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Reserved, stoic, unwavering.
Takajo Tsukasa is a fucking statue.
More like a marbled, gold-accented statue that sits in a museum than a gargoyle peering from the edge of a building like the rest of the Oya high students, but a statue none the less.
Since the moment Fujio had laid eyes on him all of those years ago, he’d thought that there was something melancholically beautiful about Tsukasa, the unimpressed raise of his eyebrows and perpetually unamused expression.
There were few diamonds in the rough in their neighbourhood.
Full of odds and ends, rather like a lost and found box, they all seemed to carry around their own list of burdens and trauma with them and seemed worn around the edges because of it. Battle scars, protective scars – it didn’t matter.
Tsukasa was spun from gold, as far as Fujio was concerned.
He’d always been Fujio’s rock, the steady hands that guided him through his more impulsive nature. He knew that he could be childish, too excitable and enthusiastic, yet for all of his reservedness, Tsukasa never scolded or belittled him for it.
Perhaps Fujio was always too wrapped up in just staring at Tsukasa, mapping every inch of his face to memory, the lithe stretch of his limbs as they moved under clothing that was always too big for him, but he carried to perfection.
After all, Fujio had always had a fixation with pretty things, and Tsukasa was no different.
“Are you going to sit there all day, or are you going to eat that?” Tsukasa’s voice is as smooth as it always is, washing over Fujio like the warmth of the sun on his skin.
Turning to look at him, Fujio shoots him a wide grin. “I didn’t realise it was a race!”
Tsukasa hums in response, shaking his head softly as Fujio watches the small tendrils of light hair frame Tsukasa’s face, so delicate and ethereal.
No wonder he’d forgotten about his cupcakes.
Before he even has time to turn to the sugary delights he’d spent his daily allowance on as a treat for them both, a bony hand reaches out and snatches Fujio’s chocolate cupcake right beneath his nose.
“Wow, delicious,” Yasushi says with his cheeks full of an entire cupcake, barely staying in his mouth as he struggles to digest it all, “thanks, Fujio!”
Aghast, Fujio finds himself for the first time in an eternity, speechless.
From beside him, Tsukasa lets out a small exhale, his eyes crinkled gently at Fujio as he shakes his head before standing up and giving Yasushi’s cheek a healthy smack.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, his eyes transitioning from warm and malleable to cold and hardened, as though Fujio having his cupcake stolen was a genuine affront, when he’d repeatedly stolen other people’s possessions whilst at school.
“What does it look like, bastard?” Yasushi says with some difficulty as he swallows the last of the cupcake, without much enjoyment but with the same tinge of insanity the boy carried around with him everywhere.
“Get off our roof.” Tsukasa replies, giving Yasushi one last scathing look and snatching up the other cupcake from the table to make it clear what would happen if Yasushi did what he was likely planning to do.
Yasushi makes a show of grinning dementedly at Fujio, waving enthusiastically as he exits the roof with the door slamming shut behind him, the sounds of Kiyoshi shouting from downstairs not far behind.
Fujio isn’t sure what he’s more forlorn about, the loss of his chocolate cupcake or the fact that Yasushi didn’t even take the time to enjoy what he’d stolen so brazenly.
His thoughts are expelled when he glances sideways in time to catch Tsukasa taking a small bite from a frosted pink cupcake – Fujio had picked it for him on the basis that it reminded him of Tsukasa’s pink shirt, which Tsukasa brushed off with a small hum as usual.
The sight is almost too much to bear, with Tsukasa always being a slow and gentle eater who likes to savour his food, which is now more than it ever has been, an unbearable amount of distracting.
Tsukasa glances at him, his eyes flickering slightly. He sighs, pausing from eating.
“Do you want to share?” He says with some resignation, holding out the cupcake that only has a small bite missing from it.
Fujio glows like the sun itself, grinning ear to ear and nodding enthusiastically, barely catching the way Tsukasa smiles gently and looks away from Fujio.
Taking a couple of small bites with immense satisfaction, Fujio hands the cupcake back to Tsukasa with a smile.
“You know, having my own would’ve been nice. But I think sharing with you is even better.”
For once in his life, Tsukasa cracks.
His eyes seem to dart between Fujio, the cupcake, the floor and the sky, his cheeks slowly starting to saturate with a colour Fujio has never seen before. Opening and closing a few times, his mouth seems to only find the ability to let out a shaky exhale.
“Fujio-,” he starts, but as usual, Fujio already knows.
He always knows.
Closing the space between them, he softly cups Tsukasa’s cheek in his hand and revels in the softness of his skin, leaning forward to kiss him slowly and assuredly, unashamed in the way he finds himself inching closer and closer to Tsukasa as he does.
It’s like he’s dizzy on happiness when Tsukasa’s hand shakily lands on his lower back to move him closer, and maybe Fujio pushes further than he usually would by simply depositing himself on Tsukasa’s lap, but it’s worth it for the way it deepens his flush.
“How do you say stuff like that?” Tsukasa huffs, the tips of his ears now pink as well.
Fujio shrugs, nuzzling near Tsukasa’s neck. “I don’t usually have to say it because I’m too busy thinking it all of the time.”
Tsukasa sighs exasperatedly, glaring at Fujio. “See?”
Fujio laughs, kissing Tsukasa’s cheek and moving to put both of his arms around his slim waist, staring at Tsukasa with unabashed affection.
“As far as I was concerned, we were dating without the physical affection,” Fujio giggles a little at Tsukasa’s expression, “it was only when Todoroki of all people told me that it wasn’t official until I made it official that I thought I should maybe consider doing something about it…”
“Todoroki?” Tsukasa sounds incredulous, his eyebrow arched. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m your idiot, though.” Fujio tickles Tsukasa’s neck.
Placated, if not slightly shy due to the increase in affection, Tsukasa settles back into the couch and loops his arms around Fujio’s waist, adjusting comfortably so Fujio can happily sprawl in his lap with his head tucked near Tsukasa’s neck.
“Yeah, you are.”