Song Series; Music - Takaki x Chinen
He looks so young.
It hurts Takaki’s head - makes him feel old and dirty and sinful - but he counts the years and they aren’t that many; three, four maybe? He can’t remember sometimes (that makes him feel older too), not when he hears him call, Sensei, soft and shy and maybe teasing, he can’t tell as easily as he can when he’s reading his name off the class register.
Sensei, he hears, and when he looks up Chinen has his hip cocked against his desk, book bag clutched to his chest, bangs falling over his eyes. He smiles, slow and sweet, and Takaki feels his chest swell even as he struggles to will it down.
Headed home? he asks, voice casual. It’s five, the sun’s starting to set and everyone’s gone. It’s only the two of them left in an empty classroom, the apple red clock at the corner ticking the minutes off. Another day gone.
Maybe, Chinen replies, fingers toying with a few strands of hair. He smiles again, coyly this time. Sensei, he breathes, sets his bag down on the desk, and Takaki wants to stop him because it isn’t quite right and there would be serious consequences that would jeopardize them both, their future and their lives, but all he ends up doing is pushing his chair backwards so that Chinen can slide easily into his lap and wrap his slender arms around his shoulders.
Chinen-kun, he says, as the boy leans forward to press a soft, dry kiss to the corner of his lips. Yuri, he corrects, and realizes that while the situation isn’t quite right, the name doesn’t sound quite wrong on his tongue. Yuri, he says again, and it fits just nicely, fits the way Chinen’s mouth does against his own, two halves meeting, tasting of chocolate and light breeze.
So Takaki counts the days down, waits till Chinen can graduate and till he can resign, waits till the day he can finally hear Chinen call him Yuya.
It hurts Takaki’s head - makes him feel old and dirty and sinful - but he counts the years and they aren’t that many; three, four maybe? He can’t remember sometimes (that makes him feel older too), not when he hears him call, Sensei, soft and shy and maybe teasing, he can’t tell as easily as he can when he’s reading his name off the class register.
Sensei, he hears, and when he looks up Chinen has his hip cocked against his desk, book bag clutched to his chest, bangs falling over his eyes. He smiles, slow and sweet, and Takaki feels his chest swell even as he struggles to will it down.
Headed home? he asks, voice casual. It’s five, the sun’s starting to set and everyone’s gone. It’s only the two of them left in an empty classroom, the apple red clock at the corner ticking the minutes off. Another day gone.
Maybe, Chinen replies, fingers toying with a few strands of hair. He smiles again, coyly this time. Sensei, he breathes, sets his bag down on the desk, and Takaki wants to stop him because it isn’t quite right and there would be serious consequences that would jeopardize them both, their future and their lives, but all he ends up doing is pushing his chair backwards so that Chinen can slide easily into his lap and wrap his slender arms around his shoulders.
Chinen-kun, he says, as the boy leans forward to press a soft, dry kiss to the corner of his lips. Yuri, he corrects, and realizes that while the situation isn’t quite right, the name doesn’t sound quite wrong on his tongue. Yuri, he says again, and it fits just nicely, fits the way Chinen’s mouth does against his own, two halves meeting, tasting of chocolate and light breeze.
So Takaki counts the days down, waits till Chinen can graduate and till he can resign, waits till the day he can finally hear Chinen call him Yuya.