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They’re sitting side-by-side on the floor, close enough that their knees touch, a laundry basket in front of them full of warm towels fresh from the dryer.
The quiet domesticity of it all still gets to Faifa sometimes. There are days when he still can’t believe he gets to have this. Have Wine. In his life. In his home. In his heart.
They split most of the chores. Faifa cooks, Wine washes dishes. But laundry is something they do together. They pass the time folding clothes by catching up on their shows or simply talking about their day.
Faifa lifts a towel out of the basket and hands it to Wine. There is another towel clinging to it, so Faifa grabs it. Sparks fly as the towels separate and Wine startles.
“Ow!” he exclaims.
Faifa drops his towel. “Are you okay?” he asks as he takes Wine’s hand, examining it for injury.
Wine rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. “I’m fine, Sparky. It was just static electricity.”
“Sparky?” Faifa asks, one eyebrow raised and a smirk playing across his lips.
Faifa watches Wine’s face flush red.
“You’ve never called me by a nickname before,” Faifa continues to tease.
“Neither have you!” Wine blusters, his face impossibly redder.
Faifa leans closer to Wine, their shoulders brushing now too. “Do you want me to?” he asks, “Teerak?”
Wine’s head snaps to face Faifa head-on. The blush has gone pale.
Faifa takes advantage of this new position and kisses Wine, once, gently. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” he says.
Wine recovers from his shock and shoves Faifa’s shoulder, pushing him away. “Shut up,” he mumbles. He goes back to folding laundry.
Faifa smiles at him a moment longer and follows suit.
///
It’s a few days later, when Faifa and Wine are out at Newton’s bar with the rest of the Perfect 10 Liners, that Wine gets his revenge.
Wine gestures to Faifa’s empty glass and asks, “Do you want another drink, teerak?”
Faifa short-circuits.
The full force of the Perfect 10 Liners’ teasing is unleashed upon him.
And Wine sits back and enjoys the show.