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It’s safe to say that Ryou has an unhealthy addiction with Akira’s hair. He can’t blame himself though, his silver hair is just too smooth, too soft to not run your fingers through or bury your nose in and fill your lungs with whatever shampoo he used that day mixed with his permanent scent of cinnamon and saffron. Not only does it relaxes Ryou but it calms him down. Sometimes Alice doesn’t even need to yank on his bandanna, she’ll simply drag Akira and shove him in Ryou’s way and just like that, the mad dog is tamed.
“Ryou...I‘m cooking,” Akira says. They’re standing in the kitchen with Ryou hugging him from the back, sandwiching him between his broader, taller frame and the kitchen counter where he’s cutting carrots next to a boiling pot of chicken broth.
“It’s fine, the smoke doesn’t bother me,” Ryou assures and proceeds to latch his teeth on the band that’s keeping Akira’s hair in a ponytail, and tugs it loose. Locks of luscious hair falls and curtains over the back of his neck, much to his annoyance. He hates cooking with his hair untied as it gets in the way.
“That’s not what I meant,” Akira sighs. He shoves the cutting board aside, puts the knife away and wipes his hands with a towel before turning in Ryou’s arms and squeezing his cheeks in his palms. “I can’t cook with you clinging to me so go wait in the living room,”
“No,” Ryou says bluntly and yanks his face free only to bury it in the crook of Akira’s neck. “Since when did you get so clingy with me,” Akira sighs and in defeat, wraps his arms around the latter’s shoulders. “You used to hate me so much, remember?” he reminisces as he strokes Ryou’s tousled hair.
“Mmh,” Ryou agrees, nodding against him. “I wanted to kick your ass. Now I’m fucking it every night,”
Flustered, Akira stomps on his feet which barely made the latter flinch. “Don’t say that!” he scolds.
“Eh...but it’s true,” Ryou pulls his face away to say. “Y-yes, but don’t say it,” Akira taps the tip of his nose with a frown and the taller male blinks once, twice before replying in the same monotonous tone. “Oh...’kay,” then he tilts his head and presses his lips against Akira’s. It’s unexpected but it didn’t take long for Akira to respond and melt, parting his lips to welcome Ryou’s tongue.
The sound of the pot lid clattering from overflowing interrupts them though and Akira hastily pulls away to lower the heat of the stover and lift the lid to calm down the boiling broth. “Ah, I almost burned it,” he says. He never fails in the kitchen as he’s always so focused on the task in hand but Ryou has this way of making him forget about anything else.
“Smells nice,” Ryou comments and for a second Akira thought he was talking about the broth and was about to thank him until he feels his nose nudge the back of his neck, burying his face in the locks of his hair.
“Ryou,” Akira sighs. “If you tie my hair back up, I’ll let you stay,”
Ryou grumbles but does so anyway. He collects Akira’s hair in his hand and very gently, ties it back up with the elastic band from earlier. Once his hair is up, he wraps his arms around him again, squeezing and holding him tighter than before.
“So clingy,” Akira sighs for the nth time that night before continuing to cook, secretly enjoying his boyfriend’s warmth weighing on his back and the way warmer lips would occasionally sneak to peck him on the cheek.