Hi, Smol Anon here to ask for a MitsuYuki fluff drabble? If you do requests, that is. If not I understand, I'm just feeling a little down right now.
A/N: It’s OK Anon! Here is a small little thing for you. I hope that you feel better! Sorry it took a bit!
They arrived early, the sun barely risen above the horizon. The snow lay fresh and flawless, the trees charcoal sketches against the slate sky, and no one was in sight to bother them. It was perfect for their date. Mitsunari let Yukimira fill the silence with talk of soccer and school and the “glorious” battles he had planned for next week, satisfied to walk beside him, a silent listener. He noticed but said nothing of how Yukimura’s eyes would sometimes dart down to stare at the space between them.
Suddenly, Yukimura stopped walking. Mitsunari stalled, staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed. Before he could ask anything Yukimura spoke, eyes never leaving his.
“Mitsunari?”
“Yes?” His stomach needed to stop its useless shivering. It felt like worms under his skin; it was irritating.
“May I hold your hand?” And Mitsunari honestly had nothing to say. Really? Yukimura had a look on his face like he was proposing marriage, or a breakup--- something serious. He did not look like he was asking for something as small as holding hands. Yukimura must have taken his silence for displeasure as his firm look soon started to twist down and around into a knot of panic.
“That is…if you are alright with that. I do not want to do anything you are not comfortable with. You have my sincere apologies if I’ve upset you. I…”
If he remained silent Yukimura would go on forever, taking this false conclusion and hoarding it in his heart forever. He would never ask again and Mitsunari wasn’t about to let such foolishness go on for any longer. So, as Yukimura took a breath to continue his rambling he stepped forward and gently, more gently than he had touched anything, even the ashes of his parents, he slid his hand into Yukimura’s. Yukimura stuttered, staring at their now entwined hands.
“Oh.” Red spread across Yukimura’s cheeks, eyes soft and glistening like the snow around them. Mitsunari felt his boyfriend’s hand tighten around his and he couldn’t help but lace their fingers together; fingertips pressing on every hard-won callus, every scar until he could fit his fingers into the valleys between Yukimura’s fingers.
“You are an idiot,” he murmured, letting the words drift softly away from him as he continued their walk. And though it was February, Mitsunari would swear he could feel a warmth like summer sunshine shining from behind him. Tightening his grip, he continued down the path content with the silence, and the sunlight, and the feel of a hand that would always be his to hold.
