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Ojima's head lifted to the sound of the door opening. He had been slowly navigating printed pages of story ideas, struggling to choose one to illustrate. There were so many that jump-started his imagination. The door opening meant that Hiroaki was home and he needed to give his mind a rest.
He bookmarked his page and stretched. His legs felt stiff from being in the same position for too long. Ojima started to step forward to meet Hiroaki by the front door, but Hiroaki appeared in the living room. Immediately, Ojima could tell he was drunk. If not from the reek of alcohol, then from his lopsided grin, shades, and slightly ruffled clothes. He was still somewhat put together, but a horrible mess by Hiroaki's standards.
Hiroaki stumbles across the living room and into Ojima's arms. The smell of alcohol was stronger. Ojima slowly wraps his arms around Hiroaki and holds him against his body. He wonders why.
“Takeshiii,” Hiroaki draws out his name cheerfully, “I missed you. It was boring without you.”
“Nakamigawa, you're drunk,” Ojima says flatly. He pulls away from the hug and holds him at arm's length. He stares at him for a second, then something occurs to him. “You… didn't drive here, did you?”
“I did!” Hiroaki chirps. He seems way too excited for someone who drove from a party to their house drunk. Ojima was terrified.
“Wh— Y-You… okay. Nakamigawa, did something happen?”
Hiroaki shakes his head slowly, “Nnnoo, I don't thiiink so? I just had a feeew drinks, is all.”
“Stop exaggerating your words.”
“But, Takeshi!”
Ojima grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the kitchen, huffing a sigh, “Come on, we're sobering you up.”
Hiroaki followed him before digging his heels into the floor, “Takeshi.”
“Jesus, what? Quit being difficult.”
Hiroaki dug his heels further and pulled on his hand to stop himself from walking. He pulls again to make Ojima face him. “Are you mad at me?”
Ojima sighed. “No, I'm—”
“Please don't hate me,” Hiroaki murmurs, grip tightening on Ojima's hand. He was pouting; it would be comical if it weren't for the tone in his voice.
Ojima rolls his eyes, but he squeezes Hiroaki's hand in reassurance, “I'm not mad at you. Come on, let's get cof— actually, let's sleep this off. I'll get you tucked into bed with some water.”
“Sleep with me, Takeshi,” Hiroaki says with a snicker. Ojima ignores him.