zukkokya: (rainbow married)
[personal profile] zukkokya
Title: Glanced Over
Fandom: JE - Tackey & Tsubasa
Pairing/characters: Takki/Tsubasa
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,300~
Disclaimer: Total fiction.
Summary: Six observers.
Note: Written for [livejournal.com profile] fuyukoi. ♥ Feel better, asparagus.

She sees Takki in sunglasses, a knit cap, and a dark denim jacket in Narita at 13:33 on a Thursday afternoon. She abandons her lunch to follow him – just to see which terminal he's going to – but she loses sight of him in the crowd. She turns around, disheartened, and almost runs headlong into Tsubasa. He sidesteps her easily, his eyes barely flitting across her face, and hurries to join the line of people shuffling down the moving sidewalk. She stares after him for a second and then runs back to the cafe where a clerk is hovering over her abandoned meal, phone, and luggage with a look of distress.



With three glasses of champagne pushing the capacity of her bladder, she slips her book, three-quarters finished, into the seatback pocket in front of her and lets her tired eyes roam the cabin. Both business class bathrooms have their occupied lights on, so she shifts back into her seat in an attempt to alleviate the sharp pressure on her bladder. The cabin is dark and most of the passengers in business class are sleeping, yet the bathrooms have been popular destination spots ever since take-off. She cranes her neck to watch the bathroom on her side of the plane and when the door does open, she's already unbuckling her seatbelt and pushing out of her seat, bladder pinched and eyeballs drowning.

It's not until she accidentally shoulder-checks the man walking back to his seat and hears him apologize that she recognizes him as Imai Tsubasa and quickly hurries on into the bathroom. Once she's finished and is heading back to her own seat, she makes a cursory study of the other business class passengers. She sees Tsubasa first, curled up against his window on the far side of the plane next to a foreign man in a suit, and then Takki, sitting in the row behind hers next to her pop music-loathing coworker. She sits down, puts her seat back, and marinates in jealousy for the next four hours.



He doesn't expect to hear Spanish, however heavily accented, come out of the young Japanese guy on the curb, so he lets him and his friend into his cab with a surprised chuckle. He asks the Japanese guy to repeat where he wants to go and, upon hearing the name more clearly, realizes that the destination is way out of his normal jurisdiction. He debates telling them he can't do the drive, but then he figures it'll be worth it to talk to this guy. He's driven Japanese tourists before but most of them can only force out "hello" or "thank you." This guy is impressive, though – he's got some unusual pronunciation quirks but he's surprisingly confident.

His friend, on the other hand, doesn't say a word for the first half of the drive. He twists the wedding ring on his finger and stares out the window. During the second half of the drive, though, he looks over at the chatty one and whispers something in Japanese that must be hilarious, judging from his friend's reaction.

He lets the two of them out at the train station, accepting a hefty tip from the quiet one with a grateful nod.



She's not into Asian guys as a rule, but the one that just walked into her cafe is an easy exception. He's got a sharp jawline and blond-dyed hair that miraculously doesn't look ridiculous on him and he's – married. Of course. From the kitchen she eyes the ring on his hand with the kind of disdain a parent might reserve for a petulant child. He's got a friend with him, too – dark hair, more typically Asian-looking – who speaks decent Spanish for a tourist. The Exception doesn't say much to her while she takes their order from his friend, but as soon as she's on her way back to the kitchen, she hears the two of them start talking at once in rapid-fire...something.

Her coworker says they're Chinese, but she hears them mention Tokyo as she's bussing the table next to theirs. She tells her coworker he's an idiot on her way to the sink and doesn't bother elaborating. The probably-Japanese guys stay long enough that she starts to wonder what their deal is; this is a tiny cafe in a rural town, after all, not Barcelona or Madrid where the tourists usually stay. Both of them are wearing expensive clothes and have tucked designer luggage under their table and the Exception keeps playing with his ring, so it's probably new, and the design is surprisingly elaborate for a man's wedding ring. It's on her fourth pass by their table that she takes a look at his friend. He isn't wearing a ring, she notices, at least not on his finger. Instead, he's got one on a silver chain around his neck, and it's a match of the one on the Exception's finger.

Right.



She stands up from her chair as soon as she sees the rental car Tsubasa described over the phone. Clouds of dust rise up around the car as it navigates the narrow dirt road leading up to her office. She picks up the master key ring from her desk and walks outside to greet them. Tsubasa's as cheerful as ever, and his Spanish seems to have taken another leap in improvement since the last time he visited, and while his partner doesn't speak Spanish beyond a few basic phrases, he seems polite and friendly enough, if a bit strange. Even after five minutes of talking to them both, she still hasn't discovered why he's wearing long sleeves in August, both of them pulled over his hands as if he's cold. She finally comments on it to Tsubasa, but he just glances at his partner's sleeves and grins like it's some kind of clever joke between them.

She pats him on the arm, marvels aloud at the bit of lean muscle he's gained, and she hands him the key to her most remote villa. She tells them to come by her house in a few days for the family's annual summer barbeque, and Tsubasa promises her that they'll be there. As he heads back to their car with his partner half a step behind him, she decides she'll drive up to the place tonight and leave them a bottle of wine by the door.



They eat dinner outside on the stairs with the night sky and some stray fireflies as their entertainment. Tsubasa finishes first and sets his plate on the step above theirs. He used too much olive oil, but Hide doesn't seem to have noticed, so he doesn't mention it. He rolls his shoulders until the tension from the flight eases a bit and then reaches one hand around Hide's waist and into the far pocket of Hide's jeans, his fingers curling and pressing into the warmth of Hide's thigh.

Since there are no clocks in the villa and Tsubasa put all of their electronics into a safe as soon as they arrived, they go to bed when the exhaustion from traveling feels like it's sinking in bone-deep. The villa's not difficult to navigate, since it only has one bedroom with one king-size bed; Tsubasa remembers confirming that (as well as the number of guests) over the phone with his heart pounding in his throat.

When Tsubasa closes his eyes to sleep, Hide thanks him, his mouth pressed against Tsubasa's forehead. It's a strange thing to say since this vacation – this honeymoon, really – is for both of them, but Tsubasa responds with a drowsy smile. He spreads Hide's fingers between his own and holds their hands on the pillow between them. Hide's embarrassed by it, Tsubasa can tell, but since that was kind of the goal in the first place, Tsubasa considers it a victory and drifts off to sleep, lips pressed against Hide's ring.
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