Cats of Musutafu

“You put your arm around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, that’s pathetic.” || @ask-yamada

Shouta squeezes tighter in response, trying to find the words to say it was fine to feel that way. It’s not like Shouta was any better. If anything, he was worse, if his awkward one-armed hug was anything to go by.

Comfort was not his strong suit. Fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, and he still felt at a loss trying to lend him a shoulder to lean on. It didn’t keep him from trying, when it felt appropriate, but it still made him anxious. He didn’t want to misstep and make it worse, after all.

Finally, he settles for a lame “It’s fine.”

@ask-yamada

“But is it really, though? Or do you think that’d fall in the ‘barely functioning disaster’ category?”

Hizashi sighs, carefully slinging an arm around Shouta’s shoulder that only lingered alone for a moment before he stepped over in front of him for a proper embrace. His cheek rests against Shouta’s as he closes his eyes, a smile already creeping up onto his face despite any sort of moral dilemma he may be having.

He was confident by now that he’s been treading more carefully than he needed to, he wasn’t the same touch-adverse kid he was when they first met, not by a long shot. But, still, there was always the lingering worry of accidentally going a step too far somewhere past a comfort zone he may or may not know about and bugging him out. The question in his mind was always if he was as happy or comfortable past an arm around his shoulders as Hizashi was. He’d always been the touchy-felt type, and he knew he was the person who broke Shouta out of that ice, but he was never certain if he pushed his boundaries.

"'S not like we can help it, 'Zashi."

Shouta returns the embrace easily, trying not to be too obvious as he melts into the hold. Honestly, Shouta could stay like this until his legs gave out, if Hizashi let him.

"You don't let it affect your work. Or force yourself onto people. That seems functional to me."

After all, if Shouta wasn't a willing victim to Hizashi's affection, he wouldnt stay so close at hand. Literally. He'd dodge Hizashi's wild gestures for the rest of his life if it meant they could sit shoulder to shoulder. Every bump, every brush, every nudge felt like a gust of warm air after being stuck in a blizzard. Shouta liked to imagine every touch was a bit of glue on his battered soul.

Humans were aggressively social creatures. They needed connection like they needed air, food, and sleep. It was only logical to still feel touch-starved years after the trauma of going without.

#ask-shinso #interactions #ask answered

“My family was never really the touchy-feely type.”

Shouta slowly reaches out and ruffles Shinso's hair. He watches his body language to make sure his touch isn't unwelcome. People were always pointing out how similar they were, so it wouldnt be too out of left field if Shinso was touch-adverse, like Shouta had been in high school.

"Mine weren't either."

He leaves it at that, understanding but open for interpretation. Much like Shinso's own comment on his home life. In the back of his mind, Shouta wonders if there's a way he can tell Shinso he can trust Shouta with the details. All of them sound insincere, echoes of Shouta's own teachers. Another time, maybe, when there was a stronger trust between them. That, he could work on now.

"Do you like touchy-feely things, Shinso?"

“You put your arm around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, that’s pathetic.” || @ask-yamada

Shouta squeezes tighter in response, trying to find the words to say it was fine to feel that way. It’s not like Shouta was any better. If anything, he was worse, if his awkward one-armed hug was anything to go by.

Comfort was not his strong suit. Fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, and he still felt at a loss trying to lend him a shoulder to lean on. It didn’t keep him from trying, when it felt appropriate, but it still made him anxious. He didn’t want to misstep and make it worse, after all.

Finally, he settles for a lame “It’s fine.”

@ask-yamada

#ask-yamada #ask answered

bewitchingmemes

touch-starved starters!!

❝ no one’s ever done that to me before. ❞

❝ could you play with my hair? ❞

❝ i can’t remember the last time i did this with someone. ❞

❝ that feels nice. ❞

❝ i haven’t been hugged in years. ❞

❝ i never want to let go. ❞

❝ let’s just cuddle forever. ❞

❝ you put your arm around me and i literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic. ❞

❝ i just want to be held for a little while. ❞

❝ you’re legally obligated to keep holding me. ❞

❝ i think i forgot what human contact felt like. ❞

❝ i need to remember what hugs feel like. ❞

❝ do you mind if we stay like this for a little longer? ❞

❝ my family was never the touchy-feely type. ❞

❝ i’ve never been in a relationship before, so i don’t really know how to do the whole…kissing thing. ❞

❝ you were my first kiss. ❞

❝ could we cuddle, like, platonically? ❞

❝ i’m in desperate need of a hug. ❞

❝ i didn’t even know i was ticklish there! ❞

#ask prompt #((o w o))

"Oi, Shou? Can we talk—?" || @ask-yamada

“Sure. I have time.”

Shouta sets aside the grading he’d taken home. Hizashi sounded serious, with an undercurrent of nervousness. It’s a combination Shouta hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since they were both so new to making friends, both unsure if the other’s intent and emotions. Even if Shouta didn’t have a moment to spare, he’d make time for Hizashi, with that vulnerability in his voice.

@ask-yamada

Not just a tinge, but a wave of regret has already washed over Hizashi as he watches Shouta set aside his work for him. For him to stand here, and try to fumble for the words he knew he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to find. It was times like this—times where he wasn’t in front of a crowd, or had any lines to rehearse prior (he figured that it might sound faulty if he made himself a script to rehearse, but maybe he should’ve, since his throat is already tightening up and his face scrunches up a little bit), that he wonders how he managed to get paid from three different sources to use his words.

The gears in his head start turning through pages of words that could maybe, possibly help him, but no words manifest, and nothing comes out of his mouth. For a moment, he’s left there standing, frozen like a deer in headlights, and his expression contorts a bit.

“I—um- I-’ve, ‘m—”

Alarm bells start ringing in Shouta’s head. He could feel Hizashi’s unease, and couldn’t help but go over the past couple days, trying to think of anything that would have upset his best friend. Nothing came to mind. So, Shouta does his best to be comforting. It’s not something that comes naturally to him, but after fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, he likes to think he knows what works best.

Softly, he takes Hizashi’s hand. He squeezes it softly, then traces a slow circle with his thumb, hoping the movement would give Hizashi something to focus on. Then, calmly, quietly, Shouta prompts him to continue.

“What’s on your mind, ‘Zashi?”

Hizashi’s chest flutters, a small smile pulling his lips. Normally, he didn’t let himself think about the fact that Shouta was touching him, but right now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it, seeing as the way it made his chest ache and his heart soar was what he wanted to—had to—address. Everything in him tells him to tighten his grip, but he refuses his instinct, just for spite of not trapping Shouta, if he repulsed him by what he was going to say. He didn’t like the thought, but…he had to accept it as a possible outcome, that Shouta would be bothered by the gesture and want to get away.

“I—” Hizashi tries again, but his words falter. He didn’t know what to say, really, he knew that Shouta wasn’t won over by fancy words or speeches, he knew he would probably much rather just hear him spit it out, if he wanted to hear him say anything at all. But…it didn’t seem like enough in Hizashi’s eyes. A simple ‘I’ve been in love with you for at least fourteen years’ didn’t even begin to express anything that he felt, not even the least of it. In his struggle, he stares down the floor by Shouta’s feet, looking more somber and lost than ever, his mouth opening and closing at least a dozen times as he tries to string something together, only to give up before anything even comes out.

With his free hand, he reaches up to pull his glasses off and push them on top of his head, a frustrated groan leaving his throat as he rubs his face.

“Why is it so fucking difficult to talk about things that actually matter?”

Shouta’s doesn’t think that’s what Hizashi really wanted to talk about, but he tries to find an answer anyway. While he gets his words in order, he tugs Hizashi down to join him on the couch. Part of him is unsure if he should keep holding Hizashi’s hand, but he’s come a long way from the kid he was in highschool. He could trust Hizashi to be honest, especially with his body language. That soft smile meant he appreciated the gesture. The lack of Hizashi’s usual brand of physical affection didn’t mean he didn’t want to be touched. He’d have pulled away or stepped back if that was the case. No, it spoke of hesitancy. This conversation, for whatever reason, made Hizashi, of all people, hesitate to touch. That put more weight on this conversation than anything else.

“There’s more at stake, maybe. No one is going to remember if you say something wrong during your story about running into a childhood friend, but they probably will if it’s a more serious topic.”

With the vague hint of “things that actually matter,” Shouta can’t help trying to puzzle out what Hizashi was trying to get at, again. The list of things Shouta knew Hizashi struggled to talk about was short but varied. His health is the first to come to mind, and Shouta’s stomach drops at the thought of Hizashi hiding a serious illness. His worry steamrolls his head-to-mouth filter, his concern obvious in his voice.

“You’re not dying, are you?”

“No—! No, I’m not dying, it’s nothing like that, Shou, I promise.”

The uncertainty in his voice vanishes with his immediate rebuttal, finally squeezing his hand, maybe a touch too tightly. He’s quick to loosen back up, though, feeling all the more guilty. He didn’t have a clue, he realizes, and everything—his wary tone, his body language, the same kind of jittery hesitation that he hadn’t shown towards Shouta in…god, he couldn’t even remember how long it’d been—it was all completely out of left-field. Suddenly Shouta’s worry that he was on Death’s doorstep didn’t seem as bizarre, if not just a tad disheartening that death was the first thing that came to mind for him, over anything else.

He didn’t live in fiction. He isn’t some character in the countless books he read, in any of the shitty romance novels he’d choked down during his last year at Yuuei in hopes to ‘study’ his own feelings that he’d become acutely aware of at the time, and how to go about dealing with them. He couldn’t just cup his cheeks and look into his eyes and let out a flawlessly adorkable speech about how he’s been thinking about this moment since he first laid eyes on him, and about how he completed him, and that he could never imagine a life without him in it. Even with a lifetime of speaking, of going with his gut on the fly and changing wind at a seconds notice, even with over a decade of preparation, he still couldn’t even choke out a coherent sentence with anything to do with what he’d needed to say for too long.

But, the worry in Shouta’s tone that lingered in his head tore at him. It was a rarity to hear any kind of pitch shift, hear any kind of emotion seep into his words, but the worry in his tone had been driving a knife through Hizashi’s chest. It was because he couldn’t just spit it out, because he was afraid to tell him how he felt that Shouta feared that his life was the topic he couldn’t bring up from his throat.

He draws in a sharp breath, his expression turned stone as he speaks, a bit too firmly considering the sentence it accompanies.

“I’m in love with you, Shouta.”

Shouta feels many strong emotions over the course of a few seconds. Relief. Hizashi isn’t on his deathbed. Flustered. That was the absolute worst case scenario he jumped to, wasn’t it? Hizashi didn’t look sick, hadn’t given any hints towards being sick, and Shouta was used to looking for that kind of thing in Hizashi. Back to worry. Hizashi didn’t turn hard and serious like this often. Just because it wasn’t to serious as death, didn’t mean it wasn’t something bad. Finally, the confession (and that’s what this is, if Shouta heard him right, a confession) finally registers. Disbelief, and traitorous hope flares to life in Shouta’s heart. It makes his blood pound in his ears, his jaw go slack in a tiny gasp, and it all feels a little too good to be true. Because the fact is, Shouta didn’t get confessions. Never had. And he’d settled for familiar ache in his chest over ever telling Hizashi about his feelings, because he had too much to loose for something he wasn’t sure if he could actually handle. Now, it was being offered to him on an average weeknight. Shouta’s hair is a knotted mess, his stubble is getting a bit too long, he’s worn these clothes twice since the last time he washed them. For the first time in a long time, Shouta doesn’t feel presentable, in a way that actually bothers him. Shouta isn’t ready for the only love of his life to confess to him.

So, his words, unprocessed and unfiltered, come out flat. Cold. Completely without the flurry of emotions hiding under the surface, because if he heard Hizashi wrong, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

“What?”

Logically, Shouta thinks it fits. He and Hizashi didn’t really talk much about crushes, or love interests. On Shouta’s part, it was because he’d really only ever been interested in Hizashi. He didn’t crave a relationship like most people seemed to, who’s fancy seemed to change with the weather. Most physical touch felt tolerable at best, he prefered the quiet and being alone, and he was bad at sharing his emotions. Except with Hizashi.

Shouta licks his lips, throat suddenly dry as he tries asking again, a bit less robotically, “What did you say?”

A weight lifts from Hizashi’s chest, before it’s immediately slammed right back down, and it feels as if it’d multiplied by ten—his throat felt like it was splitting in two with his chest. He’d felt the spike of adrenaline as soon as the words left his lips, but it’d been too late to retreat and stop it, too late to reel himself back as he had time and time again. It was far too late, it’d been that way since he’d set foot through the threshold of Shouta’s apartment. His tone cuts like a knife, monotone and…what, exactly? He hadn’t heard that before, not like this, anyway, and he didn’t know what that meant. Hizashi thought that he knew each and every little thing there was to know, but Shouta’s voice baffled him.

“I—I’m in love with you,” He repeats, his voice still as sure as his tightened throat allowed him to be, and confident as his unsure mind was. Even if it wasn’t returned, Hizashi wanted him to know. To know that he was serious, beyond any shadow of doubt.

He couldn’t even see, Shouta was a blurred mess of black and beige, but he still turns his head away and closes his eyes tightly, as if he could see the look on his face that wasn’t even there past his mind’s eye, something of mortification that he assumed would be his reaction. His hand clasps tightly over his mouth, nose scrunched up and his breath growing evermore unsteady and disheveled with every one he drew in. Hizashi expects him to let go of his hand. Laugh it off, tell him that he couldn’t be serious, just to try to give him an opening to make it a joke so that Shouta didn’t have to explain just how much he wasn’t interested in him—because how could he be, really?

In nothing more than a second, his mind goes through everything falling apart like a shattered mirror. He sees every time Shouta has ever walked in another direction, every time he’s ever grown the least bit irritated with him; He sees every time he’s ever been worried for him, every time he’s smiled, or laughed, everything that he is and will always be that makes Hizashi’s chest flutter and stomach tie in knots. And, for a moment, he considers never seeing any of it again, and Shouta rethinking everything, and looking back on it all repulsed by the thought of what Hizashi’s view on it all might be.

He was an idiot, with a big mouth and no sense of when to stop. He always had been, and always would be.

He was in love with him.

Hizashi. Beautiful, smart, bright Hizashi, was in love with him.

Shouta knows what’s supposed to come next. He’s supposed to say it back, and he would mean it. They’d hug, and maybe kiss, and Hizashi wouldn’t look like he was trying not to cry. He’d be smiling, and happy, and it’d be because of something Shouta did, something Shouta’s been doing silently, for years. It was supposed to be easy. After all, Hizashi did the hard part: he said it while everything was unclear and risky.

So why can’t he get his voice to work?

Why can’t he put to words all the things he feels? It’s a lot, enough to make him tremble, he’s happier than he’s ever been in living memory, but there’s still a shroud of self-doubt hanging over him. Shouta doesn’t know if he’ll be enough, doesn’t know if he could bear Hizashi ever telling him he needs more than what Shouta can offer him. But, Hizashi has never asked for more than what Shouta could give. Sure sometimes it’s a stretch, but the times Shouta has regretted going along with Hizashi’s plans and ideas are few and far between. All of them, the fault had lied with someone else, not Hizashi himself. Why would this be any different? It’s not like the outcome is one Shouta doesn’t want. He’s never wanted to be close with anyone like he does with Hizashi, so why?

Why is Shouta crying, for the first time in twenty-three years, instead of telling Hizashi what they both want him to say?

Helpless, Shouta watches Hizashi fall into a similar well of self-doubt. He knows what he must be thinking, knows what this looks like, but Shouta feels completely frozen. It had been far too long since Shouta daydreamed about something like this. Confessions was a high school tradition, it’d died when they graduated. The unexpectedness of all of this has left Shouta unarmed; he has no idea where to start.

It’s Hizashi covering his own mouth, as if to scoop the words out of the air and shove them back down his throat, that gets Shouta to react, to move. A strangled noise of protest escapes his throat; Hizashi should never, ever feel like that. Like he needs to catch his words and eat them whole. Not with Shouta. Not about this. The words won’t come fast enough, so Shouta gives up on returning them. Instead he reaches out to grab the front of Hizashi’s shirt in a tight fist. Slowly, Shouta drags Hizashi forward. With trembling lips, Shouta presses a feather-light kiss against the fingers covering Hizashi’s mouth. Actions had always been easier than words for Shouta. He hoped it was enough.

Every second that passes is excruciating, with no light at the end of the tunnel Hizashi was going down. There’s no hopeful tone in the back of his mind that reminds him of logic, that what he’d just unloaded upon Shouta was something he would have to unpack, not to expect an immediate answer, because there was no way that anyone could ever give one that quickly. Shouta had to go through the same kind of emotional journey here as Hizashi did, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about. He was too focused on the certain negative.

It isn’t until the first audible cue that he stops blank. He isn’t re-grounded, it doesn’t dismiss his train of thought in the right way, but his mind halts entirely alongside his breathing, and seemingly his heart as he braces himself for whatever that could possibly mean. What that noise was, what it meant combined with the hand balled in the front of his shirt, which, under normal circumstances, was usually promptly followed with him getting his lights punched out. So, he can’t help but try to brace himself for just that, and somehow, his face scrunches up more, alongside his shoulders as his muscles tense.

What he doesn’t expect is the sequence that follows instead.

He feels weightless, for a moment. Shock hits first, before he feels his face start to burn and a toothy grin cracks behind his hand. He was afraid to move it, though, to speak—he knew that he was more than capable of controlling his volume at this point, but right now, he wasn’t entirely certain that he wouldn’t be at least a bit unstable. His initial fears and intrusive thoughts are coaxed to silence by one little action, and Hizashi couldn’t ask for it to be anything more than what Shouta gave him, not ever. He understood exactly what he meant by it. Words aren’t always the right way to communicate once the conversation starts.

His eyes open, and, this close, he can make out Shouta’s face—the fact that he was crying made his chest feel tight, he just didn’t do that, he didn’t recall seeing Shouta with tears in his eyes ever, and it was more than enough for him to forget his own query. Even if he knew by now that they weren’t of pain, it still hurt.

“Oi oi oi— I didn’t say it so that you’d start doin’ all that, now-” He chokes out through his grin and a breathy snicker, moving the hand that was once over his mouth to cup Shouta’s cheek. Carefully, with his thumb, Hizashi wipes away his tears, finally squeezing Shouta’s hand with the other. This time, he doesn’t let go.

#ask-yamada #interactions #((i am absolutely l i v i n g for this gay shit #soft gay hours lads))

Shouta catches Hizashi's laughter quickly, and once he starts, he can't seem to stop. The relief of being understood makes the weight of the situation fly into reverse. The boulders in his stomach turn to helium and Shouta feels lighter than air, like if he lets go of Hizashi's hand, he'll drift up to the ceiling.

Like a cat, he leans into Hizashi's touch. Every carefully laid boundary Shouta had drawn in his mind had been swept away. He was eager to figure out where the new ones would be placed. Slowly, he relaxes the fist clenching Hizashi's shirt, letting it drift down to rest comfortably at Hizashi's waist. Reverently, he brings their joined hands to his mouth, and presses a soft kiss to each of Hizashi's knuckles.

"Why did you say it then, 'Zashi?"

"Oi, Shou? Can we talk—?" || @ask-yamada

“Sure. I have time.”

Shouta sets aside the grading he’d taken home. Hizashi sounded serious, with an undercurrent of nervousness. It’s a combination Shouta hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since they were both so new to making friends, both unsure if the other’s intent and emotions. Even if Shouta didn’t have a moment to spare, he’d make time for Hizashi, with that vulnerability in his voice.

@ask-yamada

Not just a tinge, but a wave of regret has already washed over Hizashi as he watches Shouta set aside his work for him. For him to stand here, and try to fumble for the words he knew he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to find. It was times like this—times where he wasn’t in front of a crowd, or had any lines to rehearse prior (he figured that it might sound faulty if he made himself a script to rehearse, but maybe he should’ve, since his throat is already tightening up and his face scrunches up a little bit), that he wonders how he managed to get paid from three different sources to use his words.

The gears in his head start turning through pages of words that could maybe, possibly help him, but no words manifest, and nothing comes out of his mouth. For a moment, he’s left there standing, frozen like a deer in headlights, and his expression contorts a bit.

“I—um- I-’ve, ‘m—”

Alarm bells start ringing in Shouta’s head. He could feel Hizashi’s unease, and couldn’t help but go over the past couple days, trying to think of anything that would have upset his best friend. Nothing came to mind. So, Shouta does his best to be comforting. It’s not something that comes naturally to him, but after fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, he likes to think he knows what works best.

Softly, he takes Hizashi’s hand. He squeezes it softly, then traces a slow circle with his thumb, hoping the movement would give Hizashi something to focus on. Then, calmly, quietly, Shouta prompts him to continue.

“What’s on your mind, ‘Zashi?”

Hizashi’s chest flutters, a small smile pulling his lips. Normally, he didn’t let himself think about the fact that Shouta was touching him, but right now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it, seeing as the way it made his chest ache and his heart soar was what he wanted to—had to—address. Everything in him tells him to tighten his grip, but he refuses his instinct, just for spite of not trapping Shouta, if he repulsed him by what he was going to say. He didn’t like the thought, but…he had to accept it as a possible outcome, that Shouta would be bothered by the gesture and want to get away.

“I—” Hizashi tries again, but his words falter. He didn’t know what to say, really, he knew that Shouta wasn’t won over by fancy words or speeches, he knew he would probably much rather just hear him spit it out, if he wanted to hear him say anything at all. But…it didn’t seem like enough in Hizashi’s eyes. A simple ‘I’ve been in love with you for at least fourteen years’ didn’t even begin to express anything that he felt, not even the least of it. In his struggle, he stares down the floor by Shouta’s feet, looking more somber and lost than ever, his mouth opening and closing at least a dozen times as he tries to string something together, only to give up before anything even comes out.

With his free hand, he reaches up to pull his glasses off and push them on top of his head, a frustrated groan leaving his throat as he rubs his face.

“Why is it so fucking difficult to talk about things that actually matter?”

Shouta’s doesn’t think that’s what Hizashi really wanted to talk about, but he tries to find an answer anyway. While he gets his words in order, he tugs Hizashi down to join him on the couch. Part of him is unsure if he should keep holding Hizashi’s hand, but he’s come a long way from the kid he was in highschool. He could trust Hizashi to be honest, especially with his body language. That soft smile meant he appreciated the gesture. The lack of Hizashi’s usual brand of physical affection didn’t mean he didn’t want to be touched. He’d have pulled away or stepped back if that was the case. No, it spoke of hesitancy. This conversation, for whatever reason, made Hizashi, of all people, hesitate to touch. That put more weight on this conversation than anything else.

“There’s more at stake, maybe. No one is going to remember if you say something wrong during your story about running into a childhood friend, but they probably will if it’s a more serious topic.”

With the vague hint of “things that actually matter,” Shouta can’t help trying to puzzle out what Hizashi was trying to get at, again. The list of things Shouta knew Hizashi struggled to talk about was short but varied. His health is the first to come to mind, and Shouta’s stomach drops at the thought of Hizashi hiding a serious illness. His worry steamrolls his head-to-mouth filter, his concern obvious in his voice.

“You’re not dying, are you?”

“No—! No, I’m not dying, it’s nothing like that, Shou, I promise.”

The uncertainty in his voice vanishes with his immediate rebuttal, finally squeezing his hand, maybe a touch too tightly. He’s quick to loosen back up, though, feeling all the more guilty. He didn’t have a clue, he realizes, and everything—his wary tone, his body language, the same kind of jittery hesitation that he hadn’t shown towards Shouta in…god, he couldn’t even remember how long it’d been—it was all completely out of left-field. Suddenly Shouta’s worry that he was on Death’s doorstep didn’t seem as bizarre, if not just a tad disheartening that death was the first thing that came to mind for him, over anything else.

He didn’t live in fiction. He isn’t some character in the countless books he read, in any of the shitty romance novels he’d choked down during his last year at Yuuei in hopes to ‘study’ his own feelings that he’d become acutely aware of at the time, and how to go about dealing with them. He couldn’t just cup his cheeks and look into his eyes and let out a flawlessly adorkable speech about how he’s been thinking about this moment since he first laid eyes on him, and about how he completed him, and that he could never imagine a life without him in it. Even with a lifetime of speaking, of going with his gut on the fly and changing wind at a seconds notice, even with over a decade of preparation, he still couldn’t even choke out a coherent sentence with anything to do with what he’d needed to say for too long.

But, the worry in Shouta’s tone that lingered in his head tore at him. It was a rarity to hear any kind of pitch shift, hear any kind of emotion seep into his words, but the worry in his tone had been driving a knife through Hizashi’s chest. It was because he couldn’t just spit it out, because he was afraid to tell him how he felt that Shouta feared that his life was the topic he couldn’t bring up from his throat.

He draws in a sharp breath, his expression turned stone as he speaks, a bit too firmly considering the sentence it accompanies.

“I’m in love with you, Shouta.”

Shouta feels many strong emotions over the course of a few seconds. Relief. Hizashi isn’t on his deathbed. Flustered. That was the absolute worst case scenario he jumped to, wasn’t it? Hizashi didn’t look sick, hadn’t given any hints towards being sick, and Shouta was used to looking for that kind of thing in Hizashi. Back to worry. Hizashi didn’t turn hard and serious like this often. Just because it wasn’t to serious as death, didn’t mean it wasn’t something bad. Finally, the confession (and that’s what this is, if Shouta heard him right, a confession) finally registers. Disbelief, and traitorous hope flares to life in Shouta’s heart. It makes his blood pound in his ears, his jaw go slack in a tiny gasp, and it all feels a little too good to be true. Because the fact is, Shouta didn’t get confessions. Never had. And he’d settled for familiar ache in his chest over ever telling Hizashi about his feelings, because he had too much to loose for something he wasn’t sure if he could actually handle. Now, it was being offered to him on an average weeknight. Shouta’s hair is a knotted mess, his stubble is getting a bit too long, he’s worn these clothes twice since the last time he washed them. For the first time in a long time, Shouta doesn’t feel presentable, in a way that actually bothers him. Shouta isn’t ready for the only love of his life to confess to him.

So, his words, unprocessed and unfiltered, come out flat. Cold. Completely without the flurry of emotions hiding under the surface, because if he heard Hizashi wrong, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

“What?”

Logically, Shouta thinks it fits. He and Hizashi didn’t really talk much about crushes, or love interests. On Shouta’s part, it was because he’d really only ever been interested in Hizashi. He didn’t crave a relationship like most people seemed to, who’s fancy seemed to change with the weather. Most physical touch felt tolerable at best, he prefered the quiet and being alone, and he was bad at sharing his emotions. Except with Hizashi.

Shouta licks his lips, throat suddenly dry as he tries asking again, a bit less robotically, “What did you say?”

A weight lifts from Hizashi’s chest, before it’s immediately slammed right back down, and it feels as if it’d multiplied by ten—his throat felt like it was splitting in two with his chest. He’d felt the spike of adrenaline as soon as the words left his lips, but it’d been too late to retreat and stop it, too late to reel himself back as he had time and time again. It was far too late, it’d been that way since he’d set foot through the threshold of Shouta’s apartment. His tone cuts like a knife, monotone and…what, exactly? He hadn’t heard that before, not like this, anyway, and he didn’t know what that meant. Hizashi thought that he knew each and every little thing there was to know, but Shouta’s voice baffled him.

“I—I’m in love with you,” He repeats, his voice still as sure as his tightened throat allowed him to be, and confident as his unsure mind was. Even if it wasn’t returned, Hizashi wanted him to know. To know that he was serious, beyond any shadow of doubt.

He couldn’t even see, Shouta was a blurred mess of black and beige, but he still turns his head away and closes his eyes tightly, as if he could see the look on his face that wasn’t even there past his mind’s eye, something of mortification that he assumed would be his reaction. His hand clasps tightly over his mouth, nose scrunched up and his breath growing evermore unsteady and disheveled with every one he drew in. Hizashi expects him to let go of his hand. Laugh it off, tell him that he couldn’t be serious, just to try to give him an opening to make it a joke so that Shouta didn’t have to explain just how much he wasn’t interested in him—because how could he be, really?

In nothing more than a second, his mind goes through everything falling apart like a shattered mirror. He sees every time Shouta has ever walked in another direction, every time he’s ever grown the least bit irritated with him; He sees every time he’s ever been worried for him, every time he’s smiled, or laughed, everything that he is and will always be that makes Hizashi’s chest flutter and stomach tie in knots. And, for a moment, he considers never seeing any of it again, and Shouta rethinking everything, and looking back on it all repulsed by the thought of what Hizashi’s view on it all might be.

He was an idiot, with a big mouth and no sense of when to stop. He always had been, and always would be.

He was in love with him.

Hizashi. Beautiful, smart, bright Hizashi, was in love with him.

Shouta knows what’s supposed to come next. He’s supposed to say it back, and he would mean it. They’d hug, and maybe kiss, and Hizashi wouldn’t look like he was trying not to cry. He’d be smiling, and happy, and it’d be because of something Shouta did, something Shouta’s been doing silently, for years. It was supposed to be easy. After all, Hizashi did the hard part: he said it while everything was unclear and risky.

So why can’t he get his voice to work?

Why can’t he put to words all the things he feels? It’s a lot, enough to make him tremble, he’s happier than he’s ever been in living memory, but there’s still a shroud of self-doubt hanging over him. Shouta doesn’t know if he’ll be enough, doesn’t know if he could bear Hizashi ever telling him he needs more than what Shouta can offer him. But, Hizashi has never asked for more than what Shouta could give. Sure sometimes it’s a stretch, but the times Shouta has regretted going along with Hizashi’s plans and ideas are few and far between. All of them, the fault had lied with someone else, not Hizashi himself. Why would this be any different? It’s not like the outcome is one Shouta doesn’t want. He’s never wanted to be close with anyone like he does with Hizashi, so why?

Why is Shouta crying, for the first time in twenty-three years, instead of telling Hizashi what they both want him to say?

Helpless, Shouta watches Hizashi fall into a similar well of self-doubt. He knows what he must be thinking, knows what this looks like, but Shouta feels completely frozen. It had been far too long since Shouta daydreamed about something like this. Confessions was a high school tradition, it’d died when they graduated. The unexpectedness of all of this has left Shouta unarmed; he has no idea where to start.

It’s Hizashi covering his own mouth, as if to scoop the words out of the air and shove them back down his throat, that gets Shouta to react, to move. A strangled noise of protest escapes his throat; Hizashi should never, ever feel like that. Like he needs to catch his words and eat them whole. Not with Shouta. Not about this. The words won’t come fast enough, so Shouta gives up on returning them. Instead he reaches out to grab the front of Hizashi’s shirt in a tight fist. Slowly, Shouta drags Hizashi forward. With trembling lips, Shouta presses a feather-light kiss against the fingers covering Hizashi’s mouth. Actions had always been easier than words for Shouta. He hoped it was enough.

I dare you to get a full night's rest. No coffee for one day. -AS

“OI- That isn’t fair—y’know I have a schedule I can’t break, and coffee is essential to my survival!! C’mon!!”

@eraserheads-cat-blog

Truth or dare? Accepting.

“Then take a day off. You have plenty of PTO days and you know it. The world won’t end.”

No sympathy. One vacation day wouldn’t kill him, quite the contrary.

“It might!! What if they need me, specifically for something and I’m not there because I’m sleeping?”

His tone is defensive, but it’s obvious that he’s already given up. He knows full and well that this is something he won’t win.

“Alright then, Sleepy Prince, how about you take a day off too, then, eh? Make it fair.”

“Then the other pros will respect you need time to just be human and handle it themselves. Even if they can’t find a solution, it’s not like you’ll be impossible to get a hold of.”

Shouta senses he’s won Hizashi over, but he makes the point anyway. It’d help Hizashi relax fully. Hopefully. The second half catches him off guard, as unlikely as it seems. Despite the logic he can see in Hizashi taking a day off, Shouta always seems to forget that the same logic can be applied to himself. But, he can’t find a flaw in the idea. Not to mention sharing a day off with Hizashi was very appealing. He wouldn’t have time to feel restless if he was with Hizashi, and vice versa.

“Alright,” he half shrugs, “Why not? So long as you sleep. I can make sure you don’t sneak any coffee, this way.”

Finally, he cracks a grin. Sleep is usually bittersweet for Hizashi, but Shouta always seemed to take the bite straight out of everything, even if he was normally what gave just that to others. The combination of Shouta, and rest for more than an hour at any given point in time, was undoubtedly blissful just to fantasize about, let alone solidify as a concrete plan.

“Well, then, it’s settled. You, me, my apartment, tomorrow at 5AM? I’ll have to have enough time to get a sub in—which shouldn’t be too awful, maybe I can sucker one of the third-years that only have a half-schedule on their hands to cover for me—and I’ll have to get a queue set for whoever at the station can cover my overnight, and make sure that someone else covers my patrol route, but that probably isn’t the end of the world if I can’t get someone to take my hours? Hopefully?”

Shouta’s lazy grin and half closed eyes gives the impression he’s ready to start a full day relaxing inside right now. It’s this sort of look, and the habit of falling asleep in class, that earned him the title of Sleepy Prince. Lucky for him he was all but immune to embarrassing nicknames. Really, only Hizashi could get any kind of reaction, and it wasn’t a visible one. Instead, it made Shouta’s chest grow warm with fondness.

“5AM it is. I’ll let Nezu know I’m taking a day off, he offered to cover 1-A if I ever needed him to. I’ll ask Joke to cover my area. Your coworkers will trip over themselves to make it work, Hizashi. You’ve covered for everyone else often enough that anything less would be insulting.”

“Maybe,” He snickers. It’s true, though, he has a point—he couldn’t count on his fingers and toes how many times he’s bought coffee or doughnuts for everybody within his radio station—and the school, as well—spontaneously. He has everybody’s orders memorized to the amount of syrup pumps in them and what name for the order made everybody laugh the most.

“I hope it all works out right how I need to to, I can already hear all my pillows hitting the floor within thirty seconds.”

#ask-yamada #interactions #((pillow fort #PILLOW FORT #P I L L O W F O R T))

“Good.”

An exceptionally childish idea comes to mind. It’s a good idea, one Hizashi will probably like, but it’s a little embarrassing to suggest. It’s a good thing he ran out of dignity concerning things he’d do to make Hizashi happy years ago. All things considered, Hizashi’s opinion was the only one Shouta particularly cared about, outside of his own, so he’s completely casual as he voices the thought.

“Pillow fort?”

"Oi, Shou? Can we talk—?" || @ask-yamada

“Sure. I have time.”

Shouta sets aside the grading he’d taken home. Hizashi sounded serious, with an undercurrent of nervousness. It’s a combination Shouta hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since they were both so new to making friends, both unsure if the other’s intent and emotions. Even if Shouta didn’t have a moment to spare, he’d make time for Hizashi, with that vulnerability in his voice.

@ask-yamada

Not just a tinge, but a wave of regret has already washed over Hizashi as he watches Shouta set aside his work for him. For him to stand here, and try to fumble for the words he knew he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to find. It was times like this—times where he wasn’t in front of a crowd, or had any lines to rehearse prior (he figured that it might sound faulty if he made himself a script to rehearse, but maybe he should’ve, since his throat is already tightening up and his face scrunches up a little bit), that he wonders how he managed to get paid from three different sources to use his words.

The gears in his head start turning through pages of words that could maybe, possibly help him, but no words manifest, and nothing comes out of his mouth. For a moment, he’s left there standing, frozen like a deer in headlights, and his expression contorts a bit.

“I—um- I-’ve, ‘m—”

Alarm bells start ringing in Shouta’s head. He could feel Hizashi’s unease, and couldn’t help but go over the past couple days, trying to think of anything that would have upset his best friend. Nothing came to mind. So, Shouta does his best to be comforting. It’s not something that comes naturally to him, but after fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, he likes to think he knows what works best.

Softly, he takes Hizashi’s hand. He squeezes it softly, then traces a slow circle with his thumb, hoping the movement would give Hizashi something to focus on. Then, calmly, quietly, Shouta prompts him to continue.

“What’s on your mind, ‘Zashi?”

Hizashi’s chest flutters, a small smile pulling his lips. Normally, he didn’t let himself think about the fact that Shouta was touching him, but right now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it, seeing as the way it made his chest ache and his heart soar was what he wanted to—had to—address. Everything in him tells him to tighten his grip, but he refuses his instinct, just for spite of not trapping Shouta, if he repulsed him by what he was going to say. He didn’t like the thought, but…he had to accept it as a possible outcome, that Shouta would be bothered by the gesture and want to get away.

“I—” Hizashi tries again, but his words falter. He didn’t know what to say, really, he knew that Shouta wasn’t won over by fancy words or speeches, he knew he would probably much rather just hear him spit it out, if he wanted to hear him say anything at all. But…it didn’t seem like enough in Hizashi’s eyes. A simple ‘I’ve been in love with you for at least fourteen years’ didn’t even begin to express anything that he felt, not even the least of it. In his struggle, he stares down the floor by Shouta’s feet, looking more somber and lost than ever, his mouth opening and closing at least a dozen times as he tries to string something together, only to give up before anything even comes out.

With his free hand, he reaches up to pull his glasses off and push them on top of his head, a frustrated groan leaving his throat as he rubs his face.

“Why is it so fucking difficult to talk about things that actually matter?”

Shouta’s doesn’t think that’s what Hizashi really wanted to talk about, but he tries to find an answer anyway. While he gets his words in order, he tugs Hizashi down to join him on the couch. Part of him is unsure if he should keep holding Hizashi’s hand, but he’s come a long way from the kid he was in highschool. He could trust Hizashi to be honest, especially with his body language. That soft smile meant he appreciated the gesture. The lack of Hizashi’s usual brand of physical affection didn’t mean he didn’t want to be touched. He’d have pulled away or stepped back if that was the case. No, it spoke of hesitancy. This conversation, for whatever reason, made Hizashi, of all people, hesitate to touch. That put more weight on this conversation than anything else.

“There’s more at stake, maybe. No one is going to remember if you say something wrong during your story about running into a childhood friend, but they probably will if it’s a more serious topic.”

With the vague hint of “things that actually matter,” Shouta can’t help trying to puzzle out what Hizashi was trying to get at, again. The list of things Shouta knew Hizashi struggled to talk about was short but varied. His health is the first to come to mind, and Shouta’s stomach drops at the thought of Hizashi hiding a serious illness. His worry steamrolls his head-to-mouth filter, his concern obvious in his voice.

“You’re not dying, are you?”

“No—! No, I’m not dying, it’s nothing like that, Shou, I promise.”

The uncertainty in his voice vanishes with his immediate rebuttal, finally squeezing his hand, maybe a touch too tightly. He’s quick to loosen back up, though, feeling all the more guilty. He didn’t have a clue, he realizes, and everything—his wary tone, his body language, the same kind of jittery hesitation that he hadn’t shown towards Shouta in…god, he couldn’t even remember how long it’d been—it was all completely out of left-field. Suddenly Shouta’s worry that he was on Death’s doorstep didn’t seem as bizarre, if not just a tad disheartening that death was the first thing that came to mind for him, over anything else.

He didn’t live in fiction. He isn’t some character in the countless books he read, in any of the shitty romance novels he’d choked down during his last year at Yuuei in hopes to ‘study’ his own feelings that he’d become acutely aware of at the time, and how to go about dealing with them. He couldn’t just cup his cheeks and look into his eyes and let out a flawlessly adorkable speech about how he’s been thinking about this moment since he first laid eyes on him, and about how he completed him, and that he could never imagine a life without him in it. Even with a lifetime of speaking, of going with his gut on the fly and changing wind at a seconds notice, even with over a decade of preparation, he still couldn’t even choke out a coherent sentence with anything to do with what he’d needed to say for too long.

But, the worry in Shouta’s tone that lingered in his head tore at him. It was a rarity to hear any kind of pitch shift, hear any kind of emotion seep into his words, but the worry in his tone had been driving a knife through Hizashi’s chest. It was because he couldn’t just spit it out, because he was afraid to tell him how he felt that Shouta feared that his life was the topic he couldn’t bring up from his throat.

He draws in a sharp breath, his expression turned stone as he speaks, a bit too firmly considering the sentence it accompanies.

“I’m in love with you, Shouta.”

#ask-yamada #interactions #((That's such a fukcign mood oh my god #these guys are gonna be the death of m e #also for clarification aizawa is on the aro spectrum thanks goodnight #Hizashi is the exception to his everything really))

Shouta feels many strong emotions over the course of a few seconds. Relief. Hizashi isn’t on his deathbed. Flustered. That was the absolute worst case scenario he jumped to, wasn’t it? Hizashi didn’t look sick, hadn’t given any hints towards being sick, and Shouta was used to looking for that kind of thing in Hizashi. Back to worry. Hizashi didn’t turn hard and serious like this often. Just because it wasn’t to serious as death, didn’t mean it wasn’t something bad. Finally, the confession (and that’s what this is, if Shouta heard him right, a confession) finally registers. Disbelief, and traitorous hope flares to life in Shouta’s heart. It makes his blood pound in his ears, his jaw go slack in a tiny gasp, and it all feels a little too good to be true. Because the fact is, Shouta didn’t get confessions. Never had. And he’d settled for familiar ache in his chest over ever telling Hizashi about his feelings, because he had too much to loose for something he wasn’t sure if he could actually handle. Now, it was being offered to him on an average weeknight. Shouta’s hair is a knotted mess, his stubble is getting a bit too long, he’s worn these clothes twice since the last time he washed them. For the first time in a long time, Shouta doesn’t feel presentable, in a way that actually bothers him. Shouta isn’t ready for the only love of his life to confess to him.

So, his words, unprocessed and unfiltered, come out flat. Cold. Completely without the flurry of emotions hiding under the surface, because if he heard Hizashi wrong, he’s not sure what he’ll do.

“What?”

Logically, Shouta thinks it fits. He and Hizashi didn’t really talk much about crushes, or love interests. On Shouta’s part, it was because he’d really only ever been interested in Hizashi. He didn’t crave a relationship like most people seemed to, who’s fancy seemed to change with the weather. Most physical touch felt tolerable at best, he prefered the quiet and being alone, and he was bad at sharing his emotions. Except with Hizashi.

Shouta licks his lips, throat suddenly dry as he tries asking again, a bit less robotically, “What did you say?”

I dare you to get a full night's rest. No coffee for one day. -AS

“OI- That isn’t fair—y’know I have a schedule I can’t break, and coffee is essential to my survival!! C’mon!!”

@eraserheads-cat-blog

Truth or dare? Accepting.

“Then take a day off. You have plenty of PTO days and you know it. The world won’t end.”

No sympathy. One vacation day wouldn’t kill him, quite the contrary.

“It might!! What if they need me, specifically for something and I’m not there because I’m sleeping?”

His tone is defensive, but it’s obvious that he’s already given up. He knows full and well that this is something he won’t win.

“Alright then, Sleepy Prince, how about you take a day off too, then, eh? Make it fair.”

“Then the other pros will respect you need time to just be human and handle it themselves. Even if they can’t find a solution, it’s not like you’ll be impossible to get a hold of.”

Shouta senses he’s won Hizashi over, but he makes the point anyway. It’d help Hizashi relax fully. Hopefully. The second half catches him off guard, as unlikely as it seems. Despite the logic he can see in Hizashi taking a day off, Shouta always seems to forget that the same logic can be applied to himself. But, he can’t find a flaw in the idea. Not to mention sharing a day off with Hizashi was very appealing. He wouldn’t have time to feel restless if he was with Hizashi, and vice versa.

“Alright,” he half shrugs, “Why not? So long as you sleep. I can make sure you don’t sneak any coffee, this way.”

Finally, he cracks a grin. Sleep is usually bittersweet for Hizashi, but Shouta always seemed to take the bite straight out of everything, even if he was normally what gave just that to others. The combination of Shouta, and rest for more than an hour at any given point in time, was undoubtedly blissful just to fantasize about, let alone solidify as a concrete plan.

“Well, then, it’s settled. You, me, my apartment, tomorrow at 5AM? I’ll have to have enough time to get a sub in—which shouldn’t be too awful, maybe I can sucker one of the third-years that only have a half-schedule on their hands to cover for me—and I’ll have to get a queue set for whoever at the station can cover my overnight, and make sure that someone else covers my patrol route, but that probably isn’t the end of the world if I can’t get someone to take my hours? Hopefully?”

Shouta’s lazy grin and half closed eyes gives the impression he’s ready to start a full day relaxing inside right now. It’s this sort of look, and the habit of falling asleep in class, that earned him the title of Sleepy Prince. Lucky for him he was all but immune to embarrassing nicknames. Really, only Hizashi could get any kind of reaction, and it wasn’t a visible one. Instead, it made Shouta’s chest grow warm with fondness.

“5AM it is. I’ll let Nezu know I’m taking a day off, he offered to cover 1-A if I ever needed him to. I’ll ask Joke to cover my area. Your coworkers will trip over themselves to make it work, Hizashi. You’ve covered for everyone else often enough that anything less would be insulting.”

"Oi, Shou? Can we talk—?" || @ask-yamada

“Sure. I have time.”

Shouta sets aside the grading he’d taken home. Hizashi sounded serious, with an undercurrent of nervousness. It’s a combination Shouta hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since they were both so new to making friends, both unsure if the other’s intent and emotions. Even if Shouta didn’t have a moment to spare, he’d make time for Hizashi, with that vulnerability in his voice.

@ask-yamada

Not just a tinge, but a wave of regret has already washed over Hizashi as he watches Shouta set aside his work for him. For him to stand here, and try to fumble for the words he knew he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to find. It was times like this—times where he wasn’t in front of a crowd, or had any lines to rehearse prior (he figured that it might sound faulty if he made himself a script to rehearse, but maybe he should’ve, since his throat is already tightening up and his face scrunches up a little bit), that he wonders how he managed to get paid from three different sources to use his words.

The gears in his head start turning through pages of words that could maybe, possibly help him, but no words manifest, and nothing comes out of his mouth. For a moment, he’s left there standing, frozen like a deer in headlights, and his expression contorts a bit.

“I—um- I-’ve, ‘m—”

Alarm bells start ringing in Shouta’s head. He could feel Hizashi’s unease, and couldn’t help but go over the past couple days, trying to think of anything that would have upset his best friend. Nothing came to mind. So, Shouta does his best to be comforting. It’s not something that comes naturally to him, but after fifteen years of knowing Hizashi, he likes to think he knows what works best.

Softly, he takes Hizashi’s hand. He squeezes it softly, then traces a slow circle with his thumb, hoping the movement would give Hizashi something to focus on. Then, calmly, quietly, Shouta prompts him to continue.

“What’s on your mind, ‘Zashi?”

Hizashi’s chest flutters, a small smile pulling his lips. Normally, he didn’t let himself think about the fact that Shouta was touching him, but right now, he couldn’t help but acknowledge it, seeing as the way it made his chest ache and his heart soar was what he wanted to—had to—address. Everything in him tells him to tighten his grip, but he refuses his instinct, just for spite of not trapping Shouta, if he repulsed him by what he was going to say. He didn’t like the thought, but…he had to accept it as a possible outcome, that Shouta would be bothered by the gesture and want to get away.

“I—” Hizashi tries again, but his words falter. He didn’t know what to say, really, he knew that Shouta wasn’t won over by fancy words or speeches, he knew he would probably much rather just hear him spit it out, if he wanted to hear him say anything at all. But…it didn’t seem like enough in Hizashi’s eyes. A simple ‘I’ve been in love with you for at least fourteen years’ didn’t even begin to express anything that he felt, not even the least of it. In his struggle, he stares down the floor by Shouta’s feet, looking more somber and lost than ever, his mouth opening and closing at least a dozen times as he tries to string something together, only to give up before anything even comes out.

With his free hand, he reaches up to pull his glasses off and push them on top of his head, a frustrated groan leaving his throat as he rubs his face.

“Why is it so fucking difficult to talk about things that actually matter?”

Shouta’s doesn’t think that’s what Hizashi really wanted to talk about, but he tries to find an answer anyway. While he gets his words in order, he tugs Hizashi down to join him on the couch. Part of him is unsure if he should keep holding Hizashi’s hand, but he’s come a long way from the kid he was in highschool. He could trust Hizashi to be honest, especially with his body language. That soft smile meant he appreciated the gesture. The lack of Hizashi’s usual brand of physical affection didn’t mean he didn’t want to be touched. He’d have pulled away or stepped back if that was the case. No, it spoke of hesitancy. This conversation, for whatever reason, made Hizashi, of all people, hesitate to touch. That put more weight on this conversation than anything else.

“There’s more at stake, maybe. No one is going to remember if you say something wrong during your story about running into a childhood friend, but they probably will if it’s a more serious topic.”

With the vague hint of “things that actually matter,” Shouta can’t help trying to puzzle out what Hizashi was trying to get at, again. The list of things Shouta knew Hizashi struggled to talk about was short but varied. His health is the first to come to mind, and Shouta’s stomach drops at the thought of Hizashi hiding a serious illness. His worry steamrolls his head-to-mouth filter, his concern obvious in his voice.

“You’re not dying, are you?”

I dare you to get a full night's rest. No coffee for one day. -AS

“OI- That isn’t fair—y’know I have a schedule I can’t break, and coffee is essential to my survival!! C’mon!!”

@eraserheads-cat-blog

Truth or dare? Accepting.

“Then take a day off. You have plenty of PTO days and you know it. The world won’t end.”

No sympathy. One vacation day wouldn’t kill him, quite the contrary.

“It might!! What if they need me, specifically for something and I’m not there because I’m sleeping?”

His tone is defensive, but it’s obvious that he’s already given up. He knows full and well that this is something he won’t win.

“Alright then, Sleepy Prince, how about you take a day off too, then, eh? Make it fair.”

“Then the other pros will respect you need time to just be human and handle it themselves. Even if they can’t find a solution, it’s not like you’ll be impossible to get a hold of.”

Shouta senses he’s won Hizashi over, but he makes the point anyway. It’d help Hizashi relax fully. Hopefully. The second half catches him off guard, as unlikely as it seems. Despite the logic he can see in Hizashi taking a day off, Shouta always seems to forget that the same logic can be applied to himself. But, he can’t find a flaw in the idea. Not to mention sharing a day off with Hizashi was very appealing. He wouldn’t have time to feel restless if he was with Hizashi, and vice versa.

“Alright,” he half shrugs, “Why not? So long as you sleep. I can make sure you don’t sneak any coffee, this way.”

"Oi, Shou? Can we talk—?" || @ask-yamada

“Sure. I have time.”

Shouta sets aside the grading he’d taken home. Hizashi sounded serious, with an undercurrent of nervousness. It’s a combination Shouta hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Not since they were both so new to making friends, both unsure if the other’s intent and emotions. Even if Shouta didn’t have a moment to spare, he’d make time for Hizashi, with that vulnerability in his voice.

@ask-yamada

Not just a tinge, but a wave of regret has already washed over Hizashi as he watches Shouta set aside his work for him. For him to stand here, and try to fumble for the words he knew he already knew that he wouldn’t be able to find. It was times like this—times where he wasn’t in front of a crowd, or had any lines to rehearse prior (he figured that it might sound faulty if he made himself a script to rehearse, but maybe he should’ve, since his throat is already tightening up and his face scrunches up a little bit), that he wonders how he managed to get paid from three different sources to use his words.

The gears in his head start turning through pages of words that could maybe, possibly help him, but no words manifest, and nothing comes out of his mouth. For a moment, he’s left there standing, frozen like a deer in headlights, and his expression contorts a bit.

“I—um- I-’ve, ‘m—”