Work Text:
He’s a hair shy of frantic in the way fingers smash against the keys of his laptop. He almost feels bad, his computer did nothing to deserve the acute onset of abuse, yet his hands don’t stop their malice until he finds the words he needs.
The search engine results organize themselves instantly before his bloodshot, tired eyes. The first link looks promising enough. He clicks with a strange amount of effort, and is met with what might possibly be the answer to all his (current) life woes:
“How to get a guy to fall for you.”
His sigh of relief gets caught in his trachea when he realizes that this isn’t the 5 step quick-fix he’d been hoping for. Instead, the scroll bar looks microscopic on the right side of his browser, and the page is as long as the whine that finally makes an escapes though his chewed, chapped lips.
“I cannot do this.” Tadashi mutters aloud to, well, just himself. His lonesome form, illuminated by the bright screen in the kind of darkness only 3 am can muster, slumps forward. Tadashi’s pity party of one is almost comforting, knowing that his gloom belongs solely to him.
Still, he starts to scroll though the seemingly endless page that google has presented him. The steps, he thinks, are superficial and dumb, but may just be dumb enough to work. “Step One: Getting yourself noticed.” ‘Okay, I can do that...’ “Step Two: Wear Red.” ‘Um, I think the only red thing I own is a pair of PJ pants and maybe a scarf? I guess that’s a check for that step.’ “Step three: Present Yourself Effectively.” ‘If I knew how to do that, I wouldn’t be in this situation!’
“Fuck this!” Tadashi cuts his own thoughts off with the slam of his laptop. Engulfed by the darkness, he scrubs his hands over his face and pity-whines. He’s moping it out now so tomorrow’s slate is fresh and unmarked, ready for whatever the day brings him.
He gingerly slides his laptop under his bed and flops onto his stomach, hugging his pillow to his face. To comfort his poor, pouty face or to effectively smother him to death, he can’t decide.
+
The next day brings nothing but pain in his chest. His poor torso aches, partly from sleeping on his stomach. If he’s being honest, it’s mostly due to the fact that looking at short blond hair slick with sweat and long legs flexing with every jump makes him weak. This normal display has his heart mercilessly killing him from inside, thumping against contracting muscle, beating against the spaces between his ribs. The swell of affection he feels when Kei executes the perfect block has him wheezing, doubled over like a punch to the gut.
This does not go unnoticed. “Yamaguchi, are you feeling okay?” Daichi’s voice echos throughout the gym and the clattering of volleyballs promptly halt. Great.
There are one pair of eyes that flash concern briefly and his adam’s apple bobs with a forced swallow.
“Yeah, sorry, uh I’m okay.” He laughs, words tumbling out in attempt to sound perfectly normal. But, this is an out! It’s an out, and he grabs it with gusto. “Well, I think I might have a caught a little bug, my lungs are sore.” He let’s out a few barely convincing coughs to back up his vulnerable lie.
“Take the rest of practice off if that’ll help you get well. Tsukishima, take him to the nurse’s office.”
Oh shit. No no no. No way. His hands fly up in defense, sweaty palms waving in front of his paling face. “Oh, no need! I can make it on my own, no need to disru-” Before his word vomit turns to real vomit, Kei makes his way to stand before him. Their height difference is much more noticeable when they’re so close. Tadashi stands tall, but falls short of Kei regardless. The very top of his head reaches just under Kei’s nose, which means Kei is at the perfect height for effortless forehead kisses.
The thought makes a tomato out of Tadashi’s face.
The back of Kei’s hand spreads like cold lightning against Tadashi’s forehead, and he shivers at the contact. “Tsukki?” Is the only response that pushes past his tongue, mouth too dry to elaborate. Kei’s eyebrows raise and his hand leaves Tadashi’s forehead to adjust his glasses at the bridge of his nose.
“Nurse. Now.” Kei sternly orders, but walks past Tadashi as a cue to be followed. Tadashi takes the cue and leaves the gym, not a trace of pep in his steps.
+
Tadashi relays his symptoms to the nurse as she looks him over with mild interest. Maybe she thinks he’s faking it. His half-lie is well, only half-truth, if we’re being optimistic here. His tongue ties as he takes a stab at recalling how he felt the last time he came down with a (real) illness.
The nurse sighs and motions for him to stop stuttering his bullshit and scribbles an excuse note.
“Ah, I’ve been around him the past few days. I’ve got kind of a headache, and my stomach hurts,” Kei says, wrapping his arms around his stomach in a cold, robotic type of way that has Tadashi holding back a snicker. The nurse rolls her eyes and pulls another sheet off her notepad. Her handwriting gets sloppier.
+
The walk home is silent, save for the scuffling of their shoes against the pavement and the occasional cough-grunt-groan from Tadashi. Keeping up the lie, though, is futile when Kei clears his throat quite audibly and stills. “You’re not sick.” His eyes narrow onto the back of Tadashi’s head, who freezes med-step. The cold sweat starts to pour from his skin and he wishes he could melt from it. Exaggerations aside, his shoulders relax and he replies in earnest.
“Maybe not physically.”
“Last time I checked, emotions couldn’t contract illnesses. Enlighten me.”
The smartass comment has Tadashi throwing his head back and groaning out a warbled ‘Tsukki!”. He set himself up for that one. Good job. He turns to face root of his problems and he frowns. If he doesn’t stop slumping over, he’s going to get spinal problems.
“I don’t know, uhh. It might seem strange, It’s just lately.. my chest hurt?” His accompanying hand gestures do absolutely jack to clarify his speech.
Kei’s stoic expression moves not one centimeter. “And?”
“I, um, I think I know why? Ugh, nevermind! Forget I said anything. Sorry, Tsukki.” His voice trails off at the end, fading out on a note just shy of uncertain. To his surprise, Kei steps closer and looks down at him. “Go get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, that is if your lungs don’t collapse first.” Tadashi huffs and wants to wipe that smug smirk off Kei’s face. With his mouth. And maybe his tongue. “Hey! Acute spontaneous pneumothorax is a serious condition!”
“Acute and spontaneous are synonyms. See you tomorrow.” With a graceful edge, Kei’s reply slips effortlessly off his tongue as he walks past Tadashi’s blanching form. But not before tipping his index finger under Tadashi’s chin to close his gaping mouth as he saunters past.
That fucking bastard.
+
He’s back to square one. The ol’ drawing board. The wikihow article has remained an open tab on his browser for three days now. Tadashi struggles to left click the rectangle, though, wishing the hovering white cursor would just burn a hole into it and erase it off the internet for good. It’s spot among his other tabs, consisting of useful things like an article on “the best 3DS hacks” and half-read comics, is undeserved and borderline offensive. Yet, he can’t click to open it, or close it either.
A familiar chime wakes him from his brooding. He closes his eyes, counts to 10. It takes all of his courage to pick up his phone. The message preview shows an informative statistic from the ever-so-smart Tsukishima Kei. It makes his stomach do funny things. It also makes bile rise into his throat a little.
From; Tsukki! (11:02): “The top three causes of pectoral angina are: Coronary Artery Disease, Myocardial Infarction, and Myocarditis.”
Tadashi forces himself to type back.
To; Tsukki! (11:03): “In simpler terms, please. Also never say the word angina again, I think my skins gonna crawl off.. :(”
Kei’s response is quick.
From; Tsukki! (11:03): “Congratulations, you’re not dying. Also, its a medical term. It means pain.”
The second text is even quicker.
From; Tsukki! (11:04): “So, what’s the real reason.”
Tadashi glances at the browser tab, and makes atrocious noises bubble from the depths of his throat. They don’t sound even remotely human.
To; Tsukki! (11:06): “Uh, I’m in some personal dilemma and I’m stuck. It’s like, quicksand, Tsukki! I’m being eaten alive!”
The nanosecond he clicks send, he can almost telepathically feel the eye roll directed at his (overly) dramatic display of personal pity. Almost. He also realizes in that moment he may have said too much, and reflexively scrabbles to reply before Kei has the chance to.
To; Tsukki! (11:06): “Wow! Look at the time! I’m practically in REM sleep right now! Bye Tsukki!!!! 0:-)”
His phone flies from his hand all the way across the room, and lands as gracefully as his escape from that conversation. He winces as the bulky metal skids across the hardwood of his bedroom floor. He knows, without even having to look, there’s gonna be a big crack in the screen. He’ll deal. Just like Tadashi deals with his all his problems lately. Pretending they don’t exist.
His night is sleepless as his mind throws a major rager in his skull. The echoing bassline of his love-sick woes bounce around and create a song that sounds worse than nails on a chalkboard. The pillow over his head, this time, he decides is suffocation attempt #1.
+
By the time the sun has risen, Tadashi is just nodding off. The unforgiving screech of his alarm clock startles him so deeply, he flies off his bed and face-plants onto the floor. His groan is muffled by the sleek finish of white oak and the reverberation tickles his nose. Rolling over onto his back, he stares aimlessly at the ceiling, rubbing his nose, pondering why God put him on this earth. Was it to fall in.. something… with his best friend? Because he’s the only one that has tolerated him for this long? The thought sends a small pang of guilt through his heart. He doesn’t “tolerate” Kei. No, he genuinely enjoys his company. Kei’s presence is a present, in a way. Every time Tadashi catches a glimpse of a smile, white teeth between pink lips, he feels like hes pulling at wrapping paper, getting to see inside a gift packaged only for him. The feeling of the gift wrap between his fingers is smooth as it pulls away seamlessly, never ripping.
Tadashi imagines folding a thousand paper cranes with it.
“Tadashi! You have a visitor!” His mother’s sing-song cheer is much less of a warning than he hoped as the sound of the doorknob turning follows in its wake. Just as he fell, clumsily and hurried, he dives under the comforter and wraps himself into a cocoon of sorts. His eyelids pressed so tightly has his whole face scrunch up in an ugly manner. He feels the bed dip beside him, and he grits his teeth together.
‘No no no no no no’ his mind chants as he tries to block out the sound of even breathing from the body behind him.
“Hmm, could’ve sworn this was Yamaguchi’s room, but all I see is a sentient pile of sheets.”
“Yamaguchi?” Croaks the bundle of fabric, “Never heard of him.”
“Ah. Then you’re missing out.”
Are you serious? The kickdrum beneath his chest roars, wildly playing, erratic and offbeat. Tadashi squirms, and with difficulty, emerges from his safe haven. “Tsukki, why are you here?” The pout that decorates his features is childish, this is all childish, he knows. Yet, the smirk he gets in return is worth the act of pure reluctance.
“Had to make sure you didn’t have any pectoral angina on this fine morning.” With that, Tadashi screams into the blanket mass and makes fake puking noises. “Tsukki! That word is horrid! Stop!”
“Don’t retch too hard, you’ll give yourself a nasty case of pectoral angina. Get dressed, I’ll be downstairs.” He hopes his cries of disgust can be heard throughout the entire house.
+
The school day passes much like a snail. It’s slow, and slimy..? No, that’s not it. Rephrase. The day passes much like a sloth. So slow it grows moss atop its coarse fur. The freckled boy realizes he’s not good at this sort of thing, so he resigns the animal metaphors.
With each passing class he tries, and fails, to pay even the slightest bit of attention. His mind reels blank film negatives. The tone of the dark strip, accentuated with the little holes lining the side, fit alongside the static his brain emits. By the time class is over, he notices he never even took his workbook out from his bag.
+
The library is calming. A place where the static is welcoming, as there’s no shouting or volleyballs crashing into waxed flooring. His laptop sits, multiple tabs open with the intent to teach himself the day’s material to make up for his major brain blank. Except, he notices, that one tab. The one tab he should really close. It’s staring at him, feeding off his fear. Its giving him…. Pectoral.. He can’t finish the thought and violently clicks open the page.
"How to get a guy to fall for you."
He’s scrolling, mashing the down arrow key in attempts to reach the bottom of the virtual abyss this web page reveals itself to be. The brunet is aware of the ludicrosity, but reaches the end and feels victorious. He smugly goes to close the tab, to finally get his revenge, when a taunting voice right by his ear has him slamming his laptop shut in an instant.
“Whatcha’ lookin’ at, Yamaguchi?”
He turns in his seat and his face pales. The expression on Tanaka’s face is harrowing. “Umm, nothing! Nothing! Just, err, research for a paper. Is, um. All.” He’s sweating bullets right now, practically shaking. He knows. He knows he saw. Tanaka knows that Tadashi knows he saw.
“So, whose the lucky boy? Is it Tsukishima?” The eyebrow waggle makes him bury his head in his hands and hide his shame. “Damn. You got it bad, kid.” Tanaka adds with a whistle. Tadashi’s hands streak down his face in a piss poor attempt at removing his skin and scaring his teammate away by partially exposing his skeleton. Except Tanaka would most likely beg Tadashi to teach him, because “that would totally scare all other dudes away from Shimizu.” He can hear it now. His plan is ruined.
Tanaka stands up straight and jabs his thumb into his chest proudly. “It’s settled! Your senpais will help you win over the asshole!” Tadashi is pretty sure he’s got an extreme case of pectoral angina. He’s about to have a myocardial infarction. He can hear it now, the squeaking wheels of the hospital bed as the doctors ready the AED. Shock administered, but it’s no good. He’s flat-lined. Goodbye, cruel world.
But his mental melodrama stops and he blinks. “Um.. senpais? As in.. plural?”
Tanaka’s boisterous laugh is far too loud for the library, but rules be damned. “You bet, buddy! Me and Noya are going to soothe your woes and Tsukishima will be swept off his feet in no time! Trust me!” Tadashi’s feet cannot carry him fast enough as he chases Tanaka out of the library, his hastily packed bag knocking against his back. “Don’t tell anyone! Especially not Noya-san! Tanaka-san, wait!”
In his panicked haste, he doesn’t even notice he sprints right past Kei.
+
He’s winded before practice even begins. His legs ache from running without a proper stretch and his wincing paints a rather annoyed look on Daichi’s face.
“May I ask why you’re wincing, Yamaguchi?”
Tadashi takes sudden interest in the floor, it’s shiny surface underneath his battered sneakers makes for quite the amusing contrast.
“Come over here, I need to talk to you.” Tadashi’s head whips up in time to see Daichi pointing to the far corner of the gym. He wordlessly stands up and, with his head hung in guilt, follows Daichi’s stoic stride. The captain stops and pivots on his heels, placing both hands atop Tadashi’s shoulders. Daichi’s stern face falters at he sight of Tadashi’s quivering bottom lip, and he sighs. “Look, I know having a crush is hard but you can’t let it affect practice. You know we’re on a time crunch before interhighs.” Tadashi nods, and then comes to a screeching halt. “How do you know about my crush?!” The devastation that flashes on his features has Daichi pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tanaka ran up to Nishinoya and yelled ‘We’re on a mission to save Yamaguchi’s fragile, lovesick heart! Are you with me?!’” He relays, complete with air quotes. The pinch server knows that his captain speaks those words verbatim.
“God Damn it!” “Language!” “Darn it!”
Tadashi is quick to ask “Who else knows?” His eyes are drawn to the straight line Daichi’s lips are pulled into. He already knows the answer, and he is absolutely fucked.
+
The days pass with a heavy feeling, pretty much everywhere. His insecurity stems from a personal belief that he lacks any truly outstanding qualities. He looks in the mirror and a big red 5/10 is plastered onto his forehead. Following the insecurity, is the doubt; the doubt that Kei would ever in a million years return his feelings. And lastly, the feeling of total regret for not closing that stupid fucking browser tab in the first place. Surely that regret will follow him to the grave. +
“Okay! So, I’ve asked some girls in my class what they like in a guy, and what some dudes like in chicks and I do believe we’ve come up with a flawless guide for you.”
This is the first time Tadashi truthfully regrets his existence.
But, with all the work (more or less) his teammates have gone through, his desperation outweighs his common sense.
“Okay, which is?” He waits, but not for long, as a messily stapled packet of chicken scratch is shoved into his chest. He pries it off and skims over the front page. It’s a shitty excuse of a cover, a very warped drawing of himself and Kei holding hands. Theres a fat, naked cupid about to shoot Kei with a love arrow. It’s something else, really. Again, his desperation keeps his curiosity alive and well, so he flips to the first page and starts to read.
“Step one: Short shorts! Show some leg, Yamguchi! Whoo Whoo!”
“Step two: Write him a poem. Make it sappy.” Tadashi wishes his eyes didn’t hone in on the scribbled subtext below, which reads: “Don’t tell him you wanna **** his **** tho!”
“Step 3: Go to the museum. Tsukishima probably likes that kind of stuff. Look at paintings and he can probably tell you all about them. Hold his hand!” Again, there’s some subtext. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth! Wear clean undies.”
Step 4: LAY IT ON HIM! Subtext: Your mouth on his, not your mouth on his **** or his ******* or his-” He promptly shoves the packet back to Tanaka, who stands beside Noya. Their thumbs are pointed up, holding a wink with their tongues poking out between their lips in an attempt to look charming. Tadashi has never wanted to punch someone so badly than right here, right now.
“That’s enough, thank you!” His eyes are screwed shut and he’s inexplicably out of breath.
“Anything for our sweet kouhai!”
+
The walk home is nothing short of stifling. Kei’s headphones remain around his neck, yet his silence is deafening. The smaller of the pair is practically swimming with how thick the tension is. He contributes absolutely nothing, not sure where his voice has gone. It’s hiding somewhere deep below in the pit of his stomach. The acid is eating away at it.
His thoughts are circling, spinning like little objects in a shaken snowglobe when he realizes Kei is actually talking.
“Huh?”
After clearing his throat to show his annoyance, he repeats himself. “There’s an exhibit at the museum this weekend. Would you like to come with me?”
MUSEUM? TANAKA DID NOT…..
Yet, he probably did, and that is the final feather that broke the crow’s back. A white flag hangs over his head as he pulls his voice from his guts. “Oh? Yeah, sure. I haven’t heard of any new exhibits, though.” Kei hums. “Me neither, until I found this-” He pauses to reach into his bag and pull out a crumpled, black-ink xeroxed poster “-in my bag after practice.”
Tadashi’s relief is so.. physical that he clearly sees Kei’s eyebrows raise. He picks up his shoulders and flashes his best smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes. “Then lets go!”
+
The rest of the week comes and goes. On Wednesday, Noya pulls him aside and rapidly winks when Tadashi confirms the museum is happening on Saturday. The “friendly punchies” to his arm leave Tadashi rubbing his bicep for the remainder of the day.
Thursday, Tanaka and Noya pull Suga into the mess. Suga is all smiles and politely drops in his two cents about the poetry part. “Words from the heart are always best. But make sure this tension gets resolved or, as vice caption, you and Tsukishima are sentenced to an extra 10 laps come Monday.” The laugh he receives in response to his gaping mouth was… indistinguishable in nature. The pat on the shoulder he immediately receives from his vice captain, though, is tender and the heat that blooms down his shoulder blade is almost comforting.
Friday leaves him wanting to throw his laptop out of a moving bus to atone for ever googling anything. The entire team, sans Kei, corners him and to give their rundowns on the way dates were supposed to progress. “Don’t immediately hold his hand!” “Yeah, don’t be easy, Yamaguchi! Make him work for it!” “Guys, calm down! It’s not even a confirmed date yet.” “This definitely is not just two bros hanging out looking at paintings, five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay.” “Has Tsukishima-san ever come out? Is he gay?” “Is Yamaguchi even gay?” “What kind of dipshit questions IS that?”
The voices raise and step all over each other, which effectively makes the sloppiest vocal rendition of a human pyramid Tadashi has ever heard.
“Okay, okay, I get it! I have to dress nice, but not too nice, I have to hold his hand, but not too soon. My teeth will be brushed and my underwear will be clean.” The outburst stops the chatter and the team looks oh-so pleased with themselves.
“Okay. Confrontation dismissed! Be safe! Wear protection!” He sprints a mad bee line out of the gym, away from the howls of his “friends.”
+
Saturday morning greets him with butterflies. They rumble around in his stomach and tickle up his esophagus, egging him to sit up and stretch. So he does. He lazily yawns and checks his phone, noting the time. He tosses his phone onto the sheets and slinks out, heading to take a shower and start prepping for his date-not-date-maybe-date with Kei. Everything is going peachy, he’s washing his hair and humming a tune he can’t exactly pin when suddenly, it hits him. Like, really hits him. So hard, in fact, that he loses his footing and slips, banging his head against the shower tile and getting shampoo in his eyes.
He finishes his shower without further injury, and brushes his teeth so thoroughly there is no way a single part of his mouth isn’t squeaky clean. His reflection stares back at him with rivaled intensity. “You’re going to tell him. Today. Don’t be a chicken shit.” If it wasn’t for the goose egg that will eventually form on the crown of his head, he’d have swiftly slammed his face onto the bathroom counter.
Way to be a chicken shit.
+
He’s dressed and fidgeting with his phone. Sitting on his bed, antsy as can be, he not-so-patiently waits for his not-quite-date to knock on his door.
His eyes restlessly scan his text thread with Kei, over and over. Eyeing every word, over analyzing the sentences to find possibly any hidden clues. Clues that point to where the needle lies on the “is this a date” spectrum, where its just a half circle, with a green portion that reads “Yes” and an adjacent red portion that sports a big fat “No.”
Three solid knocks and he’s suddenly sweaty. He checks (a third time) to make sure he’s wearing deodorant before descending the stairs to meet his date. Yep. Confirmed. But, only to Tadashi. And maybe its more of a half-confirmation than anything.
The sight on the other end of the door is… a sight, that’s for sure. Kei looks rather sharp, clad in a white button down tucked into dark, straight leg deninm. He’s wearing a thin strapped watch and his shoes are simple leather loafers. It’s all so simple, but on Kei it looks so intricate. Tadashi feels quite small under the almost detached stare of his best friend/half date. Its only then that he becomes painfully aware of the fact that he’s been staring for what feels like 10 minutes, hindering Kei from crossing the threshold with his motionless form anchored in place.
“Do I have something on my face?” Kei mutters and looks away, and Tadashi is quick to ensure him, that no, he’s perfectly fine. He moves, and Kei walks through the door, closing it carefully behind him. Turning to face Tadashi was almost a mistake, even though it was 100% inevitable.
Tadashi and Kei have what resembles more of a staring contest than a friendly gaze. Kei blinks owlishly, eyes fixated on the freckles that dot such plump cheeks and smooth skin.
Tadashi’s eyes lower, tracking Kei’s hand as it moves from his side to his cheek. His mouth parts so slightly, and his eyes flicker back to Kei’s.
“Sorry, you had something on your face.”
His heart melted, but not in the mushy, feel-y good way. It dripped into his feet and turned to cement.
“Oh, uh, thanks. So! Should we get going?” Kei nods and turns, silently heading for the door. Tadashi half-asses a goodbye to his parents, his voice echoing through the corridor, and they’re off.
+
The train ride was silent. Worse than that, it was awkward. The bumpy wheels against equally bumpy tracks has their knees brushing against each other. Tadashi was sure the sparks he felt with each brush of jean would soon set him ablaze. Physically. Tadashi cannot handle the silence anymore, so he leans sideways into Kei’s space to ask “Are you excited?”
Kei doesn’t turn his head even an inch, but smiles straight ahead and softly lets a “yeah” roll off his tongue. The smile is just another paper crane Tadashi wishes his hands could craft.
+
The museum is indeed as packed as they thought it would be. Kei pre-purchased their tickets. Tadashi takes note of this, eyeing over the bold “Advanced Purchase” printed on the bottom of his stub. He desperately wants to ask “How did you know I’d say yes?” but also the tentative voice in the back of his skull wants to add “Was I your first choice, or your last?”
He didn’t even have to ask, as the answer he wanted was granted to him in a heart beat.
“There’s something in particular I want to show you. I think you’re the only person I’d want to see this in person with.”
Tadashi’s heart goes up, up, up and lodges itself into his throat, and he swallows it down with noted difficulty. He beams, smile brighter than the sun itself and exclaims “Lead the way, Tsukki!”
+
The paintings mounted on each wall look breathtaking in person. Photographs simply do them no justice. Kei and Tadashi lean up close together, shoulder to shoulder, admiring the way the paint strokes tell stories in the ways only passionate reds and soothing blues can. Kei has to smack Tadashi’s hand away quite often as a reminder ‘no touch, only look.’ The brush of calloused palms against his freckled skin sends prickly thorns and rose-red heat radiating down his forearm. The blood rushes so quickly, almost as quickly as he is to snatch his hand back. His gaze averts the quickest. Kei smirks at all the pouts his hand-smacking produces on the freckled boys face.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
Time stops when you realize you’re in love.
Tadashi swears they’ve been walking forever, and he’s antsy to know exactly what Kei has to show him. What could be so important that only he can be the one to experience it alongside the blond?
“Are you hungry?”
He’s awoken from his trance.
+
The museum cafe is more crowded than anticipated. Tadashi feels bad for the amount of people he accidentally elbows on their trek to the counter. The menu is limited, but nonetheless the pair order their meals and opt to sit in the garden to avoid any more unintended bruises from the lanky limbs of hurried patrons.
The midday sun is quite blinding, but the cool breeze that kisses their faces make up for it tenfold. Tadashi holds idle chit chat, asks Kei what his favourite works have been so far and he catalogs the blond’s responses away in the back of his brain. To the passerby, the sweetness that floats off Kei’s words is lost in translation, but to Tadashi its clear as crystal. Tadashi can’t help but smile as his crush rattles off the names of works, flawlessly pronouncing all the words he has butchered throughout their date-maybe-not-so-date.
Kei blinks down at his watch, voicing the time. Tadashi quickly finishes his food and turns to Kei, whose stare is fixated on his face. As Tadashi’s mouth opens in attempt to question such a quizative glance, long fingers brush against the corner of his mouth so gently, feather light. “You had something on your face.” A burst of confidence blooms through Tadashi’s chest. It radiates through the arm he lifts from his side, down into the fingers he traces against Kei’s lips. The pads of his fingertips sweep over the chapped texture of pink skin, evidence they’ve been chewed and bitten previously.
What Tadashi wouldn’t do to feel those lips with his is a much shorter list than what he would do.
“What was on my face?” Tadashi’s fingers retract from Kei’s mouth as he replies, “Well, my hands were. That’s all. Now, lead the way?”
The red that dusts Kei’s cheeks does not go unnoticed by soft brown eyes. Wordlessly, Kei turns and extends his hand behind him. Tadashi wastes no time in linking their pinkies together.
“The good ol’ buddy system!” His cheeks ache from such genuine smiles as his heart swells within its cavity.
+
The two maneuver skillfully through the crowds, crossing through corridors and watching art fade out of sight as Kei leads Tadashi with intention. The sweat that pools in his cupped hand starts to gross him out, but Tadashi doesn’t dare pull away from Kei’s hand. He silently wonders if Kei notices the slight slide of their skin together as their linked hands swing between them. Tadashi is glad, in this moment, that biology has graced the anatomy of hands to only grant thumbs the gift of pulse. The frantic bump, bump, bump of his heartbeat would be such a give-away of the cocktail of excitement and anxiety his nerves are mixing as he’s lead to the grand finale of their day.
Kei’s pace slows and unlinks their fingers. Tadashi is about to comment when Kei turns and speaks. “Close your eyes.”
Tadashi wordlessly obeys.
In the darkness, he feels two hands land on his shoulders and gently push his body forward. He allows himself to be guided, trusting the taller of the two to safely pilot his now vulnerable form.
When the body behind him stops, he gets the cue to still from the light grip upon both shoulders. Eyes still closed, he feels warm breath against the shell of his ear. “I wanted you to be the one to see this with me because.. this is so lame, but,” the voice sighs before continuing, “it reminds me of you. I think it captures you well. Take a look.”
The sight that greets him from the darkness is unlike anything he’s ever seen.
Tadashi, up until this moment, was not aware that such a simple thing like paint could make his vocal chords tangle. He’s seen pictures of this particular one online, but they are completely inadequate to the real thing. The swirls of blue and yellow that ebb across his vision enchant him. The hair stands up on the back of his neck when he leans closer to observe the way the paint creates a texture upon stretched canvas.
Starry Night has been his favourite painting for so long, he loved it in a past life.
The nervous shifting behind him causes him to blink rapidly in succession, biting back the tears that prickle his eyes and threaten to fall to his lashes.
“I..” ‘I’m in love with you?’ ‘I have no idea what to say?’ ‘Marry me right now you fucking sap?’ his vocal chords are unraveling as he searches his vocabulary reservoir for something caught deep in his lungs.
“When I found that flier crumpled into my bag, it said there was a Van Gogh exhibit and I called to ask if this specific painting was on display.”
“Wow, Tsukki.. I’m, I’m-” Tadashi buries his burning face within his hands as the tears start to fall. Kei turns him around and cards his fingers through soft brown bangs, pushing them aside. Tadashi shutters as those same chapped lips leave a fleeting kiss on his bare forehead.
When he moves his hands from his face, the small, sheepish smile Kei gives him sets his skin on fire.
“You’re… so fucking gay, Tsukki.” Tadashi warbles as he rubs his palms against his freckled cheeks, smearing the tears that continue to drop. He angles his face up and smiles, letting out a small hum when he presses his lips to Kei’s and feels the pressure being reciprocated. Kei trails his hands upon heated skin and Tadashi moves his mouth against Kei’s slow and deliberate. They both turn their heads, slotting their lips together for optimal connection.
Its a total cliché, kissing in a museum, but they don’t care. Well, Tadashi doesn’t. People pass and clear their throats audibly as they exchange feelings through the soft kiss they share. Kei, however, fidgets and pulls away. Tadashi raises his hands to the back of Kei’s neck, drawing their foreheads together. They’ve scarred enough strangers for the day.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry this wasn’t a step in the wikihow article “How to Get a Guy to Fall for You” but I think its sufficient.”
The scream that barrels out of Tadashi’s open mouth is piercing enough to crack the glass casing of every masterpiece in the building.