#azamuku is muku for short

[otomates-a]

@astracola sent ,          ❝   ———   i kno azamuku was in the big ask but now im in my emotions and i'm genuinely curious as to how you'll write it PLEASE azamuku :weh:

               He’s been biting his tongue, both figuratively and literally, for quite a while now. He’s not sure how obvious it is how dedicated he’d become to avoiding making eye contact with the boy sitting before him for the past hour or so, but he hopes it can be masked as intense concentration as he works on the final touches for his makeup. It’s not as if he’d ever been the talkative type to begin with, but  ...  there’s a stark different with him when it comes to being silent and feeling bashful. It’s just that few can tell the difference. Not that his frustration is entirely washed away by those feelings. Getting fake eyelashes onto Muku had proven the most difficult part of this process since he’d been cast for this role : he blinked too much and got fidgety when he got too close to his eyes, but  ...  if anything, it gave him an excuse to examine him when they were this close to one-another. Without being put under scrutiny for it, anyways.

               He really doesn’t want to get distracted by his own thoughts, but as he works between eyelash glue and a barely willing participant to get the first set of lashes on, he can’t help taking a moment to pause and look over the features of the boy  ...  or, well, his boyfriend, he supposes. Yuki’s handiwork with the costumes was on point as always, but  ...  he tries to ignore the heat rising in his face, taking in a breath before moving forward, afraid Muku would notice his pause and ruin his work by opening his eyes.

               Like clockwork, he hears a quiet whine of disapproval as he finally manages to get the second set of lashes to lay finely along his eye. He lets out a sigh of his own, silently making it known that if he ruins them again, he’s going to throw a fit. Or at least as much of one as someone like him is willing. That seems to work, at least, because the only remnants of his pout when he opens his eyes and looks up at him again is the frown he has on his lips. Sakisaka has always been dedicated to his craft, it’s not as if he’s surprised he wouldn’t actually put up a fight, but... Azami freezes when he sees his face all the same, setting his jaw at the rush of butterflies that rush through his chest. Jesus, he’s beautiful.

               “  ...  it’s not that bad,”  he murmurs, his voice nothing short of choked out from him. If his expression, for what little it was, didn’t give away that he was flustered, that sure did. Absently, he raises a finger to thumb at his nose, hoping to whatever’s out there that his cheeks aren’t actually pink, but judging by the somewhat hopeful gaze he’s met with, he’s almost certain his thoughts are on  ...  full display. Pressing his lips together, he clears his throat and trips over himself as he moves to grab the hair extension resting beside his makeup station. He’s never been so glad to step behind a person in his life, although they can still see each other by looking into the mirror. He avoids this problem by not doing that.

               “You  ...  make a good princess.”  His voice is still quiet as he starts working with his hair, hopeful he can’t feel his fingers shaking. Not that his voice isn’t.  “Maybe you don’t want to hear that.”  He’s always going on about being prince-like. Not that he’d ever say it aloud without combusting, but he doesn’t really think Muku has many limits in that area. He’s never met someone so close to being out of a fairytale in his life. In the back of his mind, he knows even Sakyo would tease him for believing as much about someone.  “But you...”  His voice trails off, hands stilling with the extensions only half braided in. He stares down at them, where his hair meets the fake braid and he feels his confidence collapsing in on itself.  “You’re pretty, Muku.”

               He’s already inwardly kicking himself. Maybe he should’ve said handsome or ethereal or  --  it doesn’t really matter now, right? He dares a glance up at the mirror and when he sees him staring back he starts to tense. Before he can say anything, Muku’s hand reaches up behind him and loops around his neck, pulling him forward so that he’s leaning over him from behind the seat. It’s a bit awkward, until he feels the other boy’s lips press against his nose. Every part of his body goes rigid, with him jerking himself away so quickly that he completely forgets about the extensions in hand.

               “Wh----wh--!!”  His entire face feels like it’s on fire when he catches himself from tumbling backwards entirely, just barely managing to regain his balance. Muku is already facing him turned awkwardly in the chair, fighting against Yuki’s lavish dress and his unfinished hair styling to clasp his hands together and apologize profusely, but even still there’s an air of confidence there that hadn’t always been there before. He’s not sorry at all! Azami keeps opening and closing his mouth, trying and failing miserably to find something to say, but instead halfhearted, humiliating noises are all that comes out of his mouth. He’s not sure how long it stays like that, with Muku fighting between apologies and soft laughter while he attempts to find some form of competence, but it is quite a while.

               “Le-...”  Azami’s eyes tear up a bit : it’s made perfectly clear by his expression that he’s not upset, but he is embarrassed.  “Lewd!! That’s inappropriate!!”  With his voice humiliatingly higher than normal, he storms forward and rests his hands on Muku’s shoulders, forcing him to sit forward once more so that he can hastily finish working on his extensions. Let him out of here!! Let him out!!  “Y-you can’t just steal...”  He finishes his work, although it’s certainly not his best, and steps back. For a moment, he glances up and sees that the boy in question seems to have become genuinely concerned, though. Maybe he is too reactive... Reaching a hand up to clutch against his chest, trying to remain oblivious to the fast beating of his own heart, he glances to the side, shyly.  “S-sorry,”  he manages, his voice cracking.  “I’m just embarrassed.”  That, at least  ...  seems to get him a fond smile in return.