Koshiro 2.3

After the pathetic pity party I had during my shower, I picked myself up and decided to collect the courage to apologize and explain myself. I dug into the pile of clothes Hiro had generously donated to me.

A particular white shirt called out to me. It had a bunch of child-like drawings and kanji in various colors of the rainbow. There was a tiny handprint at the bottom left corner of the shirt with a kanji signature that I couldn't read.

I thought it was such a cute design and probably something his family member had gifted. It was slightly too loose on me, so I decided to roll up the sleeve and French tucked it in my denim shorts. I decided to dry my hair before I finally mustered enough confidence to stop stalling and visit Hiro.

Just kidding, I spent the next fifteen minutes scripting my apology in my head and reenacted them to the bathroom mirror. I felt so pathetic being this nervous to apologize about something that should have been easy.

I gave one last look at the mirror, washed my face, and walked out of my bedroom. My hands were clammy from the anxiety. For the first time in a long while, I couldn't understand my own feelings.

I was so sure that I wouldn't feel this way if it had happened with Clause; my only other close male friend. The contradicting awareness of it made me feel uneasy. As I went to knock on his door, it opened up ever so slightly and I could see the tip of Hiro's hair behind.

"C'mon, just go up to her. Get it over and done with! You'll feel so much better after," I heard him mumbled under his breath.

My hand froze mid-air; I didn't dare to push it further and revealed to him that I had been eavesdropping.

"No, no. I can't do it. Ugh!" the door shut again.

I gave myself roughly a minute before proceeding with my plan; hoping he hadn't guessed that I was standing behind his bedroom door the whole time.

"Come in! Makoto, prepare soup for dinner– "

"Sorry, it's just me." I waved at him as I peeked through.

"Oh. U-uh, I'll call Makoto real quick. Have a seat," he looked curiously at my shirt before pointing to my designated bean bag.

It was where I had spent most of my time on when we were doing our research for the case. He would often stick to writing reports on his wooden computer desk. On some rare occasions we sat on the sofa to watch videos together during our breaks or the floor to munch on Makoto's freshly baked cookies.

"Sorry about that. U-um I mean,' he cleared his throat. 'Why are you here?"

"I wanted to apologize for being inappropriate earlier. I didn't mean to overstep our boundaries as friends – or as colleagues even– I'm sorry. I promise to never lay a finger on you unless you ask me to."

"Hmm…okay."

"I'm serious! I felt really bad," I clasped my hands.

He raised an eyebrow, "is that so? Then, what are you willing to do to make up for it?"

"Anything! Just don't be mad at me anymore. I really liked working with you."

I swore I could have heard a cricket and rolling tumbleweeds in the background. My statement seemed to have impacted him more than I had thought as he uncovered his mouth before answering me.

"Fine, bring me a slice of cheesecake after dinner," he crossed his arms and put on a straight face.

"After dinner? Aren't you going to join us?"

"No, I'll be having soup in my room," he scrolled through his computer.

"Oh…but, would that be enough? You trained so hard today."

"So?"

"I can ask him to bring you more food and sweets from the pantry."

"Oh."

"Well, I'll head to the west wing now," I stood up. "Bye."

I walked out and closed his door before heading to the dining hall. Bye? What the f*ck was I thinking? Bye? That was the worst apology I had ever done. I wasn't sure if it made the situation any better or worse, but at least he wasn't ignoring me. I made my way to dinner and sat on an empty seat opposite of Tadashi with Kenji at the head of the table.

"Humpf," the middle child scoffed at my shirt.

"Hmm?" I looked down at it.

"You chose to wear that instead of borrowing my clothes?" he criticized.

"Oh, it's not mine. Hiro lent it– "

"I know," he continued with his meal.

I turned to the oldest sibling for an explanation.

"Hiro designed that shirt when he was a kid, if you can even call that a design," he giggled.

Tadashi joined him and had a laughing fit

"Eh? What's so funny?"

"Years ago, when we were forced to learn Japanese, our teacher made us practice writing in Kanji every day. Hiro was only 4 then, he found our dad's plain white shirt and started to scribble words from our books," Kenji explained.

"Badly," Tadashi whispered.

"Hahaha… He tried copying them without even knowing their meanings. I guess he happened to stumble upon a recipe book and transcribed ingredient of his favorite foods. As you can see, he tried to draw a strawberry cheesecake."

"The best part about the shirt was the fact that he tried to sign his own name at the bottom of it," the younger brother couldn't hold back his chuckle any longer.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"He wrote 'large' instead of 'calm'," he died of laughter.

"Since then, we had always teased him for his innocence. He had been working out tirelessly to avoid being called large," Kenji wiped a tear off.

"Oh…he didn't tell me anything about the shirt."

"Classic Hiro, that boy really hasn't changed at all," he shook his head.

'Large' I read the shirt and smiled to myself. He had always been the soft and gentle Hiro I came to know.