Be home in five minutes.
Tsuzuru had just finished washing the last of post-dinner dirty dishes when his phone vibrates with Omi’s answering LIME message. Next to him, oblivious to Tsuzuru’s sudden raise in heartrate, Sakuya stands, carefully drying one of the plates before putting it back into the cabinets.
After dinner, as usual, the kitchen and lounge are lively with the company members bustling about. Tenma’s evening drama is airing tonight, and among the Summer Troupe members excitedly waiting for it are Citron and Taichi, who have been loyal viewers since episode one. Also perched in front of the TV and sandwiched between his brother and cousin is Juuza, his attention single-handedly ensnared by the cup of pudding in his hands. One corner of the couch is exclusively claimed by a sleeping Hisoka, as per usual, curled up on a pillow on Homare’s lap, allowing the older poet to use his head to hold the book Homare is reading as he sips on a cup of rose tea. On the dining table, a game of poker has turned into a heated competition involving rather terrifying bets among Tsumugi, Azuma, Chikage, Guy and Sakyo.
With the exception of the Director who had whisked Tasuku to drive her, Masumi and Azami to chase after a night sale at the supermarket on the neighbouring town, the only ones who aren’t here are Itaru and Banri, predictably holed up gaming in Itaru’s room.
And Omi, who will be home in five minutes.
There are still some kitchewares need to be dried and out away, but Tsuzuru pushes himself off the kitchen counter. “Sakuya,” he says with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, can I leave the rest to you?”
There’s a reason why Sakuya is the purehearted angel of Spring Troupe, and right now it’s because he simply grins at Tsuzuru and cheerfully waves him away. “Of course! It’s almost done anyway!”
“Thanks,” Tsuzuru pats him on the head simply because he can’t not, especially when it makes Sakuya smile that much brighter. He walks out of the kitchen and tries to slip out of the lounge without anyone noticing. Trying being the keyword, because before he closes the door, Azuma’s eyes catch his own, and the knowing smile flashing on the older man’s lips makes Tsuzuru blush.
Honestly, he berates himself as the door closes firmly behind him. There’s no way Azuma knows what he’s going to do. He’s the only one who knows Omi will be home in five minutes. He’s just embarrased because what he’s going to do is, well, not like him. Maybe.
As spring rolls around, company members who graduated this year have begun their new daily routines, and among them, Omi is perhaps one of the busiest ones. He tends to leave pretty early in the morning even before the high school students, and most days he comes home just after dinner time. Between his new schedule, Tsuzuru’s part time work shifts and rehearsals, finding quality time for just the two of them has been increasingly difficult.
It’s okay, Tsuzuru keeps telling himself, because he does understand. But it grates on him the longer it goes, and while he likes to think that he’s not selfish, Tsuzuru can’t help but wants.
To talk to him. To see him. To touch. To be held.
He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it the entire day, it’s embarrassing. He doesn’t even know why he’s embarrassed about it, considering no one could read his mind. Maybe because he never thought himself a greedy person, or maybe simply because he isn’t used to the feeling of wanting to be spoiled. The embarrassment isn’t enough to stop him from sending a LIME to Omi right after dinner, though, a seemingly innocent question of you’ll be home soon, right? When will you get to the dorm?
And Omi’s reply had come at perfect timing.
The distance between the lounge and the entrance doesn’t even span one minute. Tsuzuru leans against the wall by the entrance, absently picking at his parka as he keeps glancing at the clock on the wall. His shoes scuff against one another listlessly. How long had it been since he got that reply? Must have been more than a minute ago, so he needs to wait for, what, four minutes? Less?
And then the door opens—the familiar tuft of brown hair and the large bulk of Omi’s body stepping into the entrance, and Tsuzuru’s feet move before his brain registers anything else.
The rest of the words never made it out of Omi’s lips, sealed firmly underneath Tsuzuru’s own. For a second, Tsuzuru feels Omi’s lips freeze beneath his, before a soft sigh escapes, and Tsuzuru tastes his own name in Omi’s lips as he kisses back.
It’s like a tension he doesn’t know has been weighing on his shoulders finally took off. Another contented sigh—Tsuzuru can’t even tell if that’s his or Omi’s—as A firm hand settles against Tsuzuru’s cheek, tilting his head back slowly as the kiss deepens. The thumb gently caressing the corner of his eyes, the faint taste of ginger and tea, the flutter of Omi’s eyelashes agaist his cheekbone.
He’s missed this. Misses it fiercely enough to wish that he can inhale every wisp of breath Omi sighs out, to wish that they can literally share the same air.
When Omi finally lets him go, it’s with a soft laugh that makes Tsuzuru’s cheeks heat up.
“I’m home, Tsuzuru.”
Foreheads pressing one another, Tsuzuru stares at the upturned curve of Omi’s lips, wondering how is it that he wants—needs—to kiss them again already. He does just that, a simple press of his lips because he can’t not, and Omi makes that sigh again, like he’s the happiest he’s ever been, sending butterflies bursting in Tsuzuru’s stomach.
“It’s rare for you to pick me up at the entrance,” Omi murmurs, half-amused and half-teasing, and the heat on Tsuzuru’s cheeks spread all the way to the tips of his ears.
“I thought it’d be nice, once in a while,” he mutters, and Omi smiles in a soft, bright way that reminds Tsuzuru of a kindling fire, before dropping his head on Tsuzuru’s shoulder and pulls Tsuzuru into an embrace.
“It is nice,” Omi agrees, smiling against Tsuzuru’s neck. “Makes me happy.”
There’s a note of exhaustion under his words. Tsuzuru raises both his hands and slides his fingers into Omi’s hair, caressing gently. “Good work. Sounds tough.”
“Mm. It’s fun, but today was a lot of physical work, so.”
“Did you eat yet?”
“Got something to eat before I went home.” Omi pauses, and Tsuzuru listens to his breathing for one-two-three seconds. “Is everyone...?”
“We just finished dinner so they’re in the lounge. Mostly.”
He hears the words that didn’t slip out of Omi’s lips. Hears them, recognizes them from the way Omi’s arms tighten around his waist, because Tsuzuru, too, thinks the same.
Stay like this awhile. Just a while more.