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Fujio tends to whine.
With those closer in his orbit he’s an overgrown kid, simple wants and simple needs- and makes a huge stink if things don’t go his way. Only sometimes.
“Tsukasaaa”
He’s a kid with a tiny plastic shovel, dash of sunscreen on his nose and a crinkly bucket hat on his head, and he’s chipped at Tsukasa’s walls slowly, leaving little sandcastles behind him as he goes.
He sweats like he’s a kid at the beach too. Summer never leaves Fujio Hanaoka, who can smell a storm or feel a heatwave two days prior- 8 hours before has been the latest his sense has ever alerted him of oncoming winds and thunder.
As he uses some motorcycle magazine as a paper fan, he sweats bullets that run down the sides of his face and slither down his neck.
Then he lets his arm drop before his jaw opens, and the “Tsukasaaa” makes its way from his throat to an unimpressed blond.
Tsukasa can only feign ignorance for so long as Fujio crawls onto the couch, Tsukasa eyeing him with narrowed eyes as he approaches. A stern “Fujio” is the only warning the black-haired boy will get.
Fujio’s grin is bright and spells out certain doom for Tsukasa as the blond is pulled forward, Fujio then resting his forehead on Tsukasa’s neck. A content hum and a “so nice” leave his mouth- while he grips both Tsukasa’s clenched fists in his hands.
A colorful curse spews from the blonds mouth and Fujio laughs before stealing a quick kiss on his lips- Tsukasa closes his eyes but his knee lands on Fujio’s ribs with deadly precision.
Fujio’s groans are dramatic as he rolls around while clutching his side.
——
Fujio can be a bit nostalgic.
He loves remembering, but he especially loves making memories. He stores everything in his head and he gets that shiny look in his eyes as he stares off with a warm smile on his face as he remembers things.
But he keeps things as well. A toy figure from when he was a toddler, a sports medal from elementary, a rock from a lake, souvenirs from times that get further and further away.
It’s cause of this penchant for living in the moment that he drags Tsukasa by the arm in a strip mall, shopping bags in both their arms full of clothes and even a cake slice, steering them both towards a photobooth. Tsukasa’s “why” is cut off by a toothy grin as Fujio pulls him behind the red curtain.
Fujio takes some spare change from his pocket and says “we’re on a date, aren’t we?” And pulls Tsukasa down onto the seat next to him. The blond eyes the selection screen as the change is inserted and buttons are pressed.
Fujio slings his arm over Tsukasa’s shoulder and smiles while he looks at the screen, yellow frames focus on their faces and Tsukasa’s eyes roll, but there’s a smile on his face nonetheless as a counts down is displayed from five, four, three, two, one,
Click.
Tsukasa asks “how many does it take” and Fujio replies “dunno” as it begins to count down again, now putting both his arms around the blond and leaning in for a peck, but is met with a palm to the mouth and an amused Tsukasa, who laughs at Fujio’s obvious surprise at the rejection.
Click.
Tsukasa lets Fujio’s mouth free, an obvious pout on the black-haired boy’s face that Tsukasa giggles at. Fujio immediately brightens at the gesture and leans in slowly, and Tsukasa closes his eyes as their lips meet.
Click.
——
Fujio never kisses Tsukasa in front of others.
As much as he’d love to, Tsukasa never allows it. Public displays of affection are no-gos, either. Fujio understands though, and it’s not the end of the world. Tsukasa smiling at him is enough to quell his urge to smother the blond with hugs and kisses.
Although, Fujio sometimes dreams of someplace, where he can hold Tsukasa’s hand in his like any other couple, undaunted.
He thinks about it, hard. The future, that is. He is not one to worry about his life ahead of him, knowing how hard it was to predict life’s flow. But Tsukasa makes him worry.
Fujio knows they are different. Same sex couples didn’t exactly flaunt themselves, where he and Tsukasa are from.
Maybe Fujio had dreamed once, probably in middle school, of a white wedding in a little chapel. Like in those western movies. His mother in the front row, his friends filling the seats as he’d sob giving his vows, standing across from his cute wife to-be. Maybe that dream hadn’t changed much, but instead of a cute bride Fujio would have Tsukasa, exchanging rings as he’d still cry giving vows, and people he loved would bear witness. Could they even do that? Legally, it wouldn’t be recognized, but who cares? He’d recognize it.
Tsukasa, his husband.
Fujio thinks of it as Tsukasa talks of graduation. Over yakiniku, with tongs in his hand as he scrapes the meat on the grill while Tsukasa speaks next to him, saying he has no concrete plans for the future.
It leaves Fujio’s mouth and he makes no effort to stop it, saying “besides our wedding, right?” and flips a red piece of meat over with a hum, the strip sizzling and crackling.
Tsukasa gives him the “hah?” treatment, and Fujio acts like he’d just said the most obvious thing in the world.
“We’re gonna get married, right?” He says while he pokes the meat with a wooden chopstick.
Tsukasa gapes, stares, knits his brows, and Fujio says “I’ve wanted to have a nice wedding to the one I really love, then go on a honeymoon since kindergarten” with a tone more casual than ever.
Tsukasa looks away without protesting, and it’s quiet, save for the sizzling meat on the grill.
Fujio’s stomach turns, he sets the tongs down and fiddles with the strap of the watch, and says “unless Tsukasa doesn’t want to, then that’s alright” while his eyes remain fixed ahead.
Tsukasa says “It’s not like that” then “let’s not talk about it here”
And Fujio looks at Tsukasa, whose stare is hard but gentle all at once.
Fujio smiles and leans in, pressing a quick kiss to Tsukasa’s cheek, then says “some other time” quietly, almost apologetically as he pulls away.
——
Tsukasa is perfectly sober. Or he thinks so.
There's a roar in his ears- but he's not sure whether it's the music booming throughout the party or his own heartbeat. Somehow the endless clamor of his classmates getting shitfaced doesn't bother him anymore. He's forgiven Fujio for dragging him here— as if he could stay mad in the first place.
Fujio, whose broad form leads Tsukasa on as they navigate this maze of an apartment that Nakagoshi and Nakaoka have turned into party central. The Naka (goshi) & Naka (oka) who of course saved their only VIP invite for Fujio, who causes hot-blooded highschool boys with red cups in their hands to part while they shower him with greetings.
Fujio, whose dark har is tinted in purple and whose neck is danced on by glints of light from a disco ball- which hangs precariously from a ceiling fan, tied up with duct tape.
Maybe Tsukasa isn't sober; but he doesn't show it. Not in the way his brows knit and his eyes narrow when he sees Kiyoshi’s ridiculous hair dripping with some fruity mix- judging off the strong smell- as he drunkenly clings onto a passed out Yasushi, while Nakaoka records the scene on his phone.
He doesn't show it when he drags Jamuo onto an unoccupied couch, his handwriting legible as he and Nobuto draw Anpanman all over the sleeping boy’s face in sharpie.
He doesn’t show it when he knocks a drink back with Nobuto after laughing themselves silly at practically nothing, and in a mindless act of affection he ruffles the hair of his friend, who has followed the blond as a member of his of faction for all these years.
He feels sober when Fujio drags him off— calling out "Tsukasa" and the blond follows without question. The taste of his drink leaves a bitter buzz on his tongue as they wander— past sober eyes and into a bathroom.
Tsukasa feels drunk when Fujio kisses him, against a dirty mirror with insults and hideous doodles scribbled on it and the molded tiles lining the walls surrounding.
He feels Fujio’s shirt under his grip, desperation in his fingertips as he yanks the black-haired boy closer by his chain. Fujio smells like cheap, shitty cologne and seems just as desperate to keep Tsukasa close, hands cupping his cheeks as heads roll and tongues move. It's exhilarating, Tsukasa supposes; the way Fujio feels. Tsukasa can feel his own sweat beading on his skin, a sheen on Fujio's neck that shines under the flickering lighting above.
There's a hitch in both their breaths as Fujio's voice is a low, breathless murmur in the crook of Tsukasa's neck.
"Don't leave me"
as his hands slide from Tsukasa's face to gently thumbing his jaw - delicate and calculated, nothing like the rambunctious leader of Oya's full timers who is the center of Tsukasa's universe.
Tsukasa has no confidence in the tenderness of his words. He has never been a talker, expressing himself in actions rather than mindless talk that could fly over one's head.
Wordlessly, he raises Fujio’s head with a feather touch— Fujio, whose gaze is strong and intense yet so miserable, refusing to meet Tsukasa’s eyes.
Fujio, who Tsukasa adores with everything he is and will be.
“I won’t”
To Fujio, whom he kisses sweetly, holding his hands in place with a firm but gentle touch to let him know that he, Takajo Tsukasa, is there.