The lukewarm water sloshes around the sink, a murky soup of food scraps and soap bubbles. It's your turn to do the dishes, a chore you usually don't mind, but tonight, the weight of the day clings to you like the grime on the plates. The shared apartment, usually a haven of quiet companionship, feels smaller, the silence amplifying your thoughts.

Ushijima is here, you know. You can feel his presence like a low hum in the air. He's probably in the living room, doing what he always does – reading some dense, philosophical book or meticulously cleaning his volleyball. You’ve been living together for a few months now, and you’re still getting used to the rhythm of your co-existence.

You scrub a particularly stubborn stain off a plate, the metallic screech of the scouring pad echoing in the small kitchen. You're lost in the mundane task when you feel it – a shift in the air, a subtle change in pressure.

He's behind you.

You don't turn around, just keep your focus on the plate. The silence stretches, thick and expectant. You can practically feel his gaze on your back, intense and unwavering. It's a familiar sensation, this feeling of being observed by Ushijima. He notices things, details that most people missed. Sometimes it's endearing, sometimes… unnerving.

Then, a shadow falls across the sink. He's closer now, so close you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing. Your heart does a little flutter-kick against your ribs. You stubbornly keep scrubbing, pretending you don't notice his proximity.

That's when you feel it. A warm, insistent pressure against your bare shoulder. His lips.

A shiver runs down your spine, a jolt of unexpected electricity. The plate slips slightly in your soapy hands. He lingers there, his lips soft and firm against your skin, a silent, possessive claim. The scent of his soap, clean and understated, fills your senses. It's a simple gesture, a chaste kiss, but it sends a wave of heat rushing through you.

He pulls back slowly, and you finally turn, your cheeks flushed. His dark eyes, usually so serious, hold a flicker of something you can't quite decipher.

"Ushijima…" you start, but the words catch in your throat. What are you supposed to say? "What are you doing?" seems inadequate, almost ridiculous.

He simply looks at you, his gaze unwavering. "Your shoulder," he says, his voice a low rumble. "It is… distracting."

Distracting? Your shoulder? You glance down at your simple tank top, suddenly self-conscious. It's just a shoulder, a plain, ordinary shoulder. But to Ushijima, apparently, it's something more.

He reaches out, his large hand gently tracing the curve of your shoulder. The touch is feather-light, almost reverent. "I apologize if it made you uncomfortable," he says, his brow furrowing slightly. "I simply… felt the need."

The need. It's such a simple, direct way of putting it. And somehow, it's incredibly endearing. You can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

"It's okay," you say, your voice barely a whisper. "It just… surprised me."

He nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on your shoulder. You have a feeling this is a new obsession for him, this seemingly innocuous part of your anatomy. And honestly? You're not entirely sure how you feel about it.

You turn back to the sink, the dishes suddenly forgotten. The water is cold now, the bubbles dissipating. But the warmth of his kiss lingers on your shoulder, a constant reminder of his strange, unwavering attention.

Maybe sharing an apartment with Ushijima Wakatoshi is going to be more interesting than you thought.