The café was quieter than usual.
A soft playlist murmured from hidden speakers, and the barista—who wore a shark onesie unironically—offered them each a smiling latte. Kenji's had a suspiciously fluffy rabbit. Yuu's was a bear holding a heart.
Kenji raised an eyebrow at his cup. "I don't think this creature exists in nature."
"That's what makes it elite," Yuu said, grinning.
Kenji smiled—but it was the small, barely-there kind. The kind that flickered at the corners, like a secret trying not to be caught.
At first, they sat in companionable quiet. Yuu carried the conversation gently, asking about Kenji's favorite film directors, what music he listened to when working, how he'd ended up at Aizawa & Partners. Kenji gave concise answers, thoughtful but sparse, like he was still watching his own volume.
But halfway through the second cup, something shifted.
Kenji started to ask questions back.
Not small ones.
The kind that made Yuu slow down and answer carefully.
"What did you want to be before you thought you had to be practical?"
"Is it ambition that drives you? Or fear of standing still?"
Yuu found himself talking more than he expected. About growing up quiet and overlooked. About how strange it felt to be seen—really seen—for his ideas and not just his energy.
Kenji listened like it mattered.
And somewhere between the bottom of their cups and the last shared laugh, Yuu asked, "Do you want to grab a beer? At my place. It's not far."
Kenji's eyes met his, steady.
Then: "Yes."
They didn't drink much. Two beers each, maybe. A bit of whisky after, just enough to let the guardrails loosen.
Kenji relaxed in Yuu's tiny living room like someone unused to relaxing, stiff at first, then gradually folding into the couch like it might forgive him for trying.
Yuu kicked his shoes off and watched Kenji with quiet fondness.
"You're different outside the office," he said.
Kenji leaned his head back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling. "So are you."
"Yeah, but I'm kind of a chaos goblin either way. You—" Yuu tilted his head. "You let yourself be soft tonight."
Kenji didn't reply for a long time.
Then he said, "It's not that I don't want to. It's that I'm afraid of what happens if I do."
Yuu moved closer, just enough to close the space between them without pressure.
"I'm right here," he said, voice quiet. "No one's asking for forever. Just honesty."
Kenji turned to look at him. There was something raw in his expression—no longer composed, no longer curated. Just real.
And he leaned in.
The kiss was tentative at first, like they were still asking questions. Then it deepened, like they'd already heard the answers.
Clothes came off slowly, between bursts of laughter and unsteady breath. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… wanted. Chosen.
They moved like people trying not to break the moment, and maybe a little bit like people who already knew it might break them anyway.
But it didn't matter.
Not then.
Morning came wrapped in silence and soft light.
Kenji stirred beside him, one arm curled under the pillow. His face looked younger somehow. Unburdened.
Yuu stared at the ceiling, blinking.
He hadn't expected to feel… calm.
But he did.
Not just from the sex. Not just from the drinks. From the fact that he had asked, and Kenji had said yes.
He turned on his side, watching Kenji breathe.
And for the first time all week, maybe all month, Yuu let himself believe this wasn't just a closed book.
It might be the first page.
And whatever came next—they'd write it together.