Summary: Tamamori is magic, and Miyata is a cactus.
AN: On Tlist this morning, Rosie linked a hilarious caption of an anime where a cactus writes his owner a love note ("I can't move but I can love, and I love you - Cactus-kun") and I about lost it. So then I wrote this, in which apparently Tamamori is magic but needs to practice more, and I imagine his mom is like in Bewitched where after she got married she was like haha, surprise!
Boys Over Cacti
“Mm, you’re so pretty,” Miyata murmurs against Tamamori’s cheek as they’re curled up in Tamamori’s bed, clinging to him tightly. “I love you~.”
“Shut up shut uuuup,” Tamamori groans, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing for it with his whole heart. He fakes a snore, making Miyata chuckle and say he loves Tamamori some more.
In the morning, Miyata is a cactus.
“I just wanted him to shut up!” Tamamori whines when he drags his mother into his room to show her the problem.
“Yuta, this wouldn’t happen if you could control your powers,” his mother scolds, unsympathetic. “At your age! It’s because you won’t practice, you know.”
“Feh,” Tamamori says, cheek squished against his arm down on his desktop. Practice is hard and boring and when he scorches his eyebrows off, the stylists yell at him. He pokes at one of Miyata’s waxy leaves, and Miyata seems happy for the attention. “Just fix it.”
“You know I can’t,” his mother reminds, snapping her fingers to make her phone fly into her hand from the other room as if just to taunt Tamamori with her own control. “You did it, you have to undo it.”
While she’s explaining the situation to Miyata’s mother on the phone, Tamamori just pokes at Miyata some more. “Turn back,” he mutters. “Hurry up, Kitamitsu and Gaya are gonna yell at me.”
Nothing happens. Miyata seems like a perfectly happy cactus.
“Yes, I think telling them a couple days would be best.” Tamamori-san covers the phone with a hand and hisses at Tamamori to get a move on. “You’ll be late! And put Miyata-kun in the windowsill so he gets plenty of sun.”
“Be a person when I get home, or I’m going to lock you in the closet,” Tamamori threatens as he obeys his mother’s orders.
Miyata doesn’t look threatened.
By the time he gets to work, the others have been told by Manager-san that Miyata will be out sick for a few days, the flu that’s going around.
“Can’t be that bad if you’re still alive,” Nikaido comments, eyeing Tamamori, and Yokoo whacks the back of his head. Assured their M will be fine in a few days, the others go about practice willingly, even if they have to get their own water and pick up their own towels today.
A few days is probably right, Tamamori tries to reassure himself.
When he gets home, Miyata is in exactly the same spot as Tamamori left him, except that some of Tamamori’s manga volumes have been reordered.
“Figures,” Tamamori snorts. He sets Miyata on his bedside table so that they can watch television together. For once he can even hear all the dialogue because Miyata doesn’t keep interrupting to say mushy stuff.
But after a while, Tamamori realizes his throat is drying out from doing all the talking himself, and he has to get his own glass of water. He eyes Miyata like it’s all his fault as he drains most of the glass, then pours the last of it into Miyata’s pot.
Miyata grins as wide as a cactus can possibly grin, and Tamamori grumbles that he’s going to get totally spoiled.
Despite the long day, Tamamori stares into the dark a long while before he falls asleep, not warm enough no matter how tightly he wraps himself up in his blankets. He scowls when he realizes that this way Miyata gets to watch him creepily all night long.
The next day they’re supposed to go shopping together, but clearly that’s out. Tamamori’s mother sends him out to get some errands done instead, insisting that sitting around moping won’t help him fix it faster.
“Maybe he doesn’t need fixed,” Tamamori grumbles as his mother shoves him out the door.
“Keep talking like that,” his mother warns, eyeing him sternly, “and you’ll be doing symmetry with a cactus at Dome.”
When he gets home, Tamamori spends an hour sitting in front of Miyata, willing him to go back to normal, but to no avail. When he opens his eyes, Miyata is still a cactus, although he seems apologetic about it.
“Come on, please?” Tamamori asks. “I don’t want you to be a vegetable, okay?” But those are apparently not the magic words, and neither are “abrakadabra” or “open sesame” or “teru teru bozu.”
“Try singing anime themes instead,” Tamamori’s brother suggests as he wanders by the open door, and Tamamori turns around to glare at him fiercely.
Work the next day seems to last forever and ever. It’s dance and skate practice all day, exhausting under even normal circumstances, but without Miyata there it seems fifty times worse. There’s no one to get yelled at with, no one to whisper that he’ll get it when he does get yelled at, no one to rub Tamamori’s bruised knees with strong, warm hands when he spills to the ground for the hundredth time. Senga stays with Tamamori during breaks to help him practice, and Yokoo brings them water and tea, but it’s not the same.
The combination of loneliness and frustration make his chest ache worse than the bruises, but Tamamori’s not a tiny junior who cries at practices anymore. He’s an adult, who can make it into his shower stall at least before he starts sniffling.
By the time he’s the whole way home, he can barely drag himself up to his room, ignoring his mother’s called questions about dinner. In the middle of his desk, Miyata has sprouted a single, bright yellow flower right on top. He looks exhausted too, like it took him all his effort for the day to produce that just for Tamamori.
“You,” Tamamori growls, sore and lonely and cold and all he wants is his best friend back already. “You’re fifty times more annoying as a cactus, so just quit it already!” Tamamori squeezes his eyes shut and wishes as hard as he can, hands clenching into fists. “Please just be Miyacchi again, please.”
Miyata is still a cactus when he opens his eyes. Blinking away another wave of frustrated tears, Tamamori crawls into bed and yanks the covers over his head.
In the morning, Miyata is curled up against his chest, naked and so warm, one rather crushed but still bright yellow flower stuck in his hair behind his ear.
“Morning, Tama-chan,” Miyata whispers, and then Tamamori hugs him so fiercely that he squeaks.
“Thank goodness!” he mutters, running hands over Miyata’s back as if checking to see he’s all there still. “Don’t do that again!”
“I won’t,” Miyata promises, and because he loves Tamamori does not point out that the entire situation was 100% Tamamori’s fault. “Mm, the break was nice but how am I supposed to hold you without any arms? Not to mention hands and lips and--”
“I get it, quit it already!” Tamamori interrupts. “Just shut up and let’s go back to sleep, I’m still exhausted.”
“Whatever you want.” Miyata kisses Tamamori’s forehead. “I really love you, you know. I went a whole three days without saying it, so now I have to make up for it. I love you~.”
“Shut up or I’ll lock you in the closet,” Tamamori threatens, already half asleep and lulled the rest of the way there right after by Miyata’s heartbeat against his ear.
ETA: Illustrated by my favorite En right here. En, thank you so much omg ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
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