It was just a normal day for them, Saruhiko decided, idly sipping the milk that he'd offered to drink for Misaki. (And even if it wasn't, he would make it normal).
("Che, I can't stomach this shit, Saru." Misaki feigns a retch and dangles the milk away from him, pinched gingerly between his index finger and thumb. Saruhiko looks on in mild annoyance.
But Misaki is Misaki. When is Misaki never Misaki?
With a defeated sigh, he waves his hand and Misaki's face stretches in triumph.
"Brat. Give it to me, Misaki." And he wastes not a second, immediately pitching himself forward, more than ready to present the milk that he found so "disgusting" to Saruhiko.
"...Really?!" He was about to shove the carton in Saruhiko's hands until the bespectacled youth raised a silencing palm.
"...But." His fingers coil until a single index finger is raised and he brandishes his bento in all of its "splendor" (this time, Saruhiko couldn't help but stifle a retch as bile rose in his throat), and gives it a wiggle, the leftover vegetables that he barely touched scattering. "...you have to eat these." He watches Misaki's frozen expression with a slight smirk.
"...Well?" Misaki scrutinizes the vegetables with eyes squinted in hesitation.
"Hmm..." He hums, as if he's actually in thought. Saruhiko scoffs slightly. Was there really any need for a charade? Even he knew that Misaki would eventually...
After a couple of beats, Misaki comically taps his chin thrice in thought and answers with a playful scowl. "...Fair enough," he mutters, as they make their exchange.)
But Misaki was Misaki. When is Misaki never Misaki?
And Saruhiko was Saruhiko.
And all was right with their world.
With a lazy drawl (because him? Expressive? Unheard of) "...Oi, Misaki."
In the middle of a spirited - and somewhat crass - explanation (but this was Misaki he was talking to so it never really made much of a difference anymore - he reasoned that Misaki's way of speech was just a means of compensating for his pathetic height), Misaki gave him a confused look. What was he even going on about this time?
"- huh? What?"
For a moment, just like what always happened before Misaki spoke to him, he found himself rendered speechless by the energy that he exuded. You're too bright, he wanted to say.
"Why - ?" he started, settling on that instead. Yet, still, it nipped at him.
You're too bright, he wanted to say. But he bit the inside of his cheek and scowled instead. He was good at scowling.
("Geez, Saru. Why don't you smile a little more? You're such a depressing guy. And you're always slouching too. That can't be good for your back!"
"Oh, I don't know, Misaki - why don't you grow just a couple more inches? The reason I have such bad posture is because I have to slouch just to speak with you."
"Wh-What!? What the hell did you say?! It was a fucking suggestion, you shitty monkey!")
And Misaki just stood there - oblivious as always to his inner turmoil. But maybe that's what he liked the most about Misaki - how everything he did pulsed with honesty, though brutal, how everything that he did was governed by his heart, and not his mind.
He couldn't do that, no matter how much he tried. (And he had tried. Ever since he met Misaki, he had tried.)
And in retrospect, he didn't even need to. Misaki felt enough for the both of them.
Even now, Misaki granted him a curious expression, "Wha - ?"
With the slightest of smiles, Saruhiko shook his head.
"It's nothing."