LOG: Zaizen & Kirihara

[knuckling]

Who: Kirihara Akaya & Zaizen Hikaru
What: After six-plus weeks of cuddle nights, all those fluffy feelings are finally not ignored. Though, well... they still don't really talk about it, exactly. The first half of a very ridiculously long log - this is technically the important part.
When: Night of Monday the 14th and the following morning.
Where: Akaya's place.
Rating: PG?




Thursday nights had somehow become... a thing.

Their "accuracy experiment" had gone from one trial to two and then to several, until waking up for early training well-rested in a tangle of limbs with Zaizen had become routine. It was nice, and progressively less embarrassing, although Zaizen did seem to occasionally revel in finding new ways to extract odd combinations of emotions from him.

Tonight was not Thursday night.

But Zaizen was apparently coming over anyway, if his short, late message was any indication. Which was definitely fine even if it was already late - routine could be kept even with bonus days sometimes scattered about. Akaya checked his bed, made it, and waited with the latch unlocked when he got word that his friend had arrived.

"Hey...?" He greeted tentatively, expression one of mild concern.

“Hey,” Zaizen answered, looking more like a fluffy cat that had somehow survived an attempt at drowning. His dress clothes from the restaurant hung sodden and heavy on his frame and his features, right down to his wet eyelashes, advertised that he was very much done with society.

Akaya didn’t count.

“Someone took my umbrella,” he explained flatly. “Using your shower.”

Zaizen's wet cat appearance brought a wry twist of amusement to Akaya’s mouth, mixing with the genuine worry on his face. He stepped aside to let him in, half-ushering him to the shower already. “You look terrible. That sucks,” he said, not meaning anything rude by it in this context. “Yeah, go. I’ll make tea or something?”

Then a pause near the bathroom door. “Give me your jacket, you're getting water everywhere.” Not that taking the jacket would change that, but what the request secretly meant was ‘I'll put it in the laundry so it can be at least out of the way’.

Zaizen’s dampened glare was about as effective as his equally damp jacket: not very. Nonetheless, he obligingly handed his jacket to Akaya. To avoid making an even bigger mess, he took off his socks with his shoes and rolled up his pants.

“Tea. Yes,” he agreed, not needing much prompting into the bathroom and the welcome, warm spray of the shower.

Shoving the wet clothes in the miniscule laundry area, grabbing a spare shirt and sweats and busying himself making tea, Akaya paused in the middle of pouring the hot water to narrow his eyes at the situation. Very housewife-y, the one incessantly annoying voice in the back of his mind reminded him. As per usual, though, he shoved it back into the pit of silence it belonged in and managed to avoid scalding his hand.

No wonder Zaizen had wanted to come here when it was raining and Mikiya was a good extra half hour of travel away. Living in a central area made Akaya’s place a pretty safe shelter. This considered, Akaya brought the tea to the coffee table before moving along to knock on the bathroom door. “Spare clothes just out here, okay?” He said, leaving them folded on the floor so Zaizen could grab them.

Zaizen had made himself at home and filled the bathroom with music from his phone as well as steam. The effect was almost immediate, warmth and sound seeping into his bones and washing his surplus annoyance down the drain. Wearing only his baseline annoyance, he belatedly took off his earrings and made a subtle reach for the clothes following Akaya’s announcement.

“Thanks,” Zaizen said a few minutes later when he emerged from the shower and padded into the living room. This time, his dampness was a more pleasant coating that pinked his skin and slicked down his hair. Sitting on the couch and all but curling around the cup of tea, Zaizen asked, “did I wake you up?”

Curled into his own corner of the couch was Akaya, blinking and making a nondescript noise of recognition at the thanks. It was encouraging, somehow, to see Zaizen looking instantly better after the shower.

“Nah, I was still up,” he replied, shrugging. “Don’t have anything on ‘til like noon tomorrow.” It was a rare slow day, where afternoon class and evening practice freed up his whole morning. He peered curiously at Zaizen over his mug, nudging his side with a foot. “One of those nights, huh?”

“Just a long one, not a bad one until I realized my umbrella was gone,” Zaizen poked at Akaya’s foot. “And it only felt so long because I had to give up the practice room I booked between class and work.”

The curls of steam washed over his face and the sips of hot tea seemed to reach down and sooth every tense extremity. Zaizen dedicated a moment to comfortable silence. “Do you like it better this way? Evening practice?”

“So you lost a couple things, then. Sounds like a pretty sucky day to me,” Akaya said. Time and umbrellas. Not a great combination. The question had Akaya frowning - practice was practice, although… “And… not exactly,” he answered slowly. “Sometimes it’s nice to sleep in, I guess, but morning practice is like… I got more energy.” Class often drained him of mental motivation, leaving only robot-like action in evening practice. Plus, it’s not like waking up early was a problem after a comfortable night’s sleep.

His tea was nearly finished. And though his body was a little tired, his mind was still quite awake. “If you want, you can go to bed when you’re done.”

Zaizen shrugged behind his tea, caring less with every sip. He did gain a future favor from the senpai who asked him for the practice room. And, right now, he was pretty comfortable.

“So you trade off which activity gets the best of you,” Zaizen surmised, eying Akaya to see if he had correctly understood. He took another sip of tea, pulling closer to the bottom of the cup.

“...” he drummed his fingers on the mug. “We can go to bed when I’m done,” Zaizen amended with a demand, and accompanied that with a slow stare.

Akaya frowned slightly, thinking. “It's not really my choice, but yeah, I guess,” he agreed. His hands fidgeted around the empty cup. “You kinda have the same thing now with work, right? Which nights you have to go, they like, affect your mornings.” And apparently affected where he wanted to sleep, which was… also similar.

Zaizen's blunt request was only a little bit surprising, and Akaya found himself laughing at it. He met Zaizen's eyes with a nod, but couldn't hold his gaze long enough to stare back. “Yeah, okay. It's late.”

“Mm,” Zaizen agreed. It was more difficult to get out of Mikiya on the mornings that he worked for earlier classes and practice room times. Although he was even more low energy than usual, he now had the cash to feed himself well and start making modest loan payments. His healthy self-esteem enjoyed that effect. “Something like that. I don’t mind so much.”

Akaya laughed, but since it wasn’t at him, he smirked lightly and made more headway into his tea. “Who knows, maybe by sleeping now, you’ll last until practice,” he teased and set down his tea. “Your coach can thank me.”

Shrugging, Akaya finally discarded his tea mug to the table, resting his feet against Zaizen's thigh as he waited. “Your travel time is worse than mine, but sometimes that ain't always a bad thing. Time to recover if you can sit down.” Which wasn't often on Tokyo metro at peak, but sometimes.

“I'm sure she'll be sendin’ you a message as thanks,” Akaya joked back, then paused as he considered his options. “I mean, I still wanna sleep in, so… it's just more rest. I wouldn't have gone to bed much later than this anyway.” He still tried to keep some kind of decent hour most of the time.

“Depends on the timing,” Zaizen said wryly. “But I’d settle for not having someone’s dinner breath in my face.” And, well, between staying at Akaya’s and napping on the couch in the clubroom after his radio show, his commute was becoming less and less demanding. His backpack, however, was getting heavier.

“I don’t have anything early either,” Zaizen said, half to himself as he followed suit with his own empty mug, going so far as to pick up Akaya’s too and bring them over to the kitchen. “Our only alarm will be your stomach, then.”

Akaya grimaced at Zaizen’s wording of that concept. “‘Kay sure, I get that,” he said. Late-night trains were awful if you got caught in the rush or post-rush when it seemed like every second commuter was tipsy at best. Mikiya wasn’t that far, all things considered, but it was encroaching on the mildly inconvenient distance that became insurmountable given certain situations.

Giving a short “thanks” at the clearing of their dishes, he slid sideways off the couch, half-liquid at the idea of moving to the Bed. “Don’t underestimate my ability to ignore everything for a good sleep in,” he drawled, walking over and dropping his chin on Zaizen’s shoulder momentarily to support himself. “Gonna go brush my teeth first,” he added as an aside, moving away with some regret to go and do just that.

Akaya’s head was a welcome weight; an odd pang of disappointment triggered his irritability when that mop of curly hair wandered off to the bathroom and he had to remind himself that it was unreasonable to throw a kitchen towel at his back for that purpose.

Zaizen washed the cups and passed his tongue over his teeth, reminding himself that he had already brushed his before taking up his agenda with Akaya’s large, comfortable Bed. While no one could hear, he hummed happily as he draped over his side, stretching out to full arm and leg span just because he could. Then, rolling over slightly to position more reasonably, he pulled out his phone and selected a playlist that was mostly violin or acoustic versions of songs that they both knew well enough to twine into the background.

Teeth brushed and sleep-appropriate clothes on, the Bed was really the only place Akaya could possibly imagine being at this point. Stretching as he entered the room, his ears picked up the tune Zaizen’s phone was beaming through his speakers. Smiling at the familiar song he flopped heavily on the unoccupied side, exhaling heavily with relief.

He turned to face Zaizen before speaking. “I didn’t think it was that late, but now lying down it feels like I’ve been awake for a year,” he said, but his eyes were still bright and alert. “You feelin’ better?” Mentally, at least, even if end-of-day lethargy had hit them both. Akaya lifted an arm, reaching out slightly as in invitation.

The bed felt more balanced with someone on the other side, bidding Zaizen to turn and face Akaya, and — as he might as well not fight the inevitable — rolling over again to put himself in the comforting loop of Akaya’s arm. They were chest to chest, such that every breath Akaya took brushed his own, but on their sides and carrying their own weight.

Peering up with what Akaya frequently called his reptile eyes, Zaizen said, “yeah.” It was shorter and less mushy than saying I felt better the second I got here.

“You think you’re gonna sleep for a year, too?” Zaizen asked, arranging his hand not lazily cast over Akaya more nearly between them.

It was extremely tempting to haul Zaizen up by his arms and pull him half on top of him, but Akaya was also pleased enough with this simple half-hug for now. That, and his own arms needed to decide whether they were even capable of such a feat at this point of the night. Moving his head off of where it had been resting on his other palm, Zaizen’s confirmation was met with a satisfied hum.

“Not sure,” Akaya replied with a little shrug. “Body says yes, brain says it’s being stupid and we ain’t even tired yet.” He blinked wide-eyed as if demonstrating. “Maybe they’re gonna compromise and we’ll sleep for six months.”

Zaizen huffed, pairing their half-hug with a half smile in the dark. “Does your brain often inform you that it’s being stupid,” he drawled, the hand between them deciding that it wanted to rest palm flat on Akaya’s chest. “Because that would explain a lot.”

“Hey,” Akaya frowned, tapping Zaizen’s forehead admonishingly. Then after a beat; “My brain tells my body it’s being stupid pretty frequently, actually.” Which was not incorrect - training was harsh and his brain liked to protest certain movements, which wasn’t great for quick learning sometimes.

Childishly, Akaya smirked cheekily and countered. “Does yours tell you it’s being a jerk sometimes, or is that just how it operates all the time?”

Somehow that frown was satisfactory. But because he couldn’t be bothered to bat Akaya’s hands away, Zaizen pursed his lips and blew tea scented air at the intrusion. “All the time,” he answered, prodding a finger at Akaya’s chest. “I just press ignore update and proceed on the same programming.”

Akaya couldn’t help but snicker, teeth flashing in the low light. “You’re right, that kinda thing does explain a lot. Base operational standards.” His own free hand, looking for something to do, found itself tugging lightly at the strands of Zaizen’s barely-damp hair strewn on the pillow. “Though y’know ignoring updates isn’t healthy, right?”

His touch crawled up over Akaya’s chest, unconsciously seeking the minute vibration from his laughter. Despite their banter, or perhaps because of their banter, it all felt warm and welcoming.

“But they take too long and my fans make annoying sounds,” Zaizen grumbled, almost at a pout while Akaya teased his hair. “You’ll have to deal with me as I am.”

Zaizen's fingers skimming up to search between his collarbones made Akaya's breath hitch. A bit of colour rose on his cheeks, but it wasn't enough to wipe the lingering smile off his face. Combing his touch through the front of Zaizen's fringe, Akaya let his hand pull away and come to rest near his own face.

"Oh no," he said, tone falsely flat. "How would I ever manage that?"

Even though Akaya was making such an interesting expression, the calloused fingers brushing across his forehead and bangs bid his eyes closed. He spared Akaya the lizard gaze, but traced his collar with an easy curiosity.

“With a lot of complaining,” Zaizen answered, peeking through his lashes when that hand came to rest. “As usual. But I’m worth it.”

The light, sweeping pressure along the sensitive skin over his clavicles left pleasant pinpricks in its wake and brought a consistent shallowness to Akaya’s breathing. His hand twitched, close to reaching out to stop the curious touch, but it wasn’t actually… bad, so Zaizen’s movements were left be.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “As usual,” was echoed back as a quick addition.

The admission had Zaizen smiling small and delicate, like the irregular breaths against his fingertips. His eyes watching Akaya, Zaizen tapped his thumb against the bone and hummed coffee in the morning, weaving the sound into the thick percussion and singing violin.

Zaizen’s genuine smile was such a rare thing that Akaya thought it might be a trick of the light. Not quite realising the strength of his previous agreement, the smile mirrored itself on his own face. His cheeks felt hot. Though unsure of the lyrical rhythm to the song that had just begun, Akaya recognised the instrumental one. The notes the violin sang quirked the edges of his mouth further, and he reached out to place his fingertips on Zaizen’s shoulder, drumming them steadily to the beat he remembered like a backing track.

The playlist wasn’t a sleep playlist. Zaizen blamed his lack of sleepiness on that. The strange energy -- more potent than caffeine and less jittery than sugar -- put his hairs on end and fast-forward his heartbeat to match the fingers on his shoulder, the song through the speaker. Akaya’s smile put a thought in his head. A thought that didn’t go away when he blinked, or forced his breath to a long, discordant pull.

He was sure of his want and sure on the surface, and that was enough. The steady tapping slowed. His hand smoothed up Akaya’s neck, fitting to a flushed cheek and tracing the bone under his fingertips as he drew impossibly nearer and closed his eyes. “I want to kiss you,” Zaizen said, seemingly as plain as he said anything else. “You can say no.”

As Zaizen’s musical touches petered out, the hand on his shoulder did too. Matching the slowing pace rather than echoing the music, Akaya inhaled long and deep in tandem with the palm sliding up his neck. The colour reached his ears, Zaizen's thumb leaving a trail of fire over his skin, the closeness filled with a buzzing that seemed to have only been hiding before.

The request - statement, really, with a veiled question beneath it - brought a confused crease to Akaya's brow before the gravity of it hit him and his eyes went wide. His heart seemed both frozen and thundering all at once, suddenly, breath held as his mind processed. The first instinct was that Zaizen was messing with him - a reaction to watch, but his brain caught up in time to choke back the forced derisive giggle of an exhale that threatened to escape. Zaizen wasn't watching him. This was something else entirely.

“Yeah,” his voice called a second before he was sure he’d actually decided. “I want you to.” More confident. Certain. Still a little cloudy with the full feeling in his chest.

Patience saw Zaizen through the minutes where his eyes, softly shut to enforced the kind of privacy that he guessed that Akaya would want, were useless. The music, too, slid in and out of the chorus and then into a different song all together. He wasn’t really thinking about it, not with the warmth and hastened heartbeat under his hands. Or maybe it was his own pushing into his ears without express invitation.

The muted, strange noise had his lashes fluttering to a squint, and then with words Zaizen opened them entirely. He was being given permission -- assurance of equal desire -- even as he wasn’t entirely sure how to hold it.

“Okay,” he breathed more than said, wearing a lopsided smile that softened the closer he drew. Zaizen cupped Akaya’s cheek still, when he brought their lips together at a investigative press. Drawing back only barely, Zaizen breathed and evaluated for only a beat, eyes on Akaya’s up-close features in abstract. It was good, strange, and tasted of Akaya’s toothpaste. So he did it again, inadvertently rubbing their noses together before he found that contact again and lingered for the static chasing beneath his skin.

The first touch of their lips had Akaya’s wide eyes slipping shut instinctively, his hand curling in Zaizen's shirt where it was resting against his side. When Zaizen pulled away all too quickly he barely caught a narrow glimpse of Zaizen watching him closely before their noses brushed and his eyes closed again at the second kiss.

Something settled warm and comfortable between his lungs, beating on his ribcage to make itself known. He wasn't so addled with the odd rush of emotion and sensation that he didn't kiss back, though. Hand unfurling and sitting solidly just under the dip of Zaizen's waist, Akaya let his stress fall back and moved by feeling alone.

It wasn't a long kiss. Still curious and experimental. When they separated again, Akaya’s eyes snapped open to meet his companion’s for a few quiet, stunned seconds before the rush of everything that had just happened hit him like a wave. His face went from flushed to glowing in a moment, and he withdrew carefully from contact entirely to roll over with his hands pressed over his face, curling protectively in on himself.

The frisson accompanying the explorative kiss wasn’t something Zaizen understood beyond association with other such things beyond articulation, like music, a perfect picture, the first red bean soup in the winter. But at the same time, it was unlike any of those things.

When Akaya drew back, he licked his lips as if for a lingering taste. It didn’t really occur to him to be embarrassed until Akaya executed a fascinating progression from red to scarlet, and for perhaps the first time, it had a somewhat contagious effect. While his partner practiced some kind of bomb shelter brace pose, Zaizen sat up slowly and tried to ignore how his ears seemed ready to burn right off his face. Part of him wondered if he had done it wrong -- was it possible to do it wrong? -- but probably, if he had, Akaya would be telling him so and not trying to hide in his own bed.

Logic and recollection of that wide-eyed stare informed him that Akaya was absolutely overwhelmed and this was something he did not want to miss. From a respectful distance.

Akaya’s whole body was ringing with so much tension that it could have been audible. It wasn’t negative, exactly, just born of necessity to contain the wild mess of emotions that his brain was struggling to comprehend and categorise. Something reasonable cried desperately from the back of his mind, trying to just get everything to calm down long enough to explore the facts, but to no avail - Hikaru kissed me was the red alert and the lump of heat in his chest pounded almost painfully to sound the alarm. His hair could have gone white and he wouldn’t have even noticed.

It took what felt like hours for his senses to kick back in. The feeling of Zaizen’s mouth on his lingered as if fizzing - the split-second memory of Zaizen licking his lips before he turned away brought another heavy beat to his heart. It was all too much, but the prevailing mood was… joy, pride, curiosity - or a mix of all three. A low, throaty noise escaped his protective cocoon as his face refused to stop feeling like it was about to catch alight.

Zaizen observed Akaya’s code-red meltdown with fondness, amusement, and a small slice of nerves because he really couldn’t see what kind of face he was making. But he stayed where he was, giving his friend the time and space to deal with this until he started making some odd overdrive noises; any second, steam might start rising from his ears.

The space between them dwindled again as he shuffled closer to sit beside the kernel version of Akaya. He didn’t say much, just sat such that his thigh brushed Akaya’s spine and ran his fingers through thick curls. When his fingers combed to the back of his neck, they started again, offering a pattern for Akaya to take refuge in.

The renewed contact made Akaya jump from inner hyperfocus to outer hyperfocus, the gentle fingers in his hair feeling intensely good. That didn't help his overwhelmed state at all at first, but the consistency of Zaizen's movements eventually did their job and the locks on his joints started to loosen.

“Hikaru,” he managed to croak out, throat feeling like his heart was resting in it. It felt like his heart was everywhere, actually. “Keep away from- don’t- neck,” a mess of warnings. “I'm gonna die.”

It was very much like petting a whistling kettle, and he was glad to have some direction to avoid the steam -- even if those boiling ears were cuter than he could possibly admit. “...Okay,” Zaizen said softly, unable to keep from smirking a little as his touch moved the top of Akaya’s curls to smooth around them in time. “Better?” he leaned down to all but whisper to Akaya’s hair, “If you die, can I have your video games?”

Zaizen’s hushed questions into his temple started Akaya’s muscles back up with an odd jolt. The curl of his body unwound, bit by bit, still determinedly facing away. The tiny rational voice in his head was making itself better-known, now. Don’t freak out so much, it demanded. It was a simple kiss. It’s Hikaru. There’s no problem here. The rest of him still fought back with exactly why freaking out was needed - definitely not because it was a problem.

Externally, Zaizen would find Akaya turning to face upward. The back of one hand covered his eyes, leaving only the lower half of his face exposed. “You- don’t get my games,” he whined through the lumpy feeling in his throat. “Attempted murder. Criminal.” It was basically babbling, not even real insults.

Taunting and teasing the already harassed Akaya kept him from breaking at this ridiculous (and kind of perfect) disaster of a reaction. Because Akaya would surely interpret his amusement the exact opposite of how he meant it.

“You can’t prove anything,” Zaizen pointed out, winding a wavy strand around his finger as Akaya slowly unfurled himself. Since he couldn’t look Akaya in the eyes, he watched his mouth, which prompted him to recall viscerally the sensations of a few minutes prior. “And if I can’t have your games, then you should stay alive to defend them. Just think of all the horrible shit I would put on your twitch…”

The hand not blocking Akaya’s eyes from view came up to bat ineffectually at Zaizen’s forearm. “No,” he protested weakly. “You can’t. Jail with you. I’ll leave clues.” Somehow, this nonsense conversation was actually helping. A twitch of a smile appeared at the corners of Akaya’s mouth and the hand that had been hitting Zaizen’s arm came to rest lightly around his wrist.

Something clicked and evened out in his mind. Zaizen’s soothing tugs at his curls returned to relaxing him, the cage of tenseness holding back the tidal wave of overwhelmed emotion slowly removed to release the feelings back into his body slowly. Still scaldingly warm and colour peaked high on his face and neck, Akaya withdrew from hiding, though his eyes couldn’t meet Zaizen’s just yet.

“Can’t die ‘nyway,” he started softly, the lingering heaviness of his heartbeat almost drowning his own words. “Wanna do that again.”

“Sherlock Holmes you are not,” Zaizen said, enjoyment twisting his lips into unfamiliar contortion as the helpless Akaya swatted at him ever so harmlessly. He continued caressing tufts of hair until the twist of his lips grew into a quiet smile. Akaya’s hand was warm on his wrist and, slowly but surely, it seemed that the tennis player was willing to rejoin him.

Zaizen opened his mouth to say something that was surely catty and sarcastic, but then Akaya concluded his assertion with wanna do it again. It was rude, doing that to him. Making him speechless for an entire five seconds. Even if Akaya could look him in the eyes right now, Zaizen wasn’t entirely sure he would return the favor.

“Are you going to make me do all the work this time?” Zaizen asked, tugging lightly at his locks.

It was strange how promptly Akaya’s thoughts had seemed to accept that yes, this was definitely a good thing and yes, he wanted to kiss Zaizen again after the meltdown. Maybe that had been the core of the meltdown the whole time anyway. Tugging at Zaizen’s wrist to prompt his friend to lie down again (next to him, on top of him, wherever - just somewhere closer), he chewed hesitantly at the corner of his mouth.

“Almost kill me ‘n you have the nerve to say that,” he grumbled. “Can barely move. Your fault.” That said, the hand on Zaizen’s forearm splayed outward, becoming a guiding, pawing touch rather than a pull. God, did his face hurt, and logically he knew he wasn’t about to make that any better for himself.

Not at all opposed, Zaizen followed where that touch prompted, coming to drape himself mostly on top of Akaya. Maybe his weight physically pinning the still blushing man to the bed would do some good in banishing the blood from his face -- but he kind of hoped that it wouldn’t. Zaizen was enjoying himself.

Folding his hands over Akaya’s chest and resting his chin atop them, Zaizen watched, his sharper green eyes flickering with something like delight as he said, “Admitting you can’t move -- it’s like you’re asking me to finish you off, Akaya.”

As Zaizen came to rest more over his chest than next to him on the bed, the hand that Akaya had been pulling him down with slid back over Zaizen’s shoulder and joined its pair in a light embrace. Akaya still couldn’t meet Zaizen’s gaze for a few moments, but then something that sounded suspiciously like a challenge was raised and his eyes flicked down on their own, shining green meeting green.

“I’d like to see you damn well try,” he retorted instinctively, competitive nature refusing to be cowed by such a threat. It was stupid to be inviting such a thing after the evidence was clear that it was actually very likely Zaizen could succeed if he wanted. “I mean- just- I’m recovering,” he added as his mistake seemed to be realised, though whether the addition was supposed to be a deterrent or proof of his durability was lost somewhere along the way.

Engaging that stare, Zaizen quirked his pierced brow. As Akaya stammered, he dropped his arms to either side of his comfortable human mattress and used them to wriggle closer and closer through the looped arms around him, edging up little by little until he was nose to nose with Akaya and breathing his air.

“Recovery involves light repetitions,” Zaizen whispered, and offered the softest caress of barely-there kiss.

Akaya managed to hold eye contact as Zaizen shifted along his chest. One advantage to being at peak redness was that he couldn’t really blush any harder, though his blood seemed to be making an attempt to escape through his skin anyway. The tiniest sound of surprise left his throat as their noses brushed again. Zaizen was suddenly as close as possible, quicker than Akaya thought he had been approaching.

The third meeting of their lips was so feather-light and brief that Akaya took a second to realise what had happened, the tingling sensation on his top lip and renewed alarm bell of his heart the only indicators. It was too much and not at all enough. Disappointment and want kept his mind on track even as his pulse thrummed its panic signal. “Looks like I made you do the work again,” he murmured. Neck craning forward, nerves steeled, a hesitant beat before a reply press to Zaizen’s mouth was given.

Akaya was a man fighting a civil war. That was apparent when he drew back with his fingers folded at either side of Akaya’s neck. Zaizen only realized that Akaya was winning that war when he approached nearer and bolder to smash the lob he wafted between them.

He didn’t say you’re worth it. But it was only partly because his lips were already occupied. Outside of that, it was sappy. Other sappy things included the sound and thrum of his heartbeat in allegro, the electricity clinging to his nerves, their tangled breathing, and the strange -- almost guilty -- giddy knowledge that this hadn’t been a fluke the first three times.

When pleasant surprise melted away, Zaizen followed suit, lips softening against Akaya’s as he slanted them together at a new angle for another brush of gentle, devastating friction.

The minute movements that Zaizen made caused the kiss to change from hesitant to something more charged. Akaya shuddered and his arms tightened around Zaizen’s upper back, hauling his companion further toward him so that they were almost completely lined up chest-to-chest again. It let Akaya’s neck settle back against the pillow, more comfortable and flexible than leaning forward.

A hand strayed then, searching for something tactile to occupy itself with, drifting through the back of Zaizen’s hair, under his ear, coming to rest at his jaw. Compulsion fought its one-man battle over logic and nerves, and won; instead of drawing back, Akaya kissed him again, still miraculously gentle and lingeringly chaste even as the cling of their lips became a more solid seal.

Zaizen fell gracefully forward with that pull, a good deal of his weight pinning Akaya as his fingers pursued thick curls instead of bunching on the mattress by his shoulders. It was odd and exhilarating to feel Akaya’s shivers so intimately, and weirder still to feel that way himself -- alive at every extremity but so very aware of the slightest contact. This was why so many artists wrote songs about kissing.

Akaya’s touch ventured, entirely welcome through his still damp locks, and earning him a muted sigh when it settled behind his ears. He parted their seal for a wide eyed second of pink cheeks and trembling breath. His heart beat in his ears as he kissed Akaya again. And again. Igniting and breathing, basking and repeating until he felted buried in Akaya’s scent.

The feeling of Zaizen’s hands slipping back into his hair made Akaya smile vaguely against his mouth. His chest felt heavy with a buildup of energy only being fed through the actual weight on top of him - it bled itself out in tremors, shifts of joints and limbs, and every renewed touch of their lips. Zaizen’s presence was like a battery, the short separation at the accidental brush over his ear gifting Akaya a very rare view of his flustered face and sending a volt to his own core.

A pulse rang where his fingers brushed Zaizen’s throat, just as powerful as his own. Self-control had never been a strong point for him, and Akaya could sense his hold slipping away. Somewhere, a peal of violin strings worked its way through the clouded hearing, but deemed inconsequential. A note to accompany one more unhurried kiss. However a satisfied sound in the same key then vibrated unbidden from Akaya’s voicebox, triggering a chain reaction that sent searing heat through the tips of his ears and almost forcibly dragged him away from Zaizen, surprised at himself.

It was jarring to in one moment taste Akaya’s smile and in the next, have to breath without it. Echoes of Akaya’s contented, dulcet expression sang between his sharp ears, absolutely not about to be forgotten. Zaizen wet his lips and studied Akaya’s startled expression with his own still slightly pinked. As if his partner simply needed tuning, Zaizen’s fingers moved more gently through his hair, swirling around the curls as he hummed, accompanying the music rather than matching it.

Akaya stared back, his face bright scarlet again, amazed and horrified at himself and just simply amazed at Zaizen. The combing through his hair and the harmonious humming (as well as the fact that there was a boy mostly on top of him) kept Akaya from retreating once more. Compromising, he slipped his arms back around Zaizen's shoulders and buried his face in his friend’s neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbled breathily, Zaizen's comforting weight on his chest keeping his breathing regulated. He wasn't sure if he was sorry for kissing him so much or sorry for stopping - well, he knew which one it was for himself. “Just- need a second.”

A person with a lesser ego might have misinterpreted, but Zaizen simply blinked a few times and edged up a bit higher as those arms came around him, such that his head fit neatly on the pillow and Akaya could hide comfortably between his shoulder and neck. “...Don’t be,” he mumbled in their embrace and combed his fingers through Akaya’s hair. A minute or three later, he added, “...I like this.”

And he didn’t just mean the kissing.

The accommodating shift of Zaizen's body left Akaya sighing into the join between neck and shoulder. Every nerve ending continued to buzz, willing him to remain in as much contact as possible. He just remained there for several moments, breathing, wondering absently if it was possible for the heat of his skin to leave a burn. It certainly felt like it was scalding enough to do so.

The verbal reassurance was a tone down, a relaxant that turned his tense arms around Zaizen's shoulders to jelly. It sent his pulse fluttering, though, an odd spark that he hadn't quite felt before seeping through his spine. Compulsion led him once again to extricate himself from Zaizen's neck slowly, heart in his throat. I like this was what he intended to echo. “I like you,” was what slipped out instead.

Zaizen breathed softly into the pillow as he felt Akaya relax, tightly wound arms melting down against him. He was happy to share his perpetual calm. They both deserved it after the last twenty minutes of devastation and discovery. Although he would have thought his first actually significant kiss might cause some mental loop de loops, this was Akaya; they would figure it out. Zaizen was even prepared stare back into that exposed, emotional gaze and say as much. Instead, he found himself unable to say anything at all.

Color blossomed at his ears and climbed toward the bridge of his nose. The three words had life and form -- a sure and vital thing made of vulnerability and affection on which to anchor his own feelings. Zaizen leaned forward to find Akaya again, this time brushing their cheeks together in a gesture that was entirely tenderness. Hiding his smile against Akaya, Zaizen breathed deeply and said, “Good.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He really hadn’t. The admission that seemed more unconscious than aware had worked its own way out, seeking its opportunity and striking. Akaya had frozen the second it had been vocalised, but out of shock rather than embarrassment or regret. The blush chasing itself over Zaizen’s features stood out even in the low light, such a new and intensely open image that Akaya’s mind helpfully took a screenshot and stowed it away for later use. Skin to heated skin met when Zaizen ducked his head, and Akaya finally realised that Zaizen was just as affected as he was. It made him laugh, low and genuine.

Arms tensed intentionally around Zaizen’s neck as Akaya eased them both sideways, keeping their bodies close but alleviating some of the weight as they both breathed as if they’d played an intense match. Retreating and nudging his forehead against Zaizen’s temple, Akaya murmured amusedly into his ear. “Show up late lookin’ like a drowned cat and this is what happens. Should get your umbrella stolen more often.”

Zaizen stole a few moments to sanctuary among sound; well-tuned heartbeats and Akaya’s resonant laugh ushered him down on his side and found its way closer, a melody for his cover playlist and, for this moment, everything beyond this bed.

His attuned ears were then treated to direct voice and hot breath, which ganged up to provoke a shiver down his spine and goosebumps along his arms. A hiccup followed the half-ticklish, half-sensual thrill and Zaizen flicked his gaze and frown at Akaya to accompany three useless swats that assailed the chest against his. But he wasn’t mad. So his fingers knit in Akaya’s shirt as he muttered, “Umbrellas are expensive. It’s your turn to be out in the rain next time.”

Zaizen’s reaction to the words so close was noted with particular interest and filed along with the other images and information the night had granted. The mixed messages in the attack and subsequent latching on that Akaya’s chest suffered drew another uncontrollable giggle - the movement was so cute that he couldn’t help it. He almost said so out loud, verbal filter still lying in tatters, but Zaizen’s retort made him stop to try and make sense of it.

...he couldn’t, which just made him laugh again, head backing away from contact with Zaizen’s to turn his face to the pillow to muffle his sounds. Through it, he managed to shift downward to shove his nose against Zaizen’s shoulder instead. “What does that even mean?” Akaya breathed through the slowly subsiding sniggers. “Really… haha... complicated way of inviting me over.”

It was difficult to maintain his anger in the face of Akaya’s bubbling, then muffled laughter. The unfairness of it all made him scowl more, and pull at Akaya’s shirt as if stretching out the fabric would do anything at all for him. Still, Akaya was allowed complete access to his shoulder with only a wiggle to remind him that it was all under protest.

“If you want, but my bed is small,” Zaizen grumbled. His free hand was — by no fault of its own — attracted to Akaya’s hair. Combing through it in gentle pulls, he added, “I was thinking more it’s raining and you just stand outside for awhile.”

“I like that the first thing you think of is how big your bed is,” Akaya snickered, still muffled against Zaizen’s shoulder. “Like that’s even a problem. First thing.” The fabric of his shirt protested against his neckline as his partner tugged at it, so Akaya curved his fingers where they were idle against Zaizen’s back in some kind of retaliation. “‘Nd you can’t exile me in my own house. Don’t wanna go outside.”

Though maybe the cold rain would do away with some of this vibrant, volatile energy that remained under his skin. His face still smouldered, high alert panic reduced and converted into an explorative keenness, like a forest sprouting after a bushfire. Zaizen’s bizarre clingy-irritable combo wasn’t helping to soothe it. Lifting his head, Akaya’s eyes shone catlike in the dim, exhaling shaky and nervous before silently pressing a kiss to Zaizen’s jawline.

“Jerk.” Zaizen squirmed against Akaya, such that the fingertips on his back scratched this way and that. It was kind of nice, even if accompanied by whining. “You kicked me out of my bed at home — bigger than mine at Mikiya by the way — so I can kick you out of your apartment.” But that would require letting go, or doing something aside from lightly pushing his knee to Akaya’s thigh.

When Akaya extracted himself, Zaizen huffed and fully intended to add to the list of measures he could implement. Fortunately for Akaya, none of them were as important as the brush of lips along bone, a bow flirting with a violin string. His approving sigh was only slightly less embarrassing than the sound that had stopped Akaya a few minutes prior, but perhaps the arched fingertips skating unconsciously through curls to his nape would distract him from that fact.

Having determinedly ignored Zaizen’s huffy complaints for now, Akaya focused on the task at hand, which seemed to have become mapping Zaizen’s jaw with his mouth. Even as narrow digits met the overactive skin at the back of his neck, making his spine flare with pins and needles, his lips met a new point of contact slightly different from the first.

He hummed as he brought their mandibles to a parallel, almost an imitation of the earlier graze of cheeks. It was bold - though a painful skip to his heartbeat reminded Akaya of his anxiety which even now had not fully faded. A third soft and delayed press was placed higher still, at the very top point where the hinge flowed into earlobe and jugular. Only then did Akaya move away, this time being the one to lick his upper lip with a drawn-out skim of his tongue. The motion was not unlike something seen when he was deep in concentration during a tennis match.

Zaizen gasped, unable to keep still under the wandering attentions of Akaya’s mouth. His charged fingertips skittered down down Akaya’s sensitive neck. The pads of his fingers hooked and brushed without intention, dancing over skin on his way to grasp strong shoulders. That third kiss made him tremble, arch, and bite his lip to contain the honest sound clamouring to escape.

As Akaya pulled away, Zaizen pressed his hand against his chest, pushing him barely. Still painted in blush and biting his lip -- while watching Akaya lick his -- Zaizen hesitated for a beat, just staring. The system in charge of his porcuspikes needed to reboot faster. “...Not the ears,” he huffed, after a few seconds. “Not now. It’s…”

For a long moment, Akaya stared unabashedly back with a razor gaze. The little bit of separation Zaizen had contributed to with his push was the perfect distance to take in this unexpected, unguarded reaction. He blinked once, slow and deliberate - and then Zaizen’s warnings struck sharp. Akaya’s blinks turned rapid, the edge lost, as if breaking from a trance.

“Huh?” He said, confusion lacing with the breathy remnant of whatever had overtaken him. Redness pooled on his cheeks again as he understood. “Uh. Wasn’t going- I mean, uh… that’s-” he stammered, Zaizen’s expression now short-circuiting him rather than provoking. It was very tempting to hide his face in embarrassment again. “Sorry. I wasn’t going to- didn’t mean to.”

Akaya sputtered like a coffee pot on the stove, spitting words instead of caffeine but no less energetic for it. The endearing display captivated Zaizen for longer than he was willing to admit, though he was eventually drawn back into the space he enforced.

“It’s okay,” Zaizen said, and kissed him firmly and chastely before he could continue on. “I know.”

Despite everything that he had just inflicted on Zaizen, the reassuring kiss still flustered Akaya due to how… casual and natural it had been. Making a muted noise of wonder, he chased the connection without meaning to, but stopped as the emotional strain ticked threateningly back over to “overwhelmed”.

Zaizen’s warmth compelled Akaya to tuck himself back against his chest, trying to reestablish the half-hug they’d started in. “Just hit me if you don’t want me to do somethin’,” he murmured. “Hadn’t really thought about this before ‘n now it’s all bein’ thought of at once ‘n it’s hard to sort out.” Brain telling itself it’s being stupid, he realised belatedly.

Lips softening for Akaya’s, Zaizen brought a hand to cup his partner’s cheek, only to find that he had retreated again. With an expression that bordered on warm, he dropped that hand to the head curled against his chest.

“You’ll know,” Zaizen said with no hesitation. “But for now -- just stop thinking all together. If there’s anything to sort out, we’ll do it over pancakes in the morning.”

As if they could untangle the traffic jam in Akaya’s mind, Zaizen’s fingers resumed their rhythmic petting, perfectly in time with his finally relaxed breathing.

Akaya clocked back in to take control of his finer muscle controls, though left others to his unconsciousness. This let him bring his breathing down to a regular, slower pace but resulted in him absently nuzzling slightly into Zaizen’s collar. The hands in his hair were such a familiar, grounding feeling at this point that Akaya wondered how he’d dealt without it for so long.

“...m’not worried, or anything,” he offered quietly. Some spark was still left in his extremities; he wriggled his fingers against Zaizen’s shoulderblades in time with the tune in the background to work the energy out and tangled their legs together. “But I’ll take breakfast anyway.”

Zaizen hummed with the nearness, tired and liquid enough to let Akaya wiggle as near as he so desired. It even took him a full ten seconds to determine what song was on. But when he did, the fingertips pouring over dark curls and slowed to match the crawl of the music and Akaya’s skittering fingers playing his shoulder.

“Good,” he said, because he didn’t actually want Akaya to be worried about something like that. “You have to help. I’ll make you my stir bitch.”

And just like that, relative normalcy was restored - though notably closer and more comfortable then before. Tapping along to the shorter notes as the longer ones were weaved into his hair, Akaya sighed with contentment.

Until Zaizen’s words totally ruined the mood and Akaya headbutted his throat, though not particularly hard. He used his forehead to push back from Zaizen’s collarbones to stare at him incredulously. “Stir bitch? Hikaru?” He hissed, but didn’t have the vitriol left in him to do much more than shove Zaizen slightly.

In what was probably closer to normalcy, the light shove and prodding sent him onto the flat of his back. Peering up from his cloud of messy bangs, Zaizen met green eyes, pursed his lips into a frown, and actually whined, “I don’t like the stirring part. Help.”

Akaya blinked down at Zaizen with a mix of irritation and surprise filtered through tiredness. Tiredness was also probably the reason his friend’s whining sent an inexplicable flicker of fondness shooting through the middle of his ribs. Nevertheless, he still cuffed Zaizen over the temple with the heel of his hand and set the point of his index finger against his cheek. “Call me stir bitch again and I’ll make you do it all yourself. With a fork.” Which was basically admitting himself to helper duty, but at least with a reasonable condition.

Probably due to giddy exhaustion -- instead of biting back *that would make you a stir bastard* like he typically might, or *an apron might suit you*, or any of the other thousand-and-one smartass jibes that zoomed between his ears -- Zaizen continued his quiet show of petulance after the bop, and then the finger pressing a dimple into his pout.

After a fair moment of letting Akaya pin him as such, he found Akaya’s hand by the finger, dragged it down to his chest, and filed away the entire arm between his. To make this captivity slightly more comfortable, he turned back onto his side. “You don’t actually want lumpy pancakes,” Zaizen pointed out. “Apple ones are better.”

His minor blow of revenge was an air strike -- from his bunched lips directly into Akaya’s ear.

Letting his arm be taken prisoner with a quirk of his eyebrow, Zaizen's not-quite-actually-grumpy expression drew Akaya back down slowly. He spidered out all five fingers where they could reach (which was not far) to tap along the center of his captor’s body.

“Are you expecting me to go buy apples?” Akaya asked, tactfully ignoring the first accurate claim. Casting a thought to the contents of his kitchen, his consideration ruined by the rush of breath in his ear. Yelping, his hand flew to his ear as his head jolted back. “Hikaru are you serious.”

The touch wasn’t quite ticklish, but prompted him to shift into comfort, which turned out to be his chin on Akaya’s shoulder, at least until his curly haired bed companion (quite fairly) jerked away from him.

“No, we can use whatever you have,” Zaizen said, blinking slowly, calm expression suggestive of total and complete innocence, if not for the rare gleam in green eyes. He liked that cute yelp and the tone of accusation. Part of him truly wanted to take Akaya’s picture and the other part of him really wanted to steal his arm again and drag him forcibly and comfortably into the slumber they both needed.

“...your hair bounces. It’s nice,” Zaizen presented evidence that this was Not. His. fault.

Akaya rubbed his still-tingling ear, frowning at the faux-virtuous face Zaizen was making with equal parts suspicion and scepticism. The compliment threw another curveball into the mix. Studying him for a moment, Akaya felt an uneasy thought formulate, a cold needle pinpricking at the mellow mood.

“You’re delirious,” he said, curling his body in a more final sleeping pose, a guiding hand at the back of Zaizen’s head to let it rest on his shoulder again. “If we wake up tomorrow and this was all some fevery reaction, I’m gonna be real mad.” Quietly, he voiced his concern, but the strongest parts of him firmly disagreed with that concept. “I don’t think so, though,” an affirmation punctuated with a petting motion through his partner’s hair. “Go to sleep.”

Zaizen sighed and rested against Akaya, wearing an expression that suggested he was quite pleased that the tennis player finally figured out what he wanted even though he provided very few hints to that fact.

His companion’s concerns drifted into one ear, banged around a bit, and drifted back out again as he draped an arm over his trim, athletic waist. “It would take a lot more than half past two to regret decisions involving you,” Zaizen murmured to Akaya’s shoulder, half in song. Then, he frowned slightly. “Mmm...but I regret rhyming….That was weird,” his voice became softer as the familiar comfort dragged him slowly away from his conscious mind. “...I’m afk now.”

The hair combing persisted as Zaizen fell further into lassitude, the odd little rhyme his sleep-addled creativity provided bringing a reassured smile to Akaya’s face. He could feel his own lids growing heavy. Sleep was a quicktime event trigger with him anyway - now that the recharged strength from earlier had finally slipped away it was just a matter of stepping over the remaining chaos and slapping the button.

“That was fast,” he murmured more to himself. Zaizen must have hit a wall. His hand removed itself from the now-dry fluffiness, falling and winding its way over a narrow hip instead. “G’night,” a finality to no one, a few more moments of navigating the things to be repaired in his psyche, and the touch of that prompt marked “rest”.

The gentle push of Akaya’s fingers together with the sweet violin of a familiar song saw him deeper and deeper until his wayward thoughts slipped away completely. It was a nice seeing off after a long, victorious day.

Morning, however, felt less victorious. Morning was a bit grumpy. Just before ten in the morning, his brows scrunched together, triggered by the sun shining on his face and muted city chatter from outside. His fingers clung tighter to the heat against him, which he did register as Akaya after a few shakes of his cobweb decorated mind.

A few more minutes, he decided, after recognizing his safety and comfort. Those minutes came and passed, and as they did, Zaizen noticed the growing urgency with which he had to use the bathroom. He opened his eyes and noted Akaya’s sleeping features; with his phone barely a foot away, he was able to wriggle an arm away and sneak a picture. On focusing the phone camera on Sleepy Kakuna, last night came flooding back to him.

It just made the photo all the more valuable.

It took a lot more than a little sun and noise to wake Akaya when he was deeply asleep. What could was the extended absence of the space heater he’d slept beside (or around) all night - so about fifteen minutes later, Akaya groggily opened his eyes, drifting to wakefulness with some difficulty. The sharp smell of coffee hung fresh in the air and guided him along. Half-collapsing onto the floor, he practically crawled to the bathroom, habit placing logical morning routine before anything registered properly.

Registration seemed to reopen halfway through washing his hands. The cold water was like a reminder that he was, in fact, awake and therefore did, in fact, have to think. Memories were unveiled and the result was like a blow to his torso. Akaya’s face instantly felt hot again and he had to splash it multiple times with icy tap water for it to stop.

He padded out to the living area carefully, peering with some apprehensiveness around the corner rather than revealing himself fully in case a quick escape was needed or… something. “Hikaru…?” He called, as if unsure that was even the right way to start the day.

After carrying out his business Zaizen made the sensible progression to the kitchen, where he gravitated toward the coffee maker. The smell alone was enough to get him looking around for pancake ingredients and tossing them together into a bowl with chopped banana as he located them. At the sound of Akaya’s voice, Zaizen didn’t even pause while cutting up the strawberries.

“Yeah?” after he finished one berry, he peered over his shoulder and reached for the next. “You’re still alive? Did you brush your teeth yet?”

Huh. Pancakes were happening. Or, at least, what looked like the start of pancakes, with the ingredients laid out for preparation. Satisfied with the situation, Akaya ventured beyond the protective range of the corner and hovered between the counter and fridge instead, keeping away from the accessible range of floorspace needed to cook.

“Still alive,” he replied with a stretch and yawn. “Huh, yeah? Should I not have since you’re cooking…?” It wasn’t unusual for him to brush them twice some days, though, so the question seemed a little strange.

“Good,” Zaizen said, putting the knife down after he cut the last strawberry. He turned and reduced the protective range between them down to nothing. The hand that cupped Akaya’s cheek smelled like banana, but the lips that found his were all soft and toothpaste-fresh. “Because I’m not a fan of morning breath,” he said simply.

Yes. That still felt good. He smirked. “...You can help by stirring that.”

Akaya could only muster looking mildly puzzled until Zaizen was right in his space, anchored by the guiding hand and the confident kiss pressed to his mouth. Well that answers that, the doubtful voice that had taken residence said, packing up and leaving while the rest of him erupted into a mix of cheers and appreciation. “Uh, good… morning,” he said airily. Mildly dazed, Akaya picked up the bowl he was being directed to without any resistance.

About fifteen rotations of the spoon in, he caught up, watching Zaizen commandeer his kitchenette with ease. While his mouth opened a couple of times as if to say something, no words came. Looking into the bowl, an echo of stir bitch crossed his mind and he pouted into the batter as if it had personally offended him.

“Mmm,” he agreed, still wearing that satisfied little expression. Glad that his smoking car wreck was a helpful smoking car wreck, Zaizen fetched the coffee and divvied it out into mugs, his own with a somewhat disgusting amount of milk and sugar.

Zaizen eventually walked Akaya’s coffee to him and peered over his shoulder at the batter, which was coming along. “You make a good stir boy,” he complimented, poking the corner of Akaya’s pout.

Coffee existed, thank goodness. Accepting his mug gratefully, Akaya let the smell from close range fill his senses before taking a careful sip. Perfectly made. How irritating. Clearly irritation was why he let a smirk over the mug break his pout for a second until assaulted by prodding digits in his face.

Turning his head just slightly and gnashing his teeth at the offending fingertip, he took a longer drink of the coffee before returning to his stirring job. “Name like that makes me feel like I should be in a tank and shades,” he muttered. Then, after a pause, with a wicked grin; “You make a good housewife, staring out the window.”

Clicking his tongue at those threatening teeth, Zaizen withdrew his fingers with a frown that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m the kind of housewife who prefers stir boys. They provide food to cook and my husband doesn’t have to ask why the clothesline is filled with bikinis,” he gestured vaguely with his hand, going along with the narrative as he ventured to heat up a pan with the perfect amount of butter.

Zaizen playing along so seamlessly brought a traitorous little bonus grin to Akaya’s face. The batter looked almost smoothed through, so he knocked the bowl gently against his friend’s upper arm as a signal for him to take it. “Hmm. Closer at hand, too. All up in your kitchens.” Even though this was, in fact, his kitchen. “Is this the part where I say I’m knocking off for the day and you find somethin’ else for me to do?” It’s said slyly, but his eyes actually do wander to assess the breakfast situation.

Taking the bowl, Zaizen peered up at Akaya through sharply cut lashes and said, “Maybe I do. Have something else I want from you.” He followed that bit of almost flirting with the first, delicious hiss of batter on hot butter. The something extra turned out to not be all that sultry, “Find us some plates and forks? And syrup, if you’ve got it.”

Despite the teasing being partly his own making, the half-lidded look and provocative words were still very unexpected and Akaya felt blood rise to his cheeks. At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if he burst a capillary from all the extra blood flow they’d been dealing with. “Mhmm, that checks out. And I sigh and do it anyway, even though it ain’t in the job description.” He did as requested, though, first retrieving the syrup from his cheat cabinet - it had formed a sugary seal from disuse, so the remaining hot water from coffeemaking was poured over the closed cap in the sink to unstick it. Plates and cutlery were next, simple and easy to reach.

Akaya’s flush intensified in direct proportion to Zaizen’s smirk. His eyes followed the tennis player over to the cabinet, then he returned his attention to the task at hand, flipping the two pancakes once the mixture started to bubble. “I should rewrite that job description to be more vague…” he suggested, tapping the end of the spatula against his chin. “Expand the job role to hone diverse skills.”

And just like that, two pancakes were complete. Because one pancake each did not a stack make, he set the second set to sizzle.

The smell of frying batter began to overpower the smell of coffee, even when Akaya returned to his mug to finish it in small sips as he watched. “I have diverse skills,” he countered with vague movements toward the extremely arduous task he had just completed. “Excuse you.”

Breakfast was looking perfect and Akaya briefly wondered if he actually was still dreaming. He polished off his coffee, discarding the cup to the sink, his hands almost immediately twitching to find something to do. So he busied himself returning the used ingredients to the cabinets, having to pause occasionally to remember where half of them came from.

“Sure,” Zaizen said, more interested in his milk-coffee than sounding at all impressed. Content to nudge lazily at the pancakes to ensure that the edges glided perfectly along the pan instead of sticking, he exercised patience and flipped each when the time was right. As Akaya was cleaning up, he sent the now empty batter bowl his way to be filled with water.

“Think those diverse skills include pancake catching?” It was almost threatening, the way he edged the spatula around the nearly perfect circular treat.

There weren’t that many ingredients to put away and Akaya found himself free once again all too quickly, even with the batter bowl delegated to soaking in the sink. Zaizen’s question brought back memories of their last pancake morning and he glowered. As if to prevent any wild movements, he moved to lean into Zaizen’s side, pinning his left shoulder to keep it from swinging outward. “Last time, I caught one with my face, so yeah,” he said flatly, clicking his teeth again. “Really don’t wanna repeat that.”

Zaizen’s lips tipped into a sulk, but only because he kind of wanted a picture of pancake face Akaya to join his cute Sleepy Kakuna picture. “So not in the job description. Stirring and place setting, fetch...” he turned to fix his stare on Akaya, close and pressing his weight into his side, and add softly, “...Full contact blocking.”

Akaya glanced down to meet Zaizen’s eyes, half-questioning, half-challenging. He stuck out his tongue childishly, shoving his companion with a shoulder but not hard enough to disrupt any cooking motions. “Uh huh,” he agreed in monotone. “If this were more accurate, you’d add ‘looks super hot in a tank and shades’ to that.”

Feeling a little bolder, he snuck an arm around Zaizen’s waist loosely, watching the pancakes finish their light browning with only a little attention. “Anything else?” He prompted, tone suggesting it was the one last offer before food became priority.

Swaying with the shove and oscillating back to impact Akaya softly, Zaizen drawled back matter of factly at that immature expression, “You would have to be wearing that for me to add it accurately.” But the clap back didn’t hold much bite, not with Akaya’s arm looped around his middle at comfortable proximity.

Zaizen hummed thoughtfully, and weighed the desire for more coffee with not wanting the portable goofball to go too far. “Put the strawberries and some water on the counter. In a minute,” he assumed that they were eating there, as pancakes might be difficult on the couch.

“I’m sure your imagination can fill that in,” Akaya said with a smirk. The soul portrait was still his laptop’s wallpaper image; it was a recorded fact that Zaizen’s imagination had done greater leaps. He wondered if it was too late to fetch his shades now. Probably.

At the task given but the hint to stay put for now, he hummed, leaning his head onto Zaizen’s temple. Their height difference was notable like this. He waited for the requested minute before giving a quick “‘kay.” In a show of wickedness brought on by contentment, Akaya’s hand spidered rapidly up Zaizen’s spine and ruffled the back of his hair before he stepped away to fulfil his last stir boy duty.

“If I am lax with you now, you’ll only continue to take advantage of my imagination,” Zaizen said, a point well-emphasized when Akaya, after a few minutes of calm and easy companionship, teased up his back and carded through his already fluffy hair. He shot him a glare, its effect somewhat mitigated by his less than ferocious appearance and pan full of glorious golden pancakes.

“Annoying,” he huffed, and returned to task. Appearances would suggest that Akaya had won this round but, after fully plating the pancakes, Zaizen brought them over to the counter with light, near soundless footsteps that found him easily behind an unsuspecting Akaya.

A smirk in his eyes, Zaizen formed his lips into a little ‘o’ to blow a cool, ever so gentle gust against the base of Akaya’s neck.

Cackling at Zaizen’s prickly reaction to his parting shot of contact, Akaya’s self-satisfied smugness lasted the duration of the following fetch quest. The counter was set, not only with water but also orange juice and the glasses needed for them. Akaya stood back, pleased with his efforts (so impressive they were) and utterly distracted as a result.

The breath combined the element of surprise with the element of Akaya’s susceptibility to anything touching his neck, making him produce a truly undignified noise of shock and sensitivity. His knees buckled, one palm slapped over the still-tingling skin while the other caught him on the floor, glaring up at Zaizen with a crimson face of betrayal and mortification. “You are the worst,” he hissed, voice cracking on the last syllable.

Sharp eyes widened, thrilled with the contrast between Akaya’s self-satisfied prancing and the utterly flustered shock that brought him all the way to the floor. Almost smiling at the accusation — the expression flickered, as if unsure it was permitted — he put the plates of pancakes down on their setting.

“Yeah,” Zaizen agreed, extending a hand to help Akaya up. “Do S. What do you expect when I know you can make that face?”

Akaya could only glower as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to get the prickly feeling out of it. Usually one to miss smaller details in expressions, the brief wavering of Zaizen’s pride did command notice because Akaya had practically never seen it falter before. His brows drew together just a little at that, but finding the strength to put back into his knees became priority.

The offered hand was almost taken without hesitation but when Zaizen literally offered it with the reminder of his very S status, Akaya curled his fingers back suspiciously. “Guess I’m gonna be finding out about more of that,” he muttered under his breath, cutting his losses and taking the assistance prepared for any foul play.

Despite all his puffing and glaring, Akaya accepted this as readily as he always did. It brought a strange flutter both similar to and entirely different from the one accompanying his favorite faces.

Unfair.

Wordlessly, Zaizen clasped their hands together and pulled Akaya back up against him. “I’m not sorry,” he said, still in possession of his hand when he peered up at him.

A quirked eyebrow, amusement chasing out some of the discomposure. Akaya sighed, drummed his fingers along the back of Zaizen’s hand, and definitely did not think about revenge. “Of course you ain’t,” he agreed, arm currently still in his own possession finally reappearing from behind his head. “If I expected sorry from you for every little S display you did, we’d have a big problem.”

It would absolutely be sickeningly cheesy to hold hands at this point of the morning, so Akaya withdrew, making sure that one finger hooked for a second on one of Zaizen’s. “Pancakes matter more to me than being annoyed at you for usual reasons right now.”

Freshly grilled pancakes could get him off the hook for a lot, apparently. Even after Akaya sat by the counter, he felt the ghost of his touch playing on the back of his hand, knuckle by knuckle. He decided to ignore the sensation to occupy the pancakes beside Akaya’s.

“As long as you don’t expect pancakes every time either,” Zaizen decided, helping himself to some whipped cream and strawberry toppings. “Pancakes are…” for occasions sounded wrong. “At my discretion.”

“Uh huh. Secret menu item,” Akaya replied lightly. The fork may as well have teleported into his hand as soon as he was in range of the pancakes. Syrup was the most important thing, followed by the strawberries - dumping the remainder of them onto his plate after Zaizen had taken his share. Cutting off a syrup-soaked section that covered both layers, he ate as if starving. They were so much better than his usual breakfast fare of toast or wholegrain cereal.

Unable to not be distracted once more by the food, he spared an approving, appreciative glance at his partner before tucking into the rest. “So good,” he mumbled around a smaller mouthful.

“I know,” Zaizen said, taking in Akaya’s joy and scene of carnage for a minute before partaking himself. As he cut his pancakes into neat, relatively even pieces, he said, “When I made my character, all my empathy points went toward pancakes instead.”

Already half-done and swallowing another sizable chunk before replying, Akaya fixed Zaizen with a sneaky little grin. “Are you sure it wasn’t your height points you sacrificed?” The teasing was partly reactive and partly because Akaya secretly thought that mostly Zaizen’s empathy was doing just fine.

Zaizen frowned around his fork. Once he chewed and swallowed one of his bites, he said, “Excuse you. My height is average.”

If Akaya was going to start acting like Hirakoba -- completely unprompted calling him the wrong height for this, that, and the other thing -- he was definitely going to get some syrup in his lap.

Akaya actually shrugged, placated by the pancakes and not really feeling like needling his point to real insult level. “Sure, but you could’ve taken a couple more points,” he said, waving his fork in the air. The strawberry speared on it clung for dear life. “Not that I’m complainin’, really. Since I’m eating these.”

Two pancakes, the strawberries, and a glass of both water and orange juice vanished well within ten minutes. Feeling much more energised with the late breakfast working its magic, he leant forward on the counter with a contented sigh. “Unfair that those taste as good as they look.”

“Leave it to you to follow up I’m not complaining with a complaint,” Zaizen pointed out, edging his half-eaten plate between them in case the more athletic Akaya wanted more. His quest for the perfect strawberry to pancake and cream ratio was one that took time and perseverance. “Shouldn’t you be glad they taste as good as they look?”

Tentatively, mostly because he couldn’t remember the last time he drank orange juice, Zaizen took a sip. It was like liquid health.

Akaya made a grateful noise and picked one of Zaizen’s neat breakfast squares, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s not a complaint, I am glad, doesn’t make it less unfair,” he recited, ticking off the three points on his fingers. A smile came to his face at his friend’s suspicious treatment of the orange juice, but he kept his mouth shut just in case any teasing put him off drinking it.

A couple more pieces of pancake were selected, but after that, Akaya was satisfied. His dishes were collected up as Zaizen decided what to do with the remainder - upon rising from his seat, his revenge from earlier came to mind. Originally planning on extending a hand but now finding them occupied with plates, Akaya blinked, pursed his lips and focused before leaning down to take option B. “Thanks for breakfast,” he whispered. Then his teeth scraped the shell of Zaizen’s ear, catching for a brief second before Akaya fled to the kitchen with as much speed as he could.

The orange juice was good. Undoubtedly, feeling more awake and alive after consuming the juice was a placebo effect. It had to be. Zaizen soundly ignored Akaya’s sound off and defense -- because they didn’t matter -- and continued to sip at the beverage. Akaya probably could have eaten the rest of his pancake without him opting to notice or care.

Down to the dregs, Zaizen licked his lips for any lingering juice to tell off the voice all but crawling into his ear and tickling down his spine, but Akaya wasn’t done causing offense. Not at all. Where the whisper provoked goosebumps, teeth jostling sensitive skin and piercings brought him to tremble -- an alive feeling that blurred awareness of his fingers and toes to warmth and tingles.

The remainder of his orange juice fell to the floor, along with the glass, which shattered on impact. Flushing, Zaizen said, “Shit,” and slapped a hand over his ear. “Better run, you friggin jerk,” he muttered, face burning as he glared at Akaya’s back.

Hearing the glass smash to pieces behind him made Akaya start to howl with laughter for some reason. Revenge was served well and effectively, that much was obvious. He kind of regretted having to escape so quickly, but thankfully the open status of his kitchenette meant that despite the safety barrier between them, he was able to get a good look at Zaizen’s discomposed expression. Very good, he thought while trying to rein in his giggles, and then wondered if the other boy’s obsession with his own emotional output was rubbing off on him.

Depositing his dishes with the victorious crowing now reduced to a satisfied smirk, a kitchen towel was found to deal with the broken glass. “Two can play that game,” Akaya stated smugly as he peered back around, surveying the damage. Thankfully it seemed to have broken cleanly rather than splintering into a million shards. “Don’t start attackin’ me until I move this, though, damn.”

What game? It was like trading a poke for a punch in the face. It took a few more seconds for the electric touch to fade out, but when it did, his face was like a rain cloud bereft of lightning.

He seized on a paper towel and shredded it between nimble fingers. “I will attack you when I damn well please,” Zaizen grumbled sullenly, hands spitting bits of paper at Akaya while he pleased. “Don’t tell me what to do, stir moron.”

Rained down upon by a storm of napkin, the paper caught in Akaya’s hair as he knelt to retrieve the shards and dry the spilled juice. This ineffectual assault was more amusing and, inexplicably, deeply endearing than it was effective. He made the mistake of glancing up to assess the face that matched the sulky tone and almost received a piece of paper in the eye.

He shook his head, watching the pieces dislodge and fall to the ground, soaking up the small spray of orange dregs as they landed. “Pretty sure this counts as another stir boy duty,” he said. “The namecalling is also part of the job.” The cleanup was fast, and he scuffed a foot somewhat stupidly to check for anything lingering. Thankfully he found only slight sticky juice residue. “‘Kay, you used your counterattack chance, so,” he finalised, turning back to the kitchen to bin the old towel and its contents.

The name calling bit earned him a particularly vindictive handful of paper, but nothing further until he stood up and falsely declared his opportunity over. Not so — Zaizen lifted his slightly damp foot and gave Akaya a vengeful prod in his stupid behind.

“Stir ass,” Zaizen huffed, turning back to his now somewhat disappointing breakfast. “Breaking my orange juice. Ruining my hair. Ruining pancakes…”

The pancakes were clearly not that ruined, since he had resumed eating them after his hushed and sulky monologue.

Akaya stumbled slightly with the unexpected kick to his butt and shot a pout over his shoulder, more for the orangey footprint it would leave on his shorts than any actual offense (because alright, fair, whatever). The other side of the counter was where he came to rest after doing away with his broken burden - he wet another paper towel and chucked it over the barrier in Zaizen’s direction. “Wipe your gross feet,” he instructed. “No orange prints in this house.”

But leaning over the kitchen bench wasn’t that hard, and Akaya took the chance to reach and pluck at the top of Zaizen’s hair for a moment as he finished eating. “Nothing’s ruined except my glass, drama queen,” he drawled. “And you can’t break juice. Do you want more?” A peace offering, kind of.

Because Akaya wasn’t wrong about his feet, Zaizen wiped them off, only to pitch the soggy paper towel ball back at the tennis player after that completely uncalled for pull at his hair.

“No,” he said proudly. After eating the last piece of pancake, he instead passed his dirty dish over the counter. For all that, Akaya could clean up by his damn self while Zaizen made himself presentable for class.

The offending projectile was caught in the air before it hit Akaya’s person. The rebuttal hit harder than the returning napkin could have, anyway. Frowning, he backed up a bit with a tilt to his head. Records showed that Zaizen probably wasn’t really mad, but the tiny doubtful pinpricks har returned to his chest anyway.

He accepted the plate with a nod and a mildly worried glance, busying himself with the dishwasher and dealing with the earlier bowls and pans from preparation as he heard Zaizen leave to get ready. A pang of annoyance hit him - both at Zaizen and himself, Zaizen for being this kind of irritated at what should count as fair revenge and himself for thinking it was fair revenge. He shook it off, eventually also returning to his room as the dishwasher started its cycle.

Thanks to Akaya, his black trousers from the day before were clean. He donned those and went about styling his hair as best he could without the usual products. It came out a bit fluffy and long over his ears, but not too bad.

Feeling well and put back in order, he seemed glad to see Akaya when he entered the room. “Is it okay to borrow that one?” Zaizen asked, pointing to the red crew neck he had laid out on the bed.

Blinking at the question, Akaya paused in the doorway looking from boy to shirt as the mood had shifted back into something comfortable. The cold spots left his lungs. “Sure thing,” he said, trying to not feel guilty for getting annoyed - it was the usual system of back-and-forth they’d always had. Relief chased away the guilt and left an oddly light feeling there instead.

The bed beckoned invitingly and Akaya couldn’t help but dive onto it stomach-first for a moment, very much not wanting to leave the house. His foot off the edge groped around in the drawer it could reach, hooking a random shirt and holding it up in the air without him looking at it. He hoped it was blue. “Is this one okay?” He asked Zaizen, who he could actually see from this pose.

When Akaya came to that decision, Zaizen made a vague noise of thanks and shrugged into the red. Thankfully, their similar coloring meant that most of what Akaya owned, at least with respect to shade, looked well enough.

The nosedive back to bed amused Zaizen and he shamelessly pulled out his phone to snap a few pictures. He had earned them. His camera paused with the rummaging around, then he put it down entirely to consider the question. “What pants are you going to wear?” Zaizen asked, walking his fingers along Akaya’s back, unconsciously restoring their touch connection.

Akaya made sure to stick out his tongue in one of the photos. The shirt on his foot slipped dangerously as Zaizen’s hand found its way onto him again, but he caught it by straightening his ankle. He stared for a moment, grateful for the contact, before looking away to answer. “Umm. Grey. Pockets,” his chin tipped to the mentioned pair, draped on top of a chair on the other side of the room.

Zaizen was in perfect distance for Akaya to make a grabby motion at his waist, trying to get his friend to join him in laziness for a bit. Making him lie down again was out of the question with his hair done and the time to leave approaching, but just sitting closer would be better.

Entertained by the monkey-like display (and determined to put one on insta later), Zaizen let himself be snagged and sat down on the bed beside his ridiculous friend. “A darker shirt with those, too monotone,” his criticism lacked bite, as he was more occupied with drawing lazy figure eights along Akaya’s back. “Maybe navy? Or red?”

He did, however, approve of the light blue shirt when Akaya matched it with darker pants.

The shapes being traced through his thin sleeping shirt were pleasantly reassuring, and Akaya felt his eyes droop. “Y’makin’ me sleepy again,” he whined, but didn’t move to stop Zaizen’s motions at all. “Thanks, fashion edition Hikaru.”

The light blue shirt was flung unceremoniously off to one side and his foot went drawer diving again. The first one it hooked Akaya somehow felt the heaviness and knew it was an overly detailed band shirt (black), so the third attempt was hopefully the charm. “Thiiis one,” he said with some confidence. A lot of his wardrobe was darker blue or red - the whites were in another drawer, so there was a pretty good chance for success.

“You asked my opinion, Sleep Status Kakuna,” Zaizen said, but continued his ministrations nonetheless. Akaya’s back was warm and his fingers memorized the easy rise and fall of his spine, and how it felt at different angles. When Akaya threw the unworthy garment with his foot, he rolled his eyes. “Your toes are weird,” he commented. He stopped his petting to rescue the dark blue shirt from Akaya’s foot and give him a light thwap with it.

“Good color. Seems durable.”

“My toes are useful. Don’t insult them,” Akaya replied groggily, back arching very slightly as Zaizen’s hands found a tense spot. He really shouldn’t be risking dozing off again - skipping class was tempting enough without falling asleep and missing a REM cycle because he had to leave.

Somewhat thankfully, the soothing touch left suddenly and was replaced with fabric whipping his head. “Oi!” He squawked, propping himself up on one elbow as he snatched the shirt from his attacker’s grip. Shuffling to a sitting position, he glowered at Zaizen before taking his thin shirt off to don the new one. “Hitting me with my own clothes, that’s low.”

Zaizen shrugged and said, “I didn’t call them useless.”

As much as he would have liked to exploit that little arch, they did eventually have to go become productive members of society, or fail their respective diplomas. Akaya’s flapping around the shirt-slap was some consolation, however, and made him smirk.

“I see your boobs,” he commented, before he could consider that the taunt might have a connotation outside of their inside joke. “Flashing is also low.”

As soon as the new shirt was over his head, Akaya affixed Zaizen with a mock-embarrassed glare, arms tucked protectively over his chest. “Kyaa, pervert,” he said in the most monotone way he could manage while trying not to laugh. “No groping unless you’re planning on going somewhere with it.”

It was impossible to hold character after that, the thoughtless comment earning him actual embarrassment and a hand held up in surrender. “Wait, no, that was really stupid. Forget I said that.” He was grinning, though, trying to bite the smile back and failing miserably.

Zaizen’s cheeks puffed out to stop a laugh in its tracks. Some strange-sounding ghost of it escaped as his ridiculous expression smoothed into a smirk. Amusement sleek on his face, he engaged the sweetly embarrassed Akaya, shifting to stand in front of him and stare down, eyes alight as he pressed two fingers to the center of his chest. “It was. Really stupid,” he agreed, the other corner of his lip tipping up fondly to join the other. “...But I don’t want to forget.”

Akaya’s heart pounded once heavily as Zaizen's fingers met his sternum, eyes wide at the sudden turn in mood. His face lit up scarlet, another moment of frozen surprise, but his self-preservation kicked in quicker than before. A pillow was snatched up, swung with some force at Zaizen's middle before Akaya shot to his feet in front of him. “Oh my god,” he groaned, shoving the pillow between them. “I said forget it. Okay. I’m gonna go. Change.”

So fleeing probably wasn't the most dignified response nor the smartest, but sometimes too much really was too much. The bathroom door swung shut behind him. He stood there dumbly for a moment before realising his hands were empty and he was definitely an idiot.

The pillow and subsequent shove knocked him away long enough for Akaya to run away. But instead of a pair of slippers, he left his gray pants hanging abandoned on the chair. Zaizen couldn’t help but laugh -- a light, bubbling sound to unlike everything his image represented to sound mean. He hadn’t necessarily meant to invoke fight or flight but he didn’t feel sorry about doing so.

A hiccup interrupted his amusement as he pulled out his phone and focused on the trousers. He snapped them to Akaya with the caption hey cinderella, you forgot something.

His phone buzzed in his shorts pocket and Akaya jumped about half a foot. Fishing it out with annoyingly clumsy fingers, the snap made him smack his face with his free hand and make a distressed noise intentionally audible through the thin walls. Huffing, he took another few moments to compose a carefully cultured scowl.

It actually wasn't that long before he returned to the bedroom, walking right past Zaizen and snatching the pants up. “Look. Alright,” he grumbled, locking eyes with his friend across the room. “Very funny.”

Akaya’s groan was powerful enough to be heard through the door and Zaizen had to sit down. Fist balled over his mouth, he tracked Akaya with his gaze through the room. Akaya’s big man huffing through his scowl only ensured that the laughter never quite left his eyes.

The pants were flung over a shoulder as Akaya approached where Zaizen was seated, a reversal of their positions from a moment ago. Still frowning, he reached out to take Zaizen's barrier of fist away from his face, holding it in his own hand with some bizarre level of challenging strength. It was dropped soon enough, though, both of Akaya’s hands finding his partner’s jaw, glowering right up until he again mumbled, “Two can play,” and leaned down to kiss him.

Shelter gone, Zaizen stare held Akaya’s as his tightly pressed together lips kept squeaky laughter at bay. Akaya’s hand fit to his jaw achieved the opposite of its intention, quite unintentionally soothing Zaizen’s tensed expression to meet that familiar glower fondly. He almost replied that two can’t win, but, Akaya’s mouth proved that statement so very wrong. Kissing back softly -- the way he had only learned how last night -- he straightened up against Akaya and curled his deweaponized fist into the gray pants on his shoulder. Sneaky Kakuna was going nowhere without them, after all.

It would have been so easy to just skip class and stay here for another few hours. Akaya was still figuring out the ups and downs of what was okay, what was possible and what was exactly the same as always now that this wall had been removed from between them. An example was the fact that yes, he was kissing his friend once, twice; that was new and definitely okay. But the fact that Zaizen was trying to spirit away something he needed with a devious intention - that was pretty much business as usual.

He broke away a short distance, nose to nose with Zaizen with a flat look, despite the spark in his eyes. “We gotta actually go,” he muttered, not sounding enthused. “Gonna need those.” Gripping the offending wrist, he didn't move away at all to support his claim.

The air between them was heated and smelled like Akaya’s toothpaste for all their kissing, but Zaizen frowned into it all the same, eyes fluttering open to fix on the green ones mere inches from his own. His fingers tightened on the pants despite Akaya’s grip.

“...It’ll cost you,” he muttered, little scowl and furrowed brows holding firm.

“It’ll cost me?” Akaya replied incredulously, still not removing himself from Zaizen’s space at all. The leaning down was probably going to start hurting at some point, but oh well. “These are mine and I already bought them.” His grip slid up to pry at the clinging digits holding his clothes prisoner. It must be past 11 by now. What excuse was he supposed to give for being late? ‘Sorry, one of my best friends took my pants captive while I was kissing him, which for some reason kept happening even though I’d never thought about it before’? Probably not. “What’s your price,” he said instead of thinking about that anymore.

Zaizen’s fingers, strong from all the instruments they had mastered, held firm under Akaya’s attempts to free his pants. Ignoring the well-stated logic, Zaizen blinked up at Akaya until the other man seemed to realize that arguing with him was futile and would only make him later.

“A matcha cream,” Zaizen made his demand. “Hand delivered to Mikiya.” And if Akaya also wanted to stay there, it would be a bonus.

Zaizen's price raised Akaya's eyebrows another notch, more out of amusement than surprise. Some things really did never change. “If you mean today, I got practice until seven,” he said, an odd little twist to his mouth. “It’ll be pretty late.” Not the most subtle suggestion, but then neither had Zaizen's been.

“Y’know, though,” he added as he finally backed up a bit - not straightening fully but removing his face from single-inch territory. “Maybe, like, stockpiling sleep hours is a good idea. Since I’m leavin’ next week.”

That was the general idea. Akaya seemed to have grasped it well enough without further hinting, so Zaizen said simply, “I can wait. If it ends at seven, you’ll make the mens turn with the big bath.”

Although Zaizen didn’t love sharing a bathroom, he had to own up to enjoying a good long soak.

He released the pants, allowing Akaya to step out of his space that little bit. “That’s not how sleep works,” Zaizen drawled, before noticing that his words were completely counter to his not-so-secret goals. “But we can try it. For science.”

“Mhmm. For science,” Akaya agreed. This had all started with a scientific basis after all. Sort of. There was enough of a break between class and tennis that meant he could go buy chocolate. It would work out. Bathtime sounded… dubiously good also.

With that deal struck and his clothing free of grabby hands from crafty Osakans, getting actually changed and ready to leave was probably the best course of action to take. But the promise of another night in a row together made him feel strangely secure and brought a pink tint over his nose. Furtively he left a flash of a kiss on the high point of Zaizen's cheek, not looking back before slipping back out to the bathroom.

Cheek kisses from Akaya were also scientific. At least in how they provoked an explosion of warmth not unlike the famous mentos-coke frothtastic experiment. That was kind of how Zaizen felt, holding his cheek and watching Akaya walk away.

“Shit,” Zaizen muttered to himself, for multiple reasons. Firstly, he had half a mind to call Akaya back out in front of him to declare a few penalty shots for the surprise; primarily, the tennis player was right that they were late.

But -- Zaizen thought as his lips tilted up into a rare smile when he did his final school-appropriate check in the mirror -- at least he was leaving with everything he wanted and more.

Akaya felt himself blushing furiously at his own affectionate gesture, transparently having escaped again before having to deal with any potential effects of such. He finally managed to get his pants changed, check his hair and teeth in the bathroom mirror, and almost yell out loud at the time when he checked his phone.

In what felt like location pingpong, doubling back to the bedroom to pick up his sleeping gear was a return shot he hadn't planned for. Zaizen may have been able to borrow his clothes, but the other way around wasn't exactly practical. Those and another spare shirt were piled into one arm and shoved into his sports bag waiting in the entrance hall. “Ready to go?” He called after a hesitant pause.

Face kind of sore from all of these expressions, Zaizen was texting a classmate to sign him into lecture when Akaya finished up in the bathroom. “Yeah,” he said, taking a moment to appreciate the navy and gray combination on Akaya; needless to say, he had selected correctly. “I like your outfit,” he said, smirking as he turned around and made for the door, collecting his backpack and sliding into his shoes along the way.

It was almost tempting to do a quick model turn at the consideration of his outfit, but the part of Akaya that was still distinctly thrown off by the staring and accompanying compliment refused to do anything more than roll his eyes. Approaching with his own bag slung over one shoulder, he slid his free arm casually around Zaizen's and plucked at the red shirt. “I like yours, too,” he snickered, then pushed Zaizen gently toward to door. “Go on, I gotta lock up.”

Zaizen’s eyes wandered over to where tennis-formed fingers sampled the fabric, then oscillated back to the bright eyes and mop of curls that was Kirihara Akaya. “Thanks,” he said, and on his way out the door as prompted, he shot teasingly, “It looks better on me.”

“It's too big on you,” Akaya shot back with no actual bite. “I look great in that shirt.” Making sure everything was turned off - probably not coming back tonight, huh - and grabbing his keys, Akaya locked the door behind them and beckoned Zaizen to follow down the stairs. There was less than 40 minutes for them both to make it to class. Akaya’s was fairly close, but Zaizen's was a little further. With some luck, he’d still make it almost on time. The train station was not far, thankfully.

“The shirt over it counters that,” Zaizen pointed out, touching the white button down he had worn to the restaurant the day before. He waited until they were well on their way to the station before adding, “And I never said that it didn’t look good on you.”

Before any further could be added to that statement, he bopped his wallet on the turnstyle and, once they were both through, said, “Don’t run to class, you won’t have any energy for tennis later.” Because it was too public to do anything else, he pressed his fingers lightly to Akaya’s cheek. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was enough to put something cool in his step on the way up to the platform.

Akaya blinked, mouth half-open to reply after tapping through the gate as well, only to be held up short by the soft touch. After a break of a good fifteen minutes, his face lit up once again, taken completely off-guard by how inconspicuously tender the little bit of contact was. Unable to verbalise a reply, Akaya just nodded, words caught in a knot in his throat.

Raising a hand in goodbye, he wandered off still stunned to find his own platform. The (sort of) public show of affection had driven something else home that would take a while to unpack - the train trip and zoning out in class might have been needed more than he knew.

Comments

[kabutoneechan]

I just want to say that Hikaru officially has no room to ever tease Kenya about anything ever again. This was absolutely adorable. ♥

[naniwaspeed]

Ditto. ♥

[xyzai]

Excuse you Kenya this is none of your business (but. Um. Everything is Hikarus business)

[naniwaspeed]

It's my business if everything else is your business. :|

[gtl_yukimura]

♥