It was never about what he wanted, and that knowledge was what freed him to do as he wanted.
It was about clumsy words spoken with frost-tinged breath in winter. It was about warm wood beneath the bare soles of his feet as embarrassed laughter fell around his ears; it was about the drop of a shoulder and a secret murmured in his ear before teeth gently caught the lobe and tugged.
He did not understand Ohtori, and after a long while, he decided that he did not need or want to. Ohtori was Ohtori, and that was all that was important; it didn't matter why someone was the way they were, and he tolerated the attempts made to understand him the same way he tolerated chopsticks sneaking into his lunch and stealing his favorite foods. He didn't need to understand a gentle smile or teasing chuckle; he didn't need to understand too-gentle fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes.
It was about the way eyes dropped to the side and cheeks colored at good-natured teasing; it was about the uncontrollable laughter that had rocked a sturdy frame when his Christmas present was opened, and his incomprehension of Ohtori's amusement until the same packaging was revealed beneath the torn patterned paper under his own fingers. It was about an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt on a hot summer day.
"Do you ever," Hiyoshi murmured, and he felt the weight upon his stomach shift and move, and a smile was half-revealed by his shirt, almost halting his question before it could meet the air. "Do you ever miss him?"
The smile did not falter as Ohtori's head lifted from its pillow; fingers pulled at the hem of Hiyoshi's shirt, yanked it up to his waist, and he was given no warning before Ohtori's lips met his bare skin, and the other boy answered his question with a rude-sounding raspberry that startled him, made half-closed eyes fly open.
"What sort of question is that?" Ohtori asked, eyes intent, quiet demand tinting his voice as he pulled away and leaned up so that he could look into Hiyoshi's face. He did not know what Ohtori found there, but the answer must have satisfied him; a clumsy kiss landed on the side of his mouth.
It was about fingers sliding into his and holding tightly as he searched for his student number in the entrance exam results displayed on a courtyard wall. It was about a jacket slid around his shoulders to ward off an unexpected autumn chill. It was about the cool touch of glinting silver brushing against his collarbone.
He opened his mouth, and his breath was stripped away; he swallowed, and tried to speak again, but only hollow air escaped his throat; a thumb brushed across his lower lip. Undeterred, he bit at the digit that blocked his attempt to continue, until his nose was pinched and twisted by gentle fingertips.
"I have never wanted anyone the way I want you," Ohtori murmured, and Hiyoshi didn't need to understand.
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