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The refrigerator is a land of unwanted goods -- spinach that's bronzed across the tips, mustard and ketchup bottles crusted shut, milk that Junta disdainfully points out is a little too chunky to be mingling with the rest of the food.
It takes them about three months of living together to actually come up with a system that's not only hygienically sound but also fits into their daily rhythm. When it's two against one, and one of those two eats food before it even makes it to the refrigerator, there's hardly anyone paying attention to what is or isn't happening behind closed, vacuum-sealed doors. Junta writes their names on a tattered piece of paper he's found in Akito's pants before he put them in the laundry, smooths his hands across it and lists for each of them the items that they're responsible for storing (or disposing of) properly. Now that they're each no longer living in a bachelor sty (or rather, now that their bachelor sty is their common home), they need to take care of each other. Taking care of each other means not accidentally poisoning the ones they love.
It had been Akito's idea. From salutations to kisses and more, Akito was the one who always made the first move. Hamada had been the easier sell, because he and Hamada were already so similar and understood each other on the same wavelength; it only took a little bit of logic to explain that it made more sense for them go home to the same place every night instead, and stay there, instead of having one apartment or the other constantly empty. "That's double the rent that doesn't need to be paid," Akito continues, and Hamada rolls his neck against the pillow, seeming to consider a blank spot on his ceiling. He has his arm around Akito's shoulders, and he pulls him in closer, humming in thought. Akito likes when Hamada's like this, quiet and at ease and secretly so good-looking. He closes his eyes and settles into Hamada's neck.
Three stop-motion dream sequences later, Akito wakes up, and he turns to Hamada, looking as gross as ever and reminding him why he loves waking up early even though (especially because) Hamada hates it. Akito lifts his hand from where it's curled lightly against Hamada's chest, and he stretches slowly, watching the room fuzz in front of the window skate through the air.
"Okay," Hamada says another hour later as he walks into the living room. Akito's on the couch with the TV tinkling entertainment news at him, his legs curled up to support the mug of now lukewarm coffee. It's his mug, Hamada told him proudly one day, the one that only Akito's allowed to use, a soft pink with a little squiggly tail at the end of the handle. Akito had trilled about being called a pig, but he pulled it in close to his chest, settled against the taut fabric of Hamada's spare t-shirt and the insistently happy beating of his heart. Junta has a special mug, too, Hamada had said, and that only made Akito happier.
"Okay?" Akito repeats as he watches Hamada move toward the kitchen slowly, the not-even-that-early kind of slow that looks so good on him. Hamada nods with a tiny affirmative noise, and he picks a mug from the drying rack for his coffee. "You don't look too happy about it."
Hamada looks up at him with a lazy scowl, the sides of his mouth barely curling and his eyes shutting automatically with the weight of the morning. "I'm happy. Of course I want to live with you. I love you and shit." Akito warms at the words, at their delivery, and Hamada meets his eyes, his mouth slipping into a teasingly affectionate smile; Akito really needs to work on keeping his emotions off his face. "I'm just trying to figure out where to put my shrine to you and Junta where I can keep it secret."
Akito's laugh splatters bright colors along the walls. Hamada grins at him and comes to join him on the couch, leaning in for a kiss that still tastes like hazy sunshine. "Hama-chan, where's your coffee?"
"Ah, I forgot." Hamada giggles and retreats for caffeine, and Akito turns back to his mug, its little squiggly tail a small haven of ceramic comfort against his hand. He closes his eyes and breathes the morning in.
Junta grins when Akito finally opens his eyes and seems to register where he is, blinking rapidly a few times. "Were you thinking about something?"
Akito shrugs, shifting in his seat and reaching for his mug, but his eyes twinkle the way they do when he's been caught being adorably embarrassing.
"You're allowed to think, you know. Actually, I'd appreciate more of it," Junta says slyly, and he laughs when all he gets is a wordless grumble in response. He brings his mug to his lips, watches the way Akito's eyes follow it up. It's a mottled grey mug with scales along the sides, the rim an exaggerated pair of fish lips. Hamada had given it to him a few months after they'd started their thing, whatever their thing was, and he'd put it proudly on display on his kitchen counter next to a pink mug that was very obviously Akito's. "You're both with me all the time now," Hamada had said, and he'd looked so happy and at peace that Junta never wanted to leave.
"Where is Hama-chan anyway?" Akito says, craning his neck to look around the room. Junta both hates and loves that Akito knows exactly what he's thinking even if he doesn't say it out loud; they've been together for too long to require words anyway.
There's some rustling at the door, and the puppy perks her head up from where she'd been lying on the floor. Junta automatically gets up, walking in long strides to open it. Hamada looks up from where his keys are tangled up in his grocery bags, and the gratitude beams from him. "Sorry I'm late." Junta moves aside to let Hamada through, and Akito and the puppy yip happily from the living room. Hamada smiles down at his shoes as he slips them off and continues his thought. "Sorry I'm late!" he repeats. "All the stuff on my list expired so I had to go get replacements so it didn't look like I'm incapable of taking care of myself."
Junta and Akito tell him in age-perfected unison that it's too late for that.