Work Text:
It is quite the established fact that Keiji loved his alone time.
After a tiring week at work, there was nothing he liked to do more than to make himself a cup of tea, and indulge in his twelve-step skincare routine while some shitty drama show played in the background.
When he’d first moved into his apartment, there were two reasons he chose it. First, it had the living room of his dreams: high ceilings (or at least as high as they could be in an apartment building in Tokyo), giant south-facing windows covering one whole wall, polished cherrywood floors, all tied together by the stunning view of the city. That combined with the low rent sold him almost immediately. The real estate gods must have been on his side when he’d found it.
The second reason was that nobody was occupying the units on either side of his apartment. For all its pros, the building’s walls were notoriously thin, and if Keiji had to listen to some middle-aged woman yell at her piece-of-shit husband nearly every night (like he had to in his first apartment; such was the curse of being fresh out of college with a shitty job), he would rip his hair out. Respectfully.
The minute he signed the lease, he set to work filling the apartment with everything he needed to fulfill his vision. A big, soft couch in the living room piled with cushions, a funky coffee table because Bokuto insisted, a giant bookcase to house his collection, art on the walls gifted by his friends. Kitchen fully stocked with utensils he barely uses and enough instant noodles to make a college student jealous. Bathroom with a dual showerhead and water pressure to die for, shelves stocked with all his favorite soaps, scrubs, and moisturizers. It was expensive, probably more than he could afford on a manga editor’s salary, but he didn’t mind one bit. Anything to make his sanctuary more comfortable.
It was quiet, relaxing, and frankly perfect. There was nothing Keiji would change.
*
The first thump came at 7 pm on a random Thursday night.
Keiji was sprawled on the floor surrounded by pages of work that he had been trying to muster up the concentration to comprehend, contemplating whether it was okay to order a donburi bowl for the third time that week when the screech of something being dragged down the hall snapped him out of his daze. Then, two voices talking way too fucking loudly, seemingly arguing. And the final nail in Keiji’s metaphorical coffin: the unmistakable jangling of keys being inserted into a lock.
Oh. Oh, no.
The realization hit him harder than a fucking truck. Please, no. Anything but this. When he’d first found out that the units next to him were empty, he’d felt like the luckiest man in the world. And now lo and behold — what had once been his quiet, peaceful paradise had quickly turned into his worst nightmare.
It’s fine, he tried to convince himself. It’ll be fine, they’ll move in and quieten down and it’ll be like nothing has changed. And so he hauled himself up, pulled a stack of papers into his lap, and got to work in the hopes that by the time he’d be done, his new neighbor would be done and he can go to sleep in peace.
Naturally, he could not have been more fucking mistaken.
His new neighbor had been relatively quiet for the past half an hour, so Keiji decided to go take a long, well-deserved bath. Just as he set foot in the scalding hot water, ready to soak his woes away, he was startled by the loudest thump against the wall.
One second everything was quiet, the next, all hell broke loose. His neighbor had apparently decided that midnight was the perfect fucking time to hammer nails into the wall. And to make it all worse, the guy — Keiji realized now that it was a guy — was singing along to possibly the worst song on the fucking planet.
Keiji didn’t want to confront him. Sure, he wanted to kick him, yes, but he didn’t want to confront him. He probably would’ve done everyone in the building a huge favor by doing so, but he restrained himself. Instead, he sank down into the water and tried to block out the cacophony.
*
Eight hours later, he woke to the sound of renewed banging, this time accompanied by a drill. He couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would be drilling anything at eight in the fucking morning, but clearly, his new neighbor was a psychopath.
He sat up and winced at his pounding head, blindly feeling for his glasses on his bedside table. Once they were on, he stalked to his table and grabbed a pen and a Post-It note.
I’m going to be polite, he told himself. I’m going to be civil and polite and then surely he will understand. He hastily scribbled a few words onto the sticky note and stumbled out of his apartment, sticking the note onto the door next to his own.
Dear Apartment 4C,
Firstly, I’d like to welcome you for recently moving in. However, I would like to ask if you could please refrain from putting up furniture or singing at such late hours, or at least keep it down since it prevents me from sleeping. Thank you for understanding.
Regards, your new 4B neighbor.
He stepped back into his apartment and heaved a sigh of relief. That wasn’t so bad. There’s nothing a nice, straightforward request can’t fix. So he got ready and headed to work, with the hope that once the guy would read his note, things would go back to normal and his peace would be restored.
*
When Keiji got back from work later that day, he was surprised to find a neon-yellow note stuck to his front door.
dear 4B,
thank you for the welcome! i’m happy to be here.
you see, when you get into the groove of unpacking, you just HAVE to finish it all in one go, don’t you think? still, i’ll try to keep it down.
best wishes, 4C
Keiji felt ready to rip his hair out as he read over the note again in disbelief. The fucking audacity…
And what’s with the fake politeness? Sure, Keiji had done it too, but it’s annoying when it’s directed at him. He was the aggrieved one here.
But he wasn’t about to storm down to his apartment and give him a piece of his mind. For one, he couldn’t imagine how annoying the man would be in person if he was so infuriating even on a piece of paper. And Keiji hated confrontation more than anyone. So, he just huffed in frustration and ripped up the note.
At least the guy had apologized. All he could do was hope that he’d stick to his word of keeping it down.
*
That hope lasted exactly two days and nineteen hours.
It was a Sunday, and the sun was filtering through his windows just right, so he curled up on his couch with a new book and a cup of tea. He was just about to reach the story’s climax when the first muffled groan broke his blissful silence. They quickly accelerated into a series of very colorful curses in a voice that Keiji unfortunately recognized as belonging to his neighbor.
Of course it was. Who else would it belong to? First he ruined my sleep schedule, and now he’s ruining my weekend.
He heard the guy cuss out someone and their mom and mushrooms? He was probably yelling at his TV. Either way, Keiji could feel a headache coming on. He chucked one of his fuzzy slippers at their shared wall out of frustration, but it ended up merely bouncing off the wall and landing on the floor with a sad thump.
After about ten minutes of enduring his neighbor’s tirade, Keiji snapped. He decided to go for the familiar distant approach, and grabbed the stack of Post-It notes on his desk.
Dear loud neighbor,
It’s me again.
When I asked you to keep it down, it didn’t just apply to you hammering at the walls in the middle of the night. If you have such passionate opinions about mushroom soup, please do try to keep them to yourself instead of broadcasting them to everyone from here all the way to Osaka.
Thank you in advance.
4B
There. That should do it. Satisfied with his note, he stalked over to the apartment next door and slapped the note on. He knocked twice for good measure, and booked it right back to his place lest he come face to face with the newly anointed bane of his existence.
Once Keiji was safely inside and slumped against his door, he heard feet shuffling next door and then the sound of a door slamming. An hour later, when he’d settled back down with his book and a fresh cup of tea, there was a knock on his own door. And sure enough, there was a neon-yellow reply waiting for him.
He scoffed as he read the first few words.
hello annoyed neighbor,
nice to hear from you again! hope you’re doing well.
i was watching iron chef and i guess i got too wrapped up when that damn scrub kenichi went and fucked up a simple mushroom soup right before the time limit. you know how it is. or are you one of those people who doesn’t cook?
anyways since we’re already talking, what do you do? i’m kinda new here and it gets boring so might as well make some friends y’know. i work at a restaurant.
looking forward to your reply!!
XOXO, your curious 4C neighbor
Charming as ever. Keiji cringed at the lack of proper punctuation and reached for his own stack and scrawled a new response.
4C,
Hello again.
No, I do not know how it is. I can cook just fine, thank you very much. And if you must know, I’m an editor. Please just lower your volume while expressing your Iron Chef related grievances so that I can enjoy my weekend in peace.
Regards, 4B
*
On most weekdays, Keiji reached home pretty late. Being a manga editor meant countless late nights trying to track down finicky mangakas, and often Keiji found himself in Udai’s hallway, waiting on overdue submissions. It might be way above his pay grade, but such was his life.
That night too Keiji arrived home completely drained, both his arms laden with a pile of manuscripts. He dazedly pressed the button and waited for the elevator to arrive so he could get home and go straight to bed. Finally, the elevator came to a halt at the ground floor, and he stepped in.
“Hey! Hold the elevator, will ya?”
When the voice broke through his exhaustion, all Keiji could do was hastily stick his foot out to stop the elevator doors from closing. A man stumbled in, nearly knocking into him.
“Thanks, man,” he said, breathlessly. Keiji smiled at him stiffly.
“What floor?”
“All the way up.” He smiled. “Gonna go sit on the roof for a bit, it’s real nice up there.”
Keiji appraised the man as the lift started moving. He didn’t recognize him, which was surprising since the people in his building were few and it was rare to cross paths with any of them this late at night. He figured he was visiting someone in the building; perhaps he was someone’s booty call. He was certainly attractive enough for it — dark hair falling over his forehead, shining bronze where the dim light from the elevator lamps hit it. Shadowed grey eyes under a strong brow, high cheekbones and a solid jaw. Broad shoulders, a wide, firm chest, clad in a tight black shirt. He was almost as tall as Keiji, barely a couple centimeters shorter. There was a duffel bag slung over his shoulder that Keiji couldn’t get a good look at because he was too distracted by the man’s bulging biceps. And his voice — god, it should be illegal for someone’s voice to be that sexy. It was a low, husky sound that sent shivers right down to his toes and left his brain filled with highly intellectual commentary such as voice hot biceps wow sexy want him.
After allowing himself a few seconds to admire the very hot stranger beside him, his attention wandered back to his shirt. There was a logo printed on it that looked vaguely familiar. Keiji strained his eyes to read the letters in the dim light. Onigiri… Miya? Oh, that was the restaurant a few streets down that he occasionally ordered from. They had excellent kombu onigiri, if he remembered correctly. The man probably worked there.
Raising his eyes back to the stranger’s face, he found the other already looking back at him. Embarrassed, he quickly turned his gaze away to stare at the flickering elevator buttons, feeling warmth rise up his neck.
After a long, awkward minute, the lift shuddered to a stop at Keiji’s floor. The man gave him a little two-fingered salute as he walked out.
“Ya have a good night,” he said, smiling as the elevator doors slid closed, leaving Keiji speechless, all his fatigue forgotten.
*
“Akaashi!”
Keiji looked up from his phone to see Bokuto waving enthusiastically from the other side of the road and bounding up to him. He rose to greet him and was immediately met with Bokuto’s very firm chest as he hugged him, chuckling. A misplaced thump on his back had him gasping for air. A few seconds of Keiji trying to regain his breath and several it’s okay, I’m fine, Bokuto-san ’s later, they finally sat down and ordered their lunch from a very starstruck-looking waiter.
“I missed you! How’ve you been, Akaashi?”
Keiji winced a little internally as he remembered the stack of work on his coffee table and the ever-growing pile of laundry in his hamper that he keeps telling himself he’ll get around to doing. To Bokuto, he said, “I’m doing well, Bokuto-san. It’s nice seeing you, it’s been a while.”
Bokuto smiled knowingly, like he could read his thoughts. Keiji knew from experience that he probably could. There was nobody who knew him quite as well as Bokuto Koutaro did.
They chatted idly as they ate, talking about Keiji’s job and Bokuto’s new team. He’d recently been recruited by a Division 1 team in Osaka and had moved from Tokyo. Keiji knew he’d had a bit of a hard time adjusting to the move at first, but looking at him speaking about the Black Jackals as enthusiastically as he did about the Fukurodani volleyball club, he felt relieved.
“They’re great guys,” Bokuto said, “they’re all super talented and fun! Tsum-Tsum is—oh, do you remember Myaa-tsum? From Hyogo? He’s on our team and he’s an even better player now! And Hinata from Karasuno, do you remember him? He joined a couple months ago, and he’s gonna debut in our match against the Adlers next week. Oh, man, you’ve gotta come watch it, Akaashi! I’ll get you tickets!”
“Thank you, Bokuto-san, I’d love to,” Keiji said as Bokuto picked up his phone and sent off a text. He scrolled through his phone for a second, and then presented it to Keiji. On the screen there was a photo of seven men in a bar, laughing as they raised their glasses for a toast.
“Look, that’s the team! There’s Shoyo-kun, and Omi-kun, and that’s our captain, Meian… Oh, there’s Inunaki-san — he was the best libero when I was a first year and now he’s on our team, isn’t that cool?! Ah, and here’s Tsum-Tsum beside me! You know, right before we took that photo, he actually—”
Bokuto launched into his anecdote, and normally Keiji would be listening intently because Bokuto’s anecdotes were almost always ridiculously funny, but he couldn’t stop staring at the photo of the team. One of the faces in it was eerily familiar.
Is that… No, it couldn’t be. Is it?
“Bokuto-san,” Keiji interrupted, pointing to that face, “that’s Myaa-tsum, right?”
“Yeah, why?” Bokuto cocked his head curiously.
“Nothing, it’s just—I saw a man who looked exactly like him last week in my building, but I could’ve sworn he was brunette. I don’t understand…”
“Oh!” Bokuto clicked his fingers, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I know! Tsum-Tsum has a twin brother—Myaa-sam! Man, Akaashi, I really wish you’d been in the volleyball team in school, you would’ve known all of them. Those two were really something when they played together. Myaa-sam owns a restaurant here now.”
Myaa-sam… Onigiri Miya. The pieces started to click together in his head, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Bokuto leaned back in his chair with a smirk.
“Ohoho, I know that look. You’ve got a crush, ’Kaashi.”
Keiji felt his face heat up, but he couldn’t deny it because, well, it was true.
“Tell you what, Akaashi,” Bokuto said conspiratorially, leaning forward. “We’re all going out tonight. Akinori-kun’s gonna come too! How ‘bout you come, and I ask Tsum-Tsum to invite Myaa-sam, and we… introduce you. How does that sound?”
Keiji considered it. On one hand, he had a mound of work he should probably get to. On the other, he hadn’t been out in a long time and there was the prospect of a Hot Guy. Finally, he gave in.
“Okay, Bokuto-san. I’ll come.”
“Great! Now, tell me about that new neighbor of yours. Is he still annoying?”
Keiji heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the note he left me this morning…”
*
Let it be known that Keiji is not a club goer. They’re crowded, unnecessarily overpriced, and the music is almost certainly terrible.
When Bokuto had asked Keiji to come out with the team, he’d imagined it would be to a low-key bar or an izakaya, but when he saw that the address Bokuto sent him was to an upscale club in Shibuya, he almost ended up not going. But after a glass of wine and a slightly threatening conversation with Konoha (“Akaashi-kun, I’m going to come and drag you to that club myself if I have to.”), he finally hauled himself up and trudged to his closet to get ready.
When he showed up at his friend’s apartment roughly fifteen minutes later, Konoha levelled him with a flat look that screamed thoroughly unimpressed, and turned on his heel and headed straight to his closet. Apparently a simple button-down and slacks weren’t ‘club-appropriate attire’. He’d even wore contacts instead of his glasses for the night.
“I don’t understand, my clothes seem quite fine to me,” Keiji said as he followed Konoha to his bedroom.
“You look like you’re going to a work brunch,” Konoha replied, rummaging through his drawers. “How do you feel about lace?”
“No.”
“Velvet?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Sequins?”
“You know what, I’m going home—”
“ Okay , okay,” Konoha laughed, pulling out a shirt and pushing it into Keiji’s hands. “Here, try this.”
Keiji sighed, defeated, and pulled the shirt on. The sheer, black turtleneck felt smooth on his skin–no doubt expensive, and definitely too tight on him.
“See, you look hot,” Konoha declared, steering Keiji towards the mirror.
“Konoha-san, I am deeply uncomfortable right now,” Keiji grumbled, frowning at the way the sleeves clung to his arms. One wrong move and whole thing would come apart, it seemed.
“Beauty is pain,” Konoha replied. And that was the end of it.
Fast forward an hour later and Keiji found himself in line at the coat check of the club, dressed in said shirt and a pair of leather pants that Konoha had urged ( forced ) him to wear. A few rings on his fingers and a thin swipe of kohl on his eyelids that Konoha insisted would make his eyes pop tied the look together. And Keiji had to admit, he did look good.
Konoha himself was dressed in a significantly more daring blue shirt that looked like it was barely held together by a thread what with how many cutouts it had, and low-rise pants that looked like they were glued to his ass. He looked right at place in the midst of the many people decked out in leather and lace, silk and sequins. And glitter. So much glitter.
All thoughts of glitter fell away as he followed Konoha into the club. The moment he passed the threshold, he was enveloped by the typical nightclub atmosphere — the smell of sweat, alcohol, smoke, perfume and something else he can’t quite place, the bass-boosted music reverberating in his ears. They pushed their way in through the throngs of people to the bar where Konoha turned to Keiji standing awkwardly by his side and chuckled.
“You’re too stiff,” he commented. “You gotta loosen up a little, man, we’re here to party! C’mere, do a shot with me.” He gestured to the bartender who poured them two shots of what Keiji assumed to be vodka. Rather than fight Konoha who seemed to be on a mission to make him have fun tonight, Keiji skeptically accepted the shot offered to him and knocked it back quickly, grimacing a little at the sharp burn of the alcohol in his throat.
“Akaashi! Akinori! Over here!”
Keiji turned to see Bokuto standing at the other end of the bar, holding a few bottles of beer, waving them over eagerly. He set down his bottles on the bar as they approached and greeted Konoha with a one-armed hug, clapping him on the back solidly. Finally, he turned to Keiji, hugging him before holding him by the shoulders and scanning him from head to toe. Keiji could make out the glint in his eye and the smug look on his face even in the low lights of the club.
“Hey, you made it! Damn, ‘Kaashi, you look good! C’mon, get a drink. We’ve got a table over there, I’ll introduce you both to everyone.”
Bokuto picked up his beers and walked off, talking to Konoha. Keiji flushed a little, both from the compliment and the pleasant buzz from the alcohol, ordered a drink and followed them to a cordoned-off section. Finally, they approached two familiar-looking men standing near a table. Bokuto handed them their beers and turned to Keiji and Konoha, throwing his arms around their shoulders affectionately.
“Guys, meet Akaashi and Konoha, my friends from high school! This is our captain, Meian-san, and I’m sure you both remember Shoyo-kun! The rest are around here somewhere, they’ll turn up soon.”
Keiji shook hands with Meian, exchanging a polite hello, before turning to Hinata, who greeted him with a bright smile.
“Akaashi-san! I haven’t seen you since Kenma’s New Year’s Eve party! How’ve you been? Oh, Bokuto-san said you’re coming to our match next week! It’ll be my debut with the Jackals, isn’t that great?! I’m so excited!”
Keiji chatted with Hinata as he sipped his drink. The shorter man’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself enjoying it more than he’d expected. A few minutes later, Bokuto appeared at his side again, this time with a very familiar-looking blonde man in tow.
“Akaashi, meet Tsum-Tsum!”
“Atsumu. Nice to meet ya, Keiji-kun,” Atsumu said, a lopsided grin on his face as he shook Keiji’s hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” Keiji said.
“’Course, this guy won’t shut up about you! His genius editor best friend,” Atsumu laughed. He leaned back against the table and dipped his head closer to Keiji’s.
“Now, a little birdie told me you’ve got a bit of a crush on my brother, hmm?”
Keiji flushed, but before he could reply, Bokuto jumped in.
“Hey, speaking of crushes! Did you know Tsum-Tsum’s had a thing for Omi-kun forever?” Bokuto said, leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s sitting over there by the bar and Atsumu’s been too nervous to go over all night, isn’t that cute?! I told you, tonight’s the night, I’ll even be your wingman!”
“Okay, Bokkun, you've clearly had a lot to drink. Hey, Shoyo-kun! Why don’t you take Bokkun to get some water?” Atsumu said, hurriedly waving Hinata over. Hinata carefully steered Bokuto towards the bar, talking animatedly about the Spanish song that had just started playing. Bokuto let himself be led away, turning back to give Keiji an exaggerated wink and double thumbs-up.
Atsumu chuckled nervously. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said, taking a gulp of his beer. Keiji smiled over the lip of his own glass, not missing the way Atsumu’s cheeks and neck had reddened even under the pulsating disco lights, or how he’d glanced furtively in the direction of where Sakusa was sitting.
“Anyway,” Atsumu cleared his throat. “My brother may be an idiot, but he’s a good guy. And if this—whatever happens tonight—turns into somethin’ more, you're a lucky guy ‘cause he’s gonna treat you good, our ma made sure of that.”
“Are you giving me the shovel talk, Miya-san?”
“Yes,” Atsumu blinked. “Is it working?”
Keiji chuckled — no, giggled. The alcohol was getting to him. “Sure. Continue, please.”
“Yeah, so. If this—you guys—become a thing and you hurt him, I’ll be real mad, Keiji-kun. And I’m sure Bokkun would hunt both ‘Samu and I down if he hurts you. So, what I’m trying to say is, you better make each other happy.”
“We’ll see, Miya-san. Oh, look, Bokuto-san is coming back.”
Bokuto bounded up to them, Hinata beside him, holding a tray of shot glasses. “Hey, guys! What are we talking about? Look, we got shots!”
They tossed the shots back quickly, sucking slices of lime between their teeth. Keiji repressed a shudder as the familiar bitter taste of tequila lingered in his mouth.
The music continued to thrum through the speaker, switching between upbeat pop songs and slow, sultry tunes. The effect of the alcohol faded into a light buzz between his temples, just enough to make him feel warm and comfortable and make everything pleasantly hazy. Keiji had been to his fair share of clubs in college, the nights almost always ending badly, but tonight felt good.
“Hey, there’s ’Samu. Oi, ’Samu, come over here!” Atsumu called over the music, waving to someone behind Keiji.
Keiji turned, and there he was. Tall, dark hair falling over his forehead as if styled to look both effortless and flawless as he pushes his fingers through the locks; the exact replica of Atsumu except for his hair. The club’s pink and purple lights reflected on the silk fabric of his shirt, which was halfway unbuttoned and clinging to his body in an almost sinful way. Keiji didn’t realize he was staring until the man looked right at him.
He pushed through the crowd, the pink lighting traveling over the length of his jaw, his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, eyes never leaving Keiji’s own. Keiji’s grip involuntarily tightened around his glass, his pulse quickening with every step the man took.
Six more steps until he reached them.
Five.
Four. He flashed a half smile, teeth glinting wolfishly in the light.
Three.
Two. His chest shimmered lightly from the specks of glitter dusted on it. Keiji’s breath caught in his throat.
One.
“Hey.”
His voice was just as Keiji remembered; low and smooth, like honey. He was absolutely, painstakingly gorgeous. He looked even taller up close, all broad shoulders, long eyelashes casting shadows along his cheekbones in the flashing lights, full lips that looked incredibly soft. His eyes were a deep gray, thoughtful, slightly hazy, and intense. As if they were able to peer right into his soul, the very core of his being with one look.
Bokuto’s voice cut through his train of thought. “Akaashi, meet Myaa-sam!”
“Osamu,” he said, extending a hand to Keiji. His eyes somehow seemed even more piercing, pulling Keiji in by some unknown force.
“Keiji. It’s nice to meet you.” Keiji took the proffered hand, and he couldn’t quite explain it, but in that moment it felt like he’d been struck by lightning. A million volts coursing through his body. A shock to the senses in every way.
Osamu smiled, charming, a little wicked, and devastatingly attractive. It ignited something in Keiji — a smoldering heat under his skin that had just been a spark before. It spread through his body, flooded his veins.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
*
One drink turned into two, three, five as they sat at the bar, huddled close as they talked over Moscow mules. Keiji learned a number of things about Miya Osamu.
He was twenty three, younger than Atsumu by three minutes and forty seconds (and apparently that was a major point of contention between them), and had a pet fish. He loved lemon tea, watched crime documentaries, and couldn’t skate to save his life (“So embarrassing!”). His favorite color was blue and his zodiac sign was Libra. He was a chef (owned Onigiri Miya!) and had a habit of buying more groceries than he could finish by himself.
Somewhere between drink three and four, his hand came to rest at Keiji’s thigh, rubbing slow circles on the leather. It was far more distracting than it should be, and paired with the effect of alcohol that had evolved from a slight buzz to full drunkenness, nearly drove Keiji insane.
Osamu was talking now about how he liked to experiment with recipes on the weekends, and how he’d love for Keiji to swing by sometime. Keiji smiled, seeing an opportunity.
“You’ll need my number for that,” he said, idly toying with the straw of his drink.
Osamu blinked, and then his smile returned in full force, as blinding and dangerous as ever. The hand that had been resting on his thigh disappeared momentarily to retrieve something from his pocket, and Keiji barely had time to mourn its loss before a phone was gently pushed into his hand. Keiji released a chuckle, barely believing that the corny move had worked, and typed his number in before returning it to Osamu, who pressed the call button. When his own phone buzzed in his pocket, Keiji saved his contact, grinning satisfiedly.
“And now you have mine,” Osamu said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “What are you gonna do with it, Keiji-kun?”
His name sounded gorgeous on Osamu’s tongue, Keiji decided. He wanted to hear it over and over and over.
It’s odd, he thought. How he’d moved so quickly past his regular inhibitions and fallen head-first into this brief flirtationship. He suspected it had less to do with the alcohol and more with the man beside him. He didn’t know if it would be just a one-night stand, no-strings-attached, or if it’d evolve into something real, something tangible. But surprisingly, he was okay with not knowing. What he did know was that Osamu had made him laugh more in the past hour than he had in weeks, and that he didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.
“I’m going to call you, of course. But first, I’m buying us a couple of shots.”
Osamu laughed at that, bright and clear. Keiji gestured to the bartender, holding up two fingers and mouthing their order. The man poured their drinks quickly and Keiji slid one of the shot glasses to Osamu. Keiji downed his shot and rose from his chair, liquid courage coursing through his veins. He grabbed Osamu’s hand.
“Dance with me.”
Osamu tilted his head, smirking, and pulled Keiji back by his hand, so that he was standing between Osamu’s legs. His free hand came to rest at his waist. Keiji could still feel the afterburn of the shot in his throat, but it didn’t compare to the heat of his cheeks or the warmth of his palm.
“Y'know, I don’t usually dance,” Osamu said, pulling Keiji closer by his waist so that he was merely inches from his face. He was close enough now for Keiji to notice the faint shadow of stubble on his chin, the beauty mark under his eye, the small, silver studs in his earlobes. “But I’ll make an exception for you tonight.”
He released his hold on Keiji’s waist, allowing himself to be tugged forward onto the dance floor. Keiji focused on the warmth of Osamu’s palm against his own, how it was strong yet gentle, and it might have been the alcohol talking but he didn’t think just holding someone’s hand could feel so good.
They reached the edge of the dance floor. The music was loud as ever, and Keiji felt it thrumming through his body as he started to move his hips along to the beat. It was as if his body moved on its own, guided by the music and Osamu’s hand, that had come to rest at his hip again, still warm and comfortable, as if it belonged there. It felt easy, freeing, effortless.
He let himself be pulled closer, his own arms wrapping around Osamu’s shoulders as they moved in unison, the faces around them fading together until they were nothing but a hazy blur. And yet, Osamu’s face remained crystal clear, colored pink, yellow, purple, blue by the pulsating neon lights. He smiled at Keiji, his features aglow by the lights, and Keiji felt his own lips stretch into a grin.
The song changed into a slower, more sensual rhythm, the lights dimming too until everything was bathed in a sultry red. Osamu spun him around then, a hand falling to his waist as the other guided Keiji’s arm up to his neck. His palms cupped Keiji’s waist, pulling them closer until their bodies were flush together; his back to Osamu’s front. When he started moving again, Keiji’s breath stuttered for a moment, until he followed Osamu’s lead and their hips swayed together fluidly.
Keiji leaned back, head dropping onto Osamu’s shoulder as his hand snaked up, playing with the hair on the back of Osamu’s head. He inhaled deeply as he stroked his hair, breathing in the smoky smell of the club and the intoxicating scent of Osamu’s cologne. His other hand was placed over Osamu’s on his hip, and he surrendered himself to the sensations; the feeling of his hair on his fingers, the feeling of his body grinding against his as he lost himself in the rhythm, in Osamu.
His eyes fluttered shut as Osamu’s nose brushed against his neck, lips ghosting over his skin in a way that tempted Keiji so, so very much to close that distance. It left his blood simmering under his skin, his mouth running dry. He didn’t know how long they stood there, swaying together to the beat; it felt too long but not nearly long enough at the same time.
The song changed again, this time to a man singing in low, dulcet tones. Keiji pushed forward, maneuvering until they were face-to-face again, one arm snaking around Osamu’s waist as the other falls to his arm. His hips started gyrating again slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the slow intro to the song played.
He looked up to see how Osamu was doing but he didn't seem to be putting much effort into moving at all. He looked as if he'd been hypnotized, like one lazy swing of Keiji's hips had been enough to send him into a daze; his half-lidded gaze was like a siren’s call, luring Keiji in.
The room was spinning slightly, and the way Osamu was staring at him was enough to send his brains reeling. The sway of Osamu’s hips turned sharper, teasing, as he pulled Keiji closer, his hands sliding down to rest right at the hem of his pants.
Keiji’s hand inched upward, moving along Osamu’s arm, his shoulder, leaving sparks in its wake. His fingers brushed along his neck, and he felt Osamu’s heartbeat quicken under his touch, matching his own erratic beat. Osamu’s eyes didn’t leave his for a moment, burning with anticipation.
Oh, how does it feel? To want you so bad, the man sang as Osamu brought his hand up to cup Keiji’s jaw. There was a small smile on his face; Keiji wanted to taste that smile, to feel it against his own lips, to know what sounds he could pull out of him.
Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned in, closing the gap between them.
Keiji kissed Osamu, and he tasted like lime and vodka. He tasted like the beginning and end of the universe.
No care for what I’ve got or what I have, ’cause I want you, want you so bad.
The kiss started out small, just a gentle press of Osamu’s lips against his, until Osamu tilted his head and deepened the kiss. It was like a switch flipped — Osamu’s hands were everywhere, gripping his hair, caressing his waist, grabbing his ass. His body burned everywhere Osamu touched him; Keiji loved it, drowned in the feeling of being touched, wanted, devoured.
With every slide of Osamu’s lips against his, Keiji felt the world fading away until it was just them. Osamu’s kisses were intoxicating, pushing against Keiji’s mouth in a way that left him reeling and desperate for more. Keiji’s grip tightened in his hair as Osamu mouthed along his neck, leaving greedy, bruising kisses that burned in their wake.
Maybe it was a bad idea to make out in the middle of a nightclub with a guy he’d met two hours ago, but somehow, Keiji couldn’t bring himself to care.
Osamu’s mouth captured his again, and Keiji suppressed a groan as he pushed their hips together. Warmth spread through his entire body; burning him from the inside out.
Finally, they pulled away for air, foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath. Osamu leaned forward, his breath hot on Keiji’s ear in a way that sent shivers down his spine.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Keiji nodded fervently, pulling Osamu in for another searing, desperate kiss before they pulled away. Keiji chuckled breathlessly, blinking away some of the lustful haze he was in as he sneaked a look at Osamu. He looked absolutely debauched; mussed hair, kiss-swollen lips, his cheeks flushed, and his shirt more open than closed. There was a hunger in his eyes that left Keiji’s insides twisting in anticipation.
They stumbled back towards the edge of the dancing crowd, eyes never leaving each others’. It was a wonder that they didn’t fall on their asses from how unstable they both felt.
The cool night air sobered them a little as they exited the bar, clutching their coats around them. Keiji sent a short text to Konoha and Bokuto telling them he was leaving, as Osamu hailed a taxi. Their steps were still a little wobbly as they approached the car, and once they were inside, Osamu all but pulled Keiji on top of him, kissing him hungrily. Keiji pulled away a second later with a small peck to the corner of Osamu’s mouth, although it damn near physically pained him to move away when he saw the look in his eyes.
Osamu lowered his hand to rest atop Keiji’s thigh, thumb rubbing slow, tantalizing circles on the inside of his leg. Occasionally he squeezed as if to make sure Keiji was still there, pressed to his side. The cab ride to their building was short, filled with wandering hands and stolen kisses that hinted at promises to come.
Finally, the car came to a halt outside their apartment building, and Keiji all but leaped out, pulling Osamu along. They staggered into the elevator; Osamu pressed the buttons behind him blindly, pushing Keiji against the wall as the doors slid shut behind them. He kissed him deeply, urgently, desperately ; a flood of raw need. Keiji melted under his touch, drowned in the scent of his cologne, the sound of his low moans against his mouth.
“Fuck , I’ve wanted this, wanted you all night long ,” Osamu murmured against Keiji’s lips.
Frantic hands wandered each others’ bodies, fingers impatiently pulling at fabric, tugging at hair, grabbing anywhere they could reach. Keiji gasped sharply when Osamu pulled their bodies flush together, feeling just how much he wanted him against his thigh.
Osamu kissed him breathless, his mouth leaving Keiji’s as he trailed wet, hot kisses down his jaw. But right when his teeth sank into the flesh of Keiji’s neck, the elevator grinded to a halt.
“Oh, no, fuckin’ hell,” Osamu mumbled against his skin, his head falling to Keiji’s shoulder. Keiji lowered his hand from his hair to his shoulders, feeling the muscles flex beneath his fingers. “I hate this fucking elevator.”
Keiji sighed, considering his options. An idea popped into his head; one so outrageous, so ridiculous that it just might work. It would be so out of character for him, but it might just be the best decision he’d made all night. He looked at Osamu; he could see him more clearly now that his eyes weren’t hit by strobe lights every five seconds. And somehow, he looked even more beautiful here, tucked into the crook of his neck under the dim elevator lights. Fuck it, he decided, everything I’ve done tonight has been insane; it’ll be worth it.
He flipped them around so that Osamu’s back was to the wall. And then, he sank to his knees before him.
Osamu’s eyes widened. “Oh, fuck. Somebody could see—”
“It’s fine,” Keiji breathed, mouthing along his hip bone, pulling a broken moan from his throat. “The only people who live here are old, and it’s the middle of the night. And who knows how long we’ll be stuck here? So just relax.”
He fumbled with the zipper, yanking down his jeans. Keiji’s fingers toyed with the hem of his boxers, pulling them down tantalizingly slowly to join his jeans pooling around his ankles. Osamu inhaled sharply as the fabric grazed over him. His cock finally sprang free, achingly hard and leaking. His hands found their way to Keiji’s hair, gripping firmly as he wrapped a hand around him.
Keiji pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of Osamu’s cock, before licking a stripe down its length, and Osamu damn near passed out on the spot. And then Keiji took him into his mouth, and sucked.
Just the sight of Keiji on his knees, gazing up at him as he slowly eased down his cock, was almost enough to push Osamu over the edge. He started bobbing his head, slow at first, hollowing out his cheeks around Osamu’s cock as he sucked.
“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty—so good for me,” Osamu moaned, fingers tightening in Keiji’s hair.
Keiji mapped Osamu’s cock out with his mouth, giving kitten licks to his slit, pressing down on his length with a maddening swipe of his tongue, ghosting his lips over his balls before sinking back down all at once.
There was a small thump that Keiji assumed was Osamu’s head dropping back against the wall, his breaths getting more erratic. His hands, which had found purchase in Keiji’s hair, pushed him down on his cock faster now, ripping strangled moans and half-formed words from his mouth.
“God, you're incredible— yes, fuck, just like that—feels so good—”
Keiji’s blood pounded in his ears, the only sounds in the elevator were the slick, wet noises he was making and Osamu’s debauched groans. Keiji hummed, the vibrations sending shivers down Osamu’s spine. His jaw was getting tired, but he didn’t want to stop; all he wanted was to draw more of those pretty noises from him, to make him feel as good as he could.
“Fuck, I’m so close—you're perfect, makin’ me feel so good— ah, that’s it—”
He sped up, swallowing around Osamu’s cock, and finally, he snapped . He came, spilling down Keiji’s throat as he clutched onto his hair like a lifeline. Keiji swallowed, giving a few more lazy laps at Osamu’s head before pulling off with a pop.
They both slumped forward, gasping to catch their breaths when the elevator suddenly rumbled, moving again with a jolt.
“Oh, Jesus,” Osamu said, scrambling to pull his pants back up just as the elevator halted at their floor.
The doors slid open, revealing an old woman standing with an absolutely scandalized look on her face as she took in the sight; Keiji on his knees in front of Osamu who was awkwardly adjusting himself in his pants, both looking absolutely fucked-out. She promptly turned on her heel, heading instead for the stairs as she muttered ‘goddamn kids, can’t keep it in their damn pants’ under her breath.
Osamu chuckled breathlessly, extending a hand and pulling Keiji up from the floor. He smiled, pressing a kiss to Keiji’s mouth that was far gentler than anything they’d done that night.
“Fuck, baby, you're the devil.”
Keiji smiled, and let himself be pulled forward as Osamu led them down the hallway. But then, a very familiar-looking doormat swam into his view. He glanced up to see his own door staring back at him, and stopped still in shock.
“What’s wrong?” Osamu asked, looking back.
“Why are we here?” Keiji replied, dazed.
“What d’ya mean? We’re goin’ to my place, aren’t we?”
Keiji shook his head. “Yes, but why are we here? This is my place.”
Osamu’s brows furrowed in confusion, but then something seemed to dawn upon him. He pointed to the apartment next door. Apartment 4C.
“Ah, but that is my place.”
Keiji blinked. “You’re—no, no way. You’re the guy from 4C?”
Osamu laughed. “Guilty as charged. Now,” he pulled Keiji forward, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Are you going to finish what you started?”
*
Keiji awoke the next morning to a knock on his door.
He blinked the sleep away, then winced; he’d forgotten to take his contacts out. Of course. He pulled the dried out lenses from his eyes and tossed them into the trash, and reached for his glasses.
Vision restored, he glanced at the clock: 5:59 am. It elicited a low groan from his throat as he realized he’d been asleep for barely over three hours, and he smacked his cheeks, chasing the final bits of drowsiness away. Just then, his regular alarm blared, and he quickly switched it off.
He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. He pulled a warm sweater on, shivering a little in the chilly morning air.
Why was he awake, again? Right, the door.
He padded to the living room, kicking the shoes he’d carelessly discarded last night away. A couple of hazy, sleep-blurred memories from last night swam into his mind.
“God, that was fuckin’ amazing, baby,” Osamu breathed, rolling off of Keiji and slumping down into the mattress, spent.
Keiji just hummed dreamily, head still foggy from the orgasm he’d just had. After a few moments, Osamu pressed a small kiss to Keiji’s shoulder and shuffled off the bed, returning a couple minutes later with a washcloth, a towel, and two glasses of water.
Once they’d cleaned up, Osamu crawled back into bed, cuddling up to Keiji and dropping a soft kiss to his forehead. They stayed like that, curled up in Osamu’s arms, for what could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours. Then, Osamu cleared his throat.
“Keiji?”
“Hmm?”
“You can stay the night, y’know. If you want to.”
A sudden wave of nervousness washed over Keiji. He shuffled against Osamu’s side, sitting up.
“Um, actually, maybe it’d be better if I went back. I’d prefer to sleep in my own bed. I really enjoyed tonight, though.”
Keiji sighed at the memory. It felt bittersweet; the night was amazing, and he’d love to see Osamu again, but what if he’d pushed him away in a moment of doubt?
He pulled the door open; there was no one there. Instead, a familiar neon-yellow sticky note fluttered off the door. He quickly caught it. He looked down at the note he was holding, and as he read the words written on it, his mouth stretched into a fond smile.
dear hot neighbor,
I had fun last night. would you like to get dinner?
— osamu.
“Not much of a romantic, huh?”