Work Text:
Pencil lead washed off his hand, eraser shreds brushed off the desk, and balls of paper spilling out a trash bin. His hands digging into his head to massage his scalp, the weight of doubt sitting on his shoulders.
There were many nights where he had spent it that way.
In the late hours of the dark sky, and the early hours of day when the sun has yet to rise. He’d sneak out from under the bedsheets, tiptoeing through the darkness as his bare feet met wood floor. The moon cascading down on him, shadows on his tail as he passes by the windows.
Hidden away in the guest bedroom, scribbling away as his beloved rests peacefully on their bed. Not once does he miss the other’s soft noise of discomfort at their separation. It warms his heart, warm enough to get him through the cold night breeze as he makes his way to where his secret lies. Where he goes to hide.
“T’mma?”
To find the words.
“I’m just going to the bathroom, I’ll be back.”
All for the other sleeping peacefully, unknowing to all the buzz in his mind. So the weight of his desires can settle just a little bit when he returns to bed, silently crawling back under the sheets to admire the rested features of his lover. Pressing a tiny kiss to his forehead, and falling into the embrace of sleep as he is reminded why he’s doing this.
“I love you.”
All of this, to find the words.
“I love…”
To find the right words.
Words, words, words.
(A velvet box, hidden in the desk drawer in the guest room. Buried under scribbled on papers and crumpled up notes. It waits patiently for those words to come to life.)
‘You are the most important person in my life. Do you know that? Do you know how many days I’ve spent longing for your touch? Do you know that even when I had your touch, I could do nothing but crave more for it? These feelings burn deep in my heart, a fire that can only be controlled when I’m around you. You’re special, do you know that? Cause I do, I do and the rest of the world may be blind to that. I’ll let them be. Let them be blind so I can be the one to have you.
Let me be the one to have you.
For…’
Never right.
The words never felt right.
Over and over he would crush paper in his hand, sighing deeply in frustration as he struggled to put his thoughts into words on paper. The words never seemed to add together right, and he had spent many of those nights picking apart the best and worst of what he’s written to at least attempt to create something that seemed the least bit decent.
But the words were never right , over and over it would continue.
Sneak out, write his heart out, throw it aside, write his heart out, throw it aside, write, write, write, write.
And returned to bed, frustration sat in the forefront of his mind. His only relief being the face of his lover quietly resting beside him.
On and on, it went.
His shine dimmed as days went by, the frustration piling like the papers in the waste bin and expression as dull as the pencil he’d been torturing in his endeavour. Yet his determination stood feet ahead from his exhaustion, forcing him out of bed when his lover's eyes slipped close even when he didn’t want to.
But he wanted to find the right words, so he’d get out of bed. Nothing in the world would stop him from finding those words. Nothing.
Well, almost nothing.
An outstretched hand grabbing him by the wrist, on a night as cold as his heart had become over the frustrating dissatisfaction. The other’s palm was warm against his skin, tight grip tugging him back to bed. His mind bubbled with a possible excuse, mentally going through his list of rehearsed excuses.
The thought of which all faded in a second, after he had looked down at the other.
Laying in the bed, staring up at him with those eyes.
His breath hitched, stuck in his throat as he stared into those eyes. Shining gold glazed as they stared up at him, the usual joyful expression painted instead with deep sadness and concern. His lover’s lip stretched into a thin line, corners of his mouth twitching downwards as he tried to conceal the frown.
Truly, he was frozen, unable to pull away as that sombre expression hypnotised him.
“Temma.”
His determination falters, but his exhaustion doesn’t win the race. Instead, it was his heart.
“Please.”
That was all it took, and he was back to laying against the soft mattress. Hidden under the bedsheets with his lover as they tangled themselves in each other’s arms, his heart and mind slowing down to grant him the rest he so craved.
The warm kiss against his lips washing away any desire to be anywhere but there.
(Of course he had noticed. Of course he had known. Temma was a fool for thinking the other would never notice, and so the velvet box waits once more.)
‘A light brighter than the sun’s rays shone down on me, the day you came into my life. I wondered for so long where and what it was. What was this strange magic of yours? What did you do to clear out the dark skies? What did you do to settle the storms and grant me warm sunlight? For so long, I was blind. I was so blind. It was you.
It was you.
It was always you.
Can it always be y…’
The routine changes after that night.
His lover had been long concerned for him, and Temma couldn’t help but feel a sting of guilt in his heart. Now that he looks back on that, it was easy for what he was doing to come off as something else , and the thought made him ball his fists. He’d never do that, confident in himself that fate had connected him to one person alone, yet he’d understand if the other had thought that .
But his lover presses gentle kisses to his face when their backs hit the mattress, and their fingers intertwine together like puzzle pieces as their eyes shut.
His lover doesn’t doubt him, and Temma’s determination sparks into a flame.
He stops sneaking off to the guest room every night, now opting to do the work every other night or during the times he’d rather be alone during the day. Temma eventually regained his energy after returning to a normal sleeping schedule, and his heart skips a beat when he wakes up to Miyabi staring down at him with endearment.
“Your eyebags are gone.” The redhead would tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m glad.”
The words come easier after that.
Though many still end up balled and thrown into the basket, it no longer overflows and spills over whenever the day comes where he tosses the trash out. The consistent rest has allowed him patience, finding himself less frustrated when he’s dissatisfied. Many times ending instead with a bitter mile and a shrug.
He doesn’t stop, of course, he keeps at it.
In between domestic life with Miyabi and his life as just Temma, he finds the right words slowly blooming through. Like greenery that grows through cracks on roads and walls, a sprout that’ll eventually become something beautiful and vivid in due time.
It comes to him when they’re out buying groceries, running between aisles and going up and down paper lists; When Miyabi comes waddling to him with a basket of vegetables, and when Temma has to control the other from buying everything off the sweets rack.
When they’re out looking at furniture that they can’t afford, nor fit in their living space, Miyabi has to physically stop Temma from laying on the display beds, or sit on coffee tables.
When they’re all alone together, leaning on each other while watching some show that Temma picked out. Both lazy messes, wrapped in the blanket they dragged from their unkempt bed and onto the couch.
One by one, the words bloom into something bright and beautiful.
One by one, the words were laid onto paper.
Words, words, words.
(The velvet box finally leaves the drawer)
“I’m home!”
He quickly folds the paper, tucking it into his pocket as he turns to the front door. Miyabi is carrying several bags of groceries, and a few shopping bags hanging from his arms. Temma scrambles up, jogging towards him to take the brown bags.
“Welcome home,” Temma pressed a kiss against the other’s forehead, before turning on his heels to the kitchen, “Sorry I couldn’t come with, knight duty and all.”
“It’s alright.” Miyabi fumbles with the shopping bags, placing them on the coffee table before plopping himself on the couch. He throws his head back as he sinks into the cushions, a long tired sigh escaping his lips, “I’m beat.”
“What’d you buy?” Temma turns the counter, slowly making his way to the shopping bags. He peeks in them, chuckling a little at the sight of stuffed toys and a few comfy clothes, before pausing at one bag that stood out from the rest. “...Jewelry?”
Miyabi bolts upright at that, snatching the bag and pulling it to his chest. The redhead stares up at him with a bewildered look, before stretching his lips into a cheeky smile. Temma shrugs, raises his hands up in a defensive stance.
“Hey, I won’t judge.” Temma chuckles, “You’re allowed to splurge on yourself a little. I just didn’t think you were the jewelry type. What’d you get?”
Miyabi’s face flushes red, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he digs through the shopping bag. He tugs out a small, long box out of it. Hesitantly putting the bag down on the floor as he works to open the box. Temma takes the empty spot on the couch next to Miyabi, watching as the redhead reveals what’s inside.
A shiny silver necklace, with what looks like a sword shaped pendant. Taking a closer look at it, he can see the small silver sword is decorated in vine and floral like patterns, wrapping around the blade to the hilt. A single flower in the centre of the cross guard.
“Huh.” Temma snickers, “Well would you look at that.”
“It’s pretty isn’t it?” Miyabi smiles fondly as he stares at it, gently tracing his fingers over the pendant. “It reminded me of us and I…I couldn’t resist.”
The redhead looks into his eyes, a soft smile on his face and cheeks glowing pink. Temma sighs, reaching over to brush the red hair to the side, revealing the other’s neck.
“Turn around, let me put it on you.”
Temma presses a tiny kiss on Miyabi’s nape as he hooks the necklace chain, his heart skipping a beat as he hears the other’s tiny chuckle. He thinks about the paper hiding in his pocket, and the surprise hidden in a velvet box he has yet to show the other.
Just a little more, he tells himself.
Just a little more.
Clammy hands and nervous disposition, he’s been repeating the words in his mind for the past week.
Words, every one, picked with absolute comprehension and thought, in late nights staring out into the sky scribbling on crumpled paper. Later, balled and thrown to the corner as he reaches for another sheet, taking the words so carefully selected and starting again.
Muttering to himself in the mirror for months, staring deep into his own eyes as he practised. The determination reflected in deep blue ocean eyes, carefully picked words like sparkles of sunlight, shining down on the tides and painting them with glittering light. Sincere, every word a sincere step forwards; Fuel to a train bringing him closer to the burning question in his heart, and what may potentially be his destination.
Yet what may also potentially be a cliff, waiting for him to crash down into.
Words. Words. Words.
He’s terrified, but he needs to say those words. He’s been working for so long, so hard, to find the words he so desired. He needs these words. He needs the other to hear these words.
Every word is stitched into his brain, every phrase glued in his mind. The likeliness of him forgetting his entire speech seemed so out of reach. He’s rehearsed so many times, braced his heart whenever his mind visualised the other staring back at him.
Beautiful gold eyes waiting, anticipating, growing wider as everything behind the words sink into his mind. Tears glazing those golds, dripping down pale cheeks in a slow, steady flow. Smiles, wide and bright decorating both their faces, fingers intertwined, heart beating in his chest as every word spills out.
The vision makes his heart skip a beat, excitement lit like a rocket as he fumbles with the tiny box in his hand. Velvet soft against his palms as he repeats the plan to himself, every step perfectly picked out.
Words, words, words.
The perfect plan together with the perfect words.
He was sure.
(Those nights of struggle, the way Miyabi begged him to stay, the days and hours spent tirelessly writing. Those seem so far away now. Here he was instead, staring out into the end of the train track he had long been spending his journey on.
The right words in his head, and a plan in his hands)
Every word was perfect.
This plan was perfect.
He was so sure.
Tonight, he told himself, tonight he’ll do it. That there’s a clearing deep in the forest perfect for the two of them, perfect for him to hold the other tight as they gazed up at the stars. Perfect for candlelight to shine warm orange against the other’s face, a glow deep in those beautiful eyes, bright red hair blowing in the gentle breeze of the night.
What would Miyabi wear? It wouldn’t matter. He’d be beautiful no matter what, and nothing deep in his heart could convince him otherwise. Even if that red hair was an unkept mess, sticking out in places that would normally make him throw his head back in laughter, he was sure he’d still stare at him like he was the loveliest thing in the world.
Velvet box in his hands, the moon would shine perfectly over what was hidden inside.
He was so sure.
And yet…
“Temma?”
He’s here.
Stood awkwardly in his pyjamas, barefoot and in a messy state of half-brushed hair and unwashed face. The early morning sun greeted them through the windows, illuminating the wooden cottage. He hasn’t gotten ready yet, he hasn’t even told the other man about the plan he had for them for the day.
He was simply standing there, and he’s aware he could just walk on and go with the plan like he had told himself, yet, he finds himself frozen in place. Like a deer in headlights, much to the confused expression on Miyabi’s face.
When he walked into the kitchen, the first thing he saw was red hair messily tied into a ponytail, a soft humming noise and the smell of breakfast in the air. A figure, just a little bit shorter than him, swaying as it scrambles around the counter. Golden eyes admiring the bright morning and the deep green forest, decorated with flora and life, a gentle smile stretching soft pink lips.
Every detail was like a painting, puffy face that made it obvious the other had just woken up not too long ago. The way he’d pout when he slipped or dropped something, the way he'd grin after tasting whatever he was cooking.
The sunlight shining down on his face, highlighting his features.
He was entranced.
(Always, entranced. He was always entranced. Whether it was the day Miyabi looked up at him, begging him to stay in bed, or the day Miyabi turned to him with the brightest smile, that silver necklace hanging from his neck before he pulled the redhead into his arms.
Words, words, words.
No words could describe that very moment.)
“Temma, how long are you just gonna stare at me?”
There’s humour in the other’s voice, the redhead putting the spatula down on the counter, crossing his arms as he stares back. He tilts his head to the side, scrunching his nose as if to tease. Temma sputters inaudibly, somehow finding himself unable to say anything.
Words. Words. Words.
“I get it, you think I’m pretty. You’ve told me that everyday since we got together, and if you didn’t, you’d double it the next day” The other teases, arms falling onto his sides to sit on his hips. Temma still finds himself frozen, unable to think of anything else except the man in front of him, “But haven’t we been together long enough for you to get past the ogling stage? I thought you were a gentleman.”
The laughter that follows is music to his ears.
Desperately, Temma tries to think of the words he had so perfectly prepared. Tried to snap himself back into following the plan he had taken so long constructing. Perfect. He was sure it was going to be perfect. He was determined to make it perfect.
And then his finger brushes against his pocket, where he feels the velvet box sitting.
Waiting.
Waiting for his words.
Waiting for a moment of bravery.
“Miyabi.”
His plan falls apart at the seams as he takes the step forward, watching the other curiously stare at him as he digs his hand into his pocket. Fingers fumbling with the velvet box as he swallows a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
One look at the other was all it took to ruin it all.
His perfect words, his perfect plan. Gone within a second.
Leaving only a short distance between him and Miyabi, who still stared at him with curious eyes. Temma should be disappointed that he’s abandoning his own plans, but his heart is giddy with excitement, and his lips stretch into a wide smile.
“Do you…”
He pulls out the box from his pocket, a soft gasp from the person in front of him. Temma nods to himself, staring down at the object in his hand and brushing the top of it with his thumb, before returning his gaze to his beloved boyfriend. Miyabi’s mouth opened in a little ‘o’, eyes wide and sparkling as he stared back into Temma’s eyes.
Words. Words. Words.
“Do you want to get married?”
He never needed those perfect words.
Because Miyabi’s eyes welled up with tears that slowly trickled down his face, and he laughed gently, hiding his face in his hands. Temma can see his ears glow with a flush, chuckling at the embarrassed redhead and reaching out to poke him in the side.
Miyabi yelps, playfully bopping him in the chest with a fist.
“I’m having my moment, idiot.” Miyabi says, eyes red and face flushed. His nose was bright red as he sniffled. Temma couldn’t help but coo at how cute it was, watching Miyabi roll his eyes and shake his head. “Rude.”
“I’m waiting for an answer, Miyabi.”
Temma flips the top of the box open, revealing the tiny golden band hidden inside. Sunlight shining down on the little gem in the centre of it, making it sparkle. The sight makes Temma snicker; Really? He genuinely thought moonlight was better than sunlight?
Not like he can change anything now.
Miyabi laughs as he stares down at the ring, tears still slowly dripping down his face and hand covering his mouth. There’s a beat of silence, and in that silence Temma had realised his earlier nervousness had lost its presence the moment he had made the decision to abandon his plans.
And maybe it’s not the perfect he expected but…
“I hate you so much right now.”
Miyabi mutters, and for a second Temma’s heart sinks, his walls rising up to prepare himself for rejection. The redhead turns back to the counter, and Temma’s smile falls, his mind readying himself to walk away before this conversation could turn for the worst, but Miyabi reaches behind a potted plant.
Temma’s eyes widen at what he catches in the other’s hand, his heartbeat quickens in his chest. His eyes burn, slowly brimming with tears as the other presents the little box in his hands, flipping the lid open.
And Temma grins.
“I wanted to do it first.”
It was perfect.
(The velvet box is sat on the vanity table in their bedroom, the ring hidden inside gone. Another velvet box sat right next to it, and behind them, a picture frame taken by two lovers from years ago.
One day, they’ll move that picture frame to the other side of the table, and in its place, a
photo that’ll bring meaning to those two velvet boxes.
But for now, they’ll put their rings on each other’s fingers and wrap their arms around each other. Locking their lips together as they lose themselves in their shared moment of euphoria.)
“Do you wanna go on a picnic later?”
He takes Miyabi’s hand, pressing a soft kiss over the golden band on his fourth finger. Miyabi flushes at the gesture, nodding gently with a smile.
“Sure, where to?”
Miyabi reaches out for his hand, thumb rubbing over the golden band sitting on Temma’s fourth finger.
“I’ve got something planned for us” Temma chuckles, “Think of it as a little celebration before we announce the engagement.”
Maybe there was still room to fit in his perfect words.