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The first time Nezumi kisses him, Shion is so taken aback that he knocks over the tray of brownies with his elbow as his hands fly up to find purchase on the arms slowly winding their way around his waist. Shion tries to press himself up on his tiptoes, eager to meet Nezumi’s lips, and promptly overbalances. They topple into the sharp edge of the kitchen counter, Nezumi taking the brunt of the fall and parting from Shion’s lips to grunt in pain as the counter digs into his side.
Shion starts to apologise until he realises Nezumi is chuckling quietly. Soon, they’re both giggling loudly, inelegant guffaws as Nezumi wraps his arms loosely around Shion’s back and presses his face into the shorter man’s neck. Nezumi’s breath tickles against his neck where he’s still laughing and Shion realises that the perfect moment for a first kiss is overrated. He’d much rather a lifetime of awkward kisses with the man in front of him than one perfect kiss. That is, until Nezumi brings his hands up and swipes brownie batter all over his cheeks. Then Shion’s only thought is revenge.
*
The second time they kiss, a few days later, there aren’t fireworks or explosions. Shion is rubbing at his eyes, red circles refusing to budge and shirt sleeves wet at the tips, as he hunches over a pile of paperwork it’ll take him several more hours to sift through. Nezumi strolls into the other’s room unannounced and Shion would have been taken by the domesticity of it all had he not felt the sudden need to wipe surreptitiously at his face, ugly streaks smudging into wet patches across his cheeks. Nezumi takes one look at the sad sight before him, closes the five steps between them and presses his lips to Shion’s. It’s barely a kiss, just a ghost of a touch really, but Shion kisses back all the same. Soon enough, they’re panting from the effort and Shion is clawing at Nezumi’s jumper. The taller of the two pushes Shion’s hands away gently, clasping the smaller palms in his own and turning his head to the side so that the only part of them that is touching is their foreheads. Hot breaths stir the air between them and in the moment, Shion finds himself angry, confused and upset until Nezumi brings one hand up to wipe at Shion’s face.
Now is not the right moment, Shion reads in Nezumi’s touch. So instead, Shion leans into Nezumi and cries loud, ugly sobs that he’ll be a little embarrassed about later. But for now, Nezumi holds him close and lets the stress of the last few days pool out of Shion.
*
The first time Shion kisses Nezumi, just over a week later, they’re laying in a meadow a twenty minute walk from Nezumi’s apartment, picnic blanket spread below them like their own little island. Nezumi is lying back with his head pillowed on his crossed arm, raven locks cascading around him like a feathered crown. Nezumi is saying something derisive about Shion’s attempt to pack sandwiches and the resulting mess he’d unwrapped earlier when Shion makes the mistakes of looking over just as the sunlight hits his cheekbones. Nezumi is all angles and lashes, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms and pulling up slightly at the hem. Shion finds himself overwhelmed in the simplicity of it all, in Nezumi’s crossed ankles and the comforting scent of his jacket wrapped loosely around Shion’s shoulders after he’d complained about the sun burning through his thin, white linen shirt.
Nezumi, finding his one-sided conversation unsettling, opens his eyes to look at Shion. In that moment, just as Nezumi quirks an eyebrow in the meadow by his apartment, in this little town he now calls home, Shion realises he doesn’t need to wait for the perfect moment. Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips briefly to Nezumi’s. The angle is awkward, Shion’s head perpendicular to Nezumi’s, but Shion finds that he doesn’t care as long as he gets to spend every imperfect moment for the rest of his life with this insufferable man beside him.