Chapter Text
When Yukito came to, he was standing in his kitchen. The kettle was already on the lit stove, and his tea paraphernalia was set out on the counter. Yue must have thought he’d need a pot of tea. That was a rare sign of consideration from his alter ego. Perhaps it was an apology of sorts.
The last thing Yukito remembered was running out of the coffee shop and looking for an alley where Yue could safely manifest. He had known there was danger even before Yue’s voice rang clear in his head, “Quickly! We must go to our master.” By which he meant Sakura, though for a moment Yukito had wondered. The shockwave of magical energy that rolled over Tomoeda had been powerful, dark, and achingly familiar. A black sun unfurled over the city, and something in him had unfurled in response, moonflowers opening on the vine. The brusque panic in Yue’s voice had been more than worry for Sakura. Clow Reed. He was as much a mystery to Yukito as Yue himself was. He was dead. Yukito knew that much. That didn’t seem to stop him from interrupting their lives.
The window over the kitchen sink was dark. The ancient wall clock read 10:27, and it was slow. He’d missed their date. Their first date.
Touya had asked him out; Yukito was almost certain of it. The words had rushed from Touya’s mouth as if to outpace his shyness. The restaurant he suggested was expensive. The invitation had come out of the blue, like a wish granted in a fairytale. Yukito had been pretending they were on a date already, sitting together in the coffee shop where Touya worked, sharing the wonderfully sweet latte that Touya had made for him. Touya wiped errant whipped cream from the tip of Yukito’s nose and licked it off his finger. If he had any idea the fantasies he was obliging… Just that would have been enough to ruin Yukito for the evening, but the next thing he knew, Touya was asking him out to dinner.
And then…Clow Reed. Touya had been washing up at the end of his shift. Yukito hadn’t had a chance to explain before he fled the coffee shop. He’d given a message to the other barista, and he’d left a note. Sorry about dinner. How pitifully inadequate.
Touya had asked him out, and Yukito had stood him up.
The kettle was whistling. He let it shriek. Somehow he felt like if he moved, he sealed the disaster. Time would march forward, carrying him into this reality where he’d hurt Touya. He wished Yue could wrap him in the cocoon of his wings and carry him back in time. But even if magic could do such a thing – and he expected it could – that wouldn’t be right. He had to take responsibility. There was nothing for it but to apologize to Touya and hope he could make it up to him.
He turned off the stove with a sigh, measured a scoop of fine leaves into his little teapot, and poured steaming water over them. The stubbly-smooth cherrybark tea tin and rough clay bizenyaki pot with the chipped lid were familiar objects in his hands. Yue had been right; the ritual of teamaking was calming. He supposed he shouldn’t be drinking caffeine so late at night, but he didn’t feel like sleeping. He carried his tea onto the veranda. It was easier to feel big things outside. His longing and disappointment were of a piece with the bite of the night air and constant sighs of the bamboo leaves.
He’d let Touya down. Worse, it was in a way he was sure to let him down again. Yukito hated disappointing the people he loved, and he’d been doing a lot of that lately.
That was the dark edge eating away at the moon above him. But larger than that, so bright he could hardly bear to look at it, was the growing possibility that Touya wanted him.
Of course Touya loved him. Yukito had known it from the earliest days of their friendship. It was the one thing he was certain of, even when he wasn’t sure who he was or what was real or if he should exist at all. But there was love and there was love. Yukito hadn’t lied when he told Sakura he loved her. But it wasn’t the same as what he felt for Touya at all, and she had known it. He wanted Touya, craved him the way he craved food or drink or the magic that sustained him. The weight of that need would upset the balance of a friendship if it wasn’t felt on both sides.
Oh, but if it was…
Touya had cupped his cheek in his broad, warm hand and stroked a calloused thumb over it. He’d looked at him so tenderly. What else could that be? If Touya hadn’t looked at him that way once before, Yukito would be utterly certain of its meaning. But Touya had – the day he’d given him his power. He’d cupped Yukito’s cheek and looked at him just like that, and he’d finally finished his sentence: not, “Ore wa omae ga suki,” I love you, but, “Ore wa omae ga ningen ja nai te shiteru,” I know you’re not human. That time, his tender look had just been reassurance that he cared for Yukito whether he was human or not. What could it be this time? Had he asked him out to dinner to tell him something else? Yukito didn’t know what to brace himself for.
The gate creaked open and clacked shut. Who could it be at this hour? More trouble with Sakura? He didn’t feel any magical presence. Footsteps on the stone path, slow but not sneaking. Then, like a vision conjured from one of his fantasies, Touya stepped out of the bamboo grove into the moonlight. He had a huge bouquet in one hand and a stack of lacquer and paper-wrapped boxes balanced on the other. He was dressed up. He looked so quintessentially like someone courting; he couldn’t be real. This was a dream. It had to be. Yue had exhausted their power in battle, and they were passed out somewhere.
“Touya?”
DreamTouya startled. He stared at Yukito as if he were the apparition.
“Yuki…”
He walked up to the veranda and stood looking down at Yukito in that way that was all Touya, dark eyes solemn and searching. His feet crunched on the white gravel border as he shifted his weight anxiously. “I thought you might not have eaten dinner yet.”
“I haven’t,” Yukito said, playing along. He held perfectly still. Lately his dreams of Touya were fickle things, always fleeing before he was ready. He usually woke as soon as their lips touched.
“I made some gyoza, so I figured I’d bring them over,” DreamTouya said. Yukito drank in every detail while he could: the way his shirt hugged his chest and stomach, casually rolled sleeves and open throat at odds with the fine fabric; how Touya’s beautiful forearm flexed as he clutched the bouquet; the luminous white and deep red of the cala lilies; the way Touya’s dark cheeks flushed darker. His bangs were out of his eyes for once, swept to one side with gel. Touya never put gel in his hair.
This incongruous detail, more than anything, made him think this might be real. Touya was actually here, looking as if he’d spent time agonizing in front of a mirror, armed with gifts, the muscles in his jaw working, brows furrowed. He looked so fierce, but Yukito knew it for shyness. His heart did something funny in his chest, even before Touya spoke.
“Suki,” Touya said in a hoarse whisper.
Oh.
“Suki da,” he said again, louder. He almost sounded angry.
Yukito drew in a shaky breath. Wonder and joy and relief welled up in him, more than he could hold. More than the night around him could hold. The outside wasn’t big enough for these feelings. His eyes stung. He laughed once, not meaning to, just as a release. He covered his mouth with a hand.
Touya watched him, uncertain. That would never do. Yukito set his tea aside and stood, fitting himself into the narrow space between Touya and the veranda, so close they were almost touching. Heat rolled off Touya, held in the sliver of air between them. He smelled like soap and hair gel. Yukito looked up. Touya’s expression had opened, brow smooth and eyes wide, his lips parted. Yukito stood on tiptoe, hands flat on Touya’s chest, over his racing heart, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Touya made a wonderful sound, so low and quiet that Yukito more felt than heard it.
He settled back onto his heels, feeling unsteady, giddy with his own daring. Touya looked like he might drop everything he was holding. Yukito cupped his hand over Touya’s grip on the bouquet, reminding him of it. “For me?”
“Yes.” Touya said it so gravely; it sounded like he meant more than the flowers.
Yukito sidestepped so that he had space to take them from Touya’s unresisting hand, hugging them to his chest with a crinkle of plastic and tissue paper. They were so lovely, maroon and white velvet chalices all around his face. For him. All this for him. Happiness demanded he move, act, do something. If he had wings like Yue, he would have taken to the air.
“I’ll go put these in water,” he said, breathless. He stepped up onto the veranda with more spring than necessary and whirled to face Touya, walking backwards to the shoji and opening them behind his back. “Come on. Just leave your shoes there.”
Touya was watching him with a stunned expression. At his invitation, he brightened, sharpened, coming back to himself. He slipped off his shoes and followed. Yukito walked backwards the whole way to the kitchen because he didn’t want to stop looking at him. Touya smiled, then laughed, and then they were both laughing. It was so rare for Touya to laugh like that. Yukito wanted to remember this always, for the sound to echo in the hallways of his house when he was feeling lonely and nostalgic. This was real.
He propped the flowers in the sink as Touya set the boxes on the counter. “I’m going to have to trim these,” Yukito said, still grinning, “you crushed the stems.” As he reached for a vase from the top of the fridge, Touya’s arms wrapped around him from behind. “Hng.” He found himself dragged back and held tight. Touya buried his face in his hair.
It was a shock and a relief. He’d only realized how often he and Touya casually touched each other after he started avoiding it, afraid his body would betray him. It betrayed him now. The way their bodies fit together, Touya’s heat and solidity pressed against him from head to toe, was everything he’d been wanting, and an answering heat and hardness flared in his groin. He squirmed, embarrassed, but he was caught, no more able to escape the circle of Touya’s arms than his frantic heart could escape his chest.
“Touya…”
“Just for a little,” Touya said.
He relaxed by increments, and Yukito let himself relax with him. Touya sighed into his hair, the sort of sigh someone gives who has just set down a heavy load, or who has been in pain and finally found relief. It occurred to him belatedly that Touya might have missed touching him all these weeks. Yukito hadn’t meant to distress him. Or maybe it was just the relief of finally having told him. How long had Touya been holding onto that?
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”
“It’s OK,” Touya murmured into his hair. “I know why.”
Yukito flushed and ducked his head. Touya kissed the nape of his exposed neck.
“Ah!” Oh that felt. This time when he pulled away, Touya let him go, laughing.
Yukito snatched the vase, keeping his back to Touya, and busied himself with the flowers, leaning against the counter to hide the tent in his khaki slacks. He snuck a look at Touya, who looked smug and relaxed as he opened the huge lacquer bento. It had been a long time since Touya had teased him. Not since Yukito had found out about himself and Touya had given up his power. Yukito supposed he'd been a mess, and it was sweet that Touya was so careful with him, but he'd missed being teased.
“Do you want me to heat these up?” Touya asked, tilting the bento to show off dumplings arranged in a chrysanthemum shape with sauce at the center. “They’ve been in the fridge.”
“Sure.” That’s right. Touya had said he made gyoza. Yukito had stood him up, and instead of being upset about it, Touya cooked a feast and hand delivered it. It was still Chinese food, even. Yukito sighed. “…I’m sorry about dinner, too.”
Touya smiled as if Yukito’s apologies were endearments. “Well, I was pretty disappointed,” he said, teasing again. “I guess for our next date you’ll have to take me somewhere nice.”
Their next… Yukito froze, considering the mess of cala lilies in the sink, more than would fit into the vase. “Is this our first date?” Touya had cooked him dinner, brought him flowers. He was dressed up.
Touya’s smug smile softened, his expression distant, a memory of longing. Hearing it named aloud was having the same effect on both of them.
“I was so upset I’d missed it,” Yukito said. “But you fixed everything and made it wonderful.”
“So you did know I was asking you out!”
“Well I thought…maybe.”
“Baka,” Touya said.
“Baka,” Yukito said, but softly. He was gratified when Touya blushed.
They ate on the veranda, the cold an excuse to huddle against each other. Yukito brought out a blanket and draped it around both their shoulders. The bento made it feel like a picnic. The gyoza were steaming. Touya had made them just how Yukito liked them. They were rich with garlic and pork so tender it melted in the mouth, the smooth flavor livened by a strong bite of ginger. Yukito doubted any restaurant in Tomoeda had food this good. Touya alternated between eating dumplings and holding them out for Yukito to pluck from his chopsticks. They emptied the bento, and Yukito was feeling pleasantly full and warm and content. Then Touya went and got the paper-wrapped box, bringing it out for Yukito to open.
“You bought an entire cake.”
Touya shrugged and looked to one side.
It was a strawberry shortcake, one of Yukito’s favorite sweets. It reminded him of the previous summer, which they’d spent working part time at a strawberry farm. After work some days they’d sit at the bus stop bench and watch the sunset, sharing a box of strawberries between them. The cake had a ring of strawberry slices like petals around the bottom. The sides were perfectly smooth white icing, and the top was crowned in whole berries set in peaks of whipped cream.
“I feel like it’s my birthday. Or Christmas,” Yukito said.
“Since your birthday is on Christmas, we'll have to have two cakes then.”
Every time Touya mentioned the future, Yukito had to pause to let it sink in. Happiness was seeping through him, filling in the cracks. All the sharp-edged, tenuous pieces of him fit into place, mended with gold. He felt…solid. At home. He didn’t have a real birthday; that was just a fiction. He still didn’t know what he was exactly, or if he should exist, or how long that existence might last. But whatever he was, Touya wanted him. They were together, and they had a future.
Yukito apparently took too long staring at the cake without making any move to cut it. Touya snagged a strawberry from the top, scooping cream onto it, and held it out. The cake had been so pristine. There was something decadent about just messing it up like that. Yukito blushed, but he obliged him, leaning forward to eat from his fingers. Touya watched, intent, his expression hungrier than it had any right to be after all they’d eaten. He scooped even more icing and cream onto the next strawberry. Yukito couldn’t help getting it on his lips and the corner of his mouth. Before he could lick it away, Touya brushed his thumb over his lips, wiping them for him. He sucked the white slowly off his finger. Yukito watched, equally entranced…and then suspicious of Touya’s earlier performance at the coffee shop.
“This is why you bought a cake.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Touya,” he chided.
Touya kissed him. Hard. It wasn’t a brief brush of lips against skin, the way he’d kissed the nape of his neck. His mouth covered his. Yukito gave a soft noise he’d never heard himself make before. Touya’s mouth was wonderful, firm and yielding at once, lips fitting to his, parting, and fitting again.
“You taste like strawberries.”
“Touya,” Yukito said again. He didn’t even know what he meant by it.
Touya did. He cupped Yukito’s jaw so tenderly, stroking a thumb over the muscle and bone, just beside his ear. His hand was coaxing, his mouth insistent. He licked across the seam of Yukito’s lips, and Yukito made the sound again, something between a groan and a hiccup.
He felt like a candle put too near a hearth. There was a singular fire swelling at the core of him, flaring until it felt like his whole purpose, but the rest of him was melting and malleable. He let Touya lay him back onto the blanket. He opened his mouth, and Touya filled it, tongue sweeping against his. His glasses were knocked askew, then finally off his face.
They kissed and kissed. Yukito’s idea of kissing had been simplistic, he realized. He had no idea it would be this subtle and variable. This good.
It was sweet: their noses brushed, and Touya planted light kisses on his eyebrows and cheek and jaw. It was rough too: Touya used his teeth, nipping his lower lip and earlobe, tugging the neck of his shirt and sweatervest aside to graze teeth over his collarbone and shoulder. He sucked on Yukito’s throat until he whimpered.
“Suki,” Touya whispered, a hoarse echo of the first time he’d said it. “Suki,” against his lips, against his ear, into his hair.
“Me too,” Yukito said, just once. It was enough to make Touya shudder in his arms.
They forgot to eat any more of the cake, but there was always tomorrow.