it's not easy being green

By Clorinda

Necessity is the mother of all romance. Tsuchiura thinks he can live with that. "Somehow, I always knew that under that stupid grin, the guy was a bastard." [Tsukimori x Tsuchuira]

"Somehow I always knew that under that stupid grin, the guy was a bastard."

"Yeah. He always was too nice and genial to be real."

"And now—"

"Yeah." Tsuchiura's tone firmly called for the closing of the subject. Kanazawa shrugged, and stubbed out his cigarette, wasting no time in lighting up another one.

"So what now, since Hino's dating Hihara?"

Tsuchiura winced at the sound of the name, and got up from the bench he was sharing with the music teacher on a corner of the Seiso campus. "I'll figure something out. I'm not the only one who's surprised."

"You mean that reporter chick?" asked Kanazawa, brow furrowed.

"Nami? No way—!"

"Yunoki, then? Hihara's friend?"

"No, I was talking about—"

"Osaki?"

Tsuchiura's eyes nearly bugged out. "No, Tsukimori! … and wait, there's something going between Hiroto and Osaki?"

Kanazawa was suddenly overcome by a fit of coughing, and he doubled over, wheezing dramatically, batting Tsuchiura away. Disappointed, he was about to walk away, when the teacher suddenly called out: "And remember—!" He turned around hopefully. "Smoking kills!"

Tsuchiura turned away to hide his expression of utter disgust. Muttering darkly under his breath, his footsteps seemed to quicken under him … suddenly, the pitch seemed to beckon him … he turned the corner blindly, colliding with someone shorter with enough force to send them both stumbling.

"Sorry, man, wasn't looking—"

"Tsuchiura."

The controlled rage that dripped like icicles off that voice, was unmistakable. Ryotaro glanced at his erstwhile enemy (was there any need, now that Hino was already taken?) and extended a hand in truce. Len Tsukimori stared distrustfully at it, as though the proffered hand was coated in slime.

"Did you have a concussion lately, Tsuchiura?" he asked politely.

"Well, I see you never grew up, not mentally anyway," he retorted, rolling his eyes. He didn't know why his hand was still sticking out, how stupid he looked that way — he wanted to retract it, but then everything happened way too fast.

Tsukimori's glance slanted over the other boy's shoulder, evidently not liking what he saw, given the way his lips curled into a sneer. What surprised Tsuchiura was the sudden force with which Tsukimori grabbed the proffered hand and yanked him forward with it.

Losing his balance, Tsuchiura stumbled into Tsukimori, landing flush against the violinist, who steadied him … in an one-armed embrace. If the feel of the bastard hadn't been so damn … sexy … the whiff of expensive cologne, and starched linen uniform, firm, young body and unreadable, smouldering eyes … Ryotaro would certainly have pulled away otherwise. Then Tsukimori rendered all conscious thought unnecessary by kissing him.

Tsuchiura melted into gelatine.

He was vaguely conscious of a girl and a boy passing them by, the boy waving and the girl stuttering a greeting.

"Hino—?" gasped Tsuchiura, wrenching himself from Tsukimori's lips with some difficulty, but she was already gone, and Tsukimori's tousled hair, flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, bespoke another story. His grip imperceptibly tightened around Ryotaro.

"What was that all about?" questioned the latter, still a little dazed.

"I'm sorry," said Tsukimori smoothly, "I'm afraid you must have tripped."

—- finis -—