Work Text:
Sandpaper
It seemed like a world that had been emptied of all the pain that otherwise lived in it.
That dwelt in all the corners, crawled through brick walls and even into hearts.
Only dedication and warmth, as if millions and millions of stars had exploded.
As if the sun had found the moon and the moon had found the light within itself.
Fingers that were as rough as sandpaper and yet as desirable as the first green of spring. As dedicated as if a trickster had stopped all the clocks in the world; stolen time from people and forced them back to themselves. In his chest, a heartbeat more powerful and clear than it had been for a long time. Breath that danced through his limbs, slalomed past his ribs and tickled his little toe. Pain that had plagued the redhead until a few moments ago turned into horrible, sticky cotton candy that caused caries - holes in his head.
Gone was all the triumph and forgotten the scorn. No longer important were those despairing faces and his own victory. Of importance only those hands that embraced his. Which were as rough as sandpaper and yet as desirable as the first green of spring.
„You must take better care of them,“ that monotone voice that created heat in his cheeks and made butterfly wings kiss his nose.
„You exaggerate, Wakatoshi-kun,“ the grin too unsteady, the heart even stumbling, „That can happen now and then in a challenging game.“
He wanted to say much more, thought of laughing, spinning and walking with the sun. Wasn’t ready for the feeling of heart fluttering and daydreaming after all. But why then, here and now, in this room, did all the clocks seem to stand still?
There were only those fingers, rough as sandpaper and yet as desirable as the first green of spring. Warm, familiar hands that held his own.
He did not understand what was happening to him.
The other one was too close.
Tendou looked into his eyes, then at those hands. Timeless, even forever?
„You need to rest,“ Ushijima looked deep into his soul, a little more each time, „You should sleep, Satori.“
„So my fingers can recover?“ the athlete might scoff, covering the lurch in his chest and not losing himself to the younger man, „Then you might as well just kiss them.“
Cocky met serious.
„Okay, okay, I know, Wakatoshi-kun, no jokes when it comes to a volleyball player’s hands,“ he tilted his head in that unhealthy way, „ I‘ m off already, yeah?“
An embarrassed laugh, because Tendou realised he didn’t know how. How could he leave when the clocks of the world stood still and the moment did not pass? Never would.
How could he walk away when fingers as rough as sandpaper, yet as desirable as the first green of spring, continued to embrace his? When two gazes connected and Ushijima did not blink? Yes how?
„I think there’s a magpie outside your window.“
Tick tock.
„It’s winter, Satori.“
.
.
.
„Wakatoshi-kun.“
„Huh?“
„We’re holding hands.“
Terrible, sticky cotton candy that caused caries - holes in the head..
.