Trifecta

Trepidation

Kirishima's eyes fluttered open in the muted light of not-quite dawn, when the mesh of sleep still entrapped the rest of the little house.

That, in itself, was strange, but the eerie déjà vu that flooded him at the sight of the indistinct contours of Yokozawa's turned back, had his body tensing and heart beating faster.

This wasn't another of those dreams, was it?

Momentary apprehension shivered down his spine, but even as he leaned over, across the body-warmed sheets and the gentle rise and fall of Yokozawa's – yes, Yokozawa's body in tandem with his breathing, he knew it wasn't. The figure's masculine build, coupled with the set of distinct features that was so unmistakably him, instantly dispelled any and all of Kirishima's doubts.

A dream couldn't be this warm.

There was no missing the tenderness that softened Kirishima's gaze as the half-light cast Yokozawa's face into unusual openness. He brushed inky hair away from his forehead, taking in the unexpectedly long eyelashes that laid their feather-light touches over cheeks flushed from sleep. He looked uncharacteristically vulnerable, like the armor he always seemed to carry on his back had fallen away.

In that moment, Kirishima honestly couldn't understand how anyone could think of this man as anything but so unbearably cute.

Even before he realized it, a smirk had crept to his lips. Seeing Yokozawa in such a defenseless state set his mind to formulating a thousand evil schemes. It pretty much gave him free reign to do anything he pleased. After thinking for a moment, he rummaged around for a sticky note and began to scribble, smirk widening by the second.

By the time he emerged from the bedroom, the sky was just beginning to flush a purple-rose, waking up from its slumber with the scent of the stirring earth, punctuated occasionally by the chirp of a bird flying free, swallowed up by the horizon.

"Figures," he muttered to himself, getting out a skillet. The ridiculously early hour had already begun to tell on him. It seemed like the night's sleep had done exactly nothing to refresh him, but he didn't feel like going back to sleep.

He smothered a cough as he tried to shake off he now-familiar ache in his bones, only intensified by the nip of impending winter in the morning air. Maybe he was getting old.

He should really take Yokozawa's advice and consult a doctor. Making a hasty mental note, he soon pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he set about rooting out supplies from the kitchen shelves.

——

The omelets were sizzling in the pan by the time Hiyori emerged from her room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Good morning Papa, Yokozawa-onii- oh!" she began, and then uttered an exclamation of surprise at the ominous sight of Kirishima at the kitchen counter. Her sleepy expression immediately changed to one of apprehension as her mind processed the image. "Papa, you know you're hopeless in the kitchen! You should just leave the cooking to oniichan." Her eyes darted about the kitchen, looking for any imminent disaster brought about by Kirishima's culinary endeavors.

"Hey, even I can handle an omelet." Kirishima said, turning them over in the pan. "It even smells good, see? Go wake up your oniichan and I'll serve you-- he's in my room."

"Ye...s," Hiyori conceded reluctantly, pattering off down the hallway.

He kept one eye on the skillet even as he focused on listening to the conversation from the other room. An amused smile played at his lips as he heard Hiyori's cheerful greeting, followed by a slightly higher-pitched interjection of surprise. Yokozawa's resultant sound of irritation had his smile widening into a full-blown grin as the door to his room burst open. He counted backwards in his head.