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it was 2:45 am the last time he checked. ohse’s phone was long dead. his head laid on fumiya’s bare chest, and he could feel the boy’s heart beating softly. fumiya was passed out, but ohse was never a good sleeper. he spent many a night rolling around in bed restlessly, or smoking cigarettes on the balcony.
trying to relax, he focused on the steady rise and fall of fumiya’s breath. in, out. in, out.
before long, though, ohse found himself thinking. his brain could never seem to shut up. thinking about himself, thinking about fumiya. thinking about how fumiya never even bothered to kick off his jeans all the way before dragging ohse on top of him. thinking about the scent of sweat and come and fumiya’s strawberry chapstick.
he sighed.
“what?”
if he hadnt been tired and sweaty and half naked, ohse would have run out of fumiya’s bedroom crying.
“y-you’re awake…”
“yeah.”
“sorry, i’m probably crushing you.”
ohse didn’t bother moving his body off of fumiya’s. they’d hit a point where the constant apologies were merely a formality.
“whats up?”
“um. nothing.. really …”
“kay.”
silence.
“actually . fumiya..”
“eh?”
“what are we?”
silence again.
“what do you mean by that, ohse?”
ohse swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
“well.. we make out and have sex and stuff. we hang out all the time. you drag me to tons of outings… and you spend hours just sitting in my room watching me paint. do friends… do that?”
“who’s to say they can’t?”
“i don’t know.. sorry..”
fumiya placed his hand on ohse’s back.
“ask rikai.”
ohse briefly imagined explaining his and fumiya’s odd psychosexual relationship to rikai. he giggled softly.
in the light from the window, he could almost make out fumiya’s face.
he might have smiling.
it doesn’t matter that much, anyways.
ohse closed his eyes.