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“Here, I’ll show you where we can climb up. You should go f-first so I can help you.”
Tatsumi graciously accepts the assistance, and Mayoi boosts him up by the heel, steadying him around his (toned! touchable! Mayoi could lick them!) calves as Tatsumi climbs up the air shaft by Practice Room D. He accidentally plants his foot in Mayoi’s face in the process and apologizes profusely, staring down at Mayoi with wide, concerned eyes.
Mayoi waves off his concern, chuckling nervously.
“You can step on me all day, Tatsumi-san. I don’t mind~”
“I’d rather not, though?”
Oh. That one probably could have stayed in his head. He laughs nervously in that way that other people usually find off-putting.
Tatsumi reaches an arm down to help Mayoi climb up after him, and Mayoi takes it although he doesn’t need it, shivering at the firm grip of Tatsumi’s hand around his arm. He glances furtively around the empty corridor out of habit before letting Tatsumi hoist him up. There’s usually no one around this part of ES at this time of day, but you never know.
The vents aren’t a particularly nice place to spend your time unless you’re a person who’s very comfortable in tight, confined spaces—a person like Mayoi who enjoys the feeling of his arms pinned close to his sides, wriggling through the slighter parts of the air ducts until he can wedge himself in really tight. He sometimes falls asleep up here and forgets to climb down for hours. Maybe he’ll die here one day.
But there are wider spaces, too, spaces like the area above the green room where the ventilation system opens up into a kind of intersection. A maintenance hub, probably, where a worker could access the ducting or a third-year idol could set up a soft red blanket on the floor and call it a date.
He’d gotten bread and cheese and sparkling water. He’d even—okay, well he hadn’t actually lit candles in the vents, because that seemed dangerous with all the insulation around, but he’d taken some flashlights out of a utility closet and turned them on their ends, pointing them up at the ceiling. He’d papered over their faces with red gels, and the effect was supposed to be, well… romantic.
He shuffles along beside Tatsumi, dragging his feet (knees?) regretting every life choice he’s ever made. This is stupid. It’s stupid, and Tatsumi isn’t going to like it. Isn’t going to like him, and why did he ever think—
Tatsumi makes a small, surprised noise when he sees the scene that Mayoi has set, and Mayoi immediately starts yanking on his braid.
“I’m sorry!” he blurts. “I’m sorry! This is weird, isn’t it? Tatsumi trusted me to plan a d-date, and I went and did something weird.” He buries his face in his hands, already trying to figure out how to melt into the floor and disappear. “You deserve a much better boyfriend than—”
“I love it,” Tatsumi blurts, speaking so quickly that he cuts Mayoi off, as if he just can’t hold it in. He turns around carefully and pries Mayoi’s hands away from his eyes gently, taking Mayoi’s gloved hands between both of his, clasping them with a gentle tenderness that brings a flush of heat to Mayoi’s face. Tatsumi’s voice is so low and fervent. “Thank you, Mayoi-san. This is perfect.”
Mayoi’s eyes go wide and round, as much from the shock of Tatsumi’s words as from the unaccustomed event of Tatsumi, always so polite, interrupting him. And then there’s Tatsumi’s long and graceful hands folded so carefully around his own, thumb idly caressing the bare skin where his glove meets his wrist. It’s all so much to take in at once, so overwhelming that Mayoi lets out a tiny squeak.
He doesn’t try to pull away from Tatsumi’s grasp—doesn’t even want to—but he starts to quiver, a fine, involuntary shiver starting at the base of his spine and wracking his whole body until he’s trembling in Tatsumi’s hands.
“You’re welcome,” Mayoi says. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Tatsumi’s face, but he studies the curve of his chin lit by their almost-candlelight. “Um. Do you want to eat?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Tatsumi says, and Mayoi is grateful for the red-tinted lighting that hides the worst of his blush.
Tatsumi finally lets go of his hands, and they shuffle over to the picnic blanket that Mayoi had laid out—really just one of the covers from his bed, but freshly washed and smelling warm and clean.
Mayoi hadn’t brought cups, but they drink sparkling water out of the bottle, Mayoi thrilling to put his lips where Tatsumi’s lips have been, just stopping himself from licking the rim of the bottle but imagining he can taste Tatsumi there. Tatsumi tears one of the small loaves of bread in two and holds half of it out to Mayoi, smiling softly.
He nibbles his piece of bread, but he mostly just watches Tatsumi, soaking in the surreal feeling of having him here. His lips pull into a soft smile of their own, chin propped on his hand. He feels like he’s dreaming.
“You wanted to show me what you like, didn’t you?” Tatsumi asks.
Mayoi nods slowly. “Being here, it makes me feel… safe.”
He sneaks a peek at Tatsumi through the curtain of his hair, looking for a sign that this is weird and wrong and Tatsumi is judging him for it—but Tatsumi is wearing the same expression he had before, a fond smile and an expression in his eyes like Mayoi is all he wants to look at. It feels unforgivably arrogant to even think it, but what his eyes see can’t be wrong, can it? Not when it’s Tatsumi.
“I wanted you to see it too,” he finishes. “To… feel it.”
He twists his hands together in his lap, feeling the bare squeak of leather on leather, letting the slight friction draw his attention and distract him from the urge to spiral in his mind.
“Thank you,” Tatsumi says, from the bottom of his heart.
He doesn’t grab for Mayoi, doesn’t make any sudden, startling movements that would make this, his safest and most sacred place, any less safe. But he lays his hand out in front of him, reaching out toward Mayoi.
He lets his hand rest on the blanket, and smiles, and waits.
Little by little, it draws Mayoi’s attention. Little by little, Mayoi inches his own hand forward on the rug, until he can finally clasp Tatsumi’s fingers in his.
One day, Tatsumi thinks, he’d like very much to kiss him. It’s a nice, pleasant dream. An anticipation of something that seems sure to come and the comfort of waiting with someone you truly trust.