#saneuzu

It was a foreign concept at times where his feelings had come from. So strange to wake up one day and suddenly have a head and heart full of someone he'd known for the better part of his life. He'd told himself he'd never thought of Tengen that way. 

He scoured his memories trying to pick apart every detail, every touch, every feeling that might have laid there. He tried failingly to convince himself there wasn't anything to his feelings. No pennies at the bottom of a well, filling up so slowly, so surely that they'd come spilling out over the stone sides. 

It had been so gradual, he hadn't even realized how far gone he'd become. He hadn't fallen from the beginning, that much he knew. He'd always had his eyes on Tengen but it was only in recent years, through recent fuck ups and victories that it had shifted.

The first time Tengen had turned his pretty wine-red gaze at him, the way his fingers swept his fringes from his face. The first time he'd said Sanemi's name wrong. The first time he'd said Sanemi's name right. 

The hand that grabbed at the back of his shirt when he'd punched Akaza on Kyojuro's behalf. The wobbly curve of Tengen's mouth when his father had coldly laid dying in his bed, as proud and untouchable as he'd always been. Tengen coming to Genya's soccer game. Tengen and Kyojuro and Giyuu wishing his mother a happy Mother's Day. Tengen sleepily quizzing him, sitting with him, laughing with him.

Tengen's need to be curled so close, no space between them. Like he craved touch, latching onto it with greedy hands.

It wasn’t even that Sanemi was special for it. He was this way with all of them. Tengen was handsy. Always had been. Had grown up yearning for warmth in that big, frigid mansion of his. He'd always sat halfway into Kyojuro's lap most times when they were together. Despite how funny Giyuu could be, the same as Tengen really just different ends of the same ruler, Tengen brought out the greedy side in him. Giyuu might even lean against him some days, silently reading his trash novels.

Four dumbasses with a load of issues. If Sanemi could put it mildly.

So, no. Sanemi didn't want to say anything. Didn't want to be the fool that got the signals wrong. It wasn't Tengen's fault that he'd gone and caught feelings. Sanemi knew all that but damn was he an idiot.

Three days later, Giyuu had finally piped up. "Are you mad at Uzui?"

Sanemi snorted. "No more than usual."

"But you're upset."

Sanemi grumbled. Tengen rarely washed dishes, his clothes never fully stayed in their hamper, and his makeup was usually cluttering the bathroom counter. Nothing new, same old grievances. 

"It's his turn to scrub the pots," He said lamely.

Giyuu dragged his gaze to him away from his laptop. It was flatter than usual. Sanemi didn’t think he was much of an expert in decoding Giyuu’s stoic faces but this one seemed close to exasperated. "You should tell him."

Sanemi nearly choked.

Giyuu raised a brow. His mouth quirked just a little to the side. "To wash the pots. He won't know if you don't say so."

"I shouldn't have to. He...knows."

Giyuu shrugged. "True, but Uzui can be a little air-headed, too."

Sanemi begrudgingly agreed. 

-

Before

Sanemi hadn’t known Uzui to be the quiet type. He could keep quiet if he needed to, but it wasn’t exactly in his nature. So it was odd that Uzui was so pensive now. He let Uzui be for the first week. He had figured he needed a moment to deal with himself; to deal with whatever was clearly distressing him. But by the second week, his makeup was starting to look horrible. He was taking far less pains to wing his liner and blend out his eyeshadow. 

(Sanemi had gotten an entire lecture on makeup once against his will. That being said, he appreciated the hard work that could go into it. Uzui had perfected his craft. At least...on himself.)

Smudged concealer was giving way to darkened under eyes. From across the small table, Giyuu’s brows bunched together. It was bad, then, if Giyuu was so outwardly worried. Even Kyojuro wasn’t having luck riling Uzui up into a friendly competition. He just waved him off. Nail polish chipped, hair tied back, and disappeared into his room. 

When week three rolled around, Sanemi had had enough. He gave one short knock before he was bursting into Uzui’s room. Uzui didn’t look surprised, but he also didn’t look like he’d had the energy for it.

All the things Sanemi had been storing inside of him to ask suddenly fell away. He looked at his friend laying listlessly on his bed, in a ratty old hoodie and dulled beyond recognition. Sanemi gripped the doorknob and set his eyes to the logo on Uzui’s hoodie.

“You hungry?” He said, instead.

Uzui dragged his eyes over to him, looking all the world like he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to answer or not. Sanemi beat him to it. He strode across the room and took Uzui by the upper arm and pulled.

“Up. We’re eating.”

He led Uzui out and pushed him into one of the chairs. He heard him slump back into it and set to cooking. No pot went unused. No meal short of perfection. Sanemi poured his all into the meal before he’d set it down in front of Uzui and then sat himself across from him. 

He jutted his chin at it. “Eat.”

A beat, then a few more passed before Uzui did. He ate almost begrudgingly. Eat bite a little more harsh than necessary. Until halfway through one dish, he seemed to thaw. Little by little the rigid line in his shoulder gave way. Uzui unwound. He was halfway through the third when he stopped.

Uzui’s mouth took a harsh, straight line. “My father is dying.”

Sanemi made a noise. “How long?”

“Couple months now. Found out by accident.” Uzui laughed, low and bitter. “He wasn’t going to tell any of us. Proud fucking bastard. He was just going to wither away and leave us with some, i don’t know, note or something. About who gets what and who doesn’t and why we suck.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sanemi said. He was. 

For as much of a bastard as Uzui’s father was, Uzui still wanted to love him. He’d talked about knowing better, admitted it was probably, definitely a giant waste. He’d still wished he could. Still wanted to. Hoping that one day, even for a brief moment, the thing he saw in Sanemi’s mom, in Rengoku’s, in Giyuu’s sister, might reflect back. 

“How long?”

Uzui shrugged. “Another month or so.”

“Shit.”

Sanemi knew none of Uzui’s siblings would reach out. He hoped but realistically they both knew better. A feeling between a stomach ache and anger overcame him. Too angry to form words and queasy with the thought of how alone his friend must feel. 

Sanemi didn’t miss a rat bastard hair on his father’s head. But he’d had his siblings and his mother. When he got too close to wishing for a different outcome, he would turn to them. 

Sanemi shoved the half-finished plate back towards Uzui, startling him.

“We’re going to go see your old man,” He said with finality. “Finish that, clean up. And we’ll. Pick a day.”

Uzui sputtered. He tried to push the plate back, only to be met with Sanemi’s glare. He glared back, then reached his chopsticks out with a grimace. 

“We’re just going to show up to my shitty old man’s place? Just show up and act like he’s not going to be the biggest bastard in the world?”

“You know he is. You know he will be. But it’s not about him. It’s about you.” Sanemi stole a piece from Uzui’s plate. He slid piece after piece out of his chopsticks’ grip, watching in his periphery as a flush of life returned to his cheeks. “Even if he doesn’t care, say what you need to. Say goodbye.”

-

Before

Sanemi had seen Uzui’s father exactly three times in their whole time of knowing each other. He stood so tall, all but his eyes seemed to pierce over the frosty summit of his shoulders. Here and now, it was odd to see him at eye level. He held himself the same. It didn’t matter how far he’d come plummeting, the frigid air about him remained the same, as if he’d never left the sky he’d pierced. 

He looked at Uzui like one might look at a fly. An invasive little creature, full of noise and annoyance. He said nothing. He looked at his son. He looked beyond him, maybe, and said nothing.

“...Well, old man,” Uzui said, an almost imperceptible tremble in his voice. “I’ll -- see you later.”

His father seemed to scoff, though his mouth remained closed. He rolled his eyes and looked to the bleak white wall to the side. 

Sanemi took Tengen by the ends of his sleeve and pulled him towards him. He pulled until they were out of the room and the mansion, and the property. The frost falling away from their shoulders and into the falling sunset.

Sanemi walked close to Tengen, letting their bodies bump together as they made their way home. 

“...Thanks.” Tengen said. 

“Don’t sweat it.”

Tengen bumped into him, leaning a little too much of his weight on him and smiled. Sanemi smiled back.

-

After

Kyojuro spilled sake all over Tengen’s lap. It splashed across onto Giyuu who knocked into Sanemi. They sat flush and stupid together on the living room floor. Drinking and howling and laughing together. At all sides there was someone pressing against Tengen.

Sanemi could remember the way Tengen had thrown back his head, laughing with his whole body. He leaned back against the couch, just out of harm's way of Giyuu reaching for Kyojuro who only laughed in response. Their eyes met, a little hazy and unfocused. Tengen’s eyes were red-rimmed but bright. He smiled wider than the drunken flush across his cheeks. He tilted his head, long white hair falling over his shoulder. He looked at Sanemi and his eyes crinkled. The smile got smaller, but no less genuine. Serene and true and wholly so pretty. He raised his mostly empty sake cup to Sanemi who raised it back. 

Maybe it had been then. Maybe it had been every single before. Now it was everything after. 

-

Kyojuro was humming, chopsticks paused in his mouth. He began eating again. Sanemi squinted at him from over his (Giyuu’s) book. He hummed again a few minutes later. Sanemi frowned.

“Thinking hard, Kyo?” 

Kyojuro shrugged. “Thinking about how telephones make communicating easier but messages still manage to get lost.”

Sanemi squinted harder. “What the hell does that mean.”

Sanemi had thought him strange when they had first met. He’d been yelling delicious! behind the school during lunch when Sanemi had gone looking for somewhere quiet to eat. To his surprise, a kid who looked so well-liked and boisterous, seemed so content to be away from the noise. He couldn’t shut up for the life of him, but his company was far more enjoyable than Sanemi could realize.

He made Uzui seem grounded in the way his head sometimes seemed to orbit the Earth. He smiled more than he felt, tripped more than he should have, and kept himself inline better than most. He could stupid well, but never more than he could right himself from. It came with a level of self awareness Sanemi had come to admire. Kyojuro wore his heart on his sleeve, but he knew every curve and angle of it.

Kyojuro grinned at him. “I think,” He paused to put some more food in his mouth. “You two are idiots.”

Sanemi made an affronted noise.

Kyojuro stood and checked his phone. He grinned before going to dump his plate in the kitchen. “Tomioka and I will be out for a while.”

They were out together a lot lately, Sanemi noticed. He watched Kyojuro pull on his shoes at the door. His friend motioned his head to Uzui’s room. 

“All this looking down and away isn’t helping. Even if you sound dumb, there’s no use waiting around trying to pull an answer you dont have out of half-things. You might as well go for it.” Kyojuro grinned and flashed him a thumbs-up. ““I believe in you, though. Both of you. To figure it out.”

-

“So, you into Tomioka or something?”

Tengen looked up from his phone. “No more than usual. Why?”

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “You kissed him like it meant something.”

Tengen raised a brow. He slid his leg off from over his other one and planted it flat to the ground. “Just a friendly smooch. Jealous?”

Sanemi bared his teeth, gritting out a, “No”. 

“Good. There’s nothing to be jealous about. If I kiss Giyuu or Kyo that’s my business. I can hug and kiss who I want.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Sanemi said, defensively.

“Sure sounds like it.” Tengen twisted his mouth in an ugly frown. “What’s a little affection between friends?”

“You kiss them like you kiss me?”

Tengen looked away then, suddenly chastened. In a tiny voice he said, “No.”

“No? Whaddya mean no?”

“How it sounds, dumbass. I don’t kiss them like you. We’re just friends. You kiss your siblings all the time, why can’t I kiss them?”

“It’s different! That’s my family! Kyo and Giyuu aren’t your - Fuck.” Sanemi stopped. “Ten…”

Tengen laced his fingers together, opening them up like a book to peer at. His eyes tracked along the lines of his palms, gathering his thoughts along each curve. 

“I told you that time how much I envied you, didn’t I, Sanemi? How much I wished I could be greeted the way you were when you came home. Like they couldn’t get enough of you even if they’d just seen you the day before.” 

Tengen rubbed one thumb over the other. He kept his eyes resolutely down, too afraid to look up at where Sanemi’s eyes settled across him. He was keenly aware of what expression he might face, what was written across the other man’s face. Tengen set his jaw crooked, sick with his envy, with the chasm he’d cracked open with his words.

“It was a joke at first. I’d kissed Kyo when he got mad about the car. He’d waved it off and told me that it was fine. When Giyuu was making dinner that one time, I’d leaned all over him and he hadn’t even seemed bothered. I’d seen your siblings do it a thousand times with you, with Genya. The same with Senjuro, or the Kamados and Giyuu.”

“I couldn’t really stop after that and they didn’t feel weird about it so I kept going.” He looked up at Sanemi. “It was you I was…”

Sanemi grimaced. Afraid? Had Tengen been afraid? Tengen was rarely ever so vulnerable. Even if he might have been intimidated, he’d forged forward despite all that. Sanemi’s eyes widened a bit in realization.

The stupid part of Sanemi’s brain spoke first.

“Since when are you  such chicken shit?”

Tengen’s eyes flashed, shoulders drawn up to his ears but looking like he wanted to dive right at him. 

“You wanted all that with me? Maybe I wanted that too,” Sanemi groused. Tengen pointed a harsh, disbelieving finger.

“I didn’t think you felt the same, stupid! I went and made it all weird when I caved and kissed you that one time, what was I supposed to do?”

“Say something, asshole! Anything. I had no idea what you were thinking. I thought you were just messing around!”

“I had know idea what you were thinking, either! You looked so weirded out by it, I thought I’d ruined everything.”

“Asshole, that’s what I thought!”

“I’ve been wanting to hold your stupid hand and kiss your stupid face for years!”

“Turns out I did, too, asshole!”

“Okay!”

“All right!”

A beat passed. Sanemi grew fed up and strode across the room towards Tengen. They stared at each other a while, not moving, not crossing the tiny invisible barrier keeping them apart. Sanemi’s hand shot out, faster than even Tengen could track.

“You fucker,” Sanemi said. He hooked a finger into Tengen’s choker and yanked him down. He stood firm when he collided into him, and kissed him with all the frustration and want he’d been piling up for gods knew how long. 

He kissed harshly and wild, a windstorm, a stake, and dared Tengen to push back. Tengen hesitated, just a second, before he was settling a hand to Sanemi’s shoulder. He slid it over the curve of his neck, long fingers pressed into the pulse point. Then it traveled along the wide expanse of his back and pulled them flushed together. 

When Sanemi finally had to come up for air, he did it with reluctance. For once, Tengen had nothing to say. He looked at Sanemi like all the words he could say too jumbled up inside of him to come out making sense. Snaemi snorted, and allowed himself to smile shyly. 

“We’re idiots,” Tengen settled on.

“Yeah.”

“Big, fucking idiots.”

“Yep.”

“I’m in love with your stupid ass.”

Sanemi knocked his forehead lightly against Tengen’s chin. He placed a kiss just under it. “Me, too.”

Tengen shuffled uneasily from foot to foot. “Are you going to make me stop being affectionate with Kyo and Giyuu?”

Sanemi shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Just make sure I get first, though. I refuse to lose to Tomioka.”

Tengen lightly punched him in the arm. He fell over against Sanemi, arms lazily looped around his shoulders and pressed his nose into the side of his neck.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

-

Giyuu blanched on his way out of the kitchen. "Can you two not makeout on the dining table? We eat there."

-

AN: a long ride but here we are at the end.

i started it thinking "lol ill just make an uzusane fic for fun" and ended up going, "what if i explored a bit of that fine line between friends and romantic partners because i also have a bit of a messy head distinguishing the two at times. how do you know which is which sometimes."

don't think its that well executed but its been a lot more fun to write than i anticipated.

Sanemi laid awake some nights watching the lights play across his ceiling, strategizing, configuring -- daydreaming.

He'd roll over into his pillows after that. Try to dig as deep into it as possible and will away the stupid yearning that overcame him.

A yearning he didn't fully understand. Not that long ago, he hadn't even thought of Uzui beyond a friend. He couldn't fully explain why his head was so muddled so suddenly.

Sanemi slept not long after, wondering why he wanted to evade him less and less.

-

Kyojuro was out for at least a week. A trip with his little brother during summer break, same as always. He took at least two, one at the beginning and one at the end, with every other weekend to see him. Kyojuro and his father still rarely talked. Despite this, Kyojuro was close to his brother, and tried his best to be as present as he could be. He'd even gotten Genya to befriend him.

Genya was tall for his age, Sanemi knew, and no less scarred up than himself. Finding friends was difficult for him oftentimes. Having Senjuro in his corner pulled a load off of Sanemi's shoulders and likewise Kyojuro's. He still had photos of the two of them at the Kamado Bakery on his phone.

If he wasn't with Kyojuro, then Sanemi could be sure Senjuro was making Genya a little more sociable, too.

Sanemi worried for Genya the most. He'd taken the brunt of their father's beatings, same as him. He'd had to suffer far more than a kid his age should have. School was far tougher on him than it had been for Sanemi.

It was only now in high school that he seemed to flourish. He finally had a group of friends who cared for him as he was and not for what he could do if pushed.

Sanemi was grateful. If it hadn't been for his own friends, he hadn't known what he might have done. Some days he'd been so inexplicably angry, a mask for a sadness he couldn't comprehend. Other days he teetered just on the edge of ego. If he'd come out looking like a monster, then why not let it be so?

Each time they'd dragged him back. Squared him up and knocked him a peg down. They hadn't put up with his shit, but they hadn't let him go untethered either. He wanted that for Genya. He wanted that for all his siblings. To be made better by those around him, and to be better for them.

He raked his eyes over to where Uzui was sitting, shoveling sour candy into his mouth.

Uzui especially had been there. He'd seen the way Sanemi's siblings had looked at him and gotten quiet. He'd sat with him in the shadow of a street lamp, hands burrowed into the pocket of his hoodie. Admitted in a rare ugly way how jealous he was of Sanemi.

"You think you're doomed to be your old man. But you don't see how excited they all are when you come home."

Uzui had glanced at him from under his hood. The line of his mouth uneven and the crinkle of his eye just shy of envious.

"If I had even one person be that happy when I got home-" Tengen hadn't finished. Sanemi knew enough in the bits and pieces Tengen had let free.

He had a cold and calculating family, who viewed each other as competition.

Sanemi had knocked their legs together, pressed it side by side and silently urged Uzui to curve close to him like he liked to do.

When he got back home, he'd convinced his siblings to dogpile Uzui until he'd laughed until he yielded.

-

If he could go back in time, Sanemi might have told Tengen much more on that calm night.

How his family had no qualms opening their arms for one more. He was a Shinazugawa if he wanted to be.

Same like Giyuu, like Kyojuro. Like Uzui already was.

He might have even held the door open before Tengen could come in and tell him, "Welcome home."

-

Sanemi had been on the last level, on his last life when Uzui had come home. He could always tell. The bang-bang of his bag hitting the door, front and back, the hum he made when he shimmied out of his shoes, and the clockwork sigh when he'd finally switched to Home Mode right after.

He felt a dip at the back of the couch, the cushions folding under Uzui's weight. Then Uzui's face filled his vision upside down and a kiss landed sloppily on his chin.

"I'm home," He said, grinning.

Sanemi waved him off, growling around the curtain of his hair and narrowly dodging an attack. Uzui laughed trying to plant one more under his ear before Sanemi all but flung himself away, pausing the game instead. From the corner of his eye, Giyuu came up the hallway.

Just as easily as he'd kissed Sanemi he sauntered over to Giyuu with a wave.

"Oi, Giyuu," Tengen greeted. He hooked his finger into the collar of Giyuu's shirt and pulled him forward. and planted one on him, too. A loud smack of lips that made Giyuu grimace and continue on his way like it was a minor roadblock to the kitchen. Uzui slid his gaze to Sanemi and shrugged with a grin before making his way to his room.

Sanemi probably shouldn't be surprised. Second only to Tomioka, Tengen had been Sanemi's most hated classmate.

Sanemi, it seemed, was doomed to be in orbit of people he'd tried to chase off in school.

As much as Sanemi bitched and whined about how much he couldn’t stand Tomioka, and how they weren’t friends, Sanemi still spent an awful lot of time with him. His indignant kindergarten self, who had declared Tomioka his eternal enemy, would be downright upset to know Sanemi had not only had Tomioka as one of his roommates, but frequently shared takeout with him.

It was the case with all his friends. They'd dubbed themselves the Hashira. It was still a favorite moniker in their group chats.

Sanemi met Uzui roughly the same way he seemed to meet all the other Hashira .

Uzui Tengen had been an obnoxious pretty boy since elementary school. He'd had a face as dainty as a girl, and the demeanor of a howler monkey. He was boastful and it had often grated on Sanemi's nerves. At least Tomioka was quiet, he had conceded.

Uzui left some time in fourth grade and reappeared again in seventh grade, suddenly too tall, and still too damn pretty. Half the reason he could keep his pretty face was that no one could reach it. At least, they hadn’t been able to, until Sanemi had taken a swing.

Like all dumb boys, as Shinobu had informed them over a milk box, they had no idea how to actually communicate. Long story short, what had been a three way disagreement over bread during lunch ended with a rather tight friendship. Sanemi with a lost tooth, Rengoku with a sprained wrist, and Uzui with a black eye.

It roughly went on like that for all the Hashira . Rengoku challenging Himejima, the volleyball captain, to a match and nearly getting his arm blown off. Tomioka still pissing Sanemi off the same way he had in kindergarten, until he’d gotten into a scrap with Shinobu over him. Mitsuri had jumped in, panicking and accidentally broken both their arms. Iguro blaming Tomioka and sliding his way in. And Uzui, laughing about how flamboyant it all was.

Principle Ubuyashiki had his hand full that year. They’d been exiled to half a year’s worth of afterschool clean up. And while they hadn’t really stopped fighting each other, Sanemi liked to think, they’d become friends, too.

Sanemi would admit, 90% of his problems back then hadn't been Tomioka or Uzui. It had been his shit home life.

A father who abused them and a mother he often felt too powerless to protect. He'd finally gotten the strength to send the stupid old man packing in middle school. He'd still been rather high up on the feeling, a little too big for his bones, when the incident with Uzui and Rengoku went down. But it had been a learning experience. Rengoku had complimented him on his takedown, and Uzui had chimed in. Odd as it was, for once, for the first time, Sanemi had friends who weren't his siblings.

Sanemi could let his shoulders go lax.

Tengen, like Rengoku and Tomioka, were his most constant companions. When Sanemi had opted for a gap year, the three of them had kept at him to study. They'd brushed off his bad moods, shouldered his baggage with him, and yanked him forward. Annoying and relentless, Sanemi had suffered through cramming and working, a few family scares, Rengoku's messy breakup, and passed with flying colors to Kimetsu U.

He remembered the night when he'd received his acceptance letter. He'd been dragged to Tengen's place. A big, fancy house with too many rooms for a family that made even Sanemi's seem small. Tengen didn't speak to his siblings and they in turn didn't acknowledge him. He was ushered to a back house, one Uzui had commandeered for himself sometime during high school. It was the closest to being independent for him, it seemed.

Rengoku and Tomioka would come later, with drinks and food, but for now it was the two of them. Uzui and Sanemi sharing stolen wine from Uzui's father, the space between them on the couch getting a little smaller. It was

comfortable. Sanemi was used to having his space invaded. Despite himself, he welcomed it. It has surprised him to know that Uzui was the opposite. He craved touch, but was awkward around it. He talked a big game, could back it up, but also used it to deflect where he couldn't shine. Sanemi didn't comment on the way he was beginning to sit flush against him. He only hummed and accepted another drink. Uzui tilted his head into the curve of his palm with a smile.

Something, something, Sanemi was a looker. Sanemi had reared back. He wasn't ashamed of his looks, especially not now, not anymore, but he was aware he wasn't easy on the eyes. He wasn't pretty . Not like Tomioka. Or Tengen. He was roughly cut, sawed into and jagged everywhere the sunlight could and couldn't touch. Scarred up as plainly as the roots breaking pavement, unyeilding.

"No, no, dumbass. You're flamboyant. You've got a way about you. It's hot."

Sanemi had rolled his eyes. He took Tengen's cup and finished his drink for him since he was clearly already gone.

Tengen was reaching for the cut again, his fingers making to hold Sanemi's where it lay on the plastic, when Rengoku burst in. Trailing behind was Tomioka, both their arms piled high with food and drinks. Tengen had let his hand drop, attention shifted.

Despite that, Sanemi could almost feel the heat of Tengen's arm burning its imprint into the couch back behind him. He didn't dare lean back, but their knees stayed touching the rest of the night.

Sanemi bit down into his spoon.

The front door jostled open. Sanemi cursed, forgetting Tengen had a 7 AM class. Despite the drinking, he must have somehow managed to get his ass in gear and go. Sanemi mildly hoped he had a bad time of it, if only as retribution for the -- he didn't want to say it. Saying it made him think about it, and thinking about it made him stupid.

He angrily ate his cereal.

Tengen yawned big. He toed out of his shoes, and dropped his bag carelessly to the entryway floor. Sanemi watched him shuffling out of his clothes, dropping them one after the other in a trial behind him. He chomped down on his spoon, resisting the urge to yell at him about it. He must have dug too harshly into his bowl because Tengen was dragging his gaze around to him. Under heavy lids, Tengen spotted him. He grinned, slow, sleazy, and wobbled over.

"Morning, Sanemi," He said and planted a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was quick. A light smack of lips that made Sanemi nearly think he'd imagined it. Uzui groaned around a crick in his neck, and turned to shuffle towards his room.

Sanemi froze, stayed frozen until he heard the other man's door shut.

For all Uzui’s cleverness, Sanemi was aware he was also as dumb and pretty as they came. He was clever in a pinch, but otherwise as big a chucklefuck as Rengoku was. Like all ridiculous chucklefucks, Sanemi included, he didn’t throw words without action. One would think Sanemi would know this after knowing him since elementary school. 

Rengoku had challenged Uzui to shave his head, and he’d sported a close crop haircut that shouldn’t have looked so good on him, for all of eighth grade. 

Which led to their current predicament. The four of them - Rengoku, Sanemi, Uzui, and for whatever reason, that bastard Tomioka - were sitting around drinking shitty liquor and watching bad dramas. 

Tengen had been the one who enjoyed watching these things. He always said it was for irony’s sake, but he’d powered through twenty episodes last week. Tomioka often kept him company during these times, but rarely gave a shit about what the actual plot was about. Tengen was just the only one in their apartment that could watch tv quiet enough for him to enjoy company and background noise at once. Rengoku and Sanemi were the idiots to bring alcohol into it. 

Another round of unnecessary misunderstandings on screen, with the mean girl deliberately fooling the heroine into thinking her boyfriend was cheating, and Sanemi was about to tear his hair out.

He flashed a hand at the screen. “Why the fuck is she so stupid. Obviously he wouldn’t be so easily swayed by something as stupid as a kiss if he really liked her.”

Rengoku laughed, leaning too closely into Tomioka’s space. Tomioka’s brows furrowed only slightly, but otherwise cushioned the other man’s intrusion. When Rengoku’s plastic cup threatened to spill onto Sanemi’s carpet, Tomioka quietly righted it again with his finger. 

“You must not have kissed a lot of people, Sanemin. Kisses have power,” Kyojuro said. He always came up with those obnoxious cutesy names when he was sloshed. Sanemi sneered. 

“What fucking power?”

“Remember when we watched that Sailor Moon movie as kids? Or what about that time me and Ten were fighting and he kissed me and we made up?”

Sanemi was halfway into calling him out when he paused. “When the hell did you two kiss?”

“Last month,” Tomioka piped in lazily, taking a sip. “Tengen dented his car.”

“I did not -”

“You did,” Tomioka and Rengoku cut him off. Tomioka added, “Putting a bumper sticker over it doesn’t make it go away.”

“I highly doubt Tengen is that good. You have shit taste anyway, Kyo.”

They all ignored Tengen’s outrage, slinging around Rengoku’s preferences and either shame him or begrudgingly let it pass. An hour passed, then another, until they devolved into a detailed argument about the taste and craft until Sanemi’s head hurt. Putting hot sauce on ice cream, for whatever reason, reached an impasse vote. Sanemi sentenced Giyuu and Rengoku to dish washing duty, while he and Tengen started to clean up the bottles and cups. They worked quietly, and efficiently as two tipsy idiots could. 

Tengen lasted twenty minutes before he needed noise. He loudly threw some cups into his trash bag. 

“Hey, Sanemin,” Tengen teased. Sanemi could hear the way he was smirking without having to turn around. He grunted, shooting a glare over his shoulder. 

“What.”

He slinked into his space, too tall, too pretty, leaning over him just the way he knew peeved Sanemi off. He tapped the bottom of an empty cup to Sanemi’s forehead. A usual for them; Uzui lording over his height, knowing how much of a sore spot it had been for him now that Genya had shot up. Sanemi rolled his shoulders, ready to snark at him, and begin their old song and dance. 

Only, Uzui had to go and tip his head down and chase the taste of shitty wine on Sanemi’s tongue. He moved against him, eeking a shudder out of him, until Sanemi was nearly on the tip of his toes. A growl halted at the back of his throat.

Tengen was just shy of flush against him, a sliver of space that suddenly drove Sanemi a little too wild. A hair’s breadth, a canyon, widening ever more as Tengen peeled away. Too quickly, too soon. He gave one final lip at the bottom of Sanemi’s lip, pulling away under the shadow of his hood with an easy grin. Not quite shit-eating, but smug and reassuring enough that Sanemi almost forgot his heart was jackrabbiting in his ears. 

“Still think Kyo’s got shit taste?” 

Sanemi frowned, turning away. “Who the hell do you think buys all this shitty stuff?”