Apparently, when it's hot enough, the human body can produce a glass or two of sweat throughout the day – and Akira is quite inclined to believe that shard of useless trivia. He's been wiping his forehead at least twice every minute, but it still feels sticky and gross. Hell, he feels sticky and gross.
"Sweetheart," he says, and Yusuke looks up at him from his sketchbook, "if I make a petition to cancel summer, will you sign it?"
Yusuke clicks his tongue. "If you insist." And he goes back to doodling. Akira sighs, props himself up on his elbow to flick his boyfriend on the ear, then flops back to the floor. At least he has a mostly full cup of iced coffee waiting for him.
"By the way," he says after inserting the delightful coldness into his body, "how the hell can you survive those temperatures while wearing a goddamn sweater. Yusuke. My dear. How."
"Are you being sarcastic?" He taps Akira on the nose with his pencil, then makes an idle, wide stroke on the paper. "You know I cannot tell the difference."
"Sure I know. And no, I'm not being sarcastic." Stretching out, Akira wriggles his toes and ponders ripping off his skin. Maybe that'd help him feel cooler, and would be a way to pass the time. Instead, he rolls onto his side and reaches out to wrap his fingers around Yusuke's ankle, who looks a bit. Thoughtful? And on the verge of starting to brood.
"I suppose I merely got used to being physically uncomfortable," Yusuke says slowly, haltingly. "That seems to be the most likely explanation." His features briefly twist in a frown, and Akira kinda wants to find Madarame and punch him. But, hey, he wants that every other time Yusuke mentions this fucking shitbag.
Instead, he grabs Yusuke's wrist and tugs until he releases the pencil and lets Akira twine their fingers together. "Wanna get ice cream?" Akira asks. "Come to think of it, I think I still have a tub of it hidden in the freezer."
"Why hidden?"
"Because either Futaba would find it and eat it, or Boss would find it and go off at me."
That does make Yusuke laugh – just as planned. Score. And boy, does Akira love listening to his laughter, see how– how happy and free he's become.
And when Yusuke catches his eye, a smile, wide and honest, still playing at the gentle curve of his mouth, all those sappy squishy human feelings hit Akira straight on; they close around his throat and build up in his belly, light and heavy and important. This must be what love feels like.
Or maybe he's just having a heatstroke. But that would not be so romantic, Akira assumes.
The ice cream is as sweet as Yusuke's happiness at its sight. Akira sticks a spoonful into his mouth, savoring the mint chocolate chip flavor — which is, let's be real — superior to any others, then smiles at how Yusuke hums in pleasure.
"Liking it, I presume," he says fondly. Yusuke makes a tiny grin, gazing down at his bowl.
"As long as I'm with you—" he sets his spoon down and takes Akira's free hand into his "—I will enjoy everything the fate throws at us."
"You're terrible," Akira murmurs, squeezing Yusuke's fingers. "Absolutely awful. And, uh, love you too."
Somehow, the oppressive heat no longer bothers him. Well, how about that. Who knew that sappy sappiness could make one no longer pay any mind to what is happening outside of the bubble of love and happiness.
Bubble of love and happiness. Geez.