Chapter Text
"Tamon-kun, won't you stay the night?"
We continue ...
The air in the room went completely still. The battle of the sustained stares shifts—it is no longer about his exhaustion, but about the terrifying vulnerability of her invitation.
He doesn't speak at all, and her eyes fall from his to her hands that are grasped around his forearms. She slightly lifts and turns her head and their eyes meet - unspoken words in the shared intimate space tempting to fall from their tongues. For Tamon, words have become a commodity after he has sang so many of them in the last week, and he is bankrupt.
Instead, in the comfort of her presence, he simply leans into her space, forehead falling on her shoulder her hands still laced upon his arms.
He takes in a long, shuddering deep breath, the scent of her igniting a warmth in the pit of his stomach - she smells of soft apricot and strawberries, maybe a dash of vanilla? It encompasses his state of mind, despite his exhaustion he is awake, and after already taking in her scent finally turns his rested head and catches sight of her, and yes - she is in her pajamas. Their eyes meet, and he sees something, something he's never seen in her eyes as well.
Unidentifiable.
He closes his eyes, his lashes casting long, weary shadows over his still sore cheekbones. The sullen tension in his jaw finally bleeds away, and as he reopens his eyes to look at his friend - The look she gives him is replaced by a terrifyingly soft expression of concern and maybe... something more?
He doesn't say yes, but he gently maneuvers her hands away and then makes to hold her hands in his own. He sees her gulp, adam's apple bobbing, how easy it would be to lay his lips upon her skin there.
Realizing his train of thoughts, he goes off the rails -
Everything in the situation, the moment hitting him all at once -
Late night. Pajamas. Sweet scent. Desire. Exhaustion. Need. Want.
He yanks his head up from her shoulder - realizing how indecent his recent thoughts of his cherished friend were, his thoughts begin to spiral downward.
I'm disgusting.
How Selfish.
Sick.
Gross.
I can be truly revolting.
Don't look at me ..... Just, please - don't look at me like -
His eyes dart everywhere in the room looking for a sign of what to do. His eyes finally find clock on the wall: 12:30am. A new record for how late or early he had a meltdown. He pulls away from her, ripping his hands from hers with such force he knocks the couch backward himself following along with it. The silence that followed was palpable. He had rolled backwards and landed with a THUD against the wall, chest heaving, his eyes wide and dark with a sudden, sharp lucidity. His eyes found her hands—the hands that had just been his only anchor—and felt a wave of vertigo. He hadn't just been slipping into rest; he had been surrendering into her. The intimacy of it felt like a brand on his skin, a secret he wasn't supposed to keep.
He couldn't look at her. He didn't deserve to. He sat hunched and exhausted against the wall adjacent from the now tipped over couch, his knuckles bone-white as he strangled the fabric of the pillow that had tumbled back with him.
In a chaotic, frantic motion, he hooked his fingers into the rim of his hood, yanking it down until the shadows shrouded his face. He needed to bury the carnal, hungry version of himself he'd never felt that had just dared to think the lewd thought about her. While his brain began to spiral, the reflection of that vulgar intent felt like a stain, a disgusting intrusion from a even lower life form. He felt shameful, a shy man caught in the skin of a monster, terrified that if she saw his eyes, she’d see the heat he hadn't quite managed to extinguish.
"I'm sorry," he rasped, sounding like they were being torn out of him.
Utage was truly at a loss. She had recently been asleep until she had heard the cry outside her home. She was desperately trying to piece together what was happening, but it was all happening so fast. She knew for sure she needed to clean his wounds, her heart almost stopped all together when she saw his red swollen cheeks and scrapes on his beautiful facial features. He looked so ragged right now, had he slept at all during this concert series? Utage had kept up with all of his various performances online, as a proud Tamon-stanning otaku would. She had to squint, but she thought she saw some dark circles under his eyes during the last performance - guess it was only the tip of the iceberg - considering she found him laying facedown outside her family home. That begs the question, why was he here to begin with? Not that she minded, since her family was away again visiting her grandparents. She violently shakes her own head, get yourself together Utage! Put your housekeeper hat on and get to work! She affirms to herself while Tamon seems to be having a late night meltdown.
As his meltdown quiets into just grumbles - she gets up from her spot and hovers a safe distance from the gloomy aura surrounding her friend.
"Gloomyhara-san, are you alright?! Please just stay right where you are. I'll be right back!"
Unsure if he heard her - she disappears around a corner and leaves him rocking himself (a self soothing skill taught to him by Utage herself) and allowing silence to reign over the dark living space. She began to dig through supplies under the bathroom sink.
"...antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, guaze, bandages, a cool pa- UGHH where did Yamato leave the cool packs?!?! These mess makers really need to put things back where they got them - " Utage ranted angrily in her search for the medical supplies she needed to take care of her oshi.
The heavy silence in the living room is broken only by the light tentative sound of Utage’s footsteps as she makes her way back to him. After some deep breathes, she has shifted her mindset entirely; she is focused, and going to work efficiently as his housekeeper (even off the clock and in her own home) who has a job to do.
Utage turns the corner from the hallway, medical supplies held securely in her hands like a shield. She finds him exactly as she left him: a huddled, trembling mountain of dark fabric, his hoodie pulled tight enough to hide the world. She doesn't rush him. She knows that if she tries to pull the hood back, he’ll only panic more and retreat further into the shadows. Instead, she slowly and deliberately settles on the floor a few feet away, keeping her movements intensional, and entirely unthreatening. She sets the supplies down against the floor with a soft yet audibly clunk, a sound that deliberately breaks the suffocating tension in the room. She sees him only shift slighting in his spot.
"At least he has relaxed, even a little - looking by the lack of choke-hold on the pillow..."
She sighs, with a small smile on her face and a giggle threatening to fall from her lips.
"Oh. He has fallen asleep", and his face was slowly becoming visible from under his hoodie. She shifts her gaze back to her supplies.
"Hmmmmmm I don't want to wake him...... but I have got to clean those wounds, he was on the concrete earlier - who knows if they already have germs in them?? Oh no. What happens if he gets scars?? NO! I have to clean them so the healing process can begin and I can save our National Treasure!!" She concludes with finality as she looks again to her supplies.
"The cooling packs truly are missing, going to have to have a stern word with her siblings when they get back home, but I could make one I guess? At least I have everything else."
Her voice soft yet steady and matter-of-fact. The mature "housekeeper" persona once again taking over from her otaku side. Her voice—calm, routine, and devoid of judgment. She sustains her eyes on the pile of un-used supplies as she begins to look for what she needs to start - giving him the privacy of his darkness while he rests. She knows she has to wake him, not just to clean these scrapes but to also the biggest lingering question for the evening- why are you here? She begins to shift closer into his bubble, becoming more aware of there proximity. She lifts his hood, gently raising his head at the nape to push down the hood to cover his neck and expose his beautiful sleeping face fully. Seriously only a god could make eye-bags look this tantalizing.
Utage pokes Tamon's side in an attempt to jostle him awake, dark eyes become seen under long hooded lashes, eyes shift to her face and a moment of serenity catches them. The amount of times he had gone in and out of conscious had finally broke him as his reaction was nothing. Just a blank loose stare. She rallied her nerves -
"I’m going to clean these scrapes now. It’s going to sting, but it won't last long."
He seemed to nod slowly at her.
"I need you to just… breathe with me, Gloomyhara-san. Can you do that?"
Another nod.
Upon contact with the antiseptic to the raw broken skin upon his nose, Tamon's eyes flew open in shock.
OWWWWWWW he seethed, eyes clenched, teeth grinding. OW OW OW!!!!!
They locked eyes, Utage still grasping the cloth with antiseptic and other hand steading herself - by fisting a hand in his hoodie.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I thought you were ready! So sorry, Tamon-kun!"
The smell of the antiseptic was sharp and cut through the warm, sweet air of the house and her.
Tamon’s breath hitched, a low, strangled sound vibrating in his chest. His hand instinctively flew up, but instead of pushing her away, he clamped his large, calloused fingers over her wrist, pressing the cloth harder against his nose as if he needed the bite of the pain to anchor him to reality.
OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! Tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.
Utage froze. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, and only now—in the suspended silence following his cry—did she realize her other hand was still fisted tightly in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him into her space.
"I—I'm so sorry!" she breathed again.
Her professional housekeeper mask slipping, exposing the frantic girl beneath. She tried to pull her hand back, but his grip on her wrist held her steady.
Tamon’s eyes, bright and watering from the sting, didn't leave her face. He looked wrecked—the dark, heavy circles under his eyes seemed to swallow the light, and his skin was pale, save for the inflamed scrape across the bridge of his nose, his chin and of course his matching red cheeks. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts against her fisted hand.
"Don't," he rasped.
His voice sounding like gravel. He didn't tell her what not to do—whether to stop cleaning, to let go, or to leave. He just held her there, using her arm as a support to keep himself upright. Utage took a shaky, conscious breath, forcing down her blooming feelings in trade for her professional-side, but - who was winning between the two could be debated.
"I'm not stopping," she said, her voice firmer now, more practiced.
The iron-like grip on her wrist loosened, turning into a soft, almost desperate touch. She carefully lifted the cloth. She was finally free of his grasp, and now shifted ever closer, turning her hand so she could gently palm his jaw, steadying his head to further clean the wound.
"Please, just breathe, Tamon-kun. You're holding your breath like you're under water. Just… out. Breathe out."
He did, a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to deflate his entire frame.
"Why..." he started, his voice barely audible, his gaze dropping to the floor between them.
He looked ashamed, the 'B-side' of his personality cringing at the scene he was making.
"Why are you doing this? You should be... you should be sleeping. Not taking care of a me, I'm useless and should have been left to rot."
Utage paused, the ointment tube hovering in her hand. She looked at him—really looked at him—and the housekeeper inside her knew the answer, even if the woman inside her couldn't say it.
"Because," she said simply, dabbing the ointment onto his skin with the lightest of touches.
"you're in my living room, you're hurt, and I'm here. You know I don't leave a job half-finished."
She gave him a soft, reassuring smile—
"And besides, who else is going to make sure you don't start spreading gloom-shrooms in my house? Now, sit tight, I'm going to make a makeshift cool pack for your cheeks."
"Wait!" As she goes to stand up, he rises just as quick and they stand face to face.
"Tamo-!" "Miss-"
~Zing~
Ever the awkward pair, they start looking at each other, so close yet so far.
"Let's fix this couch! Yeah, I can't believe I ruined your furniture with my ridiculous over-reaction. I was supposed to be going home, and yet somehow I ended up here? Is my sense of direction that bad?! I really am so stu-"
After Tamon fixes the couch, just as fast Utage has her hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit.
"You are NOT stupid." her eyes held a fire, and that same look again. Unidentifiable.
"Now, sit here, I'm going to make that cold pack for you now."
Feeling satisfied she makes her way to the kitchen while he remains on the couch stupefied, but also - feeling seemingly aroused by how strong willed she was.
Passionate.
She is back in a flash bandages in hand now as well as cool packs.
She sits next to him -
"Please-" She hands him the cool packs, "Put these on your cheeks, we have to before they bruise, and your poor face..."
Tears prickle the corners of her eyes, as she places the bandage on his chin and nose.
"Yo-You need to be m-more careful, Tamon-" She begins to softly weep.
At the sound of her cries, almost automatically, he laces his hands around her and pulls her flush against him. The contact is jarring—and entirely too much—yet he finds he cannot loosen his hold.
Hottiehara, the persona he has spent a whole week sustaining as a mask and performing for thousands - that passionate side of himself flares to life internally. His palms press into her back, smoothing down the back of her pajamas in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Not just to comfort her, but with a desperate, clumsy need to tether himself to her.
He feels her trembling against his chest, and the shame of his earlier thoughts resurfaces, yet he pulls her closer, tucking her head under his chin. He is trembling now, too, caught in the vice of his own making: the raw, carnal hunger of the man who finally has the person he’s been starving for within his reach.
He pulls back just an inch, his dark eyes searching hers for the reason she’s crying. She then meets his gaze - and there it is again. That look. It’s just truly unidentifiable: something between a terrifying, fierce protectiveness and a grief so profound it feels like he’s staring into a mirror. It makes his head spin, and for a terrifying second, he doesn't know if she is looking at a man she loves or a mess she feels obligated to save.
He doesn't know how to navigate the shift. He doesn't know how to silence the thrum of want or the scream of his own guilt. But as she then drops her head and sobs into the fabric of his hoodie, the fight slowly drains out of him. He succumbs to the inevitable, burying his face into the crook of her neck, his arms winding around her furthering his hold on her with a final, devastating surrender.
The house is silent, the night is dark, and the emptiness he’s always carried feels suddenly, terrifyingly occupied. He realizes, with a long, shuddering breath, that if he is going to fall apart, this is the only place he will ever let it happen, with her. He knows why he ended up at her front door.
And he isn't leaving. Not tonight.
Tamon lifts her chins to once again, gaze into her beautiful eyes -
"If you'll have me, Uta-chan -" He hears the audible hitch in her breath.
He takes a breathe to steel himself and gather courage.
"- I'd like to stay the night"