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Atsushi padded through the living area, towel around his neck to catch the drippings from his hair and piece of lunch meat hanging from his mouth like the spoils of victory. He hesitated in his step, eyes on the television as he passed, trying to determine what movie, exactly, was on, and the distraction led to him tripping over his own feet.
Akutagawa sighed, elbow on the armrest and fist against his cheek, and when the silence stretched after the calamitous crash he checked over the back of the couch.
Atsushi picked himself up, dusted himself off, and slurped the rest of the lunch meat into his insatiable maw. “I’m all right,” he announced when he noticed Akutagawa was looking at him, and grinned sheepishly.
“Come here,” Akutagawa ordered, and Atsushi slunk over in his direction, recalcitrant over the disturbance he’d accidentally caused; when he got within an acceptable range a greenish Rashomon tentacle shot out from the blanket Akutagawa was sitting under and yanked him closer to the couch.
“Hey, hey,” Atsushi yelped, and Akutagawa reached up, grabbed Atsushi by the eartail and pulled his head down. He stilled, though, when Akutagawa pressed his nose to the crown of Atsushi’s head for a long moment, before releasing his eartail. “Ow,” Atsushi muttered sulkily, rubbing the side of his head.
“I told you to stop using my shampoo, weretiger,” Akutagawa said. “You have your own.”
“I like the way yours smells better,” Atsushi muttered. He flopped down onto the cushion beside Akutagawa, and Akutagawa regarded him silently for a moment, before turning his attention back to the movie. Of course, Atsushi wasn’t about to admit to him that he liked the way Akutagawa’s smelled better was because it smelled like Akutagawa, but if he couldn’t put that together then Atsushi wasn’t about to help him with it.
Cautiously, slowly, he leaned against Akutagawa, their shoulders touching. Akutagawa let out a soft sigh but didn’t move, either to move him or move away, so Atsushi leaned more of his weight in, settling comfortably. “I can’t believe you’re watching a Godzilla movie,” he said, and now Akutagawa did shift him, shoving at his shoulder with one hand. Atsushi was already committed with most of his weight, so all that did was make him fall forward, his head landing in the bundle of blanket covering Akutagawa’s lap.
They both froze.
After a long silence, Akutagawa rested his hand against the side of Atsushi’s head, fingers curling against his damp hair. “Your hair is wet,” Akutagawa said, as if Atsushi wasn’t aware of this fact, and Atsushi made an affirmative noise from his new position.
He could feel Akutagawa’s thigh through the blankets, firm underneath his cheek, and he closed his eyes as Akutagawa started brushing his fingers through Atsushi’s damp locks. It was comfort and warmth and security, and Atsushi drifted off before he knew what was happening.
Akutagawa’s hand stilled as the weretiger’s breathing evened out, though he did not immediately lift his hand. Atsushi went out like a light when someone stroked his head, and it was oddly comfortable to have his head pillowed here. He scritched his fingers lightly through Atsushi’s hair again, leaned over him, and breathed deep, before delivering a soft kiss just behind Atsushi’s ear. Atsushi let out a small, contented noise, and slept on.