hi im projecting onto mika even though he’s not my kin
“Oshi-san,” Mika whines. “Maintenance.”
Shu doesn’t look up from the magazine he’s reading. He looks over the capes the models are wearing. They’ve got some kind of stitching at the edges he can’t quite make out. He chews on his thumbnail. It’d be tough to replicate the kind of intricacy of the stitching, but he thinks he has the gist of it. A lighter red might work, maybe some shiny gold, if he didn’t go overboard. Valkyrie weren’t like the pompous dogs who called themselves kings of Yumenosaki Academy. They achieved a kind of subtle elegance those fed with silver spoons could never replicate. They were–
“Oshi-san,” Mika whines again, louder this time. “Maintenance.”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” Shu says, dropping the magazine and shooting Mika a frosty glare. “Have you no patience? This is an important task, you good-for-nothing. Unless you think you’re fit for designing new outfits for Valkyrie?”
Mika peeks over the edge of the couch, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose visible. His hands curl over the edge. Shu is reminded of a dog with its paws on the counter, begging for dinner scraps. He’s got the look down perfectly–shaggy hair falling in his face and stray hairs sticking up every which way. He’d clearly just woken up.
“Oshi-san doesn’t like my ideas, though,” Mika says. “Innit better if the smarter of the two of us takes the lead?”
“See,” Shu says, picking up the magazine. “You can say intelligent things, once in a blue moon.”
“I’m busy, Kagehira,” Shu says. “Any tears in your uniform can wait.”
Shu scowls. “I’ve already weighed you today. You’re putting on weight again, so stop worrying about it.”
“What? Snacks? Make-up? If it’s something you want, either help yourself or wait for me to finish reading.”
“Nnn,” Mika says. “Maintenance.”
“Are you stupid, or deaf?” Shu snaps, dropping the magazine again. “What are you–”
Mika’s condition catches him off guard. Mika has moved to the end of the couch now, leaning into the armrest, slumped against it, really. Even through his bangs, Shu can see how bright Mika’s eyes are. He’s chewing his bottom lip–a dreadful habit Shu needed to break him of; he’d ruin the soft texture of his lips–and not looking at Shu, exactly, but kind of around him, up and down his body and at the couch and at his chest and Shu understands.
Oh. It was that kind of maintenance.
Shu sighs. “Your timing, as usual, is no less than impeccably unfortunate.”
Mika fidgets, twirling a hair around is finger. “Then Oshi-san won’t…”
“Are you a child?” Shu says. “Ask properly when you need something.”
“I tried,” Mika huffs, unusually rebellious for him, and Shu considers that they haven’t really had time for this kind of maintenance with preparations for the DreamFes against Akatsuki. And Kiryuu wouldn’t be helping with the costumes, either.
He’d been stressed by the upcoming project, and when he got stressed it was all he could do to feed and bathe himself while trying to tackle the project and as such, Mika hadn’t been at the front of his mind. But of course, Mika fed off of his emotions and mental state like a self-destructive leech and of course, he would be stressed, too. It was more surprising that he hadn’t asked sooner.
“You’re almost an adult,” Shu says, sighing. “You’ve got to take care of yourself. You can’t be depending on me forever, you know.”
“I know,” Mika says, puffing his cheeks. “I spent more time with Naru-chan an’ I even splurged on some cheap sweets. I’ve been doin’ all I can to calm down but…”
But it wasn’t the same. Right.
“Can’t be helped,” Shu grunts. “Come.”
He puts his magazine off to the side and wiggles as far into the couch cushions as he can from where he’s been splayed across the couch. There’s no point though–Mika pays no mind to the offering of personal space. The couch dips on either side of Shu and Mika hovers over him, one hand braced against the back of the couch. His eyes fall to Shu’s, that same, hungry, half-lidded that makes the hairs on the back of Shu’s neck stand up as he falls into Mika’s shadow.
(It’s not quite like being consumed, but rather the threat that he might be: that one day, Mika will realize that close is not close enough and Shu will be devoured alive. Mika’s devotion to him is nothing laughable; he would fall on a blade for Shu, even if Shu finds the idea preposterous. As a puppet, obedient and pliant, Mika remains a known, controllable quantity.
But if he were to become self-aware. If he were to understand what this closeness meant, and decide he wanted it.
The moment is over in a heartbeat, and Mika lowers himself onto Shu’s chest. He wriggles back and forth, settling his body against as much of Shu’s skin as he can. Their legs intertwine and their feet hook each other. One of Mika’s hands curls around Shu’s side and the other presses over his heart. Mika’s head follows, pressed against Shu’s chest, a few tendrils of hair tickling Shu’s chin.
“Oshi-san’s heart is beatin’ so fast,” Mika murmurs. “Do ya really hate this?”
“Don’t say stupid things,” Shu says. “Do you know how stressful this event is?”
“Mmm, I feel like I’m just usin’ ya then,” Mika says. “Since yer heartbeat is the most calming sound in th’ world to me.” Shu feels Mika’s body tighten in a stretch and then feels all the tension leave Mika’s body as he relaxes against Shu.
He’s warm. Shu has problems with the cold–wears enough scarves that Kiryuu laughed at him for it and the kind of parkas that wouldn’t let him rest his arms flat at his sides. His ears and cheeks are permanently ruddy in winter, flushed with cold.
But Mika–Mika takes all that coldness away. Unflinchingly. He rests his head against cold skin, tucks warm fingers around freezing sides, and he accepts the ice-encrusted edges to Shu. Even when they’re sharp. Even when they cut. Surely, he’d say something like ‘I don’ feel much pain anyway, ain’t a big deal!’ with a big, dumb smile on his face.
“Using me?” Shu says. “You’re not nearly clever enough to come up with something like that on your own. Nor would I allow you to take advantage of me. If you stress over it, I’ll have to discipline you.”
“Okay, okay,” Mika says, half-laughing against Shu’s collarbone and making his heart throb. “I’ll just enjoy it then.”
Mika is warm, and soft to the touch, and light, only a blanket across Shu’s body. If Shu presses against his sides he’ll feel the ridges of ribs. If he presses against his back, the bumps of vertebrae. Against his hips, the cut of his pelvis. Mika takes Shu as he is, but he is just a boy. He’s not fit to take on all that Shu is, with so fragile a frame, as breakable as Mademoiselle.
Shu holds Mika with one arm and strokes his hair with his free hand. He tangles his fingers in the knots of his hair, the kind that snag at his fingers and make Mika look scruffier than he is. Make him look less beautiful than he is. Bit by bit, Shu picks apart the tangles in his hair, smoothing it down to the regular, too-long mess that it was. Mika snuffles.
“Nnnn,” he says. “I love this maintenance the most.”
Mika was using him? How laughable. Shu needed this, probably more than Mika did. Mika was his rock, his affirmation. Valkyrie lived because of Mika, and Shu lived because of Valkyrie. It was Mika who had taken the weight of Shu’s fall and caught him with that fragile, too-slender frame and held him up, even at the expense of his own health. Shu lived because of Mika. And he would live for Mika, until the day Mika’s eyes were no longer on his.
“Ne, Oshi-san,” Mika says. “Your heartbeat calmed down.”
“Obviously,” Shu says. “This maintenance is for me as much as it is for you.”
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
dededos
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
