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Somehow, there are constellations in the night sky. Usually, light pollution would shroud these stars in fog. This time, while they walk home from a bar that would’ve been nice if there was air conditioning, they point out the dippers, Orion’s belt. There’s some cluster of stars that Kirishima claims is Leo; Yokozawa silently knows it is not.
They forget where they are walking. They hold hands, each with their own excuses for why they’re doing so. They’re both drunk but not yet conscious of it. It is late August.
Soon, they arrive at a building where Kirishima finally slows to a stop. Yokozawa is suddenly very aware of the warmth of Kirishima’s hand in his own. He pulls it away, looks down. He pretends he’s nauseous when he feels the saliva pool in his mouth. That’s easier to explain to himself.
“Well,” Kirishima gestures at the building, “This is me.”
For whatever reason, Yokozawa’s lost for words. He looks up after a moment. “...Thanks for the drinks. I’m paying next time.” His drunkenness hits him like a truck. Why was I following him home?
“No, you aren’t.” Kirishima grins, leaning on the stone brick wall next to the entrance. He throws his thumb back, “Wanna take me to my door?”
“Are you out of your mind?” He says while following him like a child into the apartment complex.
“I think you are, Yokozawa-san.” He calls down the elevator and it opens right away, empty. It's awfully late. “It’s very unlike you to do this.” He steps into the elevator.
“‘S not like I’m doing anything.” Yokozawa follows. The door shuts. “...I just feel out of it.”
“I can tell.” The elevator begins going up, chirping at every floor, “I should’ve just cut you off.”
They arrive at Kirishima’s floor. With each step, Yokozawa’s anticipation grows. He wishes it didn’t.
Kirishima stops at one of the doors, pulling his keys from his pocket. He opens the door, walks in, and calls out, “Come in.”
That crossed the line for Yokozawa. He glares through the doorway, “No fucking way.”
“What?” Kirishima takes off his shoes.
“Seriously? What about,” he lowers his voice even though there’s no one around to listen, “your wife?”
Kirishima looks amused, “I don’t have a wife. Where’d you get that idea? And it’s not like I’m inviting you in to rail you. Unless you’re up for that, of course.”
“Fuck you.” Yokozawa pauses for a moment, embarrassed. “...You have a ring on your finger.”
“Do you really think I would be going on dates with you if I was married?”
“‘Dates!?’”
“Last time I checked, two coworkers don’t typically hold hands on the way home after drinks.” He clicks his tongue, “But my wife passes away a bit after my daughter was born.”
“...I’m sorry.” And then, “Wait, you have a daughter? Why the hell haven’t you told me any of this!?”
“Oops. Now, come in.”
“Your daughter—”
“She’s at my parent’s place for the night.” Kirishima stands in the doorway, leaning his arm up against the frame.
Yokozawa notes the broadness of his chest. He sweats.
“At least just spend the night in my guest bedroom. I would offer you to sleep in my bed, but I wouldn’t want your sober self thinking we fucked again.”
Yokozawa wants to melt into the ground. His hands fidget. “I-It would be weird if people saw us going into work together.”
“Leave before me then,” Kirishima sighs, “I don’t want to think about your drunk ass walking home by yourself.”
“I’ll be fine, dipshit!! I’m not a girl!!” That put some kick back in his step, some fire in his words. This is how it’s supposed to be.
“You sure act like one.”
“Shut up!” He looks away after that, pissed off but also… confused. Because somewhere, even though he doesn’t want to admit it, he wants to sleep with Kirishima. In both senses of that term. He wants them to walk to work together. He wants to meet his daughter.
“...I can’t,” Yokozawa finally settles on that, rubbing away the sweat on the back of his neck, “...I have a cat at home. I have to feed it.”
Kirishima rolls his neck back, groaning. With sarcasm so heavy it sounds like an accent, “Really? What’s its name?”
“Sorata.”
“It sounds like you made that up on the spot.”
“Go to hell.”
Kirishima looks ahead at Yokozawa again, his eyes more piercing than usual (quite impressive considering the amount of piercing they usually are). “...Fine. I’ll let you go this time,” he smirks, grabbing Yokozawa’s wrist. “You have to meet me in the middle, though.”
Yokozawa turns to face him, “What the hell are you suggesting—!?”
A moment, then their lips part.
Kirishima smirks, letting go, “You really thought this wasn’t a date? Bullshit.”