"How do you feel about Taichi?"
( honest answers )
“Really? You can ask me about literally anything, and you decide Tai is the best subject? C’mon.” Even though Yamato said that jokingly, his weak laugh was hardly enough to cover up the fearful and guilty tone in his voice, that spoke volumes of truth before he had even opened his mouth.
“Tai is... Tai.” Ingenious.
“He’s my friend.” Groundbreaking.
“But I like him as more than that.”
Well, fuck Matt, saying it makes it real.
Yamato’s jaw tightened, and all at once he felt a swell of emotion rushing up from the pit of his stomach, into his throat. It burned like hell and, had he not known any better, he might have thought he was going to vomit. Instead, he swallowed it down and kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut. As if not seeing the world around him would help in not facing the reality that he had just willingly blown one of his biggest secrets he’d kept to himself for... only god knows how long.
“I can’t tell him that, though.” Yamato laughed bitterly, wondering why he was even still talking about it. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles still bruised from the last time he got in a scrap with Tai. Fighting was his way of reminding himself that they wouldn’t work on that kind of level. Intimacy was a war composed of meaningless insults, fists, and blood, when it came to himself and Tai. And that was how it worked best. Yamato stuffed his hands into his jean pockets, feeling much smaller than he was because of his forced confession, “if I come clean, everything will go to shit. It’s easier to punch his face in, then to say I want to kiss him. And it’s easier to kiss him and joke about it than to admit I want to do it over and over again, all over his stupid face until kissing loses its meaning. And I’m not normally the type to pick the easiest route, but there’s way too much riding the relationship we have now to risk it.”
Yamato let out a shaky breath, pulling his hands from his pockets to brush his hair back, the other hand rubbing at invisible tears, “I need this friendship. And it doesn’t matter what other people think of it, because we’ve always been like this.”
The blonde then turned away fully, actively done with the conversation and dismissing of any commentary. When he spoke next, it was quiet and bitter as ever, his words full of resentment and self-pity.
“Besides, he’d probably hate me if he knew.”
