sugar sweet
“Thank you!” Hideaki traded bright smiles with the cashier, a pretty young thing with flirting eyes.
At his side, Tsubasa snickered quietly. A pretty young thing... who had absolutely no chance in hell. He snagged their items from the counter and hooked his arm around the compliant Hideaki, steering both away. “Come,” he commanded, handing the bags off efficiently to the already overburdened Hideaki. “I need new jeans and so do you.”
“Do not,” Hideaki protested, more out of habit to be contrary than out of any real conviction behind his statement.
“You’re wrong,” Tsubasa countered cheerfully. “Besides, you’re paying.”
**
Imai Tsubasa - aspiring chef extraordinaire - was self-aware enough to acknowledge most of his failures but uncertain enough to require validation from outside opinions. “How is it?” he asked curiously. (It was squid salad.)
“A bit crunchy, but not bad. Quite delicious.”
Tsubasa took another hesitant forkful and spit it out. Wrong - this most definitely belonged in the failure category. Meanwhile, Hideaki had piled on dressing and was happily munching away.
Tsubasa boggled. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a failure if it had an appreciative audience? Or... perhaps he needed to find a somewhat less biased judge.
**
Hideaki popped the dvd in and scurried back to the couch. It was a horror movie (not his favorite genre what with the blood, screaming and sudden zombie attacks).
Twenty minutes in -
“Eww! That’s gross!” Tsubasa grimaced.
Hideaki pulled him in close, conveniently using the movement to shift his eyes away from the exploding brains on the screen. “Wanna stop and go to bed?”
“Nah,” Tsubasa said, snuggling up. “It’s just getting to the good part.”
Hideaki sighed and prepared himself mentally for a long night of nightmares; at least he had Tsubasa to hold as a security blanket.
At his side, Tsubasa snickered quietly. A pretty young thing... who had absolutely no chance in hell. He snagged their items from the counter and hooked his arm around the compliant Hideaki, steering both away. “Come,” he commanded, handing the bags off efficiently to the already overburdened Hideaki. “I need new jeans and so do you.”
“Do not,” Hideaki protested, more out of habit to be contrary than out of any real conviction behind his statement.
“You’re wrong,” Tsubasa countered cheerfully. “Besides, you’re paying.”
**
Imai Tsubasa - aspiring chef extraordinaire - was self-aware enough to acknowledge most of his failures but uncertain enough to require validation from outside opinions. “How is it?” he asked curiously. (It was squid salad.)
“A bit crunchy, but not bad. Quite delicious.”
Tsubasa took another hesitant forkful and spit it out. Wrong - this most definitely belonged in the failure category. Meanwhile, Hideaki had piled on dressing and was happily munching away.
Tsubasa boggled. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a failure if it had an appreciative audience? Or... perhaps he needed to find a somewhat less biased judge.
**
Hideaki popped the dvd in and scurried back to the couch. It was a horror movie (not his favorite genre what with the blood, screaming and sudden zombie attacks).
Twenty minutes in -
“Eww! That’s gross!” Tsubasa grimaced.
Hideaki pulled him in close, conveniently using the movement to shift his eyes away from the exploding brains on the screen. “Wanna stop and go to bed?”
“Nah,” Tsubasa said, snuggling up. “It’s just getting to the good part.”
Hideaki sighed and prepared himself mentally for a long night of nightmares; at least he had Tsubasa to hold as a security blanket.