The silence between them was heavier than usual.
Sajou sat on the edge of his bed, textbooks unopened, glasses perched low on his nose. He hadn't said much since their argument yesterday. Something about plans, or the lack of them. Kusakabe hadn’t meant to snap—it had just slipped out. He hated seeing Sajou disappointed, especially when he was the cause.
So now, Kusakabe stood at the doorway, juggling a plastic bag full of takeout boxes and convenience store snacks like he was holding peace offerings.
“...I brought food,” he said.
Sajou didn’t look up.
Kusakabe stepped in anyway, crouching beside him, pulling out items one by one like he was unwrapping treasure.
“Your favorite—karaage, that fancy tofu stuff, melon pan, that drink with the jelly you always like. I even asked the guy at the counter what ‘mild curry’ meant.”
No response.
Kusakabe tilted his head, watching him. “Still mad, huh.”
He reached out, gently nudging Sajou’s sleeve. “Okay. You don’t have to forgive me yet. But let me do this part first—” he leaned in and tried to kiss his cheek.
Sajou moved away, expression unreadable.
Kusakabe blinked. “Ruthless.”
Another beat of silence passed before he mumbled, more serious this time. “I’m sorry. I was being stupid. I didn’t mean to shut you down. I just... I panic when I think I’m not enough for you. That I’m not doing this whole relationship thing right.”
That made Sajou pause.
Kusakabe leaned back a little, giving him space. “But I want to try. I want to keep trying. Even if I mess up sometimes.”
He pushed the karaage box a little closer. “Eat first. You get scary when you're hungry.”
That made Sajou exhale—half sigh, half laugh. Finally, he looked up, eyes softer.
“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Kusakabe grinned, already leaning in again. “But I’m your idiot. So let me kiss you now?”
Sajou didn’t move this time.
So Kusakabe kissed his cheek, light and warm.
They didn’t need to say anything else. The silence between them softened. Forgiveness, slowly, was already settling into the space.