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There had only ever been Mirio.

It was a realisation that wasn’t surprising, or at least it shouldn’t have been. Tamaki had never quite worked out a lot of the complex things he felt about his best friend. Had never really understood his desire to always be close to him, the thrill he felt when he reached out to Mirio for physical contact, the warmth that settled over him when Mirio smiled at him, the way Mirio’s hugs made him feel safe and cared for in a way that no one else had ever managed. Tamaki had just tried to accept it, thinking it was how everyone felt about their closest friends.

But then they’d met Nejire.

Growing close with someone else was a clear indication that the strange and complicated things he felt for Mirio were most certainly not how everyone felt about their friends. While Tamaki liked Nejire, and enjoyed her company, it was nothing like it was with Mirio. Nothing like the wish to be close to him, to curl against him when Tamaki got anxious, the way that his anxiety just seemed to fade away whenever they touched. A hug from Nejire helped to ground him, but a hug from Mirio calmed all his nerves and helped him to relax.

Although the realisation shouldn’t have been a surprise, Tamaki was surprised, and he had no idea what to do.

Saying anything could mean ending their friendship, and that was something that instilled enough fear in Tamaki that he disregarded it as an option immediately. Not having Mirio in his life was unthinkable, and if this might cause a rift or break their friendship, then he couldn’t say anything.

He thought about it, though. What it might be like if Mirio felt the same. What it might be like to be together. What it might be like to be able to hug him freely. What it might be like to kiss him.

Imagining what it might be like to kiss Mirio had begun to feature in Tamaki’s thoughts a lot. He didn’t know how to deal with how much he wanted it. Didn’t know how to stop looking at Mirio, watching the familiar curve of his mouth as he smiled and wondering what that smile would taste like.

Although the realisation shouldn’t have been a surprise, Tamaki was surprised. But he also wasn’t surprised, because there had never been anyone but Mirio.

There had only ever been Tamaki.

Mirio had known since he was eight years old that there was only Tamaki. He hadn’t known what to do with it then, not really, but he’d known that Tamaki was important, and that he always wanted to be friends.

By the age of nine, Mirio knew he wanted to kiss him.

He felt selfish for it. He had plenty of friends, but Tamaki only really had him. He couldn’t do that to him, couldn’t risk the only friendship Tamaki really had just because of his own selfish desires. It wasn’t fair to Tamaki to do that to him, and so Mirio didn’t. He just hid his feelings away and tried to carry on as normal.

Tamaki didn’t make it easy. Every time he reached out to Mirio when he was anxious, every brush and clasp of their hands, every hug, every quiet murmur of thanks, every soft smile had Mirio falling further. Every time he held Tamaki close and felt his friend relax in his arms, it took so much of Mirio’s self control not to kiss him. Not to just cup Tamaki’s face in his hands and tell him that he loved him.

He felt guilty, every time he and Tamaki touched. Felt guilty at every sleepover, when he’d reach for Tamaki’s hand while his friend slept just to feel close to him. Felt guilty every time he gave Tamaki the affection he clearly craved, because Mirio felt he was giving it under false pretences. Giving it because he just wanted to be close to Tamaki, to touch him and to hold him.

He wondered what it might be like if he could do it without guilt.

He had wondered for years what it might be like to be able to. What it might be like if Tamaki loved him too. What it might be like to be able to call Tamaki his boyfriend. What it might be like to hold him close just because he could. What it might be like to finally kiss him, to kiss that soft, warm little smile Tamaki always had ready for him.