Work Text:
This was shared with me from the volume 6, the Argentine translation, and the term applies to several latam countries:
"Canchero" means that someone is confident, witty, skilful... in general, someone who knows their business. idk how the translation is in English, but allow me to use this as a canon fact to present you this humble fushiruha fic.
That said, thank you for your time and enjoy!
The sound of steel and words of encouragement crawl across the dojo on this golden evening. The newcomers' group is all gone, and yet, he can’t focus anymore. Once again, a peck of a smile reaches him by the corner of his eyes, and his heart skips a beat. He turns slowly, guessing what he may find.
The smile widens even more, and Uruha almost loses his balance.
He suppresses a sigh not to disturb the friend by his side.
“Say, Natsuki-kun,” he probes after a while, immediately threatened by the Tsk from Natsuki.
"What"
“Have you ever…?”
Natsuki turns to him, one eyebrow already furrowed. He looks even older when he does that. If he keeps on responding to everyone with that angry face, soon he’s gonna look like those wrinkled cats with no hair. Is he aware of that?
But that’s not what he wanted to ask.
“Nevermind.”
Suddenly, the ones who remain in class shut up and form a cue in front of the shoji. Uruha follows along, Natsuki tsks again. Uruha has an idea of who could be.
“Konbanwa!” They all say in unison.
“Ah, guys… what’s up? Hey, you don’t need to be that formal…”
Uruha’s heart jolts in sight. He knows the voice, knows the words. He knows the uneasy laugh coming from the door even though his head is still bowed. The man steps in, humming attentively at the words somebody else is saying, and Uruha notices his steps on the tatami, the way his feet spin, the brief pauses followed by affirmative sounds. He fights down the desire to look up.
“Class dismissed,” his teacher orders.
Uruha does his best to hold the moment he has to part. Natsuki, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen; Uruha can’t find him anywhere. Unless he’s gone to a private training room, his friend is a little bit intense. That or he might already be gone for the night.
Discarding the thought, Uruha scans the room in search of the visitor from a while ago, but a pair of golden eyes set into his face from the other end of the room. His heart beats like crazy.
And… the moment is gone.
Uruha exhales heavily.
He might be evil-minded by thinking this, but something tells Uruha that this has been happening since the course started. And he might be childlike, but something inside his chest tells him that it is no coincidence that this guy is always looking at Uruha whenever he glances around, for whatever reason, even if he needs another sword to practice. And, far from being uncomfortable, another something pulls from him and leaves him wanting to know why. Perhaps Natsuki can give him some advice. Uruha feels like he needs to do –again–, something about it.
“Rokuhira-san!”
The man Uruha was so desperately expecting to talk to is getting ready to leave, carrying a wooden lacquered box the size of a mighty and marvellous sword, kind of the ones Uruha admires him for. He bows in front of the man, hearing his cheery smile and letting him ruffle his hair.
“Hey, Uruha! Long time no see! How you been doin’?”
He places the box on the tatami as a sign to keep the conversation going.
“It’s good to see you, Rokuhira-san. I’ve been training hard these weeks. Samura-san is a good master; I look forward to passing his test.”
“Of course he is! He even taught my kid once, you know? Boy didn’t have any experience, but something clicked in his brain, I’m sure about that.”
Wait.
Wait a moment. Rokuhira-san has an offspring?
Someone places by his side, breaking his train of thought.
“Rokuhira-san, I’m a new student and fellow admirer of your work and Samura-san’s.”
“Whoa, thanks, boy. What was your name again?”
“Fushimi, sir.”
Fushimi. Uruha glares at him, and there they are. Soft, golden eyes, and golden strands of hair, tightened up in a messy bun. Is it him, or did the temperature suddenly increase? He feels like his face is burning.
“So, you and Uruha have been practicing together?”
( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
Together?
Fushimi panics inside, though he won't let anyone know. So his name is Uruha. At least he finally found out about that; good lord, it's been weeks. The guy seems all flustered and Rokuhira-san awaits a reaction with a big grin on his lips and both hands on his hips.
Fushimi frowns at his classmate. He’s noticed that every time Rokuhira-san enters the room, Uruha follows him around with sparkling eyes. And well, Fushimi wonders why. He, too, feels admiration for the man and for their master, but he doesn't have glimmering eyes every time he talks to them, does he? He glares at Rokuhira-san again, scrutinizing his looks: he wears a bandana and a simple t-shirt with a Sunny and funny phrase. In addition, he always smiles like he has no worries in the world. Fushimi wonders about the reason behind it.
“We haven't had the opportunity yet, sir.” A bold declaration comes from Fushimi’s end. “But I certainly look forward to it."
“Ho!" Exclaims Rokuhira-san. And then he remarks with a finger. “Wait! I just remembered! I have a prop in here," he laughs, pointing at the box between his feet. “Hey, Uruha, wanna try something? I think this one might suit your style."
The joy in Uruha's face sends electric waves through Fushimi's body. He smiles so eagerly, so wishful. Fushimi watches the way his body changes posture, focused and expectant. It's like he’s been promised new toys for Christmas. And Fushimi understands it since they are Rokuhira-san’s toys, but in all, Uruha acts cute, and Fushimi doesn't know how to process that.
Rokuhira-san handles the safety locks and gets out a stunning prop blade that rests in his palms, right before their eyes. Now Fushimi gets it, he really gets it. Although it’s just a prop, the way the shadows capture the curve and die by the handle is unique. He's probably never seen a prop that elegant and striking in his twenty years on earth.
Uruha gasps by his side.
“I know, right?" Rokuhira-san laughs out loud. “What about a practice right now, eh, boys?"
( •̀ - •́ )
“You know what? I’m happy I lost.”
Fushimi falls onto the grass, extending his arms to his sides, feeling the rush of adrenaline slowly disappear from his system. He is a mess. Beads of sweat in his temples, clothes all rumpled by how many times he ended up sliding on the tatami, but he simply doesn’t care. Uruha can make him eat dirt any time he wants. Fushimi will gladly let him do it.
“But… What if Samura-san expels you for losing every time? Isn’t it better if you win over him?”
His friends are all sat down beside him. They’re also tired; his class was dismissed but they stayed to watch the competition between Fushimi and the pretty boy until the sun set. There are no stars tonight, so the sky is completely dark.
Fushimi supports his body with his elbows.
“You really think Samura-san can do that?”
His friends exchange worried looks, and one of them dares to reply:
“I’ve heard stories. He wouldn’t like it when his students are here just to brag or to kill time, so he threatens them with sending them to the government.”
Fushimi scoffs, falling over his back again.
“Alright! Understood! That’s not gonna happen to me, don’t worry…”
There are still some students coming out of the dojo. Fushimi assumes they’re the cleaners for the day. But his jaw falls when he sees him again, lively talking with that guy who is by his side all the time. Fushimi gets up over his butt in one motion, feeling the pain gripping his lower back. Fuck.
Uruha looks at him, at them.
“Thank you for your hard work today,” he says softly and right into his eyes, as he takes a simple bow and keeps on going, following that other guy.
Fushimi can’t believe his ears, so he falls for a third time, whining as if he were in pain.
“He’s the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen in my life.”
❤‿❤
For the past weeks, Uruha feels confident enough to return the greetings and maybe hold the stares for a bit longer, but it still makes him want to shriek to give back a smile at Fushimi. His eyes, often so curious and clear, are lately intense and so bright that Uruha gets nervous wondering why it makes him feel the same way.
There have been small talks too, often in the garden when the afternoon is too hot, and they coincidentally get by the water dispenser at the same time. This, Uruha thinks, he can do. He likes talking to people, making new friends, but when Fushimi speaks to him, there’s a shade of pink that covers Fushimi’s cheekbones so fiercely that Uruha himself can feel his face burning up in response. It’s weird. And funny. And it makes his stomach twitch in anticipation every time they exchange glares. Uruha is not used to this… but somehow, he expects it every time they’re at the dojo. He wants it to happen.
“You did great with the kesagiri,” Uruha smiles, more to himself, but asserting the words loud enough so Fushimi can hear him through the sound of dripping water.
Uruha hears a jittery laugh and glances at him. Fushimi doesn’t even wash his hands; he is just holding them under the water.
“You did great, too, Uruha-san. As always. Your tsuki were amazing, your poses spectacular. You, you were…”
The heat blooming in Uruha’s stomach reaches his face. Uruha bites his bottom lip, completely embarrassed by the compliments. How does he bury his head in the ground?
“Oi!” Natsuki appears in the garden, angry and impatient. “We’re about to start. What the hell is taking you so long?”
Uruha sees him squint his eyes, sceptical of the scene. So he takes a leap to run, but regrets it immediately and turns around to say something. He can’t leave Fushimi like that, right? With no response? Except that words don’t come out, and he is getting freaked out, to the point of stumbling on his own feet.
“I… Let’s do our best today, ok?”
(,,>﹏<,,)
Bring them all.
Proudly standing, Natsuki saves two katanas in their sheaths by his sides, breath hitched and chest heavy. He’s won fourth rounds already. And even with props, he would win yet more. Everyone in class knows his strength and commitment; even Samura-san should know by now that nobody is a worthy rival for him. So he just waits until his master points at his next contender, and hopes that one might be someone as sharp and strong as he.
“Good job, Natsuki-kun!” Uruha barely whispers behind him.
Tsk. I don’t need your silly cheers.
Samura-san bites a cigarette, resting his back against the shomen.
“Fushimi,” he calls raspy and commanding. “Your turn.”
Natsuki grins wider, gearing up for the upcoming match. This Fushimi guy bumps fists with the men around him, taking his time to walk across the room to meet him in the centre of it.
“Bow,” orders Samura-san.
And Natsuki attacks on three.
He drags one sword, thinking this will be a piece of cake, that he’ll get this over before five minutes, but five minutes passed, and Fushimi avoids him like the plague, probably waiting for Natsuki to get tired and drop his guard down.
As if. Meters behind him, Natsuki can hear stupid Uruha gasping at the battle, like he was watching a survival contest and one of them was to die that evening. This bothers Natsuki to the core. Why is this little guy so smug and trepid? Natsuki never really cared about the other students, unless Samura-san praised them, which barely occurred, so why would Natsuki pay attention to newbies like this Fushimi?
But the newbie in question attacks him in the middle of his inner monologue, so Natsuki has to react quick and precise, swinging one sword in the air and taking out the other one. He keeps one thing in mind: he must win, so he does what he needs and ultimately, handles the obverse of the katana to defeat his opponent.
Then, everything is silent.
When he looks around, wondering where his congratulations are, he sees Fushimi’s friends take one step ahead, Samura-san take off the cigarette from his lips, and Uruha walk past Natsuki to look after Fushimi, mortified.
“Stop!” he yells at Natsuki and crouches immediately to reach Fushimi. “Are you hurt?”
(⊙ _ ⊙ )
“What? I didn’t do anything!”
Uruha kills him with his gaze, thankful that Samura-san holds Natsuki with his own sheathed katana, ignoring all the But who won? that Natsuki murmurs every thirty seconds.
“Samura-san, I did what I had to. I aim to be the best–”
“Silence. You know the rules, and we don’t want to give the morgue a fresh client; we’re not at war.”
Fushimi scoffs at that, still on the floor and held by Uruha, who turns to him with disapproval. Fushimi is clearly not taking this seriously.
“But he…!”
“Why are you so irresponsible?” Uruha disrupts Natsuki. “You just need to say sorry. You’ve an advanced level—”
“Ahem, I’m still here, by the way.”
“Well, thank Buddha you are!” Uruha rolls his eyes, not in the mood to be apologetic. “Natsuki, help me take him to the hospital. Come on!”
Samura clicks his tongue with impatience.
“Natsuki. You go.”
( ` ᴖ ´ )
Natsuki watches as Sumi examines Fushimi. He giggles uncomfortably at the touch, more times than he whines.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in pain, newbie?” Natsuki grunts.
“Please be silent,” cuts the nurse.
The bandages are put in place once Sumi finishes and patches the scraped skin. It doesn't look that bad; Fushimi lies on his side, pretty comfortable for Natsuki’s liking, who begins to think that all of this was a trap set for the blonde newbie to capture Uruha’s attention.
He glances at the ajar door; Sumi is outside getting Samura to sign some papers, but he doesn’t seem to want to check on his student. Natsuki smirks.
“Every time you look at him, all of your friends act like they are watching some romantic drama.”
Fushimi reacts flabbergasted. Raised eyebrows and half-opened mouth. It takes him a moment to shake his thoughts away and come up with a clever response:
“Come on, bro. You hurt me,” Fushimi sounds insulted. “No need to accuse me, you know?”
Natsuki tightens his fists. It’s enervating that people think they can fool him. He is not seeing things; in fact, he is very sharp with stuff! He’s seen the way this Fushimi is always looking for chances to be near Uruha. To talk with him. And Uruha is dumb! He’s not gonna realize Fushimi is hiding something!
The conclusion comes to light when Fushimi averts his scanning eyes.
“Ah ha!” Natsuki points at him in accusation. “You are interested in that idiot!”
Fushimi loses his facade and holds his head; this time, his face distorted by an expression full of worry and pain. It’s not his left side that Natsuki hurt; it's that Natsuki exposed his true intentions! Uruha needs to know this. Natsuki needs to give Uruha a heads-up that Fushimi doesn’t want to be his friend! In reality, he wants…!
Natsuki shakes his head, disturbed by the thoughts. That’s not something he wants to think about; he just wants to…
“Is that… allowed?” Natsuki mumbles in disbelief.
\(”˚☐˚)/
“Ew.”
Fushimi ends up laughing at Natsuki’s reaction. His side aches in response, but it's funnier to listen to that guy talk than to be alone at the hospital. He would have wanted Uruha himself to get him there, but, well, at least they were close for a while.
“Man… How can I explain this? My eyes have been on him since the first day. Have you seen the way he moves? He is… wow… Can you… You do understand, right?”
Telling Uruha's friend about his crush wasn't on his bingo card for the season, although who knows, maybe things will get lucky for him and he can get even closer to Uruha, with no need to pretend he's to wash his hands every hour or so. Uruha is a straight-A student, tending to follow the rules and being very mindful of his actions. Fushimi has witnessed it in class and knows that his skills are pretty much appreciated by Samura-san and the other masters.
Especially Rokuhira Kunishige.
His heart throbs every time he thinks about how beautiful Uruha is. The way his fringes sway when he fights. How he breathes out when a particularly tricky posture is practiced for a whole class. And the red make-up around his pretty and ferocious green eyes… Fushimi would do anything to ask him out… if only he had the courage to say that and not only “You're so cool, Uruha-san.”
“He still has to perfect his technique," Natsuki furrows his eyebrows. “Samura-san told him to work on his koryu..."
Fushimi smiles, tenderly watching Natsuki struggle as he tells him all of Uruha’s flaws related to training.
“Gonna tell you something, just because I like you, bro." Fushimi tilts his head and laughs at Natsuki’s disgusting face. He gets a little more comfortable if he rests his lower back against the sheets. “I needed… No, I wanted to defeat you, man, so he could finally see me with other eyes."
“No one can defeat me.” It's the immediate response.
“You sure he can’t?” Fushimi teases. “Well, of course you’re on another level, but… He is Samura-san’s favorite for a reason, bro. Damn, I wish I could practice with him once again… Show him I've improved.”
Natsuki shakes his head in negation.
“He is not going to know. He is dumb.”
Fushimi laughs softly because of the wound.
“How's he outside the dojo?” He’s curious to find out.
Natsuki takes his time to think about it. Fushimi can notice through his gestures that he might be wondering why Fushimi is asking this. They usually leave together after class, he and the boys have watched them. And from what Fushimi has gathered, Natsuki's older brother is even impressed by what Uruha has learned with Samura-san.
“He always plays tea party with Iori-san… and goes shopping with Kiri-san… and I… I can't quite understand…”
Gossip is something Samura-san can't control once they're off the dojo. Everyone knows Samura-san’s daughter: rumor has it she's been training in secret since she was a little girl, contrary to what people say about Shirakai Kiri: she refuses to study the blade with Samura-san or any other men. Uruha being close to her speaks volumes about him.
Fushimi takes this information with a pensive grin.
“So you’re telling me that he not only has a pretty face, and eyes, and lips…” Fushimi sighs dreamily, “He also is kind with kids?”
He can see that Natsuki disapproves by the way he shakes his head.
“Instead, he must be training,” he sounds resentful. "To get stronger.”
“Are you sure you don’t get it?”
Natsuki crosses his arms, pouting violently.
"Samura-san said he—”
Fushimi sighs again.
“I think I want a daughter with his eyes.”
There is a crease deepening around Natsuki’s lips.
“Gross.”
(ಠ ⌓ ಠ)
“You’re his pal, could you lend me a hand?”
Chunks of wood piled up on a corner of his training room reverberate due to the high-volume song coming out from the speakers. Hyde sings about parasites hunting him inside while Natsuki swings the blade, and his expression full of rage recalls the latest words from the newbie of the hospital bed.
“Maybe I could spar with you! You've been crystal clear after all… No one can defeat you, right? Then, could you please… take me as your apprentice?"
Natsuki sees the awkwardly happy face the newbie forms on his lips. Why is this sensation of falling into a trap so latent in his mind?
“Aren’t you supposed to rest?”
“I mean… when I get discharged…”
Natsuki is sure that his smile is conspiratorial. He hates that, because he can’t decipher the intentions behind it.
The silence that follows is critical.
“At least until you can beat that dummy." Natsuki thinks aloud, so the words come out rabid and fast.
Fushimi's got the biggest smile when he accepts.
“Deal."
Natsuki vents all his energy into the blade. But he loses the angle, the wood half-chops and splinters of lumber jump everywhere. He curses.
"He doesn't get it,” he grits through his teeth, though there’s nobody around who can hear him. “We’re not friends… We’re rivals!"
(๑•̀ᗝ•́)૭
The boys are already waiting outside the dojo before the agreed-upon hour.
Samura-san has stated previously that they can use the place, that he won’t mind as long as they clean afterwards and take care of the equipment. His students are aware that the Samura household is located behind the dojo, and they pay special attention to the noise they make. Natsuki has never seen his master's wife, but he involuntarily heard Uruha once telling others that she is the only one who can get Samura-san to behave “Accessible. It was a weird sight,” which caused more confusion in Natsuki’s knowledge of his master.
“Good afternoon, Natsuki-senpai."
He almost shortcuts. No one has ever called him that before.
"Hey man, thanks for coming, even on a Sunday. We're all excited to hear your teachings."
(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ
It actually wasn’t the plan to teach all of them. He can’t even recall if this was part of the deal in the first place, but the newbie’s friends are great students. They hear with no interruptions in between to what Natsuki says, they don’t flinch if Natsuki calls on someone if they make a mistake. They handle the pressure and by the end of the day, all of them, including Fushimi, have learned one of his favorite fundamentals properly.
“You think Uruha-san will notice me if I do this when I get back?” Fushimi asks him, mischievously, as a Cheshire cat.
Natsuki frowns at him, clicking his tongue with disgust.
“Focus on the blade. The blade will make you stronger.”
But he doesn’t say that the idiot is, indeed, capable of congratulating this blonde newbie. He is even capable of doing so in front of everyone. Uruha is soft, lacks blood thirst, and still, Natsuki cannot comprehend why he is everyone’s favorite.
Maybe he needs to talk to Rokuhira-san; he can’t go around handling his creations to Uruha. It doesn’t look good; he should be caring about his reputation. Uruha still has a lot to learn. He heard Samura-san saying the exact same words once and Natsuki believes it as well.
Instead, he should be the one testing Rokuhira-san’s props and swords.
“We are going for some beers, wanna come along?”
Natsuki freezes. How is he supposed to behave with them when there are beers in between? The only one who knows how he reacts to alcohol is Uruha... That idiot.
(⸝⸝⸝O﹏ O⸝⸝⸝)
It is odd for Uruha to catch Natsuki smiling at them.
It’s not unusual, however, that Uruha glimpses Fushimi smiling at him. He’s happy to see Fushimi has already recovered; he missed almost four weeks of classes since the incident, but even if he wanted to visit him, Samura-san assured him that Sumi would take good care of his student. Now, he waits by the gravel road like he was expecting Uruha: cool pose, blond hair in the wind, perfect smile directed to him.
His stomach clenches. Or maybe it’s the butterflies.
“Uruha-san,” he takes a subtle bow, to which Uruha can only answer with a delighted smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
Natsuki turns around to his voice, acquiring again that usual curmudgeon face he wears every time he and Uruha come into the dojo together.
“I’m glad you’re healed now,” Uruha tells him, genuinely happy.
“See you in class, Natsuki-senpai!”
Uruha notices that Natsuki’s ear tips get all red at the mention. That is also weird. Since when have these guys gotten to get along with him? It looks like he missed something.
But he cannot delve into the thought, for in that precise moment, and right before his very eyes, Fushimi is tying a black bandana over his head, and smiling. Directly. At. him. Again.
His legs don’t respond.
Uruha’s eyelashes flicker at the sight. Fushimi looks different: Enigmatic, older, and incredibly hot somehow.
He swallows harshly.
“What are you waiting for, dummy? It’s our turn to make the prep!”
(⸝⸝⸝>﹏<⸝⸝⸝)
He is still thinking about that bandana when the practice is over.
The tournament has been postponed until the end of the month by Samura-san, who requested that, have everyone participate; they needed to present themselves in one piece. Uruha thinks this was very gentle of him, since he knew that Fushimi was hurt, and asked Uruha about it.
“You fought with him, right?”
“Yessir. We practiced once, with Rokuhira-san’s sword models.”
“Then, what does he need to improve?”
It was small talk, but Uruha felt like he could express all his worries to Samura-san frankly. He was usually the type to behave like he hadn’t a real purpose throughout life, but Uruha had seen his manners around his family: he adored his wife and daughter to the core. And even denied showing his daughter how to fight just to protect her. For Uruha, that was hard to understand, but perhaps if he ever became a father, he could get it.
His classmates are already leaving the dojo when Uruha spots Samura-san talking to Fushimi by the front shoji. The younger focuses on his master’s words, nodding and agreeing every five seconds, the bandana right in place even after all the activities of today. Uruha keeps on staring, innocent and involuntary, until Fushimi’s golden gaze catches his, and the butterflies get stuck again, this time on his throat.
He reminds me of someone…
•⩊•
Natsuki clashes his swords, annoyed by the world. He wanted to practice for a little longer, and with headphones on, but with Uruha’s yearning all over the place, how could he?
"Why don't you go?" Natsuki barks. Uruha looks up, concerned that he's heard the right thing. "I mean, why don't you go talk to him or something..."
You're annoying me, he doesn't say it.
Uruha is on his feet half a second later.
"What! No! I mean... I'm going home..."
"Fine!" Retorts Natsuki. One of these days, he's gonna throw a speaker or something at him. Uruha really pisses him off. Fushimi also pisses him off. Not Fushimi’s friends, tho. They’re good apprentices and treat him with the respect he deserves. Why is Natsuki stuck in this situation?
“Listen. Ugg...” Why should I do this? He groans. “That guy… he's conniving at something. You need to be aware and take him down, give him a lesson.”
Natsuki ignores the perplexity spreading across Uruha’s face and takes a deep breath. If they’re gonna fight soon, it needs to be now. The sooner the better.
“He wants to have a daughter with you!” Natsuki announces aloud, pointing out through the dojo at where Fushimi is receiving feedback from Samura-san.
The sheath stumps onto the floor, and all faces are now set on Natsuki.
“He what?” Uruha blurts.
“He what!” Samura-san howls.
( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
“I searched online,” Natsuki admits, a little bit of embarrassment blended with boldness. “You can’t get pregnant.”
“You did what,” Uruha can’t believe his ears, and his eyes travel back and forth from Natsuki to Fushimi and vice versa. Fushimi leaves Samura-san wondering what the heck is going on, and comes closer to them, hands up and contorted face, begging for a chance to explain.
“Uruha-san, please allow me…”
“You denying it?”
Natsuki is furious. Uruha can imagine why. They’ve been friends for years now and he knows that Natsuki hates feeling like someone’s made a fool of him. He’s got the same grouching glare he had when his older brother told him he fought so well, he was ready to be a warrior at ten. Natsuki had hated him since then. Natsuki hates lies.
“No!” Fushimi implores to both of them. “Uruha-san. I’m so sorry I said that. It’s just… Fuck.”
The curse doesn’t startle Uruha.
Fushimi puffs and blows and pats the bandana with desperation. The breakdown has already drained him; he looks exhausted and highly strung, while Uruha just waits for something to make sense, not quite sure of what to do next.
“I’ve had a massive crush on you since the first day I saw you. And I’ve been wanting to get to know you more through practice… Please forgive me, Uruha-san.”
“You said you wanted a daughter with his eyes.”
Silence.
Their glares dart at each other to confirm that the words just pronounced are real. Fushimi is tormented when he looks at Natsuki. Natsuki’s fire gaze tries to convince Uruha of this insanity. Uruha looks at Fushimi in awe, bedazzled green eyes, silky lips parted in wonder.
The butterflies take off.
Uruha’s stillness breaks uncontrollably in laughter. Pitch higher, genuine amusement. Fushimi takes count: three, five, ten... There’s no stopping it.
“You also look cute to me,” he declares tenderly. Fushimi’s core bursts into a big bang, a billion stars being born as their eyes meet.
In the distance, Samura-san exhales in exasperation.
"( - ⌓ - )
“Hey! Looking good, Fushimi! He, he!”
Rokuhira-san points at the bandana, with his usual warm and fuzzy smile, lighting the dojo and their lives. For what Fushimi has learned to appreciate during this time, his words have him blushing a little, so he bows his head to hide it.
“Rokuhira-san, long time no see.”
The swordmaster clenches his shoulder affectionately before leaving, and that action itself makes Fushimi ponder how much of everything Rokuhira-san knows, since Uruha wouldn’t really care to share if he were asked about the two of them.
Darn, how awkward. He makes sure Rokuhira-san has left to straighten up his back again.
It’s been a month since his bubble of illusions came to life. The convos in his head —where he is all flirty and clever, and gets Uruha-san to fall for him within an instant— suddenly faced reality.
He was pushed to confess in the most terrifying way a guy his age could, and on top of everything, in front of his mentor and Natsuki. And he doesn’t even recall if there was any other gossiping classmate wandering around. He wouldn’t like to imagine how things would have turned out if Uruha had rejected him. Fushimi is sure he wouldn’t have been able to step into that dojo ever again.
“Sorry for the wait!” Fushimi hears from the other side of the dojo. His lips curve into a smile, waiting for Uruha who jogs until they’re finally reunited.
“No worries. Here, let me help you.”
Fushimi takes the little mountain of gifts off Uruha’s lap. He’s been celebrated by everyone at the dojo before class, and they’re supposed to have sushi for dinner to celebrate together. Fushimi can’t wait. He is more than excited to be with him on the day of his birthday, regardless of the age difference.
“Ugg, I wanna take a shower before we go to Subaru’s,” Uruha whimpers, letting go of his ponytail to redo it neatly. “I feel like Samura-san made this session particularly intense as a gift for me.”
Fushimi cannot disagree with the suspicion; to think of all the poses they’ve learned today, his spirit falters, though he doesn’t want that for them now.
“Remember that age is just a number…” he jokes, and Uruha laughs along, both walking towards the genkan.
A doubt emerges when Uruha crunches to put his boots on.
“So… aren’t you showering here then?” Fushimi inquires.
Right from the floor, Uruha looks up and deep green and long eyelashes meet Fushimi's gaze.
It's so magnetic... that he thinks he's grown butterflies on his stomach.
“Mmm… I’d rather go home, and then we can go for dinner. Can you wait for me while I bathe?”
Fushimi petrifies in place. He? Going to Uruha’s place to wait for him while he showers?? The thoughts in his head take a route he would not like to share in this moment. His face heats and his body thrills.
“Are you… Is this a good idea?” Holy sword, he needs reassurance.
Uruha is on his feet once he finishes lacing his boots.
“What, you scared I’m gonna do something to you, Fushimi-kun?”
Uruha approaches and swipes an index down across Fushimi’s chin and Adam’s apple. The gifts are still held by Fushimi, but he can’t help but quiver at the touch.
It’s been a month… they’ve only kissed until now.
Fushimi knows Uruha is the love of his life. He’s probably known that since the first day, and he will say it as many times as necessary, though Natsuki wouldn’t want to hear anything from him. But he didn't want to go any further because he is aware of how important hierarchical titles are for Uruha, even if he hides it behind a cute laugh. And the six-year gap between them irritates Fushimi the most, more than it does to Uruha himself.
“If it’s in your hands, I’d gladly die… Uruha-san.”
Uruha gently kisses the corner of his lips, and Fushimi thinks that the night has never looked more promising.
“Can’t stand you two!” Natsuki yells at them from the back door.
The boxes fall with a dull thud when Uruha embraces Fushimi's neck with his arms and winks at Natsuki, as in defiance, to show him how much more he can do when he's watching. The blood boils inside Fushimi. Will Uruha kiss him here, in Samura-san’s dojo? His body trembles, golden eyes fixated on Uruha.
Uruha replies condescendingly:
“You'll get used to it.”
(and kisses Fushimi).
♡