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Natsuki was already at the threshold, about to put his shoes back on, when he found himself marching back into Yuki’s room. Haru was putting away the fishing poles he’d chucked at the bed earlier when he stepped through the door.
“Oh,” he said. “Prince?”
He sighed, leaning against the doorway. This room. This boy. Natsuki could be doing homework by now, or jogging along the beach, or making his sister's favorite stew. These were all good plans and they made sense.
And yet. And yet.
There was a riddle to be solved here. He was curious, more than anything, so he cleared his throat and said, "Haru, can you leave us alone for a bit?"
The lump of blanket that was Sanada Yuki squirmed, then went still. Haru glanced toward it, then at him. Natsuki tensed. When Haru beamed like that there was always a danger of him saying something about friendship.
But "Okay!" was all he said, and it was a small relief. He then padded away, humming a made-up song about flowers. The door closed with a soft click.
So.
Natsuki plopped down on the edge of the bed, before deciding that he might as well climb into it, next to Yuki’s feet (or where they would be, under all that blanket). He shrugged off his bag, made his weight felt as he shifted to make himself comfortable.
“You know, this isn’t how I imagined spending my evening,” he said.
“No one’s forcing you,” Yuki muttered, burrowing further under the blanket. It was that wrung-out almost-whisper, Natsuki realized. Yuki panicked and babbling—that was much better. At least it implied flow, not a trickle of something—something essential—petering out. He could try to decipher flow. He did like fishing, after all.
“I know,” Natsuki said.
“Then why—?”
“I’m trying to find that out myself.” Natsuki looked around the room: tidy, too tidy, for a teenage boy. “Do you let your grandmother clean your room?”
Yuki twitched. Natsuki shrugged and went on, “It’s just—where do you keep your porn?”
“W-what?”
There it was. Natsuki tried not to smile as Yuki finally turned to look at him. “Porn, you know. Material intended for sexual stimu—”
“I know what porn is!” Yuki spluttered, scrambling up to a sitting position. The blanket fell around his waist in a rumpled heap.
“Good,” Natsuki said. “That would have been weird, otherwise. Even for you.”
Yes, there it was. The flow. Yuki seething, incredulous, red hair askew, fists clenched around the hem of his sweater, that telltale crease of worry around his eyes momentarily forgotten. Like this, Natsuki became aware that he was appreciating as much as he observing. This boy was lovely, in a way that was easy to miss for most people. This wasn’t a surprise—Natsuki had almost missed it himself, on the day he transferred—but at the time it bore no relevance to him. Today, alone with Yuki on his bed of all things, it was very, very relevant.
“What?” Yuki said, as if Natsuki had been staring. Which he probably was.
“Nothing, it’s just—”
This is the perfect time to cast, he'd told Yuki earlier. Well, then. He slipped a hand around Yuki’s neck, and before the boy could say anything, pressed a kiss to his mouth.
Downstairs, Haru's hum had blossomed into a song, something about water now, maybe. He couldn’t really think what with Yuki’s hands on his uniform tie, pulling him close. There was another kiss, deeper this time, and now he was pushing Yuki back down into the bed. This was dangerous, this was—
He pulled away and licked his lips, tasting toothpaste. Yuki whined, and Natsuki wanted to kiss him again so much that his chest hurt.
“No, no, listen, let’s—stop.” He tried to catch his breath. “If we don’t, I might make out with you all night. I still have to cook dinner.”
Yuki fell back onto the bed and stared hard at the ceiling. Natsuki frowned. The ceiling had no right to hold his attention like that. He bent over him, clutching his shoulders.
“Wait, I thought—” Yuki faltered. His face was still very, very red. Natsuki supposed his was, too, so he didn’t mind.
“Listen. Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m only going to say this once.” He then whispered something in Yuki’s ear, making sure his lips brushed against it as he did. Yuki shivered beneath him. When he was done, he gathered up his things, rose from the bed, and made for the door.
A pillow hit his back before he could close it, but it was soft, and when he looked back at Yuki over his shoulder the look on his face was soft, too. So he didn’t mind.