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“Why did it have to be a play, anyway?” Yamaguchi moaned, shoes dragging along the concrete.
“You already said that.”
It was true—he’d said it at least twice when Tsukishima had actually been paying attention, and possibly a few times besides when Tsukishima had been tuning him out.
“I think they’re trying to make fun of me.” After all, why else would the class have voted so overwhelmingly for Yamaguchi to play the prince, of all things, in front of everyone at the cultural festival?
Tsukishima’s eyes actually darted up sharply at that. That sure as hell had better not be why. He shrugged, though, as if the very thought didn’t fill him with a quiet rage. “So talk to the teacher about it.” He sighed, toying with the cord of his headphones and considering just putting them on so he wouldn’t have to think about this anymore. “But for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s like that.”
“Then why?” Yamaguchi stopped and faced Tsukishima, spreading his arms a little in a gesture to his… everything. His entire self.
Tsukishima didn’t really roll his eyes as much as he just averted them, side-stepping around Yamaguchi so he could continue on his way home.
“When we were reading that stupid fairytale in class last week.” It wasn’t a complete sentence, but he said it like it was. “You read your part well. I think it left an impression.”
Yamaguchi was just as quiet outwardly as his thoughts were almost unbearably loud for a moment. “I was reading for a knight, not a prince,” he finally managed to squeak out.
“Whatever. You’re a good reader.” It was better to just come out and say it than to hear Yamaguchi say more self-deprecating things and (maybe unconsciously) fish for compliments.
“Thanks, Tsukki.” He scratched at his nose a little, probably more to partially hide his face than anything else.
But it was only a temporary balm for the apparently very deep wound of being acknowledged by his classmates because he was back to whining before they were even halfway home.
“I don’t think I can do it all. I won’t even be reading, you know? I have to memorize everything.”
Tsukishima made a few more attempts at lazily placating him, but eventually he did take a lull in the conversation as an excuse to secure his headphones over his ears and tune everything out until they reached his house. He suspected it was probably in Yamaguchi’s best interest, anyway. Turning over the same worries again and again like that could only get him more worked up.
--
As it happened, a new worry didn’t have time to arise until half-way through their homework, when Yamaguchi suddenly stiffened and lurched back from his position on the bed so violently that the script booklet he’d been scanning over clattered to the floor.
Tsukishima’s hand drifted to his forehead automatically in anticipation of the potential oncoming headache.
“What is it now?”
“Auomngh dnn hhhhh,” Yamaguchi mumbled through his hands, which he’d pressed against his reddening face.
“I see.”
Tsukishima waited. A few deep breaths later, Yamaguchi lowered his hands enough to peek through his fingers with a look of dread.
“I’m supposed to gyehmn—“he shook his head and tried again. “The prince has to, you know… there’s a kissing scene in this.”
“So?” Tsukishima said. He didn’t feel like “so.” But there was no point in them both freaking out.
“My first kiss is going to be a stage kiss with someone I don’t even know.”
Tsukishima exhaled slowly through his nose. Rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. Yes, there was that headache, right on schedule. “You know her. She’s been in our class all year.”
“But my first kiss.” Yamaguchi was too far in the grip of despair to even be embarrassed about admitting it. Twice. It wasn’t like Tsukishima didn’t know he’d never been kissed, anyway. There’s no way something like that could have escaped his notice.
“Only girls care about stupid things like that.” A lie. Possibly, in Tsukishima’s defense, a necessary one.
Yamaguchi huffed. Well, he didn’t want to seem stupid. Or like a girl. He pulled his legs to his chest and hugged his knees. “What if I screw it up?”
Tsukishima couldn’t even pretend to be dismissively reassuring about that one. He looked over Yamaguchi’s hunched form, the way he curled in on himself. He imagined Yamaguchi trying to kiss the girl who’d won the princess role by a narrow margin, who was not unpretty but mainly only notable because she was the class’s vice-president. He imagined Yamaguchi trembling and making a really weird face. Besides the way it made Tsukishima’s insides feel turbulent and acidic, he had to admit that statistically, it was pretty likely that Yamaguchi would screw it up.
“Would you be less nervous if you’d kissed someone before?”
“B-but I haven’t—“
“But if you had.” Honestly, why did this have to be so hard.
Yamaguchi blinked. Tsukishima didn’t usually deal in hypotheticals. He did his best to think it over, though. “I guess. I’d know what I was doing, at least.”
“Fine.”
Tsukishima rose from his desk and plopped down across from Yamaguchi on the bed. Yamaguchi looked confused, which was at least better than twisted up and miserable. Confused Yamaguchi was only mildly annoying at worst.
“You should probably sit normally,” Tsukishima sighed. “This probably won’t work very well with you in the fetal position.”
“Uh?” He readjusted to sit cross-legged anyway, but the baffled frown didn’t leave his face.
God. Tsukishima was actually going to have to explain this. “You can kiss me.”
“Why?!” Yamaguchi tried to shuffle backwards, but he was already up against the wall, so he only managed to mess up the bedding a little.
“For practice. You’re going to kiss me, and then you’re going to stop complaining and do the stupid play.”
“Okay,” Yamaguchi said, and then his jaw dropped, horrified. Why had he said okay, it was definitely not okay, because the only thing worse than having a terrible, incompetent first kiss with some random classmate was having a terrible, incompetent first kiss withohnoohshit Tsukishima was already leaning in, and Yamaguchi actually flinched in complete terror.
“Okay?” Tsukishima repeated. He was sort of getting mixed signals here.
A second ago this whole thing had been an instruction, a you are going to thing, and now it was a question. Yamaguchi was really not sure if that was better or worse. His blood was pounding really loud in his ears and that was probably not normal and probably a symptom of some horrible disease. Maybe he would die now and not have to answer that question.
“Forget it,” Tsukishima muttered, and moved to get up.
Yamaguchi reached out and grabbed his arm so suddenly and so forcefully that he gasped in surprise at his own actions. That was probably weird. That was like stepping on someone else’s foot and saying “Ow.” Maybe they could just move right on past that.
“N-no,” he choked out hastily. “Please… help me.”
Mixed signals everywhere. Was this even worth it? Tsukishima managed to pry Yamaguchi’s fingers off of his arm (to a small, wavering “Sorry, Tsukki”) and use that as leverage to pull him in close enough that their noses touched. He gave Yamaguchi several seconds to back out. Maybe more like two seconds.
Mouths, as it turned out, are soft. It doesn’t take a whole lot of pressure to crush them together in a way that traps lips between teeth painfully. That was lesson number one.
Tsukishima said something that was probably “Shit” and Yamaguchi said something that was probably “Sorry, Tsukki” again, but it wasn’t very clear because both of them were clutching their mouths.
“Are you bleeding?” Yamaguchi finally said.
“No.”
“Oh. Because I’m bleeding.” Yamaguchi stared blankly at his hand, and the pale smear of red left on one of his fingers.
Tsukishima sighed and reached for a tissue, thrusting it unceremoniously into Yamaguchi’s hand.
Normally, Tsukishima liked silence. It was a precious commodity that he got far, far too little of. This silence, though, he didn’t really like. This silence was filled with irritation and high blood pressure and the nagging thought that that had probably actually been his fault, yet Yamaguchi had been the one to apologize.
Yamaguchi, however, was occasionally good at lightening the mood. “If I’d done that on stage, it would have been a disaster.”
They both laughed. Just a little. Quiet, breathy. The tension broke.
“That’s why we’re doing this,” Tsukishima said, running a hand through his hair. When he caught Yamaguchi’s eyes, he found a hopeful expression there. Probably because Tsukishima had said doing, present tense. Well, but that was obvious, wasn’t it? “We’ll have to try again. If you bleed on the class president in the middle of a performance, it’ll reflect on the whole class.”
“Vice-president,” Yamaguchi corrected, like that made it any better.
Was that really all he was taking away from that? “Still.”
Yamaguchi pulled the tissue away from his lip, evaluating. “I think I stopped bleeding. Want to try again?”
“Gross. Brush your teeth first. At least drink some water.”
Yamaguchi made a face, but Tsukishima wasn’t even looking—too busy pushing to his feet and returning to his desk. Some people had more important things to do than throwing play scripts and busting their lips open. Like actual homework.
--
They didn’t get a chance to try again until after dinner, which was a somewhat jittery affair during which Yamaguchi was sure he would start bleeding again and then he would have to either lie or explain to Tsukishima’s mother that he got injured while attempting to kiss her son in his room for academic reasons.
The world managed not to crumble though, and before long Yamaguchi found himself sitting across from Tsukishima on his bed once again—their positions reversed this time, which would hopefully give Yamaguchi more leeway to back off if Tsukishima attempted to indelicately smash their faces together again. Not that either of them would dare entertain that as the reason.
Although, Tsukishima did point out that the point was for Yamaguchi to learn how to kiss someone, not how to be kissed. That was the most he was willing to acknowledge on that matter.
So, ultimately it was Yamaguchi who planted his palms on the bed and leaned in, miraculously not trembling, and even more miraculously managing to match his lips up with Tsukishima’s in a way that was gentle and unpainful and generally kind of pleasant, even if it was nothing particularly spectacular.
He pulled back, blinked. “Was that okay?”
“Hm,” Tsukishima said, doing some sort of half-nod half-shrug thing.
The feeling of it was, if Yamaguchi were to compare it to anything, kind of like a married couple giving each other a quick peck on the lips before parting ways in the morning. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, really, but it maybe wasn’t quite the right fit for the dramatic romantic climax of a love story.
“Can I try again?”
Tsukishima made that same weird gesture again. Yamaguchi didn’t really have time to overthink that right now; he was determined to get this right.
They kissed twice more. And then again. Yamaguchi kind of lost count, but eventually he tilted his head back to a better angle and Tsukishima parted his lips slightly and it seemed like they were getting closer. Something was still a little bit off, though—it felt kind of rigid, maybe. Yamaguchi pulled back to assess what the problem might be, but apparently that sent the wrong signal because Tsukishima immediately looked away and got to his feet.
“It’s getting late.”
“R-right,” Yamaguchi agreed before he even glanced at a clock to confirm. “We can pick this up another time.”
Tsukishima cleared his throat but didn’t really say anything that was a word. Something on his desk was really, really fascinating.
Yamaguchi gathered his things as efficiently as he could manage, almost forgetting to retrieve the play script from the floor until he stepped on it, crumpling the pages. Maybe he could leave it under some heavy textbooks overnight and it would straighten out again.
“See you tomorrow,” he offered, pausing at the door.
Tsukishima lifted a hand briefly, as if he seriously couldn’t be bothered to offer any more acknowledgment than that, and shoved his headphones over his ears.
Yamaguchi made it approximately a block and a half down the road before it occurred to him that he had kissed Tsukishima.
He
kissed
Tsukishima Kei.
On the mouth.
And Tsukishima kissed him back.
Yamaguchi’s vision went kind of blurry, his stomach turned over violently, and he felt very, very cold. He registered that the world was kind of tilting and it was making his ankle shift into an uncomfortable and unnatural position, and then basically nothing.
--
He came to with a sharp pain in his left elbow and a fresh wave of nausea. It didn’t seem like much time had passed, but he couldn’t really be sure.
The cold feeling was gone, at least, replaced by a burning in his cheeks that didn’t help with the nausea situation. Nor did the fluttering sensation just below his chest.
A quick examination found the skin on his elbow broken, but only just barely, so at least he wasn’t bleeding for the second time in a single evening. Nothing else seemed to be all that damaged, thankfully. He felt sure that his ankle should have been twisted pretty badly, but it must have righted itself when he went limp.
So, fainting. Not pretty or delicate like in movies. Significantly more dangerous and sick-feeling. Also really, really stupid and embarrassing.
Yamaguchi wandered home in the most hazy, oppressive trance. Any attempt to hang on to any given thought for more than a split-second sent a furious, giddy stab through his heart and he had to try not to stumble. It was probably safer to just go on auto-pilot, or he might not make it home at all.
--
It wasn’t until he was safely tucked up in bed with the lights out that he actually let himself start to sort through everything.
So, first of all, that was one hell of a delayed reaction. The actual kissing part had been mostly fine, if a little awkward. The best Yamaguchi could figure, he’d managed to lock off some part of his brain for the event itself. Maybe some switch flipped because it was too much to process. And then as soon as he was alone, the floodgates opened full-force.
It was fairly safe to say that he was basically really attracted to Tsukishima, for whatever that was worth. It could have been some unforeseen side-effect of kissing, but more likely it had always been there, just below the surface, waiting for the right moment to completely ruin Yamaguchi’s life.
Which meant it was probably a completely awful idea to kiss him. And also he absolutely had to, a lot. Again. As soon as possible.
He pulled the covers up over his face and groaned.
--
The walk to school was hell. Classes were hell. Practice especially was hell because not only was Tsukishima there, but he was moving and sweating and flexing muscles and having really long legs, and those idle observations became really treacherous to navigate when coupled with the very tangible memory of what his mouth tastes like. Yamaguchi excused himself to the restroom and stayed there for almost twenty minutes, just trying to remember how to breathe or function like a normal human being at all.
--
They went home together, again. Yamaguchi didn’t say anything, so Tsukishima listened to music. It was so normal. It was so normal and they didn’t even talk and Yamaguchi’s palms sweated and his heart raced the whole time. This was the worst.
By the time they made it to Tsukishima’s room, Yamaguchi felt like he was going to scream. Should he bring it up? Probably not. He really wanted to. He had to at least know if more practice was going to happen before or after homework.
But then a horrible thought occurred to him—what if it wasn’t going to happen today at all? Yamaguchi had said “another time” himself. Why had he phrased it that way? That could mean anything. He could have a complete breakdown waiting for “another time.”
They worked on homework. Compared math notes. Tsukishima told a story about some first-year getting in a fight with a vending machine. Yamaguchi kept noticing stupid things like Tsukishima’s wrists. The clock seemed to never change no matter how many times Yamaguchi looked at it, which was frustrating even though he didn’t really have a specific time to be counting down to.
They finished the homework and Yamaguchi almost breathed a sigh of relief, until Tsukishima opened up a book and started reading.
Yamaguchi could have cried actual tears of frustration. He honestly felt them welling up, but he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and fished that damn script out of his bag. Trying to learn lines was probably pointless right now, but he could at least try to straighten out the pages and seem like he was busy and not dying inside.
The ruffling of paper caught Tsukishima’s attention though, and he turned.
“Oh,” he said in the most blasé voice possible. “Do you need more help with that?”
Yamaguchi said “Yes” practically before Tsukishima could even get the question out, and he was so ready for that to be the mistake that finally ended his life for a moment, but Tsukishima didn’t question it. Instead, he joined him on the bed, and took his glasses off.
Oh god. Maybe that would at least help Yamaguchi hide his shame? Except he knew it wouldn’t because Tsukishima was near-sighted. It wouldn’t help and maybe nothing would ever help with anything ever again.
It was different this time. It was different because Yamaguchi’s heart was trying to beat several times faster than normal and because his cheeks were blazing and his stomach felt weird (but, like, good-weird). It was also different because without his glasses, Tsukishima could tilt his head to the side and press in closer, move more freely. Yamaguchi felt a hand on his shoulder, and he instantly knew that had been the missing piece last night—they needed some other point of contact besides their lips to make this feel right. Yamaguchi held his breath and used every ounce of courage he could find to place his hands gingerly on Tsukishima’s knees. When that wasn’t met with resistance, he opened his mouth on a relieved sigh, and then it got way better. They sort of melted together, and it was so, so easy.
Yamaguchi couldn’t be sure which one of them finally pulled back, or if anyone had at all. They just sort of slipped back to themselves like the tide receding.
“You’re good at that,” Yamaguchi accused. Because either he had been secretly kissing other people or that was just one more thing on the long list of things Tsukishima just had a natural talent for. And either way, it was seriously unfair.
Tsukishima sighed. “I was just following your lead.” He replaced his glasses and headed for the door, presumably off to the restroom. “You’ll be fine.”
Well, that was… had he been leading?
He took Tsukishima’s absence as an opportunity to bury his face in a pillow and yell. Everything was so completely impossible. Everything.
--
There were no more informal one-on-one practice sessions. Just rote memorization of lines, a degrading costume fitting, and a couple of casual rehearsals during which no one seemed to be able to decide whose left was Stage Left, exactly. The only small grace was that Tsukishima was in charge of lighting and sound, so he wasn’t there to see Yamaguchi struggle. Or to distract him, for that matter, because that was more and more of a problem every day.
The night before the festival, Yamaguchi went home alone on the pretext of needing to attend to some vague last-minute preparations. Instead, he took a cold shower and considered changing his name and leaving the country.
--
The stage kiss, in the end, was a goddamn stage kiss. As in, it didn’t even actually happen. The prince twirled the princess away from the audience, dipped her (Miss Class Vice-President clutching hard to Yamaguchi’s sleeves like she was sure he was going to drop her—which, by the way, rude), and they just sort of held their faces close for a minute while the curtain fell and the audience cheered.
--
“And after all that,” Yamaguchi moaned afterwards, hanging back in the abandoned club room that had been set up as makeshift dressing room. Everyone else had already filed out, and this was probably their last chance to actually talk uninterrupted until the festival was over.
“Stop,” Tsukishima said. His voice was so sharp that Yamaguchi nearly got whiplash turning to look at him.
“Tsukki?”
Tsukishima sighed and looked away. “If you’re going to say something like ‘it was all for nothing,’ I don’t want to hear it.
“What…”
And then Tsukishima was kissing him, and their teeth clacked together and oh my god it was true Tsukishima really wasn’t good at this. If Yamaguchi wanted to avoid further injury, he would have to take over.
Sure enough, that sort of evened things out. Yamaguchi took Tsukishima’s face in both hands and fixed the angle, using just enough force to set a reasonable pace for them to move together. He felt a little bit like his heart might give out and he could put “minor heart attack” right under “fainting” on the list of unforeseen medical repercussions of kissing Tsukishima. But at least it helped that they’d done this before. He knew what to do, how to navigate Tsukishima’s irregular patterns and keep them stable until that familiar melting sensation surrounded them again. In a heady moment of uncharacteristic boldness, Yamaguchi pressed his tongue into Tsukishima’s mouth because it seemed like the thing to do. Tsukishima tried clumsily to retaliate (and since when was anything Tsukishima did clumsy, but there it was) and Yamaguchi had to surge up onto his toes to retake the lead and guide them back in the right direction—more synchronized harmony and less overzealous adolescent disaster.
Tsukishima was definitely the one to pull back this time, flushed and muttering complaints about Yamaguchi fogging up his glasses. What should have been the familiar chirp of “Sorry, Tsukki” same a little breathless and rough, unexpectedly throwing them both into stunned silence. Yamaguchi’s voice didn’t usually do that particular thing.
Tsukishima was taking his sweet time polishing his glasses, so Yamaguchi set about packing up costumes and props just to keep himself busy. The script was so badly damaged that he just tossed it.
“I can’t believe I actually remembered all of my lines.” It seemed like a weird thing to say, but he had to say something and he wasn’t sure how to phrase the obvious.
“I told you you’d be fine.”
Yamaguchi straightened up, backed against the door and smiled crookedly because he knew he was about to say something even worse. “I don’t know,” he said, grabbing hold of the handle in case he had to bolt. “I still think I could use some more practice.”