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After more than a year of living together in the condo, a quiet settles over their lives, something neither of them expected. Ever since the Corsican mafia was taken down and Banana Fish became just another conspiracy theory, the chaos they had once known has faded. Ash resumed his role in the gang world, though it's a far cry from the whirlwind of the past. Life, for the first time, feels calm.
But the tension—that unspoken, ever-present thing between them—never really goes away. It simmers, buried under the weight of survival for so long. Now, with the quiet, it grows louder, harder to ignore. They dance around it, as if it’s a part of the condo itself. It lingers in the brush of their hands, the way their eyes meet and hold for just a moment too long, the late-night talks in the dim bedroom. But it feels reckless to act on it, like it’s still too dangerous.
Now, they are just folding laundry.
The bedroom is filled with the soft sounds of fabric being pulled and folded, the late afternoon sun casting a soft glow through the blinds. Eiji sits on the edge of the bed, folding one of Ash’s shirts with neat, practiced hands. The blond stands nearby, folding another—though much less precisely.
“This is domestic as hell,” Ash mutters with a smirk, his voice teasing. He balls up a sock in a way that’s definitely not how socks are meant to be folded. “Anyone walking in would think we’re married or something.”
Eiji laughs softly, folding another one of Ash's shirts with his usual neatness. He glances up, eyes glimmering with playful mischief. “Well, we do live together… Maybe we should just make it official. You know, get matching pajamas and towels, the whole thing.”
Ash freezes for a second, his smirk faltering. He raises an eyebrow, trying to play it off when he is clearly caught off guard. “Matching towels? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Eiji chuckles, his grin now wide. “Why not? You love pretending you’re not the domestic type... but look at you.” He gestures to Ash’s attempt at folding, then adds, “You’ve been folding your clothes all wrong, by the way.”
Ash frowns, glancing at the bundle of fabric in his hands. “Yeah, well, I’m not trying to impress anyone.”
“Oh, really?” Eiji teases, leaning in slightly. “Because it seems like you’re trying awfully hard not to make a mess when I’m around.”
Ash’s eyes narrow, his folding becoming deliberately messy now, frustration starting to show. “I don’t care what you think,” he grumbles, but his movements betray him. He’s too aware of Eiji now, too aware of every word hanging between them.
“Sure, you don’t.” Eiji’s voice softens, dipping into something almost intimate. He watches Ash closely, his gaze lingering on the blonde’s hands as they fumble with the clothes. “But I think you like it… living with me.”
The dark-haired man watches him, noticing how Ash’s movements have become more restless. He lets out a breath and reaches over to fix the shirt Ash just crumpled, their fingers brushing for a split second. That tiny touch is like lightning. Eiji can feel his heart race, but he doesn’t pull away. He keeps his hand on the fabric, his eyes lifting to meet Ash’s, their faces close enough that the room seems to shrink around them.
Ash swallows, his gaze flicking to Eiji’s hand, still on the shirt, then back to his face. He opens his mouth to say something, probably another joke, a deflection, but the words die on his lips.
There’s a beat of silence. A long one.
And then, without thinking, Ash leans in.
The kiss is sudden, impulsive, like the dam between them finally burst. His lips press against Eiji’s, soft at first but quickly deepening, as though every unspoken feeling from the past two years has been poured into this one moment. Eiji gasps, his hand moving from the shirt to Ash’s arm, holding on like he’s afraid this will slip away if he doesn’t.
Then Ash pulls back, just barely, their breaths mingling in the space between them. His eyes search Eiji’s face, his own breathing ragged. He swallows hard, his voice low and hoarse. “Sorry.”
Ash’s heart pounds in his chest, a sudden wave of doubt crashing into him. Did he push too far? Did he just ruin everything?
But before he can spiral further, Eiji blinks, his eyes wide, and a small smile tugs at his lip, soft but full of something Ash has never seen so clearly before.
“Don’t be,” Eiji whispers, his voice breathless but sure. “I... I wanted this too.”
Ash freezes, his mind trying to catch up with what was just said. He searches his friend’s expression, sees the openness there, the warmth, the want. His own hesitation cracks, the tension that had held him back for so long finally snapping. “You sure?”
Eiji’s hand moves up from Ash’s arm to his shoulder, his fingers tightening slightly in reassurance. “Yes.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence, the world slowing down as they just look at each other.
Then Ash tilts his head, his voice quieter now. “You want to... do it again?”
Eiji’s smile widens just a bit, his cheeks flushed, and he nods. “Yes.”
Ash doesn’t wait. He leans in again, and this time there’s no hesitation, no pulling back. The kiss is deeper now, more intense, as if they’re making up for lost time. Eiji presses closer, his hand slipping behind Ash’s neck, pulling him in like he never wants to let go.
They break apart for a second, just long enough for both of them to catch their breath, but it’s not enough. Ash’s eyes are dark, his voice a little rough. “Again?”
Eiji’s laugh is soft, but he nods, his fingers still gripping Ash's neck. “Yes. Again.”
And so they kiss again.
Each time, it grows more heated, more desperate, as if the world outside the room is slipping further and further away. The laundry they’d been folding moments ago is long forgotten, scattered across the bed and floor. There’s only them now, lips meeting and parting, bodies pressing closer, the question always lingering in the air between kisses.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
It becomes a rhythm, a back-and-forth that neither of them wants to break. Each kiss leaves them breathless but it’s never enough. Ash’s hands find their way to Eiji’s waist, pulling him closer with every kiss like he’s afraid this moment might fade if he doesn’t hold on tight.
But somewhere between kisses, as Eiji gasps softly into Ash’s mouth, the reality of it all starts to settle in. They both know they’ll have to talk about this, what it means, what they are now. The intensity of the moment won’t let them stop just yet, but there’s no escaping the fact that things have shifted.
Maybe they’ll need matching towels after all.
“Can we go again?”
And the answer is always yes.
