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It had been purely for the convenience of room arrangements after a joint live.
Tatsumi was more than mature enough to share a room with her boyfriend with no issues, leaving Hiiro and Kohaku the only two girls remaining. They'd been put together purely to avoid any kind of potential (painfully heteronormative) scandal, nothing more. They're sure they would've been roomed with Aira otherwise, anyway.
So, standing in the doorway of the hotel room, Kohaku could only question why their distinctly one-bed room was completely and entirely heart themed.
They were about to call up their unit members to tell them there'd been a mistake, when–
They heard a gasp
"Kohakucchi-san!"
Hiiro had rushed into the room in front of them, hugging a soft pink heart cushion close to his face with another red one in his arms.
"Look! They match us!"
God.
Kohaku's crush was the cutest girl alive.
They had no idea how they were going to make it through this night.
Tentatively stepping into their love-hued accommodation, all thoughts of protest forgotten the second their eyes met Hiiro's beaming smile, they set their bags down on the (again, heart shaped, though bigger than any they'd ever seen before) bed. "I guess this is kinda like a slumber party..." they mumble out, not intending to be heard.
Flopping down onto the mattress, Hiiro's keen ears pick it up. "A slumber party, yes! I'm honored to have you as my very first, Kohakucchi-san."
"You can just call me Kohaku, y'know," they answer, face flushed from being caught. Albeit flustered, they continue, "Yer– yer my first too."
Another thing that made Kohaku fall in love with Hiiro's company, neither of them had to feel ashamed of their lack of experience with ordinary city life. They never felt patronized or coddled when with each other, they could just be, as they were.
Two teenage girls.
Currently in a blatantly couple-oriented room.
That was normal, right?
They'd read about similar situations in certain comics Jun thinks he keeps hidden from them, so it had to be at least somewhat average. Granted, the girls in those stories were more verbose and poetic in their internal monologues than Kohaku could ever hope to be, and usually ended up in activities that would make their cousin beet red (such as premarital hand-holding and god forbid a kiss), which had recently taken up the job of invading their every waking moment with thoughts of being that girl. No weight on their conscience, no blood on their hands, just the strong, gentle arms of another girl wrapped around them like something precious, letting themself kiss and be kissed.
They remember thinking up their fantasy girl, in a horrible, horrible moment of indulgence alone in their dorm. She'd be kind, they hope, a fighter maybe. Someone smart that they could still feel comfortable around, who got along with their friends and would never treat them like either a child or a dangerous weapon. They imagined her hair cut short, a little taller than themself with freckles and scars just like their own and piercing blue eyes and–
Hiiro.
They were imagining being kissed by Hiiro Amagi. Every flowery manga panel they flipped through, she was all they could picture.
And it made them giddy.
Having never had anything even resembling a crush before (unless you count the lovely boy himself, a thought which Kohaku had been very pointedly pressing down since before they even actually met), they immediately explained their situation to Aira, who despite giving them a teasingly judgy (yet abnormally pained?) look, encouraged them to accept their feelings and go for it.
They're brought back into the present moment by Hiiro's adorable pout, tilting his head. "But then only Aira would have a cute nickname for you... is he courting you? I apologize if that was something exclusive for you both!"
They're frozen by both the implication that Aira, of all people, would have an interest in them and that Hiiro wants to call them something cute, seemingly in a permanent flustered state. The younger half of Alkaloid is not good for their fragile heart. "NO! No, he's not– we're not– 's just an old internet name, kinda embarrassing. You can call me whatever ya want, Hiiro-han."
She considers for a moment, deep in thought. "Hm, Mitsuru-kun calls you Koha-chan, right? I like that one!"
“Yeah, that’s good,” they answer, normally, like a normal person not beset by homosexual crisis.
Suddenly aware of how painfully sweaty they are, this time for non-gay, live-related reasons, the crush adrenaline wears off and they begin to feel the exhaustion catch up to them.
“Hiiro-han, do you want to shower first?”
“Umu! I think a warm bath would be of great benefit to us both.”
“‘S getting real late, though; are you sure we’ll have the time?”
Pulling out his pajamas from his night bag, Hiiro’s soft smile is unfaltering as he takes Kohaku’s hand.
“We can bathe together! As part of our slumber party!”
Kohaku is going to have a fucking malfunction.
Nonetheless, they make their way to the bathroom, gently guided by Hiiro’s hand, trying their absolute hardest not to be weird and stare while their friend undresses, eyes glued to the rushing hot water.
They only start pulling their shirt off by the time the tub is halfway full, and to their surprise it’s Hiiro who’s caught staring. Kohaku nearly jumps out of their skin when they feel a soft trace of fingers replace the burning sensation of eyes boring into their back, and absentmindedly registers she’s feeling along scar tissue.
They turn towards her, and Hiiro flinches back, almost expecting to be reprimanded. The look breaks Kohaku’s heart for a second before they run a hand down her bicep, tracing her marks in the same way as a form of reassurance.
Eyes widening, he slowly comes to embrace them, resting his cheek on their shoulder as they inspect the scars running down his face, his arms, his chest, all mirrored on them. They see the other girl’s cheeks turning pink in real time, close enough that they can see his every pore, and for the first time in a long while, they feel genuinely at peace.
Then they feel water trickling down the bottom of their feet.
Breaking out of the moment, they rush to close the bathtub faucet before any more damage can be done. Their panic makes them forget about the wet floor and all at once they slip and stumble onto the tile.
“Koha-san!”
Hiiro, much more carefully than they had, launches herself to Kohaku’s rescue, turning off the water and, much to their surprise, hoisting them up bodily off the floor and into her arms. Goddamn that “princely” theme they had going for her that once really paid off.
After making sure they're okay, Kohaku is gently lowered into the slightly drained, no longer overflowing tub, carefully placed between Hiiro's knees with their back to his chest. They sit for a good moment, his soft breathing and the warmth and his arms almost around their waist but not quite near lulling them to sleep inside the water.
She starts gently combing through the strands on their head and Kohaku can only vaguely put together that she’s washing their hair for them. They feel a bit like a cat being groomed, and they’re certain that if that were the case, they’d be purring up an absolute storm, completely blissed out.
“Mm, Hiiro-han,” they begin, in a futile attempt to fight off their drowsiness, “lemme wash yers too…”
He lathers conditioner onto the ends of their hair and they suddenly recall forgetting to bring any. The sharp scent of lemon citrus hits them along with the realization that this is Hiiro’s, that they’re going to be smelling like him. “There’s really no need, Koha-san. As much as I'd enjoy it, I’d hate to disturb your rest, I can handle mys–”
“No.”
The exhaustion seemingly rid them of any semblance of a filter they had left, gently prying the handheld shower out of Hiiro’s hand and quickly rinsing the rest of their hair off, spraying themself in the face for good measure, trying to regain full consciousness.
“Wasn’t a question.” They turn to hold her face in their hands, making it so she can’t look away. “Let me take care of ya.”
The pink makes its way back to the other girl’s complexion as he nods firmly, pupils wide and Kohaku’s made aware of how close their faces are again. If they could just–
Hair. Hair. It's hair time now.
Hiiro's in particular is astoundingly soft, maybe they'll steal that conditioner more often, actually, but they note that they feel more and more irregularities as they card their hands through it.
"Yer undercut's pretty uneven, y'know"
She feels strangely stiff against them and they can't help but feel like they'd done something wrong.
(Despite everything, he's still somewhat unused to being treasured with such intimate care, especially by someone he holds in such high regard. Silently, selfishly, he hopes this moment never ends.)
"Oh! Yeah! Nii-san shaved it for me last time, so I wouldn't really know."
(Hesitant, scarred fingers reach up to brush her nape, shivers silently running through her while Kohaku mumbles a quiet little 'figures' she doesn't think she was really supposed to hear. Their touch makes her feel like a live wire.)
"I could clean it up fer ya, if you want. Don't really have a razor here, but 'm pretty good with a knife."
They only realize what they've said the moment it's already out of their mouth, but thankfully, despite Hiiro’s curious nature, he might be one of the only idols who wouldn’t immediately interrogate them on it. However, noticing his hesitance, they continue.
"O-only if ya feel up t' it though. No pressure or anything."
She cautiously nods, “Mm, yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Koha-san” Kohaku runs their fingers through her hair again, up from the crown of her head down to the aforementioned undercut, softly scratching at her scalp as she finally relaxes back against them, an unspoken weight eased.
Eventually, they rinse and dry themselves off, changing into their pajamas. Only when they hear a stifled giggle from the other side of the bathroom as they rummage through their discarded clothes in search of their knife do they remember what they usually sleep in.
A large shirt that practically dwarfs them, printed with a truly inordinate amount of tiny representations of Madara as some weird volcano-bison creature frolicking around, partaking in various activities. It’s comfortable, they defend, and they get merch prototypes for free from the bison man himself anyways so it’s really a better deal for them overall.
At the moment, though, it only serves to make them want to get sucked down the drain along with the water.
Retrieving their knife, coincidentally the bee-decorated one the eponymous group had gifted them, as if their embarrassment couldn’t get any worse, they direct their gaze towards Hiiro.
The younger Amagi is, unfortunately, as cute as ever. His ensemble (ha) is entirely fox-themed, and for a second they’re certain they’ve seen it somewhere before–
“Sorry, Koha-san, you’re just so adorable.”
Their brows furrow. “Eh? Adorable?”
“Your loyalty to your groups is extremely admirable,” she beams, placing a hand over the one gripping their knife. “That’s an attractive quality to have, no?”
"Y-yeah, I mean–"
"That makes it worthy of adoration. You're adorable!"
Kohaku has taken several punches to the gut before without so much as a noise of complaint, but this one feels like it expels all the air from their lungs.
Worthy of adoration.
Kohaku, of all people.
Their abrupt cough (more of a choke, honestly) breaks the moment.
“SO! Let’s see about that hair, Hiiro-han!”
“Umu, right!”
Together, they set up Kohaku’s little makeshift hair salon, grabbing a heart-shaped stool from the desk in the corner to sit him in front of the sink mirror, draping a towel over his shoulders to preserve the cute… fox… pajam–
“RINNE-HAN!”
Hiiro, quite understandably, startles out of her seat, falling back with full force and Kohaku has never been more glad to not be armed in their life, safely catching her mid-fall.
“Sorry, sorry, ‘m so sorry, are ya okay?”
“Mhm, all thanks to you, Koha-san!”
They breathe a sigh of relief. “‘S my fault ya fell in the first place, don’t go thankin’ me.”
“Why were you yelling after my brother, though?”
They start their work, trimming the uneven shave of Hiiro’s undercut. “Oh– I– I jus’ noticed ya have matching pajamas, is all.”
He makes a dazed little hum of agreement, the meticulous process of scraping and cutting seemingly relaxing to him, practically falling into the pink girl’s hands.
If I'm adorable, yer damn perfect.
“‘S really cute.”
No reaction from her. They don’t know if that’s good or bad, but it enables them to be bolder.
“You’re really cute.”
They brace themself for something, a rejection, an apology, lamenting he doesn’t feel the same, the panicked stare of someone backed into a corner, a scream, anything.
They’re met with a soft snore.
She fell asleep.
Kohaku’s resulting breath of relief slowly morphs into near hysterical laughter at the sheer ridicule of the situation, loud and unrestrained and painfully uncharacteristic of them, wheezing and stumbling back, tears forming in the corners of their eyes.
Hiiro, noting the loss of the touches in his hair, quietly blinks awake, met with the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard.
Kohaku, in all their silly t-shirt and red-faced, unattractive laughing glory, is beautiful; she feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest. They’re usually so guarded, so otherworldly. Being able to see them like this, close enough she could just reach out and touch them, makes her feel indescribable emotion. She can only sit and watch, sappy smile plastering her face as she drinks up the sight of them as entirely as she can.
They finally come to, wiping away the tears from their face and almost flinching at the intensity of Hiiro’s gaze.
“Uh, I’m–’M done. With yer hair.”
He comes close, reaching a hand out to help them up from the floor. They barely have enough time to freak out about holding his hand before he’s pressing theirs up to his lips, like a chivalrous knight greeting their lady.
“Thank you,” she whispers, just close enough for them to hear, soft even though her eyes still bear that overwhelming passion, like a violent sea.
Their hands intermingle the entire way back to bed.
The bed, as they recall, is huge. In contrast, their pillows have been moved to be right next to each other.
Neither of them dare to comment on it.
Comfortably settled into the very soft blankets, Kohaku cannot even fathom the thought of sleeping. Because what the fresh hell was that.
They understand Hiiro is a very affectionate person, even platonically. They may very well just be looking at this situation through rose-colored glasses (in this room, it’s hard not to, honestly), but despite the nagging feeling that they’re undeserving of even the other girl’s friendship, an awful, childish part of them can’t help but hope.
They turn to face him as they toss around. He’s staring again.
This feels like a scene straight out of their fantasies.
She tucks a stray hair away from their face. Despite what her personality may suggest, Hiiro runs rather cold, and the brush against their cheek makes it all the more evident. It only serves to make them want to hold her close and never let go, protect her from the harshness of reality.
He opens his mouth and Kohaku can’t breathe.
“You’re so pretty, Koha-san”, voice close to a stage whisper.
Kohaku can’t breathe.
“You’re so capable, and caring, and elegant;” she at least has the decency to look embarrassed, staring down at her own hand between them on the mattress to avoid Kohaku’s gaze, “Even when you stray from that image, you’re so lovely. You’d surely make a wonderful wife.”
They’re going to die.
“‘S this like Rinne-han’s whole wife thing? Are ya teasin’ me?” They hate how they sound on the verge of tears.
“I know nii-san’s relationship to the term may seem more carefree, but I don’t think he’s ever lying when he says it. I’m not either.”
“You’re like a goddess, Koha-san,” he goes especially red at that, “I’d be honored to devote myself to you, if you’d let m–”
They launch themself at her, hands on either side of her face pinning her to the mattress. They’re breathing heavy and there's salty, heavy droplets staining Hiiro’s face and she can’t find that she really minds when she’s lost in glowing, sharp lavender staring down at her. For what feels like the umpteenth time that night, their mouth moves before the carefully set barriers in their brain do and–
“I’m in love with you, Hiiro-han.”
…
Heartstopping silence.
…
“Um, same.”
…
Kohaku nearly collapses on him in laughter.
“Same? That’s yer love confession?”
“I’m sorryyy–'' she whines, hugging them close and tight, thankfully taking the teasing in stride, “Aira’s vocabulary has been influencing me, how can I make it up to you, my lovely Koha-san? My cherry blossom? My little kit–”
“First of all don’t even dare finish that sentence, you’re precious to me, but I‘m not above divorcin’ ya already.”
They’re still teary, smiling so hard their cheeks hurt, and the feeling is only amplified by the expression mirrored on Hiiro in front of them. He makes them so happy, this entire situation is already better than even their wildest (they’re not that wild, they’re a realist at heart, but still) dreams. They carefully set their weight on top of his chest, gazing up at him while he tilts his head in curiosity.
“Second, um, could you- could I- kiss? Us? The two of us? Yes? Maybe?”
“Oh!”
“I’ve been told these customs carry a far more different weight here in the city, so if this is commonplace between lovers here–” She’s embarrassed embarrassed, Kohaku notices. It’s so damn cute. “–I’d love to do whatever you’d allow me to. With you. I'm honored to have you as my very first.”
They creep up from where their head was resting on his chest, inching closer to his waiting lips, angling their head.
They fit together perfectly, she tastes like the remnants of Aira’s cherry lip gloss and Kohaku can feel her smile against their lips and it’s just so good. They can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of them when Hiiro dives in for another, then another, then she’s peppering them across their whole face and neck in rapid little bursts, they don’t think they’ve ever smiled this much in their whole life.
“Calm down!” they wheeze out, still euphoric, “Gimme a moment t’ catch my breath here!”
“Sorry,” he’s not sorry at all. He gives them another deep, tender kiss, hands wandering into the pink mess that their hair must be. “My lover is just so ethereal, I had to make sure they were still here with me.”
They’re both panting on the bed from the commotion as they separate, the late hour finally catching up to them.
“Yer brother is rubbin’ off on you, you were never this cheeky before.”
Hiiro links their pinkies together, moving her heart shaped pillow even closer. Pink and red is a combo they’re starting to appreciate more and more by the second.
“You bring out the worst in me, Koha-san.”
That’s exactly what they’re afraid of, actually. Hiiro didn’t mean it in any harm, they know this, and what matters is he’s by their side right now. They can afford to be selfish, if only this once.
“Mm, yeah, yeah. Does my lover wanna go to sleep? We gotta wake up early tomorrow…”
She smiles and nods, pulling Kohaku towards her by their waist, trapping them in a cuddle.
“Goodnight, Koha-san.”
“Sweet dreams, Hiiro-han.’