Chapter Text
“Listen, listen.”
Masamune Takano raises the beer can in his hand to his lips to hide his smile. He is, as a matter of fact, listening to Ritsu. Very closely. “I am listening,” he points out, amusement seeping into his voice despite his best efforts. “I have been since you started talking about this three hours ago.”
Lord, Kisa would faint if he could hear the soft, fond amusement in his boss’s tone right now. Thank goodness the two of them are at home, away from the hustle and bustle of the emerald department.
Ritsu glares at him from across the table. “Well, you aren’t paying enough attention,” he says petulantly. “This ’s important,” he insists yet again, despite the fact that Masamune had never said anything to the contrary. His eyes are struggling to focus, and his words had passed the point of slurring long ago.
Masamune may be a bit tipsy, but to say that Ritsu is utterly wasted would a gross understatement. It’s a miracle he’s even still sitting up straight, honestly. It’s impressive, how eloquently he can present his analysis on all of his favorite books, considering that he looks to be on the verge of passing out.
Ritsu picks up his rant where he left off, like he’d never stopped in the first place. “Akihiko Usami is incredible, and I’ll keep sayin’ it until you understand,” he declares not for the first time this evening, and not for the last if Masamune were to guess. “His writing is genius,” he says reverently, tracing the spine of the book -that he’s been talking about non-stop- on the table in front of him gently, as if it were a precious artifact. “His characters ‘re so real. It’s like they’re based on actual humans,” he says, hazy eyes practically sparkling.
Masamune’s heart seizes. Seeing Ritsu like this is… dangerous, in many definitions of the word. He couldn’t argue with Ritsu if he wanted to, and he definitely does not want to hinder the forest burning in Ritsu’s distracted eyes in any way.
Oblivious to the whirlwind of feelings he’s stirring in the man across from him, Ritsu continues his sermon, slurred words and all. “His imagery is impossible for any regular human to ever hope to duplicate. He could write a book about driving through Tokyo traffic and ’m sure it would still be amazing!”
Tokyo traffic? Unable to help himself any longer, Masamune gives up on fighting the laugh that’s been building up in his stomach for the last thirty minutes.
Ritsu’s cheeks heat angrily. “Hey, why’re you laughing,” he demands sharply. “This is important,” he says again, a pout forming on his lips.
It takes longer for Masamune to smother his chuckles than it would if he were sober. Eventually, though, he manages it. “Of course it is,” he says placatingly.
Ritsu raises an eyebrow suspiciously, but it would seem he’s too intoxicated to call Masamune out on being a prick like he normally would.
It’s nice, seeing this side of Ritsu that nobody else ever gets to. And if doing so involves Masamune listening to him preach -in excruciating detail- about books and Akihiko Usami all night, then so be it.
Masamune smiles. He’ll never admit this out loud, but he could probably stay here in their little bubble, and banter back and forth with Ritsu about their beloved books forever. “Keep talking. I’m all ears,” he promises, propping his elbows on the coffee table and resting his chin on his hands.
Ritsu’s eyes widen, matching the smile on his face and the blush blooming beautifully on his cheeks. For once, he does what Masamune says without question.
God, Ritsu is too adorable. Masamune wishes he was like this all the time.