aiupenn

When the student's curiosity is finally satisfied, Yukichi turns to his desk, deliberately in a way so he doesn't look Sigma's way for even moment. Even so, his ears listen intently to the light, soft tones of Sigma's voice as he chats with one of the other pupils, a girl likely his age. Yukichi picks up the eraser and gets to work ridding the chalkboard of the day's notes. 

The door clicks closed behind the last student and Yukichi hears a small huff of air as Sigma sits on the edge of his desk. "Nakajima wasn't paying attention at all today," he says, and Yukichi's ears perk up at being spoken to by Sigma, in that lovesick sort of way he is far too old for, "If he passes next week's final, I'll be shocked."

"We'll see," Yukichi says. Atsushi had been a good student for the rest of the semester, and he would've been surprised to hear he dropped the ball at the last minute. He was likely just distracted by something.

Yukichi feels Sigma watching him as he rolls up his sleeves, courtesy of the hot summer weather and the old air conditioning system, and sets down the eraser. "You have so much faith in all of them," Sigma says, "I don't know how you do it."

Taking a deep breath, Yukichi finally turns to face Sigma. He motions deftly for him to move. "20 years of experience." It's a pointed statement, but if Sigma picks up on it, he doesn't show it. He just obediently moves to lean on the side of Yukichi's desk with his arms crossed. 

Yukichi starts collecting the day's assignments into a neat pile, setting them aside for grading before settling down in his chair.

"What are these?"

Breath catches in Yukichi's throat when he looks up to see Sigma staring into the trash. He quickly reminds himself it doesn't matter, he needs to keep his cool. "What?" Yukichi asks, hoping Sigma will take the hint.

Of course, he's never so lucky. "The pink envelopes." Sigma pulls the letter out of the trash, makes a good show of looking curious. "You keep throwing them away."

"Sigma," Yukichi says, his voice endlessly tired, yet still a warning.

Sigma puts on an innocent face. "What? Are you debt or something?"

Yukichi sighs.

"I can help!" Sigma says all too eagerly, "I'm good with numbers."

Yukichi turns his attention back to his papers, picking up his red pen. "They're love letters."

Sigma lets out an understanding, high-pitched 'oh' sound, followed by several moments of silence. Yukichi wonders if it's only him who can hear his heart pounding in his ears. "Not interested?" Sigma asks.

If only that were the problem, Yukichi thinks. He crosses out a misspelling with a flourish of his wrist. "Why are you asking?" Perhaps backing him into a corner will get him to drop it.

"I mean, you're not married, right?"

"No," Yukichi says, biting back the 'and they wouldn't let me if I wanted to' he wants to add. "but getting involved with someone half my age is hardly wise."

"You think it's a student?" Sigma asks, "Not a teacher?" Yukichi isn't sure if he's imagining the smile in Sigma's voice, thinking he has him fooled. 

I know it's you. "Drop the subject, Sigma."

"It still seems rude to throw them away," Sigma says, although he sounds uncertain saying it. When Yukichi sends him a glance, he can tell Sigma knows he's overstepping and yet he's not staying quiet. "Someone must care an awful lot."

Yukichi feels a pang of guilt. His eyes briefly going to the drawer in his desk where he keeps the rest of Sigma's letters. Of course, Sigma has no way of knowing that he keeps them, just as Yukichi wants it to be. It doesn't change the fact he hates to so blatantly hurt the man's feelings. 

"Put it back," Yukichi says after a moment, motioning to the garbage. 

Sigma casts a wary glance back to the trash, then ignores the request. He slips the letter across the table in such a way as to place it underneath Yukichi's palm. For the briefest of moments, their hands brush, Yukichi's breath catches, and before logic gets the better of him, he catches Sigma's hand on the table, enveloping it with his own. 

Sigma gasps quietly, and that's all it takes to bring Yukichi back to reality. He lets go of Sigma's hand and goes back to grading as if nothing had happened, as if he won't remember those seconds for the rest of his life. "You need to stop writing them."

The scratch of Yukichi's pen is the only noise for several moments. Then, Sigma quietly asks, "What?" 

"I know you heard me."

Yukichi hears Sigma sit in a nearby chair, but he doesn't dare look up, scared of the look he might see on Sigma's face. "How'd you know?"

"I came early on Friday and saw you leaving it." It's only a partial lie. Sigma didn't need to know that Yukichi had memorized Sigma's handwriting, his patterns of speech, in their two semesters working together. 

"I'm sorry," Sigma says, voice quiet. "I know that's inappropriate of me and… well, I guess 'you weren't supposed to know' is a stupid excuse. I don't really know what my plan was." He laughs hollowly.

Yukichi adds a comma that doesn't need to be there, then crosses it out with unnecessarily deep slashes. "It's fine," he lies, "Just stop leaving them. I'm 24 years your senior."

There's a long pause before Sigma replies. It's obvious he's biting his tongue from saying something else like he often does when he knows the answer to a question a student asks and he wants to answer it in Yukichi's place. "Yeah. I won't."

"Good," Yukichi says, "Come get some work done, then." He motions to the stack of papers, desperate to move on and forget all about the ache in his chest. 

Sigma stands, his shoes coming into Yukichi's view. But he doesn't take the papers. Instead, he leans on the desk again, his hands clearly shaking as he braces himself with them. "Is your only complaint my age?"

His voice is distant and hurt and Yukichi finally breaks. He looks up. Sigma is staring up at the ceiling, tears welling up in his eyes, his beautiful long hair pooling on Yukichi's desk. Yukichi's heart squeezes with guilt.

It doesn't take long for the tears to start to fall and Sigma rubs them away with the heel of his hand as quickly as they come. "I—I'm sorry. I know I'm silly, it's just that—" He cuts off when a particularly strong sob chokes him.

Yukichi lifts his hand to go and comfort him. He only just manages to stop himself before he does. "Sigma," he says reassuringly, "You're allowed to cry."

Sigma nods blearily. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Yukichi says. This does nothing to slow Sigma's tears, however, and against his better judgment, Yukichi stands, leaning next to Sigma against the desk so he won't feel so alone. "You've done nothing wrong."

For some reason, this only makes Sigma cry more. "You're too kind," he says in between breaths.

Unable to resist it for a second more, Yukichi wraps his arm around Sigma's shoulders, bringing him into a hug to press him into his chest. 

For a second, Sigma stops crying. He gives a shudder and then starts crying all over again. Yukichi quietly holds him, knowing he's not helping. The very last thing Sigma needed in this situation was to be held by the very man who had rejected him moments before and started this whole mess. It was hard to tell himself this, however, as Sigma clung to his yukata. 

Stroking Sigma's hair was just what felt right, and it seemed to soothe him. The weight of his overlong locks slipping through Yukichi's fingers, under better circumstances, would have been beautiful. For now, though, Yukichi was feeling like he was stealing a moment from someone else. 

"You're young," Yukichi says after a time, "You'll find someone with a voice kinder than mine."

There's a hiccup in Sigma's cries and his head lifts a little as he sniffles. Yukichi's hand stops running through Sigma's hair, accidentally cradling the base of his head.

Yukichi lips part, planning on saying something more, but Sigma suddenly surges forward and claims Yukichi's mouth with his own.

Something quietly snaps in Yukichi's chest. There should've been a moment of shock or hesitation on his part, but his fingers entangle deeper into Sigma's hair. He keeps pulling him closer and closer, until Sigma's body is completely flush with his own, and yet Yukichi just wants to be nearer. He chases that closeness until Sigma lets out a quiet moan when his back hits the wall. Yukichi quickly covers the gap that allowed Sigma to make such a sound, hungrily exploring Sigma's mouth. He tastes mostly like salt, from the tears, but there's something else there, the taste of something more grounding, something to come home to. 

Before Yukichi can register what a dangerous thought that is, he gasps at the feeling of Sigma's fingers in his hair. He can't remember the last time someone's done that, kiss him like they've truly meant it, like they really want to be with him and not as some sort of quick hookup.

Somehow, their positions get reversed. Sigma is pressing Yukichi into the wall gently, one hand in his hair, the other on his waist, and Yukichi is reveling in it. He leans into Sigma's touch, practically high on it, as he moves his hands to cradle Sigma's face and wipe away the last traces of his tears. 

Yukichi pulls away for a gasp of air after some time and Sigma's eyes flutter open, half-lidded and hazy. All at once, reality comes crashing back and Yukichi freezes, realizing what he's doing and exactly why he shouldn't be.

He pulls out of Sigma's arms, infuriatingly aware of how cold it is without that warmth around him. Neither of them reaches for each other again, just stand in shocked silence, Yukichi avoiding Sigma's eyes, as the sound of their breath echo in the room around them. 

"You kissed me back," Sigma says in awe.

"I shouldn't have." Yukichi launches into motion, going back to his desk to shove papers into his bag. 

"Wait!" 

Yukichi doesn't dare look his way, continuing to pack his things. "That never should've happened," he insists.

Sigma lets out a sound of annoyance before he catches himself and cuts it short. "What do you mean‽ I know you enjoyed that. And you've been reading my letters. " 

Yukichi winces, realizing too late that remark about his 'kind voice' came directly from Sigma's letter two days before. "That has nothing to do with this." He clicks his briefcase closed.

"It has everything to do with this." Sigma's voice is so distressed and Yukichi has no idea if it's because of the situation, or how much he's protesting. In their time working together, Sigma hadn't spoken up this much to anything. 

Yukichi still makes a move for the door, only for Sigma to step into his path. Yukichi doesn't dare look him in the eyes. 

"You want this, I want this, what's the problem?" Sigma says, crossing his arms.

"Sigma..." Yukichi catches a glimpse of the other man's lips, reddened and swollen from their kiss, and there's a crack in his resolve as he considers kissing him again.

"It's not like you've taken advantage of me, Yukichi. If anything, it's the other way around. God, I didn't even ask before kissing you..." Sigma's fingers touch his mouth lightly.

His law major is showing, Yukichi thinks fondly, but he still cuts Sigma's argument short by lifting his palm. "Stop. We both need to forget this even happened," he says with a shake of his head. His heart aches from the words, not that he lets it show.

"Yukichi..." The sound of his first name on Sigma's tongue makes Yukichi's heart skip a beat. "At least look me in the eyes to tell me these things."

Fuck.

Silence spreads between them again as Yukichi tries to reason with himself. He knows what needs to happen. He needs to push past Sigma, take sick days the last week of the semester, and put in a good word for whichever position Sigma would want next. 

But he can't bring himself to do it. He can't even bring himself to look up. 

Sigma is nothing if not patient. He doesn't try to force Yukichi's hand by saying another word, he just waits for him to speak. With a deep, weary breath, Yukichi braces himself to meet Sigma's gaze, trying to appear unaffected. "I—" His throat immediately closes on him before he can say another word, Sigma's eyes boring into him and sending a spark of guilt through his spine. 

Again, Sigma lets him struggle, gives him every opportunity to do what Yukichi should. But the words don't come and Yukichi takes another deep breath before collapsing into the nearest student desk. "24 years..." he says, "That's longer than you've been alive Sigma."

Sigma sits on top of the desk delicately. "I know."

"You don't know," Yukichi corrects, "I have more experience than you, I have an established career, money in the bank to fall back on, a house I've paid for. You're not even sure you want to stick with your major. And I'm more private than someone your age deserves."

The understanding nod Sigma gives him isn't what Yukichi expects, but he's grateful for it anyway. 

"This," Yukichi motions vaguely between the two of them, "won't be easy."

"But won't it be worth it?"

"Yes," Yukichi says it before he even thinks, but then he shakes his head, angry for his slip up. "There's just a good chance of you getting hurt. I'm not public about my relationships, but that doesn't mean people won't find out. You have so much more to lose than I do, and you'll get out of this and think about all the time you've wasted with me. You might not find you like me half as much as you thought—"

Sigma stops him. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm pretty sure it's up to me whether or not I'm willing to 'get hurt'. If there's a danger, it's that I probably like you more than I thought."

"You're a sap," Yukichi says while his face heats up. He's pretty sure he hasn't blushed in years.

"I get the feeling that's something you like about me, however," Sigma says, the smile apparent in his voice. However, when Yukichi looks up, his ears are dusted pink, exposing the fact he's not as confident as he pretends. 

It's not like Yukichi can refute anyway, so he shakes his head instead. 

Sigma stands, tosses his hair in that way he does that makes Yukichi bewitched by it. "Can we try for dinner then? My treat?"

"I can pay for both of—"

"My treat," Sigma emphasizes, "After we get work done, of course."

Yukichi grabs his briefcase. "Fine," he says, "My office, then. Professor Ogai has a class here in half an hour."

The moment he stands, Sigma gently wraps his arm around Yukichi's waist and pulls him close. He plants a small, chaste kiss on Yukichi's lips, and he accidentally lets a content sigh. 

 Francis’s hand played with loose strands of John’s hair. “You’re never going to get that glitter out,” Francis said with mock disgust. 

Normally, John would’ve teased back, but instead he leaned further into Francis’s chest. All the decorating had left him exhausted, but the satisfying kind that meant he was filled to the brim with joy. 

John took a deep breath. Mostly, he smelled cinnamon and peppermint and pine, but underneath it all was that particular brand of cologne Francis wore when it was just the two of them together. It was a cheap one, something John had been able to pick up with his limited finances during their first Christmas after they met (before they dated), but Francis swore up and down it was his favorite. 

“John,” Francis crooned, drawing his boyfriend from his thoughts. 

“Hmm...?” John lazily opened his eyes, pulling himself out of the sleepy haze the comfort of the moment brought him. He watched the flames in the fireplace dance while he waited for Francis to continue. 

“It’s snowing.” 

John sat up straighter and looked toward the window. He didn’t want to act like a child, but giddiness filled him anyway. “It is,” he said, delighted. Slow, languid flakes drifted down outside the window, partially hidden by the Christmas tree.

John left Francis’s side to walk over and study the street below, steadily turning white. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth. Across the street, a child emerged from a building, bundled up for the weather, and took a handful of snow to chuck it into the air. It was an almost perfect view. 

Almost. 

John shivered. The lack of Francis at his side made the scenery dull right before his eyes. 

“Don’t want you catching cold, do we?” Francis said as he draped a blanket around John’s shoulders. 

Just like that, he’d reappeared, just as John has been missing him. Francis’s chest pressed against his back, a welcome gift. John was pulled into a hug, Francis wrapping his arms around John’s waist only after placing a mug on the windowsill. 

John stood on his toes to give Francis a light kiss on the lips. He tasted of chocolate, John noticed, and he liked it. John smirked and tilted his head towards the mug. “When did you have the cook make that?” 

“I’m perfectly capable of making a cup of hot chocolate, dearest.” 

John smiled knowingly and took a slow sip from his mug. 

“But if you truly care, she kept it warm for us from yesterday.” 

“What are you doing awake?” Ranpo asked, tapping mute on the laptop. The live show he was watching silenced, but that comments kept wizzing past. Osamu could see Ranpo still keeping an eye on them. 

Osamu smiled a little, a movement Ranpo clearly felt because he dragged his eyes away to drink in the sight. Ranpo loved seeing Osamu smile, a gift of kindness Osamu didn’t truly deserve. 

Ranpo looked away again as Osamu kissed the space between Ranpo’s collarbone and neck. “You had a nightmare, didn’t you.” Ranpo’s words weren’t a question. It was a statement.

Osamu hummed, kissing him again. “You know me so well.”

Ranpo huffed, as if insulted. “Of course I do.”

There was silence for a moment and then Ranpo started to rub small circles in the back of Osamu’s hand. Osamu shuddered, taking a moment to relieve the memory—to move past it. 

“You died in it. I killed you. I didn’t even care.” It was a heavy admission for him. Even after having the same nightmare dozens of times over so many years, every single time it was hard to tell Ranpo. 

Ranpo stopped rubbing circles, stopping to hold Osamu’s hand tight instead. With a gentleness Ranpo rarely shared, he brought the hand to his chest so that Osamu could feel the heart beating under his palm. 

Osamu froze, paying very careful attention. Slowly, his eyes drifted closed as he counted the beats, soft and even. ‘I’m here’ was what Ranpo was trying to say. Osamu heard it loud and clear. 

“Stop fussing,” Francis’s voice crooned. He stepped forward as he finished buttoning his shirt, reaching to fix the knot John had just ruined. “You look good.”

John sighed. “I can’t believe you let me get roped into this.” Well, he could believe it, considering the fact that he was finding even Francis’s hands attractive in that moment, skillfully tying silk as if it was second nature.

“Aren’t you flattered to be arm candy for a night?”

“I’m always your arm candy,” John pointed out, “Have you seen the tabloids? I’ve got a pretty face.”

Francis hummed, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on John’s lips. It was unfortunate that the man was so good at making him want to melt. Now that they were more than a year into the relationship, he should really be immune to Francis’s charms, but he had no such luck.

His boyfriend pulled away just enough so that he could see John’s face. His mouth turned up into a charming smile. “You are incredibly handsome. That’s why we make such a good pair.”

John scoffed, pushing Francis back gently. “Self-absorbed asshole,” he said, trying to hide his blush.

Francis didn’t argue withe the statement, instead laughing in that golden tone of his. John loved that sound and he focused on it as he combed his fingers through his hair in the mirror.

The sound of a speaker crackling to life startled him a little. He tried to find Francis in the reflection, but in the end he had to turn to pinpoint the man clicking the remote through songs. “What are you doing?”

“I just thought we should get a little practice in before we went to the event,” Francis said.

“Practice for what?” John leaned on the vanity, giving Francis a suspicious look.

“Dancing of course.”

The humor drained out of John’s eyes. “You didn’t tell me there’d be dancing.”

“Only a little, darling,” Francis said, settling not on the sensible option of some classical music, but on an 80s pop song.

“I never agreed to dance.”

“Oh?” Francis stepped up in front of John again, cornering him. “Sorry for failing to mention it.”

“You did it on purpose.”

Unfortunately, Francis didn’t take the time to deny it. Instead he placed a hand on John’s waist and gently led him to an obstacle-free spot in the room. John thought about fighting him, but of course he found himself addicted to Francis’s touch. John let him place his hands in just the right spot and boss him around as he talked through following his feet.

Dancing was surprisingly easy and John found himself relaxing quickly into the rhythm of it all. He liked being so in tune with Francis’s movements, feeling the way his body moved beneath his hands.

“You keep letting your eyes wander,” Francis said.

“That’s your fault,” John replied without missing a beat.

Francis laughed again, stopping to place a finger on John’s chin. He brought their lips together for the second time that night and John was getting increasingly frustrated that it was going to have to stop at that for now.

“We should get going,” John said, struggling to keep the breathlessness out of his voice.

“I’m not so sure I want to go after all.”

John scowled. “What‽ After I go through all this effort to get in these uncomfortable clothes and learned how to dance—“

Francis cut him off with another kiss. John made the mistake of leaning into it for just a moment before he realized just how he was being duped.

“You can’t just keep kissing me and expect me to—“

Ryuunosuke was panting beside him, a cough slipping past his lips every so often. Anxiety fluttered through Atsushi’s chest at the sound, but he trusted Ryuunosuke enough now to know he’d say when he was hurt. They were both just tired. It wasn’t worth the effort to drag themselves from the battlefield. 

“Ryuunosuke.” The name fell out of Atsushi’s mouth without him letting it. He had nothing to say more than that, he just wanted the comfort of his partner’s name on his tongue. 

Fortunately, Ryuunosuke seemed to understand. He didn’t say anything in response or move, but Atsushi felt his attention turn. Ryuunosuke was listening carefully—maybe to Atsushi’s breathing—becoming hyperaware of Atsushi’s presence. 

Atsushi was listening, too, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat and the shift of dirt as Ryuunosuke’s arm came closer.

“There’s stars,” Atsushi said, for no reason in particular. 

Ryuunosuke hummed in a form of agreement. 

The twinkling lights above them seemed no more or less than significant than before. There wasn’t anything special about them, but Atsushi was glad they were there all the same. Seeing something so beautiful when he was so tired... it made his heart swell.

Atsushi fingers moved the final inch and he felt skin touch skin. He held his breath as he waited for Ryuunosuke to pull away. He didn’t. 

Slowly, very slowly and with a multitude of pauses to give a chance for the other to stop it, they’re fingers tangled together. Atsushi let out a quiet, shaky breath, pressure releasing in his chest. They’re hands fit together so perfectly... He never knew that people’s hands could feel like they were made for each other.