Work Text:
“Hey. Hey, Shinsou. Dude. Shinsou, look-y here. Pssst. Hitoshi!”
Shinsou squeezes his eyes, snapping the book on his lap closed, his notebook wedged between to mark the page. He turns to face Denki sitting next to him on the couch, his own textbook abandoned on the coffee table. He’s sitting criss-crossed and has a pocky stick dangling between his lips. There’s also a familiar mischievous glint in his eyes which can never lead to anything good.
Maybe letting him take a snack break to acquire more sugar was not a good idea.
“What,” Hitoshi says. He’s a bit annoyed at the interruption but also sort of grateful. He’s pretty sure he’s read the same paragraph at least a half a dozen times and still hasn’t managed to process the words. Maybe Denki sensed that.
Or he’s just messin’ with him because he’s bored, which wouldn’t be a first.
“So?” Denki waggles his eyebrows, “You wanna do it?”
The blood quickly rushes to Hitoshi’s cheeks at what those words could mean, but he wills his traitorous heart to calm the fuck down.
“Do what?” he asks, just to clarify.
“The pocky thing! The challenge. Whatever. You game?”
Hitoshi considers for a moment.
“No thanks.”
“Aw, why not?”
“It’s lame.”
“Nah uh! This—“ Denki gestures to Hitoshi’s textbook— “is lame. C’mon, please?”
“No.”
Denki plucks the pocky from his mouth, “Are you—does it make you uncomfy?”
“What? No, I just said it’s lame.”
“Uh huh, right. Or maybe,” Denki stretches the last syllable, placing the pocky back between his lips that are widening into a teasing grin, “you’re just chicken.”
Hitoshi rolls his eyes but doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Maybe,” Denki continues anyway, “you’re chicken ‘coz you think you might chicken out before I do. Which I won’t, by the way. I’m great at this. But maybe you’re just double chicken.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Chick-en.”
“Stop saying chicken.”
“You ‘fraid of a little kiss, ‘Toshi?”
“Shut the hell up, Denks.”
“Well, then make me.”
The fact that those words hold so much power over Hitoshi is frankly ridiculous.
Hitoshi meets Denki’s gaze head on, watches the way his lips shift minutely to waggle the pocky stick as if that’s the thing that’s enticing him in all this.
Denki leans forward when Hitoshi does, and only then does he catch the hint of pink across Denki’s cheeks and nose.
Just when the pocky is within reach of his mouth, an impulse hits him like a wave and Hitoshi lets it dictate his next move.
He reaches up and snatches the pocky, and before Denki’s indignant squawk fully leaves his lips, Hitoshi grabs his jaw and kisses him.
There’s a surprised hmph! which seamlessly turns into a hum. Denki wastes no time in kissing him back, eager.
“Still think I’m chicken?” Hitoshi murmurs when they part, thought he’s not sure the teasing tone came through at all. His brain is currently barely more than fuzzy static so he couldn’t care less.
“Shut up about the chicken,” Denki breathes and pulls him back in.
Huh, maybe that’s what they should get on their first date. Once Hitoshi finally asks Denki out, that is.
Which he will.
In a bit.
Yeah, in a bit.