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He’d never think of doing something like this, never in a million years, but there’s only one person capable of pushing him this far out of his comfort zone.
“Morisawa-kun.”
Kaoru waits with bated breath. It’s one o’clock in the morning, and he’d been up all night tossing and turning with an idea that could end all the wrong ways.
He’s always been up for new experiences, though. This, he reasons, is no different. He’s mulled it over for ages, but a girl, a guy—a mouth is a mouth. Even though his stomach turns queasy at the mere suggestion, after what had seemed like his fiftieth time changing positions on the bed, he’d hardened his resolve. He’s going to— no, he will do it.
What inevitably comes is a meek, “Yes?”
He’s not sure what he was expecting—for no reply at all or at least a pretense of sleep—but the bundled figure had tried to shuffle discreetly every so often that Kaoru had already known. His roommate couldn’t have pretended, anyway. He's a bad liar.
He shifts so that he’s facing the other’s bed. “Morisawa-kun, about what you said earlier, I—“
“No, no, it’s okay," immediately answers a high-pitched, muffled voice. "Forget I ever said anything, Hakaze. I can manage myself."
Kaoru doubts that, given the obviously forced laugh that comes out from under the covers. He props his head up with a hand, sighing at the sight of the blanket-burrito across the room. “Let me finish my sentence first, yeah?”
“No!” Based on the frantic rustle beneath the cloth, it seems like he’s shaking his head. “I-it—! It was a mistake on my part! I should’ve never—“
“I’ll do it.”
“—ever, asked— what?”
“I said,” Kaoru enunciates, slow and deliberate, “I’ll do it.”
A hand peeks out from the blankets, pulling them down slightly to reveal huge, dumbfounded eyes. “Uh..?”
The blond sits up in his bed, letting his legs dangle off the side. He runs a hand down his face, groaning, “Seriously, how many times are you gonna make me say it?”
“I…” Chiaki gulps, and Kaoru’s traitorous eyes are drawn to the tiny movement of his throat. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Nothing has ever stopped Kaoru from chasing after what he wants. Whether it be that girl down the street, or the pretty lady walking by, he’ll have them wrapped around his finger in no time. Except Chiaki isn’t a girl or a pretty lady strolling about—he’s a guy, for christ’s sake. One who’s much too wimpy, and loud, and annoying, and smells like cheap cologne—he can say so much more; the list of his grievances goes on and on.
Rooming with such a contradictory guy for some time, Kaoru likes to think he’s figured out a thing or two about him. There’s that brilliantly bright persona Chiaki wears for a performance, shining flawlessly under those stage lights, countless times. No one would ever guess how much of a nerd he actually was.
Or, how easily susceptible he was to get trapped in his own thoughts, that blinding star reduced to nothing but lifeless stone in the darkness of their room. Kaoru’s been around him long enough to know his tendency to second-guess himself, to play himself down when he doesn’t have the confidence to hold himself up.
It’s irritating, but what can he do? There’s only so much one actor can do for another, and one’s practice. So that’s exactly what Kaoru intends to do: practice.
For a scene in their upcoming show, that is. Chiaki had been elected as a potential candidate for the suave, charismatic love interest of the heroine, while Kaoru had taken up the more casual role of her supportive best friend, a minor character in this play. Not that he’s complaining; he’d love to see Chiaki—and others, too, not just him—playing major roles. It was getting boring, anyway, always being the lead.
“I’m sick of you making out with your stuffed animals,” Kaoru elaborates, and if his cheeks are warmer than usual, he blames it on the busted AC in the midst of summer. He hates it. “Come here before I change my mind.”
“Y-yes!” Chiaki nods frantically, scrambling to disentangle himself from the blanket. Kaoru waits, eyes still facing the window where milky light filters through the panes as he listens to the other’s movements, gradually coming nearer. Once a noticeable warmth radiates before him, he lifts his head.
Their eyes meet, and a little tingle dances down his spine, all the way to his finger tips, pleasantly numb. “Come closer,” Kaoru says, and the other shifts reluctantly.
“Closer,” he repeats, Chiaki having barely moved an inch from his spot. He can’t help but scoff out a laugh. “How are we supposed to kiss when you’re so far away?”
Saying the word out loud feels almost illegal, and Chiaki seems to think so too. He worries at his lip, looking at everything but Kaoru. Though his face appears painfully conflicted, he eventually walks forward, clumsily knocking their limbs together.
“This is so embarrassing,” Chiaki whines, covering his face with his hands, while Kaoru pretends like he doesn’t feel a pulse of electricity where their skin meets. “How will I ever face you again?”
Kaoru pauses. He hadn’t considered that. “It’s just practice. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Chiaki peeks through his fingers, and despite the dimness of the room, the blush on his cheeks is evident. “Y-yeah,” he mumbles, dropping his hands to his sides. “You’re right. That was stupid of me.”
Kaoru decides against teasing him, though it’s hard when he makes it so easy. “Well? Are you ready?”
The other nods resolutely, that glum air dissipating in an instant. “Yes!” he exclaims. “Whenever you are!”
“Uh, you’re the one initiating it, Morisawa-kun. You’re supposed to kiss the girl, aren’t you?”
He turns bright red. “A-ah, right. I, um, I guess I’ll just…”
As the brunet leans down with wrenched shut eyes, Kaoru can already tell this isn’t going to work. Chiaki misses his mouth by a whole whopping inch. It’s ridiculous enough for Kaoru to want to double over and laugh hysterically, but, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s warm enough that it isn’t necessarily… unpleasant.
Chiaki pulls away immediately, stuttering, “I-I, um— Hey, Hakaze, let’s just call it quits. I don’t think I’m cut out for this—“
“You’re the one who asked me first,” Kaoru points out, grabbing Chiaki before he can run off. Heat blooms from every point of contact, from where his fingers wrap around the other’s wrist to the place where that kiss had landed on his cheek. Scorching his skin like a brand, it’s ever present on the forefront of his mind, permanent in the worst way possible. “So you’re gonna do it whether you like it or not.”
Chiaki has a split second to breathe before he’s roughly pulled down by the collar of his shirt. Their noses bump together, but Kaoru doesn’t care.
“Don’t waste my time,” he mutters, and in the same moment, presses a chaste kiss to Chiaki’s lips.
It’s nothing worth noting—no sparks, no passion. Just a peck, nothing more. It lasts no more than three seconds, and when he pulls back, Chiaki’s face is painted in shock, bewilderment, and an even darker shade of red than before.
“Like that,” Kaoru instructs, his breath a tad bit too winded for something that can barely be called a peck. “You do it like that.”
Chiaki fumbles around, unsure of where to put his hands, when Kaoru grabs them and positions them at the base of his neck. “Try it,” he says, hands not moving from atop Chiaki’s, warm and sturdy.
“Okay,” he breathes, and tries to mimic Kaoru’s actions, leaning down with slightly parted lips and slotting them against his awkwardly. Kaoru wants nothing more than to shove him off and pretend this never happened, but the knowledge of those damn puppy-dog eyes that’ll surely result from doing that has him tilting his head at a more comfortable angle despite himself.
Why his body seems to relax, Kaoru doesn’t know, nor does he want to know. But it’s significantly better than whatever his roommate was doing before, and at least it’s more bearable now. Well, bearable as it gets with a guy with chapped lips.
“God, you’re a terrible kisser,” Kaoru laughs breathily, right against Chiaki’s mouth. “What would the director say if she knew her main lead was this bad?”
Chiaki looks away, cheeks apple-red. “It hasn’t even been decided yet… But really, I think you should’ve ran for the part, Hakaze.”
“Nah, you suit the role perfectly fine. The thing is, no popular girl would ever fall for a guy who kisses as stiffly as that—“
He’s cut off by the impact of teeth, an uneven press of lips against his, awfully rushed. “Please,” Chiaki begs, “stop— stop talking, Hakaze.”
“Eh? Why should I?”
“Just— help me practice!”
Kaoru smiles, lowering his eyes. “We are practicing, babe.”
“Don’t,” Chiaki says weakly. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? I’m helping you get into character.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“You’re not gonna get any better by just talking, you know.”
“Then shut up and kiss me already!”
“No,” Kaoru says slowly, leaning back on his elbows. “You need to do it yourself.”
“B-but—“ Chiaki looks like he wants to cry. Kaoru doesn’t want to unpack the way his chest twinges at the sight. “I… suck at it.”
“I taught you the basics just now, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” Chiaki mumbles under his breath. He’s eerily silent after that, seriously contemplating something with furrowed brows before heaving a sigh. Patting his cheeks a few times, he levels his gaze straight at Kaoru. Eyes sharpening, focused solely on his face without regard for anything else.
“Then you understand what I’m trying to say, right?”
Kaoru blinks at the sudden change in tone, and he’s even more taken-aback when Chiaki plants a knee onto the mattress, hovering over him with much more intent. His eyes widen at the blatant display of seduction, until his brain kicks in and dutifully reminds him that he’s acting.
Kaoru clears his throat, doing his best to keep his smile from faltering. “No, I don’t think so.”
He’s irrevocably unprepared when the brunet sweeps down to his face, so unlike his previous shyness, and kisses him softly. And before he can register it, Chiaki’s already straddling him, enveloping him in an overwhelming bubble of his body heat and soap-scented clothes.
“I want to be yours,” he declares, in that eagerly straightforward, Chiaki-like way. If Kaoru had been a bit more of an amateur, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight tremble in his bottom lip, nor the waver in his voice as he speaks words that would otherwise never leave his mouth. Not to him, at least.
Kaoru’s mind screeches to a halt at that atrocious, unnecessary, and utterly pointless thought. And it doesn’t matter if he stammers out the next line, because it’s just practice.
“I- I don’t trust you.”
Maybe he can pass it off as being really immersed in his character, but he can't escape Chiaki’s keen eyes, skinning him alive and ruthlessly wearing his composure down until he’s rendered motionless, completely still as their lips remain centimeters apart, stuck in an agonizing state of limbo. But the kiss he’s expecting never comes, and he must look so, so stupid for letting his eyes flutter close like that, like some smitten, lovesick shoujo protagonist. He can’t get a hold of himself, and it’s frustrating.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Chiaki coos, tucking a strand of hair behind Kaoru’s ear, the gesture so natural that he’d almost be fooled into thinking the guy actually had a girlfriend at some point. “What matters is that I’m right in front of y—“
“Morisawa-kun,” Kaoru interrupts, so abruptly that it startles Chiaki. It’s just, he’s having some difficulty swallowing the shock from being caressed so… affectionately. “You need to… tilt your head.”
Chiaki breaks character uncannily fast, straightening up to correct his position. “L-like this?”
“Yeah,” Kaoru huffs as their noses brush together, the soft fan of Chiaki’s breath rolling over him in waves. “Better.”
And the brunet goes right back into form, gazing directly into his eyes, never breaking away. He cradles Kaoru’s head gently, fingers tangling in his hair and brushing against the tips of his ears. Kaoru’s breath hitches at the intimate touch, entranced by the way his lips move; so he can do this, but struggle with an innocent little peck?
“Hakaze,” Chiaki calls out, so softly that Kaoru can barely hear him over the static in his brain. “Your turn.”
Damn, he’d gotten sidetracked. “Sorry, repeat the last line again?”
Kaoru can’t suppress the little shiver that settles over his skin when his roommate sidles up to him, pressing their bodies together, and whispers in his ear, “Do I need to spell it out for you?”
He’s always wondered, at what point in an actor’s career is it alright to cross the line of professionalism and wander into more precarious territory? Or maybe there’s no rule, nothing stopping one from fooling around with their co-star, acting as they always do for the cameras the same way in private.
If that’s true, how does one stop feeling things for their coworker? How does one love another so passionately on screen, then treat them like an acquaintance the next moment? Maybe it’s inevitable; acting requires that kind of adaptivity, the ability to be convincing as possible, even through physical actions. And it just so happens that Chiaki is a very touchy person and a very talented, hardworking actor.
Yes, that definitely explains the warmth creeping down his neck and the twitch in his fingers, itching to grab purchase. Somewhere, anywhere, that isn’t Chiaki’s waist, tapered in all the right places—
“Maybe,” he blurts out. He can’t find it in himself to care that he was supposed to deny it, play hard to get like his character is meant to. All he’d like to do is, well, blow up on the spot? “Shit, sorry, I meant—“
He’s unable to salvage himself, not when Chiaki greets him with another heady press to the lips, just shy of something more. Something that makes a once dormant hunger curl in Kaoru’s gut, aching with the intensity of a sparking bonfire, climbing higher and higher until all he can think is Chiaki.
All he can do is fist the bedsheets and pray he doesn’t make a shamefully humiliating noise when the other pulls away with a soft smack, gazing down at him through long, thick lashes as he recites for the hundredth time:
“I’m saying you can have me.”
They stare at each other, their breaths mingling together in a quiet symphony. Kaoru has heard that line enough times to drive someone insane, but he’s beat. Nothing will ever top this.
Chiaki sighs loudly, falling back onto the mattress next to the blond. “If that wasn’t bold enough for you, then I don’t know—“
“…lips.”
“Uh, what was that, Hakaze?”
“Your lips are chapped, idiot. No one wants to eat your dead skin.”
“O-oh, god,” Chiaki squeaks in embarrassment. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”
Kaoru clicks his tongue and pulls out a tube of chapstick, vanilla flavored, from his bedside drawer. He offers it on his palm. “Here.”
The brunet blinks at it, and Kaoru groans, forcing the other’s chin up to apply it himself. The stick glides smoothly over his lips, and with the added moisture they begin to glisten faintly underneath the moonlight. Chiaki averts his gaze, reluctantly rubbing them together to let the stickiness seep in.
Like an impulsive thought, Kaoru’s hand slides down to the other’s jaw. He can feel the rabbit-like pulse beating fast beneath his fingers; he bites back a smile. “Do it again, Morisawa-kun.”
Chiaki jerks away, mouth falling open. “Wh- what?! Why?!”
Kaoru leans forward into his space, resting a hand next to his thigh. “It didn’t meet my standards,” he chides lightly, as if the way Chiaki’s squirming under his half-lidded gaze doesn’t fill him with pure, exhilarating delight.
“H-Hakaze, it’s fine, really. We shouldn’t—“
“You may be a virgin, but the guy you’re playing definitely isn’t.” Kaoru doesn't bother to hide his full-blown smirk anymore. “You think the audience is gonna buy that lame excuse of a kiss?”
“B-but!” Chiaki’s entire body trembles in protest. “It seemed like you liked it!”
It’s Kaoru’s turn to be shocked. “Oh, okay. Well—“ His face burns crimson, and there’s no hope of hiding it. Not this time. “That— that’s different. I was going along with it, not enjoying it.”
“Oh,” Chiaki mumbles, eyes downcast. Kaoru almost wants to reach out, smooth the crease between his brows, and tell him— wait, what the hell is he thinking?!
Thankfully, Chiaki bounces back, face bright again. “Even though that was probably terrible, I feel like I’ve gotten better thanks to you, Hakaze! I owe you a bunch!”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“No, please! Let me help you out next time!”
“I said no, Morisawa-kun. I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”
Chiaki shrinks like a kicked puppy. “But, I—“
He can’t take it anymore. Grabbing his roommate by the back of his neck, Kaoru lets himself melt into that familiar saccharine flavor, that sugary creaminess mixed with the other’s saliva that makes him grow unbearably hot. Chiaki lets out a muffled grunt as Kaoru flicks out his tongue, wanting desperately to taste that intoxicating combination once more, to savor it more deeply, more fully—
He pulls away when Chiaki goes still against him, carefully watching for any signs of discomfort on his face only to find none. Just the slow spreading of heat from his pink-tinted ears down to the exposed skin of his collarbone. And even lower, there’s—
Kaoru exhales slowly through his nose, his stomach growing uncomfortably tight. Not good. He gets up quickly, and is definitely not disappointed when Chiaki makes no move to stop him.
“This is the last time I’m practicing with you,” Kaoru mutters as he walks towards the bathroom. When there’s no answer, no loud exclamation of protest or obnoxious wailing, he pauses in the doorway; out the corner of his eye, Chiaki is sitting there with his head down, uncharacteristically quiet. Kaoru looks away, gripping the handle of the door tightly.
“And that’s how you should kiss her,” he says, just before the gap closes completely. “Like that.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. There’s a more important matter at hand.
***
That morning, he hovers in the threshold of the bathroom. When they lock eyes in the mirror, the toothbrush hanging from Chiaki’s mouth nearly falls to the floor.
“H-Hakaze?” he gasps, blinking rapidly in disbelief. “Good— good morning?”
“Relax, I’m not going to chew you out or anything.”
“That’s not—“
The blond leans his head against the door frame, crossing his arms. “Hurry up, or I’m leaving without you.”
Chiaki glances over at him. Kaoru can feel the burning trail his eyes leave, starting from his head, stopping momentarily at his mouth, and finally ending at the waistband of his pants. The brunet then stares blankly at the sink, absentmindedly thumbing the spine of his toothbrush, up and down. He murmurs, “You’re ready early.”
Kaoru shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Even after we—?”
“Yes,” he says curtly. “I had a lot on my mind.”
Chiaki’s gaze lingers on him, but says nothing. Instead he goes to rinse his mouth, so Kaoru takes it as his queue to leave. His head feels clearer when he isn’t around Chiaki, like he can breathe without inhaling smoke, hazy in his mind. He decides to leave for campus first.
The audition for the main lead is today at nine a.m. sharp, but Chiaki shows up a solid five minutes after the given time. Once his labored breaths even out and that light sheen of sweat on his brow disappears, they begin immediately.
The lights dim, the spotlight shines on the chair in the center of the room. There sits the girl, and before her Chiaki’s competition. There’s no hard feelings within their small group, but Kaoru’s only rooting for someone in particular to win.
The guy wasn’t bad, but Kaoru could tell he was nervous. From the light sheen of sweat lining his brow to the panicked look in his eyes as he struggles to remember the next line. Then it’s over, and now it’s Chiaki’s turn, and— oh.
He’s white as paper, his cheeks lacking their usual ruddy color. And his lips, chapped and almost purple at first glance. He looks cold to the touch, that overflowing heat radiating off his entire frame gone.
Kaoru pulls Chiaki aside and he jumps, spooked to the core. The blond sighs, grabs the other’s clammy hand, places the chapstick in it, and closes it into a fist.
“Your lips,” Kaoru reminds him. “No dead skin, okay?”
At that, Chiaki seems to rev back to life, flushing a light pink as he unfurls his hand, staring at the small tube. “A-ah, right. Thanks, Hakaze.”
As he applies a generous amount of chapstick, the delicious scent teases Kaoru’s nose. Memories of running his tongue over Chiaki’s mouth, lathered in his favorite, tantalizingly sweet balm—
Kaoru swallows. It seems like he needs a reminder to stay put, but he manages to play it off with a laugh. “You’ll be fine,” he says, patting his shoulder comfortingly. Then, leaning close to the other’s ear, he murmurs, “We practiced plenty of times, after all.”
He steps back, taking with him the warmth of Chiaki’s body and the scent of vanilla that lingers around his nose, while the brunet chokes on air, spluttering nonsensically until he’s saved by the director's sudden call, not wasting a second to scurry away, revealing his nape, flushed bright pink.
“Break a leg,” he whispers just before Chiaki passes by, just before he stands in the middle of the room, right where he belongs. Glowing under the spotlight’s blinding glare, at the center of everyone’s attention, is where he looks best, after all.
It’s no surprise that he wins the role with an outstanding performance. He’d done everything as they'd rehearsed: those seductive lines said in that sultry tone of voice, the gentle tuck of hair behind the ear, that subtle aura of a confident man, a womanizer who knows how to work his own charm. He did such a good job that even the girl—his co-star—had faltered for a second, utterly captivated by each word, each touch, each kiss.
Though, they pale in comparison to the ones they shared in the early morning. He doesn’t want to think about why his chest feels lighter at the thought, when it shouldn’t matter at all.
As Kaoru stands at the back of the crowd, watching his fellow peers flock around Chiaki to shower him in compliments and endless praise, he can only wonder just who he’d been thinking of that entire time.
(And maybe, that tiny, selfish part of him hopes it was him.)