“Nanamin, are we almost there?”
They sit together in the backseat of a cab. The dark buildings and street lamps underneath the overcast sky continue zipping by, blurred, amorphous and almost unidentifiable as they hurtle past it all.
“A bit more,” Nanami sighs, not shifting his focus from the window. “You’ve asked that a few times, already.”
“Y-yeah, sorry,” Yuuji swallows, gaze shooting down to his lap. “I just—”
Taking a shallow breath, Yuuji once again tries to reaffirm his crumbling resolve. He presses his legs together, fists balling tight against his thighs. They’ll be home soon, Yuuji reminds himself. Just a few more minutes. He can hold out for a bit longer, can’t he?
But, still, uneasiness prickles like thorns in Yuuji’s rib cage, dangerously near the supple throb of his jittery heart. According to Yuuji’s billionth phone check, twenty minutes or so have elapsed since getting into the car. And yet, the city still remains just too present, too suffocating in the visual stimuli and its towering metropolitan height for them to be anywhere near the Jujutsu Tech campus. Arriving at the restaurant didn’t take this long, so why is the ride home dragging like this?
Damn. Yuuji really should’ve went to the bathroom before they left.
With Nanami almost sandwiched beside him in the back, Yuuji has to rein in his behavior from being too obvious. Stop squirming. Don’t bounce your leg. Be good.
But it’s so difficult.
Yuuji can’t remember the last time he was in such pervasive pain, where the need to go was this urgent. So present in his mind that it overrode all other thoughts. Maybe when he was little? A toddler, probably? It must have been that long ago because Yuuji is for sure positive that he would recall a situation this torturous.
Instead of flinging complaints into the static of the cab’s silence and just, y’know, opening up to Nanami about the truth of how uncomfortable he is, Yuuji forces himself to sit quietly. Embody the epitome of a well-mannered boy, all the while chewing his lips to a bloody pulp as the contents of his very full, very hard bladder slosh around.
Everything inside Yuuji keeps twinging when the car hits a small bump in the road, cuts a turn too quickly, slows down and stalls while waiting for the traffic light to change. The engine merely running even has Yuuji’s jaw tensing, the minuscule rumbling too much stimulation.
All while Nanamin, one of the most responsible, respectable, kindest people that Yuuji has ever met, is right there. Someone that Yuuji admittedly likes. A lot. How can he not? Nanamin goes out of his way to check up on him, to ensure that he always has what he needs, treats him way better than any adult reasonably should.
He’s nothing like Gojo-sensei—what that entails is far too complex for Yuuji to explain. He’s tried before—rambling to Fushiguro late in the dorm about how Nanamin’s scant praises feel earned. How the older sorcerer’s stern gaze brims with real concern whenever Yuuji injures himself on a mission. How Nanami seems to respect him. Him! A stupid teen that everyone else either hates, berates or overlooks.
Nanamin, who refuses to fall back on excuses and pushes himself to the limit when it matters, actually cares about Yuuji. Shows him that affection in so many amazing, ordinary, mind-bending ways... And it’s really, really nice to have an adult invest in his well-being without some sort of ulterior motive. To be cared for simply because he finds worth in Yuuji not only as a sorcerer, as a vessel, but as a real, breathing, feeling person.
All Fushiguro offers during those conversations is, “Well, anyone’s better than Gojo-sensei.”
But it’s different.
Consider meals, for example. Gojo-sensei takes him and his classmates out to dinner all the time. Sushi, hotpot, noodles, sweet buns. Interestingly enough, it’s never one-on-one. They’re always casual group outings with Gojo-sensei. Yuuji finds a modicum of joy imaging Nanami in his teacher’s place, patience exhausted long before the chaos from a rowdy pod of teens getting free food even really started. No, Nanamin doesn’t roll like that.
Tonight isn’t even the first instance where Nanami treated him to a fancy meal. Told him to dress comfortably. That he’d pick him up in a cab—a cab! Whisked them off to somewhere exclusive in Ginza. A place where the bill undoubtedly is cost equivalent to a minor organ, the kind of joint that requires a reservation months in advance for. A really, really bougie restaurant. They served Yuuji unbelievable steak, so juicy and perfectly seared, the kind that melts as soon as it hits your tongue. Mood lighting, classy jazz, flawless waiters that were always there to fill Yuuji’s water glass. Expensive, delicious, unforgettably imaginative food, plated magazine-ready. Yuuji almost didn’t want to eat anything because it looked too beautiful for someone like him to consume and ruin.
It’s ridiculous, really. Nanami paid for the best meal of Yuuji’s entire life just because he felt like he deserved it.
That’s why Yuuji cannot ruin this. He has to hold out. Hold on.
But shit, it’s getting impossible to stay optimistic. A bead of sweat trickles down his neck. If they don’t get home soon, Yuuji’s already beyond worried.
“You seem tense.” Nanami breaks the silence after a while of passing glowing street signs and salarymen stumbling their way to train stations on crowd-thin sidewalks. Yuuji’s throat dries as the smolder of attention brands against his overheat cheek. “Did dinner not agree with you?”
“N-no! It was awesome,” Yuuji laughs, doing his best to appear reassuring and light. He hopes that Nanami doesn’t notice how he’s starting to hunch in on himself out of sheer, nervous necessity. “I’d eat there for every meal if I could!”
“Then it wouldn’t be special.”
“Hah, you’re right, Nanamin.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Mhm, I had a lot of fun. You really didn’t have to do that for me y’know, spending all that money and stuff.”
Yuuji swears the firm line of Nanami’s mouth softens. “I wanted to.”
Goddamn. Yuuji really can’t mess this night up.
The car ride doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter. In fact, they don’t seem to be going in any direction near Jujutsu Tech. These streets don’t look familiar, and this has to be a different route than the one they used on the way there. They didn’t sit through this much traffic, didn’t pass these landmarks and billboards.
Yuuji has to be careful not to let his teeth grind when he asks, “Are we not going back to campus?”
Nanami checks something on his phone, the blue light casting heavily contoured, ghostly shadows on his already angular face. “No, we’re heading to my apartment.”
“To review the specifics of our last mission. We were already together, I thought this would be convenient. I have the report at home.”
“O-oh,” Yuuji nods, cold dread slogging down his spine like cement. “Makes sense, I guess.”
“Would you rather go home?” The reflection of Nanami’s phone screen catches in the shine of his eyeball, making Nanami’s attention feel unsettling, wrong. “The driver can turn around. It’ll take a bit longer, but—“
“No!” Yuuji blurts. “Your place is fine.”
For some reason that Yuuji cannot identify, Nanami doesn’t acknowledge his outburst. Instead, he returns his focus to his phone and continues scrolling through whatever he’s been busy with
Five minutes. Ten minutes.
Fifteen passes before Nanami murmurs off-hand, “Almost there.”
Yuuji barely hears it with the rush of adrenaline pounding against his eardrums. Almost there? What is that? Another few minutes? Seconds? Yuuji isn’t sure how much more he can endure.
He’s so full. It hurts so bad.
Would it be so terrible to ask the cab driver to pull over to the side of a desolate stretch of road, or maybe even a deserted alleyway, just so he can relieve himself? Is that so wrong?
Yuuji opens his mouth and shuts it before he can even breathe.
Damn, what is he thinking? He’s really nuts if he’s considering that a viable option. Squatting down behind a grimey garbage can? In public? In front of Nanamin?
Blurriness overcomes his vision when the car makes a sharp right. Yuuji tastes blood from his raw lip, the pang of his bursting bladder unbearable, like an angry, sick heartbeat. Painful aches keep stabbing throughout his abdomen, intensifying when his body suddenly lurches to the left from another aggressive, unexpected turn.
Yuuji claws into his kneecaps, throat stitched tight when he feels a few drops wet the inside of his boxer briefs.
The driver apologizes. Nanami hums, seemingly unbothered by the jerkiness of the ride. Yuuji seizes, like the mechanism of a door keyed tight to lock, begging that the wetness doesn’t show through on his pants or, worse, the car seat. All he can do is chew on the mutilated inside of his cheek and tell himself, again again again, that he can’t under any circumstances piss himself.
It hurts, though. It really hurts. But, there’s something else there, too. Something that frankly horrifies Yuuji.
There is no other way to describe what he’s feeling other than as ‘sickening.’ Because it is, it’s sickening how the stretch of his belly radiates so much heat. He can’t stop touching the sensitive bulge of his tummy, Yuuji constantly pushing his fingerprints into certain, special spots low on his waist.
There’s something else there inside Yuuji, another sensation, another horror, tormenting him beside the needy ache from the strain of his bladder. Whatever it is, it’s instinctive and automatic, making Yuuji clamp down on nothing as a wave of desperation rams him. He clenches over and over again, the contraction bringing him a millisecond of relief, a distraction that almost burns with how good it is.
It’s only as he squeezes his muscles tighter, body suppressing a deep shudder, that he realizes what that something else is: it’s pleasure. He’s squeezing his cunt because it feels good underneath all the agony. Good enough that he throws what little shame he has away as he focuses more of his weight on his clit and grinds himself against the vibrating car seat. Keeps grinding when the road gets bumpy, small little rocks of Yuuji’s hips that he momentarily forgets that Nanami might notice. He keeps it up for a moment longer until a tiny, damp burst of satisfaction grips up the knobs of his spine and softens the latch of Yuuji’s jaw with a warm exhale.
What the fuck.
He’s dizzy, his focus training on the fidgeting twists of his fingers. Humiliated, hot and stuck still. Yuuji cannot rationalize this.
He’s getting off? Right here, where people can hear and see him? He’s repulsive, perverse.
The self-deprecated clamor clouding his thoughts vanishes. Yuuji snaps to attention, almost salivating when he realizes that the cab is idling. Parked in front of a familiar upscale apartment building, the same structure that he recalls, in the jumble of his dissociative and shameful headspace, is where Nanami lives.
Yuuji could fucking cry.
And he almost does when reality knocks him upside the head. In order to get to a bathroom, that requires him to move. To stand up, loosen and nimble his legs. Yuuji already feels cold, so sweaty from the absolute mounting fear of attempting such a task.
“Are you coming?”
Nanami already has one foot out of the car door, torso twisted back to look Yuuji over. This is the first time since they entered the cab that Nanamin has really studied him. What can he see? The pallor of his skin, the jumpiness in his fingers, the hunched posture? What is he going to say to him? And why is it definitely going to make Yuuji want to off himself even more than he already wants to?
Instead, Nanami says nothing. He exits the car and shuts the door. Yuuji’s stomach plummets. He’s been abandoned, told to fend for himself. Not that Nanami knows to help him. But...still. He unbuckles himself and takes a nasally breath, ignoring the wary expression the driver shoots him in the rearview mirror. He needs a moment to be brave.
But it’s cut short.
Yuuji almost screams when his side door pops open. Nanami peers down at him. There’s silence as he reaches his hand out.
Praying has never really gotten him anywhere before, but Yuuji finds himself doing just that as he uses Nanamin’s arm for leverage as he somehow, someway, extracts himself from the car and into the brisk night air.
Now is not the time for him to dwell on how embarrassing this entire scene must look to anyone passing by. It’s not like he actually hears it, but Yuuji swears he feels the cruel grumble of Sukuna’s laughter echo his bone marrow. Jerk. Yuuji bets that asshole pissed himself at some point when he was alive. He had to.
Nanami shuts the door. The driver shifts the car back into gear, speeding away.
When had the fare been paid? Yuuji can’t remember and that makes him feel even worse because he didn’t even offer to pay after Nanamin spent so much money on such a fancy dinner for him and—
“Yuuji,” Nanami’s still there, his hand resting against the small of his back. His breath tickles Yuuji’s temple. “Come with me.”
At times, Yuuji wishes he could give Nanamin the world. The generosity, the attention, the patience he offers Yuuji again and again makes him truly feel spoiled. But right now, Yuuji doesn’t think he can spare even one of his cells. All of his energy focuses on maintaining the seal of his bladder. Forget walking, forget composure. Yuuji really can’t hold on without Nanamin there to keep him sane.
And somehow, he doesn’t break. Not yet. Yuuji staggers through the lobby’s automatic doors with Nanami’s shoulder brushing his. His waddling must look ridiculous and Yuuji confirms as much when they make it to the glossy elevator bay. Wall-to-ceiling mirrors stretch the perimeter walls, high-gloss marble catching their image beneath them. Beside Yuuji in their reflection, put-together and oozing class as he checks his watch, is Nanamin. Glued to his side and curved forward, complexion sickly and anxiety palpable in his drowned eyes is someone Yuuji doesn’t recognize as himself. They have the same hair, the same clothes, even wear the same shoes.
But that can’t be Yuuji.
He despises what’s being mirrored back to him. It’s so weak.
Thankfully they don’t have to wait long for the elevator to arrive. Yuuji stumbles as he enters, grateful to be away from the mirrors. Then, he almost panics when he realizes he doesn’t know which button to press and almost has a meltdown before Nanami thumbs the ‘7’ button.
Breathing no longer feels safe. Yuuji pants quietly, hopefully soundless enough that Nanami doesn’t hear. He has to stop deluding himself, though. Nanami isn’t stupid, he has eyes, ears, a brain. Anyone probably would notice how Yuuji braces himself against the elevator railing to protect his slightly distended stomach, eyes glassy and wet and filled to the brim.
A soft ding sounds before everything stills. They're on Nanami’s floor. How Yuuji manages to drag himself onward is a miracle in itself.
Nanami’s keys jingle in his grasp. Yuuji almost moans when the key slides into the slot without difficulty, clicking open. Nanami holds the door open in a display of courtesy. But that’s out the window when Yuuji rushes in without so much as a thank you and makes a sloppy mess of himself kicking off his shoes in the entranceway.
Oh, he’s right there. Yuuji can see the door to Nanami’s bathroom. There. He can finally go. With newfound vigor, Yuuji makes a beeline for the toilet, breath huffing out in eager little pants.
But Nanami grabs his arm and Yuuji’s heart stops. “Where are you going?”
“The living room is this way, Yuuji.”
“Nanamin, please.” Yuuji almost sobs. He’s gotten so excited at the prospect of relieving himself that the stop on his bladder now feels weaker. Like he had already started to relax at the thought of finally sitting down to piss. “I need to go—”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Yuuji.” The way Nanamin verbalizes his name cracks lightning through Yuuji’s bloodstream. There’s a thickness to the syllables in the back of Nanami’s throat, a softness in his obfuscated gaze that has Yuuji even more delirious. “You can let go anytime.”
Oh fuck, he knows.
A sharp jab of fear has Yuuji whining, leaking into his underwear. He tries to cross his legs, no no no—but Nanamin’s grip tightens on his arm and he’s being pressed into the wall, chest flush with Nanamin’s, his lungs on the verge of exploding.
“You’ve been so good.” The words are gravel in Yuuji’s tinny eardrums, echoing crunchy and loud, drowning everything else out. There’s pressure on his elbow and then lips on his.
Chaste. Sweet. Like Nanamim always kisses him after they’re sated and through.
How the fuck is this good? He’s being an embarrassment, not following any sort of directions or obeying any of Nanamin’s rules. He’s acting crude, ungrateful, selfish selfish selfish. There’s nothing good about this and yet, Nanamin is rewarding him with a soft tongue against his own, as if being a grown person that’s about to soil himself is worthy of pride.
Yuuji can’t hear himself over his crying. Over the sloppy disaster of this devolving, unreciprocated kiss, nose bumping and his mouth tasting of Nanamin’s old fashioned at dinner and his own saliva-thick blood. Whatever Yuuji’s trying to say isn’t getting through his frantic stuttering, the garbled mess of his pleas, the hammer of his pulse in his knuckles as he clings to Nanamin’s lapels.
“Baby,” Nanamin whispers against the curve of his cheekbone, lips dragging beneath his eyes. “I’m right here.”
Yuuji throws his head back, clamping his thighs tighter. Squeezing his cunt, praying he can hold on for longer, for when Nanamin lets him go. But the clench turns into a spasm, something that licks the edge of agony and pleasure, and Yuuji yells. Why the fuck is his body betraying him? Just when he’s so close?
“You can do it, Yuuji.”
“Yes, you can.”
He realizes, in terror, Nanami only needs one hand to restrain him. He’s pathetic. The other is drifting down his sternum, over the bloat of his stomach and down to his belly button. Further down and into the waistband of his pants, his underwear. Fingers curved and pressing on the swell of his clit. Yuuji raises up onto his toes, sliding up the wall, pants animalistic and filthy.
“You’re enjoying this,” Nanami remarks as he pinches Yuuji’s clit.
“I wanted to do this in the car,” Nanamin grunts, exploring the slickness between his folds. Fuck, it’s so loud, so humiliating to listen to gooey sounds of his own arousal. “To touch you.” Fingers try to spread him but Yuuji won’t budge. “You think I didn’t notice you humping the seat?”
“Please—” Yuuji’s ears burn. He has no idea what he’s even begging for anymore. To escape. To have Nanami’s fingers plug into his cunt and fuck him right here.
But Nanamin isn’t listening to his nonsense. His hand is out of Yuuji’s clothes and jabs two glistening fingers against his bladder.
Yuuji stiffens up, his cunt suffering through the most overwhelming throb yet. He can’t help but leak enough into his underwear for it to feel gross. It takes him a moment to recognize the strangled sounds he’s hearing are coming from his own mouth.
“My sweet boy,” Nanami says, smiling, prodding harder against the hard ball of his bladder. Stop stop stop, but it doesn’t. Nanami presses harder, harder and Yuuji suffocates on his own gasp. “I’m so proud of you.”
For some reason, that’s what does it.
White noise swaddles Yuuji when he finally lets go.
Everything is blank, blank and warm as he feels it spread down his thighs. Covers his skin in pure, empty heat. Yuuji bites his lip in a failed attempt to mask his groan. His insides quiver, his fists twisting in Nanami’s clothes as a jagged, sharp sensation carves through his belly. Nanamin keeps twisting his fingers into the skin below his belly button, Yuuji hiccuping oh fuck as he jerks himself into the pressure and the building snap deep in his cunt. He can hardly feel anything except for the steady, hot release of everything, how it all makes him feel floaty and so so good.
“Good boy,” Nanamin’s mouth is on his ear when Yuuji finally empties. Slumping, Yuuji feels himself pulled into an embrace, hands soothing up and down his spine. Only then, as his labored breathing fails to regulate and tingles melt through his bloodstream, does Yuuji recognize that he came.
An orgasm. He busted a fucking nut while he, he—
No. Yuuji’s eyes glaze as he gapes down at himself in disbelief. Clothes darker and heavy than ever. Leggings stuck and chilling on his thighs, his socks soaked and slimy. He’s standing in a puddle of his own—he really did—
“You did so well,” Nanamin brushes his lips against the sweaty stretch of his throat. “Yuuji.”
Yuuji swallows. His vision gets foggy as he endures the horrid thump thump thump of his pulse. It’s hard to think. Everything in his skull is suddenly deafening, cramped, swarming colors and emotions and memories that Yuuji cannot even attempt to grasp. Can’t focus, can’t even speak. Not with his legs so sticky and itchy, body hollow, with Nanami’s whispering as tenuous as the flutter of butterfly wings against his temple.
“Let’s clean you up,” Nanami says. Somehow, Yuuji can comprehend that. He anchors to those four words, Nanami’s palm pressing into the small of his back, the other entwining with Yuuji’s own shaking fingers. His fingers are clammy. “Come with me, Yuuji.”
But Yuuji, even in his delirium, knows he’s forgetting something.
His limp hand finds Nanamin’s full cock beneath his slacks and squeezes. He has to be good. Show Nanamin that even as repulsive he is, he’s still thoughtful, still obedient. Still his good boy that thinks about Nanamin’s pleasure, no matter what.
Nanamin doesn’t hesitate to gently pluck his hand away.
Yuuji’s equilibrium shatters. He feels like he’s gonna puke. Nanamin doesn’t want him. Refuses to use him to get off, won’t want to ever bury his cock inside him because he’s so disgusting, disgusting disgusting—
“Don’t worry about me,” Nanami soothes. “Let’s take care of you.”
It’s difficult for Yuuji to parse what follows. He barely remembers how he got into the bathroom. Yuuji blocks out the humiliation of Nanami having to help him strip beside the tub. His own limbs refuse to cooperate, he’s a sodden, teeth-chattering ragdoll that needs someone to lift his shirt off his chest. Peel his wet, soiled leggings off his thighs like a second skin molting from him. Nanami lifts his legs to remove his socks, his underwear, hopefully to burn them. He doesn’t really know what Nanami is doing when his attention drifts away from Yuuji to another task, but he hates it. Feels ignored and sick and cold there sitting on the closed toilet seat and almost starts bawling again.
But Nanami is there again, shirt sleeves rolled up. His skin is comforting against Yuuji’s bare flesh when he touches him, guiding him to where he needs to be. “Shh, I got you.”
Yuuji does start crying when Nanami starts rinsing him off with the spray nozzle. He doesn’t even pretend it’s water in his eyes. He full-on lets himself sob, hiccupy and headachey as Nanami scrubs him clean, washes his hair, massages the tightness in his shoulders away. Time blurs as Yuuji holds the spray nozzle, directing the scalding water against his chest.
At some point, he’s in the tub. Nanami is crouched by his side, holding his hand above the swirling steam dancing off the surface. They don’t really say much. Yuuji falls asleep to the lull of the water and Nanami’s low voice telling him in so many different ways that he’s perfect.
He wakes up after Nanami lifts him dripping and pruned from the tub. Groggy and spent, Yuuji blinks awake. They’re still in the bathroom.
Yuuji discovers that he’s being redressed in clothes that are a mix of his own and Nanami’s. The fabrics kissing his bathwater-hot skin are dry and warm and smell so crisp. Fresh, laundered clothes that Yuuji, half-dozing against the sink, vaguely realizes that he feels safe in. A pair of Nanami’s old athletic shorts, a spare undershirt and Yuuji’s own hoodie: it’s everything.
They don’t exchange any words. Only the sounds of Nanami hooking up the blowdryer and the gentle hum of the hot air ruffling Yuuji’s damp hair fill the space between them. Nanami’s fingers card methodically through each section. When he’s finished, Nanami cleans up, remaining close to Yuuji’s side. Yuuji pulls his hoodie up and buries his nose into the collar.
Nanami guides Yuuji to the bedroom, for him to sit on the edge of his made, tidy bed. Immediately, Yuuji’s offered a warm mug of something decadently sweet—hot chocolate with fat marshmallows bobbing beneath an enormous dollop of melting whipped cream. Yuuji can’t stop smiling. It’s the perfect temperature, not scalding enough to kill his taste buds, but lovely enough that Yuuji savors the heat of it slipping down his throat and pooling comfortably in his belly.
“I’m sorry,” Yuuji whispers after a while of sipping his drink. After he feels like he’s okay enough to talk.
Heavy nerves congeal in his chest no matter how much Nanami tries to shoo them away. Despite the touches, the murmured sweet, undeserving sentiments in his ear, the hot chocolate in his shaking hands, Yuuji still feels ashamed. Like he irreversibly messed up. It’s more than likely that Nanami is utilizing all this outward kindness and care to mask just how disgusted he feels towards him.
Even with the possibility of Nanami affirming his fears, Yuuji knows he has to explain himself. Because if he doesn’t, he’ll never really know the truth and he can’t live with that.
“I couldn’t do it,” Yuuji breathes in the steam, trying to focus on the sullen outline of his expression on the drink’s surface. “You’re probably… so mad at me.”
“Why would I be angry with you?” Nanami asks as his fingers card through Yuuji’s fluffy, blow-dried hair. “You’re my baby boy.”
“If anyone is at fault, it’s me.” Nanami’s thumb swipes a stray fluff of whipped cream off the corner of Yuuji’s lips. He brings it to his own mouth and pops it inside. Yuuji forgets to breathe. “I acted selfishly.”
“N-Nanamin, you took such good care of me tonight. You didn’t—”
“We should have discussed this. Your comfort level is too important to be ignored. And that’s what I did.”
“Wait—you wanted me to...uhm. Do that?”
Tension creeps up to harden Nanami’s brow. Yuuji stares until Nanami sighs. “Yes.”
“Oh,” Yuuji says. Then something clicks. “Oh.”
“Don’t say that!” Yuuji grips his mug tightly, overcome with some emotion. It’s hard to describe, but it makes Yuuji’s chest light and fluttery, cutting through the residual anxiety. “You liked it, right? Everything?”
“Then it’s fine!”
“Yuuji, that’s not how consent works.”
“We need to talk about this.”
Swallowing a big, creamy gulp of his drink, Yuuji hands it to Nanami with a small smile. “Can we go to bed first? I’m… tired.”
“Do you want to go back to the dorms?”
“No,” Yuuji says without any hesitation. “Wanna stay with you.”
He throws the blanket over him and wiggles into a comfortable spot. Sure, he should brush his teeth, but he doesn’t have the energy to even do that. He’s drifting fast and he hasn’t had Nanami’s hands on him in a few minutes. Yuuji can’t admit it, but he needs to be held right now. Wants to be tucked into the crook of Nanamin’s chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his light snore, get overheated from sharing space and skin with him under his luxurious comforter.
Peaking over the blanket, Yuuji hopes that Nanami understands his message.
“I’ll get changed,” Nanami says. And he starts to do just that.
Yuuji’s already half-asleep, but he smiles wide, making room for Nanami when he finally joins him.