“Yo, Hanamaki, I don’t think your boyfriend likes me.”
Hanamaki glanced over at his classmate, Terushima, who was gnawing on the end of his eraser and staring through the whiteboard at the front of the class. “I mean, we’ve been pretty chill! It’s only, like, really recently that he’s gotten all…” Terushima waved his hands around. “Sassy.”
“Well, what did you do to piss him off?” Hanamaki said with a smirk, taking a swig from his water bottle and thinking back to when Terushima and his boyfriend, Matsukawa, had interacted a day or so prior. “He was being a little sassier than usual, but not by much.”
Terushima puffed out his cheeks, displeased. “I dunno, man, he’s just been really glower-y lately.”
Hanamaki snorted. “I’ll talk to him,” he assured, grinning to himself when Terushima sighed heavily and began to twirl his pencil.
***
“Hey, Mattsun.”
“Mm?” the dark-haired student glanced up from his textbook, across the table, to Hanamaki. “What is it?”
Hanamaki propped his chin up on his hand. “Do you have some kind of beef with Teru, or something?”
He swore that Matsukawa’s eyelid twitched. “Nope.”
“Are you sure?” Hanamaki insisted, blinking, smiling lazily. “He seems to think you do.”
Matsukawa’s mouth curled into a (hot), rather smug half-smile. “Does he, now.”
“See?” Hanamaki pointed accusingly. “You do.”
Matsukawa rolled his eyes. “Only… a slight beef. A filet mignon, if you will.”
“Aha! I knew it.” Hanamaki smirked. “Why, though?”
“Seriously? You can’t piece that together yourself?” Matsukawa reached across the table and poked Hanamaki’s forehead. “Think.”
The strawberry blond thought– honestly, he did– but; “nah, I got nothin’.”
“Well, try harder,” Matsukawa said mercilessly, flipping to the next page in his book. “I ain’t tellin’.”
“Tell meeee,” Hanamaki hissed, kicking his boyfriend in the shin repeatedly. “Tell me, Mattsun!”
His voice dropped an octave. “Unlimited blowjobs upon request for a week,” Hanamaki said, smiling mischievously.
“Mmm, no.”
“A month?”
“Nah.”
“… a year?”
“No! You’d enjoy that too much. And you’d give up after like two days.”
Hanamaki threw his hands up, exasperated. “What, then?”
Matsukawa hummed noncommittally, turning another page in his textbook. “Who knows, honestly.”
Hanamaki squinted, peering into Matsukawa’s diverted eyes, searching his soul. “Why would you… my amazing, flawless, well-endowed…”
“Flattery won’t work.”
“Gaaah!”
***
“So? Did you find out why Caterpillar Man doesn’t like me?”
Hanamaki sighed, clicking and unclicking his pen rapidly. “No,” he moped, pursing his lips tightly. “The bastard’s got his lips sealed.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Terushima quickly lick his own lips, the pale column of his throat pulsing around a swallow. Suddenly getting an idea, Hanamaki turned to him.
“Though, he does think–” Hanamaki leaned over their shared desk a little, dropping his eyelids and peering up at Terushima with a heavy gaze– “that you have a crush on me.”
The reaction was instantaneous; Terushima slid backward in his chair, his face beet red, his eyes wide. “Wh– what, no, I don’t, that’s ridiculous!”
Hanamaki sat bolt-upright. “Wait, you do?”
“U-um…” Terushima fidgeted nervously, “I mean, just a little one, obviously, nothing too big…”
Hanamaki’s jaw dropped. “Okay, yeah, that would be why he’s sour,” he muttered, his own cheeks a little pink. “I mean hey, I’m flattered, but–”
“Yes, yes, you’re taken, I know.” Terushima grimaced. “God, this is embarrassing.”
“Teru, I thought you were straight,” Hanamaki said bluntly.
Terushima’s eyes widened. “Um– no.”
Hanamaki exhaled sharply. “Apparently so,” he muttered.
***
Unfortunately, the next time the two saw Matsukawa was while they were in a big group of people. Hanamaki was worming his way through the crowds, cursing under his breath, desperately trying to find Matsukawa. He hated parties like this.
However, someone else found him first.
“Hey, wait– ‘Hiro!”
“Ah, Mat– wait, Terushima?”
The younger blond squeezed his way over to Hanamaki, his cheeks flushed darkly. “I jus’ wanted to tell you that I’m so, so, so sorry for earlier. Matsukawa’s a great guy, you know? You deserve to be with him.”
Hanamaki sighed. “Yuuji, young man, are you drunk?”
Terushima laughed. “Mmmmaybe.”
“Oh, goddamn–” Hanamaki sighed, taking ahold of Terushima’s arm, dragging him through the crowds towards one of the less populated areas. “These fuckin’ parties, I swear to–”
He froze, dead in his tracks. Matsukawa was just a few paces away, his back partially turned, but facing towards them enough to see what appeared to be Hanamaki dragging a very obviously drunk (and rather touchy) Terushima away from the party.
“Shit– this idiot got himself wasted, I ran into him on my way over,” Hanamaki said quickly, prying Terushima’s hands off of his arm. “I swear, Issei, I’m just trying to–”
“He knows,” Terushima said, louder than necessary. “But he’s very, um, in love with you. So. Don’t worry about him sneakin’ me off in the night.”
Matsukawa hesitated, so Terushima continued talking. “I mean, he is very hot and all, and–”
“Okay, you’ve said enough,” Hanamaki snapped weakly, turning back to Matsukawa, who was still frowning. “Issei, I–”
“Shut up,” Matsukawa said, not unkindly, and was tugging Hanamaki in close by his collar and kissing him before either could say anything else.
Hanamaki felt self-conscious for about half a second before allowing himself to relax, his eyelids fluttering, simultaneously soothed and excited by how tightly Matsukawa held onto him. The taller man’s grip was strong on his shirt and was using his full height to take control of the kiss and nip at Hanamaki’s lower lip. Hanamaki arched his back, almost unconsciously, shivers running down his spine both from Matsukawa’s touches and the stares they were attracting.
“Okay, okay, I get it, he’s yours,” Terushima said, rather weakly, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “Please stop sucking his face off…”
Hanamaki laughed breathlessly and craned his neck, his heartbeat still rather unsteady. “Sorry, Teru,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting– ah…”
Of course, Matsukawa had chosen that moment to bow his head and begin kissing Hanamaki’s neck and throat, his breath hot and heavy (but not smelling of alcohol, which silenced Hanamaki’s conscience).
Terushima stuck his tongue out. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, waving it off. “I’ll get someone to drive me home, I really don’t want to see your fuckin’ t-tonsil tennis anymore.”
Hanamaki could feel Matsukawa smirk against his skin.
***
The next day, when Hanamaki gingerly sat into his regular seat sporting a handful of obvious hickies, Terushima was sure to pay extra attention solely on the lesson.
