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The world had, for the last four hours, been reduced to Yuki and his embroidery. The passage of time and such worldly concerns as hunger didn’t matter, he thought almost viciously. He forced his shaky fingers to still long enough to finish stitching another delicate tendril of cypress vine.
Sticking his needle in the pin cushion bracelet Tenma had gotten him for his birthday ("So even a hack like you can buy decent gifts, huh?” "Hey, what are you trying to start-!"), Yuki gently traced his fingers over the finished border, drifting around the hem of the the grey wool cloak Kumon would wear for their next play.
Kumon had been so excited that they would be lead and co-lead together. Yuki ran his fingers over the flowers again, sighing softly as he remembered the bright smile on Kumon's face as he had thrown his arms around Yuki, the script draft Tsuzuru had presented crashing to the floor next to their unconscious scriptwriter.
Yuki had, true to form, shoved Kumon away and snapped at him, but had mentally filed away that look of joy. And Kumon's bright laugh as he stumbled away from Yuki's shove. And the fond look Kumon sent him during their first read through. And-
No. Embroidery. Outside factors like time and hunger and ridiculously endearing boyfriends were irrelevant.
He popped his knuckles and shook out his achy hands, taking up his needle again. The hem was done, but the pattern was supposed to continue along the edges of the sleeves as well. Yuki tied off his thread and adjusted the heavy fabric piled in his lap, and-
And tan fingers closed around his own. Yuki suddenly became aware of the presence behind him, and wondered how he didn’t notice before; silence wasn’t one of Kumon’s virtues, after all.
“So,” Yuki eventually said, after Kumon remained uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s late.” Immediately, he wanted to hit himself. So, it’s late? Had Yuki become one of Muku’s stumbling shoujo protagonists all of the sudden?
Kumon laughed, and he leaned forward to put all his weight on Yuki’s back. “Yeah, it is,” he hummed happily.
Yuki exhaled sharply, and it puffed in front of him in a little white cloud. Huh. It must have gotten cold sometime - around the time it had gotten dark, actually - but he hadn’t noticed either.
He cleared his throat. “The hack’s gonna be unbearable if you fall asleep during practice,” he said, not quite able to muster the willpower to pull his hands away from Kumon’s. “He’ll scream his damn head off.” Kumon just laughed again.
When exactly had that become so endearing to him?
“Tenma-san wouldn’t!” Kumon insisted, and the worst part is, they both knew it was true. Even if Tenma hadn’t cooled off significantly since he first joined the troupe - and Tenma should thank his lucky stars that he did, because Yuki would have smothered him in his sleep if he hadn’t - everyone knew that Tenma had a soft spot for Kumon.
(Everyone might also call Yuki a massive hypocrite for that remark. Yuki, however, was not asking everyone and, as a matter of fact, everyone should mind their own damn business.)
Yuki sighed, shaking his head as if he could forcibly knock away the fondness bubbling up. “Why are you even up? It’s…” Yuki faltered, realizing he didn’t know what time it actually was.
“3:00,” Kumon supplied.
“Right. 3:00.” Yuki could dwell on the fact that he’d been sitting out in the cold with his sewing for six hours, or the fact that Kumon had come out here to chase after him, but thinking about either of those didn’t exactly sound appealing. “So. You’re out here, because…?”
“It’s late!”
“…right, but-”
“Yuki needs to go to bed!”
Right.
Yuki cleared his throat again, staring down at Kumon’s fingers wrapped around his. He really needed to pull his hands away, shake Kumon off or something, but his brain seemed to have disconnected from his body.
His brain hadn’t disconnected from his mouth, though.
“What I need to do is finish this.” Yuki blinked hard, refocusing his vision.
What had happened the last time he was lead still hung over him. Sure, he had managed to fix the costumes before he sent anyone out in them, but what if he hadn’t? What if he’d let his stubbornness get the best of him and sent the psycho stalker and the hack and dumb dog onstage in his original designs?
He wouldn’t let something like that happen. He refused.
He had pored over these designs, sketching and erasing so far into the night that Tenma had eventually just switched off the lights. Yuki had, however, invested in a flashlight for this very purpose. He had also shined it right into Tenma’s eyes for good measure.
“You should go back to bed,” Yuki added as an afterthought, glancing up. His personal burdens were no reason for to keep Kumon up.
Kumon frowned down at him. The pale, hazy moonlight made his hair look more lavender than violet, and Yuki idly wondered if he had thread in that particular shade.
“But, how could I sleep knowing you’re out here?” Kumon collapsed over the back of Yuki’s chair, resting his chin on Yuki’s shoulder. Interestingly, this didn’t bother Yuki.
“Easily?” Yuki guessed. Kumon made a loud noise in protest, right into Yuki’s ear. “Gah, too loud, brocon.”
“Huh, you haven’t called me that in forever,” Kumon said. “But, w- wait, no! I’ve been trying to fall asleep for hours, but I just couldn’t, and I didn’t know why! But then Sumi-san told me you were out here, so I came to find you!”
Yuki, for once, was at a loss for words. How the hell was he supposed to digest that? It was so ridiculously sincere that he wanted to scream.
“Well. I’m fine. So you can go back to bed.” Kumon sighed dramatically, ruffling Yuki’s hair.
“Alright. You asked for it.”
“Wh-”
Yuki did not squeak as Kumon picked him up, because that would be ridiculous. It would be fair to say, though, that some high pitched noise akin to a squeak escaped him as Kumon easily hefted him up.
And it wasn’t even a romantic carry, like in Muku’s shoujo mangas. No, Yuki’s ridiculous boyfriend decided to haul him up like a sack of potatoes and sling him onto his shoulder.
“Put me down,” Yuki hissed. Kumon hummed. “I mean it!”
“Yeah, you do,” Kumon said fondly, and Yuki was not going to dissect that, actually.
Yuki was so focused on pointedly ignoring Kumon’s comment that he didn’t fight as Kumon carried him. Or, not until he remembered-
“The costumes.” Yuki smacked at Kumon’s shoulder. “We just left them. We- we need to-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kumon said, lightly but still sincere. “I’ll send Sumi-san a LIME.”
“Uh-huh. And, do I really trust the trianglian with my costumes?”
“Sumi-san is responsible! But I’ll offer him a God-Level Sankaku-san, just in case!” He reached up and patted Yuki’s back.
Yuki just sighed and let his hang head against Kumon’s back. He was wearing the soft, pale yellow sweater Yuki had made for him for Christmas. And while of course it felt good to see people wear his designs, it felt better, somehow, to have Kumon wear them.
He knew, logically, that Kumon was right. It was true that he’d get better work done if he was well-rested. As it was, his fingers had been twitching and his vision had been blurring out for the past couple hours.
He also knew that, had he been left alone, he wouldn’t have stopped until morning came or he passed out, whichever happened first.
Kumon had known that, huh. He just knew Yuki that well.
Yuki would definitely blame the way he was smiling like an idiot into Kumon’s sweater on sleep deprivation induced insanity, come morning.