(no subject)
IDEK did part of this one because i can't write comedy rn
#10 from this
genderswap80, 27, 59 ????/
Yamamoto was sixteen before she realised she didn’t have one. She didn’t know what it was she was missing, exactly, but it was--something. She saw it when Tsuna looked at Kyoko-chan, when Gokudera looked at Tsuna. That soft look in their eyes, the way their fingers would curl a little into not-quite fists when the one they were staring at looked sad. Like they wanted to reach for them and couldn’t quite.
Maybe it was because she’d never had anyone she wouldn’t reach for, if she wanted. When Tsuna looked like that she’d throw her arm around him and lean her cheek against his hair; when Gokudera did, she’d bump shoulders with him amiably, already knowing she’d be shoved away. So maybe it was that whatever-it-was that made them pause that she was missing out on. She kind of wondered. Just a little.
“Did you see the last episode? Where Natsuki-chan sneaks into the school at night to take the letter back? Denjarasu~!” Haru squeaked happily. Yamamoto had lost the thread of the conversation long since, fumbled to pick it back up, lifting her fork again to poke a taro-flavored cake she’d almost forgotten was on her plate. Her mouth tasted like taro, or maybe just purple food coloring. She must’ve been eating it.
“I hope it’s a happy ending!” Kyoko-chan agreed, expression a little dreamy. Either her cream cake was a way better choice than Yamamoto’s taro, or Yamamoto was missing something a lot more exciting than she realized with the weekly run of Love Chance. She’d meant to watch last night, after the three of them had been talking about it before, but then there’d been a game on...
“A bold confession is the only way!” Haru nodded firmly and speared her montblanc to emphasize her point; Kyoko-chan giggled in a way that wasn’t always agreement, Yamamoto had finally learned after more than a year of knowing her. So had Haru, unfortunately.
“Don’t you think so, Take-kun?”
“Um,” Yamamoto agreed willingly enough, relieved that she’d rejoined the conversation just in the nick of time. “Haha. I guess so!”
“I knew it!” Haru beamed, then narrowed her eyes in fierce speculation, waving a piece of skewered cake in Yamamoto’s direction. Yamamoto blinked, thought incongrously of Squalo, and swallowed down a giggle that threatened to bubble out at any moment. “Has a new challenger appeared? Do Haru and Kyoko-chan have a third rival in love?”
Yamamoto cocked her head and tried to think of what girls she’d seen around Tsuna lately. Not too many--more than it used to be back in middle school, but nothing like the thundering herd that tended to swoon after Gokudera. At a safe distance. Tsuna didn’t really have a lot of girls around him, unless anyone was counting Bianchi, and she thought that was never a good idea...
“Or is Gokudera-kun more Take-kun’s type? But he’s so loud.”
“Oh,” Yamamoto said, as the conversational popfly landed solidly in her mitt. Oh. Maybe she should just let it fall to the ground after all. Some reflexes were just hard to shake. “Oh, me? No way.”
She laughed at the thought of it. Of--whatever Haru was thinking. Stolen minutes in an empty classroom lit with afternoon sunlight, pushing Gokudera back against a wall by the windows and kissing him until he stopped complaining. Walking home with Tsuna, not just side by side, but his fingers twined with hers. Those kinds of things. Girl things. She laughed; told herself her heart wasn’t beating twice the pace it had been a second ago; applied herself to the cake. Oh.
She was still thinking about it when she walked home, after she parted ways with Kyoko-chan and Haru. It was the kind of autumn day that felt sharp, so clear the air almost hurt when she pulled in too large a lungful. She loved those days even if she still loved summer best. Loved the promise of a cold winter and snowball fights, the anticipation of thick falls of leaves to roll in. All the things she could do outdoors even if she had to trade her swimsuit in for scarves and gloves. There was a quiet kind of focus to walking alone on days like that that she liked best, usually to just not think of anything and let the sounds on the sidewalk flow past her. The clomp of a convenience store shopper going the other way, a slamming car door, a kid shouting for his friends, the steady cadence of her own footfalls.
A bold confession. Was that what she wanted? She still didn’t know.
Gokudera decided for her, like he always did. She hadn’t meant it to come out, but one day watching the reverent-regretful look he tossed at Tsuna’s departing back as Tsuna left with Kyoko-chan, her mouth just opened before she even realized.
“You look at Tsuna the way he looks at Kyoko-chan, huh?”
Gokudera whirled, warm-eyed glance gone flat and dangerous in the space of a blink as the color rose in his cheeks. He took a step nearer--and it was kind of funny because Gokudera never cared that she was an inch or two taller than him, that he was trying to puff himself intimidatingly while she was looking down into his eyes. Maybe the kind of impressive thing was that it worked a little, too.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean,” Gokudera growled, grabbing the collar of her shirt and yanking her towards him even while she tried to laugh off the question. “You mean the way you look at me?”
That shut her up. Not anger, really, just. Confusion. Did she really?
“I dunno,” she told him honestly, “Can’t see my own face.”
He moved; she didn’t. Their lips met in a clash that hurt a little, and he tasted sort of bitter and smoky and heavy. Her eyes didn’t close. I don’t know which of us is bad at this, him or me, she thought as she tried to tilt her head, make it something more lips-on-lips than lips-to-teeth-and-tongue-and-tangled-mess. And maybe it was kind of both of them that were pretty terrible at it because Gokudera made this little frustrated noise that said this wasn’t in his calculations either and then she just had to laugh--and he shoved her back and swore at her in two languages, looking twice as furious as before and turning on his heel to stomp off.
“What was that?” she asked the empty classroom when he was gone, reaching up to trace her lower lip with her fingertips. It was split; she hadn’t tasted blood over the flavor of ash.
#10 from this
genderswap80, 27, 59 ????/
Yamamoto was sixteen before she realised she didn’t have one. She didn’t know what it was she was missing, exactly, but it was--something. She saw it when Tsuna looked at Kyoko-chan, when Gokudera looked at Tsuna. That soft look in their eyes, the way their fingers would curl a little into not-quite fists when the one they were staring at looked sad. Like they wanted to reach for them and couldn’t quite.
Maybe it was because she’d never had anyone she wouldn’t reach for, if she wanted. When Tsuna looked like that she’d throw her arm around him and lean her cheek against his hair; when Gokudera did, she’d bump shoulders with him amiably, already knowing she’d be shoved away. So maybe it was that whatever-it-was that made them pause that she was missing out on. She kind of wondered. Just a little.
“Did you see the last episode? Where Natsuki-chan sneaks into the school at night to take the letter back? Denjarasu~!” Haru squeaked happily. Yamamoto had lost the thread of the conversation long since, fumbled to pick it back up, lifting her fork again to poke a taro-flavored cake she’d almost forgotten was on her plate. Her mouth tasted like taro, or maybe just purple food coloring. She must’ve been eating it.
“I hope it’s a happy ending!” Kyoko-chan agreed, expression a little dreamy. Either her cream cake was a way better choice than Yamamoto’s taro, or Yamamoto was missing something a lot more exciting than she realized with the weekly run of Love Chance. She’d meant to watch last night, after the three of them had been talking about it before, but then there’d been a game on...
“A bold confession is the only way!” Haru nodded firmly and speared her montblanc to emphasize her point; Kyoko-chan giggled in a way that wasn’t always agreement, Yamamoto had finally learned after more than a year of knowing her. So had Haru, unfortunately.
“Don’t you think so, Take-kun?”
“Um,” Yamamoto agreed willingly enough, relieved that she’d rejoined the conversation just in the nick of time. “Haha. I guess so!”
“I knew it!” Haru beamed, then narrowed her eyes in fierce speculation, waving a piece of skewered cake in Yamamoto’s direction. Yamamoto blinked, thought incongrously of Squalo, and swallowed down a giggle that threatened to bubble out at any moment. “Has a new challenger appeared? Do Haru and Kyoko-chan have a third rival in love?”
Yamamoto cocked her head and tried to think of what girls she’d seen around Tsuna lately. Not too many--more than it used to be back in middle school, but nothing like the thundering herd that tended to swoon after Gokudera. At a safe distance. Tsuna didn’t really have a lot of girls around him, unless anyone was counting Bianchi, and she thought that was never a good idea...
“Or is Gokudera-kun more Take-kun’s type? But he’s so loud.”
“Oh,” Yamamoto said, as the conversational popfly landed solidly in her mitt. Oh. Maybe she should just let it fall to the ground after all. Some reflexes were just hard to shake. “Oh, me? No way.”
She laughed at the thought of it. Of--whatever Haru was thinking. Stolen minutes in an empty classroom lit with afternoon sunlight, pushing Gokudera back against a wall by the windows and kissing him until he stopped complaining. Walking home with Tsuna, not just side by side, but his fingers twined with hers. Those kinds of things. Girl things. She laughed; told herself her heart wasn’t beating twice the pace it had been a second ago; applied herself to the cake. Oh.
She was still thinking about it when she walked home, after she parted ways with Kyoko-chan and Haru. It was the kind of autumn day that felt sharp, so clear the air almost hurt when she pulled in too large a lungful. She loved those days even if she still loved summer best. Loved the promise of a cold winter and snowball fights, the anticipation of thick falls of leaves to roll in. All the things she could do outdoors even if she had to trade her swimsuit in for scarves and gloves. There was a quiet kind of focus to walking alone on days like that that she liked best, usually to just not think of anything and let the sounds on the sidewalk flow past her. The clomp of a convenience store shopper going the other way, a slamming car door, a kid shouting for his friends, the steady cadence of her own footfalls.
A bold confession. Was that what she wanted? She still didn’t know.
Gokudera decided for her, like he always did. She hadn’t meant it to come out, but one day watching the reverent-regretful look he tossed at Tsuna’s departing back as Tsuna left with Kyoko-chan, her mouth just opened before she even realized.
“You look at Tsuna the way he looks at Kyoko-chan, huh?”
Gokudera whirled, warm-eyed glance gone flat and dangerous in the space of a blink as the color rose in his cheeks. He took a step nearer--and it was kind of funny because Gokudera never cared that she was an inch or two taller than him, that he was trying to puff himself intimidatingly while she was looking down into his eyes. Maybe the kind of impressive thing was that it worked a little, too.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean,” Gokudera growled, grabbing the collar of her shirt and yanking her towards him even while she tried to laugh off the question. “You mean the way you look at me?”
That shut her up. Not anger, really, just. Confusion. Did she really?
“I dunno,” she told him honestly, “Can’t see my own face.”
He moved; she didn’t. Their lips met in a clash that hurt a little, and he tasted sort of bitter and smoky and heavy. Her eyes didn’t close. I don’t know which of us is bad at this, him or me, she thought as she tried to tilt her head, make it something more lips-on-lips than lips-to-teeth-and-tongue-and-tangled-mess. And maybe it was kind of both of them that were pretty terrible at it because Gokudera made this little frustrated noise that said this wasn’t in his calculations either and then she just had to laugh--and he shoved her back and swore at her in two languages, looking twice as furious as before and turning on his heel to stomp off.
“What was that?” she asked the empty classroom when he was gone, reaching up to trace her lower lip with her fingertips. It was split; she hadn’t tasted blood over the flavor of ash.