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"Who do I have to fist-fight for it to stop being so cold?" Akira sulks. He has both arms wrapped tightly around himself, and is glaring at the darkening sky. "Duel me at dawn, Jack Frost, you little bitch."

Ryuji snorts. Akira has no effing idea how cute he is right now. It's actually taking approximately eighty percent of Ryuji's braincells working together in tandem to stop him pointing out exactly how precious his best friend is. He's only capable of stopping himself because he's learned some self-control after months of being hopelessly in love with the aforementioned best friend.

"You should've worn a coat, man," says Ryuji. He immediately feels heartless when Akira pouts at him. "No - don't gimme that look! I said 'it's gonna be cold tonight, so bring your big jacket' and what did you say?"

Akira shuffles his feet. "I don't recall," he sniffs. "My brain was addled. You'd promised me burgers."

"You said, and I quote, 'my ass looks too good to cover with a coat today, Ryuji, can't you see that?' and pulled me outside."

"You can't prove anything," Akira huffs.

"Dumbass," says Ryuji, fondly.

Akira leans into him, apparently under the impression he's being sneaky about leeching warmth. "Yeah, but I'm your dumbass."

The temptation to wrap an arm around him is enormous. It wouldn't be weird; their friendship is full of casual intimacies. They mess with each others' hair, share a bed during sleepovers, attend the bath-house together. Just now, during their meal, Ryuji loaded Akira's plate with extra fries and in exchange Akira carefully plucked the pickles from his burger and nudged them onto Ryuji's plate. These things are just what they do.

It's just that publicly snuggling for warmth might mean something different for Ryuji than it does for Akira.

"D'you wanna wear my hoodie?" he offers.

"Mm-mm. You'd be cold, then." There he goes again: it's like Akira's allergic to putting his own needs before anyone else's. The guy's freezing his ass off (which, sure, is self-inflicted) and he'd rather continue doing so than share the suffering. Classic Akira.

Jaw set, Ryuji removes his hoodie. "Take it, man. Y'know I don't feel the cold as bad as you do." He runs warm; he'll manage. The only part of him the cold hits hard is his leg - once the chill gnaws into the bone, it's awful. But a coat won't help that, anyway.

Akira looks conflicted. "You don't have to do that," he says, but he's shivering and yeah, Ryuji has to do that.

So he wraps the hoodie around Akira's shoulders. He intends to be a tiny bit gruff and 'here, take my damn warmth' about it, but the whole thing winds up accidentally tender and soft. It's like he can't help being a dumb sappy romantic around Akira. This close, he can catch the ever-present smell of rich coffee drifting from his best friend. He sneaks a little inhale of it.

"There," he murmurs, letting go once Akira's hands come up to hold the hoodie in place.

Taking a little step back and really looking is a mistake, though. Akira in his hoodie is a sight he wasn't emotionally, physically or spiritually prepared for. Cute, Ryuji's brain supplies and - yeah, it's really fucking cute. It's big even on Ryuji and Akira's a little more slender, so the material nearly swamps him. Now that he's been forcibly swaddled in it, he seems to have given up complaining and has snuggled into the material, wrapping it tight around himself with a little smile playing about his mouth. The purple is striking against his dark hair and gray eyes.

Ryuji is so fucked.

"Thanks, Ryuji." Akira sounds soft and pleased.

"You're welcome, babe," says Ryuji without thinking.

Wait.

Shit.

"Bro! I meant - I meant bro. You're welcome, bro!" he practically shouts, red in the face.

He really did mean to say 'bro'! His brain just got it all confused. He hates his brain.

When he chances a half-terrified glance at Akira, his best friend's just ... grinning. Sly and playful, eyes following Ryuji's every move like he's drinking in the sight.

"Babe, huh?" Akira drawls, voice dipping low.

"I meant bro..." Ryuji despairs, weakly.

Akira steps closer, head tipped slightly aside. "You sure?" he teases.

"Yeah!" Ryuji's voice cracks. "I just - the hoodie - you just looked - I mean... Agh, I don't know!" He hides his face in his hands and thinks about how dope it'd be if the ground just swallowed him up right now.

Gentle fingers prise his hands away, and then Akira's gripping his chin - whoa - and coaxing him to meet those smoky-gray eyes. He's still grinning because he's an awful bastard man, but there's something softer about it now. Fond. He steps right into Ryuji's personal space.

"It's okay if you call me 'babe', you know," he purrs. "I like it."

Wait. "Wait." He frantically replays the last few seconds in his mind, to make sure he didn't mishear that. "What?"

"I'd let you call me whatever you wanted to," says Akira, soft and honeyed. "But... I really liked 'babe'. A lot. Like, that really did somethin' to me"

The graceful curves of Akira's cheekbones are dusted pink. Maybe it's from the cold, like the red at the tip of his nose. But maybe it's not.

"You're not messin' with me, are you?" Ryuji checks, quiet hope peeking through the cracks in his tone.

The teasing eases off Akira's expression. He's still self-satisfied, that much is clear from the glittering in his eyes, but he's serious when he shakes his head. "Not messing with you." He begins to lean in, gaze darting to Ryuji's mouth, but - tragically - pauses. "I'm... not misreading this, right? I really hope I'm not misreading this."

Ryuji's mouth feels dry. There's a whole mess of words bumbling around in his chest, and they stick in his throat. "Uh... if you're readin' that I wanna kiss you, then you're readin' just fine," he says clumsily.

"Oh, good," Akira sighs, relieved. "It'd really suck if I tried to make out with you and the whole 'babe' thing wasn't a Freudian slip."

"You gonna let me live that down?"

"Not on your life, babe."

Ryuji Sakamoto finally gets to kiss the boy he's in love with in an empty Shibuya side-street, in the freezing cold. He can feel Akira's smile against his mouth, hands against his jaw. The hoodie starts to slip from Akira's shoulders, so Ryuji encloses both it and the beautiful boy half-wearing it in his arms.

Now they can keep each other warm.