Mmm. warm. Can't remember the last time I felt this warm. or this safe. Where.?_

Roused by the half-coherent thought that wavered fuzzily in his mind, Sakuragi Hanamichi cautiously opened his eyes. He was lying face up on a bed in the middle of what he assumed was a typical teenage room. Posters of famous J-pop bands and Japanese All-Stars plastered the walls, broken by the occasional scantily clad anime babe in a Sailor fuku. Two shelves covered in book, videos, and other random bits and pieces lined up against one wall, and a stereo system perched on the cluttered desk across from them. CDs piled in scads on the desk, as well as a large chunk of floor space that they shared with undoubtedly dirty clothing.

Unsure of where he was or how he'd gotten there, Hanamichi hesitantly sat up, placing a hand to his head as he fought to remember what had happened the previous night. There was. a nightmare. and he'd drowned himself in alcohol in an effort to forget, only he'd drunk it too quickly and needed to walk it off. He'd ended up at the court somehow, of that much he was sure, but he honestly couldn't remember what had happened after that. By all rights, he should have been passed out beneath the basketball hoop or sprawled by the fence.

Wincing at the reminding throb at the base of his skull, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and gingerly stood. The universe burped, and he found himself tumbling forward.

A pair of hands shot out, catching him in mid-fall. Unsure if his stomach could handle any sharp movements, he tentatively tilted his head back, his gaze meeting a pair of started blue eyes.

"Ru."

He couldn't quite force the name passed his throat. Besides the spinning of the room and the churning of his stomach, he had trouble looking at anything else but the dark-haired boy's pouting upper lip. Funny, he mused to himself in an unoccupied, unnoticed corner of his mind. I never realized how sultry he really looks.

Suddenly the game of tag that had been playing in his stomach finalized and his gut knotted painfully. Yanking away from his teammate, both hands flew to cover his mouth. "Bathroom -" he managed to choke out. Rukawa quickly pulled him out of the room and across the hall, giving him space to lean over to already open toilet seat.

Clenching his jaw, he fought wave after wave of nausea, unwilling to further humiliate himself in Rukawa's eyes. He was more then a little surprised as he felt a gentle, reassuring hand press as the small of his back in an age-old gesture of comfort. He managed to move his head up a little, and he noticed the mirror that covered the entire wall in front of him. Their eyes met, and a unspoken understanding seemed to swell between them.

"I won't judge you," one seemed to say.

"I won't hide, then," came the reply, just as silently.

So Hanamichi lowered his head back to the toilet seat, and stopped fighting the overwhelming pain in stomach. Slowly, muscles unclenched as he purged his system of the legal poison he'd enjoyed the night before. Time crawled, but finally he felt well enough to sit back on his heels, flush the toilet, and wipe the back of his hand across his mouth.

The hand never left his back.

Finally the redhead gathered the courage to raise his head again, looking directly into the mirror and meeting Rukawa's eyes. As promised, he read nothing there. No disgust. No pity. No judgment. Nodding once, satisfied, he stood and turned.

"Feeling better?"

He nodded once, then voiced the question that had been on his mind ever since he first woke up.

"Where are we?"

"My house."

The reply was short, but it spoke volumes. It meant that last night, after whatever had happened, Rukawa hadn't left him. He'd taken the trouble to carry Hanamichi to his own home, and by the look of the room he'd woken up in, given his archenemy his own bed to sleep it.

Hana had no memory of anyone taking care of him like that, not since his parent's. murder.

He nodded once, refusing to show any reaction those two words evoked in him.

Rukawa nodded in return, then spoke again. "You weren't in any condition to wake up this morning, so it looks like we both skipped school. We could still probably make the end of it now, if we tried, but I don't think it's worth it." He paused there, as though asking for Hanamichi's opinion.

He answered, "Yeah."

Apparently assuming that was all Hanamichi had to say, he continued, "My dad won't be home for a couple of hours, but if you think that you can keep it down, I can make some soup for you. Oh, and you'll need to call your parents. They're probably worried." The dark haired boy turned and began to walk through the bathroom door.

Unwilling to admit that he had no parents, Hanamichi contemplated lying to Rukawa. He could always call home- no one would answer because there was no one there to answer, but Rukawa didn't know that. He could present himself as a normal boy, with a normal family, and a normal life.

The idea came and passed, and he shook his head violently. There was something just plain wrong about lying to someone who'd taken care of him. He raised his eyes to Rukawa's, almost afraid of the contempt he would soon read there- that, or the pity which would follow. Sighing, he resigned himself to the inevitable.

"I don't need to worry about my parents. They were murdered when I was seven." Inwardly, he was proud his voice didn't crack or waver even once. "And I think I can keep the soup down. if it's not too much trouble for you too make it."

Rukawa stopped in his tracks for a second, then continued to walk. He made a small gesture with his hand as he muttered, "The kitchen's this way."

Blinking, Hanamichi followed in silence.

True to his word, Rukawa quickly removed a metal pot from the refrigerator and removed the cover. Placing it on the stove he turned up the heat, grabbed a wooden spoon, and absently began to stir. He gazed steadily as the contents of the container, and not once did his eyes waver.

In spite of the three or four times they'd looked directly at each other, directly into one another's eyes, it seemed as though they were doing a fairly good job of ignoring each other. They spoke rarely, and when they did speak, their eyes remained glued to the floor. It was comical in a way, but somehow Hanamichi didn't really feel like laughing.

The redhead wondered, not for the first time, what exactly had happened the night before. He vaguely recalled the feel of another mouth against his, his lips trailing down the planes of a body hardened by basketball and glistening with sweat, but in all honesty, he couldn't believe it had actually happened. Alcohol was known to cause hallucinations, but he'd really never considered Rukawa in a sexual way before. Well, sure, he was surprisingly sexy and all, and probably one of the few guy who Hanamichi could honestly admit was hot, but that didn't mean he was attracted to the stupid kitsune or anything. It didn't mean he was. gay. right? It just meant. it just.

Rukawa's voice interrupted his internal monologue.

"Chicken noodle okay?"

"Yeah." Hanamichi had to force the word passed the small lump that was beginning to form in his throat.

And Rukawa continued to stir the damned soup.

"So," the dark-haired boy began in a mildly deceptive voice, "about what happened."

An ominous feeling crept into his gut, which was currently lying somewhere in the vicinity of his toes and didn't seem to be coming back up any time soon.

"I was just wondering."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Hanamichi wondered if the silence was worse then hearing his own heartbeat echo in his ears. He supposed it wasn't, just so long as Rukawa didn't hear it as clearly as he did.

Time dragged on, and finally, Rukawa opened his mouth again.

". did they ever come back?"

Hanamichi didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath until he released it sharply, in one single exhalation. His turbulent thoughts formed into a single syllable.

"Huh?" he said cleverly.

Rukawa paused, then looked up and clarified, "Those guys. the ones who were at the school with the guns. they threatened you, and I was wondering it they ever came back."

The redhead shook his head, grateful to be on safer ground. "Nah, they were all talk. I haven't heard anything from them or about them." He blinked, then added ruefully, "Well, it has only been like, a day, so I guess I should probably wait for a week before I say that."

He probably would have said more, but a growl from his stomach interrupted him in mid-sentence. Sniffing the air a little, he plastered a charming grin on his face for Rukawa and asked, "So, is that soup done yet? I'm actually kinda' hungry." Looking down, he laughed to himself, "Surprising seeing as I just got done worshiping the porcelain god about ten minutes ago."

If Hanamichi had looked up at that moment, he would have seen the strange blush that spread across Rukawa's face in response to that devil-may-care smile. But seeing as he was looking down, he missed that totally, and by the time he regained his own composure, the look was gone.

Rukawa reached one long-boned arm up to the cabinets above and snagged a bowl with his free hand. Expertly he used the spoon to ladle the steaming chicken noodle soup, then deftly set the now brimming bowl before Hanamichi. With a flourish he placed down a spoon and a napkin beside the bowl. Then he noticed the redhead staring up at him in surprise.

"What?"

Hanamichi smiled, then shook his head, "You ever think about going into the cooking business, kitsune? You do that way too well."

Unsure of what to say, Rukawa shrugged casually. This seemed to satisfy Hanamichi, who picked up the spoon, lowered it into the soup, raised it carefully, and began to blow on it. Something welled up in Rukawa as he watched Hanamichi's mouth move, enveloping the spoon only to repeat the process. Looking a little flush, he quickly turned back to the counter and grabbed another bowl. After serving himself, he sat down and began to eat, making a show out of pointedly -not- looking at Hanamichi -or- Hanamichi's soft mouth.

The two ate their meal in relative silence, broken only once.

"So, are your parents going to care that you ate dinner earlier?"

Rukawa shook his head, "No. my dad doesn't really care if I eat with him so long as I cook for him."

"Oh? That's cool. but what about your mom?"

"She died when I was little. I don't have any brothers or sisters," he mumbled into his spoon, answering the unspoken question.

And so the meal finished.

Rukawa took his bowl and spoon, as well as Hanamichi's, and quickly washed and rinsed them out in the sink. In quick, efficient movements, he recovered the now-cool soup and placed what remained back in the refrigerator. A quick wash rag and a moment later cleaned up the small spots where the soup had dripped, and left the kitchen as spotless as it had been when they entered.

Rukawa sat back down.

Hanamichi stared at the table.

Neither one of them said a thing.

It wasn't because they didn't have anything to say to each other.

. they just didn't know where to start.

Seconds ticked into minutes, and minutes into hours, and finally, Hanamichi looked up at Rukawa and opened his mouth as though to say something that had been haunting his mind- something that would probably profoundly change their relationship for better or for worse.

. only to find that Rukawa had fallen asleep with a trademark snot bubble and an almost silent snore.

With a groan, the redhead leaned back in his chair. _Stupid kitsune. he couldn't even stay awake until I finally figured out what I wanted to say._

Glancing over at the other's prone figure a second time, Hanamichi smiled softly. _Well, I guess I can forgive him this once. on the 'count of him being so cute and all._

He sighed, then leaned forward and placed his face in his hands. "Shit, Rukawa. you don't even know what you're doing to me. It used to be simple. I loved Haruko; Haruko loved you; I hated you. Fuck, that's what I thought two days ago. but now, something's different. I don't know what happened. but somehow I don't think it's Haruko I love. I think. it's you. I don't know why I love you, baka kitsune. I mean, hell, I don't even know why I like you. but I do. I don't even feel sick when I think about it, like I probably should. two guys together is supposed to be wrong, right? But how can it be wrong if I honestly think I love you?" His voice dropped to an even harsher whisper, though he had been completely unaware that he was talking out loud. "You don't feel the same way, right kitsune? If I told you this, you'd probably laugh at me, because you've never been interested in anything other then the basketball. shit. Rukawa."

"You're wrong, you know."

"Wha.?" Hanamichi bolted straight up and found himself nose to nose with formerly sleeping dark-haired boy.

"I said, you're wrong."

One slender, pale hand moved to lightly run across Hanamichi's mouth, and Rukawa breathed, "I'm interested in stuff other than basketball."

His mouth moved a little closer to Hana's, maybe an inch away.

"I won't laugh at you."

The inch closed to a centimeter.

"Two guys. isn't wrong."

And closer still, a hairsbreadth if that.

"And. I feel the same."

Lips touched, parting slightly, and Hanamichi tasted chicken noodle soup for the second time that night. Warm, soft, unsure- neither of them was drunk and both knew exactly what they were doing. That kiss continued, and somehow Rukawa maneuvered Hanamichi back against the table. The redhead thought that was probably an amazing feat seeing as how he didn't even remember standing up. He arched his body up a little, his arms shyly encircling Rukawa's neck.

The response was. pleasant to say the least. Rukawa let out a soft groan, moving his own hands up to tangle in Hanamichi's hair. Hanamichi arched again, and Rukawa pressed down, and -something- rubbed together, making them both melt, all warm and soft and willing.

Then the redhead tensed, stricken. For a moment Rukawa thought he'd done something wrong- maybe pushed to fast and asked to much. But only for a moment, because a lock clicked open, and the back door swung wide.

Realizing their more then compromising position, Rukawa's eyes opened wide and fixed on the dark figure entering the door. He hadn't even heard the car pull into the driveway. But that didn't matter now, because he was in the middle of the kitchen with another -boy- in his embrace, and the only word that came out of his mouth was strangled, but understandable nonetheless.

"Dad!?"