This ficlet was inspired by some comments on the Tatari community on Live Journal about how Tatsumi is possibly more likely to be sentimental and become emotionally attached to things in general than Watari. As someone who is exactly like that, I know how exasperating it can be when others close to you don't feel the same way, and so this little intro ficlet was born.
Sentimental.
Watari has never really been all that sentimental. It's not that he has never kept the odd photograph or Christmas card, merely that those Christmas cards and photographs usually have something extra scribbled on the back or underneath 'have a good one, Watari!' that always has something to do with a new formula thought up on the fly.
Tatsumi finds this exasperating, Watari knows. There are no mementos from Watari's living life, fewer still from his current state of deadliness. Nothing to remember their first, rather disastrous date by, nothing to serve as a keepsake of the good and the bad times that they've been though – both together and apart. And yet, there are hundreds of random napkins, beer mats and menus that hold a special place in Watari's heart (and top left hand drawer of his desk), due to the sudden equations and ideas that have popped up at random times and just had to be written down. So very exasperating.
But then, this is Tatsumi. And Tatsumi finds most things Watari does exasperating.
When they move in together, Watari cannot understand why Tatsumi gets angsty over the importance of getting a bed that suits them both perfectly, as the one Tatsumi already owns has always seemed more than adequate and has provided more than a fair share of memories that should keep Tatsumi happy. But Tatsumi has always been immune to logical argument, and so the pair spends an entire day searching for the 'perfect bed' so that they can have 'perfect memories'. Tatsumi ends up happy, but all Watari gets from the deal is a pair of blisters on his right foot.
Watari is not the only one who can be exasperating. But Tatsumi buys him ice cream afterwards, so all is forgiven.
Tatsumi asks him only once why he has no emotional attachment to anything physical. It is six months after they have moved in together, and the vase that Tsuzuki gave them as a house-warming present has just found a new home in the trashcan outside. Watari thinks the multi-coloured vase actually looks better smashed into a hundred different pieces, but then, the vase could hardly look worse than when it had been in its original state - Tsuzuki is not known for his taste, especially in chinaware. Watari knows that Tatsumi has always hated the vase as well, and he knows that if it had not been a gift, that the ugly thing would never have been placed in the middle of their dining table, a beacon of tackiness to all the other, mostly horrible, gifts that had been given to them by their friends.
Because he knows all this, he can't quite comprehend why Tatsumi is so upset that the vase has met its 'accidental' demise when Watari had been cleaning earlier, but more so, he can't quite understand why Tatsumi is so angry that Watari doesn't really care.
And it is then Tatsumi asks that question. Why doesn't Watari care about the sentimental value of anything? Ever?
At first, Watari prepares to reply with a joke about how most inanimate objects do poorly in the bedroom, but Tatsumi is serious in a way that makes all thoughts of joking somewhat dangerous. It doesn't mean that Watari doesn't try to joke his way out of it regardless, but when he is rewarded with a glare that burns through his facades, Watari decides that offering up the truth is possibly a less painful way of getting through the ideal.
Besides, the truth is really quite simple: old habits die hard. Considering that his lover still goes into a sulk when Watari occasionally buys the brand of milk that is a whole 20 cents more expensive than the kind Tatsumi seems to always 'prefer', it's a concept that the other man should understand well.
But this is Tatsumi, and such an answer is met only with a readjustment of plain glasses and a glare that Watari wishes had been used on that damn vase many moons ago. The vase would have crumbled into dust under that look, and then its demise would be all Tatsumi's fault.
It is Watari however who broke the vase, so it is Watari who, with a flick of a golden strand and a warm laugh that seems slightly off, expands on his original answer. It is merely that during his living life, there was nothing that ever deserved such a status. No crappy vases given by amazing friends, certainly no beds that were worth remembering in a positive light, let alone bought for that very purpose. And he is not Tsuzuki or Hisoka, and his living life was hardly angsty or difficult when compared to his friends, so his eyes do not cloud over and his smile does not falter just a little bit at the edges as he shrugs his shoulders easily, letting Tatsumi know that it is all hardly a big deal – old habits simply die hard.
When Tatsumi suddenly wraps him in a bone-crushing hug, Watari pretends that it is because he is being forgiven as opposed to comforted. It does not stop Watari from clinging to his lover for slightly longer than necessary, and as Tatsumi leans down slightly to capture Watari's lips in an almost possessive kiss, Watari promises to himself to try a bit harder at this whole sentimentality thing, if only for Tatsumi.
He does well with his silent promise. Kind of. The cute glass owls that Tatsumi gives him for Christmas last four months before Watari melts them down to use in an experiment (003 was getting jealous of them, he argues in his defense), and he tries to appreciate the new, equally horrible, vase that Tatsumi buys to replace the one Watari broke. It takes five months for this one to break, and luckily the fault this time lays squarely on Tatsumi, much to Watari's relief.
Sentimentality isn't all that easy to get right, Watari learns. There are no magic potions (although he does try that route, with some spectacular failures), no short cuts. And then, suddenly, one day he simple gets It. There is nothing particularly special about the scene that takes place in their staff room at work, Hisoka is in the corner scowling about something, and Tatsumi has turned stern eyes on Tsuzuki, no doubt ready to lecture him about his latest expenditure report. But as Watari enters, Tatsumi turns slightly to acknowledge him, the harshness in his eyes softening just a tad and a hint of a welcoming smile on his lips before the stern mask is back in place, and his lecturing continues.
It is at this precise moment that Watari understands, and he drops into his chair, stunned disbelief controlling him momentarily before giving way to a brilliantly goofy smile. Hisoka is the only one who notices, his scowl turning into weariness as he instantly (and incorrectly, for once) connects Watari's glazed happiness with the coffee cup that Hisoka just so happens to be holding. The coffee cup is quickly pushed aside.
Watari doesn't really take any particular notice of the move, although he is a little miffed that Hisoka notices the change in his mood yet Tatsumi hasn't. Bossy Tatsumi, who is still ripping into a teary Tsuzuki. Stingy Tatsumi, who has once again bought the cheapest coffee possible, which only Hisoka can drink without comparing to tar. Wonderful, intelligent, loving, exasperating Tatsumi, who really is far too attractive when he's being overly serious.
Watari has finally found something that he wants to keep forever.