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“Okay, but poptarts are NOT a sandwich!”
Josh laughs. “They totally are, come on Neku! It’s a filling contained in the center of a carbohydrate! That’s a sandwich!”
Neku glares at Josh from the other side of the couch, and launches a pillow at him, which gets frozen in mid-air, cheater. “It’s a pastry! Not a fucking sandwich! What world do you live in where that counts as a sandwich?”
“Hey, I head that thought!” Josh juts his chin out, haughty, as he says, “I live in Shibuya, duh, and since this is my city, I can make the rules. And I say a poptart is a sandwich, so it is! Whatcha gonna do about it?”
Neku scowls, because Josh has his arms crossed over his chest, and is so goading him, the smug bastard. With his dumb, pretty face.
Instead of arguing back, Neku launches himself across the couch, on top of Josh now, and kisses his stupid mouth.
The noise Joshua makes has no right being that adorable, as he squeaks in surprise, before kissing him back.
When he pulls back, Josh smiles up at him, the picture of innocence as he asks, “So does that mean I win the argument?”
The resulting pain in Joshua’s stomach from Neku’s elbow is entirely his own fault.