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On the Screws

Chapter Text

Miyuki slams the door of their little shared apartment so hard, it makes the water in his glass jump. There’s the heavy sound of a bag filled to the brim with textbooks hitting the ground, followed by the telltale thumping of very agitated feet. Kuramochi slouches down on the couch in an attempt to make himself small and nonthreatening. Miyuki storms into the room and halts at the opposite end of the couch, arms crossed and expression tight.

“Hi?” Kuramochi tries weakly, waggling his fingers in greeting. Miyuki justs grunts and throws himself onto the couch, slumped a solid arm’s length away from Kuramochi.

“So…” Kuramochi drawls cautiously, “good day, huh?”

Miyuki makes a terrible, strangled growling noise and drags his hands through his hair roughly in response.

“Ah, I see,” Kuramochi says sagely, nodding. Kuramochi has learned a lot about Miyuki since they first met in high school, but times like this are still something of a gamble. Does Miyuki want someone to lighten the mood? Give him a hug and tell him it’ll be okay? Lend an ear? Ice cream? Someone to sit just to his left and cower in silence before his ill mood?

His hands are carefully cupped over his face now, and he’s breathing fast and harsh. Kuramochi almost rolls his eyes, because Miyuki cannot figure out how to deal with emotions at all, the poor bastard. Chances are high that he’s waiting for Kuramochi to make things better, which is kind of a tall order because it’s not like Miyuki’s problems are few and far between. It’s also possible that Miyuki will try to chew his arm off if he gets close enough. Still, this isn’t the worst Kuramochi’s seen and Miyuki did choose to sit next to him on the couch so… It should be okay to approach.

Kuramochi scooches across the empty space between them, cautiously placing a hand on Miyuki’s back. His shoulders tense up, but he doesn’t try to pull away so Kuramochi takes that as permission to proceed. He shifts onto his knees, wrapping both arms around Miyuki’s shoulders and setting his chin on top of Miyuki’s head. They stay very still for a few long moments, and then Miyuki heaves a shuddery sigh. The tension melts out of his shoulders and his hands fall away from his face. Kuramochi pats his back and sits down on his heels to look at Miyuki’s expression.

“Gonna survive?” Kuramochi murmurs. Miyuki hums an affirmative but his jaw is still tight and his eyes are dark and hidden. Kuramochi’s never really sure what to do when Miyuki is like this because nothing he says ever seems to get through that thick skull. He’d be happy to help if Miyuki would just give him a clue as to what the problem was. Kuramochi sighs. He’ll go for broke.

He claps his palms to Miyuki’s cheeks and turns his face ‘til they’re eye to eye. The little dash of surprise in Miyuki’s eyes makes him grin widely. Leaning up, he presses his lips to the center of Miyuki’s forehead, making sure to make the stupid “mwah” sound just before he pulls away. Settling back again, he watches the way Miyuki’s lips twist, like his face wants to smile even though he still wants to be pissed off.

“There,” Kuramochi says brightly, flopping back onto the couch. “Now everything’s better.”

“Who says?” Miyuki snorts inelegantly.

“Me,” Kuramochi answers easily. “I kissed it, so it’s better.”

Miyuki snorts again, but this time it’s more reluctantly amused than anything else.

“I can’t believe I live with you,” Miyuki mutters, but his weight shifts subtly toward him. It puts their shoulders in contact and Kuramochi smiles. He pulls the classic yawn and stretch maneuver, draping his arm around Miyuki and pulling him close. After a moment of resistance, Miyuki’s whole body goes slack and his skull conks hard against Kuramochi’s jaw.

“Ow, you asshole,” Kuramochi grumbles, but he turns and presses another light kiss against Miyuki’s temple.

“You like it rough,” Miyuki says.

“Yes, I love rough cuddling. Wow, Miyuki, you know me so well. What would I do without you?” Kuramochi says flatly.

“Seriously,” Miyuki replies, shifting to get comfortable. Kuramochi tips his chin so he can rest his cheek against the crown of Miyuki’s head and Miyuki sighs. He snakes an arm between the couch and Kuramochi’s back so he can twist his fingers in the hem of Kuramochi’s shirt.

“Thanks,” he breathes, barely audible. Kuramochi nods shallowly.