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This was a mistake.
It started months ago, and it shouldn’t have, and Korekiyo knew it shouldn’t have but he was the kind of person that fell too quickly – too easily, all the time, too much, he had always felt more than he should have – because the world was full of so many beautiful people and he had a heart that loved all too well.
It started months ago, and it should have ended, but it didn’t. To call it a crush would be juvenile, but that was how it felt, as if it was crushing him whole and then suddenly he was falling and it wasn’t a crush anymore, and he wanted so badly for it to be because it was a mistake.
It started months ago, and it should have been just a crush, he should have stamped it down and clamped his mouth and ignored the urges to creep closer, he should have denied it, scorned it, scolded himself, reprimanded himself, because it should have just been a crush, but it wasn’t.
Rantaro was soft skin and wide grins, silver-ornamented and listened to him, and perhaps Korekiyo should have had a higher criteria, but it was only supposed to be a crush. It was only supposed to be a three-month-maximum attachment, a platonic attachment, a cut-down and silent attachment, but it wasn’t.
Yes, Rantaro was kind eyes and warm hands and said his name, “Hey Kiyo, long time no see Kiyo, how are you Kiyo,” as though they were actually friends, and perhaps Korekiyo needed a higher criteria, truly, madly, terribly, deeply, but Rantaro waved at him and his heart forgot its rhythm and now he had a problem.
He wasn’t supposed to have this problem.
He wasn’t supposed to be the problem.
Rantaro wasn’t supposed to be more than a study partner, a buddy partner, the kind of classmate that would pity partner with him, no, he wasn’t supposed to be any more than that.
He wasn’t supposed to care so much.
Rantaro wasn’t supposed to ask, “Are you okay?” because the truth was that Korekiyo could not remember the last time he had been, and yet saying that aloud was impossible and foolish and yet he couldn’t stop glancing at those pretty, pretty green eyes, and feel like it was all too much.
He wasn’t supposed to choke on the, “Yes, of course.”
Rantaro wasn’t supposed to get closer. His hand wasn’t supposed to land on Korekiyo’s forehead, his brows weren’t supposed to crease in concern, and Kiyo’s face was not supposed to feel this heated at his touch.
He wasn’t supposed to stare so hard at the curve of Rantaro’s neck as he spoke, wasn’t supposed to tune him out, wasn’t supposed to feel his heart thundering in his chest and his head screaming you’re a good listener, why won’t you listen, why won’t you listen, as though he didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to be in love with Rantaro Amami, yet he was, and oh no oh no oh no this wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen and he felt bad and speechless and brainless and he wasn’t supposed to be this way.
“Hello? Earth to Kiyo? You in there?” Rantaro said, and his lips curved upwards into a smile, and Korekiyo couldn’t help but want to be trapped in that smile forever. He knew it was wrong, he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel this way, but Rantaro had him enchanted, and that must have been why his heart felt so bewitched, and he may not have been ill, but he felt feverish and he couldn’t possibly be to blame for it.
“Evidently,” Korekiyo replied, and his voice was thankfully smoother this time. “Though I must apologize, I seem to have lost focus for a moment and did not catch the latter end of the conversation.”
“It was nothing. Just worried about you. You’ve really got to take better care of yourself, you know,” Rantaro smiled again, and that wasn’t supposed to be so destructive. He surely hadn’t meant it to be but what happened when crushes got worse, how did you go from being crushed to something even worse? How was falling supposed to feel worse than being crushed?
This is how, Korekiyo thought.
His hands didn’t tremble. “I take perfectly good care of myself. I take care of myself the right amount.” He said. “The amount that is necessary. No more, no less.”
Rantaro laughed. It was winter sunshine hitting a wall length window, and it wasn’t supposed to be so warm, but Korekiyo felt like the snow on the windowsill, slowly melting away. No good. No good at all.
“I don’t think that’s something that we can judge for ourselves,” Rantaro grinned. “But if you’re just doing what’s necessary, then you haven’t truly lived.”
“Interesting perception,” he remarked. “What constitutes ‘truly’ living, Rantaro? Is there a truer way to live than the ways we know how?”
“Well, no,” Rantaro pushed hair out of his eyes. “But there are ways you haven’t lived, right?”
Korekiyo chuckled, “Yes, that is true. But as one person is never quite the same as another, we are never meant to be living the same way as someone else. It is not our place to, and it does not always…” he paused, for a moment of drama, though it was hardly necessary. “... work.”
“I’m not asking you to change or anything. I don’t want you to,” Rantaro replied, and he was not supposed to be so carefree. He was not supposed to say things like I don’t want you to change, because everyone knew Korekiyo needed to change his ways. Even Kiyo knew he wasn’t good enough as he was, even though he didn’t do anything about it. He was still doing so many things he wasn’t supposed to do, after all. Feeling things he wasn’t supposed to feel. “I just think it’s worth trying, don’t you agree?”
“Doing more than what is necessary?” Korekiyo tried to keep his voice even again. “You do understand how that sounds… correct?”
“Yeah, it’s called doing things because you can,” Rantaro said. “Cause you want to. Cause you feel like it. Not because you have to.”
How peculiar it was, that someone could think that Korekiyo was allowed to do what he wanted.
“It must be an interesting way to live, indeed.”
Rantaro’s palm met the back of his neck as he laughed, and Korekiyo wasn’t supposed to be so affected by a laugh he had heard in multitude, but he could feel it coursing through him, enriching him with a vitality he wasn’t supposed to be able to feel.
“You find a lot of things interesting, don’t you, Kiyo? You’re so curious by nature.”
Yes, Korekiyo thought. Humanity was, in every form, always so beautiful. Which was why it felt traitorous, almost, to prize the presence of anyone above the beauty of everyone, and yet he could feel it in his lungs, in the breath that shouldn’t have stuttered when Rantaro leaned in a little closer.
“Something’s caught in your hair,” he whispered, and his voice wasn’t supposed to be so low and soft and beautiful. “Hold still.”
Rantaro’s fingers brushed against his cheek and it wasn’t supposed to feel so profound, his rings weren’t supposed to knock their texture against his skin, he wasn’t supposed to feel so vulnerable – his mask was up and zipped, his hands were wrapped tight, he had blocked off almost every essence of skin contact, yet Rantaro still found a way.
He always found his ways.
“Got it,” Rantaro grinned, victorious, and there was the fluff of a white feather between his fingertips, and he was so close. His smile wasn’t meant to be this close. This wasn’t meant to be a problem.
Korekiyo didn’t know he was holding his breath until Rantaro blew the fluff from his hands and laughed like a child. His mouth must be stained by his laughter by now, and wasn’t that wonderful, but it wasn’t supposed to be quite so much, either.
Korekiyo swallowed. There were words he shouldn’t say. But he should have breathed and he didn’t breathe, and he should have thought, but Rantaro rendered his mind useless sometimes, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to start this conversation, but he did.
“Rantaro,” he said. “I think I have a problem.”