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“Tadaima—”
BLAM. A heavy, metallic thud echoed through the narrow entryway as the front door slammed shut. The two white plastic bags Gaku had been carrying were forcefully dropped, the handles slipping from his fingers as his wrists were suddenly seized in a crushing grip.
“Ouch! Hyoga, that hurts! What is wrong with yo—”
Gaku’s sentence died in his throat. Up close, he could see the tips of Hyoga’s ears were a frantic, burning red. But it was Hyoga’s face that stopped his heart. Between the jagged, shallow breaths and the tight clenching of his jaw, Hyoga’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears. It was a look that screamed: I’m furious at myself for being this mad at you.
The cold air of the hallway still clung to their coats, but the space between them was simmering. Hyoga’s grip didn't loosen; instead, his fingers tightened, pinning Gaku’s wrists against the cool metal of the door.
“Hyoga...” Gaku tried again, his voice dropping to a breathy whisper. “The groceries... the eggs are probably—”
“I don’t care about the eggs,” Hyoga snapped. His voice was thick, vibrating with a frustration he couldn't seem to contain. He stepped deeper into Gaku’s personal space until their chests were inches apart. “I don't care about the bags, Gaku. I care about the fact that you didn't stop him.”
Gaku blinked, the realization hitting him like a physical weight. “Tetta-kun? You’re... you're seriously mad about the massage segment? Hyoga, it’s a variety show! Everyone was laughing. You were laughing!”
“Because I had to!” Hyoga’s voice finally cracked. He released Gaku’s wrists only to slam his palm against the door beside Gaku’s head. The bang echoed sharply in the small space. “I’m standing there, the cameras are rolling, and I have to watch another guy make you make those... those sounds.”
Hyoga slumped forward, hiding his face in the crook of Gaku’s neck. His forehead rested heavily against Gaku's shoulder as his breathing remained ragged.
“I hate that they heard it,” Hyoga confessed, his voice muffled by Gaku's jacket. “I hate that I’m the only one who’s supposed to know what you sound like when you’re... vulnerable. And I hate that I’m acting like a lunatic over a plastic massager and a colleague's joke.”
Gaku stayed still, his initial shock melting into a bittersweet warmth. He slowly raised his hand, resting it on the back of Hyoga’s neck, his fingers gently threading through the short hairs there.
“You’re an idiot,” Gaku murmured, the words softened by a small, fond smile. “You’re the only one who gets the real thing, Hyoga. That was just for the cameras. But this?” He pressed his palm firmer against Hyoga’s skin, feeling the heat of him. “This is the only thing that's real.”
Gaku shifted, leaning his weight fully against the door so he could wrap both arms around Hyoga’s waist, pulling him flush against him. He waited until Hyoga finally looked up, his eyes still a little glassy and his expression raw.
“Look at me,” Gaku commanded softly. When Hyoga’s dark eyes met his, Gaku didn’t look away. “Tetta-kun, the staff wanted a laugh for the Valentine's special, so I gave them a performance. That’s all it was—work.”
He reached up, cupping Hyoga’s jaw with a firm, possessive hand, his thumb tracing the line of Hyoga's lower lip. “But when the red light on that camera goes off? I’m yours. Every sound, every look, every part of me belongs to you, Hyoga. No one else gets the ‘real’ me. Do you understand?”
Hyoga’s breath hitched, his bravado finally crumbling under Gaku’s unwavering gaze. He gave a small, jerky nod, his hands coming up to rest tentatively on Gaku’s shoulders. The silence in the entryway was no longer charged with anger, but with a heavy, grounding intimacy.
Gaku didn't wait for a verbal answer. He leaned in, closing the small gap between them.
The kiss was slow at first—a quiet apology and a firm promise all at once. Hyoga tasted like the cold winter air and the salt of his own frustration, but as he melted into the contact, the kiss deepened. Gaku’s hands slid from Hyoga’s jaw to the back of his head, pulling him closer, making sure Hyoga felt every bit of the devotion he was talking about. It was a grounding, possessive kiss that finally silenced the loud, jealous thoughts in Hyoga’s mind.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads remained rested against each other, both breathing a little harder than before. The storm had passed, leaving behind a comfortable, warm glow.
A few beats passed. The tension began to bleed out of Hyoga’s shoulders, and his grip relaxed. Seeing the peace return to Hyoga's face, a familiar, mischievous glint returned to Gaku’s eyes. He couldn't help himself.
“Feel better now, Mr. Jealous?” Gaku teased, his voice tilting into a playful bouncy rhythm.
Hyoga stiffened, his face flushing a fresh, bright shade of pink as he realized how much he’d just let his guard down. “I wasn't... I wasn't being that jealous.”
“Oh, really?” Gaku laughed, poking Hyoga’s chest and stepping back to look at the mess on the floor. “You slammed the door so hard I thought the neighbors would call the police. And the eggs! You sacrificed a whole carton of eggs just because Tetta-kun gave me a shoulder massage. You’re like a possessive main character in a manga.”
“Stop it,” Hyoga mumbled, looking away and trying to pull back, but Gaku caught his sleeve.
Gaku stepped in his way, blocking the path to the kitchen with a wide, dramatic stance. “Oh, no. We’re not done. I need to process this. ‘I hate that they heard it,’” Gaku mimicked, pitch-shifting his voice into a dramatic, gravelly whisper that perfectly captured Hyoga’s earlier intensity. “‘I’m the only one who’s supposed to know what you sound like...’”
“Gaku! Shut up!” Hyoga groaned, burying his face in his hands. His ears were so red they looked like they might actually catch fire. “I was emotional! The filming ran late! I was hungry!”
“Hungry for what? Tetta-kun’s head on a platter?” Gaku followed him closely as Hyoga finally managed to duck around him, heading for the kitchen. “Honestly, Hyoga, if you wanted me to make those sounds for you, you could have just asked. You didn't have to break the eggs.”
Hyoga tripped slightly over his own feet, spinning around with a look of pure horror. “I—I did not want—that’s not what I meant!”
“Is that so?” Gaku stepped forward, closing the distance before Hyoga could retreat into the kitchen. He reached out, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of Hyoga’s jeans, pulling him back until their chests brushed. “Because you seemed pretty affected by it. Your face was almost as red as it is right now.”
“Gaku, stop it,” Hyoga warned, though his voice lacked any real conviction. He was trapped between the kitchen counter and Gaku’s mischievous grin. “We have to clean up the—”
“The eggs can wait,” Gaku interrupted, his voice dropping to a low, silky hum.
He leaned in, his lips hovering just an inch from the shell of Hyoga’s ear. Hyoga froze, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the heat of Gaku’s skin. Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, Gaku let out a soft, fluttery sound—a small, airy moan that was an exact, teasing replica of the sound he’d made during the massage segment.
Hyoga’s entire body jolted as if he’d been hit by a real electric current. A strangled noise escaped his throat, and he instinctively gripped the edge of the counter behind him so hard his knuckles turned white.
“G-Gaku!” Hyoga gasped, his voice cracking painfully.
Gaku pulled back just enough to see the damage he’d done. Hyoga looked like he was about to short-circuit; his eyes were wide, and the blush had spread from his ears all the way down his neck.
“What? I thought you were jealous because the staffs heard it,” Gaku whispered, his eyes dancing with triumph. He leaned in again, his voice a teasing vibration. “Was that one better? Or should I try the one Tetta-kun elicited again? I think it was more of a—"
“Shut up! Just shut up!” Hyoga groaned, finally losing his battle with embarrassment. He shoved his face into Gaku’s shoulder to hide his expression, his hands coming up to wrap tightly around Gaku’s waist as if to pin him in place and stop him from making another sound. “You’re the worst. Truly the worst person ever.”
Gaku laughed, a bright, melodic sound that filled the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Hyoga’s shaking shoulders, leaning his chin on top of Hyoga's head.
“I’m recording this in my brain forever,” Gaku chuckled, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Hyoga struggle with the plastic bags. “Every time you act cool on stage from now on, I’m just going to think about you 'protecting' me from a massager. Happy Valentine’s Day to me, indeed.”