Chapter Text
The fifth time Shouta wanted to confess to Oboro was when Oboro managed to convince both him and Hizashi to get a cat.
It was fate, really. Shouta never outright stated he wanted to adopt a cat, but he’d make his wants relatively clear yet subtle.
(He’d wear his cat-themed socks around his roommates constantly and went out of his way to send Oboro and Hizashi silly videos of those critters playing. Hizashi and Oboro were more than aware but they’d never give him the satisfaction.)
Life was starting to become consistent again. For example, they began to all pile on the couch - a ritual they started a few months ago - mindlessly watching something on the television while they relax in each other’s presence. Around two years since they all collectively moved into this apartment, and as stressful as it can be running a tattoo business, it’s been nothing more than his wants- his appreciation and love for his roommates - brought to life. Something Shouta never thought he’d get the chance to experience.
He gets to see his favourite people everyday. He gets to do something he loves, and he’s using that marketing degree to his advantage (whew).
But of course, old habits die hard, and everyone has a busy schedule. So it’s to be expected with Oboro’s focus on getting his flower shop opened, Hizashi’s new gig as Present Mic, and Shouta’s struggle to take care of the tattoo shop of his dreams (surprise, he has dreams).
Except he may or may not be regressing into the person he used to be during his university days.
Oboro noticed it first, the way Shouta would immediately head to his room to do paperwork or figure out what else to put in his portfolio, work on art and rarely speak to his roommates. A true artist’s calling, Oboro’d assume, but then Hizashi brought it up during one of their ritualistic, magical movie nights when Shouta was still cooped up in his room.
The two idiots put their minds together (which wasn’t saying a lot, considering it was Oboro and Hizashi we’re talking about) and created the perfect plan.
It started in the middle of the week, when Shouta was talking to his newest hire, a boy with eyes that somehow rivalled Shouta’s eternally tired ones and dark indigo hair pulled back with a head band, a small apple charm glued onto it. They had just been running through piercing procedures for the fourth time that day, and Hitoshi was clearly exasperated, but Shouta couldn’t have his first apprentice fuck up now, could he?
Plus, he was growing fond of the kid. Shouta had so much to teach and Hitoshi was always on top of his responsibilities. He wanted to pursue an artist job, just like Shouta had wanted when he was still a young adult. Now he has that and he can help someone just like him achieve that as well.
The front door chimes open and Shouta can only assume it’s another customer, maybe a walk-in, since he has no clients for the next two hours, and some of his employees are busy with their own things.
(Fukukado Emi and her client have been howling with laughter for the last thirty-or-so minutes and it’s starting to drive Shouta up the wall, but he’s grown accustomed to the loudness considering he’s willingly living with Shirakumo Oboro and Yamada Hizashi for the last two years or so.)
So imagine Shouta’s surprise when he hears a loud “Shouchan!” and his eyes slightly widen at the voice. He whips his head around, spinning on his heel, and he tries to fight back the glow in his expression when his eyes land on a large man with blue-white hair standing right in front of the receptionist’s desk.
Shouta scowls at the nickname as Oboro goes waltzing past Shouta’s employees, the clients, and the booths. A bright smile wears on his face and he stretches his arms up like he’s the main character of a television show, making his entrance known to everyone in the general vicinity. He’d simply drop dead right there if he didn’t have heads turning in his direction.
“Why are you here?” Kind of unintentionally rude, but Oboro’s warm smile turns into one more cunning. Shouta can only imagine what he’s planning.
“Can’t I just come over and say hi to my roommate? Maybe ask how that apprentice of his is doing?” Oboro leans down to get real close. So close, Shouta can barely feel the heat of his breath hit his face before he pulls away. Being Oboro’s friend has taught Shouta one thing about him: Oboro has no concept of personal space.
Heat coils in Shouta’s stomach. It’s been getting increasingly more difficult to hide his feelings. No matter how much time he spends with his roommates, they always manage to have his face burning up and his chest as fuzzy as a pillow. Maybe there’s something wrong with him, or maybe there was something in the air that had Shouta blushing all the way down to his chest like a teenager who had just gotten asked out on a date.
“Go ask him yourself,” Shouta says, pointing his thumb over to the said apprentice, who was wiping down one of the empty booths. He had this permanent scowl on his face tied between exhaustion and annoyance.
“He looks like you.”
Shouta scowls as well. “No, he does not.”
Oboro playfully rolls his eyes then slips right past Shouta to approach the boy. “Shinsou, hey!”
The boy looks up from his work and his scowl slightly softens. “Hi, Shirakumo.” He holds himself up a little awkwardly and- yeah, Shouta can totally see the resemblance between himself and his apprentice. Too bad he’d never admit to that out loud, otherwise Oboro would use it against him until Hitoshi finishes his apprenticeship here.
“What did you call Aizawa?” Hitoshi asks, the corner of his lip quirking up into a little smile. Something familiar and recognizable shines in Oboro’s eyes as he puts a hand on his hip and leans forward a little, almost like he’s towering over the shorter man.
“What, do you like the nickname?” Oboro asks Hitoshi. “Shouchan over here haaaates it!” -And it hits Shouta: they’re both trying to tease him. They’re both on the same page, on the same chapter, in the same book, and Shouta needs to snatch that novel away before they read on.
“I don’t hate it.” Shouta narrows his gaze towards his employee. “Get back to work.”
Before Hitoshi has the chance to duck his head, Oboro pipes up. “Aw, no, I was gonna ask Shinsou to help convince me to get a cat.”
Shouta’s head bobs up like a floaty being pushed underwater and he turns to Oboro. “You’re doing what?” Almost like he hadn’t heard him the first time.
Oboro grinned. “We should get a cat.”
“Why? Do you miss Sushi that much? You can visit Nem if you want—“
“Aww,” Oboro coos, “you’re adorable when you play dumb.” His condescending tone has Shouta not knowing if he wants to punch Oboro or kiss him right then and there.
“We know you really want a cat, Sho,” Oboro hums. Shouta scoffs and pulls away, walking past all the booths and towards the far back of the shop where the booths either aren’t properly set up yet or go untouched. Some of them still need their curtains installed. Hitoshi and Oboro follow behind quickly. “You are not slick.”
“So what if I do? All of us are too busy to take care of a pet,” Shouta bites back with an eyeroll. “Seriously, just go visit Sushi if you’re that desperate for a cat.”
“Shinsou, can you knock some sense into him? You are his current apprentice, after all.”
Shouta locks eyes with Hitoshi and he genuinely looks like he’s thinking it over, but the man’s dark stare has the boy’s dazed look snap into something more normal than tired. “Um. You like cats, don’t you, Sir?”
“I don’t see why that matters.” Shouta sidesteps the question seamlessly. He thinks he’s out of the red zone as he continues, “you’re too damn busy setting up your flower shop, Hizashi’s doing the Present Mic gig- not to mention he’s helping you set up shop, and I’m here a lot of the time without Hitoshi. The kid’s got college, which means I’m here stuck listening to Joke’s stupid banter that makes me want to rip my god damn hair out.”
Hitoshi stands frozen in between them. “I’ll just- Hm. I’ll go–”
“Kid. You watch the floor,” Shouta says, not breaking his eye contact with Oboro, who is adamant on keeping it. “Oboro. We’re going to the break room.”
“Oh, breakroom. Shinsou, if we aren’t out in fifteen minutes, assume we need some alone time,” Oboro winks at Hitoshi, who’s left standing there like Oboro has grown an extra limb in the last fifteen seconds alone. If Shouta had the choice between kissing or punching Oboro, he would totally punch him. The obvious and most clear choice would be to then kiss him afterwards.
“In. Now,” Shouta demands, pulling the door open. Oboro scurries inside and Shouta gives Hitoshi a trusting look. Something that tells Hitoshi that Shouta trusts him enough not to let him down. In a million years, Hitoshi would never dream of it.
For someone with long legs, Shouta reasonably walks fast, but Oboro (who is taller than Shouta by quite a few centimetres) walks slower and it infuriates Shouta the way nothing else will. They make it to the breakroom, a little room with some lockers, a foldable table, and some chairs. Oboro gets comfortable, sitting down in the biggest one that had also been furthest away from the door, and Shouta is standing across the table with a grimace on his face.
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation now?” Shouta asks meanly. Oboro’s once beaming smile dips as the atmosphere in the room drops.
“Why do you think I’m here?” queries Oboro, leaning back in his chair. The comfortability he extrudes pisses Shouta off even more.
“To convince me to get a cat in the middle of the day? During work? The hell was your plan? You’re better off going home if you got off work that early.”
“Shouta, you love cats! I don’t see the big deal.”
“I don’t want a cat when none of us have the time to take care of an animal.”
“Then find the time.”
Shouta’s eyes narrow and a realization washes over him like a cold shower. Freezing and brutally honest that yeah, maybe he’s been taking one too many long, scalding hot showers. “Is this your way to get me to relax?” His tone is almost venomous.
Oboro’s eyes soften. “Is it working?”
It is.
Shouta’s suddenly taken back to their university days, sitting on that barstool with his fingers clutching his pants as if they’re about to grow legs and run away, Oboro kissing him underneath the dim yellow lights, holding Shouta’s face in place.
Because that’s what Oboro had said when Shouta asked if he was flirting back then. Is it working?
And the answer was yes. It was working on Shouta, so much so that they abandoned the bar and ran back to their dorm all giddy, and then they never spoke about it again, and now Oboro’s presence in this small, stuffy room is growing hotter, and hotter, and hotter.
“Oboro, listen.” Shouta inhales through his nose to keep his feelings, his anger in check. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get a cat now. Not when everyone is so busy.”
Shouta begins to shuffle his feet, which transitions into his nervous pacing back and forth in the small area of the break room. Oboro’s eyes follow Shouta like he’s a soccerball, going back and forth, back and forth, bouncing off of the walls.
“What I want isn’t important.” The comment slips out of his mouth quicker than he can think about it. Still, Shouta believes he still would’ve said something similarly on the line. He purposely ignores the look of almost-betrayal washed over Oboro as he continues. “I want to take care of a cat. It’s an animal! But it needs proper love and care and I really don’t want a cat if we can’t take care of it.”
Oboro’s frown settles further into something Shouta struggles to read. With his brows knit together like he’s in thought and his eyes glazed over, slowly blinking, staring at Shouta, he almost feels judged.
”Is that what this is about?” Oboro queries, lifting from his chair. He approaches Shouta with slow, steady steps, a draw of breath, the pads of his fingers dragging over the polyethylene of the table. Shouta pauses when Oboro stops moving at the last minute to catch himself before his body has the chance to press against Shouta’s. The room feels so much tinier now. The air has been stripped from his lungs, chest expanding with every slow, heavy breath he takes.
Breathing in Oboro is so ethereally good.
“Shouta.” Oboro’s voice is softer yet still stern. Shouta can only imagine how good he would sound in bed, saying Shouta’s name like that, then quickly swats that thought away before he can ponder it longer. He scolds himself internally; inappropriate, but he can’t stop thinking about it when Oboro is in his space like this. “You’re allowed to take a break. You know that, right?”
“I hear it from you and Hizashi all the time. Now Nemuri’s starting to get on my ass about taking a break since Hizashi couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut.”
”Don’t you think that’s a sign?” Oboro asks like it’s an obvious question Shouta’s stupid head should already know the answer to. “Maybe you’re taking this tattoo shop thing a little too seriously?”
“It’s my fucking job,” Shouta snarls and Oboro gives something of annoyance on his expression instead of anger. Not the type of anger Shouta portrays. “I’m gonna take it seriously.”
“Sho-“ The tension in Oboro’s shoulders dissipates. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t take it seriously. You’ve worked hard to get this thing off the ground.”
A hand tightly holds Shouta’s shoulder and Oboro’s looking down at him, considering their almost jarring height difference. Now his annoyance is replaced with that dumb hopeful expression washing over him. It would annoy Shouta if it hadn’t been the one thing he had fallen in love with Oboro for.
“But you have people to help you. Fukukado’s got a pretty good handle on this, and you’ve been raving about Shinsou for months now. Hizashi or I could come in during some days, too! Just to take the strain off yourself.”
All of the reassurance is starting to reach into Shouta’s head and pull at his core. So his eyes flicker down to Oboro’s lips. He thinks he’s going to kiss him.
He doesn’t.
“Sho?”
Shouta blinks hard. “No, sorry, I—“ He isn’t entirely sure if he’s apologizing for wanting Oboro to kiss him or if he’s apologizing for whatever other reason. With his dominant hand, Shouta reaches up to scratch at his scalp, an old habit that soothes his anxiety. Something he’s been doing since middle school, a habit that never went away. Obviously, Oboro recognizes it and pulls his arm away as a result.
Shouta doesn’t know how to ask Oboro to touch him again. Instead, his eyes are glued to his shoes. “Just like university, huh?” He murmurs to himself.
Even if Shouta isn’t looking at him, he can still hear the smile in Oboro’s voice as he muses, “just like university. You have the support, Shouta. You just need to take it.”
A dry laugh comes out of Shouta unhappily. He pauses. “I haven‘t changed much, have I?” He finally cranes his neck upwards. Oboro is looking up at him with what Shouta can only describe as fondness. Maybe something more, but Shouta doesn’t want to push the friendliness of it all. Because that is all this will ever be.
Oboro’s lips, red and slightly chapped from biting the skin, is right there. It’s right there, and Shouta has the opportunity to lean right up there and kiss him.
The events during and after the night after they all moved in together plays in Shouta’s head. Oboro’s hands were so big and Shouta felt so small and he’s never felt like that before. He didn’t have to do anything. For once, he could give away the responsibility and just focus on how good Oboro made him feel. Oboro gave him the opportunity to pretend like nothing else mattered but his mouth sucking bruises into Shouta’s collarbone.
Would Oboro do it again? Would he pin Shouta to the wall right here and kiss him again, fumble with his belt, push his hands into his boxers? Would he pretend like nothing happened after it was all over? Would Shouta be forced to sit in this thick silence, unspoken words, questions left unanswered, between both himself and Oboro?
Shouta barely catches what Oboro says next due to the fog in his brain obscuring every thought. “A little bit, but your work habits are still awful. I’m surprised your hair hasn’t started falling out.”
Shouta grins. “You wish you had hair this thick.”
“Hey! I’m not the one who’s too lazy to do his own curl pattern.”
“I have my reasons. It took Hizashi forever to finish blowdrying my hair.”
“You looked great afterwards, though! It really suits ya.”
Shouta hopes the heat in his face goes unnoticed. “Shut up.”
Oboro snorts and pulls back, finally out of Shouta’s face. He doesn’t entirely know how exactly he’s supposed to ask Oboro to continue touching him (never stop touching him), so he keeps his mouth shut and leaves it unspoken. Like he does with everything Oboro’s done to his dazed mind, to his fuzzy heart.
Shouta takes the weekend off and after that Saturday, he’s coming home with his roommates and a pet carrier. Oboro opens the door for Shouta, who’s holding the carrier, and Hizashi, who’s practically jumping with excitement. Shouta’s heart thrums through his fingers as sets the cat carrier down and unlatches the cage.
Slowly but surely, a small white feline they had all agreed to name Shiro (Shouta picked out the name) pads out of the carrier. She’s shy, unknowing to the world around her, and she’s scared. It’ll take a little bit of time for her to get used to her new home, but Shouta’s chest feels lighter at the sight of who he has decided is his new, precious daughter.
Still, he puts a hand out and she gives it a sniff, and he finally understands what it means to take a break.