tenipuri: timing
timing
yuushi/gakuto. 895w.
july:
The apartment’s AC is broken. They’ve left all the windows open, letting in the sound of sidewalk traffic and the clammy summer air. It’s too hot to even breathe. Gakuto is sweaty and listless, glaring at the ceiling from under the arm thrown over his face. The fan spins achingly slow. Yuushi is spread out next to him on the couch, shirtless, motionless. His hand is centimeters from Gakuto’s, like he’d reach for it if only finding the energy to move was easier.
I love you baby, a radio croons into the empty room. Gakuto squeezes his eyes shut, against the sweat in his lashes, and yawns. Yuushi chuckles; it’s low and warm. With an effort, he turns, and flicks sweat into Gakuto’s face. His fingers accidentally brush the side of Gakuto’s jaw. Gakuto stretches lazily and calls Yuushi a dick.
He feels sticky and graceless when he straddles Yuushi’s lap, balanced on his knees. Skin contact is agonizing in this kind of heat. His face is flushed and damp, and his hair sticks to the nape of his neck. Gakuto presses his palms to Yuushi’s shoulders, his waist to Yuushi’s chest. It’s too hot to be horny, he thinks, annoyed. Yuushi kisses him anyway.
october:
When juku ends, the sky is nearly dark. The train ride home is half an hour long on average. Gakuto slouches in his seat, headphones on, stubbornly ignoring the car of strangers. Yuushi, having given up on his world literature reading, keeps his place with his thumb. Occasionally he attempts another page, but never makes it past the previous line.
The train makes a shrill noise when they reach the first stop. People jostle in and out, mumbling their apologies. Yuushi rubs his eyes under his glasses. Gakuto pokes his ribs with a pen and slips him a note on the back of an old receipt, with a lollipop.
Tired? it asks.
A little, Yuushi writes back.
Gakuto’s next note reads: Go to sleep, loser.
Yuushi sticks the lollipop in his mouth and scribbles, You’d miss our stop.
No I wouldn’t, Gakuto mouths around his own candy, and tucks the receipt into his pocket to keep.
The next five minutes comes with another mélange of faces and clipped conversation. Gakuto shifts closer, away from the shutting doors, and Yuushi reaches for his hand on impulse, hidden under his long jacket. Gakuto’s fingers twitch under his. Yuushi rolls the lollipop on his tongue, tastes strawberry and sugar, gets imaginative. The train starts again.
When a new, sudden weight hits his shoulder, Yuushi isn’t surprised. The train jerks and Gakuto’s hair tickles Yuushi’s neck. From this angle, Gakuto looks a little like a girl, saving them from any strange looks, though Yuushi’ll never tell. There are less than ten minutes until their stop. He lets Gakuto sleep, slumped against his shoulder with his headphones falling around his neck, and watches the subway lights fly past outside.
january:
The New Year comes quickly. It snows that early morning, so Gakuto spends ten minutes throwing rocks at Yuushi’s bedroom window. It’s the kind of cliché that Yuushi would appreciate. When the front door finally opens, Yuushi is still rumpled and groggy, his accent thick with sleep. “You’re a little bastard, you know that?” he says, bundled up in a parka and pyjama pants.
“I’ll serenade you next time.” Gakuto rocks back and forth on his feet to keep his blood flowing. He’s cold and wet in his hoodie and a scarf, cheeks stung blotchy pink. The snow in his hair melts under the lightest touch. Yuushi frowns a little as he tries to rub some warmth back into Gakuto’s hands.
“You’re freezing.”
“You should have come out earlier.”
Yuushi smiles. “So I can freeze with you?”
“It’s the new year,” Gakuto tells him, shivering and numb and happy. “Live a little.”
april:
They waste most of their spring break swallowing ocean water and lying around the beach until they have to scrub the salt from their skin. At the end of the two weeks, Gakuto has highlights in his hair and an unforgiving sunburn across the back of his shoulders. Yuushi is considerate and keeps his hands below the waist when they make out.
They sit on the shore, low enough that the waves ebb at their feet. Gakuto has sand between his toes and matted to his ankles. He rolls onto his stomach and stretches out like a cat. When the water rushes in again, it floods over his calves and reaches the hem of his shorts.
“What time is it?” he says.
Yuushi stops drawing hearts in the sand in order to fish out his cell phone. “Almost seven,” he reads, with his glasses still pushed up in his hair, and snaps the phone shut. “We need to leave soon.”
Gakuto shrugs. Yuushi writes their names inside one of the hearts, then wipes it away with the palm of his hand.
“What are you doing after this year?” Yuushi asks.
“Who knows,” says Gakuto. He stares up at Yuushi over the curve of his elbow, sleepy and evaluative. Then he initiates some footsie. They end up missing the next bus home and having to stay another half hour, through the sunset. Yuushi holds Gakuto’s wrist and steals a kiss. Next spring, they’ll graduate. They still have another year in between.
yuushi/gakuto. 895w.
july:
The apartment’s AC is broken. They’ve left all the windows open, letting in the sound of sidewalk traffic and the clammy summer air. It’s too hot to even breathe. Gakuto is sweaty and listless, glaring at the ceiling from under the arm thrown over his face. The fan spins achingly slow. Yuushi is spread out next to him on the couch, shirtless, motionless. His hand is centimeters from Gakuto’s, like he’d reach for it if only finding the energy to move was easier.
I love you baby, a radio croons into the empty room. Gakuto squeezes his eyes shut, against the sweat in his lashes, and yawns. Yuushi chuckles; it’s low and warm. With an effort, he turns, and flicks sweat into Gakuto’s face. His fingers accidentally brush the side of Gakuto’s jaw. Gakuto stretches lazily and calls Yuushi a dick.
He feels sticky and graceless when he straddles Yuushi’s lap, balanced on his knees. Skin contact is agonizing in this kind of heat. His face is flushed and damp, and his hair sticks to the nape of his neck. Gakuto presses his palms to Yuushi’s shoulders, his waist to Yuushi’s chest. It’s too hot to be horny, he thinks, annoyed. Yuushi kisses him anyway.
october:
When juku ends, the sky is nearly dark. The train ride home is half an hour long on average. Gakuto slouches in his seat, headphones on, stubbornly ignoring the car of strangers. Yuushi, having given up on his world literature reading, keeps his place with his thumb. Occasionally he attempts another page, but never makes it past the previous line.
The train makes a shrill noise when they reach the first stop. People jostle in and out, mumbling their apologies. Yuushi rubs his eyes under his glasses. Gakuto pokes his ribs with a pen and slips him a note on the back of an old receipt, with a lollipop.
Tired? it asks.
A little, Yuushi writes back.
Gakuto’s next note reads: Go to sleep, loser.
Yuushi sticks the lollipop in his mouth and scribbles, You’d miss our stop.
No I wouldn’t, Gakuto mouths around his own candy, and tucks the receipt into his pocket to keep.
The next five minutes comes with another mélange of faces and clipped conversation. Gakuto shifts closer, away from the shutting doors, and Yuushi reaches for his hand on impulse, hidden under his long jacket. Gakuto’s fingers twitch under his. Yuushi rolls the lollipop on his tongue, tastes strawberry and sugar, gets imaginative. The train starts again.
When a new, sudden weight hits his shoulder, Yuushi isn’t surprised. The train jerks and Gakuto’s hair tickles Yuushi’s neck. From this angle, Gakuto looks a little like a girl, saving them from any strange looks, though Yuushi’ll never tell. There are less than ten minutes until their stop. He lets Gakuto sleep, slumped against his shoulder with his headphones falling around his neck, and watches the subway lights fly past outside.
january:
The New Year comes quickly. It snows that early morning, so Gakuto spends ten minutes throwing rocks at Yuushi’s bedroom window. It’s the kind of cliché that Yuushi would appreciate. When the front door finally opens, Yuushi is still rumpled and groggy, his accent thick with sleep. “You’re a little bastard, you know that?” he says, bundled up in a parka and pyjama pants.
“I’ll serenade you next time.” Gakuto rocks back and forth on his feet to keep his blood flowing. He’s cold and wet in his hoodie and a scarf, cheeks stung blotchy pink. The snow in his hair melts under the lightest touch. Yuushi frowns a little as he tries to rub some warmth back into Gakuto’s hands.
“You’re freezing.”
“You should have come out earlier.”
Yuushi smiles. “So I can freeze with you?”
“It’s the new year,” Gakuto tells him, shivering and numb and happy. “Live a little.”
april:
They waste most of their spring break swallowing ocean water and lying around the beach until they have to scrub the salt from their skin. At the end of the two weeks, Gakuto has highlights in his hair and an unforgiving sunburn across the back of his shoulders. Yuushi is considerate and keeps his hands below the waist when they make out.
They sit on the shore, low enough that the waves ebb at their feet. Gakuto has sand between his toes and matted to his ankles. He rolls onto his stomach and stretches out like a cat. When the water rushes in again, it floods over his calves and reaches the hem of his shorts.
“What time is it?” he says.
Yuushi stops drawing hearts in the sand in order to fish out his cell phone. “Almost seven,” he reads, with his glasses still pushed up in his hair, and snaps the phone shut. “We need to leave soon.”
Gakuto shrugs. Yuushi writes their names inside one of the hearts, then wipes it away with the palm of his hand.
“What are you doing after this year?” Yuushi asks.
“Who knows,” says Gakuto. He stares up at Yuushi over the curve of his elbow, sleepy and evaluative. Then he initiates some footsie. They end up missing the next bus home and having to stay another half hour, through the sunset. Yuushi holds Gakuto’s wrist and steals a kiss. Next spring, they’ll graduate. They still have another year in between.