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Naomasa buries his nose in the blonde fluff of Toshinori's hair: it smells good, and the detective can't help but nuzzle his face in its softness.
Toshinori chuckles. "Are you okay up there?"
Naomasa groans something of an answer – he's really bad at talking with alcohol in his system, but he tries to convey his feeling by tightening his arms around Toshinori's shoulders. They're slim and solid, giving Naomasa ample space to dig his fingers in.
Naomasa’s heavy head leans on Toshinori’s. The detective’s breath is warm and huffy against the other’s ear. Shivers running down his body, Toshinori tightens his grip under his friend’s knees and keeps walking on the deserted pavement.
It’s a silent neighborhood at night. The lamp posts' lights seem dull when compared to the occasional flash of a passing pair of headlights. Toshinori slows his steps. He does know the way to Naomasa’s apartment, but just to be sure, he stops to read the signs at the end of the road.
In that moment of distraction, Toshinori’s piggyback passenger slides off of his shoulders with a groan. The blonde’s reflexes are quick enough to catch Naomasa before he can hit the ground with something else but his shoes.
“Are you alright?” Toshinori’s hushed tone sounds alarmed enough for Naomasa to open his eyes and stand a little straighter. “Something wrong…?”
The detective blinks in confusion. He does not get away from Toshinori’s side as he absent-mindedly rubs a hand over his right eye.
“I dozed off.”
Toshinori lets out a resigned sigh – one that comes out, more often than not, around his students. “Tsukauchi-kun…” He begins, keeping a hand firmly wrapped around Naomasa’s waist, “You should not have drunk that much. You’re in a shameful condition.”
That miniature of a scolding is enough to have Naomasa look down at their shoes, puppy eyes barely shining when not hit by light.
Toshinori bends a little to try and decipher the other’s face. “Tsukauchi-kun?”
“Sorry.” The detective mumbles, “I ashamed you.”
Upon hearing that remorseful tone, pangs of guilt stab Toshinori’s heart. “I did not-” He begins, frantic, “I did- ah, that was not what I wanted to say! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I could never be ashamed of you,”
The damage is already done. No continuous apologizing can erase that pitiful wrinkle from between Naomasa’s scrunched up eyebrows.
“Home is close, I’ll just go…” He says, ungluing his hip from Toshinori’s side and then taking a wobbly step in the direction of his apartment complex. Just as Naomasa goes for the next step, though, something in his knee withers and crumbles, almost bringing him to the ground.
Toshinori is there to catch him.
"I'm sorry, Tsukauchi-kun." He says, once again straightening the other’s position.
"That was embarrassing."
"...no! No, it’s not a big deal, we’re alone here! We’ll be home in a minute, okay? I'm carrying you, can I?"
The detective has a pout on his lips as he ponders what’s best to do. It’s adorable, how Toshinori makes himself small to hover around him. At last, he sucks up any doubt when he remembers the hefty amount of stairs he should have to slither on – and with that newfound resolve, Naomasa nods and whispers a ‘carry me’ to his tall friend.
Toshinori nods and then, as if he practiced that movement times and times before, he bends down to wrap an arm around Naomasa’s shoulders, then the other under his knees. In seconds, the detective is hoisted in his arms like a princess to be saved.
Toshinori can’t hide his amused smile. "There." He breathes, keeping the other man close to his chest.
Naomasa is quick to disappear in the blonde’s shirt as they begin moving. “Can’t you carry me over your shoulder?” He murmurs, face red, keeping his arms awkwardly on his lap.
“Like a sack of potatoes…?” Toshinori muses, mentally agreeing that it would put a lesser strain on his arms. “I don’t want to upset your stomach.”
"Aren't I heavy?"
The blonde smiles, not taking his eyes off of the road ahead of them. "All Might is strong enough." He proudly says, landing a noisy pat to Naomasa’s thigh.
"Yagi-san."
"Yes?"
"No, you're… you're Yagi-san. My friend who is very tall and looks like wind could knock him down on a bad day."
"That's not very nice of you to say."
The littlest part of reason that was not touched by alcohol makes Naomasa stir. "I would not let a friend suffer a backache because of my fault…" With that said the man begins squirming, freeing a leg out of Toshinori’s hold to try and let the tip of his shoe reach the pavement.
"Please stay-" Toshinori begs, long fingers gripping the other’s thigh. That touch alone has dangerous thoughts fogging Naomasa’s mind, and for a moment, he stops moving around to let the blonde man show off.
"Yagi-san is strong enough. See?" Toshinori is not lying: weirdly enough, without OFA and after years of inactivity, the older man is still very much capable of bouncing a grown man’s weight bundled in his slender arms. Still, the detective can’t help but see a strain in that proud smile.
When Naomasa finally accepts the position and wraps his arms around Toshinori’s neck, effectively lifting some of that burden off the other, his friend visibly relaxes and resumes walking, feather-weight steps just a little louder in the neighborhood.
The next row of lamp posts makes their pink faces a bit too obvious.
“There we go. You're not a lightweight, but you're perfectly doable.”
Naomasa hums at Toshinori’s comment. His blurred mind is not sure of the reality of things, so he stares in the gorgeous blue of Toshinori’s eyes, trying to find an answer that keeps on dancing away every time the blonde’s fingers reposition under his thighs.
The detective has a hunch about Toshinori wanting to feel useful, to feel strong again, like many retired heroes try to do – randomly carrying grannies and their groceries through stoplights.
Naomasa is not exactly a granny, so it’s only fair that he wonders just how useful he can render himself for Toshinori’s self-esteem. And maybe he wonders about it too deeply, because he doesn’t realize how close their faces are until his nose touches Toshinori’s cheek.
His friend, ever so precious, smiles and tilts his head in the opposite direction. “Are you dozing off again…?”
“No, I was thinking about what you said.” Naomasa mumbles, looking down at Toshinori’s hand. Under the buzz of alcohol, the dark haired man lets his legs become jelly just to feel Toshinori readjust his grip under him with those stupidly long fingers. He closes his thighs, trapping Toshinori between them briefly – at least until the other catches on the movement and moves his grip on the other leg.
The white, cold skin of Toshinori’s hand is a nice contrast to the black material of Naomasa’s slacks. Is he feeling it too, how warm and soft Naomasa is?
“Yagi-san…” Naomasa breaks the silence. His usually clear voice isn’t but a whispered mess. "How doable am I?"
Something visibly shatters in Toshinori’s body – something that makes his thin lips tremble. “Did I-” The blonde keeps his eyes on the streets. The apartment complex is in sight, but he can’t decide if it is comforting or not. "... when did I say that… ?"
“Earlier.”
“E-earlier?!”
“Huh-huh.” Naomasa rests his ear against Toshinori’s neck. From there he can feel the blonde’s heart speed up, and that’s enough to put a wicked smile on his face. He closes his eyes, content that way, and lifts his hand to rest a thumb against Toshinori’s lower lip to finally cease the litany of fumbled apologies. “It’s okay, you didn’t drink a thing, you can’t understand what you’re doing…”
Toshinori is perplexed but doesn’t bother arguing with a drunk man who’s slurring every other word. Yet, at the potential cost of coughing blood, Toshinori parts his lips to speak and to ask for an explanation.
His voice doesn’t have time to come out as Naomasa drags his thumb in and out of his mouth. It’s little movements, like a child fidgeting, or maybe waiting for a reaction.
"Yagi-san…" Naomasa whines, letting go of Toshinori’s face shortly after. "Where have you been all this time…"
"Huh?"
"All the times I got drunk and nobody could take me home, were you busy saving the world?"
Toshinori doesn’t know if to focus on the slurring of Naomasa’s words, getting even worse instead of sobering up, or if to focus on the fact that the detective is talking plural – ‘all the times’, he said. The blonde looks down to see Naomasa with his eyes closed, almost angelic, ready to doze off once again.
"Your drinking habits are preoccupying." Toshinori sighs, mindlessly tapping his fingertips against the detective’s shoulder.
Naomasa doesn’t answer, and the rest of the walk is silent. They pass through a parking space – Toshinori recognizes the detective’s civilian car among the others – and after a short while of crunchy gravel under his shoes, they reach the stairs that lead to the second floor of the complex.
“Door 16?” The blonde asks for confirmation, gaining an affirmative nod against his neck.
Toshinori proceeds with caution, going slowly so as to not strain further the muscles in his legs. Still, feeling Naomasa’s breath brush against his hair is enough of a reward for all that effort. On top of the stairs, Toshinori can look at the pitch black sky and imagine that there are stars over their heads, blind witnesses of that goofy night. There’s no guarantee that Naomasa will remember what happened between the third beer and the morning after.
Toshinori reaches door 16: ‘Tsukauchi’ is written in pen under the plastic cover of the doorbell, in that neat handwriting that the blonde can’t help but admire.
“Hey…” He bounces the man in his arms to wake him. "Tsukauchi-kun, your keys."
"Pockets…"
"Silly, I can't put my hands in your pockets."
There isn’t an answer to that.
"Tsukauchi…? Hey?" Ever so gently, Toshinori puts down the other in a standing position. Naomasa naturally falls back into his arms, face planting in his wrinkled shirt.
His black eyelashes flutter open, then close again. "Back pocket. Can't reach it."
Toshinori chuckles at that. He only needs two fingers to take Naomasa’s wrist and slowly, as if carefully making sure not to hurt his friend, the blonde man makes Naomasa’s own palm tap on the back of his trousers.
“There. You reached it just fine.”
Naomasa’s dark eyes look up to meet Toshinori’s. Their faces are barely reached by the lights of the neighborhood, making them all shadows and soft edges.
“I’m sorry.” The detective says out of the blue, fumbling with his keys before straightening his back. “I'll go to sleep.”
“You’re sorry…?” Toshinori’s shoulders drop in defeat, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
Naomasa takes a while to answer. He manages to get the keys in his door on the fifth try, and with a click, the door opens to his dark apartment. “I’m annoying.” He says, gaze fixed on the void before him.
“You’re not! You did not annoy me in the slightest, I swear! I would have brought you home regardless of your conditions.”
The detective shrugs. "It's okay… I didn't really expect it to work…"
"For what to work?"
Naomasa takes a hesitant step into his apartment. Mostly engulfed in darkness, Toshinori can barely see the half hearted smirk the detective throws him over his shoulder.
"Getting you in my pants."
Toshinori is not fast enough to react to these words – rather, he could never aspire to remain alive after such a direct confession. His mouth hangs open, his face reddens once again, and the ache in his throat, now more prominent than ever, has him spitting blood on the back of his hand.
All while Naomasa’s expression takes a pleased turn, as if that reaction could be worth every minute of tomorrow morning’s headache.
"Goodnight, Yagi-san. Thank you for bringing me home." And on that note, as if he found the perfect closer, the detective shuts the door behind him.
Only, the door doesn’t click.
Toshinori’s foot, caught on the threshold, bounces it open shortly after.
Too many possibilities rush to Naomasa’s groin, making him gulp in expectancy: questions like ‘is he getting in?’, ‘are we spending the night together?’, pool deliciously in the deep, deep void that opened in Naomasa’s stomach.
"Come forward, please." Toshinori says, fists shaking at his side.
"Yagi-san?"
"Please, in front of me."
"Did I upset you?"
"I beg you, before I lose courage!"
Naomasa is cautious, suddenly not so sure anymore. In little steps he gets in front of Toshinori, only to get immediately taken by his shoulders as soon as he is at arms' length. It’s fast: the tall man bends to kiss Naomasa’s forehead, a tender click of lips, before smashing the detective in a tight hug.
It’s not forceful like Naomasa anticipated, but it does not matter. The younger man melts in that sweet attention, something that for once doesn’t seem to be painted as friendliness. Little caresses in his hair have Naomasa close his eyes and wrap his arms around Toshinori’s middle.
They stay like that for a minute, Toshinori drawing circles on Naomasa’s back with his nimble fingers.
“I appreciate the offer.” The blonde says with the shaky voice of someone who just got proposed a risky gig. “Next time? Maybe? When you’re not tipsy, I mean, we could… talk?”
“Just talk?” Naomasa hides his smile in Toshinori’s shirt. “You’re such an old fashioned gentleman, aren’t you?”
Sensing another round of shameless teasing he cannot hope to turn down, Toshinori grips the detective’s shoulders and spins him around to face the door. “Good- goodnight." He mutters, sending Naomasa inside with a push of his hand. The detective is laughing all the way, that lovely sound carrying on as Toshinori closes the door himself.
“Goodnight.” Naomasa replies from the inside.
Toshinori nods for no one to see. “Stay hydrated.” He stutters, keeping an open hand over his racing heart.