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They should have been in bed ages ago.
Hell, even Narumiya said he was exhausted and ready to knock out after their double header today. But with his nose tucked under the clean covers, Youichi glares at the closed bathroom door where the light still manages to slant through the gaps, homing a very awake, very not-in-bed-with-Youichi Narumiya. Youichi swears he’s been in there for over twenty minutes by now. He’s ready to fall asleep, but after a horrifying second of rumination, Youichi finds he resolutely can’t until he feels the body of the other. It’s fuckin’ cold, alright?
So, he throws the covers off with a great show of disdain to no one in particular besides the boy behind the door, shivering in the open air of the room because, for some god damn reason, Narumiya loves to crank the air conditioning up too high, and stalks over to the door, ready to pound it to the ground with his fist.
Instead of speaking, he knocks. Gently. Because he’s nice.
From inside, Narumiya’s voice orders with all of the loftiness of a king, “Come in.”
Opening the royal palace doors, Youichi’s face screws up as he steps into the white light — night vision be damned — and he squints at Narumiya, “What the hell are you doing?”
Narumiya is sitting crisscrossed on their bathroom counter, as close as humanly possible to the full length of the warm, glowing mirror. It should be funny, a fully grown man clinging to his counter like this, but Youichi can’t dredge up any laughter after the exhausting day they’ve both had. It’s bizarre for many reasons, not because Youichi isn’t used to Narumiya’s routine, but because of the thoroughness of tonight's self-care in particular. Maybe Youichi is just too tired, and that exhaustion is wearing his patience thin. Maybe Narumiya is even doing it on purpose, spending extra care on his unnecessarily loaded night regimen that he doesn’t even reserve for training, so Youichi can suffer. Though when Narumiya blinks at Youichi’s reflection, bright eyes wide and honest, he finds no trace of his usual spiteful temperament, and Youichi’s vexation dies with the sour words he’d saved on his tongue. He looks so innocent that he almost feels bad for wanting to complain at all. The last thing Youichi needs is a pissy Narumiya in his hands, because then he’ll never get him into bed.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Narumiya narrows his eyes at him, lips curling down in a tired frown. He lifts his glare from Youichi seconds later, returning to himself. There’s a small gadget, or rather, torture device, in his hand that he works into the paleness of his nose and cheeks, and the areas grow spotty and red with abuse by the time Youichi’s bleary gaze focuses.
“Mei,” Youichi blinks drowsily, and though lowered, his voice still sounds incredibly loud in the dead of the night. He shuffles closer, and the bare skin of his feet sliding on white tile is thunderous in volume. “It’s really late. I wanna go to sleep. I thought you said you were tired, too.”
“Okay, and? No one’s stopping you,” Narumiya fusses, and presses the small, oval tip of the metal against the tip of his nose. He winces, and Youichi frowns, perplexed by his reactions. If it hurts, why is he even bothering with it?
“I can’t sleep with you making all this racket. And the light through the door…” Youichi supplies instead of the real reason, leaning his hip on the counter right next to him. “The heck is that?”
“What?” Narumiya mumbles, as if in afterthought from his divided attention, prodding his skin.
“That,” Youichi nods to the metal instrument in his hand. He’s too tired to be eloquent.
Narumiya’s lower lip sticks out adorably, probably subconsciously, as he twirls it around between his fingers and surveys his splotchy red face in the mirror. “An extractor.”
“What’re you extracting?” Youichi yawns, eyes falling from the boy to explore the rest of the counter. Lines and lines of beautifully packaged bottles, squeezers, and other useful tools are set on the opposite side of his glowing sink, leaving Narumiya enough space to sit on the counter. It’s an entirely different vibe from Youichi’s bathroom in his apartment, which serves only practical purposes and has less decoration and fewer effortless displays of an eclectic collection and wealth. Meanwhile, all Youichi needs is soap, a towel, his razor, toothbrush, floss, and toothpaste, and he washes his face in the shower. It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s quick for nights like these.
“Sebaceous filaments,” Narumiya replies shortly, returning to poking and prodding his skin. It really does look painful.
And because Youichi doesn’t really care what that means, he just says, “Okay,” and watches his boyfriend torture his skin in silence.
At some point, Narumiya deems the finish satisfactory, judging by the way he runs his fingers over the red areas, his furrowed brows smoothing into a more pleased expression. Then, he yanks out a face wipe from a package and cleans the extractions from the tool.
“Your face is red,” Youichi snorts.
“Well, duh,” Narumiya grumbles and begins to climb down from the counter. “Why’re you still here, Youichi? Just for commentary? You’re tired, remember?”
“I am, but I came to get you,” Youichi only steps partially away from Narumiya, helping him down with a hand cupping his lower back. “Are you almost done? Can we go to bed now?”
“No, You-chan,” his boyfriend stresses in reply, and with his feet finally on the floor, he nudges Youichi out of the way to stand in front of the sink and crank the faucet on to lukewarm water. He grabs a headband amongst the city of bottles and shoves it on his head, pushing his bangs back, until Youichi can see the tired crinkle between his brows and a little blemish near his temple. “I barely even started! I need to take care of my beautiful, youthful face, or else I’ll get wrinkly and be ugly. Bet you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Youichi only hums with dissent, and maybe that was the first misstep, because then, he’s meeting Narumiya’s eyes in the mirror again — and instead of the earnestness Youichi found earlier, he locates more than just a devious twinkle. Narumiya smirks as he bends over, cupping water in his hands and washing the plotting expression right off his face.
Youichi’s mind stalls before he can comprehend what that could even mean.
And when he does:
“No, hell no,” Youichi steps away, ready to make his escape.
Narumiya laughs into the bowl of the sink, massaging his face until it’s wet and glistening. “Oh, c’mon, Youichi. Just for a face mask? Then we can go to bed. Promise!”
Youichi tips his head back and groans at the ceiling, “Meiiiiiiii.”
“It’ll only take ten minutes!” Narumiya blindly reaches around for a bottle, then uncaps it and squeezes the product onto his fingers. Youichi watches, with only mild interest, as it foams soapy and white in his hands upon working it into a lather. Then, he’s applying it on his face in dainty little circles — completely unlike the way Youichi applies his drugstore-grade cleanser from in the shower, full-palmed and aggressively quick because if he closes his eyes too long under the spray, the demons will get him — and he works it into the areas that he’d just prodded with the extracting tool.
“Ten minutes is gonna take forever,” Youichi whines.
“You-chaaaaan.”
“Mei.”
“You-chan.”
The faucet shuts off after Narumiya splashes his face clean. He towels his face dry, and then he turns to Youichi, clear-eyed and coherent.
Narumiya looks so human-like this. His nose and cheeks are lively shades of pink, and his skin, somehow, looks cleaner. Shinier. More open and vulnerable, especially now that his bangs can’t hide the irritable, tired crinkle between his brows. It doesn't help Youichi’s case at all, especially when he blinks his pretty, round eyes at him, cheeks puffing, “Please?”
Fucking puppy eyes.
“But I’m cold,” Youichi grumbles in defeat. He curls in on himself, a futile attempt to make an excuse to get him out of this predicament, though it is a little true. He really should have put on a shirt, but unfortunately, Narumiya is wearing the matching top to his pajama pants. He crosses his arms instead, rubbing the goosebumps down on his sides.
“I’ll warm you up later! Jeez!” Narumiya shakes his head and swivels around on his feet, looking at the counter. “Ahh, niacinamide…”
“Nia-what?” Youichi looks over his shoulder.
“It’s—just stuff,” Narumiya handles a small glass next. He unscrews the cap, revealing a liquid dropper containing a warm-toned product. He lifts the dropper to his cheeks and squeezes, and there’s a sense of fascination that curls through Youichi as Narumiya works that with gentle circles into his skin, too. Reverent and caring. Youichi almost feels fond of it. It also has some sort of tea scent to it, which Youichi catches a whiff of whenever they’re bundled in Narumiya’s fluffy bed together, where Narumiya might be tucked close enough for a forehead kiss, and Youichi can linger, watching Narumiya’s drowsy eyes flutter to a close, face growing slack and peaceful with sleep.
“You’re pretty,” Youichi blurts because he can’t help himself.
In the mirror, Narumiya’s reflection stutters, and he seemingly scrubs his face harder until the droplets soak in, leaving his face shiny. “Well, I know that, or else you wouldn’t be dating me.”
“Not true. I’d still love you even if you looked like a little rat,” Youichi supplies, shuffling into his personal bubble and tugging on the pajama top that falls just below the curve of his butt. The tips of Narumiya’s ears are red, but his amused expression doesn’t betray his embarrassment otherwise.
“I doubt that. I’d still love you even if you were a worm, though,” is Narumiya’s reply, and because Youichi doesn’t expect it, he laughs, standing behind Narumiya now so that he bumps into Youichi whenever he moves around. Narumiya isn’t complaining yet, so he’ll leech off his warmth in any way he can, thank you very much. “Probably.”
“I’ll take it. I hear Sawamura ask about that to Miyuki, like, every other day, so it must be something good,” Youichi mumbles, shoving his hands under Narumiya’s PJ top and resting at his sides. The boy jumps, whining at his cold hands, but doesn’t bat him away. Instead, Narumiya reaches over the counter for a few packets lined together. He pulls out four. “…What does it even mean?”
“What does what mean?” Narumiya cracks his first yawn, and Youichi feels, in some weird sense, a minor victory for getting Narumiya closer and closer to the moment where they go to bed.
“About the worm.”
“Oh,” Narumiya smarts his lips in thought. “It was this weird internet trend, and you know how that idiot constantly needs his words of affirmation from Kazuya. Go figure,” Narumiya lays the four packets out in a spread and Youichi hums noncommittally. When Youichi rests his chin on Narumiya’s shoulder, he sees they’re all packaged in different colors and sizes.
“Which one do you want?” Narumiya asks.
“Um, what do you have?” Youichi glances over the selection, uncertain of what to make of them given the late hour’s lag on his brain.
“This one’s a charcoal face mask, this one is ginseng and honey, that’s rose and tea tree, and that’s cucumber.”
“Which one do you want?” Youichi asks.
“I dunno, you choose first,” Narumiya shrugs. Youichi’s teeth click with it.
“I like the one you put on your face. It smells nice.”
“That’s the ginseng and honey one,” Narumiya points to it. “Here, take it.”
“No, no,” Youichi reaches for the cucumber one instead, subtly digging his chin into Narumiya’s tricep. “I like it on you.”
“Oh,” Narumiya blinks and says after a careful moment. “Okay.”
Satisfied, Youichi kisses under his reddened ear, and hums, pleased, when Narumiya’s shoulder rises to defend himself. He’s really ticklish there. He’ll never admit to it, but Youichi knows.
“How do we do this?” Youichi asks.
“First, you’re gonna have to wash your face like I did, or else the face mask won’t soak properly. But put one of these on first,” Narumiya tells him and steps away from the sink. Matching his headband, Narumiya strangles one over his head until the floppiness of Youichi’s hair, unheld by gel, is pushed back from his forehead. “Hop to it!”
“Okay, okay,” Youichi turns the faucet on, lukewarm, just like his boyfriend had done previously. His hands hover in the air afterward, unsure of his next move. “Which one did you use again? There’s so many fuckin’ bottles here, Mei. Do you really need all these?”
“Uh, yeah!” Narumiya plants his hands on his hips. “I dunno how you’re graced by the gods with clear skin and tiny pores, but some of us have to work for it, You-chan. Blue bottle to your left. Wet your face first,” he orders like a drill sergeant.
When he eventually finagles it, Youichi tries to work the cleanser into a lather just like Narumiya had done, then rubs it into dainty circles on his face. Beside him, Narumiya lights up with amusement, and he’s mindlessly drawing the blunt edge of his nails up and down the curve of Youichi’s back as he washes his face, raising more goosebumps on his skin that the chill of their bathroom finally isn’t responsible for. When he splashes his face with water, Narumiya’s gentle hands join into the mix, wetting places he may have missed, like under his chin or his sideburns. And then, when he’s done, Narumiya gives him a new hand towel to dry off on. “Pat it dry!” Narumiya instantly corrects when he scrubs the material harshly over his face. Youichi only makes a disgruntled noise before slowing to comply.
“How do you do this every day?” Youichi mutters exasperatedly when he’s finished. Narumiya is extremely high-maintenance. It exhausts Youichi, sometimes. At least, the material part of things do. “Every night.”
“The same way we play baseball every day, You-chan. The same way we brush our teeth or drink water or eat,” Narumiya rolls his eyes, fiddling with the packets. “Hey. Put me on the counter.”
“I could have sworn you’re able to climb up there on your own, though?”
“Why would I do that now when I have my boyfriend at the ready?! Be useful for once!” Narumiya sticks his tongue out in the reflection. Youichi, annoyed, pokes his side, unearthing a whiny ow in response. “It’s way too late for you to be raising your voice, brat,” Youichi grouses, but he spins Narumiya in his hold anyway, their noses bumping upon proximity, and he pecks his lips, a whisper of contact, before hoisting him up on the counter by his waist. Narumiya sits with an oof, instantly spreading his legs for Youichi to step between, like it’s natural.
“The counter is cold,” Narumiya complains, but he doesn’t make a move to slide off. Instead, he picks up the cucumber mask's packaging.
“This whole damn bathroom is cold,” Youichi adds, brows furrowing. “What, do you want to get down?”
“Hell no,” Narumiya peels the mask open, and Youichi thinks he’s caught somewhere between joy and irritation based on the fervor of his movements. “I feel, like, so romanced right now. This is quite possibly the most attracted I’ve ever been to you before. Would not change this for the world even if it meant freezing my ass off.”
And because Youichi doesn’t know what to say to that, cheeks warming, he just watches Narumiya dig his fingers into the opening of the plastic. It’s all slimy looking, and Youichi wrinkles his nose when Narumiya’s fingers peel away wet with a white sheet of material in his grasp. That must be the face mask. Youichi’s brain buffers momentarily, trying to figure out why it’s so weird and small-looking, but then with practiced ease, Narumiya unravels it. Oh, it was folded.
“Your face is so funny,” Narumiya snickers deviously, like he knows he’s about to make Youichi his victim.
“Thanks,” Youichi grunts when the sheet finally reveals itself in full: round and white, with cut outs for the eyes, nose, and mouth. “It looks like a Michael Myers mask.”
“Really? I think it’s closer to Friday the 13th,” Narumiya blinks owlishly at it, held steady between his pinched fingers. It’s soaked in product, and this close, Youichi can finally make out the cucumber scent to it. “There’s some face masks that actually have designs on them, and stuff. Really cute ones. I saw a bunny one the other day.”
“Why didn’t you get it?” Youichi finds himself asking, hands placed delicately on Narumiya’s thighs. They’re warm and soft to the touch. He mindlessly rubs them in gentle circles, trying to circulate their heat, as he imagines what the bunny face mask might look like, and how cute it would have been if Narumiya wore one.
“It was for dry skin,” Narumiya responds. Then, he supplies, when Youichi makes an inquiring noise, “I don’t have dry skin.”
“You have beautiful skin,” Youichi acquiesces, playfully sarcastic, and then Narumiya lifts the mask when he’s confident he has all the wrinkles smoothed out. Youichi closes his eyes, not sure what to expect, but he also can’t help himself from adding, a grin splitting his face, “Except you got a big zit on your forehead right now. Heh.”
“I’m gonna kill you in your sleep,” Narumiya replies all too cheerfully.
Youichi’s about to laugh when he feels it:
“Ah, shit!” He startles, moving to step away, but then hastily remembering himself. “It’s cold!”
Cold and wet. The facemask sticks insistently to his cheeks, but then the entire area of his face is covered in the slimy chill until he truly has nowhere to go. He squeezes his mouth shut when a flap of the sheet slaps against his lips, smearing product everywhere. He can taste the artificial cucumber and chemicals. Gross. He groans the same sentiment.
“Hold still!” Narumiya’s knees squeeze his waist to keep him from moving, and Youichi scrunches his face, which Narumiya tsks at too. The sensation of it doesn’t really get any better, per se, but Youichi can feel his face loosen in slow increments with the way Narumiya’s fingers smooth over the planes of his features until the mask sticks to the contours like a second skin.
“You don’t have to keep your eyes closed, y’know,” Narumiya giggles, running his finger up and down Youichi’s nose. At that, Youichi carefully pries open his eyes. His boyfriend is so close, gaze roving over Youichi’s features with subtle appreciation. Narumiya speaks softly, “You’ve got a long nose, You-chan. And it’s sharp like the rest of you. Hmph.”
Youichi blinks, trying to get used to the sensation of the extra layer sitting atop his skin, “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” he pouts. “It just isn’t fitting right around here. The facemask is for rounder faces, I think...” Youichi doesn’t know what he’s referring to beyond the tap on the tip of his nose. “That’s okay, though. Even your pores are small. Fuck you, seriously. All you do is wash your face in the shower like a fiend.”
“I cannot have you verbally abusing me this late at night unless you want me to twist you into a pretzel,” Youichi wants to snicker, but he doesn’t know if it’ll shift the facemask, so he remains frozen. Narumiya smiles tiredly for him, though.
“Do you want to put mine on?” Narumiya asks after a moment.
Youichi’s a little thrown by that tone. He thinks it might insinuate that he’s not interested enough to do the same for Narumiya. He knits his brows into a frown, only relaxing when Narumiya chides him with a simple look, lifting his fingers to smooth out the crinkle it caused. “‘Course I do. Where is it?”
“Here,” Narumiya handles the ginseng and honey packet gingerly. “Oh, shit, I forgot—my hands. It’s a little slippery.”
“No prob,” Youichi says, plucking it from his grasp and waggling his brows. He can feel his own facemask bunch and wrinkle again at the gesture, ruining Narumiya’s hard work all over again. “Luckily for you, I happen to be the master at handling the slippery stuff, kyaha—”
“Holy fucking terrible innuendos,” Narumiya's laughter bubbles from his chest, and then he accidentally snorts, which in turn makes Youichi laugh, hovering a hand over his face so the mask doesn’t accidentally peel away with the split of his smile. “You must be really tired, You-chan.”
When his fit of laughter subsides into silent vibrations, Youichi grins and rips the package open. Some slimy product dribbles on Narumiya’s thigh, but the boy just swipes it up with his finger and wipes it on his cheek with unbothered ease. “Weirdo,” Youichi hums fondly, moving to copy him from early by fishing his fingers into the compartment. It’s cold, too, but he manages to find the sheet mask. It’s more fragile than he expected, and it smells nice; it smells like home. It smells just like Narumiya.
Art by Nume
“Careful with it,” Narumiya warns him.
“How do I open it? It’s stuck together,” Youichi fusses, rotating the folded sheet around in his hand and looking for an area with slack. “Wait, wait. Got it. Boom. Check this out.”
“I’ll be sad if you rip it!”
“Can’t have that now, can we?” Youichi clicks his tongue, carefully unraveling the mask until it’s completely unfolded. “Uh, so I just put it on your face?”
“Well, yeah,” Narumiya raises his brows at him, amused. “Like how I did for you. Look at where the holes go.”
“‘Kay…” Youichi’s voice trails off as he concentrates, lifting the mask and lining the holes up with Narumiya’s pretty eyes, pretty nose, and pretty mouth. Then, he applies the mask by pasting it on his forehead, first, because that zit’s gonna need all the help it can get, smoothing it down on the perimeters of his face. It looks hilariously wrinkled, hanging slack over Narumiya’s nose and lips. Then, he delicately smooths out the wrinkles with his index fingers, making sure the sheet lays flat and contoured to the shape and planes of his pretty face. Then Youichi pulls away, satisfied with his work, sticky hands hovering.
“The nose flap,” Narumiya blinks at him expectantly.
“What?”
“It’s flipped under the mask,” his boyfriend says. “Can you get it?”
“Oh,” Youichi belatedly realizes, and it’s as Narumiya says — the flap is stuck under the nose bridge of the sheet, and he carefully sticks his pinky under it, coaxing it from its position and fixing it properly on Narumiya’s nose. “Okay. There.” He returns his gaze to Narumiya’s, blue stare already fixed on him.
“Thank you,” Narumiya says, eyes trained on him.
And, because he wasn’t expecting that, Youichi clears his throat nervously, repeating, “Yeah, no prob.”
“No, Youichi,” Narumiya grabs his hand, even though they’re both slimy. “Thank you. I know you’re tired.”
Youichi flushes, letting Narumiya squeeze his hand as the younger man leans forward to kiss him. It’s soft, sweet. The ginseng and honey of Narumiya’s mask overpower the cucumber that surrounds Youichi’s face. They must look ridiculous like this, but then again, it is just them, and Youichi would rather die than consider the way others may think when he melts into the kiss, no matter how soft or quick. As long as it’s with Narumiya, he doesn't care. He tilts his head slightly to the left, fitting his and Narumiya’s lips together better, his nose pressing against the cold sheet of the mask that slowly warms over Narumiya’s cheek.
When Narumiya pulls away, his nose is wrinkled.
“What’s with that face?” Youichi mocks offense, lips tingling from the brief contact. He pinches his hip.
“Owie,” his boyfriend flinches away. “Your lips taste like cucumber mask.”
“Blegh,” Youichi gags, but then he leans further into Narumiya’s space, craning them back until Narumiya’s eyes are round and panicking. “Let me give you some more of it, then. Cucumbers are good for you.”
“Ew, You-chan, no!” Narumiya cries, turning his face away. “I like my cucumbers with gochujang and soy sauce and sesame oil and—! Not chemicals!”
But Youichi ignores him and says, “C’mere, you, I’m not done. Eat your veggies, lil’ man!” He grabs the sides of his face to turn Mei head-on, and then he smashes the pucker of their lips together like two dumb looking goldfish.
“Mmf!” Narumiya bangs his chest with the side of his fist, begging for mercy, and Youichi only relents after a laugh threatens to bubble between their crushed mouths.
“This is my time to decompress before bed, and you’re ruining it!” Narumiya complains, his face mask wrinkling. So is Youichi’s, if the way Narumiya’s pout pronounces itself as he smooths out Youichi’s mask is anything to go by. In turn, Youichi fixes Narumiya’s, and then he sticks their slimy hands together, where they can be slimy together.
“I’ll make sure you get all the rest you need tonight, Mei,” Youichi promises, leaning so close that their noses brush. Narumiya goes comically crosseyed, leaning away in distrust, but Youichi doesn’t push it. “This is fun.”
Narumiya blinks, baby blues sparkling, “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Youichi confirms. “Let’s do it again sometime. Maybe when we’re not so tired.”
“I do it twice a week,” the cold soles of Narumiya’s feet plaster behind Youichi’s knees, rubbing over the fabric.
“I’ll have to ask the boss if I can be spared any more PTO for that,” Youichi untangles their fingers and returns his tacky hands to Narumiya’s hips.
“Is that right?” Narumiya sighs, slouching into his hold. “Who’s this boss of yours?”
“You, oh revered Narumiya-san-sama,” Youichi hums.
“Damn right. In that case, your PTO is approved, because you must spoil me until I die,” Narumiya murmurs, half-lidded. Yeah, he’s definitely tired. Youichi smiles at him, rubbing his sides. Now is around the time that Youichi would tuck his face into the slope of Narumiya’s neck and bury further into his warmth, but the thin layer of the cold and wet sheet prevents him. It’s around this moment he recognizes the compulsion for what it is: addiction, his Narumiya Mei, five-foot-six, sweet tooth addiction. Soon enough, Youichi tells himself as he watches Narumiya sag forward and clasp his hands around Youichi’s neck, leaning in to steal another kiss.
When the ten minutes are over, Narumiya slides off the counter and pulls off their face masks, tucks them into their torn packages, and chucks them in the trash can. Youichi’s face feels slick but free, and born anew.
“Last thing,” Narumiya hums, standing in front of Youichi again. “Rub it in.”
“Kay,” Youichi yawns. His fingertips glide along the planes of his face, spreading the residue until it soaks into his skin. He and Narumiya look silly in the mirror doing this, but it only makes Youichi’s heart ache for what he’s been desiring this whole night.
They turn off the bathroom lights when they’re done with everything, and Youichi uses the last vestiges of his waking strength to manhandle Narumiya by his waist, hoisting him up into the circles of his arms like a teddy bear.
“…I will allow this,” Narumiya says as Youichi shuffles out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him with his foot.
The bed is a straight walk from the bathroom, so Youichi has no problem reaching it, and laying Narumiya down like a sack of potatoes. All the pitcher can muster is an oof, before he’s rolling over to his side — always the left side — and pulling the blanket over his body. Youichi follows closely behind him, joining under the shared cover and tangling their cold feet together. Narumiya shivers but doesn’t complain, turning into the circle of Youichi’s arms with the kind of pliant attitude he only gets when he’s this tired.
Narumiya’s hand finds Youichi’s face. Caressing, touching.
“Your face is so soft,” he murmurs, resting his head on Youichi’s pillow.
“Yours is, too,” Youichi replies, but he doesn’t have to feel to know. He does, however, tilt his head forward until their noses bump. Youichi kisses him like this, and he gets to watch Narumiya’s eyes flutter close like he does most nights when he smells of ginseng and honey.
They should have been in bed ages ago, the hours dwindling, but if Youichi can watch Narumiya fall asleep like this, he’ll consider the night won.