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Kenjirou fucking hates coffee. The black, bitter, swirling liquid was repulsive to the taste, and yet the idea of getting through his days after consecutive all-nighters without it was, to put it simply, laughable.
His predicament, however, lies in the closing of his favorite coffee shop — a little space located conveniently inside the confinements of his college campus, that also happened to lack the rowdy, young adult presence which characterized the school halls (most of the other students much preferred to frequent the Starbucks branch also located inside their campus, but Kenjirou had never been one to follow the herd, and, he much preferred the peace that came with a seldom-visited spot like the café, anyway). Plus, it also meant he could sit anywhere and go through his work for hours on end without ever being disrupted by anything. Its closing meant not only the loss of his favorite studying spot, but the loss of his — very much needed — daily caffeine dose, as well.
This lamentable situation was only made worse by the fact that there was no other spot with the same convenience within the confinements of the school campus, and thus, he would have to go to the only other café nearby, which was a 30 minute walk away from campus, and meant a daily commute back and forth from the damned place, plus he’d have to put some effort into not looking like he was in the brink of madness to preserve his dignity in front of strangers. But, if he wanted some semblance of a peaceful, non-disruptive zone like the one he lost, it would simply have to do.
So he gathers all of his necessities for a good, arduous study session and walks, and walks, and walks. Until finally, he finds it. The White Eagle Café is a whole lot more spacious than his previous spot, and yet in spite of that seems to have a homey feeling to it. From the outside tables, it seems to have enough customers to make it comfortable, yet not too crowded. Kenjirou peaks in through one of the large windows, spotting a couple of occupied tables, but plenty more open tables and decides it's good enough for him. He pushes in through the front doors, and walks towards the counter.
Behind the counter, there's a bored looking ash blond boy shamelessly scrolling through his phone. He doesn't notice him, too entranced in whatever he's watching, so Kenjirou doesn't bother with any formalities before asking: “Can I get one black coffee, no sugar, no milk? The larger it is, the better.”
The blond finally looks up at him, and oh. He's real pretty, with his gray, sharp eyes and his barely there smile, probably induced by whatever he was watching a second ago. Seems to be around his age, too. Kenjirou barely has time to process any of that, though, because next thing he knows the barely there smile on the boy's face is gone, replaced by a fatigued sigh and a subtle, almost imperceptible eye roll. He grabs a cup, along with a sharpie to scribble down the order, and in the most monotone tone of voice, he thinks he's ever heard, asks: “Name?”
Kenjirou is a little irked now, because the stranger is acting like Kenjirou pissed on his cereal for simply being here, even though he's supposed to be doing his job instead of mindlessly scrolling through his phone, plus since there aren't many people on the café and he plans on staying, there is no reason to ask his name, but it might be policy, so he ignores all of it all together. He's not about to make a scene when he really needs the caffeine, and the spot inside the café. So he swallows up his barely there irritation, and responds. “Shirabu Kenjirou. Can I take a seat now? I have stuff to do.”
He sees his own vexation mirrored in the other's expression for a moment, before he conceals it and mumbles an affirmative to his question, and something that sounds suspiciously like “brat”, but since he can't be sure and he also can't be bothered to care about that right now, he finds refuge on a booth by the large windows and settles in.
The minutes go by, and soon enough the boy gets to his booth and places the white cup on the table. That should be the end of that, except – “That's not how you spell it.”
“Should've gone to a Starbucks if you expected that much out of me, pretty boy.”
Kenjirou's face burns, from the compliment or irritation, he isn't sure, and he feels his eyebrow twitch a little. If this guy is in customer service, shouldn't he know not to rile up, or hit on said customers? He doesn't realize he actually said this part out loud, until he hears: “I don't care enough about pleasantries, it's not like I get paid to do so anyway. Also, who said I was hitting on you, pretty boy?”
There it is again. Kenjirou feels himself wanting to get the ash blond angry, for him to get that self-satisfied smirk out of his infuriatingly pretty face, and so naturally, he responds: "Oh, so that’s just how you talk to people? Must make for quite the customer service reviews.”
His comment, however, did not get the desired outcome as the blond snorts, and his stupid smirk does not budge. “And excellent tips, if you must know.”
Kenjirou narrows his eyes over the rim of his cup. “Right. Because people reward you for being obnoxious. That explains so much.”
The blond chuckles, leaning one arm against the booth. “Not really my job to be polite, anyway. I’m just temporarily covering for a friend. You’re lucky I even spelled anything at all.”
Kenjirou feels his eye twitch. “Lucky. That’s one word for it.” He stirs his coffee too harshly, nearly sloshing it over the edge. “Does your friend know you’re scaring away customers?”
“Scaring?” He tilts his head, grin widening. “I'd hardly say that. Some people seem to enjoy what I do for them.”
“…Some people, huh?” Kenjirou mutters, continuing to stir his coffee much too forcefully, as if the motion could cool his rising irritation.
“Yeah. You’d be surprised what people enjoy. Not that I keep track of it.”
“You really think that saying something like that makes you sound any more competent?”
“Competent? Not really my goal. Entertaining, maybe. I’m Semi, by the way. Semi Eita. I'll be serving you for the foreseeable future.”
“I don't care, and I didn’t ask.” Kenjirou says while glancing up from his cup, lips pressed into a thin line.
Bingo. For the first time since their first interaction at the counter, Semi's smirk falters briefly. “Sorry?”
“I don't care about your name, didn't ask you for it. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but a nuisance to my studying session.”
To his credit, Semi recovers quickly, huffs out a short laugh despite himself, already stepping towards the counter. “Well, aren't you charming? Anyway, enjoy your bitter liquid. Call me over if you need anything. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot more of you in the near future. See you around, pretty boy.”
Kenjirou’s jaw tightens, and his ears burn red, but his fingers curl slightly around his cup, betraying a flicker of annoyance, and something else he'd be damned before admitting.
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So, he returns to the café the next day. It has nothing to do with Semi Eita and his stupid smirks and futile flirtation. He just, really, really needs caffeine, and a quiet spot to study in, since Taichi decided to invite his much too-loud boyfriend over to their dorm, and there's only so much of Yamagata-san's rowdiness he can take before lashing out. That's all.
The bell above the café door rings, and Kenjirou doesn’t even flinch. He strides in like he has a mission, shoving his hands in his pockets, adjusting his backpack's straps, trying very hard not to notice the blond leaning against the counter.
Of course, Semi notices him instantly. His smirk kicks in like muscle memory.
“Well, well. Look who came crawling back. I was starting to think there was actually someone immune to my charm.”
Kenjirou shoots him a flat look. “Don't flatter yourself. I just need caffeine and a calm spot.”
“Mm, whatever you say.” Semi straightens up, reaching for a cup with exaggerated flair. “So, Shirabu-kun, was it?”
Kenjirou blinks. Once. Twice. And then. "You spelled it wrong on purpose.”
Semi grins, tapping the marker against the cup. “Maybe. Gotta say, your reaction to it yesterday was the highlight of my shift.”
Kenjirou exhales sharply through his nose. “So your idea of entertainment is butchering names on disposable cups. Impressive.”
“Hey, I could get more creative, if you’d prefer.” Semi flicks the marker between his fingers like a drummer with a stick. “Add a little flourish. Maybe a heart?”
“Do that and I’m reporting you.” Kenjirou deadpans.
Semi laughs, the sound too easy, too amused, like he’s not used to people shutting him down so flatly. “Relax, pretty boy, I wouldn’t waste ink. Coffee order?”
Kenjirou rattles it off, sharper than necessary, and within minutes he’s in the booth he used the day before, textbooks splayed open like shields. He tries not to hear Semi’s melodic humming from behind the counter. Tries not to notice the way the blond occasionally glances his way when the café empties out again.
Minutes turn into hours soon enough, slipping by fast. Scribbled notes pile up, his hand cramps, his eyelids grow heavy. Before he realizes it, his head dips onto his arm, pen still trapped between his fingers, and after a while, a voice stirs him from half-sleep. “Oi. You planning to absorb knowledge by osmosis now?”
Kenjirou startles awake, blinking blearily at the smirking blond now leaning over his booth. “I wasn’t — I just… shut up.”
“Okay, brainiac,” Semi says, sliding a fresh cup across the table. The name scrawled on the side reads Shirado.
Kenjirou glares. “I didn't order this. Also, you’re still doing that on purpose.”
“Of course I am. Your whining is inspiring.” Semi’s grin widens, then softens a tiny bit. “Refill's on me. Don’t drink it too fast, though. You’ve already had enough to keep a horse awake.”
Kenjirou takes a slow sip, as if testing the sincerity of the gesture. “You’re irritating.”
“And you, are running yourself ragged,” Semi replies, more matter-of-fact than teasing, softened expression still present on his features. “Burnout’s ugly. I'd know. Just be careful, yeah?”
Kenjirou pauses, pen stilling between his fingers. There’s something in Semi’s tone that makes him want to ask — but before he can, the blond shrugs and leans back, smirk sliding back into place like armor.
“Anyway, if you’re gonna pass out again, at least do it when I’m not the one stuck waking you. Bad for my image.”
Kenjirou huffs, flipping his textbook shut. “What image? The one where you spell names wrong purposefully and flirt yourself away for tips?”
Semi chuckles, walking away with a lazy wave. “Exactly that one. See you tomorrow, Shirado.”
Kenjirou glares after his retreating figure, cheeks warming. “Asshole.”
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The days turn into weeks, and against every ounce of his better judgment, Kenjirou keeps coming back. Not because of the infuriating Semi Eita —certainly not—, but because the café is quiet, the coffee is strong, he needs to keep himself at the top of his class, and his dorm being unbearable with Taichi bringing Yamagata around every day lately. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
Unfortunately, Semi seems to have made it his mission to personally sabotage every single one of Kenjirou’s visits.
“Shiromanta.” Kenjirou lifts the cup, glaring at the bold scrawl. “That’s not even close.”
“Oh? Thought that was your stage name,” Semi replies, grinning like he’s won something.
The next day, it’s Shirobu.
“This is just mockery at this point.” Kenjirou mutters.
" I think it adds personality, you know. Otherwise, you’re just another coffee addict.”
By week three, it’s Shibui. Which, no comment. None at all. Kenjirou pinches the bridge of his nose. “…Why do I even drink this?”
“Well, for one, because it’s the best in town,” Semi says easily. “And because you like seeing the magic I come up with.”
Kenjirou’s scowl could level mountains. Semi just laughs.
Still, no matter how much he mocks or teases him, Semi keeps him in check.
“That’s your third today.”
“So?”
“So, unless you want to start vibrating through the walls, that’s your limit.”
It’s infuriating, and presumptuous, and what's worse, it's genuine, and, reliable, and alarmingly consistent.
Sometimes, Semi lingers under the excuse of cleaning tables. His rag barely grazes the furniture, but his commentary is relentless.
“Do you even understand what you’re writing? Looks like a bunch of hieroglyphics to me.”
Kenjirou doesn’t even look up. “You wouldn’t get it. It requires more than two working brain cells.”
“Ouch. You wound me, Shibui.”
One evening, during that third week, the café is empty except for them, and Kenjirou’s notes are a battlefield of crossed-out lines and ink smudges. He’s halfway to dozing when Semi sets down a cup labeled Sleeping Beauty.
Kenjirou glares at it for a solid thirty minutes before taking a sip anyway.
And so, the rhythm cements itself: Semi with his smirks and purposefully butchered names, Kenjirou with his barbed comebacks and caffeine dependency. Neither acknowledges it, but the air between them shifts. The annoyance isn’t quite there anymore, something lighter, almost akin to fondness, in its place.
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The fourth week, Kenjirou stays back too long. His pen rests idle as his head droops toward the textbook. The hum of the café is soft, the lights dim. Semi slides into the opposite booth without ceremony.
Kenjirou doesn’t look up. “What are you doing?”
“Closing the shop” Semi says, tossing his rag onto the table like proof of labor. “And making sure you don’t die on my watch.”
“…I’m fine,” Kenjirou mutters.
Semi smirks, leaning back. “You’ve said that before, and I can never believe you. People who say that are never fine.”
Kenjirou shoots him a flat look. “…And you’d know how?”
“I’ve been there, done that.” Semi glances at his notes, nodding toward the chaos. “Med school looks brutal.”
Kenjirou snorts. “You don’t know half of it.”
Semi's expression grows serious then. “Maybe not. But I know what it’s like to burn out, Shirabu, and it's not pretty.”
Kenjirou finally lifts his gaze, wary, yet intrigued. “…From café work?”
Semi laughs, rougher than usual. “No. Volleyball.”
Kenjirou raises an eyebrow. “You played?”
“Yeah, my whole life, actually. Thought it was going to be everything, 'til it slimmered down to nothing, I guess.” There's an emotion in his eyes Kenjirou can't seem to read. “I actually landed a sports scholarship at a prestigious university, you know, and it was going well enough. After a while, though, their coach started nagging my play style and insisted I just did as I was told, nothing more, nothing less, and, well, it turns out I wasn't what they needed for the starter position after all.” He shrugs, a gesture heavier than it looks. “It's whatever, honestly. I still love the sport, but what it did to me during that final year was brutal. And, in any case, my music gave me something volleyball couldn't anymore. Freedom. Control. Nobody breathing down my neck telling me I'm too much. So it's probably better this way, anyway.”
Kenjirou studies him quietly. “…Music?”
“Oh, yeah, I don't think I've told you yet. I play a lot of instruments, but mostly guitar. I write, too. Sing. That's what I'm doing now, actually. I'm in a band.”
Kenjirou blinks, swallowing hard. “…What about the café, then?”
Semi smiles again, softer this time. There's a hint of fondness sneaking through his gaze, too, and Kenjirou doesn't think he's ever seen him that soft. “Like I said. My best friend, Tendou, is the owner of this place, and asked me to cover for him for a couple months. He’s off dealing with family stuff overseas. I had the time, and he's… my family, basically, so…” He shrugs lightly, eyes flicking back to Kenjirou. “Somewhere between helping out someone dear to me and “terrorizing customers", as you like to say, I said yes.”
Kenjirou huffs a humorless laugh, and the first real softness slips through his sharp edges. “…You’re ridiculous.”
Semi grins, holding Kenjirou's gaze. “For someone who keeps insisting they don’t like me, you sure do come back a lot. Almost makes me believe caffeine isn't the only thing you like.”
Kenjirou's ears burn, but his voice comes out steady. “Maybe I just tolerate you because this is the only quiet café near campus. Ever think of that?”
Semi's grin widens, but it's different from his usual smirk. It's softer, and for once, he doesn't push, the playful teasing giving way to something quieter. “…You’re working yourself too hard, you know. Don’t tire yourself out before you even get the chance to use all that knowledge you have.”
Kenjirou shifts in his seat, a hint of vulnerability peeking through the usual prickly exterior, and Semi's previous honesty disarms him, making his own walls feel flimsy. Before he can stop himself, the words start slipping out: “At least you got to choose to walk away. If I stop, that’s it. Everything I’ve done so far? Wasted. So I don’t stop. I can't stop. Not if I want to matter.”
Semi studies him in turn, sharp gaze softening. “…You sound like you’re already burning out.”
Kenjirou bristles, straightening. “I’m fine.”
Semi lets the silence hang for a beat before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “So, why medicine?”
Kenjirou looks down. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not exactly something you stumble into. You’ve gotta be the kind of person who either really wants to save lives or really likes torturing yourself.”
Kenjirou scoffs, but answers anyway.
“…It’s not exactly about wanting. It’s about being useful.”
Semi raises a brow. “Useful?”
Kenjirou exhales sharply, like the word tastes sour on his tongue, and subtly looks up. “Someone has to know what to do when everything’s falling apart. I do want to save lives, and I get a sense of satisfaction from helping people, but it's also… If I can be the person that knows exactly what to do, then I don’t have the luxury of quitting.”
Semi studies him for a long moment, the usual smirk gone. “Sounds heavy for someone who’s still in his twenties.”
“It might sound that way. But I do love the field, and everything will settle down eventually. I'm just going through the tough part right now. Also, you're not much older than me, either.”
“Maybe that’s okay,” Semi says lightly, voice calm and eyes softer than they normally are around Kenjirou. “But if you ever want someone to make sure you’re not killing yourself with caffeine and notes, I’m… here, you know. Got to keep torturing you and scrutinizing you, at your call, obviously.”
Kenjirou snorts, half annoyed, half comforted. “You really are insufferable.”
“Yep.” Semi grins, leaning back with that same lazy confidence, though the eyes are warmer now. “But in a good way. Eventually, you’ll admit you've fallen victim to my charm. Just you wait. Now come on, let's go, I need to close up and you need some well deserved sleep.”
Kenjirou turns back to his belongings, meticulously organizing everything to pack it away in his backpack, and failing at wiping the subtle, fond smile off of his face.
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The next day, things shifted between them, subtly but still present. Kenjirou came in as usual, bantered with Semi for a while, and stayed back studying until the late hours of the night. However, this time, Semi refilled his cup before Kenjirou even noticed, occasionally leaning over to brush a lock of hair away from his eyes. And, when it was time for him to close the shop up, Semi had crouched next to him and softly muttered: “You’ve been at this for hours,” while brushing a hand across Kenjirou’s hair. “Don’t overdo it. You’re going to collapse if you keep pushing yourself.”
Kenjirou blinked up at him, momentarily speechless. “I… I’ll be fine.”
Semi smiles then. “Come on, let's get you home. You're falling asleep already, and it's really cold outside. Can't let you walk alone in these conditions.”
And after a short argument where Semi refused to even consider letting him walk home alone, they started heading towards Kenjirou's campus together, with Semi draping his own coat on Kenjirou's shoulders, saying: “It's freezing, and I'm not gonna let you get sick. Who do you take me for?”
Kenjirou's face goes red, and he can't even blame it on the weather. “Tch. Whatever.”
Semi’s coat is too big on him, the sleeves hanging over Kenjirou’s hands, but it’s warm in a way that makes him purse his lips. Semi walks at his pace — too close, too casual, like he’s done this a thousand times before, and every so often, he'll purposefully bump his shoulder against Kenjirou's, just enough to drive him crazy, and he hates that he notices the faint trace of cologne clinging to the fabric.
“You look like a kid playing dress-up,” Semi says, brushing at the collar, his fingers grazing Kenjirou’s neck in the process. “Cute, though.”
Kenjirou’s ears burn, probably for the upteenth time that day. “Shut up. And don’t touch me.”
“You didn’t exactly move away.” Semi smirked, falling into step beside him.
The second night this happens, Semi had a scarf ready before Kenjirou even finished his coffee. “Try not to glare at me when I’m doing you a favor.” He wrapped it loosely around Kenjirou’s neck, pulling it snug with a tug that brought them closer than Kenjirou could handle, and his breath stuttered. His eyes caught on the curve of Semi’s mouth, the casual roll of his shoulders, the way his fingers brushed over his throat as though the motion were natural.
“You fuss like an old man,” Kenjirou muttered, trying to steady his voice.
“And you scowl like one,” Semi shot back, grin widening. “Perfect match, really.”
By the fourth night, their shoulders brushed constantly as they walked, the distance between them collapsing without either of them commenting on it. Semi adjusted Kenjirou’s scarf every few steps, tugging it higher, brushing his hair back from his face when the wind whipped it out of place.
Kenjirou tried not to notice how big Semi’s hands were, and how his touch lingered just a moment too long everytime. He tried not to notice the warmth radiating off Semi’s body or the way his laugh sank under his skin, and yet, he couldn't help but notice. Every damn detail.
“You’re leaning,” Semi teased.
“I am not,” Kenjirou snapped automatically, even though he absolutely was.
“Mm. Whatever you say, Kenjirou.” Semi’s smirk was visible even in the dim glow of the streetlight. Kenjirou wanted to punch it off his face. Or maybe even kiss it off. He couldn't be sure which.
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It happened on a Wednesday, a month had passed since Semi had started walking Kenjirou back from the café everyday. The city air was biting, and Semi was fretting over him more than usual. He had Kenjirou bundled in a scarf, his coat, and even his gloves. Kenjirou looked like a burrito made of fabric, but Semi adjusted every layer with practiced ease.
“Lift your chin.” Semi tugged the scarf higher, his thumb brushing against Kenjirou’s jaw. “There. Almost presentable.”
Kenjirou swatted his hand away. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re warm, ain't that nice?” Semi shot back, grin easy.
“Asshole.” Kenjirou grumbled, though it had no real bite to it.
They walked in silence until they reached Kenjirou's campus dorms, and just when he was about to break the silence and thank him, a familiar voice cut through the air.
“Uh… Kenjirou? Who's this?” Both of them turned. Taichi stood in the dorm doorway, eyebrows raised, phone in hand.
Kenjirou froze. “Uh… this is Semi Eita. He works at the White Eagle. He…walks me home.”
Semi didn’t miss a beat. He tugged at Kenjirou’s scarf again, leaning in closer. “Making sure he doesn’t freeze or collapse on the way. Someone has to take care of him, since he refuses to do so himself.”
Taichi blinked, then smirked. “…Right. Walks you home. Bundles you up like a mom. Totally normal.”
Kenjirou snapped, “Shut up, Taichi.”
Semi chuckled, clearly entertained. “You’re his roommate?”
“Yeah. Best friend, too.” Taichi’s grin widened as his eyes darted between them. “And now I see why Kenjirou’s never around anymore.”
Kenjirou felt his stomach drop. “That’s not—!”
Semi’s smirk widened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He clapped Kenjirou lightly on the shoulder, fingers squeezing just enough to send a shiver down his spine, and winks. “See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”
Kenjirou’s jaw tightened as Semi walked away, scarf still snug around his neck, the faint trace of Semi’s cologne still clinging to it.
The second the door shut behind them, Taichi pounced. “So that’s what’s been going on. I thought you were just hiding out to escape Hayato, but no — you’ve been out there playing house with the attractive coffee shop guy.”
Kenjirou’s face went hot. “It’s not–”
“Kenjirou.” Taichi’s grin was merciless. “He practically puts on half his wardrobe on you. He walks you home every night. And you let him. Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look? He might as well be your boyfriend already.”
Kenjirou’s chest constricted, heart hammering against his ribs. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Every memory from the past few months playing in his mind like a movie reel.
He swallowed hard. “…Shut up.”
Taichi smirked, softer this time. “You like him.”
Kenjirou didn’t answer. Couldn’t, but he didn't need to. His silence said everything.
“…Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it.” He whispered it like a curse, and realized then he had no other choice but to admit it to himself.
He liked Semi Eita and his stupid, infuriating smirks, his effortless charm, his sometimes deadpan humor, his unfortunate tendency to nag him constantly, his warmth that Kenjirou couldn’t shake even when he tried. And now that he'd let himself consciously think about it, there was no going back.
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It was late when they finally left the café, two night later. The city was quiet, the streets slick from a drizzle earlier in the evening, streetlamps casting halos of pale gold onto the pavement. Semi walked beside him as usual, his coat draped over Kenjirou’s shoulders, his scarf looped snugly around his neck.
“You’d think by now you’d bring your own layers,” Semi teased, brushing at the scarf, his thumb grazing the edge of Kenjirou’s jaw. “But no. You’d rather steal mine.”
Kenjirou shot him a look, cheeks pink. “I don’t ask you to.”
“You don't complain either, though, which is basically Shirabu code for you liking it.” Semi smirked, falling into step beside him. Their shoulders bumped, but neither moved away.
Kenjirou looked away quickly, focused on the pavement instead, the sound of their steps in sync. His stomach twisted. Taichi’s words echoed in his head. He might as well be your boyfriend already.
He swallowed hard. “Semi.”
“Mm?”
Kenjirou’s hands tightened on the coat sleeves hanging over his own. His voice came out low, rough, sharper than he intended. “You’re infuriating, overbearing and your costumer service skills are severely lacking."
Semi laughed. “Okay, damn, tell me how you really feel.”
“...But I want you in my life, always. I, um, like you, I guess. There, I said it.” He scowled down at the pavement, ears blazing. “Happy now?”
Semi stopped walking. Kenjirou slowed too, heat crawling up his neck. The streetlamp painted Semi’s face in warm light, highlighting the surprise flickering across his expression, before his laugh broke the silence, not mocking, but relived. “Thank fuck,” the blond murmured. He reached out, his fingers brushing along Kenjirou’s neck, his jaw. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”
Kenjirou’s eyes darted up, wide. “What—”
“You know,” Semi started, voice lower now, “for someone so smart, you’re incredibly dense. You think I’d walk you home every night, and seek physical contact the way I do, if I didn’t like you? I'm not exactly being subtle here.”
Kenjirou's breath stuttered. “You're still excruciating.”
“And you like it,” Semi murmured, leaning in, lips brushing just barely against his.
Kenjirou’s eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned the rest of the way. The kiss was quickly deepened while remaining soft in nature, but heat shot through him like lightning. Semi’s lips curved into a smile against his, and Kenjirou felt his knees go weak, his fists clenching tighter around the too-big coat as if it would keep him grounded.
When they parted, Semi lingered close, his breath warm against Kenjirou’s cheek. “So. Official now?”
Kenjirou’s face was hot, his lips tingling, but he managed a faint smirk. “…Unfortunately.”
Semi laughed, brushing his thumb across Kenjirou’s cheek. “Best misfortune you’ll ever have, pretty boy.”
Kenjirou rolled his eyes, but his chest felt lighter, his steps steadier as they resumed walking—hand in hand, now, warmth pressed together under the city lights.
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