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One of Shin’s earliest memories is dinnertime at the lab. One of the scientists was particularly fond of this run-down Chinese diner, and would order takeout from there every Thursday. While everyone ran towards the paper styrofoam boxes on the table, Shin ran towards the seemingly empty plastic bag on the counter. On his tippy toes, he reached in and grabbed the fortune cookie in it. With his frail hands, he carefully cracked the cookie under his fingers. His legs dangled off his chair, and the scientists around him laughed. What does it say, Shin?
What did it say?
It’s another three a.m in which Shin finds himself half-naked in Natsuki’s bed, wrapped around Natsuki’s bedsheets.
Natsuki’s got an exam tomorrow. Shin’s got an early shift in the morning. Hopefully without any blood or violence.
Shin stares at the ceiling, muscles sore, legs tired. “Seba,” he whispers, half awake.
Silence.
What a luxury it is, to be in their position right now. To love, to live, to fuck, to be alive. To be in such a violent field and be able to have a warm body next to you. There was once a time where Shin was convinced he’d die a virgin. Now he’s got a handsome weapons maker in his bed and they’re both alive as it comes.
“Sebaaa,” Shin tries again. Shin’s only this loosely guarded when he’s drunk or tired. When he’s in the right mind, he’s never truly honest. Natsuki supposes he gets that from Sakamoto: despite the two not being related, they share many similar qualities.
“Shin.”
“Sorry.” After sex, it’s always like this: Shin’s all over the place, wide awake, and Natsuki, too tired to properly refuse to indulge him in these conversations.
“No,” Natsuki lies, and ignores his aching right hand. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.”
“It’s late,” Natsuki says, with the slightest hint of annoyance seeping through his voice. Still: Natsuki reaches out for Shin’s hand, and rubs his thumb against Shin’s. Soft, tender, and almost lovingly. Just like when he is on his knees for Shin, Natsuki is gentle. Gentle, slow, and placating— just the way Shin likes it. When he’s on his knees, does he let the rugburn get to him? When Shin’s fingers are in his hair, how hard is he allowed to tug? How much is Shin allowed to have, and how much does Natsuki let him take? The thing is: Natsuki wants Shin to take from him. Shin, who is always smiling, Shin, who is always giving. The thing is: Natsuki is always weak for Shin.
Shin suddenly lets go of his hand. “You’re thinking too loud, dude.” And then: “I want fruits for breakfast.”
“Okay,” Natsuki agrees, and then Shin is out like a light.
Once he's sure that Shin is dead asleep, he puts his hand back over Shin’s hand. His hand is so warm against Shin’s cold one.
As promised, Shin gets his fruits for breakfast.
Shin half–heartedly pulls on his tank top off the floor. As his legs feel weak, he slowly starts to recall memories of last night, and scowls. When he walks into the living room of Seba’s apartment, he stares at the scene laid out in front of him. Natsuki is cross legged on one chair, eating strawberries from a bowl.
“Morning,” Shin says. Natsuki waves in response.
In nothing but boxers and his now-dirty tank top that was thrown to the floor last night, Shin sighs, and takes a seat across the dining table. Natsuki extends his arm and puts a strawberry against Shin’s lips. Shin responds by putting his hand on Natsuki’s wrist. Reluctantly, he takes a bite. The strawberry juice trails down both their hands. Shin bites down again. Licks the juice off Natsuki’s fingers. Natsuki wants him to bite them off clean. Shin smiles knowingly.
“It’s good.”
The strawberries are good. Shin and Natsuki are (something) good. In fact, Natsuki is exceptionally good. Natsuki is pliant, willing, and quiet, like a good boy. Shin has Natsuki right where he wants him: in his bedroom up above the store, slotted perfectly between his thighs, on his knees, as if this act was something sacred.
Well, Shin supposes that love is something sacred in their world full of murder. When murder is the norm, love is something sacred, as it’s something that people like them can’t have. Living and love exist in the same vein. Love has to exist for death to be real. Blink and it’s gone. The only ones who are still alive in their fields are the crazed, passionate maniacs, who are either in love with their craft, their people, or their life. To love something so badly that you die for it, to love something so badly that you will kill for it. When Natsuki is on his knees, they can both pretend like what they have is normal, that what they have is not a dirty secret, but rather, an intimate ritual between the two of them.
Shin’s hand is in Natsuki’s hair. Natsuki’s on his knees. Shin is trying to be quiet, even though nobody’s home tonight at the Sakamoto residence.
Shin takes his other hand and twirls a lock of Natsuki’s hair around his finger. “What do you want, Seba?” Shin asks.
“You can read my mind,” Natsuki thinks. “I’ve already thought about it, so you should know what I want.”
“Yeah, but I want you to say it.” Then, he cheekily adds: “No one’s home, so you can be as loud as you want.”
Natsuki knows by now that Shin’s reminder is not a suggestion, but an order. He slides his mouth off Shin with a pop and rests his forehead on Shin’s thigh. He reaches for Shin’s hand, and leaves a soft, tender, chaste kiss on it. Like a knight, like a savior. “Shin,” he whispers, his voice so full of desire— and maybe that’s what it’s always been about: wanting, yearning. In their world, everything operates based on logic. Even natural killing instinct cannot be separated from logic. By wanting Shin and not needing him: Natsuki is actively choosing him. Because Shin and Natsuki have something special. Because it goes against all logic. Because when has logic ever been a factor in what they both decide to do? Indulging each other: that’s what they do best.
The gust of the AC suddenly feels much colder.
“Shin,” Natsuki says, full volume now. “I want you, Shin.”
Shin swallows dryly. “Get on the bed,” he responds. Shin thinks, for a second, that this might be what it feels to want again. “You’re good,” Shin means to ask, but it comes out as more like a statement than anything else.
“Oh. I’m just good?” Natsuki teases, as he gets onto the bed.
Shin plays into it anyways. “Ha ha. You want me to rate your performance from a scale of one-to-ten?”
Natsuki nods. It doesn't matter: he’s under Shin now. Pliant. Limbs left astray. Shin tugs on the collar of Natsuki’s shirt. This is Natsuki being vulnerable, allowing Shin to do as he pleases. He wonders if Shin knows that. He wants Shin to know that. Some things are harder to say out loud than others. Natsuki could beg for Shin all day, but he couldn’t ever verbalize his vulnerability.
Shin giggles. “You’re deep in thought. But still. So good for me. Seba. Natsuki.”
Normally, this is the calling for the punchline, where Natsuki would respond with: “shitty clairvoyant, move. ” But Natsuki is in no mood to argue, so he just keeps going, breaking their shared scripture.
So, he agrees, panting, out of breath. For good measure, he takes his fist and bangs it against Shin’s chest. “I am good,” he agrees. “I want to have you, so let me have you, please, Shin,” he groans, trembling, “please—”
At ten p.m, Natsuki is sitting on the cheap secondhand sofa he got off Mercari. Beside him: Shin on his sofa. Their legs are entangled on the sofa, skin to skin.
While Shin is watching the news, Natsuki is watching him, in the silence of the night, just the two of them. He is watching Shin devour the leftover gyozas from his fridge. Shin; in nothing but boxers, right hand all bandaged up. Natsuki; in only his sweatpants, button up shirt long forgotten on his bedroom floor. Shin reaches over to grab another gyoza with his chopsticks. The tv in the living room illuminates a warm hue of colors, enveloping them both in a certain warmth.
Something in Natsuki’s gut stirs.
He wants to kiss Shin. (A chaste hunger.) Distantly, he wonders if Shin had heard that thought. Further off into the shore, he wonders if Shin even cares. He leans into Shin, and Shin doesn’t bat an eye.
There is one gyoza left on the plate.
“You can have it,” they both say at the same time.
They’re at a stalemate. Shin uses his chopsticks to push the gyoza to Natsuki. Natsuki responds by pushing the entire plate closer to Shin.
“Okay, okay,” Shin sighs, feigning defeat. Chopstick to gyoza, gyoza to his tender lips: Natsuki watches like a starved man. Shin bites half of the gyoza.
There’s one hand in Natsuki’s hair now, fingers crawling up against the back of his nape.
Picture this: Natsuki, gobsmacked, jaw a little open in shock. Natsuki, not breathing. As if he is invisible. As if he is not hungry. As if he does not yearn for something more than this. Shin’s hand behind his head, pulling him closer. Shin’s thumb now against his lip, dangerously close to his teeth. Natsuki makes a point to tell himself to not bite down. As if he does not want to devour. But it is in his blood, it is his birthright as someone in the world of assassins. But still, Shin pries his mouth open, and leans in. Shin's lips meet Natsuki's. Natsuki swallows the other half of the gyoza. Shin smiles, content. Do you see the picture? Do you still want to see the picture? Can they still both want this?
“If you want a kiss,” Shin says, grinning from ear to ear, “all you have to do is just ask.”
So Natsuki asks. He doesn’t want a lot of things but he’s very good at asking for them. Like a prayer: please, please, please. Shin breathes in-between kisses, exhaling loudly. “Fuck, taste so good,” Natsuki mumbles.
They’re with each other, in Shin’s bedroom, in the middle of June. The heat is unbearable at this time of month. In Shin’s bedroom, on the bed, in June, Shin looks like he wants to say something.
“What’s wrong?” Natsuki thinks.
Shin pauses. “Huh?”
“Something’s bothering you. You want something,” Natsuki says. Not even an “I think”. He just says it so plainly, as if he’s the telepath here.
“No,” Shin says, “now where did you get that idea from?”
Natsuki's hands leave Shin’s waist. “Your forehead,” he says, rubbing circles onto Shin’s temple, “has these lines whenever you’re trying to say something, but you’re too scared to voice it out loud.”
The thing is: Natsuki is just a little bit off from the truth. The truth is: Shin wants to be able to want. He is still so scared to want things. He is still scared to call the Sakamoto family his family. He is scared of not being deserving of anything he has, he is scared of not being worthy enough for this new life he has carved out for himself. He is scared of dragging down others. He has built his whole life and his whole survival on his stubborn independence. And while he is slowly learning to rely on others without shame, well: old habits die hard.
“What do you want, Shin?” Natsuki looks worried. “If you don’t say anything, then we just can stop. Bum around and listen to your old vinyls on your record player. I don’t mind. I don’t want to do anything to you if you’re all anxious like this.”
Shin swallows hard. The truth is: he has long forgotten what it feels like to not want. Nowadays, all he does is want, every bone in his body is selfish. He wants to be with Natsuki, he wants to protect Natsuki: those two things can not exist in tandem. The truth is: he wants to be able to tell him, “sorry that you’re stuck with me. Sorry that I’m not that good at this. I wish I knew how to love without hurting the people I want to house in my heart.” How does he say: “I want you? How does he say, “I want your hands forever entwined in mine?” How does he say, “I want you to be mine. My friend, my partner, my lover. Mine.”
But Shin is still growing.
Shin is still a little scared. So he takes the shortcut. “No,” he says, and drags Natsuki closer to him, placing a kiss on his collarbone. “Keep going. Praise me more.” There.
Natsuki wraps his arms around him. They both sink into the bed, Natsuki on top of him. “Ah,” thinks Shin, “now this is what I know.” It’s an easy worship habit to fall into, Natsuki and his relationship. Natsuki is languidly slow, but Shin’s tank top is pulled off him at a contrastingly fast pace. Slowly, kisses are pressed against his body, and Natsuki makes his way up Shin’s body. His mouth barely leaves Shin’s skin. It’s like worship.
“Shin. You’re so caring,” Natsuki thinks. “Always working hard. Never taking breaks. Always protecting us. You’re smart, strong, and valuable. Don’t tell yourself otherwise.”
Shin exhales sharply when Natsuki reaches his chest.
“Oh, your muscles have grown, do you know? When I was lower, I noticed it. Your abs look more prominent now compared to a couple months ago. Mr. Sakamoto’s old training equipment that Nagumo dropped off was useful after all.”
Shin pretends like his heart is not speeding up. He still has some bite left in him, though, so he doesn’t let that comment go unnoticed. “Oh my days, can we not talk about Mr. Sakamoto and that annoying bug-eyed rascal that has only given the shop piles of debt while we’re—” Shin’s heart is speeding up. Natsuki hasn’t even really touched him yet, but his thoughts are so strong that it’s enough. Then, Natsuki stops suddenly.
“While we’re what?”
Shin can feel Natsuki grin against his collarbone. Shin, looking for even a hint of touch or friction, bucks his hips up slowly. More. It’s just Natsuki’s stupid mouth, but he needs more.
“Stop teasing.” Shin rolls his eyes.
Natsuki kisses his collarbone, returning the favor from before. Shin exhales shakily.
Natsuki kisses the corner of his lips. “You’re so handsome,” he thinks. They make eye contact. Shin looks away. He can’t stop canting his hips upwards. It’s embarassing. He’s acting like a schoolboy. Needy and helpless. Then, Natsuki stops again. “So good for me, Shin. I’m impressed. ”
Shin groans, and bucks his hips again. Natsuki’s hands are all over him. Fuck. It’s not enough, it’s too much— Shin wants it, wants him, bad. Natsuki unfreezes himself, and presses a real kiss to Shin’s lips. “Always so good for me, right?” Then: Shin arches his back, groaning, trembling slightly, and the action doesn’t go unnoticed by Natsuki.
They both pause. Natsuki lets go. “Holy shit,” Natsuki says. “Holy shit, Shin, did you just—”
Shin, tiredly, pushes his palm onto Natsuki’s face. “I don’t wanna hear it.”
Natsuki laughs. “Holy shit, Shin.”
“Ha, ha, very funny.” Then: “let me get you off too.”
Natsuki shakes his head. Shin’s eyebrow raises. “But you—”
“It’s okay. Later. I’m hungry.”
Shin looks at him funny, but he drops it. Shin decides to clean himself off instead. He reaches for the box of tissues. He starts to wipe himself off, but Natsuki gently takes it out of his hands and wipes Shin down himself.
“Wait,” Shin interjects, “let me.”
Natsuki raises an eyebrow. “Let me take care of you.”
Shin sighs. He is too tired to continue to put up a fight, so Natsuki continues to carefully dries his thighs. One hand on his thigh, the other one taking care of him. Natsuki’s grip is firm, steady, fingers curling around Shin’s flesh, rubbing circles on his thigh. Shin makes a point to not stare. Makes a point to not let out any noise. Makes a point to not tell Natsuki that Shin may be in love with him. So, instead, he asks: “What’re you craving for dinner?”
“Chinese,” Natsuki yawns. His hands are still on Shin’s thigh, fingers drawing circles into it. Again, he’s gentle, slow, and placating— just the way Shin likes it.
Shin already knows what Natsuki wants when they’re both sitting at the edge of his bed.
Their Chinese takeout is on the bedside table, and Shin already knows what Natsuki wants.
He grabs for the fortune cookie in the Chinese takeout bag, and throws the fortune cookie at Shin. Shin catches it with a grin on his face. With ease, Shin cracks the cookie open, and he reads the paper with childlike joy.
Natsuki reaches for his fingers before Shin can eat the fortune cookie. He looks at Shin, and makes sure he is listening.
“What does it say, Shin?” What Natsuki really means is: “what did I say?” Or rather: “what did I just think?”
Shin freezes. Half-scared, half-hungry.
“It runs in the family, huh,” Shin says. “Can’t say things while embarrassed.” Shin laughs.
Natsuki just stares at him. On the edge of the bed, quiet, like a scared animal. Shin is afraid to scare him away. Shin is afraid to lose everything.
But still:
“I love you too,” Shin says. Then, a little bothered: “did you really think I’d just go around sleeping with anyone?”
Natsuki blinks. Then: laughs.
Shin frowns. “Okay, not fair. Say it back. Don’t just say it in your head. I'm new to this too, you know?”
Natsuki leans towards Shin’s ear. “I love you,” he whispers. The quietest plea of the loudest love he has ever had.
"Wait," Natsuki says, "what did it say? The fortune cookie."
Shin smiles. "It reminded me to be grateful for love."
Aren't you glad you just had a great meal?
Lucky numbers: 520