Oh I Get Angry...
So
fucking
smiley and obnoxious and in the way and Yamamoto used to never leave him the fuck alone, used to follow him around, used to pout when he said no, and now, now this stupid happy bitch is taking up all his stupid happy attention and Gokudera is pissed off because he never thought that Yamamoto would focus on someone other than him. And what of it? Being gay isn't a big fucking deal at home, so whatever. And he'd sensed the inevitability of his feelings for an entirely stupid I-have-a-huge-fucking-hard-on-for-baseball idiot the first few times he'd seen him kick someone's ass. After that little, 'Gokudera, are you okay? You look pale,' line during the Mist fight, what was he supposed to do? He'd been beaten and poisoned and he was vulnerable, dammit, and Yamamoto had cared and it was fucking nice. These feelings are embarrassing, but screw it. What does it even matter? He doesn't trust the idiot, and obviously he shouldn't if he's going to act all clingy and attentive for months and months only to go philandering off with some new girl the second she rears her beautiful rosy cheeks.
Of course Gokudera had known all along that there was no way Yamamoto could ever feel the same. From the first time he'd stared at the idiot's mouth while he'd talked and hadn't remembered what he'd said, Gokudera had understood how one-sided this was. How one-sided it is.
Shit. Why does it have to be the idiot? And it does have to be, but why is that? His hands are rough from sports, his head empty from a life of simplicity, but that keeps changing and it's hard not to notice. Gokudera wishes he could stop notching. Relentlessly, everything he does slaps him in the face. It's maddening, being aware of all the changes, all the looks, the friendly touches; but that's what they are, friendly. Changes he shouldn't be so attracted to, looks that aren't meant for him, or at least not meant to be taken the way he takes them. Slowly, Yamamoto's fake-ignorance towards life is slipping away, and it makes Gokudera's heart pound like the steady rock of a heavy redwood in blinding wind. Over and over and over, endless, constant, and so obliviously out of reach.
Why...
Well, our homes are the same direction. My father said you can eat here for free whenever you like. If we're going to protect him, if you're going to, you need stop this. Ne, Gokudera, could you speak some Italian to me? You're sister doesn't like me very much… It must run in the family! Haha! Training is kind of boring by yourself. Wow, a cat Gokudera? I didn't know you had glasses… um, I, I better go, huh, you're studying. Ma ma, Gokudera, calm down. What do you mean… of course I like it. Gokudera, are you alright? You look so pale...
Phrases like these run through his mind at the set rate of always. It's driving him insane. More so than he already is. Fuck, it's so stupid, Yamamoto's so stupid, this is so unbelievably stupid.
He's about to kick a trashcan over when rough fingers snare his wrist.
"Gokudera!" The centre of his worl- lif- atten- fuck. The idiot shouts his name, pulling him to a stop. "I've been calling you," he says, looking at his ears, probably for headphones.
"Yeah?" He jerks his arm away. "Well, what is it?" Just because he likes him doesn't mean he has to been all nice about it.
"I, uh…" That's as far as he gets at first. Two learning brown eyes indulge themselves in the mess forward of him. They take their damn time about it, too.
So Gokudera barks like a scared dog. "What? Did you want something? Or don't you have that fucking girl to go back to?" He considers the implication of the fact that Yamamoto is here and not with her, but he's considered implications before, and he now considers the act pointless. There is no subtext with this man, there is no subtly, there is no maybe, no possibly. He just doesn't feel that way, and Gokudera just doesn't know how to handle it. "Don't you? Aren't you sick of me? I'm mean to you, I think you suck. So leave me the hell alone."
He takes half a step before words stop him.
"No, I won't."
Fucking words.
His head hangs like a dry, old, tired leaf at the end of a long tree. "You have been. You should."
"I can't." The deep voice roots Gokudera in place. "You know, I… I was only talking to her so much because she, she knows things, without needing to be told. Things I can't say."
"That's fucking fantastic!" He clenches and unclenches and blinks and breathes and holds his breath and can feel the skin peeling off his back as he tightens, only ears heavily fixed on the other. "The hell are you here for, then?"
Three wide steps are taken until Yamamoto is facing him, watching him, paying attention to him. "Gokudera. I'm sorry and I never noticed it before. I'm always thinking about how you are, not how you look, because I, I…"
"You're not making sense, idiot!"
But he doesn't alter, or stop talking. "Because I s-sort of just feel you there… so I didn't notice it, but I think you're, um, I think Gokudera is very…"
Oh fuck no oh fuck no oh fuck everything in this word, no—
"I think Gokudera is very cute." Because his chest is devouring itself in a rush of heat hotter and wetter than the humidity collecting on the roof of the devil's mouth, so fucking thick he can't see right, he doesn't notice the two arms land on his waist. "And I think I think that because I have a thing for guys… or maybe just for Gokudera." The lack of pronouns in Japanese is going to kill him someday, and least of all because it's difficult to employ after years of Italian. "But that doesn't matter."
His sighted streamline is glued to the fingers digging at his waist, and Gokudera lets words depart that he isn't sure he's thought clearly about. Ones that suggest things. "What… what does, then?"
Yamamoto laughs like the fool he is. "That I'm sorry for being slow at this, that I notice everything else about you." Rubs away at his walls like the asshole he is. "That I think I really like Gokudera."
"W-What?"
"I really like Gokudera."
"Wha…"
"Actually, now that I'm noticing how sexy you are, I really want to go over to Gokudera's place and—"
Getting tired of hearing his fucking name over and over again from that fucking mouth, he leans forward and covers it with his own. The kiss is sweet and open, closer than he'd ever thought he'd get. Yamamoto's hands are warm on his lower back, chest sound against his own. Idiocy isn't something that can be felt this near to someone, so Gokudera forgets what he's getting himself into and just sort of lets shit happen. He'll look back on this when they're older, when he's more accepting of who he is, and still go red in the face, though, because he pulls away from Yamamoto just for a second, whispering jaggedly.
"Don't ever fucking ignore me like that again."
And Yamamoto never does.