[ Mine wakes up to the typical view of the ceiling, but the fact that he shares his bed isn't usual. He senses the weight next to him and knows that they must be lingering somewhere past midnight. Rather than find a clock, though, he turns his head over to Nishikiyama's side. When they're having sex there's not a lot of time for it, so long before getting upβhe does, after a whileβis when Mine concludes that it's alright to stare while Nishikiyama is sleeping.
Eventually, he thinks to gather the items of clothing scattered about. At the foot of the bed is where Mine picks up his own shirt, pants and socks off the floor, and layers them in the crook of his elbow. Nishikiyama had left his strewn about the same. Mine looks down, the pieces divided apart from his and not suggestive of how tangled up they'd become mere minutes later. The shirt is laid with one of its sleeves folded out from the rest, like Nishikiyama'd merely let it slip off his shoulder this way, as things got hot and heavy. Mine's eyes flicker to and from. Nishikiyama's body shapes the duvet he sleeps underneath. Mine picks up the shirt, fingers tucked underneath the stiffer crescent of the collar. He knows it to fit Nishikiyama's shoulders more tightly, lacking the padding of his suit jacket. He doesn't even think as he raises the handful of fabric up to his nose. With an inhale that's no deeper than normal breathing, he still draws up the smell of Nishikiyama's cologne mixed with the cold smoke of his cigarettes into his lungs. Mine's shoulders sag in response. He'd closed his eyes to hone in on the scent, realizing that when he opens them again. His own clothes hang as a fig leaf off of his arm. His gaze stays, settled as he wallows in the conclusion. He can imagine Nishikiyama's body close to his own as he smells him, even though the man himself lies with his head at the other end of the bed.
He drops his hand down, suddenly noticing what he is doing. Mine pulls away from the view in saccades, searching the rest of his bedroom. There's the thinner sheet Nishikiyama'd wrapped himself up in to go smoke, on the corner of the mattress. Briefly, Mine wonders if he'd had it on him long enough to take up anything. He leaves it, though, figuring it just smells like his own Cabins, of the little bit of smoke that'd slipped back inside past the window. Nishikiyama's shirt is folded up onto the pile on his arm. Mine finds Nishikiyama's briefs still tucked into his pants. He makes his decision while upright, and only bends down to pick up one of the pieces. Without starched rigidity, he can just crumple it within his fist. Mine raises it up to his face.
What's possessing him? His eyes widen, impossible to tell in the unlit room, but this time Mine understands, as he pushes his nose into Nishikiyama's underwear and takes a deeper breath, that he's doing something bizarre. Still, his gaze doesn't dart away. ]
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Eventually, he thinks to gather the items of clothing scattered about. At the foot of the bed is where Mine picks up his own shirt, pants and socks off the floor, and layers them in the crook of his elbow. Nishikiyama had left his strewn about the same. Mine looks down, the pieces divided apart from his and not suggestive of how tangled up they'd become mere minutes later. The shirt is laid with one of its sleeves folded out from the rest, like Nishikiyama'd merely let it slip off his shoulder this way, as things got hot and heavy. Mine's eyes flicker to and from. Nishikiyama's body shapes the duvet he sleeps underneath. Mine picks up the shirt, fingers tucked underneath the stiffer crescent of the collar. He knows it to fit Nishikiyama's shoulders more tightly, lacking the padding of his suit jacket. He doesn't even think as he raises the handful of fabric up to his nose. With an inhale that's no deeper than normal breathing, he still draws up the smell of Nishikiyama's cologne mixed with the cold smoke of his cigarettes into his lungs. Mine's shoulders sag in response. He'd closed his eyes to hone in on the scent, realizing that when he opens them again. His own clothes hang as a fig leaf off of his arm. His gaze stays, settled as he wallows in the conclusion. He can imagine Nishikiyama's body close to his own as he smells him, even though the man himself lies with his head at the other end of the bed.
He drops his hand down, suddenly noticing what he is doing. Mine pulls away from the view in saccades, searching the rest of his bedroom. There's the thinner sheet Nishikiyama'd wrapped himself up in to go smoke, on the corner of the mattress. Briefly, Mine wonders if he'd had it on him long enough to take up anything. He leaves it, though, figuring it just smells like his own Cabins, of the little bit of smoke that'd slipped back inside past the window. Nishikiyama's shirt is folded up onto the pile on his arm. Mine finds Nishikiyama's briefs still tucked into his pants. He makes his decision while upright, and only bends down to pick up one of the pieces. Without starched rigidity, he can just crumple it within his fist. Mine raises it up to his face.
What's possessing him? His eyes widen, impossible to tell in the unlit room, but this time Mine understands, as he pushes his nose into Nishikiyama's underwear and takes a deeper breath, that he's doing something bizarre. Still, his gaze doesn't dart away. ]