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For weeks, you’d been traveling with this bellicose, quixotic bunch, going as far north as you possibly could to find Asirpa and the others. The separation from your group, though as confusing as the tag-alongs had been, set your nerves on fire. While you were fine, essentially unscathed from the escape at the prison, you could not say the same for the others. Sugimoto was healing, Inkarmat was still incapacitated (you feared for her life), and you had found yourself in the mess that you had unfortunately caused all by yourself, all while trapped on a naval ship destined for “greatness.”
Unfortunate may not be the best way to describe it. Rather describing it as mystifying might be best.
You hadn’t noticed, really—not at first. The quick glances the man had sent you, the hesitation when Lt. Tsurumi was off on some odd tangent that for whatever reason included you in the mix. With Sugimoto still healing and at times unable to fully comprehend what was needed (it only lasted for a few days, mind you), you were the chosen idol Tsurumi used. An idol for what was to come, for what needed to be done. You hadn’t noticed it until you did, and then it was too late. Far too late to step back, to take a minute to gather your thoughts, your courage.
Did you care enough to object? To take notice, to ask questions?
No. Not at all.
You had no questions. No objections, either.
Tsukishima found you in the room you’d been staying in, four metal walls and the scent of iron wafting in the air. Meddling sea salt seeped in through the open porthole window. The rush of the waves mimicked that of the blood rushing through your veins, picking up in your ears in the time it took him to stand in front of you, stoic faced and hesitant. He was not one to always follow his heart’s desire, opting to follow Tsurumi and doing his bidding like the good soldier he was. He was meant for this life, one where he was already too far gone and little truly mattered anymore. Tsurumi had done so much, had saved him on more than one occasion that he could not simply ignore.
He did not do this. But despite that, he stood in front of you as you held open the door, your brows cinched together as confusion overcame you.
A pang of regret settled within. Long ago, he’d been here before—a similar setting of sorts, confessing the truth to the woman he loved. When he would return from the war, he promised he would find her and they would be wed. The feeling had been so reverent, had allowed him to stay alive, to stay courageous. And then, just as he had been conned into believing his father did care for him in his own special way, he’d been convinced of her death, her murder.
Tsurumi swept the rug right from under his feet.
Damn him. Damn them all.
He'd been running since then. From his past, from all that he had ever wanted.
He heard your voice, but he didn’t register what you had said. The second time around, though…
“Tsukishima?” you asked, voice soft but loud enough that he made no mistake of missing, hand gripping onto the doorknob. “Can I help you?”
It was such a simple question. Could you? Did you know what he wanted? Could you feel it?
His lips part, and though no sound escaped him, you could tell that he was troubled. He looked over his shoulder, both ways—up and down the hallway. He then huffed softly and looked up at you, a soft blush dusting his cheeks.
Did he know what he wanted anymore?
“I need to talk to you. Privately.”
You raised a brow, curiosity quickly overtaking any confusion you had. You stepped back, allowing him to enter the room, shutting the door just as soon as he stepped into the threshold and not a moment later.
Tsukishima kept his eyes on you. A hand reached back, flicking the lock on the door so no one could get in.
Your eyes widened a bit at that, heart beating rapidly in your chest. What was he…?
“I need to tell you this, before it’s too late,” he professed in a voice that you knew well. There’s hesitation in his words, like he’s not quite sure why he’s admitting any of this to you. It was much easier to stay without ties, to keep away from things that made your heart pucker and your liver ache, and yet it was that very sentiment that spurred him on. “In case we—“ he paused, expression softening. “There have been many things, lately, things that we have not fully come away from unscathed. Sugimoto is proof of that.”
You nodded in understanding, keeping your eyes trained on him. He was right, after all. You may not have started this fight together, but it was catching up to you. All of you. It was only a matter of time before the two of you would end up hurt, as well. It wasn't a matter of if—just when. And with that, to what caliber. Would you be hurt like Lt. Tsurumi or Sugimoto, missing pieces of your frontal lobe? Would you lose an appendage, or an eye? If nothing was lost, would you lose your life?
Sugimoto was proof of a world set out to destroy all humanity. All mortal beings and the feelings that come with it. Beings that cling to life. Powering through the adversity only to face trouble after trouble.
The man in front of you stood at attention, clearing his throat. He had always been so certain of himself. Never once had he felt so uncertain of his words, of himself. But then again, he never had to worry about you before. Working with Sugimoto now, at the directive of Lt. Tsurumi—that changed things.
You changed things.
He’d not felt this way in some time. In a way, he felt guilty. Like he was making a mistake. Like he was trying to make himself better than he truly was.
You deserved better.
“I do not want to risk this going unsaid in case we face a future of…” he trailed off, hands balling into fists by his sides. “I want to be honest with you, and I need you to know that there are things I want from you.”
“You… want things from me?”
“No,” he blurted, wide eyed and conflicted, and then, “yes. I do.” His correction was instantaneous.
He had spent so long suffocating the flame of his soul that he did not know what to do now that oxygen sought him out. You were, and always would be, the most precious element of all. He knew that now.
He knew that the feelings he held could be squashed in a moment’s notice, everything he’d found and everything he knew he wanted gone in a flash. There was a chance for him to feel. A chance for him to try. He could not waste it. Not again.
Fate was a cruel mistress when he cared most. It was a risk he was not willing to take. He couldn’t.
“Well…” you began, trailing off as you looked past him, to the door. Would you admit you felt the same?
The idea of unrequited attraction was quickly diminishing, and you could not help but make it known.
“What do you want from me?” you asked him, eyeing him carefully. Like he would disappear in an instant, taken by Lt. Tsurumi to do whatever in the hell he needed. Insatiable desire sprung from Tsurumi at any given moment.
Perhaps it was the brain damage.
You did not know him before his accident, but the man in front of you did. He knew it was not just the brain damage. Propagated by it, sure. The root cause? Not at all. He had been this way since he met him.
Tsukishima took in a deep breath. There was no shame in admitting the truth. If you said no, he would go away and leave you be. But… that look in your eye, the way you stood just before him…
“I want you,” he said, words spilling from his lips before he could stop them. His jaw clenched, muscle tensing as he kept his eyes on you. Your reaction was everything.
“You… what?” you echoed, heart clawing the back of your throat. “You want me…?”
He nodded resolutely.
To say you were surprised would be an understatement. The rush of adrenaline striking you was in no way a mistake. Nothing was a coincidence, not even your effort to reach out and grab his uniform, to which he quickly reacted and grabbed your wrist, just as surprised as you were. He held your wrist tightly, your hand gripping onto the fabric, eyes locked with the other.
His lips parted, fingers feeling your pulse thrum to the beat of your anxiety—the nervous feeling eating you alive.
He did not wish to do anything you did not want. The door, however, remained locked, and he saw the way your eyes flickered to his, then to his lips, and back again.
“Would you—“
Your lips met his in an instant, cutting off any and all thoughts from him as he melted into your touch (or, well, the two of you melted into one another, want and desire dripping from your fingertips). His brow furrowed at the act, his eyes fluttering shut. Without looking, without fault, he backed you up, leading you with your arm, until your back pressed against the wall. One hand rested against it, dangerously close to touching your shoulder. His other hand, the one that held your wrist, moved to the small of your back.
You tilted your head in an effort to kiss him more fervently, breathlessly pulling back only a moment after to give yourself a moment of respite.
Sunlight peered into the room, specs of dust finding a home in the air around you. A soft huff from the man in front of you disrupted the notion, the specs just in front of you rushing to get away from the interruption. The faintest smile played at the corner of his lips as his eyes found yours, hand beside your shoulder relaxing. He let it drop to his side, unable to pull his eyes from you.
He leaned forward, pressing a much softer, far more casual kiss to your lips. Then a third quick peck, unable to help himself.
The shout of his name came from beyond the sanctity of your room, pulling you both from the quiet utopia your shared kisses created. His eyes flickered to your lips once more, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, the words he needed to say dying in the same instant.
His name was called again, this time much closer to the room.
You cleared your throat, pulling his attention back to reality.
"Go," you said, nodding your head to the door.
Tsukishima gave a small nod. He stepped back, hands balled into fists by his side once more.
"I'll be back," he promised.
A smile broke out on your lips. "You better."
And with that, though forlorn in the hope that you would have felt more than just his lips, learned more than just a measly "I want you," he returned to the world long since meant for him, away from your touch and away from all that he wished for most of all. He would be back. Perhaps it was merely Lt. Tsurumi needing to speak with him, or an irritating Koito grumbling and wanting someone to listen to his whines for the afternoon. He would not risk it if it were the former, but if it were the latter, he would find his way back to you immediately.
Your door shut quietly behind him, soft blush gracing his cheeks the only evidence that anything remotely inappropriate had even happened. Not that a kiss was inappropriate—just all that was meant for it, and after. You would know soon enough.