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When Yamato had first decided to braid Gaku’s hair, it’d been as a joke.
Not long after they’d arrived on set for the unit photoshoot for Danshi Tarumono ~MATSURI~, Nagi and Mitsuki had wandered off somewhere or other while he’d been drawn into a discussion with one of the photographer’s assistants, who’d wanted to express their admiration for his work on Nemesis. By the time they’d finished talking, the other two-thirds of the Pythagoras trio were nowhere to be found, so he’d wandered by himself to the green room. There, he’d found none other than Trigger’s leader sprawled out on the couch, absolutely defenseless and unfairly photogenetic even in his sleep.
What was someone like him to do but play a little prank?
Knowing he’d be scolded by the makeup artists for ruining their otherwise pristine canvas if he drew on Gaku’s face, he’d opted for something a bit simpler and, kneeling down beside the couch, began braiding the longest strands of his hair with the utmost delicacy. Admittedly, he’d felt a bit nervous and had glanced over every other second to make sure that Gaku hadn’t woken up, but it seemed like the man was actually a pretty deep sleeper. When finished, he took a quick snapshot on his phone as a memento of his work. Even without a hairtie, the braid was holding up pretty well. Frustratingly, the nation’s “Number One Man People Most Wanted to be Held By” still looked...really good. Better even, if he could brag about his hair braiding skills just a bit.
He didn’t have long to muse on that because, not long afterwards, Nagi and Mitsuki had thundered into the room (well, more like Mitsuki was dragging Nagi by the ear while grumbling something about how no one in their right mind would pose for gossip magazine photos while Nagi whined plaintively). It had apparently been just the right level of noise to wake up sleeping beauty, who shifted slightly with a soft groan and blinked slowly, the haze of sleep fading with each movement. When Gaku glanced in his direction, Yamato was suddenly very aware of the fact that, if he wanted to, he could count the number of eyelashes on the other man from this proximity. Thoroughly stamping down that thought, he stood up and coughed awkwardly.
“Yo, you were sleeping pretty well there. Have a nice dream?”
Gaku sat up and stretched languidly. Then, rubbing the back of his neck, he replied, “Didn’t really dream about anything in particular, to be honest, but at least I’m feeling less tired. Are they starting now?”
“Not yet, the makeup crew’s been delayed because their van’s stuck in traffic. They should be here soon though,” says Mitsuki, who claims a spot next to Gaku now that there was space on the couch. He squints a bit at the other man, then brings a hand up to tug lightly at the braid. “Hey, this is kinda cute.”
“What is?” asks Gaku.
“This little braid--oh, oops it’s getting loose, hold on,” Mitsuki pulls out a hair tie from his pocket and with practiced movements deftly secures it, pulling back when finished to take a photo. He turns his phone around to show Gaku. “There we go.”
“OH, Yaotome-shi, that looks quite elegant. Please do my hair as well!” exclaims Nagi, who perches himself on the chair opposite theirs.
Gaku looks at the photo, bringing up a hand to the braid. He twirls it around his fingers. “...huh. It wasn’t me, actually. This your doing, Nikaido?”
Their eyes meet, and once again Yamato feels that odd frisson of something or other (excitement? nah) run through his body from having such a sharp gaze on him.
“Ah, I’ve been caught,” he answers with a shrug and all the nonchalance he can muster.
He’s quite pleased that the stylists latch on to the braid as well when they see it--although it’s redone and admittedly much neater than his haphazard attempt.
-- a couple years later --
Nagi gets his long-awaited braid when it’s decided that the four of them would be the faces of a promotion for Taiko no Tatsujin, with Momo joining them as well this time around. Yamato watches from the corner of his eye and is amused to see the younger man’s eyes light up as a girl carefully attaches the cat ears (honestly, whose idea was this) to his head. He whips out his phone to record a short clip for posterity and to share on his social media streams. Nagi immediately notices and winks at the camera.
“ Hello , Rrrowrkunya Nyagi here~” he purrs. “Hope you’re having a nyaice day.”
Mitsuki, who’d been lounging around since he’d finished first, leans over from his seat and flicks his forehead. Nagi makes a face and Yamato can’t help but snigger. He slowly pans the camera to his other side, where Gaku and Momo are making small talk about something or other. Momo’s the first to notice and with a cheeky grin curls his hands into cat paws and mews at the camera. Gaku turns to look as well, and gives a small smile and a wave.
“Gakuuuu you have to give more service than that!” Momo scolds.
Gaku seems puzzled at first, and looks over to Yamato. Yamato rolls his eyes and does a brief imitation of Momo’s earlier cat pose. He gets a serious nod in return, and watches as Gaku slowly brings his hand up.
Then, in an extremely deadpan voice, he gives a single “Nya.”
Yamato absolutely loses it. Mitsuki snaps a photo of him on the ground, clutching his sides and laughing like a hyena.
Within hours of getting posted, it gets upwards of 2,000 likes, which is more than what Yamato gets when he finally uploads his own recording. Within minutes, Iori’s sent a clipped message via rabichat to his older brother requesting that he please consider their leader’s image before posting incriminating photos to social media.
In the present, Gaku slips off his chair and leans down to help Yamato up, muttering, “It wasn’t THAT funny.”
“Yes. Yes it was,” Yamato replies, taking his hand. He lets himself get pulled up, and straightens his outfit a bit. “It was adorable. You should definitely do it again for the actual shoot.”
Gaku hums thoughtfully. “I’ll consider it.”
One of the staff members call for Gaku, so he turns towards them to respond. That’s when Yamato notices.
“Ah, that’s nostalgic,” he says. Almost without thinking, he finds himself running fingers along the braid in the other man’s hair. “It’s kinda like when we did the matsuri shoot.”
Gaku quirks an eyebrow. “You know I’ve had other occasions where they braided my hair between then and now.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to see it.”
A beat. Then there it is again, that unreadable expression that Yamato’s seen on several occasions during his interactions with the other idol. He finds himself shivering involuntarily in response and quickly withdraws his hand while looking around to see if anyone had witnessed that. The room is empty though, save for the two of them.
While they’d been...doing whatever this was, it seemed like the others had already discreetly left for the set. He clears his throat. “We should get going.”
“...yeah.”
-- ??? --
Yamato wakes up wrinkling his nose when he feels strands of his hair brush with the just the right amount of pressure to elicit a sneeze. He blinks groggily up at the ceiling, regretting the last few glasses of sake he’d accepted from one of the cameramen at last night’s wrap party, while trying to figure out exactly whose bed he was lying in. It sure as hell wasn’t his. Feeling fingers combing through his hair, he tries to turn his head in that direction while ignoring the dull throb at the back of his skull.
“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up?”
The hands retreat, to Yamato’s slight disappointment. It’d felt nice. He feels the mattress shift and then Gaku Yaotome’s stupidly beautiful face peers over his, mere centimeters away. Also, he was wearing Yamato’s glasses.
Ah, right. Gaku’d been a supporting character on the show at some point, so he’d been at the party too.
“As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been told I’m a pretty heavy sleeper actually. Sougo thinks it’s impossible to wake me up with anything less than a frying pan and a spatula, so props to you for beating his record. Also, give those back.”
Gaku slips off the glasses and hands them over. He asks, “Are these even prescription? If so, they’re weaker than mine.”
“Astigmatism,” he replies vaguely. Yamato would rather not get into the nitty gritty details of his tragic backstory while hungover, thanks.
Gaku snorts, clearly unconvinced. Yamato ignores this and avoids further explanation by studiously wiping the lenses with the hem of his shirt before putting them on. Maybe it was a bit childish, but he feels a small amount of vindictive glee when he sits up and the momentum of his movement causes Gaku to lose his balance. He falls not only from his sidelying position but off of the bed entirely. It doesn’t escape Yamato’s notice that, while he’d been tucked in neatly, the other man had slept above the sheets last night. How gentlemanly.
That being said, considering the fact that they’d been dating for a couple months now (well, whenever their schedules could align for that anyway) you’d think they would have graduated to at least sharing blankets by now. Despite all evidence to the contrary when you looked at all the marketing materials for Trigger’s leader, the man was about as traditional as they came in regards to how romantic relationships progressed. It was endearing, if also at times just the tiniest bit frustrating whenever Yamato wakes up from a spicier dream and remembers that the furthest they’ve really gotten has been a few hasty makeout sessions in unoccupied green rooms, where the majority of their clothes stayed on.
But baby steps.
Gaku quickly recovers from his little fall and sits up, leaning against the bedframe. He says, “Hope you don’t mind that I brought you to our place. You seemed really out of it near the end of the night and this seemed like a better option than letting you loose on some poor unsuspecting taxi driver.”
“Hey, I’m pretty sure that I’m at least a better drunk than Sou or Tsunashi-san.”
Yamato reaches his arms up and stretches, sighing contentedly which each audible pop and crack of his joints. He doesn’t miss the way Gaku’s eyes are briefly drawn to the sliver of skin he’d revealed when his shirt lifts up a bit. When Gaku realizes he’d been caught, rather than look away he maintains eye contact, almost as if challenging Yamato to say something about it.
Ah, progress. With a small smirk, Yamato adjusts his glasses and continues, “Hope I didn’t misbehave too much?”
“Nah, you just kept giving really bad life advice. It was cute though.” Before he can react, Gaku’s on his knees and leaning in, bringing a hand up to hover briefly near Yamato’s cheek before tangling loosely in his hair. They stay that way for one breath. Two breaths. Three.
“You look good,” he says, before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Yamato’s lips. Nodding in satisfaction, Gaku pulls back and gradually stands up with a mild wobble. Maybe he was also feeling the effects of last night’s drinking escapades. “I think Ryuu’s already started on breakfast, so feel free to head down to the kitchen whenever you’re ready to get up. Spare toothbrushes are in the medicine cabinet above the sink.”
Yamato remains composed until the door clicks shut, then immediately curls in on himself and makes strangled noises into the comforter. The hell was that all about? Was he trying to give this old man a heart attack? Was he even allowed to call himself an old man when Gaku was the same age as him?? Where was Musashi when you needed the soothing whir of his little robotic cleaning noises?
When he eventually stumbles into the washroom, the first thing he sees in the mirror aside from the bags under his eyes and his disheveled clothing is the braid. It’s clearly done by someone with little experience, uneven and messy and barely keeping its shape thanks to a small hairtie. He rolls his eyes. So that’s what his boyfriend had been acting all smug about.
He wears the braid down to the kitchen, which earns a quiet chuckle from Ryuunosuke and a cutting remark about how a five year old could do a better job than that from Tenn. Gaku splutters into his miso soup.