Work Text:
(1)
It happens like this, the first time:
Tsukauchi is waiting for him, at the place they’ve been using as a meet-up spot for years-- an inconspicuous corner-store, just a few blocks from the police station. He’s staring absently down the street, leaning against the wall of a building while he waits-- his face is turned down, so the brim of his hat hides his face from casual passer-bys. There are brown paper grocery bags, probably full of the ingredients for tonight’s dinner, weighing down his arms. The coat that matches his hat hangs from his shoulders, arms not through the sleeves; this close to autumn, it’s cold enough to need it on an early-morning walk to work, but warm enough in the late afternoon that wearing it would be stifling.
Toshinori breaks into a jog, once he’s near enough to the other man. The sun is setting at Toshinori’s back, painting the street in rose and gold tones; it stretches his shadow long on the ground in front of him, enough so that it reaches Tsukauchi long before he does. Tsukauchi looks up at him as he approaches, and shifts the bags into one arm so he can wave in greeting. An easy grin splits his face, once Toshinori gets near enough to see it; the light of the sun warms the color of his skin to a soft golden color, rubbing out some of the lines that stress and time have carved into his face. He lets Toshinori take some of lighter the bags, and the two turn down the street toward Tsukauchi’s apartment.
It’s a short walk. They go slowly, pacing themselves just as much for the sake of Toshinori’s health as for the sake of making the walk last. Tsukauchi talks about work, and Toshinori talks about his new students. He’s just finished an anecdote about them--something about the Mina-Denki-Sero triad’s run-in with an irate Aizawa, earlier that day-- and he’s ducking his head to laugh at his own story when something in his periphery catches his eye.
Tsukauchi is laughing.
It’s not like it’s something that Toshinori’s never seen before, the laughter. He had grown up with Tsukauchi-- has known him long enough to remember a time when his friend’s face was younger, more open, not as weighted down by the world. Toshinori’s pretty sure that he’s one of the few people who can regularly get an accurate read on Tsukauchi; the guy has a poker face like a brick wall, and Toshinori has seen first-hand how absolutely deadly that is in combination with Tsukauchi’s dry, sharp wit. More than once, Toshinori’s had to thank his lucky stars for the years of familiarity on his side.
These days, more than ever-- with the villain attacks such a pressing issue, and Toshinori’s time and energy devoted more than ever to his job as the No. 1 Hero-- Toshinori counts himself lucky enough to be one of the few people who’s able to share a moment like this with Tsukauchi. To be one of the few people to see his face open and unguarded; to see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, to know that his mouth slants more to one side than the other when he genuinely smiles-- it’s a sudden realization, for Toshinori, how important it is that Tsukauchi trusts him with that.
It’s that realization, coupled with the spirit of the moment-- the glow of the soft evening light on Tsukauchi’s face, the way his eyes half-close, the column of his throat as he tilts his head back in breathless laughter-- that makes Toshinori’s breath catch in his throat. There’s a sense of something akin to vertigo, for a second, like he’s balancing on the edge of a high cliff-- a sense of importance, of a change on the near horizon-- and then, with no other fanfare, something snaps into place.
Huh, thinks Toshinori, while Tsukauchi uses his free hand to cover his mouth, muffling his laughter. It kind of makes sense, in a way-- the setting sun, the air of nostalgia and gratefulness, the sense of things coming together in that moment.
All in all, it’s a hell of a way to realize he’s in love.
----
Things don't change much in the days directly after the realization.
It helps that Toshinori has work to keep his mind off things-- or, well, off this thing in particular, at least. His various jobs keep him occupied; between getting to know his students, making visits to other heroes, planning lessons and grading papers, tracking the newly-formed Villain Alliance, the whole “in love with his best friend” thing kind of takes a back seat.
There are still small differences, though. Little things that somehow manage to slip through the cracks of the familiar routine of his life. It feels like a bit something has shifted, settled, clicked into a new configuration-- like the way that there’s a warm thing that’s nestled in his chest, filling a spot he’d not even noticed was empty, before, and the way Toshinori begins to notice the way that Tsukauchi catches his eye when he does certain things. Things like laughing, or smiling-- or existing anywhere that's remotely in the same area as Toshinori. Toshinori’s almost glad, in a way, that working keeps them both away from each other for most of the day-- he’s only got so much blood left in his body, and his embarrassed coughing fits increase exponentially when Tsukauchi's around.
What’s really the most shocking to Toshinori, though, isn’t the feelings themselves. What surprises him is how used to them he is, how familiar they are. When he thinks about it-- and he does, despite his best effort, think about it-- he realizes that it’s not a new thing, this. To feel a swell of warmth when his friend’s around, to notice him first in a crowd, to feel his heart thump an extra beat whenever he gets a text or a call from Tsukauchi inviting him over; the reactions are so familiar and almost habitual that even if he were pressed, he’d doubt his ability to remember when they started.
The familiarity of it soothes him, just a bit. It’s still a little terrifying, and plenty uncertain-- for a lot of reasons. The first and foremost is that Toshinori has no way of knowing what the best way to advance from here is; if he should speak up immediately or to wait for a more auspicious time, whether to address these feelings or let them sit, or to actively try to move away from them. It’s all a bit of a mystery, to someone with as little romantic experience as him. There’s also the question of whether any advances made by him, in his current state, would be even appreciated, let alone reciprocated. Between the threat of the Villain Alliance constantly looming on the horizon, Toshinori’s ever-weakening health, his responsibilities as the No.1 Hero, and his duties as a mentor to the next generation all acting as the most pressing devotions in his life, Toshinori doesn’t really think he’d be a great prospective partner.
And, as much as he’d like to address his feelings for his friend directly, Toshinori is All Might-- the No. 1 hero, the Symbol of Peace-- before he is anything else. His responsibility is, first and foremost, the protection of the citizens under his care. He can’t afford to let anything-- or, in this case, anyone-- distract from that. He’s not naive enough to believe that any potential partner would be willing to compete with his status for his attention, and he knows simply expecting them to do so would hardly be a good basis for a healthy relationship.
Despite all this-- pressing as it is-- there’s something exciting and, well, comforting about the situation. Toshinori likes the sense of familiarity in the warmth he feels when he makes Tsukauchi laugh-- or when some dry, sarcastic comment on the part of the police inspector makes Toshinori snort in a meeting. The quiet thrill that runs through him when he thinks about what it would be like, if he chased this-- what it would be like to know his friend in a different, newer way-- what it would be like if Tsukauchi confessed to feeling the same way Toshinori does-- for all that it seems impossibly far-fetched and foolish, it’s appeal is something that Toshinori finds himself thinking about pretty often.
----
(2)
The second time happens in a hospital bed.
It happens like this: Toshinori wakes slowly, blearily. He cracks his eyes open cautiously, as so to avoid agitating his aching head any further, and is greeted by the familiar sight of a speckled, off-white hospital ceiling. He stares it down as he takes inventory of his body; all limbs are accounted for, so far as he can tell, as is the ever-present ache in his side-- though that is faded, softer, like it’s coming to him through a thick wad of cotton. That’s mildly concerning, because not feeling pain may be more pleasant, but health-wise, it’s generally not a good sign in the long run. Before he can really start to panic, Toshinori feels something tug against the back of his hand-- he thinks it’s a pretty accurate sign of how messed up his health has gotten that he’s relieved when he recognises the sensation of an I.V needle.
He’s in the process of trailing the IV line from where it’s imbedded in his arm to it’s source in a bag of fluids, just so he can find out what painkiller the hospital is pumping him full of this time, when something a much warmer color than what one would usually find in a sterile hospital ward catches in the corner of his eye. He’s not quite strong enough to lift his head; but with effort he’s able to turn it. It does take quite a bit of doing-- his body is a weird combination of too heavy and far too light, and moving any quicker than your average snail makes the room spin and blur like a bad powerpoint transition. It turns out to be well worth the effort; when he finally manages to successfully rest his cheek against the pillow, his eyes drag against the soft brown of a familiar coat.
Tsukauchi is asleep in one of the hard, plastic hospital chairs.
It’s not exactly an unfamiliar sight. Tsukauchi was a constant presence at Toshinori’s bedside, during the early days of his treatment. Whenever he could, he would operate from Toshinori’s hospital room. He’d bring paperwork or case-files back with him, so that he could chat with Toshinori while he worked; on his days off, he’d bring his laptop so that the two of them could watch the terrible action movies that Toshiori’d always favored. On those days, Tsukauchi’s dry commentary had made Toshinori laugh until he’d been able to pretend the dull throbbing in his side was just a cramp from lack of air, rather than his injuries. Sometimes, when Toshinori was just out of surgery-- or just plain exhausted-- Tsukauchi would simply sit in silence, keeping him company while he rested.
Right now, in the present, Tsukauchi’s head is tilted back at an angle that probably puts an undue amount of strain on his throat. His legs are splayed uncomfortably in the cramped space between the wall and the bed, and the hat that matches the coat Tsukauchi is wearing is nowhere to be seen; his hair has been ruffled out of it’s usual neat part, so that it looks rather as if he’s spent much of the last few hours running his hand through it in frustration. His hands themselves are twisted loosely in his lap, and Toshinori finds his eyes drawn to the intricate shadows playing over his friend’s locked fingers.
By grace of the weird, impartial clarity granted by whatever medical cocktail the hospital has him on this time, Toshinori spends a long time admiring the colors of a bruise that Tsukauchi’s currently sporting-- the one running out from under the cuff of his shirtsleeve, down his wrist, and over and around his knuckles--just staring at it, for almost five whole minutes, before realizing that the pretty violet stain probably hurts like hell.
‘You could kiss it better,’ suggests a part of Toshinori’s mind that, thank God, is usually a lot quieter.
Generally, in Toshinori’s experience, the cold, antiseptic smell of hospitals-- especially when acting in tandem with their harsh-white light-- are just as good at killing romance as they are at killing germs. Maybe even better, really-- but Tsukauchi stirs in his sleep, and mutters something that sounds like Toshinori’s name under his breath, and suddenly there’s this sharp tugging in Toshinori’s chest that has nothing to do with whatever disaster-slash-health problem-slash-villain attack it was that put him here. He wants-- fuck, it feels stupid and childish and immature, but what Toshinori wants in that moment, more than anything, is to hold Tsukauchi’s hand; human contact suddenly feels almost as imperative as breathing, as necessary to life as the blood pumping in his veins.
Toshinori’s hand twitches against the sheets, twisting them sharply. He thinks about waking Tsukauchi-- gets as far as opening his mouth to call out-- before he sees the smudges under Tsukauchi’s eyes that the hospital lights haven’t quite wiped out, and before feeling the dry ache of his own throat.
He ends up watching Tsukauchi sleep, which actually feels sort of creepy-- but since Toshinori is mostly blissed-out and drifting on the painkillers that are starting to work their way through his system, he figures he probably has a solid excuse for staring, should Tsukauchi happen to wake up.
Tsukauchi’s quiet breathing is soothing to Toshinori in its steady regularity, and he finds himself lulled into an almost meditative state. Eventually the painkillers kick in fully, and Toshinori feels his consciousness start to drift off. His last thought before he’s pulled back into sleep is less a full sentence than a feeling, but--
He likes this. Not the hospital, necessarily-- because really, the hospital mostly just sucks-- but he does like waking up and having one of the first things he sees be Tsukauchi. He thinks he’s like to try doing this again. Well, maybe not the ‘ending up in the medical ward’ part, but waking up next to someone.
If he wasn’t half asleep and drifting on a cloud of painkillers, the thought might have given him pause-- but as it was, it wasn’t a bad last thought to have.
-----
Panic hit him later, of course.
Distantly, it felt foolish to panic, now, when it had been months since his first revelation-- but Toshinori was more occupied with the process of freaking the fuck out than he was with the logistics of the timing.
The concept of having someone-- a partner, someone to come home to-- had always seemed a fair mixture of terrifying and ridiculous, the few times it crossed his mind. He knew many heroes with significant others, all with varying degrees of public acknowledgement; some of may have been more open about the fact than others, but none were any less legitimate for their varying degrees of exposure.
There were also other heroes-- quiet or shy or too well-known for their own good-- who learned to love quietly, from a distance. Toshinori had long-since resigned himself to the fact that he would live amongst the latter. The Symbol of Peace couldn't be anything less than perfect, which would have put an unfair amount of stress on any potential partners-- not to mention having to worry about Toshinori while he fought his way through half the crime in the city, or the constant stress of danger incited by association with the Top Hero.
A tiny, traitorous part of him was whispering that this wouldn't be a problem. Tsukauchi had always been discreet when it came to romance, anyway, rarely mentioning dates or partners-- he wasn’t one for showy romantic gestures, giving or receiving, and would probably be most comfortable with a quieter lifestyle anyway. And like Toshinori, he had dealt with the worst of society; spent his days chasing criminals and villains, and examining their generally unsavory fallout. He knew the risks, and so the adverse affects of the job wouldn't shock him; not to mention that he was quite capable of taking care of himself, in less-than-ideal situations. It would be so easy, the voice insisted-- and for a second Toshinori is caught up in the idea of it, of coming home to Tsukauchi each night, sharing meals and late night conversations, just living and being together.
It scares him more than anything, how natural the idea seems.
-----
(3)
He’s able to recognize the signs, the third time.
Tsukauchi invites him out to dinner. That in itself doesn’t ring any alarm bells, because it’s-- well, it’s an established thing, at this point, the two of them going out and getting drinks, sometimes. It’s not romantic-- or at least, Tsukauchi doesn't think it is, Toshinori knows. It’s just the two of them, alone, in a quiet corner of a bar, passing time in easy, comfortable silence, with no-one watching, and-- and Toshinori needs to concentrate on something else.
The dinner meeting-- not date, it’s not a date-- goes smoothly more because of familiarity than any amount of effort on Toshinori’s part to appear normal. Tsukauchi is waiting at the bar, making casual conversation with the bartender, and he looks up and grins when Toshinori enters. There’s a swooping sensation in Toshinori’s stomach, at that, and he’s hit with a moment of ‘how did I not notice this before’ that carries him up to the bar. If Tsukauchi minds that he’s lost in thought, it doesn’t show-- he orders them drinks and makes idle conversation that doesn’t take more than monosyllabic participation on Toshinori’s part.
At this point, Toshinori is….aware. He’s aware of the setting, and the context of the setting, and his own feelings-- which gives him just a split second of foresight as to what happens next.
What happens is this; Toshinori lifts his head just as Tsukauchi finishes whatever he was saying and raises his hand for another drink. The soft light of the bar--mood lighting, Toshinori’s brain supplies hysterically-- turns Tsukauchi’s face soft and open in a way it usually isn't, reflecting off his wide eyes. Alcohol has painted a soft flush across the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; his lips are chapped from the cold, but the light of the bar makes tham look smooth, and fuller than usual. Toshinori thinks: shit.
Just as the first time, Toshinori has the feeling of teetering on an edge. Everything feels slowed down and distant-- without really meaning to, he loses a moment in appreciating the way the dim lighting of the bar plays over Tsukauchi’s face. It’s nice, Toshinori thinks.
He also thinks that he wants to kiss Tsukauchi.
Then time snaps back into it’s usual pace, dragging Toshinori in it’s wake. His own thoughts catch up to him, and he has a distinct moment to think ‘oh, fuck,’ before Tsukauchi is turning to him and grinning, easy. Something of Toshinori’s inner panic must show on his face, because Tsukauchi frowns and leans closer and asks him if he wants to leave.
Tsukauchi’s breath smells like alcohol, which is grounding-- mostly because it’s probably the least romantic thing about the setting. Toshinori fixes on that as Tsukauchi pays for their drinks, and lets his feet guide him after Tsukauchi on their way to the door.
Outside is cool-but-not-cold, the early-fall air crisp and pleasant after the stifling inside of the bar. Tsukauchi stretches and yawns, and Toshinori finds his eyes tracing the lines of his shoulders, and down his back-- then lower. Tsukauchi glances back at him and raises a brow, and Toshinori ducks his head to hide his blush, and jogs a bit to catch up. The two fall in step as they meander toward a street where they’ll be able to catch cabs back to their respective apartments.
As he had in the bar, Tsukauchi makes occasional idle conversation. This time Toshinori makes an attempt to pay attention and respond properly, but his attention is sidetracked, again, by Tsukauchi’s face in the low light from the street lamps. He’s hyper-aware of how Tsukauchi’s mouth looks stretching around the consonants and vowels that form the words he says, which kind of makes it hard to concentrate on the words themselves.
As they step onto a main street, Tsukauchi turns and says something with a grin. It takes Toshinori a few seconds to register that the lilt of his voice means that whatever he said was probably a question, and he spends a few more seconds scrambling to remember what Tsukauchi said. Time stretches awkwardly as Toshinori fumbles, and the two fall out of step as Tsukauchi turns to look at him in concern. Hei ducks his head in embarrassment, and Tsukauchi snorts and bumps their shoulders together lightly.
“You alright?” He asks. His voice is concerned, but he doesn't sound annoyed by Toshinori’s lack of attention that evening, or by him cutting their meeting short. He’s someone looking out for his friend-- somehow, that makes Toshinori feel worse. He looks away and mumbles something vaguely affirmative, and Tsukauchi shrugs, and breaks off to hail a cab.
They have a brief battle of wills over who’ll take the first cab home. It’s a familiar argument, and one that Tsukauchi wins, this time. Toshinori squishes himself into the cab’s interior-- no mean feat, for someone who clocks in at nearly seven feet-- and Tsukauchi gives him a casual wave before the door shuts.
Distracted yet again by the way the streetlight had haloed his friend, Toshinori returns the gesture a bit too late, only lifting his hand once the cab has peeled away from the curb. A few seconds later, Toshinori lets his hand fall-- then smacks his head against the seat, startling the driver.
Shit, he thinks.
--------
Toshinori had been foolish, initially.
It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that his initial assumption that Tsukauchi’s familiarity would make having feelings for him easier, somehow, had been wrong. He’d assumed that having been friends-- best friends, even-- for years, would ease any strain this might put on them. He had thought that having feelings for Tsukauchi wouldn’t change anything, wouldn't color their interactions in a new light.
He’s a little bit angry, now, at himself. It wasn’t the first time that his rosy worldview had landed him in a frustrating position-- but this time, he stood to lose more than he did from one of his usual day-to-day problems. Also, Toshinori’s getting the sinking feeling that he can’t exactly ‘Smash’ and smile his way out of this particular situation.
He’s aware-- not quite as distantly as he’d like-- thatTsukauchi is going to notice, sooner or later. Probably sooner, he thinks; he’s been every bit as subtle as a bull in a china shop so far, and it’s been making it harder to interact with his friend. He’s gotten lucky, so far-- if Tsukauchi has noticed that he’s been acting differently, he hasn’t taken offence at it. But it’s only a matter of time before Toshinori either says something too obviously out-of-place for Tsukauchi to ignore, or ends up chickening out of one-too-many encounters and ends up offending his friend--or worse, worrying him even more than usual.
Either way, Tsukauchi is going to wonder what’s up with him eventually.
--------
(4)
Eventually becomes now only a few weeks later.
Toshinori’s made a habit, over the years, of dropping by Tsukauchi’s room at the detective’s offices once in awhile. He’ll take time to chat with any police officials who want to; it’s the least he can do, he thinks, for the hardworking officers who work to protect everyone when All Might can't. It’s a bit harder now that he’s only All Might a few hours a day, of course-- though Toshinori’s never let that stop his from trying.
On one particular day, villain activity has been bad enough that Toshinori’s got no time left in muscle form. Even after all these years, he’s still not quite comfortable in his other form-- people stare at him for a whole other lieu of reasons than they usually do, and he’s hyper-aware of the whispers and cutting glances that follow him through the day. The one advantage he has to admit to is that it makes it a bit easier to get around without being noticed; as All Might, he can get detained for hours answering questions posed by officers or fans or eager media, but as Toshinori, he can make his way to Tsukauchi’s room with no interference outside the occasional curious glance.
Lights click on in front of Toshinori as he makes his way down the halls of the detective’s offices. It’s late enough that even the most hardworking members of the force have called it a night, leaving only the fanatics and the chronically overworked behind. The offices are pretty much dead silent-- there is light seeping out from under a few of the doors Toshinori passes, but no sounds from behind them, and he doesn’t see a single other person in the hall. Tsukauchi’s door is one of the few that is leaking light into the hall; as Toshino approaches, the hall light flickers on, whiting out the dull warmth from the desk lamp Tsukauchi favors.
There isn’t an answer when Toshinori raps on the doorframe, though that’s only partially unexpected. At this point, Tsukauchi is so used to Toshinori’s late-night visits that the knock is more out of habit than to let the inhabitant of the room know he’s entering. Toshinori still feels a quick pull of concern, though-- Tsukauchi normally greets him when he knocks, somehow able to distinguish Toshinori’s voiceless greeting from the hundreds of other similar ones he must get throughout the day.
Tsukauchi is slumped over the desk when Toshinori enters, which really doesn’t help Toshinori’s worries. He head is pillowed on his arm, mouth just slightly open; his shoulders rise and fall regularly with his breath, ruffling the papers spread across his desk, though, which does ease Toshinori’s worries. The light from his lamp falls directly on his face, rubbing out the dark bags that have started to crop up recently as the result of years and years of late nights at the office.
Tsukauchi’s breathing remains regular and deep, eyelids not even fluttering, as Toshinori approaches. Tsukauchi doesn’t stir even when Toshinori is standing right beside him; that he doesn’t react at all is as much a testament to Toshinori’s own stealth skills, honed by his years as a hero, as it is to Tsukauchi’s exhaustion.
The hand that isn’t keeping Tsukauchi’s head from knocking against the hard surface of the desk is wrapped loosely around a pen, which is leaking a slowly-growing black spot onto the paper it’s resting on. There’s a mug of instant coffee that looks like it’s barely been touched, despite the apparent amount of time it’s spent sitting in the cup-- there’s a thin skin condensing on its surface, so if Toshinori’d had to guess, he’d say that Tsukauchi been sleeping for at least half an hour, if not more. He’s bound to wake up stiff and sore, if he’s left alone, and so Toshinori is reaching out a hand to shake his shoulder and wake him-- and then it happens.
As before, Toshinori is aware of the way time seems to warp and bend around him-- there’s a sense of singularity, as if him and Tsukauchi are the only ones on the planet. He feels simultaneously flushed with warmth, like he’s standing in the sun, and frozen as if he'd been doused with ice-water.
Then the tips of his fingers brush against the back of Tsukauchi’s neck, and any illusion of cold gets wiped away.
It could arguably be passed off as a mistake-- initially, anyway. Toshinori could have misjudged the distance, and brushed the curve of Tsukauchi’s neck instead of his shoulder. What couldn’t be taken to be a mistake is the way Toshinori’s hand stays there, fingers trailing against the short, dark hair at the back of his friend’s head.
Despite the fact that this is nothing new, and certainly nothing explicit-- Toshinori’s definitely seen his friend wearing way less than he is now, after years of sleepovers and middle school changing rooms, and they’ve never been shy about bumping shoulders or leaning against each other when sitting together-- Toshinori can feel heat creeping through his chest and up toward his ears, across his cheeks.
When they were younger, Toshinori had envied his friend’s more traditional looks. His own wild hair and light eyes, in combination with his rather impressive height, had gotten him odd looks on the street. Before his rise to fame, they’d either been offhandedly curious-- just people gawking at the odd man out, as they tended to do-- but at the worst, the looks were wary, or outright suspicious. Shopkeepers peering over shelves to watch him, or parents suddenly grabbing their children’s hands; it had always been the kind of thing to bother him, set him in edge.
After the commercial birth of All Might, the looks had turned to awe, or appreciation; and often enough, as he grew steadily more successful, the lingering gazes were weighed down by less innocent intent. He got used to being the center of attention in any given room, although now the looks set him on edge for a whole new reason.
Tsukauchi had always had the opposite problem. He’d always tended to fade into the background, to be overlooked and forgotten. Although he’d assured Toshinori that it didn’t bother him-- or even, later in life, that he rather liked his low profile-- Toshinori’d always thought it a bit off.
He’d always been confused by his friend’s easy acceptance of the opinions of others, given how wrong they were. Toshinori’d never been able to imagine thinking of Tsukauchi as forgettable, or even plain; he might not be as distinctive as some of the people Toshinori works with on a regular basis-- the heroes and villains with their flashy quirks, the reporters and celebrities with their perfect, practically designer looks-- but Toshinori’s always thought of his friend's appearance as appealing. He’s got a calming aura about him that seems to naturally soothe almost everyone he meets, from the stressed-out crime victims he gathers testimony from, to lost children, to the pro heroes he works with-- and he has an easy way about him that radiates authority without coming off as threatening. He carries himself well, and though he may think he’s not be built for a life of stardom, Toshinori doesn’t think his friend’s face is anything to scoff at, either.
It’s not as if these opinions developed overnight. Toshinori’d always thought Tsukauchi was pretty good-looking, even when they were much younger-- it’s just, now that he knows his feelings are something other than friendship, it’s a strange and slightly unnerving thought to think. Before, the acknowledgement had just been a general observation; something he’d fully realized, but never really dwelt upon. Now, there’s something different-- weightier-- about it.
Lost in thought, Toshinori runs the tips of his fingers up through the short hairs at the back of Tsukauchi’s neck, then moves his hand to brush a piece of hair off of Tsukauchi’s forehead and tuck it behind his ear. His actions are absent-minded, almost unintentional, and it doesn’t really register with him what he’s doing until the muscles in Tsukauchi’s neck jump, suddenly tensing, and his eyes snap open.
Toshinori immediately jerks his hand back, as if the contact had suddenly burned him. Tsukauchi blinks, then stares blankly at him, brow wrinkling slightly in confusion, while Toshinori cradles his hand against his chest guiltily. Toshinori’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly as Tsukauchi reaches a hand up to brush his fingers along the same trail that his own had followed just moments ago.
“Um,” says Toshinori, intelligently.
Tsukauchi continues to stare at him, hand still absently tracking the place that Toshinori’s had just vacated. Toshinori watches with a morbid sense of curiosity as his hand trails down to curl around the back of his neck, aware the whole time of the incriminating blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. Tsukauchi’s eyes haven’t left his face since they’ve opened.
“Were you, uh--” Tsukauchi breaks off with a grunt of pain, back popping loudly as he straightens up. His hand leaves it’s place at his neck as he stretches, twisting from side to side as so to work out the worst of the kinks. He pops each of his shoulders with a wince, then rolls his neck, cracking it. Toshinori grimaces at the sound, but Tsukauchi just gives a satisfied sigh.
Tsukauchi starts shuffling the papers scattered on the surface of the desk into some sort of order, occasionally stopping to make a mark on one or another. Toshinori watches in bewildered, anticipatory silence, wondering if there’s anywhere particular this is going. Tsukauchi had definitely been about to say something-- the fact that he’s silent now isn’t exactly doing wonders for Toshinori’s confidence.
Tsukauchi finishes with the papers, and slides them into a file folder. He tucks it under his arm and steps toward the door, gesturing for Toshinori to follow. Toshinori drifts out into the hall after him.
As they had when Toshinori had first walked to the office, the hallway lights click on in rows down the hall. Toshinori stays a few steps behind Tsukauchi, anxiously turning what he should say over in his mind. ‘Sorry for surprising you’ might work, but it’s sort of general. ‘Sorry for being a creep’ might be more accurate, but acknowledging it seems like a faux pas, somehow. ‘Sorry, but I think I’m probably in love with you’ is most definitely a solid ‘no.’
It doesn’t matter, in the end, because Tsukauchi speaks first.
“Do you want to get something to eat?” He asks, and the question is such a non-sequitur to the situation that it takes a second for Toshinori to process it.
“I mean-- did you want to grab food, or did you just come to get me out of the kindness of your heart?” Tsukauchi swings the main door to the station open, stepping out into the crisp air and holding the door for Toshinori.
“Oh, um.” Says Toshinori, still unsure. The cool air is starting to get to him; he’d left his house dressed more for the warmer weather that had ruled earlier in the day. The walk home will be at least a little unpleasant if he takes it in a straight shot-- but less so if he takes it in two shorter pieces, with a break in a warm restaurant between them.
“I guess I could eat?” He says, and Tsukauchi grins widely at him. He gestures down the street in the vague direction of Toshinori’s apartment, as well as a few places to eat that they both know well enough.
“Ramen good enough for you?” Asks Tsukauchi, and Toshinori nods.
They end up eating greasy ramen in an even greasier ramen shop, Toshinori laughing at his friend while Tsukauchi tries, unsuccessfully, to work a persistent crick out of his neck. In retaliation, Tsukauchi flicks a wet noodle at Toshinori’s jacket, and laughs unrestrainedly while Toshinori frantically tries to brush it off before it stains.
The two of them walk together for a few blocks after they leave the shop, Tsukauchi having left a significant tip to apologize for all the noise they’d made, and for showing up so close to closing. The two of them keep up an easy conversation, and their shoulders and arms brush as they walk.
The two of them part ways at their usual place, an intersection which is conveniently located only a few blocks from Tsukauchi’s apartment, and a street or two in the opposite direction from the train that’ll take Toshinori back to his own-- admittedly much nicer-- apartment. There hadn’t seemed to be any residual awkwardness between them-- or at least, nothing that Toshinori could detect. Having known Tsukauchi for as long as he has, he’d like to think that he’d be able to tell if something was up.
Still, the solitary walk to the station gives Toshinori plenty of time to reflect on his earlier slip. Before today, he’d known that his newfound awareness of his feelings might affect how he acted around his longtime friend; today, it passed the line from ‘something that might happen’ to “something that might happen again.”
So Toshinori makes a promise to himself, as he hunches self-consciously in the corner of the traincar; the next time he feels this, he’ll tell Tsukauchi.
--------
Toshinori’s luck holds out, in literally the most inconvenient way possible. A string of necessary annoyances keep Tsukauchi and Toshinori from meeting-- long work hours on both ends, villain attacks, Toshinori’s job as Izuku’s mentor and class 1A’s teacher, and Tsukauchi’s additional work with Gran Torino, tracking the Villain Alliance. In all, there’s a solid month where the two are ships in the metaphorical night; meeting briefly, when they meet at all. It’s definitely not the atmosphere for a confession, so Toshinori bites his tongue and bides his time.
But the busy times pass, as they tend to do, and things slow down enough that Toshinori finally has time to catch his breath. The first thing he does-- before he has time to chicken out-- is call Tsukauchi and ask him to meet for dinner. He chooses a venue they both know well-- partially because the service is good-but-unobtrusive, so he’s has no reason to fear interruptions-- but also because he’s depending on familiarity to give him at least a small boost in confidence. The sound of Tsukauchi’s voice when Toshinori makes the call, distorted as it is by the phone line, makes something warm bubble in Toshinori’s stomach, and he focuses on that feeling rather than his nerves. Anything that feels like this, he thinks, can’t be all bad.
------
(5)
The weather has gotten significantly colder since they last met, and so Toshinori hurries to meet Tsukauchi at the destination they’ve chosen. Tsukauchi’s waiting a few blocks from the bar, shivering and stamping his feet in the cold-- when he sees Toshinori approaching, he lifts a hand in greeting, and waves cheerfully. Toshinori feels a grin stretching his face, watching the breath puff out of Tsukauchi’s mouth in a white cloud.
The two of them head toward the bar that Toshinori’s picked out, steps in sync. Toshinori makes a conscious effort to participates in the conversation and respond to Tsukauchi’s small-talk queries, grinning and bumping shoulders. He catches his friend giving him a relieved look out of the corner of his eye, and stifles the urge to bite his lip in guilt. When they arrive at the bar, Toshinori gestures for Tsukauchi go in first, and takes a few minutes to steel himself before he follows.
The inside of the bar is far warmer than the weather outside. It’s almost enough to be uncomfortable, so Tsukauchi’s shrugged off his coat and sweater by the time Toshinori settles down next to him. Tsukauchi’s also waved the bartender over, and ordered drinks-- beer for himself, and something non-alcoholic for Toshinori. Toshinori had taken longer than he’d planned to outside the bar, trying to psyche himself up-- and so the drinks arrive at the table at about the same time Toshinori does.
Tsukauchi shoots Toshinori a confused glance when he settles down. Toshinori grins reassuringly at him, shaking his head slightly, and Tsukauchi shrugs and glances idly down at the menu. The two of them have been here enough that there’s really nothing they haven’t tried before-- Tsukauchi probably knows exactly what he’s going to order. Toshinori would rather say what he wants to say without an audience--not to mention that it’s probably a good idea to do this before they order, in case it goes south-- so he takes his chance once he sees Tsukauchi flip the menu over, and glance up at him in question.
“Tsukauchi,” says Toshinori, suddenly, cutting Tsukauchi off before he can start on whatever he was about to say. “I like you.”
Tsukauchi blinks at him, surprised, processing. Despite the heat of the bar, Toshinori feels frozen under his gaze-- he shuffles nervously, and tightens his grip around his drink. He’s given a about half a minute to panic before Tsukauchi grins at him and turns back to his menu, idly tapping his fingers against the table.
“I like you too, Toshinori,” he says, lightly, and Toshinori has to resist the urge to smack his head off the table.
“No-- Tsukauchi,” he says, and then takes a breath to steady himself. Tsukauchi glances over, confusion wrinkling his forehead, while Toshinori collects himself.
“When I said I liked you, I didn't mean-- that is to say, ah-- the feelings I have for you probably aren't, um. Entirely platonic in nature.”
For a long moment, Tsukauchi is silent. Toshinori can see his shoulders go wire-tense; hears, more than sees, the way his fingers still against the table. He looks about as nervous as Toshinori feels, staring unblinkingly down at his beer. For a second, Toshinori feels frozen in the worst way possible-- then, in a single movement, Tsukauchi chugs what’s left in his glass and stands abruptly, and then nods toward the exit. Tsukauchi drops a handful of bills on the table--more than enough to cover both of their drinks-- before turning wordlessly toward the door, Toshinori following nervously after.
Outside is cold enough that Toshinori is shivering almost immediately. Tsukauchi is shrugging back into his sweater and coat, which gives Toshinori a few seconds to collect himself. When Tsukauchi’s head pops out of the collar of his sweater, Toshinori is ready.
“I wasn’t joking, you know.” He says, and Tsukauchi blinks again.
“I really do have, um.” Toshinori takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “Romantic-- romantic feelings. For you.”
Tsukauchi looks-- not upset. Doubtful, maybe; but not angry or disgusted, which gives Toshinori the boost he needs.
“It’s fine if you don’t feel the same,” he says, “but I wanted to let you know-- I mean, you deserved to know. Didn’t feel like the kind of thing I should be hiding, and all.”
Tsukauchi steps closer as Toshinori finishes speaking. His head is tilted inquisitively, lips quirked. They curl up into a familiar, slightly lopsided grin, and Toshinori realizes he’s been caught staring-- he flicks his eyes back up to Tsukauchi’s, mouth opening to give an apology, but it clicks shut when he realizes how close Tsukauchi’s gotten.
“You’re sure about this, right?” Says Tsukauchi, leaning into Toshinori’s personal space. “Because, I mean, this is going to get real awkward if you aren't.”
Toshinori’s answer gets cut off when Tsukauchi’s hand comes up to cradle his cheek-- Toshinori inhales sharply and blinks uncertainly, squeezing his eyes shut when Tsukauchi’s thumb brushes the corner of his lip. Tsukauchi snorts, then winds his hand back to cup the back of Toshinori’s head and tug him down a few inches. Toshinori licks his lips nervously, and Tsukauchi’s eyes flick down to watch his tongue-- Toshinori can feel his face flush, and Tsukauchi grins before lifting himself onto his toes, brushing his mouth against Toshinori’s.
Their first kiss is a bit of a disaster. Their noses bump, which makes Tsukauchi wince, which in turn makes it nearly impossible for Toshinori to fit their lips together properly. They break apart, laughing, and Tsukauchi rubs his face in embarrassment.
“Alright,” he says, then laughs again. “Okay. Let's try that again.”
Their second kiss is better. The angle is much improved, so there’s less bumping of noses, and their lips slot together perfectly. Toshinori rests his hands on Tsukauchi’s hips, and the way he hums in appreciation makes Toshinori’s whole head buzz. Tsukauchi’s teeth drag against Toshinori’s bottom lip when he pulls away, which leaves both of them gasping.
Tsukauchi drops his head against Toshinori’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist.
“Woah.” He says eloquently, and Toshinori is inclined to agree.
----
It’s not….quite as magical as Toshinori had thought it would be. Tsukauchi had tasted kind of bitter, like the harsh alcohol he preferred, and the botched first kiss wasn’t exactly film-worthy-- but, still.
The way Toshinori had felt Tsukauchi’s warmth seeping through the fabric between them-- the way his lower lip stung just slightly, feeling kiss-swollen-- the way Tsukauchi’s hands stayed resting on his lower back, fingers twisting the fabric of his sweater-- all of it together made everything seem better, more solid, than the meltingly soft quality of the previous times.
It didn’t hurt, either, that this was a concrete reality, now-- no more ‘maybe’s or “what if’s. For better or worse, Toshinori hadn’t just thought about what it’s be like to link hands on the way back to their homes, it was something he’d actually done. The slight flush that had climbed Tsukauchi’s neck, up his cheeks and around the tips of his ears had been real-- as had been the matching flush Toshinori wore after Tsukauchi tugged him down by his collar for a goodbye kiss.
Toshinori wasn’t quite naive enough to believe that this would be so pleasant all the time-- people were people, even when you loved them, and they were wont to be irritated and irrational and all manner of unpleasant things-- but as he watched Tsukauchi duck away after their parting, embarrassed by his own forwardness, Toshinori thought that he’d take all the unpleasantness Tsukauchi could possibly hold if it meant more moments like this.
-----
+1
It happens again when Toshinori gets home late on a rainy Monday, and finds his apartment lit and warm, and smelling like good food.
There’s soft music coming from the kitchen, mixing with the patter of rain on the windows. He can hear someone humming accompaniment to the pop tune crackling through the air; so, that’s where Toshinori heads, as soon as his shoes and coat are off. Tsukauchi is swaying to the tune of one of the more quiet and unobtrusive Top 40 numbers as he stirs whatever it is that’s in the saucepan on the stove. He jumps in surprise when Toshinori sidles up to him and wraps his arms around his waist.
“Shit, you’re soaked,” he says, and makes a cursory attempt to squirm away from Toshinori’s sodden embrace. Toshinori hums and rests his chin on the top of Tsukauchi’s head, curling his arms tighter. He moulds himself against Tsukauchi, who sighs and relaxes back against his chest, apparently having accepted his damp fate.
“Do you want to eat first, or take a shower and warm up while this I finish this?” Asks Tsukauchi. He tilts his head back to give Toshinori a kiss on the chin, and Toshinori hums again in consideration.
“Dinner or a bath…” He mumbles, tracing circles on Tsukauchi’s stomach. Tsukauchi realizes where the statement is going in the brief pause Toshinori gives him, and Toshinori feels his stomach jump with laughter.
“Don’t-- don’t you dare--” Says Tsukauchi, and Toshinori grins and brushes his lips against the shell of Tsukauchi’s ear.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a third option?” Toshinori deliberately drops his voice an octave, and he feels Tsukauchi shiver against him. Toshinori smiles-- then catches Tsukauchi’s earlobe between his teeth and pulls.
“Ah, fuck,” hisses Tsukauchi. Toshinori grins, satisfied. Then he drops his arms and steps back, and-- not missing the way Tsukauchi sways back after him-- gestures vaguely toward the bathroom.
“‘M gonna get cleaned up first,” he says, and grins at Tsukauchi’s resultant huff.
Toshinori makes up for his teasing after dinner, kissing Tsukauchi until he’s got bruised lips and dark eyes, and letting the other man set the pace for the night. Afterward, Toshinori curls up around Tsukauchi, sighing contentedly and nosing at his neck. Tsukauchi winds a hand through Toshinori’s hair and presses a kiss to his forehead.
Toshinori hadn’t ever thought he’d be this lucky. This kind of easy domesticity-- coming home to a dinner already made, falling asleep next to someone-- hadn’t been anything he thought he’d have. He’d resigned himself to being-- not alone, necessarily, because he’d always have close friends, good friends, who he certainly loved and cared for-- but he’d never thought about having this. Even when he’d realized he’d fallen for Tsukauchi, he’d just assumed it would be an unrequited love, or barring that, that they wouldn’t be together like this.
Toshinori pulls Tsukauchi tighter against him, absent-mindedly tracing patterns down his back. Tsukauchi sighs and shifts and mutters something, already well past half-asleep.
Toshinori kisses his forehead-- lightly, so he doesn't wake him, but full of affection. He’s full of food, and warm, and content, and he’s falling asleep next to the person he loves-- the person who also loves him.
All in all, not a bad end to a day.