Happy holidays! I’m your World Trigger secret santa. I was thrilled to receive you as my giftee; Yoneya/Miwa is my preferred ship for the involved characters, too. Anyway, I wrote you a fic that you can read under the cut or here at AO3, which also contains notes at the end. I hope you enjoy!
What’s Bugging You?
Lightning and bugs (and by loose association, insects) were polar opposites. One was loud and big, while the other was quiet and small. By all rights, they had nothing in common - except for the fact that Yoneya could refer to either one as his deep, dark mortal enemy. Neighbors had nothing on them, because trion soldiers didn’t compel him to pray to all the higher beings he knew of to make the “bad things” go away.
And if there was anyone who knew about Yoneya’s deep, dark mortal enemies, it was Miwa, who approached him that afternoon following a squad meeting. Tsukimi and Kodera had already left, and Narasaka was gathering his belongings.
“Yosuke, did you see the news?” asked Miwa.
“Yeah, a little.” If he strained his ears, Yoneya could practically hear the rain that would be hitting the walls of headquarters hours from now. “I heard it’s going to be pouring.”
“Want to come over?”
“Huh?”
“There’s probably going to be thunder,” said Miwa. He volunteered no more after that: Yoneya understood his own fears better than anyone.
Yoneya shuddered. “Ah, man. You just had to say that. Think it’ll be noisy this time around?”
He could have sworn that, last time the weather had been stormy, the lightning had clapped thunderously right next to his window with the sole intent of scaring away ten years of his life. It wasn’t being struck by lightning that scared Yoneya so much as the suddenness of its booming entrance, by far worse than a horror movie where a deformed face would lunge at the screen (a cheap attempt at a scare that, predictably, did nothing for him and served only to make the bullet idiot laugh, because Izumi was that weird).
In the end, Yoneya took the invitation. He also turned around and invited Narasaka for an evening of music, and he also could have sworn that Narasaka had paused for a fraction of a second to process that request. Miwa didn’t protest the extra body; as it turned out, Yoneya still couldn’t keep a tune while Narasaka could.
There was a piano in the living room that Miwa’s sister had played before the first Neighbor invasion. Miwa had inherited it since, and he’d play with Narasaka on music nights appointed by Yoneya, who preferred the instrument known as “himself.” Narasaka thought he was inconspicuous, but Yoneya always caught the incredulous look on his face whenever the subject of instruments came up in a conversation that included them.
Yoneya was a terrible singer. He knew it, but he continued to sing anyway, no matter how much Narasaka’s poker face crinkled at every wrong note, because it was fun.
“No matter which way I put it, you’re off-key,” said Narasaka.
“Seriously? Is it that bad?”
“You’ll get it if you keep practicing,” said Miwa, not unkindly.
Yoneya clutched his chest. “It’s super effective!”
“What happened to the lessons I recommended?” asked Narasaka.
“It’s not like I’m singing to join a competition,” said Yoneya. “Did you want to start a band or something?”
Narasaka didn’t take a second to consider the idea. “Between the three of us, it’s not viable.” After all, Yoneya couldn’t sing to save anyone’s life - although if given the choice, he’d try if it meant somehow saving Miwa; Narasaka, the sniper superstar, could probably save himself.
The doorbell rang, spurring Yoneya on to jump onto his feet. Narasaka raised his head, and Miwa looked over his shoulder in the general direction of the door.
“Must be the blockhead!”
As Yoneya dashed for the door, Narasaka turned to Miwa.
“It’s Izumi,” said Miwa, and Narasaka turned back to his guitar with a knowing nod.
At the door, Izumi thrust a sports bag at Yoneya’s chest.
“Here. You owe me for all the walking I had to do!”
Gathering the bag in his arms, Yoneya offered a wry smile. “Come on; it wasn’t even that long of a walk.”
“Then why didn’t you grab them yourself? They’re your clothes.”
“Well, about that,” started Yoneya, pausing when he heard footsteps behind him and their own stepped past. “Oh, Narasaka. You’re leaving?”
Narasaka, who was packed with the strap of his guitar case strung over his shoulder, nodded. “It’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave Izumi a curt nod. “Izumi.”
“Hey, Narasaka. Did this idiot get you to bring his voice box?”
“Fortunately, he knows how to pack that on his own.”
“You know, I’m still here,” said Yoneya.
As Narasaka was about to make his retort, he stopped amid forming the first syllabic sound. Blinking, he looked up at the sky. Beside him, Izumi voiced a soft exclamation as a small drop of water splashed on his cheek.
“Oh, yeah. It’s supposed to rain tonight,” he said, wiping the droplet of water away.
“It was cloudy all evening. You should get going while it’s dry,” said Narasaka. He shifted with his shoulder pointed in Yoneya’s direction. “Sleep well.”
“You, too. Make sure this blockhead doesn’t slip on any puddles, will you?”
Not one to have his pride wounded, Izumi shot Yoneya a challenging smirk. “Next time we do a rank match, I’m shooting your feet first; then we’ll see who slips.”
Yoneya was vaguely reminded of the most recent invasion, when he and Miwa had been struck with slick goo. Back then, he’d thought it would be a spectacular idea to try dancing - led on by the fact that he could spin better on the slime - and had summarily crashed into Miwa, sending them spiraling down the street.
He smiled. “You’re on.”
Once they were settled in Miwa’s room for the night, the both of them prepared to sleep on their respective cot on the floor, Yoneya turned to Miwa and asked, “So what’s the real reason you invited me over?”
In the middle of pulling the blanket over his body, Miwa paused. Yoneya, who was already quite comfortable under his borrowed covers, rolled over onto his side.
“Come on, Shuji. I’m not deaf.” He was tone deaf, but he could hear everything else just fine. “Even when Narasaka was here, you were kind of quiet.”
“We were playing music.”
“Yeah, but were you listening to him? I know he’s our sniper, but he was seriously taking shots at me today. I think he was trying to get you to join in.”
If Toma was the lackadaisical coworker in the sniping department, then Yoneya was perhaps his counterpart in the musical field of Narasaka’s company. If Narasaka weren’t so patient, Yoneya was sure he’d have been strangled on more than one occasion to shut him up during a butchered song.
“Man, he can be real harsh sometimes. Anyway, what’s bugging you?”
Inwardly, he cringed at his word of choice.
Even in spite of being cornered, Miwa was not one to talk right away. He rested his hands on the bunched layers of the blanket gathered at his waist, seemingly deliberating his response.
“It’s nothing,” he said, himself sounding unconvinced of his answer. “Last night was a little difficult.”
Pulling his arm free from under his blanket, Yoneya rested his head on the palm of his hand with a propped elbow. “Oh. Was it a nightmare?”
Yoneya was no stranger to Miwa’s bedroom, just as Miwa wasn’t to Yoneya’s. For his part, Yoneya didn’t change the way he behaved when Miwa opened his most personal space up - there was something to be said for consistency - and that was why he didn’t stand to feign attention; nor did he press the matter, as Miwa moved at his own pace. The silence that loomed in the air wasn’t uncomfortable, but thoughtful as Miwa put the words together in his mind.
At last, Miwa asked, “There were no casualties in the last invasion, were there?”
“Nope. Everyone was accounted for, too.” Yoneya counted to six, then added: “You sleepy? We can play a game or something.”
Shaking his head, Miwa lay down and brought his blanket up to his chin. “It’s fine.”
However, while Miwa seemed to have no trouble going to sleep with another body nearby, Yoneya was troubled by the distant rumbling in the rain that tagged Miwa’s window rhythmically. No more than twenty minutes had passed when the first lightning struck close enough to rock his senses - like the knock of a ten-foot-tall giant who didn’t realize how loud he was on the door - and he sighed.
“Shuji, you awake?” He heard the shifting of fabric next to him. “Let’s play a game.”
“All right.”
The following noon, Miwa stopped Yoneya in his tracks to remind him about taking his bag home. The idea of going back to his residence dredged up a matter he’d abandoned between the sleepover to the present. His mind was suddenly assailed with racing thoughts.
“Uh, about that … “ Yoneya slid his hand into his pocket, feeling for his phone. “I’ll get back to you in a sec.”
With his back turned to Miwa, he scrolled down his list of contacts, stopping once he saw “Blockhead,” whom he sent a message: can i ask for 1 more favor
> what do you want now
check my room
> what
> im not your mom
listen this is important to me
> its your room?? why do i have to do it
ill give you back your notes
> those notes are mine
> you cant keep them from me
> fine
> what am i even checking
its green
> green????
mom will let you in so check it out for me ok
thanks
> i swear if this is some kind of a prank im gonna drill you full of holes
> you owe me a week of croquettes
“Yosuke?” Miwa’s voice cut through the relief surging through Yoneya, who turned around with a casual smile that came more naturally to him.
“Okay, I’ll pick it up later.”
> dude
> how did this get in your room
Yoneya must have been stricken as visibly on the outside as he felt inside, as Miwa called his name. He powered off the screen of his phone and craned his neck to meet Miwa’s inquisitive look.
“Oh, sorry. Did you say something?”
“Why did you come over?” asked Miwa, and Yoneya was quite sure that that wasn’t what he had originally said.
“Huh?”
“You’re acting oddly. Did something happen at home?”
Yoneya was caught between a rock and a hard place. But perhaps this was his chance, and he took it with a weak laugh. Since he was granted the opportunity, he thought, he should take it before Miwa sped away with the golden goose.
“Jeez, it wasn’t anything like that. I came over, because you asked me.” He pocketed his phone. “But it’s true that there’s something at home … or, actually, my room.”
“What?”
“ … mantis,” muttered Yoneya.
Miwa’s brow furrowed. “Yosuke?”
“It’s a praying mantis! I saw it in my room yesterday morning.”
“How did a praying mantis get inside your room?”
“Trust me; everyone’s asking that question, including me. It’s still there.”
As a teenager at the ripe age of seventeen, Yoneya possessed a significant amount of pride, although it wasn’t petty like Izumi’s. The proud part of him was not wounded, but ashamed, to go into the next room and tell his blessed grandmother about the green monster under his bed. There were things a man was obligated to do, even if it took days for him to muster up the courage to confront the insect touring the darkest nooks of his estate.
Practically tearing up and faced against Miwa’s stony stare, Yoneya pouted. If Miwa wanted to be indirect, then so would he.
Without so much as blinking, Miwa walked ahead. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“My home. We’re getting your bag and going to your place.”
Yoneya’s heart skipped a beat. “Does that mean … ”
“Tell Izumi he doesn’t have to stay.”
“Ah. Cool.”
As it turned out, Miwa was more concerned for the mantis trapped in Yoneya’s room. He ordered for a jar and a cloth to be brought as Yoneya hovered by the doorway, caught in a staring contest with the mantis that had come out to apparently welcome him home like a tiny troll. Yoneya did as he was told, and Miwa courageously coaxed the mantis into the sizable jar to be released outside.
As the praying mantis stalked away, Yoneya said, “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver!”
“Next time, just tell me.”
He nodded and, with heartfelt seriousness, said, “You’re a good guy.”
At that, Miwa turned his face away. If there was the slightest blush on his cheeks from the sudden flattery, Yoneya didn’t say - too busy he was rejoicing the liberation of his room, as well as concocting a plan to keep Izumi’s lips sealed on the green discovery. Then a thought occurred to him.
“Since you’re here, want to sleep over for tonight?”
“Sure.”
