Dinner is a work of art, if Watanuki does say so himself. He’s quite proud of his creation, and he can tell by the look on Doumeki’s face, that he enjoys it, too. But then, when has Doumeki ever seriously complained about anything Watanuki’s made for him?
The atmosphere is thick and heavy, brimming with anticipation. Watanuki can hardly sit still, but he’s never been the most composed either. Doumeki looks unperturbed, save for the heat in his eyes, the way he watches every movement Watanuki makes, the measured glances and the languid motions.
Years of friendship, of something more without crossing that final line, have come down to this moment, this night. Doumeki has always been more to him than just friend. At first a mere nuisance, an obstacle, then a valued companion, a helping hand even when Watanuki didn’t know he needed it. Then, he became a necessity in Watanuki’s life, a fixture, a loyal companion, his one, true connection to the outside world. His rock.
Watanuki has been avoiding that final push, the one thing that would cement Doumeki’s presence in his life, inside him even. He fears it, as much as he longs for it, and the dichotomy of his emotions has never ceased to amaze him.
Dinner is over. Watanuki delays things by doing the dishes, drying them even, before replacing them in the cupboard. He knows, with a strange but keen sense of always knowing where Doumeki is, that the other man is on the porch, enjoying the sake out of the store room.
Watanuki restlessly pats down his robe, drags fingers through his hair for no reason whatsoever, and then joins Doumeki out on the porch.
He sits next to the other man, close enough that they share warmth, and pointedly looks out at the garden, at the starlit sky, and the beams of moonlight peeking through a light sprinkling of clouds. He has no interest in the sake, despite what nerve-steeling courage it might give him. He’d rather be sober for this. He wants to remember, not forget.
They sit there for several long moments, in companionable, expectant silence. Doumeki finishes his sake. Watanuki picks out several constellations, not covered by the clouds. Some of the tension dissipates, making Watanuki wonder how he’d worked himself into such an anxious state in the first place.
When Doumeki’s hand lands lightly on his thigh, Watanuki wonders why he hadn’t done it sooner. When Doumeki leans over to kiss him, tasting like sake and lips warm, Watanuki wonders what he’d been afraid of. When Watanuki groans, Doumeki makes a soft noise, like a chuckle, and Watanuki wonders what the hell he thinks is so funny. But when Doumeki cups his face, deepens the kiss, and presses against him, Watanuki stops wondering at all.