Chapter Text
“Fuck!”
The studio fell into silence as the hum of Tendou’s pottery wheel came to a halt. He looked down at his half-thrown bowl that had folded in on itself and huffed in frustration. Gazing to his left, he saw the graveyard of misshapen clay that he had failed to form in tonight’s studio session.
“What is wrong with me?”
He looked down at his mud-covered hands as if they had betrayed him, and sighed in defeat. It was currently 1 AM, and the rest of his classmates left hours ago. It’s not like there was a critique or deadline looming, so why was he so distraught? He begrudgingly scraped his eleventh attempt from the wheel head and started his cleanup routine.
Once his hands were clean and dried, he picked up his phone and stopped the time-lapse recording. He couldn’t delete the evidence fast enough. As he moved to set his phone down again, it buzzed in his hand.
“WorksbyWakatoshi is live on Instagram”
Tendou scrambled to open the app — what was Ushijima-san doing up so late?? When the live finally loaded, he saw Ushijima behind the wheel, compressing the lip on what looked to be a vase. He was in his usual position for the videos he posted to TikTok and Instagram. Even the angle of the camera was the same, but this was… different. Intimate. Sure, there were 15 other people watching, but that was a far cry from the millions of fans who liked his pre-recorded content.
Tendou’s thumbs hovered above his keyboard. Should he say something? No one else was really interacting. Maybe a comment would start a conversation… But what should he even say? Tendou’s eyes scanned his screen. Ushijima had started throwing a new piece, and was wedging the clay into a cone before pulling it up into a tall cylinder. Tendo giggled to himself, mumbling “phallic.” His laughter halted abruptly when he remembered he was still in the studio, clearing his throat before bringing his attention back to the live.
At this point, Ushijima was pushing the clay back down to form a puck shape. He used his middle finger to push into the clay and slowly pull it open. God… his hands. Tendou shuddered. What would those fingers feel like inside of him? The realization hit him like a truck, and his cheeks warmed to match the vibrant red shade of his hair. Was he really out here sexualizing his favorite artist?
A sudden, deep voice startled him back to reality. “Right now, I’m thinking this should be a bowl. What do you all think?”
Tendou’s thumbs hovered above his keyboard. “I like your bowls” *send*
“Ugh that was so fucking lame! ‘I like your bowls.' What are you, stupid?” he exclaimed to the void. A gruff laugh sounded from his phone, and Tendou squinted at the screen through one eye.
“Is that so? Do you have a favorite piece in mind?” Ushijima was glancing at the camera, but Tendou felt his gaze burn through the phone. He scrambled to type a response, determined to sound like less of a moronic loser this time. “You made a set of bowls a few years ago. It was technically a pair of two bowls that you titled ‘Fellowship.’ I believe they were wood-fired. They had a stunning teal glaze with a dusting of ash that looked like flecks of gold” *send*
Ushijima’s wheel came to a stop. So did Tendou’s heartbeat. Ushijima leaned closer to the camera to view and read the comment in silence. The corner of his mouth turned upwards in a way that almost felt shy, before he leaned back and his wheel proceeded to turn again.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Did I creep him out? Please don’t block m— “I remember that set quite clearly” Ushijima’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He was gazing at the camera again, as if it were only the two of them in the room. Other people had commented, but Ushijima was addressing *him*.
“I created that set to be a… couple. Metaphorically speaking. I’m glad to know that you found them to be as beautiful as I did. You’re right, they were fired in a wood kiln. I remember the moment I pulled them from the shelves and saw the sunlight hit the cracks in the glaze. I stared at them for hours to memorize every millimeter of detail.” He paused, as if realizing something. “I created those pieces nearly five years ago, have you been following along all this time?”
Tendou’s heart dropped into his stomach, and his brain couldn’t begin to formulate a comprehensible reply.
“It’s a shame I’ve never noticed you”, Ushijima leaned in again and squinted to read, “Tendoverthetop.” He smiled gently at the camera, and Tendou lost all ability to function. In a panic, he left the live and slammed his phone on the worktable. He covered his mouth with his hand in sheer disbelief.
“What the fuck just happened?” he whispered to no one. He glanced at the clock across the studio, and groaned at the small hand that had now passed two. He had an 8 AM French class in the morning, and he hadn’t even started on his homework. Sighing, he finished cleaning his wheel and dumped his failed work in the class reclaim bucket. He placed his supplies in his locker, and checked his phone again.
“WorksbyWakatoshi is now following you"
“Fuck.”
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The next morning arrives far too quickly, as the early morning light filters through the curtains in Tendou’s room. He’s fairly certain he got at least a few minutes of sleep, though further reflection suggests his “dreams” may have been caffeine-induced hallucinations. He hears noise coming from the hallway, indicating his roommate is awake far earlier than usual. Tendou saunters across his room to open the door and is greeted by the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee.
His roommate glances up at him from across the kitchen and grimaces. “Damn. Just when I thought you and your hair couldn’t look any more insane…” Tendou is far too tired to quip back, dragging his feet like a zombie with arms outstretched towards the coffee on the counter.
“Oh, hell no. I told you last week that you needed to start making your own coffee. I’m not your fucking dealer, Satori.” His roommate swipes the pour over pot from the counter, prompting a waltz-like dance between the two of them through the cramped kitchen.
“Semi, I’m begging you” Tendou pleads with a pout, “I swear I’ll start making my own next week – no – tomorrow!” Semi throws him a look of incredulity, but ultimately wavers when he catches a glimpse of Tendou’s unkempt room. Tendou takes advantage of the momentary distraction to steal the pot of coffee from Semi’s hands. The searing temperature of the glass nearly causes him to drop it, but he perseveres long enough to grab one of the handmade coffee mugs from his collection. Semi sighs heavily before asking, “Care to explain why your eye bags look ready for an international trip?”
Tendou looks at him in horror, “Are they really that bad??” He rushes to grab Semi by the collar.
“Get your grimy hands off of me! Just drink your damned coffee.” He gently pushes Tendou away from him and feigns disgust as he straightens his shirt. Tendou looks down, staring at his reflection in the coffee cup. The mug is one of several in his private collection of Ushijima’s works. The form itself is exquisitely crafted, with a brilliant red glaze that perfectly parallels the shade of Tendou’s hair.
He looks back up at Semi and quietly mutters, “Ushijima-san followed me on Instagram last night.” Semi continues washing the dishes, seemingly ignoring his words. “I said, Ushijima-san followed me on Instagram,” Tendou says again. Semi looks up from the sink, still not pausing his task. “I can’t hear you over the faucet, Ten.” Tendou sighs dramatically before yelling “I SAID, USHIJIMA-SAN FOLLOWED ME ON INSTAGRAM LAST NIGHT!”
Dishes clatter loudly in the sink as Semi glares furiously at him from across the room. “Jesus! No need to fucking screech at me!” He shuts off the water and moves to dry his hands. “Are you talking about that artist you’re obsessed with? What do you mean he followed you? Why would he follow you of all people? Are you sure it wasn’t a mistake?” Tendou tenses at his questioning, gearing up to defend himself before realizing he’s still too exhausted to engage. “I tuned in to watch his livestream on Instagram last night and commented a couple of times. Not sure why he chose to follow me, though.” Semi pauses before asking, “Has he messaged you?”
Tendou sets his coffee down and jumps onto the couch and exclaims, “No! He didn’t even like any of my old posts! I even checked again this morning to see if maybe my brain made it all up.” Semi stifles a giggle and mutters “That wouldn’t surprise me.” He then wipes the subtle smile from his face. “And get the fuck down from there, you monkey.” Tendou collapses onto the couch as if he were a puddle, and Semi moves to sit next to him.
“I was up so late scouring my profile to see if there was anything personal or… inappropriate. ” Tendou winces. “So how much did you have to delete?” Semi asks, taking a sip of his coffee. Tendou crosses his arms and puffs his chest before announcing “I deleted nothing. I am pure of heart and mind.”
Semi spits his coffee back into the mug and bursts into a fit of laughter. “You? Pure?” He can’t continue as his breath escapes him. Tendou’s cheeks flush at the mental admission before he stands to leave. “Hey!” Semi shouts, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feewings wittle Satowi! I’m sowwy!” Tendou gifts him the middle finger before shutting the door to his room.
He surveys his room, and his gaze settles on the clock above his closet. “SHIT!” he shouts, rushing to stuff his papers and laptop into his backpack. It’s 7:54 AM, and his French class is on the far side of campus. He quickly changes into jeans and a shirt that smells clean enough, then sprints to the bathroom to apply deodorant and hastily brush his teeth. Once he looks debatably less slovenly, he scrambles through the house towards the door. Semi is waiting by the front door with a travel mug of coffee and a banana, and Tendou thanks him profusely before planting a messy kiss to his cheek. Semi yelps in both surprise and disgust, aggressively wiping his cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. “Thanks, Mom!” Tendou yells from the parking lot, prompting Semi to slam the door after flipping him off.
Tendou’s French class passes by quickly, though he’s fairly certain his professor cursed him out. Not like he’d know; his professor only speaks to the class in French. He supposes there’s some benefit in that, but for now he’s nothing short of annoyed by the inconvenience of it all. The only thing he does understand is that his conjugations are “assez pitoyable ,” which he’s pretty sure means “somewhat bad.” But so what? He’s learning. Il apprennent. Or whatever.
In light of last night’s tomfoolery, he’s decided to prioritize slumber and skip the rest of his morning classes. He can only hope that Semi doesn’t have the same idea, lest he be forced to sit and recount the events of last night in further detail. By the time he makes it back to the apartment, his head is aching from the lack of sleep. He trudges to his room, leaving a trail of his belongings in his wake. By the time he reaches his bed, he collapses in exhaustion. He scarcely has the energy to crawl under the covers, let alone plug his phone in, but he needs to set an alarm. He can’t afford to miss his afternoon ceramics class – professor Washijo has made it clear that Tendou is one absence away from being murdered.
On his lock screen, he sees an Instagram notification paired with Ushijima’s username and doesn’t even pause to read it before he clicks to open the app. Much to his disappointment, his DM inbox is empty. The notification was merely relaying the fact that Ushijima had posted to his story. “Not a total loss,” Tendou whispers to himself. He clicks the small icon at the top of his screen and impatiently waits for the post to load. When it does, his eyes are blessed with a video of Ushijima opening his reduction kiln to reveal his latest finished works.
The first piece he pulls from the shelf is a bowl, and Tendou struggles to maintain his wavering composure. His mind is dripping with delusion as he considers the possibility that perhaps Ushijima chose a bowl on purpose , given their fleeting interaction from the night before. It was the same fiery shade of red as his hair, with a flash of amber at the inner center. It was… them. The two of them. In bowl form. “Holy fuck. ” Tendou exhales, “I know I’m tired, but that’s just absolutely deranged.” He reluctantly deletes the thought from his head, and begins his attempt at contact. He’s drunk on dopamine and fighting sleep, so any semblance of coherence is nothing more than a pipe dream. Still, he’s determined to grab hold of this golden opportunity.
“Nice hands,” he types, before aggressively shaking his head and firmly holding the delete button.
“Nice bowl,” he types again, groaning at the sheer stupidity and utter uselessness of his last two brain cells. He deletes the words and pauses to think. What could he possibly say without coming across like a creepy, perverted stalker?
“This one’s beautiful. Can’t wait to see the rest of the collection.” He checks for spelling errors and hits send before he can second-guess his words. He watches in anticipation as the message changes from “Sending” to “Sent.” All of the exhaustion leaves his body when the message status changes a third time;
“Read.”