atsuhide and deki and zumi over the years, starting out as childhood friends, is something i've been talking about with cecil today so i banged this out
Deki in the gakuran is a sight to behold; Atsuhide thinks he hasn't seen him truly light up like this in a long time. He sits up straight, watching Deki admire himself in the full length mirror.
He'd been wearing the girl's uniform up until now; tomorrow would be his first day with the boy's.
He knows it's partially Zumi's doing — that boy in Okinawa that he met five summers ago. Zumi was instrumental in a lot of keeping Deki's sanity and will intact over the years. Atsuhide finds himself only a little jealous, a little needy, when his boy disappears for the nightly phone call out to Okinawa. But they need each other — and that's alright.
Right?
It's fine, either way — now he has Deki, and he gets to see that smile brighten up the room.
"I … Mom would have …" He swallows thickly, "She would have goaded me into cutting my hair, too, I think."
"Yeah. She would've." Atsuhide tells him, reaches forward to have Deki come closer. He does; Atsuhide's hands fall to his hips.
"Think I should?"
"I like the length now. I think you look cool." Atsuhide's hands come up to play at his tresses, wrap them around his fingers. Smells like green apple, he knows, but the rest of him is smoky and jasmine. "Fashionable."
"About as fashionable as I can get in this thing." He tugs at the stiff fabric, seems to remember himself, to hover. "Mom would like it either way."
"Why don't you go show Momma?" He suggests; Deki turns his gaze down to look at him. Really look at him, in that razing sort of way he does when he's looking over fretboards and blank sheet music.
"Just you for now." He slides down to his knees, pushing his weight into Atsuhide comfortably. Atsuhide wraps his arms around his boy's waist, feeling warm and settled in him. Sometimes he wants to be the only one who looks at Deki; other times he wants to show him off.
Deki nuzzles into him harder, and he feels those arms warp around him tighter and tighter.
"Thank you, Atsuhide."
"F-f … for what?" He doesn't like when his voice falters, but sometimes it has to, under their combined weight. Atsuhide wants to bite him, keep him safe from anything like dead mothers and anxiety and gender dysphoria. All the rest, too. He could be strong enough to take all of it on for Deki.
Deki pulls away and the look on his face makes Atsuhide's gaze flick just the slightest — he wants to look away from that intensity as much as he wants to keep his hand there above that flame.
"You know." He murmurs, and kisses him. Butterflies bump into one another, far too many — he feels, for a moment, he can't breathe.
"I love you," Atsuhide blurts, once they pull back entirely. Deki blinks, brushes his bangs out of his face for him, and kisses the bridge of his nose.
"I love you too, Atsuhide."
There; a weight, settled in his chest. He can breathe again.
