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Matsu did not approve of public displays of affection, naturally, but damn did he crave it sometimes. Despite being big and strong, Masa had that puppy kind of quality, where people (who liked him) often just wanted grab hold of him and squeeze. Generally, said people respected him enough to restrain themselves, but ever since he and and Masa had gotten more.. a thing, Matsu found that increasingly difficult.
His solution was to invent an inky, greasy or muddy smudge on Masa’s face, which he could then rub off. Not too often, of course; it was about as common for Masa to have dirt on his face as it was for anyone else.
Matsu found the idea really clever, though, because there were two reasons this particular scheme worked perfectly. Firstly, people did often think Masa was much clumsier than he actually was, so Matsu could get away with enough to soothe his urges.
And secondly, Masa tended to get flustered and thus unable to process any directions to the smudge in question. The quickest way for his friends to help him was to just remove it themselves. By now, whenever someone said Masa had something on his face, he would just automatically move a little closer and ask: “where?”
Matsu always removed the imaginary blemish with great care. The warmth of Masa's skin, the way Masa subconsciously leaned into his touch, Masa's closeness in general made Matsu’s chest swell with affection every time.
“You can’t walk around like that, Masa,” he sometimes complained, “people’ll think you’re a slob.”
This was a mistake. The others - usually Otake, Ginta or Okinu - would insure Masa that they hadn’t noticed at all. Apparently, the more often Matsu removed a smudge that no one else had seen, the more Masa suspected that there had been nothing there to begin with, because one day he confronted Matsu about it. As was Masa’s habit, he was quite direct and Matsu felt obliged to confess to his deceit.
“If you do it any more frequently, people will actually think I have poor hygiene,” Masa said. Matsu could tell he tried to look stern, but there was a smile in Masa’s eyes that betrayed excitement. He still often expressed amazement that people liked being around him, nowadays, so perhaps the idea that someone even had a hard time keeping his hands off him was extra novel.
Matsu didn’t reply. He felt annoyed that he’d forgotten about Masa’s perceptiveness. He should really stop underestimating Masa.
“I could do it to you every now and again,” Masa said, “if you like?”
Matsu could think of a number of reasons why his plan would not work in reverse, but the thought made his insides flutter and he wanted to entertain it a bit longer, before he had to start being rational.
A little mischievous smile appeared around Masa’s mouth. Matsu figured he was already mentally practicing, finding the phrases he might use, the spots on Matsu’s face he might like to touch in public.
“What’s that?” Masa said, just when Matsu wanted to respond to the proposal. He pointed at Matsu’s chest. When he looked down, Masa quickly and precisely flicked Matsu’s nose.
Gone were the gentle butterflies.
A nervous chuckle escaped Masa’s lips. “Sorry,” he said, hastily, “it's been done to me so many times and I was curious if it would be funny, should I be the perpetrator.”
Matsu appreciated the gravity of that word: “perpetrator.” Made that stupid joke feel like the crime that it should be. Nobody had dared subject Matsu to it since he was a child, but he could definitely see Masa being fooled by it as a grown man. In his mind’s eye he saw Masa, pouting amidst a crowd roaring with laughter. And he felt himself soften with empathy.
“Hm,” he hummed, “it is kinda funny coming from you.”
Masa sighed with relief.
“Do it again, though, and I'll bite your finger off,” Matsu said.
After a moment of silence, Masa started giggling.
“I mean it,” Matsu couldn't help but smile.
“I believe you,” Masa snickered, “lucky for us both, I still don't understand the appeal, so I won't be tempted to repeat it.”