Author's Note: Happy Valentines day everyone! Since its supposed to be a romantic day (...right? lol) I decided to give you guys a little romance. Thanks for reading! Please favorite, review, and follow!

~5~

Night had long fallen, draping the streets outside the okiya. Hiroki was waiting, stowed away in one of the empty rooms that used to house servants long before it had been converted into a storage room, which gave him the perfect opportunity to read. Surrounded by worn futons, tattered blankets, and boxes of cleaning supplies, he was granted the absolute solitude he constantly yearned for during his evening liaisons. He decided to bring the book he had purchased last week. It that had been sitting among its siblings for far too long, at the top of a quickly growing stack near his futon that was already leaning its weight into the wall, like an old man on a crutch.

Hiroki found these hours of the night were his favorite, the time when no distraction could yank him away from his novels. Hiroki flashed a quick smile when the pages rustling promisingly as he opened it. He enjoyed the little whispers that novels spoke, and eventually learned that each book had a different voice, depending on the genre or how many times he had already read the story. But he needed light. He cringed at the fact that there was no electricity in the servants' quarters and he had no choice but use candles. He was lucky to have electricity in his bedroom. The danger that candles presented his library was too great, and although he had a box of matches and a few lopsided candles in the chest beside his futon, he was constantly wary of fire and only used them during power outages.

He brought the candles and matches along with him, placing five candlesticks close to him, in order to keep a close eye on the flames. He was just holding out the lit match to the charred wicks when he heard it, no louder than a whisper.

There was another tell tale rattle at the okiya's gate moments later. His heart skipped a beat, and he huffed at his own silliness, blowing out the match and the candle before pulling himself to his feet and heading out into the night.

Sneaking up to the gate was always a difficult task, particularly because he had to pass the main house, where Isaka and Asahina were sleeping, their apartment window cracked open, revealing each footstep, each whisper, each gasp that happened to murmur throughout the night. He treaded lightly, walking along the dirt corridors that encircled the main house, then along the cobblestone path that lead to the gate.

Behind the bamboo fence, something shifted and suddenly a quiet voice broke the silence. "H-Hiro-san?"

Hiroki cringed a bit at the sound of the whisper cutting through the heavy air…then his voice escaped before his pride could control it, and he replied, "Yeah, its me Nowaki."

He didn't have to see it. The boy's mouth curved broadly, as if they had shared a joke, and he said, "I hope you don't mind, I came early."

Hiroki didn't mind at all. "Idiot, quit your chatting or you'll cause problems," he grunted underneath his breath, gently rattling at the lock on the gate until he finally pried it open, letting Nowaki in.

A pair of blue eyes that practically glowed in darkness was staring down at him, as if light rays worked those irises instead of muscles. "I'm so happy to see you," Nowaki confessed, buoyantly, stepping forward to wrap strong arms around Hiroki's waist, nuzzling his nose in gingery hair—Hiroki felt the chill on Nowaki's skin and wanted to ask him how long he'd been waiting outside (since sometimes he wouldn't hear the younger man's painfully subtle signals of his arrival for thirty minutes at a time) but the sensations of the hug washed over the question and left him gaping stupidly like a goldfish.

"Oi! Someone will see us!" he finally hissed, prying the man off of him with a harsh shove. "You're trying to get me killed, I swear." He knew Nowaki had some kind of response to that, but before the boy could open his mouth, Hiroki turned on his heel and began marching back into the okiya's property. Each step he took, he relished the soft patter of joyful footsteps following behind him.

They went straight back to Hirok's original hiding place; Nowaki rolled out one of the futons down to the pitted floor to make a bed while Hiroki gathered a heap blankets for them. Hiroki relit candles, Nowaki straightened their bedding, and the two of them crawled under the sheets together, Nowaki drawing Hiroki close in his arms. Before, it was eerily quiet; and although normally Hiroki didn't necessarily mind silence, he much preferred the smooth murmur of Nowaki's voice, humming close to his ear, as he asked Hiroki simple questions about their days of separation.

"Did you go anywhere interesting, Hiro-san?" Nowaki asked.

"Not really," Hiroki shrugged. He had been hired to attend to a judo match that day, but he had spent the whole day with a group of drunken businessmen, whose jokes had quickly become crude, teasing and shamelessly flirting with Hiroki. It had been far from pleasant and put the brunet in a sour mood for most of the day, ruining both the expensive alcohol and the fight. Although he would have loved to complain, he knew how the story would rile up Nowaki's strong sense of justice and his jealousy, so he decided to refrain from sharing. Instead, he changed the subject, asking, "So, how about you?"

Hiroki could feel the man shift a bit, moving even closer against him, bringing his arm over to rub idly at Hiroki's exposed thigh as he stared down at him with those barely open, bedroom eyes. Nowaki then smiled and replied, "Oh Hiro-san, any story I'd try to tell would be dull in comparison to all the amazing things you do." Nowaki leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hiroki's forehead, inhaling deeply before adding, " You're amazing, Hiro-san."

"Geesh you're so corny," Hiroki snorted but his eyelids slipped shut as the young man pressed another kiss to the bridge of his nose. Voice smooth with contentment, Hiroki said, "I promise, this life is not as entertaining as you think it is."

"But you get drink almost everyday," Nowaki quipped.

Opening a single eye, Hiroki grunted, "No, I simply pour the drinks. And babysit middle aged men."

Nowaki chuckled and crooned, "Mmhm, Certainly. That's why you come back drunk so often, Hiro-san."

"Do not."

Nowaki grinned and kissed him once more. "Do too."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic."

"No…you're just a party animal," Nowaki returned. His eyes had taken on a mischievous glint that was as innocent as beasts, topping the comment off with a smirky smile.

With that Hiroki threw Nowaki off of him, and the young man's head collided with the thin futon with a thunk. "Shut up, dumbass!" From there, he promptly tore a pillow away from the man and began swatting at him over and over again, hissing, "You wouldn't survive a day in my shoes! You should have respect for the art of being a host, you brat!"

"Owww, Hiro-san!" Nowaki cried, half whining, half giggling. "I was kidding! I was kidding! Owww!" Hiroki eventually relented, shooting a deadly glower at the young man, before he turned sharply away. He didn't bother to look, but Nowaki was nursing his injured skull, saying, "There's nothing wrong with being drunk, Hiro-san! I think it's cute!"

Hiroki narrowed his eyes and grunted, archly, "Figures, a dumbass, country bumpkin would never understand the skill and hard work behind hosting."

Nowaki didn't take offence to the insult. He never did. Rather, an arm stretched out and took Hiroki's wrist, tugging him gently back to the futon. Hiroki, despite his petulant air, simply submitted, allowing himself to drift back into Nowaki's arms. The young man nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck, brushing against the skin along his jaw tenderly. His voice vibrated against Hiroki's jugular.

"I suppose I'm just too country to understand a life as complex as yours." He pressed a quick kiss to the taut skin and said, his voice dipping low into his throat, "Can you ever forgive me?"

Hiroki rolled his eyes and twisted onto his stomach, kick starting their usual game of persuasion, where Nowaki's goal was to get Hiroki to kiss him back. That pair of lips was kissing at his skin—this time, long and slow—and Hiroki wondered where on earth Nowaki got so much energy to be initiating sex at one o'clock in the morning after another long day of hauling crates of fish back and forth in the biting cold.

He tried to squirm away with little effort, and Nowaki had crawled over him, pinning him as he smooched the living daylights out of the back of his neck. "You smell so nice, Hiro-san. And you have such a beautiful body," Nowaki pointed out in a husky purr. Hiroki felt those large hands twitch—one combing through Hiroki's hair, the other aimlessly toying with a fold in the sheets—wishing they could speed up this little game by touching and exploring said body, but Hiroki stubbornly pressed himself so close to the wheezing futon, he swore he was being sucked in.

"I love you Hiro-san," Nowaki declared.

"Shhh, you might wake someone," Hiroki reminded, though they were both so used to this now, keeping their voices down, forcing their movements to be ginger, just in case the night happened to carry the sounds of their secret liaisons. It was only second nature.

Hiroki, as much as his pride refused to admit, yearned to hear his lover's voice at full volume, to understand what Nowaki sounded like without restraints. He'd only heard Nowaki's regular voice a handful of times, which troubled the man deeply; he often found himself attempting to imagine the sound in his loneliest hours, that beautiful voice laughing, chatting, and repeating 'I love you's' with confidence and pride. His imagination frequently referred back to the first time they had met for that sound, at a party almost two years beforehand.

Nowaki had long been a servant to a wealthy zenbatsu owner, Tsuji Nobu, who hired the boy at a young age as an act of charity. Nowaki, though he frequently referenced his past experiences, had only once fully explained his younger years to his lover. From what the older man had retained from the lengthy account, he understood that Nowaki was born in a fishing town about 100 miles east of Kyoto and was orphaned at an early age. He claimed he never knew his parents, spending his childhood in a starving orphanage that had been hit hard by dwindling energy supplies. Desperate to provide for his makeshift family, Nowaki silently boarded a train for Kyoto at thirteen, in search of work. His first months were challenging with the poor job market, facing homelessness and starvation—however, Nowaki described that the day he met Tsuji Nobu, his life was permanently changed.

Nowaki had met Tsuji one afternoon in a park—Nowaki, who was breaking underneath his bleak situation, was found crying, and Tsuji comforted the boy, listening to his story with earnest.

Hiroki, who had coincidentally met Tsuji Nobu as one of his first clients when he was only sixteen years old, always knew the man as stoic, closed off, proud—so when Nowaki told him that the man had expressed such compassion toward him, allowing the youth to live in his home and earn money by becoming a house servant, Hiroki was thoroughly surprised.

Hiroki and Nowaki were then brought together underneath these circumstances, years later.

Hiroki, who was still gaining much of his popularity at the time, had been invited to host a party at the man's estate—however, that morning, his best friend and unrequited love had officially rejected his confession, leaving the young host in a pathetic state. Nowaki, who had a keen sense of emotional turmoil, had immediately sensed Hiroki's miserable air and made it his personal mission to watch over him for the night. Though Hiroki had originally thought the boy's kindness was much to close for comfort, he eventually found solace in the servant's presence for the evening, allowing Nowaki to sweep him away from his own turbulent situation with his gentleness.

Oh that night, Nowaki had called him 'Kamijou-sama'—and although it was his common name, and as lack luster and desensitized as the back of his hand, there was a certain romance in the way Nowaki called him. Hiroki had been pampered that evening, even as he left his duties at the party to sob in a backroom with Nowaki at his side. And for the first time in a long time, he felt loved.

Nowaki brought such powerful sensations with him—his name, which meant typhoon, was rather suiting. He stirred the waves of Hiroki's heart and continued to sweep the man away with his seemingly endless adoration each time they met.

However, two problems stood in their way. First, due to Hiroki's prior commitment to his danna, Shinoda, it was prohibited that he engaged in sexual relations with anyone else. Second, Nowaki was of working class, Hiroki a host, meaning there was an undeniable gap in their societal standings. These problems meant the couple was forced to meet in privacy, when no one else could discover their secret rendezvous'. Nowaki claimed that his living situation wasn't suitable, and although Hiroki had visited his apartment once or twice, he had been drunk and didn't remember it. Plus, the youth didn't mind the walk to the okiya—he said, he'd do anything for his 'Hiro-san'.

It was such cruelty, to be forced to love under cloak of the night, but Hiroki found it to be just another necessary evil of the life he led.

~o~

Nowaki had managed to seduce Hiroki effectively and the smaller man had rolled over and sat up, a small reward for the youth's efforts. Newly aroused and energized by their sensual game, Hiroki was quick to begin stripping himself of his clothing. Reaching his hands behind to the ornate knot that sat at the bow of his spine, Hiroki pulled the fabric until he felt it slacken in his hands—Nowaki breathed a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, anticipation flickering in those wide blue eyes. The yukata opened considerably without the restraining cord tight around his waist, fabric draping suggestively over the man's shoulders, revealing the juban, or undergarments, he wore underneath.

Blinking, taking a moment to revel at the scene with swelling excitement, Nowaki's eyes explored the newly revealed expanses of skin with his usual awe. Hiroki never got tired of that look, that was somewhat ridiculous and yet made Hiroki feel so handsome, so sexy, so perfect.

Nowaki broke his gaze by leaning in, to kiss Hiroki—he smiled into the kiss, pulling away to murmur against lips, "You know, Hiro-san… you make me so happy."

Hiroki didn't know how to respond, between the bickering of his heart and his pride. He could feel his breath fanning over his lips, that youthful smile that was so full of love and intimacy. His lips betrayed him, replying softly, "Me too…I guess."

Nowaki, thrilled, grinned broadly before he captured Hiroki in another kiss. Nowaki's gasps were smooth and warm against the brunet's lips, his restless fingers finding purpose by slipping over his shoulders, draped fabric that was poking out at the bow of Hiroki's shoulders invited his fingers to indulge in the bare skin. Hiroki felt the pads of fingers running up and down his spine, over every dip and curve of muscle and bone, and then Nowaki was leaning in to kiss and suckle at the nape of his neck.

The younger man retreated backward, to pull off his own workman's jacket and shirt—then those hands were encasing his shoulders in their palms, and Nowaki was slowly, lovingly, easing the kimono off, taking the thin, silk undergarments along with him. With the top of the kimono pooling around his hips, his chest and abdomen were bare, revealing lustrous skin crowned by two pink buds that were begging for attention.

Hiroki gasped at the brisk night air against his bared skin. Within a second of the little noise of displeasure, Nowaki was back, warm hands brushing up and down his arms and then pulling him close into his chest, ridding Hiroki of whatever chill had nipped his skin. It was perhaps a little overbearing, but Hiroki felt his heart hum from love behind the gesture. Nowaki had always been this way, particularly with Hiroki.

Even on the night when they had first met, Nowaki had offered himself so selflessly. When the servant had followed Hiroki into the backroom, begging the youth to confide in him, he had sat with the man for an hour, offering all he had to the young host—he had brought him food, water, and a shoulder to cry on, promising over and over again that he'd never betray Hiroki's secrets.

Hiroki at first thought the boy was insane or just a tad overbearing, but after many evenings together, he realized that Nowaki's only intention was to make him as happy as possible, even if it was in the smallest ways. So, from there on, Hiroki knew that each kiss, each touch, was uniquely crafted with him in mind.

During their first months as a couple, it was strange…to think of living for someone else. In fact, he couldn't understand it at all. Growing up among hosts had hardened him; commitment was no more than a simple agreement, a contract paid with hefty amounts of money, and signed with an autograph of approval. How many times had he felt hands on his ass, groping, slapping, fondling, squeezing? Or the insults he silently accepted, allowing himself to be disrespected, humiliated in order to please a client? He'd stopping counting years ago, once his backside had begun to feel as special as his hands, his heart as calloused as his elbows.

Then Nowaki came along.

Nowaki and his large hands that caressed him and touched him, gentle and yet firm, with lips that treasured every inch of him sweetly, reminding him of how intelligent he was, how caring, how worthy. It was the strangest feeling. It wasn't often when he wasn't being complimented for his looks or entertainment value. Nowaki treasured Hiroki's presence beyond what he could provide for momentary pleasures…no Hiroki, himself, was the pleasure.

Nowaki pulled a bit further away, struggling to disrobe himself of his workman's trousers and undergarments, eyes drifting toward the bunched kimono fabric that hugged his lover's hips. Hiroki blinked, in questioning, and Nowaki answered him. "Hiro-san…c-can you leave that on?" Hiroki blinked, and Nowaki's eyes drifted back to the kimono, then to brown eyes once more. "Please?"

Hiroki, though confused at the request, nodded. Nowaki smiled, leaning in to kiss Hiroki, deeply, slowly. "Thank you, Hiro-san," he breathed, kissing him again in the same way as before.

Hiroki rolled his eyes and replied, "I don't understand why you're thanking me right now…"

He pulled away slightly, adoring blue eyes, hands that moved to touch his chest…the most breathless smile. "For everything. For being you." He went back to kissing Hiroki, and there wasn't much of an argument the brunet could feign…not when he felt the same exact way.

It still puzzled him, why Nowaki wanted him to remain partially clothed…for what reason?

Normally the man was anxious, desperate to undress him. Not in the same feverish way that Shinoda would undress him. No, each time Nowaki had stripped him it was a representation of his sweet acceptance, as he removed one barrier between them. With Shinoda, undressing was a rushed action, one that wasted time and energy.

But he'd never known Nowaki to be one to tease himself, particularly with lingering clothing items that restricted his view. He began questioning and then a sliver of uncertainty wormed its way into his mind…

Nowaki stopped that thought, bending down to seek out Hiroki's lips, kissing him, then taking his tongue into his mouth, suckling it slowly and smoothing it over with his lips. They pulled away for breaths, just a moment, parted but still so close. Gazing at one another.

Hiroki was mesmerized. Nowaki had such a strong chest, so sturdy and warm, and his hands were charmed once again, moving forward to touch. His palms brushed over the skin, feeling the slightest shiver of anticipation in the man's breaths. Running hands up and down, just barely brushing the man's tender buds, Hiroki was arching himself close so they were chest to chest…he glanced up a second. Nowaki was watching him through wide, awestruck eyes. And although Hiroki had done this over and over again, something so vital to their relationship, he felt a line of embarrassing shivers sailing down his nerves.

For the first time in a long time, Hiroki's voice surfaced, grunting, "Stop staring at me, creep."

Noses bumped lightly and Nowaki leaned in to kiss him. "You're so shy, Hiro-san," he said, not smiling with his lips but with his voice. "You're so cute."

Hiroki scowled. "Quit teasing me." Nowaki replied with a curt, 'no thank you' and pushed on Hiroki's shoulders until he lay back flat onto the old futon, Nowaki hovering above. The position ignited all new urges that were even harder to ignore, feeling the heat of Nowaki's arousal so close to him.

The man must have felt the same, because he leaned down to kiss at Hiroki's neck, humming between kisses, "Hiro-san, you're so cute. So cute."

"Nowaki!" Hiroki squirmed. "I'm being serious!"

"And I'm being serious too," Nowaki simply replied, bringing one of those warm hands to Hiroki's chest, allowing it to wander for a second until it found one of Hiroki's nipples—he ran the pad of his finger across the bud over and over, smirking as the sensitivity began to peak. Hiroki unconsciously arched up, gasping, his eyelids slipping shut. He felt Nowaki continue, heading toward Hiroki's second nipple, plucking and rubbing until the bud resembled its match.

Hiroki willed his eyes open, to glance at Nowaki, who was drawing back, hovering low above Hiroki, just far enough where he could catch the shards of moonlight reflecting off the oceans in the man's eye's, but close enough to weaken his pride an extra degree.

Hiroki choked and his candid glances around the candlelit room contained neither question nor answer, only a spreading pleasure, his voice giving into gasps, like the gusts of frosty wind outside that caused the candle flames beside their makeshift bed to dance and flicker. He tried to eschew the moans of ecstasy that were starting to rise and buzz at his vocal cords, but much to his avail, Nowaki began suckling at the fleshy tips he'd been teasing, rendering Hiroki's restraint useless.

With that, he slammed his eyes, allowing himself to relish in the other sensations of their love making instead. What had been noticeable before was now unmistakably obvious: Nowaki was erect. Hiroki could feel the heat resonating from the crown of his erection—he didn't have to open his eyes to know that the man's cock was pressed up against him, swollen and scarlet at the tip, desperately in need of attention. He could smell the burning wicks of candles next to them and dusty linens, mixed with building the earthy scent of their sex. Hands ran down his sides, causing him to gasp and shiver, then there was a shifting of the kimono's heavy fabric, being pulled up higher onto his abdomen, allowing the cool air to reach the most sensitive areas of his heat.

"One second. I brought something," Nowaki breathed heavily against Hiroki's ear, and that alone felt so, so good and Hiroki gasped in return, knowing exactly what Nowaki was talking about.

Allowing his eyes back open, he watched as Nowaki crawled over the futon, and begun fumbling with his jacket. Hiroki enjoyed the moment, where he could allow himself to explore Nowaki's body without restraint—his rich, dark hair, trim physique, muscles toned from years of menial labor, cute bottom, and the littlest freckle right on the inside of his thigh. He snapped his gaze away when Nowaki turned back with a small jar in hand, arguing with the smirky youth because he most was definitely not checking him out despite what Nowaki wanted to believe.

Nowaki laughed and kissed him good and hard.

Though they had to whisper, and they could only move so much just in case something shifted or fell, Hiroki felt safe…and secure, forgetting all about Isaka and Asahina, his clients, those two little brats he'd been living with, and all the dumb rules that dictated his life during daylight. Now that night fallen, Hiroki was free, to do as he pleased and to love as he wanted.

~o~

Nowaki had fallen into an even rhythm once he had penetrated Hiroki, rolling his hips over and over again, slowly and smoothly, allowing Hiroki to feel every inch of him.

Hiroki's pride was grumbling about their position—with Nowaki on top of him, Hiroki splayed out, legs wrapped around the young man's waist. Though the sensations were drowning that petulant voice inside his head, allowing him to abandon his turbulent thoughts and just feel.

He felt a twinge of pain at the particular angle that Nowaki had shifted his hips in; felt the young man throbbing inside of him; his own weeping erection lying against his abdomen—it was agonizing pleasure, his face twisting in ecstasy, and he knew Nowaki felt the same, incoherent grunts and moans vibrating with the equal passion.

He felt one of Nowaki's hands slip down and begin idly toying with the kimono that had managed to bunch up around Hiroki's waist, smoothing the heavy silk over the pads of his fingers again and again—the youth was finding some kind of pleasure in this, the way his thighs suddenly tensed and his breathing sharpened. And although Hiroki thought it was a peculiar thing to get so hot and bothered over, he remained wordless, deciding he could tease his lover later once the youth had fully enjoyed his fantasy.

Nowaki groaned, his other hand reaching up underneath the bundled fabric to stroke Hiroki's burning length urgently, pushing the kimono and its respective undergarments open so there were no barriers between them. Nowaki was easily read, something Hiroki quite enjoyed about the young man—he could tell what noises turned him on just by the way his body reacted, such as the little gasps Hiroki gave each time they came together, the peculiar squish that came with the slick, excess cream that trickled around the muscle of Hiroki's cavern, the slight wheeze the futon gave each time Nowaki snapped his hips.

"Hiro-san, Hiro-san, oh…Hiro-san," he kept repeating over and over again, sometimes under his breath, other times at full volume, his usually airy voice developing a masculine huskiness.

The less cautious Nowaki got, the deeper he went, thrusting becoming more urgent as he buried himself to the hilt with each pump—Hiroki, in a desperate attempt to keep their cover, had to run one of his squirming hand over his lover's wrist, a silent reminder for the younger to relax a little, in case his voice carried.

Though it was next to impossible to remain entirely silent. Hiroki was beginning to feel his end quelling nearer, and could hardly suppress his own moans…this only stirred his lover's blood even more.

"Nggh, Nowaki, no more…I'm gonna!" Nowaki started stroking him harder, faster, and Hiroki could hardly find words.

"Hiro-san, please…nggh, please, I'm almost there!" He felt Nowaki leaking into him and his own swollen tip was steadily drooling, dribbling down onto the folds of the dusty blue kimono and creating quite the mess on the expensive fabric.

Suddenly his breath hitched, his voice gaining new pitch. "Oh…Nowaki!"

He felt his spasms start, release wracking his body, pleasure throbbing down his thighs over and over, riding out his orgasm with muffled gasps and moans, mumbling, "I love you, Nowaki," two or three, or maybe four times. As the waves of pleasure crashed onto Hiroki's shores, drowning his humiliation, his pride, every inhibition he ever had, he felt Nowaki begin pulsing inside of him.

"Hiro-san, Hiro-san!" Nowaki moaned, probably too loudly but Hiroki could hardly care as the young man indulged in his release, his hips jerking erratically, seeking Hiroki's lips for one final, urgent kiss before he too, came.

Gasps, sighs, and a few wet kisses filled void in the storage room, silence starting to wash over their shared bed—plus there was a new sensuality in the air, ringing contentment throughout the room. It took Nowaki a moment, but he slowly withdrew from Hiroki, gently, tenderly. Hiroki's breath hitched at the sensation—he was reluctant to have the contact end—but they both knew their liaison could only last so long.

Nowaki was back in an instant, holding Hiroki close and nuzzling himself into Hiroki's hair.

"I love you, Hiro-san," Nowaki sighed and Hiroki heard the sleepiness in the man's voice.

"Hey dumbass, no sleeping," Hiroki reminded, patting the man's shoulder. Nowaki, whose eyes had fluttered shut, looked at him with a whiney little pout. "Get up." Nowaki groaned and twisted away. Hiroki frowned.

"Hiro-san, give me ten," the young man pleaded, lazily rubbing a hand over his eye.

"No, cause then you'll end up spending the night," Hiroki retorted, though all he could think about was how warm it'd be if they shared the futon for the night.

"Fine then," Nowaki replied, sleepily, "I'll leave early in the morning. I promise."

Hiroki sighed, deciding to leave the man in peace for a few more minutes. He leaned himself back against Nowaki's shoulder, listening to the soft rhythm of hearts and lungs moving together in time. Somehow he ended up falling asleep, forgetting that morning was nearing. Times like this though, he liked to pretend the night would never end.

~0~