Work Text:
Hunched over his desk, Takaba sat still, scribbling away in a notepad. He'd been that way for hours, it seemed— pouring his life into his next set.
Crumpled paper after crumpled paper flew from his palm— either missing or bouncing off of the already-full trash can and falling to the ground.
About a couple hours prior you picked up one of the papers as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb him. You wondered why he was acting so tense. After you'd uncrumpled it, you read a messily-scrabbled out joke.
"I told my lawyer that I had nothing to wear for my court hearing— but he said he had enough law-suits on his hands!"
The joke pulled a soft snort from you. You stuffed the scrap in your pocket, peering from behind the corner of his office, watching him until you left to cook dinner.
But now you were back again, and he hadn't moved an inch. Now, he seemed ten times as tense as he was before. His shoulders were shrugged close to his body and his head hung lowly, only inches from what he was writing.
"Don't you think you're doing a bit much?" You asked him.
"I'm not," he bit out. There was not a trace of his 'jokey' talk, nor any enthusiastic quips or puns or anything in-between.
"Maybe you should take a break," you suggested, "you haven't gotten up from that chair in hours."
Takaba abruptly set down his pen, turning his chair to stare at you. his eyes were wide and his brows knotted with tension.
"Don't give me that look!" You snapped.
He straightened at your tone.
"You still don't take me serious, do you?" He hissed.
"I'm just saying, you're working yourself too hard!" You argued, pulling yourself past the corner of the wall.
"Well, that's what comes with being a comedian! I'm sorry if that's not what you want! But it's what puts food on the table, doesn't it? I have a job! And I need to put out premium-quality content or we get nothing!" He jumped from his chair, storming a few steps toward you.
"Well we already get nothing!" You shrieked.
"You don't get to say that!" He yelled, shoving a finger at you, "I'm doing enough! I just need more time! But until then, I need to focus on my work!"
"You're not the only person who works around here! Do you think I enjoy working all day only to come home to this?!" You motioned around yourself. You proceeded, even while Takaba grew gradually furious. "It's not like some cleaning fairy comes by while you sleep!"
Takaba crossed his arms, frowning, trying to come up with some reasonable answer.
You took a deep breath. "I made dinner," you said, your tone more soft and exhausted than anything.
Takaba's frown morphed to a grimace, and he sheepishly brought a hand to rest on his shoulder.
"Eh— alright," he said, his voice quieter. "Sorry," he murmured.
"It's alright," you replied. You sighed, and turned to leave for the kitchen.
Dinner wasn't as eventful, but quieter than ever. The both of you ate mutely for the first time in a very, very long time.
The silence made you squeamish— so you broke it.
"You work yourself too hard," you spoke. "I mean… I just wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself," you clarified.
"I get it," Takaba replied, staring down at his plate. He didn't eat very much of his own meal. "I've just been… really nervous about this whole thing. My new debut for that station— I mean— I can't really say whether or not I'm getting anywhere…" he trailed off. "I feel like I'm surrounded by idiots— nobody gets my jokes! They're clever and…"
You shrugged.
He instantly scowled at you again. "You don't think they're smart?" He snarled, "I'd like to see you try and come up with a whole comedy set and sketch— and make a crowd laugh."
"I couldn't do that," you swiftly spoke. "And I think they're funny," you replied halfheartedly, keeping your eyes locked on your own dish. You spooned a bite into your mouth, chewing a few times before swallowing. You continued, "but I think that they might be a bit too vague."
He bitterly scoffed. "Well, what do you know about comedy!?” He raised his voice at you.
"Well, not much," you admitted, meeting gazes with him. He paused and quickly shied away from your eyes for a few seconds. He then met them again, but found difficulty locking stares with you. "I'm just part of the audience," you said.
"But you're not—" he weakly protested, poking at his food with his utensil. "You're…" he trailed off, pursing his lips. He slouched, clearly hesitant.
"I'm what?" You asked.
"I— I dunno," he slowly stuttered out. He stared at the floor.
"But you do know—"
"Can you just stop attacking me!?" He snapped. His anger had made a full comeback.
"I'm not attacking you," you calmly replied. "Fumi," you called.
"Don't call me that!" He tantrumed. "I'm not the one you can patronize like that! Stop being so difficult! I don't even know why you always claim to support me when you don't even care about a single thing I do!" He ranted, "it's always— 'Fumihiko, do this and that!' 'Fumihiko, do you ever think of doing something different?!' 'Fumihiko, you're not doing well enough!'" He shouted, partially pulling himself from his seat, leaning towards you. He slammed his palms on the table, rattling the dishes that sat on it. "What do you want from me?!"
Your heart fell, too tired and anxious to fight back.
Takaba paused, leaning back to sit down. He formed an expression adjacent to guilt, but frustration still simmered just below the surface.
"Ugh," he grunted. He lowered his head into his palm, now slumping with misery. His eyes screwed shut, as if he were experiencing a headache.
Stillness buzzed in your ears, and you couldn't help but mirror Takaba's sigh. You didn't feel very interested in eating anymore. But you didn't want to get up and leave until he did.
He gazed at you sparingly. His fingers rapidly tapped the table, and eventually, he looked back down again at his food.
"I just want you to be happy," you said.
Takaba didn't move.
"I really do," you continued, "I want you to succeed— I mean it. I have no doubt in your passion for comedy and how bleak the industry must be," you spoke. "Just don't take it out on me."
Takaba's frown deepened, but not with anger.
"I— um… if it makes you feel better, I thought that your lawyer joke was funny," you whispered.
Takaba's eyes shot up at you with muted anticipation. "Lawyer joke..?" He murmured.
You pulled the ragged paper from your pocket and slid it across the table to him.
He eagerly plucked it from the wood, quickly grazing over the words before shooting a stare back at you— then, alternating them between you and the paper multiple times.
"You liked it?" He asked.
You nodded and tiredly smiled. "It's cute, I enjoyed it. It's very… you."
Takaba's mouth parted with surprise. It closed before he spoke again.
"It's… it's not cute," he tried to bicker.
"You don't think you're cute?" You asked.
He scrambled for a moment, wagging his hands around. "Ah—! No, no, that's not what I mean, I, well," his face flushed.
"Well, I guess if you don't think so, I won't say you are," you teased with a shrug.
"No!" He quickly refuted.
"Well, I dunno, it seems like you don't think so, so why should I?" You dramatically sighed.
"That's not funny," he pouted. He finally grasped his utensil and picked at his food.
You quietly smiled, and he goofily grinned in return.
You cleared the dishes and went to bed with Takaba.
You sighed, resting on the bed on your back with the sheets pulled up to your chin. Meanwhile, Takaba was turned over away from you. That was odd— usually he'd be all over you.
You popped open an eye, glancing over at him. Takaba was still, unmoving, except for a few shivers here and there.
"Do you need a blanket?" You asked.
He flinched, raising his head, but not turning over to look at you.
"I thought you were asleep!" He hushedly spoke.
"I'm not. You're being weird again," you said. "Did something happen after dinner?"
"N-no," he murmured.
Upon taking a closer look at Takaba, he was clutching his pillow, nestling his head tightly against it.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, letting out a grunt. "Are you worried about that set again?"
"Hm," he shrugged.
You took that as a yes.
You shuffled towards him, resting the side of your face on his back. Your arm wrapped itself around his shoulder. Takaba's hand curled up and met your fingers. You listened in to his breath. His heartbeat was quick. He inhaled deeply and sighed, a yawn mixing itself within it.
"What's the part you're worrying about?" You asked.
Takab shrunk, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He remained quiet, sniveling. "Just… everything," he finally admitted. "The last few times I've tried, it's just been…" he paused, shuddering again, "…crickets."
You rubbed his hand, hooking your chin over his shoulder. "You'll do great," you said. "Maybe this'll be your big break."
"But…" Takaba sniffled, "but what if it isn't?"
You snaked your other arm around his chest to embrace him. His free hand eagerly grasped yours. You pressed a kiss against his neck, squeezing him gently. "It will," you murmured.
Takaba shuddered, and his crying only intensified. His shoulders jolted with each sob that escaped him. He soon turned over, burying his face into your chest. He grabbed you, crushing you against his frame.
You raised your hand to his head, running your fingers through his hair. You rubbed his back with your other. His cries settled to soft, gurgly sighs and snotty whimpers.
"You should just get some rest, Fumi," you insisted, speaking in a low tone. Your hand slid from his hair down to his chin, raising his face to meet yours.
His teary eyes glimmered in the limited light of the room, his brows twisted with concern. "I can't… I…" Takaba shook his head.
The two of you stared at each other for a long moment. For that time, you seemed to communicate with him with simple attitude.
"You know you can tell me anything, right?" You asked.
"I know," he moped, looking down. "I really didn't mean to be so mean to you, I was just upset and— well, I mean, this all really means so much to me, I’ve dreamt of this since I was a kid—" He glanced back up at you and blinked a couple times. Quietly and chastely, his lips met yours. Both of your lips parted. Takaba rested his head across your collarbone— his arm still laid across your figure. You rested your chin on his head.
You watched the ceiling and listened to his near-inaudible sniffling, returning your hand to pet his head. You didn't know how many minutes or hours passed.
Your lips parted, about to talk.
But Takaba had already slipped into a deep sleep.