Hajime no Insho
sho sanju.
“Okay, Suzuki, seriously. You’re as giddy as Yuu after a good fuck, and you and Takanori haven’t stopped beaming at each other since New Year’s. What the hell?”
Akira snorted. “Firstly, Kouyou. I don’t talk about my sex life with you for the specific reason of not hearing about yours. And secondly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And on the inside, he was face-palming, because he always found it so easy to forget exactly how observant Kouyou truly was. And this was only possible because the guitarist was always focusing his attention on Yuu or on recording the band’s newest song, and he never acted as though he heard more than that. And Akira knew better; he’d known Kouyou for seven years now, and one thing that Kouyou had never failed at was picking up on anything new in Akira’s life.
And the blond chuckled at his old friend, lighting a cigarette and holding it between his lips, and he flashed a grin, waiting for Kouyou’s response; and he knew it was coming, because his arms were folded over his chest and his eyebrow was raised in the most disbelieving manner. “Okay, I’ll give you that; you never talk graphic.” And he paused, and he smirked, and Akira knew that anything he was thinking wouldn’t be good. “But you never get graphic either.”
“And you do.”
Kouyou smirk returned once more. “As often as possible.”
“And what, you think something happened with me and Takanori?”
“God, Suzuki, you’re such a blonde.” He rolled his eyes, and then he sighed, and the sound was almost exasperated. “I know something happened. And I’m not judging you; I think it’s about damn time. But you could have at least told me, hm?”
“And why would I tell you?”
The guitarist was glaring at him, and Akira was trying his best not to laugh, his seemingly unamused expression wavering only slightly. And he fought back a snicker as Kouyou pretended to examine his nails, leaning back against the wall, and then that snicker escaped around his cigarette as Kouyou muttered, “Well I could offer you pointers, but if nothing’s happening, I’d be wasting my time.” And he pretended to look bored for a moment, letting his words sink in, and then his head lifted, and a wide smile spread across his face. “That is, unless you have something to tell me.”
“I really do hate you sometimes,” the blond said, and he let his hand drop to his side, and he heard the guitarist snicker at him. “No, really. I do.”
“Which is why you’ve let me stick around since high school.” He yawned, seeming bored, and then he let a lazy smile lift his mouth. “Yep. I’m a real asshole.” He patted the bassist’s shoulder, and he seemed to consider reaching up and messing up his hair. “See you later, virgin.” He grinned, and he gave a peace sign, and then he went back inside, and Akira could only imagine that he was making a bee-line for Yuu so that they could have a quickie in the back room.
And he leaned his head back against the wall, and he shut his eyes, and he placed his cigarette between his lips once more. And he sighed.
Kouyou was fucking insane, but he was one hell of a guy.
Akira snorted. “Firstly, Kouyou. I don’t talk about my sex life with you for the specific reason of not hearing about yours. And secondly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And on the inside, he was face-palming, because he always found it so easy to forget exactly how observant Kouyou truly was. And this was only possible because the guitarist was always focusing his attention on Yuu or on recording the band’s newest song, and he never acted as though he heard more than that. And Akira knew better; he’d known Kouyou for seven years now, and one thing that Kouyou had never failed at was picking up on anything new in Akira’s life.
And the blond chuckled at his old friend, lighting a cigarette and holding it between his lips, and he flashed a grin, waiting for Kouyou’s response; and he knew it was coming, because his arms were folded over his chest and his eyebrow was raised in the most disbelieving manner. “Okay, I’ll give you that; you never talk graphic.” And he paused, and he smirked, and Akira knew that anything he was thinking wouldn’t be good. “But you never get graphic either.”
“And you do.”
Kouyou smirk returned once more. “As often as possible.”
“And what, you think something happened with me and Takanori?”
“God, Suzuki, you’re such a blonde.” He rolled his eyes, and then he sighed, and the sound was almost exasperated. “I know something happened. And I’m not judging you; I think it’s about damn time. But you could have at least told me, hm?”
“And why would I tell you?”
The guitarist was glaring at him, and Akira was trying his best not to laugh, his seemingly unamused expression wavering only slightly. And he fought back a snicker as Kouyou pretended to examine his nails, leaning back against the wall, and then that snicker escaped around his cigarette as Kouyou muttered, “Well I could offer you pointers, but if nothing’s happening, I’d be wasting my time.” And he pretended to look bored for a moment, letting his words sink in, and then his head lifted, and a wide smile spread across his face. “That is, unless you have something to tell me.”
“I really do hate you sometimes,” the blond said, and he let his hand drop to his side, and he heard the guitarist snicker at him. “No, really. I do.”
“Which is why you’ve let me stick around since high school.” He yawned, seeming bored, and then he let a lazy smile lift his mouth. “Yep. I’m a real asshole.” He patted the bassist’s shoulder, and he seemed to consider reaching up and messing up his hair. “See you later, virgin.” He grinned, and he gave a peace sign, and then he went back inside, and Akira could only imagine that he was making a bee-line for Yuu so that they could have a quickie in the back room.
And he leaned his head back against the wall, and he shut his eyes, and he placed his cigarette between his lips once more. And he sighed.
Kouyou was fucking insane, but he was one hell of a guy.