#knbhousewarming

🏡 Housewarming Masterlist 🏡

💚Obnoxious (Shintaro Midorima)

💛 Flawless (Ryota Kise)

💖 Natsukashii (Seijuro Akashi)

❤️ Shut up! (Taiga Kagami)

💙 Sleepless (Daiki Aomine)

You get off the metro, and after a short walk you find yourself in front of a row of buildings all alike, dense like the cells of a beehive, closed around a sort of common space that probably should have been a recreational area equipped with facilities, but now only looks decadent, sad and rusty. He saw  groups of children playing haphazardly and cheerfully, kids with loud music watching you quizzically, elderly people raising their hands to wave at you, bullies making offers that fall on deaf ears, until you find yourself in a narrow, dark alley, right behind what must once have been a basketball court. Yet the entrance to the diner was on the main face of the building, as the arrow of the sign suggests. 

"Come, don't be afraid, looks bad but it's safe" you mock him gently, your hand reaching for his one, your fingers interlacing with his to reassure him, but the effect his body sends back is a wave of overwhelming desire that makes his blood boil in his ears and leaves him unable to articulate words. He runs the palm of his hand along your forearm, over your skin, so soft and smooth. You look at him, open your lips to tell something, but he has already lost the ability to understand. Skinship, attraction, risk, a lethal mixture is pumped through his veins at an unsustainable pace.  He is about to close his fingers around your elbow to pull you to him and take you, locking you against that cold brick wall, when a male voice roars your name and divides you.

Poppa is a giant with a contagious good temper and arrogant, hearty cooking, who immediately sets you up at the best table in the place, in the small green space at the end of the dark alley, just behind his kitchen. Your burger looks alive, judging by the amount of toppings and cheese it leaks, which is why you are teased by both of them, who over the years must have honed an exact technique for holding bread, meat and toppings together.

"It's not a guy who looks like him, Pops" you explain, making the man's eyes widen "I brought you the real deal!" you smile, taking a long sip of water. Now the man's attention shifts to you, because "He knew he had seen you somewhere before".

"That's me Sir. Aomine Daiki, the one who plays in Cleveland" you reply and see the man's eyes light up with joy. "Man! We are all crazy about you, you're a genius!" the man shouts, calling out to all his kitchen staff, so that they too can shake hands and take pictures with the man who scored an average of 22 points per game in the last championship. It starts a party, which soon involves the whole block and in which he seems completely at ease, so much so, that he willingly accepts to shoot a few rounds with a group of boys from the local team, raising the already torrid temperature considerably, when he takes off his shirt and asks you to keep it, completely unaware of the emotional tsunami that watching him play causes. If Daiki in grandma's kitchen is attractive, in his element he is the most sensual and exciting man walking on earth. The way he moves, his absolute mastery of his body, those bright eyes full of agonism and above all his smile so radiant and seductive, which he never fails to turn on you after every point scored.

"Awesome!" shouts the girl sit next to you on the bench.

To you it's not awe, it's crave.

That dangerous feeling does not leave you even when you return to the metro, when you shower in your flat only to knock on his door shortly afterwards, having agreed to have dinner with him, bewildered as you were by lust.

You find him exactly as you left, absorbed in a phone call with someone he likes as he laughs, but that's all you can understand as he speaks a fascinating but unfamiliar language to you, which makes his voice sound even deeper.

"Excuse me, bestfriends catchup" he smiles, as you reach to take two glasses from his hands, asking if he can get you water instead of the caffeinated drink he opens for himself.

"I can't sleep lately, so I'm trying to ... " you stop, because there is no need for him to know that embarrassing fact about you. He glances at you fondly, as if he really cares about your story.

"Yeah I mean, it's a period where I should also call someone special to relax" you cut in short, taking a sip of water.

“You can call him, I'm sure he'd love to be your hero! ” he suggests.

"Him who, though? Elliott?" you ask, as you follow him moving away from you to retrieve a set of flyers from the fridge.

"Your boyfriend" he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"I don't have a boyfriend " you answer with undue urgency, figuring out shortly afterwards the genesis of that misunderstanding, as Grandma had muddled up Elliott's boyfriend as yours.

"Time to get one, if you don't want the situation to worsen! " he says, approaching you, taking advantage of your discomfort to mess up your hair, and leave the flyers in your hands, with the options from which you will have to choose your dinner. Then he finally goes to take a shower, smiling at you blushing at his soft tease.

A normal routine.

"For a couple " adds your brain, which has evidently lost all its best cells, and can't think of anything else. You sit on the chubby rough linen sofa in the big white living room, look at the dark marble of the fireplace, the high neoclassical walls, the windows with their thin curtains, close your eyes and lean your head , trying to avoid the storytelling of that absurd fantasy. Yet, all the naughty things you two could be busy doing on every surface of that huge house, are the only thoughts swirling around in your head. That sharp desire takes all your energy away, surely making you look pathetic in his eyes, actually used to see models, and not a vapid chick like you. You rub your face and take a deep breath, feeling a sudden saddness that makes your body heavy.

He quickly ran a towel through his hair, pulled on a white T-shirt, fastened his dark trousers and inhaled, because after that day, it had been a terrible idea to ask you to stay for dinner. He wasn't ready, and now what he had felt after your last conversation was haunting him, reverberating endlessly in his mind. He wanted to take care of you, he wanted to be him and no one else the mainstay of your life, and that was upsetting, because that was not the way he was. He was careless, free, unattached. Yet he would not have tolerated you perceiving him that way. He wanted to be infallible in your eyes. He wanted to be the one, unrepeatable, incomparable, irreplaceable.

And then he wanted to have you. He wanted to have you so badly.

He smiled because on the large sofa in the living room you looked so tiny, all curled up on one of the large linen cushions, one bare foot on the edge of the furniture, your small hand beside your sleeping face, your soft breathing , your hair spread over your shoulders left bare by the pretty blue dress you were wearing.

Too damn cute.

He dimmed the lights in the room until they went out, leaving only the pale reading light on, retrieved a blanket, but stopped shortly after because a sudden flick of your eyelids caught his attention. 

"Dai-ki," you tell him with a sigh, probably still in dreamland, as you can't keep your eyes open. You smile as he approaches and slowly strokes your head, running his fingers through your hair and over the nape of your neck, sitting on the rug at the foot of the sofa so he can see you.

" I'm here" he says gently to your sleeping self, resuming his slow, sweet caress.

"Speak to me, tell me something in your language, anything " you call him out in a smooth voice, so innocent but with a hint of need that immediately roused all his senses

"Daisuki na, oyasumi nasai. Yoku nemureru to iine." (*) he indulges you idly, more to himself, thinking that you may have already caught up on your sleep, so beautiful and cuddly that those words come out naturally, as if he is breathing.

"Your voice is so sultry , it gives me chills " you murmur, blinking a little, your soft lips curving upwards.

"Chills?" he asks back, amused.

"Anything about you is so damn attractive, do you have any idea how tiring it is to resist ? " you admit, laughing quietly at your own boldness, turning towards him, so close you can feel his scent. He smiles at you, bringing your forehead into contact with his. You open your eyes and you feel your body slightly shiver , when he demands your undivided attention, pressing his thumb against your lower lip as he whispers those words.

"Then don't"

He closes the distance between you, working his way over you, locking his eyes in yours, making you sigh. His lips join yours with a light touch, that immediately deepens. He smiles against your lips, his tongue plays with yours, his voice claims you with a sensual moan to which you immediately surrend, as you do not want him to miss anything about you. You smile just to catch your breath, and kiss him back wholeheartedly. His eyes close ever so slightly after yours, allowing him to lose himself completely in your warmth.

It hadn't happened to you for so long that you had almost forgotten. You had forgotten what it was like to wake up in the house of someone who smiled at you, while you were having breakfast on the terrace of his flat, who stole your food, teasing you because you had fallen asleep like a stone on his sofa. A funny, handsome man with a childlike soul who, only a few days earlier , you had hoped would spend the off season light years away from you, but who now, leaning next to you on the railing of his flat, already seemed too far away.

(*): Hopefully it's the correct form for "Goodnight, my love. I hope you sleep well"

West Loop Chicago, Illinois

Friday, 13:45 ( ET+1).

A mild September afternoon.

No, no, no, and no.

Not again.

Not again at that very moment, when he had just got back from a backbreaking two days of fireman special training to cope with natural disasters.

Yet, even that time, the delivery man had rung the wrong bell.

When he had moved into that lake-view apartment building, a few weeks earlier, it had even seemed  a brilliant idea to protect the privacy of the tenants by coding their identities. That was before he knew you were so careless that you registered on your fave meal delivery app 354, his apartment, but lived at 345.

A tiny slip, if only you had fixed it in time.

But.

You hadn't even bothered to change it, so much so that Taiga felt obliged to notify you promptly if he was late, or had plans that would take him out of town, because he knew you would starve to death waiting for a delivery guy, who would never find you.

Pizza, fried food, frozen food, ice cream,  your food plan was all there.

Today the menu included yet another greasy sandwich with half a litre of bubble tea to go with it, which of course he had come down to collect, like a good valet.

How could a human be eating so badly, and be so healthy and attractive, he had not yet understood. Yet your shiny hair, flawless skin, your hips that widened gently over your legs and your firm, round bottom, told him daily otherwise. 

You were a nuisance, but you were his kind of nuisance.

He had started to feel something different for you, shortly after you two met one morning in July. An impromptu lunch in your kitchen, during which you even managed to burn the ready meal you were supposedly heating.

Black smoke, the microwave gone berserk and you, hiding behind his back. Your small hands clinging to his shirt, as if he were the only one who could defend you, your plump body pressed so nicely against his muscular back, your sensuous, soft breasts rubbing his arms’ skin.

"Good thing you're the best fireman in town!" you'd even had the nerve to tease him shortly after, perching beside him on the counter, while he was trying to cook something edible for both.

He had to force himself to keep his attention on the simple vegetable omelette he was preparing, because his eyes were relentlessly drawn to your summer dress rising dangerously towards your thighs with every movement, to your lips so red and luscious as you spoke to him, to your feet 'accidentally' ending up against his jeans, with the only intent to annoy him. In his desires, you’d ask him for kisses in exchange for utensils, like an adorable brat looking for trouble and attention, and  he would have liked to let the meal burn so that you would be his meal, but... This was a fantasy that maybe sooner or later would be fulfilled.

Or at least that was what he told himself every time.

That's why he was now ringing the doorbell of flat 345 with a plastic bag in his hands, instead of throwing himself on his bed and sleep until tomorrow.

When you hear a knock, you put your PC in standby and run to the door, no matter if you are still in your nightgown, because it will either be Miss. Greskin asking you to turn down the music, or that annoying building manager delivering your monthly notices. 

Luckily it's him instead. Your tall, fierce, bold, perfect neighbour.

You are relieved to see him after two days he was missing somewhere in the mountains to train with his superhero firebrigade gang, that's why you smile a little more when you see him, not because you like him that way.

"So you're back safe and sound!" you greet him cheerfully, noticing his annoyed expression as he follows you, placing your lunch dangerously close to the computer, grumbling something about the fact that he has provided for your survival this time too. 

"You're right, my bad! I promise I'll change that setting tonight at the latest!" you swear, approaching him with your hands raised to show all your good intentions, offering to share your lunch to make it up.

"I'm not even thinking about eating that crap!" he replies piqued, throwing himself into a chair.

"You're old, Taiga!" you torment him, mussing his hair as you step behind him, to fetch water and a cool drink from the fridge to offer him. He stretches his gaze, and if for a moment you think he's checking your bottom, his words bring back a far more pragmatic reality.

"How can you have an empty fridge if you're always at home? Don't you ever get hungry while working?" he asks you, raising his shoulders.

"Luckily you're here, my hero! " you smile, retrieving a chair and placing yourself beside him, before closing your lips on the straw of your bubble tea, under his disgusted gaze.

"Seriously, you should learn to cook at least the bare minimum, you can't expect to feed yourself on rubbish all your life" he explains, and suddenly you know he is really worried about you.

"Shut up, I have asked you a thousand times to teach me, but you never have enough time!" you tease him, leaning on his arm, too bad that, when he looks at you proudly and smiles, you can't figure out what name to give to the strange feeling running through your mind. Luckily he doesn't even seem to notice, caught up as he is in the excitement of that new adventure.

"Get dressed and let's go, before you change your mind!" he informs you resolutely, and you widen your eyes.

"Go where, Taiga?" you ask him, astonished.

"To the grocery store, where else, dummy?" he replies, finishing his drink in one gulp.

You had never noticed.

Not that it was any of your business, not that you cared, but since when had Kagami become a women's magnet? You could feel the lust waves passing you by, as their curious glances lingered on that handsome red-haired boy, his body so muscular and attractive, his masculine face with its lively and incredibly expressive eyes. 

How could they be unaware that he was shopping with a girl, and be so brazen as to ask him for advice on certain products, besides the great old classic of retrieving anything from the top shelves? Yet, contemptuous of your livid glances, this army of wenches continued their mission undeterred. It's just a pity that the target of so much effort didn't even realise it, caught up as he was in his eagerness to select for you the best ingredients for his famous cold soba with tempura. Assuming that was indeed what he had told you you would prepare, since, out of anger, you had not listened to half a word of everything he had told you at the grocery shop .

Kagami hadn't even noticed that anything had happened to upset you, yet seeing your turned gaze to the floor, he couldn't stop wondering if he had been the cause of that sudden swing in your mood.

"Put this on, sous chef, and let's get to work!" he had smiled at you, pointing to an apron on the light wood table in his kitchen.

Too bad you weren't listening, but still looking out the window, deep in thought. You didn't even see him approaching, until his hand rested between your shoulder blades, slowly caressing you, causing you to wince. 

"What's wrong?" he had asked you, remaining silent until you had turned your eyes to him and realized you could never explain in words everything you were feeling. 

You had seen his travel bag at the entrance, his uniform just picked up from the wardrobe at the fire station thrown on the couch, probably because he had to run to the building entrance to pick up your lunch, all because you were too lazy to change a stupid app setting.

He was a firefighter, he saved lives for a living and in his spare time he perfected his mission at the best of his ability. He gave everything he had, every single day of his life, unlike you, who were so selfish and shallow that you didn't even know how to provide for your basic needs. So much so that you became his problem, another person to save, not from the fire but from yourself.

"Don't make me worry" he tells you, putting his back to the window so that all your eyes can see it's his figure, made even more lusty by the contrast with the soft light of the sun preparing to set.

"I'm sorry" you sigh as you watch his large hands shed the apron he had brought you, dropping it on the floor "For deliveries, for always making you unnecessarily tired, because I can't do anything myself and..." and then you say nothing more as those large, warm hands close on your back and pull you close, until your head rests gently on his chest.

"I like taking care of you, you know? I like having someone to come back to in the evening, to chat with and relax. I like coming home and rewarding you because you didn't burn down the whole building trying to make tea " he explains, stroking your hair. "You're a mess, but I train hard for disasters like you" he smiles, heedless of your scowl.

"It's not funny" you smile at him, because you can't stand to sulk any longer.

"Yes it is" he retorts promptly, lowering himself onto you, glueing his eyes to yours.

"Shut up!" is the last thing you say to him, before you welcome his mouth close to yours, his lips on yours. In your mind you thank the heavens because even though you are a lazy, somewhat spoiled girl, you are also lucky.

Very, very lucky.

Boston, Massachusetts,

Saturday 18:45 ET

A clear October evening.

That you were the best in the firm was a given, just as it was a given that the profiles of the most demanding, fussy and obnoxious clients were punctually assigned to you because you had never failed to find them the perfect home.

It certainly wouldn't have been him who had brought down your self-esteem, nor the entire office's trust in you. If only your client had at least deigned to answer emails or phone calls, maybe things would not have dragged on so long, making your boss impatient.

You were really wasting too much time on the whims of the doctor.

You had scanned the entire city looking for a space that could meet his absurd standards, you had had to mark the builder down to get the keys to that flat that had just been finished, you had begged, threatened, seduced him until, moved to pity, he had granted you a preview for a week but that monster client of yours, had systematically postponed your appointment, as if nothing had happened, claiming one work engagement after another.

"I can't predict the flow in the emergency room, there are priorities in life " he had commented in his monotone voice with his characteristic snottiness. 

What a nerve, what a nuisance, what a boor. 

He was always looking down on you, and not just because he was incredibly tall and athletic, but just for the sake of giving you unsolicited life lessons. You could see how much he enjoyed rejecting your every proposal. You already knew that a flat would not be to his taste as soon as he moved his long, elegant fingers from his glasses and his incredible green eyes sought yours.

"Too small"

"Too big"

"Badly exposed"

"Noisy"

" Too far away from the workplace"

Diagnosis.

With him, houses turn into a heap of irredeemable defects, as if your efforts were worthless, as if he was too smart for you, too much in general. He didn't even spare a glance at you. Not even when, to provoke him, you had worn your infallible suit you were able to grasp his attention.

And now this too.

"I won't go into detail, but we have to reschedule, I've been called away on an urgent matter" he tells you, not even listening to your remarks. 

The perfect house tomorrow will be for sale, and you not only risk making the worst impression in your whole life by not having concluded the sale despite the preview, but he will remain like an indelible stain on your white shirt of infallibility.

"I have found the solution that meets all your demands and I intend to show it to you tonight. Call me at any time, I will pick you up straight away from the hospital" you propose, in a peremptory tone.

"It will be late, certainly after nine o'clock " he replies annoyed.

"I will also bring you dinner if you need it, but we have to see that house tonight, doctor !" you cut it short, waiting for him to finish giving instructions to his colleagues and pay attention to you.

"As you like, call you back " he snorts and hangs up.

What a big boor.

A few blocks away, Dr. Midorima's day was about to take the worst possible direction. An accident on the motorway had brought traffic to its knees, ambulances came and went and unfortunately for some innocent drivers, nothing could be done. After his last phone call with the police, he put down the receiver of the doctor's office telephone, and told himself that his day had been hard enough. He was actually looking for the strength to contact you, the furious girl from the real estate agency, to stand you up again but the mere thought of it made him feel guilty. He was tired of living in a hotel room, and he was tired of coming across as an obnoxious and icy man, especially with you, who had tried so hard to comply with his every request.

What a bizarre person fate had made him meet. He remembered that you were of the sign of Scorpio, just like his great friend Takao, and perhaps that was why he found you just as annoying.  He had never met a woman like you : as sweet in appearance as determined in reality. He had been fooled by your large, bright eyes, your polite manners even when your patience was tested, your spontaneous smile when a detail of the house you had selected for him, met his taste.

No, he could not disappoint your expectations this time either.

He pulled his mobile phone out of his coat pocket and was pleased to discover that your proposal from a few hours earlier, was still valid. He changed quickly, buttoned his long dark blue coat, put on his leather gloves and a cashmere scarf, and was ready to leave. When he arrived in front of the hospital park, he was surprised to see you at the wheel of your car with a big smile on your lips. It was now past ten o'clock, the evening was cold and clear, but there didn't seem to be any snow yet. The ideal evening not to be alone with your thoughts, not to think about the past with melancholy.

A little human warmth after a devastating day, was all he needed.

"Dr. Midorima, I'm sure I won't let you down this time!" she said as you buckle your seatbelt, making you laugh.

"I'm not here to give you a grade, I'm here to find a place to stay in" you had told her sounding overly arrogant, but she seemed so happy that you were there, that she hadn't paid any attention and started listing the many benefits of her discovery.

It was a journey that lasted about ten minutes, mostly spent talking about trivialities, your hands clinging to the steering wheel as if it were the last lifeboat on the Titanic, your attention at its best trying to avoid even the slightest smear that might compromise the opinion that this demanding man had surely formed of you.

You had never felt this way before, you had never met such a picky, charming client and the fact that you had spent the last two hours fantasising about all sorts of romance with him in the hospital car park, had probably not helped your peace of mind. It had taken you a while to admit it, but as soon as you had put the handsome doctor next to you, instead of in the middle of every available flat in the area, everything had become clear. Hence that strange feeling now that you were standing side by side in the large lift of the elegant apartment complex, heading for flat 505.

You are so flustered that your fingers seem to get knotted so that ,to avoid dropping your dinner on the floor in an attempt to pass the takeaway flap from one hand to the other, you drop the builder's large set of keys on the floor. 

"Let me help you " he offers, reassuring you with a brief smile before asking you which key was the correct one for the heavy metal security door. As he opens the door and gives way to you, you can't help but think that this work appointment might seem like a romantic date to strangers. You thank him and are about to turn on the light, when you feel his fingers stop yours on the switch, probably struck by the same sight that immediately catches your attention. In the industrial loft, all red brick and steel, the view of the city is breathtaking. The large living room window focuses the gaze to the sea of lights from both the city and the harbour , creating a unique, almost dreamy atmosphere.

The large space of the kitchen remains in semi-darkness, revealing the light parquet floor, the shiny steel surfaces and the large workbench where you put down the envelope from 'Legal Seafoods', from which you picked up what will be your dinner, but which he does not seem to care about.

You smile as you see his tall, elegant figure standing out like a shadow as he observes the landscape, his coat swaying slightly, his shoulders broad, his long arms along his sides, like a romantic pirate saying goodbye to his homeland before an adventure, but also like a child watching the Christmas lights for the first time.

"What an amazing sight " he smiles at you, a smile so spontaneous, warm and grateful that you can't help but blush vividly.

"That's why I wanted you to see it" you agree, thanking the dimness that allows you not to reveal that moment of weakness of yours.

"Shall we turn on the lights?" he asks you and you nod, pretending you care to show him the features of the house. After all that is a business appointment, that ends to the client's great satisfaction in the canonical hour you usually reserve for visits.

You feel sad, because when he tells you to arrange the papers, you know your daydream is coming to an end.

Or maybe not.

"What did you bring me for dinner?" he suddenly asks you, noticing the takeaway box on the kitchen table.

" Lobster roll, the Boston way to say 'Welcome in town' !" you inform him proudly, reaching over to hand him a carefully packed wrapper, which he looks at in your hands, but does not accept. 

"Don't you like lobster?" you ask with a hint of concern, because things have gone far too smoothly at that point.

"Lobster is fine, but let's get it right " he tells you as he passes you to turn off the lights again. You don't object when, having retrieved your dinner, his hand takes yours and guides you towards the large window. He asks you to hold the bag in your hands, and with an effortless movement he takes off his coat, which ends up on the floor to serve as a blanket for your improvised picnic. He holds out his arm and seats you, then sits down next to you, dividing his attention between you and the view.

"Thank you for finding me a place where I can feel at home, I will always owe you one " he tells you in such a sweet tone that you feel your heart skipping a beat.

"It was my pleasure, Dr. Midorima " you smile at him, moving your hand and involuntarily touching his.

"Shintaro, please call me Shintaro " he reveals to you, bringing his fingers between yours.

"You'll have to invite me to dinner to clear your debt, then, Shintaro" you disclose smoothly, observing his handsome face once more. Green orb staring lovely at your lips, his silky hair pulled behind his ears, his soft lips curved up in such a tender smile.

"You already know where I'm gonna live, feel free to come over anytime !" he invites you, dissolving your contact with a light kiss on your knuckles.

Your mind told you that you were wasting too much time on the whims of doctor Midorima , but your heart...

Your heart had only seen Shintaro from day one, even behind that cold and indifferent surface.

After all, you were the girl who never failed to find the perfect home to perfect strangers, how can you go wrong with yours ?

Ota district, Tokyo.

Wednesday 2.10 p.m. (ET+13)

A sunny May afternoon.

Your life had changed, since he had moved into the small family-run apartment building complex  you had always called home.

Your friends and acquaintances couldn't wait to plan evenings at your place, found any excuse to come and say hello at odd hours, and had become as affectionate as awkward, since that blond angel had taken up residence in the flat above yours.

After all, you and your ordinary life could never have had the same attractiveness as the dazzling light his name implies.

Ryota Kise was not only a nationally renowned athlete, but had been a famous model, until he had left droves of whimpering admirers at the announcement of his retirement from the scene, to focus on his aviation career.

How could anyone be so flawless?

Where was the blemish in that blaze of perfection?

Being self-loathing, you thought to yourself, until the evening of the condo meeting came, he showed up smiling and polite, bringing treats and delicious food for everyone, amiably talking to people and dispensing smiles and thanks for the warm welcome.

Needless to say, the jewelled ladies of your floor were already doting on him, feeling a lethal mix of maternal affection and adolescent crush, by which they were reporting you his every move in detail, especially those involving the female sex; perhaps forgetting that you could hear who was in the newcomer's house,  just by sitting at the kitchen table for lunch.

In the six weeks leading up to that day, however, the idol of the building had led a particularly boring life, punctuated by intense work shifts and moderate physical activity, that allowed you to meet him casually in the building's lobby, and just as casually exchange small kindnesses and superficial remarks. 

No romantic nights, no suspicious movements, as confirmed even by the ladies on the first floor. The only exception is that random Saturday a month, when his flat would turn into the den of basketball fanatics. Before your eyes parade a row of top-tier hunks, his friends, who  just like him, were unaware of the jolt of lust they were giving the whole building.

On the other hand, your friends competed to guess on which Saturday that masculine display of wonder would appear, the jewelled ladies booked hairdressers and freshened up their most flamboyant outfits, so as not to be outdone.

And then there was you, who as ever, didn't know what to do.

"Are you stupid? Take those ten steps and ask them for sugar and offer him everything!" was the solution that was repeated to you over and over again, like the refrain of a bad summer song.

A song you didn't even know how to play.

Ryota sighed, because it always ended like this. 

"Come on man, you know I only get 10 days off a month!" he snorted, because Daiki may have become an adult, but he still has the same urge to torment him, that he had in Teiko days. "What do you want in return? A dinner at Hatsune Sushi? A date with a hostess?" he huffs, trying to convince him to join for a one-on-one over the weekend. 

He looked at the laundry basket and while listening to his pal's bitching, decided to throw some stuff in the washing machine. He adds the soap that slips out of his hands, but it doesn't matter, he likes his clothes soft and scented . 

He pressed the start button and was ready to process that wacky request.

"WHAT? My flatmate neighbour? I know she's hella cute, but how am I supposed to introduce her to you, if she barely says hello to me?" he asks, catching his friend's cheeky laugh in response.

He gives in, because he's too tired to lose any more precious minutes of sleep, says goodbye to his mate, and heading for the bedroom, quickly undresses and throws himself in his underwear on his very soft bed, with its fresh crisp cotton sheets, cuddled by the warm light filtering through the window. 

He sinks his face into the pillow and smiles, because Aominecchi is always the same jerk, but he has good taste, indeed. Too bad, you were such a difficult aim to achieve, even for small talking.

In those few chance encounters on the common stairs, you always declined his help, even when the shopping bags were obviously too heavy for you. Maybe it was your way of telling him to keep his distance, maybe you saw something in him that turned you off, maybe....

He huffs and turns on his back. 

He looks up at the ceiling, at the light grey wall and at his cacti collection, waving happily at him from their sunny shelf by the window, and he begins to wonder. 

He wonders if you like cacti.

He wonders what type you are, actually. 

All he knew was that he was incredibly attracted to you, to that slightly wistful air, and to your gracefulness in moving your little body. He loved to watch the sway of your hips, as he followed you up the stairs, but somehow he felt he needed to know more, much more about you.

What you like to sing in the shower, what you like to talk about, if you would like to sleep in someone's arms, because he would like to be that someone so badly.

You are physically under his feet and yet he is the one who feels crushed.

And now Daiki comes along with his teasing demand.

He closes his eyes and tells himself that he will find a solution later, because now he's really too drowsy, and the sound of the washing machine in the background, with its monotonous rhythm, takes him to dreamland.

You take a sip of coffee, you're drinking it down because you don't feel like going back to those damn accounting sheets. Columns of numbers, fees for which your clients will complain and you will obviously have to put on a good face. 

But there is something else that bothers you.

A background noise, low but constant, like a ticking clock that loses its rhythm, a noise that you have never heard before, and that probably doesn't even exist.

You get up and go to the bathroom to freshen up your face, you look in the mirror and from the reflected image you see that something is wrong. From the ceiling a large damp cloud is causing a trickle of water to drip down the wall, which has already become a puddle on the floor tiles. You close your eyes, rub them with your hand and open them again, because it might be all a fantasy, but unfortunately the image does not change. You rush out of the bathroom, out of your apartment, run up the stairs and ring his doorbell, but no one answers. 

You knock hard against the dark wood until your knuckles ache, and after a few seconds the door opens and you find yourself in front of the most handsome man you have ever seen, dressed only in his underwear, with an expression resulting from a deep sleep that has been interrupted by your urgency.

"What's going on?" he tells you in a semi aware state, dragging out the words, his voice hoarse from sleep sends your imagination into overdrive. You look straight at his fuzzy, sultry, deep eyes trying to ignore his broad shoulders, his perfect collarbones, his sculpted pectorals from which, like a road to paradise, the gaze is taken to his tight abdomen. He’s wrinkling his hair and then brings the same hand to his sculpted tummy casually, as snaps you a puzzled look, while with the other hand he opens fully the front door, in a silent invitation to enter.

"The bathroom " you stammer, blushing wildly as he turns his delicious back , showing you his whole powerful frame . You follow him inside that house full of light and plants, where the dark tones of the rough wood match the light grey tones of the walls and the touches of green of the foliage.

"Sure, you can use the bathroom " he smiles at you, oblivious to the fact that he is half naked and you are dressed in a pair of ridiculous house shorts and a T-shirt full of stars and hearts, that you yourself painted in junior high.

"I don't have to use it, but..." you try not to choke, thanking your lucky stars when you see him retrieve a white T-shirt from a chaise longue in the room he led you to, and put it on by sliding it elegantly over his shoulders.

"I don't think I understand  " he tells you, shifting his attention to the most significant detail of the bathroom.

Foam, lots of foam.

A sea of foam and water everywhere, now that all the warning lights of the washing machine are on and flashing like bat-signals in the eternal night of Gotham City.

"Geez, now I see!" he continues, walking past you and recommend to move to his bedroom, worried that you might get wet and dirty. All done with that wonderful smile of his, which immediately puts you at ease and makes you catch the funniest part of that paradoxical situation. He stands tall and handsome, studying what needs to be done, biting his lower lip, not looking particularly worried or concerned.

"I can fly a plane but apparently I can't do laundry!" he mocks himself, beckoning you to the threshold of the room.

"All that perfection was just too much" you agree, smiling sweetly at him, and when he looks at you with his golden eyes, you feel that your heart is unlikely to belong to you again any soon.

He laughs, laughs like a child, as he dips his feet into that disaster and retrieves all the towels he has from the bathroom wardrobe, reaching towards the appliance and almost losing his balance, so much so, that you rush to his rescue, preventing him from a hard fall.

You find yourself huddled in the middle of that disaster, unsteady on your own feet, indifferent to the fact that someone should turn off that monster that keeps on regurgitating foam. It's just too bad that you start to like that situation, perhaps because pressed against him, with his strong arms around your waist, his snow-white skin and his eyes in yours, Ryota becomes more and more attractive.

"There's only one bright side to this whole thing " he informs you softly, bringing his long fingers to the nape of your neck to play slowly with your hair.

"That our baths will smell of Marseille soap for eternity?" you try to downplay, but he has such a tender expression on his face that you can't help but tremble, as he brings you closer to him, to confide a secret in your ear.

"You can't run away. This time I'm gonna get your attention, finally!" he whispers, leaving a kiss on your temple and then reaching out to do the same on your face, closing his soft and warm lips on yours.

In the midst of a sea of foam and water, lulled by the red lights of the washing machine's warning lights, you had never been so grateful that this blond angel , who had taken up residence in the flat above yours and had in a short time become the idol of the entire building, wasn’t flawless at all.

New York, Ithaca

Thursday, 10.45 A.M (ET)

A sunny October morning.

The dark car parked in front of the building was the sign you waited for, three mornings a week, so you could watch him sure you wouldn't be seen.

The new tenant of your stately mansion, the professor extraordinaire of Japanese culture from the prestigious Cornell University, was a boy your age, yet so different, so... peculiar. He had long been wooed by the 'higher-ups' Seth, the concierge who always knew everything, had told you. In the end, they had managed to put him under contract if only for one academic year.

A charming young man, so polite and yet so avoidant.

Not that you were the classic meddlesome neighbour, but you certainly had your talents and your speech impaired by his innate, yet unquestionable, charisma which had never allowed you to dare more than a greeting on the stairs, especially after that.

You avert your gaze from the dark car and direct it to your cup of coffee, remembering almost with shame that silly incident that had occurred only ten days before.

A bouquet of flowers, a paper bag of organic oranges and a small cake that you would have brought on Friday night to one the weekly dinner your friend Audrey had organized. She was formally worried about your embarrassing love life, but more realistically she had set you up on a stack of blind dates. You were juggling these things, moving slowly up the staircase, when your attention had dimmed for a moment, just long enough to notice him on the landing of the staircase in front of you, perfect in his dark gray tailored suit, so perfect, that he looked like a fantasy of yours. 

His elegant bearing, his serene but assertive expression, his eyes of such a velvety shade that made your heart beat a little faster when his gaze meets yours, and his hair, perhaps your absolute favourite thing about him. Magenta locks, as bright as silk, framed his perfect oval, his skin so white and firm, looked like fresh snow. You'd tried to pull yourself together, straightening your back, pointing your heel at the wrinkled upholstery that lined those damned wooden stairs, but it had been inevitable to put your foot down badly and, in order not to fall, drop all of your shopping. You had felt the shivers run down your spine at the same pace as the oranges roll away, made fast by the slope of the staircase.

Everything under his concerned eyes, that had become suddenly wide. His quick steps towards you, his warm hand helping you up from falling on your knees. 

And his scent, oh! His scent: an enchanting swirl of cardamom, cedar and amber. So sophisticated and yet so warm.

"Are you feeling well? Are you hurt?" he was quick to ask, kneeling down in turn near you, supporting you with his arm, looking at you with heartfelt apprehension.

"Y-yes," you had stammered, trying to ignore your cream-stained trousers and the flowers crushed by your bare feet, now that your shoes had reached the oranges at the bottom of the staircase, retrieved by a laughing Seth.

"I don't actually find anything amusing about it, she could have been seriously wounded by your negligence!" the young man had shot back at him, in an authoritative tone, eliciting embarrassment from the doorman. 

“Let me escort you “ he had then proposed, stretching out his arm and supporting you, as far as the front door, where he had taken his leave with a simple smile, even finding your words of thanks overstated.

But Akashi Seijuro was more than perfect, he was astonishing.

You became aware of it a few hours later, when the delivery boy from 'La Bergamote', the city's most renowned pastry shop, rang your doorbell with a sweet work of art, a net of oranges and a bouquet of white flowers in his hands.

' Wishing you the evening you imagined. A.S. '

You had read that note twenty times before you understood its meaning.

Surprising.

Placing his dark coat on the rack in his study, Akashi wondered if he would ever fit in in that city so far from Kyoto, not only geographically, but mainly, culturally. He had found himself in a hectic, noisy city where people hardly spoke to him with respect, apart from a few rare exceptions. 

He had his students, he told himself. 

And then there was you, his eccentric neighbour.

He sat down at his dark wooden desk and passed through his hands the thick bundle with  consignments that his diligent secretary had promptly printed out for him, perhaps oblivious to his technological abilities. 

That country was so, he told himself, excessive in every way.

He opened the pearly-coloured envelope with the university seal and could not help but sigh when he saw what it contained.

"No way!" he huffed, lifting the receiver to ask for explanations from the head of the department, who plainly and simply told him that he could not miss the gala dinner arranged in his honour, even if his contract did not provide for specific obligations.

"Bring a pretty girl and the evening will take a different turn, you'll see!" the other advised him, thinking he was being nice, but coming across as unnecessarily gross.

As if he used ploys, like dinners or gifts to get a woman's attention.

As if she, the one who was destined to be at his side, would be enticed by a prosaic display of fake elegance.

Disgusting.

He checked his watch, left his desk, buttoned his jacket over his white shirt and, retrieving his laptop and a leather briefcase, headed for the classroom to deliver his lecture. 

As he spoke, he loved watching their faces, the faces of the future generation. Some of them eagerly took notes, others nodded diligently, others avoided his gaze but everyone in that small group was keen to follow his lessons and that was more than enough for him. Even if sometimes their questions were specious or naive, even if more than once he had received anonymous love offers left on his desk during the coffee break, when he usually leaves the room to call Japan.

Disclosing culture appealed to him, he liked it more than leading the Akashi economic empire. He would talk about the heroes of the Edo sagas and feel himself as a child again, his eyes full of wonder and admiration for the fearless samurais and cruel shoguns. He would answer the boys' questions and see his younger self at Rakuzan, or at Teiko if it was a tough day.

Lately, they were all tiring days.

He thanked the driver and got out of the dark car, lifting his gaze to your window, partly out of curiosity, partly out of habit, partly because he had not seen you, since that incident. Perhaps he had been too intrusive, perhaps something in your genuine gesture of pure courtesy had been read as an invasion of privacy.

Cultural divide, he had repeated himself for the umpteenth time.

At Audrey's house everyone gets stunned when you show the pretty package of the dessert you brought, the twin of the one he gave you that night. You mentally thank your neighbour, and wonder if that curly-haired big guy you're seated next to, really thinks he can take you home by filling your glass with low-quality red wine. You don't even like red wine, not tonight at least. If only he had been there, you wouldn't have been bored to death. 

"Translations, I do translations. I was born and raised in Germany, so it comes pretty natural to me" you had explained, almost immediately losing his attention, which had been all focused commenting on a football match of a few days earlier.

Coming back home with an excuse, alone in your taxi, you had wondered what you had gone there for. You close the flat door behind you, and that's the first thing you see. 

White flowers, still incredibly fresh because they are made of silk.

You touch them carefully, smooth and precious just as you think his skin is. You admire them lovingly, as you would look at his features. You bring your face closer and smell their natural scent, just as you would like to do with him, sinking your forehead into his chest.

And then there is his note, which you read again and again, like a lucky charm. You sigh, because you so well know what your ideal evening would be. You sigh again, because you are going to do something stupid. On the other hand, you didn't run off from Audrey's house without a reason.

You open the fridge and take out the small vacuum packet you got yourself that afternoon, after crossing half the city, all to have an excuse to talk to him. You caress the sachet with the green powder, slide it into a paper bag and close your present for him. You take a breath and tell yourself you are ready, even though every fibre in you screams that you are not.

You press your finger on the golden bell and exhale, trying to ignore the surge of adrenaline that shakes your nerves when you hear the latch turn and see the door open.

You smile back, and wonder how one could be so attractive.

A simple white T-shirt, a dark grey waistcoat and a pair of soft trousers in the same shade. His magnetic eyes, perfect hands and a hint of a smile, as he invites you to sit down.

A majestic flat with dark furniture that is nevertheless not gloomy. An impeccable taste, a perfect balance between extremes, which can only succeed to a great mind like his. 

"I wanted to thank you for helping me... Here, I thought you might have missed this, away from home" you announce to him, placing a paper envelope on the living room table, which he immediately opens, and which immediately gives you the pleasure of seeing his face lightened up by surprise.

"It's a gift I really appreciate" he tells you, turning the chasen between his long fingers "May I have the pleasure of offering you the first cup?" he asks, smiling sweetly as you nod, leading the way to the kitchen where he places a cast-iron kettle on the stove. 

"In Japan we don't have a term for home-sickness as a negative feeling" he explains, as you move next to him to kitchen counter "We rather evoke our fondest memories with joy" he concludes, casting a fleeting glance at the teapot.

"And how do you say it?" you ask him, enraptured by his words.

"Natsukashii" he smiles and his face takes on a very tender expression, as if that word in his language has warmed his heart.

"Beautiful" you comment, because Seijuro really is, now that his incredible eyes look at you with an expression you can't quite decipher, but you know is a form of affection. 

You move a strand of hair behind your ear, lower your gaze for a moment and then shift it back to him, who is slowly pouring a trickle of boiling water on the green powder, moving to the side just enough so that you can see his every move and learn from him.

"In my language it is called heimweh. "Heim", the place where you belong and "weh" the pain or rather that sensation that clutches your throat and stomach, which only those far away know" you tell him, as he dissolves the green powder with the whip.

"I think I suffer from heimweh, no doubt" he tells you suddenly, contemplating for a few seconds the foam that has formed on the perfectly blended green liquid.

"This city is hard, if you're not willing to become like everyone else " you confide to him, thanking him as his hands place the drink in yours, as gently as he would bring you a flower. He watches you proudly as you rest your lips on the rim of the handcrafted cup and taste the matcha for the first time, amazed by its aroma so bitter but also so addictive.

"It's excellent " you smile at him, clashing his cup against yours, eliciting his hilarity.

"Don't ever do this in Japan, or you'll be banned from every tea room in the country!" he laughs lovingly, underlining his good intention by brushing your cheek with his fingertips, light as an angel's feathers.

You would like to play it down, but the Mulan quote in your mind would only make you look shallow and ignorant, more so than you already feel in front of him. (*)

"Seriously, how do you deal with this heimweh thing?" he asks back, leaning back on his cup and crossing his arms over his chest.

"With sehnsucht. It means desire" you explain to him " Finding someone who is home, away from home" you smile, placing a hand on his own "Someone to help us when we need it, someone to talk to freely, someone to give you a bouquet of silk flowers that keeps you more company than your friends" you conclude, letting him welcome your fingers between his and smiling at you.

"It's a thing of no value" he tells you almost in a whisper.

"It's not, because he reminds me of you, and you make me feel so special Seijuro" you confess, looking him straight in the eyes, smiling when you feel his arms around your waist. His good perfume, his serene breath, his magenta hair so soft between your fingers.

"Does this count as sehnsucht ?" he asks you, resting his warm lips against your cheek, not losing eye contact for a minute.

"No " you reply playfully, smiling at him when you see him interested in your sweet provocation. You feel his hands behind your ears, his fingers, light as silk flowers, bring your face to his and he kisses you, softly, slowly, letting go with a smile.

"I would love to be your home away from home, Seijuro " you whisper to him, hiding your flushed face on his pecs.

"You already are my sehnsucht. You're the only reason I don't hate New York and you are so much more  " he smiles at you, lifting your chin with two fingers, leaning over you for the first of a long series of kisses.

The new tenant of your stately home, was a young man of your age, yet so different from anyone you had ever met, so clearly and unquestionably elegant, charismatic and full of attention that he made even a hectic city like that a corner of paradise, where heimweh becomes natsukashii, only 'cause he is your home away from home.

(*) Dishonour! Dishonour on your whole family! Dishonour on you, dishonour on your cow