Work Text:
Turns out that Maji Burger is packed on Saturday nights, and he would have turned on his heel and left if he weren’t already here, if the smell of meat frying on the grill hadn’t already wafted to his nose, making his stomach growl. It’s too late to get dinner someplace else so he endures the line, and when he gets to the counter he orders five burgers, extra pickles on all of them. Good thing the sodas are refillable, and the sundaes he’ll pick up later for dessert.
Luck smiles on him when he finds an empty table, and he digs in, not even particularly inclined towards the flavor of the food as much as the atmosphere of the place; ten minutes later he realizes that luck must’ve been smiling at him sadistically, because someone is clearing their throat in front of him, a voice he’ll recognize anywhere from the way it grates on his ears.
“Oi, is this seat taken?” says Kagami, holding a tray which had a pile of at least twenty burgers. Atsushi bites from one of his and chews slowly, responding only when he’s swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“Liar.” Kagami pulls the chair over and situates himself on the other side of the table, wearing a scowl that must mirror Atsushi’s own. Atsushi narrows his eyes at the intrusion, but Kagami beats him to turning his aggravation into speech.
“Won’t take long, all right? There’s no other seats available, and I’d rather bother someone I know than a stranger.”
“Not my problem,” says Atsushi, stubborn, though there’s not much he can do about it short of forcefully extracting Kagami from his seat, and that will take far too much effort. Kagami huffs and unwraps a burger, finishing it off in three bites.
“Let’s just get through dinner and pretend this never happened.” Under his breath he adds, “stupid.”
“Freak,” Atsushi is quick to retort, meeting the full force of Kagami’s glare – not even he can eat a burger in seconds like some kind of fast food monster.
Kagami bristles at the taunt, tone dipping into childishness. “Takes one to know one.” It’s embarrassing for Atsushi only because he’s aware that he acts exactly like that when the mood strikes; the feeling quickly manifests into weariness, and he sighs.
“Go bother someone else, Kagami. You don’t know me anyway.”
He hears Kagami mutter something along the lines of ‘drama queen’, and then, “…tch. Sorry.”
They resume their meal in strained silence, though Kagami wordlessly refills Atsushi’s cup too when he notices that it’s nearly empty. In turn, Atsushi notices that he’s been diligently picking the pickles out of each burger, setting them aside.
“You’re not gonna eat those?”
“Yeah, no. I keep telling them to take them out but they only listen half the time.”
“Hm.” Atsushi devotes exactly one second to contemplation before reaching out for the neglected slices, distributing them carefully among his remaining burgers. Kagami looks surprised, though he doesn’t protest to Atsushi’s stealing.
“Didn’t take you for the type to like pickles.”
Atsushi takes a bite, grimacing at the sour juice squirting out as if to emphasize his next point. “I’m not.”
Kagami stares at him for a long while afterwards, and the realization dawns on his face somewhere between minute four and five. Idiot, Atsushi thinks, though he’s glad Kagami decides not to say anything about it.
Of course, Kagami is a disappointment on top of being a source of irritation, because at the end of their awkward little 'date’ he asks for Atsushi’s email. “I’ll hit you up when I’m in the area or something. We’ll have one-on-ones.”
“I don’t wanna play basketball,” says Atsushi, annoyed that he has to voice something so obvious. “Especially not with you.”
“I’ll just ask Tatsuya for it then.”
“Ugh.” Getting Muro-chin involved will only double the problem. Atsushi reluctantly concedes.
They don’t say goodbye when they part ways. Atsushi won’t even try to understand what inspired Kagami’s sudden friendliness, chalks it up to being an American thing.
What he understands even less is why he saved Kagami’s email, too.
“He’s still an asshole, by the way,” Taiga tells Tatsuya on one of the rare times their loaded schedules allow them to Skype. “I guess you’re into that.”
“You’re more similar than you think,” says Tatsuya, unruffled, the pixelized screen doing little to distort the serenity of his features. Taiga tries in vain to read them despite, mulling over the remark.
“Doesn’t that mean… wait, no, don’t answer that. What– Tatsuya,” he mutters in succession as Tatsuya’s laughter filters through his headphones. Taiga watches him lean forward, chin resting on his folded palms to be closer to the camera, subtly playing off his interest in the reply to his impending question.
“Is he doing well?”
“Don’t you guys talk like, every day?”
“Not recently, no,” says Tatsuya, and anyone else would have been fooled by his nonchalance. “He’s been busy, memorizing recipes.”
Taiga listens to him make excuses, the futility of it soon catching up with him. “Why am I listening to you talk about Murasakibara again?”
“You brought him up, Taiga.”
Like you wouldn’t have found a way to do it if I hadn’t, Taiga wants to say, but he knows Tatsuya won’t deny it. Hell, he’ll even do that smile, the dreamy one that has him seeming a thousand miles away (though physically, that’s where he is, and the metaphor is swiftly falling apart in Taiga’s hands.)
“Yeah, um…” Taiga scratches at his neck as he struggles to get the words out. “He just looked like he misses you.” I can relate, he would add, but he doesn’t want to prove Tatsuya right about having things in common with Murasakibara.
Maybe he should’ve though, if it’ll make Tatsuya look less sad than he does now. “I miss him too.”
Taiga refused to let the conversation go on like that, so he abandons the topic in favor of happier ones, like basketball. Basketball is safe, neutral ground. Basketball has never let him down.
The call drops and so does all the time he spent thinking about Tatsuya and Murasakibara’s imaginary troubles. He’s not even sure why he asked for Murasakibara’s email in the first place, because it’s not as if Taiga had plans to initiate contact with him apart from future accidental and unavoidable encounters at Maji Burger, and Tokyo is too big a city for it to happen again.
Then it turns out that he didn’t need to worry about all that when Murasakibara makes the first move.
He’s done with practice and lounging around in his room, too unmotivated to start on his class readings just yet when he receives the message, blunt and without precedence.
'Muro-chin said you had a good palette’
Just that. No emotes or punctuation, not a greeting or introduction. He scoffs and considers not responding, but a glance at his notes tells him he’s not that desperate to study.
'What about it?’
'Go candy shopping with me tomorrow’
'Do it yourself,’ he texts initially, getting nothing in return. That has him feeling a bit guilty, a bit like a terrible person; Murasakibara had taken measures to reach out, had even tried to compliment him. He types a second message.
'Fine. Where?’
'What a pain,’ comes the response, and Taiga almost throws his phone at the wall. 'Candy alley,’ says the next line. He groans – anyone could’ve told him that – but doesn’t bother to ask Murasakibara to clarify. It’d be easy to spot his giant head in that crowd anyway.
Murasakibara turns up the next day wearing the same cap as him (both were gifts from Tatsuya, go figure) and they bicker about that instead of exchanging the usual pleasantries. It feels strangely comfortable, though that’s soon replaced by irritation? boredom? both, since they go hand in hand? when Murasakibara proceeds to drag him from candy store to candy store, leaving Taiga to hover around like some kind of buzzing insect while he sampled the 'new arrivals.’ The store owners were happy to see him, though some of them inquired after 'Atsushi’s pretty friend’ or simply 'Himuro-kun.’ Murasakibara grunted at each of them instead of replying, which had Taiga wondering how often Tatsuya used to accompany him on these things. Probably all the time.
He has the patience to put up with it though, and Taiga doesn’t, but just as he’s about to give up on his good deed – because that’s all this is – Murasakibara turns to him, holding up a plastic spoon to his mouth.
“Try this.”
Fairly certain Murasakibara isn’t trying to poison him – they’re in public and everything – he gives the spoon a lick.
“Ugh, too sweet.”
“Wrong,” says Murasakibara, brows furrowed, but he has another little spoon for Taiga. Doesn’t take a genius to realize that this is some kind of test, and Taiga’s supposed to put more effort into his answers.
“Uh… it tastes like lemon?”
“What else?”
Shit. Taiga’s excellent at cooking, sure, but he’s never really cared for dessert, not even sharing Kuroko’s penchant for vanilla shakes. He’ll have to talk out of his ass for this. “I dunno, mint?”
Murasakiba’s frown eases at that, and the afternoon becomes a series of little spoons, with Murasakibara occasionally nodding when he agrees with Taiga’s assessment of the candy. By the time they finish visiting the stores, the sun has set and Murasakibara is carrying several bags as loot while Taiga’s teeth are aching like they’re planning a mutiny. It sucks. At least until Murasakibara rummages in one of the bags and pushes a pack of marshmallows to his chest, a parting gift.
“Kagami’s not so bad.” He seems just as surprised and embarrassed by it as Taiga is because his ears are red when he walks off, and Taiga supposes he can head home too.
Ignoring the heat in his flushed earlobes, he thinks maybe I’ll make smores.
Any conclusion he arrives at regarding whether or not Kagami’s an acceptable guy is negated by the email he sends Atsushi on Saturday morning, close to a week since their venture to the candy shops.
'Meet me later. Basketball. 4pm.’
'You wish’
'Bastard! Pay for my dental bills then. I think I got a cavity from last time.’
Kagami’s not an expert at blackmail, not like Muro-chin, but Atsushi senses that he’s the type of guy who won’t let this go until the debt’s been paid. Serves Atsushi right for inviting him out on a whim.
(If he were honest with himself, not talking to Muro-chin is beginning to take its toll.)
So he shows up at the street court Kagami specifies in the gym clothes he hasn’t worn in months; Kagami brings the ball and they flip a coin for who gets first possession, not that Atsushi cares, or that it matters much, when he’s able to steal the ball within three seconds of the metaphorical blown whistle.
“That’s cheating!” says Kagami after he lands a basket, along with some English swear words Atsushi recognizes. He shrugs, letting Kagami chase after the ball as it rolls towards the fence.
“Can I go now. We both know I’m gonna win.”
“Like hell you are.” Kagami throws the ball at his chest, and he catches it reflexively. “I gotta repay you for stealing that point from me.”
Atsushi wants to crush him and says as much, which earns him a bark of irritating laughter.
“You can try, moron.”
A third-rate taunt, but it works. Before he knows it Atsushi is actually giving it his all like he would in an official match, shirt plastered on his back with sweat and hair tied up so it wouldn’t obscure his vision. Games against Kagami often happened like this, his talent too great to ignore; it kept the five of them on their toes, defeat from their first Winter Cup remaining fresh in their minds up to their senior year.
Yet Atsushi still meets him on equal terms, despite not having played regularly since graduation. Maybe Kagami thought he’d be rusty and expected to win because of that, but he’s a natural (and this sport makes his blood sing against his will). He won’t hand victory over that easily.
Besides, Kagami is too simple-minded a guy to be capable of that much malice.
Neither of them wins anyway. Once they’re heaving and exhausted they’re alerted to the fact that neither of them remembered to keep score. Neither of them are up for arguing about it, reserving the last of their energy for cool-down stretches before slumping to the ground, the dirt on their shorts inconsequential.
“Hey,” says Kagami, pensive as he passes a water bottle. “Why didn’t you keep playing?”
Of all of them, only Mine-chin and Kagami ended up playing after high school. Kuro-chin is a regular student while Kise-chin now models full-time, and Mido-chin had to quit after a while to focus on his studies. Aka-chin still schedules their meetups without fail, but basketball is the one thing he refuses to be ruthlessly competitive about.
And Atsushi is happy in culinary school, but that’s not what Kagami had been asking, especially when he adds, “you’re a damn animal.”
“Don’t wanna. It’s not fun anymore,” says Atsushi, immediately irked that the word choice makes him seem miserable rather than petulant (though that is not far from the truth.) For a moment Kagami makes a face like he’s about to ask what made it fun?, then thinks better of it.
Pathetic. Both of them are.
Kagami changes tactic, says, “so when are you gonna start picking up when Tatsuya calls?” and Atsushi could’ve pretended he didn’t hear it over the rip of his chip bag, but he seizes up, his fingers freezing on their way to procuring a chip.
That pause speaks volumes; as it is, Atsushi has never surrendered to anyone in his life, two certain people nonwithstanding. There’s no way Kagami will be the third.
“I’m not ignoring Muro-chin.”
“Never said you were,” says Kagami, self-satisfied. Atsushi decides to drown him out through the deliberate crunching of every individual chip, the salt dissolving on his tongue, and Kagami eventually relents, palms up.
“Whatever, man. It’s none of my business.”
Then why were you asking, Atsushi points out, but only in his head. He’s known Kagami long enough to recognize that the freakish size of his heart is rivaled solely by his freakish jumping power. He means well.
Reminds Atsushi of someone else across the Pacific (who he hopes is asleep, so he can make it to class refreshed the next day), but he won’t mention that either.
Taiga runs into Murasakibara as he’s walking home from the convenience store near his apartment building. Murasakibara seems distant but determined, carrying plastic bags weighed heavy with groceries.
“Yo,” says Taiga, wondering what he’s doing in the area. Murasakibara lifts his brows in acknowledgement.
“Hm.”
Clearly he’s no mood for chit chat, so Taiga leaves it at that as he walks up the steps. Except Murasakibara is right at his heels, slipping inside when he does.
It’s not that weird yet. Maybe he knows someone in the building and is paying them a visit. Taiga stays silent as Murasakibara boards the elevator with him, noting how he didn’t press any of the floor buttons when he sees that Taiga’s already done it for the fifth. Huh. So his friend lives on Taiga’s floor. Maybe Murasakibara will introduce them.
Denial could only work up to a certain point, and it becomes apparent when Murasakibara trails behind him while he unlocks his door. Taiga whirls around and raises his voice to a reasonable level (so it won’t disturb his neighbors), “dude, are you following me?”
Murasakibara regards him with a blank stare. “I’m gonna use your kitchen. Move over, Kagami.”
Taiga’s angry spluttering is completely ignored as Murasakibara muscles his way through, toeing his shoes off and padding straight to the kitchen on socked feet.
“Who said you could come in?” demands Taiga as Murasakibara unloads the contents of the bags on the counter. His counter. Murasakibara acts oblivious to his tirade, checking the cupboards and taking out baking equipment when he finds them.
“Is your oven working?” says Murasakibara, turning the knobs to answer his own question. Just watching him has Taiga’s head throbbing, but – according to Tatsuya – he’s no match for Murasakibara’s strength when his mind is set on a task.
Wouldn’t be the first time some jerk invited themselves into Taiga’s apartment anyway.
“Just don’t make a mess,” he mutters, eyeing the carton of eggs Murasakibara is carefully inspecting. At least he brought his own ingredients.
Taiga settles in front of tv, cracking open his soda can, sipping occasionally and flipping channels for something to keep his focus as Murasakiba does god-knows-what in his kitchen. He succeeds for the most part, until the rattling noises start. A cursory peek shows Murasakibara wrestling with the electric mixer, seemingly intent on drilling a hole through the bowl.
“Woah!” He jumps up and rushes to yank out the cord, shouting, “you’re gonna break it!”
The scowl he receives in turn could have blocked out the sun and ended all life on earth. Taiga suppresses a shudder.
“Chill out.” He plugs it in again and presses the lowest setting, handing control back to Murasakibara. “So what are you making?” And why are you making it in my apartment?
“Cookies,” murmurs Murasakibara, slightly placated. The all-consuming rage from earlier is gone, though Taiga suspects that hadn’t just been directed at him. Then, as if reading his mind, Murasakibara adds, “it was too quiet in the student kitchens.”
An admission like that doesn’t come easy from someone that stubborn. Taiga has a pretty good guess what he wants to happen.
“Need some help?”
“Mm.”
Murasakibara motions to a jar of cherries, giving instructions to wrap them in tablespoons of brown dough that looked more like fudge from where he’s standing.
“You want them inside the cookies?” asks Taiga to clarify. Murasakibara hums his assent, tasting a sample from the bowl.
“Double chocolate cherry cordial is what it’s called.”
“…okay.”
“Wash your hands.”
“Would you gimme a sec? Jeez.” Taiga walks to the sink, rinsing off between the grooves of his fingers, and those are the last words they exchange for a long while. He doesn’t know what to do with the realization that what Murasakibara really wanted wasn’t noise but company, and he doesn’t seem the type to like small talk.
They lay out the cookies on the baking sheet in relative quiet, and it’s Murasakibara who cracks its thin surface, voice low as he slides the tray in the oven, “they’re Muro-chin’s favorites.”
“Yeah, I kinda got that.” Taiga’s not the most perceptive guy on the planet, but there are some things he hasn’t forgotten. “That first time in Maji Burger too, right, with the pickles. Tatsuya always asked for mine.”
“Pickles taste terrible.”
“We finally agree on something.” He’d grin if the atmosphere didn’t seem so gloomy, with the prep work done and their hands unoccupied. Murasakibara’s still in front of the oven, gazing at his reflection in the dark glass; the fists at his sides tells Taiga exactly what he’s thinking.
“Y'know you’re only making yourself unhappy,” says Taiga, feeling dicey about discussing this with his brother’s boyfriend but recognizing its necessity. “Tatsuya’s kind of a drag to talk to these days too. What’s the big deal?”
Murasakibara’s gaze wavers, his speech a tightened spring. “I’m mad at Muro-chin.”
“We figured.” Even with Tatsuya’s endless skirting around the issue, his forced smiles, the fact that he never said it in those exact words. “Why?”
For a moment he doesn’t expect a response. And then the coil snaps.
“He keeps leaving me behind. He comes back and leaves again. He says I’ll stop missing him but I haven’t, I won’t. What’s so special about LA? Stupid America. Stupid Muro-chin. I hate him.”
It’s the loudest and the longest Taiga’s ever heard him speak, and as he does his eyes are vicious, searching for something to destroy. Taiga shifts to block him from the appliances, just in case.
The conversation has taken a turn too honest for his liking, kicking up sand on the ocean floor of memories he’s already buried. Being left behind by Tatsuya doesn’t hurt less than the day he put their rings on the line, even if they’d made up and grown up since, even with his ring still hanging from neck, a little rusty but unscathed. He’s in no danger of losing Tatsuya again, yet the prospect terrifies him like he’s thirteen.
This isn’t like that though. A younger Tatsuya had tried to let him go once, a different picture from the Tatsuya he talks to now that’s holding on so desperately to someone who won’t take his calls.
“Idiot.” He unties his apron, bunches it into a loose ball, and throws it at Murasakibara’s head. “He’s not leaving you behind. He comes back because he wants to stay with you but he can’t yet. Think plane tickets are cheap? You really piss me off.”
He can’t return to the couch, fired up like this; he has no choice but to load the dishes in the washer, wiping down the excess flour on the counter. The cleanup is a startlingly painless affair; Murasakibara isn’t an untidy baker.
“Tatsuya was always messy when he cooked,” says Taiga, hoarse from his cooling fury. “That’s why I was the one making bentos when we were kids. But we made dinner the last time he came over and he was a lot more careful about it. I guess he got that from you.”
From his peripheral he could see a blurry rendition of Murasakibara’s current expression, his eyes big and watery, bottom lip trembling like’s about to bawl.
Goddamnit, Taiga.
“Sorry,” he rushes to amend. Three years later he still has no idea of how to deal with crying people, despite Kuroko’s incessant lecturing that he has to be nicer, gentler. “I’ll butt out. You already know the best way to fix this and I’m talking out of my ass.”
With the kitchen spotless now, there’s no reason to linger in the wake of his awkwardness. He plops in front of the tv and imagines the apartment is bigger than it is.
Neither of them speak for forty-five minutes, which is how long it takes for the cookies to be done. Taiga doesn’t get up, assuming Murasakibara will attend to it. Another ten minutes go by and he’s alerted to shuffling from the kitchen, resisting the urge to glance over. Maybe Murasakibara’s finally packing up to avoid further scolding.
Then Taiga’s proven wrong again when a giant hand crams a cookie into his mouth, insistent until he swallows every crumb. Murasakibara sits beside him, chewing on one from the plateful he’s holding.
“What the–!”
“I let them cool. You didn’t get burnt, right?”
“Stop shoving things in my face!”
“Hm. How did it taste?”
“I couldn’t tell with that shit you just pulled. Gimme another.”
“Ehh, so greedy.”
He doesn’t stop Taiga’s fingers as they pilfer from the pile, idly watching him take a bite.
The cherry hits his tongue like a grenade, the consistency of it too rich to slide down his throat without making him choke. “Not bad,” he says.
Murasakibara snorts to let him know he’s not buying it. “Dumbass Kagami.” He nibbles on the cookie as if to savor the taste, and Taiga hears him sigh, “but Muro-chin’s worse.”
In the end, he initiates the call, and he lasts a second into hearing Muro-chin’s voice before his heart catches in his throat. Muro-chin looks sick with relief and all of Atsushi’s apologies get stuck between his teeth; both of them spend the better part of the next hour pretending they’re not crying. The low screen resolution hides the evidence anyway.
He’d been worried for nothing.
Kagami finds out soon enough because Muro-chin can’t keep his mouth shut, and sends Atsushi a message to meet him at Maji Burger like old times. Or like that one time. My treat, he promises. Atsushi isn’t in the business of turning down free meals; he supposes he owes Kagami too, or something like that.
(They make sure to wear different caps this time around.)
Kagami orders for both of them and returns to the table with a tray of burgers, the stack bigger that Atsushi thought possible for the tray to carry. He’s given a fourth of them and he’s already nursing nausea at the sight.
“That’s gross,” he says after Kagami eats three in less than a minute. “Didn’t Muro-chin tell you to eat healthier.”
The name no longer cuts into his tongue as he says it. Kagami stares at him, an ineffective rebuke with his cheeks bursting like a chipmunk’s.
“You’re telling me to eat healthier? You?” He starts cracking up, bits of food falling out. It’s disgusting, and again Atsushi is struck by the feeling that he’s looking at a mirror, the way he always has crumbs dotting his chin, or on his shirt, or atop his lap…
“Anyway.” Kagami swallows at the risk of choking between bites of burger, “save your lectures for when you’re not eating ten pounds of sugar everyday.”
Atsushi shrugs as he unwraps his first burger, inserting the pickles Kagami had left out for him. “It comes with culinary school. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m a growing boy.”
“So how come I’m taller than you?”
A burger turns to pulp in Kagami’s fist, his nostrils flaring in righteous anger, but it passes quickly, transforming into a sort of resigned irritation. He squirts ketchup onto his bun, mumbling, “man, I liked you better when you were moping. That smug look on your face is driving me nuts.”
Atsushi feels his lips stretching upwards before the mildly sadistic delight sinks inside his chest, widening the grin further. “Gami-chin likes me.”
“I didn’t say– Gami-chin?”
Lazily, he offers to do a Heimlich as Kagami splutters and coughs, bemoaning the lump of bread stuck in his throat.
So melodramatic.
Tatsuya’s late.
The plane was supposed to have landed a while ago, but due to a delay on a connecting flight they’ve been forced to wait for two hours. Him and Murasakibara, that is.
He’s bored out of his mind, his phone having died from abusing it by playing all of his apps – twice – but Murasakibara seems to be doing fine, occupying himself by systematically ordering from the airport cafe menu. He’s in the middle of his third cinnamon roll, apple flavored, when Taiga drums his fingers on the table, asks, “hey, you nervous?”
“Why? It’s just Muro-chin,” says Murasakibara, licking glaze off his fingertips. “I saw him six months ago.”
Taiga smirks, leaning back to balance the chair on its hind legs. “So you are nervous.”
“When did I say that?”
“Didn’t have to.”
Murasakibara scoffs and takes a heated sip from his frappuccino. The gesture only confirms Taiga’s suspicions. It’s not that he’s psychic, or that he’s become adept at reading the subtleties of Murarakibara’s expressions like one of those self-proclaimed experts on tv. All he did was notice how Murasakibara had been too distracted to throw out the raisins from his cinnamon rolls, and that was enough. They didn’t spend all these months together, missing Tatsuya in their own ways, for Taiga to not pick up on something so common.
Partly why it’s the two of them waiting here and not just Murasakibara, with Tatsuya’s parents too occupied by work. Taiga said he’d drive, since Murasakibara didn’t know how to – rather, he refused to learn, grumbling about the cars in Japan being too small for him. Months ago Taiga wouldn’t have offered, nor would Murasakibara have accepted.
Some things have changed.
He’s so lost in his own musings that he nearly topples when they hear that the plane’s finally landed; nearly, because Murasakibara’s large hand grabs him by the arm before he could fall, tugging the chair back on all fours.
“Stop fooling around, Gami-chin,” says Murasakibara as he pulls him to stand, suddenly solemn. The nickname’s still weird, but Taiga’s gotten used to that.
“Yeah,” he says, noting the pastries on Murasakibara’s plate, abandoned without a second thought. “Let’s go get him.”
Heading to the arrivals gate involves even more waiting, but it’s worth it to see that familiar face walking, then running towards them. Taiga braces himself for impact or injury but Tatsuya drops his luggage and launches right onto Murasakibara, who catches him flawlessly as if rehearsed.
(They’ve always been scarily in tune with each other, though the same thing has been said about him and Kuroko.)
He bends down to straighten Tatsuya’s suitcase, glancing up just in time to see laughter split Tatsuya’s face open, the impassive mask gone. None of his reunions with Taiga have ever begun like this, but before an ugly, bitter thing could secure a spot in his consciousness Tatsuya and Murasakibara’s mouths connect, and he’s too damn mortified to entertain jealousy at all.
“Cut that out!” he hisses, certain he’s red to the tips of his toes, “people are staring.”
Thank god none of his reunions with Tatsuya have ever begun like this. He’s not sure he could survive the humilation.
They quit the kissing but go googly-eyed instead, and that lasts so long that Taiga almost wishes he didn’t interrupt them. That stuff’s worse than the making out.
An agonizing eternity later, Tatsuya turns to him with a smile, and hugs him like he’s giving them away for free. This is new; they’ve never had a habit of embracing, even as kids. Affection was displayed in the form of pats on the shoulder, hair ruffles, or by showing off their twin rings. Taiga decides he likes this improved version of being brothers.
“Taiga, you came,” breathes Tatsuya as he pulls away. His eyes are tired, older, but the smile is just like when he was eleven.
“I’ve been here for ten minutes, bro,” snorts Taiga, an accusing finger pointed at Murasakibara. “You guys were just busy.”
“Ehh, you whine too much,” says Murasakibara, an arm clutching Tatsuya’s carry-on and the other naturally settled around Tatsuya’s shoulders. “Dumbass Kagami.”
“Hah? What happened to Gami-chin?!”
“You wish.”
They bicker all the way to the parking lot and Tatsuya, who’d been noticeably silent the whole time, speaks only when he’s fastening his seatbelt. “I see. You two have grown close in my absence.” His voice is tender, though softened more by fondness than sadness.
“Who’d wanna be close to him, Muro-chin?” says Murasakibara from the backseat, leaning forward so he can talk comfortably between them. “He smells.”
“Who the hell was it that borrowed my deodorant and lost it?”
“Not me.”
“Fuck off,” says Taiga, grinning as he sets off for the road.
(“Gami-chin’s an idiot,” says Atsushi, inebriated from two bottles of beer on one of those nights the missing became too much to bear, and Kagami had suggested um, maybe a couple of drinks would help?, and the taste was unforgivable but the buzzing, the buzzing is pleasant, it lets him slur the rest of the sentence so it wouldn’t be so embarrassing, “but I don’t mind sharing.”)