Chapter Text
Yotasuke hates Christmas.
Ok, well.. perhaps "hate" is too strong of a word. There are certainly things he hates more than the holiday season, such as Valentine's Day and White Day—stupid marketing ploys that nearly everyone falls for because for some reason people are obsessed with romance and need to dedicate certain annual dates for it.
(Yotasuke has never really experienced any sort of love before—let alone a romantic one—so he doesn't really understand.. but it doesn't stop him from thinking that the existence of a single day for people to collectively celebrate their love is dumb. Wouldn't genuine love not need to be confined to such norms?)
Another thing he hates are artificial strawberries. Real strawberries are always a delight—and he loves them most in yoghurt—but artificially flavored candies and powdered juices always make him gag. The fake plastic-y taste is always unwelcomed and a disgrace to the sweet flavor that real strawberries bring.
The point is, there are a multitude of things Yotasuke hates, so he supposes Christmas isn't too bad. While he dislikes having to visit the rest of his family, and his mother nagging him about not having any friends to go out with (which has lessened significantly over the past few years since Yaguchi always insists on going out with him sometime between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve, if not on New Year itself), he does like Christmas decorations. The pretty lights along streets and in establishments feel like sights for sore eyes to him, and lately have been making his fingers itch with the need to paint the sceneries.
However, there is one thing that Yotasuke absolutely despises about the Christmas season. He isn't sure whether to actually chalk it up to the holiday, or his classmates' manic obsession with it, but regardless, he hates it.
For the past two Christmases that he's been attending Geidai, it has been a tradition for the oil painting department to put up mistletoes on every single fucking corner of their designated ateliers, and even in the hallways and stairwells that they frequently pass through.
He recalls Murai having started it all in their first year, saying "a smooch every now and then will help ease stress, ya know!". Although, he had claimed it's something the upper batches in the department have been doing since forever (Yotasuke hadn't been sure if he was telling the truth, and he still thinks about it three years later.)
While some instances have been mildly entertaining, such as Murai himself kissing Kakinokizaka, and her fake gagging afterwards only to actually throw up in the end, as well as the time the faculty got involved, with the lack of cajoling Hanakage and Nekoyashiki into doing it so as to "not ruin the fun" surprising everyone, it was ultimately infuriating for Yotasuke.
They're in their third year now, and unsurprisingly, Yotasuke is the only one left in their batch who has not fallen victim to any of the unassuming ornaments. Last year, it had been him and Aizawa, and they had had brief and occasional conversations about how stupid the entire tradition was. Yotasuke understood her sentiments perfectly, although he surmised that she had different reasons beyond what she had told him.
Her first (and only) mistletoe kiss with Miki during the last day of school the previous year had confirmed his suspicions. It was quite obvious to everyone but Miki herself how irritated Aizawa was, having to see her kiss a bunch of other people because unfortunately for Aizawa, her crush is one of the most forgetful about the mistletoes even being there. Miki is probably one of the people who have had more than a handful of kisses, two of which she shared with Yaguchi.
Not that he was counting. He just happened to remember.
Yotasuke can't even imagine himself deliberately holding hands with anyone, let alone kissing, so the thought that most people in his class have touched lips (and in some cases, even way more than a simple peck..) is somewhat bizarre to him.
Although perhaps he's the strange one, but he forces the thought out of his head every single time it tries to penetrate his mind.
When he walks into their building on December 1st, he spots it right away. A mistletoe hangs innocently by the end of the hall, and between where he's standing and the entrance to the atelier, he can spot at least two more.
An exasperated sigh leaves his lips. Of course they'd be incredibly punctual with this gimmick, like they always have been.
Yotasuke doesn't really do anything stupid like putting in extra effort to walk around the spots where they're hanging from. It's not like they couldn't pass underneath; they simply couldn't stay there with another person long enough for someone else to realize and point out for everyone within the immediate vicinity to become aware of.
It's barely half past nine in the morning when Yotasuke hears commotion breaking out in the hallway, and he immediately knows what's going on. Something in his brain nags at him, telling him to go see which unfortunate souls managed to get themselves caught up in this entire fiasco so early, and since he hasn't at all been progressing with his project, he actually considers it.
When he lifts his head up from the crouched position it's been in for the past hour (he has to rub the back of his neck to stop a crick from developing), he spots Yaguchi making his way towards the door. He pokes his head out, and Yotasuke hears his laughter filling the wide space of the atelier.
Suddenly he doesn't feel like getting up to check anymore.
This year is the year where Yotasuke has come closest to being involved in a mistletoe incident.
Okamoto had approached him one lunch break near the end of the first week, asking if he wanted to play a round of Pokemon Unite with him. Yotasuke didn't need to think twice, of course, already booting the game up on his phone just as he finished with his bento.
They're halfway through the battle when it happens. Yotasuke's Aceburn gets knocked out for the first time, and he cranes his neck sideways and back to stretch while waiting the few seconds for it to respawn. His eye catches sight of the ornament right above where Okamoto is sitting cross legged.
It has him scrambling backwards, nearly stumbling over due to the sheer suddenness of the movement despite having been sitting as well. Okamoto is already easy to startle as is, so he ends up nearly dropping his phone when Yotasuke moves away from him like he's a flickering flame.
"Takahashi-kun, are you okay?" he asks worriedly, after getting over his initial shock. Yotasuke sees that his Kairyu had ended up knocked out as well, respawning at their base right beside where his Aceburn hasn't moved from yet.
"Oh uh, yeah.. Yeah.." he says nervously, looking back down at his phone to continue playing, partly out of fear that their team starts lagging behind and partly to avoid the other boy's gaze. "Sorry," he mutters, "It's just.. there's a.. Above you."
Very coherent, Yotasuke , he silently berates himself.
Okamoto blinks at him. Once, twice.. before he's looking up as well. His reaction would have been comical, if it isn't the exact same way Yotasuke knows he reacted as well. Okamoto scrambles over to where he's sitting now, their shoulders bumping. Normally, Yotasuke would flinch away from the contact, but he finds that he doesn't mind—so long as any pesky ornaments are absent from overhead.
It's silent for a few moments, save for the ingame noises coming from their phones as they struggle to catch up with the points they lagged behind on, until Okamoto asks, ".. Were we sitting under that for five minutes?"
"Yeah.." Yotasuke responds slowly, "Good thing everyone's out for lunch."
Yotasuke recalls having to keep himself from actually laughing out loud, but whether it was due to the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, or Okamoto's contagious giggling, he doesn't remember.
Moving in day for their last exhibition of the year is on December 16.
It's also technically the final day that everyone in the oil painting department has to deal with the mistletoes. Despite how they're still going to be up well into the early parts of January (since they aren't as prompt with cleaning up as they are with setting up) and they're required to show up at Geidai for the next three days (the first two for the exhibition itself, and the third for moving out), the faculty has—understandably—banned any shenanigans from ensuing during the exhibition proper (Yotasuke doesn't know why they put up with it at all in the first place). They have also collectively agreed that everyone would be too tired for jackshit on moving out day, thus everyone is—thankfully—spared.
However, mistletoes aside, Yotasuke isn't very fond of moving in day in general.
The reason being his current predicament at the moment.
He's standing on one of the many wooden blocks that they use as stools inside of the atelier, arms outstretched above him. He's trying to secure the corner of his canvas sheet onto the wall, but even with the added height from the wooden block beneath his feet, he isn't able to reach high enough.
He peers downward, at where the sheet is still dangling against the floor, cursing quietly.
Asking for help is already difficult as is, moreso when everyone else is busy setting up their own works. The last time he had been in this predicament, Hachiro had seen him struggling and offered his help. It had been embarrassing, of course, but Yotasuke had to suck it up and felt thankful in the end anyway. But now..
He glances around the room, doing a once over at the few other students he shares the atelier with for this exhibition.
Tanashi is assigned to the wall adjacent to his, but Yotasuke has never even talked to him alone before. Not to mention, he's even shorter than him; it's a wonder how he'd gotten his canvas up so quickly. Across from him is Suzuki, who is nearly finished with her setup, but he has also never really spoken to her outside of exhibit related discussions. If it were Okamoto instead of her, Yotasuke might have been able to ask. Directly across from him is..
Yaguchi.
His tongue clicks involuntarily, snapping his gaze back towards his own wall, where his canvas is still half draped too lowly. It's a sad sight, and one he ought to be doing something about fast, lest irredeemable creases begin to form on the sheet.
Yaguchi would help him..
In fact, he would be more than willing to, actually. Yotasuke can picture the way he'd beam, smile brighter than the sun; always too much for Yotasuke. The worst that could happen is a bit of light teasing..
But Yotasuke would rather die than ask Yaguchi for help.
He looks back up at the spot he's been aiming to attach his canvas to for the past fifteen minutes. He could do it.. If he stretched a bit more on top of tiptoeing over the block, he'd be able to reach it just fine, even without Yaguchi's help.
So that's what he does.
It hurts, actually—stretching your body too much, and in all the wrong ways, Yotasuke guesses, but he's close. So, so close.
He lifts his left foot off the block and angles his body slightly in an attempt to reach even higher, and it works. The quiet thump of his fist against the wall as he secures the adhesive is like music to his ears. For a split second, a wave of relief washes over him, but it barely lasts a second because then the solid wooden surface beneath his feet disappears, and he's falling backwards.
With nothing to grab onto, he resigns himself to the fall, realizing it's too late to even attempt to steady himself. His eyes shut, partly in anticipation of the impact and partly from the white fluorescent lights suddenly flashing in his eyes.
There's a loud crash, where he's sure whatever happened to the block that he had just been standing on collides against his things. He can only pray to whatever higher being out there that his work is undamaged, as he waits for his body's collision against the ground.
He lands with a dull thud, and it hurts..
But it's not what he's expecting.
He was expecting sharp pain, and cold concrete floor (maybe a concussion, if the universe had really been out to get him), but he's too relieved about being fine to focus on them—or rather, the lack of them. For a few moments, he does nothing but lay there, eyes squeezed shut and trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart with deep breaths. It's only when he hears a quiet groan from the top of his head that he realizes there are hands on his sides, one gripping the fabric of his shirt and the other planted firmly on his waist.
Suddenly, he's hyper aware of the warmth, not only on his sides, but underneath him entirely. He scrambles to sit up, hearing the person go "oof" after accidentally putting too much pressure on his bottom in his haste to sit up.
Yaguchi is on the floor, wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. Yotasuke wants to both help him up and run away, but his body remains frozen in horror, unable to do either as Suzuki kneels down to help him into a sitting position.
"What the hell happened?" Tanashi's voice resounds. Yotasuke doesn't look up at him—gaze still stuck on Yaguchi and the weary smile pulling at his lips—but he can tell by his tone that he's both concerned and perhaps slightly irritated at the silence in their atelier being disturbed. Yotasuke understands, which makes the entire mishap even more embarrassing for him. He doesn't know what to say about it, and even if he did, his throat feels too dry to choke out any words.
As if the entire situation isn't embarrassing enough, a bunch of their other classmates begin filing into the room, curiosities no doubt having been piqued by the sound of the crash. A small semi circle forms around them, and amongst the chatter, Yotasuke can pick out Miki's worried voice asking if they're alright, and Aizawa's suggesting the nurse's office.
"I'm fine, really! It's nothing!" Yaguchi says with a laugh, scratching the back of his head—one of his nervous ticks that Yotasuke has noticed overtime. He feels himself frown, skeptical of the other, and Yaguchi immediately follows up with "I promise! It doesn't hurt at all. I didn't even hit my head, so.."
Yotasuke finds it ridiculous how he thinks falling alone doesn't count as reason enough to visit the nurse. Did he want to wait until he got a concussion to seek medical advice or something? But then he recalls their Geidai entrance exam, and how Yaguchi had nearly killed himself by the second exam after neglecting his rashes and overall health, and his behavior suddenly makes sense.
He doesn't realize he's spaced out until Yaguchi is lightly shaking his shoulder to bring him back.
"Yotasuke-kun, are you okay..? Are you hurt anywhere?"
Yaguchi is staring at him worriedly, and Yotasuke can feel his face twitching upon registering the words. Honestly, the nerve of this guy to ask about him, when he's the one who had cushioned his fall. Yotasuke can tell his face is probably contorting into a strange, unreadable expression, but he can't help it when his emotions are all over the place.
"You didn't have to do that, you know.." he says, instead of answering. He notes that the small crowd around them has dispersed; their classmates now going around the atelier and looking over the posted works, when he darts his eyes from side to side; at anywhere that isn't Yaguchi because he doesn't know how to face him right now. He's irritated at him for doing something so stupid..
but mostly he's irritated at himself. If he had just stopped being prideful and stubborn, he wouldn't have disturbed anyone, and Yaguchi wouldn't have gotten hurt—
"You didn't do anything wrong, okay?" Yaguchi says suddenly, as if reading his mind. The words halt his train of thought before it could run off the rails and end in a disastrous crash. "And I'm fine," he adds, somewhat nonchalantly. Yotasuke finally looks at him, disbelieving, but the incredulous expression on his face is something that Yaguchi clearly misinterprets because all he does is grin and say, "You're probably not worried about me, but just in case you are, you don't have to be!"
Yotasuke clicks his tongue. "You're so annoying," he grumbles, whipping his head to the side again to avoid his gaze. He sees Okamoto by his wall, picking all of his fallen stuff up and righting the disarray of materials. Yotasuke wants to get up and take over, telling him not to bother and that he can fix his own mess himself, but his legs still feel like jelly. He doesn't want to admit it—not even to himself—but in the moment he had been suspended midair, he was afraid of falling. He tells himself that he has to thank Okamoto properly later, but right now..
Yaguchi is laughing, clearly unfazed by his words, and Yotasuke hates him; hates how he doesn't understand him. His laughter is as euphonic as it is sickening, because how he could keep on coming back to Yotasuke with such a sound he's not worthy of even hearing is beyond him. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, and he highly suspects it's less about almost falling and having potentially cracked his skull open this time, and more about..
"Hey, look at me," Yaguchi says softly. Yotasuke realizes that they're close. Too close, because he can hear him clearly even with the loud buzz of chatter surrounding them. Yaguchi takes one of his hands gently (when had they started trembling?), and Yotasuke wants to shove him away because he can't take any more of this. Not Yaguchi's soft voice, nor his gentle touches. It's too much; his heart feels like it's about to explode.
"Be more careful next time, okay?" his voice has dropped in volume, and the grin on his face has softened into a timid expression; brows knitted in concern, and teeth worrying soft lips. Almost as if he was as afraid of the fall as Yotasuke had been.
"You scared me."
Almost as if Yotasuke is something precious..
"Yaguchi-san.." he manages to say. He feels himself wince upon realizing how shaky his voice sounds. He's not thinking straight, but he needs to shut him up; to stop this entire ensemble before he starts falling again—in an entirely different manner, yet just as stomach-churning, if not more.
"I.."
"Are you guys okay?"
Yotasuke flinches, whatever he's about to say dying in his throat, and Yaguchi pulls his hand away from him as if he's been burned.
Yotasuke glances upward just enough to make out Murai, Hachiro and Kakinokizaka peering down at where they're still seated on the ground, before lowering his gaze once more.
"Yeah! We're fine. Sorry for worrying everyone," Yaguchi apologizes again, bowing his head slightly as if he's the one who did any wrong. Yotasuke's stomach churns uncomfortably, and he bows his head as well, muttering the quietest of apologies.
"Hm, then I guess that means you guys don't have to be excused," Murai tells them, baring his teeth in one of his signature grins. Yotasuke blinks up at him, and when he glances to his left, he sees that Yaguchi is in a similar state of confusion.
When Yaguchi doesn't speak, Yotasuke feels the need to be the one to ask, "Uh, excused from wh–"
He's barely able to finish his sentence before Kakinokizaka's giggling interrupts him. "Hey, is it just me, or this is the first time we're seeing Takahashi-kun kiss anyone?!"
The words make his blood run cold, and the hums of agreement that chorus within the room make him hyper aware of all the attention on them again. He can't bring himself to look up and practically confirm his fate, so he cranes his head to the side, wide eyes searching for Yaguchi and practically screaming for help.
Yaguchi isn't looking at him, but he begins to protest by way of negotiation. "Hey, now.. We just had an accident! Let us off the hook this once." Yotasuke can tell he's trying for casual and unbothered, but the waver in his voice clearly states otherwise. It makes him want to throw up.
"Ehhh," Kakinokizaka begins to whine, "but you said you were fine, Yaguchi-kun!"
"You know, you two have been sitting there for five whole minutes," Hachiro says, as a matter-of-factly. "Practically everyone in this room realized already.."
".. and we were nice enough to give you some time to leave, but clearly you have no intention to!" Murai says, before bursting into laughter.
Yotasuke feels his cheeks begin to burn—out of embarrassment or annoyance, he can’t quite tell.. but he does know that desperation begins clawing at him, because his mouth opens before he can even properly formulate what he wants to say.
“This is bullshit. I—”
“Aw come on, Takahashi!” Murai interrupts, unfazed, and with a leftover chuckle from his earlier burst of laughter leaving his lips. “You gotta do it! Even Aizawa did it last year, remember?!”
“That was because it was Miki-chan she had to kiss anyway,” someone pipes up from the sidelines, followed by Aizawa flipping whoever it was off with a “Hey, can it!”. It might’ve been Kumai, but Yotasuke’s brain is too frazzled to properly recognize or give the exchange any more attention.
“Eh, what’s the difference then?! We all know Yaguchi-kun likes T—”
Yotasuke frowns, looking up at where Hachiro is now holding a hand against Kakinokizaka’s mouth, effectively muffling the rest of her sentence. He didn’t actually get what she had been saying, but the abruptness in which she was cut off, as well as the sudden chorus of snorts and awkward, intentional coughing makes his brows narrow in suspicion.
Yaguchi has fallen silent all of a sudden, and Yotasuke can feel his palms begin to sweat disgustingly.
Yotasuke is about to protest once more, but he doesn’t get the chance to even open his mouth because Yaguchi shifts then. He angles his entire body towards him, lips pressed into a thin, firm line before they part to whisper, “Let’s just get this over with.”
It’s a lost battle, Yotasuke knows. If Yaguchi is on his side, protesting with him, he may still have a chance to slip out unscathed. But Yaguchi is looking at him now—against him—and he can no longer object. Not to anyone in the room, and especially not to Yaguchi himself.
One of Yaguchi’s hands move up to plant itself on the junction between his neck and shoulder, and the touch sends shivers up Yotasuke’s spine. If he had been hyper aware of everyone else’s eyes on them just a moment ago, now it’s like there’s absolutely no one else in the room. It feels like his focus has zeroed in on Yaguchi, and Yaguchi alone, as he inches closer and closer. His eyes squeeze shut tightly, anticipating something absolutely terrifying for the second time that day.
He holds his breath. The combination of his heart pounding plus the blood rushing in his ears nearly making him pass out, and Yaguchi is close—so close that he can feel his breath on his face.
Yotasuke has never kissed anyone before, but he’s fucking sure that time doesn’t actually slow down like in the depictions of those cheesy romantic dramas his mother watches—but then why is it taking so long? Why does everything involving Yaguchi serve to mess with his head?
Just as he’s about to force his eyes open and scowl at him, tell him to just get on with it, the presence right in front of him disappears. Yotasuke doesn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed about it, but he doesn’t get a chance to process any of his thoughts because the sensation of warmth that had just disappeared is replaced by a pair of lips pressing gently against his forehead.
He feels lightheaded. The kiss is slight—with barely any pressure from Yaguchi’s end, yet somehow Yotasuke feels like he’s falling backwards again. His hands clench into fists on his lap, hard enough for his nails to imprint crescents into the skin of his palms even as they tremble. It's a grounding feeling; one that he desperately seeks lest he loses himself too much in Yaguchi’s presence, Yaguchi’s warmth, and Yaguchi’s soft lips against his cold skin.
Yotasuke feels thankful that Yaguchi hadn’t kissed his lips, because he’s a hundred percent sure he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Although a nagging voice at the back of his mind wonders what it would have felt like, but he kills the thought as soon as it arises.
It isn’t as if Yaguchi is going to kiss him again after this, or rather will he be kissed by anyone at all, but he thinks that maybe.. Just maybe if it were to happen again, he’d appreciate less pressure from an audience, and more mental preparation.
Yaguchi pulls away, and Yotasuke thinks that even if he takes all the time in the world to prepare to be kissed once more, nothing will ever prepare him for the redness of Yaguchi’s face, the quiver in his lip, and the tears brimming by the corners of his eyes. He sees it for only a split second before Yaguchi is ducking his head, but he feels the sight beginning to imprint itself in his mind, undoubtedly about to plague his thoughts for the next—God knows how long. Yotasuke can hear their classmates causing a fuss, likely unsatisfied by their performance, but it feels distant compared to the loudness of Yaguchi’s next words—even when they’re whispered right between them for no one else to hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Yotasuke has a hundred questions in mind, but he’s barely able to open his mouth and utter a single word before Yaguchi is getting up and scrambling out of the room, leaving him dumbfounded on the ground.
What the fuck?