#hinted semishira and kawagata

[sapphyrelily]

Like Drug Dealing, But With Pictures Of Your Crush

There’s something odd about Shirabu lately, Kawanishi thinks. Well, more odd than usual.

“Kenjirou, please stop taking pictures of my ass.”

“Your thighs,” Shirabu corrects absently. “I haven’t got good enough reason to take pictures of your ass yet.”

Kawanishi chokes. “Well, thank you for your blatant honesty.”

“Mmhmm. They’re not for me, in case you’re wondering. That’s the second reason why I refuse to take pictures of your ass.”

“Thank you for your blatant honesty.”

“You’re welcome.”

He’s almost afraid to ask, but curiosity wins out over wariness.

“Who are they for, then?”

“Oh, someone.” Shirabu taps away at his phone, and Kawanishi suspects he’s sending the photos to the person who requested them. “They’ll be in good hands.”

“Oh, yes– Because it’s so reassuring that someone out there paid you off to take pictures of my thighs!”

Shirabu looks at him, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t do it for cash, if you’re worried that my moral compass is compromised.”

“No, I’m worried about the black market that supposedly covets pictures of my body parts.”

“Just one individual, really.” Shirabu doesn’t seem concerned by Kawanishi's growing horror. “If you want to see the pictures I get in return, I’m willing to share.”

“Uh. No thanks.” Kawanishi doesn’t want to know. Nope, he Does Not Want To Know.

“You're sure?”

“Please keep your horrid fantasies to yourself, thanks.”

Shirabi shrugs. “Your loss.”

The blond wrinkles his nose. “You’re sure your buyer won’t spread those pictures?”

“Of course they won’t. Whatever exchange goes on between us stays between us.”

“And you trust this individual?”

“Why yes, Taichi. I don’t compromise your virtue for just anyone, you know.”

Kawanishi groans and hides his face in his pillow. “I hate you. Please don’t tell me any more.”

“If you insist.”

A pause, then, ���Lift your calves up and cross your ankles, thanks. I need a bargaining chip.”

“I hate you. No.”

“For my happiness, Taichi. Or you know what I’ll do to make your life extra miserable.”

Another groan. “You are a horrible friend, a terrible, blackmailing piece of shit–”

“Find some new insults. Calves up.”

Kawanishi tries to suffocate himself in his pillow while reluctantly lifting his legs.

-----

Shirabu knocks on the door, waiting until he hears “Come in, the door’s unlocked!” to step inside.

The room is as messy as ever on one side, and halfway neat on the other. The messy side contains the individual he’s looking for, who’s currently flipping through his photo gallery.

“Yo, Shirabu.” Yamagata looks up from where he’s lying on his stomach and grins. “Thanks for the photos.”

“You’re welcome.” Shirabu sits on the edge of Yamagata's bed, glancing over the photos he had taken only that morning. “Do you have anything for me?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, of course!” Yamagata pushes himself up and snags a digital camera from his side table, tossing it to his junior. Shirabu catches it easily and opens the gallery, thumbing through the most recent photos with the smallest smile on his face.

Yamagata grins. Success.

“Pass me your phone, I’ll transfer the photos for you.”

“Thanks.” Shirabu draws his legs up on the bed, watching with mild interest as Yamagata copies the same files from his laptop to Shirabu’s phone.

“So,” Yamagata begins nonchalantly. “Was there anything else today?”

Shirabu hides a smile. “That depends on what you can trade me.”

Yamagata rolls onto his back, rolling his eyes. “You’re taking too much of a business-like tone with this.”

“It is a business,” Shirabu says with mock offense. “You have something I want, I have something you want, and we discuss a price for it.”

Yamagata snorts. “See? Business-like.” He sits up abruptly, leaning close. “We’ve got about ten minutes before Eita gets back, and you’re going to let me talk for seven of those minutes.”

“Six,” Shirabu says. “I need to talk about it or I'm going to burst.”

“And people think you’re so stuffy. They really have no idea.”

“Shut up please, Yamagata-san. Time's ticking.”

Yamagata grabs his phone and scrolls to a select photo, grabbing Shirabu around the shoulders and pulling him in. “Look. Look at him. Ugh, I can’t take it, he’s so pretty it’s illegal. Who gave him the right to look like that? And his thighs, ohmygod. I could write an essay on just them.”

Shirabu nods along as Yamagata rambles, flipping to every other photo he himself had taken throughout the day, all of them varying shots of a certain blond middle blocker.

“I’m going to die one of these days,” Yamagata declares. “Combust into a little heap of ashes and they’ll have to sweep me off the gym floor.”

“Don’t do that, Coach would kill the rest of us for it.”

“You’re absolutely no fun, Kenjirou. Live a little.”

“I am living,” Shirabu whined. “If I wasn’t alive, I wouldn’t have to suffer like I do. I mean, have you seen him? No, don’t answer that, you two share a room but damn.” He sighs almost dreamily, and Yamagata can almost see the sparkles pouring off him. “I hate him but I also like him too much, this stupid traitorous heart of mine. I mean, really. Who allowed someone to be that hot?”

The sound of the doorknob turning makes Yamagata slam his laptop closed, and Shirabu shoves the digital camera under the edge of the blanket. They pick up each other’s phones by accident, and in their hurry to swap them, Shirabu’s phone slips out of hand and onto the floor with a thump. The brunet eyes it for a second, then sighs and bends to retrieve it.

Someone reaches it before him, and his phone is offered to him silently. Shirabu looks up into cocoa-coloured eyes and murmurs his thanks, watching Semi as he retreats to his side of the room.

Yamagata watches them with a wry smile. Then he pokes Shirabu in the side with a toe, making him shriek and fall off the bed.

Semi startles at the scream, turning back to watch Yamagata roll around in hysterics while Shirabu mutters some choice profanities at him.

“Yamagata-san, that is really no way to treat your favourite kouhai–”

“Second favourite.”

“Fine, second favourite. Even so, poking someone who is clearly ticklish isn’t very nice and maybe I’ll withhold my extra – ahem – research from you.”

“No.” Yamagata sits upright, glaring down at a very ruffled but smug Shirabu. “I take that back, hand whatever you have over.”

“Fair trade, Yamagata-san. Only if you have something equally good to offer.”

“I’ll make you an offer after I see what you have to offer.”

“Hmm.”

Semi has no idea what is going on, and he’s not sure he wants to know. He tries to tune out whatever the duo are arguing about, sliding his headphones on and turning his back on them.

It is much quieter with the headphones on, and he pays them no mind. He doesn’t even hear the door open and close, and doesn’t look up from his phone until Yamagata slides the headphones off to ask him a question.

-----

Kawanishi doesn’t look up when Shirabu slips back in their room, so he doesn’t bother to hide under his blankets before opening up the photos he had acquired from Yamagata.

A picture of Semi from the back, studying at his desk. His body is enveloped in a warm halo of light from his desk lamp, and he appears to be chewing on his pen.

Another picture, this time of Semi sitting on the bed. He’s reading a book, his fringe pinned back by simple black barrettes, his eyes intense as he follows the story.

Yet another, of Semi cupping his hands around something, peeping at it through the hole made by his palms. A tiny caption on the side says: Caught a tiny moth.

The last picture, lit only by a strip of light from the ajar room door, spilling across the space between their beds, illuminating Semi’s sleeping features. Hair mussed up, face relaxed, mouth slightly agape.

Shirabu moves the pictures to a different folder on his phone, then slides the device onto his side table and hugs his pillow to hide his smile.

It is eternally silly, but he can’t help what his heart does when he sees such photos of Semi.

(And nobody – except maybe Yamagata – is allowed to know that.)