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Summary
"I’m Tadashi, by the way." He smiled while he said it, and the words sounded like they were being pulled from left to right like chewing gum.
"Hiro."
"Hiro." It was a small word slipping through his mouth, careful like he was scared he’d crush it with his teeth. Hiro was still trying to put his brain back together, but those fucking eyes made it all fall apart again and again.
This was getting borderline ridiculous.
"Nice to meet you." He dribbled his fingers across the mug. "Hiro."
And there it was again - his name coming from another mouth. And people said Hiro’s name all the time. They groaned it and cursed it and screamed it inches away from his face, but they never said it in a way that made it feel personal, too close for comfort, like knees brushing and hands touching.
Jesus Christ.