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Why are you so good at this, anyway?
It was unconditionally summer; the sun was shining too hot and too bright and a week off from school meant only that they had to find somewhere else to sweat away the day. It happened to be near the shrine, just him and Yusuke, because it was so stuffy in the attic that he could barely stand it.
One of Madarame’s former pupils was deaf. I associated with him enough that trying to learn sign language seemed only fitting.
Did Madarame teach you?
No. A quirk of lips, and a push of hair out of his eyes as the breeze – warm, like everything else – blew it there. I taught myself. Time spent not painting was spent at the library. The man also helped me, when he realized I was learning to communicate with him.
That’s amazing, Yusuke . Akira placed his hands on his knees. The breeze blew his hair into his eyes, too. He left it, looking off down the street.
“I’m not so sure– oh, apologies.”
He’d jumped slightly at Yusuke’s voice, because they’d been communicating only by signing since they had sat down. But he was quick to shake his head, smiling, signing. No worries. I love your voice.
“Hm.” The earlier half smile grew into a full one; Yusuke’s eyes fell closed in amusement. Then they opened again, suddenly almost frighteningly intent (Akira was used to that by now) and reached to gently take Akira’s hand in his own. “And I enjoy watching your hands,” he said, resting Akira’s hand on his palm. “Your movements are graceful. Flawless. You create beauty more poignant than words could express.”
He gave him a look. I’m just signing.
“You are, and it’s like watching an artist put brush to canvas.”
Yusuke.
“I’m only being honest.” Yusuke’s fingers brushed over his palm. “Sign language is truly a language of beauty.”
It wasn’t a compliment that Akira usually liked receiving. It wasn’t a big deal, his signing. It was just his way of communicating. Just like anyone learning to speak. Remembering signing was as little of deal as remembering spoken words– sometimes, he thought it was easier. Words sounded strange. People seemed to make it as big of deal, though, bigger. The amount of people that were impressed by his intelligence… he was a normal kid. He still could communicate. He just did it in a different way. It ought to be something he got used to, like the rumours at school of his delinquency, like the whispers of his silence that followed him through the halls, but… you didn’t, really.
But with Yusuke… Yusuke was different. His tone was full of only honesty and acceptance and a praise that Akira didn’t mind.
It probably had something to do with the brush of fingers against his palm, like his hands were the most reverent things Yusuke could lay eyes on. Akira briefly curled his fingers around his and then pulled away to ask a question he probably shouldn’t.
What if I spoke?
“But you already do.”
Technically I’m not actually speaking.
“Nonverbal communication is just as poignant, if not more, than actual speaking. You speak with your hands… your body… your eyes. All beautiful,” Yusuke added. The smile had softened. “If you spoke, I have no doubt it would be just as magnificent, but there is no reason to want to change who you are now.”
Akira huffed a laugh, nudging his shoulder. Are you trying to tell me that I’m perfect?
The answer was completely unfazed. “Not a singular person is perfect, but you are you for your imperfections. I could ask for no one better.”
God, he was always so blunt and sometimes too honest, but that was what Akira loved about him. Thanks.
“No thanks necessary.”
I was being sarcastic, he joked.
Now Yusuke did look fazed, uttering an “oh” in response.
I’m just kidding! He could be so dense sometimes. He loved that about him, too. I thought you could read my nonverbal communication so well!
“I can. I mean, I thought I could…”
Akira leaned over a little closer. Their shoulders bumped again. What kind of nonverbal communication am I giving you now, then? He fixed his eyes on Yusuke’s, despite feeling patently ridiculous at the obvious signals.
And Yusuke still looked down at him blankly.
So dense. Akira probably could have licked his lips and Yusuke still wouldn’t understand. And just when he thought Yusuke couldn’t possibly get any cuter, he did the Head Tilt of Confusion and God – how could any one person be so cute?
Yusuke, he chastised, and was grinning so widely that his face was aching as he swept that piece of hair out of Yusuke’s face again and curled a hand around the back of his neck to pull him in.
“Oh! I understand now,” he announced, and Akira didn’t have time to laugh before Yusuke leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him.
It was always soft and slow and sweet with Yusuke, such a stark contrast to his usual hyperactivity when fixated on art. Akira wondered if Yusuke lost himself in it as much as Akira did. He liked to think he did.
He shifted his hands around to cradle Yusuke’s face, and Yusuke put his hand on Akira’s again.
“I love your hands,” Yusuke said. “And your lips.” Another touch of foreheads. “And your eyes,” he added, looking into them with as much intensity as a moment ago. Sometimes, it still made Akira want to squirm because it was like Yusuke was peering into his soul–
– and worshipping what he saw there.
“You are endlessly more expressive than people might know,” he was saying. “Is it selfish of me to feel glad that I’m the only one who knows you so well…?” Uncertainty in his voice. Not exactly shy, but… hesitant, maybe. Painfully vulnerable, even, and Akira wanted to ease his worries.
He shook his head. His hands were still framing Yusuke’s face, and Yusuke’s hands were still covering them, so he tried to form the sentiment in his eyes that Yusuke could read so well.
You’re not selfish.
You’re perfect.
You’re kind.
I could ask for no one better, either.
I love you, he mouthed, and the insecurity cleared.
Chuckling, Yusuke pressed impossibly closer. “I think I take your meaning. And I reciprocate, naturally.”
Akira huffed a breath of amusement through his nose and closed his eyes. Just like this, he was reminded that he didn’t need words at all.