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"You always look like you're in your pajamas."

Massu looked up from his phone to the blank wall of their living room. Then, he slid up over the arm of the couch until his head was hanging over it and his support's amused face came into view.

Busio was toweling his hair off, dressed in another of those white tank tops that seemed like the only thing he owned, staring, presumably, at Massu's checkered pants.

"And you…" Massu started lazily, still not having processed the allegation fully. "You look like you live in a Fast and Furious movie."

Busio snickered, perhaps too hard for what the dumb joke had been, as he walked to the side of the couch and towered over Massu's face.

"At least I'm not dressed like this literally everywhere," he countered.

Frowning, Massu lifted a hand and poked him in the stomach.

"Yeah you are."

Busio wrapped an arm around himself, making a face like he'd been sucker punched by Massu's index finger, to which he giggled. Until Busio hit him on the face with his towel.

Massu yelped and scrambled to push it off, then to get up and attack him back, but Busio, ahead of him, tackled him and threw him back onto the couch, managing to keep his balance and stand next to it with one leg while the other landed between Massu's.

He grabbed a hold of the towel and started a short lived tug of war, Busio using the height advantage to pull it back and throwing it to the side to focus on shoving Massu's hands out of the way. But Massu pushed his leg with his own to destabilize him, and when he put his arms out to catch himself he started tickling his neck and ears.

Busio shrunk instantly, struggling to break free as he laughed, but his own weight brought him down and on top of Massu's chest, who didn't stop until he was thrashing and wheezing, clumsily trying to reach his face or grab his wrists.

"So I'm right," he said, smiling.

"What?" out of breath, Busio propped himself up on one elbow to look at him.

"I won, so I'm right in what I was saying." Despite barely having made any efforts, Massu was also starting to feel hot and out of breath.

Busio leaned in too close, brushing his face with the wet strands of his hair.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked in his best evasive seduction tone.

Massu frowned, crossing his arms in the little space there was left between them.

"That's not gonna work on me, by the way," he stated.

Busio only leaned closer and smiled wider, showing his teeth.

"You sure…?"

And admittedly, his pretty hazel eyes were distracting, if the fact that he was wet with steam and smelled like soap and had his full arms out and trapping Massu's upper body wasn't already. So Massu closed the distance and kissed him, hoping to shut him up about it and resume their debate.

But Busio never shuts up. He never does.

Especially when he wins, and he clearly took it as that because he smirked, pushing back against Massu's lips and truly cutting off his breath, dragging his tongue across his lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. Still, just as Massu was getting used to it, he pulled away just to smirk at him again. Massu blinked, confused, stopping himself before he moved in again, but Busio had already noticed.

"You were saying?" he teased, raising his eyebrows.

Rolling his eyes, Massu slid a hand up the back of his neck.