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mypoorfaves · 7 years

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More Than Words Can Say

Summary: Yuuri gets sick with a cold in Hasetsu and loses his voice! How will he and Victor be able to communicate? How will Victor care for Yuuri? Takes place somewhere between episodes 5 and 6.

I’ve been harboring this idea of a sickie who entirely loses their voice for a long time (which I guess is why it ended up being so damn long. I tried to shorten it, I really did try!). This was supposed to be a bit crack-like but surprisingly ended up containing a lot more fluff. In fact, there's barely even any whump in here. Oh well! Without further ado, please enjoy!

3400~ words

Real quick in case you don't already know because the story will make more sense if you do:

Kanji: Japanese picture-word(s), essentially Hiragana: symbol(s) used to represent a single phonetic Katakana: like hiragana, but used for foreign words and names Cyrillic: Russian writing system Romaji: Japanese written using the English alphabet. (Will be italicized)

～～～

Victor wears a concerned frown while he rubs Yuuri's back as the latest coughing fit forces its way out of Yuuri's throat. They sound dry and unproductive, not to mention painful. He's been dealing with them the whole day ever since he woke up; it came with the cold that hit him like a ton of bricks, no warning whatsoever.

When Yuuri at last catches his breath, his inhales have become shallow so as not to start another fit and he has tears forming at the edges of his eyes. His hand which had been balled into a fist over his chest is now rubbing at his sore throat. “Hurts,” Yuuri rasps, then winces at the pain that the talking caused him.

“Try not to talk. You'll only make it worse,” Victor advises. He rubs Yuuri's back again, noting the heat his body is giving off even though the shirt. For such a sudden cold, it's not too bad; his fever is low, but the coughs are worrisome.

“I'm going to get you sick if you're not careful,” Yuuri warns. His voice is cracking and broken and he coughs again, but thankfully it doesn't turn into another fit.

“Nonsense! I have a good immune system! Plus I want to look after my sweet Yuuri!” Victor gushes. “I'm going to pamper you and provide the utmost level of TLC until you get better!”

Yuuri just gives a moan and dramatically flops onto his back and closes his eyes. “Tired,” he mumbles.

“It's getting late. You should get some more sleep. Although you shouldn't be laying flat with how much you're coughing.”

With much reluctance, Yuuri hauls himself up to a seated position. Victor takes the time to fluff the numerous pillows and place them between Yuuri and the headboard, then he tucks the blanket around Yuuri as he leans back. “Hopefully you'll feel better by tomorrow morning,” Victor says and places a gentle kiss on Yuuri's warm forehead.

Yuuri hardly even blushes, already grown used to Victor’s many displays of affection. The two have been getting much closer, both as student and coach and also as something more. Even without words, they both know they have a deeper bond developing. Just the thought makes Victor's heart swell.

As Yuuri's eyes begin to droop, Victor gets up from the bed and heads to the door to let him rest in peace. “Sleep well, my Yuuri,” he whispers and softly closes the door.

～

The next morning comes and Victor is marching through the hallways of the onsen with a tray in hand. He reaches Yuuri’s door and knocks three times in succession with his free hand. Upon hearing no response, he assumes Yuuri is sleeping. Just to be safe, he knocks again, gently calling Yuuri’s name as he slowly opens the door and peers inside where he finds his patient still propped up against the pillows, already awake.

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Victor greets and Yuuri meet Victor’s eyes and gives a small wave. “I brought you some stuff!” he says, placing the tray down on the table beside the bed. He dutifully takes Yuuri's temperature and gets him to swallow some pills, much to Yuuri's discomfort. Once done, a tangible silence fills the room.

“You're even more quiet than usual today, Yuuri,” Victor notes with mingling teasing and concern as he notices Yuuri fidgeting uncomfortably. “You haven't said a word all morning.” The fidgeting stops and he freezes. “Are you feeling okay?” Victor asks. Yuuri nods quickly and Victor only frowns. He’s obviously hiding something. “You know you can tell me anything. I'll get you whatever you need. It's really no problem. Your word is my command.”

Yuuri remains silent and Victor is patient. If Yuuri has something to say, there's no use in forcing him to talk right away. He'll tell Victor when he's ready. They've been together long enough to know that's what works best.

Sure enough, Yuuri finally meets Victor’s eyes. He opens his mouth and moves his lips but no sound comes out, then he points at his throat and makes an x-formation with his arms in front of his body.

He holds the position while Victor stares, trying to decode what Yuuri could possibly mean. Why doesn't he just come out and tell Victor what's wrong using words?

A moment passes and Victor understands.

“Yuuri, have you lost your voice?” Victor asks and Yuuri nods. “Oh, you poor thing!” Victor coos. “How adorable!” Yuuri gapes at him, blushes and scowls. “Just what are we going to do with you?” Victor muses joyfully, then his expression suddenly falls. How is he going to care for Yuuri if he doesn't know what he needs? This might end up being troublesome…

“Okay, Yuuri!” Victor declares and Yuuri focuses his attention on him. “Because you can't talk, we're going to have to figure something out so you can communicate what you need,” he says seriously. “Any ideas?”

Yuuri puts a hand on his chin in thought, face focused and determined, then he abruptly snaps his fingers and looks up with an accomplished smile on his face. He waves his finger in the air, likely trying to imitate an action of some kind or spell out a word, but Victor can't decipher it. Yuuri stops, but he doesn't give up. He changes the action, holding his left palm towards himself and uses his other hand like a pen.

“Writing! Of course!” Victor exclaims. “I’ll ask your parents if they have anything we can use!” Victor says before rushing out of the room.

By the time he's halfway to his destination, he realizes he could have easily checked Yuuri's room for pen and paper. But then again, he should let the Katsuki’s know their son is sick. The onsen was so busy yesterday that Victor had spent the entire day caring for Yuuri on his own, barely able to leave the bedroom as the young skater struggled to catch his breath through his fierce coughs. It's unlikely anyone else even knows he's caught a cold.

Victor spots Yuuri's mother and calls her over, but it's only once she starts approaching him that he realizes his problem with communicating doesn't stop at Yuuri's missing voice; Yuuri's parents know about as much English as Victor knows Japanese.

He and Yuuri talk in English for the most part as it's the language the two are most comfortable in. Yuuri teaches him small words and phrases of his language when he can, but Victor is nowhere near fluent yet. Plus, it's a lot harder to put his own thoughts into adequately formed sentences compared to simply listening.

“Vicchan!” Hiroko greets. “What's the matter?” she asks in lightly accented English.

Victor’s eyebrows crease in hard thought. Cold, cold… What's the Japanese word for cold? “Ah! Samui! Yuuri wa samui desu!” Victor exclaims triumphantly. He remembers Yuuri muttering the words sometimes while rubbing his crossed arms to keep them warm on the ice, so it has to be right! Okay, half down, half to go. Now he just needs to tell her Yuuri has lost his voice.

“Samui? Ah, kaze wo hiita no?” Hiroko asks.

Kaze means wind, Victor manages to recall, and he frowns as he curses the language barrier. Wind has nothing to do with this! Yuuri has a cold, not is cold. Although he might have chills from his fever, now that Victor thinks about it.

“Umm...sick? Yuuri wa sick desu!” Victor tries once more, accepting that's about as close as he's going to get. Just for good measure, he mimics the actions that Yuuri demonstrated to Victor to get his message across.

Thankfully, understanding seems to dawns on her and she heads in the direction of Yuuri's bedroom. Victor trails behind her as she reaches the door and opens it up to reveal Yuuri in the same position Victor had left him.

Hiroko embraces her son and asks him a number of questions in Japanese and Yuuri nods or shakes his head in response while Victor stands rather awkwardly to the side of the room, trying to listen to the conversation. He catches the words kaze and samui again as well as his name. Hiroko must have said something funny because Yuuri laughs, albeit soundlessly, then casts a glance over at him.

Yuuri turns back to his mother and acts out pen and paper and she rummages through some drawers in Yuuri's desk and emerges with a small whiteboard and a marker which she hands to him.

The first thing he writes is “hungry” in English plus what Victor can only assume is the Japanese translation written underneath it. At that, Hiroko says something to Yuuri who nods then she skips out of the room, leaving Yuuri and Victor alone.

“I really need to start learning more Japanese,” Victor muses mostly to himself. “That aside, how are you feeling, Yuuri?” he asks his patient, “On a scale from 1-10. 10 being ‘I can run a marathon right now’ and 1 is ‘take me to the hospital’.” Yuuri ponders for a moment, scribbles on his board and holds it up revealing a solid 6. Not too bad.

“How is your fever? Too hot? Too cold?” Yuuri just shakes his head and jots down “okay”. “Headache?” Victor asks, getting a so-so gesture of his hand in response. When asked if he has a sore throat, Yuuri nods immediately. “Can I get you anything?” Victor offers.

He looks down to his whiteboard again and writes, “Mom is bringing tea.”

Victor smiles. “That's good. Your mom is a great caretaker. And she was smart enough to understand what I was trying to say despite my obviously eloquent Japanese,” he jokes, eliciting another silent laugh from Yuuri. “I really do wish I knew more…” he sighs.

Yuuri scoots over on the bed and invitingly pats the spot next to him. Victor’s heart swells fondly and he accepts, sitting as close to Yuuri as the man will let him, which turns out to be hip to hip. Victor is grateful Yuuri has been more open and comfortable with him. They really have come a long way in the past number of months they've been living and training together. Yuuri flashes him a warm smile then turns his attention back to his lap where he writes, “Want me to teach you Japanese?”

“Yes! Of course! I would love that!” Victor exclaims. Despite having lived in Japan surrounded by the language, he hasn't put muchーif anyーeffort into learning it. He simply hasn't had the time or motivation. Having Yuuri as a teacher, though, is the best motivation Victor could possibly ask for. Having him teach Victor his native language, it's special, almost intimate.

At Victor’s enthusiasm, Yuuri wipes the board clean then writes out in diligent strokes: 勝生勇利. “I know that one! That's your name!” Victor says.

Yuuri nods and adds the pronunciation on top before writing, “Do you know what my name means?”

“No, I don't. Tell me,” he asks, voice equal parts soft and intrigued. He sees Yuuri write in English “win, life, courage.”

“Yuuri. Courage,” Victor tries, as if testing the name and its new meaning on his tongue. “I like it. It suits you,” he compliments. “Teach me more,” he requests, and Yuuri obliges.

The next hour or so consists of just that: Yuuri teaching Victor any kanji he thinks would be important or that he finds interesting, while Victor occasionally asks how he would write a particular word. At one point, Victor recalls his communication mishap with Yuuri's mother and asks for the Japanese word for cold. Yuuri thinks for a moment, then writes two different words: 寒い and 風邪, writing “samuiーfeeling” under the first set of characters and “kazeーillness” under the other two.

“Oh,” Victor laughs, finally understanding. “I told your mom you were cold, not had a cold. And then she mentioned something about the wind.”

At this, Yuuri circles the first of the two partnered characters in the second word and writes, “This on its own means wind. Both pronounced kaze.”

“Japanese is so confusing!” Victor bemoans while running a hand through his hair. He suddenly gets an idea. “Hey, I know! How about I teach you a bit of Russian?”

Yuuri nods excitedly and hands the whiteboard over. Victor ponders what to write for a moment, overjoyed at the feel of Yuuri's expectant gaze on him. He smiles and writes out “Виктор Никифоров.” Beside him, Yuuri gives another silent laugh before taking back the pen and writing “I already know your name.”

“Okay then, Mr. Number One Fanboy,” he teases while writing out some simple vocabulary, “try reading this one.”

Yuuri studies the symbols before he gives up and writes, “Can't read Cyrillic,” with an added frowny face.

“Here, I'll teach you,” Victor says. “Just like you taught me.”

They pass more time like that, Yuuri picking up on the writing system surprisingly quick while Victor teaches him some more words. Yuuri seems to be doing better in terms of his health. He hasn't complained about being too hot or cold, although his fever had been quite mild to begin with. He's no longer coughing and he doesn't seem uncomfortable. All in all, he appears well. The only real sign he's even sick is the barely-visible red tinting his cheeks and his inability to talk.

While Victor may miss Yuuri's voice and the music that is his laughter, he can't help but savour the peace found in the sound of both of their quiet breathing, interrupted only by the soft squeak of the marker on the whiteboard and Victor's voice, kept at a low volume.

“You skate like your body is creating music, and your hand has art flowing from your fingertips,” he muses aloud, utterly transfixed on Yuuri's elegant handwriting. “Everything about you is beautiful, Yuuri. Breathtakingly so.”

Yuuri blushes and ducks his head and Victor smiles, knowing that while Yuuri may not be totally used to accepting praise, he has already gained much more confidence and love for himself.

Yuuri hands off the marker and Victor hums in thought, debating over what to write next. He has an idea, but isn't sure how Yuuri will react to that. He knows they've been getting closer and developing a much deeper relationship, but what if it's too soon? What if Yuuri doesn't feel the same way? The tip of the marker hovers in midair about a centimetre off the board.

“Okay, how about this one?” Victor asks with more confidence than he feels. He carefully carves out the letters as if carving out his own heart and presenting it to Yuuri. He may as well be, given what he just wrote: я люблю тебя. To both his excitement and anxiety, Yuuri freezes as he reads the words. “Do you know what it means?” Victor asks. He's not sure how he managed to get the words out since his throat suddenly feels so tight and dry. His heart has yet to slow down, pounding rapidly in his chest.

Yuuri doesn't react to Victor’s question; he doesn't shake or nod his head. He takes the marker from Victor’s hand, their warm fingers brushing. Victor keeps his eyes glued on Yuuri's work, watching stroke by stroke as the image comes into being. It's a character Victor recognizes, the theme of Yuuri's Grand Prix series: 愛

Love.

Yuuri understands what Victor wrote. But does he understand what he feels?

To the bursting of his heart, Yuuri continues to write. There's some hiragana which Victor still struggles to read, but there's also some Cyrillic that Victor can definitely understandーhis own name. It makes the rest of the sentence click. “Виктор を愛してる.” As if Yuuri was unsure if Victor would understand, he writes Victor’s name in katakana next to the Cyrillic Victor himself had previously written.

Victor regards the masterpiece, a heartfelt mixture of Japanese and Russian and a dash of English, all spelling out love. Victor’s love for Yuuri and Yuuri’s love for Victor.

Yuuri puts the cap on the marker and looks up at Victor, locking eyes with him. There's a prominent blush on Yuuri's cheeks that Victor is certain has nothing to do with his fever, and his eyes hold a passionate spark that makes his heart jump.

Victor is sure he's blushing too. He feels uncharacteristically nervous, staring deep into Yuuri's beautiful eyes as Yuuri does the same to him. “Do you...do you really mean it?” Victor asks, more accurately breathes out. He has to be sure. He can't live without the knowledge that Yuuri for sure loves him, just like he said. Just like he wrote.

Yuuri nods affirmatively, and Victor’s heart blooms inside his chest as he embraces him, pulling him into a tight hug that Yuuri returns. When they pull away, Yuuri's lips are curved upwards in a smile. Victor stares, so utterly captivated by his beauty, until he can’t help but lean forward to capture Yuuri's lips with his own. It barely lasts a second and Victor is the first to pull away, desperately hoping he didn't cross a line with Yuuri. To his relief, Yuuri is smiling even brighter than before.

His beaming grin is suddenly lost as shock instead crosses his features. He tears the cap off the marker and scribbles in quick and messy English, “You're going to get sick now!”

Victor just laughs. “If I'm already going to get sick, then can I have another kiss?” Victor teases. To his joy, Yuuri complies, initiating the kiss himself this time. It's a bit longer than the first, but still too short. It's soft and gentle and oh so sweet, and Victor lips are still tingling with warmth long after Yuuri has pulled away.

～

“Victor?” Yuuri asks, rousing Victor from his sleep. He smiles at the sound of Yuuri’s voice. It's come back at last, but not in full. It still sounds rather weak.

Still half-asleep, Victor gives a happy sigh, relishing in the plush feel of the bed and the blanket, the comforting warmth of the body next to him and the gorgeous eyes staring into his own. “Good morning, Yuuri,” he tries to say, except no words come out, and he and Yuuri both realize at the same time and with a start that he has no voice.

“I told you I was going to get you sick,” Yuuri says as Victor once again tries and fails to talk. All that comes out is a humiliating squeak and Victor flushes a dark red at the sound.

“Here. Write down what you need,” Yuuri instructs while handing him the whiteboard and marker. “And open up,” he adds. Victor complies and holds the thermometer under his tongue with a pout as he writes on the board. By the time the device beeps, Victor has finished writing: “headache, feel hot, tired. Want Yuuri.”

Yuuri gives a sympathetic smile at Victor's work, then his expression shifts to slightly more serious upon reading the thermometer. “I’m going to get you a cold facecloth for your fever. I'll be back soon.”

Victor tugs on his sleeve to prevent him from leaving and quickly scrawls out: “Aren't you still sick?”

“I get sick quickly and get over it quickly. That's how it's always been for me,” Yuuri tells him simply. His tone then changes, sounding more sad. “I guess you did too much talking yesterday, huh? You used up your voice. All for my sake too…” Yuuri trails off and Victor can tell he's feeling guilty and thinking it's his fault.

Victor quickly and firmly shakes his head at the self-doubting words. Yuuri gives him a small smile, but just that isn't enough for Victor. He erases the board and writes in English, “I love you! More than words can say,” and proudly holds it up to Yuuri. The words are surrounded with many hearts and happy faces and also his and Yuuri's name in both their native languages.

“I love you, too,” Yuuri says, his face breaking into a dazzling grin. Victor mirrors it, almost crying with happiness upon hearing the words in Yuuri's beautiful (albeit still fairly weak) voice. “Get some rest,” Yuuri adds with a gentle kiss upon Victor’s heated forehead.

Content, Victor puts the whiteboard down and settles into the blankets again, closes his eyes and falls asleep to the sound of Yuuri's light footsteps leaving the room.

～～～

(End)

Translations:

“Samui! Yuuri wa samui desu!”: Cold! Yuuri is cold!

“Samui? Ah, kaze wo hiita no?”: Cold? Ah, he caught a cold?

“Yuuri wa sick desu!”: Yuuri is sick!

To reiterate, 風 kaze means wind, 風邪 kaze means cold as in the illness, and 寒い samui is used if you're feeling cold.

勝生勇利: Katsuki Yuuri

Виктор Никифоров: Victor Nikiforov

я люблю тебя: I love you

愛: love

Виктор を愛してる: I love (you) Victor

(я люблю тебя, ヴィクトル is what Yuuri would have written after: I love you, Victor)

I'm sorry if Victor’s Japanese sounds cringey and unnatural because that was literally exactly what I was going for (so don't go spamming my inbox and calling me a weeb just because I threw desu on the end of every sentence. It was intentional.)

I've been studying Japanese since highschool, so about 4ish years now, so the Japanese used here (is not google translated and) should be correct! As for Russian, I (sadly) don't know the language, but @feverflushed was thankfully able to help me out with that!

Anyways, thank you for reading! :)

#w!oi #illness #sick!yuuri #cold #coughing #lost voice #contagion #fanfic #sickfic #mpf writing #i >could< always write a sequel to this with a sick victor #i mean i >did< tease (and deliver on) contagion #not to mention this was more fluff than whump #and i do love to whump me some victor #lemme know if you'd be interested and I might just do it!

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demytasse · 5 years

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[Shinzaya] Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) — Ch 1

Summary: Shinra turns to Izaya in order to gain sexual proficiency, what he’ll need for his future with Celty. Yet ambiguity of feelings could destroy his plans and friendship alike—though it might be within their best interests that their companionship changes routes. Rating: PG (Ch 1); PG13 (future) Previous Chapters: Prologue | All Chapters

—

As their middle school days had met an end, so had their lonely club—and when high school term began, so did their creep towards graduation. Which put the teens smack dab in the middle of an upcoming end; adulthood approached too soon for any last-minute bouts of immaturity, but there was still some wiggle room.

Regardless, Izaya adhered to his method of how to properly ease himself into the life of expected status quo. To him, it made sense to keep to his own priorities, apart from peers and friends alike; a somewhat lonesome approach but matched what was to come. Which Shinra continued right on Izaya heels—hypothetically, with a parallel plan rather than a literal clip at the back of hallway shoes sometime in the past.

It spoke of how worn-in their friendship was, how similar they were, and how seamless their tried and true formula worked. It counter-spun from what outsiders thought was normal for tight-knit friends, yet to them it wasn't counterintuitive. That is if their schoolmates actually regarded them a second time after their first day introductions.

However, it seemed true—their present interaction did mimic a retired relationship as it barely went beyond hallway greetings throughout the week and bumped shoulders as they entered or exited class. Though it would be an insult to dub Izaya and Shinra distant cohorts. Rather, the self-absorbed beings fell into sync whenever they were compelled to share ideas and observational data, like hobbyist social scientists that exchanged notes when their schedules aligned.

Whether for brief moments or the length of the lunch period, they'd continue from the top of their previous scene—delivered improvisational lines over scripted small talk, and split ways just as casual. It was a joke that judgemental classmates thought the two barely clicked when those who believed the farce were generally hard-pressed for quality chit-chat themselves.

In other words, Izaya and Shinra were no actors—just odd friends.

—

A classroom of thirty was left desolate—desks abandoned and recently straightened by the student janitorial crew. Essentially everyone had left the premises. Yet the corral of empty chairs wasn’t a complete set, only a majority, as two of them were occupied somewhere in the middle and off to the side, with a particular silence to keep them company. It wasn’t a normal stasis when people were still present, but Izaya was to blame as he pretended to be alone despite the unnerving incorrectness.

Sat backwards directly opposite him was Shinra, pressed into Izaya’s personal space like there was still a crowd—his nose forward and glasses primed. The scene akin to their old interactions with just a hint of intimacy was hardly correct for their current years, but here they were. In wait of whatever afternoon was to follow; and as Shinra had been the one to suggest their rendezvous, he initiated the study session without a hello and spoke a few lines out of order with a topic not yet broached.

“So! I'm looking to gain experience.”

He didn't budge, even though he’d received a cue to distance himself by way of Izaya's exasperated sigh and turn of attention.

“You’re saying you want us to have sex," Izaya watched the other adjust his glasses, "for science."

“Oh good, you caught on quick!” Shinra clapped.

“Don’t mock my intelligence, Shinra. You insinuated it. Heavily, I might add.”

“I know.”

During the time that his peers cleaned around him, Izaya started to browse some gossip garbage that a gaggle of females read in between glances his way. It was grating enough for him to determine why they giggled and squealed; which more or less was the same bother as the trash proclamation which unnerved him now.

“You’re aware I’m male, correct?”

“Huh, I didn’t think sexuality was a concern of yours, Orihara-kun. It always seemed that you were open to whatever advantageous situation you might be offered. Maybe I was wrong.”

“I meant, Kishitani-kun, for someone looking to please a particular female, sexual experience with a man is hardly beneficial.” His stare steeled. “A human male, especially.”

“Well, any experience is better than none, wouldn’t you think?” Shinra made his prognosis with a finger held high, while Izaya flipped through the pages of what was dubiously his magazine—in search.

“Listen, the girls might claim me ‘effeminate enough to bottom anyone’,” his brow raised, “or ‘non-threatening enough to top specific bottoms’, but my supposed range still doesn’t meet your needs.”

Izaya was bothered, to say the least, that a clique of his classmates studied him in such a shallow fashion, that Shinra wanted him for such a shallow purpose, to which he tossed the bothersome reading material aside in disgust of it all. Though it was lost on Shinra as he chewed Izaya’s statement—tested the added variable against his own with his eyes rolled up to a corner in thought.

“I still think you could fit the role well. A female body double, despite absent physiology."

“And there’s the truth I was looking for. So you're wanting me to roleplay for you?” he mimicked his own beheading much to Shinra's comical dismay.

"Honestly, do you think I'd let you sully my dear Celty’s image with some hack cosplay job? What I meant was that you lack female anatomy and desirables. Like a nice rack of breas—”

Izaya cut him short, “you mean, I couldn’t live up to your dullahan standards?” He twirled his words but spat out the contagion.

“Oh. Well, not really, but you should know that!”

“Aww, what a shame. I really would’ve rocked that form-fitted riding suit she wears.”

A sarcastic gesture was wound up and ready, but Izaya's shrug baulked at the scrutiny made in his favour. He was joking, of course, but now he was worried that the punchline was taken seriously.

"Hmm..."

His friend sized him up; a tailor in consideration of which cut would flatter his curves, what fabric needed to be snipped, and if the garment was more appropriate for the floor—or so it seemed. Selfconscious, Izaya broke into a cold sweat, even more when his pursuant breached their median space, drawn by attraction rather than a scheme.

"Maybe so..."

Shinra smiled—slyly. It was the kind of lilt that would shiver most sexually, and Izaya couldn’t tell if he was one amongst the statistic who’d blush so easily in response, or if he borrowed the reaction from another.

So instead of parsing it out, he opted to correct his settled spine with the support of his chair, his back arched too far to be comfortable. Clearly with no intent to separate himself from Shinra, nor was it due to the side-effects of the trauma he acquired before he was tricked into founding their club. Obviously, it was a cocky cat stretch to prove that he controlled the scene—he didn’t.

“So this proposed 'study session' was all a ruse.”

“Was it?”

“Don't play innocent. You're obviously looking to use me for my body.” Izaya drew a barricade around his chest.

“That’s the gist of it. Having sex, that is.”

“No, usually both parties gain some form of pleasure out of it. At least, that’s the traditional way of things.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t benefit from it.” Shinra persisted, his flirt still in play. “And you say that like you’re sure that I would.” “Of course! The appeal of friendship is more than just like-mindedness, rather it’s underlined with physical attraction as well. I’m sure you have some amount of sexual interest in me, Izaya, even if it’s minuscule.”

“Oho, with that logic the same goes for you.”

“Which I hardly believe would shock you. Might I remind you who came to whom asking for sex?”

“Selfishly.”

“Nonetheless.” He shrugged.

Izaya tried to ignore the pseudo-psychological factoid that Shinra made up to sway him. “I'm going to chalk this up as your worst proclamation since we became...whatever you could call us."

Shinra nodded, "that's fair."

“He admits it...”

“Is there any reason not to?”

Izaya shook his head, “Shinra, you are honest to a flaw.”

“That may be true, but you've always been charmed by my openness, among other things.”

On cue, Shinra increased the way his eyes sheened as if it were possible to control arousal in that fashion. In like, he intensified his flirtatious technique with a lowered tone spoken in a whisper.

"Am I right?"

If anything the distance between them hadn’t changed, but it certainly felt like the temperature stifled from combined body heat. Cowardice glued Izaya in place while his opportunity to escape passed—though unconsciously he knew it was out of curiosity to see how far Shinra would take his strategy; what more he would do after fingers traced up his shoulder to rest at the peak. Which step in his courtship manual followed a heavy gaze and deep breath. Izaya faced a doppelganger, for certain. Shinra was no longer present, he assured himself. In no way would his friend be able to tease like he did. Touch him in a way that wasn't in the least bit awkward, but sensual—prepared to catch him in liplock as much as catch him should the pressure cause Izaya to buckle.

Perhaps Shinra was enough concerned for his well being to plan for multiple outcomes, which assuredly all led to Izaya falling in some way or another. Though it was likely that he acted with his own interests in mind, that his goods wouldn't go damaged. Whichever reason it was moot—the amateur doctor would jump at any opportunity to fix a broken patient if only to foot a favour as the bill.

With a slight squeeze, Shinra reminded him that he'd been slack-jawed for too long. Izaya's pulse beat against his ribs, drummed his throat; the cadence tensed his vocal cords, and his short breath dried his speech.

"Whether I’m charmed remains to be seen…"

The weakened words settled in the air—lost in a staredown, both were dusted with uncertainty. The former was an oddity and the latter came as a shock because wasn’t it Shinra that claimed he operated with platonic tools?

Yet it was Shinra that relented, the genuine curl of his lips diminished and discomfort added to his brows. He read as concerned, disappointed; not particularly hurt, but somewhere in between that and bothered. Izaya wondered if he looked terrified from his friend’s vantage, yet it was hard to determine as the other sighed and pulled back with his palms exposed in surrender.

“Alright.”

That was it—the tension was gone, never existed. Perhaps. Instead, the bag at Shinra's hip was given attention—the quick-switch of demeanour threw Izaya for a loop; the seamless fashion was, in short, enviable. All that he witnessed was how Shinra wavered just a smidgen and let out an extra breath that was indeterminable; his thrown slouch was taken advantage of to slip hair past his ears to keep his nosey neighbour away from a good spy.

He's hiding something...

Nothing else to observe nor ponder, Izaya blinked back to normalcy; the sound of rifled papers harshed his ability to fully relax.

“What were you thinking of studying today?” Shinra’s voice was muffled.

“Honestly, I didn’t plan for anything…”

The shuffling stopped—without a tick Shinra popped back to normal, chipper but fake and cautiously hopeful.

"Well in that case," he presented a pristine textbook, “let’s humour our ourselves with an old favourite!” It was innocent and somewhat pure, the emotion that Shinra exhibited. Simple coercion which Izaya couldn’t hold back the smile which it lured, despite his desire to reserve his candidness.

Izaya shook from a silent chuckle before Shinra joined in with an audible hiccup. The dam of tension let up—lighthearted laughter spilt out. Short, sweet, and sentimental; what they shared eventually calmed, but not before they both loosened up.

“Biology...” Izaya hummed, “how appropriate."

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