#is that ash's lovely long lashes don't clip into his cheeks

[lynzishell]

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Transcript + Bonus below the cut:

Atlas: Welcome back. Did ya have fun? Asher: Yeah. It took me at least twenty tries to make it down without falling on my a—[looks at Aspen] back. But I did it. Which means I never have to do it again.

Phoenix: Are you guys coming with us to the Festival of Snow? Asher: Nah, you all go ahead. I’m exhausted and my entire body hurts. I’m gonna go lay down and never move again. Phoenix: Feel free to use the hot tub out there, it’ll probably help. Asher: Yeeaaah, I’m not doing that.

Atlas: How about you take a hot shower, and then I’ll give you a terrible massage. Phoenix: Why a terrible one? Atlas: It’s the only way I know how. Asher: It’s true, he’s the worst, but I’ll take it.

...

Asher: Either I’m getting used to your massages, or you’re getting better. That actually feels good. Atlas: Practice makes perfect, I guess. Asher: Well, you can practice on me anytime. Atlas: Noted.

Asher: Didn’t you say there’s a bunch of hiking trails around here? Atlas: Yeah, there’s a few. Asher: We should go on a hike together tomorrow, just me and you. Atlas: Look at you being all outdoorsy and active this week.

Asher: Might as well take advantage while we’re here. Besides, if there’s one thing I learned today, it’s that I’ve let myself get out of shape. I didn’t realize how much running around on the beach with Jasper kept me fit. I’ve gone soft now. Atlas: Mm-mm.

Atlas: You’re perfect.

...

This post got me reminiscing about the first time they came to the Festival of Snow...

This was seven years ago in story time, can you believe it???!!! This was before they even climbed Mt Komorebi!

[selfetishizing]

In which Eiji grossly overestimates the amount of mandarins he and Ash can eat. / 🍊 / ao3

Eiji comes home with a carton of mandarins and drops them at the entrance step with a dull thump.

“It was a good deal,” he tells Ash between breaths. “Ten kilograms for six thousand yen.” And then something about Mikan mandarins being nothing like those Floridian jokes for citrus and how the season for them is coming to a close. Ash never asked in the first place. It was as though he was defending himself from something before Ash could even open his mouth.

“Okay.” Ash kisses him on the cheek and helps him out of his coat, always in that order. Eiji stands on his toes, balancing himself with the cords of Ash’s sweater to aim another on his mouth. Ash leans down to help him, unconsciously souring his expression as he pulls back. “Have one on your way home?” He kisses him again for surety and, well, sure enough, his lips taste like they had been doused with Tang.

“A couple. Two couples.”

Ash whistles. “Dang. These oranges must be somethin’.”

"Mandarins, Ash. Mandarins. Not that I’d know the difference,” he sighs. “Oranges, mandarins... They're all kind of the same aren't they? Maybe it's about the size, the firmness, the peel. Maybe it's about the taste. All I know is that mandarins are like candy, and whatever this is,” Eiji pushes his chest out and wildly gesticulates to the accursed box before them, “is not it. These must be clementines from— oh, I don't know!— Pensa-fucking-cola!” He erupts all at once, shooting up like a thermometer on a dog day June afternoon and fizzling out like cola foam.

Eiji leans back against the door and Ash on the bannister. They stare at it, Eiji with utter disdain and Ash with morbid curiosity. Like a pack of Tic Tacs magnified by one hundred, he muses.

Ash crouches down to pick one of the mandarins up. Eiji moves in accordance, hand reaching out as if to stop him— that the fruit would poison him if he so much as hovered over it. Despite this silent warning, Ash grabs three and plays court jester for His Highness.

He juggles.

He juggles and he absolutely sucks at it while Eiji watches in complete horror; seeing the mandarins not as mandarins, but clipped grenades ready to blow the very hands that handled it. The color had gone from his face. He is but a pale sheet reflecting the warm hue of the ball pit that tormented him from below.

Eiji flashes him a mortified look. What the hell do you think you're doing?

Ash concentrates. Trying not to mess up.

Eiji frowns. This isn’t funny.

Ash almost cries. Yeah it is.

And he messes up.

The mandarins drop to the floor, sad little balls with not a lot of roll in them. Their eyes trace them as they huddle next to the box, like they had desperately wanted to go home and out of the reach of these two men that were belittling them.

Defeated, Eiji's back slides down the door. He holds his head in his hands.

“I miscalculated,” he says exasperatedly. “What are we going to do with all of these oranges?”

“Mandarins.”

“Mandarins.”

Ash sits level with him on the first step, eyes gleaming with warrior morale. He grabs the enemy and thrusts his fingers unto him, peeling them from their leathery armor. Ash— the fearless brute!— sections his enemy into eighths and tears into their head, innards spilling down his chin. In savage fashion, he wipes their juices with the back of his hand, going as far as offering their remains to Eiji. He grins. “We’re gonna eat ‘em.”

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The sun slowly filters through bleary eyes and he sees a blob of Eiji watching him, head propped on both elbows. Ash hums as Eiji runs his hands through his hair, neither awake or asleep.

“An angel,” he murmurs, grasping his wrist and pulling him in. He presses his lips on the inside of his arm.

“Not quite.” Eiji climbs over him, heartbeats tethered. He smooches his jaw, laces their hands loosely. “Your worst nightmare, actually. A real devil with horns and a pitchfork.”

“Oh no.” Ash wraps an arm around Eiji’s waist, keeping them fixed together. He aims— bullseye!— for his lips, scrunching his nose when he tastes him on his tongue. “Oh no.” Mandarines today. Tangerines yesterday. Clementines the day before.

The wisps of Eiji’s hair tickle his skin as he laughs into his chest. “Told you so.”

“Sugar, you’re sour!”

“You really won’t like what’s for breakfast then.” Eiji rests his cheek against his shoulder, looking up from behind his lashes. Ash stares at him, the world in his eyes. It's enough to mask his disappointment.

“Again?”

“Yes, again. It was your idea."

“Can’t I have you for breakfast?”

“No, silly. That would be cannibalism.”

“But you’d be so delicious." Ash brings their held hands to his mouth, playfully biting one of Eiji’s fingers. Oranges. Of course it tastes like oranges. “Actually, on second thought....”

“Poor thing,” patronizes Eiji, patting his head like he’s the star player of a losing team. “You poor, poor thing.”

“You’re evil,” Ash whispers.

“I know, and you’re absolutely mad about me for it.” Eiji winks and untangles himself from Ash’s cling. He swipes his bangs up and pecks him on the forehead. “It’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“‘It?’ What is ‘it?'”

Eiji is already out the door, down the hall before he can answer.

Ash rolls himself up with linen wraps and lays lax in their unmade bed, ruler of this citrus peel mausoleum. He curses to himself, at the sun, at his sweet-turned-sourheart. He wishes it was the weekend. Then, he'd have an excuse to stay in bed all day and never leave their room. He'd be able to snack on all the Eiji he wants without burning the roof of his mouth with acid fruit.

──────────⊹⊱🍊⊰⊹──────────

The low table is dressed with white lace placemats and their finest floral china— courtesy of Missus Mom Okumura. A carafe is the centerpiece, replacing the vase of lilies Ash had bought Eiji when he went into town. Ash looks through the glass, Eiji’s head bobbing in the saffron pool.

“Come sit,” beckons Eiji, motioning to the cushion adjacent to him. His smile is distorted by pulp. Cautiously, Ash enters. He keeps it cool, keeps it blasé as he shuffles his feet inside with his knuckles tucked into the waistband of his brief, elbows pointed outward. There, his place is set with wooden chopsticks and their granite stopper. And lo and behold, the main course’s presentation is that of a rose, blooming from its peel. He should’ve known.

“You’re joking.”

Ash would've laughed had the situation not been so ridiculous.

“I wish I was.”

“How is it that we have an infinite arsenal of mandarins?”

“Not infinite. The box is almost empty.”

“It took us four days of constant snacking to get to this point.”

“And it will take us one more to finish it.”

Ash points an accusatory finger at him. “You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna stuff myself with another one of those. My shit is literally orange.”

“Put me in a sanatorium then.” Eiji slides the plate in his direction. “Breakfast is served.”

──────────⊹⊱🍊⊰⊹──────────

Ash always liked train rides in Japan, liked how silent it was, and the comforting voice of the announcer telling them they’d arrived at their destination. Living in the countryside meant sprawling fields for hours until they reached the city, a scene Ash never seemed to tire of. A cow would greet him for a second before they were replaced by some grandpa with muddied ankles, before he was replaced by a young girl on a Tiffany blue bell bike, before she was replaced with…

As he stares out the window, he can see Eiji, sitting across from him cross-legged, peeling another offending mandarin. Ash sighs, trying to immerse himself back into his one-man game of I Spy. Eiji wins his attention again— he always does— and so Ash settles on watching Eiji’s reflection behind him.

Eiji always starts at the middle and digs his thumbs into the peel, pulling its skin off as if he were undressing it. Erotic, Ash thinks fleetingly. He strips it sensually, letting it unfurl into a sproutling. Juice drips down his hand when he carelessly breaks into its flesh. Eiji licks up from his wrist, the heel of his palm and sucks on a finger. Naughty, naughty. Ash smiles into his sleeve, letting the thought float up in his head and burst into a million soap bubbles.

Finally, for once this week, his mouth waters, parched. Ash supposes this is what it means to be in love. Even the most mundane of tasks can look enticing if your other half is doing it. He’s sure he’ll be over the moon about this snapshot scene for the rest of the month. He’ll count the replays of Eiji in the train instead of sheep just before slumber, ensuring him tender dreams.

“It’s a lucky sweet one.” Telepathic. Eiji seems to know exactly what he wants.

Ash nods.

Eiji breaks it into fourths, a fourth into a half. Instead of giving him a section, Eiji rises from his seat to sit beside Ash; crosses his legs, leans in, opens his mouth to say “aaaah” as he feeds him. Ash devours, nips his nail.

“There’s people in this car,” Eiji whispers sharply, eyes darting left and right. A man is reading the paper— a huge parrotfish is its cover story. There’s a teenage boy in the back fiddling with his phone, neon lights of his game reflecting softly on his face. A woman Ash presumes worked the night shift is sound asleep.

“No one’s looking.” Ash wraps an arm around him and scooches closer. “Quickly.”

Eiji, Mister Goody-Two-Shoes, puffs his cheek and scans the area one more time, switching his gaze from Ash’s mischievous stare to his near-empty surroundings. He surrenders and angles his head up, eyes closed, waiting, aching. Ash captures him.

“You taste like Sunday morning,” Ash coos, supping the remnants of his juice-glossed lips.

“Ever the poet.” Eiji, blushing, concentrates on turning more quarters into halves. “We still have four of these left. Hopefully they taste just as sweet.”

Ash is sure they will be.

He wouldn’t mind eating mandarins for the rest of his life so long as Eiji is peeling them for him.