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It had started like any other night.
They had been out drinking, as usual, with the exception of Mitsuki (who had been dragged into a four-hour viewing session of Magical Cocona, and unfortunately couldn’t escape). Sougo had insisted on having a few more drinks than he could handle, ‘for Mitsuki’s sake’, which resulted in a very amused Yamato giving a very drunk Sougo a piggyback ride to the dorms.
“Yamato-san,” Sougo had whined into the fabric of his shirt, “I’m gonna throw up.”
“I heard you the first twenty times, Sou,” sighed Yamato. “We’re only a couple minutes away, ‘kay?”
He adjusted his grip on the other man’s legs, lifting him higher onto his back and eliciting a very faint ‘ugh’ from the younger man. Cute , Yamato thought to himself, before cursing at himself internally. That’s not what was going on here. People like him didn’t deserve to think such thoughts about kind people like Sougo. He was helping out a colleague, nothing more, nothing less.
A stifled gag from Sougo brought him out of his thoughts. He shook his head slightly, lamenting the fact that he hadn’t done anything to stop the lightweight from going well past his limit. He had half a mind to threaten to leave the other man on the streets by himself, as if it would possibly scare the sickness out of him, but he knew it would only end in a flood of tears. Sougo was terribly clingy while he was drunk.
Once they’d finally reached the front door, Yamato turned his head to speak to his inebriated friend.
“Sou, we’re home. I have to put you down now so we can get inside, alright? Think you can stand?”
Sougo nodded slowly, and Yamato gently crouched down to deposit him on the floor, offering him a hand and pulling him up to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Sougo could not, in fact, stand up, and very nearly fell headfirst into the doorframe. Luckily, before the white-haired man could injure himself badly, Yamato sprang to action, wrapping an arm around the other’s waist to keep him steady. Instinctively, Sougo leaned into the gesture, placing one hand atop Yamato’s and leaning his head on the other’s shoulder, apparently too far gone to realise the implications of his own actions and the catastrophic effect they had on Yamato’s heart.
Attempting to ignore the sensation of Sougo’s breath fanning across his neck, and the feeling of his warm hand covering Yamato’s, the green haired man fished through his pocket for his keys — which was, unsurprisingly, extremely difficult to achieve with one hand — and unlocked the front door of their shared accommodation, pushing it open with his shoulder and practically dragging Sougo through the doorway and into their shared living area.
Refusing to let go of Sougo (for his own safety, Yamato told himself, and definitely not because the feeling of the other man pressed against him felt like heaven), Yamato guided him through the living room and towards the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Nagi and Mitsuki curled up on the couch, Mitsuki’s head resting on Nagi’s chest, with a blanket half covering the pair. They must’ve fallen asleep watching Cocona. Yamato stifled a laugh and slowed to a stop, gently nudging Sougo and leaning down to whisper in his ear;
“Try to keep quiet, but look at those two lovebirds.”
Dazedly, Sougo turned his head to see what Yamato was fussing over, then turned back towards Yamato with a grin spreading across his features, laughing softly. Whatever stupid remark the older man had instantly died in his throat as he stared dumbly at Sougo’s smile. He wondered what it would be like to feel that smile pressed against his lips, or…
No. That was wishful thinking, and would never happen. Not in a million years. Sougo was too good for him.
He tore his eyes away from the other’s face and kept leading him towards the kitchen table, depositing Sougo in a chair and leaving him to slump forwards, resting his forehead on the hard wood of the table and closing his eyes. Making his way to the sink, he poured the other man a glass of water and set it in front of him, gently shaking his shoulder to make him sit up straight.
“Here, drink this. I wouldn’t want you being sick all over the floor.”
“Thank you, Yamato-san..”
“Don’t mention it.”
He took a seat across from Sougo and they sat in a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by the clinking of glass against the table every time Sougo took a sip of water. It was… nice. Yamato found himself sneaking glances at the man across from him every once in a while. His face was still flushed red from the alcohol, bangs sticking to his forehead ever so slightly. Even in the state Sougo was in, he still looked perfect to Yamato.
Before he knew it, he was reaching across the table and brushing Sougo’s bangs out of his eyes. When Sougo gasped slightly, he immediately realised what he had just done and pulled back, clearing his throat and looking away.
“They were, um, sticking. To your forehead,” Yamato justified lamely.
Sougo only nodded slowly. When Yamato finally gathered the courage to face him again, he could have sworn that Sougo’s cheeks had flushed about two shades redder. It was probably the lighting, he told himself. That, or he was embarrassed. There was no point in getting his hopes up, Sougo clearly didn’t hold any romantic feelings towards him and was most definitely not blushing . Honestly, Yamato needed to get a grip.
Another thick silence filled the air, though this one was less comfortable than the last. Sougo fiddled with his (now empty) glass, while Yamato studied a spot of damp on the wall just behind the other man intently. They should call someone to get rid of that, he mused. Just how long, exactly, were they going to sit there and avoid eachother’s gazes? They couldn’t sit at the table forever, and Yamato figured that Sougo could use some rest.
“Want me to walk you back to your room?”, he asked, bashfully. The other man gave a faint hum of approval, prompting Yamato to get up from his seat and offer a hand to the white haired man, who graciously accepted. They stood up, Sougo managing to trip over his chair a few times, and Yamato lead him towards the hallway containing their respective rooms. Sougo, strangely, hadn’t let go of his hand. Instead, the younger man had threaded their fingers together. Against his better judgement, Yamato gave Sougo’s hand a gentle squeeze as they continued walking, eventually reaching their destination.
They stood in front of the doorway for what seemed like an eternity, hands still intertwined. It was as if Sougo didn’t want to let go, which Yamato found… Strange. Surely it was just the alcohol making him clingy, as usual.
“Yamato-san…”, Sougo whispered, giving the other man a soft smile, “thank you for walking me to my room.”
Yamato could only stare back at him dumbly. God, Sougo really was beautiful. Before he could open his mouth to respond, Sougo beat him to it, uttering a simple phrase that both terrified and elated the bespectacled man.
“I… I think I’m in love with you.”
His breath caught in his throat. There was no way he had heard Sougo correctly, he must have been daydreaming. He could so easily pass it off as a late night hallucination due to tiredness, the alcohol, anything, but Sougo was leaning closer, his heart was pounding in his chest, he wanted so badly to close the gap between them —
But he couldn’t. Freeing his hand from Sougo’s grip, he firmly placed both his hands on the white haired man’s shoulders and held him in place. Sougo tilted his head in confusion and Yamato could see droplets of tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes.
“You’re drunk, Sou. Get some rest.”
He released Sougo in favour of reaching behind him and opening the door to his room.
“Goodnight.”
Yamato turned to leave without waiting to see Sougo’s reaction and retired to his own room. That night, he desperately tried to ignore the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the wall next to him.
—
Yamato woke up the next morning with a killer headache and a pit at the bottom of his stomach. The events of last night replayed over and over again in his head, plaguing him with guilt, sadness and longing. He’d be fine, though. Sougo likely wouldn’t remember his drunken confession and Yamato was a trained actor, after all. Sighing, he picked his glasses up off his bedside table and cleaned them before putting them on and getting out of bed, giving a short nod to his roomba, Musashi, as he left the room.
Everyone was already awake and bustling by the time he stepped into the common area, though it seemed he’d missed breakfast. His stomach growled at the mere thought of food, so he decided he’d badger Mitsuki for any leftovers — though he knew he’d likely been saved some anyway. The man in question was currently sitting at the dining table along with Tamaki and… Sougo. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the group and took a seat next to Mitsuki, determined to put on a convincing act.
“Took you long enough to get up, old man!” Mitsuki exclaimed, clapping Yamato on the back and letting out a loud laugh when he groaned in annoyance. “I set aside a portion for you, if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, Mitsu.” Yamato hummed noncommittally. He decided he’d heat up his plate later, instead opting to sit and listen to his unitmates chat for a bit. It did well to calm his nerves, though he had to admit that being in the same vicinity as Sougo at that moment was making him want to get up and leave without a word. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual about Sougo’s behaviour, either, which was a plus. He was too engrossed in a hushed conversation with the other half of Mezzo to pay attention to Yamato, anyway.
Mitsuki nodded in response, then turned to face Yamato. “So, how’d your night out with Sougo go? You two better have kept your promise and had a few extra drinks for me!” he barked, a grin spreading across his features.
“Not important,” Yamato responded with a dismissive wave of his hand, “what’s important is that you and Nagi were spotted getting all cozy together on the couch.” He smirked. “You can’t lie to me about it either, since Sou was there as my witness. Right?”
Upon hearing his name, Sougo paused whatever conversation he was having with Tamaki and looked towards the pair. When Yamato met his gaze, he realised something horrible; Sougo’s eyes were red, puffy and melancholic, as if he had been crying just moments ago. He remembers. After a beat of silence, Sougo slowly responded.
“...Yes, that’s right. I do hope your Magical Cocona watch party was fun.”
With that, he stood up from the table and gave a wry smile, pushing his half finished plate towards Tamaki.
“Please excuse me, I think I’m full. Tamaki-kun, you can finish my plate,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then retreated to his room. Yamato could only watch him go. Though Tamaki was calling after his friend and Mitsuki was desperately trying to explain that he and Nagi had simply just fallen asleep on eachother, Yamato couldn’t register any of it. He felt like he was frozen in place, like his world was ending. He had ruined his chance, possibly his friendship , with Sougo, all because he couldn’t get over himself and hear the man out last night.
He was brought out of his stupor by the feeling of something smacking him across the back of the head, hard . He whipped around and saw Tamaki standing behind him, fury etched into the boy’s features.
“What did you do to Sou-chan?!”
Yamato wanted to respond, wanted to defend himself, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t get an excuse out, couldn’t find the right words to say. He blinked once, twice, words catching in his throat. Mitsuki was staring at the two of them, worried, and Tamaki was glaring down at him with a fiery intensity. It felt like forever before he could muster up the courage to speak, voice coming out hoarse;
“I didn’t do anything, Tama. I’m sure he’s just hungover,” he forced a weak smile. “I’ll go check on him.”
“No!” Tamaki yelled back. “He left when you spoke to him! Whatever it is, it’s your fault! Mikki, tell him!”
Mitsuki, still slightly shaken from Tamaki’s sudden act of violence, let out a nervous laugh. Standing up, he walked over to the teen and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Hey now, calm down. I’m sure nothing bad is happening, alright?” Mitsuki tried his best to soothe the other boy, leading him away from the table and Yamato by extension and toward the front door. “You’re gonna be late for school if you spend any more time stressing! Things will be alright by the time you get back.”
Tamaki grumbled but made no effort to disobey Mitsuki, giving Yamato one last dirty look before heading out the door. He slammed it shut behind him and Yamato winced, the sound reminding him of how he’d closed the door on Sougo last night — both literally and figuratively.
He cleared his throat, if only just to break the heavy silence that filled the common area and stood up, making his way out of the kitchen and towards the hallway. Mitsuki raised an eyebrow at him, as if wordlessly asking him ‘ what’s going on? ’, Yamato only offering a strained smile in return.
“I’ll reheat some food later. I’d better go and check on Sou, like I said I would.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away quickly, leaving Mitsuki standing by himself. Though he knew the younger man always meant well, he wasn’t in the mood to be questioned right now, nor was he in a position to discuss the predicament he was in. It wouldn’t be fair to Sougo. After the hurt Yamato had inflicted upon him, he at least deserved to keep his dignity.
Before he knew it, Yamato found himself standing in front of a purple door with a mezzo forte symbol engraved into the wood. Sougo’s room. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the door — once, twice, three times. He heard shuffling from behind the door, as if Sougo were debating on whether or not to open it. Eventually, the door swung open and he was left face to face with the object of his affections and feelings of guilt.
It looked like the white haired man had been crying again. His eyes were redder than they were at the breakfast table and there were fresh tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. Yamato ached to reach out and wipe them away. Sougo looked up at him wordlessly and expectantly, it seemed he did not want to be the first one to break the silence. Yamato supposed it was up to him to do the talking.
“I, ah,” he cleared his throat, “wanted to apologise. For last night. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”
Internally, he cringed at how awkward he sounded. Didn’t want things to be weird? He was the one who made them weird! Sougo only blinked slowly and kept staring at him. It felt like the younger man’s gaze was a spotlight, beaming down on him and he was nothing but a second rate performer with stage fright. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wringing his hands. Slowly, Sougo began to speak;
“It’s nothing you need to apologise for. My behaviour was shameful and I deeply regret my actions.” He bowed slightly, then took a step backward and began to close the door, intending to shut himself off again. “If that’s all you wanted to say, I’ll be going back to my room now.”
“Wait!”
Before he could stop himself, Yamato reached out and grabbed Sougo’s wrist, wedging his arm in between the doorframe and the door. His head was spinning, he felt like he was going to faint, but he couldn’t let Sougo continue to isolate himself like that. Swallowing thickly, he began to speak again.
“I, um. Me too.” His voice was barely above a whisper. The other man tilted his head curiously and raised an eyebrow, urging Yamato to continue. God, he felt like he was going to vomit, but he carried on speaking. “If… If you were serious, that is. About what you said to me. I —”
He could feel his hands begin to shake and he knew Sougo could feel it too. He had to get the words out, he had to tell the other man that he felt the same, but he felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He was not someone who could easily be so vulnerable like this, he knew that. Hell, he usually avoided the topic of love altogether. Sougo needed to hear this, though — and he figured that Sougo’s feelings were more important than his fears.
“...I feel the same.”
He couldn’t bear to look Sougo in the eye, releasing his hold on the other’s wrist. He couldn’t face him, not even after hearing the sharp intake of breath coming from the man in front of him, nor could he react to the surprised ‘oh’ that fell from his lips. Every neuron in his body was screaming at him to run away, to leave the group and never look back, to go get a job at a run-down dive bar, change his name, leave the country. Before he could act on any of those thoughts, there was a hand on the collar of his shirt, dragging him down until soft lips met his.
Sougo’s lips tasted faintly of Tabasco sauce, likely from breakfast, but Yamato couldn’t bring himself to care. Kissing him was like a lifeline, like everything he had done up to this point had lead to this. One of his hands instinctively came to cradle Sougo’s jaw and he felt the other man moving to cover it with his own. He felt liquid splash against his cheek — Sougo must have been crying again. In response, Yamato pressed closer, kissed him harder, as if to say it’s okay, I’m sorry, don’t cry.
When Sougo broke the kiss, pulling away with one last peck pressed against his lips, Yamato realised that he had been the one crying. Sougo shook his head and laughed quietly with a slight smile gracing his features, the first genuine smile he’d seen since he woke up.
“Don’t scare me like that again, Yamato-san. I mean it,” he whispered, though his tone was laced with fondness. “I thought I had made you hate me.”
In response, Yamato simply kissed him again.