#kjunginger

[jisunshines]

Hi~ Your FE Summoner is one of the cutest I've seen.♥ Bye~

Waaa sorry for the delayed reply ;w;;;

That’s so kind of you, especially coming from someone who has such a cute/attractive summoner!♥ Thank you for calling my silly pink blurb cute~😂

Have a wonderful day!!

[unassumingvenusaur]

Dwyer x Siegbert support

I asked a few months back if there were any plans for this pair yet and you said that if someone submitted it it could get included. So I tried my hand at trying to write it.

If it’s not any good or too out of character, you may ignore this! Sorry. Nervous. I’m not really much of a writer. >///<

–

C SUPPORT

S: … D: … S: Aaah!!! D: Aaah? S: Dwyer? Gods. You startled me. I didn’t even hear you approach! W-what are you doing here? D: Pouring coffee…? I heard you were staying up late again to study, so I made some. Your scream startled me enough I almost spilled it. S: I’m so sorry. Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed by it now. D: I was probably able to sneak up on you because you’re tired. You look like you haven’t slept in days. S: Between the ongoing war and my studies, I admit I have not been getting much sleep. D: You work too much. All work and no rest will burn you out. S: I am tired, but I think I’m managing just fine. If I don’t do at least this much I wouldn’t be very worthy of being King one day. D: Do all royals really have that much responsibility on their shoulders? S: Well, if I am ever to be half the man my father is, I will have to work twice as hard to better myself. D. Oh. Your father’s hard on you too? S: Not exactly, but he does cast a large shadow that will be nigh impossible to overcome. D: I admit I kind of relate to that. S: Hm? D: Nothing. Well, I’ve done what I came for. I’ll take my leave now. Good evening, Prince Siegbert. S: Dwyer?

–

B SUPPORT

S: Dwyer! D: Prince Siegbert. S: I wanted to speak to you about what you said the other night. D: What about?

S: You said you relate to the feeling of having to measuring up to our fathers. However, despite what you say, I think you at least have already been able to surpass your father in certain regards. D: Pardon? S: The coffee you made for me the other night… It was so good, why I think not even Jakob has ever managed a brew so flavorful and smooth. It really helped rejuvenate my energy that I was able to finish my studies earlier and actually get some sleep! D: You’re just saying that. If my father were here he’d no doubt complain about something else he deems I’m doing wrongly. S: But you are so incredibly talented at so many things! I’ve seen how hard you work to take care of the others around the camp. From making coffee, tea, or mending clothes, there is so much you do. It really is quite impressive. Admirable, even. D: …

S: Did I say something that offends you?

D: Not really–

S: I’m sorry. I think I ran my mouth a little too much. It’s just that since you’d said that the other night I’d been watching you.

D: You’ve been watching me!?

S: I did not mean to spy. Simply that I started noticing how much you actually do around here.

D: I see.

S: If you’re not doing too much already, would it be alright if I asked you to make coffee for me again some night?

D: I don’t really mind.

S: Thank you! I look forward to it.

*Siegbert leaves*

D: Actually… Thank you, Siegbert. You really are much too kind.

–

A SUPPORT

S: Thank you for the coffee, Dwyer. Your brew really is unrivaled by any other that I’ve tried.

D: Thank you as well, Prince Siegbert. It really is nothing though.

S: Dwyer, may I ask you a question?

D: Yeah?

S: How do you manage despite the ever lingering shadow of your father looming over you? I know I’ve told you that I believe you’ve already surpassed Jakob on certain matters; But I can tell that you don’t quite believe that.

D: It’s not that I don’t believe it. It’s just that I have different ways of doing things compared to my father. He can nag all he wants and insist on how he does things, but it’s not going to change the fact that I’m different from him.

S: I see. D: We’re not our fathers.  I don’t think anyone should expect us to be exactly like them. Neither should you.

S: Yes. I suppose that is true.

D: You seem upset.

S: I’m not really– D: I personally think you’d make a greater king than Prince Xander one day. S: That can’t be right. I’m afraid I just cannot see it. Even now, I am certain I am nowhere near in being the prince my father was at my age. D: Everyone sees how hard you work, while still being the warm person that you are. You are kinder and far more approachable than he. I think the whole kingdom of Nohr could really use a king like that one day. I’m sure you’ll make a great and beloved king, Prince Siegbert.

S: Dwyer…

D: And when you do, I’ll be the even greater butler serving the King. S: Hahaha. Thank you, Dwyer. Those are very kind words from you. I don’t know about being a great king, but if you’ll be by my side then I can’t help but look forward to it. I truly value you as a close friend at this point. So I’m holding you to that.

D: Then I will be glad to be of service, Prince Siegbert.

–

S SUPPORT

S: Dwyer, may I speak with you? D: What about? S: It’s about what we spoke about the other day. I… don’t think I want to have you as my butler anymore. D: Huh? Did I not prepare the coffee correctly last night? S: No, no it was perfect! D: Ah. So I am the problem then. S: Wait! No! Gods, I really started off this conversation wrong  there. No, Dwyer. I still want you by my side. D: But not as a butler…? I’ll have you know, I have no plans of becoming a retainer or bodyguard. S: D-Dwyer please, I am just trying to confess my feelings for you here. D: … S: …! D: What? S: What?! D: You’re asking me to be your lover? S: Y-Yes, I– D: Kind of strange for a Prince to choose a butler, but who am I to judge. What about our fathers though? Considering both their positions, I don’t think they’ll be very approving of this. S: Dwyer. You… Are not rejecting me, are you? Please just tell me if you feel the same. D: I… I think I do. I think I’ve begun to like you since that first smile you made after having a taste of my coffee. S: Then for once in my life, I care not for what my father thinks. I-I love you, Dwyer. I will not let anything or anyone stand between that. D: You’re… Really serious about this. I… Love you too. Siegbert. But, are you really okay with me? S: I’ve already told you how much I’ve admired your dedication and hard work. And since then, you’ve also proven yourself a kind and understanding individual. And you really do make the best coffee in the kingdom. I think I’d fallen for you earlier than even I’d realized.

D: You really are much to kind. And you say all kinds of embarrassing things.

S: Hahaha. Not anymore embarrassing than your own kind words for me.

D: D-don’t make fun of me.

S: I-I’m not. I’m just—Really nervous right now. I can scarcely believe that you truly feel the same as I. Am I dreaming?

D: Do you need a cup of coffee to wake you up then?

S: Who’s making fun of whom now? I truly do love you, Dwyer. And if you feel the same, will you allow me to selfishly request you make that promise again to be by my side? Not as a butler… But as my equal?

D: I do love you too, Siegbert. And I admit that I am also rather nervous now. But, yes. I do swear that I will stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me.

S: Then it’s a promise! I have never felt happiness as I do now. Thank you, Dwyer. I cannot say it enough; I love you!

D: I love you too.

[lilli-chae]

Heheheheheheheh...

Bet.

[whitesandcastle]

@kjunginger

Did you say anything about AtsuKara? Because I’m totally on board

Just a thing inspired on today’s Kara&Sisters AU, looking foward for other parts!

[lukubird]

Day out with Papa Mochi `ω`)

...But where’s Ryo-san? `A`);

This is based off of @kjunginger‘s really cute papa!Mochi/baby!Eijun au!

Please check it out if you haven’t already. It’s really sweet and heartwarming!   8 v8)/

It’s also been a thousand years since I’ve coloured and I actually don’t remember how to so please bear with me

[tetzumisahi]

Artista: Crealle

Traductora: Misahi Kenta

Título: Papa!Mochi & Baby!Eijun

Capítulos: 1 || 2 || 3

Información adicional: Aquí

Perdón por publicar ayer, tuve un imprevisto. u-u Mañana subo Tamen de Gushi (Their Story) de Tan Jiu. ^^

[myanimecrushesandotherthings]

when you get this, you can publicly post something nice about at least 5 different people you follow, then copy and paste this in each of their ask boxes. check my blog to see what I said about you!

Kjunginger: This person makes such good art, i love their comics about diamond no ace (my fandom) Your art is beautiful you are beautiful like omg senpai may you be blessed  with good fortune for eternity.

loghorizonfunfacts: I love your blog, the things you post never fails to brighten my day, thank you so much. :D

lovemesomesouleater: You are so energic, i love it. You are like a huge puffball off happiness (you remind me of hinata from Haikyuu!!), thank you for existing i just want to hug you.  (> ^ _ ^ )> <( ^ _ ^ <)

kinz4532: I swear it feels like i reblogg everything you say, i feel like a stalker. You have a great blog and i love the things you post. Seriosly you are the person i reblogg the most from, atleast 60% of my post come from you.

completeoveranalysis: Oh you beautiful person you, you are such a nice person and i love your blog, it’s so intresting. May all your dreams come true. Here have a virtual cookie *gives cookie*

Long story short, you are all my senpais and i love you very much may you live long happy lives!  \( ^ _ ^ )/ <3

[daiyasecretsanta]

the door is unlocked

to: crealle (kjunginger)

from: ging (soumamitsuya)

.

.

The bed dips to one side; he’s blanketed in one half, and the other half is softly picked up as another body slips under it. Kazuya doesn’t open his eyes—he’s breathing silently, and only takes a long intake of air when their backs make contact.

Eijun is synonymous with volume and motion. He is exaggerated, and he leaves traces. He creates vibrations, and pulls everyone along with his thunderous steps as the ground breaks open—and by then, he will jump, too, with utter sincerity, head first.

But when he sneaks into Kazuya’s bed every night, and leaves the room before dawn, he is a ghost.

.

30th of September

The breakfast this morning is sunny side up egg and toast.

Kazuya watches Eijun’s face hit the wooden floor and flips the egg over. “Oh, what did I tell you about wiping your feet after shower.” There is eye contact between them for a second before Kazuya returns his focus to the frying pan, which sizzles and sighs.

"I did!" Eijun says with one hand up, a half-hearted gesture of exasperation. His attempt to move then involves leaning on the wall, a huff, and a pointed glare in Kazuya’s direction. "We ran out of shampoo. Do I go later or will you?"

As always, his sunny side up eggs are perfect. Humming, Kazuya grabs another egg from the fridge. “I’ll go. No more tomatoes.”

"We’ll survive even without tomatoes." Eijun stops in front of the door to his own room—there is a peeled-off sticker with his name scrawled on it—and adopts a pacifying look that Kazuya has always been employed against. "Get me cup noodles instead?"

"Your childhood friend threatened me to give you the proper diet as long as we live together. I’m not risking that."

Eijun groans, two hands fisted on his hips, holding the towel in place. “Having to cook something right after I get home at midnight is nothing easy. At least let me have a cup noodle or two before getting some shuteye.”

"Why didn’t you just say that," Kazuya rolls his eyes, arching backwards to avoid the crackling oil. "I’ll save some leftover for you to microwave. Good enough?"

His mouth is already partway open, a syllable on the tip of his tongue. However, he is silent, and a shrug is the only company as he enters his darkened room. From a one-inch gap below his door, a flicker of light makes itself known.

Kazuya gazes upon the door for longer than necessary. “You could’ve simply told me.”

Kazuya isn’t associated with volume, and there are things he says that are often swallowed.

.

The restaurant has dim lighting and a tight fit between tables. It is also fairly scarce of customers, but the food is decent and affordable—and Kazuya barely has anything to say in regard to this because Kuramochi is holding one of the plastic bags containing a dozen eggs and a couple of sauces in glass bottles.

"I will drop this," Kuramochi says when Kazuya is hovering by the entrance in an attempted rebellious act. "I’m really going to drop this."

Kazuya huffs, walks in with his shoulders pulled backwards. “We do this every time, and never anywhere else. Does your new job destroy your sense of creativity?”

Kuramochi groans, tugs on one of Kazuya’s sleeves—admittedly this is barely advantageous in trying to slip between tables to the one they tend to frequent, but Kuramochi is nothing if not thoroughgoing. They settle by the chairs, setting the bags aside, eyeing the pictures of food on the wall.

"My job right now isn’t actually that bad," Kuramochi says, tapping on the table. "Just simple construction work. It’s pretty nice, in fact."

"How long will you stay, this time?" Kazuya flashes two fingers in the direction of the waitress, who nods—mostly because she’s gotten so used to their visits and no longer needs to think much on what they will order.

Kuramochi shrugs. He leans on the chair, pushes it backwards so that the front legs are lifted off the floor, and looks at nothing in particular on the low ceiling. “Who knows? We’ll see.” And before Kazuya can respond to that, he adds, “The guys are friendly enough. I like them.”

"More than two months stay, then?"

"I hope so." Kuramochi’s head whips back downwards, fixing his eyes in Kazuya’s general direction. "That’s it from me, nothing new. How about you?"

"Typical, typical." Kazuya waves him off, stares at the kitchen impatiently.

"Is Sawamura well?" Kuramochi has started tapping the table again.

There it is: a prompt, a push. Kazuya will have chosen to keep his silence has Kuramochi not slid into place with those words. “Just fine. He’s hard at work.”

"At that karaoke place? Still?" one of Kuramochi’s eyebrows shoots up, interest embedded in his motion as he shifts ever so slightly closer. "Won’t it be too hard on him? He is on his fourth year, after all."

"If you’re so curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?" at the same time as Kazuya says this, the waitress brings over two cups of water and he grabs one, drinks it all in one gulp. "Can I have a refill? Thanks."

"As if you don’t know him better than I do." Kuramochi huffs, puts on a glare; he’s side-eyeing Kazuya, almost as if he isn’t supposed to. "He always acts tough whenever I stop by the karaoke place. The kid hasn’t changed at all, has he?"

"He hasn’t, yeah." Eijun truly hasn’t; he is still the very embodiment of the word stubborn, feet planted on the ground of his belief, straight-spined, and— "But…."

It seems Kuramochi’s patience to wait for the continuation dissipates within seconds as he speaks with the cup nibbled between his lips. “Did anything happen in the four years you guys have been living together?”

Their orders choose that moment to arrive, hissing and steaming. Kazuya’s glasses are fogging up; his whispered “that’s the question, isn’t it?” is easily lost between the hisses.

.

He comes home slightly wobbly on the legs, fully intent on blaming Kuramochi for getting him to drink a glass of beer (despite the lack of resistance from himself.) He slurs his “I’m home” as he shoves the door open, and is forcefully sobered up when there is a reply.

Books scattered on the floor and fold-up table, and laptop with a too much brightness setting between papers and pens with emptied ink cartridge, and Eijun is sat between them, head thrown backwards to catch Kazuya make his entrance, waving at him with the back of his hand. “Your face is flushed. Did you go drinking?”

"You don’t have work?" Kazuya says instead, intoxication seeping out from inside.

"There is a newcomer so my schedule is becoming lax," Eijun says, turns around on his bottom, cranes his neck and groans. "I’ll be home before 7 for a week, starting today."

"And what, is that schoolwork?" Kazuya points at the mess-concentrated area, amused beyond anything else. "That’s good. You’re on your fourth year; priority, priority."

Eijun only hums, doesn’t respond. “I need to get this presentation material done before Friday, can you help?”

"I don’t know, you seem to be doing well by yourself."

"Unlike a certain Miyuki Kazuya who came home drunk, I haven’t eaten dinner."

Eijun shoots him a haughty look with one eyebrow above the other, upper lip jutted out. It feels like a whole minute before Kazuya shakes his head and asks resignedly, “What do you want to eat?”

"Meat!" Eijun beams, punching the air. "Hamburger!"

Kazuya lets a chuckle drift between his teeth. “Lucky you. Hamburger meat was on sale today.” He rummages through the groceries and pulls out said object, a grin accompanying a wink.

Eijun is certainly shining; he whoops at him with an exaggerated spin of heels, jumping on his back and drumming on his shoulders. “Do we still have chili sauce? I want chilies!”

"You’re going to have to settle for black pepper," Kazuya tells him, laughs when Eijun pouts, "I knew I forgot something. You can buy it tomorrow."

Eijun blows raspberries, but doesn’t look particularly disgruntled about it. “There is paprika, though?”

"Yes, yes," Eijun circles one arm around Kazuya’s neck, tightened along with a moan of joy. Kazuya sniggers, patting on his forearm. "Get off me, you brat. Do you want your dinner made or not?"

.

The sensation of Eijun’s back on his makes him stir—a violent pull on his hair as if he were embedded in quicksand. Right, he shuts his mouth, handles his breathing as not to signal to the younger man that he is awake, I’m forgetting a lot of things today. Shifting doesn’t seem to alert Eijun, so Kazuya creates a distance between their figures, feels a weight lifted off his chest.

The one difference that stands out in this event in comparison to the previous ones, is that Eijun is deep in his sleep, snoring to boot. He would of course sleep, before, but he would be awaken by the smallest gesture Kazuya would do, and his body would stiffen in dread. This time, though, his whole presence exudes relief, relaxed to the tips of his fingers.

Kazuya forces his eyes shut, tries to ignore the warmth that slithers his way.

.

1st of October

Eijun is still on his bed when he wakes up; his hair is  tousled all over, and his eyes are red and itchy. Kazuya contemplates varying options of actions to take and decides on D) improvise as you go. He slips off the bed and tip-toes towards the door, not closing it fully.

As he stares into the depth of the fridge, he hears steps raining down the floor, getting louder as they approach his location, and looks up. Eijun is standing by the kitchen threshold, desperately panting, half-doubled over.

They both wait for the other to speak first, and none of them does.

Kazuya closes the refrigerator door, and the next thing he knows is a tug on his sleeve. He gulps, and says, “What is it?”

"I—" Eijun looks flustered. Partly because his shirt is hanging by his shoulders, exposing his bare collar, and because he has bed hair that sticks in all directions. It’s a wonder Kazuya hasn’t made a point to laugh at it. "I slept…on your bed…."

Kazuya improvises; and when he does, he will do it to the very end. “You did. How did it feel compared to your messy bed?”

Taken aback? Surprised? Disappointed? Nothing can exactly describe the flow of expressions running on Eijun’s face. But he finds his voice and attempts to let out a question. “You’re not…. You’re not weirded out?”

Kazuya improvises. “Why would I be? You were so tired after doing your assignment last night that you mistook my room for yours, weren’t you?”

There is no doubt that the look Eijun adopts then is of disbelief. The disbelief is still embedded in his eyes when he laughs hoarsely, scratching the back of his head, eyes darted around the floor. “Yeah. Yeah…. I did, yeah.”

It’s at times like this, when Eijun’s edges seem to soften, that Kazuya’s throat tightens and dries up—he is after all, the reason.

He is the reason for the changes. Eijun is the harbinger of them—the one who keeps watering the seed as it starts to grow, until it eventually becomes a flower that looks nothing like it used to.

.

4th of October

It’s nearing winter—a good couple of months before, that is—but the weather tends to stay as sweltering as it did in summer. Kazuya pulls on his thin scarf, flapping a brochure at his neck. Maybe one of these days he will stop making fun of Eijun for using a handheld electric fan to use one himself. It usually isn’t such an issue when he’s forced to spend days in the same room with an air conditioner that makes eerie gritting noises.

His mood only manages to dissolve into abeyance the moment he steps out of the station. Furuya Satoru is leaning on a statue, a meeting point, with his eyes rolled to the back of his head, looking fairly dying. Kominato Haruichi is by his side, offering various types of cold drinks and fanning at him with a reddened hand.

"It’s barely 28 degrees," Kazuya says.

Kominato turns to him and smiles, sheepish. “We just came out from a sauna.”

"Sauna? What, do you guys do that now?" Kazuya asks Kominato to toss one drink to him, and receives a lukewarm green tea in return. He balances the can in one hand. "Eijun isn’t with you?"

"He left his stuff in the locker." Kominato apologises soundlessly regarding the drink and moves on to keep fanning at Furuya, who is slowly gaining HP. "Eijun-kun is straining himself lately. If his shifts hadn’t changed, we wouldn’t have been able to hang out today."

Furuya groans, craning his neck so that he can drape tissues on it to wipe some sweats off.

"This sauna thing, it was me." Kominato continues. His hair is on the way of his eyes, but Kazuya has a feeling Kominato is consistently giving him a searching glance. "I thought he needed some time to relax."

Kazuya bops his head to the side, sighs. “He does seem exhausted, doesn’t he?”

Kominato nods, almost vigorously. “During lunch, sometimes, he would suddenly fall asleep. When he didn’t, he would occasionally trip over nothing in hallways. Everyone is worried.”

Now, that’s new. “How long has this been going on?”

"A month or two, now." Kominato sports a look of shame, but it quickly turns to one of inquisition as he stares at Kazuya. "You didn’t notice, Miyuki-senpai?"

"He always gets back home a bit before midnight." Kazuya says, and stops himself immediately. "I rarely welcome him home." he says this in a whisper, hand pressed on eyes.

Kominato gives a long sigh. “So that’s why.”

"That’s why?" Kazuya looks at him between the gaps of his fingers, belatedly acknowledging the damp scarf around his neck.

"If there is anyone who can convince him to take it down a notch, I thought it would be you, Miyuki-senpai," Kominato smiles onto his collar, "He pretends he can take it all on. He pretends he is strong enough. I don’t want him to collapse due to this, but nothing I say has taken effect so far."

Kazuya exhales loudly. “I will try to talk to him about this.” He later shrugs, annoyance in his voice, “I knew something was wrong.”

Kominato chuckles, looks guilty. “Do you know why he is doing this, Miyuki-senpai?”

"Maybe." Kazuya’s waist rests on the statue, head bent to lay at the crook. "I don’t."

Kominato’s eyebrow rises. But Furuya says before he can, “We are counting on you, senpai.”

He hums, and then decidedly swerves the conversation in another direction. “I have an appointment to go to, I’m leaving. Tell Eijun tonight’s dinner is carbonara, would you?”

Kominato laughs, nods in acknowledgement. “He’s so lucky to have you as a roommate, Miyuki-senpai.”

He drives himself between the crowd, muttering into the back of his hand, momentarily forgetting the numbness at his nape. “I wouldn’t want myself as a roommate.”

.

6th of October

One evening, at around six-thirty, Kazuya’s head jerks and bumps onto the arm of the couch. Eijun has been shaking him awake; he pulls his hand back, apparently shocked, gripping onto a cup of hot chocolate whose surface ebbs at the sudden motion. He’s taken a considerable amount of time putting himself together before he succeeds to look at Eijun’s face in high definition, courtesy of his glasses’ appearance on the bridge of his nose—Eijun must be the one placing it on him, but Kazuya can’t completely vouch for that.

"It’s gotten dark," Eijun says. "You always wake me up whenever I nap too long."

Kazuya stretches, yawns. “Thanks,” he says, sitting up, crossing his legs, toes brushing Eijun’s knee. “Is that for me?”

Eijun answers in affirmative, brings the cup closer within Kazuya’s reach. “A spoonful of sugar, right?”

Kazuya laughs, cupping it with two hands. “Just perfect. Even if you’d put too much or too little sugar, it would be a good wake-up call.”

"I don’t understand what’s so good about dark chocolate," Eijun says. He grabs his own cup—his own name scrawled in marker on one side—and blows on it.

"It’s an adult’s acquired taste." Kazuya winks, holds in an amused grin when Eijun rolls his eyes with a "not again, Miyuki Kazuya."

Eijun grumbles between sips, nose pinking in colour as steam caresses his cheeks.

"You ask that every time, what are you hoping for?" The couch creaks when Kazuya moves along the pillows to one end, patting the seat next to him.

"What else? Actual answer!" Eijun sounds matter-of-fact as he lets his limbs sprawl all over the space Kazuya has given him.

"Demanding, aren’t you?" Kazuya lifts the cup in the air, gulping the last drop. He places the cup onto the table and takes a long deep breath. The light over them flickers for a second. "Didn’t we just change the bulb last week?"

"I heard there is a construction work next door," Eijun says. As if to prove it is so, riotous noises of clatters and clanks are carried from the open balcony.

"How long will this one last?"

"Ten, eleven days, I think."

"Bother." Kazuya tosses his head onto Eijun’s arm. One of the wonders of the world is how much more comfortable leaning on Eijun feels compared to on a usual couch. "Guess there is no other way around it."

However, Eijun instead pats his head and stands up, saying, “Another cup,” while gesturing at his empty one. He shrugs one shoulder, comprehends when Kazuya shakes his head no.

It’s done on purpose, that’s for sure. He decides on his own accord that he doesn’t want to have Kazuya’s head on his arm, and takes measures against it. When he returns to the couch, he scoots closer to the edge, pulls his arms inwards, and doesn’t drink the hot chocolate.

"Bitter or sweet, none of them particularly matters to me." Kazuya says, eyes looking forward at the screen, where a stand-up comedian is displayed in a disturbing close-up. "I just prefer to do it this way."

Swiveling the cup in his hands, Eijun side-eyes his older roommate. “Only that?”

"Oi, no use trying to coax me, kid. That’s just it."

"That’s all? Not like—not even because you like it?" While Eijun says this, the TV is brimming with laughter, nearly drowning his voice. "Don’t you do things because you like it?"

The word like is akin to a paradox—what if, at one point in the future, that feeling is to disappear? What if he comes to dislike the red threads of a ball that scratch at his palm? Would his memories of the time he used to adore the marks it left lose importance?

Kazuya doesn’t register the jokes delivered on the screen despite looking straight at it; instead, he recognises every tiny bit of Eijun’s stare, drilling onto the side of his face. He presses his fingers together, and says steely, “Not like, per se. Doing it just fits. Similar to the lock-and-key theory. You learnt that, right?”

Eijun’s mouth clams up. “That there is only one possible match to fill the gap.”

They are facing each other, this time. Eijun’s shirt is unbuttoned at places, his hair is somewhat in order, and his belt is hanging by his trousers, untied. Kazuya’s sight drifts to Eijun’s posture, hunched and lifeless, taking in the atmosphere to retain the colour of his skin.

"Eijun," Kazuya says, soft but well-conveyed, "You need to cut down on your work hours."

The sounds of Eijun’s teeth as they grit are illogically loud but brief. “Why?” he asks, retreating farther back.

"Don’t you want to graduate next spring?" Kazuya points a finger between his eyes. "Actually, no, don’t worry about that. Do it in your own pace. But you’re clearly overworking yourself and worrying everyone. Kominato looks like he deserves to have some days off from babying you."

"I’m doing fine! I haven’t gotten sick in months, look." Eijun spreads out his arms, lifts his chin, chest puffed. "I’m handling this well!"

"I don’t care," Kazuya presses his finger on Eijun’s forehead. "What I care for, is why you feel the need to work so hard. What do you need the money for, anyway?"

Eijun’s lips tremble. He says, avoiding Kazuya’s eyes at all cost, “Can’t a young man have some secrets?”

"When this secret is threatening your wellbeing, I think I have Aotsuki’s permission to intervene." Kazuya makes a play at cracking his knuckles.

Unexpectedly, it doesn’t take much for Eijun’s facade to crumble. “I’m moving out,” he says, looking down at his crossed legs, at the heels that blush unnecessarily. “After graduation, I’m moving out.”

Kazuya’s mind spins in a whirlwind of questions—why? is it because of me? since when have you thought of this? were you planning not to tell me until the last second?—but all that comes out from within him is a collected “I see.”

"You’re mad, aren’t you?" Eijun says accusingly, sporting an offended front despite not being the one on the defensive. "It’s not only you, you know. I haven’t told anyone else. Well, as my roommate, you have the right to think of this as trouble, after all. But—"

"You can move out all you want," Kazuya says, surprises himself by how composed he is carrying himself. "On one condition."

"It’s not dancing naked, is it," Eijun makes a face, and smiles when Kazuya lets out a laugh.

"Maybe another time," Kazuya says, waves him off, has one index finger held up between them. "Cut down on your working hours. Come home before 9 everyday, at least."

Eijun scratches the back of his head, tossing hair all over his eyes. He gives a long, stretched groan, and says in near-screech, “Fine! Then—”

As if cued, the light flickers once, twice, and a total blackout envelops them. Kazuya isn’t given a chance to earn his calm as Eijun shrieks and throws himself on him—a grown man draping himself on another grown man, whose glasses are slowly bopping on his nose and arms are being poked repeatedly by elbows.

"This must be because of that construction work," Kazuya says on Eijun’s collar; the heat causes him to heave.

"Ah, that was a shock," Eijun huffs, but the tremor in his mouth isn’t easily lost from Kazuya’s ears. "I wonder if the light would return anytime soon?"

"Doubtful," Kazuya says. The darkness is kind—it lets him eye Eijun’s Adam’s apple without having to be too discreet. "Well! There is nothing wrong with a blackout once in a while. What do you say to eating out?"

Eijun’s teeth are like a hint of vibrancy in the dark. “Aye!”

.

The blackout is still prevalent by the time they come back; Eijun jams the key in with the help of his phone’s screen light and Kazuya sets himself aside to rummage through the cardboard for a torchlight, which he finds in less than a minute, all thanks to his heavenly organisational skills.

"If I can eat that udon every night for the rest of my life, I would," Eijun tells him, groping on the wall to maintain balance.

"Is that a challenge, Sawamura Eijun?" Kazuya replies in earnest. He makes an actual attempt to put the shoes into a neat line until the fact that the lack of light is disadvantageous gets to him.

"It’ll actually be a challenge for me," Eijun says, arms crossed. "Eating udon? Every night? It’s like a test of endurance."

"Only that you actually like it," Kazuya points out, tossing his jacket on top of Eijun’s previously discarded one. "What are you going to do now?"

Eijun shrugs, flashing his phone in the direction of his wardrobe. “I don’t know. Sleep?”

Kazuya’s forehead scrunches up. Eijun’s bed is hell on Earth; he has papers and all kinds of books on the mattress, along with baseball paraphernalia that makes Kazuya question Eijun’s sense of care. In one occasion, Kazuya went to wake Eijun up only to be horrified by how close to having prints on his cheeks Eijun was.

(Lately, though, Eijun wouldn’t wake up with actual vandalism on his face. Seeing as he seems to actively spend the night in Kazuya’s room in (attempted) secret, the outcome isn’t much to wonder about.)

"Only this once," Kazuya mumbles, calls out to his younger partner—in what term, he doesn’t exactly know—and says, one hand on hips, "Let’s sleep together."

For a moment, Eijun is on the verge of dropping his phone. “What?” his effort to speak pays off with a strained cough, the sides of his eyes burning red.

"Sleep together on my bed." Really, now. Kazuya can laugh at how badly worded his statement is later. "Your room is messy, you can trip over anything."

"It’s not that bad," Eijun’s response is brittle, roughly-patched together.

Kazuya says then, its tone teasing in nature, “Come on, come on. It’ll be as if we’re back in high school again.”

Eijun’s lips curl against his reluctance. “Stuffing ourselves on your bed when we were too lazy to go back to our own dorm room.”

"You guys were always lazy. Sometimes it didn’t feel like I had the room all for myself, you know."

Amusement wraps itself around Eijun—a typical occurrence, this. Eijun is a sunlight beaming down onto the earth, a person whose outlook is a hook to the people around him. And as he laughs with his head held up, Kazuya thinks to join him. “All right,” he says, “I’ll sleep with you.”

"I’ll take the side by the wall," Kazuya says to Eijun’s "wherever!"

Their backs touch, and as quickly as their reflex allows, they arch their spine to minimise the chance of brushing against the other’s. Kazuya presses his hair whorl on the wall, folds his legs in front of his torso, circles his arms around them. Below his feet, tickling at the bottom, is Eijun’s ankle, timidly slid to and fro.

"Eijun."

"Hm."

"Go to sleep."

"Don’t try to talk to me, then."

"I was just checking if you were already asleep."

"Will be in a second."

"Eijun."

"Hm."

"Stop coming home at midnight, okay?" Kazuya closes his eyes, although opening them would still greet him with the same black colour. "Come home before I sleep so we can eat dinner together."

Eijun’s “hm” comes a fraction of second later.

"Go to sleep."

"Yes, yes. Geez, who was it that kept on babbling?"

"Where is my good night?"

"You’re annoying! Good night!"

.

15th of October

"I wouldn’t lie to you, Miyuki," Kuramochi says, makes himself at home on Kazuya’s prized couch. His baggy trousers is muddy and staining the sanctity of purity left on the floor Kazuya’s swept just the morning before. (Albeit while disgruntled and with equal parts guilt and responsibility.) "I’m only a measly worker. How would I know my next project is the building next to yours?"

Kazuya is massaging the bridge of his nose with all the strength he can utter. “First off, I don’t care. Second, strip out of that outfit or I’m burning you along with it.”

Kuramochi grins; he seems pleased. “Nice to see you, too.”

"Are you here just for lounging around or for an actual reason?" Kazuya says wryly, thinks up ways to kick Kuramochi out of the apartment.

"You’re being difficult," Kuramochi clicks his tongue, waves a finger in a patronising gesture. "Isn’t it common sense to welcome a guest to your house warmly?"

The conversation is going nowhere, but Kazuya finds himself not minding it in the least. The soiled floor is another case altogether, however, which gives his voice thickness when he asks, “Water or tea?”

"Coke?"

"Get out."

At the end, having experienced being pestered by Kuramochi in the latter half of his life and survived, Kazuya hands him warm mineral water and keeps kicking him on the shin. Unfortunately, Kuramochi is all too used to this tantrum and capable of finishing his drink without a drop spilled.

"I see Sawamura sometimes," Kuramochi says, "he looks better." He shifts his leg over the other, battling Kazuya’s foot with his own. "Did you talk to him?"

"Where do you people get the idea that I have a solution for whatever problem Eijun is in?" Kazuya throws up his hands, more amused than anything. "Does he really look better? Good."

"Because you always manage to do something to improve Sawamura’s situation, purposely or not." Kuramochi says, in sing-song. "There is a reason you are trusted with him."

"That’s too big a duty for me; no, thanks." Irony tints Kazuya’s words, one hand lifted on his side as he tilts his head. "But it’s already too late, eh? If I get grey hairs before you do, I’m blaming you for everything."

"Thanks for your hard work," Kuramochi mock-salutes, complete with a wink that stays on far too long, "cap-tain."

"Get out," Kazuya kicks Kuramochi’s ankle one final time, laughter caressed at his throat.

To be honest, he readily admits he ought to be thanked for everything Eijun-related that he, somehow or other, resolves. But, as life seems to be based on, it is nothing if not ephemeral.

.

.

.

.

20th of December

Kazuya has half the mind to quit this plan of his, but when all has been said and come to pass, he finds his lack of credibility in himself become a weakness.

"Do you have work on the 24th and 25th?" Kazuya is asking between newly-washed sheets, stretching and tossing them over to the other side of the hanger, tugging on the fabric and smoothening the surface with his hand.

While shoving flower-scented shirts into a basket, Eijun replies, along with a muttered curse, “It’s always busy in this time of the year—isn’t there a bigger basket?”

"So you’re working?" Kazuya picks up a pair of trousers, scoots farther to take advantage of a tiny space left on the hanger. "Hey, hey, don’t blame the basket. Hate the player, not the game. We should have done the laundry a week ago instead of leaving them to accumulate."

"Is it my fault? It is my fault, isn’t it?" Eijun pumps his fists up and down, huffing with breathy motions, puffing his cheeks at his roommate. "It’s not like I can help it! Slacking off one time is totally acceptable."

Kazuya shakes his head, stretches his arms. “Don’t you ever wonder how much of a disaster this place will be if I ever try not to do all of my chores in one day?”

Eijun puts a hand on each ear and begins singing loudly, lyrics consisting of “I’m in a good place, there is no Miyuki Kazuya here, I’m free of his nagging.”

Slapping him gently with a half-wet towel, Kazuya says, laced with disappointment, “I was thinking we could celebrate Christmas together. Shirasu has some contact for a restaurant in a high-rise hotel.”

Eijun blinks at him in an illusion of mach speed. “What? You’re—you’re inviting me for a dinner in an elite restaurant?”

"Not exactly a five star, but close enough." Kazuya looks upon the sky, tries to talk without biting his tongue. A roused rouge is threatening to seep onto his face. "You aren’t going back to Nagano for the holiday, anyway. Better spend it to the fullest."

But Eijun is laughing, choking on his breath, clutching at his stomach. “Listen well, audience!” he is saying, “The Great Miyuki Kazuya is inviting me for dinner!”

Not exactly knowing how to respond to such an abstract comment, Kazuya merely stares.

"Oh man, I can live for ten more years with only this memory," Eijun dramatically wipes a tear, another hand on his mouth when he turns and eyes Kazuya, "I don’t want it." Kazuya is making faces at him, and Eijun continues with muffled giggle, "Christmas dinner doesn’t need to be luxurious."

"I’ve looked through the prices, and they’re affordable. Nothing pricey—"

Eijun waves him off, and when Kazuya is ultimately bemused and silenced, he says, “I prefer eating the dinner you make, Kazuya.”

Eijun is squatting on the ground, fingers treading through the piles of dried clothes. Kazuya feels his mouth tighten, eyebrows poised onto each other; he lands one hand on Eijun’s hair and ruffles them, thumb pressed on the forehead. As Eijun hisses in displeasure, he shuffles between different speaking tones before settling for a light-hearted one—so light that it almost feels like floating, see-through. “That so? What time do you finish? I will pick you up.”

"I just said I don’t want to eat out—"

"Is there any cake you want?" Kazuya interrupts him, picking up strands of Eijun’s hair with his nails, "I’m best at cheesecake, so that may limit your choices. Strawberry?"

The knowledge reaches Eijun like a drop of rain—a gentle touch on your skin. “Peach!” he says, grabs onto Kazuya’s hand above him. “I’ll be finished by 7 on the 24th and around 8 on the 25th.”

"You’re making this too easy!" Kazuya says, knocks on Eijun’s forehead with a knuckle, certain that his satisfaction is safely expressed on his grin.

.

22th of December

He gets punched in the nose, stumbles backwards, and is barely saved from crashing onto the wall by having one foot slipping off the floor. The base of the tree digs onto his abdomen, and the plastic leaves scrape his shoulder. Eijun’s startled cry dissolves into the icy breeze and Kazuya begins hearing whimpers in his own head, tries to ignore the fact that he is the one making pained grumbles.

"Is my nose broken," Kazuya whispers.

Eijun massages his face, hunched on the side. “No, it’s intact,” he says, and then claps his hands together, “sorry! I shouldn’t have punched you, but it’s not every day that you open the door to a walking pine tree.”

"The least you can do is praise me," Kazuya blinks out a tear, "take this tree from me, I can’t stand."

"Right, right," Eijun lifts the object and scurries inside the room, and returns just as fast to lend a helping hand. He pulls on Kazuya’s forearms and swipes the hair that falls messily on his eyes. "Do you feel pain anywhere?"

"Nothing as painful as my nose, but since it isn’t bleeding, I can say this: you have a weak punch." Kazuya smiles cheekily at him, drives his body between Eijun and the door when his younger counterpart gasps and runs after him.

They stop in front of the tree, which is placed by the TV table, and cross arms in unison. Eijun puts a finger on his chin. “What are we going to do about this?”

"What else? Decorate it." Kazuya raises one eyebrow, look implying he is judging Eijun’s ability to read the situation—not for the first time, and certainly not the last. "I didn’t walk through three stations just to have it laying around."

"You say that, but what do we decorate it with?" Eijun swivels on the ball of his foot, glaring pointedly at the man, whose height was one small inch taller than himself. "I don’t see anything on your hands."

"I did get the tree for us," Kazuya says, nodding, "it’s your turn to get the decorations." Belatedly, while throwing himself onto the couch and tossing his legs onto the table, he adds, "I can’t feel my legs."

"Selfish as always, aren’t you, Kazuya?" Eijun snorts, but he walks towards the coat hanger and grabs one of his varsity jackets. "How cold is it outside?"

"The worst kind of cold you get before snow," Kazuya says, fakes an edgy grit of teeth. "Take my scarf if you’re going out."

"A kinder roommate would ask me to stay at home and rest in front of a heater," Eijun says, breath turning white, Kazuya’s wool scarf wrapping around his neck, hanging by the doorway for a moment.

"I’ll heat up the bath." Kazuya replies, smirk a little triumphant.

"You are still a roommate from hell." Eijun grimaces, but the lightness of his heart remains, "I’m ashamed to get used to it."

.

23th of December

Squirming, Kazuya gives a garish yawn. They went all out the night before to dress up the tree; despite having known that the tree was no taller than the TV, Eijun had gone home with two bags full of all kinds of trinkets. The green of the leaves barely shows itself between the ornaments—it looks more like a pine tree-shaped heap of Christmas decorations. He doesn’t remember much past their plastic baubles war and the ringing headache from having to experience Eijun’s curves on the side of his head, but the sudden assault of heat on his back forcefully rouses him.

Unlike any other times, Eijun is facing his back, head on his shoulder blade. Similarly, this is the closest Eijun has ever been, the greatest risk he has ever taken. Kazuya guesses Eijun’s hands would be somewhere around his waist, and congratulates himself for a point when a finger twitches and grazes the back of his shirt.

As fleeting as how the realisation comes to Kazuya, it’s gone when Eijun jerks. Kazuya relaxes, eyes shut, thinks of anything but Eijun’s form as he slowly heaves himself upright. Eijun’s breathing seems to have returned, stained with urgency. There is a hand hovering above his elbow; Kazuya gives a little wiggle and tucks his face onto the pillow. In the silence, Eijun’s relief can be heard from a sigh that escapes his mouth.

After Eijun has made his leave, walking backwards, on tip-toes, and in panic, Kazuya retains his closed eyes, letting himself be spoiled by his pillow’s fluff.

.

24th of December

Kuramochi’s name flashes on the screen of his phone. “Are you free right now?” is said next; Kazuya puts the speaker away from his ear, makes a face, hopes it gets sent along their close-to-nonexistent telepathic connection.

"This friend of mine, he is organising a mixer for people who don’t have a date during Christmas," Kuramochi says.

"Pass," Kazuya says, pushes on the frame of his glasses, "I have a plan with someone. Even if I don’t, I doubt I’ll join you willingly."

"Wonderful, you’re still rude," Kuramochi says—his exasperation is distinctly audible. "What a coincidence. I asked Sawamura out as well and he told me he has an appointment. Or is it not?"

"Will you quit that way of speaking, I’m nauseous," Kazuya says, glasses askew, scarf pulled up to cover nose. "Yes, we are spending Christmas with each other. What are you going to say now."

"Oh wow, really. Wow." Kuramochi sounds unsure. "I didn’t think this far. Wow. Have fun, then, guys."

"Wait, why are you surprised," Kazuya blinks, "shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, more smug?"

"I’ve been smug from before you two started living together. Four years is a long time, I kind of got bored." Kuramochi laughs dryly, "Both of you are stubborn people. Maybe someone more patient would be a better commentator."

"There is nothing to comment on," Kazuya taps on the cover of his phone, "well, there is the thing about this being the first Christmas we’ll spend together in the four years we become roommates, so there is one."

"Pass," Kuramochi slurs, huffs, "There are better things to use my time on."

"Try asking Shirasu—he’s off-duty today, if I recall correctly."

"Already did. We probably shouldn’t be surprised when he becomes the first to marry amongst us."

Kazuya laughs, tells Kuramochi good luck, and hangs up. Before he completely jams the phone whole into his pocket, it vibrates twice—another call. Kazuya picks it up before the ringtone begins, catches sight of the character of Eijun’s name on the screen.

"Promise me you aren’t going to scream," Eijun says first thing.

Kazuya’s stomach churns uncomfortably. “Something happened.”

"Someone took an unexpected leave and only I can cover his shifts." Eijun says, sounding horrified himself.

"What time will you be finished?" Kazuya asks, doesn’t take a step forward. The crowd flows around him, tidal-like.

Eijun gulps, “1 a.m. the fastest.”

"You’re kidding," Kazuya covers his face, sighs onto his palm. "Christmas Eve would have passed by then."

"I know. I tried to convince the Manager to let me get back earlier but the karaoke place is really busy these days and there are only two other workers beside me." Eijun says, speed increasing, gaps between words getting smaller. "We tried to share the shifts between us but I still ended up with this schedule."

"Did you even try?" Kazuya inhales, tries to lower the volume. "Or, never mind that you’re breaking our promise to get back home before 9, did it ever cross your mind to tell me this before I went out of the house?"

Trust Eijun to raise his voice in return. “As if I can help it! We finished rescheduling everyone just now! And listen; I kept to that promise until now. It’ll be the first time I broke it!”

"Do you see? Right there? Always that ‘once’, ‘first time’, ‘only now’." Kazuya’s grip on his phone tightens. "Always doing whatever you want. Moving out, too, did you ever think to discuss it with me? No, right? You were going to keep me in the dark. I—oh, damn it."

He slams his thumb on a button and hangs up. Changing the setting to silent, he shoves the device into the deepest pocket in his coat. As he walks away, he decides it’s his shoes that are heavy with frozen water, nothing else.

.

"I feel like a brat," Kazuya whispers into his glass of undiluted regrets, "I am the biggest brat I’ve ever known."

"Is that the twelfth time, now?" Kuramochi says from next to him, on the verge of leaving a permanent scrunch on his nose from too much laughing. "Sure, Miyuki. Repeat the story where you get in a fight with Sawamura as many times as you like. I do enjoy it."

From across the table, one of Kuramochi’s acquaintances complains at the lack of contribution he is giving to the event, and also at the amount of alcohol he is hogging with the guest that arrived uninvited a couple hours ago.

"I was mad because I felt stood up," Kazuya sighs, "I am a brat."

"Yes, you are. Stop drinking, I don’t want to be the one having to carry you home." Kuramochi takes his glass away from him, shouts at the person doing a tummy dance to calm down. "I’m also not going start giving advices, so figure everything out yourself."

Kazuya turns to him in slow motion, eerie even with the clamours in the background. “I found a bigger brat.”

Kuramochi makes an indignant sound. He is also saying something about how there can’t be anyone more bratty than Miyuki Kazuya, but all the attendants suddenly stand up and jut their heads out of the windows. Hints of white float down onto their stretched hands.

"It’s snowing."

Kuramochi nods, rubs his nape.”Miyuki, hey,” he says, “you’re good at talking. Make use of it.”

Having stolen his glass back and drinking the whole content in one go, Kazuya only hums.

.

25th of December

There are 16 missed calls from Eijun. Kazuya scrolls down the list partly awake, back pressed on a wardrobe in Kuramochi’s apartment. There are texts, too, most of which ask for his whereabouts. Not surprisingly, there is only one actually of an apology, and even then, it’s insincere at best.

"How was it? Your first Christmas Eve with me?" Kuramochi pops out from the corridor, holding two cups of coffee.

"Did I pass out?" Kazuya asks, locking his phone, gathering the discarded tops scattered on the floor.

"No, you were sober when we went out of the restaurant," Kuramochi sips on one cup, gives the other one to Kazuya, "it was halfway through that you did. Your house is farther than mine, and I wasn’t about to call a taxi for you."

"I have hangover," Kazuya declines the offer, putting on his jacket. He gives one last look at his phone for the time. "And to answer your question: it was unsatisfactory."

"Yeah? I paid for your share in the restaurant!" Kuramochi says as they make their way along the short corridor. The door is opened and he shivers, a too dramatic shaking. "I’m expecting that back before next year. Your reconciliation, too."

Kazuya only says, “I thought you were retiring from being my personal advisor,” after he’s gone down the stairs, arms over the other, hugging his own body.

.

Coming into the apartment is not quite a hardship. He is expecting an explosion of angry curses, but what he sees instead is a half-lit living room. Eijun’s coat is draped carelessly on the dining table, and one of his socks lays in front of his room. Kazuya picks them up out of habit, turning on the heating system. He then proceeds to treat himself to a drink of his own recipe, in hope to be rid of hangover.

He is going through various channels doing different styles of Christmas reports when Eijun stumbles out of the room all bleary.

"Good morning," Kazuya greets him, gesturing at the free seat on the couch. "Look, this couple goes out in Santa and reindeer costumes. I honestly think the beard needs more work."

Eijun leaps across the table, grabbing hold of Kazuya’s shoulders. “Where were you?” Kazuya contemplates against answering truthfully, but Eijun suddenly falls to his knees, exhausted. “You weren’t home when I got back last night—this morning? I thought you passed out somewhere.”

"I did," Kazuya says, helping Eijun move to sit down, "Kuramochi was there."

Eijun puts his face on his palms, wheezing exaggeratedly. “That’s good.”

The presenter on TV searches through the crowd and asks for a comment from a girl wearing bunny earmuffs. For Kazuya, however, the TV is on mute and words are being arranged in front of his eyes. Maybe forever has come and left when he, at last, says, “How was your Christmas Eve?”

"Uh," Eijun fidgets, bites onto one of the biscuits Kazuya has laid on the table, shaped like Christmas trees and hats. "A customer threw up on me. The trousers I wore going home is the Manager’s."

Kazuya snorts into his warm drink, coughing a few times for good measure. “Okay,” he says, laughing, “just tell me which one so I won’t mix them up.”

"I wanted to spend it with you," Eijun says; his head falls on Kazuya’s upper arm. His every body language screams lack of energy—his hand lays lifelessly between their figures, shoulders are slumped, and his eyes are on the brink of blinking far too slowly. "At least I would’ve gotten a tastier dinner."

Kazuya bends his body closer. “I ended up owing Kuramochi money, too.”

They turn to look at each other, and shrug.

"I got too carried away," Kazuya says, nibbles on his lower lip before relenting, "this is where I should be apologising, right?"

Eijun shakes his head; his amusement feels pleasant on Kazuya’s skin. “Both of us did. Two apologies cancel each other.”

"Huh!" Kazuya forces a hand on his mouth in an attempt to muffle a flood of uncontrolled giggling. "What’s with that logic? I knew it, you are the brat in this relationship."

"What are you talking about?" Eijun puts a hand on his chest, pulls back. "Did you and Kuramochi-senpai make another inside joke that has everything to do with me?"

Kazuya doesn’t answer, leaves Eijun to fume by himself. Craning his neck, he stands up, asks, “I made green tea. Want some?”

"Sure," Eijun answers, and then blushes to the tips of his ears, "let me brush my teeth first."

"Don’t touch me until you do," Kazuya ushers him off, and for the rest of his trip to the kitchen and back, a grin seems to have planted itself on his face, and feelings of blossoms inside of him are growing instead. He rips open another biscuit pack, places it on a plate, and brings it over to the living room. Eijun is already waiting, switching channels until he settles for the one playing Christmas songs for hours.

"When will you be finished today?" he asks as he squeezes onto the spot beside Eijun. "Christmas is not yet over; my cheesecake is still waiting to be made."

Eijun’s eyes are darting around in a circling shape as he mutters, “Er, yeah, that.” Kazuya is actively raising his eyebrow. “I don’t have work today.” He smiles sheepishly, and explains, “The Manager would let me off today if I volunteered to take up my co-worker’s shifts yesterday.”

All Kazuya can do in regard to that is give a slap to his own cheek—to blend the two types of red that shade the skin—and an ecstatic “was it supposed to be a surprise?”

The thing about Eijun, is that he is such a fiery existence. He is so vivid that Kazuya doesn’t need to look at him twice to understand.

"Well, what do you know," Kazuya says, tousles his bangs, "that’s one full day for us."

.

Kazuya poises his back against the wall, facing away from the corner. He awaits the arrival of someone on his bed, although he isn’t entirely sure Eijun would come. He’s stuffed himself on one side of the bed, creating quite an agreeable space for another body to be dumped onto. While Eijun was finishing the cheesecake, Kazuya had gone forward and excused himself, visibly yawning. The clean-up is a concern for another day; the only concern Kazuya has in this very moment is how much time has passed and how Eijun hasn’t gone into his room.

Has he decided not to sleep here tonight, Kazuya grumbles under his breath, fatigue crawling down his limbs. As he thinks it over, forcing his eyes closed, the door opens with a fragile creak. Eijun seems to stand by the entrance for some time—Kazuya’s position this time may have a role in this—before he approaches the bed in a cautious collection of steps.

Eijun slides on one side of the bed, tugging at one end of the blanket. He is at the very edge, capable of dropping onto the floor anytime. But his head is at safe distance from both the rim and Kazuya’s presence, a ratio looking as if they had been calculated.

Kazuya opens his eyes.

In his mind, there are various scenarios that can occur from this plot twist. Around 80% of them involves volume. The reaction Eijun adopts is within the 20%. In sequence: his pupils dilate and his lips are clamped; he freezes and breathes in longer, stricter rhythm. Other than blinking whenever Kazuya blinks, he does nothing.

Kazuya places his forehead on Eijun’s. As a result, Eijun’s nose reddens; Kazuya is immediately washed with relief. He then calls out his name, “Eijun?”

No response—he can see sweats begin to trickle down Eijun’s neck.

"This may not be the ideal time to talk about it, but do we ever care?" Kazuya chuckles, reaches to touch Eijun’s clenched fists. "Quit your work."

Eijun’s eyes widen, and all of a sudden he finds his voice, “I—why?”

"Don’t move out," Kazuya says. He attempts to tangle his fingers around Eijun’s, but the fists refuse to budge—he allows a smile at that. Typical Eijun. “You don’t have to move out.”

"Kazuya, you—" Eijun whispers, stares into the depth of Kazuya’s eyes, turns sideways and squints. Something, an entity of sort, is swallowing him from the inside-out, digesting on his voice that it softens, becomes taut. "You know, don’t you?"

Kazuya’s answers are disembodied. His answers should be scavenged, should be obtained. All the chains of words he’s never said are buried at the bottom of his stomach, and none is easily dug out. But when he replies to Eijun’s question, all of it disperses, swims out of his barrier.

Eijun bursts into different hues of scarlet, pink on points on skin. His warmth is transferred to Kazuya through their connected foreheads, and his eyes gleam sharply, a stunning golden. And together with it, is the loss of his adopted identity as a ghost.

.