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Sanemi was ready for the week to be over. It had been exhausting from start to finish and all Sanemi wanted to do was hibernate under his duvet, in his warm bed, for the entirety of the weekend. Alas, though, it was only Thursday and sure to be his most challenging day yet.
Thursdays were the longest, Kendo Club starting at nearly 6:30 in the morning with a second hour-long practice at 5pm. Not only that, he had two tests on Friday which he’d surely be pulling an all-nighter for (he was okay at managing his time but still studied way harder than he probably needed to).
On top of that, on Tuesday, Genya had come over and asked Sanemi to read over and edit his college admission essays and Sanemi could say no to a lot of people but his younger brother was not one of them.
So he’d been pouring over Genya’s essays for hours, making little notes and crossing stuff out with red-ink. Genya’s words kept ringing in his ears, now, no matter how much he didn’t want them too.
And then there was that throbbing headache that pounded at his skull, incessantly, that he woke up with.
At first, he thought it was his alarm, but, after he rolled over and slammed his fist down on the SNOOZE button (it’s a wonder the damn thing still worked), the ringing sound didn’t stop. Then, the pain set in and Sanemi had to douse it in 3 ibuprofen capsules (not even managing to stop the pain, just quell it slightly so it was only a dull ache in the back of his head).
He groaned when he looked down at this watch; he was running late which only added insult to injury. He’d be the last one at Kendo Club and probably be paired with Tomioka and looking at Tomioka’s face was the last thing he wanted to do right now. All he could do, as he ran out of the door without checking his bag that he had everything, was pray he made it on time by some miracle.
Evidently, he didn’t, and he was five minutes late.
“My, my,” Kochou greeted him, with that awful, so-sweet-it’ll-rot-your-teeth-off smile. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, huh, Shinazugawa-san?”
Sanemi knew he probably looked like shit; hair still a bedhead-y mess with dark bags under his eyes. Even so, he found the energy to snarl and say, “Be quiet, bitch.”
As he changed, he gritted his teeth. He could feel those piercing blue eyes on him, even from outside in the practice area, watching his every move.
He stalked out, changed into his gear, clutching his wooden sword so hard his knuckles were already turning white.
“Shinazugaw—“
“Shut it, Tomioka, I don’t want to hear it,” Sanemi snapped back, not letting the other finish. He knew it was rude and part of him did feel bad, just a little. He and Tomioka had been…well…fucking for quite some time now and Sanemi would be lying if he didn’t feel something small starting to bud inside him that wasn’t just lust. He marked the feeling down as annoyance and tried to push through.
It had been almost two weeks since the last time he and Tomioka had fooled around, yet another reason why this week had sucked. Sanemi was a man of many things but he wasn’t one who dealt with sexual frustration well, by any means, in any measure.
He stormed past Tomioka, leaving the other man’s eyes to trail him as Sanemi stepped into the ring.
Practice did not go well. He felt his headache coming back and with a vengeance; he’d been knocked down three times and lost all his rounds. It wasn’t like him at all and he could feel this stares (with varying degrees of concern) of his teammates.
“Are you okay, Shinazugawa-kun?” Mitsuri peered down at him, still holding her sword, as he sat on the ground beneath her, struggling to catch his breath. The armor felt unusually heavy on him, like he was being held down to the floor and struggling.
“I’m fine,” he barked, in response, slapping her extended hand away.
“Hey!” Obanai snarled, quick to come to her defense (god, could he be anymore obvious?), angrily.
“Sorry,” Sanemi apologized with a heavy sigh, pulling his helmet off his head and dragging a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, Kanroji.”
“I-It’s okay…” she accepted, still looking at him with those worried, wide eyes.
“Fuck,” Sanemi struggled to his feet. He glanced up at the clock, they still had 15 minutes left, but he didn’t think he (or his pride) could take anymore of this hell-of-a-practice. “I’m just gonna head out now… see you guys this afternoon.”
He hurried, quickly, to the changing room and left as soon as possible. The last thing he needed was someone, Tomioka, trying to stop him or talk to him after that mess.
The rest of the day went, unsurprisingly, shitty. His headache was practically killing him as he lugged himself from class to class. Everything was shifting in and out of focus, his world lurching violently, and he couldn’t focus during any class.
Just because God or whoever was up there had some grudge against Sanemi, clearly, he realized halfway through his first class that he’d forgotten his laptop at home in his rush to leave. He bit down, hard, on his lip to keep from screaming. This has to be some kind of sick joke.
The only reason he could keep his body upright was through pure spite and will and he was dreading going back to Kendo.
Worst of all, though, was when his phone buzzed halfway through his Advanced Chemistry class.
tomioka [1:09:43pm]: Hey. I just wanted to check on you. You looked like you were having a hard time during practice and I hope you’re okay.
Sanemi gripped his phone so tightly that he vaguely wondered if the screen would pop open. He hated how Tomioka always texted with perfect capitalization. He hated how Tomioka never used acronyms. He hated how Tomioka had the audacity to check on him. He hated it.
He set the phone down on the desk with a thud that resounded in his head, painfully, and tried to forget about the text.
After a late lunch of store-bought udon that tasted faintly of cardboard and yet another class, this time it was Economics, that he couldn’t pay attention to if a gun was being held to his head, 5pm hit and Sanemi wanted to throw up. Or pass out. Or both.
On ordinary circumstances, he would’ve gone home, but after the fiasco from the morning, his overwhelming pride wouldn’t let him. So he dragged himself through campus, feeling three seconds away from death, back to the Athletics Center.
This time, he was on time, but, just his fucking luck, the only other person there was Tomioka fucking Giyuu with his pretty face, peering at Sanemi. Tomioka’s eyes bore holes into the other male and Sanemi barely had enough energy to explode at Giyuu.
“What?” he asked, trying to sound angry, but just sounding beaten down (god, he was embarrassed). He let out a huff of laughter, void of any mirth, strained against his throat. “You want to have a quickie or something?”
When Tomioka didn’t say anything in response, Sanemi continued to goad him. He didn’t know why, the angry words just kept coming out, falling out of his tongue with no way of stopping them. “Huh? Are you fuckin’ mute?”
Silence.
Then, “Sanemi, you shouldn’t be here. You look terrible.”
“You know what, Tomioka, I don’t fucking need this from you, okay?! And don’t fucking call me Sanemi!” he spat out furious curses.
Then, he whirled around slammed a fist, loudly, against the metal lockers with a strangled, “Fuck,” that crawled its way out of his throat. He was breathing heavily, exhales shallow and painful.
Guilt began to rise, slowly, in his chest. He shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have acted like that towards Tomioka. Shit.
He turned his head towards Tomioka, whose expression was placid and infuriatingly unreadable, with the intent of apologizing (or as close to an apology as Sanemi could allow him to give Tomioka) but the sound of their teammates came trickling in to the locker room before he could get any words out.
Their voices weren’t that loud but, to Sanemi, the sound was grating and harsh in his ears so, instead of making this right, he stormed out with a huff.
He was lucky afternoon practice was only an hour rather than the usual two but that fact didn’t make the hour any less excruciating and grueling. Sanemi’s legs were so shaky, he was sure they were going to give way. He managed to steal one round from Rengoku but he was sure that the other man was going a little easy on him.
No one dared bring up his sorry state and Sanemi was at least a little grateful for that, it made the whole experience just slightly more bearable (though that said very little) and Sanemi could’ve cried when the clock struck 6pm.
He was the first to rush into the changing room and the first to leave, anger and hot embarrassment burning in his chest and spreading through his body. He wanted to crawl into bed and die there.
Then, fuck. He remembered his tests and hot, frustrated tears sprung to his eyes. He was a pathetic mess, crying, and he hated every second of it. Sanemi never liked to look—to feel— weak and now that’s all he felt.
Now, not just his head but his whole body ached.
The walk home felt like an eternity but what was one more eternity to this never ending day of hell?
Opening the door to his apartment never felt more like bliss. He let out a long, relieved sigh that he hadn’t known he was keeping in, as he stepped in and dropped his bulky Kendo gear-bag by the door.
He took two long strides, kicking the door closed behind him, and all but collapsed onto his couch, face-first into the cushions. He laid there, trying to steady his breathing, muffled by plush pillows, and he would’ve been content to just die there. Any normal person would’ve said “fuck it” about the tests if they had the day Sanemi had but Sanemi was anything but normal.
He, though his body was practically screaming in protest, pulled himself into a sitting position and grabbed his laptop from where it sat on the coffee table. His body was running on auto-pilot, it seemed, as his fingers typed, blearily, and he scanned endless pages of notes. Nothing was registering except the harsh light of his computer, stinging his retinas. Still, he persisted stubbornly, fighting tooth and nail to keep going.
Keeping pushing, keep pushing, keep pu—
A knocking on the door broke Sanemi from his heavy thoughts.
Who the fuck? he thought. Then, it dawned on him. Only one person he knew would lack enough tact to come knocking on Sanemi’s door at, he glanced at the clock, 10 at night (God it was 10 already?).
His stomach gurgled in a way he couldn’t quite place at the thought of Tomioka, even after the way Sanemi yelled at him, coming to check on him. It wasn’t annoyance, though Sanemi wished it was.
“Coming,” he called out, the words leaving his mouth were hoarse and gravelly and he winced when they did.
He opened the door to Tomioka, waiting patiently. He was beautiful and Sanemi’s fists curled into a ball because of that fact. The moonlight, just past the railing, acted like a halo behind Tomioka, glowing white and heavenly.
“What’re you doing here?” Sanemi asked, blinking.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” Tomioka apologized, plainly but Sanemi could tell there was a hint of something else, edging at the former’s voice. Sanemi stepped aside, allowing Tomioka to come in. Tomioka bowed his head (does he always have to be this fucking polite?), slightly, as he stepped in and kicked off his shoes.
“You never answered my question,” Sanemi said, voice half a growl and half void of any energy. “Why are you here, Tomioka?”
“I know you probably don’t need it but… I was worried.”
“I don’t need you to worry about me.”
Tomioka didn’t answer, just looked towards the couch where Sanemi’s laptop and various papers were scattered, haphazardly, about. “Were you studying?”
Sanemi heaved a pained sigh, running a hand through his ashy-white hair. “I have two tests tomorrow.”
“Did you study already?”
“Yeah but not enough. I need to do more if I want to pass.” That was a lie and Tomioka saw right through it. Sanemi had a bad habit of perfectionism and both of them knew he’d be able to pass without studying tonight; he was smart. Really smart. And yet…
“I think you should go to bed,” Tomioka said, rather matter-of-factly and Sanemi would’ve been angry at being order around if bed didn’t sound so good and inviting. And…with Tomioka.
“Maybe,” Sanemi huffed. “Yeah. I guess so. My head’s been hurting like a bitch all fucking day. It fucking blows.”
Tomioka nodded. “Did you take anything for it?”
“Ibuprofen this morning,” Sanemi rubbed his temples with his pointer fingers, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
He felt a light push, shoving him in the direction of his bedroom. “Go get ready for bed, I’ll bring you some more painkillers.”
“But you don’t know where they ar—“
“I’ll find them, just go.”
Sanemi relented, walking into his bedroom with heavy footsteps. He tugged off his street clothes with little emphasis and pulled on an old pair of sweatpants, chest bare. He sat down on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side, and buried his head in his rough, calloused palms. He groaned, only fueled a little by anger.
Tomioka came in a few seconds later, holding a glass of water and a blister pack of pills. Sanemi noticed the way Tomioka gave him a one-over when he entered the room, most definitely admiring Sanemi’s exposed and finely-toned muscles. Sanemi almost laughed at that. Tomioka was still Tomioka.
He sat down next to Sanemi and Sanemi’s body burned when the sides of their bodies touched.
“Here,” he handed the glass and two capsules to Sanemi.
Wordlessly, Sanemi snatched them up and took the medication.
“Are…” he said, hesitantly. He refused to make eye contact with Tomioka, just glared daggers at the hardwood floor beneath his feet. “…you going to stay?”
“I planned to,” Tomioka informed him and Sanemi couldn’t ignore the wave of, what seemed to be relief, washing over him.
He finally (finally) lied down and when his head hit the pillow, he instantly felt some of the pressure that had been weighing him down all day, being taken off of him.
Tomioka rustled around in Sanemi’s room, doing something (Sanemi couldn’t even open his eyes if he tried). The lights clicked off, drowning the room in darkness, before Tomioka slid into the bed, next to the other man.
There was a beat of silence and Sanemi was a second away from falling deeply unconscious when Tomioka spoke up, voice slicing through the quiet like a knife.
“Sane—Shinazugawa, I—“
“You can call me Sanemi,” Sanemi interrupted. “I didn’t mean it…back then…”
“Oh,” Tomioka’s voice was even and steady but Sanemi could tell he was touched. Good, Sanemi thought, oddly pleased with making Tomioka feel that way. “Okay.” A pause. “Sanemi.”
Then, tentatively, like saying Tomioka’s first name would cause some sort of natural disaster or explosion, Sanemi opened his lips and stuttered out a “Giyuu.”
It’s quiet but it’s there, the presence of Tomioka’s name permeating every corner of the room.
Giyuu, Giyuu, Giyuu.
Giyuu.
“Sanemi.” A huff of breath. “I know you had a really bad day.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Sanemi let out a laugh, in spite of himself.
“But… I hope I can make it better.”
Giyuu rolled over so their heads were just centimeters apart. Sanemi could feel his hot breath, prickling Sanemi’s skin.
Slowly, Giyuu leaned in and closed the gap between then, pressing a long kiss to Sanemi’s slightly parted lips. Giyuu tasted like chapstick and, faintly, the plastic mouthguard he wore during Kendo practice. The kiss was slow and romantic with almost no tongue, something they’d never done before.
All of this was uncharted territory; Giyuu had never been in Sanemi’s bed without the intention of sex and the act of kissing like this, alone, set Sanemi on edge. Not in a bad way, though. Not at all in a bad way.
It was tender and Giyuu was careful as he reached up to cup Sanemi’s jaw. Sanemi kissed back, everything else feeling perfectly dull for the first time that day.
Once they broke apart, Sanemi pressed his forehead to Giyuu’s, breathless. He clumsily grasped at the front of Giyuu’s cotton t-shirt. He didn’t know why he was letting himself be so open with Giyuu (even when he was butt-ass naked, topping the man, he wasn’t this vulnerable) but, even worse, he didn’t all-around hate the feeling of letting Giyuu in. He didn’t hate the feeling of kissing Giyuu that way, it made him feel warm in the pits of his gut.
“You need some sleep,” Giyuu told him as if it wasn’t obvious, and Sanemi hummed a low note of agreement. He was already half-asleep anyway.
With Giyuu, sleeping beside him, their legs tangled together under the comforter, Sanemi felt the horrors of the day washing away in the darkness. The only light was from the moon, trickling in through the cracks in Sanemi’s blinds. It lulled him to sleep and he dreamt of Giyuu.
When Sanemi awoke, he was much more clearheaded and, with this newfound sense of clairvoyance, he could feel something heavy on his chest. He looked down to see Giyuu’s head, pressed up against his collarbone.
His sleeping face was unfairly pretty, skin pearly and expression innocent. Sanemi wouldn’t admit the hint of a smile that tugged upwards at the corner of his lips. Sanemi reached his hand towards the sleeping Giyuu’s head, threading his fingers through the navy locks spread out messily on Sanemi’s sternum.
So maybe they weren’t “no strings attached.”
Fuck that.
Whatever they were, they had time to figure it out.