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"You want to move out?" Jyuto furrowed his brows at Ichiro from across the dining table of their idol unit's shared dorm. "No."
The corners of Ichiro's lips twitched down as he curled his hands tighter around the cup of coffee he held. Iced, to suit the sweltering summer morning. "You can't just say no, Jyuto."
"I can, and I am." Jyuto pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and took a sip from his own mug. "Granted, our contracts no longer require us to continue living together, but your conscience would never allow you to leave."
Ichiro flinched; Jyuto had hit the nail on the head.
And for good measure, Jyuto hammered it in deeper by adding, "You know as well as I do that the other heathens we call group mates would kill each other within hours of your departure. Have you, by any chance, heard of an English novel called Lord of the Flies?"
Ichiro hadn't, but based on context and Jyuto's tone of voice, he was pretty sure he could guess what that book was about.
"I wouldn't go forever," Ichiro mumbled. "Just for the summer."
"And why on earth would you leave for the summer? This is where all the free air conditioning is, you dolt."
The free air conditioning would be one of the things Ichiro missed the most. But the summer wasn't even halfway over, and Ichiro really couldn't bear to stand the rest of the season in that dormitory.
And at just that moment, the exact reason why paraded through the dining room on the way to the kitchen.
The exact reason why was Aohitsugi Samatoki, or more specifically—Aohitsugi Samatoki's bare, naked thighs.
Samatoki had taken to wandering around the dorm in nothing but an oversized t-shirt as of late. He was presumably wearing underwear underneath, but the t-shirts he chose were so long that it was often impossible to tell.
No one could really blame him for walking around like that; it was a pretty hot and humid summer. They had good air conditioning, sure, but they also had a few residents who didn't handle the cold very well, so the temperature in the HPMI dorm was never set too low.
Samatoki wasn't even the only one who'd taken to dressing in such a manner that summer. Jiro did it too.
But Jiro was Ichiro's little brother, while Samatoki was the most unbelievably beautiful creature Ichiro had ever laid eyes on in his life.
It was… different.
Ichiro glued his gaze to his cup of coffee as Samatoki drifted past, wearing a big white t-shirt and precious little else. Just his piercings, his usual bracelets, and a presumed pair of boxer briefs.
It was impossible to look at him, really. Ichiro was already twenty. He couldn't be popping boners every morning just because the guy he liked—and, yes, he could admit he liked Samatoki—walked past with his thighs out.
But god, those thighs. Those legs.
Ichiro wanted them wrapped around his face like yesterday. Or thirteen days ago, to be more precise.
Samatoki had been walking around like this for thirteen days already, and Ichiro really didn't know how much more he could take.
He didn't want to move out; he liked living there at the dorms, he liked being able to wake up early and cook a big breakfast for everyone to enjoy, he liked coming home and having a beer or lemon sour with the other over-twenties after a long day, and he even liked being around to mediate the various disputes that cropped up between his group mates.
(Though of course he would prefer if those disputes would quit cropping up in the first place.)
But if the alternative to moving out was living for weeks or months more like this—
Ichiro flickered his gaze towards the kitchen, catching a glimpse of milky white as Samatoki grabbed a big bottle of iced coffee from the fridge. He slammed his eyes shut, fast, but even that wasn't fast enough to stop a searing bolt of desire from shooting straight down to his dick.
He was going to have to go jerk off about this. Again. But he was a very busy idol; he really didn't have time to be jerking off so much.
"Oh," Jyuto said.
It was the most derisive and knowing 'oh' Ichiro had ever heard in his life.
"I see."
"I'd prefer if you didn't," Ichiro squeaked.
"So would I," Jyuto retorted dryly. His expression, when Ichiro dared to crack open an eye and peek at him, was every bit as disdainful as his tone. "You said you were thinking about moving out, but you weren't."
"I wasn't?"
"You were thinking about running away."
Ichiro opened his mouth to protest, but found that he couldn't. Because Jyuto wasn't exactly wrong, was he?
It was a sort of running away, and maybe Ichiro had already been running for a damn long time. He'd known Samatoki for nearly three years now, and they'd been living together for almost a whole year now, since both debuting as members of Hypnosis Mic.
Ichiro had probably liked Samatoki for all three of those years. It was a crush that burned in him like a low-grade fever at first, something so easy to ignore in the name of professionalism.
But then they started spending more time together, while living in close quarters. Then Samatoki started coming into the kitchen to help him with the dishes after a big meal. Then Samatoki started inviting himself into Ichiro's room, to flop across Ichiro's bed and watch some anime with him.
Then Samatoki started wearing nothing but a t-shirt while walking around the dorms.
There was nothing low-grade about this fever anymore.
"Before you do anything so drastic as moving out, leaving me with the intolerable children we have the misfortune of living with," Jyuto continued, shooting Ichiro an arch look over the top of his glasses. "Have you considered just talking to him?"
"And saying what?" Ichiro mumbled.
"You're not very good with words for a songwriter, are you?"
"Hey—"
Jyuto sighed and shrugged one shoulder. "Just fuck him, then."
"Hey!"
"Who's getting fucked?" Samatoki asked, swinging by the dining table at precisely the wrong moment. He stopped behind Ichiro, using Ichiro's head as an armrest for one arm and making Ichiro tense up like a bowstring pulled taut.
"You," Jyuto answered candidly, while Ichiro struggled to make any sort of sound at all, coherent or not.
"By who?" Samatoki sneered, probably. Ichiro couldn't see him, but could hear it in his voice. "You? Dream on."
Jyuto dipped his head towards Ichiro, while Ichiro was still helpless to interject. "Him."
"Oh."
"No," Ichiro blurted out.
Samatoki finally slid his arm off the top of Ichiro's head then. He set the cup of coffee he'd poured himself down on the table, then spilled himself directly into Ichiro's lap, slinging one arm around Ichiro's shoulders to steady himself as he settled.
"No?" Samatoki echoed.
"I'm leaving," Jyuto announced, before doing just that.
Ichiro didn't even see him go. He was a little too preoccupied with the lapful of Samatoki he suddenly had. Samatoki, whose bare legs were brushing up against Ichiro's now, whose thighs felt impossibly plush and warm through Ichiro's basketball shorts.
"Well," Samatoki continued, twirling the hair at the nape of Ichiro's neck around two of his fingers. "Can I do anything to convince you to?"
Ichiro finally managed to make a sound, but it was far from coherent.
"Besides walking around with no pants on, that is," Samatoki said. "That clearly hasn't been working."
"It—" Ichiro swallowed thickly, feeling like he could nearly swallow his tongue in the process. He brought one arm up around Samatoki's waist, as though he were the one that needed to hold on for purchase. "It has. It did. It so, so did."
Samatoki hummed and did something that could only be described as a wriggle, which did nothing to help Ichiro achieve his resolution of not running off to jerk off in the bathroom every morning after his first daily dose of coffee and Samatoki's thighs.
Ichiro moaned, and Samatoki smirked.
"Sure feels like it did," Samatoki murmured, sliding a hand fully into Ichiro's hair now, to tip Ichiro's head back as he leaned in, bringing his lips so close to Ichiro's that they barely had to do more than breathe to touch. "Might need to see it to believe it, though."
Ichiro stood in such a rush that it startled a laugh from Samatoki's lips. He lifted Samatoki with him, right up into his arms, and carried him straight back down the hall to their rooms.
He wasn't about to make the mistake of saying 'no' again.
Ichiro did end up having to move out for the summer, though; he and Samatoki both did.
The walls at the dorm were just a touch too thin.