Work Text:
Adachi was, by nature, a self-conscious person.
“Yuuuuichiiiii~”
Or at least, he would have been a self-conscious person–had his bloodstream not been turned into a distillery, thereby robbing him of his inhibitions.
And that’s why Kurosawa was doing his best to school his features in a pleasantly neutral expression. All the while, though, he was forcing himself not to burst into enamored laughter, lest he hurt the feelings of his beloved boyfriend.
“I think–” Adachi wobbled a little, and Kurosawa was there to steady him at once. Holding him close, Kurosawa could almost feel the rush of alcohol through the throb of his veins, could feel his warmth through their coats. “I think I’m drunk,” Adachi announced.
Kurosawa couldn’t help it. He buried his face in Adachi’s bedhead, trying to hide his smile even as his shoulders shook.
Too late.
Adachi pulled away and pouted at him. “Stop laughing at me,” he whined.
Kurosawa clutched his heart. The flushed-mouth pout and the cute whining, along with those doe eyes and rosy cheeks, were surely going to be the death of him.
(Which led to the realization that, alarmingly, the prospect of dying by exposure to Adachi’s cuteness wasn’t too bad.)
“I’m sorry.” Kurosawa bowed his head, finally managing to wear his most somber expression–the one he used to convince clients that yes, he certainly believed that the delayed shipment of fountain pens was indeed the greatest travesty to befall the universe.
Adachi was silent.
Then, he took a deep, shuddering breath and raised a shaking hand to his face.
Kurosawa lurched forward, alarmed that he actually did hurt the feelings of his beautiful ray of sunshine.
“Angel?” Kurosawa said gently. He held his boyfriend’s jaw delicately in his hands, as if afraid to inflict further damage. “I’m really, really sorry.”
Adachi lowered his hand.
He blinked. And blinked some more. “Ehh? Sorry for what?”
Ah, not emotionally scarred, then.
Kurosawa breathed a sigh of relief and beamed at him. Adachi groaned, using that same hand that was on his forehead to cover Kurosawa’s mouth (so technically, an indirect forehead kiss). “Blinding,” Adachi complained.
“Sorry!”
Kurosawa had always known that Adachi couldn’t hold his liquor–and not only was he proven right tonight, he also found out that liquor, on the other hand, was very much capable of holding Adachi rather tightly in its ethanol jaws of doom.
“Yuichi, Yuichi.” And there was his precious future husband now, shaking him as if he were a frantic five-year-old and Kurosawa was a piggy bank and the ice cream truck was about to speed off into the sunset. “Yuuuuichiiii.”
At least it was (or it had been) a Saturday night, so the crowd had thinned out a little as the sun began to rise. There were only a handful of people that were around–either politely ignoring them, or equally intoxicated (if not passed out on the street). Two drunken men out and about like this was hardly a strange sight.
And if the two drunken men were wrapped in an intimate embrace, there was always their good friend alcohol to take the blame.
—
It was, admittedly, rather out of character for either of them to spend a night drinking and clubbing.
But Adachi had promised Tsuge a week earlier that he’d attend Minato’s twenty-fourth birthday party as moral support.
Tsuge’s boyfriend was still in his twenties. Thriving, having fun, and probably making terrible decisions while he was at it.
In contrast, Adachi and Tsuge’s twenties had been spent either in solitude or quiet companionship, and an exciting ‘Saturday Night Out’ for them had been (and still was) ordering two extra side dishes at a nearby ramen place.
A nightclub overcrowded with younger people, cheering and dancing and throwing up from intoxication, would leave either of them severely out of their depths.
“I’ll be there,” Adachi had said, after his brain finished processing the eight hundred and twenty-two reasons why he should never set foot in a club.
“Adachi,” Tsuge replied, bowing as tears nearly spilled out of his eyes from gratitude, “Thank you very much.”
Adachi had sent him a very reassuring grimace in return–one of solidarity and deep regret.
And that was how he, an introverted, thirty-one-year-old man, made plans to go to G.O.–a hot, ritzy nightclub smack-dab in the middle of Shibuya, frequented by university kids and young adults.
“I’m going to a nightclub,” Adachi told his boyfriend later that night.
At first, Kurosawa had (rather unhelpfully) cooed over how Adachi’s frustrated head-scratching had made an adorable nest of his already-adorable bedhead.
But then he offered to come along, not wanting anything to disturb his regular date-night routine with Adachi.
“I’ll stay with you all night,” Kurosawa said gently.
And it was his sweet boyfriend’s turn to look at him with teary, grateful eyes.
—
They agreed to meet Tsuge at the station.
Adachi crossed his arms as they waited, nervous and shy and perfect in the clothes Kurosawa picked out for him (although he was always perfect, regardless of what he was–or was not –wearing).
“Can I take another one?” Kurosawa asked hopefully.
Adachi scowled, but dutifully looked at the camera anyway and graciously allowed his boyfriend to add twenty more photos to his overflowing ‘Kiyoshi <3’ folder.
Since Adachi had no idea what to wear, Kurosawa decided that “dressy casual” was their best bet. Respectfully, he harbored the opinion that Adachi looked sexy in the blue button-up and tight jeans that magically appeared in Kurosawa’s closet (and just so happened to fit Adachi perfectly).
His eyes innocently lingered on Adachi’s collar. “You look a little too formal,” Kurosawa said with a smile. “Here.”
He undid the first two buttons of Adachi’s shirt, watching his Adam’s apple bob as his fingers brushed his skin.
And then he moved on to the next button. And the next button–
“H-Hey!” Adachi yelped, face bright red. Kurosawa’s eyes widened, as if realizing for the first time that they were in public.
“Sorry,” Kurosawa said. His eyes twinkled as he buttoned Adachi back into decency. He allowed the corner of his lips to twitch in a smirk. “You know I can’t control myself around you.”
Before Adachi could leap into the railroad tracks (and maybe yank his boyfriend with him as revenge), Tsuge showed up in clothes that were more appropriate for a funeral than a nightclub.
Adachi stared at him. “So that’s what you’d look like if you got an office job.”
“What?” Tsuge yelped.
“It’s a good look,” Kurosawa interjected, which wasn’t a lie. In fact, his boss had the exact same ensemble, proving that his suit was of good quality. “But maybe you’ll be a little overdressed for the occasion.”
Tsuge took one second to look down at his outfit, and then at Kurosawa. He nodded in resignation.
Tsuge stood like a mannequin as Kurosawa helped him ditch the black blazer and roll up the sleeves of his immaculate pressed shirt.
He mussed Tsuge’s hair a little before stepping back to admire his handiwork.
“Okay,” Kurosawa said with a nod. He gestured at Tsuge’s neck. “You can keep the tie, but maybe loosen your collar?”
Here, Adachi glared at him, protectively shielding his collar from his boyfriend. Kurosawa didn’t bother hiding his cheeky smile.
“Kurosawa-san.” Tsuge, who mercifully did not resemble one of Kurosawa’s sixty-year-old clients any longer, looked at Kurosawa like he had saved him from a cataclysmic demise. “What would Adachi and I do without you?”
Despite the looming terror of socializing and his one-sided feud with his boyfriend’s naughty hands, Adachi couldn’t help but smile, a little shyly, at Kurosawa as if to reinforce the sentiment of Tsuge’s statement.
Kurosawa’s heart melted. It was all he could do to stop himself from getting arrested for public indecency. In a remarkable display of self-restraint, he settled for snapping a picture of Adachi’s quiet joy.
The sweet smile quickly morphed into a charming scowl. Undeterred and unreasonably delighted, Kurosawa snapped a pic of that, too, while Tsuge observed the interaction with the scientific fascination of an ethologist (or worse–a romance novelist).
The train arrived, and both Adachi and Tsuge flinched.
Though concerned, Kurosawa was also mildly amused by the solemn silence of the two best friends. It was as if they were headed to the frontlines instead of a hip nightclub in Shinjuku.
“Kiyoshi,” Kurosawa whispered to his boyfriend, who jolted.
He squeezed his hand comfortingly, and Adachi took a deep breath and squeezed back.
Kurosawa grinned at Tsuge, who looked like he was on the verge of hyperventilation. “You okay, Tsuge?”
“No,” Tsuge said. He clutched his head with both hands, forgetting for a moment that they were standing on the train–until he nearly fell over with a yelp.
Kurosawa swiftly stepped forward to steady him. “Hey, take it easy,” he said, hands resting on Tsuge’s shoulders. He smiled at his friend reassuringly. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Tsuge was visibly and momentarily blinded by Kurosawa’s smile. “R-Right,” he replied.
Adachi cleared his throat and Kurosawa couldn’t help but smile as he went back to his boyfriend, who was pouting at him. Though rare, Adachi’s possessive streak was almost as bad as Kurosawa’s.
Kurosawa ran his hand teasingly on his nape until his finger brushed his favorite mole. Adachi shivered.
“Everything will be okay, guys,” Kurosawa said. He raised a fist and grinned at them. “We can do this!”
The two best friends could only look at him dubiously.
When they got off the train, they could hear the pounding music blocks away.
A gaggle of noisy frat boys (some of whom had their shirts unbuttoned all the way to their navels, prompting Kurosawa to glance at Adachi with ‘I-told-you-so’ written all over his face), accompanied by their scantily-clad girlfriends, pushed past them, laughing and whooping.
Adachi was shoved into Kurosawa’s chest with a quiet shriek.
Though he relished the feeling of Adachi in his arms, Kurosawa had the wherewithal to rub his shoulder reassuringly and call the damn youngsters out.
“Careful,” Kurosawa reminded them with a smile. None of the university kids apologized, but a few did pause to give them once-overs.
“Mina-chan, that guy in black is sooo hot,” one of the girls squealed to her friend.
Kurosawa immediately bristled, jealousy flaring. He relaxed only when he realized that his gorgeous boyfriend was wearing blue. (Incidentally, Kurosawa was wearing black, but that was beside the point).
“For an old guy, yeah,” agreed her friend, giggling. “He’s sexy as hell.”
“Yeah? I could take him in a fight,” one of the frat boys sneered. He looked over his shoulder to shoot them a dirty look.
“A fight?” Adachi and Tsuge squeaked in unison.
“Old guy?” Kurosawa repeated, appalled despite himself.
Tsuge and Adachi looked at each other with trepidation long after the group had left, so Kurosawa took it upon himself to coax them into walking the last few yards.
“It will be fun!” he said encouragingly. For the millionth time that evening, Adachi and Tsuge exchanged disturbingly identical looks of horror.
“Why, oh, why did we date extroverts?” Tsuge bemoaned. He paused. “No offense, Kurosawa-san.”
“None taken,” Kurosawa said mildly. He continued pressing his hand on Adachi’s back, giving him a mini-massage.
Adachi’s eyes drifted shut. He sighed, allowing Kurosawa’s touch to ease his tension for a moment.
Then his eyes flew open and he squared his shoulders.
He raised his fist and stared at it for a solid five seconds, as if he were actually considering punching himself in the face to gracefully exit the situation.
But then he locked eyes with Tsuge and declared, “For Minato.”
Kurosawa swooned because aww, his shy angel was so brave.
To his credit, Tsuge likewise displayed tremendous valor. He also squared his shoulders and yelled, as if charging into battle, “For Minato!”
Two girls breezed past him, exchanging looks and giggling.
“What a weirdo!” they heard one of them snicker.
And with that, what little bit of hope was punctured and deflated.
Adachi shook his head despondently. “It’s like high school all over again.”
Eventually, Kurosawa managed to drag his boyfriend and friend to the club.
Tsuge had straightened immediately when he saw Minato, already taking the dance floor by storm in fashionable street clothes.
They spent a few minutes watching him dance from afar.
“He’s really good,” Adachi said, and Kurosawa nodded in agreement, impressed by Minato’s agile and sharp movements.
Tsuge was smiling, eyes bright with admiration.
After a while, Minato paused to catch his breath, and that’s when Tsuge made his move.
“Minato!” Tsuge called, trying to reach him through the throng of people. His voice was drowned out by the music.
A new song started, and Minato and his friends (including, Kurosawa noticed with amusement, Rokkaku in leather pants) cheered and began to dance again.
Lights flashed around them like police cars. More people filed in, pushing them to the center of the dance floor.
Kurosawa looked at Adachi worriedly, but his shy angel was resolute behind his terrified eyes and trembling lips.
He was so proud of him, and he wished that Adachi could somehow read his mind again so Kurosawa could convey his thoughts.
As luck would have it, Adachi felt his gaze and looked up. They smiled at each other and Kurosawa felt his heart flutter as Adachi took his hand.
Meanwhile, Tsuge was failing spectacularly at getting his boyfriend’s attention. “Minato!” he called. Though Minato was only about three feet away, the music was loud enough to drown Tsuge’s voice out.
“MINATO!” Tsuge shouted–right as the music stopped.
All heads turned to look at them.
“Oh, god,” Adachi muttered, and Kurosawa squeezed his hand reassuringly as the crowd tittered.
Thankfully, the music started up again soon after that.
Minato rolled his eyes good-naturedly and excused himself to his friends. He greeted Tauge with a hug and a kiss on his jaw, making his older, more conservative boyfriend squawk.
“Thanks for coming,” they heard him shout through the music. “Masa-chan, let’s dance.”
Tsuge sputtered. “I told you, d-don’t call me–”
“Later!” Minato called, grinning at Adachi and Kurosawa. Tsuge shot them a panicked look as he was whisked away, and Adachi shrugged helplessly.
A couple danced near them, doing scandalous grinding movements that made Adachi’s eyes bug out.
He looked away quickly, cheeks visibly aflame even in the unstable lighting.
Kurosawa leaned over and grinned when he felt Adachi shiver at their proximity. “Want to dance, too?”
Adachi wordlessly turned and made a run for it. Laughing, Kurosawa chased him down as best as he could through the mass of knee-high boots and neon shirts.
And as promised, he didn’t leave his side for the rest of the evening.
Shrinking away from the rambunctious dance-offs with scary twenty-somethings, Adachi had finally managed to sequester himself in the bar.
Kurosawa pointed at his watch, and then the exit. He raised an eyebrow.
Adachi shook his head miserably and pointed at Tsuge, who was caught by the cyclone that was the dance floor.
Kurosawa smiled and nodded in understanding. He sat next to his boyfriend and felt content, despite the constant pressure in his eardrums. Adachi looked even better in that blue shirt compared to Kurosawa’s fantasies, with his clavicles peering teasingly over his loosened collar.
His jeans were a bit tight on him and Kurosawa was excited at the prospect of taking it off him tonight.
Adachi spent part of the evening sipping half-heartedly at overpriced orange juice and chowing down on hors d'oeuvres.
The rest of his time was spent holding Kurosawa’s hand, of course. Smiling at Kurosawa under flashing, colorful lights, singing quietly along to an occasional (albeit club-remixed) song he liked, and sending Kurosawa cute little messages since it was impossible to talk to each other without yelling.
Yuichi :D
[2:21 AM]
Should we rescue Tsuge?
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:21 AM]
0_0
If we go in there
We’ll never make it out alive
Tsuge knew what he was getting into when he started dating a younger man
Yuichi :D
[2:22 AM]
You’re lucky that you’re dating an “old guy,” then.
(ノдヽ)
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:22 AM]
In their defense
It was dark and they were probably drunk
And also…
Yuichi :D
[2:22 AM]
(ㆆ _ ㆆ)
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:22 AM]
…aren’t you, though?
Adachi didn’t bother stifling his laugh as Kurosawa nearly fell off his bar stool. He scooted closer and petulantly hugged Adachi tight with a very offended pout.
After a while, Adachi patted his arm and Kurosawa reluctantly pulled away.
Yuichi :D
[2:31 AM]
MEAN
No bento for the FORESEEABLE FUTURE
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:31 AM]
:0
NOOOOOOO
Yuichi :D
[2:32 AM]
Yesssss
Hello, Double Mayo-kun, it’s been a while.
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:32 AM]
:’O
…
You know what
I actually missed Double Mayo-kun
SO THERE
Yuichi :D
[2:33 AM]
Do you like him more than my bento
(っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:33 AM]
HEY
You have no right to be jealous rn
That lady may have called you old but she also called you SEXY
>:[
Yuichi :D
[2:33 AM]
…Is my Kiyoshi jealous???
(¬‿¬)
My Angel Kiyoshi (*^‿^*)
[2:33 AM]
Whatever
Ossan
(-̀◞_◟-́) ← This is you
And in the end, maybe to prove how much he isn’t an “ossan,” Kurosawa used his best salesman persuasion skills to lead a reluctant Adachi to the dance floor after a few more drinks.
Several twentysomethings were still dancing in the most shameless manner possible. Kurosawa waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Adachi immediately spun on his heel.
“Nooo, come back,” Kurosawa laughed. Adachi huffed but allowed himself to be led back as the speakers blared yet another migraine-inducing number.
Adachi was stiff at first, but Kurosawa’s encouraging smile (and lack of scandalous moves) eventually helped him relax. They swayed lazily to the music even as everywhere around them was in the midst of chaos. They held each other, bodies flush and breaths mingling.
Kurosawa loved having Adachi in his arms. The weight of his body against his, the flutter of soft, wayward hair strands tickling his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest.
No one around them cared that they were both men, all too caught up with the music and dancing.
And it was liberating, holding Adachi freely in a crowd of people.
Especially since Adachi was soft and wrapped around him as they swayed together, and Kurosawa thought that he could stay like that forever, dancing with Adachi, carving their own little world even in a place like this.
His heart beat erratically as Adachi rested his cheek on his shoulder.
And then he stiffened when Adachi started kissing his neck.
Wait.
He gently raised Adachi’s chin to look at him properly, and the sight that met him was a vision to behold. Cheeks pink, eyes hazy, and swollen lips that parted to let out a giggle.
Oh, no.
Kurosawa hurriedly escorted him out of the premises. Adachi was in a stupor–and dammit, Kurosawa knew that something was off when Adachi actually agreed to go to the dance floor (or, as Adachi had called it in their messages earlier, the ‘Realm of the Damned Souls.’)
“Adachi,” Kurosawa said anxiously, after they were out in the street and he had confirmed that he hadn’t lost his hearing. Adachi blinked at him. “What were you drinking?”
Adachi frowned, gazing at him blearily. “Uhh.” He thought for a moment. “Orange juice? It had a funny name, though. S-Some kind of power tool.”
“Power tool?” Kurosawa repeated, distraught. “What kind of power tool?”
“Uh…it was. Um. I didn’t t-take woodworking as an elective in h-high school. I drank an electric drill. Or…a wrench, maybe.”
“...Kiyoshi, a wrench isn’t a power tool–”
“O-Oh!” Adachi’s eyes lit up. “A screwdriver!” He stumbled forward and pressed his entire body weight into Kurosawa’s. He leaned in to steal a kiss, teasingly licking over his lips.
And then he quickly pulled away, giggling madly.
So shameless.
Kurosawa’s face was scarlet, but he forced himself to ignore the impending makeout session that would surely begin if Adachi didn’t stop looking at him like that.
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. Tried not to die as Adachi draped himself over Kurosawa’s body. “A screwdriver. Oh, angel.”
Adachi’s eyelashes fluttered. “Really like it when you call me that,” he confessed huskily, eyes dark.
Kurosawa gaped at the level of honesty he shouldn’t even be privy to. “R-Right. You know that a screwdriver has vodka, right?”
Arachi frowned. “Noooo,” he slurred. “It’s just orange juice. It was good.”
“Oh, Kiyoshi…” Kurosawa hugged him tight. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
Adachi whined when Kurosawa tried to pull away. The adorable, drunken bastard burrowed into Kurosawa’s chest where he insisted on staying forever and ever.
—
And that was how Kurosawa found himself in a situation that gave him whiplash, because apparently Adachi was all types of drunk.
He was confused one moment, enthusiastic the next, and then whiny, then cheerful, then grumpy–
Adachi nuzzled his face in Kurosawa’s shirt, lips teasingly brushing the collar of his shirt.
–but always clingy.
Kurosawa was dying.
And the most malevolent of them all, the Final Boss of Drunk Adachis, was the one that had greeted him on the dance floor, and briefly seduced him on the sidewalk.
The Flirty-Drunk Adachi Kiyoshi.
Fortunately, he hadn't reappeared yet.
A gentle tug on his sleeve, this time. “Yu-i-chi.”
“Yes, Kiyoshi?”
Adachi blinked at him, eyes teary and unfocused, lips puffy and red. But unlike the other times Adachi had looked at him with such an inviting expression, in this particular instance, those red, puffy lips reeked atrociously of liquor and pickled radish, with an unmistakable hint of twelve-hour-old curry from today’s lunch.
Kurosawa beamed at him, hopelessly endeared despite himself. “What is it, love?” he prompted, voice low.
There was a pregnant pause.
“I’m drunk.”
Kurosawa didn’t bother holding back his chuckle this time. “I think we’ve established that.”
“Yuichi.”
“Yes, my Kiyoshi?”
Another pregnant pause.
“I’m not sure, but…”Adachi frowned deeply, gaze landing nowhere in particular. “I think, maybe…m-maybe I’m drunk.”
“Mm.” Kurosawa squeezed Adachi’s hand. “I know. I still love you.”
A maternity ward of pauses.
“Yuichi?”
Kurosawa swiftly guided him away from two drunk girls having a duel on the sidewalk, one with a cosplayer katana, the other with a French baguette. “What is it, Kiyoshi?”
“Takoyaki.” Doe eyes staring up at him. Sweet, ruddy cheeks. Then, to Kurosawa’s never-ending astonishment, yet another uncharacteristically high-pitched giggle.
Kurosawa wanted to cry and take his camera out to record these precious drunken Adachi moments to watch on loop for the foreseeable future.
Instead, he ruffled Adachi’s fluffy bedhead and decided to live in the moment.
“Sure,” Kurosawa said affably. He tightened his hold on his boyfriend, pleased despite himself that he was allowed to hold him like this publicly (because if he didn’t, Adachi would fall face-first onto the pavement, but that was irrelevant). “I can make you some when we get home. I think I still have the griddle Rokaku used last time.”
Adachi nodded once, twice, front, back, side, until his head finally ceased moving altogether. Kurosawa beamed when he felt his boyfriend’s cheek nuzzling his and keeping it there.
“I w-want bubblegum inside,” Adachi slurred, eyes blinking rapidly. Kurosawa’s face vibrated with Adchi’ drunken ramblings, as their faces were still smushed together. “Ummm. Vanilla ice cream. Natto takoyaki. Sprinkled with parmesan cheese a-and soy saaaaauce.”
A new variation of Drunk Adachi–the Creative Hungry Drunk.
Kurosawa was truly lucky to be dating someone so multifaceted.
He turned his head and quickly kissed Adachi on the cheek before anyone could notice. “You’re a culinary genius,” he said, not a hint of irony in his voice, because if his precious angel wanted bubblegum-vanilla ice cream-natto-takoyaki sprinkled with parmesan and doused in soy sauce, Kurosawa would make damn well sure that he got it.
(…Kurosawa might have been a little buzzed, too.)
“And another electrical drill,” Adachi added.
“Huh? Oh.” Kurosawa laughed gently. “Maybe next time. I think you’ve had enough for tonight.”
“Y-You,” Adachi slurred. He grinned at Kurosawa. “I love you so muuuuch. Yuichi.”
Somehow, Kurosawa managed to not squeal like a rabid fanboy. He patted Adachi’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”
“Mm.” In a rare display of confidence that signaled the Return of Flirty-Drunk Adachi, Adachi stood on his tiptoes and bestowed a sweet, chaste (and very public) kiss on Kurosawa’s lips–
–before promptly shoving Kurosawa away from him and throwing up all over the sidewalk.
—
Fortunately, that snapped Kurosawa out of his (comparatively milder) drunken haze.
“Kiyoshi,” Kurosawa said anxiously. He held him in his arms, laid a cool palm over his sweaty forehead. Adachi continued to dry-heave like a dying whale washed ashore. “Oh, baby. Are you okay?”
Passersby with varied emotions were now united in giving them a wide berth, which at least prevented his poor boyfriend from getting overwhelmed.
He gave everyone a trademark smile to show that everything was okay, while simultaneously rubbing Adachi’s back and protectively hiding him with his coat.
And unfortunately, despite blowing the contents of his stomach on the side of a laundromat, Adachi was somehow still drunk.
At least, Kurosawa could surmise as much from the half-slurred mumbles about what else he could put in a takoyaki.
“Kiyoshi…”
Adachi’s eyelashes fluttered at the handsome man holding him in his arms. And suddenly, his eyes went wide and his lips curved in the most gorgeous smile (vomit-stained as it was). “Wow,” Adachi breathed.
Kurosawa gently ran a handkerchief over Adachi’s sweaty face, cooing as his boyfriend shuddered. He cleaned his hands with hand sanitizer until he was good as new. And then, he reached for his satchel and took his trusty water bottle out, entreating Adachi to drink.
When he finished taking a few sips, Kurosawa smiled at him. “Let’s go home, okay?”
With his boyfriend’s help, Adachi managed to stumble to his feet. Then without warning, and with his (freshly sanitized) hands, he cupped Kurosawa’s face and stared lovingly into his eyes.
“...Kiyoshi?” Kurosawa murmured. Automatically, his hands flew up to envelop Adachi’s.
And then Adachi said, in the sincerest of tones, “You’re so beautiful, Yuichi.”
Kurosawa’s breath caught in his throat. “O-Oh.” He swallowed. “Thank you.”
And it wasn’t like Adachi wasn’t affectionate, or that he didn’t compliment him. But he had never been so…effusive about it, and he certainly didn’t make a habit of gushing over Kurosawa’s physical attributes. When he’d praise Kurosawa, it was about his kindness or his attentiveness, his intelligence or his diligence, his cooking or how “annoyingly good” he was at video games.
And Kurosawa loved that about Adachi because…well, because for most of his life, his looks were all people could see.
So he actually developed an aversion to people complimenting him on his looks.
But now…
“Your smile is so blinding,” Adachi continued breezily, even as Kurosawa busied himself with wrapping Adachi’s arm securely around him. Kurosawa gripped Adachi’s waist, unable to stop himself from listening. “Your eyes…they’re like chocolate. Ch-Chocolate mousse. Yummy, yummy chocolate…”
Okay, maybe they were headed back to food territory now. Kurosawa was safe.
“And you’re so tall…mmph…sh-shoulders are so broad. Hugging you is the closest I’ve ever gone to mountain climbing.”
…Or not.
“I really love your hands,” Adachi continued, completely unbothered by the turmoil he was causing in Kurosawa’s brain. “And your nose.”
“My nose?”
Adachi waved his free hand wildly, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Kurosawa, as he tried to find the right words in the fog of alcohol. “It has a lot of…character.”
Kurosawa blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Adachi said coyly, “that I like the way it feels on my face when you kiss me.”
What.
The weird compliment was extremely alluring, and it was all Kurosawa could do not to put his ‘nose of character’ to good use and kiss Adachi senseless on the street.
He had half a mind to do it, too. Vomit breath and all.
“I always thought you were handsome. Even back then,” Adachi continued. It seemed like Flirty-Drunk Adachi had taken the reins for now and was adamantly refusing to let go. “I always admired you. Before we s-started dating. And…everything.”
Kurosawa’s eyes lit up. “Even back then?”
“Baaack then. The first year, maybe the first month.”
“Really.” Kurosawa couldn’t help but smirk.
“Yeah. I thought you were so cool. Always looked good in your suits and–and always around to help everyone with your stupid, perfect smile.”
Kurosawa grinned. “Aww.”
“You were kinda…kinda intimidating, you know? But when I read your mind I realized that you were a big dork. And that’s when I started liking you.”
Kurosawa clutched his chest in mock hurt. “And here I thought you’re dating me because of my excellent skills in the kitchen.”
Adachi nodded empathically. “And your excellent skills in the bedroom,” he added.
All the blood in Kurosawa’s body rushed to his face. “What.”
“But–hey!” Adachi complained. “Th-That’s not why.”
“Eh?”
“I didn’t know you had excellent skills in the kitchen or the bedroom,” he said triumphantly, “when I agreed to go out with you.”
“Oh, right. Of course,” Kurosawa laughed.
“I didn’t even care that you looked so h-handsome–actually, half the time, I wanted to punch you because your face is too damn perfect and the girls in the office wanted you–”
“Which girls?” Kurosawa frowned, feeling a little jealous. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that a few women in the office were interested in him romantically. But if that bothered Adachi, then that meant he had been interested in at least one of them.
Adachi rolled his eyes to the high heavens, and would have catapulted off to the street had it not been for his viselike grip on Kurosawa’s torso. “All the girls. Everyone wants you, because you’re sweet and kind, and also really caring.”
Kurosawa smiled ruefully at the only person who had ever really complimented him beyond his looks. “I’m not sure if that’s why,” he said.
“But they can’t have you now.” Adachi clung even tighter to him like a koala, pouting in an exceedingly distracting fashion. “Because you’re–you’re mine.”
Kurosawa’s mouth fell open.
“Oh,” he whispered, clutching his heart. “Oh, Kiyoshi…”
It didn’t feel right that he was hearing all these very … personal thoughts about him, but then again, Adachi did hear everything once, from Kurosawa’s embarrassing gushfests to his most inappropriate fantasies.
(Adachi confessed that sometimes, he still felt guilty for that and that he wished there was some way for them to be even.)
Knowing how his boyfriend really felt about him was amazing, though. Kurosawa couldn’t control the swell of fondness in his chest as Adachi continued to blather on about the stuff he liked about Kurosawa.
“–and you organize our manga by genre, which makes a lot of sense–”
“Mm-hm.” Adachi was so cute when he rambled like this. Usually about the things he was passionate about, like stationery, video games, manga, Kurosawa’s cooking…
…and apparently, Kurosawa himself.
Kurosawa was ecstatic, to say the least. His burning cheeks hurt from how hard he was grinning, his eyes were actually misty from emotion, and he couldn’t help but hug Adachi tight, as if to squeeze out more of these adorable compliments from his angel.
“–so good with clothes. You always dress really well. Hell, I thought there was only one way to tie a tie a tie–wait, do you tie ties? Or do you–”
He leaned closer, intending to kiss Adachi, but stopped because Adachi was still pretty drunk.
It wouldn’t be right, either, to take advantage.
Fortunately, Adachi also flinched away from him, which would have hurt Kurosawa’s feelings had Adachi not grumbled, “I still have barf breath.”
Kurosawa swooned. As wasted as he was, Adachi was still so considerate. They clung to each other like idiots, uncomfortably close to the puddle of precious boyfriend’s vomit.
“So that’s why you like me so much?” Kurosawa asked at length, amused. “Because I’m good with ties?”
Adachi blinked at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “No…no, that’s not it. I like that you’re good with ties b-because you’re good with ties, you know?”
Kurosawa laughed affectionately. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, love.”
“Hmm…it’s like this. If Rokkaku was even better than you at tying ties, I would still like you better than Rokkaku. Right?”
Kurosawa couldn’t help but scowl. “I’d sure hope so.”
“S-So! It’s not the ties that I like. I like the ties, and the manga organizing skills, and y-your…your stupidly handsome face because I like you. Like if there’s someone else with your exact face and body, or like…someone way more handsome–”
“Hey!”
“–who isn’t an ossan–”
“Adachi, I’m literally just a few months older than you.”
“–I’d still like you best,” Adachi concluded with great drunken flourish, “because no one is better than my Yuichi.”
Kurosawa was trying very hard not to explode with joy. He settled for nodding thoughtfully. “Okay, I get it now.”
“Even when you’re annoying and take millions of pictures of me or hog the bathroom and dammit, I thought you were kidding about your nose hairs–”
Kurosawa sighed dramatically. “And here I thought you loved everything about me.”
“I still love you when you’re annoying,” Adachi said, gazing at him with such sweet affection that Kurosawa found it difficult to breathe for a few seconds. “I just– I love you in general.” He yawned.
It seemed like Flirty-Drunk Adachi was handing the reins over to Sleepy-Drunk Adachi. Still, he forged on with his thesis about why he loved Kurosawa like a pro. “I don’t love your cooking because I love you, though. I love your cooking in its own right. Like, it’s its own entity, completely disconnected from you.”
Kurosawa nodded as if that made any semblance of sense, Adachi’s I love you echoing all over his head and making it hard to think about anything else.
Adachi was dragging his feet, head lolling forward. And just in time, a taxi rolled by. Kurosawa hailed it and helped Adachi inside.
For the entire car ride home, Kurosawa watched the sunrise. He reveled in the weight of Adachi’s head on his shoulder, at the way their fingers were tangled together, and reflected on the many reasons he loved Adachi Kiyoshi–barf breath and all.
(Fortunately, Tsuge, whom they had rather mercilessly ditched, was also having a pretty good morning passed out with Minato in his arms–although this would change a few hours later, with the arrival of wakefulness and a hangover.)