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It’s weird that they’re having this sleepover at all. But, hey, Karma’s parents are out of town, as they often are, and Nagisa takes any excuse to get out of the house.
“I’m surprised my mom let me stay over,” Nagisa says. He rests his chin on his hand while watching Karma fight to uncork a downright ancient bottle of wine. “She’s been a lot less overprotective lately.”
“Hey, as long as she’s laying off, doesn’t matter why. Look, we’re getting bougie tonight,” Karma says. Then: “You’ll help me finish this, right. My liver isn’t gonna survive.”
“I’m OK,” Nagisa says, just to see Karma’s face, then laughs and adds, “Nah, I’ll have a glass or two, since it’s on you.” Sometimes Nagisa forgets how Western Karma’s parents are, and how damn rich. The closest thing he’s had to this kind of grape wine is sake, once or twice.
“That’s right,” Karma says, already pouring. “Damn, it’s good to hang out with you again.”
—
They’re more than a glass or two into the bottle, when Karma swaps his stemmed glass for a mug and silly straw, which makes Nagisa laugh, which makes Karma double down. Sorry that he doesn’t want to spill his drink, Nagisa. This is called being responsible, actually. Would Nagisa like a better cup? Would that make him feel better?
Nagisa does, and it would, and so they are both sipping too-fancy wine out of souvenir mugs with colorful twisty straws. (Nagisa has decided he dislikes the taste, but is intrigued by the way it coats his tongue.) Karma decides it’s a good idea to make this a movie night: “Remember when we were obsessed with Sonic Ninja, Nagisa? When we were, like, first-years? Good times.”
They migrate to the couch, where Karma has Netflix pulled up on the smart TV. They start scrolling through and debating the merits of various superhero movies. It’s comfortable. It’s easy. Karma rests his head on Nagisa’s shoulder.
Karma is physical with everyone. Touchy-feely minus the feely. The contact he makes is stringently deliberate—a hand on the back as he brushes by, a firm handshake, an arm slung around your shoulder to make you tense up. When Karma encroaches on others’ space, it’s intentional; he likes to establish his presence. Karma is physical with Nagisa, so he is used to an elbow roughly linking with his own, a playful noogie, even roughhousing.
But Karma is not intimate with Nagisa. So he is not used to whatever this is. Karma’s face is very warm. Nagisa stays very, very still.
“So, you agree? Sonic Ninja 4: Part One: Revolution?” Karma drawls.
Right. “Sure, Part One. You're still wrong about the cliffhanger, though.” Nagisa relaxes into the touch. This is fine. Right? Right. Just for tonight. They don’t need to talk about it.
—
Thunder booms from the screen as Sonic Ninja releases a shockwave that sends a crowd of opponents stumbling backwards. They’re not even halfway through the movie, not that Nagisa is really paying attention. They’ve both started to melt from tiredness. Karma’s head-lean has turned into more of a general lean that just gets steeper and steeper until they’re not really sitting anymore, they’re lying down. It feels deliciously ordinary to slip comfortably into the shape of his friend: Karma’s left hand kept brushing against Nagisa’s until their fingers lace together. And Nagisa’s other hand is holding Karma’s waist, so, at some point, he starts lightly grazing his thumb back and forth. Occasionally, Sonic Ninja says a line they both recognize as a meme, and Karma acknowledges it with an upwards smile at Nagisa—no cruelty, just smug, catlike contentment.
It’s really, really nice.
Eventually, Karma turns around and considers Nagisa for a bit. “Your pigtails are pretty cute,” he muses, tugging at them with slender fingers. Karma’s fingers are chilly where they brush against his scalp. "But."
Then one hair tie escapes its hold, and half the hair on Nagisa’s head falls down to his shoulders.
And Nagisa finally comes back to himself. “Hey!” The elastic is already a trophy around Karma’s wrist.
Karma grins and flexes it over his fingers. “C’mon, indulge me”—Karma steals the other hair tie while Nagisa reaches for the first one—a betrayal—“I wanna see how you look”—and Karma freezes.
“Uh, you good?” Nagisa asks. Silence. “Dude, you’ve seen me with my hair down before." A small laugh, a little pained. “It’s weird for me, too.” I wear it up for a reason, you know.
—
Back when they were first-years, yeah, Karma saw long-hair-Nagisa all the time. He remembers always teasing Nagisa about it, squishing his cheeks in his hands. Such fluffy, long hair. Perfectly suits that adorable, round baby face. Squish squish squish. Nagisa would sigh and swat Karma’s hands away, but tolerated the ribbing with exasperated equanimity. That was Nagisa: always calm, sort of reserved. Easy to be open with. Karma liked matching his energy: where Nagisa was meek, Karma compensated by being extra outrageous. He liked the way he felt stronger and tougher with soft, quiet Nagisa by his side. Fights were really fun back then: Karma glancing over at Nagisa with every funny jab and getting high off of Nagisa’s slight smile that only inflamed his swollen ego.
But then Karma realized that Nagisa was fucking terrifying. And when Karma tried to pick fights, Nagisa’s presence started to feel suffocating. All Karma could pay attention to was the quiet bloodlust emanating from just outside his field of view, thickening the air and pressing heavy on his ribcage. Karma stopped feeling quite as strong and tough. He realized, maybe I’m not the reason these stuck-up overachievers are pissing themselves right now.
It just wasn’t as fun.
Karma, in his hubris, had been excited to see cute, baby-faced Nagisa with his hair down. But without the cuteness factor of the signature Kayano pigtails, some kind of illusion shatters. Karma stares at Nagisa’s cold, calm eyes, framed by pretty, pretty hair and is hit with a sledgehammer of adrenaline. That’s the face of a real assassin. A bit of fear and a lot of something else go straight to his dick.
Oh. So that’s what this all has been.
—
After a few seconds, Nagisa realizes what’s up. Photos. Ugh. He makes a mad dash for Karma’s phone.
—
Karma realizes Nagisa is making a mad dash for his phone and remembers himself. Photos. Obviously.
“Selfie!” Karma says, grinning devilishly as he snaps a photo. “Rio’s gonna loveeeee this…”
“Hey! Wait—” Nagisa makes a swipe for the phone, but Karma is already texting furiously far outside of Nagisa’s reach.
Karma's a bitch
[IMG_3392.HEIC]
guys night
Rio Grande
OMG
cuteeeee!! nice blush 😙
Karma's a bitch
wwww yea hes like a tomato
Rio Grande
i meant both of you.
Nagisa finally snatches the phone away, but Karma’s already locked it. “Fuck you,” he says, tossing it back to Karma, who catches it perfectly.
“You’re not actually mad, are you?” Karma asks. Nagisa slumps back onto the couch. “C’mon,” Karma wheedles, “you’re very manly.” He curls a lock of blue hair around his finger.
Nagisa gives Karma a flat look. Yeah, and all those times you had me cross-dress…?
“I’m serious,” Karma says, sounding only about half-serious. “No, really. 'Ss not my fault you look sexy with your hair down. Gender's got nothing to do with it."
And then Nagisa freezes.
“I’m serious,” Karma says, again. “I like you, Nagisa.”
Nagisa swallows, hard. Oh. So that’s what this all has been. “Karma, I like you, too.” His pulse is suddenly loud in his ears as he flounders, searching Karma's eyes for some kind of clue. They're trained intently on him. His gaze is sharp, like always, but softened by a careful attention Nagisa isn't used to. He squirms under the weight of it. “Can I… Can we…”
“Can we… what?” Karma asks, voice low. Then he finally takes a hint and breaks into a grin. "How about this?" he asks, setting his mouth at the crook of Nagisa’s neck.
“Oh my god, you’re like a tick,” Nagisa complains, even as his voice buckles embarrassingly with pleasure.
“Shut up,” Karma says, and kisses him to make it happen.