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When Yagyuu pressed his cheek against a cotton shoulder and breathed in he remembered all the reasons why he played tennis and let his body go into a tired - exhausted, really - slump.

"That really wasn't nessisary, Hiroshi," Niou said, letting the smirk color his voice yellow as he mimicked Yagyuu's tone and words perfectly, except for the name.

The silence encompassed Yagyuu's rebuke of "I don't need you to tell me that" and they skipped right to Niou's quiet chuckle that made his stomach wriggle under Hiroshi's cheek. So close and comfortable, like this...

But, he would make himself get up and move because they were in a public place where anyone could walk in at any time and get the wrong impression and Niou would grumble a little because he was always looking to make Yagyuu express himself in front of other people, as if to say: "Look how well I have him trained, now?"

Or rather: "Look at how well I have broken him of his training, now."

If Yagyuu allowed Masaharu's fingers to brush over his eyelids he may actually cry, and that would be embarrassing because then Masaharu would either decide that he was easily made to cry or that he was more in love with him than he liked to admit.

Or perhaps he was crying just a little because he wanted to tell Masaharu how much he loved him, but couldn't bear to say it out loud.

Things were never straightforward where they were concerned.

In any case, Niou bent to lick the salt trails off of Yagyuu's cheeks, making him rumble in a little disgust and a little hidden pleasure.

They were so close, after all, that their lives were just like a cotton weave - or something like that.

Metaphors really were just Niou's forte. They hadn't mastered being psychic quite yet.