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His stomach feels heavy with knots, his fingers itchy with nerves as he continues to play with the headband.
Takanobu had given it to him scant minutes before. His hands had been sweaty, Asahi had noticed idly as he’d taken the long box out of his boyfriend’s hands. Gladness rose in Asahi in the form of little goosebumps pricking up against his skin, seeing Taka as nervous as he was when it came to presents. It was as harmless seeming as the other presents Takanobu had ever gotten him, wrapped in simple brown paper with a thin, bright yellow bow.
"Should wear it tonight," he’d mumbled quietly, cheeks tinged pink as Asahi had flushed, thanked him and fumbled to open it. He'd agreed before he'd even had the bow undone.
It feels like ages ago and despite the nature of the gift, Asahi doesn't regret saying he would. Even if he's terrified to raise his dark eyes from his empty sink, eyes catching on the faded stains near the drain. He glances at the sports watch wrapped snug around his right wrist. But it’s only been five minutes since he’d left Takanobu to put his gift on, even with his hesitating stop-starts. They’re going to be late if he doesn’t get a move on though; their movie starts in less than an hour. He gulps, swallowing the golf ball lodged in his throat.
Despite being brand new it sits comfortably around his head, not too loose, nor too tight. He feels fairly silly, with how worried he is. Afterall, Asahi reasons with himself as his eyes rise a couple centimeters to fix on the taps in front of him, he’d had to look at it when he’d first opened the present. But he’s never seen himself with one on, not one like this. Not one that he’s secretly wanted to try for a long time now.
Asahi can’t help the way his cheeks turn bright pink at the thought of how he must look. Surely silly, a man at nearly 190cm, broad in the shoulders and solid in stature wearing such a delicate, floral thing. But he likes flowery things, he reasons, he likes how fragile blossom pins look, how nonthreatening and different each headband can be, and he is curious. He breathes deep, holding it in the hopes of gathering his courage. Because he'll be wearing this tonight and he needs to see how he looks. If it's as good or terrible as he imagines it.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he finally manages to look up towards the mirror.
The pressure behinds his lids hurts as he forces one to squint open. Then it's like someone tugged viciously at the blinds, because he's assaulted with the image it makes, how the headband stands out from his dark hair and they both snap open.
It’s... It’s so colourful. Decked out in yellow flowers (he doesn’t know which kind, doesn’t know where to start to find out) and thin, green leaves that are set in a braided, natural brown thread. It’s pretty, he realises again. Delicate. The opposite of him, with his neatly kept beard. Hardly threatening at all. It’s silly, Asahi thinks, as a shaky hand reaches up to stroke a small petal, how different he feels whilst wearing it. How it feels as though those that see him on the street might not run away from him when he's simply returning something they've dropped.
Asahi blinks, eyes raking up over his own shoulders, clumsily straightening the fall of his simple, black shirt, to his chin to his nose and higher still until he’s looking himself in the eye. Seeing himself for the first time. He flushes anew, cheeks burning hot as he takes in the image he makes, before he splutters into action. The headband’s crooked, too far too the right. Asahi hastens to straighten the headband, clumsily tugging and pulling until he decides taking it off and starting again would be a better bet than pulling any more of his hair out of his preferred bun. He nearly puts his fist through the mirror in his messy rush to get his brush, and apologises profusely for it as he tugs his hair loose. He brushes his hair again, slow strokes that help calm Asahi’s still jittery nerves as he feels warmth settle in his chest, like the comforting heat of a cat snuggling against you. He can’t help but smile as he puts his hair up and pulls the headband on, eyes practically glued to the mirror now that the initial shock is giving way to wonder and a giddy feeling of adoration and gratefulness.
Takanobu must have seen how his eyes had lingered whilst they were last out. They hadn’t gone inside but Asahi’s certain that this hairband was the one he’d been eyeing in the store by the movie theatre he’d taken them both to on their last date. The one he’d stood in front of whilst Takanobu had used a washroom in the restaurant beside it. He’d been embarrassed at the time, to be caught looking so intently at the myriad of colourful, floral headbands inside the shop window, all pink, purple, yellow, red... So many colours he's only ever dared to hope he could associate with himself in reality.
Asahi jumps, elbow knocking against the cabinet the mirror is set inside when a quiet knock on the door erupts inside the bathroom.
“It’s unlocked,” He squeaks, eyes wide as he hastily puts his hair brush away and nervously plays with the headband.
Asahi’s bathroom door is cut into the wall to the right of the mirror and cabinets, and opens into the bathroom. Takanobu’s eyes are on him as soon as it starts to open, even before he can step into the doorway. Asahi’s nerves pick up immediately, dancing around beneath his skin as Takanobu’s eyes widen and he simply stares.
“H-How does it look?” Asahi asks, eyes cast towards the floor, examining Takanobu’s socks as he fidgets under that unwavering gaze. It reminds Asahi of their second tournament together, when Takanobu had been ‘Aone’ and Karasuno had still been the ‘flightless crows’ and he'd been 'the target'.
Taka had never been much of a talker. Even several months into their relationship, Asahi finds it unnerving. Not the fact that he doesn’t talk, but in times like this when he needs to know what Takanobu is thinking, when he needs to know he doesn’t look completely stupid. Asahi wonders if he makes the image Takanobu had thought he’d make when he’d bought it, if this has been a disappointment, if he’s made it so.
“Cute.”
The word’s quiet but it hits Asahi like a well timed tackle to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and threatening to send him crashing to the floor as his knees suddenly feel shaky and weak. He squeezes his eyes shut, cheeks burning anew, hands falling so they’re half raised between them and reaching for Takanobu. They immediately grip at the neat, white shirt Takanobu’s wearing when he steps forward, the tiny touch of finger tip to silk urging Asahi forward, into Takanobu’s hands. They wrap around his hips, anchor him as he glances up at Taka, finding his cheeks as red as his own. He's frowning, but the lines of his face aren't anywhere near as harsh as they could be, softened by the affection he shows Asahi he feels for him.
Asahi can feel it and he's suddenly so very, very happy. He can’t help the brightness of his smile. Can’t help the way his shoulders sag with relief and the bubbly happiness rises in him as though he is a bottle of freshly corked champagne, bursting forth as a quiet laugh. Tears prick hot at the corners of Asahi's eyes, but that’s all they do, thankfully. Even as Taka cups his hand around the back of Asahi’s head and his thumb strokes along a streamline leaf.
Takanobu nods in understanding, the fingers still at his waist tightening briefly against Asahi, catching on the fabric of his shirt. Asahi laughs again, a little louder and longer, steps forward and rises to his toes, his nose knocking against Takanobu’s affectionately before he seals their lips together in a chaste kiss.
“Thank you.”