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Yuuji squints at the screen of the desktop computer, which more and more he’s starting to think they need to replace, and says, “Did they change the website?”
The door creaks open, the sound of the sewing machine stops, and Takumi says, “What?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it, I just think they changed the layout of the tax filing website or something and I hate it.”
“You hate it every year whether they change it or not.” Takumi comes up behind him and leans down, chin coming to rest on his shoulder. “All looks like gibberish to me.”
“Well, that’s why I do the taxes and you do the clothing repairs.”
“Yeah, that and I got sick of going through a bottle of rubbing alcohol a week. Not to mention that one trip to the hospital.” He can feel Takumi smiling next to his face. “I didn’t know there were that many ways to hurt yourself on a sewing machine.”
Yuuji turns as much as he can to look in Takumi’s direction, although Takumi’s face is obscured by the curtain of his hair. “It’s a talent.”
“Good point, you are pretty talented, that is what I like about you.” There’s some rustling behind the back of the chair, and then Takumi reaches around him and drops an opened envelope onto the keyboard. “Take a break, maybe, we got a letter from Keitaro.”
“Oh, hey, where is he now—is that a Mexican postmark? I thought he was going to Monaco!”
“He misheard the airport announcements, got on the wrong flight, and ran with it.”
“…yeah, that sounds like him.”
“And Yuka and Mari said they can’t do tomorrow because Mari’s doing hair for some event and she’s going to be busy late, but they can come over for dinner on Thursday, and apparently that works for Kaido too. So you’re on the hook for dinner because you know Kaido always gripes when the food’s cold.”
“Sounds good. And Kaido does like your cooking, he’s just a compulsive jerk.”
“Oh. Also.” There’s a pause, Takumi stands up, and Yuuji turns, puzzled, to meet the unstable gaze of a pair of adhesive googly eyes stuck to the case for the good fabric scissors. Takumi’s forehead is wrinkling in confusion. “The, uh. The scissors have eyes now? And the sewing machine, and the box of spare machine needles, and the iron, and the tickets for all the stuff waiting for pickup?”
Yuuji shrugs, grinning. “Yuka left a package here, she got them for an art project her kids were doing, and I got bored? Actually,” he reaches into his pocket for the little sheet he knows he stuck in there earlier today, “there’s one left, I saved it for you.” And, over Takumi’s stammered protests, he sticks the last googly eye to Takumi’s forehead, right in the middle of the confusion wrinkles. “There we go, you’ve achieved enlightenment.”
This doesn’t bring the wrinkles down at all. “I’ve…what?”
“Your third eye is now open.”
Beat, and Takumi snorts. “You are so goddamn weird.” He leans down and presses his mouth to Yuuji’s and then says, again, “You’re so weird.”
“This is,” Yuuji is interrupted by another kiss, “this isn’t a great incentive to,” another kiss, “you’re not convincing me to not be weird.”
Takumi pulls back, and Yuuji makes “eye contact” with the googly eye on his forehead and starts laughing helplessly, to Takumi’s obviously feigned disgust. “You are the weirdest goddamn guy I’ve ever met,” punctuated by yet another kiss, this one made uneven and strange by Yuuji’s hysterical laughter, and Yuuji’s hands coming up to grab the collar of his t-shirt.
“So, so what does it say about you, ” more laughter, more kissing, Keitaro’s letter slowly sliding off of the keyboard, “if me being weird makes you kiss me like this?”
Takumi shrugs, and the googly eye falls off his forehead and lands on Yuuji’s, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh. “I don’t know, it’s not my fault I love you.”
Takumi wakes up with a start, the sun shining in his eyes and the grass making the back of his neck itch, and Mari says, sort of unnecessarily, “You fell asleep.”
“Yeah.” He stares up at the clouds slowly moving across the sky. “I’m tired today.”
“You dream about anything?”
He shrugs against the grass. “Doing laundry.”
“I dream about laundry all the time,” Keitaro says from Mari’s other side. “Sometimes I can actually smell the perc in my dreams.”
“You guys ever wonder if there are other universes out there? Where everything went differently?”
Mari looks down at him, frowning, but Keitaro lets out a long sigh and says, “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes. Why, what would you want to be doing if everything went differently?”
Takumi shrugs again, imagining a kiss with laughter in and through and around it. “Still laundry, I guess. I think maybe that’d be nice.”