An unexpected gift for all!
This has been sitting on my hard drive for months. It was about time to finish it.
Title: Something Like Chemistry
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Rating: PG-13 overall
Genre: Romance/humor
Characters/Pairings: Watari/Tatsumi with a side of Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Wordcount: 1,977
Description: Watari takes a risk, and Wakaba will soon be raking in the cash.
Disclaimer: Despite the time I allowed myself to take on this chapter, I still don’t own Yami no Matsuei.
Chapter Four: Between Theory and Practice
Though they had worked together for years, Watari had never been inside Tatsumi’s apartment before. It was laid out in straight lines, filled with severe furnishings and muted colors, as well as meticulously neat-typical Tatsumi, really, just like Watari’s own home was a riot of color and books and strange things that might have been alive hiding under the coffee table. After all the chaos he had become accustomed to, this place seemed almost sterile in comparison. To Watari’s eyes it barely seemed lived in. “Thank you for having me,” he said, looking around curiously as he removed his shoes and, after a moment’s thought, his ruined-anyway coat. The air was cool without it; he was always cold everywhere he went.
Tatsumi slipped his own shoes off and took Watari’s coat. After looking at it dubiously for a moment, he hung it in the small closet near the door along with his own. He watched Watari oddly for an instant, then turned abruptly away. “Make yourself at home,” he said moving further inside and turning a few more lights on. “I’ll go make some tea. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.”
“No,” Watari agreed. “It’s too late to eat. Tea would be good, though.” He walked into the living room after Tatsumi disappeared into the kitchen. Watari entertained the idea of following him, then changed his mind. The apartment was much smaller than Tatsumi could afford; he must have picked the size for its efficiency. The kitchen was bound to be narrow and that was not his choice of places to corner the secretary. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Second door on the right,” came Tatsumi’s voice from the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything you need.”
The bathroom was all sparkling white tile and shining chrome and made Watari feel very sooty and ragged. He washed his face and hands thoroughly, then searched in vain for a proper hairbrush. All he could find, though, was a fine-toothed comb-some people were so lucky to need just that. With a bit of water and a few torn out knots and grimaces, Watari managed to work the comb through the wrecked, shortened mass hanging to his shoulders. It was going to decide to start curling any moment, he knew it, but there was no hair ribbon in sight to pull it back with and avert that disaster. He still looked like death warmed over and that was a rotten shame, considering this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he couldn’t afford to waste. He settled for grimacing at his reflection before turning out the light and returning to the living room to settle on the couch, tucking his legs up under him. There was a knitted throw folded neatly over the top of the couch-he wrapped it around himself and felt a little warmer.
A few minutes later, Tatsumi reappeared with a tea set arranged neatly on a tray, a far cry from Watari’s Bunsen burner and mismatched cups. In anticipation of Watari’s tastes, there was a bowl of sugar cubes, though Tatsumi took his tea plain. “It’s decaffeinated,” Tatsumi said as Watari picked up the small teapot to pour for both of them.
“If I’m tired enough, caffeine ceases to be an issue,” Watari said. “Very little could keep me awake at this point.”
He thought he didn’t imagine a flash of something like disappointment on Tatsumi’s face, though when he spoke, he was agreeable enough. “It is very late,” Tatsumi said. “Drink your tea and I’ll make up the couch for you. It’s nearly three and we still have work tomorrow.”
“Isn’t it Friday?” Watari said innocuously, knowing very well it wasn’t.
“It’s Thursday, Watari-san,” Tatsumi said. “Or very early Friday morning, if you prefer.”
“Really? I was so sure… well, that’s really too bad,” Watari said with a grimace. “Just think, if I had gone home alone, I could have used it as an excuse to skip work. I wonder if Tsuzuki has tried that one? ‘But I thought it was Saturday!’”
“You really did hit your head,” Tatsumi said, looking at him sharply. “You’re not usually this absent-minded.”
“Probably,” Watari said agreeably. He stirred sugar into his tea and took a few scalding swallows. “On that note, aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?” he asked, the humor in his voice evident. “I’m supposed to be injured. You said you would.”
Tatsumi gave him a long, piercing look, and for a moment Watari was sure he was about to be called on everything, but Tatsumi only said very slowly, “And what exactly am I supposed to be doing?”
“You’re the one who said you knew what to do with head trauma patients, and you’re the one who offered,” Watari pointed out, very well aware that he was testing how far he could push Tatsumi’s patience. “I theoretically have a head injury, so theoretically I could have forgotten everything I ever knew about being a doctor.” His smile was sweet as honey. “Besides which, I recall you saying it’s a miracle I haven’t killed anyone, again, considering my lack of practical medical skills.”
“If you remember that, I doubt you’ve forgotten much,” Tatsumi replied dryly. “And a lack of practical medical skills would theoretically imply there wasn’t much to forget anyway, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but that’s all theory, and theory means nothing at all until we put it into practice,” Watari said blithely. “So while in theory I could probably deal with my own injuries, in practice I’m refusing to do it.” He grinned. “Science is wonderful.”
Tatsumi carefully set down his teacup when the tea proved too hot to drink. “Watari-san, are you playing with me?” he said testily.
Watari felt his grin get wider. “Why yes, Tatsumi, I think I am,” he said.
“Don’t you think it is perhaps a little late for games?”
“Nonsense,” Watari disagreed. “It is never too late to enjoy yourself.”
“Are you really sick at all?” Tatsumi demanded helplessly.
“You think I am. We’ll say I am, in theory.”
Tatsumi glared at him from across the table. “Then here’s my diagnosis as temporary doctor,” he said. “I believe, Watari-san, all you need is a shower and a good night’s rest and you’ll theoretically be back to normal.”
Watari adjusted the throw that was slipping from around his shoulders. “That’s one theory,” he said, with a casual half-shrug that clearly said that wasn’t his top choice of theories to test.
“Indeed,” Tatsumi replied, hiding his face behind his tea cup, blowing gently on the liquid before taking a small sip. “Do you have a better one?” he questioned.
“Of course I have a better one,” Watari responded after watching him a moment, his expression faintly wicked. “I specialize in ridiculous, interesting theories. If I didn’t, I would blow things up half as often.”
Tatsumi raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What is it then?” he questioned, setting his cup back on the table.
Watari watched him for a moment, then decided, hell with it. “Theoretically, you don’t know how two elements will react until you put them together,” he said lightly, but he leaned forward over the coffee table, dramatically decreasing the distance between himself and the other man-and the innocuousness of the statement. “Wanting to find out has been driving me to distraction for a while.” He propped his chin on his hand, his smile never wavering. “So, in theory, I could use this custom-made opportunity to find out. I like that theory better. It’s a lot less safe, but that’s the sort of thing that tends to yield better results.” He chuckled. “Or an explosion, depending.”
The funny part of it was that Tatsumi had had a fairly good idea where this game might be leading the moment Watari cheerfully admitted to playing it. He had, in fact, been aware he was playing into Watari’s hands and allowed it due to the fact that he, good at word games as he might be, wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to play this particular one. But the truly funny part was, though he knew exactly where the conversation was headed, a proposition such as the one he has just received was still managing to blank his mind, and the only thing he could think of to say to it was, “That hardly sounds medicinal.”
He cursed himself for it a moment later, because Watari returned to his original sitting position to stretch and lean back against the couch. There was nothing like hurt on his features, as Tatsumi had once had from Tsuzuki, but rather calm nonchalance-nothing like the predatory smile of moments ago, and hardly the intended effect of the banal phrase. “Nor safe,” he said lightly. “Which was why I sincerely doubted it would suit you. May I have some more tea, please?” He didn’t sound hurt, which bizarrely made it worse.
“No, I don’t think so,” Tatsumi said, and had Watari’s undivided attention once again when the latter blinked at the unexpected response.
He raised his hand to tuck his short hair-since when did it curl like this?-behind his ears and regarded Tatsumi curiously. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t enjoy getting it out of my carpet when you spill it,” Tatsumi told him. He removed his glasses and raised a hand to rub at his temple. “You’re exhausting, were you aware? I recall saying only that your theory didn’t seem particularly remedial to your concussion. I do not recall saying it didn’t sound interesting.”
If Watari was a little wide-eyed, it was hardly noticeable as his grin returned and he set his empty teacup aside. Tatsumi had only a moment to contemplate when he had managed to lose his common sense before he found himself toppling to the floor under the weight of a very enthusiastic head trauma patient, at which point common sense ceased to be an issue.
***
“I’m displeased with you, by the way.”
“Not something one likes to hear in this situation,” Watari said sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. Everything would be blurry without his glasses, anyway, and he could hardly find the energy. They had made it into bed-eventually-and he was too comfortable to move just now, despite being half-pinned to the pillow. There were long, elegant fingers in his hair and he felt like a relaxed feline being stroked to sleep.
Tatsumi managed to sound a cross between amused and frustrated. “I don’t mean-”
Watari chuckled. “I know.”
Tatsumi sighed; Watari could feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Burning off your hair was not the most effective course of action in what I can only assume was a half-baked plan towards seducing me.”
“Bizarrely enough, it seems to have worked,” Watari pointed out. He could tell Tatsumi was caught between a stern (and completely useless in this case) reprimand never to try it again and something bordering on a laugh. When Tatsumi’s sigh came out on an almost-chuckle, Watari grinned into the darkness. “It grows back quickly, you know.”
The hands in his hair stilled a moment. “Do you mean to tell me you really did this on purpose?”
“Of course not,” Watari blithely lied. “I’m fonder of my hair than that,” he added, in an attempt to be a little more truthful.
“Watari-san-”
Watari found he had the energy to move after all as he laughed and propped himself up on his elbows. “Oh please,” he said. “That’s not what someone who’s been stealing my hair ribbons should be calling me.”
“I haven’t-”
“Wakaba-chan saw you,” Watari informed him.
“I was going to give it back,” Tatsumi snapped, but there was more desperation in his voice than anger.
Watari fell back against the pillow, laughing uncontrollably.
“You talk entirely too much,” Tatsumi informed him in clipped tones, and set about shutting him up.
***
Follow the link for a bonus story!
Title: Something Like Chemistry
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Rating: PG-13 overall
Genre: Romance/humor
Characters/Pairings: Watari/Tatsumi with a side of Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Wordcount: 1,977
Description: Watari takes a risk, and Wakaba will soon be raking in the cash.
Disclaimer: Despite the time I allowed myself to take on this chapter, I still don’t own Yami no Matsuei.
Chapter Four: Between Theory and Practice
Though they had worked together for years, Watari had never been inside Tatsumi’s apartment before. It was laid out in straight lines, filled with severe furnishings and muted colors, as well as meticulously neat-typical Tatsumi, really, just like Watari’s own home was a riot of color and books and strange things that might have been alive hiding under the coffee table. After all the chaos he had become accustomed to, this place seemed almost sterile in comparison. To Watari’s eyes it barely seemed lived in. “Thank you for having me,” he said, looking around curiously as he removed his shoes and, after a moment’s thought, his ruined-anyway coat. The air was cool without it; he was always cold everywhere he went.
Tatsumi slipped his own shoes off and took Watari’s coat. After looking at it dubiously for a moment, he hung it in the small closet near the door along with his own. He watched Watari oddly for an instant, then turned abruptly away. “Make yourself at home,” he said moving further inside and turning a few more lights on. “I’ll go make some tea. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten.”
“No,” Watari agreed. “It’s too late to eat. Tea would be good, though.” He walked into the living room after Tatsumi disappeared into the kitchen. Watari entertained the idea of following him, then changed his mind. The apartment was much smaller than Tatsumi could afford; he must have picked the size for its efficiency. The kitchen was bound to be narrow and that was not his choice of places to corner the secretary. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Second door on the right,” came Tatsumi’s voice from the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything you need.”
The bathroom was all sparkling white tile and shining chrome and made Watari feel very sooty and ragged. He washed his face and hands thoroughly, then searched in vain for a proper hairbrush. All he could find, though, was a fine-toothed comb-some people were so lucky to need just that. With a bit of water and a few torn out knots and grimaces, Watari managed to work the comb through the wrecked, shortened mass hanging to his shoulders. It was going to decide to start curling any moment, he knew it, but there was no hair ribbon in sight to pull it back with and avert that disaster. He still looked like death warmed over and that was a rotten shame, considering this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he couldn’t afford to waste. He settled for grimacing at his reflection before turning out the light and returning to the living room to settle on the couch, tucking his legs up under him. There was a knitted throw folded neatly over the top of the couch-he wrapped it around himself and felt a little warmer.
A few minutes later, Tatsumi reappeared with a tea set arranged neatly on a tray, a far cry from Watari’s Bunsen burner and mismatched cups. In anticipation of Watari’s tastes, there was a bowl of sugar cubes, though Tatsumi took his tea plain. “It’s decaffeinated,” Tatsumi said as Watari picked up the small teapot to pour for both of them.
“If I’m tired enough, caffeine ceases to be an issue,” Watari said. “Very little could keep me awake at this point.”
He thought he didn’t imagine a flash of something like disappointment on Tatsumi’s face, though when he spoke, he was agreeable enough. “It is very late,” Tatsumi said. “Drink your tea and I’ll make up the couch for you. It’s nearly three and we still have work tomorrow.”
“Isn’t it Friday?” Watari said innocuously, knowing very well it wasn’t.
“It’s Thursday, Watari-san,” Tatsumi said. “Or very early Friday morning, if you prefer.”
“Really? I was so sure… well, that’s really too bad,” Watari said with a grimace. “Just think, if I had gone home alone, I could have used it as an excuse to skip work. I wonder if Tsuzuki has tried that one? ‘But I thought it was Saturday!’”
“You really did hit your head,” Tatsumi said, looking at him sharply. “You’re not usually this absent-minded.”
“Probably,” Watari said agreeably. He stirred sugar into his tea and took a few scalding swallows. “On that note, aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?” he asked, the humor in his voice evident. “I’m supposed to be injured. You said you would.”
Tatsumi gave him a long, piercing look, and for a moment Watari was sure he was about to be called on everything, but Tatsumi only said very slowly, “And what exactly am I supposed to be doing?”
“You’re the one who said you knew what to do with head trauma patients, and you’re the one who offered,” Watari pointed out, very well aware that he was testing how far he could push Tatsumi’s patience. “I theoretically have a head injury, so theoretically I could have forgotten everything I ever knew about being a doctor.” His smile was sweet as honey. “Besides which, I recall you saying it’s a miracle I haven’t killed anyone, again, considering my lack of practical medical skills.”
“If you remember that, I doubt you’ve forgotten much,” Tatsumi replied dryly. “And a lack of practical medical skills would theoretically imply there wasn’t much to forget anyway, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, but that’s all theory, and theory means nothing at all until we put it into practice,” Watari said blithely. “So while in theory I could probably deal with my own injuries, in practice I’m refusing to do it.” He grinned. “Science is wonderful.”
Tatsumi carefully set down his teacup when the tea proved too hot to drink. “Watari-san, are you playing with me?” he said testily.
Watari felt his grin get wider. “Why yes, Tatsumi, I think I am,” he said.
“Don’t you think it is perhaps a little late for games?”
“Nonsense,” Watari disagreed. “It is never too late to enjoy yourself.”
“Are you really sick at all?” Tatsumi demanded helplessly.
“You think I am. We’ll say I am, in theory.”
Tatsumi glared at him from across the table. “Then here’s my diagnosis as temporary doctor,” he said. “I believe, Watari-san, all you need is a shower and a good night’s rest and you’ll theoretically be back to normal.”
Watari adjusted the throw that was slipping from around his shoulders. “That’s one theory,” he said, with a casual half-shrug that clearly said that wasn’t his top choice of theories to test.
“Indeed,” Tatsumi replied, hiding his face behind his tea cup, blowing gently on the liquid before taking a small sip. “Do you have a better one?” he questioned.
“Of course I have a better one,” Watari responded after watching him a moment, his expression faintly wicked. “I specialize in ridiculous, interesting theories. If I didn’t, I would blow things up half as often.”
Tatsumi raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What is it then?” he questioned, setting his cup back on the table.
Watari watched him for a moment, then decided, hell with it. “Theoretically, you don’t know how two elements will react until you put them together,” he said lightly, but he leaned forward over the coffee table, dramatically decreasing the distance between himself and the other man-and the innocuousness of the statement. “Wanting to find out has been driving me to distraction for a while.” He propped his chin on his hand, his smile never wavering. “So, in theory, I could use this custom-made opportunity to find out. I like that theory better. It’s a lot less safe, but that’s the sort of thing that tends to yield better results.” He chuckled. “Or an explosion, depending.”
The funny part of it was that Tatsumi had had a fairly good idea where this game might be leading the moment Watari cheerfully admitted to playing it. He had, in fact, been aware he was playing into Watari’s hands and allowed it due to the fact that he, good at word games as he might be, wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to play this particular one. But the truly funny part was, though he knew exactly where the conversation was headed, a proposition such as the one he has just received was still managing to blank his mind, and the only thing he could think of to say to it was, “That hardly sounds medicinal.”
He cursed himself for it a moment later, because Watari returned to his original sitting position to stretch and lean back against the couch. There was nothing like hurt on his features, as Tatsumi had once had from Tsuzuki, but rather calm nonchalance-nothing like the predatory smile of moments ago, and hardly the intended effect of the banal phrase. “Nor safe,” he said lightly. “Which was why I sincerely doubted it would suit you. May I have some more tea, please?” He didn’t sound hurt, which bizarrely made it worse.
“No, I don’t think so,” Tatsumi said, and had Watari’s undivided attention once again when the latter blinked at the unexpected response.
He raised his hand to tuck his short hair-since when did it curl like this?-behind his ears and regarded Tatsumi curiously. “Why not?”
“Because you won’t enjoy getting it out of my carpet when you spill it,” Tatsumi told him. He removed his glasses and raised a hand to rub at his temple. “You’re exhausting, were you aware? I recall saying only that your theory didn’t seem particularly remedial to your concussion. I do not recall saying it didn’t sound interesting.”
If Watari was a little wide-eyed, it was hardly noticeable as his grin returned and he set his empty teacup aside. Tatsumi had only a moment to contemplate when he had managed to lose his common sense before he found himself toppling to the floor under the weight of a very enthusiastic head trauma patient, at which point common sense ceased to be an issue.
***
“I’m displeased with you, by the way.”
“Not something one likes to hear in this situation,” Watari said sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. Everything would be blurry without his glasses, anyway, and he could hardly find the energy. They had made it into bed-eventually-and he was too comfortable to move just now, despite being half-pinned to the pillow. There were long, elegant fingers in his hair and he felt like a relaxed feline being stroked to sleep.
Tatsumi managed to sound a cross between amused and frustrated. “I don’t mean-”
Watari chuckled. “I know.”
Tatsumi sighed; Watari could feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Burning off your hair was not the most effective course of action in what I can only assume was a half-baked plan towards seducing me.”
“Bizarrely enough, it seems to have worked,” Watari pointed out. He could tell Tatsumi was caught between a stern (and completely useless in this case) reprimand never to try it again and something bordering on a laugh. When Tatsumi’s sigh came out on an almost-chuckle, Watari grinned into the darkness. “It grows back quickly, you know.”
The hands in his hair stilled a moment. “Do you mean to tell me you really did this on purpose?”
“Of course not,” Watari blithely lied. “I’m fonder of my hair than that,” he added, in an attempt to be a little more truthful.
“Watari-san-”
Watari found he had the energy to move after all as he laughed and propped himself up on his elbows. “Oh please,” he said. “That’s not what someone who’s been stealing my hair ribbons should be calling me.”
“I haven’t-”
“Wakaba-chan saw you,” Watari informed him.
“I was going to give it back,” Tatsumi snapped, but there was more desperation in his voice than anger.
Watari fell back against the pillow, laughing uncontrollably.
“You talk entirely too much,” Tatsumi informed him in clipped tones, and set about shutting him up.
***
Follow the link for a bonus story!