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“Senpai,” Kise sighs as climbs into his side of the bed, sprawling over Yukio’s lap.
Kise’s never really managed to kick the habit of calling him that, even after he started alternating between Yukio-san (which Yukio liked the sound of but at the same time found it strangely formal for Kise) and Yukiocchi (which Yukio often grimaced at) and eventually just Yukio (for some reason Kise used to blush bright red whenever he used his first name unadorned, which in turn made Yukio embarrassed too).
“Kise,” Yukio hums, hand automatically finding its way into his hair, as Kise snuggles closer, resting his head over Yukio’s thigh.
“That feels nice,” Kise murmurs, which makes Yukio pause for a moment – no matter how often it happens, the casual admittance of how he likes to feel Yukio’s hands on him never fails to make his heart skip – before he resumes carding through the blonde mop of hair, still slightly damp from his shower.
“Long day?” Yukio gently works out a tangle.
“Mhm.” Kise’s arms wrap around his middle. He’s always held onto Yukio tightly; sometimes possessively, sometimes as if he thought he’d be able to wring out more love from Yukio if he squeezed harder. He holds Yukio’s hand that way too, with a firm grip that doesn’t let up even when they run into Kise’s friends or fans on the streets. “I’m recharging now.”
“Don’t fall asleep yet.”
Kise makes a sound that isn’t quite affirmative.
“Hey.” Yukio nudges his shoulder. “Aren’t you always going on about how sleeping with wet hair will damage your scalp?”
“My eyelids are stuck to my eyeballs,” Kise whines, and Yukio can hear the pout even if he can’t see it from where Kise’s face is smushed into his shirt. “Can’t you be a bit more lenient with your exhausted boyfriend~?”
Yukio is actually very comfortable and quite content to stay cuddled like this until Kise falls asleep. But from past experience Kise will most certainly wake up with terrible bedhead tomorrow morning if he drifts off like this, and Yukio certainly won’t be the one despairing about it in front of the mirror because oh my god I have a shoot at 9am senpai but MY HAIR—
He doesn’t say any of this though. Yukio’s exhausted boyfriend knows this already. He just wants to be pampered.
So Yukio obligingly bends down and kisses the crown of his head. The effect is immediate. Kise sluggishly rises like a zombie, and with his eyes still half-closed, he presses a dopey smile against the corner of Yukio’s mouth before he slides off the bed and stumbles off.
Yukio follows, ready to catch him because Kise really is wobbling on his feet today. Once Kise is safely seated by the electrical socket – the only one Yukio has in his tiny bedroom – he goes to fetch Kise’s fancy hair dryer that takes up too much space in the bathroom cabinet.
It’s during these times that Yukio thinks about the future.
About how it would be nice to have a bigger home, a place where Kise could have a proper dressing table for his face masks and lotions and creams instead of cramming all his things into one of Yukio’s drawers. They’ve dated for a while now, and Kise spends more time in Yukio’s apartment than in his own. One day, maybe, Yukio muses, if they decide to officially move in together.
That kind of future would be nice.
In the present, however, Yukio drags a stool over and settles behind Kise with a bottle of argan oil in hand. He rubs a few droplets between his palms before massaging it into Kise’s scalp. Kise lets out an appreciative sigh and leans back into his touch.
Those gold locks are a lot shorter than they used to be, back when Yukio first fell in love with him and chastised himself whenever he dared to wonder what it would be like to run his fingers through them, to have more than the brief contact they shared whenever he ruffled Kise’s hair in the middle of a match with adrenaline running high.
He blows Kise’s hair on low heat until it’s warm and fluffy.
“Thanks,” Kise mumbles into his shirt as his arms drape around Yukio, forehead bumping into his shoulder. “You’re the best, senpai.”
Yukio leans down to kiss his temple again – just because he can. Then he pulls Kise up and steers him back to the bed.
“Good work today, Ryouta,” he says, and Kise positively glows. Kise tackles him against the bed, and Yukio holds onto his armful of sleepy boyfriend for a moment longer, before he lets go in favor of arranging the duvet around them.
Kise’s arms go around his waist, tangling their legs together, and Yukio properly settles in for the night.
A bigger bed would be nice, one where Kise could sprawl as much as he liked without Yukio worrying that he’d fall off the edge. But for now, this isn’t too bad either – being pressed closely to him, feeling Kise’s breaths even out, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
Yukio’s content with being together like this, to spend just a bit more time here, while he figures out whether the ring should be gold or silver and what kind of design, how to be tasteful but not gaudy because Yukio doesn’t care much for fashion but Kise does. This is something he wants to give more thought to, even if Kise would probably be overjoyed if he got down on one knee with a candy ring.
It should be about the right time, Yukio thinks, as he laces his fingers with Kise’s. It should be right, if it is so effortlessly easy to envision a future together, an everyday with Kise by his side.