"Asshole," Kaidoh says and means it, obviously, and now Momoshiro should get mad so they can fight and get it done, like shaking out a bunched-up blanket so when it settles down it's smooth again.
But Momoshiro doesn't fight, just turns away, staring at the TV in the corner of his room, the game controllers spilled out on the floor, cables tangling into a rat king.
Kaidoh reaches for his jacket, the rules are changed, so he won't play. Momoshiro gives a shrug, his collar shifts, and there's a glimpse of purple, Kaidoh's suck mark on Momoshiro's skin.
Water fills Kaidoh's mouth and knees and chest. He puts out a hand, he has to touch the bruise, he wishes it were ink and it would smear.
Momoshiro catches Kaidoh's wrist, fingers tight against the bone. "You're the asshole," he says.
Kaidoh doesn't move. "I know," he says.
"As long as you know," Momoshiro says and lets Kaidoh push him down and leave another mark on him. "As long as you know."