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Banri is a step away from collapsing out of sheer exhaustion when it happens.
"Oh no."
He's a good three feet away from the entrance yet the complaint rebounds loudly through the silent halls. It’s a little concerning to hear that from the usually impassive Tenma Sumeragi. Though it's a normal sight to see the other voice out his complaints aloud, especially when the situation favors him less but often or not, the young actor didn't give a damn about rooming systems after an exhausting journey, opting to just pass out the moment his head hit the pillow. The day after that would usually be the time the other would complain, hands crossed over his chest as his face schools into obvious displeasure. Banri's used to his short fuse and even more used to curbing that anger during long flights and trips. It’s highly similar to domesticating a hissy cat or trying to calm down a baby from a tantrum. He calls it leader to leader care, Taichi calls it being gay. Banri, in anger, swats the tiny floating Taichi in his head and drags his suitcase to their hotel room.
The door is ajar and through the small peek Banri can see the small vanity place at the corner blending in with the white walls of the room. It's filled with black and white furniture, too modern for Banri's genuine taste but a good bed is a bed he won't complain about. Still hidden behind the door, Banri watches Tenma's feet dangle off the edge of the bed, this figure buried in the mass of cotton and silk splayed on the bed. Tenma doesn't say anything opting to muffle his curses with the pillows.
Banri pokes his head, raising a brow at Tenma who's hunched over, nearly grieving. The mild concern in his chest increases just a tiny bit with how inconsolable Tenma looks. For a moment, he lets himself panic. Did something happen? Is Tenma okay? Banri stares at the curve of Tenma's back as his mind races, the wrinkle in between his brows visible even from the distance between them. What a curve, Banri thinks distantly. What a face. "What's wrong?"
"Fuck, NO!" Tenma grumbles up from where he's plopped himself on the bed, the clean white sheets creasing. Weird. Strange. Banri blinks at him owlishly but Tenma pays him no heed.
"I think they made a booking mistake." Tenma finally decides to explain, scooting off the huge fluffy sheets. The worry in Banri's chest ebbs away.
Really, trust Tenma to be a big drama queen.
Though he has to admit, Tenma looks home on the huge bed, white sheets complimenting his bright hair. The sunset behind him sets the view into perfection, his purple eyes gleaming brightly in distraught. Their eyes meet and it finally makes Banri understand how Tenma has girls tripping over him at any given chance despite being so horrendously ungraceful (someone that pretty should be a crime, Banri thinks distastefully.) But even more so, the reason why directors would typecast Tenma as some sort of lovely boy next door or school heartthrob with a legacy of breaking hearts, the type of man you would like to bring home to your parents. Tenma was nothing short of gorgeous, it's a shame it often gets overshadowed by his sheer stupidity. He thinks it's like a scene from one of those intense drama's Tenma films, eyes locked as both leads wait in bated breath for someone-- one of them to take the leap of faith for something more. Banri would've spent the next five hours watching him as he would to his own PC's live wallpaper when Tenma's hands pat around the bed before patting down his pockets, loudly searching for something.
Banri stops at the entrance, summoned by how upset Tenma sounds. He leans his weight onto his dominant foot, hand propped on the hotel's grey handle.
"Can't be that bad. What's up?" Banri's brow continues to rise as Tenma doesn't respond, clearly busy trying to play hide and seek with something. Maybe Tenma doesn't hear him or if he did, ignores him because Tenma continues to play patty cake with the bed. Nice hands, Banri thinks, would've been nicer if they were in mine.
It's about five minutes more of waiting for nothing and Tenma's evident frustration when Banri speaks again, "Dude, what's wrong?"
Tenma puffs out a breath, raising his hands in defeat and anger. "They made a booking mistake! You and I were supposed to share two singles not— not— !"
"Not one king?" Banri finishes.
"Exactly!" He yells, face red.
Cute. Banri would admit it but he's not looking to be emancipated after a long flight.
"It's not so bad, man. Not the first time we've slept in the same room." Banri shrugs, he lowers his shoulders showcasing the impassiveness he tries to display, the nonchalance he hopes to express. And hopefully, Tenma falls for it. Hopefully, he doesn't hear the thudding in Banri's chest or the way his ears seem to buzz.
The statement isn’t wrong. Tenma likes to seek shelter in his room during those times when Yuki bends himself backward trying to fix costumes for a play. A pillow tucked under his left arm and his blanket bunched in the right, Tenma barges in like he owns the place, nesting in Banri’s bed like it’s his own before banishing the other to the couch.
Banri hauls in his luggage. He rests the black suitcase he owns by the side of the bed, perched close to Tenma's blue one. He stretches for a moment, back loudly cracking into place as his joints pop after the other. Then Banri makes his way to the bed, collapsing next to where Tenma's hunched like a kid whose candy was stolen.
"If that bothers you so much one of us can take the couch." His head tilts in the direction of the unsuspecting furniture, a small quirk on his lips.
Tenma grumbles as expected, hands crossing over his chest. "No. We both have a show tomorrow and if one of us shows up with a crooked back, Sakyo-san's going to make a decoration of our heads." His eyes glance towards the furniture two sizes small for their bodies to fit. If someone were to fit there it would be someone like Muku or Yuki, small that Tenma can stuff them in a pouch if he tried hard enough.
It would've been a nice sentiment to hear if not coupled with the evident fact that Tenma would probably swallow a carrot whole before even slipping in the same bed with his friend.
"We're leaders. Nothing would be beneficial to them if we became decorations." Banri laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check for any messages. Taichi's text bubble pops up but Banri swipes it down, dropping his phone to the bed before looking back up at Tenma again. Taichi can wait, sharing a bed with Tenma can't.
Tenma scoffs, looking around the room with distaste. "Sakyo-san's your member. He'd disown us if he had the chance."
Banri scowls. "Geez, lighten up. I can go call room services if you wanna. 's not the end of the world."
"So… it might be the end of the world."
Tenma's eyes widen in fear, legs clad in house shorts tucking themselves into the blanket precariously placed over his lower half. The tv buzzes in front of him providing the background noise in the surprisingly silent room. "What do you mean? Are the meteor strikes finally coming?"
Banri stops by the hotel desk, whipping around to stare at Tenma in concern. "The fuck you mean? Room services said they ran out of extra futons today. The earliest we can get another one is tomorrow. It's dry cleaning season so they're short on stuff."
Tenma wriggles in the bed distastefully, the action coupling with the huge transformers print on the big t-shirt he's wearing. Tenma looks small like this, unlike the big aura he surrounds himself as he dons on his responsibilities and career like a coat. He looks free, relaxed. "And we couldn't book a new room?"
"Fully booked. It's Koushien, remember? Too many people in the city." Banri shrugs, pulling open the drawer to retrieve the hotel-provided hairbrush. It barely does its job but so does Banri. He looks at the hairbrush in his hand and sighs. "It's not so bad. I'll take the couch then if you keep complaining like a baby."
"I'm not complaining! It's just, we paid for a double and we get a king instead. We're not getting the services we paid for!"
"Money isn't an issue—"
"Of course it isn't! I'm just—"
"Do you really not wanna share a bed with me?"
Tenma's mouth clicks shut.
For an actor, Tenma was absolute shit at hiding emotion. Banri guesses they do have flaws despite the perceived perfection. He tells himself that it’s nothing, that this doesn’t matter. But Banri can't help but feel a little disappointed. This wasn't any different from those times Tenma would slip in his room as shelter from Yuki and his rickety sewing machine. Sometimes, Banri blames it on exhaustion or moments of weakness when he thinks receiving affection isn’t so bad. But in those moments of weakness, the other had no problem pushing him on the side before scooting under the blankets with him, content to snuggle after hours of heavy practice.
Banri comes up to the bed where Tenma's made himself home, legs tangled in-between the sheets, cropped orange hair splayed out on the white pillows. Their eyes don't meet, Tenma too busy having a staring competition with the clock hanging on the right side of the bed and Banri too busy collecting the little shards of his metaphorical broken heart. Tenma's super pretty for dumb bitch. Banri's unfortunate enough to have fallen for him.
He grabs two of the four pillows that rest on the king and the thin duvet on top of the huge one before making his leave.
Part of him wants to play jock and tease Tenma enough that he gives in and lets him sleep next to the other but today's sixteen-hour flight remains in his legs and the obvious rejection weighs on his metaphorical heart like a rock. Banri plans to let himself stew in momentary heartbreak before beating Taichi's ass for assuming Tenma would ever want to be in a five-foot space with him.
Before he could do so, a hand grabs the soft material of his pajama. "We…" Tenma grumbles, cheeks red. "We can share the bed."
Banri freezes.
It would be a comical sight to see because Banri Settsu does not freeze, let alone be flustered. He's the one who does the flustering, who does the teasing.
But right now Banri looks at Tenma with the same shade of pink on his cheeks, quivering eyes meeting another pair of nervous ones. For a moment, he lets himself break his resolve, eyes glancing down at Tenma’s lips before he averts his eyes. Tenma’s hand doesn’t leave the soft material of his pajamas. Maybe he’s imagining it but Tenma’s grip tightens a bit more before tugging. Distinctly, if Banri were to watch this from afar he'd probably cringe because it's too fucking cliché.
What next? Was Tenma going to confess and return his feelings?
Tenma opens his mouth and Banri hopes. "S…so we can be… be well rested for tomorrow. Nothing else. Friends… share beds, right?"
Friends, right. Banri shouldn't have hoped but it's good enough. Better friends than nothing at all. So he lets Tenma pull him back to the bed, Tenma’s hand wrapped around his wrist loosely as if giving him a choice to run or to stay, and sits on the free space Tenma allows. Banri doesn’t run, doesn’t dare move away even with the penetrating silence around them drowning out the buzz of the television. Is this what Rhianna was talking about in California King Bed? Because the queen forgot to mention how painfully awkward it was. Tenma sits beside him but also does six thousand feet of distance crammed into a pillow between them. Awkward air settles and Banri thinks he should rather sleep on the couch than endure this choking silence. "Alright. Time to knock out. We gotta get up early tomorrow."
"You're… not gonna play?" Tenma asks.
It makes Banri look at him, "Why are you asking? Wanna play?"
"No… no, it's usually… you play before you sleep. Even if there's a schedule." He fiddles with his hands looking unsure and Banri doesn't seem to understand the topic.
"So…? I don't play all the time, you know."
"But— ugh, never mind. Forget I said anything. Go to sleep."
The conversation stops there, Tenma fishing out the remote from under his thighs before shutting the television off. Banri makes himself useful by standing up to turn off the lights, making sure a lamp in the room is bright enough to chase whatever monsters are present underneath their bed and in the closet. Tenma makes a noise of appreciation but he’s under the covers when Banri makes his silent return to the bed. He slips in the bed next to him but Tenma doesn’t react to the dip of the bed or the rustle of their shared blankets.
Banri closes his eyes, toying with the seams of the blanket over them. The room lulls into complete silence, their mismatched breathing filling in the room and Banri wonders if it's okay to sleep like this, when there are so many words waiting to be spilled, when there's a spiel dormant on his tongue as the sheets shift with every move they make. It would’ve been easier if Banri was less self-aware. If he could stop his brain from functioning as well as it did for all his years, if life wasn’t so easy for him that even he knew what these strange feelings were the first time he felt them.
Banri grabs his head. If there is one thing he wishes to change the settings in his life, it’s the level of self-awareness he has. He is too fucking smart to keep lying to himself.
And yet, refuses to acknowledge the itching feeling he has to hold the other close. Why?
Again, he’s too fucking self-aware to lie to himself: it is purely his pride. His straight fucking pride that leads Banri to hide behind carefully sharpened words he calls advice, to continue on with this boring route to victory, to relatively fucking everyone off who ever told him shit about his shallow acting because he can do just fine, he’s always done his best with the minimal effort he gives.
He opens his eyes, expecting to see Tenma's back face to him, orange hair messier than usual as the other dozes.
What he doesn't expect is to meet Tenma's gaze head-on, bright purple eyes glossy with something Banri can't name. Doesn’t dare to name. And at that moment, their breathing seizes. It's silent as they stare at each other and Banri somehow comes to the conclusion that oh my fucking god, Tenma Sumeragi sleeps with his eyes wide fucking open when the other opens his mouth to break their staring streak. "Do you… want to cuddle?"
What.
"Huh?"
The request knocks the remaining air in his lungs, throat clogging up. To his credit, Tenma looks almost sheepish, as if the weight of his words just settled on him at that moment. He tugs the blankets up till it reaches under his chin, brows drawn tight together. A shame really, if the lamp was brighter Banri would've seen the tint of pink on Tenma's cheeks.
"Do you…,” Tenma starts shyly, “ah fuck, never mind. Goodnight, Banri-san."
The sheets shuffle as Tenma jostles around to avoid Banri's gaze. Having none of this bullshit, Banri reaches out just in time to tug Tenma back to face him, arms winded around the other's waist, eyes glued onto each other. "No, no. Ask me that again?"
"No. Goodnight, Banri-san." Tenma bristles, jostling even more in hopes that Banri lets him go. However, Banri’s stronger than him, eyes nearly beaming. Banri doesn't relent. Instead, he keeps him trapped in his arms, pillow wedge in between them long forgotten.
"Awe, come on. Don't be a suckass. Come here, you wanted to cuddle right?" Tenma thinks it's too early in the morning for his shit-eating grin, or maybe too late in the night.
"I don't." He presses but he's not stubborn enough to push away the searing warmth of Banri's chest pressed against his, or the way their breaths intermingle with a hairsbreadth distance. Tenma's surely not denying the honor that is resting his head on Banri's arm, nor the one wrapped securely around his waist.
"Don't lie, come here." Banri tugs and fixes them until there isn't a discernible distance, legs tangled in between sheets, Tenma's head pressed on the crook of his neck. The arm that Banri used to cage him close now cradles his back in a more gentle manner. It's warm, but certainly warmer where Tenma's cheek presses on his skin. "There, you good?"
"... fine."
Moonlight peeks behind the curtains next to them, the low thrum of the air conditioner filling the silence in the room as their breathing comes to a slow halt. Banri thinks about this afternoon and the once present distance between him and Tenma. And he thinks of now, and the way Tenma's hand rests over his chest in content. Banri doesn’t think about the possibility of crossing that distance, to hold Tenma’s hand without pondering about the consequences to come.
Tenma is well loved. Loved enough that even Banri sometimes thinks if he could ever amount to it.
Tittering over the edge of something big, Banri lets sleep lull him. If a confession were to happen someday, that's fine. He'll cross the bridge when he gets there, but for now, even if he can hold Tenma under the pretense of being just friends, Banri's not stupid enough to say no.
Maybe someday Tenma will allow Banri to kiss him goodnight. After all, kissing the homies goodnight is a thing too, right?
The next day hits Tenma like a freight train. Head thrumming from the night of good rest while the effects of jetlag settle on his bones like a weighted blanket. In summary, Tenma feels like a mashed potato. Tenma buries his head once more on his strangely warm pillow, nose nuzzling into something harder than he's used to. He takes in a deep breath, the scent of autumn breeze and fallen leaves filling his nose. It’s something close to apple pies and expensive perfume, the smell grounding him. He doesn’t remember the pillows being this firm but glad to know this hotel has rocks for pillows. Finally, he has something valid to complain about. He'd continue to sleep if not for his slowly filling bladder breaking his haze of sleepiness, reality seeping back into his hazy eyes as he blinked away.
Fuck, the sun is bright, Tenma thinks as he moves out of the bed only to find out that he… can't.
Huh?
Something under him rumbles and it takes Tenma five seconds, approximately five seconds too long to realize that the pillow he's been sleeping on isn't a pillow.
Banri's grip around him tightens as he moves to pull away, a sleepy grumble washing over him, and Tenma feels something strangely similar to dread to settle on his chest.
He tries again, tugging himself out of Banri's hold only to find his efforts fruitless. Rapidly losing faith in the universe, Tenma concludes that he has three choices in the matter; one would be the more appropriate choice of waking Banri up so he can go waddle his way to the bathroom to freshen up. Two, resign himself to this fate and piss on Banri as punishment. And three, wait for the other to wake up.
He’s too impatient for choice three, too angry for choice one, and for sure was brought up well enough for choice two. Tenma grumbles as he tries to pry himself out of the other's grip, only to have their hands intertwine. Uhm, Tenma feels strangely flustered, hands pausing as he stares at their locked fingers. Just what the fuck is Banri dreaming about enough to have him be so… touchy? Is this normal? No? Why was he thinking about this too hard anyway? Tenma lets out his sleepy grumble, bladder impatient.
“Fuck, Tenma, stay still… ‘s early.” It wasn’t really. Cars outside the hotel thrum with urgency as the zoom past by, the afternoon sun angrily splaying its rays over their blanketed bodies and Tenma wonders how their sheets have gotten so rumpled and how two of their pillows have disappeared enough that Tenma’s unconscious body has resorted to using Banri’s chest as a proper substitute.
Tenma stiffens at the realization.
He’s done it now. Do homies sleep on their friends' chests? Even if it’s purely out of exhaustion? It’s not out of place right? Taichi does that sometimes. When they’re sprawled on the ground, Taichi’s head resting on his stomach as he recalls aloud something he’s read on those ANAN magazines with Tenma’s face plastered on the cover. Taichi see’s him as a friend, and he knows this. With how much Taichi yaps about a certain cherry-haired boy, it’s easy to discern where Taichi’s affection lies. But Taichi’s touchy, his mind supplies. Taichi is Taichi, and Taichi isn’t Banri.
Of course, Taichi isn’t Banri, his eyebrows pinch at the thought. Why was he comparing such different personalities? They’re nothing alike and the only thing they could be sharing is that they’re both in the Autumn troupe and both Tenma’s… friends.
Right? Friends. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Banri-san.” He hisses. “Let me go, I need to pee.”
Banri doesn’t respond for a moment and Tenma's rendered useless, watching the slow rise and fall of Banri’s chest. “Pee later.” What the fuck.
“No?” Exasperated, Tenma tries to wrench his hand away. But Tenma’s strength is nowhere compared to Banri’s, and instead, he finds himself sprawled back on Banri’s chest. Like this he can hear the soft thump of Banri’s heart, and maybe Tenma’s imagining it or maybe Banri has hypertension but weirdly enough, Banri’s heartbeat seems to quicken.
“Pee later. Sleep.” Banri mumbles, voice coated with exhaustion. It’s two timbres deeper than normal and Tenma’s definitely not blushing but Banri’s voice thrums differently in this noon lighting. Is it a good thrum? Tenma chooses not to disclose, afraid of acknowledging the weird lump in his throat as his cheek smushes against the cloth of the other’s pajamas.
Tenma gives him two minutes which turns into five, which turns into ten, and before Tenma’s realized it, an hour and a half have passed and Banri has fallen back asleep with how the arm around him has slackened. Tenma doesn’t feel like moving though, even if his bladder was screaming for help just a few moments ago. It’s... comfortable like this, with him draped over Banri, hands intertwined, an arm over the other. It’s domestic, calming, and for a few moments, Tenma allows himself to relax in the other’s hold, breathing in the soft traces of Banri’s axe body spray mixed with some pretentious perfume he absentmindedly plucked off of the shelves that time he went to London. He doesn’t preen at the realization, but something nearly akin to joy bubbles in his chest.
It’s nice. Both to lie in Banri’s arms and to know that the other uses his gifts no matter how ugly they were. He doesn’t dare think of it more than he should, lingering feelings he can’t name dancing on the tip of his tongue. Tenma doesn’t know when he suddenly became so aware of how red he turns when the distance between them disappears, not when his hands get clammy just thinking about the other. He’s fine with this weird thing he has with the Autumn leader; hangouts after classes, calling each other at 4 am when one of them is out of the dorm, buying gifts heard in passing, sharing a bed during play preparations. It’s enough, Tenma concludes.
It’s enough because Tenma doesn’t want to explore these feelings. He doesn’t acknowledge the simple joy of seeing the other smile more often around him, or the other relaxing enough that he lets himself drape his body over Tenma like a puppy begging for attention. Tenma doesn’t think of the heat on his skin where Banri leaves his lingering touches, nor the buzz in his ear when the other laughs.
He doesn’t think of the prickle in his chest when he sees Banri with his arms draped around the others, nor the relief when Banri forgets about his reputation and sees Tenma as he is.
Whatever he has with Banri is enough, he doesn’t need to hope for more or think about having more. He likes this enough. He likes Banri enough and-- oh.
Oh.
Realization strikes through him like a lightning bolt, hard enough that it makes Tenma shriek out of the other’s loose embrace. Tenma slaps a hand on his red cheeks and he stills his running brain because no, absolutely not. He doesn’t… he doesn’t like Banri like that?! He doesn’t see Banri in that light. No. Banri is a friend. He’s a good friend. He gives Tenma his umbrella before he leaves to buy groceries, he fetches Tenma after long flights when everyone in Summer is too exhausted to drive to the airport, he picks up Tenma’s lunch on the way to visit him on the set. Banri is a kind and caring friend who--
You like him.
He doesn’t! Tenma swats the voice in his head that sounds too much like Taichi that one time he ran into him after switching jackets with Banri. It had been pouring, and Tenma’s usual denim had been soaked through by the hard weather. Banri had graciously offered his bomber because that’s what a good friend does. Banri, under the light of artificial cafe bulbs, was a good friend. Right now, as Banri continues to sleep soundly, soft hair splayed out on his pillow as the corners of his eyes stained with evidence of a good night’s rest… Tenma thinks he’s gorgeous.
Wait.
No! Tenma thinks he's an absolutely good friend! Yes, he’s gorgeous but, fuck. Tenma grunts against the hand he’s slapped over on his mouth after his fervent denial, shuffling out of the sheets they’ve tangled themselves in. He makes sure that the creek of the bathroom door doesn’t wake the other up. He’ll wash up, change, and bolt out of this room and five miles away from Banri and these convoluted thoughts. Space would be good, space from Banri and his warm chest pillow, his cheeky smile, and even cheekier laughter, the teasing lilt of his lips and the softness in those purple eyes that he sees when the other thinks he’s not looking. He… he needs to get out of here, Tenma thinks as he sets the shower to its coldest level hoping it can cool him and the burning feeling under his skin.
Kazunari hums as he open’s Tenma’s room, camera in hand, ready to snap a pic of Tenma sleeping. It’ll make for good blackmail material when Tenma tries to shirk out of troupe hangouts. He’s been sent to fetch their leader after hours of absence and missed calls, practice schedule hours ago ticking away at the lack of both the Autumn and Summer troupe’s leaders. It’s unlike them both to be absent for practice without a proper reason, so the director comes to a conclusion that they’ve been mugged, or worse, somehow kidnapped by an organization of spies somehow named after the months of the English calendar. Kazunari laughs out loud at the memory. The director is so fucking strange.
But he comes to fetch Tenma instead, boisterously announcing his presence as the borrowed hotel room card clicks the door open. “Tenten! Wake up! We’ve been-- oh.”
Later, when Tenma and Banri finally exit their room, they don’t talk about the night before or the morning after. Instead, they eat lunch in perfect normalcy, as if nothing happened. The rest of the troupes look at them weirdly, all-knowing gazes and sly smiles and Tenma’s a cuss word away from a temper tantrum while Banri sits silent, completely out of his element. They don’t get away without a sermon from Sakyo but the director’s ultimately glad they aren’t missing. Kazunari doesn’t tell them about this morning, nor does he tell them about the picture in his phone, Tenma’s head tucked over Banri’s chest, arms around each other as they rest.
After all, newfound feelings aren’t his secret to tell.