Work Text:
The workshop room door opened with its usual sigh, and Tsukasa Tenma strode in—ready, as always, to dazzle and help his dear boyfriend with whatever idea he had next.
Except today, two Ruis turned toward him.
They were mirror images down to the lilac hair with cyan strands and the distinctive red eyeliner—yet everything about their auras clashed like rival spotlights.
“It seems are subject has arrived, Kuro.”
The first Rui—no, Kuro—stood closest. His thin yellow eyes shimmered like candle-flames in a draft, they softened the instant they met Tsukasa’s amber stare. Shoulders tucked in, fingertips worrying the hem of his shirt, he looked as though he might fold in on himself if Tsukasa so much as blinked.
“Tsukasa…” Kuro’s voice was Rui’s but turned to downy velvet. “You’re even brighter up close.” His cheeks flushed mauve. Before Tsukasa could react, Kuro drifted forward, arms sliding around Tsukasa’s waist in a hug so reverent it felt more like a bow. “I—I was terrified you’d be shocked, but you came anyway. Thank you…”
Tsukasa’s heart performed a double pirouette. “Ah—well—of course I came! A star must witness every new marvel!” He tried for his confident grin, but Kuro’s watery gaze made it wobble.
Kuro’s hands fidgeted, desperate to keep touching—thumbs tracing invisible constellations on the back of Tsukasa’s jacket. He looked one gust of praise away from tears.
A lazy clap echoed from deeper in the room. The second figure leaned against a tower of half-assembled stage robotics, a crooked, carnivorous smile and eyes gleaming.
“Well, aren’t you punctual, Tsukasa-kun,” he drawled, tongue curling around the honorific like it was candy he might bite through. “Our leading man never misses his spotlight—cute.”
He sauntered closer, footsteps measured, calculating. Where Kuro clung, the other Rui prowled. One slender finger tipped Tsukasa’s chin upward—the gesture half-tease, half-claim. “Tell me, how many Ruis does it take to keep up with a ‘future star’? Two? Three? A full chorus?”
“K-Kami!” Kuro squeaked, mortification radiant. “Don’t overwhelm him—”
“Oh, please. Tsukasa eats adoration for breakfast.” Kami’s grin widened. “And I’m simply feeding him.”
Tsukasa spluttered, cheeks blazing peach. “H-how dare you reduce a star’s diet to fan service!” Yet the bubbles in his stomach felt suspiciously like laughter.
Kuro sidled nearer again, slipping his hand into Tsukasa’s as though it belonged there (and to him, it did). “Kami isn’t trying to be mean,” he whispered, eyes shiny. “He just… expresses affection through chaos.”
“Guilty,” Kami hummed. “Speaking of chaos—Tsukasa-kun, want to test the centrifugal levitation harness? I promise only a minimal risk of dismemberment.”
Tsukasa’s mouth opened—closed—opened again. Kuro’s fingers squeezed, silent plea. And Kami’s smirk dared.
A performer’s fire sparked in Tsukasa’s chest. He lifted his chin, flashing the grin that belonged on every advertisement in scramble crossing.
“I’ll do it—but I expect both of you to catch me if I fall,” he declared. “After all, a star’s brilliance is doubled when reflected in loyal stagehands!”
Kuro’s eyes instantly glossed with sentimental tears. “We won’t let you drop,” he promised, sounding like an oath at an altar.
Kami’s gaze softened—fractionally. “Obviously. You’re mine to torment, not to break.” He brushed imaginary lint from Tsukasa’s shoulder, possessive and oddly tender.
Between Kuro’s delicate devotion and Kami’s predatory playfulness, Tsukasa found himself bracketed by two halves of the same heartbeat. Confusion? Absolutely. Fear? Never—stars do not fear the night; they illuminate it.
And as the trio moved toward the humming contraption—Kuro clinging to his arm, Kami at his back humming mischief—Tsukasa realized this odd, luminous duet of gentle worship and sly provocation might just be the grandest act Rui had ever staged.
Spotlights, after all, shine brightest when split—only to converge again on the one person they refuse to let fade.
☀︎
The storm had been brewing for a while.
At first, it was manageable—Kuro and Kami keeping a strained peace, orbiting each other like two moons that begrudgingly shared the same planet. Kuro would quietly tidy up behind Kami’s messes, and Kami would roll his eyes when Kuro insisted Tsukasa drink water before trying the flame-jet rocket shoes Rui—Kami—swore were “absolutely probably safe.” It was awkward. Tense. But survivable.
Until now.
Now Tsukasa stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, arms tugged in opposite directions—one by a teary, trembling Kuro and the other by an increasingly irritable Kami.
“Kami, please let go of him!” Kuro’s voice cracked—just short of a sob—as he clung tighter to Tsukasa’s right arm, almost wrapping himself around it like a koala desperate for emotional oxygen. “You already dragged him through three tests and didn’t let him rest at all! He’s tired—can’t you see that?!”
“Oh, spare me the melodrama,” Kami snapped, tightening his grip on Tsukasa’s left wrist like it belonged there. “He’s fine. He’s glowing, aren’t you, Tsukasa-kun?” he said with a sly glance upward. “Don’t you like it when I push your limits a little? You always light up so nicely.”
“I—well—!” Tsukasa tried, eyes wide as his own limbs became a civil war.
“He doesn’t need to be pushed right now!” Kuro wailed, eyes glossed like a lake before a thunderstorm. “He needs kindness! He needs a snack and a blanket and—and—space from your relentless teasing!”
Kami scoffed, an exasperated click of the tongue as his cyan-streaked bangs flicked over his eyes. “Oh, please. You act like he’s made of sugar glass. If I babied him like you do, he’d explode from boredom. You think he doesn’t like when I rile him up?” He grinned, flashing teeth. “You should see the look he gets when he’s about to yell at me. It’s cute.”
“Don’t call him cute like that! You’re weaponizing it!” Kuro shot back, one trembling finger pointed accusingly. “He’s not a toy you get to shake until he breaks!”
“And you’re not his mom, Kuro,” Kami snapped, his voice dropping to something icier. “Let go of him before I make you.”
“You make me and I’ll cry,” Kuro said immediately, utterly serious and wide-eyed.
“You’re already crying!”
“Well, now I’ll cry harder!”
“I welcome the flood. Maybe it’ll short-circuit your coddling subroutines.”
Tsukasa, caught in the middle like the wishbone of an extremely dysfunctional wish, let out a strangled, theatrical gasp. “You’re going to rip me in half like a cheap stage prop!”
Both Ruis paused. Blinked. Looked down at him. Kuro’s fingers twitched guiltily. Kami didn’t apologize, but he did loosen his grip.
Tsukasa huffed, pulling both of them a half-step closer like a showman pulling unruly co-stars into place. “I don’t belong to either of you. You’re both Rui, aren’t you? Then maybe try being less selfishly obsessed with me and more focused on not giving me whiplash.”
Kuro’s lip trembled. “I’m not selfish, I just—just love you too much. You deserve everything soft in the world.”
“And I want to give you everything loud in the world,” Kami muttered, scratching at his neck. “What’s wrong with a little chaos if it keeps things exciting?”
Tsukasa looked between them—one soft as velvet, the other sharp as glass—and sighed the sigh of someone caught between heaven and hellfire. “How am I supposed to survive two versions of you?”
Neither Rui had an answer.
But both of them, in a strange, synchronized moment, leaned closer—one offering his shoulder, the other a crooked smirk—and said:
“You don’t have to.”
Tsukasa blinked, then immediately flailed. “NO! That’s not romantic, that’s a threat! Stop looking at each other like you’re about to hug or kill each other!”
Kuro sniffled. “I’d never kill Kami.”
Kami smirked. “I’d consider it.”
“KAMI!”
And thus, the bickering began anew—now with Tsukasa yelling over both of them, stuck between anxiety in a sweater and a walking violation of every safety code.
☀︎
It was supposed to be simple.
Just one more test—one—and then lunch. That’s what Tsukasa told them, voice strained but confident, his starry pride too big to say no. “I am perfectly capable of enduring one final experiment, thank you,” he’d huffed, brushing off Kuro’s hovering hands and ignoring the glint in Kami’s eye.
Kuro had looked like a kicked puppy. Kami had smirked like he’d won a round in a game only he was playing.
Now?
Now, the world spun.
Tsukasa lay flat on his back, vision foggy and ears ringing. There’d been a sudden jerk—something mechanical misfiring—and then the dull thud of body meeting floor, sharpest at the base of his skull. The pain wasn’t blinding, but it bloomed like ink in water, slow and deep and very real.
“Tsukasa!!” Kuro’s scream cracked, and then he was there—knees hitting the floor, trembling hands already flying to check Tsukasa’s head with panicked, gentle movements. “Are you okay?! Oh no, oh no, I knew this was a bad idea—does it hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you—oh my god, are you bleeding?!”
Tsukasa blinked slowly. “M-my head hurts…”
Kuro practically short-circuited. “HE’S BLEEDING! HE’S NOT BLEEDING BUT HE COULD BE—”
“No—Rui—Kuro, I’m not—” Tsukasa tried to sit up, which only made his vision whirl like a kaleidoscope set to spin cycle. “Oof… okay. Maybe I should stay down…”
“I told you,” Kuro whimpered, eyes glassy with tears as he cupped Tsukasa’s face with trembling fingers. “I told you it was too much, I should’ve stopped you, I should’ve stopped him!”
A beat of silence.
Kami stood several feet away, arms crossed tightly, shoulders tense. He wasn’t smiling. Not even his usual crooked, cat-got-the-canary smirk. His foot tapped anxiously on the floor, then stopped. Then started again. Then stopped. His whole frame vibrated with a kind of nervous energy he didn’t know what to do with.
“Is he—” Kami started, voice unusually quiet. “…It wasn’t that high. It shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” Kuro snapped—wet and shaky but sharp. “You smirked. You knew it was unstable and you smirked. You’re not helping.”
Kami’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the floor like it might offer him a manual on how to fix this. “I didn’t think he’d fall. I thought he’d land on his feet like always.”
Tsukasa let out a weak breath and cracked open one eye. “I am not a cat, Rui…”
Kuro sniffled. “Don’t joke, you hit your head. You might be concussed!”
Kami flinched at that—just barely, but Tsukasa caught it. Guilt like a hairline fracture beneath his usual mischief.
Kuro was now wiping at Tsukasa’s forehead with his sleeve like that would help somehow. “Okay, okay, okay—pressure. No, wait, that’s for bleeding. You’re not bleeding. Ice? Where’s the ice?”
“I’ll get it,” Kami said before Kuro could argue, his voice clipped, and he turned on his heel before either of them could stop him.
Kuro made a soft, watery noise and buried his face briefly into Tsukasa’s shoulder. “I knew I should’ve tied you to a chair. I could’ve kept you safe…”
Tsukasa winced as he exhaled a laugh. “Don’t give him ideas…”
Kuro didn’t laugh. He just curled around Tsukasa a little more tightly, protective in his panic. “You scared me.”
Tsukasa blinked slowly, the pain behind his eyes pulsing like stage lights. “…You’re both scary when you’re worried.”
“I’m not scary,” Kuro whispered, voice cracking. “I’m devoted.”
Tsukasa closed his eyes with a groan. “Tell that to the pounding in my skull…”
Kuro just made a small, helpless sound and held on tighter.
A minute later, Kami returned—no smirk, no quip. Just a cold compress in one hand and averted eyes. He knelt beside them, silent for once, and offered it with hands that trembled more than he’d ever admit.
Tsukasa took it. Let them both hover.
And as the ache in his head slowly dulled, he realized:
One version of Rui would swaddle him in blankets and tears.
The other would invent a way to reverse time just to undo a bruise.
And he… was stuck in the middle.
Held like a star nobody wanted to let fall again.
The workshop had gone still—eerily still, for once. The usual hum of half-finished prototypes, ticking timers, and softly whirring servos had dimmed to silence, as if even the machines were holding their breath.
Kuro sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling Tsukasa’s head delicately in his lap. The slightly-too-cold ice pack was pressed against the back of Tsukasa’s head, cushioned by a folded towel Kuro had scrambled to find in a panic. His hands hovered anxiously, trembling near Tsukasa’s temples, never quite settling—afraid to hurt him, desperate to help.
Tsukasa lay there quietly, amber eyes half-lidded, the weight of the fall catching up to him now that adrenaline had faded. The low throb in his skull wasn’t sharp anymore, just dull and persistent. A reminder. A whisper of mortality in the middle of Rui’s makeshift dreamland.
Kami hadn’t moved far. He paced in a slow, irregular circle around them—never too close, never too far—arms crossed tight against his chest like if he held himself together hard enough, he could pretend none of this had happened. Every few laps, he’d stop, fidget, glance at Tsukasa.
“You sure you don’t want water?” he asked again, voice low and uneven. “Or pain meds. Or… I dunno. More pillows?”
“I’m okay,” Tsukasa murmured, trying for a reassuring smile. “Really. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Kuro whispered, brushing back a bit of Tsukasa’s tousled bangs with reverent care. “You fell. You hit your head.”
“I am fine,” Tsukasa repeated, more gently this time. “It was just a little fall. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. That’s on me.”
Kami stopped pacing. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either,” Tsukasa replied, blinking up at the ceiling. “It’s no one’s fault. Things happen. We push too hard, get too caught up—me included.”
Kuro bit his lip hard enough it turned white. “But I knew. I knew you were tired. I should’ve stopped you—”
“You tried,” Tsukasa cut in, his hand blindly reaching up to pat Kuro’s arm in a rare moment of softness. “You always try to protect me. I didn’t listen. That’s not on you.”
Kami shifted again, gaze flicking away. “…I was showing off.”
Tsukasa snorted softly. “You always show off.”
“That’s different,” Kami muttered, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think it’d go wrong.”
“I know,” Tsukasa said simply, letting his eyes drift closed. “And I know you’d never let me get really hurt. You both wouldn’t.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not cold.
Kuro leaned down a little more, resting his forehead lightly against Tsukasa’s crown, eyes squeezed shut.
Kami crouched nearby, arms draped over his knees, chin resting in one palm. “…Can I hold his hand too or is that going to make you cry again?” he muttered toward Kuro.
Kuro gave him a tear-glossed glare. “You can hold his hand, but if you pull anything, I’ll cry louder.”
“I wasn’t gonna—! Ugh.” Kami rolled his eyes but shifted over, awkwardly reaching out.
Tsukasa’s fingers curled into his without resistance.
And for a few rare seconds, it was quiet again—calm, even. Tsukasa half-conscious in their hold, the two halves of Rui finally still. Not quite in harmony… but no longer at odds. A fragile ceasefire held together by the boy between them.
He groaned softly. “Okay but… after lunch, one of you is giving me a massage…”
Kuro sat up straighter immediately. “Me! I’ll do it. I know your shoulders get tight—”
Kami looked scandalized. “Hey, I give better massages. His back cracks when I do it.”
“You brute—cracking him?! He’s not a glowstick!”
“Oh like you don’t hold him like he’s a porcelain teacup. He likes a little pressure—”
Tsukasa sighed and let his eyes close again, the dull ache in his skull drowned out by bickering and affection.
☀︎
Tsukasa sat slumped slightly in a kitchen chair, elbow on the table, cheek in hand, and expression hovering somewhere between “fondly exasperated” and “on the verge of calling the fire department.” His headache had mostly faded, a dull murmur now instead of a full stage encore—but the new ache forming behind his eyes?
That was entirely their fault.
Kuro squeaked again, high-pitched and alarmed.
“Kami—Kami, it’s burning, you have to flip it now or it’s going to—!”
“I am flipping it,” Kami snapped, wrist jerking with all the grace of a man trying to turn over a brick with a feather duster. The chopsticks clanged off the edge of the pan with a painful scrape and sent the grilled cheese skidding like a hockey puck. “See? Nailed it.”
“You nailed it to the pan,” Kuro moaned, leaning over Kami’s shoulder with gloved hands hovering helplessly, clearly desperate to intervene but terrified of making it worse. “It’s stuck, Kami! You were supposed to butter the outside! Not the inside!”
“I did butter the outside!”
“You buttered both sides of the bread! You basically deep fried it! There’s cheese lava coming out the seams—oh no, oh no, it’s bubbling—”
Tsukasa could only stare, blank-faced, as thin streams of smoke began to curl gently upward from the skillet. The kitchen now smelled like a war crime committed against dairy.
This… this was his boyfriend. Or rather, both halves of his boyfriend. And they were both equally incompetent at what should’ve been the easiest food known to man.
He sighed, voice flat. “Why are you using chopsticks to flip it?”
Kami, still hunched over the crime scene of a sandwich, didn’t even flinch. “Spatula’s too clunky. Precision tools yield precision results.”
“You’re not assembling a circuit board,” Tsukasa groaned. “It’s a grilled cheese.”
Kuro was now flailing in mild panic, grabbing oven mitts and fanning at the smoke alarm as though afraid even a beep might worsen Tsukasa’s head. “Turn down the heat! You’re on nine! Who cooks on nine?!”
“People who like flavor,” Kami snapped, but he was already turning the dial down and poking at the sandwich’s charred crust. The bread made a crunch sound that was more “forest fire” than “toasty.”
Tsukasa rubbed his temples. “How are you alive? I mean that honestly. Do you just… survive off of cup noodles and creative arrogance?”
Kami looked affronted. “I can cook. I’ve made ramen with eggs and scallions before.”
“Boiling water doesn’t count as cooking,” Tsukasa deadpanned.
“I arranged the garnish. Artistically.”
Kuro let out a wounded sound, like a ghost sobbing over a desecrated shrine. “I should’ve just made him rice balls, or soup, or literally anything that didn’t involve fire—”
Tsukasa held up a hand, voice weary but kind. “I appreciate the effort, really. Both of you. I just… I think I value my internal organs more than your culinary pride.”
Kuro looked seconds from tears. “I just wanted you to feel loved and warm…”
“I do, Kuro,” Tsukasa said gently, his expression softening. “I feel so, so loved. But also a little nauseous from the smell of scorched margarine.”
Kami plucked the “finished” sandwich from the pan and dropped it onto a plate with theatrical flair. The sandwich made a brittle clack sound when it landed.
He presented it to Tsukasa like it was a winning science fair project.
“…If I die,” Tsukasa said slowly, “tell Saki I want a stary funeral.”
Kuro gasped, smacking Kami’s arm. “Don’t feed him that! He’s fragile right now!”
Kami huffed, offended. “He’s tougher than you think! He got flung into a wall and still had the audacity to complain about his dramatic treatment. I’m proud of him.”
Tsukasa just dropped his face into both hands. “There are two of you, and neither can make a sandwich.”
There was a pause. Then the quiet scuffle of feet. Then two sets of arms gently, cautiously wrapping around him from both sides.
Kuro pressed into his right shoulder, murmuring, “I can order food…”
Kami rested his chin on his left, voice quieter than usual. “I can… maybe… reheat things next time.”
Tsukasa, overwhelmed but weirdly warm, sighed again. “Next time, let’s just microwave leftovers. Together. Peacefully. With supervision.”
“Agreed,” both Ruis said at once.
The grilled cheese sat on the table, blackened and broken, steaming like the battlefield it came from.
And somehow, Tsukasa didn’t mind all that much.
☀︎
The pizza box, now half-empty and slightly grease-stained, sat abandoned on the coffee table as the soft hum of the TV filled the room. Some educational documentary was playing—something about quantum mechanics and temporal perception, or at least that’s what Tsukasa thought he caught before zoning out completely.
He couldn’t really keep up with Rui’s shows, not when they threw around words like tachyon flow and quantum decoherence like they weren’t just making things up. But Tsukasa hadn’t complained—not even when Kuro offered to find something lighter. He’d just smiled and said, “It’s fine. I just want to rest anyway.”
And he was resting. Comfortable, warm, surrounded.
He sat sideways on the couch, legs stretched across Kuro’s lap and head leaned lazily against Kami’s shoulder. Kuro was holding his ankles like Tsukasa was the world’s most precious lap blanket, thumb brushing absentminded circles into the back of his calf. Kami’s arm was draped along the couch’s top, close enough for his fingers to toy with Tsukasa’s hair occasionally, absent and thoughtful.
Tsukasa wasn’t really watching the screen. He was floating in that warm haze of full stomach, gentle company, and the safety of knowing someone else was worrying enough for him.
Which is why the moment Kami’s hands shifted, sliding down to his shoulders and applying a firm, knowing pressure, Tsukasa squeaked like a startled mouse. His back arched slightly in surprise, and he looked up at Kami with wide, accusing amber eyes.
“Kami!”
Kami tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smug half-smile. “What?” he purred, fingers kneading into Tsukasa’s tense shoulder blades with purpose. “You did request a massage. Or has my brilliant, theatrical star forgotten his own words already?”
Tsukasa blinked. “I—what?”
Kami leaned in, lips brushing against the nape of Tsukasa’s neck in a slow, featherlight kiss that made his whole spine jolt. “You did say one of us had to give you a massage after your tragic fall,” he murmured, voice like silk wrapped around mischief. “I’m simply honoring your request.”
Tsukasa’s ears turned red. “I forgot! That was before pizza! That doesn’t count now!”
“It counts even more,” Kami countered smoothly, digging his thumbs in just below the curve of Tsukasa’s neck. “Now you’re fed, relaxed, and warm. The perfect conditions for submission to pampering.”
Tsukasa made a garbled sound somewhere between flustered and affronted, hiding his face in Kami’s shoulder.
Kuro peeked over from below, eyes wide with admiration and a soft pink blush across his cheeks. “Oh… he is good at that…,” he whispered, hands pausing in their idle petting. “Tsukasa, are you okay? Not too much?”
“I’m fine,” Tsukasa grumbled, face still buried. “I just wasn’t ready. He snuck up on me!”
“It’s literally your shoulders,” Kami deadpanned, even as his fingers softened their pace, smoothing the tension with a surprising amount of care. “It’s not like I bit you.”
Kuro squeaked at that, visibly scandalized. “Kami—!”
Tsukasa let out a strangled, exhausted laugh, his voice muffled by his hands on his face. “Don’t give him ideas, Kuro…”
“Too late,” Kami muttered, though there was more warmth than bite to it now. “Relax. I’ve got you.”
And with his boyfriend’s head resting on one shoulder and his legs curled into the lap of the other, both halves of Rui wrapped protectively around him, Tsukasa really had no choice but to let himself melt.
He could always scold them later. Maybe.
Probably.
…Eventually.
Tsukasa let his eyes slip closed, a quiet sigh escaping as Kami’s thumbs dug just right into the tense muscle between his neck and shoulder. It was… surprisingly good. Kami’s hands were steady, firm but controlled, like he knew exactly how much pressure Tsukasa could take before it stopped feeling good.
He didn’t expect this.
He expected teasing from Kami—sharp words, smug remarks, maybe the occasional nibble if he was feeling especially mischievous. But not… this. Not the way Kami’s fingertips would pause to brush over a knot, then return with deliberate care to work it loose. Not the soft, almost reverent circles being traced into the back of his neck.
He hadn’t expected this version of Rui to be so attentive.
Kuro, of course, was already a puddle at the other end of the couch. He held Tsukasa’s legs like something precious and untouchable, his hands resting just above Tsukasa’s shins, thumbs stroking soothing little half-moons into his skin through the fabric of his pants. Every time Tsukasa shifted or made the faintest sound, Kuro looked up in alarm.
But Tsukasa was fine. More than fine. He was—
melting.
He could feel it in his spine, the tension bleeding out like water from a cracked vase. Kami’s shoulder supported the weight of his head as he leaned further in, trusting, warm, safe.
His mind drifted like a stage curtain swaying under warm lights.
He thought about how strange today had been. About two Ruis and burnt sandwiches. About ice packs and scolding and kisses and this bizarre, aching kind of love that came in stereo. One soothing. One reckless. Both completely wrapped around him like the world’s weirdest, most possessive weighted blanket.
And then—
His brow twitched faintly.
Wait a minute.
When is Rui going to be… like… one person again?
Tsukasa’s eyes shot open.
Oh no.
He forgot to ask.
He never asked!
All this time—he’d just gone along with it! He let them bicker and pamper and build death traps and now here he was, sandwiched between two versions of Rui like that was normal! When had this become normal?!
His shoulders tensed slightly beneath Kami’s hands.
Kami noticed immediately.
“Mm?” he hummed, voice low beside Tsukasa’s ear. “You okay, starshine?”
Tsukasa blinked up at the ceiling. “Kami…”
“Yeah?”
“How long… are you and Kuro going to be like this?”
There was a pause. Not a long one—but just long enough for the silence to feel a little too deliberate.
Kami’s fingers stilled.
“Tsukasa-kun… you didn’t ask Rui that?” he said slowly, almost amused.
“No! He just told me he was working on something revolutionary! You should know that!!!” Tsukasa hissed, now fully awake and flustered. “My boyfriend invents a lot of things! I thought it’d wear off by now, or he’d do his evil laugh and snap you two back together with a laser or something!”
Kuro sat up quickly, concern flickering in his eyes. “W-we don’t know! He didn’t finish the re-combination program. I think it was part of the test—if we’d function well enough to be stable on our own first…”
Tsukasa stared at him. “So. You don’t have a plan.”
Kuro’s face crumpled into panic. “W-we do! Probably! Kami just has to check the calculations in the workshop and I can double-check the fusion parameters and—”
“I was going to,” Kami muttered, hands moving again on instinct. “You got distracted by crying, remember?”
“I was worried about Tsukasa!”
“I was too! Just with less leaking!”
“You don’t leak! You explode! There’s a difference!”
“I do not—!”
“ENOUGH!” Tsukasa snapped, sitting up abruptly between them, hair slightly mussed, expression thoroughly overwhelmed. “Both of you—stop arguing with yourselves!”
Kuro winced, eyes downcast. Kami had the decency to look slightly sheepish.
Tsukasa sighed again, softer this time, rubbing at his temples. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask if this was permanent…”
Kami leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. “Would it be so bad if it was?”
Tsukasa gave him a long look.
Then looked at Kuro.
Then looked between them again.
Then looked at the trash can the grilled cheese disaster had been disposed of in.
“…Yes.”
“Yeah,” both Ruis said together, quietly.
Tsukasa sank back against the couch with a groan.
“We’re calling Nene and Emu in the morning. I cannot keep you two under control by myself.”
☀︎
The night had fallen in thick, velvet silence across the house. All the lights were out save for the soft glow of a bedside lamp, casting a faint golden halo around the bed like a spotlight on the world’s strangest stage.
Tsukasa lay dead-center in it, sandwiched between both halves of his boyfriend. In Rui’s rarely used room. Again.
This was his life now, apparently.
Kuro was pressed gently into his right side, clinging like a dream that didn’t want to end, fingers laced with Tsukasa’s under the covers. Kami, as expected, had claimed his left, arm tossed over Tsukasa’s waist with all the subtlety of a possessive cat, his breath hot against Tsukasa’s ear.
And Tsukasa?
Well. Tsukasa was red. Bright red. Glowing. Radiating embarrassment like a malfunctioning heater. Because the Rui halfs were now arguing—again—but this time, it wasn’t about sandwiches or scientific ethics.
It was about how to kiss him goodnight.
“I’m telling you,” Kuro said, his voice low but burning with conviction, “a goodnight kiss should be tender. A soft press of lips, maybe against his forehead or the corner of his mouth. Nothing rushed. Just… something that says ‘I love you’ without having to say it.”
“That’s boring,” Kami replied coolly, propping himself on one elbow so he could loom a little. “You don’t say goodnight with your lips. You remind him what those lips can do. You pull a sigh out of his throat, let your tongue taste it. It should sting a little.”
“It is not a battle!” Kuro hissed, ears turning pink. “He’s trying to sleep!”
“He’ll sleep better if he’s satisfied,” Kami purred, nuzzling closer to Tsukasa’s neck. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Tsukasa squeaked. Actually squeaked.
“W-will you two stop fighting over my face?!” he cried, utterly flustered, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might somehow eject him from the situation. “You’re making it weird! It’s just a kiss!”
“You say that,” Kami murmured, grin evident in his tone, “but your ears are burning, starboy.”
“Kami!” Kuro snapped, his hand flying to cover Tsukasa’s cheek like a protective barrier. “You’re embarrassing him!”
“You’re the one coddling him like he’s made of sugar!”
“He hit his head today!”
“He’s fine now! Look at him—glowing!”
“I am not—glowing!” Tsukasa blurted, though the way he yanked the blanket up to his nose did little to help his case. “I—I didn’t sign up for this! I thought I’d get a kiss and then sleep, not become a romantic battleground!”
Kami leaned closer, lips brushing just behind Tsukasa’s ear. “You did say you liked when I made you melt…”
Kuro immediately buried his face in Tsukasa’s shoulder with a distressed whimper. “Kami, please! You’re gonna give him another headache—”
“You know what?” Tsukasa interrupted, voice thin and high-pitched. “Neither of you gets to kiss me now. I revoke kiss privileges.”
Both Ruis froze.
Kami blinked. “That’s illegal.”
Kuro gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“I am!” Tsukasa declared with all the dignity a man smothered between two halves of his dangerously affectionate boyfriend could manage. “I am revoking all kisses until you learn how to coexist with my mouth peacefully.”
A silence followed.
Then a whimper. From Kuro.
Then a groan. From Kami.
And then they both clung.
Kuro curled tighter, nose nuzzling under Tsukasa’s jaw with desperate apology. “Tsukasa, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to fight, I just—just wanted to love you right—”
Kami buried his face in Tsukasa’s shoulder and sighed, the warm sound vibrating against his neck. “Let me at least kiss your neck. That doesn’t count as mouth…”
Tsukasa let out a noise of utter, exhausted defeat.
How did he get here?
How was this real?
He was an performer. A star. Stars don’t get squabbled over like pillows in the night.
But when Kuro’s fingers brushed softly over his ribs and Kami’s nose traced the slope of his shoulder, Tsukasa sighed and melted into the bed.
“…One kiss,” he muttered, “each. Gentle.”
Kuro immediately lifted his head, eyes bright. “R-really?”
Kami smirked, already angling forward. “Permission granted. That’s all I needed.”
Kuro pressed the softest, most featherlight kiss to Tsukasa’s temple, barely a breath. It was sweet, reverent. Like he was afraid to wake a dream.
Kami kissed the dip just behind his jaw. Just once. Slow and deep and with a lingering hum that made Tsukasa’s toes curl under the blankets.
“…You two are going to kill me,” he whispered, blinking up at the ceiling.
“We love you,” both halves said in perfect harmony, smug and sincere.
Tsukasa groaned.
But he smiled.
Tsukasa may be not be dreading tomorrow as much as he said, not that he’d let the menace or worshiper know.