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Tsukasa really didn’t enjoy being irritated.
In all honesty, however awful it may be, he vastly preferred being the one doing the irritating; at the very least he could derive some entertainment out of it, despite the grating effect it had on his interpersonal relationships. At least in his case, there usually was some end-goal justification he had in mind. A little bit of teasing or torment usually paid off when all came to fruition. Of course, he’s always had a bit of difficulty with empathy at times.
Well, now the tables were turned, and he was getting much more than a just a taste of his own medicine. And the side effects to this treatment felt deadly.
(He’s being incredibly dramatic. Still, he was of a privileged upbringing, and old, petty habits die hard.)
The worst part wasn’t even the way his annoyances barred him from focusing, or even the ceaseless fidgets he found himself possessed by. No, it was far more humiliating than that: it was the fact he didn’t expect Takatoshi to be capable of making him feel this way.
Takatoshi was many things, a man of much more depth than many expected. His ideals were simple, but his feelings complex. He held his grudges close, but always held his former enemies closer—albeit some took much longer than others. And though he was stubborn and staid about many things...he still ended up coming around, coming a long way to be honest about his love for him.
The one thing Tsukasa thought Takatoshi would never be was the kind of person who’d ignore him.
However, that was the exact infuriating situation happening not just today, but the day prior. Takatoshi had barely spoken a word to him for approximately 36 hours—not that he was counting—and not one message had been replied to. A single day could be written off, but anything longer than 24 hours felt as though some point was being made. Whatever that point was, it was making him so angry that Shinonome called him out for stomping around and nearly spilling her coffee.
And it wasn’t as if he wasn’t making an effort to reach out. Quite the opposite, actually; he’d sent some particularly provocative messages that day, which would normally elicit an immediate response. Yet here he was, hung out to dry like another of Takatoshi’s well-worn work shirts. Gripping one of said shirts, Tsukasa scoffed petulantly and threw it to the ground hard.
He grits his teeth and seethes at the crumpled garment. “Stupid...don’t even know he air-dries these anyway, the dryer works perfectly fine—”
“I keep telling you, it helps the fibers last longer.”
He jumps as Takatoshi walks up the stairs of the deck, a stupid smile plastered on his stupid mouth.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh, it’s my house...? I could say the same to you—I’m used to you working so late I have to drag you home.”
“It’s not as if we’ve got set schedules, I can leave any time I want,” he scoffs, blatantly omitting the fact Gouto sent him home because he wasn’t getting any work done. “Besides, you didn’t seem to care about dragging me home yesterday.”
Takatoshi gives him a chagrined laugh, rough and deep and definitely not culling his rage in the slightest. “I lost track of time, it was so late I figured you’d have already thrown in the towel.” He pauses, and steps closer. “Hey, is something the matter?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Emphasis on could; I’m still deciding if I care enough.”
“H-huh?! Wait, what did I do?!” Takatoshi shuffles around him, trying to catch his gaze. Nose to the sky, Tsukasa swings his head side to side, stubbornly avoiding him.
“I think you should be more concerned with what you didn’t do.”
“Wh—Oh, no, did I forget something again? Don’t tell me it was your birthday, or—”
“My birthday? Please,” he rolls his eyes, “that I could understand. I just can’t comprehend why you’ve elected to forget me entirely.”
Takatoshi stills. “Is that what this is about?”
Silence serves as his reply, and Takatoshi sighs.
“I’m sorry. You know how hard I’ve been working on the construction projects lately, and since we’re so close to finishing, it’s been eating all my time,” he rubs the back of his neck, a guilty tic. “Yesterday we made a ton of progress, but still...I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was ignoring you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if you’d bothered to acknowledge a single text.”
His face stretches wide in surprise, then squeezes into a grimace. “Ah, about that...I think I’m going to need another one of those communicator things.”
“Wait, don’t tell me—did you break it again?”
“A-actually, I lost it this time. That’s...why I came home so late last night; I was fumbling around in the dark to find it, but no luck. I went to the creek to splash water on my face at some point, so maybe then...?”
Tsukasa slides his hands down his face, hit with a flood of simultaneous relief and exhaustion. “You absolute oaf...I should’ve known you’re too obsessed with me to ever ignore me.”
“Th-thats, well, I—” Takatoshi sputters, “...you’re right, okay? Does that make you feel better?”
“Quite a lot, actually.”
Takatoshi huffs, cheeks reddening. Then, in a surprising turn of events, his eyes catch his gaze with a cheeky glint. “Still, it feels good to know I was able to mess with your head for once. It’s nice to know you care.”
“You didn’t—Of course I care about you, but I wasn’t really that fazed by it.”
“Oh, I see. Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps I ought to really show you how good I am at the silent treatment—”
Before he can mouth off any longer, he pulls Takatoshi down to his level by his still-sweaty shirt, and shuts him up with a tight, frustration-laced kiss.
After all, the one who’s supposed to be the hot and bothered one is him, not Tsukasa.