RP log; Yamato and Kirihara, Birthday~
Nov. 15th, 2005 01:34 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tenipuri_xpDate: Slightly backdated, Monday (11/14/05) evening
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kirihara takes Yamato out for his birthday. Little bit of Yamato back-story as well as lots of pointless fluff and snogging. <3
Monday, 14th November, evening. Kirihara had only ten minutes before he should leave and… he had no idea as what to wear. And no he was not behaving like a nervous schoolgirl on her first date, wanting to look good was not a sin. Which was why his room looked nothing as it usually did. Clothes strewn across the floor, bed and every other possible surface, and he was standing in the middle of the mess clad only in a pair of boxers. Finally he decided on a pair of black slacks with a white belt, black, long sleeved shirt with white cuffs, black almost-smart jacket and a silvery-gray furry collar-something. It was getting colder now, and he preferred it to scarves.
With few last pulls at his clothes, he quickly cleaned the room again. And now he had only around two minutes left, so as fast as he could, he put on his boots (and that was one achievement, because to get all the buckles right was not an easy task), grabbed a messengers-bag and ran out of the room, not forgetting to lock the door, naturally. Akaya took few steps at once when running down the stairs. And off... he managed to not be late. Punctuality was another thing he was obsessed with. He disliked to be late, and loathed people being late on him. So yeah, go figure...
He knocked lightly on the door, waiting patiently. The nervousness just barely visible in his, now green, eyes.
Luis was seated at the edge of the bed, watching her master behave… rather oddly. Her tail swished absently as she watched him stand in front of the closet, one hand buried deep in dark hair in thought. He was wandering around in boxers and a pair of tan dress socks pulled up to his knees – and had been for the better part of an hour after taking the longest shower Luis had ever had to suffer through. She did not like to be left alone, and being left outside the door of the bathroom for nearly a half hour had irritated her. There was also the obvious look and manner about the man – he was leaving her again tonight.
The man turned to the kitten on the bed sheepishly, pale green eyes unfocused but landing perfectly on the kitten as he could see everything she could… including, at the moment, his own ridiculous expression. “Akaya isn’t going to be paying any attention, right?” In his present state of undress, he looked much more his twenty-one years than normal; he had a surprisingly nice build. Of course Kirihara would be paying attention, though. And it wasn’t like he could go out in his drawers. He turned again, fumbling for a white undershirt and slung a regular white oxford over his shoulders, not bothering with the cuffs or the buttons on the front just yet.
Slacks, slacks. He had lots of slacks. This was ridiculous. He finally settled on a pair of brown slacks, hopping into them before stepping into perfectly matched penny loafers. Oh, Christ, he was dressing like an old man. Kirihara would – wait. Once again, he whirled around, snatching up Luis and turning her attention to the clock. Six minutes. Crap. The kitten was re-deposited on the bed.
Buttoning the shirt and the cuffs, he scanned the closet for a blazer and vest that would match the slacks (luckily he found them almost immediately) and tucked the shirt into the pants before finding a brown leather belt. All that left was… three minutes. He made a haphazard attempt at tying a red tie, giving up half-way and allowing it to hang loose, undoing the top two buttons of the shirt. His hair was a mess. Sliding his arms into the vest, he snatched his wallet from the dresser, holding it in his mouth for the time being, and threw on the sport coat, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it with very little luck.
Swish, swish, went Luis’ tail. Yes, this was probably all very funny to her. He had just slid his wallet into his pocket when there was a knock at the door. That kid had an impeccable sense of time. “Just a moment,” Yamato called, turning back to Luis. “How do I look?” He asked the small creature. She mewled back at him, her tail swishing. With a gentle pat of her head, he straightened his jacket, and went to the door, trying to chase away all evidence of ever feeling even a little panicked from his face. Yes. Nothing to be frantic about. It was Akaya. Akaya would not be here if he did not…
Yamato had to physically pause after opening the door. Kirihara… looked… Recovering so quickly that the falter was nearly imperceptible; he smiled charmingly, speaking in a low tone that would not carry past the boy’s ears. “Good evening, Akaya.” He was quietly mourning not being able to bring Luis with him so that he could enjoy Kirihara’s appearance… then again, there would be other people around… Yamato grabbed his sunglasses from the dresser (not his usual pair – they would not look right with this attire – but instead oval-framed sunglasses with a dark brown tint to the lenses). “You ready?”
Kirihara gave the man one long look, before pushing him back into the room. He was ready, but Yamato apparently not. "Yeah, I am, you're... not." They would look... hilarious together. Seriously... they had to go shopping someday. But first things first. He pushed himself up (the boots added two-three centimenetrs to his height) and gave the man a sweet, quick kiss, before whispering with a grin, "Happy birthday." With that he pushed Yamato down to sit on the bed, as he rummaged through the drawers. Okay, the shirt could stay, the tie as well, belt, shoes, jacket, no. Personally Akaya wasn't really fond of that particular colour. The pants needed to be changed and the vest should go to hell. They weren't going to any official meeting, so duh. Akaya found a pair of dark-but-not-black-yet (more like dark graphite) jeans and threw them at the other mutant, then fiddled a bit for a black belt. "Now go and change. I'll find a matching jacket and shoes." He ordered, smirking slightly.
Blinking a moment in surprise, Yamato clutched the jeans to his chest. Then laughed. “Sorry, sorry, still in teacher mode.” He took the pants and pre-offered belt to the bathroom, closing the door behind him (this was going to be an adventure, as Luis was far more interested in their houseguest than Yamato himself, and was leaving him to change blindly. Oh well. He had done it before, he could do it again. He left the slacks, jacket, and vest on a hanger that had been left behind the door from earlier in the day when (in teacher mode) he had changed quickly into something dressy-casual. Now, the jeans he could handle blindly… and the belt after a bit of fumbling. He gave up on tucking in the shirt a second time. Even he wouldn’t tuck in a shirt with jeans, and it hit him nicely at the hip, anyway.
When he went back into the bedroom, Luis was being “helpful” while Kirihara made a mess of his room. Creeping up behind Kirihara, Yamato folded around the other boy from behind, resting his chin on Kirihara’s shoulder. He even smelled good. Musk and something fruity – that just was not fair. So far, though, the best birthday present he had ever received short of… well, being born. “Find something,” Yamato laid a brushing kiss on the boy’s jaw, “you like?” The faint fruity scent seemed to be from Kirihara’s shampoo, though Yamato still could not identify the scent.
Akaya "worked" better when he could see everything. Which resulted in Yamato's room looking just as his own had only few minutes earlier. He would clean it later, mind you. As he felt the arms wrap around him, then the soft kiss on his jaw, he almost dropped the piece of clothing he was holding. Which was the jacket he picked up, after some sort of an internal debate. It was only one or two shades lighter than the pants and would match them perfectly. "Yep", he shifted around to face the man handing him the jacket, "this and those shoes." Said pointing to the pair in question. With that he squirmed out of the embrace and started picking up and folding the clothes strewn around. It didn't take him long, and now they were both ready to go.
Smoothing down the front of the jacket, Yamato stepped into the shoes (black, plain dress shoes… so well worn in that they were more comfortable than slippers). He had to remove Luis physically from the pile of clothing that Kirihara had made while the boy cleaned up, settling her on the bed, and trying to get her to calm down again – she had been doing just fine a moment ago. “Be good while I’m gone,” he instructed the kitten, resituating his wallet into the pocket of his jeans (a somewhat tighter fit). She mewled at him, her attention on his tie – he only had a moment to prepare before she sprang, attacking the strip of red fabric. Chuckling, he battled off the kitten, gently compelling her to the pillow, whispering soothing words. “I’ll be back later,” he promised her, giving her one last scratch under her chin before he turned back to Kirihara, grinning.
“Alright, let’s go.” He pushed the lock of the door, pulling it closed as they left to make sure it locked behind them, and blindly followed Kirihara down the hall toward the exit of the building – perfectly happy to be at the boy’s directional mercy. They made idle conversation (how was your day, etc) as they (thankfully) managed to make it off the grounds without having to pause to explain what was going on to any students or teachers that might have encountered them, otherwise. No sooner had they made it off the grounds than Yamato extended an arm, finding Kirhara’s hand and gently clasping it; it was dark, no one who would care was around, and the casual passer-by would not notice the gesture.
Curiously, Yamato inquired, “Where are we going?” It was a nice night – just a little bit on the cold side, but not unpleasantly so. It was perfect with the sports coat.
Akaya flushed nicely pink, at feeling Yamato's slightly bigger hand close around his own. And he was just thinking of that a moment ago. He gave a little squeeze, smiling softly. Holding hands was nice, it made him feel... safe, maybe... something along these lines anyway.
"Somewhere." A really nice place, in Kirihara's humble opinion. Not posh, but not some dirty hole either. With live music and such. From what he knew, today was supposed to be some kind of a concert. Which was all good.
At this hour there were only couples taking an evening stroll. It was Monday, which cut down the number of people outside in half. Not everyone knew where to go, where anything interesting was happening. Akaya knew, thanks to certain people he got acquainted with some time ago.
The entrance could easily go unnoticed by someone who didn't know what to look, but the pub itself wasn't small, rather medium sized, nicely lit, giving everyone their privacy. The bartender (and at the same time the owner) was someone Kirihara met by pure luck on one of his strolls. He booked one box/table in advance, so now, when the place was practically full, they had a nice, cozy spot for themselves. With a nice look on the small stage.
Catching glimpses around from various patrons, Yamato was very pleased – it was exactly his sort of place. The smoky haze of the lounge was soothing – as well as the semi-privacy of the table that Kirihara had managed to reserve for them… that (from the perspective of the woman who came by to ask if they wanted to order anything, anyway) had a nice view of the stage where they were setting up for live music; as it was, a jazz tune played over the speakers, carrying over the general mull of conversation. Resting his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, Yamato could not help but grin. This was… “This is perfect,” he assured Kirihara, as soon as they were able to shoo away the tablehop.
He could not look at the drink menu for himself, but he delighted in forcing Kirihara to read it aloud – and he, naturally, picked one of the first things from the menu. They argued a minute over whether or not Kirihara should be drinking before Yamato decided it would metabolize so fast in Kirihara’s case that it did not really matter either way, and agreed to them both ordering drinks as he removed his sports coat, settling it over the back of his chair. When the waitress came back, they both ordered drinks (Yamato asked for a strawberry margarita, Kirihara got something with a fancy name) just as the band finished setting up, gathering on stage and announcing whom they were; thanking the owner for the chance to play there, and so on.
Casting a sly glance in the other boy’s direction, Yamato asked, “Why’d you pick this place?”
Akaya was happy that the man approved the place. He was slightly nervous whether Yamato wouldn't think it too weird or something. And he was also glad the older mutant didn't argue too much over the drinking. Surely he couldn't think that Kirihara never had alcohol before, that would just be... silly. He took off his jacket and collar (it was nicely warm inside) before answering with a smile, "Glad you like it."
At the sly look and question, Akaya just shrugged, because seriously, what other reason there could be than nice atmosphere and good music? "I like it here." The band started playing as he spoke so he had to raise his voice a little, "Why do you think I did?"
Considering that a moment, Yamato shrugged back. “I guess it was a silly question.” Speaking of silly questions, a grin broke out on his face once more. “Akaya, do you remember that day when we went to the beach?” Honestly, he did not suspect that Kirihara had forgotten (though remained blissfully unaware of the dreams Kirihara had involving said beach since then) it was an entirely rhetorical question. A lead into, “I suggested that you ask me out to dinner and you just about fainted.” He laughed at the memory – doubtlessly fonder for him than for his companion. There had, of course, been the countless times the same question had arisen later over journals, but for the sake of the present question, those could be set aside.
“If I had told you then that we would be here now, you would have looked at me like I’d grown a second head.” To be fair, Yamato got that look from Kirihara, anyway. But, it brought to mind the real question he was trying to get at, “What changed?”
Kirihara just looked at Yamato, thinking. What had changed? Well, many things. First off, it's almost a month after they met. Time flows by, they got to know each other better. They clicked, though... not really, but something had to click between them for the current situation to happen, like it was happening now. "I don't know. Everything, I guess." Though, saying "everything" generally meant "nothing", so he elaborated, "That time at the beach was first time that we actually had met. It would be hard to believe something like that then." Unless you could predict future, which just wasn't the case with neither of them.
Akaya glanced at the other uncertainly, "What do you think?"
Expression never wavering, Yamato replied, “I don’t think it matters.” If he had been intending to elaborate, it was eaten away by the sudden appearance of the waitress back at their table with the drinks. Out of habit, Yamato flirted just a bit with her before she wandered off giggling; noting with unfair amusement that Kirihara probably did not bring him all this way just to watch him flirt with the waitress. Though, if there was anything the boy needed to worry about, Yamato cheating on him was not among those things. Dating a true idiot was a concern. Possibly becoming careless and falling in love with that idiot would be another concern farther down the line, but Yamato’s thoughts were nowhere near such things as the music mixed nicely with the tequila to further relax him.
Truly a good choice on Kirihara’s part – Yamato was impressed.
The man rather suddenly scooted his chair around the table, coming to a rest once the chair was sitting directly next to Kirihara’s, and put one hand to the boy’s thigh under the table as Yamato leaned over to murmur against his ear, “You look stunning.” More like, good enough for a blind man to actually morn the fact that he could not see by his own natural vision; Yamato very rarely felt that way.
Once again his cheeks coloured at the quiet compliment and the wandering hand on his thigh. It went up to his knee and then back down again in slow, sensual motions. Kirihara couldn't agree to the compliment, sure he knew he looked good (he had strong self-confidence, kind of), but stunning? Though, he wouldn't argue, "Thank you." Blushing some more Akaya remembered the man saying he was attractive the other day. It was a nice change from what he was usually called (read: cute, adorable, pretty, the last one being the worst, as girls were pretty and he was not one).
He sipped on his drink, trying to put up with the touch (not like it was unpleasant, just a little bit distracting), and started a small talk about the music the band played and in general and other topics, laughing every now and then. He was completely unaffected by the first drink, nor second, and wouldn't be affected after another 5 or so, unless they were clean vodka, or something.
Amused, Yamato also engaged in the inane babble about whatever it seemed Kirihara wanted to talk about – his hand finally settling over Kirihara’s knee, at some point between the first and second margarita (at which point he stopped; he had a fairly good constitution for drinking, but there was no sense in testing his limits when he really had no desire to miss a second of this to alcohol). The band continued to play; their music was pretty good, not that Yamato was any sort of music critic, but they entertained him. The boy at his side had somehow managed on to the topic of the weekend Yamato had been gone (the demolition of the classroom building, and so on), and Yamato carefully danced around the subject of where he had been – to the clear annoyance of Kirihara (“be serious”).
In that spirit, he asked with a grin, “So, when do I get to meet your sister? I know you mentioned she was bringing some of your belongings up to you…” With a pause an expression that only Yamato could make came to his lips – the sort that was so clearly devious but at the same time looked innocent enough… and was all masked in one charming grin. Were there not a mutant in their midst that was actually capable of this, those who knew him might have expected Yamato to sparkle when he made that sort of face. “Though, I suppose your room will get to be a bit crowded. If you need to store anything elsewhere, I’ve got plenty of room.” Not that Kirihara did not already know that, but it was more for the effect that he had asked to begin with – if the boy really did take him up on the offer, of course, he would agree.
Akaya has been pretty annoyed when Yamato didn't want to answer a simple question, but decided to not press the topic, as he was pretty sure the man would just not answer. At the mention of his sister he twitched visibly. They got along usually, though for someone who didn't know them well it would look quite the opposite, but she was... tiring... nosy... and liked jumping into conclusions... which were... almost always right... so perhaps introducing Yamato to her was a bad idea. He eyed the older man warily, "Hmm... she said she would come somewhere around the end of November, or maybe the begining of December..." After a moment of thought he added, "I... still don't think it's a good idea."
They were like exact copies of themselves. Though of course there were some visible differences, first being gender, second age. Other than that, you could easily tell they were siblings. The Kirihara siblings also had exactly the same temper... which resulted in many unfortunate events in the past.
Curiously, Yamato regarded the boy. "Oh?" It was clear that it displeased Kirihara -- but a lot of things displeased him and it was hard to separate the things that were for good reason from the things that were just a direct product of him being an irritable person. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, the man commented, "I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason why it makes you nervous." Despite his words, he immediately added, "But I do want to know what it is. Is it me?" That was perfectly reasonable to assume that Kirihara would not want to expose his sister to Yamato... perhaps she was cute? He dismissed that thought, though -- he doubted the boy was the jealous type; or that he would really care if Yamato were nice to his sister.
It was equally reasonable to assume that it was his sister -- perhaps she was the type that would show off baby photos or tell stories about him running around with his underwear on his head at some young age. "Is it her?" Asked the man further, and to cover his bases, "Or you?"
Kirihara pouted at the prying, but he wouldn't win against Yamato so he had to think of an answer that would sate the man. The problem was with all the three of them. His sister was a freak, Yamato's a weirdo and Akaya didn't want to be stuck with the two of them. Who knows what they might come up with? He shuddered at the mere thought.
But what should he tell? "It's mainly... her, I guess." He would not admit he was freaking scared of the two of them getting along.
After a moment of just watching Kirihara thoughtfully, his own thoughts completely hidden from his expression, Yamato gave a shrug. “If that’s how it is, I’ll drop it.” Naturally, there was an unspoken “for now” tacked on to that statement, and if the boy had a brain about him and knew Yamato at all, he would realize that as well. “I don’t have any siblings,” continued Yamato further, as though it was somehow pertinent to the conversation, “So I can’t really judge what you’re thinking.” He left it at that, deciding to steer the conversation to something that would be, for the time, more entertaining.
“So, I was thinking,” said the man in a conversational manner, “Since it’s my birthday, and we have live music, and I know I’m not going to get you to sing for me here… we should have a dance, don’t you think?” The effect was immediate and not altogether unexpected, either; he could feel Kirihara’s leg tense under his hand.
At once all colour drained from Akaya's face. D-dance?! Just what the hell Yamato was thinking about? There were people around, they would stare. Mind you, but... two guys slow dancing is not a normal thing. He stared at the man wide eyed, then at his drink (4th or whichever of the evening) and swallowed it all at once. Oka~y, so he probably forgot to count in the exhaustion from last week, that still hasn't worn off. Which was why he was getting slightly... drunk by now. Though it didn't show, yet. Just that... he was more likely to consent to such silly request.
Kirihara was still staring, eyes still wide. Well what? Uh, there were couples dancing. But they were normal couples, while they weren't... He blinked once, slowly, troubling his lower lip, as he considered the proposition.
When the boy went silent, Yamato had to wonder if he would be pushing his luck by goading the younger mutant on further. So, he said nothing to encourage or discourage the dance, instead taking the hand off Kirihara's knee to settle it against his cheek, giving the boy a light kiss. Their waitress had taken notice, but otherwise it seemed as though no one really cared about the man who had been rather conspicuously huddled beside a younger boy for a while, anyway. Either they were too drunk or too self-absorbed... and after a second or two, the waitress politely diverted her eyes.
Smiling as he pulled away, Yamato murmured, "See? No one cares."
The contact made Kirihara's stomach twist into tight knots in the most pleasant way. Adding to lightheadedness he already felt. The statement Yamato made barely registering in his brain as he pushed himself forward again pressing their lips together for a second time. Well, if no one cared then this should be alright. And it was probably better than dancing too.
A small noise grumbled out of Yamato’s throat as he felt a jolt of something from behind his bellybutton – both pleasurable and surprising. He had not expected Kirihara to do that – and it was probably because… “You’re drunk,” Yamato accused, slurring the words carelessly against the boy’s lips, not feeling as compelled as he probably should have to move away from the boy and be a good sempai that did not take advantage of his drunken… whatever Kirihara was to him. He just promised himself he would not let this get out of hand and pressed their lips together a third time – this time without the mildness he had displayed until then.
Some part of him was replaying the thought that he really needed to get Kirihara into this sort of attire more often, as his hand wandered over the front of black shirt. A second thought had decided that getting him out of that sort of clothing was a much nicer way of looking at things. Both thoughts were promptly quashed by the taste of Kirihara – a taste that up until very recently was very little like alcohol, and almost musty – sticky… for a lack of better words, boyish.
Said boy had been practically pulled onto Yamato’s lap in the course of the third kiss, much less subtle than the two proceeding it – involving tongues and teeth and pale fingers winding into Yamato’s hair. Already, Yamato could feel his senses being sucked into Kirihara – that would not do – as he tried to divert his powers to other people around him; still, very few had taken notice, and those who had seemed to have the decency to give them a few moments peace. Peace, of course, was an under whelming description of the way Yamato’s pulse had quickened, alarmingly tight in his throat; or the way he was beginning to wonder what exactly the boundary of “out of hand” was…
He pushed away, a groan of a complaint echoing between them, as he was no happier about it than Kirihara. “This isn’t the place to be doing this,” he explained. Quietly, he added, “And I’m still worried about my power.” Finally, with that annoyingly flippant smile of his, he ended the argument with, “And you’re drunk.” Another brush of the lips, and he settled back into his chair, urging the same of Kirihara.
Akaya wanted to protest, that no, he was not that drunk yet, he pretty much knew very well what he was doing and most definitely wanted that, but whatever he was to say was muffled into the kiss again. As well as the following soft moans and purrs. The kiss was so much different than all the previous ones. More passionate, with desire (or maybe it was lust?) lurking around the edges.
As he was pulled into Yamato's lap he started feeling the internal energy crawling under his skin, burning in the strangest ways. Strange but pleasant, he had to admit. Wherever the man's hand wandered, it left a feeling that might drive Kirihara insane someday. Something akin to pleasure spiced up with pain. The fact of them being in a public place was pushed out of his mind as his fingers found their way to the other mutant's hair.
One might expect Akaya's power to lash out under such circumstances, but surprisingly enough his control didn't waver, or maybe there was some kind of failsafe that kept it from happening.
As they were forced apart by Yamato the younger boy was breathing slightly heavier. He was not happy with it, but the man wasn't either. What Kirihara did notice. But yes... the memory of just where they were rushed back to him blush and squirm back to his own seat. He muttered, "Sorry," and added right after, "Though I'm not drunk." Because hell, he wasn't, well... maybe just a little bit tipsy.
“No?” With one hand in Kirihara’s curls, Yamato laughed. “You don’t have to apologize – actually, if you ever feel like doing something worth apologizing for again, please don’t let me stop you.” As his said that, his hand dropped away, landing around the boy’s shoulders, instead. Around them, people were clapping in appreciation for the band that was taking a bow – whether for intermission or for the night, Yamato could not be sure; he had lost track of time sometime around the point when got his first glimpse of Kirihara.
Their waitress came back and tentatively asked if either of them would like another round; Yamato instead asked for their tab, ignoring completely the way the waitress was fixated on the arm that the man had settled around his… date. That word felt odd, too.
Akaya was completely flustered as the waitress came by. Not only had they just made out just a minute ago, but now the older man had his arm around Kirihara's shoulders. Kind of possessive gesture if you ask him. The concert had ended and it was surprisingly late already. Probably neither of them noticed how soon the time flew by.
The boy was pretty set on paying the tab, because 1) he would not allow anyone to pay for him... 2) it was Yamato's birthday after all... That was that, the end, thankyouverymuch.
There was no fight for the bill – Yamato had started to reach for it, and Kirihara practically hissed at him, snatching it away. Hardly chagrined, the older man grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, sliding his arms through the sleeves and straightening it while the boy beside him putzed around with his wallet. “At least let me leave the tip,” he suggested, but got a tiny growl in response. Okay, then. Seemed like the younger mutant was full of small animal noises tonight. Heh.
Other patrons were still milling about, going about their business – it seemed as though the music was not the main draw of this particular pub; though, Yamato could think of no reason why he would come back here. It was not that he did not love the atmosphere, more that… he could not think of an excuse to get back down there in the near future. Perhaps he would take Sensei drinking on her birthday. The very thought made him grin sloppily to himself. He could just add it to the list of things he had already tried – proposing to her, flirting with her, he even had tried to kiss her once, and had to be the lesser man and back down when he realized she was not going to stop him. Hanamura, how he had declared she had broken his heart.
Heartbreak was not a foreign concept to Yamato, all jokes and smiles aside. Heartbreak was the two-inch wall between him and all other people; even those he cared deeply about… especially those he cared deeply for. But sober thoughts like those were pushed aside entirely as he rested his cheek against his hand, leaning against the table. “Let’s go for some dessert, somewhere – I’m not ready to go home just yet.” He pondered it a moment before tacking on, “Cheesecake, maybe? Do you like cheesecake?”
Well, "Yeah, that would be nice. And I do." Though it was probably a bad idea to give Kirihara too much sugar, especially in the evening. "Where do you want to go?" He asked. It was late already, and he didn't know any places where they could buy desserts past 11 pm.
The moment they left the place Akaya sneaked his hand down to grasp gently Yamato's own and inched closer to put his head on the man's shoulder as they walked. Then, his mind provided him with the memory of the man mentioning something about Echizen... holding hands... and stuff, the other day. It didn't feel that nice anymore.
“I have an idea,” said Yamato lightly, his feet leading him probably the only place they could have found dessert at this hour without some sort of reservation – he could get there just as much by instinct as he could down to the dining hall on campus; in his own school days, he and one particular underclassman had practically haunted the place on weekends – the boy would argue to Yamato that he was only agreeing to do this every weekend because he, himself, could not cook and that his upperclassman needed to learn some culinary skills if he liked cakes so much, anyway. There had always been the same lazy response that it was really that Yamato wanted those cakes to be made with love; the taste did not matter. This usually won him a staccato sempai in his face and a half-hearted glare before, looking away to hide his blush, the boy would reach across the table and…
Kirihara’s hand slipped into Yamato’s as the boy rested his head against his companion’s shoulder, walking close enough that their hips would brush on occasion. Having been lost in thought, the older man was a little bit startled by the gesture, but it all dissolved into a smile as he adjusted his hold on the boy’s hand so their fingers laced together nicely. He gave the boy’s hand a slight squeeze, thinking that he was glad it was Kirihara with him, now… even if history did have odd ways of repeating itself.
“There’s one of those all-night diner type places up here a bit,” explained the older man. “You know, where you can get any kind of food any time of day – they have cheesecake and pie…” Not to mention, coffee. Coffee sounded alarmingly good. “Nothing swanky, but sugar’s sugar.” With that the older man chuckled, pulling their joined hands (albeit subconsciously) a bit closer to himself.
The boy smiled, putting aside the thoughts tinted with jealousy, no use in thinking about that. " 's okay." They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Neither feeling the need to break it. Which was rare for Akaya. Silence bored him to death. It was still, stillness made the level of energy rise... that was dangerous not only for people around, physically, but also for him... mentally. There were two times, before he discovered his "abilities" and one time after, when he almost lost it, because the amount of energy was too high for him to handle. The shrink, he was forced to see those three times, got nothing, as it wasn't any mental disorder.
But at the moment... the silence was welcomed. Kirihara listened to the sound of their steps. His own distinctly heavier and duller, thanks to heavy boots.
Similarly, Yamato did not feel compelled to break the silence between them – it did not quite feel like silence to him, though… as though the warmth of Kirihara’s body were a sound – as though the smile on his lips were a sound – as though the familiar feeling in his stomach that could either be alcohol or giddiness were a sound. In such a din, they reached the restaurant; Yamato winning a glare from the boy as he (out of habit) held the door open to let Kirihara pass – a glare he did not see, of course. When they were inside, they told the hostess they were seating for two, and were taken to a table where Yamato promptly ordered a coffee (before anything else) and once again made his date read the menu to him.
He was beginning to feel a bit peckish… a snack, on top of dessert, might be in order. Then again, he would be going to bed as soon as they got back, so perhaps not… or, he assumed he would be. He wondered how many shades of red he could get Kirihara to flush if he asked? Instead, while they waited on the waitress to come and formally take drink orders as well as their food order, Yamato suggested, “Tell me something I don’t know about you, Akaya. Anything at all.” Part of this exercise was simply out of curiosity as to what the boy would choose… another part was Yamato’s honest interest.
The question made Akaya blink owlishly. It was... random. Well, not really, but he was of an opinion that such things came around as you were getting to know the person, little by little all secrets, quirks and personality traits were revealed. Another thing was that coming up with something, just like that, out of the blue, was hard. Things just escaped you when you needed them. It took Akaya few minutes to think of something that would be at least a little bit interesting. Yamato surely didn't know about it, because well... he was blind. And even people who could see usually didn't notice.
"Dunno if it's interesting..." he said as he took the man's hand guided it to his wrist. The scars were almost invisible (only a keen eye would see them) by now, but for someone with sensitive fingertips they were still obvious. He had got many strange looks when they were still fresh. "People gossiped they're from suicide attempt." he snerked unpleasantly, "damn, idiots. Like a 10-year-old would want to commit suicide." Glass was nasty to blast, especially if it exploded still in your hands.
He pulled up the sleeve on the other arm and let Yamato trace another scar. "This one's also from blasting glass. Most of them are... it's a miracle I can still move my fingers... and didn't lose the sense of touch in them." he shrugged. "Ok, now you?" He was curious as well.
Scars were obvious to the touch in a way even sight would not see – the difference between smooth skin and too smooth skin became immediately apparent as the unscarred skin suddenly felt thicker than skin should be; which was, of course, all an illusion of the mind. Naturally, Yamato’s eyes fell half-lidded, as he thought this through. It was not a bad assumption that it was a suicide attempt… even at that young age. Many young men and women coming into their power killed themselves when they realized they were a mutant. Mutation, like all scary things that change during puberty, could be hard to accept and life-altering in very negative ways. Take, for example, Kaidoh – he hurt things unintentionally, his physical appearance was decidedly non-human… he fancied himself ugly and dangerous; and now one person who was there to keep him from feeling that way was gone. But, he digressed.
Trying to imagine Kirihara as a child was a bit like trying to compare a wrench with a pear. There were certain things he could infer – people changed, and people changed a lot in seven years, but certain things were just inherent traits; Kirihara’s temper was probably one of those things. He could imagine the boy had more than one such incident with glass on no account of his own… and Yamato had seen what happened when the student had no control over what he was doing with his powers. It was not, per say, wonderfully pretty. But, like Kaidoh, Yamato could not imagine the boy wanting to cause pain with his powers… or, if he did, he would not do so flippantly. He certainly had not wanted to hurt Yamato.
“People make assumptions,” commented Yamato lightly drawing his hand away once allowed, sliding his fingers around his coffee mug. “You’re very lucky to be alive, I think… I can’t even hope to imagine what it’s like to come into a power like that… especially so young.” The boy had been an unwitting danger to himself – something Yamato was relatively good at avoiding. His power, as far as he knew, was nothing offensive in any way, though. He could not imagine how he would have hurt himself with it.
His own question thrown in his face, the man took a moment to consider. When he was in this restaurant, it was hard not to think about a certain person in particular… but that was a story he simply never told. Part of him rationalized that if he did not talk about it, perhaps none of it ever happened. Another part did not want to admit to the fact that he felt the need to wipe the memory from his mind and from existence. “Two years ago, when I was in my senior year, I had an underclassman about your age – he was best friends with my roommate, and most people got along with him pretty well, but he treated me like the scourge of society.” A very thin smile danced on Yamato’s lips – the memories, after all, did have their fond points. The ending was just not one of them.
“To make a rather long story short, I fell in love with him… I don’t know exactly how it all happened, but he eventually got to liking me, though he still tried his damndest to treat me like dirt, and before I’d known it, I couldn’t think about anything else but him. I guess I’ve got a masochistic streak or something.” There were plenty of details he intended to “yadda yadda” over in this particular telling of the story – like the fact that the boy had dark, curled hair or that he had a quick temper to hide a gentle interior. “I remember… one night… it must have been two months or so before graduation… He and I got in an argument in the bathroom of all places. Well, he got in an argument with me, anyway. He was frustrated that I didn’t care – everything’s a joke with you.” With the last words, he mimicked a voice he had not heard in two years… feeling as though he had done it very little justice.
Of course, none of it had been a joke – that relationship had been riddled with misunderstandings up until the moment of absolute clarity. “I told him, then, just how much he cared – which only seemed to frustrate him further. I think I was disheartened, though making a logical assumption, and told him it was okay that he did not feel the same. That was when he told me to use my powers on him.” It had been an odd sensation – the heat he could feel as though it was in his own cheeks – the second heart pounding mercilessly. There were butterflies in a stomach not-quite-his, and a quiver ran over skin that felt to sit just above his own. Stealing sensations was always strange, but never had it been as strange as this, for the younger Yamato.
He never finished the thought to Kirihara, jumping forward in time. “About three weeks later he was killed – the first murder of a Ryuhana student by a Brotherhood student. Sensei asked me if I wanted to stay here after graduation… or where I planned to go. I think she was making a special exception by asking me to stay… and I think she made that exception because I had lost a close friend. Directly after graduation, though, I left. I told Hanamura, then, I wanted to do whatever I could to help avoid another situation like that where an innocent young man had to die – human or mutant. So, I come back to campus from time to time, I help with training and counseling the younger kids and the like. But I have to leave to investigate.” He tapped the side of his head with a grin. “I’m a very good spy.”
Just as he finished, the waitress came back to their table with a glass of apple juice Yamato had ordered for Kirihara (whether he liked it or not) as well as two slices of New York style cheesecake and refilled the coffee in front of Yamato.
Akaya listened, his expression blank. For one, he didn't feel like he deserved hearing such a... personal story... apparently important for the man. Secondly... the story was about... Yamato's previous boyfriend/lover/whatever (the words felt seriously odd). Though he was glad... kind of... it was strange feeling. He was feeling nice and bad at the same time. But he agreed with the boy from the story on one thing, everything was a joke with the older mutant. Kirihara never was sure whether the things the man said or did were true or honest... whether he wasn't just teasing, joking or... making fun of him.
Then something stuck him, "That's what you were doing during that weekend? Investigating?" He blurted out. And yes, Yamato probably was a good spy, his power allowed him that. He could see, hear, feel things without resorting to any kind of equipment, that could easily be found.
Quickly he apologised, and said instead, "Sorry to hear that." And he did feel sorry. It was always painful to lose somebody who's important to you. Even though Akaya never experienced it, he could only assume (which was a bad thing to do, but what?).
That was the end of the story, and he had no idea if he should change the topic, or keep silent, or what? He took a sip of the juice (not minding much anyway, anything was fine now), to buy himself some time. His own past experiences paling in comparison.
The older mutant gave a nod. “That’s why I left in the end of October. You asked me earlier.” He smiled reaching across the table and holding out his hand invitingly, to which Kirihara extended his own hand. “It’s not exactly common knowledge – but it would not be fair of me to hide it from you.” Clasping the smaller hand in his own, he picked up the fork with his free hand and took a bite of his cheesecake, smiling happily at the taste.
Akaya could not stop the blush that bloomed as Yamato took his hand. Of course it was not nearly as bad (relatively speaking, naturally) as what they did before, in the pub. Though here... it was light here, some people gave them strange glances, to which Kirihara just glared. He would not take his hand away now, people should just mind their own business.
Without a word, he took a bite of his own slice, honestly enjoying the taste. He then glanced up at the man, whispering, "Thank you." Akaya appreciated honesty, he really did. Even though he could not be honest like that most of the time. After a moment and few more bites he added, "It's... delicious."
Not releasing the boy’s hand, Yamato continued with his cheesecake. “Glad you like it.” Across from him, the boy’s attention had turned to his cheesecake – Yamato let his powers wander to the scarce gathering of patrons in the diner – catching glimpses of the tastes they were enjoying (taste, from his perspective, was a bit like when something had a smell so potent, you could simply imagine what it would taste like – taste, he had found, was not his favorite sense to steal… very under-gratifying). Everything looked the same in the building as it had two years ago – the same out-dated décor and horrid artwork on the walls; the same employee uniform look. He did not fail to notice that some people were looking at them, though that could have been for any number of reasons.
Theory one: two attractive young men walk into a diner and proceed to hold hands and make eyes at one another… well, as best as a blind man can make eyes, anyway… Theory one, he realized, summed up basically all the following theories as well – attractive, young, hands, blindness, two men… Or perhaps they were all just eyeing the cheesecake, green with envy, though that was a rather odd theory, too. They could order a cheesecake for themselves. With an amused smile, as he touched the senses of a college-age woman looking over some very complicated math as she sipped a Shirley Temple, he realized that if they wanted anything else from the table, that was just too bad for them. Kirihara (though even Yamato did not know quite when he had decided this) had come in the door with him, would leave with him, and would hopefully agree to repeat said process even if there was no occasion but that Yamato wanted to, pardoning the expression, see the temperamental boy.
The word boyfriend, when put in that context, became a bit more natural and comfortable. A bit like a familiar slice of cheesecake in a diner where half the staff, years before, had known his name and how he liked his coffee. He was at the end of his cheesecake before this musing was though, but enjoyed the excuse to clasp fingers with his younger student and think absently about what he had to do come Tuesday morning and if he could really get away with Kirihara staying another night in his room. If he should even want to try.
Kirihara didn't pay any attention to the people around anymore. Let them look, let them thing whatever they please, he didn't care. They didn't know him, they couldn't judge him. They might as well go to hell, see as he cared.
He stared distantly at one wall, his mind not really with him at the moment. Well, he was getting slightly tired, hard day, and tomorrow was Tuesday, Akaya got classes in the morning. Staying up too late wouldn't do any good.
There was a second almost-argument over the tab for the drinks and cheesecake that Yamato won simply by beating Kirihara to the counter where they were supposed to pay. Which signaled the trek back home that passed in relative silence – Yamato asked a couple inane questions about Kirihara’s schedule the next day, but otherwise by the time they arrived back on campus, Yamato once again dropping Kirihara’s hand as they came back onto grounds, they had fallen as still as the night. Or morning. Yamato’s sense of time was not terribly great just then, but it had to be after midnight. How long after midnight was a different matter altogether.
The question sprang up in Yamato’s mind once more of what the sleeping arrangements would be – Kirihara had yet to indicate either way what his intentions were, though they were both tired and both had obligations the next day. So, frankly as he could manage (though not without a tint of mischief in his smile), Yamato inquired, “Were you planning on staying the night?” It did not matter to him, either way.
It was around 2 am to be exact, or that's what Akaya's internal clock told him (which could either mean, it was just past 1 am or close to 3 am). The question didn't catch him off guard, he was thinking about that too, actually. He was thinking of sleeping in his own room tonight before, but now... 1) he was tired, and was too lazy to climb up another set of stairs... 2) he was tired, and didn't need another sleepless night, which... he was sure would just happen...
With a slight flush he asked back, "Not really, but... would you mind much?"
“You’re always welcome,” replied the older man as they entered through the front door. Quietly, he instructed the boy to remove and carry his boots – Yamato was metaphorically checking around corners with his senses, reaching out and brushing up against anyone they encountered just to make sure their entrance went entirely unnoticed. Once securely in his room, neither really made it to the bathroom to brush his teeth or really even completely out of the clothes they had dressed nicely in before collapsing in an unceremonious heap on Yamato’s bed – Yamato face-down, Kirihara flopped over him, and Luis nestled between the pillow and Kirihara’s shoulder, her face pressed into the boy’s cheek.
“Thank you, Akaya,” murmured the man into the pillow, wanting to not move so much as a muscle if he did not have to. Still, he made quite and effort so that he could twist just so, pressing their lips together a bit sloppily, but the intent was there, at least, as his head fell back to the pillow. “G’night.”
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kirihara takes Yamato out for his birthday. Little bit of Yamato back-story as well as lots of pointless fluff and snogging. <3
Monday, 14th November, evening. Kirihara had only ten minutes before he should leave and… he had no idea as what to wear. And no he was not behaving like a nervous schoolgirl on her first date, wanting to look good was not a sin. Which was why his room looked nothing as it usually did. Clothes strewn across the floor, bed and every other possible surface, and he was standing in the middle of the mess clad only in a pair of boxers. Finally he decided on a pair of black slacks with a white belt, black, long sleeved shirt with white cuffs, black almost-smart jacket and a silvery-gray furry collar-something. It was getting colder now, and he preferred it to scarves.
With few last pulls at his clothes, he quickly cleaned the room again. And now he had only around two minutes left, so as fast as he could, he put on his boots (and that was one achievement, because to get all the buckles right was not an easy task), grabbed a messengers-bag and ran out of the room, not forgetting to lock the door, naturally. Akaya took few steps at once when running down the stairs. And off... he managed to not be late. Punctuality was another thing he was obsessed with. He disliked to be late, and loathed people being late on him. So yeah, go figure...
He knocked lightly on the door, waiting patiently. The nervousness just barely visible in his, now green, eyes.
Luis was seated at the edge of the bed, watching her master behave… rather oddly. Her tail swished absently as she watched him stand in front of the closet, one hand buried deep in dark hair in thought. He was wandering around in boxers and a pair of tan dress socks pulled up to his knees – and had been for the better part of an hour after taking the longest shower Luis had ever had to suffer through. She did not like to be left alone, and being left outside the door of the bathroom for nearly a half hour had irritated her. There was also the obvious look and manner about the man – he was leaving her again tonight.
The man turned to the kitten on the bed sheepishly, pale green eyes unfocused but landing perfectly on the kitten as he could see everything she could… including, at the moment, his own ridiculous expression. “Akaya isn’t going to be paying any attention, right?” In his present state of undress, he looked much more his twenty-one years than normal; he had a surprisingly nice build. Of course Kirihara would be paying attention, though. And it wasn’t like he could go out in his drawers. He turned again, fumbling for a white undershirt and slung a regular white oxford over his shoulders, not bothering with the cuffs or the buttons on the front just yet.
Slacks, slacks. He had lots of slacks. This was ridiculous. He finally settled on a pair of brown slacks, hopping into them before stepping into perfectly matched penny loafers. Oh, Christ, he was dressing like an old man. Kirihara would – wait. Once again, he whirled around, snatching up Luis and turning her attention to the clock. Six minutes. Crap. The kitten was re-deposited on the bed.
Buttoning the shirt and the cuffs, he scanned the closet for a blazer and vest that would match the slacks (luckily he found them almost immediately) and tucked the shirt into the pants before finding a brown leather belt. All that left was… three minutes. He made a haphazard attempt at tying a red tie, giving up half-way and allowing it to hang loose, undoing the top two buttons of the shirt. His hair was a mess. Sliding his arms into the vest, he snatched his wallet from the dresser, holding it in his mouth for the time being, and threw on the sport coat, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it with very little luck.
Swish, swish, went Luis’ tail. Yes, this was probably all very funny to her. He had just slid his wallet into his pocket when there was a knock at the door. That kid had an impeccable sense of time. “Just a moment,” Yamato called, turning back to Luis. “How do I look?” He asked the small creature. She mewled back at him, her tail swishing. With a gentle pat of her head, he straightened his jacket, and went to the door, trying to chase away all evidence of ever feeling even a little panicked from his face. Yes. Nothing to be frantic about. It was Akaya. Akaya would not be here if he did not…
Yamato had to physically pause after opening the door. Kirihara… looked… Recovering so quickly that the falter was nearly imperceptible; he smiled charmingly, speaking in a low tone that would not carry past the boy’s ears. “Good evening, Akaya.” He was quietly mourning not being able to bring Luis with him so that he could enjoy Kirihara’s appearance… then again, there would be other people around… Yamato grabbed his sunglasses from the dresser (not his usual pair – they would not look right with this attire – but instead oval-framed sunglasses with a dark brown tint to the lenses). “You ready?”
Kirihara gave the man one long look, before pushing him back into the room. He was ready, but Yamato apparently not. "Yeah, I am, you're... not." They would look... hilarious together. Seriously... they had to go shopping someday. But first things first. He pushed himself up (the boots added two-three centimenetrs to his height) and gave the man a sweet, quick kiss, before whispering with a grin, "Happy birthday." With that he pushed Yamato down to sit on the bed, as he rummaged through the drawers. Okay, the shirt could stay, the tie as well, belt, shoes, jacket, no. Personally Akaya wasn't really fond of that particular colour. The pants needed to be changed and the vest should go to hell. They weren't going to any official meeting, so duh. Akaya found a pair of dark-but-not-black-yet (more like dark graphite) jeans and threw them at the other mutant, then fiddled a bit for a black belt. "Now go and change. I'll find a matching jacket and shoes." He ordered, smirking slightly.
Blinking a moment in surprise, Yamato clutched the jeans to his chest. Then laughed. “Sorry, sorry, still in teacher mode.” He took the pants and pre-offered belt to the bathroom, closing the door behind him (this was going to be an adventure, as Luis was far more interested in their houseguest than Yamato himself, and was leaving him to change blindly. Oh well. He had done it before, he could do it again. He left the slacks, jacket, and vest on a hanger that had been left behind the door from earlier in the day when (in teacher mode) he had changed quickly into something dressy-casual. Now, the jeans he could handle blindly… and the belt after a bit of fumbling. He gave up on tucking in the shirt a second time. Even he wouldn’t tuck in a shirt with jeans, and it hit him nicely at the hip, anyway.
When he went back into the bedroom, Luis was being “helpful” while Kirihara made a mess of his room. Creeping up behind Kirihara, Yamato folded around the other boy from behind, resting his chin on Kirihara’s shoulder. He even smelled good. Musk and something fruity – that just was not fair. So far, though, the best birthday present he had ever received short of… well, being born. “Find something,” Yamato laid a brushing kiss on the boy’s jaw, “you like?” The faint fruity scent seemed to be from Kirihara’s shampoo, though Yamato still could not identify the scent.
Akaya "worked" better when he could see everything. Which resulted in Yamato's room looking just as his own had only few minutes earlier. He would clean it later, mind you. As he felt the arms wrap around him, then the soft kiss on his jaw, he almost dropped the piece of clothing he was holding. Which was the jacket he picked up, after some sort of an internal debate. It was only one or two shades lighter than the pants and would match them perfectly. "Yep", he shifted around to face the man handing him the jacket, "this and those shoes." Said pointing to the pair in question. With that he squirmed out of the embrace and started picking up and folding the clothes strewn around. It didn't take him long, and now they were both ready to go.
Smoothing down the front of the jacket, Yamato stepped into the shoes (black, plain dress shoes… so well worn in that they were more comfortable than slippers). He had to remove Luis physically from the pile of clothing that Kirihara had made while the boy cleaned up, settling her on the bed, and trying to get her to calm down again – she had been doing just fine a moment ago. “Be good while I’m gone,” he instructed the kitten, resituating his wallet into the pocket of his jeans (a somewhat tighter fit). She mewled at him, her attention on his tie – he only had a moment to prepare before she sprang, attacking the strip of red fabric. Chuckling, he battled off the kitten, gently compelling her to the pillow, whispering soothing words. “I’ll be back later,” he promised her, giving her one last scratch under her chin before he turned back to Kirihara, grinning.
“Alright, let’s go.” He pushed the lock of the door, pulling it closed as they left to make sure it locked behind them, and blindly followed Kirihara down the hall toward the exit of the building – perfectly happy to be at the boy’s directional mercy. They made idle conversation (how was your day, etc) as they (thankfully) managed to make it off the grounds without having to pause to explain what was going on to any students or teachers that might have encountered them, otherwise. No sooner had they made it off the grounds than Yamato extended an arm, finding Kirhara’s hand and gently clasping it; it was dark, no one who would care was around, and the casual passer-by would not notice the gesture.
Curiously, Yamato inquired, “Where are we going?” It was a nice night – just a little bit on the cold side, but not unpleasantly so. It was perfect with the sports coat.
Akaya flushed nicely pink, at feeling Yamato's slightly bigger hand close around his own. And he was just thinking of that a moment ago. He gave a little squeeze, smiling softly. Holding hands was nice, it made him feel... safe, maybe... something along these lines anyway.
"Somewhere." A really nice place, in Kirihara's humble opinion. Not posh, but not some dirty hole either. With live music and such. From what he knew, today was supposed to be some kind of a concert. Which was all good.
At this hour there were only couples taking an evening stroll. It was Monday, which cut down the number of people outside in half. Not everyone knew where to go, where anything interesting was happening. Akaya knew, thanks to certain people he got acquainted with some time ago.
The entrance could easily go unnoticed by someone who didn't know what to look, but the pub itself wasn't small, rather medium sized, nicely lit, giving everyone their privacy. The bartender (and at the same time the owner) was someone Kirihara met by pure luck on one of his strolls. He booked one box/table in advance, so now, when the place was practically full, they had a nice, cozy spot for themselves. With a nice look on the small stage.
Catching glimpses around from various patrons, Yamato was very pleased – it was exactly his sort of place. The smoky haze of the lounge was soothing – as well as the semi-privacy of the table that Kirihara had managed to reserve for them… that (from the perspective of the woman who came by to ask if they wanted to order anything, anyway) had a nice view of the stage where they were setting up for live music; as it was, a jazz tune played over the speakers, carrying over the general mull of conversation. Resting his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, Yamato could not help but grin. This was… “This is perfect,” he assured Kirihara, as soon as they were able to shoo away the tablehop.
He could not look at the drink menu for himself, but he delighted in forcing Kirihara to read it aloud – and he, naturally, picked one of the first things from the menu. They argued a minute over whether or not Kirihara should be drinking before Yamato decided it would metabolize so fast in Kirihara’s case that it did not really matter either way, and agreed to them both ordering drinks as he removed his sports coat, settling it over the back of his chair. When the waitress came back, they both ordered drinks (Yamato asked for a strawberry margarita, Kirihara got something with a fancy name) just as the band finished setting up, gathering on stage and announcing whom they were; thanking the owner for the chance to play there, and so on.
Casting a sly glance in the other boy’s direction, Yamato asked, “Why’d you pick this place?”
Akaya was happy that the man approved the place. He was slightly nervous whether Yamato wouldn't think it too weird or something. And he was also glad the older mutant didn't argue too much over the drinking. Surely he couldn't think that Kirihara never had alcohol before, that would just be... silly. He took off his jacket and collar (it was nicely warm inside) before answering with a smile, "Glad you like it."
At the sly look and question, Akaya just shrugged, because seriously, what other reason there could be than nice atmosphere and good music? "I like it here." The band started playing as he spoke so he had to raise his voice a little, "Why do you think I did?"
Considering that a moment, Yamato shrugged back. “I guess it was a silly question.” Speaking of silly questions, a grin broke out on his face once more. “Akaya, do you remember that day when we went to the beach?” Honestly, he did not suspect that Kirihara had forgotten (though remained blissfully unaware of the dreams Kirihara had involving said beach since then) it was an entirely rhetorical question. A lead into, “I suggested that you ask me out to dinner and you just about fainted.” He laughed at the memory – doubtlessly fonder for him than for his companion. There had, of course, been the countless times the same question had arisen later over journals, but for the sake of the present question, those could be set aside.
“If I had told you then that we would be here now, you would have looked at me like I’d grown a second head.” To be fair, Yamato got that look from Kirihara, anyway. But, it brought to mind the real question he was trying to get at, “What changed?”
Kirihara just looked at Yamato, thinking. What had changed? Well, many things. First off, it's almost a month after they met. Time flows by, they got to know each other better. They clicked, though... not really, but something had to click between them for the current situation to happen, like it was happening now. "I don't know. Everything, I guess." Though, saying "everything" generally meant "nothing", so he elaborated, "That time at the beach was first time that we actually had met. It would be hard to believe something like that then." Unless you could predict future, which just wasn't the case with neither of them.
Akaya glanced at the other uncertainly, "What do you think?"
Expression never wavering, Yamato replied, “I don’t think it matters.” If he had been intending to elaborate, it was eaten away by the sudden appearance of the waitress back at their table with the drinks. Out of habit, Yamato flirted just a bit with her before she wandered off giggling; noting with unfair amusement that Kirihara probably did not bring him all this way just to watch him flirt with the waitress. Though, if there was anything the boy needed to worry about, Yamato cheating on him was not among those things. Dating a true idiot was a concern. Possibly becoming careless and falling in love with that idiot would be another concern farther down the line, but Yamato’s thoughts were nowhere near such things as the music mixed nicely with the tequila to further relax him.
Truly a good choice on Kirihara’s part – Yamato was impressed.
The man rather suddenly scooted his chair around the table, coming to a rest once the chair was sitting directly next to Kirihara’s, and put one hand to the boy’s thigh under the table as Yamato leaned over to murmur against his ear, “You look stunning.” More like, good enough for a blind man to actually morn the fact that he could not see by his own natural vision; Yamato very rarely felt that way.
Once again his cheeks coloured at the quiet compliment and the wandering hand on his thigh. It went up to his knee and then back down again in slow, sensual motions. Kirihara couldn't agree to the compliment, sure he knew he looked good (he had strong self-confidence, kind of), but stunning? Though, he wouldn't argue, "Thank you." Blushing some more Akaya remembered the man saying he was attractive the other day. It was a nice change from what he was usually called (read: cute, adorable, pretty, the last one being the worst, as girls were pretty and he was not one).
He sipped on his drink, trying to put up with the touch (not like it was unpleasant, just a little bit distracting), and started a small talk about the music the band played and in general and other topics, laughing every now and then. He was completely unaffected by the first drink, nor second, and wouldn't be affected after another 5 or so, unless they were clean vodka, or something.
Amused, Yamato also engaged in the inane babble about whatever it seemed Kirihara wanted to talk about – his hand finally settling over Kirihara’s knee, at some point between the first and second margarita (at which point he stopped; he had a fairly good constitution for drinking, but there was no sense in testing his limits when he really had no desire to miss a second of this to alcohol). The band continued to play; their music was pretty good, not that Yamato was any sort of music critic, but they entertained him. The boy at his side had somehow managed on to the topic of the weekend Yamato had been gone (the demolition of the classroom building, and so on), and Yamato carefully danced around the subject of where he had been – to the clear annoyance of Kirihara (“be serious”).
In that spirit, he asked with a grin, “So, when do I get to meet your sister? I know you mentioned she was bringing some of your belongings up to you…” With a pause an expression that only Yamato could make came to his lips – the sort that was so clearly devious but at the same time looked innocent enough… and was all masked in one charming grin. Were there not a mutant in their midst that was actually capable of this, those who knew him might have expected Yamato to sparkle when he made that sort of face. “Though, I suppose your room will get to be a bit crowded. If you need to store anything elsewhere, I’ve got plenty of room.” Not that Kirihara did not already know that, but it was more for the effect that he had asked to begin with – if the boy really did take him up on the offer, of course, he would agree.
Akaya has been pretty annoyed when Yamato didn't want to answer a simple question, but decided to not press the topic, as he was pretty sure the man would just not answer. At the mention of his sister he twitched visibly. They got along usually, though for someone who didn't know them well it would look quite the opposite, but she was... tiring... nosy... and liked jumping into conclusions... which were... almost always right... so perhaps introducing Yamato to her was a bad idea. He eyed the older man warily, "Hmm... she said she would come somewhere around the end of November, or maybe the begining of December..." After a moment of thought he added, "I... still don't think it's a good idea."
They were like exact copies of themselves. Though of course there were some visible differences, first being gender, second age. Other than that, you could easily tell they were siblings. The Kirihara siblings also had exactly the same temper... which resulted in many unfortunate events in the past.
Curiously, Yamato regarded the boy. "Oh?" It was clear that it displeased Kirihara -- but a lot of things displeased him and it was hard to separate the things that were for good reason from the things that were just a direct product of him being an irritable person. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, the man commented, "I'm sure there's a perfectly good reason why it makes you nervous." Despite his words, he immediately added, "But I do want to know what it is. Is it me?" That was perfectly reasonable to assume that Kirihara would not want to expose his sister to Yamato... perhaps she was cute? He dismissed that thought, though -- he doubted the boy was the jealous type; or that he would really care if Yamato were nice to his sister.
It was equally reasonable to assume that it was his sister -- perhaps she was the type that would show off baby photos or tell stories about him running around with his underwear on his head at some young age. "Is it her?" Asked the man further, and to cover his bases, "Or you?"
Kirihara pouted at the prying, but he wouldn't win against Yamato so he had to think of an answer that would sate the man. The problem was with all the three of them. His sister was a freak, Yamato's a weirdo and Akaya didn't want to be stuck with the two of them. Who knows what they might come up with? He shuddered at the mere thought.
But what should he tell? "It's mainly... her, I guess." He would not admit he was freaking scared of the two of them getting along.
After a moment of just watching Kirihara thoughtfully, his own thoughts completely hidden from his expression, Yamato gave a shrug. “If that’s how it is, I’ll drop it.” Naturally, there was an unspoken “for now” tacked on to that statement, and if the boy had a brain about him and knew Yamato at all, he would realize that as well. “I don’t have any siblings,” continued Yamato further, as though it was somehow pertinent to the conversation, “So I can’t really judge what you’re thinking.” He left it at that, deciding to steer the conversation to something that would be, for the time, more entertaining.
“So, I was thinking,” said the man in a conversational manner, “Since it’s my birthday, and we have live music, and I know I’m not going to get you to sing for me here… we should have a dance, don’t you think?” The effect was immediate and not altogether unexpected, either; he could feel Kirihara’s leg tense under his hand.
At once all colour drained from Akaya's face. D-dance?! Just what the hell Yamato was thinking about? There were people around, they would stare. Mind you, but... two guys slow dancing is not a normal thing. He stared at the man wide eyed, then at his drink (4th or whichever of the evening) and swallowed it all at once. Oka~y, so he probably forgot to count in the exhaustion from last week, that still hasn't worn off. Which was why he was getting slightly... drunk by now. Though it didn't show, yet. Just that... he was more likely to consent to such silly request.
Kirihara was still staring, eyes still wide. Well what? Uh, there were couples dancing. But they were normal couples, while they weren't... He blinked once, slowly, troubling his lower lip, as he considered the proposition.
When the boy went silent, Yamato had to wonder if he would be pushing his luck by goading the younger mutant on further. So, he said nothing to encourage or discourage the dance, instead taking the hand off Kirihara's knee to settle it against his cheek, giving the boy a light kiss. Their waitress had taken notice, but otherwise it seemed as though no one really cared about the man who had been rather conspicuously huddled beside a younger boy for a while, anyway. Either they were too drunk or too self-absorbed... and after a second or two, the waitress politely diverted her eyes.
Smiling as he pulled away, Yamato murmured, "See? No one cares."
The contact made Kirihara's stomach twist into tight knots in the most pleasant way. Adding to lightheadedness he already felt. The statement Yamato made barely registering in his brain as he pushed himself forward again pressing their lips together for a second time. Well, if no one cared then this should be alright. And it was probably better than dancing too.
A small noise grumbled out of Yamato’s throat as he felt a jolt of something from behind his bellybutton – both pleasurable and surprising. He had not expected Kirihara to do that – and it was probably because… “You’re drunk,” Yamato accused, slurring the words carelessly against the boy’s lips, not feeling as compelled as he probably should have to move away from the boy and be a good sempai that did not take advantage of his drunken… whatever Kirihara was to him. He just promised himself he would not let this get out of hand and pressed their lips together a third time – this time without the mildness he had displayed until then.
Some part of him was replaying the thought that he really needed to get Kirihara into this sort of attire more often, as his hand wandered over the front of black shirt. A second thought had decided that getting him out of that sort of clothing was a much nicer way of looking at things. Both thoughts were promptly quashed by the taste of Kirihara – a taste that up until very recently was very little like alcohol, and almost musty – sticky… for a lack of better words, boyish.
Said boy had been practically pulled onto Yamato’s lap in the course of the third kiss, much less subtle than the two proceeding it – involving tongues and teeth and pale fingers winding into Yamato’s hair. Already, Yamato could feel his senses being sucked into Kirihara – that would not do – as he tried to divert his powers to other people around him; still, very few had taken notice, and those who had seemed to have the decency to give them a few moments peace. Peace, of course, was an under whelming description of the way Yamato’s pulse had quickened, alarmingly tight in his throat; or the way he was beginning to wonder what exactly the boundary of “out of hand” was…
He pushed away, a groan of a complaint echoing between them, as he was no happier about it than Kirihara. “This isn’t the place to be doing this,” he explained. Quietly, he added, “And I’m still worried about my power.” Finally, with that annoyingly flippant smile of his, he ended the argument with, “And you’re drunk.” Another brush of the lips, and he settled back into his chair, urging the same of Kirihara.
Akaya wanted to protest, that no, he was not that drunk yet, he pretty much knew very well what he was doing and most definitely wanted that, but whatever he was to say was muffled into the kiss again. As well as the following soft moans and purrs. The kiss was so much different than all the previous ones. More passionate, with desire (or maybe it was lust?) lurking around the edges.
As he was pulled into Yamato's lap he started feeling the internal energy crawling under his skin, burning in the strangest ways. Strange but pleasant, he had to admit. Wherever the man's hand wandered, it left a feeling that might drive Kirihara insane someday. Something akin to pleasure spiced up with pain. The fact of them being in a public place was pushed out of his mind as his fingers found their way to the other mutant's hair.
One might expect Akaya's power to lash out under such circumstances, but surprisingly enough his control didn't waver, or maybe there was some kind of failsafe that kept it from happening.
As they were forced apart by Yamato the younger boy was breathing slightly heavier. He was not happy with it, but the man wasn't either. What Kirihara did notice. But yes... the memory of just where they were rushed back to him blush and squirm back to his own seat. He muttered, "Sorry," and added right after, "Though I'm not drunk." Because hell, he wasn't, well... maybe just a little bit tipsy.
“No?” With one hand in Kirihara’s curls, Yamato laughed. “You don’t have to apologize – actually, if you ever feel like doing something worth apologizing for again, please don’t let me stop you.” As his said that, his hand dropped away, landing around the boy’s shoulders, instead. Around them, people were clapping in appreciation for the band that was taking a bow – whether for intermission or for the night, Yamato could not be sure; he had lost track of time sometime around the point when got his first glimpse of Kirihara.
Their waitress came back and tentatively asked if either of them would like another round; Yamato instead asked for their tab, ignoring completely the way the waitress was fixated on the arm that the man had settled around his… date. That word felt odd, too.
Akaya was completely flustered as the waitress came by. Not only had they just made out just a minute ago, but now the older man had his arm around Kirihara's shoulders. Kind of possessive gesture if you ask him. The concert had ended and it was surprisingly late already. Probably neither of them noticed how soon the time flew by.
The boy was pretty set on paying the tab, because 1) he would not allow anyone to pay for him... 2) it was Yamato's birthday after all... That was that, the end, thankyouverymuch.
There was no fight for the bill – Yamato had started to reach for it, and Kirihara practically hissed at him, snatching it away. Hardly chagrined, the older man grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, sliding his arms through the sleeves and straightening it while the boy beside him putzed around with his wallet. “At least let me leave the tip,” he suggested, but got a tiny growl in response. Okay, then. Seemed like the younger mutant was full of small animal noises tonight. Heh.
Other patrons were still milling about, going about their business – it seemed as though the music was not the main draw of this particular pub; though, Yamato could think of no reason why he would come back here. It was not that he did not love the atmosphere, more that… he could not think of an excuse to get back down there in the near future. Perhaps he would take Sensei drinking on her birthday. The very thought made him grin sloppily to himself. He could just add it to the list of things he had already tried – proposing to her, flirting with her, he even had tried to kiss her once, and had to be the lesser man and back down when he realized she was not going to stop him. Hanamura, how he had declared she had broken his heart.
Heartbreak was not a foreign concept to Yamato, all jokes and smiles aside. Heartbreak was the two-inch wall between him and all other people; even those he cared deeply about… especially those he cared deeply for. But sober thoughts like those were pushed aside entirely as he rested his cheek against his hand, leaning against the table. “Let’s go for some dessert, somewhere – I’m not ready to go home just yet.” He pondered it a moment before tacking on, “Cheesecake, maybe? Do you like cheesecake?”
Well, "Yeah, that would be nice. And I do." Though it was probably a bad idea to give Kirihara too much sugar, especially in the evening. "Where do you want to go?" He asked. It was late already, and he didn't know any places where they could buy desserts past 11 pm.
The moment they left the place Akaya sneaked his hand down to grasp gently Yamato's own and inched closer to put his head on the man's shoulder as they walked. Then, his mind provided him with the memory of the man mentioning something about Echizen... holding hands... and stuff, the other day. It didn't feel that nice anymore.
“I have an idea,” said Yamato lightly, his feet leading him probably the only place they could have found dessert at this hour without some sort of reservation – he could get there just as much by instinct as he could down to the dining hall on campus; in his own school days, he and one particular underclassman had practically haunted the place on weekends – the boy would argue to Yamato that he was only agreeing to do this every weekend because he, himself, could not cook and that his upperclassman needed to learn some culinary skills if he liked cakes so much, anyway. There had always been the same lazy response that it was really that Yamato wanted those cakes to be made with love; the taste did not matter. This usually won him a staccato sempai in his face and a half-hearted glare before, looking away to hide his blush, the boy would reach across the table and…
Kirihara’s hand slipped into Yamato’s as the boy rested his head against his companion’s shoulder, walking close enough that their hips would brush on occasion. Having been lost in thought, the older man was a little bit startled by the gesture, but it all dissolved into a smile as he adjusted his hold on the boy’s hand so their fingers laced together nicely. He gave the boy’s hand a slight squeeze, thinking that he was glad it was Kirihara with him, now… even if history did have odd ways of repeating itself.
“There’s one of those all-night diner type places up here a bit,” explained the older man. “You know, where you can get any kind of food any time of day – they have cheesecake and pie…” Not to mention, coffee. Coffee sounded alarmingly good. “Nothing swanky, but sugar’s sugar.” With that the older man chuckled, pulling their joined hands (albeit subconsciously) a bit closer to himself.
The boy smiled, putting aside the thoughts tinted with jealousy, no use in thinking about that. " 's okay." They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Neither feeling the need to break it. Which was rare for Akaya. Silence bored him to death. It was still, stillness made the level of energy rise... that was dangerous not only for people around, physically, but also for him... mentally. There were two times, before he discovered his "abilities" and one time after, when he almost lost it, because the amount of energy was too high for him to handle. The shrink, he was forced to see those three times, got nothing, as it wasn't any mental disorder.
But at the moment... the silence was welcomed. Kirihara listened to the sound of their steps. His own distinctly heavier and duller, thanks to heavy boots.
Similarly, Yamato did not feel compelled to break the silence between them – it did not quite feel like silence to him, though… as though the warmth of Kirihara’s body were a sound – as though the smile on his lips were a sound – as though the familiar feeling in his stomach that could either be alcohol or giddiness were a sound. In such a din, they reached the restaurant; Yamato winning a glare from the boy as he (out of habit) held the door open to let Kirihara pass – a glare he did not see, of course. When they were inside, they told the hostess they were seating for two, and were taken to a table where Yamato promptly ordered a coffee (before anything else) and once again made his date read the menu to him.
He was beginning to feel a bit peckish… a snack, on top of dessert, might be in order. Then again, he would be going to bed as soon as they got back, so perhaps not… or, he assumed he would be. He wondered how many shades of red he could get Kirihara to flush if he asked? Instead, while they waited on the waitress to come and formally take drink orders as well as their food order, Yamato suggested, “Tell me something I don’t know about you, Akaya. Anything at all.” Part of this exercise was simply out of curiosity as to what the boy would choose… another part was Yamato’s honest interest.
The question made Akaya blink owlishly. It was... random. Well, not really, but he was of an opinion that such things came around as you were getting to know the person, little by little all secrets, quirks and personality traits were revealed. Another thing was that coming up with something, just like that, out of the blue, was hard. Things just escaped you when you needed them. It took Akaya few minutes to think of something that would be at least a little bit interesting. Yamato surely didn't know about it, because well... he was blind. And even people who could see usually didn't notice.
"Dunno if it's interesting..." he said as he took the man's hand guided it to his wrist. The scars were almost invisible (only a keen eye would see them) by now, but for someone with sensitive fingertips they were still obvious. He had got many strange looks when they were still fresh. "People gossiped they're from suicide attempt." he snerked unpleasantly, "damn, idiots. Like a 10-year-old would want to commit suicide." Glass was nasty to blast, especially if it exploded still in your hands.
He pulled up the sleeve on the other arm and let Yamato trace another scar. "This one's also from blasting glass. Most of them are... it's a miracle I can still move my fingers... and didn't lose the sense of touch in them." he shrugged. "Ok, now you?" He was curious as well.
Scars were obvious to the touch in a way even sight would not see – the difference between smooth skin and too smooth skin became immediately apparent as the unscarred skin suddenly felt thicker than skin should be; which was, of course, all an illusion of the mind. Naturally, Yamato’s eyes fell half-lidded, as he thought this through. It was not a bad assumption that it was a suicide attempt… even at that young age. Many young men and women coming into their power killed themselves when they realized they were a mutant. Mutation, like all scary things that change during puberty, could be hard to accept and life-altering in very negative ways. Take, for example, Kaidoh – he hurt things unintentionally, his physical appearance was decidedly non-human… he fancied himself ugly and dangerous; and now one person who was there to keep him from feeling that way was gone. But, he digressed.
Trying to imagine Kirihara as a child was a bit like trying to compare a wrench with a pear. There were certain things he could infer – people changed, and people changed a lot in seven years, but certain things were just inherent traits; Kirihara’s temper was probably one of those things. He could imagine the boy had more than one such incident with glass on no account of his own… and Yamato had seen what happened when the student had no control over what he was doing with his powers. It was not, per say, wonderfully pretty. But, like Kaidoh, Yamato could not imagine the boy wanting to cause pain with his powers… or, if he did, he would not do so flippantly. He certainly had not wanted to hurt Yamato.
“People make assumptions,” commented Yamato lightly drawing his hand away once allowed, sliding his fingers around his coffee mug. “You’re very lucky to be alive, I think… I can’t even hope to imagine what it’s like to come into a power like that… especially so young.” The boy had been an unwitting danger to himself – something Yamato was relatively good at avoiding. His power, as far as he knew, was nothing offensive in any way, though. He could not imagine how he would have hurt himself with it.
His own question thrown in his face, the man took a moment to consider. When he was in this restaurant, it was hard not to think about a certain person in particular… but that was a story he simply never told. Part of him rationalized that if he did not talk about it, perhaps none of it ever happened. Another part did not want to admit to the fact that he felt the need to wipe the memory from his mind and from existence. “Two years ago, when I was in my senior year, I had an underclassman about your age – he was best friends with my roommate, and most people got along with him pretty well, but he treated me like the scourge of society.” A very thin smile danced on Yamato’s lips – the memories, after all, did have their fond points. The ending was just not one of them.
“To make a rather long story short, I fell in love with him… I don’t know exactly how it all happened, but he eventually got to liking me, though he still tried his damndest to treat me like dirt, and before I’d known it, I couldn’t think about anything else but him. I guess I’ve got a masochistic streak or something.” There were plenty of details he intended to “yadda yadda” over in this particular telling of the story – like the fact that the boy had dark, curled hair or that he had a quick temper to hide a gentle interior. “I remember… one night… it must have been two months or so before graduation… He and I got in an argument in the bathroom of all places. Well, he got in an argument with me, anyway. He was frustrated that I didn’t care – everything’s a joke with you.” With the last words, he mimicked a voice he had not heard in two years… feeling as though he had done it very little justice.
Of course, none of it had been a joke – that relationship had been riddled with misunderstandings up until the moment of absolute clarity. “I told him, then, just how much he cared – which only seemed to frustrate him further. I think I was disheartened, though making a logical assumption, and told him it was okay that he did not feel the same. That was when he told me to use my powers on him.” It had been an odd sensation – the heat he could feel as though it was in his own cheeks – the second heart pounding mercilessly. There were butterflies in a stomach not-quite-his, and a quiver ran over skin that felt to sit just above his own. Stealing sensations was always strange, but never had it been as strange as this, for the younger Yamato.
He never finished the thought to Kirihara, jumping forward in time. “About three weeks later he was killed – the first murder of a Ryuhana student by a Brotherhood student. Sensei asked me if I wanted to stay here after graduation… or where I planned to go. I think she was making a special exception by asking me to stay… and I think she made that exception because I had lost a close friend. Directly after graduation, though, I left. I told Hanamura, then, I wanted to do whatever I could to help avoid another situation like that where an innocent young man had to die – human or mutant. So, I come back to campus from time to time, I help with training and counseling the younger kids and the like. But I have to leave to investigate.” He tapped the side of his head with a grin. “I’m a very good spy.”
Just as he finished, the waitress came back to their table with a glass of apple juice Yamato had ordered for Kirihara (whether he liked it or not) as well as two slices of New York style cheesecake and refilled the coffee in front of Yamato.
Akaya listened, his expression blank. For one, he didn't feel like he deserved hearing such a... personal story... apparently important for the man. Secondly... the story was about... Yamato's previous boyfriend/lover/whatever (the words felt seriously odd). Though he was glad... kind of... it was strange feeling. He was feeling nice and bad at the same time. But he agreed with the boy from the story on one thing, everything was a joke with the older mutant. Kirihara never was sure whether the things the man said or did were true or honest... whether he wasn't just teasing, joking or... making fun of him.
Then something stuck him, "That's what you were doing during that weekend? Investigating?" He blurted out. And yes, Yamato probably was a good spy, his power allowed him that. He could see, hear, feel things without resorting to any kind of equipment, that could easily be found.
Quickly he apologised, and said instead, "Sorry to hear that." And he did feel sorry. It was always painful to lose somebody who's important to you. Even though Akaya never experienced it, he could only assume (which was a bad thing to do, but what?).
That was the end of the story, and he had no idea if he should change the topic, or keep silent, or what? He took a sip of the juice (not minding much anyway, anything was fine now), to buy himself some time. His own past experiences paling in comparison.
The older mutant gave a nod. “That’s why I left in the end of October. You asked me earlier.” He smiled reaching across the table and holding out his hand invitingly, to which Kirihara extended his own hand. “It’s not exactly common knowledge – but it would not be fair of me to hide it from you.” Clasping the smaller hand in his own, he picked up the fork with his free hand and took a bite of his cheesecake, smiling happily at the taste.
Akaya could not stop the blush that bloomed as Yamato took his hand. Of course it was not nearly as bad (relatively speaking, naturally) as what they did before, in the pub. Though here... it was light here, some people gave them strange glances, to which Kirihara just glared. He would not take his hand away now, people should just mind their own business.
Without a word, he took a bite of his own slice, honestly enjoying the taste. He then glanced up at the man, whispering, "Thank you." Akaya appreciated honesty, he really did. Even though he could not be honest like that most of the time. After a moment and few more bites he added, "It's... delicious."
Not releasing the boy’s hand, Yamato continued with his cheesecake. “Glad you like it.” Across from him, the boy’s attention had turned to his cheesecake – Yamato let his powers wander to the scarce gathering of patrons in the diner – catching glimpses of the tastes they were enjoying (taste, from his perspective, was a bit like when something had a smell so potent, you could simply imagine what it would taste like – taste, he had found, was not his favorite sense to steal… very under-gratifying). Everything looked the same in the building as it had two years ago – the same out-dated décor and horrid artwork on the walls; the same employee uniform look. He did not fail to notice that some people were looking at them, though that could have been for any number of reasons.
Theory one: two attractive young men walk into a diner and proceed to hold hands and make eyes at one another… well, as best as a blind man can make eyes, anyway… Theory one, he realized, summed up basically all the following theories as well – attractive, young, hands, blindness, two men… Or perhaps they were all just eyeing the cheesecake, green with envy, though that was a rather odd theory, too. They could order a cheesecake for themselves. With an amused smile, as he touched the senses of a college-age woman looking over some very complicated math as she sipped a Shirley Temple, he realized that if they wanted anything else from the table, that was just too bad for them. Kirihara (though even Yamato did not know quite when he had decided this) had come in the door with him, would leave with him, and would hopefully agree to repeat said process even if there was no occasion but that Yamato wanted to, pardoning the expression, see the temperamental boy.
The word boyfriend, when put in that context, became a bit more natural and comfortable. A bit like a familiar slice of cheesecake in a diner where half the staff, years before, had known his name and how he liked his coffee. He was at the end of his cheesecake before this musing was though, but enjoyed the excuse to clasp fingers with his younger student and think absently about what he had to do come Tuesday morning and if he could really get away with Kirihara staying another night in his room. If he should even want to try.
Kirihara didn't pay any attention to the people around anymore. Let them look, let them thing whatever they please, he didn't care. They didn't know him, they couldn't judge him. They might as well go to hell, see as he cared.
He stared distantly at one wall, his mind not really with him at the moment. Well, he was getting slightly tired, hard day, and tomorrow was Tuesday, Akaya got classes in the morning. Staying up too late wouldn't do any good.
There was a second almost-argument over the tab for the drinks and cheesecake that Yamato won simply by beating Kirihara to the counter where they were supposed to pay. Which signaled the trek back home that passed in relative silence – Yamato asked a couple inane questions about Kirihara’s schedule the next day, but otherwise by the time they arrived back on campus, Yamato once again dropping Kirihara’s hand as they came back onto grounds, they had fallen as still as the night. Or morning. Yamato’s sense of time was not terribly great just then, but it had to be after midnight. How long after midnight was a different matter altogether.
The question sprang up in Yamato’s mind once more of what the sleeping arrangements would be – Kirihara had yet to indicate either way what his intentions were, though they were both tired and both had obligations the next day. So, frankly as he could manage (though not without a tint of mischief in his smile), Yamato inquired, “Were you planning on staying the night?” It did not matter to him, either way.
It was around 2 am to be exact, or that's what Akaya's internal clock told him (which could either mean, it was just past 1 am or close to 3 am). The question didn't catch him off guard, he was thinking about that too, actually. He was thinking of sleeping in his own room tonight before, but now... 1) he was tired, and was too lazy to climb up another set of stairs... 2) he was tired, and didn't need another sleepless night, which... he was sure would just happen...
With a slight flush he asked back, "Not really, but... would you mind much?"
“You’re always welcome,” replied the older man as they entered through the front door. Quietly, he instructed the boy to remove and carry his boots – Yamato was metaphorically checking around corners with his senses, reaching out and brushing up against anyone they encountered just to make sure their entrance went entirely unnoticed. Once securely in his room, neither really made it to the bathroom to brush his teeth or really even completely out of the clothes they had dressed nicely in before collapsing in an unceremonious heap on Yamato’s bed – Yamato face-down, Kirihara flopped over him, and Luis nestled between the pillow and Kirihara’s shoulder, her face pressed into the boy’s cheek.
“Thank you, Akaya,” murmured the man into the pillow, wanting to not move so much as a muscle if he did not have to. Still, he made quite and effort so that he could twist just so, pressing their lips together a bit sloppily, but the intent was there, at least, as his head fell back to the pillow. “G’night.”
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