The room is bathed into the whitish nuance of the sunrise when Tetora’s natural and circular routine kicks in and he blinks tiredness and numbness out of his amber eyes.
There are crumbles of dust fluctuating in the midst of the air and slivers of sunshine reflecting on the mint duvet, and the curtains of a nice shade of blue that Midori insisted to buy because “ it makes home “ soften the atmosfere and offer a bizzarre but soothin’ aura.
The alarm on the bedstand reads nine minutes after five and the aureate haze underlines the faint hues of the cream tinture on the walls and the cute vases of succulents Midori’s mother crafted before his son left for his new career and the smooth curves of the two or three Sanrio mascots that settle on the unhabitated bed that was once meant to host one of the residents.
But alas its mattress is still untouched and unused even after months of cohabitation because one double bed is a little narrow for three men but it works fine, so.
Tetora huffs half of a curse under his breath and rubs a numb hand on his still lukewarm and swollen face, feeling the tridimensional and fresh traces of the covers wrinkles incised on his cheeks: the twine of clothes and limbs is an attractive nest and the coziness of someone else’s warmth lulls him to slumber once more –
He lets his unfocused stare wanders around the corners of the room and behind the thin veil of tired tears and his wet and viscous lashes the chain of little lights hung to the metallic grille in front of him is an indistinct fair blur; the minuscule bulbs illuminate shots of dates and events and moments stolen from their last Ryuseitai’s tour, and Tetora’s mouth curls into a fond smile when he runs into a blurred – beautiful – selfie taken during winter with snow on their clothes and smiling so wide.
Tetora doesn’t remember the exact moment, the determined situation that left them with cheeks flush with adrenaline and bliss and cheerful wrinkles around their eyes, but it’s Midori and Shinobu so it makes sense.
( Overdone standards and the masochist need to fulfill his infamous desire to become a real man and all still threaten to crush him but –
“We are here.”
It’s fine if he has them, )
There is a muffled sound coming from his insensible arm and vibrations running on his skin and Tetora’s unstable attention shifts to his own shoulder; his nose lands on soft and ticklish texture and he exhales a small and amused chuckle that ruffles dishevelled hair –
His hand flies to Shinobu’s head to caress and comb his rebellous strands and Tetora hides his smile into the curve of his skull, inhaling the sweet scent of his favourite conditioner, chamomile and lemon if his exhausted brain doesn’t trick him.
Shinobu’s head bobs in time with his constant breath and his unminstakable tuft falls on his unconscious face like a curtain and conceals the round cheek flattened on his numb limb, a little bit of drool leaking from the corner of his half closed mouth and soft features accentuated from the semi darkness and the flickers of the illumination.
( Shinobu’s more defined cheekbones retain some of his cute childish fat and his bizzarre, but distinctive, vocal tic has reduced to a nervous outburst, and he still has that habit of his to messily bleach his and Tetora’s matching locks as a bad coping mechanism and to twist his hands when he is anxious.
His hair is long enough to tie it into a tiny rattail that leaves his collar nude and steals Midori’s and his scarce concentration, and his calves are firmer and he mastered his cooking skills to obviate to Tetora’s worrisome inclination to burn things and to Midori’s will of survive on coffee, but his smile still rivals the sun and he loves it so much. )
His black and red trainers are arranged next to the room entrance and his tracksuit waits for him at the desk, and Tetora knows that he has to act if he wants to make it in time and take his usual morning run before classes start; he mutters an indefinite wail of distress and he rubs his face once more to eliminate the last leftovers of a nice doze and likewise nice cuddle session that needs to be redone later, thanks –
Tetora maneuvers Shinobu’s lean arm curled around his toned stomach to move it down to the mattress underneath them, and he leans in to delicately cradle his head into his rough but attentive hands, one situated on the curve of his neck and one holding the side of his lovely face, and he transfers it to the voluminous cushion, letting Shinobu make himself more comfortable under the rose colored sheets with a cute little whine and tucking his hair behind his ear once he is done, so that the sensation of free tufts brushing his cold nose doesn’t disturb him.
Shinobu stirrs a bit and he rolls on his side breathing low : the shade of bronze coming from the breach into the curtains underlines the soft corners of his form and the flutter of his lashes on his round cheeks, and Tetora looks at him, silent and exhausted and chest warm, and he – careful – unravels the twist of covers to slide towards the end of the bed to retrieve his tee and his shorts thrown over his motoric theories volume and his smartwatch.
He’s almost arrived at the border when someone seizes his shirt, and when Tetora turns around, Midori’s blue eyes search for him from the nest of blankets into which he’s crouched : his other hand scrubs his face and his mouth crinkles into a doubtful and tired frown and come on –
It isn’t normal for someone to be this cute and hot at the same time at such an absurd hour.
( Cliché-y internet milestone as it is, but it works fine with him, because Midori has the nerve, the unwanted boldness, to look this handsome even if his hair is a whole mess and his dark circles are undeniable, and dark circles should not be this beautiful to someone normal, but on Midori?
Tetora finds them stupidly attractive, and he’s dead sure that Shinobu thinks the same, no matter how much Midori flusters and scoffs and scolds them when it’s time to remind him that he is indeed the most charming one among them – he was and still is and will also be in the future, ten out of ten.
Midori is the kind soul the female classmates of his pyschology course fall for, and Tetora can’t blame them because duh, he fell head over heels for him in Yumenosaki when he was a blind and awkward idiot and Midori was an anxious and insecure bundle of nerves ; the situation isn’t this different, because Tetora is still an homosexual disaster and Midori still suffers from a visible lack of self esteem, but it’s Shinobu’s task to remind him about his meds and it’s Tetora’s chore to snatch the nth coffee out of his hand when he starts to tremble –
Midori laments all the time, but from the faint and amused smile he shows when Shinobu clings to his side to escort him far from his PC, it’s evident that he doesn’t mind that much.
A kind soul, indeed. )
Tetora reaches for Midori’s hand to loosen its clutch on the corner of his t – shirt and intertwine them, and he brushes the inside of his wrist: it’s a small, kinda banal all considered, movement, but Midori’s lids flutter and his stiff shoulders relax, and it’s a matter of seconds until he returns the gesture, rubbing his thumb on Tetora’s index.
The aftermath of the sunrise makes his blue eyes shine.
“Where are you goin’?” Midori asks: his voice is coarse and slurred from the curt rising and the weariness he can see into the absent – minded glance he casts at him before a meaningful yawn distracts him, and it does little to no heterosexual tricks to his frail heart.
Tetora hints with a nod of his head towards the corner of the room where is chaotic desk is tucked, and even if the sun has risen, the room ambiance is somehow serene and dull and motionless, and Midori looks kinda confused because let’s be honest, he’s not a morning person, so Tetora rocks to his left and waves a hand to show his running attire.
“The usual” he mutters matter – of – fact as he brings their linked hands to his mouth to kiss Midori’s nodose and dried knuckles one, three, six times, until he feels his hand slide out of the tie and then return into a more determined hold, and he sees Midori’s cute frown intensifies.
“Don’t wanna” he whines – two meters tall whimsical and sullen child – and Tetora has to bite the inside of his cheek to not cackle loud because the situation is kinda hilarious, and Midori looks so deceived and ridicolous reclined on the Gudetama themed cushion, his hair sticking out in all directions and the fair linen surrounding him like a veil; Tetora can’t stifle a chuckle and he’s about to reassure him, to tell him that it won’t last this much and that he will be home soon – “No, I’m not tired” and that’d be a fat lie because he’s certain he’ll doze off during the three, terrible hours of his first lesson – but a sudden sound of astonishment tumbles out of his mouth when Midori tugs –
His landfall on the mattress his soft and safe because Midori’s arm immediately snakes behind his neck to ease him back on the bed, and Tetora finds himself looking at the ceiling: Midori’s hand sneak into his hair and brush fading red strands, his chin hooked on Tetora’s head, and Tetora moans, turning his face towards his broad and warming chest to nose at his jutting collarbones and to attach his closed mouth to the inviting sliver of skin that emerges from the v – collar of his shirt.
There is another gentle yank from his left, and Tetora’s smile widens when he turns once more and he faces Shinobu’s furrowed brows and scrunched little nose, mouth hidden behind the sheets he likes to cover himself and half of his face; his hair oscillate when Midori giggles, and Tetora silently lifts his arm because there’s no need to ask him to join them, and, in fact, Shinobu’s feline eyes wear thin because of an unfortunately concelead smile as he scoots closer and lays his head on Tetora’s chest.
The sun brightens the room and birds twitter outside the window and it’s late as hell –
But well, Tetora muses, basking into Shinobu and Midori’s warmth, guess the morning run is cancelled.