Daichi lay sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling over the edge. He heard the handle turning and removed one of his earphones. The sight that greeted him was a gift: Akira fresh out of practice, skin still flushed and shining with a sheen of sweat.

If Daichi had just one complaint about basketball, it’d be the clothes. They were far too baggy. Just imagine the crowd the Little Bears would summon if their shirts were a little tighter.

“The boss isn’t home yet,” Daichi said.

Akira’s face lit up with premature hope. “Do you think tutoring will be cancelled then?”

“Not a chance. I hear your test yesterday didn’t go so well.” He felt a bit sorry mentioning it when he saw Akira’s expression. “But Surya can’t complain too much – stuff like this takes time.”

“I beg to differ.” Akira delicately lowered himself to the floor, wincing. “He already caught me after class, and I’ve now been banned from the couch.”

He shrugged. “There are worse crimes.” And Akira really did fall asleep every time he was on it.

“Tell that to my poor butt,” Akira muttered. “And the rest of me.”

“You’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stiff.”

 “Basketball’s a rough sport,” he said, easily dismissing Daichi’s worry.

“Hm? That so?” Daichi rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. He peered down at the nape of Akira’s neck. “I think it’s being rougher than usual.”

Akira was wearing a sleeveless turtleneck under his baggy match shirt, like he was embarrassed about his neck. He also moved like he was walking on nails. Now, Daichi knew a thing or two about fighting and fucking, but Akira wasn’t admitting to anything.

A faint shiver rippled through Akira, like a chill was running down his spine. His hand clapped protectively over the nape of his neck, and he cast a wary glare over his shoulder, aimed entirely at Daichi. This made him all the more fun to toy with.

“Music?” Daichi offered one of his earphones.

Akira was reaching for it when Surya strode into the dorm, kicking off his shoes and dropping a weighted stack of textbooks on the table.

“I don’t think so,” Surya instantly snapped at them. “We’re going over yesterday’s test.”

“Can I cry first?”

“I doubt there’s time for that,” Daichi laughed, rolling onto his back and cranking up his music to tune them out.

After an hour, he dared to lower the volume and hear Akira’s complaints:

“You’re always on your phone.”

Surya briefly stopped sending funny reels to Daichi. “Yeah? And you’re always on my nerves.” He leant over to see Akira’s progress, causing the tips of Akira’s ears to redden. “Only the second answer is correct. You also need to work on your legibility. It took me ages to figure out which test was yours. There needs to be a space between your name and surname.”

“Don’t tell me how to write my name,” Akira mumbled, having no other comeback.

“Well, if you were better at it, I wouldn’t have to.”

Akira flopped onto his side, covering his ears. “My brain is melting.”

Surya looked ready to snap at him when Daichi nudged him with a foot, and he drew in a slow, calming breath. “Alright,” he relented. “Let’s eat.”

“Really?” Akira perked up. He tried to bolt for the kitchen.

“I’m not sitting next to someone who hasn't showered!” Surya yelled.

“You’ve been sitting next to me.” Akira grumbled even as he trudged toward the shower.

“I’m also doing laundry tonight, so leave what you want washed outside the door.”

Once they heard the shower running, Surya rose to put Akira’s sweaty clothes in the washing machine with the rest of their laundry. Then he returned to where he’d been sitting, though Daichi had graciously dropped a cushion there for him. The instant he sat within reach, Daichi got his arms around him, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“What’s got you so wound up today?” Daichi murmured.

Surya tipped his head back with a sigh. “Who, you mean?”

“Babies are honest, you know. Might be something you can just talk to him about.”

His eyebrows knotted. “I think it’s a delicate topic.”

“What is?”

“The limping. The cut lip. Not all of it’s from basketball.”

“I’ve been curious about that, too.” Daichi’s lips brushed Surya’s ear. “Think it’s from his job?”

Akira had mentioned working part-time on cars, which explained the occasional scratches and grease up to his elbows, but Daichi didn’t know of any shops working at night.

He lightly kissed Surya’s temple before trailing a path downwards. Surya turned into him in silent demand, and he obliged by catching his lips and nibbling on them. He felt Surya’s laughter in his mouth, and his palm cradling his cheek, and started to slip his fingers beneath Surya’s collar.

Until the water cut off, and Akira called, “I forgot my bag.”

Surya lurched forward, nearly dragging Daichi off the couch, and pulled Akira’s bag out from under the little table. He hesitated only briefly before shoving it back under.

“Where did you forget it?” he called back.

Daichi propped his head up, bemused.

“I think, maybe the front door?”

“Can’t see it.”

“Just use one of our towels,” Daichi contributed.

There was an embarrassed pause where Akira very predictably searched for his dirty clothes. When he realised they’d already been snatched by Surya, he braved wearing one of their towels and appeared in the doorway.

He’d wrapped the towel around his shoulders, clutching it shut over his chest, and still had on his cycling shorts – the ones he always wore under his baggier basketball shorts. They clung to his thighs, curving over his hips, and it took considerable effort on Daichi’s part not to stare.

“What, do you shower with those on?” Daichi teased instead.

“Maybe I do,” Akira scowled, heading toward the front door in search of his bag.

He was still there when someone knocked.

.