Heyy! Doing a TenKaga drabble series for fun. Mostly fluff, some angst, some relationship complications. All canon compliant, for now.
I'm also going to be posting some more Kamen Rider fics, so keep and eye out! R&R?
Most days, it was funny how even after years of being a waiter and months of experience on a battlefield, he was still so clumsy.
Today, it wasn't funny at all, because Tendou's grandmother's most cherished dish was shattered on the floor, in a million pieces that would be impossible to ever fix.
Arata stared at the floor in shock and a little bit of horror, desperately wishing that he could will the pieces back together. Wishing that he hadn't touched the dish at all, that he had left it alone, wishing that he had reacted quickly enough to catch it. That he hadn't come by that day, that he had done anything else instead.
The longer he looked, the more his mouth dried and his throat closed.
Tendou was going to murder him.
For a single moment, he considered his options. He could sweep up the pieces as fast he could, wrap them in a bag, and pretend he'd never been here. He could just run. He could get Tadokoro to fake his death, change his name, and move to the countryside somewhere.
His stomach dropped. As if any of that would work.
"What was that noise?" Tendou's voice called from the hall, and Arata snapped his head up as he heard the soft padding of footsteps making their way to the kitchen. He opened his mouth to call back, balked, and snapped it shut again. His voice stuck in his throat like he was choking on raw vegetables.
Tendou came into the kitchen, eyebrows raised, and then stopped. His eyes traced over the mess of porcelain on the floor, the scattered shards of blue and white, before they fell on Arata, standing pale and alone in the center of the destruction.
His lips tightened, and he took a sharp breath.
Arata lurched to his knees like a beggar before a king, and began to gather the pieces, the words suddenly pouring out in a rush, "Oh god, Tendou, I'm so, so sorry—I didn't mean to—!" He snatched up each shard as quickly as he could, not daring to look up and see the anger, the disappointment, the frustration, or what other kind of face Tendou would be making, piling them in his hand with shaking fingers. "I shouldn't have—I'm an idiot I'm so sorry—"
He barely heard the brush of socked feet against the tiled floor with his panicked babbling filling the air, but the stern touch of a hand falling on his shoulder was something he couldn't ignore. He froze under it, hating everything, hating himself, hating porcelain for being so fragile.
"Stop that. Get up." Tendou said. His voice was firm but not hard, the voice he used when he thought Arata was being foolish and too emotional. "You're going to cut yourself," Tendou added, and that made Arata dare to look back up, peering through his own irate bangs. Tendou looked down on him, eyebrows raised expectantly, a faintly amused smile curling at his lips.
Arata stood, cradling the gathered pieces, and something in his stomach eased.
"Sorry," he said, firmer and more earnestly this time, looking Tendou right in the eyes as he offered up the pieces he gathered. Tendou's smiled faded as he took them, and there was something sharp in his gaze. But he didn't seem angry, or even frustrated. Arata allowed his shoulders to loosen.
"Better." Tendou said, before glancing at the floor. "Get the vacuum cleaner. I don't want Juka stepping on anything." Arata gave a quick nod and was all too glad to flee the scene, if only for a moment.
As he came back with it, he paused in the entryway. Tendou was stooped over, carefully selecting the largest shards off the floor and placing them into the pile sitting on a piece of paper towel on the counter. He moved slowly and methodically, a sharp, forlorn figure that gently cradled each little remnant.
Guilt weighed heavy in Arata's gut.
"I've got the vacuum," he called out, stating the obvious to warn Tendou that he was intruding on this almost vulnerable moment.
"Then plug it in."
The reply wasn't particularly harsh, for Tendou at least, or reprimanding, but still Arata winced. It left no room for a response, for further discussion, but he knew he couldn't let this lie. He didn't make excuses, didn't deny the blame, and instead apologized with his whole heart. "I really am sorry. I know that dish was an heirloom from your Grandmother."
For a moment, Tendou didn't respond, face turned away as he looked down on the tower of ivory on the counter. Arata shifted closer, despite himself, and realized Tendou was smiling, his eyes catching the bright light of the kitchen lamps.
"Grandmother once said, the greatest heirloom is not material, but rather a legacy of character," Tendou said, as if that explained everything, and Arata supposed it really did.
One of Tendou's grandmother's precious dishes had been lost, but she had left Tendou far more than just a couple brittle plates.
"So…you're not going to kill me?"
"A slab of fired clay is hardly worth murdering my partner over." Letting out a breath, Arata grinned and relaxed. Tendou narrowed his eyes, and said, "but you will never step in the kitchen ever again."
That was fair enough.