Somewhat Clear

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somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu
Relationship: Yakumo/Yotarō
Tags: Hinted past relationship with Sukeroku, Sharing a Bed, Pre-Relationship, Budding Love
Wordcount: 338
Notes: Partecipa alla Maritombola 2018 di LandeDiFandom per il prompt 01 Posacenere.

Summary:
Sharing a bed with Yotarō and thinking about names and the past.

Excerpt:

Winter comes early, fogging up the glass panels with the evening cold.

{ read on AO3 | Read here }

Winter comes early, fogging up the glass panels with the evening cold.

The darkness beyond the window churns with the first frosty winds. Thin tendrils of smoke touch the storm shutters like a maiden’s shy fingers.

Yotaro starts humming a song under his breath while he unrolls the futon on the tatami; he wants to be annoyed at him, but he finds he cannot. Yotaro’s voice warms his old bones to his core, even when he’s doing everything to let them freeze over. He can’t help a smile; trust Yotaro to be stubborn, even unconsciously.

“It’s getting cold, isn’t it?” Yotaro says.

He puts the cigarette out in the ashtray and gets up. His knees don’t thank him for it. He’s really getting old. “Don’t hog the covers this time, then.”

Yotaro sputters, embarrassed. Sometimes it’s too easy.

“I’m teasing you. Turn the lights off.”

The novelty of having again the warmth of another body next to his hasn’t worn off yet, maybe because it’s been so long since it happened last time. It reminds him of when he shared his tiny one room apartment with Sukeroku. Dangerous memories.

“Rest well, master.”

It irks him. He can feel Yotaro’s warmth at his back, so close. Intimate. “It’s strange for you to call me ‘master’ while we’re sharing a futon like this.”

“Oh. Should I call you Yakumo?”

“It’s my name, isn’t it?” he says. It’s been years since he took his master’s name and it feels natural enough, but— “They used to call me different names, in the past.”

“Kikuhiko, right? It’s such an elegant name. It would still suit you.”

“The previous Yakumo picked it for me.” Not that Sukeroku ever got into the habit of using it; his voice calling out the nickname of his childhood was a constant background noise in his nightmares. “Anyway, you can call me whatever you want, as long as you let me sleep.”

“Sure thing, master— I mean, Yakumo. Good night.”

A funny feeling around his stomach. “Good night, Yotaro.”