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Barou has no idea how he and Isagi became roommates… but it was a natural progression. They were both on the university’s soccer team, both in medical school, both in desperate need of a roommate or else they’d end up on the dirty streets trying to finish their residency. So, basically hell. They were also somewhat friends, Isagi would say they were. Barou wouldn’t.
Isagi had approached him after one practice on a random afternoon because he must’ve heard from somewhere that Barou was looking for a new living situation, and he put it plain and simple.
“Be my roommate- or I’m gonna end up being evicted and sent back home,” Isagi says, kicking the ball at Barou’s feet where he’s kneeled tying his shoelaces. It kicks up the fake turf a little, shreds of artificial grass sticking to his pants. Barou clicks his tongue, because he doesn’t like having dirt dusting his clothes, but then he reels back his nasty comment in favor of something below him.
“Okay,” he replies curtly, because even with all his pride stored up it just wasn’t enough to avoid the fact that his parents had cut him off of their money a few months ago and he didn’t have time to work any well paying job- so his semi-paid internship was the best he was going to get. He actually needed to rely on Isagi, and he didn’t want to admit it but Isagi would probably be the best shot he had at a good roommate. Isagi was the only person on the team who kept his locker space clean and he was in medical school as well and that demands sterilization, and he coincidentally also needed a roommate.
“Oh,” Isagi says in shock, and then he’s smiling that radiant smile as usual that gets on every single one of Barou’s fried nerves, and he offers a hand for Barou to stand. Barou stares at it for a moment, Isagi’s hands are clean and a little red like he’s just scrubbed them raw in the sink and his nails are well kept- Barou takes it and lets himself be pulled up. “Come to the cafe with me after tomorrow's practice and we can talk about the lease.”
Barou agrees. Because he might also be a little bit in love with the idiot too.
____
So, that’s where Barou is waiting now like some dogged loser who really needs Isagi for help, which sounds like everything he stands against. The only thing that soothes him is that Isagi is in similar waters of desperation, but it doesn’t take away the entire sting. He picks up his coffee cup to take a sip, and then he sighs in exhaustion as he pulls back his hand and it’s sticky with whatever is left over on the side of the cup. His fucking luck.
As he’s pulling wipes out of his bag, he hears the bell chime and Isagi is stumbling into the cafe doors with his backpack haphazardly open. He spots Barou and smiles, walking up to him and taking a seat. Barou pushes his coffee cup to the side to let Isagi have space for his papers.
“Hey,” Isagi says once he’s taken a deep breath and settled himself, and Barou grunts as a hello because he’s a little peeved with how much shit is on the table in front of him. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Whatever,” he says, and before he can ask what’s next or even blink- Isagi’s hand is reaching forward and plucking something off of his sleeve for him. It’s a little post-it note, like the type that you use more as a page tab than to actually write on it. It’s something Barou uses all the time for his notes, but he’s never had them stuck to him.
“Gotcha,” Isagi says, holding up the neon tab to Barou’s face, like he’s proud of his eye for detail.
Barou doesn’t say anything as Isagi folds the sticker in half and places it on the napkin next to him. He watches as Isagi just moves on, shuffling his papers around. Barou’s ears are absolutely not red. Get your eyes checked.
“So that’s the plan,” Isagi says after he’s laid out all the details for Barou. They’ve decided that they should move into Isagi’s apartment anyways, since Barou owned a lot less… merch to move, and because Isagi’s rent was a better deal and in a better area. The layout would provide enough space for them to live together without being too close, and Isagi offered him to come over and see the place before he signed anything. Barou appreciates it, since it feels like he actually has a choice even when he really doesn’t.
They go their separate ways with a plan to meet at the end of the week for the quote on quote ‘grand tour’ from Isagi. They would probably run into each other before then in the residency program anyways, since they were at the same hospital.
That’s when the first time happens, or so to speak. Barou hadn’t given much thought to it at the time, now that he looks back on it he knows exactly what it was. Isagi had checked off one requirement for Barou’s ideal life partner.
Some call Barou a clean freak, but it’s just the way he gets through life. He loves destroying in soccer, and he wants to become a doctor because everything has to be (sort of) clean if you view it that way- since everything must be sterile. He hates dirt, he hates mess, he hates Nagi Seishirou and his messy fucking locker and gross dirty laundry. That’s just the facts about him, even if some called him over the top or straight up dictatorial. It’s only normal that when asked his type he typically replies, ‘someone who enjoys cleaning and will clean with me’ and he’s not even going to bring up how he wishes he could spend all his money on wet wipes. It’s who he is, and he’s the fucking best so who cares what other people think.
He was doing basic rounds in the hospital, and he needed to go to the scrub room to grab something for the surgeon he was training under- which in his opinion is the worst fucking part of the whole experience. Barou wanted to be his own boss, have his own staff to yap at. He’d get there… if he had an apartment to stay at and Isagi doesn’t back out so he can finish his studies without being homeless.
He’s halfway out the door when Isagi brushes past him, decked out fully in gloves, masks, cap and uniform. Like he’s just walked out of surgery. In fact, he probably has, since Isagi’s such a natural stupid genius and is probably better than the surgeon he’s supposed to be learning under. It pisses him off how fast Isagi can seemingly surpass him. Not that he’d let that stay for long, whether it be here or soccer.
He watches unnoticed from the door as Isagi peels his gloves off and changes into a fresh pair, and then he pulls out a real, and solid, checklist. Like an actual checklist, the ones that people who know what they are doing, people like Barou who has his regimen in his locker, have.
Isagi grabs a pencil, checking off one of the first boxes at the top, and Barou watches frozen in the hallway as he slowly removes all his protective ware and puts it into the contamination bin. That’s not the part that really gets Barou, it’s the part where Isagi tosses the pencil and checklist out into the garbage- and then he stands and watches still like a creep as Isagi washes his hands three whole times. Seven minutes in total, scrubbing under the nails and everything, steaming hot water. The worst part is that Isagi is smiling the whole time, like the washing is the best part- and not the most tedious like every dumbass intern wanted to complain about. He watches Isagi puff out a little air to blow a piece of hair out of his face, and then he dries his hands and tucks it behind his ear when it just won’t budge. His fingers are a little red from the water’s temperature and the scrubbing, a petal pink contrasts to his pale skin.
That’s Barou’s cue to leave, and he scampers away like a criminal that’s rushing away before he can get caught. His stomach flutters the whole walk to the break room.
____
That was the first time, and he didn’t expect it to happen again. Except it does at the end of the week when they are meant to meet at Isagi’s apartment. Barou wouldn’t say he’s nervous, but he has too much pride and would say no if Isagi’s place is a dump- and that would mean he’s technically on the street. He really hopes Isagi isn’t a slob. The weather is promising at least, his favorite time of year when the rainy season is just coming to an end in the spring.
He climbs up the stairs, which are a little worse for wear but that’s usual for most public spaces, and he stands in front of Isagi’s apartment door and knocks to announce his arrival. The doorknob is shiny, unlike some of the other tenants' doors he had passed, and it rattles before he can inspect it as Isagi unlocks and pushes the door open.
“Come in- there are guest slippers in the cubbies,” Isagi says with a friendly smile, moving aside for Barou to enter. Barou steps around him smoothly, slipping his shoes off into the organized cubby on the side of the wall and putting on the slippers. Cubbies are a good start. The slippers look brand new, like the disposable kind you give to temporary guests. Barou imagines his personal pair up against Isagi’s, the dark navy material of his own next to the green slippers already on Isagi’s feet.
Slippers in the house is just one thing, and it’s so common for Japan that Barou can’t count it as a higher standard that Isagi upholds himself to, but he can still appreciate it. After he learned what they do in America he’s extra glad he lives in Japan. Shoes on rugs- that sounds like his personal hell.
“That’s your room,” Isagi says after he’s shown off the relatively small layout of the apartment, pointing to a room that’s just like any other room. Barou has no complaints.
His eyes wander, and he looks into an ajar door into what is possibly another area. He walks over to the room and peers inside, shocked by the amount of Noel Noa staring back at him. Isagi jerks forward, slipping past Barou and shutting the door behind him. They stare at each other in silence, and Isagi laughs nervously like nothing happened.
“That’s my room, it’s like the same thing, nothing special,” Isagi says, talking about the room right next to Barou’s. With that lack of distance they might as well sleep in a bunk bed.
“Are you actually a fanboy,” he comments, because it’s not like he gives a shit but he likes watching in live time how the color rushes to Isagi’s cheeks.
“No…” Isagi says, scratching his neck timidly, “I’m just a big fan.”
So, what Nagi had told him wasn’t a lie, Isagi really did like the football star that much. He only feels a little jealous at that information.
After trying to laugh it off again in a way that can only be described as demure, Isagi motions for Barou to sit at the kitchen island, “do you want something to drink?”
“Coffee,” he says, settling down and finally letting the tension drain from his body. The amount of work they had piled on them stretched him thin pretty easily, another part of why he likes to be on top of everything. If his living space is clean then he doesn’t have to worry about it being a problem among his shit load of university and medical school work.
Isagi doesn’t mind his lack of manners, something they got used to while in the same classes and especially on field. It’s not like Isagi is any different though, Barou’s been on the receiving end of plenty of trash talk from the other. He honestly wonders how Isagi could switch from such a monster during a game to a polite and genuinely… well, sweet person.
He’s prideful, but not prideful enough to deny the plausible idea that he actually even respects Isagi.
Isagi hands him the coffee cup, and a container of pudding which he didn’t realize Isagi knew was his favorite. Fuck he can’t even remember what Isagi said his favorite food was.
He eats quickly, because it’s a good brand and just the right sweetness to bitterness ratio of a coffee jelly, and he almost thanks Isagi.
“You and pudding is like Batman and kittens,” Isagi snorts, and Barou tries not to scoff with his mouth full, so it just comes out as a huff of air through his nose. It’s not even a bad comparison, Dark Knight is his favorite movie after all. Isagi reaches over with his own spoon to try and take a bite from Barou’s quickly diminishing amount of pudding, and he nudges Isagi’s hand away with his wrist and tries to ignore how Isagi’s cool skin against his own perpetually feverish body sends shivers up his spine.
“Right,” Isagi says, laughing it off, but Barou can tell he’s a bit dejected. “Territorial, like a lion.”
“Stop comparing me to dumb shit,” he says, trying not to simultaneously preen at the almost compliment, and then he snatches the spoon from Isagi and scoops up a portion that hasn’t been touched by his own silverware. It’s the only right way to do it to not share germs or whatever- not that he’s really skeeved out at the idea of accidentally using the same utensil or the classic ‘same straw’ sharing spit move as Lorenzo liked to call it. In fact, it might be the opposite at this point. “Here.”
He raises the spoon up to Isagi’s face, hoping he’ll take it from him and leave his single serving pudding alone- except Isagi has a mind of his own that just never seems to link up with Barou and he leans forward and wraps his lips around the spoon. Isagi pulls back, leaving the spoon sparkling clean and in Barou’s hand, and Barou tries not to let it fall right out of his slack grip and clatter onto the plate.
Isagi licks his lips, and he smiles with syrup still dripping from his bottom lip, “it’s pretty good.”
“Yeah,” he replies mostly to the air and not with a purpose in mind. Actually, his mind is mostly blank- like all his thoughts have fizzled out in an open wire accident.
He watches the little drop of syrup cling to Isagi’s lip, and an image of himself leaning in to lick it right off flashes in his mind- catching Isagi’s bottom lip between his teeth and biting before letting it go with a mark, hear Isagi whimper at the pain and see the way his lip turns red and swollen. Then he’d kiss him again to soothe it. He snaps back to reality when Isagi literally snaps his fingers in his face.
“You alive there, King?” Isagi chuckles, and Barou nearly snarls as he slaps Isagi’s hand out of his face.
“None of your business,” he snaps, and he stands so he can do his own dishes because he wasn’t raised by monsters, but Isagi simply clicks his tongue and takes the plate from him.
“I got it, sit down, you're a guest- well for now since you didn’t sign the papers. Plus you have to tell me how you ended up in the same situation as me,” Isagi says, going over to the sink with the plate and empty mug. Barou sits and watches his back, the way the muscles under his shirt flex with every circle of his wrist as he scrubs with a premium Kamenoko-sponge, the same kind Barou buys every time he’s at a convenience store. He watches Isagi’s shoulder blades roll, watches the way the water slides down his wrist to his elbow, the way the soap emulsifies and the bubbles stick to his skin like they never want to part. Barou gets them.
“Uh,” he starts eloquently as Isagi grabs a rag and dries the now sparkling dish, he clears his throat, “I told my parents they didn’t need to send money to me anymore, and I can't start a new job while being in residency. There, done interrogating me?”
Isagi is working on the other two dishes in the sink, “why'd you tell them not to send you anything?”
“Because I’d rather them focus on saving it for my little sisters,” he says, because that’s the truth and he’s not too manly to deny his love for them. They’d need the money more than him, though he hadn’t expected it would run out so quickly but he still doesn’t regret it- and he won’t be asking for it back so soon. That was definitely a pride thing. “I said I’d be fine, but obviously I ended up needing a roommate.”
“That’s kind of you- about your sisters, I didn’t even know you had any,” Isagi says, and he’s almost done, the rag in his hand as he wipes up the residual water on the plate making a squeaky noise each time. “I also told my parents to save it for themselves, they’ve been so protective of me my whole life- I thought this would make them think I can finally be on my own and not worry them so much.”
“You seem like you can handle yourself,” he notes dully, remembering all the times Isagi put people, put him, in their place.
Isagi laughs, “I used to be super sensitive as a kid, crying and running away from everything. I hated how certain things felt and my mom swears I could sense when it was going to rain just from the air.”
The way Isagi talks sounds like he finds himself to be weird, or like Barou wouldn’t believe it because of how outlandish it sounds- but he can see how it makes sense, especially with the way Isagi is so in tune with his surroundings. It makes him cautious, makes him reflexive and most importantly it makes him different from the rest. If that was true, it makes sense how Isagi is similarly as put together as Barou- because knowing exactly how things are going to be or feel is a habit one picks up when growing up a certain way.
Barou’s felt lonely, standing on top felt good for the victory but not for forever, and he could always rely on cleanly habits to be a solid in his life. He doesn’t want to just put his labels on Isagi’s past, but he has an inkling of a feeling that Isagi is possibly the same. Even if just a little.
And that was the second time Barou’s ever felt his breath get stuck in his chest, watching Isagi wash and dry their dishes, something so simple.
Isagi slid the lease papers over to Barou across the table and handed him a pen and said, “if the house tour impressed you enough we can get you moved in.”
Barou took the pen, felt Isagi’s rough skin against his as their fingers brushed, and he signed the fucking paper.
____
It was when he was almost fully moved in that the third goddamn instance occurred. Third time’s a charm as most people say. Which is stupid because he always gets things right the first time. He still hasn’t even brought all his own dishware into the apartment yet, their apartment, but so far he thinks Isagi is probably the best roommate he could ask for.
If he ignores the way he’s on a one way fast track to having premature heart disease by not only surrounding himself with Isagi constantly, but now living with him, then he was the ideal person to live with. Possibly forever. Not like he’d tell it to his face, that’s something he’d rather take to the grave.
The last time he reached out to someone about his problem he was just told that ‘yes heart palpitations are normal when you’re in love’ (which he’s probably not even) and ‘you need to get laid’ which is not true also. His fault honestly for asking Aiku anything. The ex super-straight is in some messed up gay situationship now, so he should’ve known the bastard has shit advice considering how many girls leave him and how bad his current love life is.
“Hey, King!” Isagi calls from the living room, which Barou only had to spruce up a little bit with some more pillows and cleaning up the potted plants on the window. “Come watch a movie!”
He rolls his eyes, even though Isagi can’t see, and he walks over to the kitchen to make popcorn first because he’s not an animal. He doesn’t really like the snack since it’s overly messy and people tend to throw it just about everywhere in the theater like it’s their fucking graduation day or something- but Isagi likes it. He likes that Isagi likes it, since their hands occasionally brush when reaching for the bowl at the same time. He could care less about the popcorn.
“Where’s your popcorn butter,” he calls back, searching through some of the cabinets for it and not having any luck.
Isagi’s voice is gleeful as he replies, because the idiot gets excited over even the smallest of things, “spice cabinet, the skinny one above the stove.”
He’s never had to use the spice cabinet, he hasn’t really been here long enough to slowly sink into how they should do the grocery situation, so he’s just been meal prepping boring rice and chicken meals until he can actually buy shit.
It’s pretty high up, and Barou laughs as he imagines Isagi needing to prop himself up on the counter to reach what’s inside, and then he imagines himself lifting Isagi up onto the counter till his back hits the cabinets and that makes him stop laughing.
He opens the damn cabinet, scowling of course because that’s his hobby, and then he physically feels his eyes widen. Inside the cabinet is one big spice rack, and it spins like a caddy when he gives it a nudge. Each spice and bottle is labeled, and Barou doesn’t even want to know how long that took to organize- it looks painstaking. He stares like a dumbass for a minute, and then he finds the liquid butter easily due to the phenomenal organization and adds it to the popcorn. He makes his way back to the couch like a zombie, like he’s on autopilot. He plops down next to Isagi, who snatches the metal bowl from him and puts it on his lap, shifting so Barou can get under the blanket too.
“Thanks, man,” Isagi says with his cheeks full of popcorn. Isagi flicks on the movie and Barou can see the reflection of the TV in his blue eyes that seem too big for his face sometimes. Barou just stares, and Isagi catches his gaze and grins like a bastard. “Don’t say shit about Ghibli this time, or I’ll kick you out.”
He pauses for a minute, letting the silence hang heavy in the air before he scoffs and shakes his head, “you’re a freak.”
“Hey! I didn’t even say anything!” Isagi complains, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of the movie for long enough to notice that Barou is smiling.
____
The fourth is when they are about six months into living together, and he feels lucky everyday that it was Isagi who asked him to be his roommate and not some random serial killer off the street. They haven’t had any problems yet, except for the occasional stubborn headbutt which was just their form of greeting most of the time. The only problem lingering in the back of his head is how the fuck he’s supposed to deal with the fact that he’s somehow managed to go and catch serious feelings for this dipshit.
He just watched Isagi shovel down a takeout chipotle bowl like it was his last meal- and still that didn’t deter him and his stupid heart that was beating a little too much and a little too fast these days. If anything, seeing Isagi comfortable and at home is only making it harder to ignore how disgustingly soft he feels about the other. It’s painful, it’s a nuisance, and feelings are anything but clean. He feels like a folder that’s spilled open, pages and notes full of Isagi falling all over the floor and at his feet- exposing him.
He has no idea how Isagi hasn’t noticed yet, but it’s probably a good thing they’re both ‘oblivious and inelegant’ as Aryu had put it. He wouldn’t want to put Isagi in that position since he still needed a roommate and he might feel obligated to appease Barou just for his own survival. Which was not how he wanted to win someone over, sweet victory always tastes better.
It’s laundry day, and he and Isagi had recently chipped in to buy a washing machine together- which might as well have been like adopting a baby in this economy. He’s excited to use the new washing machine, considering he didn’t have to schlep all the way to the apartment building’s laundromat anymore.
He should probably be ashamed that his exciting Friday night is doing laundry with his roommate slash crush slash soccer rival slash… slash a lot of things actually. He had those plans at least, until the hospital called him for overtime and he has no choice but to stay and help out. He also has no choice but to ask Isagi to help out or else he’d fall completely off schedule.
“You? Calling me? To what do I owe the honor?” Isagi teases once he picks up the phone, he’s already at home probably making dinner, while Barou is stuck here for an indefinite amount of time.
“Can you do me a favor?” he grits out, because it almost pains him to ask for assistance.
Isagi is quiet for a bit like he’s been stunned to silence, and then he hums, “sure.”
“You don’t have to, but can you throw my shirts into the washing machine,” he winces, thinking about all the ways the load could go totally wrong. “Just leave them in the basket after, I’ll fold them.”
“Nah, it’s all good,” Isagi adds like he’s got nothing better to do, which probably isn’t true considering how many friends he has- he might’ve even dragged Barou along to their meetup tonight if he wasn’t stuck with work. “I’m guessing residency got you held up?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, staring as black coffee drips into his paper cup. “I gotta go.”
“See you later,” Isagi says, and Barou doesn’t have time to tell him that he definitely won’t since he might be here way past the time Isagi usually falls asleep. He trusts Isagi to do it after he said he would, and he doesn’t want to admit how good it feels to have someone to rely on to take something else, no matter how small, off of his shoulders.
He gets home late, as in 2 in the morning late, and nothing could have prepared him for the sight in his room. For a second he thinks the lack of sleep is getting to him, and he rubs his eyes- but Isagi is still there, curled up on his still made bed with a pile of clothes around him.
From the looks of it, Isagi had gone and done all of his laundry instead of just the shirts, and then folded them neatly. His clothes are folded by color and article, piled high around the boy sleeping in his bed still in his day clothes, like he hadn’t meant to fall asleep so suddenly. Barou watches the rise and fall of his chest, listens to the soft snoring noise coming from him, and then he makes a stupid decision because his brain turned into mush about three minutes ago and there’s no stopping now. He walks over to the bed, taking the rare opportunity to brush some of Isagi’s hair out of his face and it’s so soft under his fingertips. He’s careful not to jostle Isagi too much as he lifts him up into his arms and carries him to his own bedroom, laying the man down gently onto his own sheets and throwing the blanket over him. He spares one last glance at Isagi’s undisturbed form, his blank expression from deep sleep, and turns to leave.
“Shouei,” he hears from the bed, Isagi’s voice sleepy as he murmurs his name. He’s stopped by a hand grabbing at the bottom of his shirt, and he thinks he’s been caught until he turns around and sees that Isagi is still out cold- he must be dreaming if the unintelligible sleep talking and furrowed brow is anything to go by.
Is this loser really dreaming about him? Barou would drop to the floor right then and there if he thought it wouldn’t make too much noise. His knees are weak at the mere thought. He carefully extracts his shirt from Isagi’s grasp, which draws a pitiful grumble from the sleeping body, and then Isagi is huffing and rolling over to hug his pillow instead. Barou sighs in relief, and he successfully creeps all the way back to his room.
He tries to sleep that night, but Isagi’s body heat is still lingering against him and he can’t stop the twitching of his hand, even the exhaustion and the pain in his legs from pacing the hospital isn’t enough to make him sleep. So yeah, that was the fourth time, he’s so desperate he might end up taking Aiku’s advice.
Isagi is cooking breakfast the next morning, and he doesn’t comment about being moved to his bed so he must just assume that he got up at some point. Barou doesn’t correct him, but he does say a rare good morning (even if he didn’t sleep a wink) as he takes his plate of eggs from Isagi. It makes Isagi’s eyes widen and he smiles, so it’s worth it.
He’s finally off today and they were probably going to go out, but he can’t find one of his shirts and it’s irritating the hell out of him.
“Isagi!” he calls from his room, rifling through his drawers and hamper, “do you know where my Billy Idol shirt went?”
Isagi peeks his head into his room, and his eyes dart around, “no idea.”
Isagi was a 70’s rock fan because he’s a wimp like that, and he was furiously against everything 80’s- so he doesn’t think the man has any plan to help him find his missing shirt.
He shrugs, because as much as it never happened to him, clothes can still go missing.
____
He doesn’t take anyone’s advice, because he’s a coward. They’ve cycled through an entire year now, from early spring to early spring, which was his favorite season. Isagi of course had noted down the date he moved in. They’d become closer over the year, since living in the same apartment tended to do that. They’d also been put into the same wing under residency, so they would spend breaks and work time together as well. It wasn’t so bad, not when he could keep an eye on Isagi and make sure he’s taking care of himself. Their situation has made it harder to hide when they have bad days, and it’s become normal for them to rely on each other for support in their own stubborn and voracious way. He even had soccer practice with Isagi, like the other was just everywhere all the time. His days are like a constant stream of Isagi Isagi Isagi and he doesn’t even want to escape it.
“One year as my roommate and you didn’t kill me, I think that means I did a good job?” Isagi says, dragging him along the street they were shopping at for supplies. Isagi had suggested ‘spring cleaning’ to celebrate, not even realizing that that’s like Barou’s wet dream of a date, and now they were out buying everything they needed. Isagi hasn’t made a mess he didn’t clean for a whole year, and he’s met every single one of Barou’s standards- so he thinks yeah, he’s done a good job.
He kicks the door in with about six bags on his arms, plopping them down and grabbing a hair tie. He’s been leaving his hair down lately instead of waxing it up to the sky, only because he’s been too busy with school, and from showering to waking up and having 24 hour shifts- it was best not to have that stuff in his hair for that long. He ties his hair up out of his face, and he feels Isagi watching from the doorway.
“You gonna stare or help me?” he asks, throwing a broom at Isagi, who catches it and growls back at him.
“Obviously I’m gonna help, I take this seriously too,” Isagi retorts, tying a bandana over his hair (which of course looks cute on him) and taking the broom. “But we have to mop first.”
It’s a great ‘anniversary’ by all means, but they’re both thoroughly exhausted by the end of it and Barou’s got the worst stitch in his side and a pulled muscle in his shoulder by the time he’s done dusting.
“Shit..” he mutters, rolling out his back as he puts the cleaning supplies away, and Isagi spots him from across the room where he was busy untying his bandana.
“What happened?” Isagi asks at his loud groan, and Barou just shakes his head and shuts the closet door.
“I pulled my shoulders out,” he sighs, and he brushes past Isagi to go to his room and sleep it off, except a hand grabs his sleeve and he turns back around.
“I can rub it out for you,” Isagi says, and Barou has to actually bite on his tongue to not let out a completely uncharacteristic squeak of all things. That was going to his grave.
He shakes his head again, not trusting his voice, and he tries to pull out of Isagi’s grip, but the man is persistent. If this was anyone else he would’ve bitten their hand off already.
“Come on, I do it all the time for Bachira at practice, I’m good at it,” Isagi explains, and then without a word he’s tugging Barou to sit on the couch anyways. Barou goes along like a kicked puppy. There’s a tinge of jealousy rolling in his gut, or maybe envy at Isagi’s easy way of getting along with everyone- he wants that with Isagi too, wants what everyone else so effortlessly has.
He tries to will it away before it comes spilling forward as Isagi moves behind the couch to rest his hands on Barou’s shoulders.
There’s a hand on the nape of his neck that draws a short breath from him, Isagi’s fingers unerringly find the tense muscles in his neck, and he starts to massage. Isagi knows what he’s doing, and his nimble hands work the muscle with deft skill- unwinding the nerve pain and loosening the knots underneath his skin. He groans, stretching his neck when a particularly sharp pain is undone.
“You’re tense,” Isagi mutters near his ear where he’s standing behind Barou, fingers still pushing and kneading his skin over his shirt like a professional. He tries to reply, parting his lips, but nothing but an exhale comes out and he gives up on trying to speak. After a couple minutes he’s melted into the couch, using all his focus to stay upright and not fall asleep as Isagi rubs his shoulders.
The worst part is, Barou likes the generous attention, likes Isagi’s touch. He lets his head drop forward in a form of surrender, giving in to the sensation and letting his body relax.
“So,” Isagi starts absentmindedly, starting a conversation even though Barou’s brain is melting out of his ears, “do you think we had a good year?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, both in response to the question and the relieving pop of another knot in his back, “you’re not that intolerable.”
He doesn’t have to look back to see that Isagi is smiling, he can hear it in his voice, “thanks, Shouei.”
Barou tenses again, and he knows Isagi feels it because he has his hands on his back as they speak. Isagi’s hands migrate lower, to the middle of Barou’s back and it makes him lean closer over the back of the couch to be able to reach.
“Shouei,” Isagi says again, like he wants Barou to turn and face him. He turns his head to the side a little, watching Isagi from the corner of his eye. Their gazes lock when he looks back, and he can’t come up with the emotional coordination needed to look away and make a rude comment to pretend he wasn’t infatuated with his staring.
Isagi stares back, and he speaks a little dazedly, “Just punch me if I’m reading this wrong.”
That’s all the warning he gets, and then Isagi reaches for him, fingertips cool against his jaw. His hand brushes past Barou’s jaw, winding around his head to clasp around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.
It’s the last straw, he’s finally been done in. Barou’s heart already decided how it felt, it had always chosen Isagi with no question. He was stupid enough to be devoted already, and as far as his heart was concerned, Isagi was only taking what was rightly his for months now.
Isagi cradles the back of his head and Barou sighs against his lips, deepening the kiss with a turn of his head. Isagi hums, and his lips are soft and cool against Barou’s own and he bites down on Isagi’s bottom lip to get him to open his mouth. Barou cups Isagi’s cheek where he’s bent down to reach him, feeling the smooth skin of his cheekbone under his rough hand. He thought the bullshit people said about sparks flying and electricity was just drama, he didn’t expect it to be real- too real.
He doesn’t want to pull away for more than a second, so he just grabs Isagi by his shirt and yanks him over the couch. Isagi yelps as he’s manhandled, but he falls right into Barou’s lap and Barou pulls him against his chest and keeps kissing him. Barou groans against his lips, tugging Isagi closer, and the hand on the nape of his neck creeps higher to cradle the back of Barou’s head. The wet sound of his tongue in Isagi’s mouth draws him back to reality, and he pulls back and wipes the string of spit connecting them off of his mouth with the back of his hand.
The look Isagi is giving him is too soft, too intimate, for just friends, and Barou barely catches himself before he’s sucked into the black hole that is Isagi’s blue eyes.
His throat is full of cotton, and he slowly pulls away until Isagi is off of his lap and Barou can stand. Isagi looks at him in confusion, and he tugs on Barou’s shirt again. His lips are swollen and red, and he looks charmingly disheveled. Shit. His brain has too much going on and he can’t process it and his heart is beating so fast- so he chooses to run away. Isagi must see something on his expression, because his small smile drops.
“Isagi.. I can’t-“ he starts, but Isagi cuts him off, and the hand holding his shirt lets go and falls back to his side slowly.
Isagi turns his gaze away and bites the inside of his cheek, and the smile that he gives Barou doesn’t reach his distant eyes, “I get it.”
Isagi’s voice is casual, but the slight quiver of his hands on his lap and the thick bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows makes Barou uneasy.
“I’m going,” he says quietly, grabbing his keys. He doesn’t tell Isagi where or for how long, and Isagi doesn’t ask.
“Okay, see you,” Isagi says blankly, still not looking at him. He’s staring at the couch cushions and his hair is ruffled and blocking his face. He shuts the door behind him with one last look into the apartment, Isagi’s frozen body still in the same spot on the couch he left him in.
It’s ten at night by the time he gets to Aiku and Lorenzo’s place.
He knocks heavily on the door, “let me in assholes!”
Aiku is the one who opens the door, and his jaw drops when he sees Barou, “holy shit, you’re not a mirage?”
Barou growls and pushes past him into the apartment, and Lorenzo is watching some kind of shitty movie on the TV. He looks up in equal shock.
“Barou visiting us on his own accord? Your house blow up?” Lorenzo says, just with the purpose of antagonizing him, “did Hikaru Utada die or something?”
Barou slaps the back of his head as he passes, and Lorenzo hisses and rubs the bump that’ll probably be left there, “don’t even joke about that.”
“Man, chill out,” Aiku says, and he hands Barou a bottle of beer as he sits on the couch. Barou sits on the seat across from them. He’s exhausted, and he sinks back into the seat and stares at the ceiling.
“I can feel you staring,” he deadpans, and both of them laugh at being caught. Barou doesn’t find it funny.
“If something’s bothering you enough to show up at our door then it must be pretty serious,” Aiku retorts, and Barou tilts his head down to look at him.
He sighs, takes a swig of his bottle, and sighs again, he knows he’s playing dirty, “have you ever been in love with a friend?”
Lorenzo nearly chokes on the popcorn he was shoveling in like a slob, and Aiku scratches his neck.
“You know I have,” Aiku says, and Barou rolls his eyes because he could hardly forgot all about Aiku’s stupid fuckbuddy relationship with Sendou that still hasn’t bore fruition. Aiku currently is going through the motions and can relate to what Barou has found himself in. He just hopes he can figure his shit out better than that red head and this dipshit.
Lorenzo stops dying and finally clears his throat, “is it that blue eyed kid? The kitty one?”
Barou tenses, “I’m not obvious, am I?”
“Nah you aren’t, I only know cause I’ve known you for a while,” Lorenzo says as he stares at Barou over the nose of his bottle, “you don’t even realize how you stare at him.”
He wants to snarl and bite back in defense, but he doesn’t. “He kissed me.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Lorenzo asks, and he’s confused now. “Don’t you like him back.”
“Yeah,” he says, and then he pinches his brow, “I just left him there after.”
“No you didn’t!” Aiku says in shock, staring incredulously at Barou, “why the hell did you do that?”
“Cause he’s pussy,” Lorenzo says under his breath, and he puts his hands up in mock surrender when Barou sharpens his gaze at him. “Just sayin.”
“You should go back, tell him how you feel and if it all goes to shit then I don’t know- you’re homeless I guess,” Lorenzo says, because of course he remembers Isagi is his roommate even when he forgets everything else. Barou sighs for the umpteenth time in the hour. “If not then you’ve got a boyfriend, or whatever the hell it is you want from him.”
“Let me finish this beer,” he says, and the two of them keep staring. The one beer turns into a movie and then he’s crawling out of the apartment feeling like a total ‘douchebag’ as Lorenzo put it. There’s no denying he’s avoiding Isagi and his feelings now.
“Don’t let it kill you,” Aiku says as he shuts the door behind Barou. He huffs as he makes his way back to his car. The drive back feels like torture.
He opens his door, walking into the dark and silent apartment. He’s not even sure if Isagi is still home, and then he hears a quiet sob from the kitchen.
“Isagi?” he calls out from the doorway and puts his bag down, he kicks off his shoes and runs into the kitchen when there’s no response.
Isagi is on his knees on the kitchen floor near the countertop, and the only thing lighting up the room is the glow of the stovelight.
“Shouei- l-let me just clean this up,“ Isagi says once he sees him, and he looks up at Barou with tear tracks stained down his red cheeks- and Barou without another word rushes forward and drops to his knees when he sees the mess of glass surrounding Isagi’s body.
There's an empty liquor bottle on the counter, and a broken glass right in front of them. Barou can’t speak, not when there is blood covering the floor and Isagi’s hands. Isagi laughs self deprecatingly, and his hands keep moving despite his drunken state and the sloppy manner of his ministrations. Almost like he’s desperate to sweep up the mess as quickly as possible, Isagi accidentally cuts himself on a jagged piece of the glass and winces, and then reaches back to try again. From the amount of blood on the floor, it looks like he’s been trying furiously to clean it up for a while with no luck.
Barou jolts into motion like a sputtering engine and grabs Isagi’s wrists. Isagi looks up at him then, looking ashamed of himself, embarrassed. “Stop! What the fuck are you doing?”
“You hate messes- you hate this, you hate me!” Isagi whispers at first, voice raising in volume as he grows more distressed and pushes Barou back. Barou doesn’t budge, because Isagi’s arm is weak and the only thing he manages is smudging some of the blood on his hands onto Barou’s shirt. “Fuck, look- I only made it worse.”
“Look at me,” he says, shaking Isagi by his shoulders, Isagi casts his teary eyes to the floor, and Barou snaps. “Look!”
Isagi jerks back, but it gets his attention and also his perfect blue eyes on him, and Barou has to choke back everything he wants to say in favor of, “I could never hate you, now stand up.”
“Not hate I know, but like, you don’t like me like I like you,” Isagi says as Barou grabs him, he’s talking to himself and Barou can’t keep up. “You left, I made you upset. I fucked everything up.”
He hooks one of Isagi’s arms over his shoulder, and then he drags them both to the couch and Isagi plops down like a rag doll, like all his energy’s been drained from him. Barou steps back, and he comes back with water that Isagi takes in his good hand and nurses with a distant look in his eyes.
Barou walks away again, looking for his broom and dust pan, and he slowly swipes up all the glass in the safe and proper manner- dutifully ignoring the blood on the floor. He wipes that up too, until it’s as good as new, and then he gets a medical kit. He’s in fucking medical school for god’s sake, if he can’t patch up a few small nicks on Isagi’s hands then he really should quit. He sits down next to Isagi on the couch, and he motions for Isagi to put his hand out.
Isagi moves lethargically, putting his smaller hand into Barou’s palm. Barou carefully pulls out the little amount of glass in Isagi’s skin, and when he dabs alcohol onto the small cuts it elicits a pained whimper from Isagi, and Barou feels it in his very core- like his heart is being wrung out like a wet rag and it’s dripping into his stomach and making him sick.
“I’m sorry,” Isagi says after a moment, as Barou is finishing the rest of his bandages, “I didn’t mean to… drop the bottle, I know you’re mad.”
Barou sighs, “that’s not why I’m mad. I’m mad because you didn’t protect yourself first.”
It’s not what he wants to say, he so desperately wants to say I’m mad because I never want to see you hurt. Express how confused he is at Isagi’s behavior, how he wants to help him.
But he can’t, at least for now, but Isagi is perfect and he understands exactly what Barou is trying to say, and then he snorts a little wetly through his tears.
“Right,” Isagi says amused, and he doesn’t pull his hand away for a long while. Barou doesn’t question it, until he realizes it was he himself that had been slowly stroking the back of Isagi’s hand with his thumb, just slow, repetitive circles. An unconscious attempt to soothe. “Thanks, Shouei.”
He grunts in response, and then he packs up his medical kit and stands. Isagi tries to pull him back, but Barou just pushes him back against the couch until he hits the cushions with a puff of breath.
Barou keeps his hand splayed across Isagi’s chest, “take off your shirt.”
“Huh?” Isagi says, his eyes shooting open, “why-“
“Because it’s covered in blood,” Barou says, trying to will away the flush building its way up to his face, “I’ll wash it.”
Isagi stares at him, and then he rubs the back of his neck, “right, okay.”
Isagi sits up, pulling his shirt over his head like he’s ripping a bandaid off. It’s nothing Barou hasn’t seen before, meaning he still has to snatch the shirt and pointedly not make eye contact with Isagi’s skin before he really can’t look away. He takes the shirt and rinses it off with cold water, and then blots it out meticulously with baking soda. It’s another tip he’s picked up, and the shirt is back to new in only seconds. Barou yanks his own shirt up over his head, and repeats the steps until both are spotless. He folds them side by side on the counter.
He grabs a shirt from his room, and then he goes into Isagi’s to get one that fits him- except when he opens the drawer he finds his own shirt that’s been missing for nearly a year. He groans, lifting the shirt out of Isagi’s drawer and confirming it’s his, and then he brings it with him. He throws his own shirt on, and then he tosses his stolen rock tee at Isagi. Isagi catches it, and then he goes red like a beet and starts sputtering out excuses that aren’t even in their language. He waves his hand, showing that he doesn’t care, even though his stomach is doing somersaults at the thought of Isagi wearing his clothes unprovoked. He can’t even blame Isagi, because if Isagi’s clothes wouldn’t burst at the seam if he tried to put them on then he might steal them too.
Isagi stands to put it on, his abdomen flexing as he stretches his arms over his head to fit them through the arm holes. It falls just below his knees, like some kind of oversized dress rather than just one of Barou’s red sleep shirts. It’s cute, the way it smothers Isagi’s form and makes him appear smaller than he is. Barou knows, better than anyone actually, how far from true that is. How you should never underestimate Isagi Yoichi. But he likes it too, like he can keep Isagi here suspended in this space and in his clothes and keep him safe. Keep him happy.
“Sleep,” Barou says as Isagi laughs and does a spin and the shirt actually puffs up with air like a real skirt.
Isagi is still laughing, definitely drunk even if it’s wearing off, “come here.”
Barou balks, and Isagi scoffs and pats the space next to him on the couch. Which isn’t much. “Come on, it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”
Isagi’s right, it’s not. They’re both fallen asleep sometimes during movie night, waking up shoulder to shoulder. It doesn’t make his heart beat any slower. It might have made it way worse.
Barou doesn’t repeat himself, and he slides up next to Isagi and lets himself be clung to like Isagi is a cat appreciating a big sun spot.
“You’re warm,” Isagi mumbles against his bicep, where he’s pressed his face up against Barou’s arm.
“You’re drunk,” he replies, even as the tension in his body bleeds out into the cushions and he can finally breathe again. “You’ll tell me why in the morning.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” Isagi slurs, and then his breathing goes so even that Barou thinks he’s finally asleep. Of course Isagi would prove him wrong over the simplest of things, and he somehow garners his last bit of energy to murmur, “but I’ll tell you just cause I like ya.”
Barou does sleep that night, but only once the birds have started chirping and the sun is peeking through the blinds and it doesn’t even count to sleep at that point. But he does anyway, and he dreams about Isagi’s folded shirt next to his on the counter.
He wakes up and carefully peels Isagi off of him to make breakfast, waiting for Isagi to wake up with a terrible hangover- he takes the time to steel himself. He’s nervous, and his stomach flips every time he hears a creak from the old apartment building thinking it’s Isagi waking up and getting ready to kick him out.
He lets his guard down and gets invested in the coffee maker working properly that he doesn’t notice when the creaking noise actually is Isagi.
“Good morning,” he hears from behind him, and Isagi stands barefoot in the kitchen still in Barou’s shirt, and he flicks on the radio like he does every morning even though Barou tells him off about it.
“Morning,” he says, handing Isagi the coffee that just finished pouring along with a couple of pain meds. Isagi smiles tiredly, and takes it. Their fingers brush and it stings. It stings good.
Isagi sips the coffee, and Barou watches intently- as he does with almost everything Isagi does. The lapse of silence between them stretches on, until Isagi speaks up.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Isagi says suddenly, swallowing the last drop of his coffee. He still sounds groggy, and his voice is raw.
Barou shakes his head, with the amount of times he was doing this he was going to cause a problem or something, “it’s my fault.”
“I should’ve…” he starts, and then he puts his own mug down and crowds Isagi up against the counter, “I should’ve been more honest with myself.”
Isagi’s face is red, and the small space between them is charged and he wonders if the sheer electricity could make his hair rise, “what's that supposed to mean…”
Barou brushes some of Isagi’s hair behind his ear, gentle like he’s handling a flower petal just because he can, and it feels good to treat things with tenderness. “It means I should’ve told you I love you.”
Isagi’s breath catches, and Barou can see the way his glossy eyes widen and get even bigger on his face, and then he surges forward and kisses Barou for the second time, mouth full of longing.
Isagi tastes like coffee and Advil, like need and desperation. Their lips push and pull, and it’s slow at first before devolving into a spitfire fight for control. Barou’s head reels, and he’s hot all over but Isagi is burning under his hands.
He moans into the kiss, and he grabs under Isagi’s thighs to hoist him up onto the countertop like he’s dreamed of so many times, and the sounds of their breathing and wet making out fills the room. He pulls a breathy little gasp from Isagi when he bites his lip hard enough to mark it, and Isagi quickly returns the favor even harder until the slight metallic taste of blood is shared between them. He makes a relieved sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan, because having Isagi against him feels like quenching a fierce, parching need in his body. Isagi digs his nails into the nape of Barou’s neck, his favorite spot apparently, and Barou holds the man’s jaw still so he can trace his teeth with his tongue. Isagi fights back, his hand wrapping tight in Barou’s loose hair and tugging at the length of it like a lead.
Isagi’s lips are soft, like Barou imagined them- but he’s pretty sure no matter what they ended up feeling and tasting like Barou would be just as smitten. It fucks him up so bad, and he has to pull back and drop his head against Isagi’s collarbone that’s exposed because of how goddamn big the shirt is on him, everything about Isagi makes him so dizzy.
Isagi starts nibbling on his neck, and Barou sucks a big bruise on his shoulder that’ll probably last a week because he can’t let Isagi one up him. He pulls back and their faces are so close they’re sharing a breath.
“If you’re serious about this, then that’s it,” Barou says heavily, and he frowns when Isagi grins and squeezes his thighs, “I won’t share you with anyone else.”
That makes Isagi laugh again, like he’s delighted, and he leans in and marks Barou just below his jaw, “you want me to be yours?”
Barou nods. Isagi hums against his neck and the vibrations travel over his skin in a buzz, “yeah, I can do that.”
There’s another chaste, wet kiss to Barou’s neck, and Isagi whispers roughly, “you’re already mine, aren’t you.”
It’s framed as a question, but Barou knows Isagi already knows exactly what his answer would be- so he just nods again and lets Isagi tug him closer by his hair and slip his tongue past his lips again.
Isagi wiggles his hips, and Barou takes the hint and pulls his shorts down, and then he shoves the hem of Isagi’s shirt into his parted lips so it’s held up and he can see the expanse of Isagi’s bare torso and the way his cock is hard as steel against his stomach.
There’s a smattering of beauty marks on Isagi’s abdomen, and when Barou lightly traces his hands up Isagi’s sides his abs flex and he lets out a muffled groan from behind the cloth in his mouth. He takes Isagi’s cock in his hand, circling his thumb over the slit, and Isagi drops the shirt from his teeth as he moans open mouthed and pained. His head cracks back onto the cabinet door, and he tosses it back and forth as if Barou is controlling his body just by touching him.
He pulls his own sweatpants down just low enough that he can get his dick out, and Isagi ogles him even though his eyes are shutting against his will from the pleasure. Barou strokes himself once, and then he pulls Isagi closer by his thighs so that their cocks are rubbing together, and it startles Isagi so badly he whimpers and a full body shiver visibly runs through him. Isagi arches into him, and Barou wraps his hand around the both of them and pumps his fist as he captures Isagi’s lips again.
They don’t stop kissing, not even as it turns more into just their lips stuck together as they pant into each other’s mouths and share spit. Isagi’s hands are clenched in the fabric of Barou’s shirt, and Barou braces his free hand against the countertop and he’s gripping it so hard his knuckles are white.
“Please, please please,” Isagi moans into his mouth begging for release, and his hands drop to squeeze Barou’s hips and tug him closer, his ankles locked at the small of Barou’s back press into him like he’s urging him to rut his hips harder against Isagi. “Oh- fuck, harder!”
He rubs them raw, watching the way Isagi leaks like a fucking faucet all over his fist and his head spins. He wasn’t going to come as fast as Isagi was, who looks so close and frustrated that there are unshed tears sparkling in his blue eyes. He slows down just to hear Isagi beg some more, and then he lets go of his own dick to use more technique on Isagi’s- the change in attention is enough as Barou rubs his thumb over the head of Isagi’s cock, and Isagi comes with a loud gasp and a choked down moan between them. Barou feels him seize up against him, and he studies every detail of Isagi’s face as his orgasm hits him and he breaks apart.
“Shouei, yes,” Isagi moans, his eyes fluttering shut, and he’s twitching all over from the aftershocks. His chest is heaving, and Barou is in no better state as he keeps stroking his own cock to finish faster. Isagi finally catches his breath, and then he slips one hand under Barou’s shirt and the other not-bandaged one pushes his hand away to wrap around Barou’s cock instead.
He curses under his breath, and then he’s whining pathetically against Isagi’s jaw where he shoved his face against to hide the sorry state he’s in. His hands, now free due to Isagi’s takeover, grip Isagi’s waist like a lifeline.
“That’s it,” Isagi whispers encouragingly, goading him on and stroking him faster, his small hands tight as a vice around him. His other hand is a complete contrast to the other, one fiercely getting him off and the other stroking softly up and own his ribs under his shirt. He’s breathing Isagi’s skin in, huffing every stuttering breath into his chest as the pleasure builds. It’s better having Isagi’s hands on him, and he can feel himself tipping over with every painfully hard beat of his heart against his ribcage. Isagi slips his hand out from under Barou’s shirt and tugs his hair again, and Barou comes so hard that his vision goes white. He moans as the pleasure crashes into him like a tidal wave.
He’s silent when he’s finally able to come back to the land of the living, and he shivers with his head hung low. Isagi hugs him closer, and he lets himself curl into the man’s arms. Hands comb through his hair as he catches his breath.
Isagi kisses his neck, and Barou shivers when he feels him smile against his skin as he says slyly, “you made a mess.”
“I should kill you,” Barou breathes out with no fight left in him, exasperated by Isagi’s attitude but just as whipped as always. He feels Isagi’s body quake as he laughs, quiet little giggles that fill him up like a beggar's bowl panhandling on the street for every last drop of Isagi’s laughter.
Isagi rubs his back, “you can try, babe.”
Barou pulls back and scowls, and then he frowns even harder when he sees the sorry state of his favorite shirt, “you fucking got your cum on Billy Idol.”
“Fuck Billy Idol,” Isagi says, and then he’s lifting Barou’s chin up to make him look into his eyes instead. “He’s not your boyfriend.”
“You’re putting that in the wash right now, and then we’re showering,” he sighs even though it takes the strength of a bull to ignore how his heart leaps pathetically in his chest at the word boyfriend, trying to pretend that he’s still upset because the sensation of Isagi’s fingers carding through his hair is placating him like a dog. They both look like a mess right now, and he feels sticky and wrung out but fuck if it’s not everything he’s ever wanted. The good kind of change.
“We?” Isagi says suggestively, raising his eyebrow at Barou, and he looks so stupid, and so stupidly cute and Barou just has to kiss him again. Definitely for the purpose of shutting him up. Definitely.