Aw crap.

This was Mikado's first coherent thought as he woke up again. Checking the clock had snapped him fully awake from his half-conscious daze. Ten-thirty. Thank god it was the weekend, or they would be in deep shit and in for a lot of explaining to do.

The first thing he saw was the absence of Masaomi. He got up from the futon, relishing in the warmth and disappointed that he would have to leave it.

The first thing he heard were some clanging sounds from Mikado's tiny kitchen. Still without a shirt, he scrambled to his feet and stepped cautiously into the room. Kida was busy at the stove, making something in a pan. He had taken it upon himself to borrow a pair of striped blue pajama pants from Mikado, and wore his dress shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his shoulders. His hair was completely out of place and ruffled beyond recognition — talk about major bedhead, he thought. And then the smells hit him: those savory, delicious smells of sautéed tofu and some sort of rolls that made his mouth water just at the thought.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Kida nearly jumped, the pan banging a few times against the stove, and the spatula almost slipped from his hands.

"...Simon showed me a thing or two. Cooking is useful when your parents are rarely around."

Mikado nodded. The air was uncomfortable, laced with awkward moments and mouths that opened, then closed, then opened again, making no sound.

"Teach me sometime?" Mikado asked, scratching his cheek nervously.

"S-Sure," Kida stammered after a long pause.

When there was nothing else to say and it was only Mikado watching Kida's back as he cooked, Mikado left the kitchen and nearly collapsed onto the futon. He laced his fingers through his short hair and settled them clasped at the back of his neck. Sure, Kida was acting nice and forgiving now, but sooner or later the blond would probably kill him for what he did last night. The food would probably be poisoned. In the back of his mind he made a mental note to check the breakfast for a bitter almond taste.

"Here."

A plate suddenly appeared in front of his face. Upon looking up, Mikado couldn't help himself as he glanced at Kida's exposed chest littered with literally dozens of hickeys that ranged from the waist of his – or rather, Mikado's – pants to the gentle curve of his neck. Kida sat down in front of him and started to eat. Mikado, not knowing exactly what to say, followed suit. Mikado wasn't usually one who liked plain tofu, but whatever Kida had cooked it in was heavenly. The egg rolls were just as good, and he inwardly craved more and resisted the urge to swipe another from his friend's plate with his chopsticks.

But things weren't the same anymore.

Kida's plate was soon empty as he abandoned the chopsticks and dragged a finger along the plate and licked leftover sauce from it.

"I'm sorry," Mikado finally said to break the awkward air between them. Kida chewed his bottom lip.

"Please, Masaomi-kun, say something. I can't take it."

Kida still said nothing.

"I'm so sorry for what I did to you yesterday, I wasn't myself."

More silence. It gnawed at Mikado, eating him away until all that was left was a skeleton of desperation.

"Please, Masaomi-kun. Is there any chance we can go back to the way things were–"

Kida diminished the space between them as he plunged forward to capture Mikado's lips. Mikado sat, blinking in confusion, before his eyes grew dim and he returned it. Their mouths parted and tongues intertwined briefly until Kida pulled away and grinned.

"You called me 'Masaomi-kun'."

Mikado blushed furiously. "So?"

"You haven't called me by my first name in a long time." He kissed Mikado's lips again for a few quick seconds.

"Wait, Ki- Masaomi, what does this mean?" Kida blinked, a frown tugging his features downward. "Does this mean everything is back to normal?"

That smirk was back, gracing his lips in a beautiful sly smile. "I think it's obvious that we're far past that, Mikado-kun~"