maayacolabackup

Title: Obvious

Pairing: Tarou/ Mimura

Rating: um…R-ish?

Notes: I have this intense weakness for bromances, even when the female lead is perfectly awesome, when the two guys in the bromance instinctively understand each other better than anyone else in their life. Shuuji to Akira, and Tarou and Mimura, and PIN, beloved Pin, are all examples of it, and so. I give you this.

Summary: Tarou is a lot of things, but observant isn’t one of them. And he really has no idea what he needs.

Tarou had expected college to be easier than high school in a lot of ways. His university scholarship and paid internship had eliminated the need the need for backbreaking part time jobs at all hours of the day and night, and the twins were older now; too old to demand that their exhausted An-chan carry them around on his hip as he completed the household chores.

And the internship itself—well, it was fascinating, and useful, studying the advancement of genetic engineering in vine vegetables with Nakahara. Sometimes, when Tarou was daydreaming, he imagined a giant field of vegetables that he had designed himself, and the happy faces of a family that would never again know the pain of sleeping on a mostly empty stomach.

His two best friends were at the same university, too, which added a level of comfort to the new experience that Tarou had never experienced before. Tarou had never really had time for friends, between jobs and his family. He’d thought that his family was all he needed to be happy, and that friends were a loss of money and time that would be far too selfish to contemplate.

But then he’d met Mimura and Ikegami. It had seemed effortless for Mimura to join him at the same university after graduation. Tarou had never really considered an outcome where he and Mimura were separated, since it was so natural for them to be together. Being friends with Mimura was easy. Mimura had slid into his life and fit with no awkward pauses or tough choices. And sometimes Mimura made him stretch himself, grow a little, but nothing Tarou suffered for, not really. Ikegami had been hard for him to understand at first, but she too became an important friend.

And now, in their third year of university, Tarou could finally see beyond the now. He remembered, in high school, when he had filled out ‘Employment’ as his only option for the future, and this Tarou, 3^rd year undergraduate in Genetic Engineering, was really glad he’d had people like Mimura telling him he could be so much more. They’d saved him.

“Hello? Tarouuuu…” Mimura said, and Tarou blinked up at him.

“Mimura!” he exclaimed. “When did you get here?”

Mimura leaned back in his seat and laughed. “A good 5 minutes ago. You were too zoned out to notice.” He pulled out his textbook, still smiling slightly. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking about high school,” Tarou replied, flipping open his notes to the right section. “What did we do last class again?”

“World War II,” Mimura replied. “We’ll probably be studying it for the next 3 weeks.” He sighed.

Tarou grinned. Mimura hated history. He was only taking the class because it was the one single class he and Tarou could both fit into their schedules, and it felt to weird to not take at least one class together. Every semester they managed at least one, but as they became more specialized in their studies it was harder and harder to find an overlap. Modern Japanese History fulfilled both of their history requirements, though, and Tarou was happy Mimura didn’t have to suffer through the class alone.

Mimura frowned at his textbook, as if furrowing his eyebrows would make it more interesting. “You should be used to boring stuff, right Mimura? You are a Classical Literature major.”

“Classical Literature is revelatory and fascinating,” Mimura said, his mouth twitching. “History is the boring stuff around it.”

“Shouldn’t you be more into it, though, Mr. Ikebana? Aren’t you the descendent of a noble house that preserves Japanese tradition and culture?” Tarou said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with bombers?” Mimura said, and his voice was tinged with ire. Mimura wasn’t much for showing emotion, so that was the equivalent of a scowl and kicking at the dirt, Tarou decided.

“Aww, poor Mimura. Don’t worry, we’ll survive.” Tarou replied. As a science major, he wasn’t all that into anything humanities unless it was something he could do for his family. If they had a basket weaving class, now THAT would be useful, but history wouldn’t be much good in terms of making tomatoes that could feed 8 people.

Mimura’s dour expression lightened as he looked at Tarou, and he leaned toward him just enough that their shoulders brushed. “Don’t fall asleep,” he whispered. “We don’t want it to be just like high school, right?”

Tarou blushed, and shoved Mimura back to his own desk. “Alright, alright,” he said, doodling a picture of his family in the margins of his notebook. “But feel free to kick me if I start to doze,” he added sheepishly.

###

Ikegami waved at them as they jogged up to meet her. “Hello,” she said cheerfully, and Tarou smiled at her, while Mimura nodded politely. “It’s been a while, huh?” Ikegami was the busiest of them all, it seemed, majoring in business and working as an intern at a respectable financial investment firm. She was dressed sharply today, looking like the consummate professional, even to Tarou’s untrained eye. “I’m glad we could do lunch.”

“Ikegami, you look so cool!” Tarou cheered, and Ikegami grinned.

“I know,” she said. “And the men at my company agree.” She winked at them both. “I might get my tama no koshi yet!” Mimura couldn’t help but chuckle, a little, and Ikegami turned her grin on him. “Mimura, as quiet as always.”

“I’m paying attention,” Mimura defended.

“You always are,” Ikegami replied, and they shared a look Tarou didn’t understand. “Yamada, what should we eat?”

Tarou beamed. “Croquettes!”

Mimura and Ikegami laughed, and agreed.

###

Mimura was arranging flowers while Tarou sat on the couch, reading aloud from their notes. Mimura’s flat was the best place to study, as Tarou’s house was as loud and boisterous as ever, while Mimura lived alone in a nice quiet neighborhood that his grandfather had selected when Mimura demanded to be allowed to leave the house for 4 years.

Mimura chose a soft lavender flower from the ones piled next to his vase on his arranging table. He slid it into the vase, next to a delicate pink flower, and then stepped back.

“So then, the United States decided to join the battle,” Tarou read aloud, before looking up at Mimura. “Oh, is it all finished?” he asked, curiously looking at the arrangement.

It was chaotic, vibrant colors and varying shapes, a sense of dissonance echoing though the whole thing in a way that made it both an absolute mess and absolutely perfect. “Wow, Mimura,” Tarou said, his voice soft. “It’s beautiful.”

Mimura grinned, triumphant. “It’s Tarou,” he replied. “This arrangement is just like Tarou.”

Tarou raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Mimura scrunched his nose lightly in though. “Hmmm…It’s bright, and vivid, but a little chaotic. And it’s strong, too, even though it’s made of so many sensitive and peaceful flowers. The overall effect is powerful.”

Eyes wide, Tarou stared at Mimura. “That’s how you think of me?” He asked, awed.

Mimura flushed, barely noticeable. “Well, yeah.”

“Wow,” Tarou said, before standing up and walking to Mimura’s side, grabbing an empty vase. He looked carefully at the fresh cut flowers, before grabbing a sunflower and plopping it contentedly into the vase. “It’s Mimura.”

“Hmm?”

“Sunflowers are tall and strong, and from a distance they look simple, but when you get up close you can see that there are hundreds of tiny seeds, right? Like Mimura, once you get to know it, you can see how complex it really is. And sunflowers are beautiful and brave, always opening up toward the sun,” Tarou declared confidently.

Mimura’s arm brushed his own as he reached out toward the sunflower, picking it up and dropping it in the midst of his arrangement. Tarou could feel the smooth silk of his skin, and watched as Mimura stared at his new arrangement with thoughtful eyes. “Sunflowers are always opening to the sun,” he repeated, and then he looked at Tarou. “If sunflowers were brave,” he muttered. “They would tell the sun never to stop shining.”

Tarou laughed. “Night has to come sometimes, Mimura!”

Mimura smiled softly, a lopsided grin Tarou had never seen before. “I know,” he replied. “But the daytime is better.”

###

Mimura and Tarou sat side by side in the lecture hall, Tarou chatting about inane gossip from his brothers and sisters. His current angst was tied up in Itsuko possibly having a boyfriend, while Mimura listened to him rant with what passed, with Mimura, for enthusiasm. The corners of his mouth were quirked, and so Tarou knew that Mimura was sort of laughing at him, but it was good-natured, Tarou knew. "I know it's crazy that I'm this worked up about it, but--"

"Um, excuse me, Yamada?" a timid voice queried from behind him, and Mimura's eyes slid over to focus on whomever was behind Tarou's back, one eyebrow lifting curiously. Tarou turned around too.

"Oh, yes? Suzuki, right?" Tarou asked, wracking his memory for something she might need or he might have agreed to help her with. She was in his advanced physics class too, he recalled, so maybe something to do with that. "Can I help you?"

She beamed at him. "Yes, I'm Suzuki. I wondered if you were busy tomorrow? Some of us were going to see that new Gantz movie tomorrow, and wanted to know if you were free?"

Tarou smiled anxiously at the girl, if a tad apologetically. "Sorry, I can't," he said, his eyes holding hers in a way he knew made people forgive him. "Maybe next time, eh?"

Suzuki burned red, and giggled. "Sure, Yamada, sorry to bother you!"

"Oh, no bother," Tarou replied, already turning back to Mimura.

After she had walked away, Mimura questioned him with his eyes. "Oh, it's just," Tarou started, before coughing awkwardly. "Weren't we going to see it together? The new Gantz movie, I mean."

Mimura's mouth curved up again. "You'd choose me over a pretty girl?" Mimura teased, already scanning through his notes from last lecture as if Tarou's response was inconsequential.

"Well, yeah," Tarou said, confused that it was even a question. "I'll always choose Mimura, obviously." Mimura's hands stilled on his notebook, and he swallowed. "Something wrong?"

Mimura looked up at him, face still. "Why?"

"Because you're Mimura, silly. Plus," Tarou said, leaning forward as if he had a particularly juicy secret to share. Mimura leaned toward him too, his mouth in a thin, tight line. "Mimura always gets the large size popcorn, and hardly eats any of it." His tone was gentle and teasing, and Mimura's eyes went wide, before an uncharacteristic snort escaped him. He half-heartedly shoved Tarou in the shoulder.

"You're a goof," he said, but his smile was warm, and Tarou felt giddy all through class, for no apparent reason.

###

Mishima, the soft spoken woman who worked in Tarou’s lab, cornered Tarou one day at his desk. “Yamada, the hot guy who brings you sandwiches,” she stuttered. “Who…who is he?”

“Ahh, Mimura!” Tarou said delightedly. “He’s my best friend from high school.”

“Does he…” her voice was shy. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

Tarou looked at her in shock. “Um, I don’t think so?” He thought about it. “He doesn’t really have time. In the mornings we eat together, and he has lunch with me, and after dinner we usually study at his flat if I’m not here at the lab. Then he comes to my house for dinner, or we take dinner to my family.” Tarou nodded. “So I don’t know when he’d have time to get a girlfriend.”

Mishima looked at Tarou solemnly for a minute. “So it’s like that?”

“Like what?” Tarou asked, not really understanding what she was driving at.

Mishima giggled. “Nevermind,” she said. “Here are the latest readings on the tomatoes. You should include them in your presentation, along with tomorrow’s, okay?”

Tarou smiled at her. “Thank you, Mishima. You’re so kind. I’ll put in a good word with Mimura, if you’d like?”

“No need,” she responded, eyes alight with a joke Tarou didn’t get. “I think I know what he wants, and it isn’t me.”

Tarou frowned. “I don’t get it.”

Mishima patted him on the shoulder. “That’s okay, Yamada, you can’t be brilliant at everything.”

###

"Someday," Tarou said wistfully, "I'll make enough money that my family won't have to worry again. So that they'll be happy."

"Money isn't happiness," Mimura replied, turning to look at Tarou.

Ikegami snorted. "If you have enough money, anything is possible. Seems like happiness to me." She ran fingers through her bangs as she spoke, her mouth twisted in a little frown.

"If I had money, I wouldn't have to worry about Jiro's next baseball glove," Tarou said, "Or buying Itsuko a dress to wear to that party she's going to with her boyfriend." Tarou's eyes narrowed a bit on the word boyfriend. He knew baby sisters grew up, but he didn't have to LIKE it. "Maybe I would be happier."

Mimura bit his lip, like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and leaned back on the grass instead, fingers pulling up clumps. Tarou leaned back too, and looked over at Mimura, whose eyes were trained on the sky. "What?"

"Hmmm?" Mimura turned to look at Tarou, the sun on his face creating a glittery outline that made him seem as if he was gilded in molten gold.

"What were you about to say?" Tarou prompted, and Ikegami looked back as if she was curious, too.

"Money can't make you happy," Mimura said then, and his voice was low and certain. "I have all the money I could need, and the only time I'm happy is..." His eyes caught Tarou's for a second, before quickly glancing away, and there was something skittish and shy that Tarou almost didn't notice. "You both have something that I don't," he finished.

"What could that be?" Ikegami said, fiddling with her cell phone.

"Families," Mimura answered, and Ikegami looked over quickly from her phone. "I have Grandfather, it's true, and Isogai. But Ikegami, you have a mother and father devoted to each other and to you, who you know will be there for you no matter what. They want you to succeed in whatever you do, and they make sacrifices for you." Ikegami looked away, and nodded. "And Tarou...your family...it's amazing how strong you guys are, how much you give each other, all of you. You've got something precious."

Tarou nodded. "I know I do." He looked over at Jiro, tossing the ball up and down in the air in his mitt, chasing it when he threw it to high, and laughing. He looked happy. Then looked back at Mimura, who is still gazing at the sky, his face unreadable. Tarou had never heard him talk so much.

"Me? I don't have a family like that. All I have is money." He pulls himself up, and looks down at Tarou, blocking the sun. "It's not...not too comforting when I'm lonely, or if I have a secret. It won't hug me when I'm sad, and it won't check my fever when I'm sick."

He dusted the grass off the back of his pants, and smiled at Tarou. It was small, and bitter. "So I think you're richer than me."

Mimura ran toward Jiro, holding his hands out for the baseball. Tarou worried his lip between his teeth as he watched them. Mimura was laughing as he played catch with Jiro, his eyes crinkling in the way he only seemed to do around Tarou's family. Tarou looked down at his planner again, eyes shifting back and forth.

Ikegami, who Tarou had forgotten was there, sighed and took the planner from his hands. "Well, what are you waiting for?" She smiled at him, and made a shooing motion. "Go play!"

Later, when darkness was falling and shadows covered the field, and only the faint rays of sunset illuminated their way back to Ikegami, Tarou waited until Jiro had walked far enough ahead, and wrapped his thin fingers around Mimura's wrist. "I was thinking about what you said."

Mimura's eyes glimmered in the sunset, his skin golden and perfect. Tarou shook himself, and caught his eyes with a serious expression on his face. "About not having a family, I mean." Mimura swallowed, his eyes flickering down to Tarou's hand around his thin wrist, and then back up to Tarou. "That's not true. You have me."

Tarou dropped Mimura's wrist, ignoring the tingling he felt in his own arm from the small touch, and sped up to catch Jiro. He felt Mimura's eyes on him, and glanced back. Mimura was watching him, and in the fading light, Tarou saw something he couldn't identify lingering in Mimura's eyes.

###

When Tarou got to the lab, Mishima looked up at him worriedly. “Oi, Tarou, your sister was here looking for you about 5 minutes ago! She was crying and asked if I’d seen you.” Her face was concerned.

Tarou panicked. “Which way did she go?!” he asked, dropping his backpack and folders at his desk hurriedly.

“I’m not sure, but she can’t have gotten far,” Mishima responded, going back to her reports.

Tarou frantically searched up and down the hallways, until he heard soft sobbing from the lounge. He ran toward the sound, only to stop in the doorway. Itsuko was sitting next to Mimura, under his arm, her hand clutching the front of his incredibly expensive designer shirt, soaking it with her tears and snot. Mimura, his eyes soft, hand his hand protectively on her head, cradling her closer as he whispered soothingly into her ear. Her other hand held his tightly, her sobs wracking her body, and Mimura moved the hand on her head to rub her back in soothing circles.

“It’ll be okay, Itsuko,” he whispered, and Tarou watched them both, his heart feeling full and heavy. “It’s all going to be okay.” Mimura’s voice was calm, and Tarou felt himself believing it too—whatever was wrong was going to be okay, because Mimura had said so, and Mimura was always right. Itsuko cried until she fell asleep.

Tarou stood in the doorway of the lounge for 10 minutes before Mimura noticed him. Mimura’s eyes widened slightly, before he gave Tarou a soft, tiny smile that made Tarou feel like his insides were made of baking chocolate over a boiler, gooey and sweet and melting. He walked in and sat on the sofa on Itsuko’s other side, running a hand through her hair as Mimura continued his soothing circles on her back. “What happened?” he asked softly, and Mimura’s gaze met his own.

“Her first boyfriend broke up with her,” Mimura answered, the corners of his lips twitching just a little.

“Ahh, Itsuko’s first heartbreak,” Tarou said, his stomach twisting with the urge to kill the boyfriend, and the knowledge that that sort of thing was completely natural for teenagers, even if he’d never experienced it himself.

Mimura’s smile grew a little then, as if he could read Tarou’s mind (and Tarou sometimes thought he could) and said, “It’s only normal, Tarou.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But I want to protect them so much.” He felt his own eyes get a little wet. “Thank you, Mimura,” he said, instead of crying, and Mimura’s hand rested on Tarou’s for a fleeting moment.

“Of course,” he said, as if Tarou’s family wasn’t his own family, and what was he saying thank you for, anyway?

Tarou’s eyes crinkled at the thought. Mimura an-chan, ne?

***

“Tarou, are you ready for your presentation?” Mimura asked, as they sat outside on a bench in the small garden near the law library, eating small sandwiches from the cafeteria.

“I mean, I’ve got enough data and stuff, but I’m not a natural at presentation,” Tarou responds around a huge mouthful of ham sandwich.

“Are you really nervous?” Mimura queried, nibbling lightly on his turkey, his voice mild. “You’ve been studying this material and working on this experiment for 3 years now, and you know it really well.”

“Yeah, but it’s in front of all the sponsors and university faculty. It’ll look really bad for Dr. Nakahara if I make a fool of myself.” Tarou chuckled nervously, then shoved another huge bite of sandwich in his mouth.

Mimura took a look at his watch, and stood. “Well, I’ve got my case study class at 1,” he said, and tucked his mostly uneaten sandwich back in the wrapper for later. “So I have to go.” He leaned over and wiped a bit of mayonnaise from Tarou’s mouth. Tarou flushed and rubbed the area again. His heart fluttered strangely in his chest for a moment, but he forced the thought to the back of his mind. Mimura smirked. “I’ll see you after class?”

Tarou nodded, his hand still lingering by the side of his face, where Mimura had touched. “Oh, hmm, I’ll be in the lab all night tonight, probably, going through data.”

Mimura frowned a little. “Don’t stay up all night, Tarou,” he said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t worry,” Tarou replied. “I have years of practice with all-nighters!” He grinned up at Mimura, who was blocking the sun, who still had that cautious look on his face.

“Someone has to worry about you,” Mimura mumbled, before offering Tarou a jaunty wave and heading off to class.

###

At 6 AM the next morning, Tarou was exhausted. His stomach rumbled uncomfortably, reminding him that the last time he had eaten was the ham sandwich he ate at lunch the previous day. But if he went and got something to eat, it would substantially cut into the nap time he knew he needed to give a good presentation. Resigning himself to an empty stomach (he’d made it through high school, hadn’t he?) Tarou leaned forward and rested his head on his arms, his desk covered with papers and index cards.

Tarou nodded off, and when he awoke, there was a plastic bag next to him. Inside was his favorite cream bread and a banana milk. A note was scrawled on the bag in sharpie. I told you to sleep, didn’t I?

This time, Tarou couldn’t fight back the fluttering feeling in his chest, as warmth filled his belly, followed shortly by cream bread.

His presentation went perfectly.

###

Tarou had to keep perfect grades, or his scholarship would be revoked. Usually, he had no problems acing his classes, but thanks to his stressful lab presentation, he’d fallen slightly behind in studying for the midterms. And Mimura was being infuriating, telling Tarou that he would get good grades anyway, completely unaware of how much effort Tarou had to put in, in order to keep his grades, and completely unsympathetic to how much Tarou needed to stay on his scholarship.

“Tarou, let’s go to see that show about Noh theater today in the Arts Complex.”

“Can’t, Mimura. Have to study.”

“Tarou, you know that stuff inside out. Plus, I want to see how you react to the Noh theater. I know you’ve never been to see it, and it’ll be interesting.” Mimura looked delighted at the prospect of witnessing Tarou’s first Noh experience. “Plus you need to relax. If you work too hard you’ll burn out.”

Tarou scowled. “I don’t have TIME to go play today, Mimura. I know you think my life is interesting, but I’m too busy right now,” Tarou said, anxiously looking down at his printed spreadsheets, searching for some correlation between his current slicing and tomato growth.

“You should eat, you’ve been here awhile. Midterms are midterms, Tarou,” Mimura said, his voice coaxing. “Just a little?”

Tarou, who was tired and frustrated, snapped. “Stop HOVERING, okay? You’re not my mother, and if you were, even then you wouldn’t be taking care of me. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I don’t need you. I’m just fine by myself.” He ran a hand through his hair, not lifting his face from his work.

Mimura was silent.

When Tarou looked up a minute later, Mimura was gone, and a wrapped up onigiri sat on the edge of his lab desk.

Sorry for snapping, he texted, and minutes later, he received one back. Okay, it said. Tarou didn’t text often—he had a pay as you go plan that charged by usage, so he assumed everything was fine and went back to work.

It wasn’t until the next day, after his midterm, that he noticed Mimura was gone. He went to their bench, in the garden outside the law library, with a sandwich, and Mimura didn’t come. And when he thought about it, Mimura hadn’t visited him in the lab this morning before his exam, either, and he hadn’t seen him after his biochemistry lecture either. And Mimura hadn’t left him any weird notes or gardening tips on his school mailbox, and Mimura had basically vanished into thin air.

Tarou tried to remember the last time he’d gone more than 12 hours without seeing Mimura, and he became pretty sure that it hadn’t been since that one time Mimura had gone on a 5 day trip with his grandfather to visit his parents' graves and Tarou had just stayed inside the house and moped until he came back, playing with the twins and trying not to worry about car accidents and whether Mimura was sad or not.

At the end of the first day, Tarou thought he might go crazy. He kept imagining Mimura everywhere he went, and then feeling heart-dropping disappointment every time it wasn’t him. He tried to go to lab, and work on some data analysis, but he walked halfway there before realizing that he was too antsy, and breaking expensive equipment just because he hadn’t seen his best friend in a few hours wasn’t going to fly as an excuse with Nakahara, not at all.

After four days, Tarou thought he might die.

Tarou didn’t remember ever having felt lonely before he knew Mimura, but after four days without him, he was inescapably so. Maybe before, Tarou thought, he just didn’t know what he was missing, so he’d never felt the terrible chill that comes with a conspicuous absence.

Tarou had taken it for granted, that Mimura would always be by his side, calm and supportive, sometimes mocking but always taking care of him, like a loyal Guardian Angel, albeit one with a penchant for pranks. Since the first time Mimura had saved him by feigning allergies in order to draw attention away from his toilet paper theft, Mimura had always been carefully watching over him. And despite the vast economic divide between them, Tarou never felt self-conscious or lacking around Mimura, because Mimura wasn’t the sort of guy who held onto that kind of thing.

Mimura, before, hadn’t been the kind to hold on to anything at all, regarding everything as a game.

But clearly, Tarou was wrong. Four days of silence had convinced him that he was missing something.

He met with Ikegami for lunch.

“I’m surprised, Yamada,” she said, after a few minutes of aimless chatter. “Usually you eat lunch with Mimura, you know, everyday.”

Tarou cradled his face miserably in his hands. “I did something wrong.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Tarou explained. “I told him I didn’t need to be taken care of all the time, and implied that I needed a bit of space. I just meant that I didn’t have time for breakfast because of midterms, but now…” Tarou’s voice trailed off, and he sighed. “But now he hasn’t talked to me in four days! I keep imagining him behind trees, and wearing that serious face.”

“Mimura’s face is always serious,” Ikegami offered, and Tarou effusively shook his head.

“No it isn’t!” he exclaimed. “Mimura has lots of faces. He’s hard to read, sure, but his eyes always say exactly what he’s thinking. They crinkle in the corners when he’s happy, and they get all small and narrow when he’s confused, and bright and big when he’s angry. The also get uneven when he’s a little bit hungry but thinks it’s too bothersome to eat…” Tarou stopped when he saw Ikegami covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter.

“Yamada,” she said, chuckling into her latte, “I think you might be an idiot savant.”

Tarou’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Ikegami slid her hand down her face, exasperated. “Okay, I can’t believe I’m about to talk to you about this, but something tells me you actually don’t know,” she muttered, before gathering her will. “Yamada, did you know that I thought I was in love with you when we were in high school?”

“What?!” Tarou sputtered. “But…Really?! But you’re like a sister!”

Ikegami rolled her eyes. “Yeah, now, but not then. Anyway, I’m telling you this for a reason. So listen.”

"Yes, okay,” he said, still reeling from the shock.

“Do you remember how I acted in high school?”

Tarou rubbed the back of his head with chagrin. “You were very….unpredictable.”

Ikegami grinned. “Yeah, and what sort of stuff did I do?” she asked, her question seemingly random.

“Well, you brought me lunch,” Tarou replied. “And gave me your old yukata for my sister. And you spent almost all your time with me. And you did nice things for me for no reason, and got jealous a lot. And you joined my class even though you weren’t that interested. And you made me go on that retreat by asking Mimura to come!” Tarou said, proud that he’d made a comprehensive list. “Actually, it seems pretty obvious that you liked me, now, looking back on it,” Tarou grimaced. “I sure was oblivious, huh?”

Ikegami snorted. “Yeah, using the past tense is appropriate. Not. Anyway, does any of that behavior sound familiar? Anyone you know act like that toward you now?”

Tarou thought about his daily life. Mostly he just spent his time with Mimura, and he couldn’t remember any girls offering him breakfast—Mimura always brought him breakfast, so there was no need for girls to go out of their way to do so. “No, not really,” he said. “But what’s this got to do with Mimura?”

“Yamada,” Ikegami said, her eyes disbelieving, her face a little slack like she’d just watched someone shoot an injured puppy. “Yamada just…go ask Mimura what’s wrong. Go to his flat, you know where it is, you probably have a toothbrush there!”

“I do not,” Tarou said. “I only sleep there when we stay up too late reviewing.”

Ikegami rolled her eyes again. “I am getting too old for this,” she said, and then stood. “Bye, Yamada, I’ve got class in 10 minutes.” She left cash on the table to pay for her half of lunch, and started to walk away. Tarou called after her.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t return your feelings then, Ikegami, no, Takako. I really had no idea. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tarou said, his face serious.

“It’s okay, Yamada...Tarou. I realized pretty quickly during our first year of college that I’d never really had a chance.” Her smile was wry, but sweet, and Tarou realized Ikegami was sort of beautiful, in her own unique way. “Besides, we’re good friends, right?”

“Of course,” Tarou affirmed.

"So go figure things out with Mimura. Ask him why he’s angry.” She wasn’t looking at Tarou anymore, and she had a strange, bemused expression on her face. “Since you can’t seem to figure it out on your own, it’s best to hear it from the source.”

###

Tarou knocked on Mimura’s door, shifting from foot to foot as he waited. A solemn Mimura answered the door.

“Why are you angry at me?” Tarou blurted, in lieu of a greeting.

Mimura sighed. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” Tarou said, walking into Mimura’s flat and settling himself over on the couch. “You’re mad and you’re acting weird and I don’t know why.”

“Of course you don’t,” Mimura replied. “Of course you don’t know why I’m upset. Even though it’s so obvious your entire lab knows, and Ikegami knows, and even your siblings know. But of course you don’t know.” Mimura shook his head, as if to clear it. “You’re the sun, and you have no idea.”

"I'm not good at this! I don't understand!" Tarou said, making himself as small as possible on the couch in Mimura's apartment, as Mimura silently looked down at him from his position against the wall. Mimura's face was as inscrutable as ever, but something was stirring in his eyes. "Can you just explain it to me?"

"Explain what?" Mimura said, and his voice was dry and a little cold. "You don't have time to waste on explanations."

Tarou winced as his own words were thrown back at him. "Mimura," he started, and suddenly he felt dizzy and desperate. "Mimura, don't...don't leave me." And as Tarou examined his own words, he knew they represented one of his greatest fears-- a life without Mimura. "You can't leave me, because I don't know what to do without you. If I don't see you, I'm thinking about where you are, and if you're upset I'm thinking about that too."

Mimura watched him, and Tarou felt himself trapped under his intense gaze. "You don't know what to do without me?" Mimura's voice is bitter. "Tarou, you know exactly what to do without me. You've been taking care of your family so long, and you're the most self-sufficient person I know. You don't need ME."

Tarou thought about Mimura leaving him breakfast before his presentation. He thought about turning down dates to the cinema and going to watch the same movies with Mimura instead, and about taking classes that were inconvenient just so he could have the other man's warm presence at his side. He thought about Mimura himself, the way he was comfortable in the silence and never asked for more than Tarou was willing to give, and the way his eyes lit up on those rare occasions when he smiled. He thought about Mimura holding Itsuko close as she cried, and playing catch-ball with Jiro while Tarou read from his reports on the grass. He thought about Mimura's hand brushing his hair out of his face during an all-nighter, and about the last 4 days, empty and cold, when Mimura was gone from his side, the lack of his reassuring presence leaving Tarou on edge and unable to function.

And now, as he looked at Mimura, who stood leaning against the wall by his door, eyes closed, looking tired and vulnerable and achingly beautiful, Tarou couldn't help but release a soft "oh," as it suddenly became clear.

Mimura's eyes blinked open, and he glanced over at Tarou, then seemed to freeze. "What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?" Mimura seemed to shrink into himself, and Tarou, now that he understood, could see that Mimura, always confident and self-possessed Mimura, was afraid.

"OH," Tarou said again, a little louder, and then he stood up. He walked over to stand in front of Mimura, who stared at him with confusion, and took a moment to take in the soft curve of his face, the way his mouth, small and full, seemed perfectly straight, and the way his eyelashes left shadows on his cheeks when he blinked. "I..." and then Tarou decided he didn't know what to say anyway, so he put his hands on Mimura's shoulders, and kissed him.

The first touch of their mouths was soft, almost more of a brush than a kiss. But then Tarou, who was nothing if not determined, leaned forward and pressed his lips harder against Mimura's, tilting his head slightly to the side as he stood on the balls of his feet for better access. Mimura was cold and unmoving beneath him, and then, with a groan, he became boiling hot, his lips moving silkily against Tarou's, his mouth parting slightly. Tarou's mouth followed suit, and suddenly he felt the wet smoothness of Mimura's tongue, and he parted his own lips to allow him access. Mimura's hands, previously plastered against the wall, lightly rested on Tarou's hips, a slight touch that grew more and more firm as they continued to kiss.

Tarou’s hands slid up from Mimura’s shoulders to slide into his hair, and Mimura moaned his approval into Tarou’s mouth. The slip of their tongues against each other was as natural as breathing, and Tarou relaxed into the kiss, even as he felt something coiling in excitement deep inside him. He drew back, hands still tangled in Mimura’s soft hair, mussed by Tarou’s grip, and looked at Mimura in the eyes. Mimura’s lips were red, and swollen, and Tarou suddenly wondered why he had stopped at all, why he should ever stop kissing that mouth.

Mimura’s face was red, and his eyes were wide in a way Tarou had never seen before, but found absolutely delightful. His breathing came in shallow gasps, and he looked thoroughly unhinged. His hands still rested on Tarou’s hips, and his thumbs were unconsciously rubbing small circles into Tarou’s sides as he gathered his thoughts.

Tarou cleared his throat, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Mimura’s shoulder. “Of course I need you,” he whispered, and Mimura shuddered, either from the soft warm air on his neck or from Tarou’s words, Tarou didn’t know. “You’re my best friend. I’ll always need you. I’ve been taking care of everyone else, and you? You’ve been taking care of me.”

Mimura pulled him in close, hands sliding up to Tarou’s back and trapping him in his embrace. “Finally,” Mimura said, into Tarou’s hair. “Finally.” His voice sounded relieved, like he’d been bearing a heavy load and he was, at long last, able to put down his burden. And then he took one hand and palmed Tarou’s cheek, guiding his face back up to capture Tarou’s mouth again with his own.

This kiss was sloppy and fiery and inescapably wet, and Mimura slid a hand up Tarou’s shirt, meeting flesh with his palm, and gliding across Tarou’s ribcage. Tarou shivered and tugged Mimura closer in response, sucking on his lower lip and instinctively gabbing it with his teeth and pulling. Mimura gasped, and his hips rolled forward, seeking friction. Tarou pushes Mimura firmly against the wall, and their bodies molded to each other and Tarou felt Mimura hard between them, and he was hard too.

Then Tarou’s cell phone rang. Tarou ripped his mouth away from Mimura’s, stepping back, panting for air. Mimura swore, and Tarou looked at him in shock before fumbling for his cell phone. His eyes widened at the number and he answered.

“Hello?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yamada-san, are you okay?” said Nakahara, and Tarou suddenly remembered his internship. “You sound sick. And you haven’t been by in the last four days, so we’ve been worried about you here at the lab. You’ve never even missed one day before, so…”

“Ah, I’m so sorry!” Tarou said loudly, too loudly into the phone. “I’ll be in soon today, I just had some…” Tarou just knew his past few days truancy would come back to haunt him now, and he didn’t know what he would do if he lost this internship because he was too stupid to understand the people around him.

“Yamada-san,” Nakahara said, laughing into the phone. “Relax, you don’t have to be perfect all the time. You’ve not missed a single day in the 3 years you’ve worked here. If you had to miss, I’m sure it was important.”

Tarou’s eyes glanced up from the floor to look at Mimura, who was still pressed against the wall, shirt half-untucked and throat still flushed red with exertion. Tarou took in the line of his body, and then his eyes wandered back up to Mimura’s, and Mimura smiled at him, tentatively. “It was,” Tarou said into the phone.

“Okay, well if you can, come in now, please,” Nakahara finished.

“Yes, sir,” Tarou said, flipping his phone closed.

“You have work now?” Mimura said, and his voice was deeper than Tarou had ever heard it. Something inside of him tightened in anticipation at the promise of that tone.

“Yeah,” Tarou replied. “I…sort of, um, haven’t gone to work in four days.”

Mimura’s eyes widened comically in shock. “What?”

“Well,” Tarou said shyly, “I couldn’t really think about anything other than how much I missed you, and how you were angry at me, and I just…I couldn’t really concentrate on much else.”

Mimura looked almost shocked, before his face schooled itself back to his usual cool expression.

Tarou smiled wryly then. “I told you: I need you,” he said cheekily. “I’m leaving now.” Tarou walked toward the front door of Mimura’s apartment, before suddenly turning back, and returning to stand directly in front of Mimura. He bit his lip nervously, before pressing a soft kiss to Mimura’s cheek and lacing their fingers together briefly. “But I’ll be back,” he said, before releasing him, and walking out the door.

Tarou arrived at the lab a complete and total nervous wreck. Nakahara took one look at Tarou and laughed. “Figured things out with Mimura, I see?”

Tarou felt his entire body blush. “Am I stupid?” he asked, covering his face with his hands.

“Just a little oblivious,” Mishima called out from her position by the microsope table, as she prepped a slide for viewing. “I mean, it was obvious.”

“Obvious,” Tarou repeated, licking his lips. “I see.”

“Do you, now?” Nakahara said, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Yeah,” Tarou answered, before plopping down at his desk and booting up his desktop computer. “I think I do.”

###

It was midnight, but Tarou knew Mimura would be awake. Mimura answered the door more quickly than last time, grabbing Tarou’s arm and pulling him into the flat, slamming the door before shoving Tarou up against it, pressing his lips to Tarou’s throat.

Tarou shuddered and gripped Mimura’s forearms as Mimura kissed his way across Tarou’s neck and up his jaw, finally settling onto Tarou’s mouth. His tongue licked Tarou’s lips, and Tarou could do nothing but part them to allow Mimura access. Mimura licked his way around the inside of Tarou’s mouth, reducing Tarou to a melting puddle of goo against the door, gasping and writhing for something he didn’t understand.

“Mimura,” he panted, when they broke for air. “Mimura, I want…”

“Takuya,” Mimura said. “Call me ‘Takuya’,” and his hand was unbuttoning Tarou’s shirt while simultaneously dragging Tarou toward the sofa. Mimura collapsed onto the sofa, pulling Tarou down on top of him, and Tarou gasped when he felt the throbbing pulse of Mimura’s arousal through his silk pants, pressing against Tarou’s own erection.

Mimura’s hands slid Tarou’s shirt off his shoulders, and his lips fastened on to Tarou’s nipple, licking and sucking and biting just a little, and Tarou couldn’t help but wriggle in Mimura’s lap. “Takuya,” he whined, and Mimura looked up at him, face flushed and alive, and the most expressive Tarou had ever seen it.

“You’re so…I want you so much,” Mimura said, and pulled on Tarou’s hips, grinding them into his own.

“Me too,” Tarou replied, or tried to, before the sensation of his cock against Mimura left him quivering and panting for air.

Tarou leaned down and reunited their mouths, still slowly pushing their hips together, Mimura’s hands guiding them to perfect friction.

Tarou felt a deep burning in his belly, and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Takuya, I…”

Mimura silenced him with another kiss, lazy strokes of his tongue contradicting the increasing speed of his hips, lifting to meet Tarou’s. “Just like this,” he whispered, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise.

And then Tarou saw stars, and felt Mimura shudder underneath him too, and he collapsed onto Mimura completely, his head resting in the space between his neck and shoulder. Mimura smelled like flowers, and Tarou inhaled the scent and memorized it. He licked Mimura’s neck, so he could memorize the taste, too, and Mimura’s breath hitched, a little. “Tarou.”

Tarou lifted himself up, to look at Mimura in the eyes. “Is this what you wanted?”

Mimura smiled. “I want you. All of you.”

“Okay,” Tarou said. “I understand.” He looked down at himself and grimaced. “But can I borrow some pants for the walk home? Jiro is old enough to know about what stuff like this means.”

Mimura pulled Tarou down to him again and buried his face in his hair. “Just stay here tonight,” he whispered. “You can borrow pants in the morning.”

“Okay,” Tarou mumbled into his shoulder. “But next time you have to take your shirt off, too.”

Mimura laughed. “Oh, I’ll be taking off more than that.”

Tarou blushed, but smiled.