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When he had suggested they share an apartment to save money - since university fees were already expensive enough (not to mention the additional expenses) - Gouenji hadn’t expected he would end up spending his days like this.
— Fubuki, I’m asking you for the fifth time, give me that ladle — he tried to reason with him while chasing him around the table.
— No! You promised you’d let me cook today! — Fubuki frowned indignantly, clutching the ladle to his chest as if it were his most precious possession, clearly with no intention of giving it back.
Gouenji was having an existential crisis. How was he supposed to explain to his roommate that the food he cooked was not edible and that he was only trying to keep them away from the hospital?
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During their time living together, they had set some rules and developed new habits, one of which involved dedicating Saturday evenings to the art of cinema. It didn’t matter how tired or busy they were; every Saturday night without fail, they watched at least one movie together, comfortably seated on the couch.
It was a routine they both appreciated and always tried to uphold, which was why now, after a long and exhausting day packed with commitments, they were struggling to stay awake until the end of the film, mercilessly tormented by sleep.
— Fubuki, are you sleeping? — Gouenji asked in an unmistakably tired voice. The other had his head resting on his shoulder, so he couldn’t see his face. Meanwhile, he tried to pay attention to what was happening on the screen - a rather difficult task, considering everything looked blurry.
— Huh? What? Who’s sleeping? I’m not sleeping. Absolutely not. I never sleep. Are you sleeping? — the albino replied. He was starting to ramble a bit from the lack of sleep.
— Hang in there, twenty minutes left — Gouenji said, partly to him, partly to himself. Fubuki let out a miserable whine. He just wanted to crawl into his bed; though, realistically, they would probably both end up sleeping on the couch that night.
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After a rather relaxing shower, Gouenji was finishing drying his wet hair with one hand while adding sugar to his cup of tea with the other.
He turned to leave with the cup in hand and found Fubuki standing at the kitchen entrance, staring at him open-mouthed. Gouenji raised an eyebrow, confused by his behavior. Was he supposed to feel awkward?
— What is it? — he finally asked, since the other didn’t seem inclined to speak. Fubuki snapped out of his trance and, still shaken, pointed a finger at him.
— Your… your hair is down… — he said, as if he had just witnessed a miracle.
Ah, right. Except for his family, nobody had ever seen his hair in its natural state. Now he understood the reaction, even if it still felt exaggerated to him.
— Yes, this is what my hair looks like naturally. Do you have anything to say about it? — he asked in a rhetorical way.
Fubuki touched his chin with his thumb and index finger, pretending to ponder as he studied him with careful eyes. That guy was so dramatic.
— ...It suits you — he just said, with a satisfied smile. Gouenji was taken by slight surprise, but then smiled back.
The rest of the evening passed with Gouenji studying for a chemistry exam and Fubuki absentmindedly playing with his hair.
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Gouenji and Fubuki had decided to buy a flower vase to place in the entryway, and were now in a furniture shop.
They were evaluating the various options when Fubuki’s eyes landed on a particular one.
— This one — he said with confidence. — I want this one.
The blond stepped closer to get a better look at said vase. Well, it wasn’t hideous, but surely they could find something better. That bluish sheen felt too cold for their cozy home.
— I don’t like it. Why don’t we get this one instead? — he asked, pointing at the vase next to it. That one was definitely nicer.
However, Fubuki made a disgusted face.
— You prefer that one over this? No way. I don’t want it in our apartment. I’ve decided we’re getting the one I picked.
— No, we’re getting this one.
— No, this one!
— This one!
In the end, they bought a completely different vase.
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One day, Fubuki was wandering around the kitchen while on the phone with his brother. He intended to make himself a cup of matcha, so he was gathering all the utensils he needed. Since he was distracted by the conversation, he gestured with his hand without thinking and accidentally hit something. A second later, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the apartment.
Fubuki looked down and turned pale. It was Gouenji’s glass - the one his little sister had given him, very cute with little blue flowers. He never used it, but he liked keeping it on the counter as decoration.
He had even told him to be careful with it.
— Atsuya, I’ll call you back.
He hung up and quickly gathered all the shards. It was impossible to fix, but the design wasn’t too sophisticated, maybe he could replace it successfully.
He visited at least five shops that day, and just when he was about to give up, thinking companies didn’t make proper glasses anymore, he saw it: a glass with flowers identical to the one he had broken. He picked it up and examined it carefully; the height was the same, the diameter too, and even the size of the flowers. It was perfect!
He paid for it and brought it home, placing it where the previous one had been. Later, Gouenji came home and they had dinner together.
Of course, Gouenji noticed that the color of the flowers was slightly different, but he decided not to say anything.
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Another day, Endou came to visit, to check how they were doing. Since he had gone to practice before coming and hadn’t changed his shoes, his soles were a bit muddy. When he took them off at the entrance, he felt murderous glares land on him, and he looked up at his friends.
— Is something wrong?
— No, nothing — they answered in unison.
Poor guy; he didn’t know that the day before, Gouenji and Fubuki had broken their backs cleaning all the floors.
They went into the kitchen and sat at the table.
— Do you want something to drink or eat?
— Yes, I’d like a cup of tea, if that’s okay.
More murderous stares. He also couldn’t possibly know that yesterday they’d spent an hour washing and disinfecting every plate and cup.
— Actually, no, now that I think about it I’m not that thirsty — he laughed awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.
They chatted for a bit, and at some point Endou felt the need to use the bathroom.
— Can I use your bathroom?
The hostile stares reappeared. Again, how was he supposed to know they had deep-cleaned the entire bathroom the day before?
— …Sure.
— …You know what? I’ll come visit another day, yeah?
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Fubuki walked into the living room with an unhappy expression and heavy steps. He stopped in front of the other, who was quietly playing on his Nintendo on the couch.
— Gouenji-kun, where’s my hoodie? — he asked, hands on his hips.
— Which hoodie?
— The blue one. The one I always wear.
The blond’s expression didn’t change at all.
— I don’t know, why are you asking me?
Fubuki rolled his eyes.
— I don’t know, maybe because sometimes you steal it?
Gouenji shrugged.
— It’s comfortable.
— Okay, but where did you put it?
— I told you, I don’t know where it is.
— Yes you do, I can’t find it anywhere.
— Do you mean this hoodie? — Tsunami chimed in from the kitchen, wearing a blue hoodie. They hadn’t realized he was there, but at this point, he sneaked into their apartment so often they had gotten used to it.
— No, I meant the other blue hoodie.
— Oh, okay — he said, going back into the kitchen.
— So? — Fubuki turned back to Gouenji.
— So what? I don’t know.
— Yes you do.
They continued like that until later, when they discovered Atsuya had taken it the other day.
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Our protagonists were sitting in the living room again; Gouenji was simply on the phone, while Fubuki was trying to study for an exam. They could study separately in their own rooms, but it was more comforting to do it in each other’s presence (and his friend was quiet, so he wasn’t disturbed).
However, while reading, something else kept him from concentrating: his hair. Even though it was short, it was bothering him terribly at that moment, and he began trying to fix it impatiently, without much success.
Gouenji noticed and approached him. He took a hair tie he always kept on hand for emergencies and tied Fubuki’s hair into a low ponytail, carefully and gently sweeping his fingers through the silvery strands. Since his hair was short, it resulted in a small and adorable ponytail. It suited him.
— Thanks — Fubuki murmured. His cheeks were a pleasant reddish shade. That touch felt more intimate than it had any right to be.
— No problem — Gouenji smiled, and they each returned to what they were doing.
The atmosphere in the room now felt warmer.