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They were hanging out together, just like in the old days — except it was quiet, walking in a park, hands side by side, almost touching, neither uttering a single word.
Yata itched to do something. To step on his skateboard and force Saruhiko to chase him, or to grab the infuriating man and drag him somewhere more lively.
But he promised himself that he would not chase the memories. Memories of when they were children, or when they were in HOMRA together. When everyone was still alive and there, at the bar or on the streets, chasing trouble. It wasn’t worth it.
Still, there was something in the air between them, more than just the melancholy for the time past. Something that made him more restless even than he usually was. The reason why they were here. The bastard refused to acknowledge it, walking cheery as he was forward, eyes anywhere but on Yata or what was before them, it seemed — but he could see the glances the other threw at him occasionally, grinning in his creepy manner whenever Yata had caught his eyes with his. Infuriating.
He was reconsidering letting Saruhiko drag him out. Not without a fight, of course, at which the man was too happy for comfort, but easily enough, easier than he could have.
He paused, and turned to the other. Ready to do something, but not yet certain what.
Then Saruhiko grabbed his hand, easy as anything, and it wasn’t that strange, not even now, but his fingers burned on Yata’s skin.
He opened his mouth to protest. Readied himself to beat the bastard for unwanted physical contact. Or at least one given without permission. He could hardly insist that it really was unwanted when he missed the casual intimacy with his once friend. Not in the strictest sense.
And Saruhiko took the opportunity to strike, pulling him in, leg placed conveniently close to Yata’s feet, so he stumbled into the annoying man, whose hands moved quickly — one to capture both of Yata’s hands behind his back, and one to touch Yata’s cheek, as he leaned down.
It was a simple touch of lips on lips for a brief moment, before Saruhiko took advantage of his open mouth to press his tongue forward, pressing more insistently, exploring Yata’s mouth.
It was a shock. Not surprise, but more like pop of static. A piece sliding in place.
He was not quite certain what to do,but he did not waste a moment in reciprocating, clumsily tangling their tongues together as he fought to free his hands from the other’s grip to tangle his fingers in Saruhiko’s hair, peaks of it softer than it looked.
It was all too easy, but he was certain the man had done it more to be infuriating than because he thought Yata would protest. It wouldn’t be out of character.
The bastard would get what’s coming for him either way. After Yata was done enjoying the new experience.
It might take a while.