Work Text:
Your hand hovers over the door, your breath stills as you try to bring your knuckles to the wood. Your muscles tense, you tell your arm to go forward, and yet your hand doesn’t move. The harsh fluorescent light of the apartment hallway only makes you feel more uneasy, even if you’ve never minded it before. This seemed like a good idea on the Uber ride over, but now that you’re here, the uncertainty of it is too real to ignore. It’s just past one a.m., you’re not technically supposed to be here, and you have no idea if the person you want to see wants to see you. You suck in a deep breath once you realize you’ve gotten lightheaded, tighten your knuckles and press them lightly against the door, not hard enough to make a sound. Your arm starts to hurt, and your feet have been hurting for a while, strapped to your chunky heels, and yet you can’t bring yourself to knock, nor to accept defeat and call another Uber to drive you home. This was a bad idea, you’re starting to sweat, this was a very bad i—
“Fuck!” comes the voice of the person you want to see so desperately, already soft, dulled even more through the door. It knocks your judgment off-kilter for just a moment, but a moment is all your hand needs to rap three times on the door. You swallow and take a step back, holding your hands behind your body. You could still sprint down the hallway and be down the stairs before he gets to the door—maybe—but your feet stay planted where they are. Your heart hammering against your chest, you listen for footsteps, for movement, for anything. You’re not sure why you’re surprised. You scrunch your eyes closed and knock again. You just stand there in the empty hallway, forcing yourself to go through with your half-baked, last-minute plan.
“Megumi?” you say, struggling to project your voice. “It’s me.”
The rustle and thuds you’ve been waiting for finally sound. You tell yourself to act natural as the lock clicks, the knob twists, and the door swings open to reveal Megumi, standing there with his black hair looking like he hasn’t touched it since he woke up, his eyes narrowing once the harsh fluorescent light bursts into his dark apartment. An old crewneck and a baggy pair of sweatpants hang around his lanky, ever-so-slightly hunched form.
“Hi?” he says, blinking as his eyes adjust. His voice is rough, as if he hasn’t talked to anyone all day. Despite your nerves, you can’t help but let a smile peek onto your lips.
“Hi. Sorry I didn’t text you. I knew you’d be up.”
“Why are you here?”
“You said I could come over whenever I wanted.”
“Why aren’t you at your party?”
“The birthday girl threw up and went to bed. Everyone left. Can I come in?”
“Did you lose your keys?”
“No.”
He eyes you up and down, it sends a shiver of warmth down your spine.
“Are you drunk?”
“Do I have to be drunk to want to see you?” He raises an eyebrow, which you only barely catch as your eyes shift down to look at the old carpet of the hallway. “No, I’m not drunk. Not anymore. Do you think I could use your shower? And borrow some clo—”
You’re cut off by a pair of hands cupping your face and tilting your chin up, by a pair of lips pressing against your own, chapped but warm and electric. Your hands are left dangling at your sides, but you don’t mind, all you care to do is melt into him as your body softens in the wake of relief, the adrenaline still buzzing through your system. The two of you pull away at the same time, his green eyes crinkling when they meet yours.
“Yeah,” he says as his hands leave your cheeks. “You can have the pizza stain shirt.”
“How generous.” You step inside and immediately kick off your heels, sighing as your bare, sore feet hit the carpet. Megumi shuts the door, and the only source of light in his living room is the glow of his TV, stuck on the pause screen of whatever game he was playing. Just as you’re about to turn around towards him, you feel a soft hand on your shoulder, and he does it for you, turning you around to give you another lingering kiss.
“Happy to see me?” you smile into him. Even in the dimness, his long lashes are easy to spot.
“I’ll go get your clothes,” is all he says back, and he pulls away to disappear into his bedroom.
“Thanks,” you mumble after him. You wrap your arms around your stomach, listen to him slide open his closet in the other room. Smiling in the darkness, you thank yourself for being head-over-heels enough to go through with this dumb plan. Megumi reappears a moment later, a pile of clothes grasped in one hand. You give him another peck on the lips as you take them.
“Don’t take too long,” he mutters, but his lips are curved up. “I’m gonna shower after you.”
“You’re wearing the same clothes you wore to bed last night, aren’t you?”
He huffs and tugs on your shoulders to guide you over to the bathroom. “You have no way to prove that.” You laugh as your bare feet pad against the linoleum. You turn the light on and shut the door, quickly stripping off your uncomfortable dress and tossing it on the floor. As you shower, you keep looking at his soap, shampoo, and conditioner, neatly arranged on his perfectly clean porcelain shelf. Just the sight of them makes you happy. The hot water eases whatever nerves are left over from before, yet you can’t keep yourself from giggling every now and then. Nothing is funny, you’re just happy to be here, in this shower that isn’t your own, that isn’t even yet entirely familiar, but it doesn’t need to be familiar. It’s just white porcelain and a generic blue shower curtain, but it makes your shoulders relax, makes your breathing come easy.
Once you’ve toweled off and shrugged on Megumi’s t-shirt and sweatpants—he’d given you a t-shirt without a pizza stain, much to your pleasure—you open the door, the steam from the bathroom getting caught in the light that pools into the dark living room. Megumi’s just sitting on his couch, his game still paused, his controller sitting far away on the floor, looking at you with eyes that are wide for a moment too long.
“Finally,” he grumbles as he stands up with a stretch. A bit of his stomach peeks out below the hem of his crewneck, and you don’t realize you’re looking until his arms come back down and he’s grinning at you.
“Careful,” you start, your face heating up as he walks past you. “I’ll stain this shirt too.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
The door clicks shut, and even if no one can see you, you still cover your face with your hands to silently scream. You’re quick to recover and splay out on his comfortable couch with a sigh. In the background, the shower runs muffled from the bathroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, you could fall asleep just like this, even with the harsh light from the TV screen. His apartment always smells like vanilla, his clothes like simple detergent; it can always calm you down no matter your mood. Yet, just as your heartbeat begins to lull to a drowsy rhythm, it springs back into action. What was he doing, just sitting there on the couch while you showered? What was he thinking? What is he thinking?
The shower shuts off, stalling your ability to come up with any answers, and Megumi appears a couple of minutes later, his damp hair only slightly sticking up, outlined by the glow from the bathroom before he shuts the light off. The two of you end up on the floor, your back pressed against the couch, his back against your chest, with you messing with the hem of his T-shirt while he plays his game. He never minds if you distract him by trailing your fingers up his bicep, or sneak them under his shirt to trace over the smooth skin of his stomach, even lets you play when you ask, and you never mind when he makes fun of you for missing easy shots. The two of you talk in between matches, about nothing of any importance, when he loses a game you press kisses against his neck while he complains about the strangers on his team, when he wins, he turns around for his reward kiss, which you’re happy to grant him.
You check the time on your phone; it’s nearing three a.m. You toss your phone to the side and tighten your arms around him, your chin resting on his shoulder. He’s messing with his settings, controller clicking as he presses buttons now and then. The exhaustion from your busy day is finally getting to you, but going to bed has no appeal for you, just being here, thoughtlessly watching him move random sliders back and forth, is all you need to be content.
“Megumi,” you say without thinking about it first, your voice soft next to his ear. “Are you my boyfriend?” His slider stops sliding. “All of my friends were asking me. And I told them no. But that didn’t feel right. And yet, I couldn’t say yes, so I just said no.”
He leans his head back so you can meet his eyes, his hair brushing against your cheek. “Do you show up unannounced at one a.m. to the apartments of boys who aren’t your boyfriend?”
“Depends on how you answer.”
He smiles, showing his teeth. “Is that why you came over here? To ask me that?”
“I just wanted to see you,” you sigh, taking his chin in your hands. You lightly squish his bottom lip with your thumb. “Is that so hard to believe?”
His eyes flick down to your lips, and both of you forget your conversation for a moment, meeting each other halfway. Your craving for clarity is quick to resurface, and you pull away first.
“So?” you mumble. “Answer please.”
He swallows, looks to the side, starts to say something, then closes his mouth. Your thumb moves down to the curve of his chin. Your stomach does a flip when his lips part once more. “My friends already call you my girlfriend. Because I told them that you were.”
You smile wider than you’d like, squish his cheeks together gently. “Oh,” you start, unable to say anything more complicated. “When were you gonna tell me ?”
Megumi huffs out a laugh through his nose, sets his controller to the side, and shifts around so that he’s facing you. You’re more than happy to climb onto his lap, wrapping your legs around him as his arms envelop you.
“I thought it was obvious,” he argues.
You giggle as you drape your arms around his shoulders, your nose just a couple of inches away from his. “It was not.”
“You’re wearing my clothes… you know how I organize my fridge. I’ve met your mom.”
“It was on graduation day, that doesn’t count.”
“Yes it does.”
“You have an odd list of qualifications.”
“Well, what’s yours?”
“Um,” you start, pulling back a bit. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“Gonna have to try harder than that.” He pulls you back with his soft grin, his light squeeze on your hips, and you bite your lip and suck in a breath.
“I guess just—” You look up at the ceiling. “Be the person I still want to see when it’s the middle of the night and I’m hungover and tired and no longer able to ignore how uncomfortable my shoes are. And when I’m listening to my friends talk about how excited they are to be home and in bed, and I think about how much I just want to be home and in bed, what comes to mind is this person’s bed and not my own.”
You look back at him for a split second, only long enough to see the unreadable expression on his face, his eyes wide. You shift in his embrace, scratching an itch that doesn’t exist on the side of your neck.
“It’s, you know… It’s embarrassing that I feel that way… I think I like you more than maybe I want you to know, and part of me also wants to just keep pretending that I like you only a little bit. But most of me just feels frustrated that I have to pretend not to like you as much as I do.” Even if you’re tangled up with him, even if you’re wearing his clothes, even if your hair smells like his shampoo, you can’t quite look at him, and you can’t think of anything else to say.
“I was thinking about you all day,” he admits, his words struggling to get past his lips. “I had to keep my phone in my room. I kept checking for texts from you even though I knew you were busy. I felt so dumb.”
“It’s not dumb,” you mumble. “You just like me.” You just smile wide, silent for a long pause as you process it all. “What’s it feel like, when you’re with me?” you whisper, cocking an eyebrow. “When you think of me?”
“Those are big questions,” he says, a wispy laugh leaving his mouth.
“Are you gonna answer them?”
“I have to think about it first. You can’t just ask me that and expect an answer right away.”
“Come on, I don’t need an essay. Just gimme some words. Some impressionism.”
“Um. Good. I feel good.”
You laugh despite yourself. He glares at you, but it doesn’t last long as your thumb brushes his cheek. “Sorry, go on.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He’s silent for a ten-second stretch. “Warm, obviously. Red, obviously. Or I guess it’s more of a pink. Sometimes a pink, sometimes a red.” You brush some hair behind his ear. “Light. Like I’m floating—how cliché. Like I’m relaxed.” Ten more seconds go by. “Like I’ve been walking down a dark road in the middle of the night, and I’ve finally come across a streetlight. No—not that. Like I’ve been driving away from the city lights, and I park my car and get out and everything is quiet, and I’ve finally gotten to the point where the air feels clean and it’s so dark that everything is just a silhouette against the sky, and you can see so many stars that it makes you dizzy, and the vastness of it all makes you wonder how a feeling so sublime could ever exist. Like when you say my name or look at me or even just when I see your name pop up on my phone. I’ll just never be able to figure out this feeling. But it feels so good.” His eyes open, he blinks. Your brain stalls as he groans and throws his head back. “I said too much. That was so cheesy I might throw up. Just forget all of that, I’m begging y—”
You cup his face in your hands to bring him back to you, to press your lips against his, your teeth clacking against his before you two get it right. His hold on your hips tightens, your tongue slips against his. He hums, encouraging you to open your mouth wider, but just as you do he pulls away, leaving you left searching for his lips before you open your eyes to see him just grinning at you, too dazed to properly make fun of you.
“Bedroom?” he asks.
You grin, sticking your fingers under his shirt collar. “Whatever my boyfriend wants.”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s so forced it’s obvious even in the dark.