#sarumi anthology 2016

[its-love-u-asshole]

Adjusting the Scope [fic]

Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki

Rating: T (for very minor violence) 

Summary: He knew that voice anywhere. He craved it in fact, and the longing for it tended to be a most deadly distractor at various points of the day. Never had he imagined to actually hear it on a mission. Somehow, even if he had…it probably wouldn’t have involved him crouched under a crate waiting to kill the owner of said voice. [Assassins AU]

Ao3 Version

Helloooo! *_* So, this fic was originally written for the 2016 Sarumi Anthology from July, but we weren't allowed to post it until now! I hope everyone who didn't get to read it enjoys it, thank you so much for reading! This is obviously my older writing as well so, pls forgive me for that lmaooo. Comments are always appreciated ^^

He’d already zeroed the scope.

Honestly, guns were so annoying, especially sniper rifles. The elevation knob had to be accordingly adjusted to allow for some inaccuracies without totally missing the target. Then of course there was actually positioning the damn thing, which always changed based on the particular rifle he was using.

Saruhiko hated guns. They were loud, sometimes heavy, and having to adjust to each and every one’s different specs whenever he needed one for a job was time consuming and irritating. His boss usually kept his preferences in mind, giving Saruhiko more ‘close range’ jobs or targets that lived alone, so he could take them out more efficiently with his knives. Resorting to guns was truly a last option for Saruhiko, but the client had been specific; make it a quick job, no direct contact. And with many of his coworkers out on other assignments or suffering from injuries, Saruhiko had been the only one available.

Not that Saruhiko wasn’t skilled with whatever weapon he was given, but guns were so obnoxiously violent and loud they gave him a headache, and the traditional stealth and grace of a knife was preferable to him.

Not for everyone unfortunately…

He smiled fondly, despite the grimness of the situation. He was positioned up on a tall building, the highest he could find that was not surrounded by apartment buildings or other structures with windows. Witnesses were…difficult to deal with.

The rooftop was dingy and littered with trash, a bit out of character for the wealthy neighborhood he was in. Oh well, it made it less likely that someone would find him. Even still, he’d bolted the rooftop door shut.

There was a light breeze, and Saruhiko clicked his tongue, factoring the change into the rifle’s positioning. He had it on a stand, but even that was proving to be troublesome, so he lifted it, supporting it fully in his own slender arms with a mild grunt. He held it steady, grace and still in his posture as he waited.

Below him, an outdoor gala was being held on a lower roof, filled with city officials and prominent families. They were all scattered throughout the bright green lawn at the top of the building, some hanging around the buffet table, others enjoying the open bar. It was the stereotypical high class get together, people conversing and chirping about happily, tight smiles refusing to leaves the clean, retouched faces.

Luckily, the target was sitting, occasionally entertaining those who came by to speak to him. That was what Saruhiko was waiting for. Killing those who weren’t targets, especially innocents, was largely frowned upon in his organization. In fact, Scepter 4 usually only dealt with mob bosses or hardcore criminals, almost vigilante in its actions. On the rare occasions in which the target was a prominent person, intensive research would be done by the team to decide if the person’s elicit behaviors were truly worth punishing so harshly.

Ah, but yes, it’d been decided. Without him too, as a matter of fact, making the reality of his current position even more annoying. Saruhiko had been on a date when the verdict had been made, yet he’d still been stuck with the job.

Whatever. Point was, the official in question was a prominent businessman known for abusing his workers, letting them go without proper compensation, working them excessive hours, and even causing several deaths due to hazardous working conditions they were forced to undertake. It was all very bleak to Saruhiko, and while cruel, it was not uncommon for higher ups to employ such underhanded methods to save a few bucks.

Still, once his boss Munakata had caught wind of the story, the older man’s sensitivities and sense of justice were activated, and that was that.

The last few people crowded around the businessman were starting to drift away, and Saruhiko inhaled sharply. This was it.

He removed the safety of the rifle, the soft clinking of it now suddenly audible from the brief pause in the wind. Perfect.

He brought the rifle up, swallowing once as he squinted, every calibration running through his head so as to avoid any mishaps. The man was laughing in his crosshairs. Saruhiko had done this plenty of times, but Munakata always said there was no use in getting arrogant. Still, the impending sense of victory was coursing through him. Saruhiko took in another breath, then held it…1…2…

His finger ghosted over the trigger, and—

A shot rang out, and after the usual moment of suspended silence, the convention below seemed to erupt in chaos as eccentric gala suits and gown were splattered with crimson. It was over that quick, yet it looked as if the horror show was only beginning as people trampled each other, trying to get to the rooftop stairs to flee, as if they too were in danger. Saruhiko grunted from the way the music abruptly stopped, the strings of instruments butchering notes as their musicians dropped them to take cover. Men fled every which way, women searched for loved ones in the pandemonium. All the while, the victim’s blood continued to pour, staining the fake, groomed grass below and mixing with the spilled alcohol of the night.

So, the usual, and no less than what Saruhiko would have expected on any normal event such as this. The only issue was, the shot hadn’t come from him.

The world slowed down as all the senses in his body went to high alert, and the screams below him were instantly drowned out in his mind, his whole being now waiting for any sign of another presence. Saruhiko dove for the nearest statue, pure instinct driving him as he found cover and reached for his knives. He’d made sure to masterfully take apart his snipper rifle in a matter of seconds, deft hands pulling the weapon apart and kicking the pieces in different directions before he had fled from his earlier position. At least whoever was with him wouldn’t be able to use it against him, assuming the attacker didn’t have a more appropriate and fully functioning close range weapon already. Like hell would Saruhiko die from his own gun, no matter how improbable it was. He grabbed the backpack he’d brought with him too as he ducked away, knowing some stuff in there would help if he really got into a fight.

He replayed the events in his head, slowing them down so he could see all the gruesome details. They didn’t bother him anymore. The shot had been a success, the target was neutralized. The blood had flown quite quickly, almost excessively, telling Saruhiko that the gunmen hadn’t hit in the ‘correct’ place. Not that it mattered, dead was dead, but to Saruhiko, it meant the gunmen was a bit sloppier, if not inexperienced with the weapon.

There were sirens in the distance now, but even then, Saruhiko expected them to be just a few minutes behind due to the rush hour traffic. Just enough time for him to leave, had this predicament not stupidly unfolded.

Saruhiko allowed himself a frustrated sigh, what were the odds someone else would take the liberty of killing this guy? On the same day? He felt the strong urge to slap himself, maybe it would all be a dream, an annoyingly vivid dream, and he’d wake up in the sheets with—

The roof’s door was shot open.

Saruhiko tensed, silently diving from the statue to flatten himself against the nearest wall, baring a few knives from his harness in preparation as he slunk down behind some abandoned crates. He’d already mapped out a route in his head if the other assassin had a gun, which was now an affirmative. Saruhiko would use the statues as leverage to hop onto the roof of the staircase, it would be harder to shoot him up there, but easy for Saruhiko to hear where the assassin was, and time an effective blow. He just had to figure out where the other was at the moment…

There’d been no other sound from the doorway, meaning the assassin had most likely paused to survey his surroundings. Rookie move for someone who had made such a difficult shot, but Saruhiko figured hey, someone could do whatever they wanted as long as they were prepared.

This person was either too arrogant or too carefree.

Saruhiko heard the scuff of a shoe, and yeah, the other had definitely rounded the corner, heading in Saruhiko’s direction. Damn.

Despite the commotion of a few arriving police cars and screaming below, Saruhiko felt like his world had gone silent, only aware of his own existence and this person’s. Assassins normally wouldn’t clash, but there were always rogues, those not part of organizations, and some had no qualms about killing. Barbarians. They’d be better off in prisons, he remembers Seri, his partner, telling him once, jaw tense and eyes clouded.

He’d never encountered one before, and today was a lousy day to start. He had to make it to dinner in three hours too…

The shadow cast nearby showed the assassin shouldering a gun, a sniper rifle probably, a bit difficult to maneuver at close range but better than nothing.

Well, if you were fighting anyone other than me that is.

Saruhiko smirked, getting ready to leap forward and pierce the other’s open chest, when he heard an annoyingly familiar voice cuss as the assassin tripped over some debris.

You’re not serious…

Saruhiko froze, seconds away from unleashing a barrage of sharpened steel. A multitude of possibilities went through his head. He’d been hearing things maybe, or perhaps it was one of those more technologically advanced organizations, what with the voice manipulators. Saruhiko kept his private life pretty under wraps, but that didn’t mean there was zero chance someone could’ve found out about…peculiar weaknesses.

Right, he could go on with his attack…this was nothing but—

“Fuckin’ shit!”

Yeah, no. He knew that voice anywhere. He craved it in fact, and the longing for it tended to be a most deadly distractor at various points of the day. Never had he imagined to actually hear it on a mission. Somehow, even if he had…it probably wouldn’t have involved him crouched under a crate waiting to kill the owner of said voice.

Saruhiko huffed, loudly too, because it truly didn’t matter anymore. He heard the other sputter, and the telltale sound of a weapon falling onto the floor accidentally, soon accompanied by obvious fumbling as the assassin tried to pick it back up.

Oh Misaki…

Saruhiko hid his knives away, a fond smile finding a way onto his face despite the annoying situation.

“O-oi! I know you’re there! Come out before I blow you away!”

Tempting, if he was gonna phrase it like that…

Saruhiko clicked his tongue before he stood up, mockingly putting his hands up as if in surrender, expression flat. “You really talk too much, I could’ve killed you any number of times during all your fumbling.”

There was a three second beat of silence, during which various emotions swept through Misaki’s eyes. The first was the obvious shock and suspicion, Misaki’s brain processing what he was seeing, trying to reach the conclusion that ah yes, it’s Saruhiko. The second, and one that had Saruhiko’s breath catching, was the usual sparkle which instinctively came whenever Misaki saw Saruhiko, a loving, pleasantly surprised glow in those amber pools which, in any other situation, would propel Saruhiko forward into those waiting arms. The third, a look Saruhiko had become oh so familiar with on the handsome face, was anger.

“W-what the hell did you say?!” Misaki glared fiercely, but the effect of the look was ruined by the sniper rifle on the redhead’s shoulder falling again. “Goddamnit!”

Saruhiko let his hands fall, shaking his head as Misaki moved to heft the weapon over his shoulder.

“Wow, I can tell you really know how to use that,” Saruhiko quipped, delight coursing through him when Misaki’s eyes fixed on him again, a shiver running up the taller’s body from the giddiness. It wasn’t his fault, he’d been busy. Saruhiko hadn’t been able to see Misaki in over a week thanks to background checks and other work involving this job. Having those eyes on him…he couldn’t stand it.

“S-shut up! I was the only person available okay? I don’t usually use these pieces of crap,” Misaki mumbled, light flush spreading over his face, most likely becoming aware of the starved look in Saruhiko’s eyes.

It was true though, despite his interest in fighting games and action movies, Misaki wasn’t a big fan of guns either, and used them even less than Saruhiko. Not to say he couldn’t use them, but, well…

Misaki would rather beat something up, preferably with a bat or a stick. In fact, Saruhiko wouldn’t be surprised if Misaki had a baton or other blunt weapon with him in his own backpack.

Whatever, Saruhiko could care less right then.

He crossed the measly twenty feet distance between them, and he saw Misaki’s shoulders relax, body fully ready and trusting to accept Saruhiko’s touch. The realization was gratifying.

Saruhiko brought his hands up to caress Misaki’s face, resisting the urge to go straight in for a kiss. They were alone, but Misaki had the power to intoxicate him to the point where he didn’t think clearly, and doing anything questionable on a rooftop while chaos wracked the streets below…not a good idea.

Instead, Saruhiko buried his face in Misaki’s neck, breathing in deeply. Misaki smelled clean, like he’d actually afforded himself some time to take a shower before the mission, unlike Saruhiko. He must’ve been staying at a hotel though, because the scent of the body wash was different from the one they shared at home, more plain and cheap but still mixing nicely with Misaki’s own, enticing aroma.

Misaki’s hands came up fast, circling around Saruhiko’s waist tightly as if trying to clutch him as close as possible, nudging his face into the taller’s chest while Saruhiko began peppering innocent kisses along Misaki’s neck. It was kind of amusing, what with Saruhiko trying to bend down and access more skin while Misaki made it more difficult for him by pressing closer, trying to feel along Saruhiko’s entire body with the haphazard embrace.

Chuckling, Saruhiko applied more force with his hands, which were still cradling Misaki’s head, effectively pulling him away enough so their eyes could meet. Misaki’s gaze held a love drunk quality, and Saruhiko couldn’t help but steal a chaste kiss before re-establishing the distance, holding back Misaki from chasing after him.

Misaki looked displeased, but chose to lean into Saruhiko’s hand instead, gripping it with his own as he buried his face into it. “Hey asshole,” the redhead whispered, shooting a lazy grin up at his boyfriend. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm, not happy to see me?” The teasing note in Saruhiko’s tone was enough to make Misaki huff irritably, despite the still apparent flush on his face.

“I’m getting there,” Misaki shot back, pulling Saruhiko’s hands away reluctantly. “Seriously though idiot! Scepter 4 decided it wasn’t taking this job! You guys gave it to Homra!”

Saruhiko clicked his tongue, still refusing to completely relinquish Misaki, one of his hands reaching out to clutch the edge of the other’s sweatshirt. Honestly, not the best attire for these kinds of things…

“No, we said we were taking the job after all. I sent the report to you and everything,” Saruhiko drawled, running a still tense hand through his hair. “Blame whoever goes through your guys’ paperwork.”

Misaki’s choked sputtering was the only thing to break the answering silence. Saruhiko quirked an eyebrow, torn between being thoroughly unimpressed and amused.

“It’s you. You were supposed to go through the paperwork, weren’t you?”

“…No.”

Saruhiko pinched the bridge of his nose, but a fond smile still found its way onto his face. “Misaki…how disorganized is Homra that you’re doing the reports?”

“D-Dewa was sick okay?! Shut up,” Misaki muttered, kicking at the ground like a disgruntled kid.

Ah, so that’s why.

Maybe Homra was shorthanded too. After all, Misaki rarely did missions like this anyways, more accustomed to ground attacks and interrogations. He didn’t exactly get the chance to ask though, because the telltale sound of a news helicopter drowned out his question. It was at that moment Saruhiko decided idle time was over, and he felt Misaki tense against him as well, instincts kicking in at the same time as the taller’s.

They both dove for the crates, already exchanging a look between each other and the roof’s door, weighing the risks of fleeing through such a direct route.

“No choice,” Saruhiko said, voice all authority now. “The other buildings are too far to swing to.”

“Maybe for you—”

“Misaki.” Honestly, Saruhiko thought, now isn’t the time to be reckless. They’d already stayed around the crime scene too long.

Misaki groaned in frustration, simultaneously taking apart his own weapon for easier carry. Saruhiko looked at the scattered bits of his own, wondering if they were worth picking up. There would be no fingerprints, no purchase records to trace, but the weapon was expensive and Fuse would surely be on him if he left behind another weapon.

Misaki made the decision for him though, racing along the wall until he’d successfully made it down the stairs, out of site.

Guess getting the rifle is a no then.

Saruhiko followed, taking advantage of the shadows afforded to him by the large statues and crates on the roof, masterfully gliding to the broken door and disappearing down the stairs just as the helicopter above turned towards the rooftop.

Misaki was waiting for him, foot tapping with anxiety and urgency as he opened a window. Saruhiko glared, jogging forward to peer out of the building.

“Misaki, I told you it’s too—”

Ah, this window faces the alleyway, which means…

“Bastard! I know that! But we can scale down!” Misaki was already pulling out his grappling gun, hitting one of the three buttons so the rope would retract completely. He hooked the spiked edge onto the sill, strong hands gripping the rope as he cautiously stepped outside the window. Saruhiko’s stomach churned against his will, the molded wood the hook was hanging on wasn’t exactly comforting in nature. They didn’t have a choice though, and Saruhiko shot his lover a nod, not bothering to tell him to be careful. From the hesitation in Misaki’s face, it appeared he already knew.

“W-well are you coming?” Misaki asked, hanging out the window and ready to start his descent.

“I have my own,” Saruhiko replied, pulling out a more compact version of Misaki’s gun out of his pack. “It’s the newer model too, better than your outdated crap.”

“Fuck yo—”

“Hurry up!”

Misaki glared, but didn’t protest, instead quickly dropping down the few stories he needed to until he was one the floor. He retracted the roping again, then beckoned for Saruhiko to hurry up.

Giving one dissatisfied look to his own grappling gun, Saruhiko followed, quickly landing below beside Misaki with a bit more grace than the redhead had. As he was putting the gun away and checking his surroundings, he gave one last annoyed look at the item. Honestly, he thought having the things would be useless, they seemed so childish, like something out of a spy movie. He’d be getting a lot of shit for this from Enomoto later…

“Saruhiko c’mon!” Misaki’s voice snapped him out of his reverie, and the taller trotted after him, down the alleyway and onto a less busy street. In theory, they didn’t look suspicious. Just some civilians, maybe late college students due to their backpacks, but otherwise they blended in fine. However, Saruhiko knew it was never good to hang around the murder scene, since Police were quick to pick any suspects that looked even remotely suspicious….and even some that didn’t.

He didn’t like being out in the open anyhow, especially while holding a pack stuffed with illegal items. At least he only carried what was necessary, he didn’t even want to think about what Misaki had in his…

“We should go to the library,” Saruhiko said casually. Misaki looked at him, perplexed momentarily until his eyes brightened.

“O-oh right!”

The library was usually code for an old, abandoned building or hideaway present in every city. Any major city at least, and each hideout was selected by the leaders of Homra and Scepter 4 in the event of emergency situations, or in the case any of the assassins needed a place to plan things out. Saruhiko used them often whenever he couldn’t reserve a hotel, usually for more undercover missions. Every few years, the location of ‘the library’ would change, just to make sure no one would start to suspect.

In this city, ‘the library’ was a large, crumbling hotel from decades before. The restoration of it had been discontinued, so it looked as if it was being renovated, what with the caution tape and old construction tools still littered around. Disgusting. It was his least favorite out of all the bunkers.

At that moment it was a relief though, and he and Misaki went in through a secret hatch, one slightly below ground level, and made their way up to a room on the second story. Saruhiko estimated a thirty minute wait time at least…

Saruhiko and Misaki walked down the halls side by side, monitoring each other’s blind spots in the case someone had infiltrated the place. There was no one though, but Saruhiko never fully let his guard down until he was sealed off in a room.

Entering the fifth room down, knife drawn, Saruhiko wretched from the stuffy, mildew like smell that invaded his nose full force. He couldn’t help but cough, the room was ancient, damp and unventilated.

He put his knife away, no way had anyone been in there recently. Misaki didn’t seem to mind the smell much at the moment, and as Saruhiko tried to remember what clean air felt like, the redhead walked towards the messy twin bed with purpose.

Misaki collapsed, exhausted from the episode of stress, plopping onto the bed with a relieved sigh. He wasn’t used to fleeing, and the city wasn’t familiar to him. The shorter was sitting up, and it was clear to Saruhiko the redhead was clearly trying not to lay back and submit to his tiredness.

Actually, Misaki did have noticeable bags under his eyes, Saruhiko hadn’t noticed them before. They weren’t as prominent as his own, but the evidence of Misaki’s weariness had Saruhiko’s hands twitching, desperate to reach out and offer some sort of comfort.

They were together now, just the two of them, something Saruhiko had been waiting a week for. It felt unreal, like a dream almost. But no, the musty quality of the room and the dirtiness of the structure as a whole managed to convince him of his place in reality.

Still, Misaki was there, and he couldn’t really ask for much more.

Saruhiko walked forward until he was directly in front of his boyfriend, and the redhead quirked an eyebrow. Saruhiko bent down, his body seated firmly between the other’s legs. Misaki noticeably tensed, hands coming up to clutch Saruhiko’s shoulders, either out of habit or anxiety. Maybe both.

“Wh-wh-what are you doi—”

“Don’t worry,” Saruhiko cut him off with a warmhearted tone, voice small, but holding enough power to completely captivate Misaki and silence any protests. He smiled, blue eyes shining affectionately, giving Misaki a look usually reserved for their own home. They were alone though, so it was fine. “It’s not what you think.”

He could see Misaki was still skeptical, but the vice grip on his shoulders slowly lessened, until it was gone. Misaki leaned back onto the bed, bracing his palms behind himself.

Good.

Saruhiko kissed Misaki’s knee, keeping his eyes looking upwards at his boyfriend. The sunlight shining through the bleak, torn curtains illuminated the other almost comically, like a stereotypical scene from a movie where the love interest was framed almost heavenly. Saruhiko nearly laughed at his own thoughts. Besides, Misaki didn’t exactly need the sun to look so incredible.

Ugh. What had happened to him?

Years ago, when they’d first met, it had taken Misaki’s everything to even get Saruhiko to open up as a friend, and admitting any feeling was a whole different endeavor entirely. Expressing those feelings openly…well, it had been a miracle. Saruhiko had grown, but even still, he was suspicious of everything. He had his close group of trustees, and Misaki. He couldn’t feel himself regretting any of it either.

“Misaki.”

“Huh?” Misaki’s eyes were half lidded, probably from both exhaustion and the calm atmosphere. Saruhiko shook his head. He’d just wanted to say it. Misaki grinned at him, the usual, loving soft grin Saruhiko often woke up to. He almost felt annoyed, since it would be another night at least before he could do such, but there was no use focusing on it now.

Saruhiko lifted up Misaki’s sweatshirt over the redhead’s abdomen, smiling again when he heard Misaki’s breath hitch a little. Saruhiko brushed a hand over the plane of soft skin in front of him, and Misaki’s knees jerked slightly. Ticklish, as usual.

Misaki’s abdomen was toned and muscled like the rest of him, but he of course still had his soft spots, places that tickled, places that were pinch-able and which allowed Saruhiko to nuzzle and bury his face in. Saruhiko knew every part of Misaki’s body, including where every scar and injury was located. Misaki had once tried to hide fresh wounds from him, but it was useless. If it hadn’t always been there, Saruhiko would notice.

There was a particularly nasty one on Misaki’s hipbone, barely healed from the last mission Misaki had performed weeks before. Saruhiko’s face scrunched up, trying not to let anger wash over him. This was the business they were in, worrying about each other constantly used to be an issue, and deep down, it still was. Misaki always scolded him though, saying to focus and make sure to make it home, and for three years, the advice had been enough for Saruhiko.

He kissed the scar, hot breath ghosting over it. Misaki tensed because, yeah, he’d found it.

Rather than let Misaki sputter useless excuses and let him go on about how he was fine, Saruhiko moved away from the scar, smoothing his thumb over the scar in a silent ‘I understand.’

Misaki’s face still was flooded with concern, but the redhead only sighed, bringing a hand up to thread his fingers through his boyfriend’s tangled hair, trying to flatten it out. Saruhiko rarely admitted it, but he loved this treatment. He often fell asleep in Misaki’s lap, the redhead running a hand through Saruhiko’s hair and soothing him into a sea of calm. It was especially helpful after stressful or exceedingly dangerous incidents, which, to Saruhiko’s dismay, made sleep hard. In fact, if this dingy building had been their home, he probably would’ve been half out already.

He wouldn’t pass out here though, not when he finally had a moment alone with Misaki. Saruhiko began to kiss all along Misaki’s stomach, purposefully making smacking sounds to emphasize each one. Misaki’s face was flushed, and he sighed happily, still petting Saruhiko’s hair. The redhead laughed every now and then too, the result of Saruhiko brushing over one of his more ticklish spots.

Saruhiko smirked as he continued to lazily kiss Misaki’s body, aware his actions were stupid and overly corny, but it was the most he could do in this situation.

“Saru, c-c’mon,” Misaki laughed quietly, trying to pull Saruhiko up onto the bed, probably longing for a real kiss. Saruhiko only nuzzled his face against Misaki, which caused Misaki to try pushing him more. “I-idiot stop! T-that—! Just get up here!” Misaki protested further, at this point lightly banging his fist against his boyfriend’s shoulder. The threats weren’t terribly effective though, considering they were broken up with the occasional snort. It was a noise Misaki rarely made, so the taller was reluctant to stop, but…

Misaki was trying to move his head now, fighting for the kiss he was being denied. Saruhiko would be all too happy to indulge, but looking at the bed had him clicking his tongue in annoyance. Misaki hummed in confusion before he looked too, becoming equally aggravated.

There was too much debris on the bed, cracked plaster and broken ceiling tiles littering what was once soft fabric, but the floor was mostly clear despite some sawdust. Never deterred for long, Misaki slid down, back against the edge of the bed, and Saruhiko leaned into his waiting arms automatically as soon as his body touched the ground.

Expecting a kiss, Saruhiko leaned in as much as he could…

He was met with a punch to the shoulder.

“Asshole!  You know I’m t-t-ti—”

“The word you’re looking for,” Saruhiko managed to interrupt with a strained voice, hand clutching his sore spot. “Is tick—”

“Fuck you!” Misaki scowled, looking towards the floor. “That’s not cool…”

Saruhiko was in Misaki’s face before he even uttered the last word, eyes half lidded and shining in the dimly lit room. Saruhiko heard Misaki inhale loudly, and the redhead’s arms came up instinctively to grab Saruhiko’s arms.

“What’s cool then, hm Misaki?” Saruhiko’s voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard Misaki sigh, a positive response.

Misaki didn’t respond with words, instead finally connecting their lips in a soft kiss. Saruhiko responded with enthusiasm, but still kept the kiss gentle. Their foreheads bumped together as Saruhiko sucked on Misaki’s bottom lip, and the taller grunted, only slightly annoyed from his clumsiness. The kiss was familiar, velvety and communicating every bottled up emotion from the past week. I missed you. I love you.

Small, wet sounds were coming from their lips now, and, aware that his breathing was becoming a bit uneven, Saruhiko reluctantly pulled away for a split second. The pause didn’t last long, Misaki was chasing him again soon after, connecting their mouths again. The redhead slid his hands from Saruhiko’s arms to wrap around the taller’s waist. Saruhiko inched forward with the gesture, sighing into the kiss as he wrapped his own arms over Misaki’s shoulders.

The feeling of being entwined like this…he’d never get sick of it despite any doubts that would occasionally drift through his head. Old habits died hard, but he’d come to trust Misaki.

The redhead’s lips were a bit dry, and they moved roughly against Saruhiko’s, sometimes sticking together when the angle changed. It didn’t matter, if anything it was kind of amusing, and it made Saruhiko flick out his tongue to wet those lips he loved so much.

Misaki pushed him away slightly, stunned by the action. The redhead bit his lip, no doubt trying to calm the tickling sensation before he shot a half-hearted glare at his boyfriend.

Heh.

Saruhiko was about to respond teasingly, but the look in Misaki’s eyes brought any quip he may have had to a screeching halt. Those amber pools were clouded with…love? Yes, he recognized that much. But, there was also evident longing, an ache of sorts which was being so openly communicated Saruhiko nearly choked.

Even worse, the taller speculated his eyes were saying the same thing back. He felt it too, those overwhelming senses of intense yearning.

I…

Not knowing what else to do, and knowing he couldn’t exactly say what he felt even after so many years, Saruhiko dropped his head into the crook of Misaki’s neck, kissing the skin there once before slumping forward, the tension in his body flooding out. He was tired, and Misaki’s warmth reminded him way too much of sleeping next to the smaller body.

Misaki’s hand came up to run a hand in Saruhiko’s hair again, and Saruhiko swallowed, trying to formulate the correct sentiment but only coming up with air, if that.

“I missed you too,” Misaki muttered above him, effectively cutting off all his efforts.

How did you know? You used to be terrible at noticing.

Saruhiko felt lighter despite the heaviness of the fog of fatigue over him, and he smiled into Misaki’s neck. He clutched the redhead tighter, and they laid there, at peace despite the sounds of traffic outside and the questionable noises coming from the building’s old walls. Every now and then, Misaki would lift Saruhiko’s heavy head, checking to make sure he was still awake, and upon finding out, kissing him sweetly before allowing his boyfriend to slump back down.

The comfy atmosphere practically invited sleep, but Saruhiko did his best to resist, preferring to stay aware of Misaki’s presence for as long as possible. He’d be home in a couple of days but…he could never get enough of Misaki, it was as if he was addicted, but he saw no drawbacks to this drug. He breathed in the redhead’s scent once more, mouthing the skin of Misaki’s neck.

Saruhiko did his best not to groan in frustration when he felt his pda go off in one of his pockets. Misaki must’ve felt the vibration too, because the redhead tensed against him.

Right, I was supposed to check in with Seri…

She worried otherwise.

He moved to pull away, shaking off the waves of exhaustion he’d allowed himself to drown in. Misaki’s fingers tightened in the fabric of his t-shirt. It hadn’t been intentional it seemed, since the redhead gasped shortly after and released him. Saruhiko had to seriously refrain from just nestling himself back into those arms.

Misaki didn’t look angry, but Saruhiko could guess from the strain in his face that he was upset. Misaki was honestly such an open book, and in any other situation, the taller would scold the redhead for giving away his feelings so easily. It was dangerous in their line of work, but they were alone, so he guessed it was alright for now. Misaki glared at the floor, a hand brushing against Saruhiko’s knee, a silent reflection of the fact Misaki didn’t want the moment to end. The taller sighed, me neither. Saruhiko had never been good at offering comfort, but…

“The faster I write up the final report on this mission, I’ll come home,” Saruhiko explained, addressing Misaki’s unspoken disappointment in the most neutral way he could. Misaki hated feeling weak after all, though nowadays he allowed the feelings to come out in front of those close to him. Still, no use unnecessarily upsetting him.

“Y-yeah you’d better,” Misaki breathed out, looking Saruhiko over with scrutiny. “You seriously need a shower…and sleep.”

How annoying.

“Whatever, those things weren’t important these past few days,” Saruhiko grumbled, finally standing up from their position on the floor. He’d honestly been too busy, and Misaki should’ve known the drill, given they’d both been on much longer missions.

“Tell that to your skin, it’s all rough and grimy,” Misaki replied with a light smirk. The smirk only grew when Saruhiko glared in response, the bags under his eyes adding to his menacing aura.

“You weren’t complaining just now,” Saruhiko mumbled with a childish kick to the molding floor.

“Yeah but, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Misaki said, smirk still in place. “Not even your shit hygiene was gonna stop me.”

Oh shut up.

The air around them, though dusty, was drenched in comfort. Saruhiko nearly stepped towards Misaki when the redhead got up from the floor, but the sound of more police cars driving by down below was enough to keep himself grounded in reality. Misaki smiled at him sadly, but gestured towards the window adjacent to them anyways.

“Go on, get out,” Misaki said, voice soft. They shared one more hungry look, and the burn that came with it was enough to wake up Saruhiko completely, and he broke away.

As he leaned halfway out the window, already mapping out the quickest way to the roof without causing detection, he turned his head a bit, giving Misaki one last, determined grin.

“See you soon.”

#sarumi #k project #sarumi anthology 2016 #adri writing

[emeraldwaves]

Title: Saruhiko and the Totally Terrible, Horrifyingly Horrible, No Good School Day     Pairing: Sarumi Rating: T Word Count:  6,342 AO3 Summary:  After getting smacked in the face by a frisbee, Saruhiko has to deal with a series of unfortunate events all day thanks to Yata Misaki.

Full Fic Under Cut, OLD POSTING FROM THE SARUMI 2016 ANTHOLOGY

Fushimi’s not-so-lovely day began with him getting smacked in the face with a hard, white, plastic frisbee. And besides the obvious annoyance he felt, along with the throbbing pain on his nose and upper lip, he was more annoyed he hadn’t seen it coming. Normally, he had sharp reflexes, but this morning, he had been distracted by the red-haired boy running down the field.

Fushimi Saruhiko had never been interested in Yata Misaki, one of the boys he had the…joy…of being in class with. Fushimi knew his name, as he did most of the people in his class, and that was about it. He had no desire to learn more. As far as he had observed, Yata was an idiot—a loud and obnoxious idiot.

And perhaps that was why Fushimi had been so captivated by him on the field that morning as he walked to class. Yata had looked so focused—his hazel gaze intent on the white disc in front of him, sweat trickling down his brow, the muscles in his legs rippling as he jumped to catch the disc. For a moment, Fushimi had forgotten to breathe, staring at the other. It was hard to believe Yata Misaki could ever look so damn…serious about something. It had been shocking, and his heart fluttered for the first time in a long time.

The grip on his schoolbag tightened as Fushimi tried to refocus his thoughts. Who cared about what made Yata Misaki look serious? It wasn’t as though the guy could make a career out of ultimate frisbee, the sport (if you wanted to call it that) was for morons and douchebags. But for some reason, Fushimi couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

He was so distracted, he didn’t have enough time to react when the frisbee flew from Yata’s hand and smacked Fushimi right in the face, between his nose and upper lip. Frozen in place, Fushimi groaned at how much his face hurt. It stung, and the hit had reverberated up into his skull. Already he could feel a bruise forming on his upper lip, and he tried desperately to figure out why he hadn’t noticed the giant flying disc coming straight for his face until it was far too late.

“SHIT!” A voice echoed in his ear as his vision began to clear, Yata Misaki’s visage appearing before him. “Oh shit!” he repeated, staring at Fushimi’s face.

“You already said that,” Fushimi snapped.

“Sorry, ugh. I’m sorry! Shit. Is your…uh…face okay? Oh shit! Your nose is bleeding!” he yelled, pointing right at Fushimi’s face.

“Just shut up,” Fushimi grumbled. Quickly, he raised a hand to his cover his nose. He leaned forward slightly and pinched the bridge of it, attempting to stop the bleeding.


“What are you doing?” Yata questioned, watching the strange way Fushimi stood.

“Trying to stop the bleeding,” he replied, his voice tight and nasal. “Do you really not know how to stop a nosebleed?”

“Uh…no?” Yata said sheepishly. “Look I’m really sorry,” he continued, rubbing his arm. “I figured for sure you’d move when the disc went flying in your direction, but you didn’t…”

“Tsk…” Fushimi clicked his tongue, not wanting to comment on that at all. He didn’t need Yata Misaki knowing he was staring at him.

“Can I at least walk you to the nurse’s office? You’re in my class, yeah? The quiet guy…Fushimi, right?” he smiled, as though he were doing Fushimi a large favor by walking him to the nurse’s room.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking myself to the nurse’s office,” Fushimi scoffed, walking past Yata.

“Hey! I’m just trying to help. I mean it’s my fault your face is swelling up—”

Still covering his face, Fushimi whipped his head around, immediately regretting it as his palm knocked against his upper lip. Wincing, he glared at Yata. “My face is swelling up?”

“W-well, um,” Yata stammered nervously. “Just a little bit…on your lip…” he said, leaning toward Fushimi again, his pointer finger trembling as he gestured towards Fushimi’s face.

Scoffing, Fushimi turned away and gripped his school bag harder as he trudged towards the school. “Fine. You can come with me. But don’t think this pardons you for hitting my face.” Stupid Yata Misaki, looking somewhat interesting while he played ultimate frisbee. It wasn’t even a real sport!

“I’m going to go walk Fushimi-san to the nurse!” Yata called out, waving to his teammates. “Heh…yeah, sorry,” he sighed, catching up to Fushimi to walk beside him. “So why were you watching us? Thinking about joining the team?”

“No.”

“We’re pretty good you know,” Yata bragged proudly. Fushimi wasn’t sure he could label their team as “good” after everything that was going on with his face and all. “We have two coaches, Kusanagi-sensei and Mikoto-san. Mikoto-san is amazing, but you know, now that I think about it, Kusanagi-sensei does most of the coaching…”

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “Are you planning on talking the whole way?” Fushimi asked, thinking this was by far the longest, most painful walk to school, and not because of the growing welt on his upper lip.

“Oh, uh…right,” he laughed awkwardly. “It probably hurts for you to talk,” he sighed. Fushimi chose to stay quiet, deciding it would be much better if Yata simply assumed he didn’t want to talk because of the pain on his lip. However with Yata now being quiet, Fushimi could’ve cut the tension in the air with a knife. Walking with Yata was frustratingly difficult, it was so clear the other boy wanted to babble on. Flicking his gaze to the side, Fushimi could see Yata biting on his lip, looking as though he were about to burst. This only made Fushimi walk faster. The quicker he was away from Misaki, the quicker he could resume the school day as he pleased.

~~

“So, tell me again what happened?” Awashima, the school nurse, asked, though Fushimi could see she was trying to hold back her chuckle.

“I hit Fushimi-kun in the face with a frisbee,” Yata muttered. His face was red, clearly embarrassed, though Fushimi wasn’t sure what he had to be embarrassed about. Fushimi was the idiot who hadn’t moved when the plastic disc had flown at his face.

“Can you move your hand for me, Fushimi-san?” she asked. “I need to take a look.” Resisting every urge to refuse, he slowly lowered his hand. Her eyes widened, and Fushimi thought she had a terrible poker face. “Ah, I see,” she said softly, swiveling her chair around to open the drawer. “Here.” She held out a small packet with over the counter painkillers. “Take two of these for now,” she smiled. “And let me get you some ice, these should help with the pain and swelling. Unfortunately that’s about all I can do,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said, his tone clipped and harsh. “We’re already late to class anyway.” Fushimi didn’t enjoy being late to class. He much preferred to go, do his work, and sit peacefully while he waited for the rest of the class to catch up, or sit silently and take notes. He hated having the class stare at him for any period of time, and being late meant all eyes on him.

“Hmm. It looks like you’re going to have quite the large fat lip, Fushimi-san.” Awashima’s gaze was filled with pity, as she handed him the small bag of ice, and Fushimi tried not to click his tongue and forget the bag altogether. He didn’t know which was worse—holding a sack of ice on his lip, or watching it swell to the size of a baseball.

“Tsk. Great. Thanks,” he scoffed, standing up to leave the office. Awashima smiled, nodding her head to both of them as they left.

After a few moments of silence, Yata spoke. “It really doesn't look that bad.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“First of all, I don’t need your reassurance to make me feel better,” Fushimi snapped, “and second of all, it looks like shit, so don’t lie.”

“You don’t gotta be such an ass about it! I’ve been trying to make you feel better all morning. I feel pretty shitty about what happened,” he grunted. Fushimi rolled his eyes. He should’vefelt bad, and while Fushimi was tempted to say that, his gaze fell upon Yata's, and for a split second he felt a little guilty. Though his brow was furrowed, Yata looked concerned, his hazel eyes fixated on Fushimi's lip. It was almost endearing, how much he seemed to care for Fushimi’s well-being, and if Fushimi hadn’t hated him in the current moment, he may have found it cute.

“Let's just get to class,” he muttered, turning away from Yata, so he wouldn't see his cheeks gain a slight hint of red.

~~

When Yata and Fushimi finally made it to the science lab, they opened the door, interrupting one of Weismann-sensei's famous introductory lectures—the ones that took so long, the class wondered if they would ever actually get to doing the experiment Weismann was taking his sweet time explaining thoroughly.

“Ah! Yata-san, Fushimi-san,” he called out, moving about the room in his typical over-eager manner. “So nice of you to join us for lab today,” he grinned. “Take a seat, take a seat. You two can be partnered together for today.”

Fushimi bit his lower lip and winced, wishing he had remembered that moving his teeth to his lower lip adjusted his upper in a strange manner. Still, he wasn't pleased about the assignment. He much preferred to be paired with Akiyama—he was quiet, and generally listened to what Fushimi had to say, which meant the experiment was completed in a timely manner. Sitting down next to Yata's enthusiastic form, Fushimi had a feeling nothing good was going to come from this partnership. Plus it didn't help that Fushimi had seen Yata and his regular lab partner, Kamamoto, explode half their experiments up to the damn ceiling before.

“Now remember class, this chemical is highly flammable and very toxic!” Weismann explained. “It's important that you follow all the instructions carefully and don't mess up!” he chuckled, a smile plastered on his face. “But don't worry, I trust you all can handle this.”

Fushimi let out a sigh, lowering the ice bag to the side of the table. His face felt numb, which was better than the 'in severe pain' alternative, but still it was unpleasant.

“Alright,” Yata cheered, clenching his hands into fists. “Let's do some science!” He grabbed the safety goggles and pulled them over his eyes, slapping them onto his face. Next, he picked up the gloves and pulled them over his fingers, and he tugged the lab coat on, which was far too big for his short stature. Fushimi couldn't help but snicker at the last fact. “What?” Yata asked.

“I didn't realize how short you were until now,” he smirked.

“Shut up, asshole!” Yata yelled, his face flushed, and the whole class turned to stare at them.

“…” Fushimi stared at Yata blankly before grabbing the handout in front of them, flipping to the first page. “Right.”

“I'll...grab the chemicals from the front!” Yata called out, trying to break the tension. “Wait here.” He ran to the front of the room, grabbing the small tray of beakers and vials from the front desk, while Fushimi placed his lab coat, goggles and gloves on. Setting their tray down on the table, Yata moved the small beakers in front of the large empty one on the lab table. “I wonder what these all do…” he said, glancing over them.

Fushimi waved the paper in front of Yata's face. “This will tell us. Don't touch anything,” he snapped.

Frowning, Yata folded his arms and plopped down onto the stool. “Fine then,” he grumbled.

Sighing, Fushimi rolled his eyes, and with the amount of times he had done that today, he was sure his eyes were going to get stuck in the back of his head. “I'll read them off to you and you can pour them in, alright?” It was so much better when he was partners with Akiyama. He let Fushimi do all the work.

“Perfect. Read 'em off!” Yata smirked, giving Fushimi a thumbs up. Turning the page, Fushimi skimmed the directions, before folding his arms to sit down, letting Yata follow his instructions. Ultimately, this was better anyway, since he had to keep the ice on his face.

“Alright, take the dark brown liquid and pour it up to the two,” he explained, leaning forward to show Yata. He wasn't about to trust the red-head, and he didn't want to end up with toxic chemicals on himself.

“This one?” Yata asked, holding the flask up. Fushimi nodded. They continued along through the first page of instructions, everything going surprisingly smoothly. Fushimi was shocked Yata could handle himself well enough to not screw up.

“Next, is the blue liquid,” Fushimi explained, his blue eyes focused on the sheet in front of him.

“Blue?”

“Yes. Pour it to the six,” he explained, and glanced up just in time to watch Yata begin to pour the purple liquid into the flask.

“No! You dumbass!” Fushimi yelled, causing Yata to jerk his hand back, the purple liquid sloshing back onto Yata's jacket. “Shit! Be careful!” Fushimi snapped, not noticing the mixture bubbling up as the entire concoction rumbled, and spilled over the side, landing directly on Fushimi's pants.

“Shit!” Yata yelled, slamming the bottle down as more purple chemicals dumped out and landed on his sleeve. “Ah!” he called out. “W-Weismann-sensei!”

“Wha-AH?!” Weismann's face paled as he saw the purple liquid slowly traveling down Yata's lab coat. “Yata-san! Fushimi-san! Under the emergency shower now!” The silver-haired teacher ushered both of them under the shower in the back of the room, the class murmuring quietly among themselves.

The water sputtered and splashed on, hitting both Fushimi and Yata on the head, and, just Fushimi’s luck, it was freezing cold. Yata immediately yelped, shocked by the temperature of the water. Fushimi stood, arms folded, shivering as the water dampened his hair and skin. Yata was shivering too, using his gloved hand to wipe off the purple solution which had stained the lab coat. His red hair stuck to his forehead, and though he looked panicked, Fushimi couldn’t help but think the idiot looked kind of…cute all wet like that.

Thankfully, Weismann’s panicked voice cut through the strange thoughts creeping into Fushimi’s mind. “It didn't get on your skin, correct?” Weismann asked frantically, looking concerned. Fushimi wasn't sure why they let high school kids play with dangerous chemicals like this in the first place.

"No," Fushimi said, sticking out his leg awkwardly to get the solution off of his pants.

"You'll want to wash those pants separately one time, just to be safe," Weismann instructed, and Fushimi rolled his eyes, wondering if it would've been better had he simply stayed home today. First period wasn't even finished and already he was wishing to head back to his room, hide under his blanket, and never come out again.

~~

"It's pretty lucky we had our gym clothes to change into!" Yata smiled, swinging the plastic bag full of the outfit he had contaminated with toxic chemicals. Fushimi wasn’t sure if he’d call it lucky, seeing as they had gym everyday, and more often than not needed a change of clothes, but he was far too annoyed to argue with the idiot. It didn’t help that the two of them had made awkward eye contact while changing, causing them both to blush and turn away as fast as they could. Yata was obnoxious, but...cute.

“Sure,” he scoffed, somehow after everything that had happened, Yata remained positive and smiling. Fushimi wasn’t sure why he had thought Yata’s smile looked nice—maybe because it was almost endearing? Almost. Especially since Yata had only been the frisbee thrower, rather than receiver, in the debacle which had occurred that morning. When Yata smiled, Fushimi doubted it felt like he was going to cause permanent damage to his face.

“Look on the bright side, Weismann-sensei said it could’ve been way worse if we had gotten it on our skin,” Yata chuckled.

Fushimi raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I guess not having a chemical burn is a bright side,” he mumbled.

“Yeah! Totally!” Yata beamed. Fushimi wondered how long Yata was going to follow him around today. He’d barely ever spoken to the guy before, and now he had practically spent the entire morning with him. Fushimi had just about reached his limit—Yata was like a ray of sunshine, and Fushimi was slowly getting a nasty burn.

The next class was math, and thankfully, they were on time—Munakata-sensei wasn’t very forgiving of late students. However, Fushimi had been the teacher’s pet since the first week when he achieved perfect scores on his homework and their first pop quiz, so he assumed if he was late, Munakata probably would forgive him. Probably.

“Ah! Fushimi-kun! Did you have an accident?” Munakata asked, leaning in close towards Fushimi’s lip the second he walked into the room.

“Yes sir,” he said, leaning backwards. “But I’m fine.” Munakata was one of those teachers who had no concept of personal space, always checking on his students as close as he possibly could. Though as far as Fushimi could tell, it was simply because he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings since he was so thrilled to talk about numbers. Nerd.

Fushimi took his seat and pulled out his notebook, watching as Munakata stood, poised at the front of the room. He raised the mostly melted ice bag to his throbbing lip, wondering if he could get more medicine from Awashima soon. Had it even been long enough?

Glancing to the side, he’d never noticed Yata sat directly next to him. Probably because he focused in math class—it was an easy class, but at least it was decently interesting even if Munakata’s critical thinking problems were often wordy and convoluted.

“Today,” Munakata began, pressing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “we will be discussing the mathematical concept of i, imaginary numbers.”

“Hah?!” Yata called out. “I is a letter, not a number, dumbass teacher,” he growled under his breath. If Fushimi had to fancy a guess, he could only assume math wasn’t exactly Yata’s strongest subject.

Munakata’s lips curled up into a devilish smile. “Oya? Are you sure about that Yata-san?” he teased. “Take out your calculator and calculate the square root of negative one,” he said, standings still at the front of the room, keeping his creepy smile plastered on his face.


“It, uh…gave me an error?” Yata replied, staring at the screen.

“Correct! That’s because the answer is…imaginary,” he said dramatically. “Heh. All of you are so quick to assume math is so difficult and boring, but the truth is…math is fun!” he grinned, posing proudly.

Yata groaned, rubbing his hands in his hair. “I can barely handle real numbers, why do we gotta add fake ones too?!” He spoke softly, mostly under his breath, and Fushimi rolled his eyes. As much fun as it was to watch Yata flounder about, all adorable and nervous, it was also painful.

Leaning over, Fushimi shook his head. “They’re not fake,” he whispered. “Look, you get an error because—“

“Are you…helping me?” Yata asked, his voice hushed, but his eyes widened, a slight blush on his cheeks when Fushimi had leaned in close to him. In fact, the blush was so prominent, Fushimi’s cheeks almost turned red as well.

“Tsk,” Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Just listen.”

“Fushimi-kun!” Munakata called out, and Fushimi slowly turned his gaze to the front of the room. “You’re normally so quiet! Do you have something you want to share with the class?”

“No sir,” Fushimi sighed, slowly moving back to sit up straight in his seat.

“Or perhaps you feel you could teach imaginary numbers better than I could? I wouldn’t be surprised,” he chuckled.

Slinking down in his seat, Fushimi folded his arms and clicked his tongue. “Do your job,” he grumbled. Idiot Munakata loved to put him on the spot whenever he could.

“Right! Continuing on then!” Fushimi turned his gaze back to his notebook, but occasionally glanced over at Yata, the idiot biting his lip in concentration. He certainly…persevered, Fushimi would give him that much. It bothered him how he felt the need to help the idiot, especially since Munakata had…vaguely scolded him in his weird Munakata way. Fushimi really had to keep his mouth shut.

~~

Thankfully, gym had gone by without a problem, but that was because Fushimi was able to sit off to the side and watch, since his lip was still swollen.

Lunch was going okay too, sitting by himself and eating what he had packed on his own helped.

“Do you always eat alone?” A familiar voice called out behind him. Fushimi didn’t need to even look up when Yata sat down across from him to know who it was.

“Yes, and I enjoy it,” he muttered, picking at the rice in front of him.

“Well not today!”

“What part of ‘I enjoy eating alone’ did you not understand? Don’t you have friends to eat with?” Fushimi scoffed, his blue gaze finally meeting Yata’s sparkling hazels.

“Yeah, of course I do! I just thought you…might enjoy the company today. Or I mean you could come sit with us,” he suggested. He looked so excited about the suggestion, it was almost difficult to say no, but Fushimi had no desire to leave his comfortable spot.

“Thanks but no thanks,” he repeated. “Run along,” he said, waving his hand.

“…I’m not a kid,” he frowned. “And I want to sit here, there’s no law that says I can’t.”

“Tsk. Fine, but don’t talk to me,” Fushimi scoffed.

And though Yata didn’t say a word, once again, Fushimi could tell he wanted to. Every time Fushimi flicked his gaze towards him, Yata’s lips were pursed into a smile, his eyes shining excitedly, though he were waiting for a conversation starter to slip from Fushimi’s swollen lips.

“So, uhm, Fushimi,” he said finally, his voice tight, as though Fushimi’s name had been waiting to explode from Yata’s lips.

“Ah?”

“Do you think uh, maybe sometime you could help me with math stuff? Y-Y’know cause you’re so good at it?” he said, his cheeks flushed. Fushimi wrapped up the rest of this lunch, tucking it into his bag. Of course Yata wanted help with school. What else would he have wanted? It wasn’t as though it actually mattered. Fushimi didn’t want to be friends with him, nor had he expected Yata to be interested in him for any other reason either.

“…Sure,” he replied quietly, standing up to head to the next class early, not listening to Yata’s annoyingly excited response. Fushimi didn’t even like Yata, so why did he feel disappointed? Why had he thought Yata would want to hang out with him?

~~

Fushimi absolutely despised his literature class for a plethora of reasons. First and foremost, he hated the subject. It wasn’t clear cut like math and science—and history, while boring, was more straight-forward than Totsuka-sensei’s literature class. For the paper assignments, he had to actually discuss and form some sort of opinion on these books he literally could’ve cared less about. And then there was Totsuka-sensei himself. The guy was a moron. Smiley and energetic about books, sometimes he sang their lessons to them, like they were a kindergarten class because he was so enthusiastic. That, and he was also the head of the after-school choir, so he felt an incessant need to sing all the damn time, even when he simply walked through the hall. Fushimi would’ve dumped a whole bottle of chemicals on himself if it meant he could skip his literature class.

“Today, we’ll be starting with a poetry reading!” After everything that had happened so far today, Fushimi knew Totsuka reading poetry would be the icing on the cake. “Poetry can bring meaning to people’s lives and enrich the soul!” Totsuka sighed happily. A piece of Fushimi’s soul was about to die and silently float out the window, of this he was convinced. “For homework, I’d like you all to find a poem that means something to you, and bring it in to share with the class,” he smiled. “It’ll be a great for you to learn about your peers and to share a part of yourself.”

Silently Fushimi wondered if he could fake being sick tomorrow. Maybe his lip would get infected and he’d have to stay home since he’d be running such a high fever.

Ever since leaving Yata at lunch a mere twenty minutes ago, Fushimi’s mood had darkened even more, if that were even possible. His upper lip was pulsing against his teeth, it hurt so damn much. Of course, he supposed this was what happened when a giant plastic disc slammed into your face at full speed. Yet, something about Yata asking for his help with math hurt more. He probably should’ve been flattered. Fushimi was the smartest one in the class, and everyone knew it, but still it disappointed him, and he really hated that. There was no reason to care about the cute, eager idiot’s opinion.

The longer he sat, the more Totsuka’s voice disappeared in his head, becoming the mumbled sound of words strung together Fushimi didn’t care about. What he did care about however, was Yata tapping his pencil against his desk in, what seemed to be, rhythm with Totsuka’s weird beat poetry. If Fushimi hadn’t hated this class, and day, already, Yata was only making it worse. Really, Fushimi shouldn’t have expected anything less at that point.

Growling, he clenched his fists against his desk, and whipped his head around to glare at Yata. “Can you not tap your pencil against the desk?” he huffed.

Yata frowned and put the pencil down. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it,” he hissed.

“Ah! Fushimi-san! Yata-san! Did you have something you wanted to discuss about the poem?” Totsuka asked. He was leaning casually against his desk, smiling happily.

“No,” Fushimi said flatly.

“Actually, I thought it had a nice beat, Totsuka-sensei,” Yata replied, clearing his throat awkwardly as he did. “I was expressing…myself, by tapping my pencil along with your reading, but Fushimi-san didn’t like that.”

“Fushimi-san! I know perhaps you wouldn’t appreciate the art of pencil tapping rhythm, however I do believe it is important that we all express ourselves in whatever way we see fit. If Yata-san feels overcome with the need to tap his pencil along with a poem, then we must allow him to express his unique creativity!” Totsuka explained, practically dancing as he did. Fushimi was certain the ‘art of pencil tapping’ was a thing Totsuka had made up on the spot.

Fushimi flared his nostrils and narrowed his eyes at the smirking red-head in front of him. Turning back around, Fushimi’s gaze fell on the clock, and he counted down the seconds until the bell rang.

~~


“William Penn once said, ‘In all debates, let truth be thy aim, not victory, or an unjust interest’, and I think it’s important we all try and remember this as we embark on this journey about justice together!” Yatogami-sensei pointed to the board, looking disturbingly proud of the quote he had taken the time to write up there. Fushimi was convinced Kuroh Yatogami had only become a history teacher to quote all his favorite historical figures.


History was the last class of the day, and Fushimi felt his heart throb with excitement and his lip throb with the most pain he had felt all day. Soon, he could crawl into his bed and forget this day had ever happened.

“This is meant to be a learning experience, so let’s try and keep the mock debate as friendly as possible, alright?” Yatogami instructed. “I’ll be splitting you up into teams. Team A will be for the concept of democracy, or electing a person to power, and Team B will be for keeping the monarchy in place, or letting the king keep his power.”

Fushimi wasn’t really one for debating, but today he felt he could’ve argued with the world, and he was extra pleased to see Yata end up on the opposite team. He was so damn frustrated by how much the boy had distracted and disturbed his normal routine.

“Alright, Team B!” Yata cheered, and some of the other students looked far less excited than he did, not surprising though. Who got excited for a fake class debate anyway?

Fushimi thought it would be easy enough to win. Yatogami hadn’t declared a pre-determined winner, but it was hard to imagine that Team B would win when the modern standard of government leaned towards a democracy. Team B would have to make an extremely compelling argument if they wanted to win.


Team A’s appointed leader, Akiyama, began their opening statement, describing all the ways democracy was useful. He spoke about checks and balances, and hearing the voice of the people, overall a very well thought out argument, though Fushimi was happy he didn’t have to speak.

However, he wasn’t surprised in the least when Yata stood up as Team B’s leader. He began to yap on about being united under one leader, and how it was more organized and easy for people to follow someone they’d trusted for generations. It was a stupid argument, and Fushimi wasn’t surprised they had picked Yata to speak for them. He was loud, so he made stupidity sound inspiring.

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “Did you come up with all that by yourself?” he grumbled, tapping his foot on the ground. Normally he never would’ve said anything, but by now he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The words had slipped out, accidentally.

“What the hell did you say?” Yata snapped, leaning over his desk.

“I said, did you come up with that by yourself? It seems like an argument someone as dumb as you would come up with.”

“Boys,” Yatogami spoke up. “It’s only the opening statements-”

“What the hell, asshole?!” Yata yelled, ignoring their teacher. “You didn’t even say a word for your team and you just jump in criticizing me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it was just so stupid it slipped out.”

“Maybe I should give you a black eye to go along with your fat lip!” Yata snapped, clenching his fist.

“Boys! This is a mock debate and you’re both completely off topic.”

“Go ahead,” Fushimi snapped back, ignoring the pleas of their teacher. This was the perfect opportunity to get back at Yata, at least a little. “It’s not like you could really do anything to make this day any worse.”


“BOYS!” Yatogami slammed his hands on his desk. “That’s enough. Both of you, go stand in the hall and keep quiet! This is meant to be a learning experience, not a time for you to iron out personal problems. If you must debate personal things, do so out there, quietly. I’ll not have you interrupting my class any longer.”

Turning bright red, Yata grabbed his bag and huffed out of the room. Fushimi silently stood up and did the same, though he was happy he didn’t have to listen to a stupid debate any longer.

~~


The two of them stood in the hall in awkward silence. Of course they had gotten kicked out. And now, Fushimi would have to stand there, in pain, until this terrible day finally, finally came to an end.

He noticed Yata staring at him, his hazel eyes glancing to the side quickly, only to look away as soon as he glanced towards him. With a sigh, Yata finally spoke, “Fushimi-”

“No.”

“But-”

“Just. Stop,” Fushimi growled, his hands trembling at his side. “You have done enough today. Everything that happened, everything that has gone wrong, is all your fault!” Fushimi snapped, though his breath hitched when he saw Yata recoil like a hurt puppy.

Then, Yata frowned, looking angry, “I said I was sorry-”

“Whatever. I just want this day to be over, so I can go home and ice my stupid lip some more. If I just had kept walking instead of watching your stupid ass play frisbee, this never would’ve happened! This whole day never would’ve happened!”

Yata stared at him, blinking as his face slowly turned bright red. “Wait…w-what?! You were watching me?!” he yelled, pointing his finger at Fushimi.

“Yes. I was watching you. I was watching you because you always look like such a damn idiot in class but for a small, miniscule second you looked so engaged, and it was interesting to me!” he snarled. “And then you continued to be an idiot in science and math, but I thought for a brief moment that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t all that bad, but really you just wanted me to tutor you in math…and whatever other subject you’re probably failing!” Swallowing, he felt his chest heave as he took a large breath in. Had he really said that out loud? Looking at Yata’s face, he could only assume he had—Yata’s cheeks were so red they almost matched his hair. “You know what just…forget it, I’m going home,” Fushimi snapped, grabbing his bag to walk down the hall. So what if he got in trouble for leaving a little early, having to do detention or something would be far less difficult than having to deal with Yata for any longer, especially after his awkward confession of sorts. Fushimi’s face was the reddest it had ever been, and he certainly didn’t want Yata to see.

“Wait…! Fushimi!” he heard Yata call out from behind him, but Fushimi didn’t wait as he stormed down the hall.

~~

“Fushimi-san!” Fushimi recognized that voice. Had Yata really followed him all the way out of the school? “Fushimi-san!!” Yata called louder, and Fushimi decided it was useless to pretend to ignore him, since the tapping of Yata’s footsteps on the gravel kept growing louder and louder.

“What? Haven’t you tortured me enough for one day?” he muttered, watching Yata approach him.


Holding out his hand, Yata handed Fushimi a new packet of painkillers and ice. “Here,” he said quietly.

“You know I’m about to walk home, yeah?” Fushimi mused, taking the items from Yata’s hand anyway.

“Yeah, I just…I thought it would make the walk home a little…easier,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushing with the same red color as before. Fushimi wanted to despise Yata after everything he had done. Yet, when he said things like that, all endearing and genuine, Fushimi found he only hated the way his heart fluttered lightly in his chest.

“…Thanks,” Fushimi sighed, placing the ice pack against his sore lip. It really did help to put ice on it.

“Yeah. It’s the least I could do. I wanna make it up to you,” Yata said, rubbing his arm.

“Just forget it, I’d much prefer to just forget it,” Fushimi sighed, lowering the small bag so he could toss the two pills into his mouth, swallowing them down. He didn’t want to make any sort of deal with Yata; a deal was probably something the shorter would stupidly break.

“And you know,” Yata began. “I mean…yeah I was asking for your help with math but we could also just…you know…” he stammered, looking awkward. “Hang out,” he shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.  

“What makes you think I want to hang out with you?” Fushimi smirked, folding his arms as he stared at how cute the other boy looked, being so awkward like that. It was…unexpected—how hard Yata seems to be trying. Fushimi was unclear as to why Yata cared so much, and why it was actually winning him over. All day he had been driving him completely up a wall, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about the moments when Yata smiled, or blushed, or seemed…genuinely interested in what Fushimi had to say; and it was that which made him even more angry.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I sort of destroyed your day and what not, but I’m a cool person! I’m fun to hang out with! I’m sure you’d have a great time!” he declared proudly.

Snorting, Fushimi leaned down and brushed his lips against Yata’s. It was an impulsive move and of course, he immediately regretted it, seeing as his lip was still incredibly swollen. However, even as he winced pulling back, Yata’s reaction was more than worth it. Actually, kissing him just about made the whole day better.

“Is that so Mi-sa-ki?” he mused, humming out his name with a gentle singsong. He placed the bag back on his lip.

Yata was frozen, his face heating up as he stared at Fushimi. “W-What the hell was that!! And don’t call me by my first name!” he snapped, gesturing wildly to the boy in front of him.

“You said you wanted to make it up to me,” he teased, turning around to continue walking towards his house.

“W-Well yeah! But you didn’t have to be an ass about it!” Yata growled, running to catch up with him. “You can’t just kiss someone out of the blue like that!”

“And yet, I just did,” Fushimi smirked, still walking as he let Yata continue to flail about next to him. “I suppose we could…hang out…once…or twice,” he sighed, trying not to blush when he saw how happy Yata’s face looked once Fushimi had caved. “But no more frisbee.”

“Uh…Right…” Yata chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No more frisbee.”

As the two kept walking, Fushimi thought his day maybe hadn’t been that bad after all.

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