Work Text:
Makishima Yuusuke wanted to think of his brain as a thing that could move quickly. Something his body would have to work to keep up with. The moments when he hit that sweet spot between the two were a rush, like the point near the top of a hill, when the calculation of when to start pushing matched up with the need in his legs to work for it. That harmony of mind and body was something he savored.
It wasn’t always like that, though. It wasn’t even usually like that. Whenever he stepped off his bicycle, he could feel the grace slipping off him, his long limbs angling in on themselves, gathering his body into its usual awkward stillness.
His mind was no different. It was frustrating, he thought, how the perfect response to something would sometimes come to him hours after when it would have been useful. And now he lay in his bed, a muscle tensing in his jaw, rehashing the evening. The day itself-the first day of his last inter high- had gone well. Sohoku had tied for first place, and he’d gotten to race against Toudou. His stomach still fluttered when he thought about it.
The night after all that, though, had gone differently. He tried not to beat himself up over his choices, but his words were bluntest when they were pointed at himself, and his pale skin was so easy to bruise.
It was always like this in his mind. Arguments were so much easier to win once they were over. The choices he made and screwed up in the daylight all of a sudden made sense late at night, as though all of a sudden, every thought he should have had when he needed them converged upon him at once, right as he was about to fall asleep. It was like clockwork.
He kicked his legs out from under the covers, trying to get comfortable. He was trying to not think about it, about Toudou, waiting for him on the podium. He tried to focus on what was happening around him, on the sleeping sounds of his teammates. The sound of Tadokoro’s breathing was slow and steady, not nearly as haggard as he’d been in the med tent earlier. That was still worrying, of course, but at least there, he knew he had done the best he could. He trusted Tadokorocchi, and he knew to let him make his own decisions, no matter how nervous they made him.
Listening to the rhythm of his breathing didn’t work, though. Makishima’s brain kept going back to the awards ceremony. He knew that only frustration lay at the end of this trail of ideation, but he chased it down anyway.
Because what if he’d done it?
What if he’d stood up when he heard Toud-Jinpachi- he’d said it out loud now, he could at least keep saying it in his head- when he’d heard Jinpachi’s voice, proud and sure and still desperate, calling out to him? He had felt himself then, his whole spindly awkward weight pressing down onto the bench. He had known he didn’t want to stand up. He didn’t really even like the idea of being up on the winner’s platform in any context, even if it was his whole team being lauded- the idea of it filled his stomach with anxious tension.
He sighed, burying the small sound into his pillow. He knew that there was no way he would have done it, but he couldn’t make himself stop envisioning it. Because what would have happened if he’d run up there and taken Toudou’s hand? What if they’d bowed together, and what if he’d looked out at the crowd, unafraid, his hand sure and firm and somehow not clammy in Toudou’s? What if he’d kissed him then, in front of everyone? And what if a roar of applause and a swell of music and birds had ushered them offstage to continue it alone, his hands sliding from Toudou’s palms up his arms and around the back of his neck and-
Makishima shook his head, squeezing his eyes tight. It wasn’t logical, and it wasn’t a natural reaction, and it would have in no way happened like that. But still, he wanted to go back to this afternoon. Not so he could bike differently and win, or decide to rush up onstage like a lovesick idiot, though. He just wished he had responded differently to Toudou.
Why didn’t you join me onstage?
Every time he ran through it in his head, he had a newer, better way of answering Toudou’s question. He could have found a way to explain that that just wasn’t how he worked. He could have been honest, and told Jinpachi how proud he was of him. But instead he’d been nervous and taciturn and dismissive. As usual.
He blinked rapidly, trying to bring himself to reality. To where he was awake when he really shouldn’t be. They had a full two days of racing ahead of them, and everyone else was asleep. He shifted to check on his roommates. Tadokorroicchi was snoring now, his brow relaxed. It was a long time before Makishima fell asleep.
* * *
The next morning he woke up before anyone else. In the light of day his fantasies only seemed more ridiculous. He shook the sheets off himself, stretching his long arms above his head. He dressed quietly while everyone else slept, letting himself out of the room. In the early morning light, he leaned against the building, watching the fog rise above the concrete of the parking lot. He twirled his phone in his hand, opening and shutting it an embarrassing number of times before he committed to what he wanted to do.
Message to: Toudou
Are you awake yet?
Message from: Toudou
Maki-Chan!!!!!!
Message from: Toudou
I am now! Where are you???? I’m getting dressed!!**･゜ﾟ:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡.
It was only about ten minutes and fifteen texts from Toudou before he rode into the parking lot. Makishima could hear the whir of the bike chain from a good distance away. He tried to look as casual as he could manage, tucking his bed-rumpled hair behind his ears and leaning against the brick.
Toudou skidded to a stop and parked his bike against the closest possible tree. He ran over to Makishima, stopping abruptly only a foot away.
“Good morning, Maki-chan!” he said, digging his toe into the pavement, his hands clasped in front of him, “Did you sleep well? Did you cool down well enough yesterday or are you sore?”
His eyes were scanning Makishima’s body, checking for any slight sign of injury or sudden malnourishment. Makishima knew his concern was genuine, but he still felt like shrinking into himself at the attention. The barely sustained calm he’d created for himself was cracking, because Toudou was here, and Makishima had promised himself he wouldn’t chicken out, this time.
Toudou tilted his head to look up at Makishima. He cocked an eyebrow, saying, “Just because we settled our rivalry doesn’t mean you can let yourself go, you know.”
The urge to shrug and look away and the urge to confess were both beating viciously against his ribcage. Toudou was waiting for him to respond, again. He was standing there, his hair obnoxiously perfect, his eyes wide and staring straight at Makishima, his shirt sliding off his shoulder a bit to expose a corner of collarbone.
It would be so easy, Makishima thought, to close the space between them. And why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he just take Toudou’s face and press it against his own, take his bottom lip in his teeth, pull his hipbone up into his thigh?
He knew, as his heart threatened to thump itself out of his chest, that if he didn’t act now, he’d end up doing it later that night as he tried to fall asleep. He pictured how it would be- laying awake, the situation replaying over and over in his head, the flush of frustration rising in his throat, his knuckles white against his sheets.
All the times he’d kept quiet when he wanted to tell Toudou how he felt lined up in front of him, suddenly. And Toudou was just standing there, waiting, his fingers picking a rhythm on the hem of his sleeve. He was nervous, too, Makishima realized. He wondered if he was picturing something similar in his own mind. He tried not to hope.
Makishima took a breath, tightening his fingers into a resolute fist at his side.
“I just wanted to say,” he started, his voice wavering, “I just wanted to tell you that I couldn’t have gone up there onstage with you. Some things are easier for you-”
Toudou was trying to keep a smile on his face, Makishima could tell, but his shoulders sagged as soon as Makishima had said it, the corners of his mouth trying to hold themselves up against all the words Makishima knew he had to say. And no no no, that wasn’t what he’d wanted!
“I just mean,” Makishima rushed to continue, running a hand through his unbrushed hair, “That isn’t me.”
“Oh."
Toudou stood across from him, holding his own arm, looking at the ground, his mouth betraying himself in a downward twitch. Makishima knew him well enough to know that it was only a moment before the tears would follow.
Makishima was screwing it up, which he figured he should have expected. He desperately wanted to explain his actions with words, but those were slippery things, and Toudou was worth more than one flimsy attempt. His daydream from the night before surfaced in his mind again, but he pushed the flowery scene out of his head, and stepped toward the Toudou that was in front of him right now.
“That didn’t mean I didn’t feel it, though. It doesn’t mean I don’t-” Makishima shook his head, his hair falling in slow shakes around his shoulders, “It doesn’t mean I wasn’t proud of you.”
He closed his eyes and breathed in, shaky and deep, steadying himself. He’d started it, now, and he was going to see it through. He reached out to pull Toudou’s hand from where it had worried a thread loose from the seam on his arm. His hand was warm and calloused, and Makishima tried not to worry about how sweaty his own palm was.
Toudou took in a sharp breath, his head jerking up to meet Makishima’s eyes. His fingers tightened against his grip.
“Maki-chan, It wasn’t just me. We did it together,” he said desperately, tears sneaking into the corners of his eyes.
Makishima felt the rush in his gut to stop it, to stem the flow in any way he could. He squeezed Toudou’s hand and he squeezed back, pushing his fingernails lightly into his skin. They were holding hands and Makishima thought he’d faint from that alone, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact as Toudou continued.
“I just wanted-” He looked out over Makishima’s shoulder, like has going to see the legions of adoring fans out there, cheering them on. “I just wanted to know if you’d still feel it, once the race was over. If you still…”
He shifted his gaze back to Makishima, the swell of tears threatening to reach its capacity, ready to fall down his cheeks. “If you still meant it, once we’d settled the tie.” His eyebrows were bunched together and he was staring at Makishima. His face was so still, like he was holding his breath, waiting.
“Of course I did. Don’t be stupid.”
Toudou laughed at that typical response, but his lower lip was still trembling.
Makishima started blushing just thinking of what he was about to say, but he opened his mouth anyway, “Just because I don’t want everyone looking at me doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. Because I do. Care about you, I mean. I’m sorry for not telling you that yesterday.”
Having said it, finally, he flicked his eyes to the side, exhaling. He’d already steeled himself for any possible response, so he let himself do it. He leaned down quickly, kissing the corner of Toudou’s left eye, on the outside. It was soft there, and the tear leaked into his mouth instead of down Toudou’s cheek. Makishima felt Toudou quake at the touch, the breath inside him hitching.
When he pulled back, Toudou’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open, silent, for once. A good enough sign. Makishima smiled at that, and pressed his forehead against Toudou’s, closing his eyes against the nervous joy thrumming in his chest, against the bright light of sunrise.
That touch seemed to break Toudou from his shock. He shivered, and then leaned into it. "I care about you too, Maki-chan!" He was trying to speak quietly, Makishima could tell, but his voice was shaking with excitement and nerves. His tears, which Makishima knew were happy ones, now, rolled down his cheeks. It was too endearing to bear, so Makishima nudged his nose against Toudou's.
“Ride hard for me today, all right?” Makishima asked, bringing his other hand up to rest, gently, on Toudou's hip, “Don’t hold back against me, Jinpachi.”
Toudou made a small noise of pained glee at the sound of his first name. He lifted his hand, the one not holding Makishima’s, and brought it up to his hair, running his fingers, gently, all the way down. When he got to the end, he didn’t let go, wrapping a green curl around his index finger.
“Oh, I won’t hold back,” said Toudou, tilting his head up to meet him.
Makishima noted no applause or rising music when he kissed Toudou, full and hard and sweet, on the mouth. There was only the chirping of early morning birds, the soft sounds Toudou made against him, and the fast thudding of his heart.
When Toudou finally pulled away, breathless, he was smiling. “You won’t even know what hit you.”