“Takashi?”

“Takashi?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve read the latest chapter of my book, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you, by any chance, remember anything from it?” You sniffle.

Mitsuya halts the balance wheel with a jerk of his hand, his foot freezing under the table at the same time. Did he hear that right? Did your voice quaver slightly and crack in the middle of that sentence? And did you just sniffle? He leans away from his sewing machine, the half-finished dress laying forgotten, and looks to you standing just outside of his work room as if hesitant to come in and his lips are immediately being pulled into a frown: your eyes are tinted scarlet and puffy as if you’ve just been crying, and, when he inspects closer, appear misty; your bottom lip is tucked in to stop it from quivering but Mitsuya still notices, and your fingers ruthlessly plucking the skin around your nails, a habit Mitsuya has come to know comes as naturally to you as breathing yet it seems to intensify when you’re upset or nervous, peeling a layer of skin too deep that speckles of blood pours out.

Mitsuya also scans you up and down, the messy attire you’re wearing isn’t anything new or unusual but there’s a bit of a dark spot near the hems of your shirt that wasn’t there in the morning. He’s sure because the shirt is his, and he was wearing it in the morning and he’s certain he hasn’t spilled any liquid on himself.

All of the evidence piles up to form an image in his mind that he doesn’t like.

When his steady gaze is back to your face, you cower under it, stuttering out an apology for disturbing him and taking a step to go back to your room. But Mitsuya calls for you to wait and you hesitantly do so. a foot ahead of the other.

Mitsuya stands up, swiftly crosses the room and wraps his arms around your stiffen form. “What happened?” he murmurs atop your head. “Tell me and I’ll help you. Unless you just want to vent, in that case, I’ll always listen. So, what happened?”

Silence envelops the room as he waits until you relax in his arms. It takes a while but Mitsuya is patient with you, whispered assurances falling from his lips that you can take your time and that he’ll always be here for you, and rocking you back and forth in a comforting rhythm. When he suddenly feels the bottom of his shirt being pulled, he knows it’s your desperate fingers curling into it as if to urge him closer into you. When you sag your shoulders and your body slowly melds into his and plant your face in his chest, Mitsuya tightens his hold on you.

“My laptop froze while I was writing.” You breath out against Mitsuya’s chest in a wavering voice. “I waited for it to work again and when it came back the last ten pages of my writing suddenly disappeared.”

Mitsuya purses his lips: you had worked a full one and a half month on that chapter, spent countless nights typing away at your laptop even though you had school the next day, researching whatever need be and asking questions to various people for their opinions on a topic or the chapter, including Mitsuya. You had even persevered through a writer’s block for that chapter. Mitsuya recalls a few days back when you jumped up and down in excitement because you had finished writing a particular difficult scene and could now move on to a much easier part. He knows how hard you worked for it and he hates that the universe could ever be this cruel to you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers helplessly, breath fanning across your forehead and you let out a hiccup, burrowing deeper in his chest and concealing your face from his eyes.

He doesn’t flinch or pull away when he feels a wet patch beginning to form on his shirt, sticking against his warm skin. Nor does he squirm at the thought that he might have some snot on his shirt after this – he’s had far worse things on him. He doesn’t try anything; he simply lets it be, lets you cry your frustrations out and maffle about how unfair it is.

He wishes he could do something but he’s no expert when it comes to technology. He could barely figure out how to take a screenshot on his Samsung phone; he’d be hopeless with a malfunctioning laptop. And so, with a defeated sigh, he curses whichever god dares to pull a prank like this on you and expects to get away with it. But he can deal with that later. Right now, you need here and beside you is where he needs to be, comforting you and helping you.

Mitsuya softly calls your name. When you don’t respond, he lets you indulge in the embrace a few moments before gently pulling away. Your head remains down-casted, hands coming up to hastily erase any evidence of your breakdown, apologizing again for taking too much of his time just for a mess like you.

He frowns. Your name rolls off his tongue with a light yet stern tinge in his tone. “Don’t say that.” He is quick to halt your wrist and stop yourself before you potentially poke your eye. His other hand comes to swipe some hair pasted to your cheek behind your ear, then his palm gently cradles your face. “It’s okay if you take my time. It’s okay if you’re a mess. I don’t mind, I genuinely don’t. And if you need help, I’m more than happy to assist you. Do you understand?”

Your eyes widen for a second, a glazed disbelief reflecting back at Mitsuya but then it’s gone, vanished. And in its place, a brightness shines through in those eyes, the same one that Mitsuya took note of the first time you met and thought were beautiful and one that never fails to calm his heart every time he sinks into the depths of them. There’s a small bob of your head and Mitsuya knows he’s gained your trust and silently vows to never break it.

“Thanks, Takashi.” Your voice is hoarse but it sounds sweet to him anyway. When the corner of your lips curve upwards, a shy tilt, Mitsuya has to stop himself from leaning in and stealing them for a couple of minutes.

Instead, he shows you a tender smile. “Come on, let’s get your laptop checked and buy ice-cream. Then we can slowly re-write those ten pages, okay? I suppose I can also allow you to stay up late tonight – only a lit bit.” He hurriedly adds when your eyes gleamed dangerously. “I’m dragging you to bed when the clock strikes one. You need your sleep.”

And he needs your cuddles.

You pout and are about to protest when Mitsuya leans down and captures your lips into a gentle kiss. Your lips are soft albeit cold but Mitsuya doesn’t mind; he can feel the previous wet trails of your tears on his cheek but Mitsuya doesn’t mind; he can taste the saltiness of your tears in his mouth but Mitsuya doesn’t mind. The only thing on his mind is the feel of your lips against his, how long he’s wanted it and how much longer he wants to have it on him. His hand is still on your cheek and when you both pull apart, heaving, you lean into his touch, sighing.

“Okay.” You huff out. “I’ll sleep at one.”

Mitsuya grins and leans down again, but this time, his forehead meets yours. “Good.” He whispers the word, staring into your eyes as deeply as possible. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything about it.”

“It’s okay.” You whisper back.

“And I’ll always be there for you, okay? We’ll go through life together.”

You sprout a tired but sincere smile when he presses his warm lips to your forehead. And in that little two second kiss which should have lasted one second, Mitsuya decides to pour in all of his promises that no words could truly emphasize into existence: to always make times for you; to always be there for you; to always lend you an ear, a shoulder, his chest, literally any part of his body for you comfort and assistance; to always help you when you need him; to always guide you when you seem lost; to protect you from the cruel gods above and the equally cruel humans below; to always make all of your needs and wants his first priority and lastly, to love and take care of you until his body fatigues and is unable to handle more and his lungs shrivel up like a deflated balloon and his arms are sore and the soles of his feet are pulsing.

Mitsuya promises to love and take care of you eternally because he drinks a lot of milk so he has strong bones. He won’t ever tire.

That’s also a promise.