ignoring whatever nonsense Furuya and Seki prattled on about, but to no avail.
It wasn't until he's lying in bed, eyes closed and breathing even, all ready to fall asleep, that he finally understood what Noboru had meant by his cryptic words earlier.
Eyes wide open again, Murayama panicked.
Fuck.
* * *
In hindsight, it was the stupidest idea in the world to come to Daruma Temple for Cobra's phone number. But he's already inside the place, standing right before Hyuga, who was comfortably lying on his side and looking at him as if he'd just defiled the sacred land with his mere presence, and then humiliated himself by asking “Hey, Hyuga-chan, do you know Cobra-chan's number?”
Murayama supposed it's too late to turn back now.
And so, he stayed, and tried to appear oblivious of his apparent stupidity.
But Hyuga was shooting him a judging look, and Murayama had a very strong urge to fight someone right now.
“Huh?” Hyuga eventually spoke after an intense staring competition, his short response enough to let Murayama know that he obviously didn't have what he's looking for.
“I see,” Murayama replied, lamely.
Hyuga glared some more before saying, “Why did you come here? If you want his number, you should've gone to Sannoh.”
That much he's already aware of. Had already done so, too. But he's not going to let Hyuga know that. Murayama considered a bit. Why had he come here again? He didn't even know. They're not friends. Rarely ever talked with each other. But they'd fought one another before, had even fought together against Kuryu and all too, it practically made them acquaintances now. Right?
“Just because,” he said dumbly after a moment's silence, shrugging.
Hyuga was not amused. “You...” The rest of the sentence didn't come, just a loud, tired sigh. Looking away, Hyuga closed his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. “Get out of here.”
Murayama nodded. “Alright. By the way, Hyuga-chan, why don't you shave your face? You'd look ten times younger if you do, you know.”
“Huh? Why the hell would I want to look younger? Also, the fuck was that? Hyuga-chan? I'm older than you, you bastard,” Hyuga retorted. The glare returned, his frown deepened. If looks could kill, Murayama would've died ten times over by now.
And honestly speaking, Murayama had a vague feeling that he would go home limping if he stayed here any longer. He didn't need that kind of hassle right now. “Right. Thanks for nothing. Well then, I'm leaving. Later, Hyuga-chan.” With that, he bowed at Daruma Ikka's leader, ignored the death glare directed straight at him, and promptly left the temple.
Murayama couldn't help but wonder what the man thought of him asking for Cobra's number. Hyuga hadn't commented anything, hadn't even questioned why he'd wanted Cobra's number. It didn't help either that Murayama couldn't exactly tell what Hyuga's thinking what with all the frown on his face.
But then again, for all he knew, he might've just dug his own grave. (Though it'd already started when he met Noboru last week.)
Oh, well.
* * * *
When he asked the tall girl, the one who had once given him useless stuff, a strange-looking charm and a talk that beat some sense into him, for Cobra's phone number, her expression had shifted and Murayama didn't know what to make of it.
But she's his last resort now. He didn't know who else to ask without embarrassing and exposing himself even further.
“Sorry, I don't have it,” the tall girl said after a while.
Murayama stared at her, uncertain of what to feel after her reply. In the end, a sigh escaped his mouth. “I see. Well, thanks anyway.”
“Mm. No problem.” A short pause. “My name is Oshiage. By the way.”
“O-Oh, okay. Nice to meet you or whatever, Oshiage.”
She smiled, and Murayama didn't know how he should react, so he simply nodded and looked away, then began to wonder if he really should ask the man himself or just give up.
“Murayama.”
“Huh?”
“Love is a one-on-one fight. Junko-san said that.”
Junko-san? “Who? Eh? Wait a second.” In an instant, Murayama narrowed his eyes at her, his guard up. “What do you mean by love?”
Instead of answering his question, Oshiage gave him an encouraging nod, as if that would explain everything.
And it did, actually. Fuck. Now she knew, too. Seriously, how the hell did they manage to figure it out? Were they too smart and observant, or was he too dumb and obvious?
But come to think of it, that meant Chiharu was dumb, and the thought comforted him.
Blinking several times and casting cursory glances at Oshiage every now and then, Murayama hesitated for a bit. “Is it... is it obvious?”
Oshiage looked at him and held her gaze for a few good moments before she answered, with no hesitation and a nod, “Yes.”
“Fuck,” Murayama muttered. He wished the earth would swallow him whole right away.
“I think it's fine,” she said in a sudden deep voice, straightening up and looking down at him. “That you feel that way toward him.”
His ears pricked up and Murayama shot her a suspicious look. “You— You're not grossed out?”
She nodded. “Junko-san once said that love is when two hearts collide. That's why, whether it's a man or woman, if the hearts collide, then they collide. At least that's what I think.”
Murayama blinked several times, trying to let the words sink in and make full sense to his brain, but... Who is this Junko? “Well, I'm not really sure what you mean by colliding and all, but it's nice to know that you're not weirded out.”
Oshiage was quiet for a while, a pensive look on her face. “I sincerely want to cheer you on, but I can't. There's Junko-san, after all.”
“Huh? W-What are you talking about? Who the hell is Junko?”
But Oshiage said nothing and merely smiled.
And for some unknown reason, he found himself almost smiling in return. Murayama harrumphed and hurriedly schooled his expression into a bored look. Before long he rose to his feet, picked up the bat on the floor, took one last look at Oshiage and said in the most serious tone he could manage at the moment, “You better shut your mouth. Or I'll kill you. Also, don't look down at me like that. You're freaking tall.” And then he left the batting cage, giving Oshiage a small wave of hand for a goodbye.
* * * * *
Murayama was decided.
And he had decided to listen to Noboru's suggestion, after a few deep thoughts. It couldn't be helped, anyway. There's no other method now.
On that particular day, after making sure Furuya and Seki weren't following him around like a dog, Murayama headed over to Sannoh's territory once again, in search of a particular blonde man. He went to all the spots he could think of, where Cobra could possibly be found, all while ignoring the glare and weird looks from the Sannoh guys he passed by. Thankfully, though, he didn't have to deal with Yamato, because here Cobra was, having a peaceful walk all by himself.
Finally.
“Yo, Cobra-chan!”
Cobra stopped and turned around. Hands in pockets, his expression shifted once their eyes met. “Murayama.”
Murayama gave him a small wave and smirk, trying to look all cool and collected. It's a good thing he didn't run away or throw his fist yet. Ugh, how he hated being shaken apart by something stupid like this.
“What is it this time? A rematch, or another request to join Sannoh?”
“Cobra-chan,” Murayama said after mustering up all the courage he could find in him, then held out his hand. “Give me your phone number.”
There's a moment of silence as Cobra narrowed his eyes and looked between his face and outstretched hand, and Murayama realized belatedly how stupid and unnecessary it was for him to extend his hand like that. He's asking for phone number, for fuck's sake. But Cobra being Cobra, he didn't comment anything on Murayama's stupidity, just stared some more before he sighed, then said in his usual low, deep voice that sent Murayama crazy, “Phone.”
Murayama blinked. “Huh?”
“Give me your phone,” Cobra said, gesturing his hand at him.
“Oh, okay.” Fishing out his phone from the pocket, Murayama absentmindedly passed it to Cobra and then watched in silent curiosity as the man fiddled with his phone before passing it back to him. There's a string of numbers on the screen, Murayama noticed. But his brain couldn't make it make sense to him for some reason and so, he simply blinked and then gawked at Cobra.
Cobra sighed. “That's my number,” he said, nodding at the phone.
“Oh.” Oh. That was... easy. Too easy. Murayama couldn't believe it. He stared at the numbers some more, frowned and blinked several times, then looked up at Cobra again. “Aren't— Aren't you gonna ask why I ask for your number?”
Cobra's eyes wavered for the briefest second before he spoke again. “Why'd you ask?”
“Well, I... I want to consult you, on motorcycle.”
“I see.” Cobra slowly nodded. “You're really serious about it. So, have you got your license yet?”
A loud groan escaped Murayama's mouth. “That again? Do you seriously have to have license to ride a motorcycle?”
Cobra huffed. “Obviously.”
Murayama groaned again, intensely annoyed. Why did the world have to be so cruel and bothersome? Why couldn't things be easy for once? But something crossed his mind just then and Murayama frowned. “Hmm? Wait a second. Does that mean... Does that Chiharu kid really have license?”
“Yeah,” Cobra easily replied. “He does. What about it?”
“Eh? Seriously? That idiot has a license? How? Is that even possible?” It didn't make sense at all. Not to Murayama.
But Cobra's small laugh afterward had Murayama's attention back on the blonde and all thought about Chiharu having a license instantly left his head.
“You already got what you want, right? I'm leaving. Call me once you get your license. Then we'll talk about motorcycle.” Cobra smirked and before long turned away and left, cool as always.
“Okay,” Murayama said, quietly. He watched in silence as the object of his affection slowly disappeared from his sight, making sure that the man was truly gone before he could explode in absolute happiness.
When he reunited with Furuya and Seki later that evening, Murayama had kissed Seki's bald head, much to the guy's confusion, and treated them to some good street oden. He ignored the puzzled look they gave him the whole time and simply hummed and smiled when Furuya asked what'd happened. Furuya and Seki had exchanged another puzzled looks with each other before they shamelessly devoured the free oden.
Unbothered by the fact that his friends were going to empty out his already thin wallet, Murayama looked down at his phone again and held it tightly like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Well, it was, in a way.