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“Oh, no, I’m not tired,” Momo said cheerily. “I can go home to sleep.”
Home to Yuki. The trains will stop running soon, Ryou thought. He would only have to keep Momo here for about fifteen more minutes; then it would become impractical for him to do anything but take the generous offer of Ryou’s guest room.
“Before you go, I have something I’d like to get your opinion on.” He went to his room and got the new suit he’d bought from his closet, returning: “Should I get another of these in pink…”
In the time he’d been gone, Momo had fallen asleep.
Ryou took a seat across from him and watched his slow breathing. An innocent look, fluttering eyelashes, mumbling sleepy nonsense. Of course he’d fallen asleep; he had long days, doing his idol work and a part-time job and running around to appointments and mixers and all the people who wanted something from him. Ryou knew he was only one of the appointments on that list. It was an unsettling truth, and one he hoped to rectify. Not one he’d done anything about yet. He had to plan it perfectly, after all. He couldn’t bear being refused.
For now, it was good enough to be the last appointment on the list, he thought as he picked up Momo, carried him to the guest room bed. When his apartment was the last place Momo visited, it wasn’t uncommon for them to end up like this, in an air of sleepy comfort that could wistfully be called love.