Work Text:
“Medaka-kun... why do you wear contacts?”
The question feels oddly forward, somehow. Like, intimate. Something he's not sure if he has permission to ask about. Nikaidou was honestly too focused staring to help himself, to hold back, to not let the words bubble out of his mouth like too much toothpaste foam.
Medaka looks up from his textbook, the homework they should both be doing. He adjusts his glasses, thumb and middle finger pressing at the corners of the frames, easily spanning the width of the lenses. It makes Nikaidou's stomach feel a little fluttery.
Medaka seemingly changes his mind about looking at Nikaidou and glances off to the side a little. Thumbs at his jaw sheepishly.
“Ah. I just... don't think I look all that good in glasses.”
“You do,” Nikaidou says, too fast and louder than he wished it was.
Medaka is staring at him, eyes wide behind his spectacles, mouth a little open. He looks sort of apprehensive and giddy and confused all at the same time. "Huh?"
Nikaidou's courage rapidly wilts. There's a wibbly, warm feeling running down his throat and suddenly he really can't stand to look at Medaka, or know how Medaka is looking at him.
“You... look good... in your glasses. I think...”
It feels weird to say, given he thought Medaka was terrifying on their first meeting. He could probably chalk the change of heart up to his gratitude toward his shishou, or the fact that he knows now how unscary Medaka is.
But Medaka is just... really handsome. He looks good in anything, and the glasses aren't an exception. He wouldn't say Medaka looks better in his glasses than he does normally, but it's... different. Special. Softer, a little more vulnerable and muddled around the edges.
Medaka laughs, an airy little giggle. “You think?”
His face is growing hotter and crumpling into an angry frown. “I...! Yes,” he blusters. “You look good in my opinion!”
He couldn't describe it if asked, but somehow the way Medaka looks at him in that second hurts a little. Not in a bad way, just like rubbing your knuckles into a sore muscle.
It's blink and you miss it, gone faster than it came as he leans in closer. His shoulder relax, his chest opens up. He has the kind of grin on his face that usually precedes him doing something to get smacked.
“Do you just like glasses?” A little pause. Medaka cocks his head off to the side and rests his chin on his palm, leans his weight onto the elbow he has on the table. “Yours aren't prescription, right?”
Ah... so Medaka had noticed. “How could you tell?”
“Other than you taking them off when we're alone?”
Medaka reaches out his opposite hand, lightly taps his nail on the lens of Nikaidou's glasses. It makes him jump, despite readily seeing it coming. He sympathizes with a goldfish in a bowl.
“Usually they'd distort your face a little if they were prescription. Yours don't.” He smiles easily. “I can only tell 'cause I'm so close to you, though. Nobody else would notice.”
Huh. He supposes that's true. This close, he can see the way light bends through Medaka's glasses, the slight offset between his face and everything behind the lenses.
“How strong is your prescription...?”
Medaka exhales a laugh through his nose. “Not gonna ask to try them on?”
“Why would I? They'd probably give me a headache.”
“Ahh, that's fair, I guess.” He tugs off his glasses and sets them, lightly, on top of his textbook. “My prescription's preeeetty strong. Not crazy or anything, but you're still a little blurry this close.”
Even though they're hardly an arm's length apart at this point. “Are you sure you're not farsighted?”
Medaka scoots closer to him, drags himself up until their knees press together. “Pretty sure.” He leans in, just a touch. Close enough that Nikaidou can see the slightly different colors of his individual eyelashes. The heat of his body radiates off of him, feels like the fuzzy ghost of a touch. Medaka's breath is warm and smells like mint, and it is so impossible not to look at the softness of his mouth. Like trying not to think about a white elephant. Or a red elephant. What color is the elephant supposed to be? “You clear up a little when I get closer.”
Nikaidou swallows. “Oh.” He glances back toward his notebook, fingers fiddling with the pages. Maybe it looks casual. “Only a little...?”
“Mn. My eyes are bad enough I'd be going crosseyed by the time I was close enough you weren't blurry.”
Before Nikaidou has time to wonder exactly how close that'd be, the space between them widens again. Medaka doesn't bother moving away enough to break knee-to-knee contact. Simply scoots his textbook to the side until it's centered on him again.
Nikaidou is awfully overwarm at this point. He tucks his face into his hand and makes a valiant effort at seeming like he can focus on anything at all. Maybe his anxious-cold palm will cool his cheeks down.
“You really do look nice,” he mumbles into his skin.
Medaka laughs, light and warm, and Nikaidou wishes he hadn't turned away before he got the chance to see it. Their shoulders bump together, and Nikaidou doesn't even jolt at the contact. At least not very hard.
There's an annoying little smile in Medaka's voice, next he speaks. “Thank you. Should I wear them around for you more often, hentai-kun?”
Nikaidou elbows him in the ribs. Medaka falls backward, dramatically, with a pained choking sound.