Work Text:
Sometimes you don't know the answer until someone's on their knees and asks you.
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When Kyoya had pictured marriage, he had envisioned a loveless advantageous match to a woman that would be worth it because it would accelerate his career. It would be grown-up dollhouse, like he had always seen in high society. Just two dolls, playing and tugging the strings to their own fancy. Ideally, it would be a mutually beneficial relationship. At worst, a never-ending power struggle. Now that such an arrangement was very well out of the way and not at all a possibility, Kyoya was content to never give it a second thought. It was irrelevant and not his problem anymore, after all.
When Tamaki had pictured marriage, he had imagined an elaborate, extravagant French wedding with his beloved. Two beauties bonded together and in love, tied by the law and passion. He imagined that they would be stunning and glowing and the envy of all because they were so in love. It would be domestic, passionate, tender, and perfectly synch. Agreeing on everything of significance, finding joy and amusement where they disagreed. Marriage would be the band he wore on his hand, as proof of a new life. He didn't really think about it anymore, though he still adored it, it was just a dream, after all.
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KYOYA– (14 YEARS OLD)
"Kyoya?" Kyoya kept his eyes trained on the page, even though he knew there was no way he could adequately understand another word until Tamaki said whatever he felt the need to say. He was horribly attentive of the blond, something the other boy knew and exploited relentlessly. "What would your wedding look like?"
It was times like these when Kyoya was tempted to ungraciously believe that Tamaki asked him (what the blond deemed to be) the biggest, most intimidating questions while he was reading, doing homework, or otherwise occupied because he thought that Kyoya would be exasperated enough to answer plainly and honestly. If that was so, which Kyoya didn't entirely doubt, it was annoyingly effective.
Though sometimes, a little amusing. Such as now.
"I don't know. I don't really think about that."
Kyoya wouldn't necessarily call himself a cynic, he just never bought into that Fairytale Happily Ever After stuff. Which is, no doubt, exactly what Tamaki had in mind. Tamaki wasn't referring to a signed paper and legality, he was referring to celebration and expressions of undying, everlasting love. And sure, Kyoya can bite and say that love is truly a powerful motivator because it's always nice to have something intangible to blame. Still, he never truly grasped the concept of milestones or 'necessities' of a happy life. Like, how does that matter? What does it change to be married by law rather than tied by heart? Nothing. Except for the benefits if legal marriage, such as power, wealth, and status. That being said, marriage wasn't worth the fuss. It was overrated. So, yes, sue him; he never gave it much thought. Not to mention that he never as much as cared for a girl in the legally-binding-himself-to-her capacity.
Kyoya thought all of this in the split second it took Tamaki to gape and recoil from Kyoya as if he were an anomaly. "What do you mean you never thought about it?"
Kyoya looked up from his book, finally, raising a brow at the blond's scandalized tone. "Exactly that."
"How could you not think of marriage, Kyoya? Everyone thinks of their wedding day."
"Tamaki," Kyoya reminds him, quite patiently, "we are fourteen years old."
"But not even a passing thought?" Tamaki pressed, his hands knotting in Kyoya's soft blue comforter, eyes wide with disbelief. Kyoya bit back his annoyance; Tamaki always made such a mess of his bed and reminding him now, when he was so fired up, would only be a waste of breath. "Not even just a note or even preference? Like, would you rather have vanilla cake or chocolate? Would it be Western style or Japanese? You must have some opinions." Tamaki flopped back on the bed as if exhausted by his own indignance. "You just must."
Kyoya side-eyed him, still displeased with how he creased his bed. "I never really had to think about it," he says finally. "When I marry, my wife will design the wedding as she desires. Besides, I never really cared for cake."
Tamaki looked at him, eyebrows raised as if he knew better than Kyoya, which ignited some of his lingering annoyance. "You'll see what I mean, Kyoya. You'll meet the special someone, and she will make you want the most spectacular wedding. You'll see."
Kyoya didn't even bother to correct Tamaki. He just smiled and let it be, Tamaki would be the type to buy into that fairytale milestone nonsense, and that wasn't any of Kyoya's concern either way.
TAMAKI (16 YEARS OLD)
Tamaki was a reasonably romantic man, sure. Some would even call him a prince (himself included). A prince among men, even. So, how is it that a prince among men is treated so poorly among his people?
"You are overreacting, Tamaki. In fact, I'm not sure you even understand what the young lady said."
Tamaki, who had collapsed into himself, straightened and pointed an indignant finger skywards. "She cheapened my character, disgraced my heart, and debased my standards!"
"She simply said that you seemed like the type to elope in Vegas. She meant it as a compliment."
Tamaki glared balefully, "In what way is that a compliment? Pray tell."
"As in…," Kyoya seemed to look for the right words, "you are modern, spontaneous, and fun?"
"I am," Tamaki insisted. "Eloping is so… sloppy , however."
Kyoya shrugged, "If you say so. Anyways, you must correct your attitude and assure the young lady that she did not offend you at risk of-"
"Don't you think getting married on a whim is contrived?" Tamaki wanted to know, hands planted on his knees and gaze set on an impassive Kyoya.
Kyoya met his gaze as if he was deciding whether or not it was worth the trouble denying him. Tamaki knew he would get his answer when Kyoya looked away, sighing. "You know my opinion on these matters hasn't changed."
"We never discussed eloping," Tamaki pointed out smartly.
"Well, fine then. I, in fact, think quite the opposite. Getting married just for the sake of being married sounds like the exact opposite of contrived. What's contrived is taking months and months to plan and orchestrate some grand event to show off a supposed love."
Tamaki scoffed, his lips twitching with astounded amusement. Him and Kyoya were similar in a lot of essential ways, they clicked easily and understood each other. It was always fun to tease their differences to the light, to see such as drastic difference from your own view. Despite himself, a smile bloomed, "You are the same."
"Sorry to disappoint," Kyoya rolled his eyes before offering his hand to pull Tamaki to his feet, Tamaki let him. "Now, you must–."
"I know, I know," Tamaki thrills, already in a considerably better mood. "I suppose I like you the way you are then. It's quite refreshing. These conversations always get me thinking."
A smirk crosses Kyoya's face as he turns away, "I suppose thinking is a bit of a change of pace for you, isn't it?"
All of his supposed people hear his outraged squawking but none rise to his defense. To rub in more indignant, his distress arouses absolutely no concern. Apparently, blatant disrespect towards their prince was just the host club way!
KYOYA (18 YEARS OLD)
Kyoya wasn't sure if new things were allowed to unfold at the end of an era. He wasn't sure what it meant, what he had to do with it all. Did he have to lock it away with the past or separate it and carry it with him towards the future? Even worse, what if the 'new things' were a long time coming and were just as much of the past as the future? What if it was inevitable? Was it still worth denying? Why would he even consider denying it?
Well, whatever the answer to those questions, Kyoya didn't think it was fair for Tamaki to unload all of his feelings and, in the process, let all the building tension between them spill like water bursting from a dam, without giving Kyoya the slightest heads-up. (Though, in retrospect, and if he were being generous, Tamaki had been a bit more skittish, a bit more affectionate, a bit more blushy than usual.) Especially since Kyoya was leaving for the Americas the very next day, for a full four years at least, not counting breaks and holidays.
"You love me," Kyoya repeats slowly, then, just in case, "as a friend?"
Tamaki flushes further but doesn't falter, unrepentant. "No. Well, yes, obviously. But I love you in other ways, too, like, romantic ones? And I suspect you feel the same?" It wasn't a question, but the way that Tamaki said it made it seem as if it were Kyoya's feelings were unclear in this mess.
But as far as Kyoya knew, Tamaki and Haruhi had been dancing around each other since her host club arrival and dating for a month or so. As far as he knew, they were somewhat still entangled. Tamaki didn't bring them up much anymore. Which could, technically, factor into Tamaki loving Kyoya and all.
"But...I thought you loved Haruhi?"
Tamaki ducks his head for a moment, bashful all at once and too much for Kyoya's heart to handle. Tamaki, Loving Tamaki to be exact was like all of his uncuttable, dooming habits. His occasional stress smoke. His insomnia. His boxing. Every time he turns to them for solace or relief, he thinks; this will bite me in the ass, but he does it anyways.
"I do love her, as a friend. I thought I was in love with her, but then we dated, and I figured out that maybe I was only in love with the future I thought they represented, and that's not the same as loving somebody."
Kyoya's head spun. "The future she represented? What future did they represent, Tamaki?"
"I dunno," Tamaki looked embarrassed but he didn't falter, looking at Kyoya honestly, steadily. "Love. Wife. Kids. Marriage. The whole shebang. I just wanted love, a family; I thought they were key to that dream. But they're not. She is amazing, but I don't want her because she is not the only person I cannot do without. I don't love them, like I love you."
"Tamaki–."
"I realized," Tamaki hurried to say, unwilling to let Kyoya get a word in until he was done. Resigned, Kyoya let him talk. "A little before me and Haruhi officially called it quits, that there was one person I kept going back to. One person that could center me. One person I always wanted to have utterly and that I could not do without. That love and that's you for me. I admit, I always dismissed my attraction towards you for admiration because it didn't exactly fit into my mold, but I'm tired of denying myself good things. And you are the best. The best thing that could ever happen to me, and I can't imagine going on without it. Or at least, without trying to have you in every capacity."
Kyoya swallowed, torn in different directions. A part of him wanted to forget logic and reason; he just wanted to take Tamaki's waiting hands and let him lead the way to wherever they landed together. Another part of him, the part that made all of his decisions, froze up. He did love Tamaki; how could he not? He was all things good, and he made everything better, but at the same time– was it right to let yourself love someone you could never fulfill?
"Kyoya?" Tamaki prompted, voice pitched with nerves. "Please say something."
Despite his convoluted upbringing, or perhaps because of it, Tamaki wanted a family. He wanted a marriage and a family he could safely, undoubtedly, call his own. Kyoya could only ever grant half his wish, at least without putting his own desires at risk. He would share his future, his love, his home, children even, with Tamaki. But marriage? It still irked him, just the notion to it, ugly and nonsensical in his head. Was it right to let yourself love someone when you knew they would eventually have to turn elsewhere for them to reach their own dreams?
"I don't," Kyoya began slowly, instantly backtracking when he hears Tamaki's tremulous choked up noise, when he catches sight of Tamaki's stricken face (complete with wide, scared eyes, red, bitten lips, and gleaming teeth. That look would scar him forever, hating that even for a moment he was responsible.) "I mean to say. I do love you. You are correct in that, but Tamaki. I don't see how I could give you the future you want. The one you always wanted, and I know you do. You've always been steadfast in that, and I can't make this particular dream come true, Tamaki. You know that. It doesn't appeal to me at all. Honestly, it terrifies me, and I'm quite, and I've been, critical of it."
Tamaki meets his gaze, eyes bright with hope and tears. "I know," he says sweetly. "I know that you never wanted to marry. I'm not trying to change your mind or anything. I just, not marrying doesn't matter to me as much anymore in the face of having you. I want to be part of your future in the manner, any manner, that you will allow me to be. Preferably, lover, obviously, but I can learn to be just your friend. If you give me time. I mean," Tamaki rambled, "maybe a lot of time? And maybe distance, because I'll be a bit distressed but it's not like you're the only--oh."
Kyoya took an awkward step closer, watching the way Tamaki held his breath. At the same time, almost by accident, they exhaled. And with that, they exhaled every confession they had left unspoken and simmering for years. Tamaki knew and Kyoya knew.
I love you.
It's you I want.
You are my forever.
I adore you.
"I would love to love you," Kyoya says finally, solidifying it with tangible words, and Tamaki chokes on his happy little sounds. Kyoya swallows back his tears, sprung in his eyes without permission by the sheer importance of the moment shared, to address the ugly bits that need to be sorted out before they are hurt. "But I'm leaving for America. What about that?"
"We have planes. Distance won't change anything for me," Tamaki tells him confidently, before asking in a softer, patient, voice. "Would it bother you?"
Kyoya thinks it over even though he doesn't have to. The honest answer is no; it doesn't bother him. If he has the knowledge that at the end of the day, Tamaki is his, well, that's all he needs. He already has Tamaki in all the ways that matter and vice versa.
So with only the briefest of head shakes, Kyoya confesses his love and pours his adoration into Tamaki with a clumsy, learning, appreciative kiss.
TAMAKI (20-YEAR-OLD)
Tamaki wasn't going to lie. Long distance was different from Ouran, where he had instant access to Kyoya whenever he wanted him. (Which, looking back, was pretty much always. It would forever be his greater shame that it took him so long to make sense of his own, now-obvious, feelings.) Still the distance wasn't debilitating to their love at all. It might have been precisely what they needed before they decided to plant their roots and set a flag in the soil, claiming it forever. (And, yes, Tamaki was already planning their shared house/apartment/flat. Sue him. Kyoya and him were meant for forever, and he wasn't stupid for saying so. Damn, loud-mouth, classmate-cynics.)
Going to college has allowed them to grow beyond each other while still feeling safe in the knowledge, the promise, of the other. Kyoya flourished, and Tamaki developed; Kyoya would call at night, and Tamaki would pick up in Japan morning. Or, when he was in France, which was at least once a month— Kyoya would call while he did paperwork (always at his ungodly hours), and Tamaki would call around bedtime. It worked out. They worked out. (Because they were made to be, fuck you too, Hana, his classmate-cynic.)
So while not being able to enjoy Kyoya entirely, like in the flesh, had its many, many downsides, Tamaki was content with the distance. (And, they, well they talked about it enough to be ready for when they were ready.) It is what it is, and it made them better, stronger. Still, Tamaki was beside himself whenever he visited Kyoya or vice versa.
This occasion was only slightly different; it would be one of the times they would both be in Japan simultaneously. And needless to say, Tamaki, who was admittedly tactile, was positively starving for Kyoya's touch. It didn't help that they took things relatively slow, out of respect of each other and their somewhat new relationship, and that they only started getting intimate the last time they physically saw each other, just over two months ago. Far too long, so as was Tamaki's way, he was waiting for Kyoya in the comfort of Kyoya's room, sprawled across the bed in a somewhat innocently alluring but still seductive way, shirtless, of course, when the door flew open.
Tamaki opened his mouth to seduce Kyoya, but to his extreme mortification, it was Fuyumi at the doorway. They locked eyes, and at the same time, they both let out undignified shrieks of horror.
After a bustle of maids and a few butlers hurrying over to assist, handing a red-faced Tamaki a shirt and Fuyumi a pill to alleviate stress-induced headaches, they, being brave souls that they were, did not budge from their seats on the bed, both of them careful not to fidget too much less they crease the bed any further and incur Kyoya's wrath. (He was always the slightest bit cranky after travel.)
"I'm sorry I barged in like that," Fuyumi says, looking straight ahead and not making eye contact. "I was expecting Kyoya to be home already."
Tamaki, also facing the door and firmly not looking at Fuyumi, says, "I was also expecting Kyoya." Obviously. Would Fuyumi hate him for impugning, or attempting to impugne, Kyoya's virtue?
"I gathered," Fuyumi admits.
Tamaki cringes as his fiery blush burns brighter against his cheeks. "I suppose so. 'Msorry."
"No," Fuyumi says forcefully. "Do not be sorry. I am the one who is sorry. I am sorry. I'm sorry."
Tamaki clears his throat, "It's alright." He purses his lips, looking to escape this awkward conversation. "You miss Kyoya, huh?"
Fuyumi snorts, "Not nearly as much as you."
"Ah, yes. Uhm. Yes."
Another stretch of silence. "I," Fuyumi let out a soft laugh. "I'm delighted you are the one making my brother happy. It was always you, I think. It's great as a sister to see him look so, well, happy."
Tamaki smiled, "Thank you."
"Of course," Fuyumi smiled, "Just don't forget me in your vows, yes? I am of the opinion that I played quite a role in developing your friendship."
Tamaki opted to not answer, just smiling before looking to the side. It seemed his family didn't entirely trust Kyoya's conviction not to get married. An average person would say that was a good sign, but Tamaki knew better. Kyoya was more likely to hold even faster in his stance, in direct defiance of his family's expectations, even though he loved Fuyumi, which was fine. Tamaki knew that he would likely never wed; it hardly mattered if he got Kyoya instead. Kyoya didn't need to marry him to be Tamaki's; he had made that abundantly clear.
It was fine. A silly dream was a small price to pay for Kyoya's comfort. For Kyoya, himself.
KYOYA (22 YEARS OLD)
"So, how long have you two been dating?"
Kyoya exchanged an embarrassingly soft smile with Tamaki, who returned it before looking away, a little subdued after a call with his grandmother. "We have been together for four years now."
The American waitress' smile widened, before adding in a teasing voice, "Oh! And when are the two of you going to put a ring on it?"
Tamaki ducked his head to study the menu further, leaving Kyoya to answer the question, so he did. "That's not something we're all concerned with."
The waitress nodded, "Ah, I see! Yes, times are changing. Can I get you folks anything else?"
When they shake their heads no, she leaves, seemingly embarrassed.
Kyoya spends the rest of the evening coaxing Tamaki to talk to him, to confide in him. Quickly they had both entirely forgotten the little exchange between them and the waitress. It just didn't matter.
TAMAKI (24 YEARS OLD)
"I'm not saying that the right to marry who you want isn't a worthy cause," Kyoya repeated on the phone. "It's just not where I want to devote my money. There are more pressing, immediate issues, such as the alarming abuse trans victims face at a very young age. Not to mention–"
Tamaki zones out, staring at Kyoya as he debates, and Kyoya would later rant that he shouldn't have to argue about such matters with their financial advisor of all people (but he wouldn't fire him. The guy was relentless, but competent and loyal), feeling so entirely in love he can't bear it. This was fairy-tale bliss, was it not? Just looking at your love and feeling a love too big for your heart, never mind your body. It must be pouring out of him by now. In this blissful state, Tamaki slips and for a second, considers taking Kyoya to Vegas to see what would become of them. As soon as the thought arrives, he dismisses it, though. This is right here. What they had, was perfect. He was just basking in how perfect it was. What kind of greedy monster would ask for more?
KYOYA (26 YEARS OLD)
When Kyoya wakes up, first for the first time in a while, facing Tamaki's bare back, he recollects what happened the night before almost immediately. He's almost convinced he dreamed the whole thing up because the words, the inflection, and the sweet earnestness in Tamaki's eyes are all so fresh it felt like it was straight from a dream. Fragments of the night comes to him uncalled for, and ringing clear.
"It's not about the world, Kyoya. It's about us."
"I just want you in every capacity. I want to share every joy with you."
"I want to have something worldly—an actual society label. So I can say that you are my legal husband instead of my lover. I want to have some right to you. I want to be let into hospitals because I am your husband. I know it doesn't make sense to you, and that's fine; it's not a big deal."
"You're already too good to be true. I'm happy, truly. But if you ever change your mind, not to say you will, but if you do, will you marry me?"
Will you marry me?
All of Kyoya's reasons for not marrying still stand. It is still a silly society-brought-upon-notion to bring meaning and profit by its standards. It's still not going to change how much Tamaki loves him. (Though, admittedly, he once thought marriage might ruin them. Might take everything they knew and lay it to waste. He doesn't think that anymore though; not even a deity itself could tear Kyoya away.) But those reasons didn't matter.
Tamaki wanted him, and Kyoya was denying Tamaki.
No, not even just that. Though, yes, that. More then that, more than indulging Tamaki's desire to wed, to be legally deemed united, to be seen as inseparable by the world, was Kyoya's own budding desire to wed. It was still small, all but a flicker of interest and love. Something about the way that Tamaki bore his wishes to Kyoya. Something about the fact that Kyoya loved Tamaki more than anything, more than reason, something about that factored in and had Kyoya thinking of reception too. He was thinking of flowers and cake and congratulations. It had him thinking that he could make Tamaki so very happy, and he could find that happiness if he chose to accept it. Marriage didn't just have to mean one thing.
Will you marry me?
Something about being asked (and yes, Tamaki was drunk, but that only made him loose-limbed and unabashedly raw) so sweetly and intimately had Kyoya buzzing with excitement he suspected brides-to-be felt. (Something he would never admit to out loud.) Shaking with endless possibilities, a different playing field he never adequately considered. Something about having the man you love look you in the eyes and ask you that question, even, or maybe especially as he was sloppy and slumped over the counter because he was oh-so-sincere, he always was, had him trembling and thinking;
I need him to ask me again. I need him to ask me so I can feel that again and know without doubt that the answer is yes.
The only problem was that Tamaki fully respected his desire not to marry and never asked him about it, not even as a joke. If Kyoya wanted him to ask, he'll have to bring it up himself.
Despite understanding what the logical next step would be, Kyoya doesn't mention it that day at all and instead tends to Tamaki's hangover while occasionally sneaking in a few bits of work.
He fully plans on asking him the next day, but then he doesn't, and instead of losing his nerve and forgetting the whole thing– that flicker of a flame of interest and desire becomes a goddamn wildfire that consumes Kyoya from the inside out. Taking hold and intruding on every thought. The what-if, the possibility that they were missing out on something valuable.
He cracks two days later.
TAMAKI (TWO DAYS AFTER KYOYA.)
Kyoya has been in a reflective sort of mood ever since Haruhi and Renge's wedding. The wedding itself was extravagant, suiting Renge's tastes, but the celebration afterward was private and relaxed, working Haruhi's tastes. Tamaki was a bit afraid throughout it, illogically, that Kyoya might say something scathing regarding marriage and conformity, and along the lines of waste of time and money but he looked genuinely pleased for them and did not once look the least bit judgemental.
Except, Tamaki reflects, for when Renge had played the American song 'Who Let The Dogs Out?' and performed an entire choreographed number, which Tamaki figured was well-deserved disapproval. Though Haruhi found it endlessly amusing, god bless them.
Still, after the wedding, Kyoya seemed a bit lost in his head. Almost brooding. Tamaki could count on both hands the amount of times that Kyoya had been caught staring out the window of their flat, as if the answer would be strewn in the city lights like constellations. Tamaki was tempted to ask him back out of his head, to tease him open for secrets, but Kyoya was different from him and he had long learned that Kyoya preferred to stew until he was ready to talk and confront things on his own. Any earlier, and he was hyper-sensitive to all.
So he wasn't entirely surprised when during dinner only two nights after, Kyoya set his fork down, wiped his mouth, and confronted him about whatever was bothering him as of late.
He was, however, surprised about the topic, and the method.
"I'd like you to ask me. Properly. Please. You don't have to get on one knee. Unless you'd like to."
Tamaki sets his fork down, swallowing his bite of salad. "What?"
Kyoya looked at him, "Ask me."
Feeling like he was missing essential information, Tamaki dumbly said, "Ask you what?"
"To marry you, of course! I know you want to. So, ask me."
Tamaki's gut instinct, his reflex was to panic. Tamaki thinks hard about when he could have inadvertently pressured Kyoya into considering marriage, but he comes up blank. He was ever so careful when it was inevitably thrown their way, hiding his lingering fancies behind humor and indulgent kisses. "Did I say something?"
"What?"
Tamaki swallows the lump in his throat, "did I press the issue? I can't–."
"You might have mentioned it at the celebration of Haruhi and Renge's wedding," Kyoya allows, glasses hiding him. "But I need you to focus–."
"I'm sorry," Tamaki apologizes in the same breath. He feels the panic seize his chest. He didn't actually think Kyoya would leave him over this, but he did think he would pull away. Ask for space, and there was just no need for that, Tamaki understood. Or at least, he knew. From the very beginning, he knew. Tamaki's breath sped up when he considered that maybe Kyoya would leave him. Under the incorrect impression that he wasn't enough, which just wasn't right when he was all that Tamaki ever wanted. His love, his heart, his ma moitié. "I didn't mean to push it. I was drunk; I didn't mean to bring it up. I swear, I promise you, it's not something I need. I love you. I don't; I didn't mean to–."
"Ask me," Kyoya grits out, body coiled tight and tense. Tamaki swallows down his apologies. He couldn't stand it. It was too much. It was entirely unfair for Kyoya to hold him accountable for his stupid drunk mouth. He didn't mean to push him. He didn't. "Ask me to marry you. Do it. Please."
It was the please that got him. Kyoya so rarely asked for anything aloud. Tamaki ducks his head into his hands, burying his shame, fear, and indignance into the palms of his hands as he practically whispers, "Will you marry me, Kyoya?"
Kyoya chokes on something. A sob. A laugh. Both, a bit. But despite that, Tamaki hears him clearly when he says, "Yes. Yes. Tamaki, yes. I will marry you."
Hsi head snaps up, "What?"
Kyoya looks at him, wiping his eyes discreetly. "I will."
"But you? You don't want to… I was never going to ask you to do that for me. I want you to want this like I do. It's not something you can just do for someone else, it won't mean anything if you don't... It's–."
"I want to marry you, and given you still want to marry me, I... I would love to be your husband–."
Tamaki surges forward, stumbling around the table and Kyoya meets him halfway, they don't collide into a passionate kiss. That wasn't them. Not when words needed to be exchanged. They press close to share space, not quite kissing but just skimming his body lightly against Kyoya's as if he could memorize him like this. Share his space and mind simultaneously as if he could coax the depths of Kyoya's thoughts to the surface with his proximity alone. "You mean that?"
"Yes, I," Kyoya laughed a bit hysterically, but happy nonetheless, he pressed a chaste firm kiss to Tamaki's expectant mouth. "I changed my mind. Do you still want to marry me?"
Tamaki laughs into his mouth delightedly. "Change my mind? No. If you want it, well, Kyoya, that's quite literally a dream come true." He was crying, he realized. Snot and tears gather on his lips, and he wipes at them before pressing more messy, sticky kisses to Kyoya's pink face. Kyoya, he realized, was also crying a bit, his eyes shining and wet. They were a mess, they were perfect like this. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
"I'm still scared," Kyoya admits quietly, privately, after they both calm down somewhat. "Marriage could change everything, and I haven't given it actual, logical, proper thought, and all my reasons still apply. I just, I simply think they don't matter as much. I think it doesn't have to make sense if it feels right. I'm willing, anyways, to be shared with you. In that sense, because, I do think that matters now. Or at least, I feel that it does."
"You are so brave," Tamaki praised. "So, so brave." He was about to abandon dinner and dedicate himself to his husband when he realizes where they might have lost each other a bit in communication. Tamaki had heard marriage and instantly assumed a wedding, but Kyoya could very well mean a quick call to the lawyers, or whatever had to be done. Tamaki pulls back, "By marriage, do you mean like a ceremony or the paperwork? Either is good. I just want to know what you are thinking–."
"I want everything," Kyoya says quickly, cheeks pink. (And Tamaki almost dies because isn't that just so precious?.) "Everything you can give me."
"It'll be amazing," Tamaki vows, voice pitched with excitement. "I'll give you everything."
"I know you will." Kyoya ducks his face into the curve of Tamaki's neck, breathing him in and exhaling him. "I'll do my best to be the same. I want to make you happy. I want to be happy, with you. Like that. God, just, shut me up," Kyoya begs, looking so embarrassed that something inside Tamaki purrs with delight. Kyoya catches the look in his eyes and blushes further. "Shut me up and kiss me, you smug bastard."
Tamaki takes the glasses of Kyoya's face and sets them on the table. And then he proceeds to do exactly just that.