Work Text:
“Pinch there and strum,” Mao’s fingertips dragged over the back of Yuzuru’s hand, resting instead in the crook of his elbow.
Following his instructions was quite simple, but Yuzuru had half the mind to mess up the chord so Mao would assist him again. It was a foolish idea but one nonetheless, and he found his nail catching deliberately against the D string. Down his forearm skittered Mao’s right hand, catching his wrist and gently tugging it away from the soundhole. Mao’s left hand, previously rested on the floor next to Yuzuru’s leg, patted his thigh encouragingly in spite of the intentional mistake. The offending chord ended as soon as he released the strings, but Mao’s hand remained where it was. In fact, his thumb even brushed over Yuzuru’s pulse point in an attempt to assure him that all was well. Yuzuru hoped only that the hop of his heart rate was undetectable by anyone else. With how loudly it was beating in his ears, however, he had no doubt that the entire classroom could hear it.
“Almost! You had the frets mostly right.” Yuzuru could hear the smile in Mao’s voice, feel it in the squeeze of fingers around his wrist, “Do you want me to show you again?”
With a nod of his head, Yuzuru was handing over the guitar and turning around to watch Mao position his fingers against the frets. Strands of hair that’d escaped from his hair clip obscured the sides of his face when he peered down to check his finger placement. When he finally strummed out a clean and unhindered D chord, his eyes were fixed on Yuzuru’s expression. Green like pond moss and framed by cattail eyelashes, they captured the midday light like it was nothing. Very suddenly, Yuzuru’s ineptitude in the world of painting felt like a much more severe hindrance to his artistic eye. Oh, if only he had the skills needed to create a baroque masterpiece out of the sight before him.
“How was that?” Mao’s voice broke his focus, and he was forced to cease his active imagining of the many oil paintings an artist with higher skills than his could create.
“Beautiful.” Yuzuru found only the one word, unable to prevent a smile of his own. The strawberry pink blush that colored Mao’s face only made the show of emotion all the more worthwhile.
“Do you want to try again?” Despite his question, Mao was absentmindedly strumming, tapping his foot to a rhythm only he was hearing.
“I can try again.” Yuzuru took back the guitar when it was offered, turning to face away from Mao again and smiling to himself when he felt hands on his arms.
This time, however, Mao had moved his entire body closer, nose pressing into Yuzuru’s shoulder blade and knees bracketing his sides. His hands now felt much less guiding and much more affectionate, making no effort to help Yuzuru do anything. They were merely weight on his wrists and warmth on his skin. It was a pleasant sort of needless touch, friendly and generous. Never in his life had Yuzuru enjoyed superfluous touch so dearly, not even when his young master praised him for a job well done. Mao hadn’t teased him for his mistake, nor had he taken it as a flaw on either of their parts, so Yuzuru was lost on what came next. A D chord came next, he supposed, and did as Mao instructed, playing a proper D chord with little stress on either of their parts.
“That was great!” Mao’s voice was close by his ear, sounding impressed despite the feat in question being only a simple chord, “You’re a quick learner.”
When Yuzuru looked over his shoulder, he found they were still in close proximity; they were so close, in fact, that he could see the beginning of Mao’s roots. Against the yellow of his hair clip and vibrance of his hair, they were dull. Yuzuru committed them to memory, though, and moved away from Mao so he could turn back around to face him. Mao smiled at him again as he reached behind himself to slide his guitar case closer, glancing at the clock twice in the span of time it took to get it where he needed it to be. Yuzuru hadn't even considered how long they'd been sitting on the floor.
The bell rang while Mao was putting his guitar away, and their classmates hit the door like they’d die if left in the room any longer. It left just the three of them: Mao, his guitar, and Yuzuru. They packed up in silence, bumping elbows every now and then. Before leaving, Mao stopped in his tracks and set down both his school bag and guitar case. The behavior was strange, and Yuzuru was hesitant to move at all, only diminished further when Mao began drawing closer to him. He didn’t believe there was any malicious intent, but it was wise to always stay wary.
When Mao was at his side, he made the grave mistake of turning his head to ask what he was doing. Their lips met awkwardly, and Mao froze like an ice sculpture, eyes wide open and hands curled into fists. Yuzuru’s first thought was to move away, and his second thought was to apologize, however his body didn’t cooperate fast enough. In an effort to save the situation, Mao moved away, then hesitantly went back in for a second, much more organized and intentional peck on the lips. His face was hot to the touch, eyes still wide like a deer caught in the road, and he skittered away in the same fashion. Once he was at an arm’s length again, he explained himself.
“I was just trying to get your cheek, for, uh, for luck,” Mao was visibly flushed pink again, like a blushing bride on her wedding day, “With Himemiya, I mean. He was spitting at the meeting this morning.”
“I’m sorry, that was so stupid,” Picking up his things, Mao rushed for the door again, “I’m sorry!”
“Isara-sama,” Yuzuru hesitated, then took a few steps as well, “Thank you. I am grateful for your well wishes.”
While Mao said no more, tension seemed to fall from his shoulders at the words, and when he left the room, it looked significantly less like running away. Yuzuru was content with the outcome.