if you're still taking requests, tanunatsu + 52? (if 65 could be worked in to it, that'd be amazing too... i was stuck between them-- i love me some angst in the morning) and aaa i adore your writing ♥ seeing it in the natsuyuu tag warms my heart every time!!
writing prompts52: “i think i’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”+ 65: “look at me – just breathe, okay?”
x
Kaname isn’t usually desperately grateful that his father is away for work, but he is now, as someone bangs on the front door with what sounds like a personal vendetta against conventional sleeping hours.
He yanks the door open, and stares. Natsume stares back at him, his arms curled protectively around an irritated Ponta, shivering in the bitter January night air without a jacket.
“You just – opened the door?” Natsume says incredulously. “You didn’t even ask who I was. What if I had been a burglar?”
“You wouldn’t have knocked if you were a burglar,” Kaname says, incredulous himself as he reaches out to drag Natsume inside. “What are you thinking? It’s freezing out – you’re freezing! Get inside, come on.”
He gathers Natsume in against him, attempting to stave off the winter cold. Natsume leans into him willingly for all of three seconds, and then pushes stubbornly away.
“Wait, I have to – Tanuma, I need to tell you something.”
The legs of his pants are damp, as if he’d gone plowing through snowdrifts to get here, and he’s trembling in the heat of the house. Kaname refuses to hear him out until Natsume agrees to change out of those clothes, not budging even when Natsume looks faintly betrayed by the reasonable demand.
“There’s no point trying to talk sense to him right now,” Ponta says with a derisive sniff the moment Natsume is out of the room. “He’s drunk.” At the look on Kaname’s face – and it must have been telling – the cat hastily adds, “It wasn’t me, it was the Shojo he befriended. He helped them with a task, and they gave him a taste of their seawater wine as thanks. They’re a harmless sort, no need to get excited.”
And Kaname trusts him enough to relax, sinking into a seat at the kitchen table. “Shojo?” he asks.
“They’re a sea spirit.” Ponta hops up into his lap, every bit like a pampered housecat. “They live on secluded beaches, for the most part. Clever creatures, but they drink so much wine it makes them silly. They really do brew the best wine, though,” he adds, and his clear favor for the Shojo suddenly mankes sense.
Kaname rubs a hand over his forehead, thankful, somewhere in the back of his mind, that there’s no school in the morning. “Okay, but how does that explain this?”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. Ponta huffs. “Shojo often amalgamate their brews with certain magics. They can create a brink wine that only tastes good to the pure of heart, and I’ve even heard of their wine healing humans close to death. In this case, they thought Natsume would benefit from being less,” he pauses to parse for the appropriate word, “inhibited.”
Kaname stares at him. “Did Natsume ask for that?”
“Does Natsume ever ask for anything in return for his meddling?”
And Kaname feels a faint stirring of anger, like a greasy coil in the pit of his stomach. Natsume gives them kindness, and they give him a drugged drink? His life would be so much easier if he wasn’t so eager to help.
“The Shojo simply enjoy life,” Ponta says, as though to help him understand. “They thought they would help Natsume enjoy it, too. Natsume’s spiritual power enhanced the qualities they imbued in the wine they gave him, and what should have been a gentle nudge turned into a shove. It should only last the night. He’ll be himself in the morning.”
“Tanuma.” Natsume’s voice draws Kaname’s eyes to where his friend is standing in the doorway in borrowed clothes, as stiff with nerves as he was with cold when he arrived. “Please let me talk to you.”
Ponta jumps down as Kaname stands and patters into the kitchen.
“Come sit,” Kaname says patiently, all but aching for his friend and this fit of forced honesty. But Natsume shakes his head and starts pacing, fingers twisting in the sleeves of Kaname’s sweater. The sweater is too big on him, and Kaname wishes it was the appropriate time to find that charming.
“I can’t,” Natsume starts to say, then stops. “Look,” he tries again, “I know I’m not – “ He jerks to a halt in the middle of the room, eyes bright with frustration. “I don’t know how to say this.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Kaname would almost rather he didn’t. “Just – come sit down with me? We can heat up something to eat and watch a movie, we don’t have to talk. I’m here for you, no matter what – but I don’t ever want you to think you have to give me something you don’t really want to.”
But somehow that’s the wrong thing to say, because the brightness in Natsume’s eyes threatens to spill over and he blurts, “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”
With that, Kaname doesn’t think he could find the strength to move if his actual life was on the line. He sits and stares stupidly, while Natsume wrings his hands and looks at the floor.
“One of these days you were gonna figure it out,” Natsume says without lifting his eyes, “and then you’d – you wouldn’t want to be friends with me anymore. You wouldn’t hate me, I know that – you’re so kind – but you wouldn’t be a part of my life anymore.” He covers his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “That scares me.”
His voice hitches, and Kaname remembers how to move. He crosses the room in three long strides and wraps firm hands around Natsume’s wrists.
“Hey, hey, Natsume. Look at me – just breathe, okay?”
His heart would be fluttering if it wasn’t so heavy, he thinks, as he manages to ease Natsume’s hands down.
“After everything I’ve done to prove I want to be here next to you,” Kaname says, “you think there’s anything you could do to make me walk away?”
Natsume’s expression is so transparent and unguarded that Kaname isn’t sure how he’ll get used to the walls that will go back up the moment the Shojo’s magic is gone.
“Come sit,” Kaname says gently, “and let me make you something to eat. And in the morning, you can take it back, if you want. It’s not fair that a drink made you tell me a secret you wanted to keep. You can take it back and I won’t bring it up again, okay? But let’s wait until morning.”
For a long moment, Natsume doesn’t move. He searches Kaname’s face as though he’s seeing him for the first time, or trying to commit him to memory. But when Kaname gives a gentle tug on their joined hands, Natsume follows him into the warm light of the kitchen.
He’s quiet for the rest of the night, and Kaname is quiet with him.
He does his very best to put his own feelings on the shelf, and ignore the painful surge of joy at Natsume’s stricken confession. If this isn’t what Natsume wants, then Kaname doesn’t want it, either.
.
.
.
In the morning Kaname wakes slowly, stirring in the heavy swathes of rich sunlight that paint the living room gold. When he looks up, he’s looking into amber eyes.
Natsume’s stubborn mouth is firm with resolve, and his gaze is steely, and the only thing that gives away his nerves is the tight way his hands are folded in his lap.
Kaname sits up and considers him. From the far side of the room, Ponta says, “The magic is gone, brat. Don’t worry about taking advantage of him.”
Color burns in Natsume’s face, but he doesn’t budge. The too-big clothes he’s borrowing sit crooked on his willowy frame, and it’s just as charming as it was the night before.
“What if I don’t want to take it back?” he asks quietly, courageously.
Kaname can’t help the smile that breaks wide across his face, or the warmth that blooms like flowers in his heart.
Just that must be answer enough — because for the first time since he arrived last night in the dark and cold, Natsume smiles back, bright enough to rival the rest of the sunshine filling the room.
