Work Text:
On your birthday, Ushijima gives you a basil plant.
You blink down at the plastic pot in your hands, fingers feeling the cool slickness of the roots hanging out from the bottom. Ushijima waits expectantly in the doorway of your home, eyes scrutinizing every flinch of your expression to try and judge your reaction.
“It’s basil.” He repeats the words he stated moments ago, being the only words he’s given you to work with in the six-- no, seven minutes he’s been outside your house.
“I can see that.” You respond, staring down at the small, shiny leaves peering up at you from where they were cozily nestled between soft, lightly damp soil. “It smells nice.”
“Yes,” he agrees, “I like the smell of basil.” No more words are exchanged between the two of you, and you’re instead left staring down at the plant with Ushijima’s watchful eyes continuing to analyze you.
“It’s your birthday gift,” he tells you, with a cock of his head and a slight furrow in his brow. “Did you forget about your birthday.”
“Uh, no. I… I didn’t!” Yes, you did. You absolutely did. The delivery of a gift in the middle of a Saturday made a bit more sense. The gift itself, however, did not. But you supposed Ushijima was a bit inexperienced in the art of giving friends gifts so you didn’t really mind it too much in the moment.
Ushijima lets out a huff--almost inaudible, but you caught it just in time to view the sight of him averting his eyes with a tint of red at his ears. “Yes, you did. I thought you would remember. Last week you mentioned that you wanted to spend time together.”
Oh. You did. You stand, mouth parted slightly in the sudden realization of your past promise. You’re dressed in baggy pajamas--plaid pants that reach past the soles of your feet and an XX-L t-shirt that you’re sure belongs to either your dad or Ushijima.
“I’ll get dressed,” you blush at your chaotic state of dress and back away from the door to let Ushijima inside, “and then we can head out.” You pause, and then, “I’m really sorry for forgetting, Ushi. I was just tired from this week and it slipped my mind. You can pick wherever we go, to make up for it.”
Despite your words, the furrow in Ushijima’s brows doesn’t dissipate. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t upset me. I was just worried that you were going to spend your birthday alone.”
Oh. You freeze, then smile. Always the considerate friend, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it. You approach where he sits on the couch, run a hand through his hair, and press a kiss to his forehead that sends a blush down his neck that you don’t quite catch. “You’re so cute, Ushi. I’ll be down in five minutes.”
---
Three days later, Ushijima gives you a basket of tomatoes.
You think it’s a bit funny. First basil, now tomatoes. His unorthodox gifts bring a smile to your face, and you find him mirroring a similar expression in the cold of the night outside your house.
“These look great,” you tell him, digging around in the crate and examining each plump tomato individually. The skin was shiny and taut, a healthy bright red reflecting the light in a glossy highlight. “You’re really great with plants, Ushi.”
He hums in acknowledgement of your compliment, eyes drifting to the concrete of your front door steps.
You snap out of your distant haze, looking back up to the boy in your doorway. You set the crate down on the coffee table of your living room, calling out to Ushijima as you move frantically around the room.
“You should get going, Ushijima. You’re drenched in sweat and it’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick. Here,” you extend a hand to him, one of his sweaters in its grasp--Ushi had given it to you the day of your birthday when you were both walking home in the cold.
He blinks down at the article of clothing and you wait curiously. “Keep it.” Your brows furrow, and he elaborates. “I’ll be fine. I don’t get sick easily. And I want you to keep that in case you ever get cold.”
Oh, Ushijima. You joke to yourself that you’ll fall for him at this rate, then silence your mind at the realization that that’s the reality you’re living in at this point.
You wrap a hand around the nap of his neck and pull him down, lips firmly pressing against the middle of his forehead. You notice the flush of pink on his skin this time, and find the color pretty on his flesh.
“Thank you, Ushi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives you a smile, one of his subtle ones that are just a
---
Over the next few weeks, you accumulate a healthy gathering of fresh fruits and vegetables in your fridge. Your parents are overwhelmed at the fresh produce and start half-jokingly questioning if you have a sugar daddy who only pays in homegrown plants. You say no, obviously, but the fiddling of your fingers make them exchange a knowing look and teasing smile.
Ushijima brought you a lot of things--parsley, lemons, beets that you’re not sure what to do with. Your most recent favorite was a bunch of zucchini that you ended up spiralizing and serving with sauce (which is, of course, made from the tomatoes he consistently keeps giving you). You were proud enough of that dish to send a picture to him, to which he responded with a simple :). You found it funny how a simple emoticon was enough to make you swoon.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, you eyed the tupperware container that held Ushijima’s most recent gift--a generous amount of plump, ripe strawberries. They were certainly smaller than the ones you’d normally buy at the grocery store, but he brought such a large amount it made you worry and ask if he was giving you his entire garden’s worth of plants every time he gave you something.
(“I don’t want your mom getting mad if you’re wasting everything in your garden on me.” You chastised him as you looked into the basket of the day, which contained a few tomatoes, a healthy pile of mint, and a small watermelon that you were sure took months to grow and therefore should not be gifted to you so casually.
Ushijima’s lips were downturned when you looked up at him. He shuffled one of his feet along the ground as he avoided your chastising gaze.
“It’s not wasting,” he muttered. “I want to give these to you. If you don't want them anymore, then just tell me.”
You couldn’t help the melting of your expression into one of adoration and softness. You reached a hand up habitually, running your fingers through his hair and averting his gaze back to you.
“I do, Ushi. I just want to make sure I’m not stealing everything in your garden, you know?”
He smiles. You hear distant harps playing in the background. “I know. But I have plenty leftover. And even if I didn’t, I’m giving them to you. So I’m happy either way.”
There he goes again, crawling right into your heart so casually. Ah, you loved this boy.)
The strawberries. Right. Ushijima’s birthday was coming up. You had too many boxes of puff pastry in your freezer. Time to get to work.
---
At Ushijima’s request, you visit his house the day of his birthday. It’s a Sunday, and you make the walk to his house with a cute cardboard box in hand, pink ribbon securing it tightly and strawberry danishes packed inside.
He opens the door for you, leads you inside, and you both end up on his bed, the box of pastries open and in front of you as you take turns ripping apart each danish to share between the both of you.
Ushijima hums as he chews, teeth biting into and pulling apart the layers of puff pastry and tongue catching the jam that threatens to spill over the edge of the dough. You watch the movement of his lips and tongue intently, with a vehemence that you should not be watching the movement of his lips and tongue with. He catches your stare but for some reason you can’t be bothered to look away in embarrassment.
“It’s good,” he comments. “Very good.”
You hum back, adjusting your position against the headboard of his bed. “I’d hope so. I didn’t work on these all morning for nothing.”
For some reason, that particularly catches Ushijima’s attention. He furrows his brow at you, an expression you see a lot lately. “You worked on these all morning?”
You’re confused by the question. “...yeah? I wanted to make sure they were good. So I took my time with it.”
He exhales deeply through his nose, finishing another bite and swallowing before he elaborates.
“You didn’t have to do so much, just for my birthday. Just coming over would be enough for me.”
Once again, your stomach is sent into a flurry of emotions but you ignore that momentarily to scoff at his first sentence.
“Ushi, you gave me a whole basil plant for my birthday-- and you keep giving me all your herbs and vegetables and stuff. I barely did anything for your birthday compared to your birthday, don’t give me that.”
A frown is evident in your features and you can’t help but replicate the expression. You don’t understand why he’s so insistent on this concept--you genuinely didn’t do much compared to all the random plants he’s gifted you over the last month.
“I don’t think you’re… understanding.” You almost huff at that, but are cut off by his next words. “You being here is enough for me. Enough of a gift.”
You pause. There’s something hidden in his words and you have a feeling you know what he means but you’re too nervous to do so yourself. Thankfully, he turns to you, eyes boring into yours despite the softness that comes with them.
There’s a smear of strawberry jam on his lip that you didn’t catch before. “Can I kiss you?” The words should’ve sent you in a flustered frenzy but you sit calmly and nod with a soft, “yes, please.”
He leans in. Your lips meet his. He tastes like the strawberries from his garden.