7 Ywpd Fragments
1. Captain Arakita (Arakita+Kinjou+Fukutomi)
It's a Sunday morning in February when Arakita wakes up to sunlight streaming through the blinds, picking out lazily drifting dust motes in the air of the apartment, showing every smear on the windows. Arakita, half asleep, squints at the dust in the corners of the room, the rings from coffee cups on the table, all the everyday chaos of student living, and sees it all clearly for the first time in months.
"Fuck," he mutters, and rolls over, hunched against the unexpected brightness of the morning, and goes straight back to sleep.
Kinjou turns up that afternoon, comes in after a cursory knock on the door to find Arakita on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, getting all the dust and the thin layer of grime that comes with everyday life up in hard angry strokes, both hands clenched around a sponge--although as he works he finds himself favouring his left side.
At least winter has given up, and at least the ache in his elbow has subsided with it.
"Spring cleaning, is it," Kinjou says. Hilarious. When Arakita looks up he's bent over, easing his shoes off. Then he'll step into the extra slippers as though they were his, Arakita thinks, and he'll walk over to the table and sit down like he's at home, and he won't even mess up the floor where it's drying. Arakita taught him that. Arakita may think housework is a total pain, but he knows how to not make more work for himself.
Kinjou steps into the extra slippers, and walks over to the table, checking the floor as he goes.
"Hey, asshole, watch where you're going," Arakita says anyway, "leave footprints and I'll make you clean it all again."
Of course, Kinjou just smiles at him, like it was meant to be funny.
Arakita snorts, turns his back on Kinjou and carries on. Behind him, he can feel Kinjou thinking about whatever it is he wants to say. It's Kinjou all over: he's great at saying the big things, but there's never any real lead-in. Not much small-talk, unless it's secretly a joke.
"What do you think," Kinjou says, finally, "about our prospects for next year?"
Arakita rolls his eyes. "What do I fucking think? Don't ask me, you're the one they'd make captain in a second."
"I'm not going to be captain," Kinjou says, and Arakita looks around sharply, suspicious of the pleased tone of the words. "But I want to know what you think we should be focusing on as a team. I trust your judgement. I'm just interested."
If Arakita was still on Fuku-chan's team, he wouldn't have been asked for his opinion and told he was trusted, but he'd have given it and he'd have known. Kinjou probably does mean what he says, but there's a gap there. It isn't absolute.
It's probably just as well, he thinks, annoyed at himself for even making the comparison. Who could even deal with absolute trust from two people. He isn't looking for a new Fuku-chan, doesn't need to replace something he hasn't lost. These two years as Fuku-chan's opponent have been good, full-on.
2. Huddling For Warmth (Kinjou/Arakita)
Kinjou is washing up when his phone rings, buzzing away on top of a stack of textbooks, right on the far side of the apartment. He hurries to answer it, mopping his hands on a cloth as he goes--quite probably it's his father, finally home from work, calling to wish him a happy birthday.
Instead, it's Arakita, sounding notably irritable even for him. Kinjou frowns at the phone. No practice today; no exams for classes they take together. No plans at all in the next few days.
"Kinjou," Arakita says. "The fucking space-heater's packed it in. I'm going to freeze to death."
"Really," Kinjou says. "Are you not stronger than that, Arakita? I'm disappointed."
It's hard to tell if Arakita snarls or laughs at Kinjou's sly tone; he subsides quickly, either way. "Hey," he says. "Hey, I was--"
"Come over," Kinjou says quickly, because otherwise Arakita might decide he's intruding and change his mind. It's been very cold out all week, and it doesn't seem as though it's going to stop. "I don't have much space, but we can make do. It's perfectly warm here."
Arakita is silent for a beat, clearly thrown by being pre-empted. "Yeah. Yeah, OK. Uh. Thanks."
As soon as he hangs up his father really does ring, and Kinjou sits through a combination of congratulations and overly optimistic speculation about how much time he spends on the phone with his alleged girlfriend and hardly has any time to worry about whether it will be strange having someone else in his apartment overnight at all.
3. Some Godawful Murderous AU (Arakita/Fukutomi)
Arakita works with latex gloves on, his hair under a cap, like a surgeon or a butcher. He is angry and focused. Systematic: the surfaces before the floor. Not only door frames and handles but the entire door surface; people catch doors with their hands all the time, without thinking about it. You can't be careless, not like some of those fucking morons who think they can get away with murder.
He goes over everything twice.
Cleaning was the first job he got, right after he dropped out of high school. The legit kind, cleaning people's flats when they moved, cleaning offices. The worst was cleaning homes people had died in, but it just goes to show: you never know what'll turn out to be good work experience.
He used to smell of chlorine and fake lemon scent all the damn time, and his legs never really stopped aching. He hated it, but what the fuck else was he meant to do?
That was years ago. And here he is again.
Fuku-chan finds him at home. "I'm sorry for making you do that," he says.
Arakita snorts. "Hell you are." But he thinks Fuku-chan looks kind of pale. It's always hard to tell with that damn stone-face, but maybe something's really fucked up this time.
"It wasn't meant to happen," Fukutomi insists. "I had not thought--but it doesn't matter."
4. Formalities (Tadokoro/Kinjou/Makishima)
It takes a while for Kinjou to get through the first round of introductions-so many people seem to remember him, people from his class, people from the road racing club, people he never even spoke to but for whom he was apparently a part of the landscape of the school. He hardly remembers half of their names, and feels stressed by it; smiles very carefully and nods and shakes hands and says, yes, it really does seem like a long time ago, doesn't it, far too many times. Yes, I was captain that year. It's as former captain that I'm here, of course-
Tadokoro and Makishima were there together when he arrived, but he missed them in passing-no sign of them now. People are still arriving, and it will take a while before anything happens, so he supposes they've gone to look around the school buildings.
He waits for the novelty of his appearance to wear off, slips outside for some air and hopes no-one will try to follow.
Everything is smaller than he remembers, familiar and unfamiliar in a rather uncomfortable way; buildings that were the whole world for a few years shrink, become ordinary in the dusty afternoon sun. The building they used to have chemistry lessons in is covered in scaffolding where it's going to be extended, a series of portable classrooms stand beside it. There is a new fence along the edge of the grounds.
He walks past the back gate where they used to have their finish line-a vivid flash of memory, Makishima laughing, rushing over in a sweep of bright hair to meet Kinjou and Tadokoro, knocking a fist against Tadokoro's, throwing an arm over Kinjou's shoulder. It's our year. Tadokoro's words, typically overconfident.
He thinks he felt happy, even though his ribs ached. Several extremes of emotion, here.
Around the corner, behind the old club room, people are talking-it isn't hard to work out who. Tadokoro's voice is deep and steady now, a rumble that it's hard for Kinjou to pick out words from; Makishima's is easier to follow. It's Tadokoro who laughs first, but Makishima joins in after a moment.
Kinjou walks in their direction, and Tadokoro's voice resolves itself into clarity.
"-so many people couldn't make it. It'd be a waste of time so far if it wasn't for Kinjou," he's saying. "We should go back and rescue him, huh?"
He misses what it is that Makishima says in response, distracted by a sharp burst of nostalgic affection, like the shock of a fresh cut. Tadokoro was always trying to look out for him in that last year of high school, in his own way-whether he needed it or not. But he often did need it.
"Ok," Tadokoro is saying. "Hey-hang on, you've got something-"
Kinjou steps around the corner of the building just as Tadokoro reaches for Makishima's face, brushes a broad thumb across the line of Makishima's cheekbone. They're standing very close, leaning towards each other as though they don't even know they're doing it.
"Hey," Makishima says, wide-eyed. "What-"
Tadokoro leans in even closer, presses their foreheads together.
"Hey," Makishima says again, more softly. Fond.
Kinjou takes a step backwards without thinking, suddenly aware of how loud the soles of his formal shoes are against the concrete. He isn't surprised, doesn't feel that this is any sort of new revelation-but something twists a little in his chest anyway, undefined.
He should leave and let them come and find him when they're ready.
"Kinjou," Makishima blurts out, and Kinjou looks up to see Makishima staring at him past the curve of Tadokoro's shoulder-understandably startled. But then he grins, lights up. His cheeks are still pink, and whether it's because of being so close to Tadokoro or being caught in that kind of moment is hard to say. "Kinjou!"
Kinjou closes his eyes when Tadokoro's arms wrap around him, brings a hand up carefully to Tadokoro's side, unsure what to do with it all: the force of Tadokoro's affectionate enthusiasm, the warmth of his body. And there's Makishima, too, a hand on his shoulder, a little less intense but not actually standing apart.
Is this how it is to come home? These people in this place, although he sees them fairly often, although he has visited the school once or twice.
But what a ridiculous thought. There's nothing particularly special about this moment. No long absence to justify how it feels, only a few weeks overseas for a conference and sightseeing.
"Let's not go back in," Makishima says. They're sitting in a row on a bench near the gate, Tadokoro pressed close against Shingo's right side, Makishima against his left. "No-one else I care about about is here anyway. And the speeches are going to be hell. I'll send them some money, they can be happy with that."
"Makishima," Kinjou says, as severely as he can, "do you mean to say that the loyalty you feel to our school is purely financial? And on top of this, am I right in understanding that you still have no plans to marry? I begin to doubt your moral character."
"Yes!" Makishima says, laughing. "My character is terrible, you should doubt it." He looks very good these days, far more comfortable, still quite clearly at odds with expectations but much more strategic about it. He's really very attractive when he laughs, Kinjou thinks, and wishes he hadn't. But it is how it is-it's very easy to let himself be drawn to both of them. He thought so back then, too, although in a far more abstract sort of way. At this point he is a little more aware of himself, although this doesn't actually make his life easier in the slightest.
He lets himself consider Makishima's suggestion. To leave again without any further ceremony, perhaps eat dinner together, drink a little sake and become nostalgic in a way which has fewer sharp edges. To let Tadokoro and Makishima keep him to themselves, to allow himself to sink into the warmth of their presence.
"We have to go back in eventually," he says, more sincerely, but not without regret. "I have to speak."
"Not yet, though, right?" Tadokoro says, smacks Kinjou's shoulder. "There's plenty of time." His hand lingers, Kinjou thinks. It feels like it could become something more intimate, and that thought threatens to make him flush. But it's all in his own perception. He knows that Tadokoro and Makishima are involved, although perhaps only casually. They've never said so, but they let him see things, little moments. They're very careful otherwise, as far as he can tell.
"No," he says, smiles at Tadokoro. "Not yet."
5. Train Stations (Arakita/Fukutomi)
It's already been dark for hours when Arakita meets Fukutomi outside the train station, straight from Kinjou's place, weighed down by a backpack full of books he won't bother to read this week. He's exhausted from training, from classes, from keeping up with all the daily bullshit-laundry and cooking and scrubbing the bathroom. He complained to himself all the way over. But here he is, and there's Fukutomi's ridiculous bleached hair, obvious behind a group of middle-aged guys in suits. Something flutters weirdly in Arakita's stomach.
"Oi," he shouts. "Oi, Fuku-chan, over here!"
Fukutomi turns in his direction, half-smiling as he walks over, and Arakita wants to murder himself for feeling so elated just because of that guy. Because of bad hair and a smile that hardly even existed.
"Arakita," Fukutomi says, and Arakita resists the urge to fidget under his serious scrutiny, meets his gaze, maybe a little defiant. "You look good."
"You're blind," Arakita says, and turns away sharply in case anything shows on his face after all. "Come on, let's get back to my place, it's fucking late."
6. Six Thousand Lights 3 (Tadokoro/Makishima)
They meet at twelve o'clock on the street outside Jin's flat. Makishima, heavily bundled up against a new wave of cold weather, throws an arm around him in greeting, pulls him into a friendly hug-hand steady between Jin's shoulder-blades, no laughing or back-slapping. How can this feel like a reunion? It's their third meeting in a week.
Something falls into place, all the same.
"Hi, Tadokorocchi," Makishima says, muffled against Jin's scarf, pulls away enough to look up at him. "Where are we going?"
Makishima looks really great, strikingly attractive; he's also wearing makeup, Jin realises-eyeliner, pale lipstick, kind of oddly restrained for Makishima, something you could miss if you weren't paying attention-but maybe that's the point, on a suburban street, in the middle of the day.
Jin feels torn between a diffuse sense of jealousy and the sudden awareness of how they're standing, how Makishima is looking up at him, hand still on his back. How easy it would be for them to kiss. If they both wanted to. He could raise a hand and rest it against Makishima's cheek. Cup Makishima's face, close the last distance-
"There's a place a couple of streets away," he says, turning to point in the right general direction, away from that little space where Makishima's breath condenses in the winter air. "Nothing fancy, but it's the best lunch you'll find-I'll tell you all the places, there's loads that look great but aren't worth shit."
"Of course you will," Makishima says, laughing; Jin can't help grinning back at him.
7. This Is Just Filth TBH, Only It Isn't Even V Filthy (Tadokoro/Makishima, NSFW)
Late evening, and everything becomes slightly unreal. The lamp makes the windows black, and the hum of the dehumidifier and the fan drown out the sound of the city outside, trains and cars and people, too far away to have anything to do with them. They're closed in; everything narrows to this, gasps of breath, the drag of damp skin against Yuusuke's fingertips, still covered in droplets of cool water from the shower. The way Jin's hands clench, Jin's expression soft, half turned away. His face pillowed against his arms. Jin is lying on his front, Yuusuke between his legs, pressing against him, close and intimate. This isn't so new any more, but it's still surprising, the fact that they're really together like this. Even if he's leaving again way too soon. Tomorrow afternoon, Narita to Heathrow. He'll be gone a little while. Not a year, it can't be a year.
The summer has gone so fast. Trains back and forth across the country, careful words late at night, wearing Jin's t-shirts all day on Sundays and refusing to get out of bed. But it wasn't a dream, it all happened. He was here. Is here.
"Yuusuke," Jin says, voice rough. Imagine: that Jin can sound like this. Because he wants Yuusuke.
Yuusuke groans, flicks his hair away from his face, the tips of it twitching over Jin's back. Strokes his thumb carefully over the line of Jin's hipbone, the shape of it softened, nothing at all like Yuusuke's own awkward sharp angles. Closes his eyes when the touch makes Jin push back, pressing their bodies more closely together. Yuusuke's cock against the cleft of Jin's arse. "Good?"
"Yeah," Jin says. "Come on, is that all you're going to do?"
He's clearly trying to keep his voice down, but it sounds loud to Makishima anyway, amplified in the quietness of the building.
There are neighbours who could hear, people going about their business. The sound of a door slamming on the floor below. But that doesn't feel quite real either.
It's a Sunday morning in February when Arakita wakes up to sunlight streaming through the blinds, picking out lazily drifting dust motes in the air of the apartment, showing every smear on the windows. Arakita, half asleep, squints at the dust in the corners of the room, the rings from coffee cups on the table, all the everyday chaos of student living, and sees it all clearly for the first time in months.
"Fuck," he mutters, and rolls over, hunched against the unexpected brightness of the morning, and goes straight back to sleep.
Kinjou turns up that afternoon, comes in after a cursory knock on the door to find Arakita on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, getting all the dust and the thin layer of grime that comes with everyday life up in hard angry strokes, both hands clenched around a sponge--although as he works he finds himself favouring his left side.
At least winter has given up, and at least the ache in his elbow has subsided with it.
"Spring cleaning, is it," Kinjou says. Hilarious. When Arakita looks up he's bent over, easing his shoes off. Then he'll step into the extra slippers as though they were his, Arakita thinks, and he'll walk over to the table and sit down like he's at home, and he won't even mess up the floor where it's drying. Arakita taught him that. Arakita may think housework is a total pain, but he knows how to not make more work for himself.
Kinjou steps into the extra slippers, and walks over to the table, checking the floor as he goes.
"Hey, asshole, watch where you're going," Arakita says anyway, "leave footprints and I'll make you clean it all again."
Of course, Kinjou just smiles at him, like it was meant to be funny.
Arakita snorts, turns his back on Kinjou and carries on. Behind him, he can feel Kinjou thinking about whatever it is he wants to say. It's Kinjou all over: he's great at saying the big things, but there's never any real lead-in. Not much small-talk, unless it's secretly a joke.
"What do you think," Kinjou says, finally, "about our prospects for next year?"
Arakita rolls his eyes. "What do I fucking think? Don't ask me, you're the one they'd make captain in a second."
"I'm not going to be captain," Kinjou says, and Arakita looks around sharply, suspicious of the pleased tone of the words. "But I want to know what you think we should be focusing on as a team. I trust your judgement. I'm just interested."
If Arakita was still on Fuku-chan's team, he wouldn't have been asked for his opinion and told he was trusted, but he'd have given it and he'd have known. Kinjou probably does mean what he says, but there's a gap there. It isn't absolute.
It's probably just as well, he thinks, annoyed at himself for even making the comparison. Who could even deal with absolute trust from two people. He isn't looking for a new Fuku-chan, doesn't need to replace something he hasn't lost. These two years as Fuku-chan's opponent have been good, full-on.
2. Huddling For Warmth (Kinjou/Arakita)
Kinjou is washing up when his phone rings, buzzing away on top of a stack of textbooks, right on the far side of the apartment. He hurries to answer it, mopping his hands on a cloth as he goes--quite probably it's his father, finally home from work, calling to wish him a happy birthday.
Instead, it's Arakita, sounding notably irritable even for him. Kinjou frowns at the phone. No practice today; no exams for classes they take together. No plans at all in the next few days.
"Kinjou," Arakita says. "The fucking space-heater's packed it in. I'm going to freeze to death."
"Really," Kinjou says. "Are you not stronger than that, Arakita? I'm disappointed."
It's hard to tell if Arakita snarls or laughs at Kinjou's sly tone; he subsides quickly, either way. "Hey," he says. "Hey, I was--"
"Come over," Kinjou says quickly, because otherwise Arakita might decide he's intruding and change his mind. It's been very cold out all week, and it doesn't seem as though it's going to stop. "I don't have much space, but we can make do. It's perfectly warm here."
Arakita is silent for a beat, clearly thrown by being pre-empted. "Yeah. Yeah, OK. Uh. Thanks."
As soon as he hangs up his father really does ring, and Kinjou sits through a combination of congratulations and overly optimistic speculation about how much time he spends on the phone with his alleged girlfriend and hardly has any time to worry about whether it will be strange having someone else in his apartment overnight at all.
3. Some Godawful Murderous AU (Arakita/Fukutomi)
Arakita works with latex gloves on, his hair under a cap, like a surgeon or a butcher. He is angry and focused. Systematic: the surfaces before the floor. Not only door frames and handles but the entire door surface; people catch doors with their hands all the time, without thinking about it. You can't be careless, not like some of those fucking morons who think they can get away with murder.
He goes over everything twice.
Cleaning was the first job he got, right after he dropped out of high school. The legit kind, cleaning people's flats when they moved, cleaning offices. The worst was cleaning homes people had died in, but it just goes to show: you never know what'll turn out to be good work experience.
He used to smell of chlorine and fake lemon scent all the damn time, and his legs never really stopped aching. He hated it, but what the fuck else was he meant to do?
That was years ago. And here he is again.
Fuku-chan finds him at home. "I'm sorry for making you do that," he says.
Arakita snorts. "Hell you are." But he thinks Fuku-chan looks kind of pale. It's always hard to tell with that damn stone-face, but maybe something's really fucked up this time.
"It wasn't meant to happen," Fukutomi insists. "I had not thought--but it doesn't matter."
4. Formalities (Tadokoro/Kinjou/Makishima)
It takes a while for Kinjou to get through the first round of introductions-so many people seem to remember him, people from his class, people from the road racing club, people he never even spoke to but for whom he was apparently a part of the landscape of the school. He hardly remembers half of their names, and feels stressed by it; smiles very carefully and nods and shakes hands and says, yes, it really does seem like a long time ago, doesn't it, far too many times. Yes, I was captain that year. It's as former captain that I'm here, of course-
Tadokoro and Makishima were there together when he arrived, but he missed them in passing-no sign of them now. People are still arriving, and it will take a while before anything happens, so he supposes they've gone to look around the school buildings.
He waits for the novelty of his appearance to wear off, slips outside for some air and hopes no-one will try to follow.
Everything is smaller than he remembers, familiar and unfamiliar in a rather uncomfortable way; buildings that were the whole world for a few years shrink, become ordinary in the dusty afternoon sun. The building they used to have chemistry lessons in is covered in scaffolding where it's going to be extended, a series of portable classrooms stand beside it. There is a new fence along the edge of the grounds.
He walks past the back gate where they used to have their finish line-a vivid flash of memory, Makishima laughing, rushing over in a sweep of bright hair to meet Kinjou and Tadokoro, knocking a fist against Tadokoro's, throwing an arm over Kinjou's shoulder. It's our year. Tadokoro's words, typically overconfident.
He thinks he felt happy, even though his ribs ached. Several extremes of emotion, here.
Around the corner, behind the old club room, people are talking-it isn't hard to work out who. Tadokoro's voice is deep and steady now, a rumble that it's hard for Kinjou to pick out words from; Makishima's is easier to follow. It's Tadokoro who laughs first, but Makishima joins in after a moment.
Kinjou walks in their direction, and Tadokoro's voice resolves itself into clarity.
"-so many people couldn't make it. It'd be a waste of time so far if it wasn't for Kinjou," he's saying. "We should go back and rescue him, huh?"
He misses what it is that Makishima says in response, distracted by a sharp burst of nostalgic affection, like the shock of a fresh cut. Tadokoro was always trying to look out for him in that last year of high school, in his own way-whether he needed it or not. But he often did need it.
"Ok," Tadokoro is saying. "Hey-hang on, you've got something-"
Kinjou steps around the corner of the building just as Tadokoro reaches for Makishima's face, brushes a broad thumb across the line of Makishima's cheekbone. They're standing very close, leaning towards each other as though they don't even know they're doing it.
"Hey," Makishima says, wide-eyed. "What-"
Tadokoro leans in even closer, presses their foreheads together.
"Hey," Makishima says again, more softly. Fond.
Kinjou takes a step backwards without thinking, suddenly aware of how loud the soles of his formal shoes are against the concrete. He isn't surprised, doesn't feel that this is any sort of new revelation-but something twists a little in his chest anyway, undefined.
He should leave and let them come and find him when they're ready.
"Kinjou," Makishima blurts out, and Kinjou looks up to see Makishima staring at him past the curve of Tadokoro's shoulder-understandably startled. But then he grins, lights up. His cheeks are still pink, and whether it's because of being so close to Tadokoro or being caught in that kind of moment is hard to say. "Kinjou!"
Kinjou closes his eyes when Tadokoro's arms wrap around him, brings a hand up carefully to Tadokoro's side, unsure what to do with it all: the force of Tadokoro's affectionate enthusiasm, the warmth of his body. And there's Makishima, too, a hand on his shoulder, a little less intense but not actually standing apart.
Is this how it is to come home? These people in this place, although he sees them fairly often, although he has visited the school once or twice.
But what a ridiculous thought. There's nothing particularly special about this moment. No long absence to justify how it feels, only a few weeks overseas for a conference and sightseeing.
"Let's not go back in," Makishima says. They're sitting in a row on a bench near the gate, Tadokoro pressed close against Shingo's right side, Makishima against his left. "No-one else I care about about is here anyway. And the speeches are going to be hell. I'll send them some money, they can be happy with that."
"Makishima," Kinjou says, as severely as he can, "do you mean to say that the loyalty you feel to our school is purely financial? And on top of this, am I right in understanding that you still have no plans to marry? I begin to doubt your moral character."
"Yes!" Makishima says, laughing. "My character is terrible, you should doubt it." He looks very good these days, far more comfortable, still quite clearly at odds with expectations but much more strategic about it. He's really very attractive when he laughs, Kinjou thinks, and wishes he hadn't. But it is how it is-it's very easy to let himself be drawn to both of them. He thought so back then, too, although in a far more abstract sort of way. At this point he is a little more aware of himself, although this doesn't actually make his life easier in the slightest.
He lets himself consider Makishima's suggestion. To leave again without any further ceremony, perhaps eat dinner together, drink a little sake and become nostalgic in a way which has fewer sharp edges. To let Tadokoro and Makishima keep him to themselves, to allow himself to sink into the warmth of their presence.
"We have to go back in eventually," he says, more sincerely, but not without regret. "I have to speak."
"Not yet, though, right?" Tadokoro says, smacks Kinjou's shoulder. "There's plenty of time." His hand lingers, Kinjou thinks. It feels like it could become something more intimate, and that thought threatens to make him flush. But it's all in his own perception. He knows that Tadokoro and Makishima are involved, although perhaps only casually. They've never said so, but they let him see things, little moments. They're very careful otherwise, as far as he can tell.
"No," he says, smiles at Tadokoro. "Not yet."
5. Train Stations (Arakita/Fukutomi)
It's already been dark for hours when Arakita meets Fukutomi outside the train station, straight from Kinjou's place, weighed down by a backpack full of books he won't bother to read this week. He's exhausted from training, from classes, from keeping up with all the daily bullshit-laundry and cooking and scrubbing the bathroom. He complained to himself all the way over. But here he is, and there's Fukutomi's ridiculous bleached hair, obvious behind a group of middle-aged guys in suits. Something flutters weirdly in Arakita's stomach.
"Oi," he shouts. "Oi, Fuku-chan, over here!"
Fukutomi turns in his direction, half-smiling as he walks over, and Arakita wants to murder himself for feeling so elated just because of that guy. Because of bad hair and a smile that hardly even existed.
"Arakita," Fukutomi says, and Arakita resists the urge to fidget under his serious scrutiny, meets his gaze, maybe a little defiant. "You look good."
"You're blind," Arakita says, and turns away sharply in case anything shows on his face after all. "Come on, let's get back to my place, it's fucking late."
6. Six Thousand Lights 3 (Tadokoro/Makishima)
They meet at twelve o'clock on the street outside Jin's flat. Makishima, heavily bundled up against a new wave of cold weather, throws an arm around him in greeting, pulls him into a friendly hug-hand steady between Jin's shoulder-blades, no laughing or back-slapping. How can this feel like a reunion? It's their third meeting in a week.
Something falls into place, all the same.
"Hi, Tadokorocchi," Makishima says, muffled against Jin's scarf, pulls away enough to look up at him. "Where are we going?"
Makishima looks really great, strikingly attractive; he's also wearing makeup, Jin realises-eyeliner, pale lipstick, kind of oddly restrained for Makishima, something you could miss if you weren't paying attention-but maybe that's the point, on a suburban street, in the middle of the day.
Jin feels torn between a diffuse sense of jealousy and the sudden awareness of how they're standing, how Makishima is looking up at him, hand still on his back. How easy it would be for them to kiss. If they both wanted to. He could raise a hand and rest it against Makishima's cheek. Cup Makishima's face, close the last distance-
"There's a place a couple of streets away," he says, turning to point in the right general direction, away from that little space where Makishima's breath condenses in the winter air. "Nothing fancy, but it's the best lunch you'll find-I'll tell you all the places, there's loads that look great but aren't worth shit."
"Of course you will," Makishima says, laughing; Jin can't help grinning back at him.
7. This Is Just Filth TBH, Only It Isn't Even V Filthy (Tadokoro/Makishima, NSFW)
Late evening, and everything becomes slightly unreal. The lamp makes the windows black, and the hum of the dehumidifier and the fan drown out the sound of the city outside, trains and cars and people, too far away to have anything to do with them. They're closed in; everything narrows to this, gasps of breath, the drag of damp skin against Yuusuke's fingertips, still covered in droplets of cool water from the shower. The way Jin's hands clench, Jin's expression soft, half turned away. His face pillowed against his arms. Jin is lying on his front, Yuusuke between his legs, pressing against him, close and intimate. This isn't so new any more, but it's still surprising, the fact that they're really together like this. Even if he's leaving again way too soon. Tomorrow afternoon, Narita to Heathrow. He'll be gone a little while. Not a year, it can't be a year.
The summer has gone so fast. Trains back and forth across the country, careful words late at night, wearing Jin's t-shirts all day on Sundays and refusing to get out of bed. But it wasn't a dream, it all happened. He was here. Is here.
"Yuusuke," Jin says, voice rough. Imagine: that Jin can sound like this. Because he wants Yuusuke.
Yuusuke groans, flicks his hair away from his face, the tips of it twitching over Jin's back. Strokes his thumb carefully over the line of Jin's hipbone, the shape of it softened, nothing at all like Yuusuke's own awkward sharp angles. Closes his eyes when the touch makes Jin push back, pressing their bodies more closely together. Yuusuke's cock against the cleft of Jin's arse. "Good?"
"Yeah," Jin says. "Come on, is that all you're going to do?"
He's clearly trying to keep his voice down, but it sounds loud to Makishima anyway, amplified in the quietness of the building.
There are neighbours who could hear, people going about their business. The sound of a door slamming on the floor below. But that doesn't feel quite real either.