#humkeng

Ten.Full.Minutes.

At first, it’s fond. It always is when he’s watching his sweet boyfriend. There’s something quietly endearing about how Fuma gets like this: so locked in, so unaware of everything else. His lips form a pout when focused and part slightly when things get intense, and every now and then, he makes tiny, absent sounds under his breath, reacting without even realising it.

It would be cute.

If Kei wasn’t sitting right there, next to him, completely ignored, and aching for attention.

He shifts slightly, letting his knee bump into Fuma’s.

No reaction.

Not even a glance. Even if he did feel it, he would never mind Kei bumping into him, no matter how hard. Being mad at Kei is impossible for him; he would instantly apologise, even if he was the one getting hit anyway.

Kei leans back into the couch, crossing his arms, staring at the side of Fuma’s face like maybe—maybe—if he stares hard enough, Fuma will feel it.

But no, nothing.

“Hey,” Kei says finally.

“Hm,” Fuma replies instantly.

That almost makes it worse.

Kei tilts his head. “You’ve been playing for a while.”

“Mm.”

That’s it.

No elaboration. No eye contact. Not even a break in the rhythm of his hands. Nothing but just a simple humming, meaning he definitely heard Kei speak, but didn’t register a single word.

Kei exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening. He uncrosses his arms, then crosses them again, shifting around on the sofa like he can’t quite get comfortable anymore, growing even more annoyed, frustrated as the second passes. He didn’t care anymore about what game he was playing or how cute he looked.

He wasn’t the type to be needy for skinship, but everything has been different ever since he met Fuma. He loved being taken care of by him more than anything, even though he was the older of the two. They love to pamper each other; it has become their thing, and right now, Kei really wants to be pampered.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Fuma says. It was immediate, automatic.

Kei’s eyes narrow. “What did I just say?”

There’s a pause for barely half a second.

“…You’re talking,” Fuma answers, completely sincere.

Kei stares at him in disbelief, mouth slightly agape.

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

Fuma hums, clearly taking it as background noise rather than criticism. It wasn’t that he was addicted to his game - which he was - but he enjoyed his gaming time.

Another minute passed by.

Kei watches the screen this time, trying to figure out what could possibly be so engaging. Something fast-paced. Bright flashes. Quick movements. Dramatic music swelling and dropping. Fuma leans forward slightly, shoulders tensing, thumbs moving faster. His entire body reacts to it.

Kei’s irritation sharpens.

It’s ridiculous. It’s a game. A tiny screen. And somehow it has more of Fuma’s attention than he does right now. Maybe Kei was starting to be jealous of a game.. just maybe ?

Fine.

If that’s how it is, then Kei isn’t going to sit here quietly like some background decoration.

He shifts closer, deliberate this time by closing the gap until their shoulders are fully pressed together. He lets one of his legs rest over Fuma’s, solid and unmistakable. His whole body is touching him.

“Fuma.”

“Mm.”

Kei doesn’t hesitate.

“Kiss me.”

There’s no build-up. No questioning, he clearly hears him.

Fuma just turns his head slightly - still looking at the screen, and leans in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to Kei’s lips. It’s brief, automatic, almost absentminded.

All of this, to simply pull back to go back to his game.

Just like that.

Like nothing happened.

Like it was no different from pressing another button.

Kei freezes.

“…What,” he says slowly.

Fuma doesn’t respond. There’s a triumphant sound from the game, and his posture shifts forward again, completely reabsorbed.

Kei blinks.

He actually reaches up and touches his own lips, like maybe he imagined it.

“That does not count,” he says, more to himself than anything.

“Hm?” Fuma makes a questioning sound, but doesn’t look over.

“You didn’t even look at me.”

“I did,” Fuma says.

Kei lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

“I know where your face is,” Fuma replies simply, as if this answer would settle it.

Kei stares at him, genuinely offended now. “That’s worse. That’s so much worse.”

Fuma shrugs faintly, adjusting his grip on the Switch. “I’m in the middle of something.”

“I can tell,” Kei says flatly.

There’s a tight feeling in his chest now - small, sharp, and annoyingly persistent. It’s not just that Fuma kissed him without looking. It’s how easy it was. How automatic, like it was another task that meant nothing to him.

Like Kei asked, and Fuma just… checked a box.

Done. Back to the game.

Kei leans back, arms crossed again, but this time there’s no comfortable settling into the couch. His gaze drifts back to Fuma despite himself, tracking every tiny movement.

The crease in his brow.

The way his lips press together when he’s concentrating.

The way he doesn’t look at Kei.

“…Unbelievable,” Kei mutters again, quieter this time.

He tells himself it doesn’t bother him.

But it absolutely does, more than he’d like to admit.

• ✧ •

The second time, Kei knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s the next day: same couch, same position, same problem.

Fuma is once again completely absorbed, the glow of the screen reflecting in his eyes, his entire focus narrowed down to whatever high-stakes situation he’s in now. The sounds are different this time—sharper, faster—but the effect is exactly the same.

Kei barely even pretends to be patient. He wasn’t; he wanted attention, and he was about to get it one way or another. He leans against the armrest, watching his boyfriend openly now, chin propped in his hand. His gaze lingers - not soft this time, not fond.

Evaluating.

Testing.

“Fuma.”

“Mm.”

Kei’s lips press into a thin line.

“Kiss me.”

Again, immediate.

Fuma leans in without hesitation, presses another of his quick kisses to Kei’s mouth - just as brief, just as distracted, and pulls away in the same motion, attention snapping right back to the game.

As is Kei was a pause screen he can flick through.

Something in Kei snaps.

He reaches out and grabs Fuma’s chin before he can fully turn away, fingers firm, guiding his face back closer.

“Hey.”

That finally breaks through.

Fuma blinks, eyes shifting to Kei for the first time in what feels like forever. Twenty minutes? Longer?

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused.

Kei searches his face, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real. “Do that properly.”

Fuma frowns slightly, pouting. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I kissed you.”

“Barely,” Kei shoots back. “You didn’t even look at me.”

Fuma glances down at the Switch, clearly aware of whatever is happening in the game, then back at Kei. There’s a flicker of hesitation, like he’s being pulled in two directions.

“I’m in a fight,” he says softly. He doesn’t want to fight with Kei, not now and never in their future together.

Kei lets go of his chin, leaning back just enough to put space between them. “Yeah, I noticed. It seems very important.”

There’s an edge to his voice now, thin but clearly there enough for him to get the hint.

Fuma’s eyes narrow slightly. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“You sound mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Kei insists quickly, crossing his arms again. “You’re just… annoying.”

Fuma studies him more carefully this time.

Not a glance. Not a distracted acknowledgement.

Actually looking, reading his face - never without getting a reminder of how gorgeous Kei is. He was so lucky, he felt so lucky every day. But now, he focused on knowing where things went wrong and how to fix them.

“…Because I’m playing?” he asks slowly.

“Because you’re not paying attention,” Kei says.

“I am paying attention.”

“To that,” Kei replies, jerking his chin towards the Switch in annoyance. “Not to me.” Now he’s fully pouting in what seems like an adorably stubborn way.

There’s a pause.

Fuma looks down at the screen again, then back at Kei.

And this time, something shifts.

It’s subtle, but Kei sees it. The moment the pieces click into place.

“Oh…,” Fuma says quietly.

Kei immediately bristles. “What does that mean?”

Fuma’s mouth curves, just slightly into a soft smirky smile- not teasing, not mean. Understanding.

“You’re jealous.”

Kei’s entire posture stiffens. “I am not jealous of your game.”

Fuma raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not,” Kei repeats, heat slowly creeping up the back of his neck. “That’s ridiculous. Who would be jealous of a stupid game?”

Fuma doesn’t argue; he couldn’t help but find his lover adorably cute.

He just looks at him for another second, and then, very deliberately, lowers the Switch.

The sound cuts off mid-action. The sudden silence feels almost jarring.

Kei’s eyes flick to it, then back to Fuma. “What are you doing?”

Fuma doesn’t answer straight away. The gamer in him is a man of action more than words.

He shifts instead, closer, slow and intentional this time, until the space between them disappears. Their knees touch, then their shoulders, then there’s nowhere left for Kei to pretend there’s distance.

Kei’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t move. He had Fuma’s full attention, and he was now frozen. Fuma lifts a hand and cups his face.

Warm. Steady. Present.

Completely different from before.

Kei goes still.

“Fuma—”

This time, Fuma was already looking at him.

Really looking. His gaze is soft, focused—not a flicker of distraction anywhere. Like, Kei is the only one existing on earth now. Then he leans in, soft lips pressing against him.

The kiss is slow. Not rushed. Not automatic like it was previously. He fully meant it.

Intentional in a way that makes Kei’s chest tighten for an entirely different reason. Fuma’s hand stays against his cheek, thumb brushing lightly just under his eye as their lips meet. He lingers there, not pressing, not pulling—just there, present in it.

Kei feels it immediately, the difference.

The way Fuma isn’t halfway somewhere else.

The way he’s fully here.

With him.

Kei’s hand lifts without thinking, catching lightly on Fuma’s sleeve, like he’s anchoring him there.

When Fuma finally pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. Their foreheads almost touch, breaths mingling, the space between them still warm.

“Better?” Fuma murmurs, smiling softly.

Kei swallows, the earlier irritation dissolving into something softer, quieter.

“…Yeah,” he admits, nodding shyly.

Fuma’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile. “You’re definitely jealous.”

Kei rolls his eyes and slaps his arm, but there’s no real force behind it now. “Shut up.”

Fuma huffs a quiet laugh, thumb brushing once more along Kei’s cheek before he leans back slightly.

His gaze flicks, just briefly, towards the coffee table where the Switch sits.

“Can I finish that fight?” he says, almost tempting Kei on purpose to set him off. He was starting to enjoy this cute, jealous side of his boyfriend

Kei reacts instantly.

His hand tightens around Fuma’s sleeve, stopping him before he can even think about pulling away.

“No.” Kei’s reply is fast and short.

Fuma pauses, looking back at him, waiting for Kei to decide what he wants and say it.

Kei hesitates—just for a second—then speaks, softer this time, more honest:

“…Stay, please.”

There’s no teasing now. No edge. Just a quiet ask.

Fuma doesn’t even glance at the Switch again.

“Of course, baby,” he says simply.

And this time, when he leans back in, there’s nothing automatic about it at all. He takes Kei in his arms, letting him snuggle together comfortably in his embrace, ending the day with just each other and no distractions. Just them, hugging, kissing, and sweet-talking.

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@ credits┆thank you @orbitondgtl for beta reading once again☆彡