Work Text:
It's always been a pattern of sorts, but it was only recently that Makoto had actually picked up on it.
He wasn't really sure how his mind ended up wandering here. Maybe it's the feeling of Mao sleeping in his arms, or the sound of some random vintage cartoon playing on the TV across the room, or the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the window that contributed to it? The TV is far too quiet to hear, but Makoto refuses to risk waking Mao up by reaching over to get the TV remote, and his phone just died while he was in the middle of his game, so naturally he was left with nothing other to do than stare off into space... so, actually, it's not really all that surprising that his mind would start to wander.
They haven't been dating for long, but they've been close for long enough. How hadn't either of them realized it yet, he wonders?
—————
Mao was the first to say hi.
It wasn't anything special, and in all honesty, neither of them really thought anything of it. They'd bumped shoulders in the hall, exchanging swift apologies quickly after.
Does uttering a trivial, "Oh, hey, sorry about that," even count as a "hi"? Well, either way, it doesn't really matter, since they ended up bumping into one another a lot more after that.
Makoto said hello first every time.
Mao was the first to give Makoto praise.
A long day of hard work called for a much needed intermission. It was a while back, Makoto recalls, just barely after Trickstar was established.
Mao tended to take note of the way his unitmates danced, likely to store the information in his mental library; at least, he took note enough for him to be able to muster up a few compliments.
"You're making great progress, Makoto. Good job."
Surprised but nonetheless flattered, Makoto had grinned sheepishly in response, still slightly out of breath. "Really?"
"Yeah, of course! You're so talented. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
It goes without saying that Mao really did mean what he said. It wasn't necessarily unusual for Makoto to receive compliments from his friends, but Mao's words struck a chord in him like nothing else ever had.
He never forgot them.
"Thank you...!"
Makoto began to praise Mao more and more after that, too.
Mao was the first to buy him a drink.
A relatively simple gesture, but it was still worth noting. These small cordial acts always served as an expression of Mao's selflessness, which is a trait Makoto has always admired in him.
"Oi, Makoto. Here. You look beat."
"Ah, do I? You didn't have to get me anything..."
"You're right, I didn't have to. I wanted to. You worked hard today, so you deserve it."
Makoto shrugged playfully, accepting the drink, and Mao cracked open the seal of his own.
"Well, if you insist... Thank you, Isara-kun!"
He downed most of the bottle in one go. Mao laughed, finding his initial observation was correct.
Makoto returned the favor more than once after that.
Mao was the first to invite Makoto over to study.
They're practically opposites when it comes to school. Mao is remarkably studious, while Makoto is conversely not great at keeping his grades up. He was more than grateful to tag along for a study session at Mao's place.
It wasn't that Makoto was bad at school, per se, but more that he has a tendency to get easily absorbed into frivolous tasks. Plus, who would want to do homework when you could be pulling an all-nighter trying to beat the record on Galaga you absentmindedly set when you were 14?
Yet, somehow, despite Makoto's recurring poor habits, he worked well when he was with Mao. He was good at explaining things, great with encouragement, and seriously knew the answer to everything (which Makoto was simultaneously jealous of and appalled by).
He scored a B+ on his next test. Makoto couldn't believe it. Mao had to be some kind of miracle worker.
Following that, Makoto always asked Mao if they wanted to study together, because how could he not?
Mao was the first to pull him into a hug.
It was the last thing Makoto had expected to see in the middle of the night. It was still fully dark outside, at some ungodly hour in the morning, when he heard a gentle knock at the door of his dorm room. He'd gotten up and opened it, only to reveal a sniveling, disheveled Mao, his features highlighted only by dim, artificial hallway light.
"Isara-kun?" The sight filled him with lingering concern. "What's wrong?"
"I'm..." he began, wiping tears from his eyes, "I'm sorry to bother you so late. I need someone right now, and I didn't know who else to come to, and I'm really sorry if I bothered you or your roommates, I just..."
"No, no," Makoto replied softly, "it's perfectly fine. What happened?"
Mao drew in a deep breath. "It's a lot to explain right now. I'll tell you tomorrow, but right now, I..."
He took a step forward, even closer to Makoto, and splayed his arms.
"I really need a hug right now. Is... Is that okay?"
For a second, Makoto hesitated; not because he didn't want to, but because he was just shocked that Mao'd request something like that. That train of thought only really lasted for a second, though, and Makoto nodded silently.
"Yeah, of course it's okay."
It was nice. Really nice. So much so that he was embarrassed to admit it, even to himself.
Makoto's not exactly the touchy-feely type like Subaru, but whenever the opportunity arose, he'd pull Mao into an embrace that neither of them wanted to leave.
Mao was the first to have Makoto over for company.
Upon arriving to Mao's dorm, Makoto stepped in, and took a moment to survey the room. He leaned his bag (which was about 50% gaming console and 25% video games, leaving little to no room for the snacks and etcetera that he crammed into whatever space was left) against one of the beds.
"Where is everyone?"
"Hm? Oh," Mao started, "Itsuki-senpai and Sena-senpai are usually never here, and Kiryu-senpai is gonna be out for a while, so it'll just be us."
There's a soft crinkle in his brow where Makoto furrows it slightly. "What about Hidaka-kun and Akehoshi-kun? I thought you invited them, too."
"Oh..."
The words escape him for a fleeting moment.
"They're busy today."
Makoto stared off for a second, and Mao explored his face for any sign of discomfort or something, relieved at the fact that he just shrugged, seating himself at the edge of Mao's bed.
"That's alright. It can't be helped if they're busy."
Queue mental forehead wipe.
They chatted amongst themselves for a bit, and Makoto (somewhat begrudgingly) got started on all the tedious console setup while Mao sat back munching on two pocky sticks at a time.
Luckily, Makoto's done this a million times by now, so it's not really a hassle. He can even get the HDMI cord into its slot correctly on the first try, no having to flip it around over and over again, which Mao thinks is kind of gross.
He tosses Mao a controller. The TV illuminates with the console's home screen, so they start to play whatever games Makoto has installed.
It's right about then that Makoto gets to thinking, allowing his mind to wander, which he's gotten pretty good at after hours upon hours of farming and grinding in all sorts of different games.
In all honesty, it's hard to pinpoint what exactly he was thinking about. His mind is halfway in the game and halfway in la-la-land.
But, for some reason, there's a recurring theme in his train of thought.
Mao, Mao, Mao...
He tried to shake it away, but then they'd brush shoulders for a second, and he can't help but let his thoughts become overtaken again.
He'd finally convince his stupid brain to switch the subject, but Mao would give him a light punch to the shoulder after losing his third game in a row, and Makoto's right back into the loop.
His cologne is nice, he'd think for a second, and then it's, What?! What am I even saying? before a fortuitous, He always smells nice, though, pervades his mind.
"Makoto?"
Mao's voice snaps him out of his reverie.
"Are you alright? You haven't been responding much... or saying anything at all."
"What? Oh, I..." Makoto looks down at his controller. "Sorry."
"Is something wrong?" Mao stares at him, chewing at the skin of his own cheek. "You know you can talk to me about anything."
"No, I'm alright," is what Makoto responds with, waving his hands defensively, a sheepish grin painting his features. He knows he can talk to Mao, of course he knows that, but this particular thing is surely off limits.
Right?
Well, with the way that Mao had looked into his eyes—it was an expression Makoto couldn't put words to—he felt like he couldn't keep quiet. Not in good conscience, at least, after seeing Mao's prevalent concern.
Crap, he remembers thinking, I'm in too deep now.
He averted his gaze, deciding to study and run his fingers along the wrinkles of the bedsheets.
"W-What..." Makoto began, and his heart's racing at this point, and his tongue's all but numb in his mouth, which explains his indeliberate stuttering. "What are we?"
Mao isn't really sure what to make of the question.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, like..."
Makoto wished this all would just fall into place. He wished they could just skip the awkward talking part, skip the nervousness, skip everything and that Mao could just somehow know what he meant.
"What..." Makoto continues, "What do you think of me?"
Mao stews on it for a moment. "Well, I think you're really great. You're talented, you're good company, and you're one of the best friends anyone could ask for."
"Is that all?"
The redhead noticeably stiffens at that.
Even Makoto was taken aback by his own bluntness.
"Sorry. I was just... Never mind."
Makoto grabbed the controller and unpaused the game. His eyebrows were still furrowed, a product of the tense atmosphere.
Mao, on the other hand, takes a second to think.
Oh.
Oh.
Now he could see what this was about.
He felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.
"Makoto, I—"
"I'm sorry for asking that out of the blue, could you just forget what I said?"
"But..."
"Do you want snacks? I brought instant ramen! It's not the spicy kind."
"That's not—"
"How about we try the new game I got? It's not multiplayer, but we can take turns—"
"Let me speak for a second, would you?!"
Mao is visibly flustered. Makoto feels even worse because of this.
He couldn't stop thinking about how he should've just stayed quiet, how none of this would've happened if he just thought before he spoke.
This is so awkward. He shouldn't have said anything.
Mao stole the controller from Makoto's grip. Not long after, the blonde felt Mao's hands snake into his own, and his eyes grew wide.
He couldn't bear to make eye contact. But then, Mao leaned in closer. His cologne smelled nicer up close.
Makoto could feel his face warming up.
"Look at me, Makoto," was all he said.
Begrudgingly, Makoto turned his head, very much hesitantly, very much stalling to bring their eyes to meet.
Then, one thing led to another, and
Mao was the first to confess his feelings to Makoto.
With their fingers intertwined, the room ever-silent around them, Mao finally found the courage to say what they were both thinking.
"What I think of you," he began, cheeks dusted in a shade of red so deep it almost matched his hair, "is still the same. I think you're amazing, and I think you're one of the best friends anyone could ask for..."
Inhale.
Exhale.
"...and I think I have feelings for you."
From then on, Makoto made certain to let his feelings towards Mao be known, too.
—————
"Mnn..."
Mao grunts into Makoto's chest, vision blurry as he comes to.
"How long was I out?"
"Not long," Makoto replies.
Mao buries his face back into the crevice of Makoto's neck, still groggy and sore and absolutely unwilling to leave the solace of his boyfriend's arms.
"Were you sleeping too?"
"No, I was just... thinking..."
"Nn," Mao shifts into a more comfortable position, "about what?"
About you.
About everything that's led us up to this point.
About how happy I am with you.
About how much I love you, and
About how much I can't wait for you to tell me, "I love you" first so that I can say it right back to you a million times.
"...it's nothing."