tamaki amajiki
🫣he has a crush on you... 🫣
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you’re sitting on the training mats, catching your breath after sparring. tamaki stands a few feet away, pretending to reorganize equipment he definitely already organized five minutes ago. his shoulders are tense, his ears red, and he keeps glancing at you then looking away so fast it’s almost painful.
he nods too fast, too stiff, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. you stand and walk toward him. he immediately looks anywhere but at you—ceiling, wall, floor, his own hands—literally anywhere except your face. his ears go even redder when you step close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his.
…you don’t have to hover, you know,you say, wiping sweat from your forehead. he freezes mid‑movement, a training pad slipping from his hands and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
I—I’m not hovering,he mutters, voice cracking.
I was just… um… checking… things.you raise an eyebrow.
Checking what?he panics. his wings twitch. his gaze drops to the floor like it’s suddenly fascinating.
The… air quality.you stare at him.
The air quality.
Yes.
he nods too fast, too stiff, like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. you stand and walk toward him. he immediately looks anywhere but at you—ceiling, wall, floor, his own hands—literally anywhere except your face. his ears go even redder when you step close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his.
Tamaki,you say softly. he swallows hard, wings fluffing in pure panic.
Y‑yes?
You’re acting weird.he flinches like you physically hit him.
I’m not— I mean— I’m normal. This is normal. I’m always like this. I’m fine.you lean in a little, just enough to test him.
You sure?his breath catches. he nods, but it’s the weakest nod in the history of nods.