Work Text:
Scribbled in a pink-deco diary around 4 AM:
- I will hate myself forever if you let this hurt yourself or ruin what you already have
- Do your best ’cause you can
and you have people on your side
Who does Yuki like?
Girls.
Just because he looks like one doesn’t mean he is one. Just because he looks like one doesn’t mean he likes boys.
Plus his first crush, on that TV drama his mom liked watching: the main character’s best friend, a cheery and pretty girl who was eager to raise her friend’s spirits with a day of shopping and a makeover her friend couldn’t frown in the mirror at.
Plus the month-long friend he had that moved away in elementary school when he was eight, a girl who made his heart soar, who stood by his side and glared at the bullies with him and stuck her tongue out and kicked their shins before she moved to another town.
Plus all those gorgeous lolita icons he followed on Instegram.
Plus the way he sort of understood why the Psycho Stalker wanted the director so badly by his side, if only because she really was a wonderful person and he’d want anyone like that by his side—but the stalker definitely went further than excess, and Yuki’d rather burn his entire closet down than end up like that.
Plus all the women he passed by who left a shine and glitter behind in their steps or flying from their coats or dress hems, women that made his heart flutter and his eyes widen. (Well, even Yuki had to admit he probably liked them more for their fashion than anything, since they were passing glances. He never thought his crushes through too deeply in the first place, because what was there to ever think through if it’s not as important as his latest creation?)
Point is, it’s girls he likes. Just another part of him, something he’d say in the same way he’d say he’s a boy if you assumed otherwise, something that has and always been true.
And always would be, if you asked him, but he wouldn’t think about it until you did. Love was for his sisters, for the couples already there, for the pages of Muku’s manga, for poppy love songs, for a hazy future that was barely there beside his ambitions in fashion, if there at all. Love wasn’t for a teenager who just didn’t care. Romance barely existed in his mind, and he’d roll his eyes at any PDA he saw. But he did like girls, he thought, and he’d say that he did whenever he was asked or anyone implied otherwise.
He thought that and thought he always would, he thought it was girls —but if you asked Yuki now, he wasn’t so sure.
That weird, ominous truth in nearly all of Muku’s manga that dictated you didn’t really notice you’re falling for someone until you’re already in it, and then there’s basically no escape?
…Okay, it was kinda accurate.
Yuki chewed on his lip and brushed eraser shavings off his sketchbook into the trash can, then picked up his pencil, only to set it down again. He shut his sketchbook, dropped it on the table, and leaned all the way back in his chair to stare up at the underside of his loft bed.
It really was ominous, if you thought about it. And what, now he was supposed to feel like a blubbering mess running a fever? Nope, not happening. If anyone got turned into a blubbering mess, it’d be Muku. Maybe Tenma, maybe Kumon, maybe Taichi, maybe… Whatever. Not him.
Reaching up, he unclipped his hair and sighed irritably, ignoring his pulse and the blush in his cheeks.
Accurate. Okay. So he didn’t full-on know until now. So he’s already in it.
So now Yuki needs to rethink some things about himself. Hadn’t done that in a while.
’Cause, you know. He’s not a girl. He’s a boy.
“Self-reflection” sounds like a super put-together, proper thing to do, right?
Well, it’s not.
Yuki resisted squishing the brains out of his beloved teddy bear and reached for his pillow instead, then squeezed it so hard he felt like his brains were about to pop out, if they weren’t already going to. He shoved his face into the pink-patterned case, the warmth of his flushed cheeks seeping into the cool silk.
That’s a boy he likes, great! Boy. Not girl. What the hell?
Does that mean he’s been lying to himself his whole life? No way.
No way no way no way. No wait, that sounds like he’s in denial, he’s not, he knows it’s a cr—he likes him, okay? That’s one thing straight. Straight, well, no. But no way, because if there was anything Yuki was, it was true to himself.
But then what were all those years of insisting he just likes girls? He was so sure of it. Everything about liking them feels like it just is right, felt right, but now?
Now he just feels stupid, and he hates that. Not any stupider than when he finally realized there was no point in pretending to be something he’s not to make other people not hate him, he guessed, but it didn’t stop it from being any worse a feeling.
Now he only knows he likes him, and it’s probably the first feeling like it in his life that was more than a passing flutter, and it’s not just a feeling because he thinks he might want something out of it and wow, Yuki doesn’t think it’s just girls. Not anymore.
What is he then? Bi? Gay? Did he even like girls in the first place?
Does it matter?
It always ends up there. Does it matter? Right now? Did he really need to know? Did he really need to wrestle with himself to put a name on it?
No. It doesn’t matter. If it starts to matter, then fine, he’ll deal with it, but whatever. He likes boys, or maybe just this one. That’s enough, in the same way liking cute things because they’re cute is enough—except he’s more than just cute. He’s so many things, he’s—it doesn’t matter, he’s taken enough real estate in Yuki’s head by now for Yuki to know everything he is, know it’s like, know he’s more than just cute.
What does matter is, what does he do now?
A muffled scream rang out through the empty room, and Yuki pulled his face away from his pillow to take a breath.
At least he wasn’t starting from zero.
Even if it felt like it.
A year or two of building a block tower of clues until it collapsed to spell I like you counted for something, right?
“Yuki, are you… Reading that?”
Yuki looked up from the volume of manga in his hands to Muku, who had a look of genuine surprise in his eyes, apparently not from some heart-racing scene.
“Uh, yeah? I come in to hang out. You hand me a manga you think I’ll like. I read it. Rinse and repeat whenever we’re in your room. Except Kazunari’s not here to today hang out and poke his head in or do this own thing at his desk.”
Muku shook his head vigorously and said, “No, I mean! You read it, but not in the same way I do, you know? You like looking at the fashion and art mostly, or you pay attention to how they act… I know you get the plot and everything and I’m happy if you like when I share manga, but now you—um, never mind, it’s fine! I hope you’re enjoying it!” He bobbed his head down again, a bit flustered.
“Hmm… Well, if I don’t, then I pick up another one, so don’t worry about that.”
Flipping a page, Yuki’s eyes flitted over the single earring visible in the headshot panel of the heroine’s determined expression, then settled on the male lead’s blushing face. Typical confession scene. Though, he supposed the typical typical confession would be the male lead going first, since shoujo manga was filled with dreams girls want to see and all that.
He liked this trope more.
Before the image floating into his head of him and the boy standing alone together on the balcony could flesh itself out any more, he shut the manga. Nope, not Yuki, not delusional.
“Muku.”
“Yes?”
Not even taking a breath to try and cool the warmth in his cheeks that had a terrible habit of creeping up nowadays, Yuki spoke.
“If you scream or look like you’re going to, I’m shoving this book in your mouth. I like Azami.”
Muku’s eyes widened triple the size of surprise they were before and his mouth started to open in a dramatic gasp, so Yuki, true to his word, lifted the book and pressed it against Muku's face.
“Let me talk a little and then I’ll answer every—almost every single question you have, okay? Just listen first.”
Eyes still wide as saucers, Muku nodded slowly.
Taking a breath, Yuki scrunched up his mouth and tried to organize the thoughts he’d already organized again. Coming to terms with the fact you like someone is one thing, stepping outside of your head and making it feel truer than it already was is another.
And he hadn’t even dragged the liked boy in question into the plan, yet.
“I have never had a—a crush before. But I do like him and I thought you… Should know.” First. Since you’re my best friend, he almost wanted to say, but somehow there were things more embarrassing to say aloud than you like someone and you’re probably not straight.*
Finished with the quick line he wanted to say, Yuki shut his mouth and let his awkwardly wandering eyes travel back to his friend’s.
Surprise melted into fondness, and Muku smiled brightly, dreaminess tickling the edges of his gaze. Yuki knew he’d be like this, always like this, warm and sweet, but he exhaled in relief anyway. Muku reached over and clasped Yuki’s hands, sparkling in the way only Wonder Boy could.
“Yuki, that’s amazing! Thank you for telling me, I’m so happy for you!! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I didn’t notice at all, maybe ’cause we always hang out in a group? And you’re always so cool-headed, Yuki, so maybe that too—you look so cute now, though, like the way you look happy and you’re blu—ahh, sorry, I’m embarrassing you, aren’t I?! But anyway, wow, when did you notice?! Has it been a while or did you just notice, like recently? Did you have any moments together that made your heart skip a beat or anything?”
Even as he sighed and rolled his eyes, Yuki couldn’t hide the way the corners of his lips quirked, and Muku’s excitement was rubbing off on him. Freaking out aside, it was sort of a happy thing to like someone, he guessed. He wasn’t getting that stupid floaty feeling for no reason.
“Take a breath, Wonder Boy, you’re gonna run out of air. I figured it out like a week ago. I don’t know, it’s just that lately I was watching the calendar for the days we’d talk together about costumes and other stuff in between. Thinking about those days and… him, more, I guess? And then I realized that it wasn’t actually more, I’ve been thinking about him a lot for a while now, just in between life and stuff, so…”
He spoke with little enough hesitation it surprised even him, but he guessed that was the power of having a friend that punctuated every other word you said with oohs and ahhs. It was nice even if recounting of his minimal experience soon turned into berating Muku for repeating it back to him but translated into rosy shoujo manga speak instead—Azami taking a special place in Yuki’s heart, his eyes sparkling like the ocean, and sparkly fuzzy butterflies and all that junk. (Never mind that not all of it was too far from reality, with sunny warmth in Azami’s smile and roses in that blush he liked to—oh, shut up, just one Wonder Boy is enough!)
Laughter spilled from their mouths as they talked on and on and on, conversation moving from the crush to the new Autumn Troupe play to the new sweets shop at the local train station. Yuki snorted at something Muku said and thought, It’s just another thing, see?
I like Azami didn’t mean everything about his sense of self suddenly crumbled—wasn’t Yuki’s being here, fine and having a great time with his friend, proof of that? Just a thing. Maybe a thing that made him feel like trying to walk on water, maybe a new thing he had for Azami, but just a thing all the same.
The matter all but receded entirely to the back of his mind, leaving behind the usual faint remnants of I want to laugh and be with him, too. For now, that didn’t matter as much as giggling with Muku, someone that inspired a more familiar, comfortable warmth and love.**
*Er, you’re not straight, “probably” excluded. Habitual heteronormativity is habitual. Yuki’s not straight.
**It did matter, though. He mattered, even if not now, not this moment. God, this is ridiculous!
Doodled on some algebra scratch paper around 4 PM:
- Block lettering from a makeup brand logo
- Lyrics from a rap song
- Croquette ramen (mainly the noodles, scribbly and smudged)
- A bear mascot
Azami learned that love meant you lived your life with determination and along the way, you’ll find someone who looks at you with the brightest stars in their eyes and stays by your side. He learned it from his parents, so head-over-heels for each other, from the parents he knew weren’t, from all those stories where they only have eyes for the one.
Love was precious and beautiful. Love was a big thing, and big didn’t really cut how important it was to have someone that special to you if you were going to love someone, Azami knew.
Don’t ask him about it, because honestly? That shit’s overwhelming! He can deal with trying to come to terms with what path he wants to take in life, but the idea that someone so extraordinarily close and beloved to you in that kind of way was—would he even admit it? Uh, yeah, he would, screw pride when it came to this. Even if he wouldn’t say it aloud, he’d admit it to himself, because it was true.
Azami was no scaredy-cat. He’d punched the lights out of a high-school gang when he was barely thirteen, he’d been kidnapped before, he’d met guys on the street that were after his and his family’s lives, but romance, sharing so much of yourself with another and seeing those beautiful, glittering stars?
The idea of love like that terrified him, to be frank.
Don’t ask him a single thing. He won’t even think about it. And when he faces anything related to it, especially people who don’t seem to realize how overwhelming affection and hearts are—it’s just—how on Earth don’t they?! It’s love! It’s special, it’s different from the way you screw around with your friends—it’s so much caring, and oh, hell, he’s not going anywhere near it until he’s ready, and hell, why would anyone go near it, show it off so flippantly?
For so long, Azami did a great job of avoiding it, but that’s easier said than done when the people you hang with aren’t limited to largely hooligans and people who don’t talk about—things like that, not casually. And now he did his best to shut his ears, face turning red, lips spluttering out words if he had to.
So that was that. (Though anyone else would note his tolerance had grown since his first days in the troupe.)
Regardless: if his heart was ever beating fast, it was because it was too hot in the baggy layers he wore, because he didn’t drink enough water.
If his eyes kept slipping towards that face, it was because his skin looked pretty, and Azami wanted to ask if he’d added anything to his routine.
If this, excuse that, because he didn’t think about love.
Months later, the crush was still a crush. Yuki could feel wanting tickling his hands and cheeks and chest every once in a while in that now-familiar way every time he was reminded why it was Azami he liked, and Yuki was doing nothing, and it was going nowhere.*
Even so, friend was also still a friend, and that brings them to room 201 together today. Yuki lay splayed out on the rug in his summer dress, flipping through a fashion magazine he bought while Azami sifted through his own beauty haul on the couch.
It was quiet save for the rustling of their products and the sound of the air con. Maybe if Muku and Kumon didn’t have plans to visit home today they’d drop in and make it livelier, but for now, after a day spent running around shopping in humid summer weather, indulging in the mindless silence felt luxurious. Plus, it felt like a while since they'd hung out together, somehow.
Yuki left his magazine open on a page featuring sandals of the season and turned over from his stomach to his back, tilting his head towards Azami, who was now checking out a hand cream sample that came with a face set.
Immediately, he remembered the incident after he bought his own hand cream a while ago. A giggle escaped Yuki’s lips remembering the senseless desperation on Azami’s face when he knocked the tube out of his hands, almost yelling, “Stop, watch what you’re putting on your skin! What’re you going to do if your cut gets worse?!”
Azami looked up at the sudden giggle, of course. Yuki stretched up an arm, obnoxiously wagging his fingers, and grinned at him.
“How’s the lotion smell? Can I put it on with zero risk of severe irritation?”
Yuki could’ve sworn Azami pinkened the slightest bit, but he ducked and the table obscured his face.
“Paper cuts can seriously get bad, okay? But yeah, it’s not bad. I think you’d like it—kinda sweet with a kick to it? I can smell flowers and citrus.”
“Oh, then let me—”
A spurting noise.
“...Crap. Want some?”
Azami raised his hand to reveal an excess of lotion and Yuki sat up, nodding “Yeah, I gotcha.”
*Probably. Yuki hadn’t been obvious, had he? He was trying so, so hard not to try. Because Azami turns red in a second. Because he’s that close to leaving the room when Taichi starts talking about some article on dating. Because, because, because—there were so many reasons as to why trying wouldn’t lead to anything good.
“Azami, what counts as ‘intimate’ to you?”
The nail polish swerved off of Azuma’s nail bed slightly, and Azami quickly swiped at it with his fingernail to fix it, face burning.
Azuma laughed softly and said, “Sorry, was that too forward? I know how you feel about topics like this, but I was a bit curious today. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to, there’s plenty else to talk about.”
Finishing off the Azuma’s pinky, Azami shut the violet bottle and sat up.
“N-no, it’s… Fine. I guess. That’s, um…” He usually panicked a lot with stuff like this, but now, not so much. Azuma liked to tease, but Azami trusted that he understood the weight of the topic. That and the fact there’s close to nothing you can’t get used to when you live with a variety of other people. After a second, he answered, “It’s too early for me to figure out what ‘counts,’ but like, just doing anything… close? With someone you care about, I guess.”
“Like hand-holding?”
Azami burned redder and nodded.
“But you’re okay with contact in environments where there’s a reason other than plain old closeness, I suppose? I can’t even imagine you being less than perfectly professional when applying our stage makeup, as close as that is.”
Azami shrugged.
“Hmm.” Azuma idly aired his fingernails, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“So about the face mask samples I—”
“Azami, have you been putting distance between—”
They stopped when they realized who was talking, then Azami nodded towards Azuma to go first, who smiled apologetically.
“Have you been putting distance between you and Yuki?”
“Yuki?” Where did he come from? Surprise filled his head, pouring over the small itch that knew exactly where. Too small to not ignore, except Azuma prodded at it.
“Yes. Maybe it’s just because we finished our latest play run and you aren’t rushing around together so much, but… I’m not sure if I’m imagining seeing you two together much less than you have been recently, whether around the dorms or heading out together, but at the very least, when you two come to talk with me it’s on separate occasions. Am I mistaken?”
“You’re, um…” Not mistaken. Not really.
Azuma laughed again, in that almost-awkward way he did because he cared, then picked up the top coat from the table to hand over to Azami. “Well, I do hope I am. But in the case that I’m not, Azami, I just want you to know it’s always better to face yourself and the people you care about.” Left unsaid was the fact that Yuki was most certainly someone Azami cared about, Azuma could tell.
Accepting the nail polish and unscrewing it to paint the last coat, Azami nodded, ever so slightly.
After taking a second to straighten out his skirt, Yuki made his way to Azami’s side on the couch, sat down, and held his hand out to split the lotion.
Azami scooped some off his hand and wiped it onto the back of Yuki’s hand.
Their hands brushed, because obviously when you’re sharing hand cream your hands are going to brush. Normal. But Azami unconsciously whipped his head forwards, body facing just enough away from Yuki that it was unnatural—was it unnatural? Yuki probably didn’t care or notice, right?
Azami didn’t care, he just. Happened to do that. It’s comfortable, sitting facing forwards, and his knees are closer together to make room for Yuki.
He massaged his share of lotion into his hands and tried to think about covering the surface of his skin well. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuki was doing the same—rubbing it in carefully, he closed his eyes and lifted his hands up to his face to inhale the scent. Graceful. Azami hated—there was nothing to hate about Yuki, being graceful is great! But it was so ridiculously slow-motion he felt like biting his own tongue off and he scooted away for a bit of space to breathe.
“How is it?”
“Mm. I like it.”
So many moments almost like this that happened before flashed by in his head, almost too close for comfort. Azami’s breath hitched for no reason at all.
It really had been a while. Yuki knew that. He kept his eyes closed and pretended he didn’t see that Azami was probably sitting stick-straight up instead of leaning into the couch, comfortable. Comfortable like when Yuki was at a proper distance on the floor.
That was his fault, probably. But what else could he do but play at being normal?
He hadn’t been obvious, had he?
Azami wasn’t conscious because his “like” was dripping through the cracks, right?
And Yuki wasn’t a liar. But that applied to the things he knew for sure, and if only a couple signs were pointing towards what he claimed was an untruth, well—well. It wasn’t lying. Probably.*
His chest tickled a little as he breathed in the hand cream, sweet with a kick, and he finally opened his eyes. Yeah, he liked it.
Taking in another breath, he leaned back into the couch and decided. He knew it was never going to be a now-or-never kind of thing, so he was never fussed about getting it over with, especially since he assumed he knew what Azami’s reaction would be until he finally grew to be “perfectly fine” with love, whatever that the hell that was. Except he couldn’t read Azami’s mind, just his own. So it might not lead to anything good…
…but, it might also not lead to anything bad.
*Being happy was normal. A great thing, in fact. So what if, in between the normal not-nice-nice way he treated Azami and anyone else, he grinned a little more and felt his cheeks turn pink when they spent time together after a bad day? If he grabbed Azami’s hand to run away during a dorm-wide game of tag and held on a little too long? If he had to catch himself from falling if he looked up at him during breaks from sewing or during the pre-show rush of stage makeup and costuming, if he wanted to throw an arm around him after the final show like the way he did with the Summer Troupe, if he happened to invite him out alone more often, if he, if he—if he swears on his life he wasn’t trying to be obvious, wasn’t trying to be anything but himself. All the boys are dense in shoujo manga, aren’t they?
It was so quiet for those few achingly slow moments after Yuki opened his eyes. Quiet save for the sound of Azami’s pulse echoing in his ears until Yuki said his name.
Then it was his pulse, slamming louder every passing second, and their voices.
“Azami.”
“What?”
Yuki sat up straighter and smoothed out his skirt.
If he runs, he runs. If he doesn’t we can talk it out like normal human beings. It won’t be the end of the world no matter what. I just… It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. I have to… I want to say it.
Azami turned his head towards Yuki, an unreadable look in his blue eyes, almost as mellow as they always were. The way he tilted his head to listen made Yuki’s chest clench tighter than it already did.
He stared harder, his gaze direct, focused on getting one message out.
“Azami, I like you. Not like, the way I like dresses and the Summer Troupe, but I like you… Romantically.” Muku’s shoujo manga and all the stupid misunderstandings from unnecessary denseness came to mind despite the inkling he had about what Azami already knew, and even though his nerves felt like exploding with every word that passed out of his mouth and every second he spent looking directly at Azami’s reddening face, he pushed on. “For extra clarification, that ‘like’ isn’t just as friends. It’s ‘like’ as in the, uh, kinda thing you always go red at and call shameless, or you’re too young, or whatever. But I know what I’m feeling. And I don’t need an answer right now, please just… Please think about it and talk with me when you’re ready.”
Yuki shut his jaw before he could let one more please slip out and blinked when Azami broke away from his stare, nodding. Nodding? He got it? Did he say it? Did Azami hear it?
Reading his mind, Azami said, “Okay. I got it.”
And just like that, it was out. Just like that, Yuki felt like collapsing.
How Azami left the room was a blur. Obviously it wouldn’t work to stay in the same room for much longer, so Yuki vaguely remembered telling Azami he should probably go back to his room and get ready for dinner—and then Azami was out the door, and Yuki was on the other side of it, on the floor and staring into space because holy shit, that just happened.
Check that off the list of events he could run through with almost pure nerve.
Ears ringing with his heartbeat, fingers clenching and unclenching on the cool wooden floor, skirt decidedly disheveled from sliding onto the ground without his usual sharp-mindedness, all that was in Yuki’s head was I did it, and then, All I can do is wait now?
Head spinning, he left the room in a daze—he hardly remembered if he gave an excuse or if Yuki gave him one to go, but they were obviously done hanging out for the day, so he left and went back to his own room.
Empty, thankfully. Of course. Sakyo worked late today, duh. Wouldn’t see his face until late, wouldn’t have witness to his current situation. Thank goodness.
I like you.
Remembering the words made his face heat up and oh, hell, his legs wobbled and he reached out to his ladder to steady himself before climbing up and smashing his face into his silk pillowcase.
The one from the brand he recommended to Yuki, the one Yuki probably had over his pillow in another pattern right now. Stop, that’s not important.
I like you.
Stop!
He didn’t even blink when he said it. How? It’s—it must be important to Yuki because Yuki doesn’t blink or cut corners with things he cares about and—it’s Azami he cares about? Romantically?
Those piercing amber eyes didn’t have a drop of hesitation. Yuki meant every word he said— I like you. Please. When you’re ready.
(What would he do if Azami was never ready?)
(So did he mean it all those times, too? Whenever he smiled and laughed and Azami felt like it was a little tooclose, even if the distance was the same as always, a little bit just for him, even if Yuki grinned at plenty of others.)
(Whenever Azami felt like he was stuck falling through air, whenever he wanted to run, whenever he didn’t think about it, didn’t think about it, didn’t think about it, because there was no way , except.)
Except he was going to think about it to begin with, because he cared, like Azuma said, and running from falling meant running away from Yuki himself. Except now Yuki went first and Azami said he was going to think about it, because Okay, I got it, I’m going to think about it, about your I like you. Not just as friends.
I like you.
Azami loosened his grip on his pillow.
Face still burning, he mouthed his answer to his bed.
I think I like you, too.
All I can do is wait now.
It ate at him like bacteria in a sweets-lover’s cavity.
Azami took it so well. He didn’t look taken aback, he said he’d think about it, he nodded, he got it. So confessing was one less trouble to lock away in the back of his mind, one less weight off his chest, but how was Yuki supposed to know it’d immediately be replaced by waiting?
He couldn’t stand it.
And he swore he wasn’t trying to cope like… this.
“Yuki? I know the weather’s really nice, but you don’t have to—”
“No. I felt like eating on the roof today.”
“Me too! Yay, Yuki and Muku are rooftop buddies now!”
Misumi, Muku, and Yuki sat side by side on the roof above the balcony, evening summer sun shining directly on them as they ate their dinner. Maybe it was a little warm, but the roof honestly wasn’t a bad spot at all once you got used to climbing up Misumi’s way.
Getting used to it took a week. Guess how long he’d been eating at his new spot to avoid a certain someone.
He kept going beyond that first week, of course. When rated on the difficulty level between getting Tenma to snap and getting Sakuya to, surprisingly, not seeing Azami was about a Tenma.*
Eat lunch at a different time. Eat dinner on the roof.
Wash your face and take showers outside of Azami’s clockwork routine.
Turn the corner when you see him around the dorm.
Stay in your room to work on sewing when you don’t go out.
When you do go out, go to big places you won’t see him. Go shopping at the mall.
Go shopping at the mall and do not bump into Azami outside of a beauty store— dammit, wasn’t he hanging out with Taichi elsewhere or something today?!
Crap, crap, crap, they were walking directly towards each other, but Azami was glancing towards the shop window, so safe, right? Yuki backtracked quickly and slid behind a pillar, pulling his beret down tighter over his head like it was some invisibility cloak.
He’d been “waiting” for two weeks and hadn’t talked to Azami in just as long, since then, so he wasn’t going to face him now. Just… In a little longer. Probably. Azami took it well but that didn’t mean that much! It didn’t mean things were going to be sunshine and roses, it didn’t mean they were going be together!
Unclutching his hat and dropping his hands from his head so he could get ready to make a run for it, Yuki forgot about the bag of accessories he had on his arm.
It fell. Before he could grab it, the little bag crashed onto the ground, and out went the hairbows he was going to deco, out went the jewelry bases he was going to use into the paths of passersby.
Oh, this was disastrous.
*He wasn’t trying to cope by running away like this, but hey, if strategy works, it works. (Except when it doesn’t.)
Yuki was giving him space.
That was all Azami could deduct from two weeks of catching nothing but the barest glimpses of the other boy’s face.
It wasn’t a bad thing, really—Azami felt like he had his answer, but saying it sounded like another struggle in itself. And honestly, he could see why Yuki would think that the best course of action, and it made him feel a little stupid happy at how the caution probably stemmed from what Yuki knew about Azami.
Except, he did have his answer. And there was a fine line between being given space and being avoided. (Azami would, uh, know. From experience.)
Yuki and the lack of him stayed at the back of his mind as he roamed the mall. Taichi was spending an extended amount of time looking at the latest fashion of the season, so Azami left him to half-heartedly check out the makeup store. He didn’t need to buy anything new for now, though, since new releases mainly featured dressed-up collaboration packaging and there were no current discounts. So glancing into the window before he headed back to check on Taichi was enough.
Glancing into the window at the sparkly products, and at the reflection of a certain someone in a bear beret and a lolita skirt?
No, wait. Azami wasn’t bothered enough to hallucinate him, right?
Just as quickly as he saw what he thought he did, he turned forwards to see nothing but an older woman walking along, kid in hand.
Azami breathed out and kept walking, when a large bow clattered to the floor, sliding and crashing into his foot from the side.
Yuki cringed when his accessories scattered, a particularly large bow hitting a sneakered foot in the walkway.
He called out a sorry and bent down to scoop up the ones he could reach as quickly as he could before turning his attention to the ones that slid farther away, and—nope, okay, this was more disastrous than he thought it was, because that was Azami bending down to pick up the bow that hit his sneaker and walking over to return it to Yuki. Right, duh, he was walking this way to begin with. Yuki flushed.
“I—thanks.” He held himself back from snatching the bow out of Azami’s hand and sprinting, consciously placing it back into his bag at the pace of a snail, avoiding eye contact after the first time he realized who it was.
“No problem…”
When he was done, Yuki peeked up once more to see Azami again. Also flushed. (Geez…! One’s enough!)
“Well, I have everything I bought now, so—”
“Wait! Um, do you… Do you want to go get ice cream?”
Before Yuki could turn and speed walk away, Azami grabbed his sleeve and asked.
“Ice cream?”
The look on Yuki’s face was one of bewilderment. Azami could feel his cheeks flaming off, but what else could he do?
Gaping like a fish, he tried to find the words to push out and explain, let’s talk now, I miss hanging out, I have my answer, but they just weren’t the ones to say and his mind was blanking on how to say them before he even knew what to say—
“Sure, I’m done shopping anyway. Where, though? The place at the front of the mall or the new one that opened?”
Azami snapped out of it at the reply and the gentle tugging at his hand. He pulled in a sharp breath when he realized he was still holding Yuki’s arm. Argh, and he didn’t really know any of those places, he just said where he thought Yuki might like to go.
“The new one.”
“That’s this way. Let’s go. You’re the one who invited me, so don’t get left behind.” Yuki turned towards the direction of the ice cream shop and glanced at Azami, a sign for him to follow.
His demeanor seemed like always. A shot of relief ran through Azami, and he nodded before matching pace with Yuki.
It was normal. Kinda. They sat in a booth and they ordered, a cute and fruity mini-sundae for Yuki and a vanilla scoop sprinkled with brown sugar for Azami.
Then they ate bites in silence until Azami blurted out words, eyes looking anywhere but Yuki’s face.
“Me too.”
“You too?”
“I… I mean, um, I thought about it, and I’m ready to t-talk about it, and my answer is… Yuki, I li…”
Yuki’s heart might as well have stopped beating, or it was fluttering too fast to feel, or maybe it was just his breath that stopped. At his tongue was some cheeky remark about a lie, an unfinished (was it unfinished?) word, but he held it in and grew dizzier with every second. Was Azami replying now?
(Here? Like, in public? Azami? The one who swears holding hands in public is shameless?)
The thoughts were running so fast in Yuki’s head that he almost missed it.
How did Yuki say it?
Azami dragged his gaze up at Yuki, holding a spoon of uneaten sundae, and said it best he could. The best he could and barely loud enough to be heard by anyone but the two of them.
“I l-like you too.”
The uneaten sundae dropped back into the glass bowl of whipped cream and sprinkles. Yuki fixed his amber eyes on Azami and asked considerably more out loud, “Really?”
Yuki just didn’t expect to be this surprised— because this is Azami? Saying it at a cutesy ice cream parlor booth in public?! Blushing in that way he does and most of all, telling Yuki that he didn’t need to worry about messing things up by having a crush because he liked Yuki too?
I like you too.
Yuki leaned forward unconsciously, eyes wide, somewhere along the line of suspicion and deep in the realm of astonishment.
“REALLY?”
Azami nodded at the second one, blue eyes still making shaky contact, then broke away like he did two weeks before.
He wanted to ask really a million times more and ask are you sure a million times after that, but could he even with Azami? Azami wouldn’t lie as some sick kind of joke, and prying on why and how would make his head explode, right?
Even if it felt too good to be true—every word, every prop of this setting—couldn’t Yuki just take it?
He lifted a hand up to his too-warm cheek and reached for his spoon with the other to take a sugary sweet sundae bite. The cold cream melted and he swallowed, then spoke, lips probably stretching a little too much, words probably not special enough for someone he knows is special. But who cares?
“Perfect, then, right? We like each other.” We can be together. Discussing anything else could come later, though, especially with a boy so pure. “Come on, eat your ice cream before it melts. Did you wanna keep shopping after or go home?”
Azami was still red, but he met Yuki’s eyes again and opened his mouth to reply. Then his phone rang and interrupted him.
Rose-blush romance receded from his expression and he said, “Oh, shit, Taichi.”
♡ ♡
Some time later on a rainy day, a bunch of the students had ended up in Yuki's room to play cards. Then he and Azami were the last to leave for dinner, Yuki to straighten things up without noisy teenagers around, and Azami for help and conversation.
“You know, I thought you were insane for confessing in a public area, but it still makes me laugh that—pfft—it was because it’d be even more indecent if we were completely alone together.”
Yuki covered his mouth, giggles spilling out while Azami looked the other way with a deadpan face that was probably his equivalent to a pout.
“I never said that! Exactly.” Inaudibly, he mumbled, “I didn’t know when else I could say it besides then, either.”
“You might as well have. Glad you’re fine with it now. Plus, just existing in the same space isn't even that much? I promised not to push you too much on the lovey-dovey parts anyway.”
Standing up from his drawer, Yuki stretched. He turned around and gave a mischievous grin, holding one hand out professionally.
“Like this. Are you okay with one hand squeeze before we go eat with everyone else?”
Azami squinted his eyes at Yuki in distaste, showing zero signs of taking his hand. “He says like I didn’t get over holding hands… sometimes… already.”
Dropping his hand and glancing at the door, Yuki flippantly replied, “And sitting close, and hugs. So indecent. Anyway, thanks for scooting the table back, let’s go—o-oh.”
As quickly as his hand dropped, it rose again to touch his own face, now pink. Azami was already walking to the door, but he glanced back once to reveal an even redder face and say, “C’mon, dinner.”
One hand squeeze was exchanged for one chaste cheek kiss, apparently. Yuki scrunched up his lips and followed behind, defiantly knocking shoulders with Azami and muttering inside his head about he’d be the first next time.
He liked it, though.
(They both liked each other, for what it was worth, and it was worth it.)