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“Whoa, whoa- Hey, what gives, beautiful?”
Tendou had walked into the room and stopped for a moment to watch you sitting on the bed by the window, thinking you were looking out wistfully. He smiles, the idea of you being all dreamy and lost in your thoughts fills him with a strange satisfaction. He finds you ethereal when you stare off into space and he wonders where your daydreams whisk you off to.
And that should change when he rounds your figure and sees the tears leaking from your eyes, but the sentiments remain despite the concern welling up in his chest. You turn your head away from him quickly, mad at yourself for not catching the tears sooner, and knowing that you can’t fake being alright or blame it on a yawn.
“No, look at me. Why are you crying?” He demands softly as he takes a seat on the bed and pulls you by the waist from behind. He uses his strength to gather you in his arms and move your chest against his, even though you make no effort to help him do so.
Your breath picks up, starting to choke on little heaves as more tears flow down your cheeks. Why hold it down now after he’s caught you like this? You didn’t want to bother him with whatever’s going on with your head because it doesn’t make sense - it never does. There’s no excuse you can conjure for your sadness, feeding the bitter feelings and self-doubt swirling around inside you. Your plan was to deal with your emotions silently, but you’re also relieved that he found you despite the shame in not being able to handle it by yourself.
“I d-don’t know! I-It’s fucking stupid. My brain is being stupid. Not doing what I want it to. C-Can’t stop it. Body hurts-” You sob, body shaking, and hating yourself for sounding so whiny and pathetic.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. Look at me: What do you see?” He coos, hand smoothing over your hair as you struggle to control the breaths that seem to wrack your whole system. You peek an eye at him, vision blurry from the force of your wince and burning tears.
“You…” You choke out in a tiny voice, fighting to focus on anything besides the uncomfortable tightness in your chest.
“Is that all?” He prods patiently, allowing you to gather yourself enough to form an answer.
“Y-Your eyes…cute nose…hrrrmmm…red hair…p-pretty lips…” You murmur as your sore eyes scan the image of his face that’s slowly coming to sharpen. You manage to relax your weight against him, muscles accepting of the wear of their tension.
“Oh yeah? And what do you hear?” He asks. You’re thankful for how calm he is and his soft smile. You always try to do the same for him when he’s the one losing grip, though your heartbeat always ticks nervously, and you wonder how his seems so steady and calm.
“…can hear your heart…train…fan…” You mumble, eyes closed as you steady your breathing so you can listen better. The low, subtle sounds of the everyday quiet spaces rumble a comforting hymn against your eardrums.
“Mmhm, good, good. And feel?” He continues, and you begin to recognize this exercise - something you try to do yourself with weaker results.
“Warm…you, warm. Hands, arms…feels nice. Your breath. Soft hoodie. Moving air,” you answer between larger and slower breaths, and the occasional big sniffle to stop the snot from running.
“Good. It’s okay. Can you smell anything through that stuffy nose?” He teases gently, placing a kiss into your hair, and hands rubbing soothing lines down your back.
“You. Satori. Your smell. Mine, mine, mine,” you ramble, burying your face into the scent of fresh cotton scented laundry detergent mixed with his cucumber body wash. Your arms tighten around him and you finally let out a sigh, feeling calmer. His cheek is pressed atop your head as he hums in satisfaction at your answer, though he’s still a little concerned.
“Yes, yes, I’m all yours. Always yours,” he says and you can hear the reassuring smile in his calming tone.
His slender hand strokes your cheek, smearing the remaining dampness of your cheeks with his thumb. You look up at him, eyes so shiny and watery and holding so much emotion that it could snap his heart in two - and he’d let you, and he’d thank you though you never would. He leans down and captures your lips, perhaps going a little deeper than he intended when he swipes his tongue into your mouth, not really sure if he can blame it on your beauty or his lack of control.
“Taste anything?” He asks, wiping away the little line of saliva that trails from your lips to his.
“Sour…Sour Patch Kids?” Your brows twitch slightly as you try to place the familiar sweetness with just a touch of acidity.
He grins and sticks his blue and red dyed tongue at you. At last, you smile, giggling at how cute your boyfriend is. His face lights up at your change in expression, his heart swelling in pride that he’s able to calm the nasty storm in your veins.
“I love you, so much,” you sigh, letting your cheek fall to his shoulder and nuzzling your nose to his neck. Everything about your being feels tired, and you’re glad to have his warmth to melt in.
“I love you, too,” he says back, lips right at your hairline. His tenderness flushes one more wave of tears through your eyes, though they feel less abrasive than before as if they’re clearing away the stinging salt. You try not to dwell on how you got so lucky to have him, knowing it’ll work up your emotions again.
“But I’m so wretched and horrible,” you say too easily as you look into his garnet eyes. You feel it’s true - all the wicked and invasive thoughts that sneak through your mind filter on a daily basis. Surely you’re no good.
“No. You’re not. I’m the wretched and horrible one,” he says back and it makes your heart clench that he’d dare to take your label.
“You could never be! You’re my sweet boy! My sweet sweet ‘tori,” you whine with a frown, pressing little kisses at the corners of his lips repeatedly. You know he’s inclined to truly believe such twisted things. He could never be anything but perfect in your eyes - the sweetest love to ever grace the earth.
“But even though I hate seeing you sad, I also sort of…love it,” he says, waiting for you to react, but you just look at him to continue. “You’re so beautiful like this, being able to feel whatever it is so strongly that it could break you. And I’m the only one who gets to see it. I’m the one who gets to hold you like this - to bring you back from wherever your thoughts take you.”
You have nothing to say at his honesty. Any sane person would refrain from rewarding a loved one’s sadness with lauds of beauty. He’s sound though, more so than anyone has been with you. It’s not the correct thing to say- but really, what is? For once in your life, don’t just feel loved; You feel seen. Perhaps you’re both crooked, and if you can’t fault him for that, you might be able to give yourself a chance.
“See? Wretched. Horrible. Selfish. Completely fucked,” he tells you, a little sorrowful but unapologetic. Is it wrong of you both to smile? You know that neither of you would be the cause of each other’s pain. It’s fine, it’s not fine, and it’s fine for it not to be fine.
You lean up and forward, catching his mouth in a needy kiss and shifting to straddle his lap. You push your body as close to his as you can manage as if you need to breathe the air from his lungs to stay alive. Fingers grip and tangle themselves in the hair at his neck, breathy moans escaping your lips as you pull and nudge at each other’s forms. His hands sit at your waist, and though the pressure of his fingertips against your back feels nice, you grab his wrists and urge his touch to the curve of your bottom.
“You really want this now?” He breathes when you break for just a moment to press your forehead to his, so close that you can see your own eyes in the reflection of his.
“Of course. Please, be wretched with me.”