Kirishima felt a pressure against his shoulder and twisted his head to the side, surprised. He gave his boyfriend a long questioning look and then smiled. The room was dimly lit by the television, shadows deep, the humming volume filling the otherwise comfortable void in conversation they had slipped off into. Two beer cans sat side by side among the scatter of papers, pens, and scribbles on the coffee table; work folders and manuscripts long forgotten among the mess; long legs close but not touching.
It happened unannounced, when Yokozawa had nuzzled his nose into the crook of Kirishima’s shoulder, breathing smooth and warm fanning over his skin. This wasn’t the first time Yokozawa had fallen asleep so easily at their apartment—Kirishima was quickly learning that Yokozawa, though hardworking, was quick to doze off and could sleep for hours.
There was a small yet deep grunt, huffy and irritable, when Yokozawa finally replied after a beat of silence with a simple, “Shut up.” He shifted slightly, the hard edge of bone in his chin kneading into the man’s shoulder. Steel blue eyes glanced down to the floor, eyelids fluttering sleepily.
Kirishima returned a humming chuckle, regarding Yokozawa with a kind of warmth. “What’re doing?”
“What do you think?” Yokozawa grumbled.
“Well it seems like you’re snuggling against me, but I know you all too well for that to be true. What’s your ulterior motif, my dear?”
Yokozawa, recoiling to the opposite side of the loveseat, fixed him with a flinty look. “Like I said before, just shut up. I fell asleep for fucks sake. I didn’t mean to touch you.”
Kirishima, seemingly unfazed, smirked. “You wound me with your teasing, Yokozawa-san.” There was a pause, Yokozawa glaring at him with enough intensity to peel the bark off a tree. Then Kirishima let out a feigned, lofty sigh. “Ah, go on, Sleeping Beauty. I don’t mind at all if you rest your pretty head against me. Though, I would rather prefer you rest your head on that pillow I’ve reserved for you in my bed.” He winked, glowing in his own sarcasm, and reached a hand over to tussle the younger man’s hair.
“Oi!” Yokozawa snipped though it was lacking its usual barb. “I’m hardly a Sleeping Beauty!”
Kirishima gasped. “Oh, excuse me! I meant to say hibernating bear.”
Yokozawa narrowed his eyes. “Not funny,” he grumped. With that, he tilted his head back and letting it drowsily loll on the back of the sofa—in less than two minutes, the man was asleep again, head plopped down onto his own shoulder, cheek squished cutely against the joint.
There was a moment when Kirishima wished he could pick Yokozawa up into his arms without rousing him—in the same way he’d carry Hiyo to bed—so at least the guy could wake up without a crick in his neck.
But when Yokozawa did drift back into momentary consciousness, he wordlessly picked himself up and headed towards the guest bedroom. Kirishima smiled and followed behind him.