Work Text:
Spring
It’s not like Yotasuke ever wanted to be friends with Yatora. At least, it’s not that he ever needed to be friends with him. Yotasuke survived his whole life without having a friend. And just when he thought things were starting to change for him—
“Rabbits aren’t friends.” The girl stared down at him intensely, as if by implying that, he had confessed to something awful. “If we don’t feed them, they die. That’s why they’re not friends.” It’s the same way Nekoyashiki looked at him. As if he was lacking something important, missing out on something everyone else understood.
Whatever brief understanding he had come to with Yatora, it faded away once they started at Geidai. Yatora was immediately encompassed by that loud group of idiots. Yotasuke wasn’t planning on talking to him, exactly. But it was strange to see him act as if they didn’t know each other in the first place. After Yatora had introduced him to his high school friends, Yotasuke kept thinking about it. Even if he didn’t want it to, it meant something: Yatora’s faint blush as he tripped over his words… Yotasuke, my closest friend… His chest felt tight thinking about it.
But it all amounted to nothing in the end. That spring, Yotasuke was always the first to start working, and the last to finish. He’d paint in the crowded room until all the noise behind him faded away. He’d realize, again, that everyone has left him behind without a second thought. He’d feel consumed by the quiet. It was like going home.
Until something shifts. A rumor spreads, and Yatora looks at him in the same way everyone else does. “Die,” he tells him. “Die.”
Yotasuke can’t remember the last time he’s been this upset. Yatora is the only person he has felt strongly about. He is sure, in that moment, that the feeling he harbors for him is hatred. Talent, not hard work. Yotasuke thinks it might be better if he was dead. No more art. No professor criticizing his every move. No mother who smiles nicely in front of everyone else, and tears him to shreds when the others turn their backs. No more watching Yatora’s life move on without him.
He doesn’t get out of bed for a while after that. When he thinks about going back to Geidai, he thinks about Yatora standing on the opposite side of the atelier, surrounded by his classmates. He thinks about Yatora looking at his art, but never at him– the furrow in his brow as he sees the new technique has already been mastered. It was the same pained expression he saw during the second exam, when Yatora collapsed on the stairwell. Yotasuke had found himself compelled to help him, as if he had no choice, his body moving on his own. He thinks of Yatora smoking a morning cigarette with Murai hanging on to him. Once Yotasuke even witnessed Murai taking the cigarette from Yatora’s lips and continuing to smoke it himself. Something about that made him feel sick. It was probably just the smoke.
——
“That rabbit really loves you.” When Yotasuke hears that familiar voice, he can’t stop himself from crying. Somehow, it feels safe to cry in front of Yatora. He doesn’t apologize or acknowledge what happened. Yatora doesn’t either. Things resolve naturally. As if he hadn’t been ignoring Yotasuke all this time, Yatora starts to follow him around again, inviting him out to eat, or just watching from a respectful distance as he paints.
(After Shibuya, the two of them fall asleep inside the art building. When Yotasuke wakes up, Yatora’s face is pressed against his shoulder. The line between the two of them seems to diminish. You don’t need art, he had told him before. He feels differently now.)
His determination is really something. Yatora tries to talk to him, even when he doesn’t know how to contribute to the conversation. Sometimes, Yotasuke sees him loitering behind as he talks to Okamoto. At first he thinks it’s Okamoto that he’s waiting for, except it keeps happening. Yatora, hanging around like a neglected puppy, waiting– for him?
Before winter break, Yatora waits for Yotasuke and Okamoto to finish their pokémon battle for over an hour. He assumes it’s not about him until Okamoto leaves, and Yatora’s still there. Once the two of them are alone, he asks an unexpected question. “So… are you and Okamoto together?”
“Do you think I’m incapable of friendship?” The words sound harsher than he intended. Somehow, that’s always how it is around Yatora.
“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Yatora defends himself. “It’s not a big deal either way. I mean, I’m bisexual. No one really cares about that sort of thing anymore, especially not here.”
Yotasuke is quiet for a long time. “How do you know?”
“Me? Uh… it’s just something that comes up when you like someone.” Yatora is blushing again.
“Okay.” So Yatora likes someone. A boy. Yotasuke hates that he already knows who it is. If Murai comes up to him to compliment his talent one more time—
“Forget that I asked.” Yatora interrupts his thoughts. “I’m not the best person to give advice. The boy I like isn’t interested in me at all… right?”
The boy I like isn’t interested in me at all… right?
Yotasuke’s heart pounds so violently that he thinks he must be having a heart attack. At a loss for words, he turns around and runs. He doesn’t check his phone until he gets home.
Yaguchi Yatora:
7:01
i’m sorry
7:07
forget about what i said
7:45
a group of us from geidai are going to karaoke over break. you should come
Takahashi Yotasuke:
9:00
OK.
——
Winter
On New Year's Eve, Yotasuke finds himself back at karaoke in Shibuya. This time, the first-year oil painting class fills the room. He’s squeezed between two of his classmates in the booth -- on one side of him is Miki and the other is Aizawa. It’s hard to be happy about this arrangement, but he supposes it could be worse. Yatora is sitting across the table from him, where Murai is holding him captive under one arm, speaking loudly about something. Yotasuke tunes him out. Aizawa talks to Miki while leaning over him, and Miki talks back. Miki attempts to include him in the conversation every once and a while, and Yotasuke mostly nods and tries to make peace with the fact that he is thoroughly trapped in his seat. He offers to switch places with one of them, but Miki adamantly refuses, with something about Yotasuke being perfect right where he is. He cringes at that. Miki interprets his discomfort as thirst, placing a drink in his hands.
He’s never drank alcohol before, but he feels as if he should. Yotasuke stares idly at Yatora. He’s not looking back. Murai is crooning Yatora~Yatora~ and trying to get him to wear his earrings. Yotasuke lifts up the glass and drinks. It’s beer. It tastes about what he expected. He remembers how quickly Yatora shut him down when he tried to order beer during their night together in Shibuya. He wasn’t sure why Yatora would drink with his other friends but not with him. The memory stings for some reason. Yotasuke feels incentivized to drink. Yatora is looking at him now. In fact, everyone is looking at him. “Hey– hey! Yotasuke, you’re still underage.”
“So are you.”
“Yatora, it’s not a big deal. What’s the worst that can happen?” Aizawa chimes in.
Murai starts laughing. It feels like he is laughing at him, not with him. He slides another glass across the table. Yotasuke takes it.
Yatora looks stressed out by this exchange. “We know nothing of his alcohol tolerance! It could be dangerous for him.”
Yotasuke glares at him. Drinking gives him something to do. It gives him an excuse to feel out of place at this party, which he already does. He’s not really drunk, but that’s probably a good thing. He thinks if he gets drunk, he might fight with Yatora again. Seeing him with the others isn’t what bothers him. It’s Murai’s dangling earring next to Yatora’s other piercings, swaying with his every move. He knows that he doesn’t have to worry about Murai, but that’s what stresses him out even more. To interrupt that train of thought, Yotasuke finishes his second drink, and another. Like the first night in Shibuya, he doesn’t plan on doing this again. But it’s easier after that– the party proceeds with karaoke, Miki and Aizawa doing a duet, even exchanging a drunken kiss under the colorful lights of the disco ball. When they kiss, he catches Yatora’s eye again, but he can’t tell what he’s thinking. Yatora rests his face against his palm, covering his lips and staring at Yotasuke as if he’s trying to figure out the same thing.
Yotasuke suddenly feels very drunk and very aware of how bad it is to be in the same place as him right now. He gets up before the song ends, distantly aware that he’s being followed. When he reaches the bathroom, no one else comes in. He’s unsure if that’s what he actually wanted. He turns on the sink, washing his face with cold water. Once he reaches the hallway, instead of turning back, he finds himself walking outside.
Outside the bar, Yatora is the only one remaining. He isn’t smoking. Yotasuke stands next to him without saying anything. In dim moonlight, Yatora is dyed blue. It’s very distracting.
“You know, I came here to see you tonight. But we haven’t had a chance to talk at all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I knew you would come since I invited you. But I see the others all the time, so I was gonna stay home to draw. And I wanted to talk about what I said.”
“I remember.” Yotasuke isn't sure what else to say.
When Yatora turns to him, his face is slightly pink from the cold. “I guess this is a rejection, huh?” He looks like he might be about to cry.
Yotasuke moves towards him cautiously, in the way that he would approach a small animal. Yatora flinches, as if he thinks Yotasuke is about to hit him. Still, he steps closer until they’re face to face, and it wouldn’t take much to close the distance.
“Yatora,” he exhales. “You’re an idiot.” Yotasuke pulls him closer by the collar of his shirt, standing on the tips of his toes to reach him. He feels Yatora’s breath against his face for a second, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. It’s meant to be brief, but before he can pull away, arms are wrapping around his back, holding him tightly and keeping him where he is. Yatora kisses him back, soft and passionate. When teeth dig into his bottom lip, Yotasuke moves away to bury his face in Yatora’s neck. His face feels hot.
“Well–that was, uh–”
“We don’t have to talk about this.”
“That was my first kiss, Yotasuke.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” Yatora grins like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.