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Ichiro’s lips are chapped.
Shiro notices it immediately after Ichiro grabs him by his yukata and kisses him. It’s also clear that Ichiro has likely never done this before, not that that’s important.
Shiro quickly blinks away his surprise, glancing over at his aniki with a smug glint in his eyes, before closing them and leaning in. He places his hand on Ichiro’s chest, right below the other man’s collarbone. The next thing he knows, Ichiro has intertwined their fingers and pinned him down to the bed in the room.
Ichiro doesn’t pull back until the scurry of footsteps disappear down the hallway, the slam of the sliding door reverberating through the room. Shiro snaps out of it as Ichiro goes limp on top of him, a strange expression on the brunette’s face. He huffs a laugh, sitting up more properly and looking down at Ichiro. That was strange. He’s kissed a variety of people, but never one like Ichiro. Awkward, unsure, stiff, and definitely inexperienced. Despite that, despite the fact Ichiro only did that to ward off their assailants, it sent a strange tingle down Shiro’s spine. Like something creeping on him, wanting to snake its way into his body and soul. Strange.
“You really are stupidly dedicated.” Shiro speaks up, a hint of amusement in his voice as he picks up their little ‘certificate of love’ they signed earlier. He wipes off his mouth, awaiting a response from Ichiro, but being met with silence. A closer look reveals that Ichiro dozed off.
Seriously? Shiro sighs, laying back again and closing his eyes. The weight that's smothering him isn’t as offensive as he would think it to be, but he can already imagine how Ichiro would react in the morning. Embarrassment, maybe. Disgust? Probably not that far, but with the expression that was on Ichiro’s face earlier, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Shiro’s never felt so conflicted.
Ichiro definitely doesn’t like men, not like that, at least. The man is straight-cut, angular, serious, dedicated, and unfortunately handsome… Shiro realizes he’s allowing his mind to wander in a way it really shouldn’t be. But how could he stop it? They’ve only known each other for a short amount of time by now, and Ichiro’s already weaseled his way into Shiro’s life in a way nobody else has. His brain is being slowly unraveled by this… this cop. It frustrates him that even Ichiro glancing at him with a faint glint of warmth makes his heart skip a subtle beat.
Slowly, Shiro feels his body relax and his mind start to blank, his eyes falling shut as he takes a deep breath. It's too late to be dealing with this, his muscles are sore and there's a growing ache in his chest that he's far too exhausted to care about. He falls asleep, Ichiro’s snug weight on top of him.
When he wakes, he's on his stomach, hugging the pillow on the other side of the bed. His yukata has fallen well below his waist now, the silk of the sheets directly on his skin. He hears shuffling behind him, Ichiro, sitting up, eyes leaden with sleep, yet widening as slowly as hefty iron doors, horror creeping up on his face. Jeez, Shiro expected disgust, but the reality of it is turning out to be way worse.
Without dwelling on it, Shiro rolls over, an unconsciously flirty smile on his face.
“Morning, babe.” He tilts his head to the side, before closing his eyes again, unwilling to continue to see the perturbation on Ichiro's face.
“I… did I really..?” Ichiro asks, slowly, as if bracing for the worst.
Shiro huffs, as if offended, opening his eyes into an almost unimpressed glare. “What pervy little fantasies are you having, virgin?” He says it as if Ichiro is insane, but a small part of him at the back of his mind sort of wishes that that was the case.
He breaks it to Ichiro that nothing happened, and purses his lips as he regards Ichiro's relief. Yeah, it would be weird if a straight man had sex with another man, or maybe Ichiro is just horrified by the idea of it being Shiro. He hates the thought of that, for whatever reason.
Rolling over, Shiro yawns. “Wake me up in an hour.” He comments, hoping that Ichiro won't try and make his heart hurt worse. Unfortunately, that cop, nosey as ever, doesn't want to end the conversation there.
“... Did it hurt… when you got that tattoo?” Ichiro blurts out after a beat of silence passes. It catches Shiro off guard, who looks over his shoulder, his face blank and unreadable.
Ichiro isn't the first to ask about his tattoo, after all, it's huge and covers pretty much his entire back.
Shiro fiddles with the hem of the blanket. “Mh, not really. It scabbed over after and itched like crazy, though.” He responds.
For a moment, a long and drawn out moment, Ichiro doesn't reply. Shiro figures it's the end of the conversation and attempts getting comfortable again, the sounds of the wind against the glass sliding doors to the private bath is weirdly comforting, until it goes still again.
“...Can I touch it?”
What?
Shiro's heart skips a beat, oddly enough, and he has to physically prevent himself from inhaling a breath too sharply. Why on God's green earth would Ichiro want to touch his tattoo? It isn't as if it has an interesting texture, or feel or incentive. It's just a picture on his back, but maybe it wasn't the tattoo that Ichiro wanted to feel.
He coughs, regaining composure.
“I… uh… I guess.” Shiro keeps his gaze straight at the floor, unwilling to see what Ichiro could possibly look like at this moment. Yukata slightly draped past the shoulders, abdomen exposed and eyes slightly warm with curiosity. God, it's too much for Shiro to handle. He shouldn't be feeling this way about Ichiro, not now, and not ever in the future.
Ichiro reaches out and gently begins tracing the outlines of the tattoo, Shiro feeling every jolt and pause. He can feel it. He can feel how Ichiro treats him with as much care as one would treat a porcelain artifact, something to be treasured and admired and cherished. He can feel the way it seems as if Ichiro's fingers leave a trail behind them, a lit blaze that spreads quickly throughout his body and settles into warmth. He can feel how Ichiro is almost trying to map out every ridge and every bump of his back into memory.
Shiro quickly puts a stop to it as soon as Ichiro makes that stupidly earnest comment of “It's beautiful, it's so you.” As if it's nothing.
He doesn't manage to get that extra hour of sleep after that, he can't stop feeling the phantom touch that Ichiro left behind. Everytime he closes his eyes, he can see it, he can feel it, he can smell it, the memory of being cherished again. Even if it isn't romantic, even if it's just his tattoo and he's overthinking it, he can't stop.
There's a sudden tingle in his chest, then in his throat, and he wonders if maybe he caught a cold while in the private bath. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he coughs, and physically feels something come out of his mouth. Gross, at first, but when Shiro pulls back, he almost can't believe it.
There, right on his pam, sits a single yellow daffodil petal.
What the fuck?
Shiro rubs his eye, then the other, then pinches himself as hard as he can in the cheek. But no, he stays awake, the petal unmoving and still as stone in his hand.
He quickly looks back to the closed bathroom door where he can faintly hear Ichiro brushing his teeth, and he feels an impending sense of dread building up in his gut.
He's gone ahead and fallen for a straight guy. Not any straight guy, Ichiro.
And now he's paying the price for it.