Tokyo Lights

Disclaimer: People use PoT to relax.
Author's Notes: Work does not love you. It uses you. But somehow, you always go back. And formatting is a bitch.


Apartment 33A

Tezuka is convinced that Fuji's new morning yoga sessions are a new torture tactic.

Every morning, on his way to the bathroom, dark haired boy is greeted with Fuji's tight buttocks waving in mid-air as the tensai moves into a new position.

And every morning, Tezuka spends more and more time in the shower, dousing himself with liberal amounts of cold water--to the point where his teeth are chattering as he makes his way to the bedroom to change.

Fuji couldn't be happier.

Now, he gets all the hot water to himself.


Apartment 34A

A few weeks into their living arrangement, Fuji reckons that he's found Tezuka's weakness.

The older boy is deathly ticklish.

The first time Fuji accidentally brushed against Tezuka's outstretched feet, it elicited a twitch. Tezuka was quick to cover it up by coughing, but Fuji knew better.

The second time was a bolder move that involved a poke to Tezuka's unguarded side. This time, the response was more obvious.

"Tezuka," Fuji blinks in astonishment. "Was that a… yelp?"

The bespectacled boy turns slightly pink.

"O-Of course not," Tezuka sputters. "Don't be silly."

Fuji grins.

Tonight will be fun.


Apartment 35A

There's a couple of reasons why Tezuka doesn't go anywhere near the kitchen if he can help it.

One is because he likes Fuji's cooking. The light haired boy really did have a way around the kitchen. The apartment always seemed to smell of good things whenever it was close to dinnertime.

The cute little apron Fuji wears doesn't hurt either.

But ever since the art exhibition, the tensai has been inundated with work, not to mention interviews and guest appearances at art lectures.

Personally, Tezuka doesn't understand the fuss. Then again, that's probably why he's not majoring in art.
What he does understand, however, is that since the art exhibition, all there's been for dinner is take-out. And there's only so much Hibachi Chicken a person can consume without getting sick of it.

So Tezuka resolves to try his hand at making dinner himself.

After all, Fuji does it every day.

How hard could it be?

"Ah, Tezuka, dinner looks wonderful."

Tezuka looks pleased at the compliment, saying that it was nothing, really, but he watches, from the corner of his eye, as Fuji takes the first bite.

"This chicken is delicious." The younger boy looks thoughtful as he chews. "Much better than what we usually get. What's your secret?"

Tezuka looks grave.

"It's salmon."


Apartment 36A

On the morning of Fuji's birthday, Tezuka is nowhere to be found.

Instead, a package sits on the dining room table.

It's not gift wrapped, nor does it have a name tag to identify the sender, much less the receiver.

Fuji doesn't mind either of this.

The important thing, he thinks, is that he's getting a present.

And from the way it sounds when he shakes the box, it's gonna be a good one.