{I will leave this town just to sleep underneath your bed} {Terrorist}
For Ly-chan, again. All my Junjou-fics will be dedicated to you, anyway, so don't ever be surprised.
The Takatsuki’s had gone to Kyoto for a family gathering. A member of the family was getting married, or celebrating their birthday or anniversary. Miyagi doesn’t remember the exact reason, but only because when Shinobu had told him, the boy had been stuttering so badly that he couldn’t even make out a whole sentence.
He was leaving on the eve of their anniversary.
Miyagi tries not to think of how he’d agonized over the choice of restaurant, and the new tie he’d bought his only-almost-an-adult lover. He knew, without even needing to doubt it, that Shinobu was more bothered by the arrangements than he could possibly think.
“It’s alright, Shinobu-chin. You’ll come back on the weekend, and we can celebrate then.”
The boy hadn’t looked convinced.
(And frankly, neither was Miyagi)
Shinobu had left in the morning, so Miyagi was, theoretically, looking forward to a dismal evening, consisting only of an empty apartment and an even emptier bed. He went through the day lazily, harassing Kamijou only once, and even then the assistant professor could barely understand his jab. He went home at his usual hour, finding the day lacking in brightness and life. He ate left overs, had a can or two (or three) of beer, and was about to fall to slumber, fully clothed, on his bed, when he noticed a bag lying at the foot of it.
And a certain terrorist, fast asleep in the middle.
(Shinobu would confess, later, that he’d bought a ticket back to Tokyo the minute they arrived, as he could not even face the fact that he would be sleeping in a completely different and empty bed that night, and for the rest of their stay)
Miyagi thought that he’d scold him for being so indecisive in the morning. Now, he slipped under the covers, and settled beside his lover with a relieved, satisfied sigh.
The Takatsuki’s had gone to Kyoto for a family gathering. A member of the family was getting married, or celebrating their birthday or anniversary. Miyagi doesn’t remember the exact reason, but only because when Shinobu had told him, the boy had been stuttering so badly that he couldn’t even make out a whole sentence.
He was leaving on the eve of their anniversary.
Miyagi tries not to think of how he’d agonized over the choice of restaurant, and the new tie he’d bought his only-almost-an-adult lover. He knew, without even needing to doubt it, that Shinobu was more bothered by the arrangements than he could possibly think.
“It’s alright, Shinobu-chin. You’ll come back on the weekend, and we can celebrate then.”
The boy hadn’t looked convinced.
(And frankly, neither was Miyagi)
Shinobu had left in the morning, so Miyagi was, theoretically, looking forward to a dismal evening, consisting only of an empty apartment and an even emptier bed. He went through the day lazily, harassing Kamijou only once, and even then the assistant professor could barely understand his jab. He went home at his usual hour, finding the day lacking in brightness and life. He ate left overs, had a can or two (or three) of beer, and was about to fall to slumber, fully clothed, on his bed, when he noticed a bag lying at the foot of it.
And a certain terrorist, fast asleep in the middle.
(Shinobu would confess, later, that he’d bought a ticket back to Tokyo the minute they arrived, as he could not even face the fact that he would be sleeping in a completely different and empty bed that night, and for the rest of their stay)
Miyagi thought that he’d scold him for being so indecisive in the morning. Now, he slipped under the covers, and settled beside his lover with a relieved, satisfied sigh.