Chapter Text
Seiya blinked slowly, his mind gradually sharpening as the room came into view. Masakado's desk, usually a chaotic sprawl of pens and open textbooks, looked neater than Seiya remembered. A steaming cup of coffee sat waiting for him. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the blanket.
Seiya's eyes traced the lines until they landed on Masakado at the door, brushing his teeth with that goofy, foam-filled grin, his shirt collar awkwardly flipped inside out. "Morning," Masakado greeted, but this time it felt different—gentler, with a warmth that wrapped around the room. Seiya murmured a reply, feeling the peculiar yet pleasant sensation settle within him. Masakado caught Seiya’s lingering gaze and said nothing, simply handed him a sugar spoon as if it were second nature, before leaning in to kiss him, toothpaste and all. Mornings had changed, but in a good way.
Seiya looked back at the coffee. The steam rose in lazy spirals, carrying its rich, nutty scent throughout the room. It was just how he liked it. He blinked, pondering how long it would take for this to feel normal, if it ever would.
Masakado ducked back into the bathroom, leaving the door to their room half open as he continued to scrub at his teeth. The sound of water from afar running filled the space, a steady backdrop to the morning’s newness.
Seiya sat up, feeling the warmth of the blanket fall away from his shoulders. He reached for the cup, hesitating just a moment before wrapping his fingers around the handle. It felt... good. This casualness. The quiet but undeniable shift in the air. He blew softly on the coffee, watching ripples break across the surface, and took a careful sip.
“Morning,” Masakado repeated, appearing in the doorway again. His mouth was clear of foam this time, though a dab of toothpaste lingered at the corner of his lips, sparkling in the light like a missed spot of glitter. His jaw smooth after shaving.
“Hey,” Seiya said, his voice still rough from sleep. The coffee scalded the back of his throat pleasantly, jolting him further into wakefulness.
Masakado looked at him, his shirt slightly crooked and his hair a gentle mess, like he’d had the best night of sleep in ages. Which he probably had, Seiya realized. Which they both probably had. He watched as Masakado straightened his collar absently, his smile never fading.
This felt different. Exciting and terrifying in equal measure. Seiya’s stomach flipped, a nervous flutter that he’d spent too long ignoring. Masakado wasn’t looking away this time, and Seiya knew that he knew what that meant.
“Here,” Masakado said, stepping forward. He held out a spoon like an olive branch, and Seiya took it automatically, the metal cold against his fingers.
“Thanks,” Seiya mumbled, trying not to smile as he stirred more sugar into his cup. It clinked softly against the ceramic, a sound so familiar it almost hurt.
He glanced up to find Masakado watching him, an unreadable but distinctly fond expression on his face. It made Seiya’s chest tighten, but he didn’t look away. Not like before. He met Masakado’s gaze and felt a small thrill run through him.
Masakado was right there, inches away, close enough for Seiya to notice the faintest smell of mint as he leaned in. The kiss was quick, gentle, like the kind that was supposed to come with long practice, with years of mornings exactly like this one.
The simplicity of it made Seiya’s head spin. Masakado pulled back, a hint of shyness creeping into his smile. He turned, pretending to busy himself with nothing in particular, and Seiya watched him with a bemused sort of wonder.
Was this really happening? Was this how things were going to be now?
Seiya took another sip of his coffee, the warmth spreading through him, and decided he liked the thought of that.
There was an old routine here somewhere, buried beneath the newness. In the quiet comfort of their morning, he could still see the outline of how things used to be. Masakado, dragging him out of bed for class. Him, complaining the whole way to the dining hall about how much he needed caffeine. Masakado, grinning and tossing a sugar packet at his head. But that was before. Before everything shifted.
Seiya wondered what Jo would say if he told him. If he ever told him (he probably already knew). He’d probably laugh in his face and say ‘I told you so.’ And he’d probably deserve it.
He glanced at Masakado, moving with a practiced ease around the small room. For all the intensity and awkwardness of their first real kiss until now—Masakado seemed ridiculously calm. Comfortable, like he’d been waiting for this and was just glad it finally happened.
And Seiya was glad, too. If he let himself admit it, if he was honest about the way his heart felt light and hopeful, maybe even relieved. He swallowed the feeling along with another sip of coffee, the bitterness grounding him. The past days since their kiss had been amazing, and such a relief.
“What?” he asked when Masakado’s gaze flickered back to him.
“Nothing.” Masakado shrugged, his expression softening. “Just… I made your coffee strong. Like usual.”
“Like usual,” Seiya repeated, tasting the words.
Masakado laughed, a short and sweet sound, and Seiya couldn’t help but grin back. There was no use fighting it, this inevitability. No use pretending things were still simple and unchanged when they so clearly weren’t.
But it wasn’t the complication Seiya feared it would be. Wasn’t the explosion he’d been bracing for in the weeks since he realized that this—Masakado, them, everything—was headed somewhere new. It was gentle, sneaking up on him until he woke to find himself in the middle of it, until he woke to find himself happy.
He put down the spoon, picked up the cup, and took another slow sip. The room felt brighter, warmer.
“I could get used to this,” Seiya said before he could think twice about it. He meant the coffee, maybe. He meant everything else, too.
Masakado’s smile widened, toothy and genuine, as he moved across the room. Seiya followed him with his eyes, soaking up every small detail: the way he fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, the way he straightened the stack of books on his desk for no reason at all.
“Yeah?” Masakado said, glancing back.
“Yeah,” Seiya replied, surprising himself with how sure he sounded. He leaned back, the mug warm in his hands, and let the feeling settle around him. Let himself believe, even if just for a moment, that things could stay this way. That they might even get better.
By the time Seiya reached for it, Masakado had already noticed. He paused in the middle of folding a stray blanket, and Seiya could feel him watching.
“Claiming that one officially now?” Masakado asked, nodding toward the gray hoodie that Seiya was already halfway into.
Seiya shrugged, pretending it was no big deal. “You said I could,” he mumbled, his voice low and embarrassed. He couldn’t look up, didn’t dare meet Masakado’s gaze, but he could imagine exactly the smile on his face.
Masakado stepped behind him, tugging the hood up and ruffling Seiya’s hair through it. “Looks better on you anyway.” Seiya’s face went red. He glared at Masakado but didn’t take it off. Not now. Not ever.
He wasn’t sure why the hoodie made him so self-conscious. It wasn’t like he hadn’t borrowed it before, but somehow, in the light of the past days, it felt like a declaration he wasn’t quite ready to make. Like it said something about them, about how they were different now.
Seiya’s hand hovered uncertainly above the soft gray fabric, the memories of too many late nights spent in the room tugging at the edge of his mind. Movies, half-finished homework assignments, the quiet certainty of each other’s company. They’d never thought twice about it before.
But now…
“Seiya-kun,” Masakado called, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.
“What?” Seiya glanced up, caught, and found Masakado’s eyes on him. His heart jumped into his throat.
Masakado raised an eyebrow, his expression halfway between amusement and affection. Seiya felt his resolve waver.
“Nothing,” he muttered, but even he didn’t believe it.
He couldn’t help himself. He was already pulling the hoodie over his head, the familiar scent and warmth enveloping him in an instant. He could feel Masakado’s gaze follow every movement, and it made his skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something he wasn’t ready to name.
When he emerged from the folds of fabric, Masakado’s smile had grown impossibly wide.
“You said I could have it,” Seiya mumbled again, mostly to convince himself.
“And I meant it.”
Masakado closed the space between them, stepping close enough that Seiya could feel the heat radiating off him, see the way his hair flopped casually over his forehead. It was all Seiya could do to keep himself from reaching out, from touching, from admitting just how much he liked this.
He braced for the teasing that was sure to come next, for Masakado to push just a little harder until Seiya was forced to admit that yes, he was claiming it. Yes, it was his.
But instead, Masakado’s fingers brushed against his neck, startlingly gentle, as he tugged the hood up and over Seiya’s head. Seiya froze, every nerve ending buzzing with the unexpected contact.
“Looks better on you anyway,” Masakado said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Seiya’s cheeks flamed, a heat spreading through his entire body that had nothing to do with the thick, cozy material of the hoodie. He glared, trying to muster some semblance of annoyance, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.
The hood slipped down over his eyes, and he swatted at it, half-hearted, but Masakado caught his hand and pulled him even closer, until Seiya could feel the vibration of Masakado’s laughter rumbling through his chest.
“You’re ridiculous,” Seiya said, but the words came out shaky, full of a warmth that had settled into every part of him.
“Maybe,” Masakado agreed. His voice was low, soft, like a confession or a promise.
Seiya had a sudden, terrifying thought: that he never wanted to give this up. Not the hoodie. Not Masakado. Not any of it.
His heart raced as he let himself relax into the moment, into Masakado, and the hoodie and the morning and everything that had seemed impossible until now. It was easier than he expected.
“So you’re just gonna keep it, huh?” Masakado said, the laughter still in his eyes, in the curve of his mouth.
Seiya looked at him, the guy who had been his best friend forever, who was becoming something else, something more. It was dizzying, how quickly things were changing, how easy it was to fall into it when he let himself.
“I guess I am,” he said, finally letting the smile break free.
Masakado’s eyes crinkled at the corners, that scrunchy, familiar expression that made Seiya’s chest feel light and tight all at once.
And maybe it was crazy. Maybe it was fast and reckless and not at all what Seiya had imagined, but he was starting to realize he liked it that way. That the hoodie and Masakado and the whole wonderful mess they were diving headfirst into was exactly what he wanted.
Seiya tugged at the strings of the hood, cinching it tighter around his face. “Comfortable,” he said, trying to sound defiant.
“Adorable,” Masakado countered.
It wasn’t what Seiya expected. None of this was. But as he stood there, wrapped in the hoodie and Masakado’s gaze, he knew one thing for certain: He wasn’t taking it off.
Masakado squeezed Seiya’s face gently between his hands, his palms warm against his flushed cheeks. The hood stayed snug over Seiya’s head, soft cotton cradling the sides of his face like it belonged there—like he belonged there, tucked into Masakado’s hands, into Masakado’s space.
“You really are so adorable,” Masakado murmured, voice low and affectionate in a way that made Seiya’s knees feel suspiciously weak.
Seiya squirmed, his cheeks blooming scarlet, trying to wriggle free from Masakado’s grasp. “Don’t—”
But whatever comeback he’d meant to fire back was lost the second Masakado leaned in and kissed him.
It shut him up fast.
Seiya stood frozen, his breath caught somewhere in his throat as the sudden press of Masakado’s lips silenced the world around him. He’d been ready for more teasing, ready to snap back with something sarcastic and defensive. Not this. Not the quiet surety of Masakado’s mouth on his. Not the stillness, not the softness.
Not the way it made everything stop—and start all at once.
Their lips met in the gentlest collision imaginable—no rush, no showy tilt, just a careful press. A quiet question with no words. Masakado’s mouth was warm and smooth, resting against Seiya’s like he’d done it a thousand times in his head and was finally allowed to try for real. It wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t tentative either. It was deliberate. Confident in a way that made Seiya’s pulse throb through every nerve.
For a split second, Seiya didn’t react. He froze under the weight of it—startled not by the kiss itself, but by how easy it was to fall into. Like he’d been waiting. Like his whole body had been quietly hoping for this moment without telling him.
Then he moved.
His fingers reached instinctively for Masakado’s hoodie, gripping the fabric at his chest, clutching it like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground. He leaned in—just a breath—but it was enough. Their mouths aligned more naturally, their lips molding together with growing certainty.
Masakado’s lower lip dragged against Seiya’s ever so slightly on the pull back, slow and purposeful, and Seiya gasped—barely audible, but enough to open his mouth the tiniest bit. Masakado didn’t hesitate.
He leaned forward again, kissing him deeper this time—parting Seiya’s lips with the barest brush of tongue. It wasn’t rushed. It was exploratory. Curious. A request rather than a demand.
Seiya’s heart thudded against his ribs. He parted his lips further in silent agreement.
Masakado exhaled softly into the kiss, and the sound alone was enough to make Seiya’s stomach flutter. His tongue traced gently along Seiya’s, just once, coaxing, not claiming. The heat of it sent a jolt through Seiya’s chest, and he responded before he had time to think—meeting Masakado’s rhythm, learning him in return.
They kissed like that, slowly, with quiet reverence. Every movement was a message, every soft pull and gentle pressure a promise. Masakado tilted his head a little more, deepening the connection just enough to draw another breathless sound from Seiya’s throat.
Masakado’s hand slid from Seiya’s cheek to the back of his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair under the hoodie. He held him there—not possessive, but steady, like he was afraid Seiya might float away.
And Seiya—Seiya let him. Let himself lean, let his body curl closer, let his hands flatten against Masakado’s chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under his palms.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t out of discomfort, or awkwardness—it was because they had to breathe. Their lips hovered, brushing with every shallow inhale, like they couldn’t quite stand the thought of letting go completely.
Seiya’s eyes stayed closed, lashes trembling, and Masakado’s forehead dropped to rest against his.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to.
Because in that kiss—in the way they lingered, lips kiss-dazed and breath shared—everything had already been said.
Seiya didn’t open his eyes right away.
He stood there, hoodie askew, chest rising and falling far too fast, and Masakado still cupping his face like he was holding something precious.
And then, voice barely more than a breath, Masakado said, “You always get so flustered, but you never pull away.”
Seiya blinked up at him, eyes still wide and stormy with emotion. “Maybe I don’t want to.”
Masakado smiled.
And leaned in to kiss him again—slower, deeper this time—like he’d just been waiting for permission to fall all the way.
His eyes fluttered shut, and the rest of the world faded. The teasing, the embarrassment, the uncertainty—all of it melted away until there was nothing left but this, but Masakado’s soft, insistent mouth on his, and Seiya felt the last of his resistance crumble.
Masakado was relentless, and Seiya was defenseless, and somehow he was okay with that. Better than okay.
This was so different from what he’d expected, from what he’d convinced himself it would be. It was supposed to be awkward and complicated, an explosion of feelings and confusion and what are we even doing? But it wasn’t. It was... simple. Effortless. As if it was meant to be this way all along, and they were just catching up to what everyone else had already seen.
Masakado’s thumb brushed gently over his cheek, the touch featherlight, and Seiya couldn’t hold back the small sound that escaped him. Couldn’t hide the way he swayed into the kiss, into the comfort and surety of it.
The room was quiet, but Seiya felt loud inside, a mess of contradictions that somehow made perfect sense when he was right here, when he was with Masakado. He let himself give in, the final walls crumbling, and kissed back with a surprising intensity that even he didn’t know he had.
It left him breathless, stunned by the strength of his own feelings, by the way they roared to the surface with no warning at all.
When Masakado finally pulled back, his eyes bright and searching, Seiya could only stand there, mouth slightly open, heart pounding an impossible rhythm in his chest. The hood was still perched awkwardly on his head, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or cry at how ridiculous he must look.
“Masakado,” he said, barely managing the single word, barely keeping himself upright.
“Yeah?” Masakado’s voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something genuine.
Seiya swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, the right way to express the flood of emotions crashing through him. But all he could do was stare, stunned into silence by how much he wanted this, by how much he wanted Masakado.
“You’re insane,” he finally said, but there was no conviction in it. Only awe. Only wonder.
Masakado’s face broke into a smile, that scrunchy, familiar expression that Seiya knew all too well.
“Not denying that,” Masakado replied, leaning in to press another quick kiss to Seiya’s forehead, to the soft gray hood that had become a symbol of everything that was changing between them.
Seiya felt the words die in his throat again, felt the overwhelming rush of something that was terrifying and thrilling all at once.
But for once, he didn’t mind.
He let the silence stretch, let Masakado hold him there in the quiet of their room, and the feeling that settled over him was one he couldn’t ignore any longer:
He was happy.
Seiya adjusted the hood of his gray hoodie, tugging it further down over his face as they left the room together. He could see Masakado’s obnoxious grin from the corner of his eye.
“Maybe I should get you a new one,” Masakado suggested, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
“In another color?” Seiya rolled his eyes. “Like that’d make it more fashionable?”
Masakado’s smile grew wider, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Then we’d match.”
Seiya stared at him, deadpan. “The only reason it’s so comfortable is because it smells like you, idiot.”
Masakado didn’t say anything, but his expression lit up like Seiya had given him the best compliment ever. Seiya couldn’t help but shake his head at how ridiculous this all was. They were ridiculous. A tangled, wonderful mess of feelings and confusion and undeniable happiness, and somehow it worked.
“Matching would be cute,” Masakado pressed, his tone playful, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“It would be weird,” Seiya shot back, but his heart wasn’t in it. He had a sudden, terrifying image of the two of them side by side, in hoodies and sneakers, and felt an unexpected thrill at how right it seemed.
Masakado shrugged, a glint in his eyes that made Seiya want to both throttle him and never let him go. “Could be our thing.”
Seiya was stunned at how easily Masakado said it, at how naturally he made it sound. He’d spent so long thinking it would be impossible, that things would be strange and strained if they ever got to this point. But it wasn’t. Not even close. The deadpan stare he gave Masakado was as much to cover his own surprise as it was an attempt to keep things light. “You just want me to be your fashion twin.”
Masakado’s laugh echoed down the hallway, bright and unconcerned. “Busted.”
Seiya wished he could stay cool, pretend it was no big deal, but the flutter in his chest wouldn’t quit. He remembered the way Masakado had looked at him in the room, the way he’d smiled so impossibly wide when Seiya said he was keeping the hoodie. It had been the simplest thing, an offhand comment, but Masakado made it feel huge. Made Seiya feel...
He didn’t even know how to finish the thought, and the uncertainty was terrifying. But also exhilarating.
He shot a sideways glance at Masakado, who was watching him with an expression that bordered on expectation. Like he was waiting for Seiya to break. Like he knew he’d win. Seiya was not about to give him the satisfaction. Not yet.
“I said it’s only comfortable because it smells like you,” he added, twisting the familiar phrase into a teasing jab, hoping to throw Masakado off.
“Wait,” Masakado said, frowning as if he were deep in thought. “Is that... a compliment?”
Seiya couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nope.”
It was, and they both knew it.
Masakado looked puzzled for all of two seconds before realization dawned. His face lit up like Seiya had handed him the most incredible gift, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Seiya felt his own expression soften, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly in love with you,” Masakado agreed, and Seiya’s breath caught.
There it was, out in the open, unguarded and terrifyingly real.
He should have felt overwhelmed, scared, ready to bolt. But all he felt was a dizzying rush of relief and joy and how did I ever get this lucky?
Masakado beamed at him, unashamed and sure, and Seiya knew he was a goner. He tried to summon a retort, anything to downplay how much those words meant, but he couldn’t find it in himself to pretend. Not now. Not with Masakado looking at him like that.
They walked side by side, their steps in sync, and Seiya thought maybe Masakado was right. Maybe this could be their thing. Matching. Being. Whatever it was, it felt good.
Better than good.
He felt the heat rise to his cheeks again and knew he was blushing, but he didn’t care. Didn’t care if Masakado saw right through him, saw how completely, hopelessly in love he was, too. Maybe he didn’t have to pretend anymore.
The thought hit him with the force of a revelation, and he dared to hope it might last.
Seiya got distracted by a message on his phone, the bright screen illuminating his face in the dim hallway. He didn’t notice Masakado stop and turn, waiting, until Masakado gave an exaggerated pout and tugged at Seiya’s sleeve.
“Helloooo,” Masakado said, drawing out the word in mock despair. Seiya ignored him, pretending to be absorbed.
Masakado tried again, more dramatic this time. “Earth to Seiya.” He pulled harder on the sleeve, a relentless, playful force. Seiya glanced at him, then back to the message, then back at Masakado’s impossibly adorable face. It was no contest.
He pulled Masakado down for a quick kiss. “Good?” he asked, laughing.
It had been a while since Jo had last asked him about the room change, a while since he’d found himself tangled up in Masakado’s impossibly warm embrace. Now, standing here with Masakado pouting at him like the most ridiculous person alive, Seiya couldn’t believe he’d ever wanted anything else.
The phone buzzed again, a gentle reminder of the message waiting for him, but Seiya barely registered it.
“Seiyaaaaa-kun,” Masakado whined, tugging on the sleeve with even more determination, his eyes wide and insistent.
“Busy,” Seiya said, the corner of his mouth twitching with the effort not to smile. He kept his eyes glued to the phone, pretending that Masakado’s relentless assault on his attention wasn’t working.
It was. And they both knew it. He tried to focus on the words lighting up his screen, on Jo’s teasing as it stared back at him. But it was impossible. Masakado was impossible.
“I’m dying over here,” Masakado continued, his voice dramatic and loud, enough to draw stares from a group of passing students. “Completely ignored. Forgotten. Abandoned.”
Seiya glanced up at that, at the sheer absurdity of Masakado’s theatrics, and felt a rush of affection so strong it nearly bowled him over.
“You’re such a brat,” Seiya said, but there was no conviction behind it, only laughter and warmth.
Masakado’s grip on the sleeve tightened, a playful desperation that sent a thrill through Seiya.
“Notice me,” Masakado pleaded, his tone both exaggerated and earnest, the combination of which made Seiya’s heart flip over.
He pretended to ignore it, but Masakado’s face, the way he looked so expectant and open, broke down the last of Seiya’s resolve. Seiya was already turning, already moving before he realized it, his body acting on instinct that had become impossible to fight.
“Fine,” he said, and it sounded more like love you than he meant it to.
Seiya let the phone drop to his side, let it fade from his thoughts completely, and the look on Masakado’s face was more than worth it.
He surged forward without thinking, grabbing a fistful of hoodie and pulling Masakado down again. The kiss was quick—too quick—but it hit like a spark to dry kindling, lit with everything Seiya hadn’t figured out how to say. Everything that had been building and burning between them for what felt like forever.
Masakado made a soft, startled sound against his mouth—but he was already kissing back, breath catching as he melted into the touch, smiling into it, like the rush of Seiya’s mouth on his had knocked the air out of him and he was grateful for it.
“Better?” Seiya asked, voice barely there—half a laugh, half a dare.
Masakado didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Seiya was on him again, hands flattening against Masakado’s chest and pushing—not hard, but decisive—guiding him back until his shoulder blades hit the nearest wall with a soft, solid thud that reverberated through Seiya’s bones. It sent a jolt through both of them—shock and certainty and something that felt dangerously close to need.
The hallway tilted around them. Seiya didn’t care.
His mouth was already back on Masakado’s, hot and determined, parting his lips like he needed this—needed him. And Masakado kissed him back like he’d been waiting years, not just weeks. No more holding back. No more gentle. No more tiptoeing.
Masakado’s lips moved with hungry precision, answering every push and pull of Seiya’s with equal urgency—nipping gently, then soothing, then deepening the kiss until their mouths were moving together in perfect rhythm, messy and desperate and real. Seiya felt his breath stutter, his chest press flush to Masakado’s as if closeness alone could make the spinning stop.
Masakado’s hands were in his hair now—really in it—fingers threaded deep and tugging just enough to draw out a sharp inhale from Seiya that turned into a soft, broken sound against his mouth. It was dizzying, how good it felt. How right it felt. The soft drag of Masakado’s lower lip. The way their tongues met in slow, breathless strokes. The heat of it. The gravity of it. The absolutely unhinged realization that this—this—was what they’d been dancing around all along.
Seiya pressed into him fully, hips flush, the urgency in his body undeniable now. His hand slid up Masakado’s side, fingers bunching in the soft fabric just to feel something—heat, movement, proof that this was real. He licked into Masakado’s mouth with a soft groan, bold and wanting, tasting the sweetness of his breath like he couldn’t get enough.
Masakado responded in kind—lips parting willingly, greedily, letting Seiya in, his tongue meeting his with slow, slick strokes that made Seiya gasp. There was nothing shy left between them. No space. No air. Just mouths tangled and breaths stolen and the hot, unspoken ache of finally.
Seiya felt himself sinking into it, into him, felt Masakado’s hand at his lower back, firm and steady, pressing him impossibly closer. Their chests heaved together, rising and falling in sync, every shallow breath pulling them deeper into the kiss, into each other.
And god, Masakado’s mouth—soft but confident, kissing like he knew exactly what Seiya needed, like he was memorizing the shape of him, like he wanted to taste every unspoken thought. Seiya moaned softly as Masakado’s teeth grazed his bottom lip, the tiniest scrape followed by a soothing kiss that sent heat spiraling down his spine. One of Masakado’s hands threaded into Seiya’s hair, tugging gently, just enough to tilt his head and deepen the angle of the kiss. It made Seiya melt, body arching into him, mouth parting further in helpless response.
They were breathing each other in now—hot and heavy, lips swollen, kisses growing sloppier, wetter, more desperate by the second. The hallway was spinning, or maybe that was just Seiya’s pulse roaring in his ears, the way every nerve in his body sang for more.
And still—it wasn’t enough.
He wanted more of Masakado. More sound, more contact, more of the way his hands moved like he already knew every place Seiya wanted to be touched. Masakado’s fingers trailed down his spine, resting at the waistband of his jeans, and Seiya’s whole body shivered in response, heat blooming low and hot in his core.
Their kiss slowed, not because the fire went out, but because the heat burned so steady it didn’t have to rush. Lips parted and met again, softer now, lingering, like neither of them could bear to let go entirely.
When they finally broke apart—barely—both of them were gasping, breath mingling in short, uneven bursts between them. Seiya’s hands stayed where they were, fingers trembling slightly. Masakado’s hair was mussed, his eyes blown wide and shining, his mouth kiss-bitten and parted like he still wanted more.
“Whoa,” Masakado whispered, voice rough with disbelief and affection, the single syllable carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say yet.
Seiya stared at him—at his lips, his face, the flush across his cheeks—and swallowed.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but it came out softer than he meant it to, unsteady, like the kiss had peeled him open. Like Masakado had seen too much.
He bent down to pick up the phone, his pulse racing, and felt a ridiculous, uncontainable grin spread across his face. He caught sight of the message again—Jo’s teasing, so spot on it was almost creepy—and felt a different kind of relief. The kind that comes with certainty, with the realization that he’d never have to question this, that it was real and his and better than anything he could have imagined.
“Didn’t know you had it in you. In public.” Masakado said, still sounding awed and delighted.
Seiya slipped the phone back into his pocket, his decision made and firm.
“Guess you don’t know everything,” he said, but the knowing look they exchanged told them both otherwise.
They walked side by side, Masakado still looking slightly dazed and completely thrilled, and Seiya knew Jo was right.
He didn’t want to apply for a room change this semester.
He didn’t want anything to change at all. Except maybe getting a bigger room, or a bigger—single—bed.
From: Stupid Jo
> I guess you don’t want to apply for a room change this semester? lol ;)