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Taiga knew he was disposable, no two ways about it. He could tell the other had no qualms about having other people warm his body and or his bed and still come sauntering up to him with a Devil May Care attitude. He should feel disgusted about it, but as the days go on, he could not even muster that amount of energy to do something about it.
In the beginning, it was all “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” and “What about me?!” and “I should have known better…”—they were all arguments started to be ended in make-up sex. And so it became a routine. A routine so methodical as brushing one’s teeth and using mouthwash, and then finding Daiki strutting with his shit-eating grin (the “I scored again” one) to snuggle with him on the couch, awaiting breakfast. As they sat together, the hushed drone of the television filling the silence as they ate, Taiga can smell Daiki’s clean scent from his morning shower, and knows deep down that he feels filthy.
But then Daiki’s eyes would widen like a delighted and excited child, gushing about how good the food was, and then the roiling feeling pooling in his gut, making the meals tasteless at first, calms down, and Taiga tries to scoff off the pleased embarrassment heating his face.
So it was a surprise—which it should not have been, he chides himself—when one morning, the grin on Daiki’s face was something different; not the “I scored” or the “I scored BIG”, or even the “Cat got the canary” shit face; but a more, soft Taiga thinks, smile that stretched his face so wide and contagious that he felt foolish as his own smile blossomed.
“Yo,” Daiki opens with, “She said yes,” Taiga blinked, non-sequitur that they were having while checking the ball on Daiki’s late arrival, bemused, “to my proposal, Bakagami,” the other completed, exasperated at what could only be confusion in Taiga’s stance.
And Taiga’s face strained to keep himself in form, as he thought, “Aa, so I was disposed.”
The ball bounced back in his palms.