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It’s late into the night, or even early in the morning, when he and Takumi finally wrap up their strategy meeting. Usually, they would be joined by their friends for this, but tonight was a bit different. Invaders had stormed the school earlier in the evening, leaving everyone draining – some physically bruised and others mentally exhausted. With this on top of the pressure and stress of the Invader Hunt round they were currently stuck in, their worn-out group had disbanded early. Takumi, their leader, had called it off himself.
Not that Yugamu really paid attention to that order.
Because if anything, this recent fight just stirred his resolve to end this farce even more than before. It has been going on for far too long, and he wishes for nothing more than to tear down this sick game and take the Sponsor down with it. And he knows Takumi feels like this, too. Even more than him, or any of their friends. So, he still made his way to Takumi’s room that night, and Takumi, who is well used to his game partner’s antics and stubborn streak by now, had let him in.
And they made good progress tonight, too. Meetings with the whole group were great, ideas always flew fast and wild, bouncing off of each other. But with just the two of them, they stay focused more easily. They could stay sharp, quieter. Takumi is good at pitching new tactics, and Yugamu has wild creativity. They make a good, well balanced team for those thinking exercises.
Still, it was now far past the hour where they usually call it quits. It’s the sound of Takumi yawning that puts an official end to their work.
“Need your beauty sleep, princess?” Yugamu teases, though truthfully, he is also starting to feel the fatigue.
Takumi lets out a dry laugh, “Ha, ha. Yeah, I think we can stop here. Good work.” He stands up then, stretching with a quiet groan, small noises that Yugamu files away carefully in his mind. He could make Takumi sound like that, he thinks, in other circumstances. Softer ones. Wilder ones. An array of lovely ideas pass in his mind.
“Care for a bed companion tonight? I’ve been told my body heat’s quite comforting,” he offers lightly, a casual thing he’s done several times through their deepening, uncertain friendship.
Usually, Takumi is pretty quick to shoot the idea down. Sometimes with a scowl, sometimes with a growled ‘No! Never!’ or a deadpan ‘Yugamu, what the hell.’ It was routine by now. Yugamu pokes fun at him, Takumi barks in response, and they move on until the next one. It was cute. Familiar.
But tonight, Takumi doesn’t say anything immediately. He just looks at him as the seconds go by, like he’s pondering something hard, and the weight of it makes Yugamu’s grin waver a bit. He’s not… Used to that kind of reaction. As embarrassing as it is.
“Oh no, are you thinking about doing some lewd things to me during the night? Takumi, really, just say the word,” he jokes, trying to fill the space with anything to bring Takumi back from wherever his mind seems to have gone.
Takumi stops him as he’s about to add yet another dirty remark, finally breaking the silence. “Sure, why not. It’s been a long day,” he says softly, his gaze shifting away.
Yugamu, on the other hand, keeps is gaze on the other boy so, so focused. Like he cannot afford to miss a moment of this interaction, like he needs to absorb all of Takumi right this moment. If he could pause time right now, or freeze Takumi, bottle him up – he would. Just to observe him for a lifetime.
“…Okay,” he ends up replying with a cough, clearing his throat. “With pleasure, my sweet Takumi. I’ll be on my best behavior, promise.” And with that he gets to his feet at last, grin back on his face.
After a bit more teasing, grumbling, and some awkward shuffling in a room that is far too small for two grown boys, they start getting ready for sleep.
********
It’s about twenty minutes later when the room finally goes dark. Takumi, as Yugamu notes (and adds to his growing list of things about Takumi that he wants to remember), is pretty efficient with his nighttime routine. Pajamas on, face washed, teeth brushed, lights out. Straight to the point, no extra fuss. There’s something endearingly boyish about the simplicity. Just clean, quick, and done.
Yugamu, by contrast, moves with a little more care. His nightly routine is a series of steps, including the removal of his accessories and a little skin products. Normally, he takes his time with it. Tonight, however, he goes fast. Because he’s tired, and because he’s eager to lay down next to Takumi. Just the thought sends a ripple down his spine.
Takumi is the one to turn out the light, after he’s done. He slips into bed, shifting under the blanket to make himself comfortable. His voice cuts through the quiet a moment after Yugamu emerges from the bathroom. “You look kind of different without all your get-up.”
Yugamu watches him as he walks toward the bed in the darkness, lips twitching into a smile. “Is my true beauty too much for you to handle?” he gasps then, placing a hand to cover his face in mock shame, “Or am I just so hideous it’s offensive? Oh, how shameful!” He turns away dramatically, like a stage actor mid-tragedy.
“That’s not what I meant!” Takumi blurts out, already sitting back up slightly as though the elevation will make Yugamu take him more seriously. It’s absurd, and maddingly endearing. “That’s not… Never mind! Forget it.”
It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Yugamu is sure there’s color on Takumi’s cheeks. It’s hypnotising to him, but it seems like it makes Takumi want to change the subject. A shame.
“Do you always sleep with the eyepatch on?” he asks, voice duller now, shifting again to make more room on the narrow mattress.
Yugamu doesn’t waste a moment to start getting into the bed himself. “Not always. Depends on the mood,” he states, evasive on purpose. The true answer is that he doesn’t usually wear it at night in the comfort of his own room. But he doesn’t want to put that onto Takumi, that even after half the dozen innuendos and flirty remarks he makes a day, that it would still feel like a bit much. So, not tonight. Maybe someday.
“I see,” Takumi murmurs. Yugamu can tell he’s trying to make sense of his answer, eyebrows furrowing in thought, lips pursed in a sort of cute little pout. Yugamu would kiss that expression right off his face if he could. Or hold it. Or just keep it.
But for now, he just settles with what he can have. He lies down on Takumi’s bed, which is, like the rest of his room, only meant for one person. Not two boys their size. So, inevitably, they end up close: face to face, knees brushing slightly. Yugamu drinks this sight, the vision he gets in this quiet, barely lit moment.
He’s grown close to Takumi, it’s no surprise to anyone who has seen them interact in the last few weeks. Takumi has proven himself to be dependable and highly competent in the Hunt, an ally and a friend he found himself relying on more and more. And Yugamu truly cannot get him out of his mind.
He thinks, a bit deliriously, that if Takumi were to ask him to put himself in danger for what he deems the greater good of their mission, he would say yes sir, and follow orders.
And even more deliriously, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if they do manage to make it out of this war, like Takumi promises, that he would enjoy finding a way to get a quiet, peaceful life. One that doesn’t require him to kill for a job ever again, and with Takumi by his side.
Yugamu’s heart is pounding loud enough at this fantasy that he’s half afraid (and half wants) that Takumi will hear it. But the other boy seems unaware of his thoughts and just shifts, turning onto his other side, face away from Yugamu. Their legs are still a little tangled.
“Well. Good night,” he mumbles, before falling silent.
“Sweet dreams,” Yugamu replies quietly, not moving an inch.
He lies still for a while longer, eyes open, watching Takumi’s every breath as good as he can in the darkness of the room.
********
Yugamu’s eyes eventually slide shut, but he stays awake. He keeps still, breath slow, body heavy with false calm, but his trained hearing doesn't miss anything. And what it focuses on, above all else, is still Takumi’s breathing.
Or, more precisely, it’s the fact that his breathing hasn’t steadied, how it hasn’t relaxed in the hour-or-so that they’ve been lying down. Which means he’s not sleeping, and hasn’t been at all.
It gets Yugamu curious. So after a while he decides to break the silence, his voice cutting through the calm of the night. “Are you scared?” he asks, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling above him.
“…What?” comes Takumi’s answer, fast, way too fast, not even trying to feign having been asleep. He turns to look at Yugamu over his shoulder, squinting in the dark. “Why would I be scared?”
Yugamu sits up slowly, a looming presence over the other boy. “You would be right to be,” he sing-songs, voice not above a whisper, “Most people would be, lying next to a trained killer.”
And then he moves, fast, pressing a hand on Takumi’s shoulder and guiding him down flat onto his back. He climbs over him, an arm planted by each side of his head, legs on either side of him. Not too rough, but not gentle either. Just caging him in.
"Eh - ?!"
“I could kill you,” Yugamu says, barely audible, “Right now. Take my time with it, make it slow. Make it last.”
He leans in until his nose is brushing against Takumi’s. The space between them disappears, feels the way the other boy's throat bobs nervously. But Takumi keeps looking at him, so he continues, the smile on his face creeping bigger and bigger.
“You shine so brightly, Takumi,” he breathes, feeling high on the moment. His tone slips between reverent and unhinged, “I truly want to see how deep that light goes. Want to crack you open and take a look inside. Don’t you think that would be beautiful? And oh so easy, in this situation.”
For emphasis, one of his hands drifts down until it rests over Takumi’s chest. Right above his heart.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Yugamu closes his eyes for a second and just feels it. Tries to remember the rhythm. Like he could attune himself to it, become an extension of Takumi. It anchors him.
“I’ve thought about so many scenarios,” he whispers. “How it would feel, how you would sound. What expression would you make, under me, because of me. Would you feel just pain, or pleasure? Will the blood make you look messy, or adorned? I think you’d look beautiful in every version.”
He takes a shaky, adrenaline-infused breath, “It makes my head spin to think about it.” Because his love for Takumi has grown so much, and all he’s ever known is to express these thoughts through these sort of acts. And he yearns for Takumi to see that.
Yugamu opens his eyes again. Takumi’s staring up at him, silent, gaze unreadable but focused on him. Yugamu can see the tension in his jaw from their closeness, the way his fingers grip the sheets – but he isn’t pushing him away. He’s still there, listening. Letting him stay this close.
That alone drives Yugamu half-mad with want.
But then, Takumi moves. Lightning-quick.
One hard twist, a strong grip on Yugamu’s arm that causes a shift of balance, and suddenly the world flips. Yugamu is all of the sudden the one on his back, breath knocked out his lungs as his head hits the pillow, and Takumi is on top.
Pinning him. Caging him. The room goes very still for a moment.
Takumi leans in, a mirror of how Yugamu acted just a minute ago. When he starts speaking is voice is cool, calm, collected.
“I think you’re full of shit,” he whispers. It’s so low but the words ring in Yugamu’s ears.
He blinks up at him, his mind still reeling a bit at being manhandled, dazed. “…Sorry?”
His lack of words makes Takumi let out a breathy laugh. Yugamu feels this sound in his guts, and thinks to himself: this guy is kind of messed up, too.
“You spend a lot of time threatening and talking of torture,” Takumi murmurs, voice steady, “But I don’t think you would do a thing. Not to me, at least.”
He sounds so certain, it should make him mad. Yugamu should be insulted by how lightly he’s taking him, and infuriated because he’s right. But at the moment, he feels nothing but fondness.
It's his turn to laugh a bit, looking away from Takumi for a second, “A guy can dream.”
Because what Takumi said is true. He’s made it clear before: he doesn’t want to kill without love, but also not without permission, without any want from the other side. Takumi’s seen straight through him, picked him apart and pinned him down, and is still here. He’s looking at him like Yugamu is the one being opened wide for Takumi to see his insides.
The reversal makes his mind spin. He doesn’t move a muscle.
Takumi smirks at this, not cruel, just cocky, “I think I could have a better shot at killing you right now than you do.”
Yugamu arches a brow at that, “Is that a threat or a promise? You know I get off on both.”
Truth is, if Takumi did try anything serious right now, Yugamu would calmly and efficiently get the upper hand, and take his time with it for good measure. Self defense is not the same as initiating the murder, after all.
But the idea of it? The way Takumi is speaking so casually about killing him? It makes Yugamu ache to know more. How would he do it? How far would he go? What would he look like, what look would he see on Yugamu’s face?
Takumi seems to be studying him as Yugamu picks up the conversation again, “Did your mother never tell you it’s a bad idea to taunt an assassin? You’re really tempting me here.”
“There’s no guidebook for this,” Takumi mutters with a shake of the head, “When the assassin’s your friend. And in your bed.” He sits up a bit more then, putting space back between them. Another shift. A breath.
Yugamu keeps staring at him as he moves, his skin buzzing and his chest rising a falling still a bit too fast. He doesn’t want the moment to end, wants to drag Takumi down. Wants the weight of him, the heat, the thrill.
But he stays still, and waits, and watches.
“But anyway,” Takumi starts again, retreating with a rustle of sheets as he scoots back into the bed, trying to go back to some level of normalcy. Yugamu still doesn’t move, happy to continue to lie down where Takumi left him, eye following the other. “I’m not scared of you. Haven’t been since… Maybe the second week here.”
“Only two weeks?” Yugamu finally turns his head lazily, intrigued.
“A week and a hundred days or so, if you want to get technical about it,” Takumi chuckles again. He’s now lying back on his side, his head propped up by one hand. It’s a joke, a self-aware jab and Yugamu can’t laugh with him. He can’t even begin to try to comprehend what Takumi already lived through. He wonders if they were close, in his first timeline, too. How did Takumi see this other version of him? Or maybe they remained more like strangers, like killers circling each other in the dark.
“That’s disappointing,” Yugamu finally answers in a low, teasing voice as he shifts closer again, just enough to get their knees to brush like before. “I spent years perfecting my weird, off-putting charm.”
“It kind of falls apart when you start fighting to save your friends and humanity. Doesn’t really match with the ‘dangerous individual’ aesthetic,” Takumi shoots back with a grin, and Yugamu feels a bit childish under his gaze. Because he’s not usually the one getting teased like that. He does the teasing. He laughs and teases Takumi and the latter grumbles in response and gets embarrassed. He hopes the lack of light in the room covers the shyness clawing at his skin.
He decides to change up the conversation, “So, if it’s not fear, why haven’t you fallen asleep? Your insomnia that bad? I could offer a distraction, tire you out in other ways.”
Takumi exhales slowly in response. “It’s just – Never mind. Yeah, insomnia.” He finishes abruptly, and Yugamu doesn’t buy it for a second.
“Oh?” he coos, letting the grin and suggestive tone curl back into his voice, “Are you flustered, dear Takumi? Not used to having a man in your bed, is that it?”
And he expects Takumi to go all ‘No you idiot!’, the sputtering denial, the swat on the arm, the crimson ears, the whole package. But instead, he just seems to let his thoughts simmer for a bit, and then suddenly he’s throwing his hands over his face.
“God, why are you – I am! Okay? Yes, I am embarrassed because we’re both lying down in my tiny-ass bed and I cannot seem to calm down enough to fall asleep!”
Yugamu blinks, stunned, but Takumi doesn’t give him time to even process the words before he goes on.
“It would be easier to hold each other or something so that neither of us fall off or, or get squished but how do you suggest that casually?!” He’s animated and exasperated, sitting up for what feels like the billionth time tonight, and points an accusing finger at Yugamu with wild frustration, “Also, I thought you looked great earlier when I said you looked different without all your get-up! There! Is that all you wanted to know?!”
He groans again, like he's getting annoyed with hearing himself talk, and flops back down with a thud. He yanks the covers over his head to hide himself.
“Okay! Hope you’re thrilled now! Good night!”
“Oh,” Yugamu says, very eloquently, after all this display. It’s not – he didn’t think - “Wait, Takumi,” he scrambles upright, pulling at the covers, needing to see the other. “Hey. Takumi.”
No answer, just a low, miserable little sound of protest muffled by the damn sheets that he doesn’t want to let go of.
He didn’t… That’s not the answer he thought he would get. That’s not how teasing Takumi goes. But then again, he’s been getting a lot of unexpected turns tonight, so he shouldn’t have assumed the usual. Still, he can’t let this conversation end like that, he needs to see, needs to feel…
“Takumi,” he tries again, as he finally manages to peel the blanket back, but Takumi’s hands are back to covering his face, now. Yugamu’s heart pounds so hard it’s a wonder the bed isn’t shaking with it. “Takumi”, once more, like it’s the only word on his tongue, the only thing he ever knows. Takumi. Takumi. And to that, said man just lets out another little noise of discontentment.
Yugamu swallows, and begins speaking once again when his throat doesn't feel like it's closing on itself anymore, “I’d gladly cuddle with you. For the sake of not falling off the bed.” His cheeks burn a little. “Such a charming knight, rescuing us from awkward sleeping positions.”
And somehow, that little moment of fumbling, of awkwardness and sweetness, makes this situation feel more dangerous than any of the blades he’s ever held. Because Takumi – Takumi doesn’t want to run. He wants to stay close. Tangled. Like they could become one.
It’s such a mind-boggling thing, it makes Yugamu’s thoughts start spiraling further than before. His affection for Takumi is growing sharp, sharper, too sharp to hold. He thinks, if this keeps going, there will be no going back.
After a beat that feels like forever, Takumi finally lowers his hands to let out a small “Good. Fine. Let’s sleep then, for real this time. I’m really too tired for this.”
“Okay,” Yugamu breathes, grinning.
And with that small acknowledgement, Takumi shifts once again, gentler now, quieter, and arranges himself behind Yugamu. His body slides close, pressing against his back, and an arm curls around his middle. “…Is this okay?”
Yugamu doesn’t usually allow this, does not offer to turn his back in such a situation. It’s not comfortable, leaving himself open like that to a potential attack. It’s vulnerable, it makes his skin itch.
“Perfect,” he still answers, and means it more than he’s ever meant anything before. Let Takumi get what he wants, he’d offer it all.
Takumi tightens his grip at the confirmation, all soft gestures and shyness. “Okay. Good night again,” he whispers at last.
“Sweet dreams,” Yugamu replies just like he did earlier into the night.
And this time, sleep takes them both easy.
********
Yugamu wakes up first, the following morning. He's still entangled with Takumi, the other's arm draped across his waist. He can feel his breath brushing the back of his neck.
There’s not much he can do in this position without waking up the other, and he really doesn’t want that to happen. Would rather let their leader get some well-deserved sleep while he can.
He really, really has gotten soft. Takumi was more than right when he called him out on that, and it sends his mind reeling a bit again to think back about it.
So, he decides to stay still a while longer. Lets himself melt back into the moment, closing his eyes again. He knows he won’t be able to fall back asleep, but he can enjoy this tranquility for a bit more.
He tunes into the silence and tries to focus his senses on the soft rhythms of their heartbeats. They’re not quite in sync, but it's close. It feels like they’re speaking to each other, a sort of call and response. Question and answer. An unknown language for their hearts only.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.