Tamaki Amajiki did not want to kiss his best friend and there were many reasons why:
He didn’t know how it would feel afterwards, would it feel amazing, awkward or just plain awful? Would there be fireworks, as everyone describes their first kiss, or just a room full of heavy tension of who-knows-what? Mirio was his best friend, and had been for the past nine or so years now. Would anything change if they did something not-so-strictly-platonic? Sure, they cuddled and held hands when they were younger and sometimes even now if it was really needed, but that didn’t make them anything more than best friends.
Forget how he or Mirio would feel, how would other people feel? How would the hundreds, maybe thousands of students and pro heroes feel?
Well, since they were chosen, unanimously voted, for the leading romantic couple in the musical his class was going to put together for his school’s cultural festival, maybe it wouldn’t matter. They knew the couple of the musical was so cheesy and romantic it was almost gross, so they must have not cared, right? Or was it just one big joke?
Honestly, Tamaki didn’t think much of his class’s choice of putting together a musical. He figured he could just have chosen to be stage-crew. There was no way he was going on stage, right? Wrong. Somehow he had been chosen for the role of Tony. He wasn’t sure how it happened because when he heard the words “Amajiki can sing? ", gasped among the mouths of many of his classmates, his head was filled with a wave of anxiety, taking over all of his senses, and he could only focus on the thoughts inside his head. He knew there was no way he could have gotten out of that. And so, his life was over.
His body jolted, surprised. He blinked hard, looking down at the script held loosely between his index fingers and thumbs. He then looked up to meet Mirio’s gaze from across the way. His eyes were deep, in a strange sense. They seemed black from a distance, but Tamaki knew that if you looked real close they were blue. They were a deep ocean blue, perhaps hiding many things, but Tamaki could always tell what they said. Right now, they spoke waves of concern and relief.
“There you are,” Mirio smiled softly, his voice soothing, immediately calming Tamaki’s body and soul. “Where’d you go?” He chuckled slightly.
Tamaki huffs a small laugh of his own through his nostrils and smiles the smallest of smiles. “Just somewhere,” he simply said, quietly closing the script and resting his elbows on his knees, propping his chin up on his knuckles.
Mirio tilts his head to the side, curious. His face asked an obvious question. What place?
“Not the fire escape, that’s for sure,” he answers, shrugging. He didn’t know how to describe his mind. He didn’t want to say something like the void or the bottom of the ocean. That would only either make his best friend even more worried or laugh. He would much prefer the latter over the former. But he didn’t risk either.
The blonde across from him hums thoughtfully. “Would you like to take a break?” He asks, his voice slightly contorted, as he rested his cheek on the heel of his palm, which was supported by his elbow. He was laying down on Tamaki’s bed, his own script in front of him. With the sun shining in from his bedroom window behind him, it looked as if the golden strands of his hair glowed. It was quite an ethereal sight, Tamaki couldn’t help but think.
“Yeah, I think I would,” he nodded briefly.
Mirio hummed again and let out a nod of his own.
It was then silence started to lapse between them. Silences between the two were never filled with some kind of tension. They’ve known each other long enough to be comfortable in any kind of silences. But this one was different. It was filled with something Tamaki couldn’t describe himself but it felt… cramped and itchy.
He picked awkwardly at the edges of his script’s pages until he heard Mirio’s voice chime in again, his voice oddly peculiar.
“I mean, we could practice something else, too.”
“And what is that?” Tamaki’s pointed ears twitched and he looked back up at the blonde. His face was slightly pink but he was grinning.
“Kissing practice~” He answered in a sing-song voice.
“You’re excited about that?” His ears twitched down, he felt his face immediately heat up and his palms felt as if he was beginning to summon a burst of flame.
“Well, yeah, aren’t you?” Mirio’s face immediately reddened but his smile never waned.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Tamaki’s voice was small.
“I know that. If you did, I would know.” He shrugged. Of course, they knew almost everything about each other and each other’s lives. Tamaki knew Mirio has kissed a person or two, he’s been in relationships, but they never lasted long. It genuinely bewildered him at times, who wouldn’t want to be washed in his sunlight every day of their life? Him grinning just for you, him holding you in his arms, being adored by him, being his entire world? Tamaki knew that when Mirio fell for someone, he fell hard.
Tamaki found his stomach full of butterflies and knots at his thoughts.
“Are you okay with this?” Mirio’s voice was suddenly cautious, it almost startled him. Mirio always dove head first into things, no matter how challenging. Tamaki couldn’t find himself to be too surprised with his best friend’s enthusiasm. They were doing this for the whole school.
His fists closed around his ankles and eyes clenched tight, Tamaki nodded slowly. He had to right? This is what he signed up for, this was his role. Well, it was more like what his classmates signed him up for. But he had to do this nonetheless.
The rustling of the comforter beneath them indicated that Mirio was getting into a more comfortable position. He felt their knees touch.
Shouldn’t he have asked if Mirio was okay with this too? He must have been if he was so ecstatic. But Mirio was the type of person to do things even if he didn’t like it, especially if it was for other people he held close and dear. Perhaps it was a quality of his being a hero. Leave the dirty work for him. Maybe Tamaki should have done more as such.
“Loosen up, Tamaki, it’s not like I’m going to bite your head off,” Mirio had once again interrupted his busy thoughts, his breathy laugh washing over his face. He was close.
The grip on his ankles loosened as he felt a hand on his chin, guiding his head into an appropriate position. He was glad it wasn’t on his neck, or else Mirio would have felt the bum bum bum of his heart ramming against his ribcage. He was also glad for a warning sign before he felt chapped lips on his own.
His kiss felt like sunlight and honey. Warm and soothing. Safe and healing. Soft and precious.
Tamaki moved to pull away, only for Mirio to follow and capture his lips again. He felt the other’s lips quirk up into a smile on his own. He took hold on Tamaki’s hands resting on his ankles, his thumb gliding gently along his knuckles. Back and forth.
Mirio was many things, Tamaki just the moon. Mirio could be the waves of the deep blue ocean, Tamaki tugging at his waves, drawing him towards him with his gravitational pull. Mirio could be the sun, shining on Tamaki so that he, too, could shine in the dark of the night. He would never be able to shine on his own.
And yet, he could have never felt more human than this.
“Hm?” He hummed. Tamaki thought he had heard, felt, Mirio murmur something.
Mirio pulled back and burst out laughing for seemingly no reason at all, his grip tightening on his hands. This caused Tamaki to tilt his head, his ears flicking. “Nothing, nothing,” the blonde waved his hands and took a deep breath in. He couldn’t tell if his pink dusted face was from their… practice or from laughing. “It’s just,” one of his hands moved from Tamaki’s hands to the back of his own neck, and he found himself missing the warmth, “You’re a surprisingly good kisser for your first time.” He said carefully.
Tamaki felt his face heat up and he gave his best friend’s shoulder a shove with his free hand. “Shut up,” he murmured bashfully.
“What? It was a compliment!” Mirio exclaimed, his laughter booming, filling up with whole room with sunshine.
He felt a bubble blow in his chest until he felt himself laughing along. It started as a quiet chuckle, to a giggle he failed to cover, to a full boisterous laugh to compete with his best friend’s. It must have been him, Mirio. Everything he did was so contagious. His laughter, his smile, his frown. Everything.
When their laughing fit subsided, Tamaki heard Mirio ask, “Can we do that again?”
“Do what?” Was his instinctual response, though he knew exactly what he was asking.
And Tamaki felt his lips on his own once more.