#daichihara

Well, scratch that, he’s pretty susceptible to every sort of weather, and while Daichi had noticed in their school days, the smaller boy’s tendency to wear as much as he could get away with in the winter, and as little as possible in the summer, it’s never been as obvious as it is now, in the dead of winter, when moving Ichihara away from the kotatsu is about as impossible as moving a mountain.

“Yutaka,” Daichi calls from the door of their bedroom, careful not to let his voice dip into a whine, “Come to bed, it’s warm there too!”

“But it’s cold in between,” the lump of blankets that might’ve once been Ichihara replies, and seems to shift in a way that indicates a permanent settling. 

Daichi racks his brain for a solution; he would never want Ichihara to be too cold, but Ichihara might be sore in the morning if he sleeps by the kotatsu and that would be awful, too.

The answer comes to him just as he sees eyes peer out at him from under the blankets, and before Ichihara can so much as sigh in resignation to being exposed to the cold, Daichi has taken the few steps necessary to cross their tiny front room and scoops Ichihara up, blankets and all. 

“Wha—“ Ichihara seems a bit disconcerted by the sudden move from the floor to the air, but Daichi is sure he’ll come to appreciate the plan once Daichi has him safely transported to their bed. 

“There!” Daichi says as he places his bundle of blankets and boyfriend down on their bed, “Not cold at all, right?”

“. . .Right,” Ichihara agrees grudgingly, his face a bit pink.  Then he reaches out, grabs Daichi’s arm and pulls him into the pile of blankets with him.  “Now c’mon, you get in too.”

---

Ichihara would like to know what he did to deserve this. 

It’s hot, the summer air lying heavy and still over him like a woolen blanket and about as suffocating, too.  Laying out on the porch as he is, he had, until a few minutes ago, a perfect view of Daichi practicing his swing in his backyard; Ichihara had turned away, looking just made the heat seem thicker.

But now it’s even worse, because Daichi is sitting next to him and heat rolls off of him in waves, so strong that Ichihara’s surprised the pint of ice cream Daichi’s holding hasn’t melted yet.

“Say ‘Ah’ Icchan!” The spoon Daichi holds out, overloaded with ice cream, seems almost menacing in how it hovers just a little over his face, and though it pains him to move in this god-awful heat, Ichihara rolls away from the offering before it can drop onto him; not even a second after he does, the spoon tips just enough to let a fat chunk of ice cream fall onto the porch.

“Oh no I’ve made a mess!” Daichi exclaims, flailing and predictably sending more ice cream flying from the spoon.  “I’m sorry I’ll—“

But Ichihara can’t bear it, seeing Daichi move so much is enough to give him heat stroke.  Desperately gathering what energy he has, Ichihara sits up, leans in Daichi’s direction and manages, through some miracle, to catch the spoon (now empty but still pleasantly chilled) in his mouth.   

Blessedly, Daichi stops moving immediately. 

“I want more,” Ichihara says, looking up at Daichi with expectant eyes.  “Can I have some?”

Daichi’s face floods with pink, and huh, maybe the heat’s getting to him after all.  But he says nothing as he holds a fresh spoonful of ice cream up to Ichihara’s mouth, and Ichihara accepts it with good grace. 

"Uh-huh," Daichi nods, breathing hard, his face wet with distressed tears and his body trembling with energy yet unleashed.  

'Tender' is not a word Ichihara would associate with himself, but he's learned that there's something to be said for softer methods of handling Daichi--no, not "Handling," taking care of. Taking care of Daichi has proven to be much more effective than handling him.  More rewarding too, somehow, though Ichihara couldn't say how. 

"You're okay," Ichihara says, shifting forward on Daichi's lap (sometimes, the only way to stop him from pacing a hole in the floor is to sit on him) and kissing the corner of his mouth.  "None of that was your fault, and no one got hurt.  It's okay.  You're okay."

Daichi turns bright pink, and all the tense energy caught between his shoulders seems to melt down into his arms because they're suddenly around Ichihara, tight as a vise.  And well, Ichihara thinks this sort of fluster is a bit more positive than the sort that accompanies guilt, so he checks Daichi's face, sees its cheeks still flushed, eyes closed tight, and mouth pulled into a silly hopeful pucker, and kisses him again, and again, until all of Daichi's attention is in the here and now and not on whatever mishap he was party to earlier.