Our 4 AM Midnight

Fushimi crept upstairs; the dim lighting cast long shadows across the bar's burgundy walls. Aside from the occasional sound of a car driving past or the holler of some late night drunk still roaming the streets, the night was silent. He made his way down the narrow hallway, stopping when he came to the last room on the left, its door slightly ajar. He pushed the door open slowly, the soft yellow light spilling into the dark room. He could hear faint snores coming from the misshapen lump on the ratty, leather couch in the far corner. He walked over and stood at the end, staring down at its occupant. Misaki was strewn across the couch on his stomach, fast asleep with his mouth slightly parted and his right arm dangling off the edge. Fushimi could tell by his sleeping position that he had no intention of falling asleep; Misaki always slept on his side.

Fushimi had been assigned a mission earlier that evening. Kusanagi-san had nodded at him and gestured for him to join the other three members. He stood up lazily, hands in his pockets, and walked over to the door. Out of his peripheral vision, Misaki stood up and began to trail after him. But then, Kusanagi-san had reached out and grabbed Misaki's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and informing him that he wouldn't be needed that night. His gaze had flickered toward Fushimi, the expression on his face torn and frustrated, before he looked back at Kusenagi-san with pleading eyes. When the bartender shook his head, his jaw had tightened. He gave a curt nod, indicating he understood, before swiftly returning to his seat. It was the first time they were ever separated for a mission, and Fushimi didn't know if Misaki was angry about that, or the fact that he was chosen instead of him. He was positive it was the latter. During instructions, Fushimi had glanced back at him, trying to make eye contact. The other refused to look his way and continued stare at the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Fushimi was the last one to leave after being dismissed, but before he could make it out the door, his wrist was caught in a vice grip. He twisted back to stare into a pair of hazel eyes. He tilted his head questioningly.

"Back room. Be there."

Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him, curiously. The staring eyes abruptly averted their gaze and looked off to the side. Though it may have just been from the glow of the room, he swore there was a faint red tint to Misaki's cheeks.

"I-I need to talk to you when you get back," Misaki finally clarified in a low voice.

"It'll be too late for talking."

Misaki's eyes snapped back to glare at him. "You'll be back by midnight."

Fushimi smirked, "Won't it be passed your bedtime by then?"

"I'm older than you, asshole!" Misaki hissed at him, and Fushimi could feel his warm breath slipping through his clenched teeth.

"It doesn't look that way," he said, pointedly staring down at Misaki.

His last quip caused the grip around his wrist to tighten and nails to dig into his skin. Misaki glared at him while Fushimi looked unconcerned that his skin was being stabbed with crescent moon marks. For a moment, none of them made a sound, then Misaki suddenly loosened his clench and cast him an exasperated expression.

"Are you gonna be there or not?"

Fushimi didn't answer him. He merely clicked his tongue in annoyance and pulled away, slipping out the door before another word could be uttered.

He had gotten back far later than predicted. The mission had quite literally gone to shit, and he wasn't actually used to fighting without Misaki at his side. Staring down at his sleeping form, Fushimi wondered how late he stayed up before his heavy eyelids slid shut, and his tired body unwillingly slumped into the uncomfortable cushions. Fushimi crouched down next to the couch, watching the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. He was still wearing his hat, and Fushimi shook his head before reaching out to take it off for him. His hand lingered, and he let his fingers slip through the soft strands of chestnut hair, slowly trailing downwards to caress his warm cheek. Misaki unconsciously leaned into his gentle touch, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

"You waited up for me." Fushimi spoke to the unaware teenager, his voice apathetic. He clicked his tongue, "Look how uncomfortable you are now." His hand pulled harshly on the strands of hair, and Misaki whimpered softly in response. His hand stilled for a second before it resumed its stroking once he was sure the other was still fast asleep. His eyes glanced over Misaki's face. He always found it slightly amazing how it was always so full emotion when he was awake yet so completely barren when he slept. His face was so peaceful without the creases in his forehead, the drawn together eyebrows, and the mischievous smirk his mouth curled into. He instantaneously looked years younger, like the young teenager he was supposed to be, and not at all like a feared member of the HOMRA. Fushimi felt a sudden surge of familiar emotions constrict inside his chest before immediately pushing them back down. He closed his eyes momentarily and tried to block out the image of the sleeping figure to no avail; it was already burned into his mind. He fell forward until his forehead touched the Misaki's, breathing deeply.

"What did you want to tell me, Misaki?" he asked quietly. He opened his eyes to Misaki's still closed ones. "How inconsiderate of you to fall asleep when I came here like you asked." Fushimi's thumb slipped underneath Misaki's undershirt, silently stroking his collarbone. His eyes traveled down to his mouth, and his hand upward, running his thumb over the parted lips. He could feel the warm, moist breath hit the pad of his thumb, and he pressed harder until the pink lips turned a dark shade of red.

"You really are oblivious…" he trailed off. He suddenly felt tired, so very tired, more than he's ever felt before. He detached himself from the other and sat back on his heels, swaying slightly. The green numbers of Misaki's watch blinked steadily in the darkness. It was already 4:00 am. He looked out the window, the skies an inky black and the streets barely illuminated with dying streetlamps. It was too late to be called night and yet too early to be dawn. It sat on the edge of both, between the end and the start of another day. Fushimi stood up, his joints popping from the strain. He lifted the other's legs and rested them on his own after plopping down on the couch. He sat there with a rusty spring digging into his lower back. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to change his position without disturbing his sleeping companion. His head rolled backwards against the cushion, and he stared blankly at the ceiling. He wished to fall asleep. He was so, so tired, and that's when thoughts tended to run astray. He didn't want to think, didn't want to move a muscle in his weary body. He wanted to close his eyes, dead to the world, but there he sat in the standstill of time, exhausted to the point of wakefulness.

He was half asleep when day had started to break over the horizon. With effort, he lifted his head and opened his half-lidded eyes to stare straight into the white, blinding light of the rising sun. Streaks of sunbeams tinted dusk clouds with a lining of gold as the midnight skies slowly faded to a cool, morning gray. The room and its off-white walls were engulfed in a warm, fiery orange, illuminating every shadow and darkened corner. The bustling streets and the crowded city were in absolute silence, and for once, finally in tranquility. For a moment, Fushimi considered actually being able to fall asleep. His quiet contemplation was soon interrupted by the sound of rustling sheets beside him. The other occupant was waking and turning over, his shirt twisted about him. He sat up slowly, one arm snaking up his wrinkled shirt to scratch his side before opening his sleep-ridden eyes. Misaki's movement stilled, and Fushimi wondered why before he realized he had been staring with such intensity. It was quite a sight to behold; the brilliant rays of sunlight streamed down on the mop of russet locks, casting an ethereal glow around him, like a halo, with shadows around his face outlining his cheekbones. And Fushimi's breath caught in his throat when eyes that gleamed like flecks of molten copper met his. The spell was broken when Misaki suddenly yawned, his back arching and shirt rising up to reveal a strip of smooth skin. Fushimi swallowed thickly, his eyes trailing down his stomach before it was once again covered. When he looked up again, Misaki had scooted closer to him; they were so close he could feel the heat radiating off of him. With a pause in his movement, Misaki moved over and rested his chin on his sharp shoulder, casting him a hesitant sidelong glance. Fushimi met his gaze and studied his unruly hair and cheeks still imprinted with sleep.

"You're late," Misaki interrupted, his voice full of irritation.

Fushimi blinked down at him before snorting in amusement at the childlike tone. Misaki's cheeks reddened, this time Fushimi was certain they did, and he waited for the usual embarrassed yelling to follow. To his surprise, Misaki had slowly grinned instead. A wide grin that practically split his face. And he laughed, a light rumbling sound, right into Fushimi's ear.

Fushimi suddenly felt very awake as if all the weariness had strangely been lifted off his shoulders. The laughter had gradually stopped, but the pleased grin was still in place. Misaki watched him with bright hazel eyes that twinkled with and emotion that looked suspiciously like a certain fondness.

"Hey," Misaki said, voice seeping with warmth.

Fushimi noticed too late that Misaki's smile was infectious as his lips unwillingly quirked into an involuntary half smile that was more than half genuine.

"Hey," he answered back.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone!