The room was dim, lit only by the soft orange glow of the lamp near the corner and the fading city lights filtering in through the window. Akihiko’s apartment was quiet for once—no music playing, no instruments being tuned, no roommates barging in. Just the low hum of the city beyond the glass and the occasional creak of the old couch beneath them.

Haruki was curled against Akihiko, his legs draped lazily over the other's lap, fingers resting lightly on the back of his neck. Their lips met again and again—slow, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

Akihiko’s hands were warm on Haruki’s waist, steady and grounding. He kissed him like he was memorizing every part of his mouth, every breath, every sigh. Haruki's fingers slipped up into Akihiko’s hair, tugging just slightly when the kiss deepened.

They pulled back just enough to look at each other, Haruki’s cheeks flushed, his glasses slightly askew.

“You’re really bad at watching movies,” Haruki murmured, a smile playing at his lips.

Akihiko smirked, brushing his thumb over Haruki’s jaw. “Not my fault you're more interesting than the plot.”

Haruki rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. He leaned back in, his forehead resting against Akihiko’s. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Akihiko chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. “I know.”

Outside, the world moved on—cars passing, neon signs blinking—but on that old couch, it was just the two of them, tangled in each other like they were exactly where they belonged.