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College really was a beast. As Raichi stepped into his shared apartment with a box of precious delicacies in his grasp, he sighed the moment he slipped his shoes off. Now that assignments and projects have been sated for the time being, there was little he wanted to do more than sleep till next month now.
But before that, there was one thing he had to do.
The scent of something delicious cooking wafted up his nose. A beat behind, Raichi’s ears perk up at the sound of the shitty stove that never heated up fast enough running. Ah.
Well, he supposes even the Psychology Department also had their share of stress. Though in his roommate’s case, it’s probably his looming exams more than assignments.
Turning the corner, he isn’t surprised to be greeted by a Michael Kaiser busying around the kitchen.
“I’m assuming dinner’s on you, Rosebud,” Raichi grunted as he took a seat at the dining table. The box of sweetness was placed on the accompanying table whereas his bag got a much rougher treatment.
A sharp click of Michael’s tongue. Kaiser's way of saying yes when he was not in the mood to speak. Not that Raichi didn’t already know the answer to his own question. “And for the last time,” Michael added, glaring out the corner of his eye at Raichi. “Do not call me Rosebud.”
Raichi doesn't even look back as he stretches. “Sincerest apologies, your highness,” he yawns, not sounding sorry at all. “What’re you cooking actually?”
The conversation lulls. Silence, aside from the stove’s rumbling, reigns in the apartment. Cracking open one eye, Raichi calls, “Micha?”
“ I’m busy, ” came the terse reply. Turning his head showed Raichi that Michael was in fact focused on chopping carrots up. In fact, he would've even said the German was too focused for such a simple task, what with how intently he was glaring at the offending vegetables.
He didn't linger too much on the rose petal blush that coated Kaiser's cheeks.
“Geez, sorry for wanting to know what's for dinner, Rosebud,” he sassed, using the nickname his roommate so despised with purpose this time. “Just as long as you don’t pour rat poison in your cooking, I suppose.”
“Keep calling me Rosebud,” the German gestured at Raichi vaguely threateningly with the knife in his hand, “And I just might.”
He only barks out a laugh at that threat. “Oh yeah? What would you do without me then, royal highness?” Raichi points out, “Pay rent yourself? Or would you rather room with your dearest Isagi instead?”
The murderous aura that radiated from behind him was immediate at the mention of a certain mutual classmate of theirs. Quite out of place from the domestic vibes they had going on before this. Well, Raichi would’ve laughed again if only Michael hadn’t been holding a knife. He may provoke the little emperor to his heart’s content, but even he knew when to stop if only for his imminent safety’s sake. That said, it was about time he changed the subject.
“Oi, your pretty highness likes the stuff from that fancy bakery next to the gym right?” he gruffly asks despite, once more, knowing the answer to his question. Holding the box up to display the elegant golden logo of the bakery, he continues, “I got some of your favourite cookies and shit from there.”
“Why?” came the curt reply. “Why did you buy those?” Michael continues, elaborating. Still, the way his eyes lingered on the box that housed his favourite pastries was not lost on the gifter of said pastries.
“Eh? That’s what you wanna focus on?” he grunts, “Cuz I saw how fucking stressed you were with your finals and shit. Thought you’d like something to take the edge off. Or whatever.”
And still, no profuse thanks and eternal gratitude was given! Only more suspicion as Michael asks this time, “How did you even know I like that bakery? Let alone what I like?”
Ah, That question might be a bit hard to answer without revealing some things about himself. Raichi could nearly feel those icy blue eyes tracing the exact way red creeped up his cheeks. But still! He had to preserve and play it cool!
“Well,” Raichi started, drawing out the word on his tongue. With all the suave that he could muster, he nonchalantly, off-handedly continued, “The Great Raichi just happens to pay attention to you every now and then is all.”
He was the picture of unaffected with how he had kicked back in his chair, picking at his nails, not a care in the world. Michael blinked, unimpressed, at his roommate’s furious blush.
He let Raichi sweat for a second. Privately, he smiled to himself at how the gruff boy looked so cute trying to be suave.
“What did you buy then?” he challenged, finally. Just to see if Raichi truly did get his favourites. Silently though, he was crossing his fingers for Raichi to succeed. Curse his inane infatuation with this bullheaded buffoon.
And oh if anyone ever asked, he would never have confessed to how his heart soared as he listened to Raichi rattle off the list of goods he had bought with his hard-earned money. Even if he did always find that bakery’s brownies slightly too soft for his tastes and he never held the strawberry parfait too close to his heart, he’d happily place them at the top of his list.
Not to see that shark-toothed bastard gloat and be stupidly happy about being right though, absolutely not.
But that’s beside the point. Michael supposes what Raichi bought could be acceptable though. The boy did manage to get some of his favourites so he wasn’t a complete failure.
“Passable,” he said instead.
“Passable my foot!” Raichi retaliated instantly, waving a finger vaguely threateningly. “I hit everything right on the head and you know it, Micha!”
Michael only hummed at that. Which only served to aggravate Raichi more. He made it known, of course. He always did. It earned him nothing more than a slight smirk with an accompanying snarky comment.
And round and round they went, bantering and teasing as the sunbeams crept lower and lower along the kitchen's ugly floral wallpaper they never got around to changing. Amid the warmth of the stovetops, they danced around each other in words and in feelings. A waltz they’ve been engaged in for longer than either had been aware but now both parties are painfully aware of holding each other’s hands through the steps.
A compliment, a gift, an act of kindness, a dinner together. All careful steps that they haven’t faltered from since both men had found themselves in if only to not ruin what they already have going on. But they’ll claim it’s so they won’t have to go through the hassle of finding another person to share rent with.
It’s maddening, really. Just when will the music draw to an end and they can be freed of this dance?
Well… Maybe that very night, when they find themselves cozied up on the couch. There’s some rom-com on the TV, courtesy of Raichi’s Netflix subscription. Yet neither of them are paying much attention to it anymore. It’s far too late into the night for them to be in full control of themselves now after all.
That’s why Raichi finds himself laying his head on Micha’s shoulder as the German nibbles on one of the cupcakes from the bakery. Unknowingly, he finds his eyes closing on their own.
“Fall asleep on my shoulder and I’ll kill you,” Michael’s smooth voice cuts through the chatter of the movie. It pierces through Raichi’s sleepiness and the grasp of dreams loosens from his shoulders just a little.
Not enough to make a coherent enough sentence though, as he mumbles disgruntledly into Michael’s shoulder. Yet it seemed Michael had no issues understanding him. “You drool in your sleep,” he simply answers, eyeing the half-asleep Raichi on his shoulder but never making a move to shove him off. “I don’t need your drool on my shirt.”
“How do you even know that?” Raichi demands, voice slurred and rough. His eyes finally open to stare up at the shoulder he lays on.
There’s a pause as Michael picks at the wrapper of his cupcake. Red velvet. Something befitting of an emperor, Raichi’s sleep-desperate brain supplies. Absolute insanity, as if Michael would ever–
“I pay attention to you too sometimes, I suppose.”
Oh.
Oh.
This revelation jolts Raichi’s brain. The butterflies that cocoon themselves in his gut suddenly come to life. It’s thrilling. Still, sleep deprivation is sleep deprivation. It muffles the rainbows in his celebration and makes him wish he could just fall asleep among the fluffy clouds of cloud nine. The best answer he could muster was, “Really now?”
Smooth.
Even now, he could see the roll of those glacial eyes. “Really,” Michael sasses, “Don’t let it get to your head now, peasant.”
Raichi hums. “If you pay attention to me sometimes, and I pay attention to you sometimes,” he starts, rambling his thoughts to the room without filter. Smiling lopsidedly, he continues, “Then how about we pay attention to each other over dinner sometime?”
He was so gonna regret this in the morning.
“Is that really your way of asking me out, Jingo?” Michael stares at him, utterly unimpressed. Not surprising considering his standards but Raichi was tired, standards be damned.
“Is it working?”
His answer was received in the form of a firm shove.
“Go to sleep, goddamnit,” Michael commands, forcing the half-asleep boy’s head onto a pillow. “Ask me again in the morning.”
Raichi was already halfway to dreamland the moment his head met the soft headrest. “If you say so, Rosebud,” he mumbles, half his words slurring together.
Something warm covers his form. When had Micha turned off the TV?
“Stop calling me Rosebud.”
And that was the last thing Raichi Jingo heard as he drifted off to sleep, content. He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a great day.