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Birds flew. Fish swam. Tobi did not smile.
Did not smile was a mistake, actually. Could not smile was the correct term. Tobi’s lips were physically only capable of going down, not up. The phrase “turn your frown upside down” was laughable for a person who, if their face wasn’t as still as a statue, could only ever scowl.
Tobi’s inability to smile was simply a law of nature, one that Fuchi had come to accept. Ever since he stopped seeing people as balloons, he had never spotted anything even close to a grin on Tobi’s face—not the briefest twitch of the lips, the quietest exhale of laughter, or the tiniest crinkle of his eyes. Tobi was a fighter who had trained every single muscle but the ones in his lips.
The last time Tobi had tried to attempt the impossible task of smiling, Fuchi felt like he was watching a baby learn to walk—if that baby kept tripping before they could even get a foot on the ground, that was.
They were sitting together on a couch when it happened. “I failed the interview because they said I looked too unfriendly,” Tobi said, a sour look on his face. “Seriously, I’ve only done it once, and that was when I punched that bastard Akamaku. I was so pissed that he’d hurt Ryuuko, I didn’t even notice I did it until she told me.” He groaned, turning to Fuchi. “How do you even do it?”
By now, Fuchi was no stranger to Tobi’s smile-related troubles—he didn’t even need to guess what Tobi was talking about to know it instantly. “It’s just a facial movement,” he said. “Separate it from your emotion and from the person you’re talking to. That way you can smile at anyone.”
“That’s what you said last time,” Tobi said, sighing.
“It still works.” Fuchi flashed Tobi a grin as demonstration. The customer service smile was a muscle movement that was as easy and natural as beating his heart.
Tobi studied his grin closely, switched his phone camera into selfie mode, and “smiled.” Learning by reference was clearly not the right strategy. He looked as if he had just tasted a rotten meal, a grimace twisting his face.
Fuchi examined him closely, like a teacher watching a student during a test. His assessment of Tobi was not high—a grade of F, to say the least. “Try raising your eyebrows,” he advised. “And imagine squishing together the corners of your eyes.”
Tobi’s subsequent attempts were even worse. He looked like an alien trying to mimic human emotions, face moving in ways it shouldn’t. His lips curled, bent, and contorted in every possible way except up. Finally, after many vain yet valiant attempts, he gave up and set his phone down.
“It’s impossible,” Tobi said, face falling back into a more familiar expression—a deep scowl. “Hospitality jobs aren’t for me, apparently.”
“Well, you did a little better than last time,” Fuchi offered with a shrug. It seemed that if Tobi were getting a job, it would probably be as a poker player.
Tobi let out a defeated sigh. “Oh, well…”
There was a lull in the conversation. An idea which had been brewing in Fuchi’s mind made itself known. “I might have a better method,” he stammered. “I mean, um… I don’t think it will work, but maybe.”
“I’ll take anything at this point. Hell, even from Mahiru.”
“I don’t think you’d like Mahiru doing this to you,” Fuchi said, pink seeping into his face.
Tobi’s eyes narrowed. “Well, don’t say it like that. What is it?”
If Fuchi’s face was pink before, now it was bright crimson. He forced the words to come out of his mouth. “I would hold your lips up, and then you would try to keep them there,” he stuttered.
Tobi was expressionless. “Couldn’t I just do that on my own?”
“No,” Fuchi blurted, then realized his own stupidity. His voice came out as a high-pitched squeak. “Actually, you’re right! Nevermind!”
Fuchi stared at the floor, hoping a hole would open up there and swallow him whole. Unconsciously, his lips curled upwards, the beginnings of a nervous smile. He could feel Tobi’s eyes burning a hole into his side.
“You’re smiling.” Tobi stated this as if it were a mathematical fact.
Ironically, Fuchi’s grin only grew—an attempt at self-soothing that backfired completely. “Um. Yeah! I am.”
There was a long pause.
“Just do it,” Tobi snapped out of nowhere.
Fuchi nearly jumped. “Do what?”
“Your method.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure.” Fuchi swallowed thickly. “If you want to.”
Tobi shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s worth a try.”
Fuchi could hardly believe what was happening. Was he hallucinating due to his sleep deprivation? He stared at Tobi for a long time, but saw no strange illusions. Was it a dream, then? He bit his tongue, but didn’t wake up. He was stumped. How could this be real?
“What are you waiting for?” Tobi’s voice was edged with irritation.
“Sorry! Let me just—” Fuchi reached forward, gingerly cupping both sides of Tobi’s face and tilting it towards him. “There!”
Tobi’s breath hitched. Even as his head was angled up, no eye contact was ever made—his glare remained firmly pointed away. Fuchi’s heart was hammering against his ribs as he moved. He brought his thumbs to the corners of Tobi’s lips and pushed them up.
“Hold it like this,” he instructed, then let go. When he released his thumbs, however, Tobi’s lips plummeted down like there was an invisible weight attached to each corner.
“It won’t work,” Tobi muttered.
“Maybe you have to relax your face first,” Fuchi said, gulping. He brushed his fingers over Tobi’s forehead. “Like here.”
That seemed to have the opposite effect. Tobi’s frown merely deepened. His brows knitted together, mouth twisting down in tandem—not exactly a good basis for a smile. To nobody’s surprise, the strategy was a failure. The success rate had been zero from the beginning.
While Tobi’s current expression was not a smile, however, it was something different—endearingly silly. Tobi’s cheeks were being squished together, but he kept frowning despite that. His upper lip curled up in disgust, even while the corners were being pulled at. He kept scowling under Fuchi’s hands, and somehow, it was hilarious.
Fuchi almost let out a laugh. “Attempt two?” he asked, and the way his lips tugged up betrayed his feelings.
“Fine,” Tobi said, now looking even more displeased with the situation—in fact, his face had even taken on a faint pink hue.
Fuchi put his thumbs back into position, hooked up Tobi’s lips, and then let go. Once more, Tobi’s artificial smile crashed into the ground and shattered into a billion pieces. At this point, his frown was a permanent feature.
Fuchi almost snorted. “There’s no way it’s possible.”
“Again,” Tobi said stubbornly.
Fuchi listened to his demands, and as expected, the pattern repeated itself. While the result was the same, there was a slight change—Tobi’s face was gradually becoming red, and it made Fuchi’s self-control start to slip.
“It’s not going to work, you know,” Fuchi said, and now it took all of his willpower not to laugh.
“Take your hands off, then,” Tobi grumbled.
“I will. It’s just—” Fuchi’s mouth was quivering with the effort it took to stop smiling. He licked his lips and swallowed, but it didn’t help. “Sorry, I…”
“What?” Tobi snapped.
Fuchi couldn’t help it when it happened. Right now, Tobi looked exactly like a kitten—a kitten who was hissing and snarling and growling, but it was so small and cute and adorable that instead of being intimidated, you just felt like laughing. He started huffing like he was about to sneeze. His hands slipped off Tobi’s face and went to cover his own. A snort slipped out between his fingers.
“What’s so funny?” Tobi spat.
What could officially be called a grin had now formed on Fuchi’s face. The corners of his eyes crinkled. He huffed and puffed with barely contained laughter. “Sorry,” he wheezed. “It’s just—you look like—”
“Like what?”
“Like a kitten,” Fuchi said, and then he was seized by uncontrollable laughter. He keeled over from the sheer force of it, clutching his hands over his mouth.
Tobi scoffed. “A kitten? How?”
Fuchi wiped the tears out of his eyes. “Like, you know,” he giggled, still gasping for breath. “Kittens are”—cute, he thought—“soft.”
“I’m not soft,” Tobi spat indignantly.
Fuchi’s laughter was making him stupidly brave. “Sure you are,” he chuckled, then reached forward. He scooped up a lock of Tobi’s sandy-colored hair. “See? Soft.”
One of Tobi’s hands flew up, batting away Fuchi. “Don’t do that,” he grumbled, though there was no bite in his voice—in fact, his cheeks merely darkened.
“Ouch. Your claws,” Fuchi giggled. He clutched his hand dramatically, feigning pain.
Tobi’s face was burning crimson. “Shut up.”
Fuchi inhaled deeply, his laughter abating. “Sorry, sorry…”
Tobi sighed, leaning back in his seat and stretching. The red slowly drained from his cheeks. “Well, that didn’t work, did it?”
The last vestiges of a smile still clung to Fuchi’s face. “I guess not. You didn’t smile because of that, either.”
Tobi shook his head. “No. And it made me happy, too.”
“It made you happy?” Fuchi echoed, shocked. That was news to him. According to recent memory, Tobi had been scowling nonstop for the last five minutes.
Tobi shrugged. “Yeah. A little bit.”
“Why?”
“I liked seeing you laugh.”
Fuchi flushed abruptly. “Oh,” was all he could say. That was so blunt, he had no time to prepare for the emotional impact.
Tobi continued to speak. “I’m pretty sure the last time you laughed that hard was last Christmas, when I put on those festive glasses.”
Fuchi chuckled at the memory. “I remember that. You were blushing really hard.”
“I wasn’t,” Tobi said venomously.
Fuchi grinned. “Come on. If the camera was pointed the other way, I could have shown you very clear video evidence.”
“Fine,” Tobi grunted. “But you were just blushing, too.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.”
“You sound like Ryuuko,” Fuchi snorted.
Tobi rolled his eyes. “Says the one calling me a kitten.”
“That’s not childish,” Fuchi retorted.
“It absolutely is.”
Fuchi was talking before he could think twice. “No, because I’m just saying you’re cute.”
Tobi suddenly flushed. He was quick to hide it, casually shifting his position on the couch. A hand was conveniently placed at the side of his head adjacent to Fuchi. Not that it mattered, anyways, because Fuchi was blushing just as fast and hard as he was—he whipped his red-hot face away from Tobi’s line of sight.
“Don’t say that,” Tobi grumbled.
“Sorry!” Fuchi yelped. “Forget about that.”
There was a pregnant pause in which Fuchi was too mortified to say anything. The tension between them was so thick it could be cut with a knife—more fittingly, the smoke was thick, since both of their faces were blazing and smoldering. It took a long time to cool down.
Tobi was the first to speak. “I don’t need to smile,” he said softly. “Just seeing you happy makes me happy, too.”
Fuchi’s heart did a weird flutter in his chest. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
Tobi’s voice sharpened. “But don’t call me a kitten. Or—that.”
Ah, yes. That. Fuchi was never going to live that one down. “Okay,” he mumbled. He paused. “So, it didn’t make you happy…?”
“Only a little bit,” Tobi said through gritted teeth.
Fuchi felt his lips twitch up. “A little bit?”
Tobi inhaled sharply, jaw clenching. “Maybe a bit more than that.”
Fuchi giggled. “Cute, huh?”
“Nevermind,” Tobi snapped, but there was no anger in his voice.