An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
AKA I don't even know what I'm writing anymore. You can read it on AO3, or on tumblr not under the cut, because it seems I'm not allowed cuts for links. It's a rare pairing though, that's for sure.
Pairings: Mikoshiba Seijuuro/Shigino Kisumi (SeiKisumi for further reference), background ReiGisa, SouRin, and MakoHaru.
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Seijuuro notices the new boat the moment he approaches the docks.
It's a big one, with a streamlined hull that promises swiftness in the water. The deck is clean and the entire ship shines, even though there're some rough patches here and there. What really draws his attention is the light blue-green color that paints the ship. Eyecatching.
Though, the ship's name does deserve a mention, carved in with a dark purple color. The MakoHaru. It's weird, but Seijuuro knows that he has no right to complain. His own ship had an odd name, but it has a nice ring to it, so he keeps the name.
"Excuse me, are you Mikoshiba Seijuuro?" He turns around to spot a fairly tall man smiling at him. Purple eyes glimmer with good humor as pale lips twitch up. Immediately, Seijuuro's eyes flick to the abnormally colored hair. Pink. Was it dyed?
The stranger has a nice face too. Narrow bright eyes, a surprisingly attractive pale complexion, and a strong jaw were like a balm for sore eyes. Wide shoulders, not too bulky with muscles hidden beneath a white shirt. Long legs held apart in a confident air, and was Seijuuro really checking the guy out?
The stranger who was also looking Seijuuro up and down. He realizes he hasn't answered the question yet.
"You're. . . pretty cute!" Seijuuro's mouth decides to declare, and it's at times like these he wonders if his body has a mind of his own, because that wasn't what he wanted to say. Then his suspicions prove correct when the hot stranger grins with a slight blush, and his face responds with it's own radiation of heat.
"Er," Seijuuro flusters for only a moment, schooling his expression. "Yeah, that's me. Did the dockmaster send you?" Slowly, his blush cools.
Thankfully, the pink-haired man doesn't comment on his slip. "Yup, Haruno-san said you could show me around. I'm Shigino Kisumi, yoroshiku!" Shigino introduces. He tips his head into a casual bow, beaming.
Just look at that smile.
Seijuuro is doomed.
-
"So, how'd you get that ship?" Seijuuro asks, tipping his ice-cream toward the before-mentioned boat. It's a hot day, dreary in every aspect, and he has known Kisumi for a week. The strawberry princess had insisted they be on first-name terms, and Seijuuro really couldn't resist those eyes.
Kisumi snickers like he'd remembered a particularly funny story. The water laps at their feet, and the wood sags almost alarmingly under the two young men, but neither of them can bring themselves to care. Right now the dock had a nice cool breeze, and Seijuuro's sure he'll melt if he moves.
"My uncle's some sort of sailor; nobody in the family really knows what he does, but he has a ton of ships. And so, one day, I. . ." Kisumi rambles while Seijuuro leans back on his elbows. He just listens to the other's voice, humming with laughter as the tale unfolds.
At one point, Kisumi slings an arm over his should, pointing at various spots on the turquoise ship. The story gets wilder and wilder, and giggles interrupt ever-so-often. A nice warmth eases itself inside Seijuuro's chest, and he'd be happy if the moment lasts forever.
"You did that?!" Seijuuro snorts, scandalized. "I mean, the seagull and lightbulb, I understand, but mudfish. . . ?" His words trail off as he realizes how close they are, leaning on each other as their legs rub.
Okay, up until now, he'd perfectly aware of his slight crush. When Kisumi smiled, dragonflies blew fire into his chest and fluttered about in his stomach. When Kisumi laughed at his jokes, the pits of hell would warm his cheeks as his lips stretched into a grin. A bunch of stupid, embarrassing things just added up, and no one can claim Seijuuro was dumb.
(Matsuoka might assume that he was an airhead, but the younger swimmer would be wrong.)
But he was a hormonal young man, and he had experience with crushes (Matsuoka Gou came to mind), so he had assumed that it'll fade away after he got to know Kisumi better. It hadn't, if anything it got worse. Now, imagine: you're sitting with your slightly-more-than-a-crush on a hot day with your legs rubbing as you share some ice-cream. Also, the water is cool, and a really nice breeze ruffles the more-than-a-crush's perfect hair.
And do you know what's going through Seijuuro's mind? Not, damn I'd bang that sweet ass, (though the thought is there somewhere, wriggling under layers of content) but rather, no thoughts at all. Every action, every word is instant as Seijuuro basks in Kisumi's presense. He's just-- there, sitting with the peach princess on the docks without a care in the world.
If this is called love, Seijuuro wouldn't be surprised.
. . . God damn it.