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No one told them they had feelings for each other.
Not when Astel’s friends had taken one look at Kishido Temma -- blond, blue-eyed, kinda wimpy, and a massive nerd -- and had unanimously agreed to bully him to let them copy his homework. But when they’d mentioned the idea to Astel, the blue-haired youth had slammed his hand down onto his desk and said ‘not him’ in a low voice and that had been the end of that conversation (his friends had seen him fight -- violent reputations were earned, not given -- so they didn’t want to risk it).
Not when Temma first approached Astel at the arcade, voice all confident for a single moment as he challenged Astel to a match at one of the machines -- “If I win, you’ll start coming to class on time” -- and Astel had raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and then agreed easily.
None of Astel’s friends said anything when Astel then proceeded to lose at a game he’d mastered weeks before -- ‘LDA’ was at the top of the rankings at every ending screen, but Temma didn’t seem to notice since he was pumping his fist in the air and yelling ‘yes’ excitedly at his win (“Cringe but cute,” Shien had whispered to Izuru who’d rolled his eyes in response) -- and then Astel made a whole production of having to go to class now because the class president and head nerd had forced his hand.
No one mentioned anything about Temma then purposely partnering with Astel in every project -- “Someone has to watch over him, Miyabi” whispered to Temma’s already exhausted best friend -- and Astel’s theatrical grumbling followed by agreement anyway. (Astel’s grades began to rise, but his abrasive attitude still kept most people away from him. Astel was a brat, a nuisance, a loudmouthed troublemaker who scared people despite his short and cute appearance. Most students didn’t want Astel to perceive them at all and couldn’t fathom why the top of their class had decided to take this kind of guy on).
Not a single word was said to clue them in when Temma was shoved aside in the hallway, the momentum throwing him off balance and making him drop all his books. And then Astel’s voice was ringing out loudly and angrily like a loudspeaker from the other end of the hall -- “Who did that?! Say sorry, you piece of shit!” -- and the person responsible had come scurrying back to pick up Temma’s books, help him up, and profusely apologize like he feared for his life.
Not when Temma purposely waited outside of the classroom or outside of detention -- whichever it was for that day -- so the two of them could take their breaks together, the delinquent and the over-achiever sharing a peaceful meal while their friends sat at the next table over and kept glancing at the pair like they expected a fight to break out at any moment. (The teachers couldn’t understand how and why the school’s delinquents and nerds started getting along so well, but as long as nothing burned down, they were content to live and let live)
Not even when Temma had finally shown up to one of the more rowdy afterschool parties and asked for Astel -- “I wanted to see him outside of school” whispered shyly to the lookout who’d then furrowed his brow, opened his mouth, and then promptly shut it before waving Temma inside -- only for Temma to end up drunk and vomiting in the toilet, Astel holding blond hair back with a hand even as the other rubbed at Temma’s back (Astel had a self-confessed phobia of vomit, but no one said anything about Temma being the exception to that either).
Not a single soul breathed a word when Astel started cooking for two -- Temma could cook, but he always seemed to end up buying from the cafeteria instead -- and handing Temma cutely packed lunch boxes -- mascot characters, cute shapes, and things that both looked and tasted like a gourmet course, if Temma’s reactions were to be counted on -- each day like a wife cooking for her husband.
No words were said about it when Astel kept turning down his suitors (when before he would flirt back jokingly) because ‘it was more fun to hang out with Temma’. Not even when Astel had been coerced into singing for a class play and Temma had squealed like a massive fan backstage listening to the performance, his hands fumbling for his phone so he could record. ("If he passes out, you carry him," Miyabi whispered to Roberu who groaned and looked like he wanted to die)
No, everyone was silent about these little interactions, even their friends. Some from fear of Astel’s reaction, some from amusement, and some -- like Temma’s closer friends -- believing that saying something wouldn’t matter anyway because this was the kind of thing people were supposed to realize on their own.
So it was that when Temma invited Astel to attend the summer festival with him -- he usually attended this with his group of friends, but somehow they all said they were busy this time -- he was wholly clueless and unprepared for his own reaction to Astel’s eventual appearance.
Astel arrived twenty minutes late, and he was jogging a little in his haste, the yellow jinbei he had on flapping in the wind. It was cute, with sea-themed patterns on it printed in thin red lines, but one look at his face and cute was the last descriptor on Temma’s mind.
Oh, Temma thought then. Astel is pretty.
There really wasn’t much difference from their day-to-day except that this time Astel’s lips looked softer in the light of the evening, his cheeks redder (probably from the jogging), and he seemed to have put on some light eyeshadow to match his clothes. Temma’s breath shouldn’t have caught when his gaze met wide green eyes when Astel finally came to a stop before him. He shouldn’t have had an urge to reach out and run his hands through messy blue hair streaked with yellow -- Astel tried his best to style it daily, but without the hair gel making it pointy (he probably ran out of time tonight), it was a fluffy mop that looked like seaweed or a soft blue marshmallow -- to tuck errant strands behind Astel’s ears, to cup the roundish cheeks that seemed full despite the rest of Astel being slim and compact.
Oh no, Temma thought, because he wasn’t stupid in the slightest -- in fact, he was top of the class -- he was just a little slow coming to terms with things, and he knew what his urges meant at that moment (what they’d probably always meant and why he’d pushed them away on instinct before so as to not cause any friction between them at school, but somehow now, today they were harder to ignore), and yet--
This was a very bad time to realize just how much he loved Astel. The words were bubbling up inside him all at once, fighting to spill out from his lips -- I love you, I love you!! -- and he wanted to reach out but he shouldn’t because there was no lead-up to it, no prior touches, nothing.
They were just friends. It would be too abrupt, too out of the ordinary for Temma to--
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Temma!” Astel blurted out, and he was saying something about wanting to dress more like an adult -- more mature -- for this for some reason, but in the end nothing looked right on him because he was baby-faced and small so he’d ended up with a boyish attire anyway and he’d had to rush through his routine and--
Temma was reaching out anyway, fingertips brushing against Astel’s cheek and causing Astel’s words to cut off abruptly into a small sound of surprise. Temma knew he should pull back, that this was something new between them -- they didn’t touch each other much, not really, just casual and friendly brushes every now and then, and never on the face -- but he couldn’t.
He tried for a save seconds later, moving his fingers up soft skin -- why, why, why did it feel so smooth, this wasn’t fair, Temma wanted to touch more, to trace a line down to Astel’s lips and tug his mouth open so Temma could sear their mouths together and taste--
No, no, no. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
Temma tucked a few strands of soft blue hair behind Astel’s ear and reluctantly pulled his hand away afterwards, trying to act like it was a casual maneuver he did all the time.
“No hair gel today?” Temma asked, smiling. “You look different.”
Astel was blinking up at Temma, his brow furrowed slightly like he couldn’t decide what to make of Temma’s actions, but thankfully he shrugged afterwards and smiled back. His tone, when he replied, was teasing. Normal.
A little disappointing because Temma wanted more, but--
“Is that good different or bad different?” Astel asked, and then he was moving to walk past Temma, one of his hands coming around Temma’s forearm and tugging him along. “Let’s go! Let’s start! We don’t have all night!”
“Good different,” Temma replied, letting himself get pulled along. This kind of contact was slightly necessary because of the crowd in the festival proper -- though right now, Temma would’ve preferred to hold hands instead -- so they wouldn’t get separated. “And let me remind you that you were the one who was late, Mr. Leda.”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Kishido,” Astel sang back teasingly, and then he was pulling Temma to different stalls and Temma was trying his hardest all throughout to remember that they were just friends and that this wasn’t the date he so desperately wished it was all of a sudden. They ate together first, trying various little snacks here and there, Temma watching the way Astel licked at his lips and wondering for a moment if he was a masochist for staring so much at things he couldn't have. After that, they walked around and it felt like a date for a while -- Astel's arm hooked around Temma's own as the crowd jostled them around -- but Temma couldn't wrap an arm around Astel's waist at all no matter how much he wanted to, so he was painfully aware of what this really was the whole time.
The games were easier up until they weren't. Astel was good at some games -- Temma suspected that it was most games, really, but Astel kept declining to play some and letting Temma take the lead instead -- and they managed to get a few prizes that they shoved into a little bag they bought at one of the stalls. Temma found himself thinking if it counted as a 'friendly' interaction to give each other their winnings or if it would be viewed as too romantic a gesture for what their current relationship was. He kinda wanted the star-shaped keychain Astel had won, because it would remind him of Astel -- bright, shining, unreachable -- if he was able to put it on his house keys and carry it everywhere.
He was still pondering it when Astel reached out to take the ratty dog plush Temma had just won -- plucked it right out of the blond’s hands -- and claimed it as his.
“This is cute,” Astel declared, and he was hugging the dumb thing to his chest -- Temma shouldn’t feel jealous of a toy, what had come over him tonight? Was there something in the festival’s air? -- and grinning mischievously at Temma like he was wont to do when he was playing tricks on his friend. “Thanks for winning it for me.”
“I won that for me,” Temma replied, hoping it wasn’t obvious in the dark of the night and in the muted festival lighting that he was blushing like mad. “But you can have it if you give me something you won too.”
“Oh, a trade? Hmm,” and Astel was tilting his head up at Temma curiously. “Which one do you want?”
You, Temma thought. They were standing close to each other -- this really was a crowded event -- and he wanted to lean in, to press his face into Astel’s hair and maybe smell his shampoo, to wrap his arms around the shorter youth and--
“Oh, wait, is that Shien?” Astel was suddenly asking, and he was looking away from Temma to crane his neck around the blond and squint into the distance. “I could’ve sworn he said he wasn’t feeling well today. Maybe I should confront him or trick him or--”
Temma didn’t know why he suddenly felt like crying at that moment. Why was it? His eyes were suddenly teary without his permission because he was thinking that no matter how much feelings he had for Astel -- the realization had been late, but that had only made everything come to the surface stronger and more inconvenient -- no matter how much love he could muster, this was as far as they’d go.
They were friends. Astel had given no indication whatsoever that he could possibly return Temma’s feelings. Heck, Temma himself hadn’t known until now so it was unreasonable to expect Astel to return them.
No, Astel had other friends he was closer to. Temma was suddenly remembering moments when Astel would hug Izuru tightly or would take naps against Shien’s shoulder -- things he hadn’t done to Temma at all no matter how long they’d been friends -- and more than jealousy, he was all at once sad that he wouldn’t ever have that.
“Temma?”
Astel’s voice was cutting into Temma’s thoughts abruptly and he was blinking himself back to reality to find that his vision was blurry and that one of Astel’s palms was pressed against his cheek, thumb brushing under one of Temma’s eyes gently.
“Are you okay?”
Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was the concerned look Astel had on his face that meant absolutely nothing beyond friendship, Temma was sure, and that made the sadness even worse. Maybe it was even the way Astel was touching him, gentle, like he was made out of spurned glass. (Temma knew how rough Astel's hands could be, because once upon a time Astel had fought for him -- coming out of nowhere when Temma had been cornered by a group of wannabe bullies -- and had been brutal)
Whatever it was, Temma found himself blinking back even more tears, and Astel’s expression was changing from concerned to alarmed, and the shorter youth was all at once tugging Temma away from the crowd and into a nearby group of trees.
The festival was behind him, behind the tree Astel pushed him against, and the lights were illuminating intense green eyes looking up at him.
“Why are you crying?” Astel asked quietly, and he was shoving the dog plush he still had in his hand into the small cloth bag hanging from his wrist. And then he was twisting the bag off his wrist until it dropped to the ground near their feet, and reaching out with both hands to cup Temma’s cheeks. “Are you hurt? Did you get a stomachache or a headache from the shaved ice we had?”
“No,” Temma said, wanting to savor the gentle way Astel was touching him and brushing at tear tracks, but the thought that they were friends -- just friends -- was unbearable at that moment, even if it shouldn’t be.
He tried his best to move forward anyway, to not be a burden to Astel with these complicated feelings. Because Astel was kind enough to Temma and it wouldn't be right to ask for more. After all, Astel could've ignored Temma from the start, so this kind of friendship was already a rarity. A gift. He was already spoiling Temma, giving in to him when he could've resisted anytime.
Why did Astel spoil him so much anyway? Was he like this to all of his friends? (No, no he wasn’t, but he was certainly different to Shien and Izuru, more physically affectionate and teasing, at least -- and that hurt to think about even more. Did Astel want to go to the festival with Shien instead? Was that why he wanted to leave Temma and seek out their classmate? Was Temma in the way?)
“You should go find Shien like you wanted. I’m okay,” Temma said, wanting this night to end already so he could go home and maybe put his thoughts in order, but at the same time unable to stop himself from hoping that Astel would say no and--
“Fucking--” Astel started, and the gentleness was suddenly replaced with brashness as he yanked at Temma’s face, pulling the blond a little bit down so Astel could glare right into Temma’s eyes. “Bend down, you fucking tree, my arms are getting sore like this.”
It shouldn’t have made Temma laugh given his current emotional turmoil, but the annoyance on his friend’s face and tone was really pretty funny so he ended up chuckling anyway even as he bent down and complied with the request.
“Okay,” Astel said when Temma bent, and he seemed to be sucking in a breath before he continued. “Okay. okay.”
“I’m okay, yes,” Temma couldn’t resist saying, even if he knew that Astel was probably gathering his thoughts and putting them in order before he could properly converse. Astel was thoughtful in that manner and more socially adept than Temma who often blurted out things without consideration for how they would be taken afterwards.
“Shut up,” Astel replied automatically, and Temma could practically hear the gears turning in Astel’s head -- trying to piece together what had gone wrong and when it had gone wrong, like a detective on the trail of a murderer -- as he continued. “Did I-- Did I do or say something that hurt you? Was it the toy? You can have it back.”
“No, you can have that,” Temma said, and he was giving in a little to his urges, moving his face closer to Astel’s hair -- had Astel always smelled like oranges or was this scent from one of the festival booths? -- and breathing in as subtly as he could manage. He would never be this close again, so--
“Well, what the fuck is wrong then?!” Astel hissed -- annoyance, always annoyance when something didn’t make sense even after Astel had tried so hard to figure it out -- and he was all at once falling silent and breathing slowly as he attempted to calm himself back down. His grip on Temma’s face tightened for a moment before he let go and his arms wrapped around Temma’s torso instead.
It was an abrupt hug and a little awkward at first until Temma adjusted, his own arms coming around Astel and hugging him back tightly -- this tight, was Temma making it too obvious? Should he pull away? But Astel was soft and warm and perfect in his arms like this, and the scent of oranges was stronger now that Temma could bury his face into Astel’s fluffy hair.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Astel whispered after a long moment of this, and Temma could feel palms rubbing down his back in a soothing manner. And when Temma didn’t immediately respond -- because really, was this something Temma could just confess out of nowhere? Wouldn’t it ruin their friendship completely? -- “Temma, the fireworks are going to start soon and I don’t want to miss them so please spit out whatever the fuck is wrong before then.”
Temma found himself laughing again -- the way Astel was a mixture of kind and brash at the same time was funny and yet Temma loved it. He loved Astel and it was overwhelming him -- and adjusting his grip so he could clue Astel in without saying anything at all.
Because if he said things outright, then there would be no way to back out if Astel reacted negatively.
Temma moved a hand to press in between Astel’s shoulder blades as he wrapped his other arm around Astel’s waist and pulled the other youth flush against him. He felt everything like this, the way Astel’s chest rose and fell against Temma’s as he breathed, Astel’s hipbones pressed against Temma’s thighs, the warmth of his slender form relaxing in Temma’s arms completely as Astel’s face buried itself into Temma’s chest.
Was this an answer? Temma didn’t know, but he did enjoy the way Astel’s arms tightened around him in response, the way he could feel Astel’s hands fisting at the cloth at Temma’s back, the way Astel seemed to tremble a little before he spoke again.
“This is too close,” Astel said, the words muffled against Temma’s chest. His breath was hot against the area and Temma wanted so badly to kiss his friend on the mouth and feel that heat against his own lips. “If we stay like this, I--”
“Astel,” Temma said, and he was closing his eyes and savoring the scent of oranges invading his nostrils, the soft strands of hair against his face, and everything about this moment -- how Astel felt, how Astel sounded -- that he would probably remember for the rest of his life. “Anything?”
“What?” Astel murmured, sounding annoyed all over again but not pulling away. “Anything what? Oh, wait. Yeah, sure, tell me anything.”
“I love you.”
“Oh.”
Silence followed. In the distance, there was the soft hum followed by a louder bang -- the fireworks were starting -- and Temma was reminded of the deadline Astel had mentioned earlier. He expected Astel to move out of his arms any moment now -- maybe even pretend they’d never even had this conversation in an attempt to save their friendship -- and talk about the show they were missing but--
“Okay,” Astel said, and his voice was steady.
“Okay?” Temma repeated, not sure what that meant at all.
“Okay,” Astel repeated and he was shifting again, and Temma was loosening his grip so Astel could look up and their eyes could meet properly. “Kiss me.”
“Ast--”
“I love you too, so kiss me,” Astel interrupted. There was something nervous about the way he said it -- his cheeks were flushed and there was a glassy quality to his eyes that made it look like he too wanted to cry -- and something vulnerable that Temma had never seen from the confident and larger than life Astel Leda before. It was suddenly obvious now that he was trying to hide the depth of his own emotion behind aggression and teasing, as was his usual.
So when Astel’s tone shifted to mocking -- “Have you never kissed someone before, Temma?” -- Temma found himself smirking in response.
“Nope,” Temma replied. “Do you want to teach me?”
Astel turned tomato red and looked for a moment like he was at a loss for words. “Do I want to--”
And that’s when Temma kissed him.