Work Text:
Adachi had always been prone to tears.
The worst of it was right after Kazuya was born. The months where Kazuya would cry—because that’s what babies did—making Adachi cry, making Kazuya cry even harder just seemed to stretch on, and the cycle felt endless. As he grew older Adachi felt endlessly thankful for his parents’ endless patience at that time. They were also fairly lucky that Kazuya quickly grew out of his crying phase—though he remained a loud and excitable child for his whole life.
But the crying never got any better as Adachi grew older. The littlest things could set off waterworks. Whether it was the kids in his class playing ‘too hard’ with their toys, or the characters on TV hugging, or just seeing a coin on the ground because it ‘looked lonely’.
His childhood piggy bank remained filled with such ‘lonely’ coins, and simultaneously remained unbroken because the thought of breaking it made him cry for two hours straight the first time his father suggested it. In the end his parents gave on up making him save money with it, but he still fed it coins lest it go hungry.
(Sometimes Adachi would think back to his childish logic and wonder what was going on in his brain at the time. Not that he was all that different as an adult. But still.)
The only thing he got better at was not outright sobbing the second tears began to prick the corners of his eyes. Nowadays he could quickly blink the oncoming tears away. Maybe he’d have to dab at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve or quietly sniffle to control his breaths. But that much he could handle. His face still got splotchy red though—there was no helping that.
“You could get contact lenses?” Tsuge had suggested once. Adachi remembered frowning at him with his arms crossed, surely very disapproving and disappointed looking. He didn’t even need glasses, how would he get contacts?
Trying to avoid tearing up was annoying though. He had to buy items in sets otherwise they looked lonely, and he could never watch movies in theaters otherwise he’d be an embarrassing grown man sobbing in public. Reading Tsuge’s books always had him going through half a box of tissues. He couldn’t even skim through manga or books at stores or else a random scene would get his tear ducts working overtime.
At least at work he was left alone with his spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations. Most of his coworkers learned to leave him alone very quickly—Gloomy Adachi was never fun to have around after all. They brought him along to after work drinks but never to dinners with clients, especially after that one time.
Actually, the closest Adachi had gotten to sympathy crying since middle school was that night with Kurosawa. Adachi didn’t remember what their conversation was about anymore, but he remembered Kurosawa lying on a bench, his hand haphazardly thrown over his face as his breath stuttered and cracked. And Adachi’s heart broke in tandem. He was fairly certain he didn’t actually cry. Maybe he even managed to smile at Kurosawa. Or maybe that was his brain rewriting history to save his meager ego.
At least Kurosawa seemed fine the next day, if a bit hungover. And Adachi hadn’t completely mortified himself by sobbing like a baby in a public park because his coworker was trying his best not to cry while drunk after a horrible night.
And Kurosawa wasn’t the type to badmouth their coworkers. So even if Adachi had cried it probably would have been fine.
Adachi couldn’t stop himself from yawning, his spreadsheet blinding in the dim office. Stupid tears. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve. What use were they?
Kurosawa knew he shouldn’t stare, but he couldn’t help but try to catalogue the expression on Adachi’s face and organize it into the banks he had created in his head.
It was getting late at the office, but Adachi was making no move to leave. If anything he had started sinking into his seat as the minutes passed, hunching close to his monitor as he manually inputted information into a spreadsheet. At times he would click his tongue in frustration, and Kurosawa would dutifully memorialize that sound into his “times Adachi was frustrated” memory bank.
It was an incredibly cute memory bank. He knew that Adachi had a wealth of patience, yet somewhat contradictorily he also had a short temper. But his moments of frustration were always a flash in the pan, barely noteworthy in the long term to most. And he never wallowed in the moment long enough for it to morph into anger. So “times Adachi was frustrated” was an infuriatingly small collection especially compared to some of the others Kurosawa had organized in his mind.
Currently it ranked between “cute expressions Adachi makes while eating” and “Adachi’s yawning faces (incredibly cute)”. Maybe one day Kurosawa would have an actual photo album with actual photos instead of memories.
(The chances of that were zero. But Kurosawa could dream. He was happy with this much.)
By now the clock ticked by closer and closer to nine PM. Adachi looked half asleep as his body mechanically adjusted the cell rows around. Kurosawa’s leg bounced. He was half tempted to go buy a can of coffee for Adachi, but there was already an open one on his desk that he hadn’t finished yet.
Kurosawa fiddled with a file folder. He didn’t have an excuse to stay at work anymore. But if he left Adachi would be left all alone in the office. Who knew what could happen to him without anyone around?
He looked up when he heard Adachi yawn, his jaw popping uncomfortably. And his heart did a complicated series of twists in his chest. Adachi’s eyes were suspiciously wet as he dabbed at them with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. There was a furrow between his brows and his bottom lip jutted out as he sighed.
Shit, shit, shit.
Kurosawa wanted to slide from his chair under his desk to hide and regain control over his unwilling body. Somehow, valiantly and bravely, he did not. Because even if it was just him and Adachi alone in the office, they were still in public. He would not be an embarrassing grown man hiding under his desk because of a futile crush.
Carefully he pressed a hand to his chest and breathed. Even, slow, in for four seconds, hold for three, and out for six. Or, something like that, at least. Either way his heart calmed down under his palm and he chanced another peek over his monitor at the back of Adachi’s head.
Every single expression Adachi could possibly make would always be appealing, but two reigned supreme:
The soft and gentle way Adachi would smile, and the way he cried.
Kurosawa shifted in his seat and ducked his head. The lights by his desk were off now but still he wanted to hide from even the notion of Adachi seeing him.
It wasn’t a weird thing.
The tears, that was. He was simply appreciating the aesthetic beauties of Adachi’s face—something it seemed no one else did, and Kurosawa hoped it remained that way lest someone else recognize Adachi’s inherent alure—and it wasn’t anything he would feel guilty about. He always paid attention to people’s emotions and expressions. It was part of his job, even. Being able to read people was integral.
The fact that he categorized Adachi’s micro-expressions specifically was beyond the matter at hand. And so was the fact that he possibly enjoyed the sight off Adachi’s eyes shining with tears more than his other expressions. Not that Kurosawa would admit that, even if Adachi himself asked.
Across the office Adachi sighed heavily and squinted at the screen. When he turned his head the sheen of his eyes became all the more obvious against the white light of his monitor. It was another face for the “favorites” memory bank.
Kurosawa wondered what was wrong with his previous self who thought that Adachi was dull and expressionless. He was just a flower that needed some prodding to bloom.
A flower that bloomed at night when no one looked. With blotchy red petals. And equally blotchy red cheeks. The color traveled down Adachi’s neck and under the collar of his shirt, if Kurosawa remembered right. Maybe it spread beyond his collarbones too.
On that night, with his head laid on Adachi’s lap on a random bench in a random park, there had been a wrinkle to Adachi’s nose and his lips were scrunched together. And most importantly his eyes shined, tears clumping his lashes and threatening to fall down his cheeks. Kurosawa remembered watching with rapt attention as Adachi struggle with his expression, his shoulders shaking as he took deep breaths—even and slow, in for four seconds, held for three, and out for six—until he eventually smiled, still teary eyed and sniffling. In the lamplight he shined like a pearl. Smooth without an edge to scratch his heart on.
Kurosawa covered his face with his hands and tried to figure out how he could leave without alerting Adachi that he had been there at all.
It took hours but finally the data was organized. Adachi groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Hopefully his tasks for tomorrow weren’t data based. If he had to look at another spreadsheet he might start sobbing. And that would make everyone incredibly uncomfortable. No one seemed to know when an adult was crying, after all.
Though maybe crying would make Urabe-senpai pity him enough to let Adachi leave on time. But that would be the only positive of that scenario.
As he stood, his hips protested after hours of sitting in place. He stretched a leg out and balanced on the other foot as he shut everything down. Once his bag was packed he turned to the empty office.
“Good work todayyyyAUGH!”
And he shrieked when he finally spotted Kurosawa sitting quietly at his desk. The lights in that half of the office were out and his computer wasn’t on. Kurosawa was essentially sitting in the dark without making a sound.
Kurosawa sprang up from his seat, and his chair spun as he kicked it behind him. “Adachi? Are you okay?”
Adachi stumbled backwards, bumping into his desk. The haphazard pile of binders he had been going through toppled off of the edge, scattering all along the floor with a loud crash of plastic and metal and the swoosh of papers. A second stretched to years as he stared at the mess at his feet.
The tip of his nose felt hot. He was going to cry. Right here with his heart beating against his ribs and the mess of papers on the floor. He was going to start sobbing.
Before the tears could really start flowing though, Kurosawa was rushing around the desks towards him. He pressed a handkerchief into Adachi’s hands, hurriedly uttering some sort of apology.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Here, use this. I’m sorry for making you cry. I’ll help you clean this up.” Kurosawa was unfairly gentle as Adachi heaved.
“‘M not crying,” he choked out, desperate to stop the wave of tears before they really began. He didn’t want to ice his face when he got home, and he certainly didn’t want any probing questions about concerningly red eyes in the morning. Gasping, Adachi swallowed some air before holding his breath completely.
Kurosawa leaned closer. There was a deep furrow between his brows.
“Adachi?” He asked quietly. Adachi shook his head. The burn of his lungs was fighting off the burn of his face.
He tried to suck in a breath, but the air hiccupped in his chest. “I’m not—I’m not crying.”
Maybe if he repeated it enough times his body would get the memo and stop the tears. He had managed to go over a year without crying at work, and despite everything he said, he wasn’t ready to start now.
Incredibly carefully Kurosawa pried his handkerchief from Adachi’s pale hands. Adachi’s fists immediately clenched back up, but now his nails dug into his palms. The sting brought some feeling back into his arms, fighting against the numbness that was climbing towards his chest from his arms and legs.
When a hand gently grabbed his chin Adachi blindly batted them away. But Kurosawa didn’t back away. He kept a firm hand on Adachi’s chin as he carefully sopped up the tears.
“It’s—” Adachi pulled away, and this time Kurosawa let him go. He hastily rubbed his sleeve over his face. The edge of his desk was digging into his thigh. “Thank you, but it’s alright. This just happens sometimes.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you cry before,” Kurosawa said. He was still holding his handkerchief in the air.
Adachi’s face flushed and he worked his jaw, trying to decide how to refute that.
“It, it just. Happens, sometimes,” Adachi repeated weakly. His breath was still catching in his throat like it was lined with glue. He straightened his shoulders and breathed in purposefully, holding it until his lungs protested, before breathing out.
“Would you feel better if I got you a drink?” Kurosawa asked. Adachi hurriedly blinked and the final tears finally vanished. When his cloudy vision focused on Kurosawa, he quickly looked away again.
Had Kurosawa been staring at him the whole time?
Most people didn’t bother to look at Adachi’s face for too long. He already knew he wasn’t the most interesting looking guy—his most striking feature was probably his eyes, if only because of how round they could get—so it wasn’t an offense whenever he was looked over for someone more visually striking.
Someone like Kurosawa, for example. Objectively Adachi could recognize a handsome man. He had working eyes and understood what beauty was. But he remembered that day when a drama was being filmed outside of their office and everyone was struggling to catch a glimpse of the main actor. Adachi had seen him while squeezing into the office, and Rokkaku had boldly asked if he was handsome.
“I mean, I guess?” Adachi had shrugged. “But, Kurosawa has a better face, doesn’t he? It’s just that everyone’s used to it.”
There was a loud commotion behind them, and when Adachi looked Kurosawa was hastily picking up papers he had dropped all over the floor. His face did look a little pink though, and he looked distracted even when Adachi helped him gather everything back together.
“I’ll be okay,” Adachi said. He carefully put a hand on Kurosawa’s wrist, pushing down the handkerchief that was still in the air. “I’ll ice my face when I get home.”
“If you’re certain.” Kurosawa tucked his handkerchief back into the inner pocket of his jacket. He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening, before he carefully smoothed his hands over Adachi’s shoulders. “Let me help you clean up though, at the very least.”
Adachi’s heart stuttered, but there wasn’t a prickle at the corner of his eyes. What was that about?
“Oh, uhm, yes. Thank you, Kurosawa.”
He hadn’t meant to make Adachi cry. Truly, honestly, completely. And not just Adachi but, anyone at any point. Kurosawa never wanted to be the reason someone cried.
He should have left hours ago, before it was past eleven, before it was almost nine. Maybe he should have ignored whatever tasks he had to do at the office after his meeting with that client was over and just gone home early that day. That way he wouldn’t have ended up here, kneeling on the floor and gathering papers with Adachi.
Somehow the whole experience seemed familiar.
“This one needs to be in a certain order, so can you hold this open?” Adachi asked. He was holding out a black binder towards him. Kurosawa nodded.
He wished there was more he could do, but his hands were shaking just by being close to Adachi. It was always difficult to pin Adachi down for longer than a single request or task at work. Their coworkers didn’t invite him out, and when they did he managed to weasel his way out of drinks most nights. Though whether it was him actually weaseling or their coworkers willingly letting him go could be fifty-fifty.
Being so close to Adachi couldn’t be good for Kurosawa’s heart. He wasn’t used to it at all. There was no way to build up any immunity.
Wetting his lips he looked away from the binder to Adachi’s face. He was hunched over, carefully reorganizing papers on his lap. His bangs cut a stark shadow cross the bridge of his nose. And still Kurosawa’s heart battered against his chest.
As if sensing his gaze Adachi looked up. When their gazes met his hands froze on his lap, fingers stuck in the middle of flipping through them.
His hands were small. They were still clearly the hands of a man, but his palms were probably thinner than Kurosawa’s own. Maybe their fingers were the same length though. Kurosawa wanted to press their hands together to compare.
“Kurosawa? Are you okay?” Adachi asked. He had shifted to lean closer, shoulders rounded inwards. His eyes were huge.
They shined brightly under the lights in the dark office, the tear marks down his cheek all the more obvious when he turned his head this way or that as he rocked side to side to reach for more papers. The blotchy flush completely smoothed out to an even red stretching from his forehead down his neck. Even the tip of his nose was tinted dark. Kurosawa swallowed thickly.
He smiled. “Ah, yes. It’s just a bit late, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.” Adachi frowned. Suddenly he dropped the papers next to the binder and rose onto his knees. Kurosawa hurriedly leaned away. With him crouched down and Adachi kneeling, he was far too close to Adachi’s stomach for his own comfort. So he turned to look up at Adachi’s face. The planes and valleys of it were lit up by his phone screen. “What time is it anyways?”
Kurosawa didn’t point out how Adachi definitely had a watch on. Instead he catalogued the way Adachi’s eyes widened, the whites shining and his iris dark even as he raised his phone to his face.
“Shoot! I missed the last train!” Adachi cursed. With a heavy sigh he dropped back onto his heels, morosely cradling his phone on his lap. “What do I do…?”
Kurosawa’s mouth moved before his brain did. “You can stay at my place tonight.”
And he only realized what he said when Adachi’s head snapped up. Kurosawa forced himself to smile, though the binder was creaking in his hand with how hard he was gripping it.
“Can I?”
Oh, Adachi’s eyes were so wide, almost doe like. And the corners were puffing up from how he roughly rubbed at them earlier. His lips were slightly parted and Kurosawa could just barely see his teeth between them. The little flash of white was all too teasing. He was beautiful.
This… really wasn’t a normal reaction.
Ah, this was a problem, wasn’t it?