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He was halfway home from his not-date with Yahaba when Kentarou’s phone rang in his pocket. When the name ‘Blondie’ popped up on the contact info, a smile quirked up unbidden.
Not even ten minutes, Kentarou mused as he unlocked his phone. That was how long he had figured Yahaba could go without telling him their night out sucked and he never wanted to do it again. Didn’t mean it, of course, but that was just the way they were.
Hey, what was the name of that guy who got struck by lightning in the movie? I think I've seen him in something before and it’s driving me nuts.
Or not.
Stymied fingers keyed in the response before the rest of him could stop it. When he received a grinning emoji and a ‘thanks!’ in reply, his phone nearly slipped out of his hands. “What the hell?”
A screenshot of a movie page from IMDB soon followed, along with a gushing spiel about the finer points of a film Kentarou had never heard of in his life, let alone seen. After all, it was a romance movie and he didn’t touch those with a ten foot pole.
Now I want to watch it again. Have you seen it?
Kentarou couldn’t imagine a universe where Yahaba would actually ask that question in earnest, but he answered it just the same: hell no .
A little toilet emoji popped up in reply, drawing a snort from Kentarou. Chicken shit. I bet you a week’s worth of cleanup detail you’d like it.
Not happening, Kentarou answered, even as his feet turned around the way he came of their own free will. A few minutes later, he was staring at Yahaba’s door once again with his knuckles mere centimeters away from knocking.
He groaned and texted a curt, Fine. Rather than knock, he sat on the porch railing and tried to look as bored as gravity would allow. He followed up with a grumpy emoji, as well as one of a door.
Thirty seconds later, the front door of the Yahaba residence flew open and his sorta-kinda-crush gaped at him. “You actually came.”
Kentarou dropped to his feet and bumped his shoulder against Yahaba’s when he strode past into the house. “Told you I would. And you say I have issues.”
Yahaba returned the favor while Kentarou was toeing off his shoes. “I’ll remember you said that.”
“Knock yourself out.” Kentarou parked himself on the plush couch and propped his feet up on the edge of the kotatsu. “If this is a three hour movie, I’m gonna kick your pretty little ass.”
“So you think I’m pretty?” warm lips whispered close to his ear, and Kentarou shivered. “I’ll remember you said that, too.”
Wrinkling his face into the biggest frown he could muster, Kentarou crossed his arms and gripped his biceps to fight off the sweat sprouting in his palms. “Whatever. Just turn it on.” His phrasing made him wince, and he amended, “Start the movie, Blondie. I can’t wait to tell you everything I hate about it.”
Yahaba chuckled. “It’s funny you say that. I think you’ll like the main character’s love interest.” He dropped next to Kentarou, far closer than necessary on the spacious couch, and queued up the disc. The open package at the base of the tv set was well worn and slightly yellowed, which told Kentarou it had seen a lot of use.
They had similar taste in cinema before this. Maybe it wouldn’t turn out so bad, after all.
An hour later, that theory gained a fair amount of traction. Yahaba was passed out and draped on Kentarou’s lap. Kentarou idly ran his fingers through Yahaba’s soft, pale hair while he sat straight up, eyes glued to the screen as the plot unfurled in a storm of teenage stupidity and mixed messages. So maybe Yahaba was onto something with this movie.
It wasn’t until the credits began to roll that Yahaba finally stirred. However, instead of prying himself from Kentarou’s lap, he burrowed his nose further into the soft fabric of Kentarou’s t-shirt and murmured something he could not quite make out.
Kentarou huffed and scooped Yahaba into his arms and headed for the stairs. He followed the scent of the body spray Yahaba tended to apply too liberally and found a bedroom with the familiar trappings of high school strewn about in an organized sort of chaos.
“And here I thought you’d be a neat freak,” Kentarou muttered to himself as he carefully lowered Yahaba on the unmade bed. “You win though, Blondie. It wasn’t half bad.”
When no answer came after his admission of defeat, Kentarou leaned down and brushed a kiss to Yahaba’s temple in some idiotic display of affection he was firmly blaming on chick flicks.
Cheeks warm, he tugged the covers over Yahaba and backed toward the door, not ready to take his eyes off the way the moonlight streaming in through the window gave Yahaba a silvery halo he did not remotely deserve, but it looked good on him anyway.
The door was half open when a thick voice rasped, “I won’t forget that, either.”
Kentarou bristled, but even as he fled Yahaba’s house in favor of his own, a stray thought harassed him the entire way.
He also thought he was going to remember this night — every last obnoxious second of it — for a long time to come.