Work Text:
“But how dismal it is to have no one to go to in the morning to share one's griefs and joys; how hateful when something weighs on you and there's nowhere to lay it down. You know to what I refer. I often tell my pianoforte what I want to tell you."
- Frederic Chopin, to Tytus Woyciechowski
It’s a cold winter day when you realize that you are desperately in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi.
He walks into your shared apartment, hanging his coat on its rack as he softly closes the door. You’re standing in the hallway, brewing tea for the both of you. You’ve always brewed tea to freshen up for work, and now it’s become routine for you to make one extra for Wakatoshi after his morning run. He walks toward you slowly, a soft smile on his face. It’s barely an upturn of lips, but from all the time you’ve spent around him, you’ve basically become a master Ushijima-facial-expressions interpreter.
“Thank you.” He says, and takes the small porcelain cup from the counter.
You still don’t know what the catalyst was. A considerable factor was the gentle curve of his large calloused hands as he raised his cup and sipped the tea almost delicately. Perhaps it was him asking you afterwards how long you had steeped the rolled oolong since the flavor was richer than usual—his face softening in understanding when you confessed that you’d forgotten to start the timer and so it ended up more bitter than both of you usually take it. Wakatoshi is gentle and observant like that. He always shuts the door softly behind him, and is as delicate as a man of his stature allows him to be. Perhaps it was his incredible morning routine, his morning run always a priority over even the most unsavory of weather conditions.
Perhaps there was a simpler answer: that it was a culmination of all those factors that led you to that realization. But the reason doesn’t matter as much as the feeling of your heart dropping like lead into your stomach as Wakatoshi opens the fridge and starts making breakfast. His skin looks even more ethereal than usual, and the muscle of his arms seem to be its own living organism with the way they ripple as he grabs the pan from your shelf. Wakatoshi, bless his soul, is blissfully unaware of your neurons chemically rearranging themselves to process the gravity of this situation, focusing solely on the oil bubbling in the pan now. You will your eyes to stop bulging from its sockets and forcefully tear your gaze away from where it was fixed on his behind, which in the span of 5 minutes has become more prominent than it ever has been before. He’s humming the tune to the Aria of the Goldberg Variations. God, he’s even on tune. It takes all of your restraint not to scream.
Oddly, despite your momentary state of shock, this realization doesn’t fry your brain to a level where you turn into an unconscious puddle on the floor. You’ve always thought he was the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, so it’s not completely out of left field for you to go batshit insane over learning that the man has a gardening hobby and goes to sleep routinely at 9.30PM. You are just mortal after all, and a slave to your mortal desires and whatever your mortal brain deems hot. And unfortunately above all, what your brain deems the most attractive man in the world is standing in front of you, making you crispy Chinese-style fried eggs.
He’s perfect. Truly perfect. And completely out of your league. Being his roommate is the closest you’ll ever get to being his lover. It takes you 5 seconds to (totally!) make peace with that, ignoring how the thought makes your throat tighten.
“Excuse me, could you please hold this for me? I really need the toilet. I swear I’ll come back soon, thank you so much.”
Thinking back, it was the most embarrassing first words you could ever say to anyone, much less the man behind you after shoving your bag in his arms in a frenzied hurry.
Immediately after you exited the toilet, thousands of words were swimming in your head, most of them in the tone of a groveling apology. What have you done ? Telling a random guy you needed to piss and running off to god knows where. If the sheer embarrassment wasn’t enough, he might’ve been so offended by your behavior that he went ahead and disposed of your bag. Maybe he gave it to a guard. Maybe you’ll have to go back to the end of the line, and you’d never get the pianist’s autograph because the venue would be closed by the time you managed to get even a glimpse of his shoes. But before these thoughts fully consume you and you’re prepared to face public humiliation by the hands of that beautiful man, a high-pitched voice disturbs your reverie.
“Yooo! We’re here!”
Your head snaps to the source of the noise, a red haired man cheerfully waving at you above the shoulder of a man with a large frame. It takes embarrassingly long for you to snap out of your paranoid thoughts and realize that obviously, it’s the person who was standing with the man you dropped your bag on.
You rushed to them, one part because of shame, another part because of how short the queue is getting to the soloist. You’ve waited 19 years for this moment. It cannot go to waste.
“Haa… ha.. Thank you so much.” You managed to pant out, and the brown haired man dutifully hands you your bag. “Thank you so much, I’m so sorry for inconveniencing you so suddenly.”
“It was not a bother at all,” he said, “no need to thank me.”
The red haired man let out a boisterous laugh. “But you sure made an entrance! Wakatoshi-kun was so confused! The look on his face! If only you’d seen the way he clutched at your bag, it was like a dragon hoarding its gold!”
‘Wakatoshi-kun’ cleared his throat. “I’m sure I did not guard it to that extent, Satori. I simply did what a responsible man would do in that situation.”
“But even so, thank you so much.” you bowed deeply.
“Really, it was no matter.”
“No, really, I unceremoniously shoved my bag into your arms, it was so incredibly rude—“
“I’ve got a feeling that without interference, this is going to loop on forever and ever until we finally reach the start of the line. And even after getting your autographs, you’d still be— And just as I was speaking of it—Bag-kun, it’s your turn!”
All the shame escapes from every vestibule of your body as you remembered what you came here for. Yes. The autograph.
“Thank you, Wakatoshi-kun, for guarding my bag, and to Satori-kun for helping as well. I must depart now.” You strided to the table, and handed your ticket for the maestro to sign. The day hath come. All your sacrifices had not been in vain. You mentally thank Satori and Wakatoshi again. This would not have been possible without their generous mercy. It’s a shame you didn’t ask for their contacts. It would’ve been nice to talk to them again, as you barely had any friends your age who were interested in the same type of music you liked.
After getting a picture, it felt as if you were floating like an untethered balloon in the sky with the scale of heady wonder you were in. Drunken with happiness, you walked towards the exit, only to be met with the two men from earlier.
You blinked. “Oh. Hi.”
“Please pardon us—“ Oh my god. Now that you aren’t overcome by indescribable shame, his voice is of the heavens. To add insult to the injury, he also talks like a Victorian gentleman. Did he just use the word ardently ? Oh… And the timbre of his voice, it almost rumbles—
“I think you lost the poor soul, Wakatoshi-kun.”
Shit. What the fuck were you doing? What do you even say? ‘ I’m sorry, I think I’m still high off getting to meet such an established virtuoso. I completely tuned that out. Can you repeat that again? ’ Rude. And also a blatant lie. But the truth isn’t much better. ‘ I’m sorry, I think I was captivated by your voice. Do you sing? You’d make a dangerous siren. I’d crash on your docks any day ’ Creepy. Social suicide. He could tweet about this. You can see the words flashing before your eyes.
33k retweets: I was just trying to ask this person something but they were staring at me so hard and tuning out my every word. I’d hate to imagine a company that would hire this menace to society. I swear this mf also eyed my chest. Is this not considered harassment? I just wanted to enjoy some Bach, but I might have to file a lawsuit. #nightruined
Your boss could see it— They could tag your company, your name tag is literally on you right now! What if he also contacted your university? You’d be—
“If it would not bother you, would you mind guiding us to the train station? Satori was going to use the maps app on his phone, but his phone suddenly died while we were in the line.” That same voice cuts through your thoughts. Okay. You’re a normal working (interning, but whatever) adult. Exposure therapy. You can do this.
“Sure, I was going that way anyways. Unfortunately, there are no cabs at this hour, so we’d have to walk. It’s around 3 kilometers; is that fine with the both of you?”
Satori flashes a thumbs up, and Wakatoshi nods.
The walk to the station was surprisingly filled with chatter. Conversation flowed easily from one topic to another, facilitated mostly by Satori and the link that tied them all together: the concert. Starting with the obvious ‘How did you think about the concert?’, ‘Which movement is your favorite?’, leading up to more personal questions. Wakatoshi was his first name, and his family name was Ushijima. Tendou Satori was an aspiring chocolatier, and Wakatoshi was going into professional volleyball.
“That’s so cool! You both must be really good. I’m just a marketing student in university with zero impact on society,” you sighed heavily.
Wakatoshi— no, Ushijima, frowns. “There is value in a steady occupation as well. Every occupation is necessary to keep the cogs of the nation turning.”
“I know… it’s just that I can tell that both of you love what you’re going to pursue. I’ve got no passion for anything at all.”
“I wouldn’t say you lack passion, Bag-kun, you were just now passionately defending Gould’s Mozart. It’s just not what you chose, in the end,” Tendou said airily, “I also played volleyball in high school too, you know? With Wakatoshi-kun here. I’d say I loved it. We were good too—we won a lot. But in the end, volleyball wasn’t what I chose. Your career doesn’t have to be what you love, but that doesn’t mean that you lack a fundamental human passion. As Wakatoshi-kun said, we need all sorts of people to keep the world running, and if you’ve decided that you’re going to pursue this, then there’s a fundamental passion in that pursuit! And even if you really didn’t care for it, why should it matter where your passion lies when you’ve made your choice? But I still think you’re offensively wrong about Gould’s Mozart.”
“Wow,” you breathed. “Tendou-san, maybe you should abandon your chocolatier aspirations and become a motivational speaker. I was totally validated. Your TED tickets would sell out.”
“Nah, I already made my choice. Motivational speaking’s only gonna be a side gig, at most.”
“I agree. That was very profound, Satori. I was moved.” Wakatoshi nodded solemnly. “Though I cannot imagine doing anything but volleyball.”
“Anyways! Topic change! Where are you headed to, Bag-kun? You said you were headed in the same direction.”
“I’ve got an apartment near the train.”
Tendou whistled. “Damn, that’s a nice location. What I would give to live in such a convenient spot!”
“Mm.” Ushijima affirmed.
“How’s the rent though? It must be through the roof, and especially in this economy…” Tendou shivered.
You felt your soul leaving your body. “Yeah… about that… My roommate just found a new place and left me in the dust a month ago. The rent’s entirely too high for me right now, so I’m trying to get a roommate. It’s a nice place, and the rent is reasonable if I share it with another person.”
“Ooh— Wakatoshi-kun’s trying to find a place to stay in Tokyo too!”
A nod. “I am.”
Desperation flooded every pore of your body. “Ushijima-san. I know we’ve only known each other for less than two hours, but please move into my apartment.”
Ushijima blinks, surprised by the request. There was a moment of silence. You cannot let this ship sink.
“I’ve compiled a list of pros and cons. Please let me get my notes app out. Well, it’s only pros. I’ll tell you about the cons only if you’re interested. Oh. Here it is. Pros: One, it’s super close to the train station. It’s like a block away. Two, it’s a two bedroom apartment, so we’d be guaranteed privacy from each other. Three, I promise that I diligently do chores. Four—” You pant, running out of breath. You must look like a pathetic puddle on the ground right now, attempting the stupidity of simultaneously reading rapidfire text and speed-walking.
“I think he gets it, Bag-kun. Now breathe, before you die here.”
As you draw in heaving breaths, Ushijima’s voice, once again, distracts you from your current state of crumpled despair.
“Does your apartment have a gym?”
Your eyes light up, and your form almost immediately solidifies. “Yes! It’s very big, and it’s open for 24 hours!”
“Mm. How much is rent for each month?”
“80,000 yen. But split between us, it’s only going to be 40,000 each.”
“Hm. I am interested. Could you give me a tour of your apartment? I’ll probably need to see it firsthand to come to a conclusion. Then I’ll inform you of my decision.”
“Thank you so much, Ushijima-san!!!” If you had a clearer head, you probably would be embarrassed at how the words come tumbling pathetically out of your mouth, but at the moment, you’re too busy crying tears of relief to do even the most basic levels of introspection. “Can I have your number? I’ll text you the details after I get home. Oh! And yours as well, Tendou-san. I’ll send you Gould’s Mozart Sonata 2, the F Major one. You’ll eat your words.”
After a few minutes, your group finally reached the train station, and bid your farewells.
You almost couldn’t believe it was real life. To hear Bach’s concerto live, receive a signature from your idol, and find a (potential) roommate to absolve you from your financial crisis! Not to mention, you (hopefully) made two very interesting friends your age. Yui’s never going to believe it.
As soon as you got home, you shot a text to both Tendou and Ushijima.
You: hey, this is (Y/N) from tonight, i’m free from 6PM onwards this entire week. you’re welcome to come whenever you like
You: btw heres the location to my apartment
You: [Link]
You: get cultured
You: https://youtu.be/N--bkzrHu-s?si=0pqZoLlYAXn5nHia
You: tell me the adagio doesnt go hard
The response from Ushijima is almost instantaneous.
Ushijima: Noted. Thank you very much in advance. I’ll inform you as soon as I can when I am available to visit; I’ll have to check my schedule first.
Ushijima: Hopefully it will be soon. Good night.
You smiled into your phone. Here’s to a future of no longer being in debt.
Tendou: yeah its good but like
Tendou: it’s like finding a speck of gold in a pile of shit
Tendou: and saying that the entire pile is gold
Tendou: ಠ_ಠ
You: sure you little french boy
You: why don’t you go listen to some debussy
You: honhonhonhon arabesqueqyeppue
Tendou: not funny
Tendou: if wakatoshi kun wasn’t moving in with u i’d block u
You: its not even guaranteed
Tendou: he likes u
Tendou: also ur apartment is 1 step away from the train
Tendou: he’s not a musclehead yk he can see how rare this chance is
You: sure french boy honhonhon
Tendou: i’m trying to get you out of debt
You: whatre u gonna do?? play furniture music??
Tendou: i never thought i’d find someone as insufferable as me
Tendou: obviously i was just living in a small miyagi shaped pond
Two days later, Ushijima arrives at your doorstep, and he brushes a leaf off his coat as he steps inside.
“Please excuse me, the wind has not been kind to me on my journey here.” Oh, that baritone. Swoon. Fuck the wind, you’d be kind to him. STOP. You have an estate to sell.
“It’s totally fine, please come in. The shoe rack is over here.”
You show him the rooms, and he listens to your every word with rapt attention. You conveniently lead him to the star of the apartment: the very nice kitchen. You learned on the day of the concert that he enjoys cooking. You have to reel him in. He seems impressed to a certain extent (he quirked his eyebrow, Tendou-san said it was a patented ‘Wakatoshi-kun Excitement Expression’).
Everything seems to be going well, until you go into your room and conveniently forget the large framed photo of Liszt that Yui got for you as a gag gift. It’s sitting proudly on the floor in its full 18x12’ Glory.
“Oh.” He says, and you blanch.
Oh my god. He’s going to think you’re weird. You’ll be broke forever. Your landlord will kick your ass out. You’ll have to live on the subway. Your neighbors would be little rats. Your pillow would have to be a suspiciously shaped stain on the pavement.
“Would you like me to install a hook on the wall for you to hang this portrait on?”
“Huh?”
“I understand that you’re renting, but do not fret. I have purchased these hooks from my local grocery store that are rent-friendly. They do not tear paint from the walls, and are easily removable.”
“W-What about Liszt?” You stammer.
“About him? I personally don’t care much for his music.”
Boom. Shattered. Your brain is in shambles. The good news is that this man is an angelic gift from the heavens above who not only does not care about you being in possession of a creepy portrait of some old white guy who died 200 years ago, but would also selflessly install a rent-friendly hook for you. The bad news is that he does not care for Liszt. It was a gag gift, and his warts are quite large, but you really do love him. But you’re a mature adult. You’ve got bills to pay, and Franz doesn’t pay those bills. So you shove that thought right up from where it came from.
“So what do you think about the apartment, Ushijima-san?”
“I think it would be a good idea for me to share this apartment with you. As you’ve said, it’s situated in a convenient location. I also enjoy your presence, and forgive me for assuming, but I think we have a great deal in common. I glimpsed your tea drawer—and forgive me, I didn’t mean to look, but I saw that you prefer the same teas I do.”
You clapped your hands together, looking at him with what must be sparkles in your eyes. “So is that a yes to moving in?”
There’s a slight upturn to his lips. “Yes, I would like to.”
Ushijima: Tendou advised me to send you this list he wrote out titled “The Quirks of Having Ushijima Wakatoshi As Your Roomie”, written from personal experience.
Ushijima: I assume “Roomie” stands for roommate.
Ushijima: [File]
You: thanks
You: it won’t be a problem, my tea cabinet is only half full
You: and our balcony is definitely large enough for your plants
Ushijima: That’s good to hear.
Ushijima: :)
The day he moved in, he brought very little with him. His life essentials, his plants, and some sentimental pieces such as photographs and a tattered volleyball. Two of his friends were helping him with his furniture, who you later learned were Semi and Reon. The move took no time at all, though you wished you could’ve helped more.
As Semi and Reon turned back and waved their goodbyes, Ushijima turned to you.
“I look forward to sharing living quarters with you. Let us do our best as roommates.” And that was a smile. Good god, he’s almost radiant. You can almost feel your worth as a human being seeping away from your body.
“Likewise.” You hold out your hand, and he envelops it in his. Your brain promptly short-circuits. The warmth. His calluses from volleyball. Obviously you looked him up after that night. Japan’s cannon. The hand that can smash a volleyball straight into the floor with maximum velocity is now gently touching yours. If you strain your ear hard enough, you can hear your brain sizzling into a pile of mush. Julia Child would put brown sauce on what was left of the white and gray matter.
You’re shaken out of your reverie as he shakes your hand. Oh yeah. That was what was happening. You dumbly grip his hand, and smile.
“Also— Ushijima-san, did you bring your tea? I remember you telling me that you had some Jin Jun Mei tea; I’ve always wanted to try that.”
So yeah. You might’ve had a teeny tiny crush on him since the first day you met. But surprisingly, your feelings fizzled with time. You were right, the exposure therapy helped. One day, you stopped swooning over his baritone, and his muscular frame became a common sight. And he was the best roommate ever. (Full offense to Yui. You still live in fear of her crumb-filled bedroom. You’ve vacuumed it twice, but somehow you still wake up to nightmares of mold.) He always did his share of the chores, was diligent and tidy, and enjoyed cooking for both of you. He was thoughtful, kind, and had an absolutely insane morning routine. The man woke up at 5AM to hit the gym (5!! In the morning!! You knew he was an Olympic athlete but holy fucking shit.) and then goes on his morning run. Even after that, he still insists on cooking you breakfast. What did you do in a past life to deserve this man?
In fact, he’s such an angelic human being that he’s somehow influenced your life for the better. In the three years you’ve lived together, after multiple expressions of concern from Ushijima, you’ve finally developed something of a healthy sleeping schedule. No more staying up late on cheap instant coffee going through files from work, lights off at midnight. It would be rude (and would also make you feel cartoonishly villainous) if you refused his home cooked meals, so now you’ve been eating healthy foods. In healthy portions.
Somewhere along the line, Ushijima-san became Ushijima-kun, and then it changed to Wakatoshi-kun. These days you just call him Wakatoshi. You have no idea when it happened but it did. You share your most prized collection of traditional Japanese paintings with him. He has a surprisingly good eye for art. They’re now freely hanging on the walls. You trust him not to damage them. He somehow gets you into fountain pens, and now you have a Pilot Custom Heritage 912 with an extra fine nib that you take to work. He’s amazing. Your roommate. A beacon from the heavens.
So that was it. The entire breadth of your history with Wakatoshi. Why did you suddenly recount all of that? It’s because at this moment it feels as if your life is flashing before your eyes. That teeny tiny totally fizzled feeling? It somehow came back with a vengeance. And it’s worse, now that you know approximately 500 more facts about him, like the way he laughs, the way his eyes crinkle when he makes his occasional joke. The pictures he sends you of random animals he sees on his way back home from volleyball practice. (The cows always make you snort.) The little emoticons he sends you at the insistence of Tendou. The way he says on your shared couch after a strenuous day of drills, Mahler booming through the speakers. The gentle way he clips off a sickly leaf on one of his plants. All of which have names .
You stare unblinkingly at your eggs. It was cooked to perfection, just how you liked it. Somehow that made it worse. You’re in love with this man, and the way he fucking remembers your favorite way to have eggs. He knows you have an irrational disdain for completely raw yolks so he flips it over for a few seconds for it to solidify. What the fuck. Who allowed this man to be so perfect?
A tap on your shoulder. “Would you like some Maggi? You have been looking at your eggs for a while.”
“Yeah, sure.” You accepted the bottle he handed you. God, he’s beautiful in this way too. He asked you if you wanted Maggi without you even having to raise a finger.
“Do you want to listen to anything in particular this morning?”
“Not really, do you have anything in mind?”
“I would like to listen to Bach’s Mass in G minor. I find the length suitable for our mornings.”
“Mm. Go ahead, Wakatoshi.”
You: satori
You: is wakatoshi single
You: asking for a friend
Tendou: lmfao i know ur not
Tendou: but yeah he’s single
You: dude it’s like 3am in paris wtf are you doing
Tendou: being a chocolatier is harddddddd
Tendou: requires long nights of studying my friend
You: bullshit
You: you’re online on discord and playing cooking mama
Tendou: she’s got them chocolate recipes
Tendou: also i give u my blessing
Tendou: you just need like 6 more votes in favor
You: ?????
Tendou has added you to a group chat: “The Council”
Semi: ?????
Goshiki: What do you mean by this tendou senpai
Semi: shouldn’t you be sleeping??
Tendou: boooo semisemi ur no funn
Tendou: anyways so here’s the tea
You bury your hands in your face. The numbers on your computer are not making sense. Because you are in love with Ushijima Wakatoshi. Irrefutably. Ineffably. Despite your best efforts, and what you’ve convinced yourself that morning, you have not made peace with that fact. Your brain has been replaying the action of him tying his apron around his waist for the umpteenth time like a caveman shadow play. Tendou’s “council” has also been gravely unhelpful. They each sent, one after another, a message along the lines of “Wakatoshi is a grown man, he does not need our permission to date”, which a traitorous part of your brain stupidly concludes is them giving you their approval.
So now you’re stuck in this cubicle with your thoughts. Great. You love your thoughts. Maki-e screens. You can probably afford them with a promotion. Maki-e pens. Wakatoshi thinks they’re too luxurious—not worth the money; but he still finds them beautiful. Wakatoshi. The arch of his neck. His little satisfied smile. The low rumble of his voice. Wow. Desk jobs are amazing, you can publicly lose your mind and people will just think you missed a deadline.
Someone punches your shoulder. “Yo. What’s going on, you fuck? You’ve been staring at the same graph for 10 minutes.”
“Yui.” you say venomously, turning your chair towards her. “I just want to say that this is all your fault.”
“Huh? I haven’t even messed with your paperwork this week.”
“You should‘ve never moved out.”
Yui’s face visibly contorts in confusion. “Isn’t your roommate amazing? You wouldn’t stop sending me pictures of the food he makes and spam texts about how you’re so grateful you found someone that loves tea, vacuums, and Bach. You mailed me a sparkly postcard dedicated to “worst roommate ever” thanking me for moving out!”
“That’s exactly my point!” You let out an anguished scream. “He’s literally the most perfect beautiful man in the whole fucking world and I’m so in love with him and all of these feelings would not have happened if you stayed in my apartment and continued being your disgusting crumb leaving, chore not doing self!” Another anguished scream.
“That’s rough. Why not just tell him you want to jump his bones?”
“You misunderstand the very essence of my feelings. I just want to press my face into his chest and clasp his hands in mine as we live in domestic bliss.”
“Don’t you already make him tea in the mornings? You have two massage chairs lined up that both of you sit on together when you’re listening to another of your little symphonies. He makes you aisai bentos for lunch. Both of you are literally living domestically together. Just say it.”
“Yuiiiii,” you groan, “you don’t get it . He’s an Olympian. Ushijima-senshu. Japan’s cannon. I think he modeled for Calvin Klein once. Oh my god, the images are in my brain now. Smack me real hard, I think you can brute force the visions out. I don’t care if I get brain damage. It’s a pile of goop up there already.”
“He’s hot shit. So? He’s also your roommate.”
“What I’m saying is that he’s out of my league. Michaelangelo somehow had a hand in sculpting him, which is fitting because his personality also seems like he could be an angel cast down to earth for the sin of being too fucking nice. Did I mention he’s an Olympian? Ushijima-senshu?”
“With a nice guy like that, what’s the worst he can do? Grovel on his knees in apology for not returning your feelings? Just shoot your fucking shot.”
“Noooo, you don’t understand. He could not realize it was a romantic proposal. Worse, he could date me out of pity and the kindness of his heart.” A shiver wracks through your body. “And most horrible of all, he could move out . He’s been getting so many sponsorships lately, I think he’s even got one with a local tea seller. Not to mention last month with Nike . He’s going to be so weirded out and move away to a penthouse in Roppongi Hills.”
A file slaps your head. “Think about it, if your man is really getting sponsorships from god, why on earth would he still be staying in your cozy little apartment if he didn’t, I don’t know, like you? Anyways, I didn’t come by to get a play by play of your pathetic pining. Bossman’s giving you another client, so get your head out of cloud Ushijima-senshu.”
You groaned. “More work. Thanks Yui, love you. Totally helped.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. But I’m serious. Just tell him.”
“I’m home,” you say, removing your shoes and placing them on the rack. As you move to hang your scarf on the wall, an alluring aroma wafts into the hallway. “Is that hayashi rice?”
“Welcome back. And to answer your question, yes.”
“Sweet. You haven’t been making that recently, which is a shame, because it’s totally amazing.”
“Thank you, you always flatter my cooking. It’ll be ready to serve in approximately 5 minutes.”
“Do you want me to heat up the rice?”
“That would be much appreciated.”
You hummed as you opened the fridge to get the rice. Falling into your usual routines makes forgetting the brain shattering revelation an easier task. You’ll just have to wait for a while until your affections fizz out, just like they did before. Your estimate is 3 months, max. That’s the exact time frame it took for you to stop drooling over his baritone when he first moved in. You did it once, now only to do it once again.
It’s been 6 months. You’ve tried every single method. Going on dates. Downloading Tinder. Trying to get into weird situationships via Instagram. Going on the #DTF tag on Twitter. None of that helped. Unfortunately, you are still, as Yui slanderously put it, “completely down bad down horrendous in the trenches for Ushijima-senshu.”
You’re at your last resort, which involves going to a bar with your co-conspirators (read: Yui and the poor soul she dragged along) and getting black-out drunk.
“You are not leaving until you can shut up about him.” Yui said, shoving a bottle into your arms. “That includes up there too.” She taps her temple. “Now chug this 95%. You need it desperately.”
“Senpai, are you really sure this is the best idea?” Hiro said, his voice practically radiating concern. “If you’re trying to forget someone, why not try something like blocking his number?”
You grabbed the bottle. “Trust me, Hiro. I’ve tried everything. This is the last bastion.”
Hiro squirmed in his seat as you chugged and Yui explained the Situation of your turmoil to him.
“But senpai, if you live with him, wouldn’t getting drunk be worse?”
After that entire bottle, life was a blur. You don’t remember how many shots you ordered, but it was enough to send you hurling into the sidewalk as Yui sympathetically patted your back. Hah. You drank until you puked your heart out, but you still could not stop thinking about Ushijima Wakatoshi. The last resort failed. You’re hopeless. Hiro was right. Maybe.
Yui called a cab for you, and you sluggishly made your way to your shared apartment. With Wakatoshi-kun. Oh right. Wakatoshi-kun.
There was his silhouette. Oh. He’s so large.
“Pardon me?”
Oops. You said it out loud.
“Hiii,” you slurred, drooping like jello into his arms. “Hiiii Wakatoshi.”
His mouth pulls up into a frown. It’s unreasonably attractive. “You’re drunk. It’s very late, you should rest.”
“Don’t wanna, Wakatoshi…” You hiccuped. “Take care of me. With your arms.”
He cocks his head. Cute. “How so?”
“Wrap your arms around me. Oh, you’re so warm. Wakatoshi-kun, you’re really so cute.”
He releases you from his grasp with a concerned expression. “How much did you drink? You’re incredibly intoxicated. You must rest.”
You liquify your way onto the floor, but Wakatoshi catches you just in time with his strong hands. Swoon. “Do you know, Wakatoshi-kun? About Chopin and his friend Tytus from Poland?”
“I am vaguely familiar, yes.”
You giggle. “Have you read the letters Chopin sent to him? He said, and I quote: ‘ I know my love for you is hopeless, and I only scribble this nonsense to make you love me more. ’. Though in my case, it’s speaking? Continuing, ‘My feelings for you have to seek out some superhuman means of forcing your heart to respond to them. ’”
“It’s impressive you can remember all of it.” Wakatoshi smiles. Oh my god. He smiled. You’re floating to heaven. Or getting dragged down to hell, you can’t tell anymore. The sensation does nothing to stop you from continuing to run your drunken mouth, however, as you immediately continue from where you left off.
“There’s another one. It’s also quite famous. ‘Give me your lips, dearest lover. I'm convinced you still love me, and I am as scared of you as ever, like some sort of tyrant, I don't know why but I am scared. ’” Tears start beading in your eyes. “I’m scared, Wakatoshi.”
“That I won’t love you?” He softly murmurs. You nod fervently, and nose into the crook of his neck. Gods, his cologne. Just bury you already, why are you even doing this.
“T— There’s another one. This one isn’t as well-known as the others, but I think it’s the most incriminating.” God, you’re sniffling. His pajamas must have gotten wet spots from your disgusting tears.
“Which one?” His hand tangles in your hair and rubs your scalp assuringly.
“Ha—” You huff. “‘ I remember how you wore me out over that crossbow for my sins. ’ That’s what he wrote, could you believe it? What else could he have implied other than, f— fu, what’s the word?”
“Fornication?” Wakatoshi offers helpfully.
“That. You’re so smart, Wakatoshi. ‘ You don't like to be kissed. Allow me to do so today. ’ He also said that, you know? I would, but I probably taste like vomit and piss right now. I’m so sorry, Wakatoshi.”
There’s a strange sadness in his eyes as he pulls you away from your resting place on his shoulder. Gently, like he always does. Something about that expression makes your heart twist. Your heart twists, then your stomach twists. Then your stomach sneakily sends a signal to that part of your brain that controls vomiting, and now you feel horribly sick.
“Fair warning, I’m gonna throw up.”
“Please not in the hallway, you just vacuumed it yesterday.” He says, lifting you up bridal style to your final destination: the toilet. Even in your sick, alcohol-addled state, you can still conclude that this is literally the hottest moment of your life. And obviously you share this with Wakatoshi, because you’ve already given him your very soul (and a complete quotation of Chopin’s letters).
“Do not talk much, I’m concerned it will induce vomiting.”
You dumbly nod with a dopey smile on your face. Wakatoshi-kun is so smart and dependable. Something possesses you to caress his cheek.
“Wakatoshi, I love you in a place where there’s no space or time.” That was so poetic. Did you make that up yourself? Probably.
His expression changes. You can’t tell what it says. It’s probably because you’re also crying your eyes out. So much for being a professional Ushijima-facial-expressions interpreter. It makes you sick.
“I’m gonna throw up. For real this time.”
He guides you to the toilet, and pats your back reassuringly as you upend the contents of your stomach into the bowl. He’s so gentle. You’re so disgusting.
“‘ Now I am to wash myself. ’” You drunkenly recite, your mouth still full of vomit. “‘ Please do not embrace me as I have not washed yet. But even if I were to anoint myself with fragrant oils from fuck knows where , you still would not embrace me—unless forced to by magnetism! But there are forces— ’ Uagh.” You lurched once more and projectile vomited into the toilet.
“There is no need for you to shower right now. I implore you to just brush your teeth,” Wakatoshi said, raking his hands gently through your hair. You felt a vague imprint on your temple. Soft. “You should go to sleep soon. I’ve prepared a sick bowl for you at the side of your bed, in case you require it.”
You woke up to the sound of rain pitter-pattering down your window. The sound would be calming if only it were not for the massive hangover you were currently nursing. Each drop sounds like a million gunshots right now, a firing squad, with you in the middle. You bury your face deeper into your pillow. How much did you sleep last night? Your hand blindly groped your nightstand for your phone, only to find something bumpy and a piece of paper. Huh?
You sat up, and squinted. Oh. Painkillers, and a note. Oh my god. Wakatoshi.
Hello (Y/N),
I have prepared some painkillers for you. I have also made breakfast and lunch for you; it’s in the kitchen. I’ve gone out to volleyball practice, so do not worry about me. Please rest well, and do not fret because I have contacted your friend Yui and called in your office for sick leave.
P.S. It’s Hayashi rice.
Take care,
Ushijima Wakatoshi, your roommate
All the memories from last night rushed back in one fell swoop. Some parts were extremely fuzzy, but you got the gist of it. You stormed into your house as drunk as a lord and then proceeded to profess your long standing love for your roommate in the worst way possible: though quoting Chopin’s fucking letters. You also puked excessively. In his arms. God, didn’t you come back around 10PM last night? You broke Wakatoshi’s rigid sleeping schedule, just for him to endure your drunken flirting!
And obviously Wakatoshi was still an angel, still making you hayashi rice and calling in sick after all that and…. Yeah. That’s a migraine, right there. How the fuck were you going to face him this evening? And the vomit bucket you distinctly remember puking your heart into was clean. Did he have to clean it before he went to practice? You had to make it up to him, somehow. Well that wasn’t possible, but you could still think of a way to address the situation and apologize. But before you started to construct your master plan, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand. There were four things you needed to do. Urgently.
First, time. It’s fucking 4PM. Wakatoshi, you’re so sorry. It’s neither breakfast nor lunch at this point.
Second, you down the painkillers. As you swallow, you vaguely appreciate the chemistry of medication.
Third,
You: SATORI I FUCKED UP
You: HAS HE TEXTED YOU
You: READ
You: I KNOW YOURE UP
Fourth,
You: YUI WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE
Yui: Oops did not think that one through
You: I TOLD HIM I LOVED HIM AND THEN I THREW UP IN HIS ARMS
Yui: Peak romance
You: WHAT THE FUCK
Yui: So r you here to thank me for wingwomanning?
You: NO
You: FUCK YOU
You: I SHOULD BLOCK YOU RIGHT NOW
Yui: <3
You dropped your phone on your face. God. Your life is ruined. Now you just have to attempt to make it up to him.
The door creaks open softly. Your heart drops into your chest.
“I’m home,” Wakatoshi says, leaning down to remove his shoes.
You grit your teeth. “Welcome back, Wakatoshi.”
He walks toward you and notices the two plates on the table. “Is that hayashi rice? Did you make some more?”
“Uhh… I woke up at 4 in the evening today, so I couldn’t eat your breakfast and lunch. I’ve heated it up for both of us as dinner, if you’re fine with that.”
Wakatoshi’s face morphs into an expression of concern. “You should eat more, to make up for the meals you’ve missed.”
You wave your hand in front of your face in apology. “Don’t worry, I already had some snacks after I woke up. Please help yourself.”
Both of you ate in silence for what must be 5 minutes. The lack of music that usually played during your meal times exponentially increased the awkward tension. You can’t take it anymore. Even if you die, you’ll have to resolve this.
“Wakatoshi,” You managed, your fork shaking with such force it looked as if it were in motion blur. “Um. About last night.”
Wakatoshi chewed methodically and swallowed his food. “Ah, yes. I was flattered by your proclamations.”
Boom. Your life is over. It’s done. You can hear the bells of the Kremlin’s cathedrals chiming gravely in your ear. You’ll have to move out. Maybe Wakatoshi hates you now. No, he would say it if he hated you. But he would not say it if he was just staying out of pity, being generally apathetic to your general existence. It’s understandable, you acted incredibly inappropriately. Maybe he would file a restraining order. Oh my god.
“I’m so sorry for what happened last night.” you blurted out, to prevent your brain from reaching further pathetic lengths. “Please forget it ever happened.”
Wakatoshi’s face visibly drops. “I understand if you wish to take back what you said last night—it was my fault for indulging you last night. I knew you were in a mentally altered headspace, but I lacked the proper self control. I apologize for my actions. Please forgive me for assuming you meant it. I hope this will have no impact on our current relationship as roommates.”
What.
I’ve never heard Wakatoshi talk for this long before , was your first thought, before your brain cells finally register all the other words. Huh????
“Huh? Take back? Assuming I meant it?”
Wakatoshi’s expression straightens, and he repeats: “I understand if you do not harbor romantic feelings for me. I acted very inappropriately last night, because I assumed you returned my affections.”
You flashed back to last night. The soft imprint on your temple. His hands tangled in your hair as he helped you throw up. And what was that he said? I assumed you returned my affections ?? Your brain promptly short-circuits, and your face slams into the dining table with a defining SMACK .
“Are you okay?” Wakatoshi says, his voice tiny. It breaks your heart to hear him like this, so you quickly draw your face up, damn your brain shutting down. “Again, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me—”
“No, Wakatoshi,” You managed to rasp out. “I do not wish to take it back. And there’s nothing to forgive you about.”
“So you are saying—you meant what you said last night?” Wakatoshi’s expression is quizzical now, and you can’t blame him. What the fuck is this situation, even. But the slight lift of his eyebrows softens his expression, and he looks almost hopeful.
“Yes. Though,” You felt your cheeks redden, “my confessions last night were so embarrassing. I’d still like you to forget them.” You held out your hand across the table. “So let’s just say we start over, sober this time. I love you, Wakatoshi. Romantically.”
Wakatoshi smiles one of his patented slight-curl-of-lip smiles this time, and envelops your hand in his. “As do I. Romantically.” His eyes crinkle. “Though it’d be hard for me to forget, since you told me so many interesting facts about Chopin. I’ve told you about the offer from Orzeł Warszawa; it would be nice if I could retain that information.”
You bury your face in your other hand. “Okay. Just forget everything that wasn’t a direct quote.”
He laughs, his voice gentle, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life.
You: nvm it worked out
Tendou: (^ω^)b
You: fucker i knew you were awake
One week after that fateful dinner, Tendou sends the both of you a package of heart-shaped chocolates from his new shop. The lid is engraved in gold with the words: Get it.
“I do not understand Satori, sometimes.” Wakatoshi says, when he gives it to you. “It is already clear that we have gotten the chocolates.”
Surprisingly, nothing much really changes between you and Wakatoshi. It really pisses you off, but Yui was right. Both of you were really living domestically together. The only differences are that now, your bentos sometimes have little hearts in them, you’ve moved your sleeping quarters to Wakatoshi’s bed (the Liszt portrait in your room feels like a voyeur), and sometimes he presses a kiss onto your forehead before you head out for work.
Another key difference is your weekly symphony sessions. The massage chairs sit untouched in the corner, both of you opting to snuggle on the couch instead. (Wakatoshi has expressed concerns about the limited usage of the chairs, so you are trying to figure out how to navigate Shopee.)
Beethoven’s Pastoral creeps to a triumphant end, as you press your face into Wakatoshi’s chest and intertwine your legs with his.
“‘I love you in a place where there’s no space or time.’” You say, your voice muffled by his pecs.
“Hm?”
“Have you heard this song, Wakatoshi?”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “I am not sure I remember.”
You smile now, and lift your face to lock eyes with his. “I think I'd love you in a place where there’s no space or time.”
“I’ve never asked you— but I don’t quite understand the statement. Why would their love still be significant in a space that doesn’t exist?”
“I don’t quite understand it either, but I think it implies that this person would love the target of their affections, even in a place where realistically, these feelings wouldn’t exist.”
Wakatoshi’s face softens in understanding. “So it’s hyperbole?”
“I suppose so.”
“It makes sense to me, now. I would feel the same way.”
“Hm?” You intone quizzically, and feel the warmth of his large hand as he cups your cheek.
“I think I would also love you in a place where there’s no space or time.”
fin.