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It normally goes like this: Kei wakes up to Tadashi’s voiceless cries because of nightmares yet again, holds Tadashi close, whispers sweet, sugary words to serve as lullabies until Tadashi’s mind is clear enough to go back to a peaceful slumber.
Tonight, it’s the opposite.
Tadashi jolts up, alarmed by the suppressed cries of the warm body beside him. Their legs are now untangled, with Kei’s curling on his side of the bed. This registers first into his mind, the continued weeping next.
“Tsukki, hey,” Tadashi says, unsure. He stays quiet after that. He props himself up on one elbow, the other reaching to poke Kei’s shoulder.
He lets his finger lightly press the delicacy of it, testing the waters, and then all at once. Tadashi rubs comforting patterns of circles. It’s natural. A habit that formed in the darkness of their room, the stillness of their bodies, the silence of the city.
“Fuck,” Kei curses. Tadashi almost misses it, but the night is so dead that he hears even the quiet crack in Kei’s voice, “you’re awake.”
“Hey,” Tadashi tries again, now with multiplied warmth, careful not to pressure him.
Too warm.
Too overwhelming for Kei.
So he lets out a sob, surprising Tadashi.
Tadashi doesn’t need to think hard, just does what he does best. He buries his face in Kei’s hair and continues to rub patterns repeatedly, bringing his touch down to Kei’s hands. It was soft against rough. He positions himself thoughtfully, giving Kei the space he needs to comfortably let out quiet sobs if he needed to.
The silence is comforting on its own, though the warmth of Tadashi on Kei’s back adds onto the peacefulness of the hour .
Kei slowly quiets down and exhales twice, then says, with the greatest fondness Tadashi has ever heard from him, “Tadashi.”
“Tsukki,” he calls back.
Tadashi feels Kei’s head move under his chin, motioning a No, that’s definitely not what you call me when we’re alone . He smiles at the rather adorable action.
“Kei,” Tadashi says with certainty, and Kei leans back as if in approval, “Do you want me to turn the lights on for you?”
“No,” Kei says, voice hoarse from crying.
“Okay,” Tadashi simply says, then detaches himself away a bit, touches Kei’s cheek in an attempt to look at him but Kei is as stubborn as he is during the day.
“Don’t, stupid,” Kei says, facing the wall still.
“Hmm?”
“My eyes are swollen.”
“Kei, look at me,” Tadashi pushes.
Kei is silent but shifts and complies. He’s still looking at anywhere but Tadashi, and the freckled face giggles at that.
“You’re so beautiful,” Tadashi says, a great amount of affection in his voice and even a hint of bewilderment, as if discovering a new shade of sunset for the first time (not that any of them is more colorful than Kei in his eyes).
“You’re overreacting again,” Kei sighs, tone silly.
“I’m really not,” Tadashi pouts, “I wish you’d see yourself the way I do.”
To see himself the way Tadashi does – like he hung the stars up the sky, like he made all wishes on a shooting star come true, like he held the sun in his palms, like he was the sugar cube in Tadashi’s bitter, bitter morning coffees (and Tadashi never knew he enjoyed them better sweet, not until Kei arrived - wobbling in his steps, and then steadily, steadily - into his life).
Like he was the reason for Tadashi's existence. Like he was the world itself.
And he is, at least to Tadashi. More than that, even.
Kei chuckles, “You’re too good to me.”
Tadashi blinks at that. It’s not really often that Kei shows affection through words and a voice that isn’t monotone.
“ You’re too good to me, Kei, you just don’t realize it.”
Kei really does not think so, he had said once. Not even at all, but he knows how difficult Tadashi can get when talking about who treats who better. He drops it and instead fiddles with Tadashi’s sweatshirt.
“So, do you wanna talk about it?”
“I dreamt of you,” Kei says finally, after a few seconds of silence. His head moves a little closer to Tadashi’s chest, taking in the scent of his boyfriend.
“Yeah?” Tadashi says, hand now in the blonde’s hair, massaging the scalp, letting his fingers linger in some parts every now and then, “Then why were you crying?”
“Because,” Kei’s lips begin to quiver again, though he stops and exhales, “Because…”
“Hmm?” Tadashi prompts.
Kei hesitates, “Promise you won’t laugh?”
But Tadashi giggles at that.
“Hey,” Kei says weakly.
“Sorry, Tsukki. Because…?” He encourages him again.
“You were so pretty,” Kei starts, “And you were about to leave me. Inside our apartment. Alone. But you were still so pretty, Tadashi.”
Tadashi’s lips part.
You were going to break me yet you were going to do it so beautifully were Kei’s exact words the first time he dreamt that same dream.
It was their breakup, eight months ago. Kei still dreams about it. Tadashi does, too, sometimes, but in his own visions, the scene is blurry.
“I was trying to memorize the placement of each of your freckles for the last time and the next thing I knew I was only reaching for the constellations above,” Kei continues quietly.
“Kei…”
“And I cried because I didn’t want that.”
Kei finally holds tight onto one of Tadashi’s fingers.
“I prefer the stars on your face.”
The patterns stop. Tadashi feels his cheeks go up in temperature, red in color. He’s got no business being this honest when it’s past midnight.
“Still so pretty...” Kei repeats in a low whisper before moving his head completely over Tadashi’s chest. Tadashi figures he’s half-asleep now.
Tadashi looks at the boy he loves, now calmly inhaling and exhaling to the beat of his own breathing, and he feels like crying.
God, he is so lovely. He is so lovely.
“You’re wonderful,” he whispers.
He wants to kiss his universe.
He manages very little movement so as not to disturb the boy, and presses his lips against the top of the taller’s head. Kei nuzzles closer and puts an arm around Tadashi’s abdomen, tight and firm. Tadashi develops a likeness to the new feeling, right then and there. He’s usually the one to do it to the other. He thinks about how Kei’s face would look if he asked to cuddle again like this the next night.
“Thank you,” Kei says, just as Tadashi had thought he was asleep. The harshness in his voice is completely gone. Tadashi only hears serenity.
“I love you, Kei,” Tadashi promises – to the silent night, to the cicadas only vaguely heard from outside, to the promised future with the love of his life, and to the love of his life himself.
“I know,” Kei says in a hushed voice and exhales for the last time, “I love you, too.”
And if the world were to end tonight, Tadashi wouldn’t care. They didn’t need anything else. Kei is here beside him, has always been there, never out of reach. They didn’t need the world. They were each other’s universe. Each other’s home.
Come the sunrise, they would tease each other, and Tadashi can imagine it all clearly – he even guesses the shade of pink that would settle in Kei’s cheeks and the tone of denial in his own voice, which Kei would of course never let escape.
For now, Tadashi lets himself enjoy the smell of vanilla from under his chin and the hold of the tender arm over his small waist – tight and firm, just the way he likes it.